The Glass Queen Page 12

  Well. Wasn’t that what I’d always wanted from others, too? I nodded, and she grinned.

  “I’m starting to like you, Ash. Now look.” With her hands on my shoulders, she spun me around.

  Oh, my. I marveled at the grandeur. We stood at the top of the coliseum, to the right of the royal dais, where my father and Dior presided over the tournament from golden thrones. Four servants held a large tarp over the area, bathing them with shade. The most beautiful red ribbons hung from the corners of that tarp, dancing in a slight breeze. Another servant stood to one side, fanning the king with a palm frond to ward off the unseasonable heat. At least, I assumed it was unseasonable. I’d never visited Sevón before.

  As she had in the throne room, Dior occupied the queen’s seat, rather than the child’s. An honor I didn’t think she deserved.

  Spotting me, she smiled and waved. I forced myself to wave back. Smiling, though... I wasn’t there yet.

  On my father’s other side were two cushioned chairs, one occupied by the witch Ophelia, and the other claimed by a lovely girl I’d never met.

  The newcomer had hair a brighter red than Trio’s, white skin with a rosy undertone, and the most incredible purple eyes framed by thick black lashes. She wore the same type of clothes and armor as Eve and just as many jewels as Ophelia. Must be the royal oracle.

  The two were bent together, whispering and laughing.

  I returned my gaze to my father. As he watched the contestants, he appeared focused and gleeful. Part of me wanted to rush over and hug him, and I didn’t understand why. Did I enjoy torment or something? Father would rebuff me immediately, and I’d look the fool. Again.

  Why couldn’t he love me the way I loved him?

  My shoulders drooped. “Do I look presentable?” I asked my avian escort. “There wasn’t a mirror in the tent.” Would I make Father proud, at least a little, or would I embarrass him?

  She gave me a once-over. “You look ready to fine me for an overdue book and take a stroll along Chastity Lane.”

  We spoke the same language, and yet her words were foreign to me. Overdue book? I’d never even heard of this Chastity Lane. “Is that a good or bad thing?”

  “Darling, it’s a very good thing—for you. Prim and proper is Saxon’s new type.”

  New type? “What was his old type?”

  “Fiery.” She motioned to the dais. “You’re going to have the best seat in the house. You’ll be next to your new stepsis and your father’s all-you-can-eat smorgasbord of snacks. Best get settled. The battle is about to begin, and I have a feeling Saxon expects your gaze to be riveted on him the entire time.”

  She sounded on the verge of laughter. “I knew he expected me to be here.” He’d wanted to punish me for skipping it, but I’d foiled his plans. Head high, shoulders back. This girl was unstoppable.

  “I think he wanted you here,” she said, “but I know he didn’t want to want you here.”

  I cringed a little. Did she know who Saxon thought I was?

  “Yeah, I know who you are,” she said, as if reading my mind. “Don’t worry. I understand how someone’s actions can be misconstrued. So. I’m giving you the same courtesy you’re giving me and observing you before I render a verdict.”

  Okay, I’d just made my decision about her—she wasn’t someone to fear.

  “When the battle is done, I’ll collect you and return you to his tent.” She gave me a gentle nudge forward. “Have fun. Go wild. May your golden roses find...sunshine?”

  “May your roses forever bloom,” I corrected with a grin. I turned to give her a hug, but she’d already strode away.

  No matter. I think I’d just made a friend.

  My grin remained in place as I glided onto the dais. As I passed the witch and oracle, who ignored me...the king, who looked around me... Dior, who waved again. I wilted and eased onto the child-size throne.

  Minutes passed as I waited for some kind of acknowledgment from my father.

  Still waiting...

  I expelled a heavy breath and took the initiative. “Good morn, Fath—Majesty. Dior.”

  He nodded, saying nothing, still enraptured by the combatants. No questions about my overnight stay with Saxon? No inquiries about my time at the Temple, now that we were away from the courtlings? Not even a scolding for daring to attend this event?

  Dior burst out, “Good morn, Ashleigh,” as if she couldn’t contain her words a moment longer. “I’m so glad you could come to the tournament. We can finally get to know each other better.”

  “Sure,” I said, but I didn’t sound enthused.

  As if just realizing I’d arrived, Ophelia swiveled around to meet my gaze. “Ashleigh, Princess of Glass or whatever, I’d like you to meet Noel, the premier oracle of Sevón.” She gestured grandly at the girl beside her.

  “I’m, like, your biggest fan,” Noel gushed at me. “I’m president of the club and everything. Honest.”

  More gibberish. A club was a weapon and a president was a... I didn’t even know. Following my father’s example, I nodded. What else could I do, really?

  The beautiful redhead leaned over the king, uncaring when he issued a disgruntled murmur, and asked me, “Aren’t you so proud of our Saxon for all that butt kicking today?”

  Butt kicking? I knew enough about oracle-speak to know she’d just referenced the end result of today’s battle, even though a punch had yet to be thrown. But... “Butt kicking is good?” Clearly I had missed out on some important updates to local vernacular during my time at the Temple.

  “Very good indeed,” Noel said with a nod. “If you’re the one doing the kicking, of course. And Saxon is.”

  Relief bombarded me.

  Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold up. Relief? Ridiculous. I wanted Saxon to lose right from the start, thereby ending my liaison duties.

  The oracle scratched her head. “Unless I’m mistaken, and Saxon is the one who gets his butt kicked. Yeah, that’s totally possible. Let’s find out together.”

  “Our next combatant is,” the master of ceremonies announced, “Milo Ambrose, the royal warlock of both Fleur and Sevón.”

  I straightened. So. Milo had decided to fight for Dior’s hand in marriage. That didn’t surprise me.

  Dior cheered and clapped. “Have you met our delightful warlock, Ashleigh? He’s so sweet.”

  Sweet? “I can’t say my experience with him mirrors yours.”

  Her brow wrinkled. “What do you mean? Was he cruel to you?”

  A servant approached the thrones, bearing a tray of traditional Fleuridian treats I missed more than breath. His arrival saved me from trying to explain something I didn’t know how to explain. As I beheld lemon-curd tarts, lavender cookies, fresh-baked breads with strawberry jam and dollops of cream, my mouth watered.

  Ohhh. The other side of the tray offered savory options. Delicacies from Sevón, I’d bet. I couldn’t identify the different meats and sauces.

  I selected the goodies I wanted. Meaning, I scooped up as many desserts as I could hold. Sweet first. Savory second.

  The moment I bit into my bounty, my eyes rolled back. So good. I couldn’t remember sampling anything better, my taste buds suddenly alive with flavor.

  “Did you lose your manners during your three-year absence?” My father eyed me with distaste. “Shall I send you back to the Temple to help you find them?”

  My cheeks heated, all but blistering, and I swallowed the sugary treat I no longer wanted. A treat in my stomach like a lead ball. “I’m sorry, Fath—Your Majesty.” He was right. A princess should not shovel food into her mouth, especially in public.

  Dior glanced between us before telling the king, “My dear sister was kind enough to select some treats for me, weren’t you, Ashleigh? A very noble deed, to be sure.” She claimed a handful of my cookies and spread them over her lap, mimicking me as if I were
a shining example of grace and sophistication.

  My father pursed his lips but said no more.

  I met the princess’s heartfelt gaze and mouthed, Thank you.

  She offered me a bright smile, one of shared secrets and comradery, and I vowed to be nicer to her for the rest of the day.

  “I give you the future king of the avian,” the master called, drawing out a few select words. “Crown Prince Saxon Skylair.”

  Deafening cheers resounded as Saxon stepped forward.

  Just like that, I forgot everything else. The sight of him decked out in his war wear, loaded down with weapons...glorious. Such strength.

  He tilted his chin proudly, his spine ramrod straight. Determination stamped every line of his arresting face. He wore a well-made breastplate, leaving every ridge of muscle in his arms on spectacular display. Two dark straps crisscrossed his chest, anchoring two short swords to his back, directly between his beautiful wings. How soft those feathers appeared, so at odds with the rest of him.

  Black leathers clung to his powerful legs like a second skin, and a pair of steel-toed combat boots completed the look.

  Awareness of him consumed me. Did he know I was here? Did he—

  He lifted his gaze, meeting mine, and I trembled. Oh, yes. He knew. He’d probably known the second I’d arrived.

  Sunlight haloed his body, and highlighted the furious gleam in his eyes—a furious gleam that told me I’d been wrong, that he hadn’t wanted me here. That gleam promised we would have a battle of our own just as soon as he finished here...

  7

  He fights and he bleeds,

  but doesn’t find what he needs.

  SAXON

  Combatants pressed themselves against the outer edge of the coliseum’s walls, leaving the center unoccupied. We awaited the blare of a horn, our battlefield stretched before us.

  The first wave of combat would begin in a matter of minutes. A battle to the death—a free-for-all until the master of ceremonies blasted the final horn. There would be no surrender. Not this time. Those left standing would advance to the second round.

  The deaths were unnecessary. But, King Philipp’s tournament, King Philipp’s rules. I’d known he planned to eliminate any perceived threats to his reign; I just hadn’t realized he wanted so many to die.

  The longer we waited, the more aggression charged the air, until currents of energy seemed to crackle. It was manna for someone like me. I breathed it in, letting it fill my lungs and infuse my cells.

  I’d ordered my people to refrain from entering the tournament; I hadn’t wanted to harm or kill a fellow avian. I would do it if necessary, but I wouldn’t like it. I’d expected a few challengers to enter anyway, but none had.

  Because they feared me? Or because they feared my mother?

  I pressed my tongue to the roof of my mouth, incensed by the very idea of someone else doing my intimidating for me. But no matter. Today, I would begin to prove I was strong enough to rule the most ferocious army in Enchantia. One by one, I would take out the most skilled competitors in the tournament.

  No mercy!

  I only had to endure three weeks of public battles, then I could claim ultimate victory, killing King Philipp and neutralizing Leonora at long last.

  Princess Dior would be sent back to Fleur, without a wedding. When finally I selected a bride, I would choose someone honest and hardworking, who didn’t have a temper more volatile than my own. Our match would be an advantageous one sure to aid my kingdom. I wouldn’t wait to find my fated mate, like so many other avian did.

  I didn’t believe such a thing was possible for me. At times, Craven had been certain Leonora was his fated mate, even though he hadn’t produced the amour for her. Look how their relationship had turned out. Twice doomed to fail.

  Resentment welled, but I tamped it down. Now was not the time for emotion, but cold determination.

  “Welcome, one and all, to the most spectacular tournament ever held in Enchantia, with a prize among prizes. Marriage to the beauteous Princess Dior!” The master of ceremonies spoke, his voice filling the stands. “This incredible event will run for three consecutive weeks. During each of those weeks, our combatants will compete in at least one physical battle. But don’t despair. They’ll have the option to compete in many other types of battles, as well. We will test their speed, cunning, and even their ability to negotiate. The victors of the smaller contests will win some kind of advantage. A head start in the next physical battle, perhaps. A weapon when everyone else is weaponless. They can even win disadvantages for their fellow competitors.”

  Cheers erupted.

  He continued, saying, “Combatants may use their innate abilities for each and every competition. Magic? Yes. Flight? That, too. Nothing is taboo while our warriors are on the battlegrounds. Outside of the battlegrounds, however, they are mystically prohibited from harming each other. If they miss a physical battle, they will be disqualified. If they wish to withdraw at any point after this first battle, they must petition the king.”

  Now boos filled the air.

  I roved my gaze over the competition, picking out my preferred victims. A daylight vampire...strong, quick, able to heal faster than most. A wolfin...able to jump high enough to rip me out of the air, if I decided to fly. A mer...wily, able to slip out of any hold. A goblin...able to dematerialize and possess a body for short periods of time. A sorcerer...able to syphon power from combatants, weakening them in minutes. A snake-shifter...their venom could paralyze me for several precious seconds. A troll...their toxic fangs could turn most species into raging monsters before dying a horrid death. I’d recently lost a beloved friend in such a way.

  The trolls, then. I’d go after them first, one by one. Eight had entered. If there was time, I would take out the snake-shifters, goblins, and sorcerian afterward. In that order.

  Drawn by a force I couldn’t control, I slid my gaze to Ashleigh for the thousandth time since her arrival. And she must be Ashleigh again, Leonora hidden once more. She perched on a child’s throne high atop the stands, and continually cast her father quick, longing glances that hurt my heart, as if the organ were learning to beat for the first time. It was an unacceptable reaction to an unacceptable girl, and another annoyance to add to the princess’s tally.

  Because of her, I’d tossed and turned all night, unable to sleep. Sleep I’d needed, considering today was life-and-death. But how was I supposed to drift away with her at my side? Every time I’d inhaled, I’d breathed in the sweet scent of roses and vanilla and remembered her naked, water-damp skin. I’d tried to think of something, anything else, but my thoughts had remained trapped in a mental quicksand of her making.

  The madness had to end.

  While the first avian king had possessed a weakness for the evil witch, I wouldn’t be so foolish. I wouldn’t soften with Ashleigh. Not again. I reminded myself of my goals. Expose her for the dangerous murderess she is. Protect my people for once. Enjoy my vengeance.

  Then, and only then, could I enjoy the rest of my life.

  But why did she have to look so lovely in her new gown?

  Before I’d left the garment for her, I’d paid Ophelia to enchant the material. The moment Ashleigh had donned it, a powerful—temporary—tracking spell had absorbed into her skin. For the next twenty-one days, I would be able to discern her location with only a thought. If she ran from me, as Leonora had often done, I could find her in a matter of minutes.

  At my side, a combatant unsheathed a large ax and banged a fist into the thick blade.

  The time had come.

  I withdrew my swords, readying for an attack. Multiple combatants watched me, their excitement palpable. Hoped to take me out first? No doubt they’d break my wings to ground me the moment I became preoccupied with another opponent. I’d have to remain aware at all times. No getting lost in thought, wondering what the b
ane of my existence was doing.

  “Today, the rules are simple,” the master of ceremonies announced from the dais. “If a combatant leaves the battlefield before the final horn, he will be disqualified and pay with his life.” The crowd liked the punishment. “They may attack an opponent however they wish, no action off-limits. The one who slays the most combatants will earn the right to eliminate a competitor of his choice, without that competitor dying.”

  New cheers. Whoops and whistles.

  Well. I couldn’t risk being eliminated once the fray ended. So, I couldn’t allow anyone else to win this battle. So... I needed to alter my plan. No targeting the trolls first. I would slay as many combatants as possible, however possible. Anyone who stepped into my path would die.

  Pressure building...

  Ignore. Focus.

  “Are you ready?” the master called, the cheers that followed this time almost deafening. “The battle will begin in ten seconds. Nine...eight...”

  As the male counted down, adrenaline seared my veins with increasing intensity. I had no fear. Why should I? I’d spent each of my lives training for combat. I had centuries’ worth of skills.

  “Five.”

  Deep breath in. Out. No one would defeat me. Today, Ashleigh—my people—would see my abilities. They would be forced to accept the truth: there was no better king.

  “Four.”

  I would do this. I would do this well. For the avian. For Roth, Everly, and all our friends. For myself.

  “Three.”

  After the battle, I would oversee Ashleigh’s next punishment. She’d dared to attend the tournament without permission. Just as I’d hoped she would.

  A smile grew. I had the perfect punishment in mind, something guaranteed to bring Leonora to the surface.

  “Two.”

  The spectators went still and quiet. Even the breeze died down. Every combatant stiffened, preparing for the carnage to come.

  I purged the fire witch from my mind—

  A horn blast cut through the air. Combatants launched at each other. Swords, daggers, and axes were swung. Metal clanged against metal.