Elara couldn’t contain her smile when the audience burst into giggles.
“You tell me, Souverain,” she replied.
He turned his head down the line and recoiled.
Six different Elaras stared back at her, each stretched or narrowed to fit the original owner’s body. Their faces, though, were entirely her, from the smattering of freckles on her nose and cheeks to the little scar at her eyebrow from when she’d sloshed a drop of hot oil on herself. Perfectly imperfect, just the way she liked it.
One of the Elaras glared into the crowd. The moment they locked eyes with someone else, Elara’s dark hair extended into beautiful scarlet locks, her full cheeks caved inward, and her eyes sparkled brilliant hazel.
“My goodness!”
The chaos began.
The Souverains broke into cackles, taking turns to gaze at one another, changing their forms. They found ways to entertain themselves, winking, flirting, and picking at hard-to-reach body parts.
As planned, the audience moved in, eager to be the next face the Counseil impersonated. Curious servants collected from other rooms, and the police gravitated closer to protect the Counseil.
Fernand saluted from the darkened foyer and darted upstairs, out of sight.
Done. All he had to do was get out without being caught.
When Elara turned back to the revelry, she felt… different. With her part of the deal finished, she could enjoy this moment. For all their pomp and authority, the Counseil were laughing like children. Deep belly laughter and rolling giggles as they played and delighted in the magie, eating more bites to keep their games going.
Thiswas what Elara wanted to do for the rest of her life. She wanted to bring the joy of food to everyone. Tonight, she could start that journey again with a clean slate—her job for Fernand now complete. Hell, someone here could invest in her. Offer her an apprenticeship on her way out. It was more than she’d ever allowed herself to hope for before.
“Amusing,” Lafontaine said.
Elara choked back a gasp.
He wasn’t himself.
He was a boy with dark hair slicked back, perfectly controlled save for the little curls at the base of his neck. His nose was wider and cheekbones fuller, with eyes like shards of glass. Striking. Elara could think of no other word to describe him.
She turned back to find the original boy in the crowd, and warmth flooded her body.
All that intensity in those blue eyes was narrowed on her.
Not the powerful Souverains.
Not the chattering aristocracy.
Her.
His brow ticked, eyes darting over her shoulder. She spun back to Lafontaine, who was himself again.
“Unfortunately,” Elara said, “the effect doesn’t last long.”
“While your trick is amusing, we cannot ignore the potential of this magie,” Lafontaine murmured to his colleagues, who hummed in response, all the joy replaced by business.
Elara waited for someone else to speak.
Anyone else.
Time to make a graceful exit.
She did her best to look dismayed as she collected the plates. “Thank you for the opportunity—”
Lafontaine stabbed his fork onto the porcelain, pinning it to the table. His face was close enough to see the age he refused to hide, the little scar at his hairline, a blemish on his cheek.
