“I’m sorry!” She swiped at her face. “It’s just…to answer your question, I don’t know. But we’re definitely not allowed to choose. My dad set up my match with Mark when I was twelve. Our families have been best friends since they were at Camelot Court. Mark, we’ve been friends and he’s a good guy, but there’s never been—It’s not like what I feel for Tristan. Not even close.”
Remembering what I’d initially heard about Izzy and herbetrothedconfused me. “Elaine said Mark picked another Maiden when it was his turn for The Quest. Is that true?”
She nodded, sniffling and righting the clothes on her arm.
“The King before Kingston—Morty, he asked Mark to pick her. It was a favor to him. Not a betrayal to me.” She scoffed. “I know that’s what everyone says, because most of the people in our world can’t help but talk about everyone’s business like it’s their own. And they rarely get it right.”
“Oh. So, then, what Elaine said about you joining The Quest because of it…That’s not the reason, is it?”
“I applied hoping Tristan would pick me.” She blushed, tucking one of her curls behind her ear. “But it wasn’t to get back at Mark. He doesn’t even care. He?—”
Her eyes went wide, and she clamped her mouth shut. She scanned the area around us, but the other girls were split between the fitting rooms and register.
“It’s just never been like that for either of us. When his extended family moved here last year, Mark introduced me to Tristan. Hiscousin.”
This time, my eyes widened. “So, I don’t get it. If Tristan is also from a Camelot Society family, and you and Mark don’t feel that way about each other, why won’t your parents just…switch the engagement to Tristan?”
Izzy shook her head. “Because it doesn’t work like that here. Mark’s family has a seat at the Round Table. Not the Round Tableau here, but the one at the top of the Camelot Societyhierarchy. There are a lot of families, but only a small number have a seat at the table. And there aren’t a lot of ways to get there. The only way to be eligible to even get voted in is to have a son who joins the Knights...” She sighed, twisting her hands in her lap. “Or a daughter who marries someone at the table.”
“So your families basically trade you like chattel? What the actual fuck, Izzy?”
When she shrugged like it just was what it was, I gaped at her. “Seriously, how has no one rioted?”
Izzy responded with a half-hearted smile. “What can we really do? We’re barely adults by the time we realize how messed up it all is, and for a lot of the others, everything that comes with being a part of this…They don’t all see it the way I see it. They accept it.Fuck.”
She covered her mouth as the word left it, then shook her head as she weaved through the rows toward the fitting rooms.
“EvenIhad accepted it. Until I met Tristan, it just…was. You know? Mark is a good guy, really. I—He would’ve made sure I was taken care of. Happy, even. But now…”
“You want more.”
She met my eyes, tears brimming again, and nodded.
“Hopefully, you can have that one day.” I took her hand. “Hopefully, we all can.”
“I’m hoping if I win The Quest, they’ll let me choose. But I don’t know if that will change anything.”
“I’m so sorry, Izzy.”
Izzy did her best to smile at me. “I guess I don’t have to worry about it, for now. There’s still a chance, right?”
“Yeah.” I tried my best to smile at her, too, but the way her dreams tangled with mine sank like lead in my gut. “There’s still a chance.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
When Max said we’d see Kingston later, he meant for a good ol’ fashioned Camelot Court party.
Max revealed the party theme with a smile on his face. Whilelaughing. No scowl, no rage, no nothing to compare to the guy who’d refused to dance with me because it might lead to cutting off his leg.
So. Fucking. Dramatic.
If Kingston measured his success as King by only one thing,thatneeded to be it. Because Max Dread, hater of all things Camelot Court? The recluse, the villain, the asshole?
He was actually enjoying himself.
We looked absolutely ridiculous, and that was a large part of why, but it didn’t matter.
Old songs from the nineties, ones my father had loved singing along to on the radio, blasted through the sound system inside the parlor.
