Chapter 14 Ginger
Ginger
“Gather round, folk of Moonvale!” Mayor Tommins shouted above the clamor of the crowd. “For it’s time to announce the trials!”
The park was decorated beautifully. Twinkly, enchanted string lights draped across the space from high posts, creating the illusion of a magical, star-filled sky, complete with two bright and shining moons. Jasmine and lavender blossoms were bundled in bouquets that perfumed the chilly air.
Kizzi slapped me on the shoulder. “Make us proud.”
Fiella gave me a thumbs up and flashed her fangs in a cheesy grin.
As coupled up folk, they were exempt from the competition. Personally, I thought those rules were stupid. Just because you had a lover didn’t make you any more or less of a competitor.
But, nevertheless, it was tradition. Historically, the ball used to be a method of determining a ceremonial pair of rulers of Moonvale. And though traditions could evolve and change, this particular detail had not evolved quite yet.
I grinned back. “I’ll try my best.”
“Give ‘em all you’ve got, boss!” Tandor said.
“Yeah, yeah. If I win, I’m taking an entire week off.”
His eyes widened. “Wow, Ginny. You should. You’ve never taken an entire week off before.”
That would never happen, I was too much of a workaholic. My pub needed me. But it was fun to joke about. “We’ll see.”
Tommins' voice rang out again. “Ladies, Gents, and everyone else! Any folk who would like to compete! Please move to the front if you’ll be participating.”
I pushed my way to the front of the crowd. I felt like a fish swimming upstream.
I stood among roughly forty other folk. Short and tall, young and old. But most were of the younger adult age.
The competition would be fierce.
Linc stood at the front, writing names down and forming a list. He must have decided to work the event. “Is this everyone?” he shouted. “Last call for the Miss and Mister Moonvale competition! Oh! Looks like we’ve got one more. Come on over, sir.”
My stomach flipped.
Certainly not. It couldn’t be.
I held my breath.
The seconds passed with agonizing slowness.
He stepped forward, emerging from the crowd and slipping into view as though he had materialized from the shadows themselves.
The crowd quieted, all murmurs ceasing. Not even a whisper remained.
The man walked with a rhythm that was almost disrespectfully slow. It was as though he craved attention. He wanted every eye on him.
I refused to grant him that satisfaction.
My eyes dropped to the hem of my own skirts and stayed there.
His steps seemed to echo. Boom. Boom. Boom.
The rustle of his clothing only served to fray my nerves even further.
Sweat dampened my spine.
Linc, bless him, broke the heavy silence. He cleared his throat. “Great! A newcomer. Welcome. What is your name, sir?”
I suddenly strained to listen. My ears pricked. I shifted my weight forward, just slightly.
Still, I couldn’t hear the answer.
Curses threatened to escape my lips.
I allowed my eyes to lift, only slightly, to trace up the stranger’s back.
He tilted his head to the side, and then, faster than should have been possible, he flicked his eyes over his shoulder.
His gaze ensnared me, holding me hostage. I couldn't look away.
Shit!
I twisted my expression into what I hoped was a glare. What in the realms was this stranger doing here, in Moonvale, expecting to compete in the trials? All folk were technically welcome, sure, but… ugh!
I wanted him gone.
With a twitch of the corner of his mouth, he straightened, facing Linc again.
I let my eyes drag down his back—now adorned with a nice, tailored jacket instead of the tattered, threadbare thing he’d been wearing the last time I saw him.
His feet were no longer bare but covered with boots.
He was clean. Put together.
And devastatingly, sickeningly handsome.
And, worst of all, he was competing in the competition.
Whether I liked it or not, I would have to see him for the next three days.
I was utterly screwed.
The Miss and Mister Moonvale trials were announced without further fuss.
For once, it felt like the fates were in my favor.
The three trials were simple: cooking, painting, and dancing.
I couldn’t have picked the categories better if I had done so myself. I was an excellent cook. My stews were the best in the entire town, maybe the entire realm if I felt like being cocky, and that wasn’t the extent of my skill.
I could paint, too. Nothing frame-worthy, but I could translate an image onto parchment well enough.
And dancing—anyone could dance. I’d been dancing my entire life.
And you couldn’t have two left feet if you had hooves.
For the first time in days, I felt light. Hopeful. The spark of competition lit a fire in my blood.
The competitors were split into two groups—those competing for the title of Mister Moonvale, and those competing for the title of Miss Moonvale. Anyone could join either group, really. We didn’t care.
But that Miss title would be mine, no matter what.
There was no way that the stranger would win any of the trials, and it would be so satisfying to leave him in the dust.