“Of course not. I couldn’t care less about where you were born or who you were born to, I much prefer to look at the way you treat people. And you seem… very nice.”
Her cheeks flush a peachy pink that matches her hair. “I try. And to be fair I wasn’t really raised as a lady, per se. I was… My mother was a commoner." Her nose wrinkles as she shakes her head. “God, I hate that word. But that’s what she was, and so she has her own very firm ideas of how her children should be raised, and my father loves her enough to let her.”
I smile. “That explains the hair. I never would have thought a Bravonnian lady would have anything but a natural hair color. This is gorgeous. I’m always jealous of people who can pull off color like yours.”
She tilts her head. “I don’t see why you couldn’t. In fact, with your blond hair, I should think it would be easier. My hair is naturally a dark brown. Takes forever for them to lift it light enough for peach colored hair.”
I shake my head. “I was a dancer in a ballet company. They don't like that much individuality in their ballerinas. Have to be able to blend into the background.”
“You’re a dancer too!” Petal exclaims. “No wonder you're so graceful. Some of the other omegas mentioned how you have the bearing of a lady, even though you obviously weren’t raised as one.”
“Obviously,” I say drily. At the same time someone else echoes the word in a cultured drawling voice.
Isadora.
She joins us at the edge of the pool, a beatific smile on her face. Welcoming.
And fake as hell.
I’ve noticed she’s been making the rounds, speaking with each omega, like a hostess at a cocktail party, making sure to touch base with everyone present. Which is probably very smart, a good show for the cameras and a better show for how seamlessly she can step into that role, the gracious, welcoming princess.
She’s flawless. As always. Hair smooth, crown perfectly centered, expression pleasant in a way that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. She smiles at Petal first, warm and practiced. “I’m glad you stayed,” she says, voice honeyed. “I was hoping you would.”
Petal beams. “Thank you! I am too. But I wasn’t worried.” She glances at me and says almost apologetically, “I’ve spent some time with Court. I would consider us acquaintances, if not friends.”
Isadora hums. “Yes. I heard. And of course, we know each other through BOC.” She flashes a glance at me and explains. “The Bravonnian Omega Conservatory. I imagine it's something like your omega academies, but we focused on securing packs of noble lineage.”
I grit my teeth at the not so subtle dig. They were seeking noble packs, I entertained packs from all walks of life. Some rich, some… well not poor. But middle class, comfortable enough financially to take care of an omega.
Petal smiles brighter. “How lucky that we all attended such prestigious schools, isn’t it? BOC and AOA? Both excellent choices for omegas.”
The pack’s first choice hums again, while I shift uncomfortably. Is there a polite way for me to get out of this conversation? Would it be rude if I just sort of… wandered off? Probably.
Isadora’s attention shifts to me fully. Her smile thins a fraction, but remains in place, which is more than I can say for my own.
“I suppose congratulations are in order for you too, Florence.” She draws out my name with derision, making it clear that while she’d been genuine with Petal—and who wouldn’t be, the girl is just too sweet—she was lying through her teeth with me.
“Thanks,” I reply, because what else can you say when someone congratulates you for not being publicly rejected?
“Enjoying your victory?”
“I wouldn’t call it a victory,” I say carefully. “More like… a stay of execution.”
I am not a threat, I’m telling her with that statement. A recognition of my place here, of her superiority over me, in this case at least, if not in life. I suspect I’m a much better person than her, but I don’t know her, so who’s to say? She could be a veritable goddess who spends her time nursing sick children and puppies back to health, but something tells me that’s not the case. And if it is, if she does spend time with sick kids, it's not from the goodness of her heart, it's for her image.
For a heartbeat, neither of us looks away.
Petal shifts, clearly sensing the temperature change. “I’m going to grab another drink,” she says brightly, squeezing my arm and tossing a chiding look at Isadora.. “I’ll be back.”
We watch her go, before turning back to each other.
Sizing the other up. She undoubtedly finds me lacking, and I find her… intimidating. As much as I hate to admit it.
Her lips curve. “Modest. That’s refreshing.”
I barely keep from rolling my eyes. “You don’t mean that.”
“No,” she agrees pleasantly. “I don’t.”
