The Bride Tournament (Hexed Hearts Book 1)(18)
Fruitcake.
She glanced at her bared chest. The necklace now hummed with a delicate buzz, like the beat of a butterfly’s wing. She only knew one person who spun tales of the old ways.
She grabbed Rachel’s arm and dragged her out of the servants’ door into the chilly night. “We need to talk to Meera.”
Chapter Five
Gerard scanned the crowd as his father calmed the gathered nobles. Someone had messed with his enchantment.
Pierce jabbed an elbow into his side. “I swear it wasn’t me, brother.”
Shifting his worried look to his brother, Gerard nodded. “I know. You aren’t that powerful.”
Pierce scoffed in affront but Gerard didn’t care. Whoever had exploded one of his spun lilies used old magic. Because of his time abroad, he recognized the signature color—a silver-blue, like moonlight. People didn’t practice the old ways anymore. It was forbidden; only new magic was taught in the elite schools.
As the royal heir, Gerard possessed the bloodline and the wealth to produce the swells needed to entertain nations. In fact, he had more potential for enchantments than his parents combined. He’d always seen it as repayment for the weight of responsibility on his shoulders.
It would take a renowned practitioner to mess with the power behind the golden vines weaving like wallpaper along the reception hall.
He blanketed his expression in bemusement, hiding his curiosity and irritation from the crowd. Most of whom were women and appeared to be suffering from nervous breakdowns; a solid mass of whimpers, squeals, and fainting spells.
He smiled as his father introduced him and said a few words to the crowd, how to enter the tournament, etc. Once the practiced speech tapered to an end, his mother dismissed the crowd from the formal reception and invited those interested in entering to stay and mingle. A pinching frown induced an immediate headache. He gripped Pierce’s arm as several young women twittered in excitement.
“I’ve got this, brother.” Pierce grinned.
“Thank you.”
As the crowd filed out, Dame Lange and her five daughters hounded his side. He had to admit that despite the Madame’s bulldog features, her daughters possessed an ethereal grace perfect for the throne.
“Prince Gerard, may I present my eldest daughter, the lovely Lady Olivia.” Dame Lange nearly drooled in her too-tight, too-bright gown as she presented one woman next to her.
He held out his hand. Slender fingers danced along his skin as Lady Olivia dipped in a flawless curtsey. Her blonde hair, darker than Ellie’s, was wound up in a twist. A slender curled strand trailed along her neck to rest at the start of her generous bosom.
He arched an eyebrow.
The feminine lift of pink lips did not reach Lady Olivia’s eyes as she gave a breathy, “Lovely to meet you, Prince Gerard.”
“Likewise,” he responded and released the young lady’s hand.
Dame Lange seemed disappointed by the chaste and quick greeting but Lady Olivia’s smile turned seductive as she raised her brow.
A shiver of disgust traveled his spine. Her cocky grin reminded him of Pierce’s smirks—too confident. Lady Olivia tugged her mother and sisters away. His brother appeared at his elbow.
“I’m surprised she didn’t introduce you to all of her daughters,” Pierce commented with a wink at a nearby redhead, who giggled.
He shrugged in agreement. “Despite that only one of her daughters meets the age requirement—twenty—I would have bet she’d insist on making sure I knew each one of her girls.”
“The oldest one is lovely.” Pierce whistled.
Gerard shook his head and pondered Lady Olivia. She led her mother to a shadowed corner of the reception hall. Dame Lange looked like she wanted to argue, a bitter frown creasing her pale wrinkles.
A sliver of a pale blue moon crested the lead-lined windowpanes high on the walls of the reception hall. Light reflected from the merry gold vines that glittered about the room. The celestial orb rippled in the sky, its shape mirroring the strange pewter pendant he’d seen on Ellie.
Gerard scanned the women once more, no sign of the curved servant with the beguiling frown. He sighed and pasted on a smile, ready to meet woman after woman. Feminine twitters surrounded him like the clashing heat and rain in a summer storm.
He had always meant to marry, to provide an heir and take his throne with the humility and grace of his parents…but claustrophobia hit hard. He loosened the silken ties of his tunic and forced a pained smile at a raven-haired woman with flashing violet eyes.
Father was right, this asinine tournament will test me in ways battle and kingship never will.
All he wanted was a strong brandy, a full moon, and an argumentative Ellie.
***
Ellie felt more than heard the clock tower bong out three in the morning. The stones at her feet shook in the cold air as she walked through the sleepy town. A light fog, morning dew, rolled across the ground and shrouded the flagstones.
She lifted her face to the pale light of the thickening moon and closed her eyes.
The warm pendant shifted along her chest as she breathed, a reminder of Meera’s parting words. “Old magic is a precious gift, a sacred act. Keep it close to the heart, guard it like the prettiest of treasures, place it above all else. Respect it.”
She shivered in apprehension, oblivious to the fall chill which marched across the Citadel with an insistent beat. Her world had shifted on an axis she’d long thought forged in steel.