I attempt to work out the locked muscles in my jaw before finally saying. “What are they?”
He shakes his head, moving for the door. “I can’t tell you that, I’m afraid. If I do, it will skew the selection. We need to keep this entire process unbiased. And I know you. I know your heart, and through it, your weaknesses. We need to avoid your tendency to save a damsel at the cost of the kingdom.”
I move after him, locked in determination. “Damsel or not, every individual ispartof that kingdom.”
“What is more important to you?” His hand is on the door handle as he turns to me. “Your feelings? Or all the years you’ve spent working to protect the people and the dragons within this kingdom? To fight against the tyranny of your uncle? You have been born to a responsibility that cannot be upheld byanyoneelse.”
I stop a few steps away from him, the truth in his statement settling heavily in my bones. Because he’s right. And that truth has been one I’ve struggled with for ages. I want to do good, but it seems like no matter what choice I make, there will always be a part of it that simply isn’t.
It’s finding the lesser of two evils.
And living with the repercussions of the one I choose.
My shoulders drop slowly, finding that perhaps I have no choice. Perhaps this is the best path, and I must simply trust in it.
At least I can depend on Devin to tear off my blinders. To remind me of the things I don’t want to accept. Sometimes he’s brutally honest. But that’s why I can trust him.
“We’re running out of time to get you dressed,” he says softly. A tone he rarely ever uses. Slowly he twists the handle and opens the door to four lady’s maids on the other side. “Try to enjoy yourself tonight. I promise you, you will find your match within this group.”
As I nod for them to enter, Devin turns to leave.
“Devin?” I call, and when he looks back, I dip my head with a sigh. “Thank you.”
Four
- LYRA -
Before I take any more pauses, I scamper over to the closest open seat at the dining table—the farthest one away from the doors I entered. A server pulls out the tufted chair and helps me settle in next to a woman whose hair is as dark as mine but twice as thick, with waves spilling down her back. She’s dressed in a burgundy gown that hugs all her curves, with lips painted to match. Onyx jewelry drips from her ears and throat, and when she flicks her hard brown eyes at me, it sends a chill down my spine.
She’s stunning. In a lethal kind of way. It feels wrong to sit next to her, like I’m in the entirely wrong place at the wrong time.
A blonde woman in a light blue dress across the oak table from me says to the woman next to her, “Anyway, he was absolutely stunning. And I’m not just saying that because he’s royalty, but truly handsome.” At my arrival, her attention slides to me with a smile. “Oh, hello! I think you’re the last of us. I’m Aelia.”
I dip my head with a small smile. “Lyra.”
The conversations resume around the table with a gentle roar, and a server comes behind me to offer wine. Too polite to decline, I accept it and grab the glass. Eyeing the liquid, I’m partly curious to see if it’s the same one I consumed earlier.
“It’s not whatever they gave us before. Just wine,” the woman next to me in burgundy says as she lifts her glass and drinks.
I flick a sidelong glance at her, watching her drink it with ease. “You…you had it, too?”
“We all did,” Aelia says, swirling the wine in her glass. “We all woke up in our own blood, slits on our wrists. Told to drink the wine if we didn’t want to die. Afterwards, we all cleaned up and were told to come here.”
Timidly, I glance around the ornate dining room. Chandeliers arestrung across the painted ceilings in a dazzling show. Windows framing a mountain range begin to dim in the telltale sign of sunset. “Where is here?”
Aelia answers, “Nobody knows. Though, Marcella mentioned those mountains out the windows? Those are the Zerahavin?—”
“Serahaven,” the woman in burgundy next to me—Marcella—corrects. “The fact you’ve butchered the name of such a sacred place should put you on the wall.”
“W-what wall?” I ask.
Marcella rips her gaze off Aelia and looks at me with a cold callousness. She scans me from head to toe. Seeing something in me, she turns back to her wine glass to take another unbothered sip. Ignoring my question.
Aelia darts me a quick glance. Like she’s just as taken aback by the standoff nature of Marcella as I am.
Someone at our long dining table rises out of their seat, and we all quiet and turn to her. I haven’t had much of a chance to observe every woman here, but of those I have glimpsed she seems to be the eldest one here. Middle-aged. A plum-colored dress adorns her short, stocky frame, with her blonde hair cut short to her ears, which sparkle with stud diamonds.
“Do I look familiar to any of you?” she calls out.
