The Bride Tournament (Hexed Hearts Book 1)(42)

Now that she had magic, she wasn’t allowed to use it.

She sat on the arm of a hard chaise. A cold blue glow emanated from her pendant, exposed her in the dark. She adjusted the stone. Contestants milled about, a much smaller group now that so many had the pox.

Silent, the soft rustle of thick gowns was a hiss of sound, and she shivered. She’d never witnessed a Bride Tournament before, but she was familiar with tonight’s event.

Strategic Maneuvering.

One by one, candelabras flickered to life. The edges of the room, honey yellow, thrust light upon the gathering. Square tables, big enough for two seated women, circled the center of the great hall. She stood and followed the patter of feet as the women each picked a spot, quietly.

None had fallen ill since Poise yesterday—a few had collapsed before the event—and every woman here, Ellie included, waited with bated breath. Who was next? She had yet to figure out how Olivia did it, how she picked her victims and hexed them.

A woman sat at Ellie’s table. Ellie looked up and gasped.

Marigold.

Ellie ducked her face. Despite the mask, it was only a matter of time and observation before Marigold realized who her opponent was. The dim light offered little protection, as did her hood and mask, but the woman seated across from her had grown up with her. Known her for a decade. Half their lifetimes.

She braced herself for discovery.

Marigold twitched, slid the hood off her mousy hair, and readjusted her mask. Sighed. Her eyes passed over Ellie’s masked face and tightly wound hair without interest. The stepsister yawned and propped an elbow on the table. Sweat prickled in Ellie’s armpits.

Any second now…

“When do we start?” Marigold shifted in her seat and tapped her fingernails on the oak table.

Ellie let out her breath. She hadn’t recognized her. Shrugging in response for fear her voice would betray her identity, Ellie nodded toward the pulpit at the back of the room. Marigold spun to watch the queen cross to the raised dais.

A bitter confusion churned in her belly. All it took was a scream of outrage from Marigold and Ellie would be thrown from the competition because she didn’t have new magic—a requirement. She couldn’t even rely on the pendant and her flaky old magic to stay.

She would be disqualified. No Golden Arts, no place in the Tournament.

I’d lose my chance to…

To what? Win? Become the next queen? Gerard’s bride? Ellie hung her head as the queen addressed the group.

The only reason she’d entered the Tournament was to save the contestants, to save her stepsisters, in a way. And her own stepsister hadn’t recognized her. Hadn’t spared her a second glance. True, she was wearing a massive mask that covered most of her forehead, the entirety of her nose, and dipped to her lips. Still.

The Game would begin in a moment, a chance for the contestants to match wits, show their skill for plotting.

A gong rattled in the distance. Marigold flopped forward again, eyes only for the game board. “You ready?”

Ellie nodded. The pieces appeared on the table in a mist of gold. Ellie was ready. Ready to win. If Marigold didn’t recognize her, there was no need to play the magic-less stepsister.





Chapter Twelve



Slaughtered.

Ellie had slaughtered the competition. Destroyed her opponent in three minutes. No mercy.

Gerard stood in the shadows, breaking the rules, and watched Ellie storm away. Her opponent sobbed and threw her mask onto the floor. Stunned, he looked back at Ellie but she’d disappeared.

He took a step back, discomfited. Edward’s warning rang in his head like the shrill cawing of a bird.

Lady Olivia, in an olive cloak just as Ellie had described, stood and curtseyed for the queen.

He backed into the shadows, quit the room, and headed out of the palace. He walked down the castle steps toward the Citadel gate. The guards bowed in greeting, and Gerard nodded in reply.

He’d had his whole life to prepare for his role. He knew what kingly duties were expected from the station that was his to fill. He fisted his hands. He wanted Ellie as his bride.

But she had spent her life preparing for a different role. One that didn’t include him.

She’d been too kind when she thought no one was looking. Jumped readily to save sisters he doubted treated her with respect. Shouldered friends’ burdens to make their lives easier, cared for an ailing father and an apathetic stepmother.

No wonder she didn’t want to win. Edward couldn’t be more wrong about her.

“One more hat to wear,” she’d told him in the shack. Gerard knew the weight of one more title, one more responsibility, one more burden, possessed the power to crush her. To leave her a pitiful mess on the hard ground.

Ellie had been too strong for too long, for far too many people.

***

Ellie still shook from the concentrated effort not to curl into ball and weep. Intentions, good or bad, meant squat when she’d annihilated Marigold. To her dismay, Violet had also failed.

Marigold and Violet lost their place in the tournament but at least they were safe from the hex. Lady Olivia only hexed those she deemed competition. The women were out tonight, drinking at a MAM event.

The numbers dwindled with today’s event, and she feared for the rest of the women. Tomorrow was a day of rest and preparation for the next event, The Ball. She cringed and flopped onto her straw mattress. Crisp edges dug into her flesh and she welcomed the pain. She did not dance. She lacked the social training, the years of practice, the names of the dances.