“Well then,” Father Viktor says with a grimace, “I apologize for that rather colorful language from Princess Maisie. Next, let’s hear from Briony Rose and pray to the Almighty her speech will be far less scathing.”
The audience chuckles, but I hardly hear it. Nor do I comprehend a word Briony says. All my attention is absorbed in the heat of Dorian’s glare as his eyes burn into my profile from across the dais.
* * *
Briony’s speechfeels like it flies by far too fast. So does everything after. Brother Billius hands Dorian four flowers. Roses this time. One is white, while the others are red. Dorian calls Greta to join him at the center of the dais. He hands her a red rose. Then Father Viktor invites a random girl from the audience to accept Vanessa’s rose on her behalf. A pretty blonde accepts a red rose, giving in return a heavy dose of batted lashes and simpering thanks. Then Dorian says my name.
My name.
Too soon.
Far too soon.
This is where it ends.
With a deep breath, I walk to meet Dorian, stopping a few feet before him. He holds the two remaining roses, one in each hand. Chatter breaks out over the audience, and my pulse pounds as I drag my eyes to meet his. His expression is pained. He makes no move, hands me no flower.
Finally, he starts to lift one of the roses.
Dread and relief tumble through me, crashing against my heart like a tidal wave.
The rose is red.
Everything in me wants to accept it, my fingers beg to reach for it.
But I don’t.
“Give me the white rose,” I whisper through my teeth.
His jaw is firm, tense. “No.”
“Give it to me. Now.”
“No.”
My shoulders tremble. “I’m not leaving this dais until you give me that white rose. I’ll rip it from your hands if I have to.”
His face falls further, and I watch his throat bob.
I barely notice when Father Viktor comes up behind him. “Give her the white rose.” His voice is soft, almost apologetic. It’s enough to set my lower lip quivering.
Dorian’s fingers curl so hard around both stems, his knuckles turn white. I hear a snap, and look down to see the white rose tip, its stem shattered. It hangs from just a thread of green. With an audible intake of breath, he shoves the broken white rose toward me. The one that spells an end to this game. Tous.
I take it and turn away. I don’t stop when I reach Greta and Briony. I don’t stop at the bottom of the dais. My feet take me down the aisle, past pews of watching eyes until I greet the quiet corridors outside the nave. Only then do I let my tears fall.
37
As soon as I reach my room, I throw the white rose on my dressing table. Then I storm over to my wardrobe and start tugging the clothes from inside and shoving them unceremoniously into my carpet bag. I hate the way tears stream down my cheeks, the way my throat burns with my efforts to stifle my sobs. I’m not even sure why I’m crying. All I know is that the harder I work at packing my bag, the more my limbs tremble. The more they beg to collapse.
I struggle to fit all my dresses in a single bag, and the fight leaves me at once. Cursing between my teeth, I slump onto my bed and rest my head in my hands. A minute passes. Perhaps several do. Soon I hear a soft knock on my door. I can’t be bothered to respond. Nor do I say anything when I hear it open. Podaxis’ telltale clack of claws follows, as does a pair of footsteps.
My heart leaps into my throat when I consider whom the latter could belong to. I rise to my feet and whirl around. Luckily, it’s only Briony who enters the room with my crustacean friend. She closes the door behind them.
“What are you doing here?” I swipe at my tear-stained face, realizing I must look like a complete mess.
Podaxis stops by my feet, eyes turned down at the corners. “I was worried about you,” he whispers.
“So was I.” Briony gives me a sad smile. “After a speech like that, and all. It was so potent I don’t think anyone listened to mine.”
