The Bride Tournament (Hexed Hearts Book 1)(45)

Ca-caw! Ca-caw!

He jerked, startled. The crow swooped low, the tip of a wing slicing past his cheek. Damn birds. He shook his fist at the retreating black shadow and picked up his pace back to the castle. The night was dark and messing with his sleep-deprived brain. Perhaps tonight he’d retire at a normal time.

The castle rose in the distance like a white beacon of shelter, and he stomped up the staircase to reach the royal quarters. He slipped into the disheveled chamber he called home and dropped facedown on the feather mattress.

Within seconds, he was asleep.





Chapter Thirteen



“Elizaveta!”

“Coming, Lady Irene,” Ellie panted and skidded to a halt in the front hall, stained work dress swirling about her legs. Ever since her daughters failed two days ago, Lady Irene had gone out of her way to dump her hate and disappointment on Ellie.

Ellie experienced the tiniest flare of guilt since she was the one responsible for Marigold’s defeat. They’d had a day of rest, which Marigold had spent complaining.

“It’s time to depart, gather the girls. We mustn’t be late for Lady Olivia’s entrance,” Lady Irene said with a flash of jealousy in her muddy eyes. She still had to play hostess to Dame Lange and her daughters.

Ellie curtsied and bounded up the newly polished stairs to pound on the bedroom doors. “Time to leave!” she called.

Marigold and Violet sulked from their rooms, dressed in somber tones and black masks as if they were in mourning.

She approached them warily. “I’m sorry you’re no longer in the running for the Tournament, I know you wanted a chance to be the next queen.”

“Oh, what do you know!?” spat Marigold, tears flashing in her blue eyes. “You’re a servant. You can’t possibly understand what it’s like to lose. I mean, I could have been queen.”

She stifled a shudder at the image of Marigold as queen: screaming at servants, spending all the royal money, refusing to donate to the poor. She felt guilty for causing Marigold pain, but she had no regret over ruining her stepsister’s chance at becoming queen.

Marigold stormed past with a dramatic sob.

“Thank you, Ellie.” Violet smiled sadly. “I knew I was not going to win, but it was fun while it lasted.”

“Enjoy tonight.” Ellie smiled back at poor Violet, whose own mother called her “ugly.” If Ellie looked past the vapid expression her stepsister had inherited from her own birth father, Violet was almost cute. She had a decent complexion and a kind heart.

Violet, dressed in a wide, plum-colored ball gown with sleeves that slipped down her shoulders with sweet, gold inlay, meandered after her sister. Ellie sighed and gathered the Lange daughters. They bustled past in pale gold gowns, sparkles dancing around their oval blue eyes. Enchanting.

One, two, three, four…where’s five? Ellie counted off the Lange ladies, realizing that the possible future queen was missing from the gaggle.

“Lady Olivia?” she called. It wasn’t as if Ellie was avoiding Lady Olivia, but she had been careful to make sure Rachel always helped the eldest Lange daughter.

Rachel was busy assisting the young women into the coach. More specifically, she was helping their gowns into the carriages. All that fabric was one candle spill away from starting an inferno.

No response. Ellie padded down the hall in worn boots and knocked on the woman’s door. The latch must not have caught all the way for the force of her tapping pushed the door open on a quiet whine. Lady Olivia sat on the canopied bed, fogged mirror in hand, uttering something underneath her breath.

An eerie reflection of a crow squawked from within the gold frame. Ellie gasped and Lady Olivia spun around, a ghostly light filling her blue eyes. “Get out!”

Ellie tripped over her own skirts as she retreated. “Your mother’s looking for you.”

“I’ll be down in a minute.” Olivia’s words filtered from the room, but Ellie already raced toward the perceived safety of the masses.

Was that the proof she needed? Olivia’s mirror? The image of the sickly crow almost piercing the wall of glass sent shivers down her spine. How could someone so young have such powerful magic?

Ellie toyed with her own necklace.

Was the mirror Olivia’s token—the item through which she drew her power?

Ellie reached the carriages as Rachel was backing away. The pair nearly collided.

“Goodness, Ellie! You scared me.”

She gripped her friend’s arms, fear increasing the tempo of her heart. “I think Lady Olivia’s using the mirror as her conduit.”

Rachel reared back, her gaze searching Ellie’s features. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost. What do you mean Lady Ol—”

“Rachel, be a dear and help up my daughter,” Dame Lange ordered from the last coach.

Ellie tensed and Rachel’s gaze dipped over her shoulder to widen. “Ah, milady, you look stunning.”

Ears burning, Ellie turned to face Lady Olivia who did look like a queen in her deep gold gown. Her long blonde hair hung in loose curls down her back, pulled away from her temples and secured with the edges of a golden tiara. Sparkles of magic shimmered around her slender frame as she gracefully stepped from the manor’s stoop.

“Of course I do.” Lady Olivia raised a brow at her but said nothing of their encounter.