An Audience

Crisseda grabbed Elara's arm, tugging her toward the edge of the pavilion. "Come on, miss."

Elara hesitated, glancing back at Chirovan. "What about you?"

"I'll hold them off," he said firmly, drawing his sword. "Now go."

Crisseda didn't wait for further argument, practically dragging Elara away. They wove through the chaos, Elara's heart hammering in her chest as the sounds of battle grew louder. She glanced over her shoulder, her stomach twisting as she saw Chirovan facing off against the attackers.

The first of them lunged at him, a sword aimed for his chest. Chirovan parried the blow with ease, his movements fluid and controlled. He twisted his blade, disarming the man in a single motion before delivering a precise strike that sent him crumpling to the ground.

Another attacker came at him, then another and another. Chirovan fought them off with a ferocity that left Elara speechless. She'd barely noticed him when Caspian was fighting since Caspian was the type that drew attention with his miraculously good looks and his swordplay that looked like a lethal dance, but he was a whirlwind of steel and strength, his blade moving with deadly precision. His movements were heavier than Caspian's, slower in some instances, and yet, none of his attackers could manage to lay a single hand on him.

Crisseda pulled her into the relative safety of a storage tent, her voice urgent. "We should be safe here, miss." The maid's voice shook a little, but she cleared her throat and said, "Sir Chirovan won't let anyone near the tent since he knows you're here. By now, someone will have gone to alert the hunters what's going on, and once His Grace knows and comes, this will all be over as soon as it started."

Elara was crouched down, her breath coming in shallow gasps as she tried to process what was happening. Chirovan had said they were dressed in the colors of the Anti-Royal faction—a group hellbent on wiping out anyone with royal bloodline, Caspian included—but it made no sense. When Elara had looked out, despite the fact they were clashing with the noble women's guards in the tent, the vast majority of them were coming straight for her.

Why?

Her mind raced, trying to piece together the puzzle. Was this the same person who had tried to kill her on her way to the capital? After all, they'd had the assassins sent to kill her pretend to be from the Sons of Lyrel, so it wasn't improbable to think they'd dress up more assassins to pretend to be from the Anti-Royals faction. No matter how hard Elara thought of it, that was the only conclusion. No way the Anti-Royal faction would skip right over the queen, the king, and Caspian, and beeline for her. She hadn't seen even one of them make their way into the woods where the king and Caspian were participating in the Hunt.

A scream from outside jolted her back to reality. On shaking legs, she stood up and beelined for the front of the tent, pushing the flaps back just in time to see Crisseda grab an empty crate and hurl it at an attacker who had strayed too close to the tent. The man staggered from the force, the dagger in his hands slipping out of his grip and skidding to a stop right at Crisseda's feet. She grabbed a fallen dagger, her hands shaking but her grip steady.

"Stay back!" she shouted, her voice wavering but determined.

Elara's chest tightened. She couldn't sit here and let Crisseda risk her life to protect her. But what could she do? She wasn't trained to fight. The only weapon she had was her wits—and perhaps her resistance to certain types of magic.

An idea sparked in her mind, reckless but better than doing nothing. She grabbed a nearby lantern, the oil sloshing inside as she stood. "Crisseda, duck!"

Crisseda obeyed without hesitation, dropping to the ground as Elara hurled the lantern at the attacker. It shattered on impact, the oil igniting in a burst of flame. The man screamed, stumbling back as the fire engulfed him.

Crisseda scrambled to her feet, her eyes wide. "Miss Elara…"

"I'm fine," Elara said quickly, though her hands were trembling. "Is Chirovan—?"

Her question was answered by Chirovan, who ran to join them. He glanced at the man who had rolled the majority of the flames off of his body and then looked at Elara with something like respect gleaming in his eyes. His armor was splattered with blood, but his expression was calm.

"They're retreating," he said shortly. "But more could be coming. We need to move."

Elara nodded, her legs feeling unsteady as she followed him away from the tent. The camp was in chaos, but the attackers were indeed falling back, their movements disorganized as they disappeared into the woods. Knights and hunters pursued them, the sounds of battle gradually fading.

Chirovan turned to her, his gaze sharp. "Are you hurt, Miss. Elara?"

She shook her head. "I'm fine. Crisseda—"

"Not a scratch," Crisseda interjected, though her face was pale. "Thanks to you, miss."

Chirovan visibly relaxed at those words, but his face retained its uncharacteristic seriousness. "We'll regroup with His Grace, find out what our next moves are."

Elara nodded. Trying to swallow down the bile forced up by her churning stomach.

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Even almost an hour after the attack, the hunting grounds were still aflutter with a whirlwind of activity as Elara, Crisseda, and Chirovan made their way toward the large clearing where Caspian was waiting. Knights and squires rushed past them, some helping wounded comrades while others barked orders to secure the perimeter. The tang of smoke from overturned fires and the metallic scent of blood lingered in the air, sharp, heavy, and stomach-turning.

Elara stumbled slightly, her legs still shaky from adrenaline. Chirovan steadied her with a firm hand on her elbow. "Just a bit further, Miss Elara. He's up ahead."

Caspian emerged from the treeline, his gaze sweeping the area. His tunic was marred with dirt and dried blood, but his expression was calm and commanding as he oversaw the knights who had attended the Hunt with him. They, too, were helping with the aftermath. When his eyes locked onto her, relief crossed over his face.

"Elara." He closed the distance between them in a few long strides, scanning her for any sign of injury. "Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine," she assured him, her voice steadier than she felt. "Chirovan and Crisseda kept me safe."

"Thank you. Both of you," he said to them.

Crisseda dipped into a deep curtsy, her trembling hands clutching her skirts. "It's my honor to serve the miss, Your Grace."

Chirovan inclined his head, his usual easy demeanor replaced with a soldier's discipline. "The attackers were well-coordinated, but they retreated before they could cause too much damage. They seemed focused on Miss Elara."

Caspian's expression darkened at that. He turned back to Elara, his voice low. "They came for you?"

Elara shrugged nonchalantly, but her throat tightened. "It looked that way. They were wearing Anti-Royal faction colors, so Chirovan assumed they were there for the queen, but then they came directly for me. They sent more people to my pavilion than for the pavilion the queen uses, even though the queen is a Mage and would give them far more trouble than I would've."

Caspian's jaw clenched, his hands curling into fists at his sides. "I see. How odd. No one even tried to harm me." He looked at Elara pointedly and she knew what he was saying, the main story had changed yet again. Instead of the attempt on Caspian's life that Lyanna would use to further circumvent that Caspian was a terrible person, another attempt had been made on Elara's life. "Don't worry, Elara, I'll see this sorted out if it's the last thing I do. But first…" He hesitated, his voice softening. "I'm sorry I wasn't there."

Elara blinked, startled. "What? Caspian, this isn't your fault—"

"It is." He cut her off, his jaw twitching. "I anticipated something like this. They've been after your life ever since we left Chirondale. But I thought you might be safer here, with so many noble ladies around you. I thought, surely, no one would be foolish enough to try to harm you with so many high-ranking aristocratic women around. Time and time again, I have been proven wrong. I apologize. I should have ensured your safety myself."

"You couldn't have known," she said firmly, stepping closer. "You were doing your part in the Hunt, just like everyone else. You're not psychic, Caspian. You can't be everywhere at once."

His gaze softened slightly, but the guilt in his eyes didn't fade. "That doesn't make it any easier."

Elara reached out, resting her hand lightly on his arm. "You've done everything you can to protect me. And I'm still here because of you. Don't carry the weight of things you can't control."

Caspian's lips pressed into a thin line, but he nodded, the tension in his shoulders easing just a fraction. "Let's deal with this now."

He turned to one of the nearby attendants, who was directing traffic near the injured knights. "Fetch the steward," Caspian ordered, his voice cutting through the chaos like a blade. "Inform him that I demand an audience with the king."

The attendant bowed and hurried off, leaving the three of them in a pocket of relative calm amidst the chaos.

As they waited, Caspian paced, his movements restless. Elara watched him, her mind still churning with the same questions. Who was behind this? Why were they so focused on her? If this was the same person who had hired those assassins to kill her on her way to the capital, they sure seemed to have it out for her. Any other time, she might've assumed Lyanna had something to do with this, but there was just no way. After all, no one knew the Sons of Lyrel were going to be an assassin's guild in the future but Elara and whoever this person was who had made them mimic the guild's famous branding.

The steward returned before her thoughts could send her spiraling further. He approached with the same air of disdain he'd exuded when they'd first arrived at the palace, his nose slightly upturned as he addressed Caspian.

"His Majesty will grant you an audience," the steward said, his tone clipped. "Follow me."

Caspian motioned for them to follow, his expression unreadable as they trailed behind the steward toward the royal pavilion. The path was lined with soldiers, their weapons drawn and their faces grim. The tension was palpable, each step forward evoking a feeling heavier than the last. Chirovan and Crisseda stayed outside with the other knights and maids.

When they entered, King Alaric was sitting at a thick oak table, his legs crossed, his face shadowed by the flickering light of a brazier. His shoulder, Elara noticed, was dressed in a bandage which struck her as so, so odd because King Alaric was never harmed. Not at this point in the story, anyway. Queen Lyanna stood to his right, her expression as cold and unreadable as ever, though Elara thought she sensed a little bit of annoyance in the furrowing of her brows and the set of her mouth. Elara thought that was about right. Queen Lyanna had as much disdain for the Anti-Royal faction as she did for Caspian.

"Brother," Alaric began, his tone regal but tinged with weariness. "They say great minds think alike and I see today such a saying carries truth. I was about to invite you and your intended for an audience, anyway." He straightened and hissed out a pained breath. "Damn it all. By the gods, damn it all."

"Are you well?" Caspian asked.

The king waved a hand. "About as well as one can expect to be when shot with an arrow. But that's neither here nor there." He shook his head. "Tell me, why have you requested an audience?"

When Caspian spoke, his voice was serious, firm. "Your Majesty, the events of today's Hunt cannot go unanswered. Armed attackers infiltrated the grounds, claiming to target the crown. Not only have they gone so far as to injure Your Majesty, they have attacked innocent noble ladies, as well as my intended. As such, I formally request permission to lead the investigation personally."