The worst part of being a spectator was, as with so many things in life, the waiting. The lake was too wide, even at this relatively small stretch, for them to see Cimar and Grayne for much of the swim.
It was not remotely reassuring that some poor group of servants had been forced to come out well before the test and break up a great deal of the ice. Even now they were out there ensuring the way remained clear.
If Davrin had not possessed years of training in dealing with such terrors and frustrations, he might have lost his temper—and common sense—and punched King Rorlen right in the face. Challenges were supposed to be dangerous, but they weren't meant to be promises of certain death.
The cry went out, and from across the lake he could just barely hear the ringing of the gong to signal Cimar and Grayne to start.
He was immensely grateful right then that his ties to Princess Korena meant he got a prize position at the lakeshore.
It took less time than he thought to see effects of the race, and he wasn't surprised by what they saw: steam.
A few minutes later, what he'd been dreading came into view: Grayne, in his shifted form, swimming at a speed he'd never achieve as a human, and his hellhound form so hot that he was all but impervious to the cold.
Contrary to their name, hellhounds were only dogs in the barest sense of that word. They were more like wolves, for one, but far more than that, they were somewhere in between human and wolf. Longer than usual legs and arms, covered head to toe in fur that was mostly black but turned into reds and oranges at the extremities, like burned wood tipped in remaining flame. Up close, his eyes would be like glowing coals, and he radiated so much heat that no one could stand closer than twenty paces or so.
It should have been declared cheating, but no one could say that now, because Cimar had won his first challenge by way of his shifted form. He'd had good reason, but it set a precedent that Grayne was now going to flagrantly abuse.
Grayne reached the shore minutes later, heaving himself up and out in a cloud of steam, leaving a trail of hot water and dead fish behind him. Next to Davrin, Korena's mouth was pinched tight, and she only looked angrier as her father loudly and enthusiastically declared Grayne the winner and awarded the full fifty points.
They waited several more minutes, long and agonizing, before Cimar finally appeared. He was moving much more slowly, clearly hating every moment and struggling greatly, but he was managing it. He must be using magic in some way; otherwise he'd be dead, no matter how amazing he was.
As Cimar reached the shore, he managed to wade—and then crawl—out of the water on his own. The moment he was clear of it, and the challenge officially over, Davrin surged forward and dried Cimar off himself, taking one of the drying cloths right from Leonine with a hasty apology. When he was dry, Davrin wrapped Cimar in his own cloak.
A healer came up then and pressed a hand to Cimar chest, murmuring softly. Light flowed from her hand, and then over Cimar, and a few moments later his shivering eased, the magic warming him from the core outward in a way nothing else could.
"You going to be all right?" Davrin asked, combing damp strands of hair from his face. He knew damn well the rumors that would fly now, but for once in his life he simply did not care. Cimar not dying because of the unreasonable demands of a petulant king was all that concerned him.
Cimar bobbed his head. "I'm fine. Miserable, but fine. The more time passes, the better I'll be. I am sorry I could not win this one, my lord."
"You've no reason to be sorry for being the victim of petty machinations. Deadly machinations, at that. Come on, let's get you some mulled wine and food to replenish your strength."
As he spoke, though, servants came up bearing said wine and food, and Leonine with his clothes. Even His Majesty did not demand that Cimar first attend him, but waited until he'd recovered from the ordeal.
When Cimar finally did kneel before King Rorlen, Davrin could see he was not the only one who was unsurprised when Cimar was awarded thirty-five points for his performance in the challenge.
Eighty-five to Eighty-five. Victory rested entirely on the final test. Cimar stood no chance of victory against a hellhound unless he had a shifted form that was stronger and which he was willing to use.
He'd been backed into a corner, one way or another.
Davrin was sick to his stomach. He'd never wanted this—the man he loved forced to fight for his life against monsters, freezing cold, and a cheating bastard who fought like a rabid wolf. This should have been a fair challenge. There was no strategic reason to turn it into this debacle.
After the crowds had dispersed, and the people who'd wanted to speak personally to him and Cimar—most to congratulate Cimar on how well he'd done, all things considered, but some trying to sniff out what was going on between Davrin and Her Highness—had left, Davrin smiled. "I'm sure you're long past tired of the attention, but truly you're magnificent, Cimar."
Cimar's mouth ticked up at one corner. The exhaustion poured from his every crack and crevice, but his smile was true as he replied, "You can show me how magnificent after I've had some rest."
Happiness and excitement ran through Davrin, banishing the cold that had crept in while he'd stood without his cloak. In all the distractions, he'd completely forgotten that one tiny detail: he could flirt with Cimar now. "That was a given."
Smile widening, Cimar motioned they should depart. "I saw you were with Her Highness. Is she making more of a show now? Is that wise? I assume so, given the two of you have an acumen for politics that I will never possess."
"Well, I certainly do not possess your impressive skillset. She is making more of a show, yes. I think she is starting to hint to people the way things are going to go, or at least could go. One should always be careful about displeasing their king, but it would also be treacherous to displease their future queen, especially when it's becoming painfully clear she will assume the throne in the very near future. Allegiances are shifting; always a dangerous time in court."
Worry cut into Cimar's face. "How dangerous is it for you?"
"Because of my new arrangement?" When Cimar nodded, Davrin replied, "At present, the danger is minimal to non-existent. My greatest threat right now is the challenge, and they're taking it out on you. Speaking of, I hope you'll be all right in the duel. I have every faith in you, but I also have every faith Trekker is a conniving bastard and Grayne an inveterate cheater."
Cimar laughed. "Grayne bested me today, but I always knew he would win the endurance challenge. I can take him in a duel, human or shifted."
"I apologize for all the attention this has brought you, especially the invasions of your privacy. I know you especially like to keep your shifted form private, and the duel stands a good chance of violating that."
"I entered knowing full well what could happen, please don't apologize." Cimar leaned in, as if about to kiss him, and stilled himself just in time. "Sorry. Do cease to fret and worry and feel guilty, though, please?"
Davrin smiled and nodded slightly. "I shall do my best, I vow it. Later, though, I want that kiss."
"You shall have it, and many more besides."
"Come, let's go do something that gives you a chance to rest a bit." He led the way through the milling crowd, stopping occasionally to speak with someone, but mostly nodding to people and simply moving on.