Contest of Queens by Jordan H. Bartlett

Author:Jordan H. Bartlett [Bartlett, Jordan H.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: CamCat Publishing

The voices from the hall clamored over each other to escape the room’s windows and doors. Connor and his father were waiting in a small room off to the side of the great hall, waiting for all the guests to find their seats before making their entrance. Connor felt his palms prickle with sweat. This was it. He had been imagining this night and the days to come for a year, his life’s purpose had been building up to this moment, and he still did not feel ready for it. This contest would determine the fate of the entire Queendom. This contest that was largely created by him. He took two large gulps of air and pulled at the collar of his tunic.

He was adorned as befitted his station in navy blue and gold. Edith had draped and smoothed the embroidered cape over his shoulders with tears in her eyes. “Your mother would be so proud,” she whispered before hiding her face and moving to straighten his collar.

His father was dressed in similar colors. His brow was decorated with a thin, simple gold-wrought crown. It held one jewel in the center of his forehead. A deep blue sapphire. Connor’s crown was a plain gold band. The last time he had worn it had been for his mother’s funeral. It weighed heavily on his temples and he tried to ignore the dull pain in his chest. He rubbed the spot absentmindedly and looked about the antechamber for a distraction. There was very little in the room to hold his attention long. A velvet sofa, a small end table with a bottle of wine and the glass he had not touched, and a large oil painting of an ancestor he did not know the name of.

“Nervous, boy?” His father’s gruff voice cut through his musings.

“Yes,” he said simply.

“Good.”

There was a pause in which Connor took in his father’s rugged appearance. Despite the finery and the two glasses of wine he had quaffed while they waited, his father looked like the ghost of the man he had been a year ago. The creases around his eyes ran deep, his cheeks were sallow behind the wine’s blush, and his eyes were dim. It was as though Connor were looking at his father’s reflection in a darkened window.

“What was it like? I mean, when mother competed?” Connor asked hesitantly.

His father paused, his wine glass halfway to his lips. A spark ignited briefly in his eyes with the memory and he almost smiled. “It was like watching a dove take to the air, like a painter to a canvas. We all knew we were watching a queen do what she was born to do.”

The door opened and Perkins, dressed in light blue and gold livery, bowed as he entered the small chamber. “Your Majesty, it is time,” he said.

The King handed Perkins his glass and clapped Connor on the back. “Here we go. Just remember to keep breathing.”

Connor nodded and took his place a step behind his father.

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