Driscol, Seraphine, and their men went about halfway around the arena before heading for the bleacher steps. He climbed them very slowly, stopping to smile, wave, and call out to several people, while Seraphine bobbed her head in greeting. But Driscol wasn’t the only one that folks noticed.
“Look! Over there! It’s the Bellonan queen!”
“Is that really her?”
“Of course it is! See her tearstone sword!”
Snatches of conversation drifted over to me, and people started calling out and waving. Even though I wanted to duck my head, hurry up the steps, and escape the unwanted attention, I forced myself to smile and wave back, as if I truly were the grand, regal queen they were all expecting, instead of just the royal stand-in who had unexpectedly wound up with the crown. Try as I might to resist the notion, I still sometimes thought of myself that way.
Driscol frowned, as though he were annoyed that I had more admirers than he did, and he quickly moved on. We wound up on a wide, rectangular terrace carved into the middle of the bleachers. Black wrought-iron railing cordoned off the area from the surrounding boxes, and dozens of people were already milling around, admiring the spectacular view of the arena floor below.
Driscol nodded at the two guards stationed at the terrace entrance and swept past them, as did Seraphine. I lifted my chin a bit higher and followed.
Several tables covered with platters of food had been pushed up against the far end of the terrace, along with carts covered with carafes of teas, juices, wines, and more. Dozens of minor royals, nobles, and advisors were gathered in that area, piling their plates high with fresh fruit, cheeses, crackers, scones, danishes, and other nibbles, while servants flitted around, fetching goblets full of kiwi and mango juices.
Conversations and laughter pealed through the air, but it wasn’t all fun and games. Guards dressed in their kingdoms’ uniforms stood in small groups all around the terrace. The opening ceremonies might supposedly be a peaceful gathering, but none of the royals were taking any chances with their safety.
Auster had sent a small contingent of men on ahead to the arena, and I nodded at the Bellonan guards, who snapped to attention at the sight of me.
The centerpiece of the terrace was a single round table covered with a simple white cloth and flanked by seven wooden chairs. None of the chairs featured any crests or markings, but there was one for the leader of each kingdom. An eighth chair, with the coined-woman crest carved into the top, was also squatting at the table. It seemed as though Driscol planned on sitting with the royals.
I paused, not quite sure what to do, but Cho touched my shoulder before striding forward and loudly clearing his throat, getting everyone’s attention.
“Announcing Her Royal Majesty, Queen Everleigh Saffira Winter Blair of Bellona!” His voice boomed out like thunder, and everyone turned to stare at me.
I fixed a pleasant smile on my face, took a step forward, and stopped, letting everyone get a good, long look at me. The pause also gave me time to pick the other kings and queens out of the crowd.
King Eon Umbele of Vacuna was a fire magier with a tall, thick body and muscled arms. His eyes were a deep dark brown, while his black hair was cropped close to his skull and just a shade lighter than his ebony skin.
Eon was talking with Queen Ruri Yamato of Ryusama, a slender morph with a dragon’s face made of emerald-green scales glimmering on her left hand. Ruri’s black hair was sleeked back into a bun, all the better to show off her green eyes, high cheekbones, and golden skin.
A few feet away, King Cisco Castillo of Flores, a plant magier, was perusing the grapes on his plate with a critical gaze. He was short and stocky with a barrel chest that was slowly giving way to a paunchy stomach. His hazel eyes and bronze skin gleamed in the morning sunlight, as did his dark brown hair, which was pulled back into a low ponytail.
Eon, Ruri, and Cisco were all in their fifties, and each had been comfortable in their rule for quite some time. Given favorable enough terms, I would like to align with all of them, but their kingdoms weren’t critical to my plans.
The person whose support I needed the most was Queen Zariza Rubin of Unger, a morph who was easily the most recognizable and notorious of all the royals. She was about ten years older than me, in her late thirties, and quite stunning with golden amber eyes and beautiful bronze skin. Zariza was famous for her dark red hair, which cascaded halfway down her back. Each strand was perfectly curled and had a high, glossy luster, and the ogre face on her neck boasted the same long, vibrant red hair.
Zariza was sipping a glass of Ungerian apple brandy and studying me with a neutral expression. Not welcoming, but not hostile either. Xenia was my friend and a fixture in my court, but I had never met Zariza, and it seemed as though she was far more reserved than her cousin. Or perhaps she didn’t want to warmly acknowledge me and tip her hand about the Unger-Bellona alliance that we had secretly been negotiating for months.
I glanced around the rest of the terrace, studying the mix of lesser royals, nobles, advisors, servants, and guards. Concern filled me.
The Mortan king wasn’t here.
I didn’t see anyone wearing the Mortan crest or colors, not so much as a single guard. Even though the Mortans hadn’t set up camp on their side of the river yet, I had still expected them to be at the opening ceremonies, which were supposed to start within the hour.
I wasn’t the only one searching for them. Several people kept looking down at the arena floor, as if they were wondering when—or even if—the Mortans would arrive. But the Mortans would never skip the Regalia. Their warriors, magiers, masters, and athletes won far too many competitions for them to do that. So why weren’t they here yet? Their absence only increased my concern about what the Mortan king might be plotting.
I kept glancing around the terrace, and I finally spotted two friendly faces—King Heinrich Ripley and his son Dominic. Sullivan’s father and older half brother.
The two men put down their breakfast plates and walked over to me. Heinrich and Dominic were both dressed in black tunics, along with black leggings and boots, and the Ripley royal crest—a snarling gargoyle face—was stitched in black thread on their gray jackets. They both had the same dark brown hair, blue eyes, tan skin, and lightning magic that Sullivan did, although I had always thought Sullivan was by far the most handsome and powerful. Then again, my opinion was a little biased.
“Everleigh!” Heinrich said in a warm voice, grasping my hands. “It’s so good to see you again!”
“And you too, Heinrich.” I squeezed his hands in my own. “You look well.”
And he truly did. A few months ago, Heinrich had been near death, thanks to the amethyst-eye poison that Dahlia, his longtime mistress and Sullivan’s mother, had been slipping into his evening tea. I’d used my immunity to cleanse the foul magic from his system, and Heinrich now seemed fully recovered, healthy and strong again. At least when it came to his body, although I knew that the sting of Dahlia’s betrayal would always linger in his heart.
I turned to the crown prince. “And you also look well, Dominic.”
“Hello, Everleigh.” He smiled, then leaned forward and kissed my cheek before drawing back.
I glanced around the terrace again. “Where’s Gemma?”
Heinrich and Dominic exchanged a glance.
“She’s back home with Alvis and Grimley,” Dominic said in a smooth voice. “She wanted to come, of course, but we thought it would be better if she stayed at the palace. Just in case the Regalia turns out to be more . . . exciting than usual.”