I refused to grant him that satisfaction.
My eyes dropped to the hem of my own skirts and stayed there.
His steps seemed to echo.Boom. Boom. Boom.
The rustle of his clothing only served to fray my nerves even further.
Sweat dampened my spine.
Linc, bless him, broke the heavy silence. He cleared his throat. “Great! A newcomer. Welcome. What is your name, sir?”
I suddenly strained to listen. My ears pricked. I shifted my weight forward, just slightly.
Still, I couldn’t hear the answer.
Curses threatened to escape my lips.
I allowed my eyes to lift, only slightly, to trace up the stranger’s back.
He tilted his head to the side, and then, faster than should have been possible, he flicked his eyes over his shoulder.
His gaze ensnared me, holding me hostage. I couldn't look away.
Shit!
I twisted my expression into what I hoped was a glare. What in the realms was this stranger doing here, in Moonvale, expecting to compete in the trials? All folk were technically welcome, sure, but…ugh!
I wanted him gone.
With a twitch of the corner of his mouth, he straightened, facing Linc again.
I let my eyes drag down his back—now adorned with a nice, tailored jacket instead of the tattered, threadbare thing he’d been wearing the last time I saw him.
His feet were no longer bare but covered with boots.
He was clean. Put together.
And devastatingly, sickeningly handsome.
And, worst of all, he was competing in the competition.
Whether I liked it or not, I would have to see him for the next three days.
I was utterly screwed.
The Miss and Mister Moonvale trials were announced without further fuss.
For once, it felt like the fates were in my favor.
The three trials were simple: cooking, painting, and dancing.
I couldn’t have picked the categories better if I had done so myself. I was an excellent cook. My stews were the best in the entire town, maybe the entire realm if I felt like being cocky, and that wasn’t the extent of my skill.
I could paint, too. Nothing frame-worthy, but I could translate an image onto parchment well enough.
And dancing—anyone could dance. I’d been dancing my entire life.
And you couldn’t have two left feet if you had hooves.
