The Bride Tournament (Hexed Hearts Book 1)(21)

“Gerard, drop me.”

He acquiesced, gently. “You sure you don’t need more help?”

“I’m fine.”

“Liar.” He raised a brow as the first fingerlings of light spread across the sky.

With a backward wave, Ellie pulled up her hood and limped down the gravel path. She disappeared around the apple orchard.

“If only she could enter the Tournament…I might enjoy my bride.”

He shook his head and set off for his astronomer’s lair, her scent clinging to him.

***

Ellie fumed over her hot tea. The other night had gone wrong. Gerard had kissed her. Devoured her mouth like a starving man, and she’d loved it. Her lips throbbed in remembrance.

She’d arrived home, bloody, beaten, confused, and exhausted, to find her stepmother and stepsisters had locked her out of the house. She’d had to wait until one of them woke up and wandered downstairs.

“Why are you outside?” Violet asked, hand on hip.

That was the highlight of the day.

Without sleep, a bath, or food, Ellie had cleaned, scrubbed, cooked, and apologized all day long. Her stepmother used her magic—much more controlled than mine—to lock Ellie in her room last night as punishment for not coming home the night before.

A stupid crow had squawked until the sun rose. She stirred her honeyed tea and rubbed her left eye. The lid twitched. When the bird wasn’t annoying her, she replayed the kiss over and over. The memory fueled her desire and caused her to twist and turn all night.

As did the memory of the conversation she’d had with her father yesterday. She’d asked him about the pendant, about old magic. Did her mother, Eleanor, possess it? Ellie had been too young when her mom died to recognize what kind of magic Eleanor used.

But her hopes had been dashed. Though her father had been lucid when they’d talked, he didn’t recognize the pendant or know of any stories of old magic in the family. Eleanor, he’d said, rarely used magic, preferring to do things herself, if she’d used the pendant, he didn’t know. He did remember hearing something about a great aunt once, a raven-haired woman with violet eyes who never married and was apparently quite eccentric.

Eccentric enough to have books on old magic in the manor’s library. Ellie had raced off and found the few slim volumes her father had talked about, but they were written in an old dialect and too thick for her to comprehend. They might as well have been written in a different language.

Brrring!

Three house bells rang in unison. She stood and opened the speaking valve. “Yes?”

“Oh, you’re up? Good.” Lady Irene’s voice could cut ice.

“What do you need?” Ellie asked, careful to keep her tone bland and light.

“Meals, at once. Eggs, roasted ham, boiled potatoes—”

“Fruit!” Marigold butted in.

“LOTS of fruit,” Violet followed.

Ellie reared back at the high-pitched squeal.

“We’re watching our weight.”

“Yes, ladies. What time do you expect Dame Lange and her daughters will arrive?” Ellie asked, curious. She’d seen the daughters two nights ago at the Homecoming reception and wasn’t keen to meet them in person.

“In one hour.”

Fruitcake.

“I suggest you hurry,” Marigold said.

For the next twenty minutes, Ellie raced around the kitchen in a nervous frenzy. If she’d been able to harness this new—old—magic, she could have had the potatoes peel and boil themselves, the fruit slice itself, and the eggs crack and sizzle on the stove pan.

Instead, she did it all by hand.

“Refrain from poisoning them…refrain,” she whispered as breakfast was finally ready. With everything on one tray, she balanced her way up the newly cleaned back steps to the refurbished upstairs.

She ignored a heart pang as she passed her mother’s old room.

“I’m starving.” Marigold bounced down the hall and hefted the big bowl of fruit with both hands. “I need to fit into my new gown, pronto.”

“Did you see the Lange girls at the reception, Ellie?” Violet asked as she shoved a huge piece of dripping melon into her mouth.

Ellie nodded. “They were pretty.”

“Not as pretty as my two girls.” Lady Irene poked her head into the hallway and motioned for Ellie to enter the master room. The lady pointed to the new chaise footstool where Ellie rested the heavy tray.

As mean and conniving as these women had been to her, nothing compared to the sheer evil in the Lange girls’ expressions the other night. She almost worried for her stepsisters—almost.

“Have you readied the rooms? Lit the scented candles? Situated the flower arrangements?” Lady Irene asked, shoving a forkful of eggs and potatoes into her mouth.

“Yes.”

She had been released at five this morning when the locking spell went dormant. Usually, she needed to be at the castle that early, but she wasn’t working there this week, as most of the palace guests brought their own servants to do things like start fires. Even Rachel’s shifts had been cut.

She’d hustled out of her room to get away from the loud crow and bustled about her chores, a list much longer than usual given their guests’ impending arrival.

“Lady Irene?”