Chapter 200: The Crown Trial (6)

Fen regarded Brody without amusement, his grip remained firm around the larger man’s wrist. Despite the difference in their builds, he showed no sign of struggling to restrain him, and the quiet confidence with which he held his ground seemed to unsettle Brody more than any display of strength.

"Are you planning to get yourself disqualified before the Trial even starts?" Fen asked. His tone was casual, but there was enough warning beneath it to make Brody reconsider his next words.

Brody swallowed, though he seemed unwilling to abandon the argument entirely.

"She was the one who—" he began, only for Fen to tighten his grip just enough to make him wince.

"I heard." Fen interrupted. His eyes moved toward the gathering crowd, where several contenders were watching with poorly concealed interest. "Unfortunately for you, so did everyone else. Do you really want to explain to the officials why you tried to punch someone smaller than you?"

Brody glanced around, apparently realizing just how much attention their argument had attracted. Several contenders were watching openly now, some with amused expressions and others looking distinctly unimpressed. A few had moved farther away from the benches, clearly unwilling to get caught in the middle of an altercation that might attract the officials.

Fen finally released his wrist, and Brody immediately pulled his arm back, rubbing the spot where the other man had been holding him. His jaw remained clenched, and for a moment, Misha thought he might be foolish enough to continue arguing. Whatever he intended to say, however, died when Fen gave him another long, meaningful look.

"Tch. Whatever." He stepped backward, glaring at Misha as though she had personally orchestrated his humiliation from beginning to end. "You’d better watch yourself out there, Gravekeeper. There won’t always be someone around to step in for you."

Misha raised one hand and gave him a small, cheerful wave. "Likewise. And do try not to trip over those three trophies of yours."

Brody’s face darkened again, his fists clenching as though he were seriously considering making another attempt. Unfortunately for him, Fen had not moved from his position between them, and the surrounding contenders were still watching.

After a few seconds of glaring, Brody finally turned and stalked toward the opposite side of the room, muttering curses under his breath.

Misha watched him leave. ’And here I thought the opening round was going to be the exhausting part.’

Fen followed Brody with his eyes until the man disappeared among the other contenders. Only then did he turn toward Misha, his expression easing into something more relaxed.

"Sorry about that," he said, slipping his hands into the pockets of his jacket "He’s been running his mouth since registration opened."

Misha regarded him for a moment, still slightly wary despite his intervention. "Does he do that often?"

"Whenever there’s an audience." Fen’s mouth curved into a faint, crooked smile. "I’m Fen, by the way."

"Gravekeeper," Misha replied, although she suspected he already knew. She nodded toward the direction Brody had gone. "I’m guessing you two have met before."

"You could say that. He entered last year’s preliminary qualifiers and got eliminated before the third round." He gave a brief, humorless chuckle. "Made quite a scene afterward, too."

Misha blinked at him. "I see..."

"For what it’s worth, I wouldn’t worry too much about him," he added. "He likes intimidating people before a match. It’s easier than letting them find out what he can actually do. Besides, I don’t particularly enjoy watching idiots fight in preparation rooms."

Misha paused. She stared at him for a moment, wondering whether she had misunderstood. Fen however, looked perfectly unconcerned, as though he had merely commented on the weather.

’Hold on. Did this bastard just call me an idiot too?’

Before she could decide whether to take offense, Fen gave her a small nod before stepping away. "Anyway, I’ll see you around, Gravekeeper. Good luck out there, and try not to get disqualified before we have a chance to compete."

Misha watched him return to his seat near the wall without attempting to prolong the conversation. He settled back against the bench, folded his arms, and resumed observing the room as though nothing particularly interesting had happened.

’Well, excuse me for defending myself.’

Still, she could hardly complain about someone stopping a fist from connecting with her face. Fen had intervened when he could have simply watched, and he had managed to send Brody away without escalating the situation further. That earned him some credit, even if his choice of words had been unnecessarily offensive.

Sighing inwardly, Misha finally sat down on the bench she had been trying to reach before the entire ridiculous encounter began. Astrid joined her a moment later, though the girl was still struggling to suppress a smile, clearly having enjoyed certain parts of the confrontation more than she intended to admit.

"You didn’t have to provoke him," Astrid murmured. She glanced over Brody, who had apparently found a sympathetic audience for his complaints.

"I didn’t provoke him." Misha rested her elbows against her knees and looked toward the opposite wall. "He walked over, insulted me, and practically volunteered to be humiliated. It would’ve been rude to refuse."

Astrid gave her a doubtful look, the corners of her mouth twitching. "You did make a few rather personal comments, Aunt Shana. I thought he was going to burst a blood vessel when you started looking at him like that."

"He started it." Misha leaned back against the wall, irritation returning as she recalled the way Brody had shamelessly examined her body. "Seriously, this is one of the things I hate about being a woman. Men like him think they can stare wherever they want, say whatever disgusting thing comes to mind, and cross boundaries as though they’re entitled to it. Then the moment we give them a taste of their own medicine, they suddenly remember what disrespect feels like. Touch their ego and they’ll explode on you."

Astrid’s amusement softened, and she glanced toward Brody with obvious disapproval. "He had no right to behave that way, much less throw a punch because you embarrassed him."

"Exactly." She gestured toward her niece. "And apparently, I’m the arrogant one because I didn’t fall to my knees and thank him for sharing his expert opinion."

"Although..." Astrid began, her voice taking on a thoughtful quality that immediately made Misha suspicious.

Misha slowly turned her way, raising a brow. "Although what?"

Astrid looked back at her. "You did seem rather pleased when he started losing his temper."

"I was not." Misha folded her arms, hoping the mask would lend her denial some much-needed credibility.

"You were smiling."

She scoffed. "You even see my face under this mask. How would you know whether I was smiling?"

"Because I could hear it in your voice." Astrid tilted her head, looking entirely too pleased with her observation. "You started sounding happier with every insult."

Misha opened her mouth, then closed it again. That was an unnecessarily accurate observation, and she would have appreciated it more if Astrid had kept it to herself.

"He deserved it," she muttered eventually, deciding that denying the obvious would only make matters worse.

"I never said he didn’t." Astrid’s smile softened as she continued, "There are plenty of decent and respectable men out there. Brody just happens to belong to the other category."

Misha nodded approvingly. "Good. I’m glad we agree."

"Although, I must admit, you and Carl can be surprisingly alike sometimes."

"...Excuse me?"

"You both have a tendency of insisting on getting the last word, even when you know perfectly well it’ll annoy the other person sometimes."

"Carl is twelve," Misha reminded her, as though the child’s age alone should have settled the matter.

"Yes, I’m aware." Astrid nodded solemnly, though the amusement in her eyes suggested she knew exactly where this conversation was going.

"And I’m twenty-six."

"Which makes it rather impressive, doesn’t it." Astrid met her gaze with an innocent smile, looking every bit the well-mannered young lady she was supposed to be.

Misha narrowed her eyes behind the mask. ’This little—’

For a moment, Misha considered explaining the considerable difference between defending oneself against an obnoxious stranger and a twelve-year-old refusing to lose an argument. Unfortunately, the longer she thought about it, the more she suspected Astrid would find some way to turn that explanation against her.

"He was being an asshole," she muttered instead. "I was being educational."

Astrid finally laughed, one hand rising toward her mouth as she tried to regain her composure. "Of course, Aunt Shana. I’m sure he learned a great deal from the experience."

"He’d better have." Misha shook her head and turned away, though the faint smile beneath her mask betrayed how little she was actually offended. "I don’t offer free lessons twice."

Astrid’s laughter gradually subsided, and she glanced toward the other side of the room. Brody was still talking to his companions, occasionally throwing irritated looks in their direction, which suggested that whatever lesson Misha had attempted to teach him had not been particularly successful.

"He might target you during the Trial," Astrid warned, her expression growing more serious. "Especially after what happened."

"He was probably going to do that anyway." Misha leaned back against the wall, stretching her legs slightly, appearing far less concerned than she actually was. "At least now I know who to watch out for. Aaand, if turns out to be stronger than me, I can always let Gerbaut beat the shit out of him."

Astrid blinked a few times.

Misha considered the idea for another moment before adding, "Or maybe I’ll let Gramps bury him alive. That should teach him some humility."

"Aunt..." Astrid sounded torn between amusement and disapproval. She rubbed her forehead briefly, probably wondering how a simple warning about being careful had turned into a discussion about burying another contender.

"What?" Misha shrugged. "I’m considering my options. Isn’t that what responsible participants are supposed to do?"

"I don’t think summoning someone to bury your opponent alive is what the organizers had in mind." Astrid shook her head, although the amusement in her eyes remained. "Besides, you’re not supposed to kill anyone during the opening round."

"Who said anything about killing him?" Misha turned toward her with an expression of exaggerated innocence, conveniently concealed behind her mask. "A little dirt never hurt anyone. And Gramps is very good at controlling how much of it ends up on someone."

Astrid pressed her lips together, evidently deciding that continuing the argument would only encourage her. After a moment, she reached over and adjusted the edge of Misha’s cloak, where the fabric had folded awkwardly beneath her arm.

"Just be more careful," she said more quietly. "I know you can handle yourself, but I’d rather not see you get hurt over someone who isn’t worth the trouble."

Misha looked at her for a moment before her posture relaxed. She understood what Astrid was really saying, and beneath the teasing, she appreciated the concern.

"I will," she promised. "I’m not planning to waste my energy fighting someone just because he bruised his own ego."

The Crown Trial had yet to begin, and she already acquired a potential enemy, encountered a stranger who apparently considered her an idiot, and endured several unsolicited opinions about what she could accomplish without her weapons.