They laughed.
This time, it was horrible, malicious laughter from every corner of the dining room. Their beautiful, smug faces twisted in vicious glee. Beside him, Favored Seventeen—Elouise Auclair—scrunched her brows athim.
“An Aspirant Patron,” Souverain Gabriel murmured.
“Do you know the term for two contradictory words spoken in conjunction?” Souverain Perrault leaned forward. “An oxymoron.”
Nik’s temper flared to the tune of their laughter.
“It’s nonsensical,” Souverain Tremblay added. “You’re but an Aspirant yourself.”
The crowd murmured their agreement for the ill-made match. He was Arts Humains’ most doomed Aspirant. He and Auclair’s partnership would be humiliation for their entertainment.
Elouise took in every word, her stance shrinking at the attention. A moment ago, she’d been the liveliest thing Nik had seen in years. She’d sauntered in with soft curves swaying, bright eyes filled with wonder, and a charming, red-lipped smile that sent heat down his spine. Now she looked ready to run.
Across the room, a flash of Blai’s fan caught his eye.
They were right. Favored Seventeen was perfect in every way. Skilled, theatrical, and beautiful. She would capture the crowd’s heart as well as their curiosity.
Sell it, Blai mouthed.
Right. Nik forced himself to look away from the girl and up to the Counseil. This was a story, and all he had to do was convince his father she was the perfect leading lady.
“Then someone else come forward,” Nik challenged.
He turned, tucking his shaking hands into his pocket.
“Someone else offer their Patronage.”
For once, Nik was in control. The crowd did exactly as he wanted, exchanging quiet looks as if daring one another to meet his challenge.
He waited.
Oh, he waited. Letting the moment drag on until the truth was painfully obvious.
“No one?” He scoffed. “All night, we’ve endured a parade of chefs with enough accolades and prestigious apprenticeships to put us to sleep, yet none of them could drag any real emotion from the Counseil.” He pointed to Elouise. “Except for her.”
She looked down.
“She made the austere Counseil des Sept laugh,” he continued. “I’d forgotten they could do that.”
The Counseil were unresponsive.
Nik faced the crowd again. “You were ready to go to war for the other Favored, but you’ll let this one go because… why? Because she’s from the Restes?”
He turned back to the Counseil. “ThatI find nonsensical.”
Nik had spent his first apprenticeship in the theatre, so he knew applause generally came after a performance.
They offered him nothing.
“He’s got a point,” Tremblay finally said. “I haven’t heard Faucher’s donkey chortle in some time.”
“Excuse me!” Faucher swatted her.
“You said you wanted entertainment,” Nik added. “What is more thrilling than watching two Restes Aspirants fight through the Objet d’Art together?”
As expected, Elouise snapped her eyes to him, filled first with shock, then apprehension. But he swore, buried deep, there was a glimmer of trust only they could share. It was the hesitant relief in finding an ally among an ocean of sharks.
