AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Like an automaton, she pulled on the clothes Ere provided and strapped on her sword. He pushed her out the tent, and Sorin practically threw her onto a horse.
A new one. Sleek and high-spirited. Flicking its tail in annoyance like a prince who’d been forced to wait upon a peon. Looked like Ere had done his job well last night, procuring such a fine specimen. The race and archery competition was as good as in the bag.
Sorin and Ere mounted their other horse, and together, they hurried off to the tournament stands, already packed with crowds.
It was so full, most of the observers remained standing. Children sat upon their father’s shoulders to see better.
The warriors competing for the prize stood in a horizontal line before the most luxurious part of the stands, complete with a makeshift roof to block sun or rain, the seats covered with furs.
There were so many contestants that Rui had no issues sneaking from the sidelines into the back of the formation. Using her small size, she maneuvered through the male bodies, most of them heavily armored, all of them already stinking of sweat and other odors.
Except one.
She immediately snuffled him out like the truffle—that is—treasuredragon that she was. And instinctively moved closer to where he stood.
Wolfe was the tallest amongst the warriors. The only one, besides Rui herself, not protected by armor.
He wore tunic and trousers that were tailored to fit him, which was rare in these parts, likely done for ease of movement when he fought. There were no sleeves, so that the hard mounds of his biceps and his steely forearms bulged with visible veins with his arms crossed over his massive chest.
His stance was fundamentally masculine, long legs spread slightly apart, back straight, emphasizing the tantalizing curve of his spine as it nipped in at the waist and flared out at the end of his tailbone to two perfectly round, tight, worship-worthy monuments that were his ass cheeks.
Rui growled low in her throat where she stood a couple of men down from him, as she eyed his spectacular hind quarters.
She wanted to bite them.
In profile, she saw his jaw clench and his long lashes flicker, though he did not turn to look her way. She knew that he knew exactly where she was, and he heard her possessive utterance loud and clear.
An officiant of sorts was in the middle of saying something…official, in a voice that carried easily through the crowds. Rui didn’t pay attention. Ere had already explained everything she needed to know.
Bottom line: there were no rules. Winning was the name of the game. And avoiding getting killed.
“…and so I give you, our beloved, beautiful, beneficent queen…Guinevere.”
At the word “queen,” Rui came alert, as if a bell had rung in her mind, triggering a memory.
I am destined to be a Queen. Consort to the mightiest King history has ever witnessed…
And when she laid eyes on this famous Guinevere, she recognized the young maiden that she saw in the Mirror Pond at the Celestial Palace.
She was an older version of herself, and ever so much more alluring. All the promise of womanly curves and perfect beauty that Rui saw in the younger Guinevere had been more than realized.
Most of all, it was the knowledge in her eyes. The impeccably confident way she carried herself, the small, mysterious smile on her lips, that amplified her power.
Even Rui was enthralled. She, like everyone else in the crowds, couldn’t look away. Didn’t even want to blink, so as not to miss a moment of this spellbinding vision.
“My dear Britons,” the queen began in a dulcet, yet evocative womanly voice, “it is my honor and privilege to open this Tournament of Champions.”
“The king and I—” she flicked a coy glance at the silent man sitting beside her, staring straight ahead into nothingness, “—felt that we owed this people a celebration. A spectacle. A game for the ages that generations beyond will still talk about with pride and pleasure…”
Rui only half listened at this point. She watched the faces and body language of the king and queen instead.
The king, whom she assumed was the one called Arthur, looked unnaturally haggard and worn, but not by age. He had a physicality similar to Wolfe, though his hair was not as dark. Even sitting, she could tell that he was tall. His long legs were spread open, bent at the knees, his arms laid upon the wooden rests on either side of his carved, high-backed chair.
But they weren’t “resting.” In fact, his hands were gripping the armrests so hard his knuckles were white.
And yet, the rest of him appeared at ease, even relaxed. His face was lax, devoid of expression, though there were many lines. In his brow, as if he scowled often. Around his eyes, though not from laughter. Bracketing his mouth, as he pressed his lips into a humorless thin line.
His hair was shoulder-length and rather wild, tangling with a fulsome beard. Unlike Wolfe, he had no scars that Rui could see. Not even a small nick anywhere on his skin. Which was strange for a warrior king. Otherwise, in Rui’s view, the two men looked enough alike to be brothers.
