From Crime To Court

Chapter 11

▪️S E R E N O▪️

A few weeks later, I was stomping across the tournament grounds.

"Congrats, Sereno," I muttered, my armour clinking with every step. "Who knew that disguising oneself as a male would come with blisters and a front-row seat to a damn Renaissance competition?"

The sprawling field stretched out before me, surrounded by the grandeur of towering banners, each emblazoned with the intricate heraldic symbols of noble houses. The atmosphere buzzed with a blend of aristocratic refinement and the raw energy of gallant competition. Ornate pavilions, housing the noble participants, lined various areas, their silk banners fluttering in the breeze. Tents, each housing knights and their entourages, formed a makeshift village along the perimeter.

Upon approaching Alessio's pavilion, I noticed a hubbub of activity that surrounded it. Pages scurried about, delivering messages and tending to the needs of their respective cavaliers. The Marquis' dome stood proudly, its crimson and gold drapes billowing in the wind.

In the distance, numerous tournament arenas sprawled like a canvas waiting to be painted with the strokes of clashing blades and swirling colours. The cheers and jeers of the growing crowd reached my ears, heightening the anticipation that coursed through my veins.

"A tournament of all things!" I huffed.

As if life in the Renaissance for me had not been complicated enough. The realization hit me like a wayward lance to the gut. There was no escaping it; I, the squire of the esteemed Marquis of Savoy, was undoubtedly expected to dive headfirst into the fray.

"Fuck me..."

The weight of my armour seemed to intensify with every step. As the Marquis' right-hand, I could not simply blend into the background. Oh no, I was now a featured player in the grand spectacle that was the impending tournament.

There, amidst the clash of steel and the roar of the crowd, I would be expected to perform feats of bravery and skill, all while maintaining the illusion that I was just another testosterone-fuelled contender. The pressure was enough to make my stomach turn every time I thought about it.

I sighed, resigning myself to the fact that blisters and bruises were the least of my worries.

The Marquis' pavilion stood as a regal testament to both his status and refined taste. Emblazoned with heraldic symbols, the exterior was a canvas of intricate embroidery, showcasing the lineage and prestige of the House of Savoy. The entrance, framed by sumptuous drapes, hinted at the opulence within.

Inside was a sight to behold. Luxurious carpets covered the floor, and finely crafted wooden furniture, adorned with gilded accents, offered a comfortable respite from the bustling tournament outside. The scent of polished wood and subtle perfumes lingered in the air.

A table, festooned with rich fabrics and ornate tableware, stood at the centre, displaying an assortment of refreshments fit for nobility. Goblets and plates of delicate pastries and exotic fruits spoke of the Marquis penchant for both culinary delights and aesthetic refinement.

The interior was divided into sections, each serving a different purpose.

A private chamber concealed behind thick and heavy curtains hinted at a space reserved for the Marquis personal use, while an area for strategizing and conferring with advisors showcased a map of the tournament grounds and finely detailed figurines representing the participating knights.

The overall effect of the pavilion was a harmonious blend of sophistication and functionality—a place where the Marquis could retreat from the public eye, yet maintain an aura of regal authority. It stood not just as a shelter but as a symbol of the House of Savoy's prominence in both the political and social spheres of the country's Renaissance court.