The Red King [Book II]

XXVI

The air was still damp from James' announcement.

ㅤAround the Arkingham's royal amphitheatre, nobles sat in the front rows, moods shakily tampered by their post-outrage sigh. It wasn't like the small theatre show in Korcaster; tall arches held the monstrous structure four storeys high—one of the largest in existence, Fletcher boasted.

ㅤUnlike the theatre, the stands didn't face a single stage but circled the arena in an oval. Tightly packed commoners were relegated further away, their screams seeping down each level, unwittingly swaying the stewing nobility with their excited energy.

ㅤAn announcer boomed in the centre, echoed by his voice carriers. He drummed up pandemonium and the applause deafened against thinking about James' offensive promise.

ㅤFrom his chair, Alex slanted a glance at James beside him. With relaxed fingers entwined, the other man's face remained trained forward.

ㅤRather than sitting in the open, the highest of nobles huddled in their own boxes—Alex and James included. Rather than be sheltered by the long ribbons of cloth overhead, their roofed cave flaunted luxurious comfort inside.

ㅤ"No executions?" Alex asked Fletcher, who was sorting through some papers behind them. Games typically began with those, yet the announcer had declared a warm-up chariot battle as the first act.

ㅤ"It was deliberate." Fletcher was forcibly upbeat. "It would remind the nobles of, well..." He trailed off.

ㅤA scoff slipped out. Right, of course.

ㅤFletcher leant over their shoulders. "What's the current mood like?"

ㅤAlex wondered if Fletcher had known about James' citizenship plan in advance. He always seemed to be in the loop where Alex wasn't.

ㅤFletcher mused to himself when neither Alex nor James responded. "They seem to be cheering up. You couldn't have broken the news at a better time, James."

ㅤAgainst a spiteful remark, Alex's jaw clamped shut, teeth grinding. Silence was better than facing mockery as a result of an unwarranted tantrum.

ㅤBecause he'd never been allowed to get angry, he'd long lost the sense to know when it was appropriate.

ㅤInstead, he watched the horse-drawn chariots spill from the gate tunnel and into the sun, the wainmen raising their fists to the roar of the audience. Alex stared, his face resting on his knuckles, unstirred.

ㅤ"James!"

ㅤPanicked, Alex's head snapped up, pulse spiking. Fletcher was horrified, covering his mouth. He was gawking at James' lap.

ㅤBefore Alex had realised, he'd reached out; James' wrist was in his tight grip, snatched between the two of them. His swollen, disfigured thumb trembled with the rest of his hand in the open air.