Champion of Fire & Ice - Megan Derr Page 0,36

into cheers before they began the usual mad dash to go off to find good seats for their favorite events, or to be first in line for various foods, prize giveaways, and more.

He had a feeling most of the crowd was heading straight for the northern shore of the lake.

Offering his arm to Korena again, he walked with her to the lake. "Was this your father's idea?"

"I suspect it was Tekker's, however against the rules that might be. I am sorry. Sir Cimar is the finest knight I know, but given Grayne's abilities and how flagrantly he'll use them today, it's clear he will take the victory points."

Davrin lifted one shoulder. "It's fine. Hardly surprising that after the shocking beginning of a lindworm, His Majesty would seek to even the odds—make them dead even, in fact."

Korena looked at him, brows shooting up. "You think he's going to ensure they end this test tied for points?" Her brow furrowed then. It was rather adorable, the up, down, up, down. "Yes, I see what you mean. Shrewd, very shrewd. Definitely Tekker's doing. My father would prefer to give an easy victory and be done with the matter, not drag it out and add dramatics like this." She sighed.

"Dramatics garner support. Nobody loves a boring, efficient meeting. Everybody loves when that meeting is disrupted by the Ambassador of Wallow losing his temper and dropping Crown Prince Tarsenya with a single punch."

Laughing, Korena replied, "I admit I would pay good money to have seen that. Tarsenya could use more drop-punches."

"He's smug and obnoxious, I grant you that, but he's shrewd and oddly direct for a diplomat. I've dealt with far worse."

Korena smiled, and they fell silent as they joined the milling crowd, who were kept at bay by bodyguards, but only somewhat, as Korena disliked being as removed and 'locked away' as her father.

They took their places on the royal dais when they reached the lake.

It was named for the tragic queen who'd killed herself there after a lifetime of tragedies, one piled right on top of the other, like the central figure in the world's most depressing play. They'd found her body in the morning, floating in the middle of the lake where the weights she'd improvised had failed to keep her at the bottom as she'd wished.

Davrin could not decide if it was the worst possible place to hold a challenge for a man wrongfully murdered, or if it was all too apropos.

All he hoped was that Cimar would be all right. The lake was cold in the middle of summer; in the midst of winter it was not just brutal, but fatal. Only those with magic, be they shifters or otherwise, stood any sort of chance of making such a treacherous journey. That was just the cold. The lake itself was enormous, large enough that nearly a hundred royal castles could fit into it easily.

They would not be swimming the widest part of it, but the designated area was wide enough, especially with the frigid temperature piled on top. It wasn't just a test of endurance: it was practically murder.

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