Page 155 of The Sun King's Noon

“Burn him!” A chant began. “Burn him! Burn him!”

A soldier with a jug stepped close. Oil splashed down across Richard’s front, soaking through his shirt and running down his thighs. A smaller jug was tipped over his head, and Richard blinked the slick off his lashes.

The same soldier—just a boy, really, with pimples on his cheeks—lowered a torch and set the flame to the kindling atRichard’s feet. The oil caught at once. Yellow bloomed from the base of the pyre, and as the flames climbed Richard’s calves, the horde cheered.

Richard felt no pain. Of course, he didn’t—only a mild prickle against his skin, akin to lying in the sun for too long. The phoenix’s blessing, as the siren had said.

But Richard was nauseated nonetheless. The smoke was thin, almost nothing at all, for the oil burned clean. It meant that the man or woman at the post did not have the mercy of suffocation. They stayed awake instead through every inch of their cooking. How many had suffered through such a fate?

And this rabble, who laughed so gleefully, some even eating nuts as if watching a theatre show.

Kill them all,Richard prayed viciously to Emberlain.May they then know the price of disregarding a fellow man’s screams.

He retrieved the prayer almost immediately after. Not all of them, after all. Somewhere in this press were those in league with the rebels. And some of those who attended sought only to evade suspicion and maintain appearances. It was not for him to judge.

The fire was at his knees now. The warmth rolled up his thighs, scorching away his trousers, and he sent a soft thought to the phoenix.Thank you for your blessing. I hope one day, I may undo my ancestor’s harm unto you.

Again, the phoenix did not answer.

“Why’s he not screaming?”

“Look! His flesh ain’t blistering!”

It was with some amusement that Richard heard the crowd’s confusion grow. The outraged cries spread, rippling outward.

At the balcony, Marius was looking puzzled, while Octavia’s eyes were narrowed. Near them, Joffrey and Agnes were tryingnot to smile, and Malgrin appeared mortified, placing his head in both hands.

They knew already.

The fire climbed to Richard’s hips and ate Flint’s shirt, prickling at his belly, then his ribs. Murmurs ebbed, some booing the unfairness of a missed piece of entertainment and some claiming Richard to be a sorcerer.

Fire crept onward to Richard’s throat, to his head. The blindfold fell off, and an itch ran across his scalp. Dianara’s hair potion, Richard realised. It was being burned off.

The flames found his arms, singeing the ropes at his wrists. He pulled his hands free, and the ropes fell away in short, blistering segments.

Richard descended the smouldering circle of logs. Flames clinging to his skin guttered and died. The last of his clothes turned to ash, leaving him naked. Richard did not care. He was not about to give Marius the pleasure of seeing the king of Ardenia humiliated. No. Richard squared his shoulders and stood tall. Let them all look. His arms were long like his mother’s, and his chest was broad and peppered with battle scars, like his father’s. This was the body his parents had gifted him. There was no shame in baring it.

The square was silent, hundreds of jaws dropping, and some flinching as Richard swept his gaze over them. Above, Marius had paled, his weight sagging into Octavia. Where he looked horrified, her mouth had curved into a curious smile, eyes raking Richard from head to toe.

Richard planted his feet apart on the dais’s edge, its metal chillingly cold. He bent into a half-bow.

“Greetings, Your Majesty.” His voice reverberated through the hush of the great square. “I must beg pardon for my unbecoming appearance. But this is what it takes, it seems, to gain an audience with the king of Estara these days.”

Marius gripped the balcony’s rail with a trembling hand. For a heartbeat, he seemed ready to order every soldier to bring him Richard’s heart.

But Octavia leaned in, her hair brushing Marius’s cheek as her lips caressed his ear. Marius arranged his features into a pained smile.

“Well,” he called down with the practised polish of one who’d given countless state speeches. “If the Sun King wishes to greet his brother sovereign unclothed, then I must consider myself most honoured by the intimacy.”

Titters rippled through the Estarans, though they were interrupted by a familiar yell.

“Out of my way!”

Richard smiled and turned in time to see Kaelen shouldering through the last of the crowd. His left arm and face were littered with bruises—no doubt from ramming himself against the brig’s door—but he easily flung aside two Estaran soldiers when they tried to block his path. Kaelen was at Richard’s side before the guards managed to recover their footing.

“My king,” he panted. Hastily, he unfurled his cloak and swept it around Richard’s shoulders, pulling it close at the throat. “Are you hurt?”

“Not at all,” Richard said despite the twinge in his cheek.