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I take the clipboard and flip through the pages, looking for the list of rules I’ll have to obey, but the document is written in paragraphs, not lists. It’s impossible to find anything useful at a quick glance. “May I use your pen?”
Vidya huffs and shakes her head disappointingly. “Ink means nothing.This contract can only be signed in blood.” She unpins the broach on her blouse and holds the needle out. “Still willing to sign your life away to the Crown?”
“The Culling is only for three weeks. If I lose, I go home.” I take the pin and hesitate, waiting for Vidya to confirm. She’s eerily silent. I look to Sutherland for guidance, but he also chooses to lose his voice at this moment. I bite my bottom lip and look at the papers again. “How will you know it’s mine?”
Vidya huffs and snatches the clipboard from my hands. She pulls a pen from a pocket in her skirt and writes my name on the top of the page. “Happy now, darling?”
No, not in the least. The idea of giving my blood to the Crown makes my skin crawl, but I do it anyway because if that’s the price of finding Ezra, then so be it. I prick my finger and press a single drop to the last page.
“Welcome to the Culling, Khiara. Your mother would be screaming in her grave if she could see you now.” Vidya hands me a blindfold. “Put this on, and I’ll take you to the other ladies in waiting.”
My webs sense twelve bodies before my mask is removed, and every one of them stares at me as I enter the room. Probably because I still have my cloak on and haven’t revealed my dress. Likely because I’m an unexpected entry to the Culling. Only twelve girls were supposed to have been invited. I make thirteen. And undoubtedly because my hood has been pushed back, exposing my undusted, pulled-back hair.
If the gossip is true, the ladies in waiting are from all corners of the Arcane Kingdom. Each woman is beautiful in her own unique way, but I can tell who was born into this stature of life and who has donned a pretty dress and is trying to fit in.
By the end of tonight, Prince Sebastian Farbow will pick five ladies to join his court. One will be named queen at the end of the month. The other four will have ample suitors to secure their place within the monarchy. I have no interest in either option, but I need to make it through tonight’s eliminations.
I grab a glass of red wine from the drink table and twist the stem between my fingers, my gaze skirting over each entrant again. There isn’t a soul in this room I’d align myself with. I’d rather see the teeth of my enemy than be stabbed in the back by their knife.
I bring the flute to my lips, finally tasting the red wine I’ve chosen, and pucker. I expected a rich raspberry or a tart muscadine wine. This berry is bitter and leaves a lingering bite on my tongue. I set the glass down and mosey to the hors d’oeuvres table to wash it away.
Eachdisplay of food is flawlessly intact, and it’s a shame none of the ladies have dared to try anything. The apples alone are to die for, decadently covered with gold-dusted chocolate. If the pink wine is strawberry, they’d pair beautifully together.
I reach for my second glass of wine, which earns me more than one judgment-filled glare. It doesn’t matter that I barely drank the first. I’m eating and drinking in public. I’m risking ruining my dress—well, cloak—with spills and my reputation with debauchery.
I can’t bring myself to care about what these women think. I taste the wine and smile. The strawberry sweetness is heaven in my mouth. Something these girls would know if they’d loosen up and try to enjoy the night.
The whispers start when I eat a piece of cheese. Even the outcasts of the group have drifted together, me being a common enemy they can bond over.
I smile at anyone brave enough to look my way and hold their gaze for as long as they dare to stare. Most girls last a second, if that, but one girl holds my eye for longer than the rest and shocks me when she walks over.
"Hi." She looks like the other debutants in a pastel green dress with enough fluff to her crinoline to stuff a pillow. Intricate patterns of beading adorn her bodice with beautiful flowers and stems that trail down to her skirt. But what catches my attention isn’t the fine details of her dress. It’s her hair. A beautiful glistening white as pure as freshly fallen snow.
I move away from the cheese tray, thinking her hunger may have finally gotten the best of the poor girl. It truly is a crime to let all of this food go to waste. It’s good, too.
She stands awkwardly, smiling, and I realize she is interested in me. Not the food. "I'm Jinx. You're Khiara, right?"
"I am." I sip my wine, letting the strawberry flavor sit on my tongue.
Jinx looks over the table of sweets the royal family has provided. Cookies, cupcakes, and fruit-filled pastries decorate the silver platters. On the healthy half of the table, someone’s carved a watermelon into a flower and beautifully cut the little red flesh bits into petals to look like they’ve fallen from grace. Gold-dusted apples run the table length like an edible garland, along with pears dipped in a shimmery glitter to coat the bottom half of theirflesh.
The image of Bash and his stupid fruit floods my mind. I don't want to think about him, but I can’t help but wonder—now that I know he and Riot are part of Prince Sebastian’s guard—was the pear he ate last night stolen from the castle, or are soldiers that are high in rank regularly offered delicacies?
I take another sip of wine and scold myself for losing focus. Tonight is more important than any other of the Culling. I need to be mysterious, happy, and alluring all at once. I shouldn’t be thinking about another man, even if he is inadvertently the reason I’m in this situation.
"Is it true?" Jinx asks, her voice just above a whisper. She waits for my focus to return to her, observantly realizing my thoughts had strayed, before adding, “That you're a witch?"
"Is that what those girls are telling you?" I tip my near-empty glass toward the bundle of pastel pinks and blues huddled across the room.
I doubt their dresses were all purchased at Jessup’s shop, but the styles are similar, with the same poofy sleeves and giant skirts. I’m going to stand out like a sore thumb, but that was always my plan.
My dress hugs my chest like a second skin, the bodice scalloping around my breasts, adding volume to my already bouncy girls, and the shimmery lace-covered silk is nearly flawless thanks to a few alterations Sage made while I was sleeping. I’m sure no one in the kingdom has seen a dress like this.
It is scandalous.
Eye-catching.
And sexy.
