The seat between Tobius and Ciana remained empty; Wesley had not shown up yet.
The two royal families sat in a single row at the back of the spectator box, a space reserved for the best views of the grounds. Ahead of them sat many nobles, lords, and officials, who were trading bets, telling stories, and discussing the event.
Dena, the oldest of Wesley’s sisters at fifteen, leant over towards Ciana. Her corset was tightly wrapped to hide her developing womanly body. Tobius did not want wandering eyes on his daughter.
“You look beautiful, sister,” Dena said in a nervous voice.
“Oh, thank you so much. You look amazing too, I love your hair,” Ciana replied, admiring the girl’s plaited brown locks.
“Will you be staying in Andervale, now that you and Wes are married?” Dena asked.
“Yes, yes, she will,” Tobius interjected. “She will be the next queen of Caldaea, once I pass, and your brother is king. Her place is here now.”
Tobius looked over to make sure Ciana showed the proper expression. Jodie noticed Ciana maintain her composure despite a simmering frown.
“I look forward to exploring this amazing kingdom with my new sisters,” Ciana said, forcing a smile.
Dena grinned; she was an easily amused girl. Jodie used to pretend to play kings and queens with her when they were both younger and her family would visit from Stonebridge.
However, unlike Jodie, Dena had not yet outgrown the fantasy.
Adolescence had not been as kind to Lisbeth as it had Dena. The younger princess had a scarred and spotted face from acne and had not yet grown into her looks.
“I hope you had a productive wedding night,” Tobius laughed, leaning over to Ciana. “Your new sisters are very eager to have a niece or nephew soon!”
Ciana fought through her disgust with her new father-by-law. The man was positively revolting at times.
“I pray each minute to the Creator for such a blessing,” Ciana lied.
“I hope to be a grandparent before I pass, Moon Mother willing. With such fertile plains on which Wesley can plant his seed, I am sure I will be so blessed,” Tobius said.
The words made Jodie grimace. His presence had always made women uncomfortable. The old king had the face of a pig and the personality of a toad. He enjoyed the way he toyed with Ciana a little too much.
The old pervert probably wishes he could be his son, right about now.
Jodie peered over to Emery. The king was whispering and chuckling with his wife, Queen Sirillia.
Sirillia looked far healthier than the previous night. Some colour had returned to her skin. It was good to see her out; she was too often bed-ridden.
“My king, do you happen to know where Wesley is?” Jodie asked.
Emery shook his head. “We assumed he was with Ciana, my lady.”
Ciana had not mentioned seeing Wesley since dawn. Jodie thought to herself where he could be- probably still drinking his sorrows away or curled up in bed, head spinning from the night before.
Bugles began to play as the crowd took to their seats, cheering and shouting with glee. The tournament was about to commence.
The herald, a short, pudgy man with long sideburns stood atop a small platform and projected his voice out over the crowds. His ruffled yellow and white tunic, bearing the decorated spear sigil of House Seynard, made him look larger than he actually was.
“Welcome all, royal families, barons and baronesses from across Alyria, noble lords and ladies, and our local townspeople, to the Andervale Uniting Tourney!” the herald announced, holding his red beret so it did not blow away in the warm breeze. His voice was surprisingly loud, given his stature.
There had to be at least a thousand onlookers in attendance, Jodie estimated.
“Today, we are here to celebrate the union between the kingdoms of Caldaea and Ashen! Please, congratulate Prince Wesley Seynard and Princess Ciana Blacktree on their wedding,” the herald shouted.
The crowd clapped and cheered. Ciana blushed, waving to the crowd, the seat to her side still empty.
The herald continued. “The Uniting Tourney is a tradition as old as Caldaea itself; a celebratory affair to be held the day after a royal wedding, to honour the love of the newly-wed couple, and to allow the Moon Mother to spread her grace and energy through her loyal subjects. As such, we wish that all patrons enjoy the tournament and the accompanying festivities!”
The crowd again cheered, many holding up cups of drink and handfuls of food. The bugles standing in a row behind the herald played a song.
“We will begin with the joust, followed by the melee. Knights from across Alyria have come to Andervale on this day to fight for glory and for gold! The winner of the joust shall receive one-thousand gold marks; the winner of the melee shall receive two-thousand gold marks! Please, give a hand and raise your voices for our competitors!”
Dozens of knights in a range of shining armour sets poured onto the tourney grounds, each accompanied by a squire wielding a banner with their coat of arms. The crowd thundered with applause as the knights showed off their weapons and paced around the grounds like prized sheep.
Jodie recognised a few of the knights. There was Ser Donald Veren of Andervale, infamous for the way he would knock out opponents with a single blow of his hammer during a melee; and Ser Nicolas Nelen, the White Warrior, of Stonebridge, from her hometown. She could recognise his white armour and the three striped bridge coat-of-arms anywhere.
There were so many banners, however. Jodie struggled to identify most of the other coats-of-arms.
After the knights paraded around the tourney grounds to the crowds’ delight, they headed back out and awaited the herald’s call.
“We begin the jousting with Ser Jan Hyton of Dawnhill, versus Ser Erik Redmarch of Andervale.
