King Verdian huffed, but she could tell she’d drained some of the fight from him.
“We’re talking nonsense again,” Queen Helena said, rising gracefully from her seat to stand next to Mareleau. “Talk of the past isn’t worth our breath. We must speak of the present instead.”
“I said my piece,” the king grumbled. “I choose Prince Teryn as one of the three champions and I won’t change my mind. If the both of you want to dance about selecting the remaining two, have your way. I’d like to get this farce over with.” With that, he marched past them and left the foyer.
Queen Helena faced Mareleau with a glowing smile and took her hands. “Don’t fret, darling. Just because Teryn is one of the champions doesn't mean he'll win the Heart’s Hunt. It could very well be your choice or mine.”
Mareleau said nothing. If all went to plan, there wouldn’t be a winner.
The queen’s voice took on a serious tone. “However, if Teryn wins, you must honor that, just as we’ve promised to honor the winner as your betrothed. This was your idea, remember?”
She gave a reluctant nod. It had been her idea. After she’d claimed a broken heart following Prince Frederick’s rejection, she’d appealed to her mother’s romantic side, saying she needed to marry for love. It was almost too good to be true when the queen fell for Mareleau’s insistence that the Beltane festival held the perfect solution, that a poetry contest and the Heart’s Hunt would prove a suitor’s true love. Pathetic. But that was the kind of girl her parents thought she was. A starry-eyed fool who dreamed of storybook romance and epic declarations. That wasn’t her at all. She was practical. Sharp. While she’d once entertained notions of love, back before Larylis proved himself unworthy, she now wanted no husband at all.
As her parents’ only child, she was set to inherit the throne, something the king and queen thought possible only if she married a king or prince. Otherwise, her uncles would fight for the throne. While she understood the implications of having her right to rule contested, she railed against the assumption that a woman must have a man at her side to be a proper queen. It fueled her rage to no end, but royal succession was a game of well-placed maneuvers. A game she could play. For now. This time, she’d be the one moving the pieces.
“Fine,” Mareleau said, forcing her face into an agreeable smile. “Who is your choice of champion, Mother?”
Queen Helena clapped her hands in front of her chest, crystal blue eyes—the same shade as Mareleau’s—alight with excitement. “I choose Prince Helios of Norun. He’s wealthy, handsome, and…dare I say a perfect match?”
Mareleau nodded along, pretending she had even the slightest inkling whom her mother was referring to. She’d done her best to ignore the visiting princes all week and learn as little about them as she could. That often included their names. “Oh, yes, I’m sure you’re right.”
The queen beamed at that. “I knew you’d think so. Do you recall his poem? It was quite moving. I particularly liked the part where he compared you to the Goddess of the Sea.”
Had he known her, he would have chosen the Goddess of War. Or better yet, the Goddess of Death. But Mareleau kept that to herself. “Yes, that was lovely, wasn’t it?”
Queen Helena released a dreamy sigh, eyes distant for a moment. Then, with a shake of her head, she said, “Now, who do you choose, darling? If I haven’t already stolen your choice.” She said the last part with a wink.
Mareleau opened her mouth, realizing she’d made a grave error in her attempts to keep the princes at a distance. She had no one to select as champion. Not that it mattered. These princes were all the same, bandying about words likeloveto a stranger they knew nothing about save for the fact that she was pretty and had a dowry that rivaled their own kingdoms’ wealth. With a simpering smile, she said, “Uh, Prince Thomas, I think it was?”
Her mother’s expression hardened. Mareleau knew there hadn’t been a Prince Thomas, but she couldn’t resist sparking her mother’s ire just a little. “Mareleau Harvallis, don’t you dare tell me you aren’t taking this seriously. It wasyourplan—”
“Pardon, Your Majesty,” said a small voice. Lurel, Mareleau’s fifteen-year-old cousin and newly appointed lady’s maid, approached. Mareleau hadn’t noticed when the girl had entered the foyer, but her other three lady’s maids followed in her wake, clustered together as they gossiped behind their hands. The three girls stopped their chatter to curtsy for Mareleau and the queen, then went right back to it. Lurel dipped low, bowing her head far longer than necessary. Showoff. When she stood, she lingered, smiling and wringing her hands awkwardly.
Mareleau gave her a pointed look. “What is it?”
“Oh, yes!” Lurel blushed. “I was going to say, could the princess be referring to Prince Lexington of Tomas?”
Mareleau quirked a questioning brow.
“When you said Prince Thomas.”
Queen Helena’s mouth fell open with a light laugh, her previous irritation gone in a flash. “Darling, is that who you meant?”
“How silly of me,” Mareleau said with a forced chuckle. “Yes, that’s him. Of course it’s him. Prince Lexington of Tomas.” She said the name slowly, enunciating each word, certain she hadn’t heard it uttered even once this week.
Her mother furrowed her brow. “Odd. He doesn’t seem your type. And the only line I remember from his poem was,You are graceful like a deer and smart like a fox.”
It took all her restraint not to snort a laugh. She kept her expression serious as she said, “Oh, he’s exactly my type.”
Suspicion flashed in Queen Helena’s eyes, but she only said, “Very well. Are you ready to award your champions and announce the object of the Heart’s Hunt?”
“I am.”
“And you have selected an object for the Hunt, correct?”
“I have.”
Another suspicious look. “What have you chosen?”
