The Bride Tournament (Hexed Hearts Book 1)(28)

Gerard watched his mother and father exchange smiles. They were so excited by the prospect of finding a mate for their son. A wife. A queen. I’m acting like a petulant child, unwilling to consider the options before me.

The Bride Tournament was about more than his desires; it was about finding the best female leader for the kingdom, for the people.

The crowd parted.

From the farthest corner of the throne room, a figure emerged. She wore an ice-blue cloak with the hood pulled low, and a plain black mask that hid her eyes and mouth. Each determined step revealed a tantalizing sliver of a silver dress. This woman…her purposeful stride.

He tilted his chin. So familiar. The sway of her hips wasn’t sexual, wasn’t supposed to entrap his concentration—yet it did. The peeking of a satin slipper shouldn’t have aroused images of secret meetings in darkened corners—but it did.

His heart quickened. The mysterious woman reached the throne stairs. Five simple steps. That was it, the only separation.

Her dainty hands appeared from under the long sleeves of her cloak. Feminine fingers gripped the edges of the hood and hesitated, undecided. The other women had excitedly thrown back their hoods, as if they craved for him to know them, to want them.

He hadn’t. He didn’t.

But this woman, this enchantress. He held his breath, anticipating the sight of her honeyed locks, wanting her to be Ellie. The hood slipped down her back in a cascade of light blue velvet. He gasped.

Her creamy skin flushed pink in a hot rush high on her cheekbones. The mask shielded the crest of her nose and the smattering of freckles he knew dusted the skin. Her honey-blonde hair was piled high in curls. Her lips pink, he remembered their taste.

Strands of her hair slipped free of her pins and drew his attention to the slender lines of her throat. The rapid pulse that beat fast, like his own. A silver chain dipped down her chest and disappeared under the folds of her silver dress. He knew the unique gemstone that rested against her warm skin, against the curves he wanted to see.

To touch.

To taste.

The crowd was forgotten. The onlookers disappeared in a spiraled closing of vision. He saw only Ellie as she ascended the five steps, her gaze never leaving the ground.

Look at me.

He swallowed at the embarrassing shake of his hand as he held out the scepter. Ellie still didn’t look up as her thumb pressed against the sharp tip of the royal staff. A drop of scarlet blood pooled, held, and dropped into the basin.

One lengthy second passed as he gripped the scepter in his hand, knowing the cloud of gold that signified noble blood would never appear. Why was Ellie entering when she’d never pass the first step?

Golden flakes cascaded over the side of the cupped scepter. Breath whooshed from his lungs. She passed. She’s actually noble.

Tension poured from Ellie’s posture in a relieved releasing of breath. She backed down the slim steps, eyes averted. The fiftieth position claimed. Rational thought, tradition, reality—it fled. He stepped down and reached out to cup her chin. She raised her eyes to meet his barely masked face. He needed her to know who he was.

Shock registered in those sapphire blue eyes, quickly turning to disbelief. Her pupils dilated and she gasped. Ellie wrenched from his grasp and heated affront colored her eyes: dark, angry.

Hurt.

A beefy hand landed on his arm. “The fiftieth position has been accepted. Let the Bride Tournament begin!” The king’s booming voice reached every shadow of the great throne room. The crowd roared with delight, clapping, whistling, and cheering, the strange actions of their prince forgotten.

He was in shock; the greatest miracle had occurred.

Ellie was noble. She’d entered the competition.

I can choose her.

But the surprised hurt on her face cut him to the bone. He held Ellie’s furrowed gaze and mouthed two words for her eyes alone.

“I’m sorry.”

***

Why couldn’t he have told me who he was…the royal prince of this kingdom. The next king of Galacia kissed me.

Ellie picked up the dirty luncheon plates, not paying attention as the hand-painted china clinked together and chipped. Not caring. Her cheeks flushed at the memory of how she’d treated him. At the memory of their kiss.

“Want to talk now?” Rachel scooped up the rest of the dishes and led the way to the kitchen where she gave a shrill whistle and the sink filled with bubbling and steaming water. Gingerly, she set the china in the sink to be washed. The water gurgled and twirled slowly as each cup, plate, and bowl emerged clean and sparkling.

“Talk about what?” Ellie feigned innocence.

“I’ve been hounding you since last night to tell me why, of all the girls in Galacia, the crown prince touched your chin.” Rachel propped her hands on her slender hips.

Ellie looked away before her best friend read the hurt in her eyes. “I told you, I don’t know. Maybe it’s tradition with the last contestant or something.”

“I doubt it. Meera doubts it. The whole freaking crowd doubts it.” Rachel strode around the counter and made eye contact, her expression severe. “Wagers are being made that you’ll win.”

Ellie dropped her embarrassed face into her dirty hands.

“I’ve put money on you too.” Rachel bumped Ellie’s elbow.

“Oh, please no.” She shook her head. Worry dug a deeper hole in her belly.