Esmera laughed at Maggie. “Most people don’t go to the privy and come back looking like they were chased by wild boars. Did you fall in?”
Sybil stifled a laugh, but then sobered when she saw Maggie’s hands covered in blood. “Are you hurt?”
“Maggie! What happened?” Jori, who had been in deep conversation with Esmera, turned so fast he knocked over a full water pitcher on the small, intricately carved table between them. The water cascaded into Esmera’s lap. She hopped up, screeching.
“Jori!”
He ignored her. Servants rushed over to help.
“Did you cut yourself?” Jori flipped Maggie’s hands over and back again, not finding the source.
“I’m fine. I slipped in the mud is all.”
“What’s this?” Xavier roared. He set his staff down, vacating his seat beside the king to check on his supposed daughter. His face was stained pink on the cheekbones and eyelids; the bones in his hair clapped like wind chimes in a storm as he rushed to see what the fuss with Maggie was about. His face fell at first, then transformed into a beaming smile at the sight of Jori holding Maggie’s hands.
Maggie took her hands back. “It’s not my blood.”
A crease formed between Jori’s brow. “Whose is it?”
Maggie rolled her eyes at him. “I’m sure Sir Raleigh will fill you in.”
Jori’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Maggie, the protection is for your own good. The Walled City can be dangerous.”
“You’ve mentioned that, and yet the only danger I’ve seen so far has been from your soldiers, guards, and your . . . competitors in this disgusting arena,” Maggie snapped, catching the attention of the king.
Jori shrank from her.
Griffin bit his lip to keep from laughing as Maggie’s honesty drove Jori all the way to the chair beside Esmera. His betrothed whispered something in his ear that eased the ticking muscle along the prince’s jawline.
Malcolm and Cornwall came through the door. Esmera and Sybil took turns hugging Cornwall, congratulating him while Malcolm went to attend his father.
Griffin had procrastinated as long as he could. Maggie gave him a worried glance as he walked by on his way to the king.
“You wish to see me, sire?” Griffin bowed.
King Umbert drank from his tankard and belched. A sound that echoed, drawing attention to Griffin’s humiliation. The crowd’s mumblings dissolved, all wanting to hear what was being said.
“That’s what I thought of that performance, Sir Griffin.”
“Pathetic sight, if you ask me.” Laird Egrid slurped his cup. His cracked tongue lapped wine dribbling down the fur collar on his cloak.
“It was an accident,” Prince Jori offered, coming to stand behind his father.
“It was no accident,” Malcolm interjected.
“Any fool could see the shaft was cracked on purpose,” Cornwall added, surprising Griffin.
“And this fool should’ve seen it too!” the king bellowed. “I give you a chance for redemption and you throw it in my face. Who do you think you are, Griffin of Nowhere?”
Mumbling gossip spread like wildfire through the stands.
“I’m sorry, sire” was all Griffin could think to say.
“You are sorry. You sit in for Prince Jori one time, and suddenly you’re as incompetent as he is.”
“Father!” Jori exclaimed.
“Shut up!” he yelled at the prince, then returned to spitting all over Griffin. “You have a single task, and from what I’ve seen, you’re going to fail!” King Umbert smacked the high table next to Griffin, sending a dirty plate toppling to the ground. Pheasant carcass flew in all directions.
Servants rushed to help. Maggie too.
“No!” the king snarled at them, his fists and belly shaking with anger.
Lady Sybil took Maggie’s hand, pulling her aside.
King Umbert snatched another bird leg from Xavier’s plate. He ate the meat off in three bites and threw the bone at Griffin’s bowed head. “Griffin will pick it up. All of it. He’ll need another job when he loses his title. A Bottom feeder who will return to the Bottom, and to cleaning the ducts.”
Griffin could never forget those days—sitting in the refuse up to his eyeballs with a rake and scrub brush, breaking up clogs, which happened on a daily basis. Griffin had spent his first year in the ducts. Came down with fever three times. His stomach soured at the memory. He would rather die in the arena than ever step foot inside those ducts again.
King Umbert rose out of his chair, signaling the marshal that it was time for the main event.
Maggie remained a worried fixture in his sight all the while he cleaned. By the time he finished and could move away from the king, Xavier had Maggie sitting by his side. She tried to rise, but he pinned her in place with a glare.
As Duncan announced Silas’s match, Griffin thought of how he may have misjudged him this past year. The two hardly spoke when they saw one another in the palace for meals or on the practice greens. Griffin saw him as Zac’s older, arrogant brother. Where Zac was warm and gracious, Silas was cold and brooding. Griffin believed Silas proud, a true Topper, the first son of a rich honored chieftain, but for all Jori’s claims of friendship to Griffin, he wasn’t the one in the tunnel putting pressure on the boy’s wound, and he could have been.
Jori would’ve seen Griffin bring the boy up the lift. He would have known Griffin needed an ally. Even if there was no way to save the boy, a true friend would have been there to meet him. He glanced at the prince, who stood behind Esmera with a hand on her shoulder and eyes on Maggie. The prince only cared about one thing: himself.
Silas carried a spear with him as he took a knee before the king. His helmet had a face mask with thinly shaved eyes, and a long hooked nose that came to a sharp point. Seemed rather comical, and completely useless, but perhaps it would ward off a draignoch like it would the plague.
“Does he intend to peck the draignoch to death?” Cornwall asked, laughing.
“He wants to give the audience a good show,” Griffin answered, then padded to the other end of the balcony, as far away from the king as possible.
On the other side of the balcony, King Umbert raised a fist to Silas. He bellowed to the stands, “This man deserves your utmost respect! The eldest son of Sir Ragnas.”
Griffin felt Maggie’s gaze on him. Her expression was understanding; his fear of losing the king’s favor was happening right before her eyes.
Griffin looked beyond the dais. Silas’s family, his younger brother, Zac, along with their esteemed father, Ragnas, and mother, Aofrea, claimed the most prestigious seats beside the king’s balcony. Ragnas was fit for an old man. His long gray hair was braided at the temples, the rest smoothed and tied off at the base of his neck. He wore a red tunic with gold stitching, a nod to Umbert, but a reminder of his own wealth.
Aofrea’s hair was still fair. She wore sapphire combs in the sides of her hair. The lines on her face were the only clues to her age. Her dress was also red. Zac too had dressed up for his brother’s match. His red tunic was even branded with a U to show his loyalty, and destiny. He was to join the king’s armies in the Hinterlands come spring for his first tour of duty.
The king lifted his glass, toasting the match and the former laird of the East. “A noble by birth. A former soldier in my armies. A guard on your watches, and a true and valiant knight.”