The Bride Tournament (Hexed Hearts Book 1)(24)

“What can I say? I was born this way.” Rachel gave a mock bow.

The women burst into giggles again.

“What’s this?” Ellie retrieved a polished hand mirror from under the oak-frame bed. Fearing she’d shattered the glass, she gingerly set the piece on the painted quilt atop the bed.

“A mirror?”

“And Milady, Countess of The Obvious, strikes again.” She hip-checked Rachel.

“It’s not broken,” Rachel commented and waltzed off.

Ellie traced the X’s that bracketed the square glass. The fuzzy reflection of the stenciled ceiling danced in the frame.

“Quit gawking at your country bumpkin face and help me clean up your mess.”

Ellie set the strange, fogged mirror on the dresser, unsure why its owner kept a mirror that reflected nothing but clouds.

Brrrring!

“I’ll get it.” She sobered and answered the speaking valve.

“Ellie, show the Lange girls to their quarters. A quick refreshing nap is needed before we take an early supper,” Lady Irene drawled. “Dame Lange has provided me with a menu that I shall pass on to you. Her girls are on diets.”

Ellie snorted.

“What was that?”

“Nothing. A cough.” Ellie bit her lip as Rachel laughed silently in the hallway, hand to abdomen, her shoulders shaking in mirth.

“Don’t dawdle, girl. Our gowns need to be pressed for the Entering Ceremony tonight.” Lady Irene slammed the valve closed.

“Maybe I’ll explode her,” Ellie pondered.

“Ha!” Rachel doubled over and slapped her knee. “I’d pay for front row seats.”

“We’d need a splatter curtain.”

“I’m on it.” Rachel saluted and giggled anew.

Ellie smiled and popped down the back steps to trade her dirty gown for a fresher garment while Rachel went to check on the ladies.

A few moments later, Ellie heard bangs coming from the kitchen and she poked her head out of her bedroom.

Rachel bustled about in a crisp apron and a disheveled mess of curls. “Your father is hungry and the horde wants to start getting ready.”

“Thank you. What happened to the nap?”

“I think they realized how long it will take to actually make them presentable.” Rachel grinned on a shrug.

With haste, Ellie buzzed about the open kitchen. A fresh cup of mint tea and a cucumber sandwich found its way into her father’s study. He nodded and patted her hand, his eyes never strayed from the blue ink he scrawled across the weathered pages of his encyclopedias.

“Ellie! Help me tighten my corset.”

“Ellie! Lady Olivia needs more tea.”

“Ellie! You’re pulling my hair.”

“Ellie! Iron my ribbons.”

“Ellie! Where are my new slippers, the ones with the embroidered roses?”

“Ellie! Pour Dame Lange and me fresh wine.”

“Ellie!” “Ellie!” “Ellie!”

Hours later, Ellie toppled onto the patterned rug in the front entryway. Her hair tangled in the thick bristles of the floor covering.

“They’re gone.” Rachel panted.

“Finally.” Ellie rolled over and grabbed an opened wine bottle from a forgotten silver tray. She guzzled.

“Share.” Rachel held out her hand.

She passed the wine, rolled onto her back, and closed her eyes. “My whole body hurts.”

“Never again will I wish I owned a corset.”

“Fruitcake. The boning. I think my fingers are still bleeding.” She held her arms up. “Yes, blood.”

“Those women are beyond smashed.” Rachel handed over the wine bottle.

“You’d have to be to stake your claim in front of hundreds at the Entering.” Ellie sniggered. “The Entering…”

“Oh, ick.”

Ellie turned her head to catch Rachel crinkle her nose.

“I’d never realized how suggestive names of the Bride Tournament ceremonies were,” Rachel said.

“It begins with Homecoming.” Ellie pasted a serious expression across her face. “Followed by The Entering.”

“And ends with The Claiming.”

“Silly ancient traditions.” Ellie hiccupped.

“Let’s go watch.” Rachel scrambled to her feet.

“Irene would kill me if I showed my face. Then bring me back to clean up the mess.” Ellie rubbed her forehead. The wine flushed warmth across her chest in a happy buzz.

“We’ll pop masks on, like the rest of the women vying for the queen’s position. No one will know we’re there.” Rachel clapped.

Ellie swayed to her feet. “But we don’t have masks, or gowns…”

As per tradition, the women who attended the Entering ceremony—whether they took part in the Bride Tournament or not—must appear in velvet cloaks and masks to hide their identity. Centuries ago, when the politics of Galacia were rife with war, trickery, and bribery, hidden identities were crucial for the contestants’ survival.

She shivered. The practices now had calmed to a sedate parade of pretty women with blasé skills. But identities were still kept secret.

“Meera has tons of items left by customers from over the decades. We’ll raid her stash.” Rachel smiled and led the way down the gravel lane to the forest.