Chapter 9 #2
I forced my gaze away from him. Unfortunately, it landed on Jessica.
She was already climbing gracefully onto one of the inflatable horses, her long blonde hair gleaming under the lights, her tiny chainmail-print bikini leaving almost nothing to the imagination.
Her smile was sharp. Confident. Predatory.
The other contestants gathered around the pool laughed nervously as they adjusted their own costumes—armor-print bikini tops, fake leather belts, decorative "battle skirts" that barely covered their hips.
Reality TV had officially reached peak stupidity.
Then my gaze drifted toward the velvet pillow near Chet's podium. The Golden Rose rested there. A ridiculous prop. A fake prize. But the reward attached to it was very real. A private dinner with Egon. Hours alone with him. Even if cameras hovered in every corner.
No way I was allowing Jessice, or any of these other women, to spend time alone with Egon. Not fucking happening.
The image flashed through my mind before I could stop it— Jessica winning. Jessica draped over Egon during dinner. Jessica giggling while touching his arm. While I sat locked safely inside our suite, two very serious Prillon warriors standing guard outside my door.
No. Absolutely not. A sudden spark ignited in my chest. Hot.
Fierce. Completely irrational. I was going to win.
Not because I wanted the rose. Not because I needed validation from a reality TV competition.
Because every woman here looked at Egon like he was a trophy. A prize. Something to win and display.
He. Was. Mine.
He wasn't a prize. He was my mate.
The memory of the church flashed through my mind—the shattered doors, the roar of his voice when he'd declared me his in front of an entire congregation. The kiss that had followed. The way something deep inside me had answered him.
The bond between us was real. Biological. Unavoidable. And I would be damned if I let some reality TV Barbie climb onto a pink inflatable horse and take my Warlord.
"I'm ready," I announced. My voice carried across the pool deck with far more confidence than I actually felt. I knew how to swim. I’d taken swimming lessons when I was a child. Didn’t mean I liked pools. My hair and water did not get along.
Chet blinked slowly, his grin spreading as he watched me. "Excellent!" he crowed, clapping his hands as the sequins on his jacket flashed under the lights. "Mount your steed, fair maiden!"
I approached the nearest inflatable horse.
Calling it a horse was generous. The thing was a pink plastic monstrosity with a glittery mane and an expression of permanent, unbothered serenity.
Its cartoon eyes stared up at the sky as if it had long ago accepted the absurdity of its existence.
It was ridiculous. It was undignified. It was… my ride, apparently.
I grabbed the handles and swung one leg over.
The horse immediately wobbled beneath me, the inflated body squishing alarmingly as my weight settled onto it.
For one terrifying second, I thought the stupid thing was going to dump me straight into the chemically dyed pool.
I tightened my grip on the plastic loops attached to its neck and adjusted my balance. The horse steadied. Barely.
Okay. This was doable. Unstable. Humiliating. But doable.
"Contestants!" Chet's voice rang out over the speakers, vibrating across the pool deck. "Take your positions!"
One of the staff handed me a yellow pool noodle.
I placed it across my lap and paddled awkwardly toward the center of the pool, kicking the water behind me to guide the inflatable disaster beneath my hips.
Around me the other contestants were doing the same, a cluster of giggling women bouncing atop sparkly horses like some kind of surreal medieval birthday party.
Jessica paddled nearby. Her gaze slid toward me.
The smile she gave me promised violence. She was planning to knock me off first.
Unfortunately for her… she didn't know me very well.
I had spent my entire life fighting for things other people took for granted.
For grades. For scholarships. For respect.
I'd worked double shifts while classmates partied on weekends.
I'd studied until sunrise while other students relied on family connections to coast through life.
Competition wasn't new to me. And I didn’t like to lose.
"The rules are simple!" Chet shouted enthusiastically. "Use your lance to unhorse your opponent! Last lady remaining on her steed wins!" He raised one dramatic arm toward the sky. "BEGIN!"
Chaos exploded across the pool. Inflatable horses slammed into each other.
Water splashed everywhere as contestants shrieked and swung their foam "lances" wildly.
Bright yellow pool noodles flailed through the air like oversized spaghetti.
Someone tipped over immediately. Her pink horse flipped sideways and dumped her into the water with a splash loud enough to echo across the pool deck.
I stayed still. Watching. Learning. Most of the contestants were treating the whole thing like a joke—laughing, posing for the cameras, barely aiming their swings.
Their attacks were sloppy, predictable. Jessica wasn't laughing.
She moved through the chaos with purpose, her pool noodle striking with quick, controlled jabs.
One woman went down. Then another. Jessica was good.
Very good. Good enough that the producers probably loved her.
Good enough that she might actually win if no one stopped her.
That someone was going to be me.
A contestant paddled toward me, her grin sugary sweet. She was the one who had spent the morning bragging loudly about her "spiritual connection" with Egon.
"Sorry, sweetie," she cooed, raising her noodle.
She swung. I ducked. Her momentum carried her forward.
The inflatable horse tipped slightly beneath her.
That was all the opportunity I needed. I jabbed my own pool noodle against the side of her horse.
Not hard. Just enough. The horse rolled.
She shrieked as she toppled sideways into the water with a splash.
"Sorry, sweetie," I murmured, paddling away before she could grab my ankle.
The pool cleared quickly after that. Contestants were dropping like flies—victims of chaos, poor balance, or someone else's well-timed strike. I kept moving. Watching. Waiting.
Jessica cut through the water toward me. Her blonde hair clung to her shoulders now, damp from splashing. Her eyes were narrowed with sharp focus. She had eliminated at least four contestants already. She was the biggest threat left.
"Well, well," she called out as she approached, paddling her inflatable horse closer. "Look who's actually trying."
I angled my horse to face hers. "I'm not just trying," I replied evenly. I lifted my pool noodle slightly. "I'm winning."
Jessica laughed. There was no humor in the sound.
"You think so?" she said, circling slowly in the water. "You're a joke, Tori. The winner of this was decided before the show even started."
"I know," I said calmly. I knew exactly how much of this show was scripted. Exactly how much of it was theater. Exactly how little any of it mattered compared to what was real between Egon and me.
Jessica's smile sharpened. "He's mine," she said, her voice dropping into something colder. "It's in my contract."
"What are you talking about?" The words left my mouth before I could stop them.
They hit the air between us like a slap.
But I didn't flinch. I knew what Egon felt for me.
I had seen it in his eyes when he broke through those church doors.
I had felt it in the way his hands held me, like I was something rare and irreplaceable.
I had heard it in the rough promise of his voice when he told me I was his mate.
"You heard me." Jessica's smile was all teeth now, but none of it reached her eyes. "Season finale, those mating cuffs are mine. They're going on my wrists on live television."
Over my dead body. Bitch. "You're lying."
She snickered. "Ask Chet."
What. A. Bitch.
She struck first. Her pool noodle cut through the air with a sharp whistle aimed directly at my shoulder. I raised my own instinctively, blocking the blow. The foam rods clacked together with a hollow sound that echoed across the water.
"You're going down," Jessica hissed.
"Not today."
We circled each other on our ridiculous inflatable mounts, water sloshing around the horses as we paddled for position.
From the outside it probably looked hilarious.
Two women in fake chainmail bikinis battling with pool toys while cameras zoomed in for dramatic angles.
But Jessica wasn't playing for laughs. Neither was I.
She swung again. Fast. Aggressive. I blocked it, the impact vibrating down my arms. Jessica leaned forward, trying to shove me sideways off my horse.
I shifted my weight instead, letting the horse tilt just enough to absorb the force.
Years of working with animals had taught me something important.
Balance wasn't about fighting motion. It was about flowing with it.
Jessica attacked again. And again. Her strikes came faster now, more reckless. She was strong, I'd give her that. But she was predictable. Every attack started the same way. A tightening of her shoulders. A flicker in her eyes. A shift in her hips.
I watched. Waited. Learned. She swung high. I ducked. She swung low. I lifted my knees, redirected the force of the blow with a kick. Jessica growled under her breath. Frustration was creeping in now. Her attacks lost their rhythm.
Her breathing quickened. "Why won't you just—"