I’ll have to make a speech tonight.
About how I’d make the best bride for Dorian.
As much as it turns my stomach to consider giving a public speech, this just might be the opportunity I need.
36
An hour later, I stand on the dais in the nave next to Briony and Greta. It seems Vanessa is still feeling ill. With vicious delight, I wonder if that means she’ll forfeit her place in the competition and be sent home. With Greta unofficially disqualified, that would leave Briony as the victor. It’s a thought that has my heart plummeting to my feet. Briony Rose is the contestant I like more than all the others combined, but I can’t find it in me to feel even remotely happy for her.
I keep my eyes fixed firmly ahead in my efforts not to look across the dais at Dorian. Instead, I scan the audience. The pews are packed tonight, which tells me people must be growing more and more invested in seeing Dorian’s premarital saga unfold. After tonight, only two more Blessing Ceremonies remain. The last will end in his wedding—and his safety from further assassination attempts.
But I won’t be here past tonight.
Father Viktor greets the audience with his usual fist-to-heart gesture and prayer. After that, he gives a brief summary of this evening’s events. He leaves out the part where Dorian and I were caught dancing far too close, of course. Next, he announces tonight’s special inclusion of speeches given by each contestant. I hold my breath, unsure who he’ll call to speak first, but it’s none of us. None of us present, that is. Viktor delivers his apologies for Vanessa’s absence and says she is unwell. She managed to write a speech and Brother Billius has apparently agreed to relay it.
Billius takes Viktor’s place at the center of the dais and recites her words with fervor. What follows is a tedious account of Vanessa’s purity, accomplishments, and attributes. Then her words turn to fae salvation and her deepest desires to wash them clean of sin. I can’t stop myself from rolling my eyes, especially when her speech details her dreams of an entirely seelie isle. They’re words that border on treason, and I’m surprised she lacked the tact to keep them to herself.
When curiosity gets the better of me, I slide my gaze to Dorian, finding his expression has returned to the stern mask he wears for the brotherhood. Gone is the smiling, lighthearted boy he was with his sisters this evening. Or the passionate man he is with me.
I swallow hard and look away.
After what feels like an eternity, Brother Billius concludes Vanessa’s message. It results in delayed applause, as if the audience had as much difficulty tolerating the speech as I did. Billius steps off to the side, and Father Viktor calls on Greta. The applause quadruples as she takes center stage. She really is the people’s favorite.
Greta performs a dramatic monologue about her longing for love and her overflowing desires for a life of holy matrimony. It sounds more like something she picked up from a script than her own true feelings, but the audience loves it all the same. They swoon and sigh, brush away tears when she pretends to weep. If nothing else comes from this, it seems Greta is at least getting adequate acting practice. Maybe she won’t need a husband to help her pursue her dream career after all.
After her speech ends, it takes a while for the applause to die down. Viktor ushers her to the side when she continues to curtsy and wave. Once the audience returns to silence, he calls the next name.
It’s mine.
I’d assumed I’d be called last, considering how Father Viktor feels about me. My heart begins to hammer when I realize the time has come for me to say what I must.
I take a deep breath and move to the center of the dais.
“Tell us, Princess Maisie,” Father Viktor says. “Why would you make the perfect bride for Brother Dorian?”
My gaze sweeps over the audience as I gather my courage. “I wouldn’t.”
The audience gasps at my unexpected statement.
For a moment, I close my eyes, inhaling and exhaling deeply. When I open them, my resolve is firm. I speak again. “I wouldn’t make the perfect bride for Brother Dorian at all. In fact, I’m the worst choice he could ever make.”
People in the audience exchange quirked brows and confused whispers.
I continue. “As you all know by now, I’m a princess. What you’ve also likely discovered is that I’m not your average royal. There’s nothing regal about me. I’m clumsy, undignified, and unrefined. For the past year, I’ve worked as a thief. I steal things. I’ve probably stolen items from a good portion of you.”
Horrified faces blink back at me, while some wear crooked grins as if they can’t tell if I’m joking.
I shrug. “I like stealing and always have. I love shiny objects and rarely feel remorse for the things I lift. Although, I do feel a little bad about one thing I did. The second night I was here, I stole a bracelet from one of my fellow contestants and planted it on another, all in the hopes that one of them would get sent home instead of me.”
From the corner of my eye, I see movement. Dorian has stepped forward. I refuse to meet his gaze. “It worked, though. I’m still here. But I don’t deserve to be any longer. I will not make a gentle or subservient wife. I’ve no interest in what the church calls fae salvation. I refuse it. Fae magic isn’t evil. As the good Father Viktor once said himself, evil is not the automatic property of one person, one group, or one organization. Evil is the property of people and can belong to anyone. And I’ve since learned Saint Lazaro isn’t an evil entity. Misguided, perhaps, but not evil. Neither are the fae. So I will not spout the church’s teachings or praise their Almighty. Not until they see faekind the way I’ve come to see the brotherhood. As people, just as flawed and susceptible to good and evil as anyone else. Not demons in need of saving. Until the day the church can prove they’ve outgrown old-fashioned notions and do more than simply host a colorful pageant while labeling itmodern, then…well…I suppose the brotherhood can kindly fuck off.”
Silence hangs in the air. My lungs tighten in the wake of my words. Cursing the brotherhood was admittedly over the top and fills me with no small amount of regret. Everyone here has treated me far kinder than I ever expected the ill-reputed church was capable of. Even Father Viktor’s disapproval of me is understandable. But I knew I had to cross the line. It’s the only way.
Theonlyway.
With a deep breath, I return to stand next to Greta and Briony. Only then does the audience begin to react, first with laughter, then with applause. I keep my eyes unfocused, arms stiff at my sides. My knees tremble, my composure threatening to unravel.
Not yet. Keep it together just a little more.
