“Don’t take Keres at face value. Objectively, it’s a pretty face, but beauty runs only skin-deep.”
“That wasn’t any less cryptic, Titaia,” I deadpan.
“Well, I can’t say it too plainly. I’d disappear in the middle of the night, and then you’d be bored without me.”
We fall silent, the weight of her words lingering between us. I watch her closely, wondering if I judged her too soon. Could Titaia be an ally? A friend, even? Since the moment I met her, she’s read me with a clarity that’s unsettling, her openness and almost cavalier demeanor cutting through my defenses. I don’t drop my guard lightly. Lessons from my past have taught me how foolish that is. But with Titaia, I sense something genuine—a sincerity no one else here would even attempt.
And yet, I can’t tell if it’s real. Is she hiding behind the same mask everyone wears in this place—beautiful lies covering ugly truths? I strain to see a crack, to glimpse what’s underneath, but I find nothing.
A pang of regret hits me. Maybe Titaia is genuine. Maybe, in this twisted world, I’ve found someone worth trusting. Someone who would warn me away from harm rather than thrusting me toward it. But if that’s true, the shame lies with me. Because this time, I’m the one who’s wearing a mask.
“Thank you,” I say, putting everything I can’t voice into those two simple words. “Rest assured, what you have told me will not be repeated.”
With a parting smile, I excuse myself from Titaia’s side—much to her dismay—and weave through the crowd, toward where the other contestants are clamoring around Keres. All except for Cynna. With a frown, I search for her amid the faces, only to find her stepping into the space I just left at Titaia’s side.
How…curious.
I store that observation away to consider more closely later when Keres’s voice cuts above the din. “Princess Aella, I’ve been wondering if my cousin’s company is more”—he pauses before going on—“preferableto you than my own.”
“Not at all, Prince,” I lie easily. “We were simply plotting the bestway for me to win these trials so that I might exclusively enjoy your company.”
Zina and Helen both scoff, but it’s Lydia who speaks up, her glare sharp enough to cut steel. “Win the trials? My, you’re ambitious. Though I suppose it’s easy to dream big when you’re unbothered by reality.”
I tilt my head as I look at her, letting the barb slide off me. “Oh, I prefer to think of it as confidence. But I understand why you would find it unfamiliar.”
Her lips curve into a saccharine smile, but her eyes flash with venom. “Confidence is a fine line away from arrogance. You’ll want to be careful, Princess Aella. This isn’t the kind of competition where charm alone sees you through.”
“And yet,” I reply smoothly, glancing pointedly at Keres, “it seems to be working so far.”
Lydia’s jaw tightens, and I catch the flicker of irritation before she masks it. But the Prince’s gaze grows heated as it moves, and he runs his thumb along his lower lip, enjoying the show we’re putting on.
I’m grateful when a serving girl walks past bearing a tray of wine cups and his attention leaves me, freeing me from its intensity as he takes two from the tray. I refrain from narrowing my eyes as the girl flinches, plastering a smile on my face when he turns back and offers a cup to me.
“You’ll need a drink to celebrate,” Keres says, flashing us all a sharp grin.
“Oh, celebration feels a bit premature, doesn’t it, Lydia?” I say, lifting my cup in mock toast. “After all, we wouldn’t want to count victories before they’re earned.”
Lydia’s smile doesn’t reach her eyes. “Don’t worry, Princess. Some of us already know what victory tastes like.” She raises her own cup, her gaze fixed on me, and takes a deliberate sip.
I open my mouth to respond, but a bloodcurdling scream slices through the air.
The breath stalls in my lungs as I whip around to face the trial hall door. It shudders under the force of frantic pounding from the other side, each impact echoing through the cavernous room. Dust shakesloose from the edges of the heavy wooden frame, and the sharp, desperate rhythm of the knocks sends a chill down my spine.
And then, just as suddenly as it started, it stops.
Dehlia failed the trial—and paid with her life.
The gathered tycheroi around me have gone eerily still. For a moment, I think they’re all as horrified as I am. Stunned into silence by the death of a young lady whose only crime was aspiring for more. Until I look closer—closer at their faces, at their eyes, and realize the stillness is not horror. It’s something else entirely, something far more unnerving.
The frozen moment shatters as time flows once more through the hall. They turn to one another, their voices laced with false sympathies and insincere prayers. A chilling performance of feigned concern.
But I don’t miss the flashes of disappointment on some of their faces—the malicious glee on others’.
And Iespeciallydon’t miss the glimpses of gold changing hands.
The quiet that falls overthe courtyard as I enter is oppressive. Even with Titaia’s steady presence at my side and the muted sound of Nyssa’s and Myna’s feet behind us, a dense fog of unease envelops me. My gaze lingers on the wisteria, the petals of its white flowers fraying at the edges, as if nature is slowly reclaiming its hold. The fading perfume of dried leaves mingles with the sharp tang of wet stone. I breathe it in, the scent bitter and fleeting, but it only deepens the disquiet curling in my chest.
Dehlia is gone.
