Chapter 36: A King to a King
Behind the palace stood the battlefield.
It was massive. A stone colosseum with high walls circling the arena. It was the kind of place where warriors display their power and worth in front of the king.
"It’s been a while since I’ve done this," he thought, flexing his fingers.
Back in Camelot, the tournaments had been grand. The soldiers wore polished armor, the castle was surrounded by painted banners that waved in the wind. Knights cheered each other on like brothers. It was the time they would all get together, drink, and celebrate. It was a time when people would relax and not worry about war.
He hadn’t entered many, because it wasn’t his strong side. He was always known for planning and strategizing.
Instead, he would watch Lancelot. Always composed. Watching him dominated every tournament he entered. His every strike was deadly. His movement was perfect. If Sylas was considered the King of Kings, Lancelot was the king of the battlefield.
Everyone from the feast had gathered—nobles, guards, servants. They all sat around them.
At the center was a raised platform. Two thrones sat at the top—empty now, except for one.
She sat tall beside her mother, posture perfect, hands resting in her lap. Her face was calm, but her eyes burned. They locked onto Sylas with a quiet fury, like she wanted to strangle him.
He could feel the anger. Even when he wasn’t looking at her, he could feel her stare.
Next to her, Lucian stood there like a statue. He didn’t speak. His skin looked pale, like he was still thinking about what Sylas said to him.