The Bride Tournament (Hexed Hearts Book 1)(47)
“You’ll see us married!” Rachel cried into Meera’s headscarf.
Ellie broke away to blow her nose. “You’re the only mother I have, Meera. I would be honored to wear your wedding gown tonight.”
An image flashed before her mind of Gerard twirling her on a dance floor, love in his eyes. She shoved the dream away. She was not in this tournament to win Gerard’s hand and become queen. She was here to find the hexer and stop them before they took out the rest of the competition. She needed to focus.
Rachel and Meera helped her into the gown, doing up the laces along her spine.
“I’ll be right back,” Meera said and disappeared behind a curtain.
“You like him, don’t you?” Rachel asked, not needing to clarify whom he was.
“Maybe?” Ellie played with the sleeves on the gown to avoid looking into her best friend’s eyes. She’d be able to see everything. “In another time, another place…I think we’d work.”
“He likes you?”
The memory of his passionate kiss flooded her senses, transporting her back in time for a moment. A heartbeat. Heat washed along her chest and a flush spread along her cheeks. It didn’t matter if he liked her.
“As he likes all of the contestants.”
“These will complete the ensemble.” Meera ducked around the curtain, a pair of gleaming silver shoes in hand. Vines climbed the narrow heel in an ornate pattern, like filigree.
“They’re gorgeous, this is too much, Meera,” Ellie said.
Meera raised a brow and pressed the slippers into Ellie’s hands. She gingerly tugged on the dazzling shoes. The fit was snug and sure. She took a few practice steps and found her weight evenly dispersed, as if the shoes had been crafted for her.
“Oh, hush and leave an old woman her joys. Oh, look at you.” Meera clapped her hands and teared up once more. “We best get you off.”
“I’ll be in the corners with my tray of champagne, listening for anything interesting,” Rachel added and pushed Ellie out the back door of the tea shop.
“This is embarrassing. I really can’t dance,” she nearly whimpered.
“Your skills don’t matter, darling. That’s not how winners are picked this round.” Meera smiled and repositioned her headscarf as they walked down the uneven flagstones toward the Citadel.
“What do you mean?” Ellie asked, her heels clicking pleasantly with every step.
“This round is the prince’s choice; he picks who moves on to the magic portion of the tournament.”
“And lucky for you, the prince really likes you.” Rachel beamed.
***
The Ball was in full swing and he hated it.
Gerard paced in the background while Pierce engaged with the horde of masked and bejeweled women vying for the crown prince’s attention. Not a single one of them was Ellie. Didn’t matter that masks covered half their faces, or that their gowns were so wide they couldn’t stand within three feet of each other, therefore hiding their figures.
He’d recognize her in men’s trousers or a burlap sack.
The number of contestants continued to fluctuate as more had fallen “ill” to the pox scant hours before the dance. Of the nine women healthy enough to continue on in the tournament, he was allowed to choose four to participate in the last event. Obviously, he would pick Ellie.
Why did it matter if he showed her favoritism? Of all his options, Ellie was the only one he didn’t mind marrying. In fact, she was the only one he wanted to marry. She might put up a fuss over her family estate, but she’d be queen, free to purchase the dilapidated manor with a flick of her wrist.
It would solve all her problems.
Realization struck. He was going to marry Ellie. Why didn’t he think of it earlier? Sure, it was not the custom for a queen to practice old magic, but what a boon for their kingdom! He wanted to study the moon cycle’s effect on the golden arts, it would be foolish to not test old magic.
She’d be rid of her family obligations, own her ancestral home, be with him, temper him. And she wanted him, the passion in her kiss had proved it. The plan was perfect. He’d pick her in this round and help her on the sly to do her best in the final event: magic.
But what if she doesn’t win?
A trumpet sounded, the blast an affront in the small ballroom. He jerked his gaze up to watch the ladies no longer in the competition head out the wide south doors for the reception hall. There, flutists and harpists would play well past midnight.
“It begins,” Pierce uttered, barely heard above the noise of shuffling slippers and the hiss of ruffled gowns.
He scanned those left in the ballroom and counted eight of the nine competitors. Where was Ellie?
The back door banged open and a figure draped in a dark cloak flew into the room on a rustle of silver skirts.
Ellie.
She slipped off her hood, passed the cloak to a nearby footman, and took her place at the end of the line of ladies. Her head bowed the whole time. A tumble of gold curls and a thick black mask covered her expression.
“Brother?” Pierce broke in and Gerard marshaled his wayward thoughts.
“Yes, tell them we can begin.” He nodded to the gathered orchestra and took his own place at the head of the line of men.
The conductor raised his hands and the music began. The men stood braced in a south-facing line, the women in a north-facing. Together they met, swept away, and danced. And Gerard paid attention to none of it.