3. Not If I Eat Them Alive First
3. NOT IF I EAT THEM ALIVE FIRST
ELOWYN
According to the she-goblin and her internal don’t-behead-me clock, we skidded to a halt outside the double doors to the Great Salon of Delicacies with an entire minute to spare. While I was busy catching my breath—no easy feat when the corset I wore felt at least two sizes too small and I’d stuffed a blade down into it—the goblin disappeared—there one moment, vanished the next. I had no idea where she’d gone—only that when goblins didn’t want to be seen, they wouldn’t be, thanks to the unique magic of their kind.
Careful to perch my hands elegantly atop the waist of my voluminous taffeta skirts, I attempted not to glower at the contestants in line ahead of me, most of whom glanced my way before pointedly turning their backs to me, as if I were scum stuck to the sole of their shoe, unworthy of their attention.
Then why’d you look, bitches?
I pretended not to be winded, not to be irritated beyond measure to be forced into this ridiculous competition in the first place, not to feel absolutely murderous toward every simpering woman in line ahead of me vying to win the hand of my drake.
He wasn’t up for grabs.
The man was mine.
As I was his.
My near tardiness placed me exactly last in the queue. I doubted this was accidental when it was the queen who was orchestrating the trial’s details.
Everyone else ahead of me had an air of bored impatience, as if they’d been standing around for a while. None of their chests heaved with labored breath. Their brows were powdered free of shine, unlike mine, beaded with sweat.
“I wonder how much notice they were given before they were expected to be here,” I muttered, mostly to myself, but Ryder and West flanked me. Their sharp gazes roved over the many females who peeked at them as often as they did me. I suspected at least some of the women were sizing up possible second-place prizes in the drakes, should they fail to become crown princess.
Which they would.
West leaned his head closer and whispered: “They got a lot more notice than you did, that’s for damn sure.”
Scowling, I counted the women. Many of them stood with female attendants, but it was easy enough to discern the competitors among them. Without fail, their hair was bigger, louder, brighter. The skirts of their dresses took up twice as much space. And their makeup was of the stop and stare variety.
“Including me, there are twenty-two of us.”
“Hmmph,” West said. “I expected more. Rush never seems to be lacking for females throwing themselves at him.”
His eyes as pale as his hair in the bright light streaming in through windows along one of the walls, Ryder tsked . “Seriously, bro?”
“What?”
Then West took in the thunderous tilt to my mouth, my brows. By dragonfire, probably every little thing about me screamed that I was seconds from tearing apart every last one of the females.
“Oh, um,” West continued. “Sorry, Elowyn. I just mean?—”
“I know what you mean,” I snapped, before wondering if I should apologize. But soon I had bigger issues. A growl was bubbling inside me, building momentum. I could feel it, and I had to contain it.
Ryder inched closer so that his arm brushed mine. “I bet it’s the”—he glanced around us, at how many of the others were listening raptly despite their attempts to disguise their curiosity with murmured conversations of their own—“you know, the connection between you two.”
The mate bond between Rush and me, that’s what he meant. The mate bond was making me want to rip into every fae so openly challenging me for what already belonged to me .
Ryder gripped my elbow. I tamped down the urge to jerk it free. The growl was moments from slipping out. I pressed my lips together to prevent the baring of teeth that felt … instinctual.
“It might not be easy,” he told me in hushed tones, his light eyes trying to hold mine, but I could only look ahead, at all the pretenders. At the wannabe thieves . “But you’re gonna have to keep a tight lid on the … situation. She might already know, but you definitely don’t want any of the others to know.”
“Yeah,” West chimed in, just as quiet. “They might not be anywhere near as brutal as she is, but they’ve been learning from her for long enough to have picked up some ugly tricks.”
West flicked his stare to them, then back to me before rubbing a hand over his short hair. “You’re gonna have to watch your back. And I really mean that. You’ll have to stay majorly sharp.”
Ryder added, “Once they admit you into the salon, I doubt West and I will be allowed to accompany you.”
“I don’t need guards,” I snarled, grinding my jaw even as I understood that my reactions weren’t entirely my own. An instinct I had never experienced before held my reins in a tight, unyielding grip, jerking me around.
I felt West and Ryder exchange looks. I wanted to relax, to chill the fuck out … but couldn’t. I just … couldn’t. Not when my bond with Rush was threatened .
How could I relax when all I wanted was to defend, defend, defend ?
Ryder cleared his throat, a delicate hm-hm when none of the friends Rush considered brothers was ever particularly delicate about anything.
“Let’s be real, El.”
He called me what only Rush ever did, and I grunted.
Ryder and West exchanged yet another loaded look.
Ryder continued: “We could all use guards around here to watch our backs.”
West snorted. “Yeah, but guards who’ll actually lift a blade to defend us. Not just…” He trailed off.
I got the point. How could I not? Guards who simply put on pretenses of protection while secretly doing the queen’s bidding were more dangerous than helpful.
“You get it,” West finally finished after a glance to the ceiling line of the hall, though I was the only one present able to check for the queen’s usual bloody spies. No detached appendages bobbed there. I had no doubt they’d make an appearance soon, however. The queen left nothing to chance in her court.
The doors at the end of the hall, which led into the great salon, swung open, causing Ryder to tighten his hold on my elbow to garner my undivided attention.
Urgently, he whispered, “If you reveal how much the situation with the ‘connection’ is getting to you, everyone trying to beat you will find a way to use it against you.” His brows, several shades darker than his hair, furrowed with his intensity. “And I assure you, whatever plan they come up with, you’ll be sure not to like it. You must get a grip on yourself.”
“He’s right,” West said, causing Ryder to jerk in surprise at the other man’s emphatic agreement. “You’re being too open, too transparent. They’ll see it and they’ll eat you alive.”
“Not if I eat them alive first,” I growled.
I heard the gruff edge to my voice, registered it.
Fuck , they were right. I was out of control.
“You’re a warrior, right?” West said. “The only female warrior I’ve ever known,” he added with a tinge of awe that never seemed to disappear whenever anyone contemplated a woman actually knowing how to fight.
Like we needed dicks to hone our bodies as weapons…
“You’re a wounded wolf,” West went on, and I snapped my stare to his.
My lips pursed in annoyance. My brow arched in a sarcastic really? “A wounded wolf?”
“Yes, El, yes. Every time you let on as to how much all these”— he flicked a look ahead, noticed the women closest to us, mere feet away, unabashedly craning their necks to hear us better, and frowned at them. He stalked several feet back down the hall and, with a flip of his head, urged me to join him.
Conversation at the head of the line grew louder, as if we were about to be granted entrance. I glanced from the doors to West, then hurried toward him. Ryder followed.
West didn’t delay in finishing what he was saying. “Every time you let these fucking cunts see how much they’re getting to you, it’s like you’re letting them scent your blood like you’re sliced open and bleeding. You’re not gonna bleed out, but you’re growing weaker, and fast. You just need to make it back to your den without anyone attacking you and you’ll be fine.”
The metaphor was a bit roundabout, and not at all how Zako would have done it, but I was following.
“No matter what, you can’t show them your vulnerabilities. You can’t show them that, even though you’re usually the predator, you’re currently the prey. A few of them might even join up to take you the fuck down. And, El? You can’t let them. No matter what, you can’t. Rush’ll gut us himself if we let anything happen to you.”
“I won’t let them take me out,” I immediately insisted, but I heard the roughness still there. Like I was barely keeping my shit together.
West and Ryder just stared at me, as if willing me to observe myself.
“I’m not an idiot,” I told them. “I am self-aware, you know. I hear what I sound like.”
“And so will every other nasty-ass bitch in that room with you,” West said, driving home his point.
For a moment, my eyes lost focus as I considered the two men. Finally, I nodded—mostly to myself .
“I’ll get it together,” I assured them—myself. “I will.”
Already, my tone was a bit softer, though not weak. No, never weak.
I could only portray strength. With all these eager females—and most especially with the queen.
“You—” Ryder started.
I cut him off, meeting his stare first, then West’s. “ I’ve got this .”
“Remember,” West started, but a hush was falling across the others.
The same thin reed of a man, who usually announced each guest’s arrival at the Hall of Mirrors, cleared his throat with a dignified ahem . Unlike the long tailcoats he wore for the nighttime parties, the hem of his suit jacket was cut in an uncommon arc that mimicked the bottom curve of his ribs. Its fabric was a subdued rose.
Accustomed to speaking above the din of revelry, “The Nuptialis Probatio Trials are about to begin,” he announced in a steady, strong voice. “As Her Majesty the Queen Talisa Zafira Tatiana has arranged an intimate affair for the opening event, only the contestants, and no one else, not even their servants, will be admitted to the Great Salon of Delicacies.”
Murmurs interrupted the hush until he spoke again.
“You’ll be admitted one at a time, and I’ll announce your arrival to Her Majesty. Once inside, you’ll take the seat labeled with your name on it and await further instructions.”
I expected something else to follow. Perhaps a, Here we go! Or a, Ready or not, enter the salon at your own peril .
But the tall, gaunt man called out, “The Countess Natania Tally of Bendisantos.”
Natania, with hair coiled atop her head higher than anybody, walked forward with measured, slow steps, as if she were already a freaking bride, dramatically drawing out her approach of the groom.
Of course she was fucking first in line . The queen made no attempts to hide her preference for the daughter of the continually scheming Dowager Countess Dayana Tempest, who appeared to be part woman, part serpent, forever ready to influence any and all circumstances in her daughter’s favor.
A growl once more rumbled deep in my chest, drawing the startled glances of the two females directly ahead of me in line. I didn’t know either of them, nor had I noticed them at any of the queen’s endless litany of festivities. They must have only just arrived from the surrounding fae clans.
Zako would have my hide for my lack of control.
I forced my grimace to contort into what was supposed to pass for an impartial smile.
The female nearest me, who was adorned with unnaturally yellow hair, cringed and turned to face front .
Right. I had to do better than this, a whole lot better.
The announcer continued in a predictable order, calling out the names and full titles of the sycophants I’d grown accustomed to seeing flitting around the queen. The more willing they were to kiss her wicked ass and engage in her evil fantasies, the closer to the front of the line they were.
The voluptuous Coretta, her voluminous bosom pushed enthusiastically toward her throat, immediately followed Natania. Next came Malina, the female who’d volunteered to join the queen in her bed, promising untold pleasures.
On and on went the list. Many of the names and faces I recognized, several I didn’t. Without exception, every name was accompanied by a title marking the woman as an important ranking member of Embermere’s nobility.
Among them, a few mentions surprised me. Octavia Lily Rose was new to the treachery of the courtiers, a lovely innocence trailing her like the scent of perfume. She was a mere scaless, the penultimate lowest title on the hierarchical ladder. Only a lady—what most fae believed me to be—was lower than she. Octavia, however, was likely to inherit the position of visdrakess. Regardless, I suspected the queen was so adamant about including Octavia in events the scaless clearly didn’t want to attend solely to corrupt her. Everyone else appeared to be in a great hurry to become the queen’s plaything—or better yet, to join her in toying with others. I suspected the queen viewed Octavia as a challenge. One of the few last remaining pure ones.
Eliana was the second surprise. Always among the tittering gaggle that shadowed the queen at her parties, she entered the great salon only a few contestants ahead of me. Her parents, a viscount and viscountess, had drawn the queen’s disfavor when the monarch had been so keen to pin Prince Saturn’s death on someone. They could have too easily suffered Yorgen and Idra’s fate. Whatever her parents had done, the queen obviously hadn’t forgiven them for it.
When all twenty-one women had entered the room ahead of me, I finally drew up to stand beneath the threshold of the double doors, propped open. Just beyond hung a shimmering, iridescent curtain. Its two halves undulated after falling closed to conceal the previous entrant.
I sensed the intent stares of West and Ryder upon my back, maybe that of the she-goblin too, but I refused to turn to check.
Whatever I’d have to do within the Great Salon of Delicacies, when I already knew the queen and I would have very different opinions of what a delicacy was, I’d do it. This fight might be unlike any I had ever anticipated waging, but I’d master the mate bond within me. I’d figure out how to play the queen’s game—and I’d motherfucking win it.
I’d win the man I loved and ignore how wont the queen was to treat her subjects like chattel she owned .
The announcer towered over me. As he always did, he kept his attention straight ahead, discerning whoever he was to introduce next without looking.
I gazed up at him, waiting for my turn—anxious, even, to see what lay beyond the curtains.
When I’d convinced Rush to lead me around the palace and its grounds so I could learn the territory, we’d come here. The great salon was perhaps a fourth the size of the Hall of Mirrors, but no less opulent.
No curtain had obstructed the entrance then.
When long seconds drew out and still the announcer didn’t speak, I cleared my throat in an artfully feminine eh-eh that felt too frilly to me.
He didn’t break his pattern to glance at me.
I waited an entire minute—I counted the passing seconds.
From behind me, I heard Ryder utter a gruff, “What the dragonfire’s the holdup?”
I was pondering if I should clear my throat a second time or straight-up ask him what he was waiting for when the announcer bowed his head in a sharp nod, then stepped back through the door, the billowing curtain a pace away. Without a single look at me, at any of us, with long arms he first clasped the handle of one door, then…
…pulled them shut with a concluding snick.
Right in my face.