The Bride Tournament (Hexed Hearts Book 1)(40)
“But we will.”
Ellie eyed the stark difference in their appearances. His hand, muscled, thick, masculine, shone with an easy tan and trimmed nails.
Hers were coated with ink, flour, and dirt despite all the scrubbing she’d done this morning. Her fingers were calloused from hard work, small and extending from palms used to carrying gallons of water and bundles of hay.
Gerard tapped his fingers on the wood table. “Tonight is setting up a tea service depending on which situation you draw. My mother and friends will grade each of your presentations.”
She relaxed. “I’ve organized hundreds of teas—”
“It’s a non-elimination round.”
“Oh—”
“My mother likes peaches,” Gerard cut in again.
She folded her arms. “What will you be doing during the competition?”
“Hiding in the crowd, watching.” He stood and pulled his hood back over his face. To a stranger’s eye, he was a man with a shadowed beard.
But she made out the tensed jaw, the way his throat swallowed repeatedly.
“Watch Lady Olivia,” she warned.
“I plan on it,” he promised, dropping a heated kiss to the back of her hand and then heading out the door.
Chapter Eleven
Standing in front of her small table, a simple and effective display of marigolds and dried reed grass acting as her centerpiece, Ellie scanned the other contestants.
Every single one of them had crammed as much onto their tables as possible. She shifted in her serviceable boots and plain plum dress. The contestants had drawn a card with a situation printed in perfect calligraphy.
Ellie’s card read: Pretend you won the Bride Tournament. You are the queen’s current daughter-in-law. This is your first private tea with the queen, alone. Create a menu, a table setting, and an appropriate list of topics for discussion.
She had no cause to impress. She wasn’t here to become queen, or to inherit a mother.
The flowers, though simple, blended nicely with honey-peach tarts, salted chocolate biscuits, and chamomile-lemon tea. This tea wasn’t about impressing anyone. It was about meeting each other as individuals, on neutral turf.
No pretenses or false illusions. It was how she was in everyday life—honest and open. Except to Gerard.
She didn’t possess the golden arts. The gemstone gifted her with the ability to work old magic, but the old ways were still forbidden. It lay silent and dormant against her chest. The dark material of her dress hid the light as it lazily pulsed.
An hour passed as the queen and her posse made thorough notes of the other ladies’ teas. She kept her eye on Lady Olivia, who was the first to be reviewed. Ellie heard the oohing and ahhing from her spot.
Once reviewed, some women stayed to peruse the other ladies’ tables. Including Olivia.
She spoke with each lady after they’d finished, shrewd eyes soaking up the competition. A thin smile never left the blonde’s face. Occasionally she’d wrap an arm around a contestant, as if in camaraderie. Ellie tried to make note of the women Olivia flocked to, noting it was usually the ones with extravagant displays.
But with the masks and heavy gowns…Ellie didn’t recognize most of the women.
All too soon it was Ellie’s turn.
The queen paused before her simple spread. Her brows drew together. For a moment Ellie feared she’d made the wrong choice. Never mind that it wasn’t an elimination round. She’d failed. The queen hated it.
The queen smiled.
“Which card did you have, my dear?” Her soft voice held the faintest of country twangs.
Ellie hid her surprise, figuring the royal mother would have sounded more…royal. She handed her card over.
Eyes passing over the tiny print, the queen’s smile brightened. She glanced at the spread again. “Are those peach tarts?”
“Honey-peach.” Ellie quirked her lips. Each woman had five minutes to create a menu that would be sent back to the kitchens and the requested menu prepared.
“Delicious.” The queen popped one into her mouth.
Ellie gaped. No one had tried any of the other women’s fare.
“Peach is my favorite,” the regal woman confided after she wiped her fingers on a cotton handkerchief.
Ellie forced a sedate smile, too nervous to be pleased. Lady Olivia was within earshot, her delicate brows raised at the queen’s admission.
“Simple, elegant, no fuss.” The queen nodded. “This might be my favorite so far.”
Lady Olivia hovered.
Ellie dropped her face, not wanting Olivia to pay her any heed. “Thank you.”
The queen moved on. Olivia closed in.
“Peach tarts?” Lady Olivia sneered through her peacock feather mask. “However did you know?”
“Lucky guess.” Ellie shrugged, sweating through the cotton of her dress.
“Hmm, lucky indeed.” Lady Olivia poked at the small butter-yellow marigolds and then flounced away.
Marigold and Violet had miraculously passed the written exam. Both women stood next to each other and babbled on about their flower arrangements: gargantuan couplets of hot pink roses.
Neither one paid any attention to Ellie. The woman in the sea foam green mask stood a few tables away, oblivious to the mind-altering magic Ellie had performed.