Lord Belshazzar’s head tipped to the side as he swallowed a bite of his meal, his long black hair brushing over his left shoulder. He rested a hip against the counter. “Have you run into trouble already, Gwynnore?”
Lord Pippin’s words haunted my thoughts.
Trouble. I couldn’t cause trouble yet.
“Nope.” I quickly turned around and hurried to the door. But I stopped cold…when my father stood in my way. I peered up into his brown eyes. His black, straight hair just like mine, shining under the light, even if he kept his short and mine was long. I cleared my throat and spoke to my father for the first time in almost a thousand years, my voice the most chilling it had ever sounded, “I’m leaving, Lord Cato. If you would move to the side…”
He didn’t budge as he stood with his bowl off yummy food directly under my nose. “I think you’re lying. Your demeanor has completely changed since we last saw you. And not really for the better.”
My nostrils flared with fury.
I needed to leave before I said anything horrible.
I pivoted around him and quickly left.
As if he ever gave a damn about me.
CHAPTERSEVEN
~ GWYNNORE ~
Summoned. I’d been summoned.
It was now time.
I would know today if I was the Queen Novitiate.
Adelie rushed to ask, “Are you sure you don’t want me to grab a blood donor before you go? You could sip, and then meet the overlords.”
“I’m sure.” I bounced in place, shoving excess energy away. “If I go in there blood drunk, it wouldn’t help matters.” I had to play it cool until I was chosen as the candidate.
In the past day, since I arrived, the overlords had become a pain in my ass.
Dinner last night?
Oops. My food was burnt to a hard crisp.
Breakfast this morning?
Damn. The cook ran out.
Lunchtime fare?
What? What’s lunch? No one had heard of it.
Adelie was horrified—and embarrassed—too. She was treated the same as I was.
So I wouldn’t offend them anymore until I knew I was the one contender. I would respect them, as they should be respected. My ego was taking a backseat while my brain ran the show for the rest of the evening. A few hours wasn’t an issue. Growing up in my grandfather’s household, with elitists galore entering and exiting, I had learned how to play the game at a young age.
I glanced at the clock on my nightstand. One more minute before I needed to leave. My attention turned to my friend, and I asked for the hundredth time, “Am I dressed appropriately for this?”
The invitation clutched in her hand was wrinkled from her own nervous gestures, but she lifted it high into the air. “Again, it says casual attire for the possible candidates.”
I peered at myself in the mirror and ran my fingers through my black hair.
My new black leather jeans and simple black cashmere sweater was casual. The guns strapped to my legs weren’t, but I wouldn’t go anywhere without them. I was leaving my sword behind, locked tight in my closet. It was simple and warrior-chic, as I had always been.
My black boots…may have sparkly black laces, but I needed a little flash.
