Tobias didn’t respond, and the Queen squinted, peering past his blood and into his mind. “Did this tournament break you?”
Tobias kept quiet, ill at ease. The Queen eyed him for a moment longer before barking over her shoulder. “Place your bets. I have finished.”
“My coin goes for the Dragon,” the Monarch said. “Whether he is truly immortal remains to be seen, but a man does not garner such a reputation for no reason.”
The Sovereign nodded. “A fine choice.”
“I bet on the Dragon as well,” the Trogolian King added.
Rosebud frowned. “Dumpling, he’s ugly.”
“My sweet rosebud, ugly men make some of the fiercest fighters.”
“Well, we cannot all bet on the same man,” the Monarch scoffed. “That ruins the excitement.”
“I bet on Tobias,” the Kovahrian Queen announced.
The Trogolian King froze. “The Artist? Are you joking?”
The Monarch laughed. “Of course not, the Queen is feeling generous. She would like to give us her coin.”
The King waddled to her side, threading an arm around her. “Lovely thing, surely you need a moment to reassess your decision.”
She shot him a glare that sent his arm springing from her waist. “You rule realm of minstrels and whores. I rule realm of warriors. I place coin where I want. You worry about your rosebud.”
“Care to explain your logic?” the Sovereign said.
She nodded at Tobias. “He has much rage. Rage moves man to fight. Rage moves man to kill. The others, they play game. But Tobias spills blood tomorrow.”
“A conjecture at best.”
A smile spread across her cheeks. “Your people are smart. I go with them. Maybe I wave banner too, eh?”
The Sovereign glowered. “You side with the people over their Ruler?”
“The Savior is Ruler of Thessen. Not you.”
“Oh, stop being kind, Brontes,” the Monarch cut in. “Let her waste her coin.”
The Queen patted the Sovereign’s cheek. “Yes, Brontes, let me waste coin.”
The Sovereign recoiled as if her hand were filthy, then flicked his wrist at the competitors. “Dismissed.”
Tobias wasted no time abandoning the room, marching off through the palace while passersby stopped and stared. Oh, right. I’m bleeding. He wished he could still feel the pain, that it would distract him from the hell he had created, and as he turned down a dim hallway, his anger grew with dangerous strength.
A swirl of lilac swept the far end of the corridor, as Leila staggered from a doorway.
Tobias lurched to a stop. Look away, but instead he scanned her body, recalling the spots he had kissed, imagining the scent of her perfume. Her presence was a blade carving his insides, but he couldn’t pry his eyes from her flushed cheeks, her full lips, her soft dress spotted with red.
Blood.
It splattered the hem of her dress, streaked her tight, trembling fists. Her chest heaved with labored breaths, and she toyed with the sheath on her thigh, fumbling to secure her blade—coated in crimson.
“Leila?”
She didn’t look his way. Perhaps she hadn’t heard him, too wrapped up in whatever had marked her arms with fresh abrasions, whatever had left her so visibly distraught. She headed down an adjacent corridor, disappearing from sight.
Tobias barreled after her, throwing himself around the corner, but she was nowhere to be found.
Find her, but it was impossible, a task he was doomed to fail. Even with her gone, her drawn expression consumed him, plaguing him with questions. As he stared down into the empty corridor, his rage gave way to a new affliction.
Regret.
***
Rain pelted Tobias, drenching him. He stood in one of the fortress gardens, an open plot save for the occasional pillar and bench. It must’ve looked lovely on any other day, but the grass underfoot pooled with mud, and puddles collected along the scant marble pieces. The grey sky and savage downpour had turned the world grim, which was appropriate given the circumstances. This was the site of their next challenge, and it wouldn’t be long before the puddles swirled with blood.
The Sovereign and the other royals headed their way, marching beneath a canopy hoisted by guards. Rosebud clung to her round husband, her face dripping with disgust as if the rain were waste pouring from the sky. She glanced down at her feet and squealed.
“My slippers, they’re ruined!”
“Rosebud, what a tragedy!” her husband cooed. “We’ll get you new ones straightaway.”
The Ethyuan Monarch carried the hem of his dress, attempting to avoid the mud. “What is this weather? Where is the sun?” He peered up at the rain. “I thought this place was once a desert.”