She’d messed up. Terribly.
“That’s it?” Gaetan huffed. “All that, and you can’t even offer feedback?”
Elara stomped his foot. “Forgive him, Souverains. He—”
“The crumble was powerful, but the flavor was lacking,” Lafontaine cut in. “The raspberry gel was nothing inspiring.”
Gaetan tightened his fists, but Elara tugged him back to their station, where he wrapped a kitchen towel around her wound.
“Those bastards have no taste,” Gaetan muttered. “No wonder progress is impossible in this city.”
Elara’s laugh was cut off by a hiss as he cinched the knot tight.
“What did we do?” Gaetan asked.
“The root amplifies magie. I tried to dampen its power with the calmante seed, but it wasn’t enough. It was…”
“Magnifique.” He squeezed her hands. “I meant what I said about your mother. For the life she’d been given, she was amazing.” He leaned in. “But you weren’t given her life, no? You were given your own.”
Elara blinked up at him.
As the weight of his words settled, the Counseil’s final plates were cleared, and the chefs gathered before the dais for judgment.
This was fine. If she lost, she’d walk away proud she’d risen above Fiona’s treachery. Losing also meant Gaetan was kept from the limelight, even if it meant losing his job.
“We have seen and tasted some culinary wonders this afternoon.” Faucher’s voice was considerably weaker. “This is turning out to be a contest beyond our imagining. In first place, we have someone who showed a Souverain’s cunning and an artist’s tenacity. Someone who was ready to win no matter the cost.”
Elara shot Fiona a glare. She winked back.
“Our victor for the day is…”
She took Gaetan’s hand. “I’m so sor—”
“Elouise Auclair.”
14NIK
The ride back to his apartment took hours, days, centuries. Time was meaningless the longer he had to suffer being in Elouise’s—Elara’s—presence. Elara Rousseau. A rebel’s daughter.
Today could not have gone worse.
First place meant every eye would be fixed on her. First place meant people digging for juicy gossip. First place meant powerful, and his father had no use for someone like that.
Then there was the issue of Gaetan. Nik knew he shouldn’t have chosen him, but he’d done so as a way to ensure she stuck to the plan. And, if he was being honest with himself, a way to push her farther from the old life that had scorned her and closer to him. A rash miscalculation that had backfired horrendously. In attempting to control her, he’d made it that much easier for people to discover who she really was.
If that happened, Nik’s hopes for the future would be destroyed. And his father wouldn’t just eliminate Elara from the contest. He’d eliminate her entirely.
Despite everything, he couldn’t stop staring at the rag on Elara’s arm. She kept fiddling with it and cursing in pain, but she never asked for help. It would only take a bit of ointment and a fresh bandage to fix, but she wouldn’t speak to him let alone look at him.
Only hours ago, she’d commanded the audience’s attention without even knowing it. She’d produced the most powerful magie without blinking, and stood confidently before the Counseil even when she’d been shoved onto the defensive.
Now she was a wilting flower.
Where were her easy smiles?
As soon as the carriage rolled to a stop, she leapt out and scampered to the door.
Chantal was there to sweep her into a dramatic hug and escort her down the hall, leaving Nikolas abandoned in his own damn foyer.
