Gerard glanced at his stepmother. Her hands lay clasped tightly in her lap. She stared straight ahead. The grand monk sat beside the queen consort. He talked to her, perhaps trying to distract her from her husband’s behaviour.
Warrior doves stood at attention amidst the grandstand. The grand shield, the head of the warrior monks, scanned the crowd, hand resting on her sword. They were all on alert as a result of Warden Flint’s attack on Onyx and Luther.
On the night of their betrothal ball, Elias had said somerather silly things, seeming not to fully understand how devastating it must have been for Onyx to be attacked by his own uncle. He’d made light of Luther and Onyx’s ordeal. But of course, Elias could not understand what fighting for your life was actually like.
Elias was by no means a perfect partner. Still, he was more than Gerard had expected.
Gerard examined the Draconian guards on duty. After the recent attack, Gerard and Senta had brought in more of them to provide extra protection in the White Monastery. Now the king and queen consort always had guards with them.
Gerard had had some push-back from the grand shield on the increase in the number of Draconian guards. But eventually she’d relented.
Is whoever worked with Warden Flint here today? Are they in the grandstand, plotting against the peace treaty?
A trumpet blew. Gerard turned. The herald stood in the middle of the field. She lowered the trumpet from her lips. “In the second-to-last battle for round one, Prince Gerard will face Lord Amsel. Prepare yourselves.”
The crowd roared. Lord Amsel stood about forty feet down from Gerard in front of the grandstand. The man disrobed.
A servant approached Gerard, ready to take his robe. Gerard’s fingers reached for the green sash. He hesitated. From the corner of his left eye, he could see Prince Elias clapping.
Why would my father suggest such an event? Why would he suggest something that would require me to disrobe in front of everyone?
But King Alaric had never cared about Gerard’s scars.
At least, he no longer did. He’d initially worried thatGerard’s loss of half his eyesight plus his injuries might impact his ability to fight. But once Gerard’s wounds had healed and he had learnt to fight with only one functioning eye, Gerard’s father had stopped worrying.
After all, they were just battle scars. Nothing to be ashamed of.
Gerard wished he could see them like his father did. After all, he should not care about his appearance. He was the dragon warrior prince. He was a powerful fighter. A strong leader.
“It is such a shame. He was once so handsome.”
And the person who had said that had only seen Gerard’s face.
What will everyone say when they see all my scars?
His hands gripped the soft, smooth fabric of the sash. He gritted his teeth.
With a harsh exhale, Gerard tugged on the sash. He yanked the robe from his body, practically shoving it towards the servant, bearing his entire body with all its markings for everyone to see. And judge.
Was Elias staring at him? Was he horrified?
Heat flushed through his body. Unable to stop himself, Gerard glanced towards him. Elias had stopped clapping. His face remained blank, eyes tracing Gerard’s body.
Was that disgust in his eyes? Revulsion?
Gerard couldn’t tell.
He turned away. He tugged off his eye patch and threw it at the servant. He no longer wore his mother’s ring on a chain. He’d taken it off the night his father had told him he’d marry Prince Elias. He’d not put it on again.
He strode out into the field. Lord Amsel walked out too. They faced each other.
“Ready?” the heraldyelled.
Gerard nodded. So did Lord Amsel.
“When I blow my trumpet, shift and fight.” The herald lifted the trumpet to her lips. She blew.
Gerard shifted, suddenly desperate to fly and fight. He had rage to work out.
