- LYRA -
My head pounds like a drum. Over and over, despite my best efforts to nourish myself with all the food that’s been laid out on the buffet table, I can’t find a way to quiet the hammering. It’s enough to distract me from the distant soreness in my bandaged hands.
Aelia clears her throat to snag my attention off the interaction I watch unfold between Marcella and Devin. The two of them are like bristling wolves as they whisper in the dark. It tickles an uneasy feeling in my stomach.
Again Aelia clears her throat, and finally I tear my gaze from them. Just in time to see Cyrus strolling our way. Both of us do our best to straighten subtly in our seats.
He stops at our table and dips his head before extending a white-gloved hand out. “Aelia, will you have this dance with me?”
The biggest smile pulls on her cheeks as she dips her head and rises, taking his hand and sweeping out to the dance floor with him. I watch as they enter into a deep conversation, eye contact never breaking. Aelia says something, and his eyebrows lift with the ghost of a grin.
Willow takes a seat next to me, where Marcella had been sitting earlier. “Gods above, is he not the most attractive man you’ve ever seen?”
I don’t take my eyes off them as they dance. Instead, I run my fingers over the small plate of food I had grabbed while he danced with Marcella. Plucking a few grapes, I toss them into my mouth as I answer, “Indeed.” But there’s something else to him I can’t quite put my finger on. An allure beyond the physical. A pull.
“I’ll be heartbroken if he sends me home tonight,” Willow sighs.
My head still pounding, I turn in my chair to her. “What? What did you say?”
She meets my wide gaze and nods. Leaning forward, she tells me, “Oneof the ladies overheard Lady Bethany speaking to Devin. They’re preparing to send some of us home tonight. Cyrus has to make a cut.”
My face grows hot. It only exacerbates the pulsing in my skull. As I toss another glance toward Aelia, her cheeks rosy as she fawns over Cyrus holding her in his arms, my heart sinks.
“Don’t worry, Lyra,” Willow says next to me. “Gossip has it that he’ll be sending home Marcella. That, or she’ll leave of her own accord. How did she say her time with him in the gardens went? You came in with her afterward.”
I shake my aching head. “She didn’t tell me.”
“Well, I think most of us know it’ll be her. The General and Lady Bethany don’t seem to approve of her. And considering her expressions and gestures when she spoke to the King during that last dance, I imagine he won’t consider such a troublesome match.”
Glancing sideways at her, I open my mouth to fight the insult against Marcella.
She blurts out, “Unless, of course, he sends multiple women home.”
“I can’t leave yet…” I whisper half to myself, watching Cyrus and Aelia. I have to know more about him. There’s something there, something drawing me to him that I haven’t felt before.
“Don’t worry,” Willow pats my hand, “I’ve been told if you’re dismissed, you’ll be sent home with a generous sum for spending your time here.”
Still does nothing to disperse the panic in my chest. “How much is a generous sum?”
She shrugs, staring down into her wine glass. “I believe tonight would be about a month’s worth of the income you’d make back home if you stayed. And every month you’re here, it triples.”
Lady Bethany said we’d be here six months maximum. If Cyrus doesn’t choose me…at least I might be sent home with something that might better my home life.
I wince as the pounding in my head only gets harder once the music changes tempo. Dipping my head, I rise in my chair. “Thank you, Willow, for the encouragement. If you’ll excuse me, I must…run to powder my nose.”
“You look like you’re uncomfortable, I can come with you?—”
“No!” I blurt, then wince. “Sorry, no thank you. Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. I just need a minute. Stay here for when Aelia comes back.”
She opens her mouth, and I scurry away toward the darkest corner of the room, where a door is slightly ajar. Away from ears. Away from eyes. I knock for only a breath before pushing it open.
It’s a small room. One with several wall sconces lit with candles, their wax dripping down in red rivers against the golden arms. The ceiling is four times as low in here, closing the space into something more intimate. A massive red rug covers the stone tiles, matching the paintings throughout the castle with florals and dragon cherubs.
One lounge chair, two sitting chairs, and a loveseat are positioned in a circle. Several gorgeous paintings are hung about the room, all framed in curling, intricate gold details.
I shut the door quietly behind me, and slip my heels off my feet before collapsing onto the lounge. Hiking my legs up, I rest my crossed ankles on the lounge’s arm. Then sigh into the cushions, finding relief in the dulled noise. Rubbing my temples as I close my eyes. Working the pain out of my skull like someone massaging out a knot.
Slowly it begins to ebb away, to something more manageable.
