20. Sipping on Regrets

Chapter 20

Sipping on Regrets

LORI

E xcited squeals and bitter sobs pull me from my slumber the next morning. I need a moment to gather my thoughts, the small of my back tingling as though a hand has just been resting there.

Elio's hand.

For some unfathomable reason, I feel him behind me, hovering between oblivion and consciousness with nothing but a silk sheet wrapped around his midriff, but as soon as I try to focus on the strange tether, it crumbles to dust like it was never there at all.

"By Eros, guys! The results are in," Poppy announces from the thin mattress next to me, scurrying to her feet. She must have sneaked back inside the tent during the night.

The pep in her voice makes me want to curl into a ball and never wake up, and I bury my face deep in the pillow.

Daisy snatches the end of my sleeping bag and slides it off the camp bed. "Get up, Lori. It's time to find out exactly how much damage you've done to this competition."

The cold breeze raises all my hairs to attention, and I sit up, rubbing the sleep off my face. "What now?"

Murmurs and glares follow me to the tent flap.

Outside, in the sunny, breezy winter morning, Paul has set up the hosts' booth between our tent and the Snowhaven Inn. Microphones amplify his relentless chatter, and my stomach twists up in knots at the prospect of hearing his commentary on the kiss I shared with Elio.

Gods. As long as he hasn't figured out what happened after …

"Here they are. The eight lucky women who best kissed our King will be collecting their invitation to the Yule brunch in a few seconds," Paul says, his clear-cut voice carrying on the wind.

Before my unexpected performance, they were supposed to tally the votes in real time, so I figure the public has already been informed of the winners and losers. Fancy envelopes are laid down on a table right outside the tent.

Paul shoots us a glance over his shoulder, his usual white tuxedo spruced up with a sequined white tie. His gray hair is a little messier than usual, a few strands flying in the stiff breeze. "The brides are now searching for their names on the invitations. For most of them, the journey is over, but I'm sure the stir caused by the kiss-that-ended-it-all made their night interesting."

Sara joins his side. "Our viewers were pretty clear on their favorites. Only two brides really came out on top from this stop in Snowhaven, Paul."

"No surprise there, Sara. The public is really leaning into the rivalry between their kin, Wendy Frost—the only Fae to sign up for this competition in years—and the woman that has been on everyone's lips since her first appearance, Lori Lovegood."

"Yes. Wendy and Lori are truly this year's darlings. Wintermere will be heartbroken if—Thanatos forbid—both of them don't make it to the final round, Paul. The challenge that comes directly after the Yule Brunch is always grueling, and neither the king nor our viewers will be able to influence the outcome."

I tiptoe closer to the envelopes and pick up the one with my name on it. A heavy weight settles in my stomach.

"Let's observe our eight finalists for a minute longer before we peek inside the inn where the royals are about to arrive. Freya Heart herself is attending, and unless you're living under a troll bridge, you know how rare that is."

Paul turns off his mic and chats quietly with Sara before they stroll over to the entrance of Snowhaven Inn together.

The camera above my head angles itself to catch my reaction, and I hold the envelope in front of my face to mask a cringe as it canvases the crowd, capturing footage from the elimination. A sigh escapes my lips as I pry open the envelope. The thick silver and white invitation card inside feels heavy in my hands. The meticulous calligraphy congratulates me on a job well done and marks me as one of the eight brides still in the running to become queen.

Rose's sad hiccups remind me that it was all too real for her, and a twinge of guilt squeezes my windpipe.

I'm part of the pageant's schemes now. A sanctioned spy.

A camera zooms in on her disappointment, and I can't resist the urge to glare at it.

Poppy pats her disgruntled friend on the back. "Come on, now. We did our best."

All the sex she had with Seth probably helped to ease her own sorrows at being eliminated.

Daisy, however, did receive an invitation and flips it back and forth in her hands as though she's looking for a secret code. "What do you think the next challenge will be?"

Wendy, two of her wintry friends, and three of the most dangerous-looking Reds are still in the running. Summer brides are out of the contest altogether.

Byron flies over to us. "Brides, please change into your provided uniforms and join me outside. Do not worry about shoes, make-up, or accessories. The next challenge calls for no artifice at all. And if you didn't receive an invitation, just wait. I'll be ready to take you home soon."

Sniffles and sobs mingle with nervous giggles and relieved smiles. While some of the eliminated brides are sad to go home, others are not, and I double back inside the tent with Daisy on my heels. The cameras remain outside, giving us a moment to breathe.

While we were fetching the invitations, folded uniforms were laid out on the finalists' cots, and I unravel the silk bow on top of mine with a trembling hand.

Another white dress. Great.

Only…this one isn't fit for a wedding as it's barely thick enough not to be see-through. I shrug my robe off and slip the airy piece of silk over my head. Magic coats me from all sides as soon as the fabric glides down the length of my body, and the underwear and socks Sara lent me last night flake off into nothingness. My hair band vanishes, too, the accessory's sudden disappearance sending my long black hair cascading over my shoulder.

My socks, underwear, and missing hair tie reappear on the bed a moment later, folded and clean—along with my small silver key.

What the fuck?

My grandmother could do a week's worth of laundry in mere minutes, but this is something else.

"Your sponsors will bring your things along to our next pit stop, so you don't have to worry about losing them," Byron adds.

The white dress is as plain and simple as can be, but I feel completely protected from the cold. I slip on the matching long-sleeved jacket that completes the outfit, its hem finishing up at my waist, and peek at the other brides.

Daisy's make-up has been erased by the spell, her glossy straight hair now naturally wavy. The Winter brides' elaborate updos and braids were unraveled, too.

The Red brides gasp and reach for their brows, but the rules apparently apply to all. Without their jeweled scarves, sharp rings, and blood-red hoods, they don't look so intimidating. But the fiery tints of their auburn and red manes still set them apart.

With our hair down, bare feet, and no makeup to speak of, we look like a bunch of virginal princesses. My teeth grind as we form a single file and follow Byron to the first floor of the Snowhaven Inn where the brunch is taking place.

The large room has been decorated to fit the needs of a king—or several kings and queens, in this particular case. Silver and platinum abstract centerpieces garnish the long table, and gold cutlery shines under the light of the floating bronze chandeliers. White poinsettias, snowdrops, and Christmas roses hang in thick garlands above our heads, embalming the air with a honeyed and floral scent.

Sunshine streams through the bay windows and wraps the whole room in a golden glow, twinkles of white snow hugging the windowsills. The flying eyeballs send vibrations through the air, and my huntress senses allow me to pinpoint their location, but a magic cloak currently hides them from view.

My breath catches in my throat when I see Elio. The shape of his shoulders under his navy blazer takes me right back to the hall of mirrors. To his soft blond locks in my grip, and the greed in his ice-blue eyes.

To his hungry, almost vicious kiss owning every intimate part of me…

He sits at one end of the table with three place settings on each side of him. Only six monarchs are present out of seven, leaving one of the six guest seats vacant. Elio's father, Ethan Lightbringer, is apparently not attending.

I've never felt so much power in one place, and we're clearly not expected to join them. My skin tingles under their scrutiny, and I resist the urge to throw Damian a small wave. The Shadow King is sitting between Freya and Thera, the queens of Spring and Summer. Seth was banished to a small table in the back and away from his royal parents, his father Thorald Storm sitting across from Damian.

The Storm King has a jackal tattooed on his neck, his white beard and hair clashing with his stormy aura. A thundercloud sticks to his shoulder and blurs the shape of his body.

My throat shrinks, but I hold my head high. I thought we'd have a meal, too—not be paraded around like chattel up for auction.

Elio's chair creaks as he stands. "Welcome to the Yule brunch, cousins." He raises his champagne flute in the air. "I thank you for your generous bounty."

Elio is not related by blood to every monarch of Faerie, but c ousin is a word often used by the Fae to address a peer of equal power and not blood relation.

His gaze skids over me, his deep, leveled voice sparking goosebumps on my neck. I don't have to look down to know my nipples are showing through the damn dress, but the bastard doesn't spare me a full glance.

"Per tradition, the next challenge will be harsh, but the Frost Peaks have a way of weeding out the weak," Elio muses.

The royals raise their glasses in the air.

Elio sits back down, and the tensed way he grips the armrests of his chair is the only clue that he saw me at all. I wait for him to slip up and steal a glance at me, but he doesn't. Instead, he sparks up a conversation with the Red Queen sitting to his right. Nothing in his behavior hints at the secret we share, and my toes curl over sleek hardwood floors.

I'm number sixteen. Nothing more.

If I tricked myself into believing we'd shared a moment back in the hall of mirrors, and that a tiny, minuscule part of him actually didn't want me to leave, it's my own damn fault.

Whereas Elio treats me like I'm invisible, the Spring Queen, Freya, drills holes in my skull with her deep brown eyes. I bet she's wondering why I look so much like her niece. Normally, I'd feel sympathetic, but it's hard to feel anything but hatred toward the woman who condemned my brother to death.

Damian adjusts his napkin over his lap and utters a few words in her ear. Freya immediately stops staring and shakes her head, fanning herself dramatically.

The brides curtsy, and I imitate them. My court etiquette isn't quite as polished as theirs, and Damian conceals a smile with his gloved hand.

"Now, follow me," Sara commands, ready to escort us to the next challenge, no doubt.

Daisy leans closer, walking right behind me. "We have to talk."

"I need to pee, first," I lie.

The bathrooms are at the back of the inn, and I quickly make my way toward the ladies' room. As soon as I'm out of view from the brides, I wrap myself in shadows and wait.

As I expected, Damian had the same idea. He quickly joins me at the end of the corridor, and the shadows around us swell, cloaking us in a darkness so deep, I bet none of the other royals could see through it.

"We can't speak for long, or someone will notice that I'm gone," he says.

The Shadow King isn't wearing his mask, and it's weird to see him whole. But I have a bone to pick with him and point my index finger at his face. "Why didn't you tell me about my striking resemblance to Elio's first wife? You knew her, yes?"

A sad smile curls down his lips, and he looks a little more like the haunted man I used to know. "Yes."

My brows pull together, my trust in my sovereign and friend shaken. "So, from the first moment you saw me, you knew."

"I wouldn't have wished for you two to meet. Ever. Some scars are better left undisturbed." He scratches the back of his neck. "I did try to figure out how it was possible, but I never found any tangible lead."

"What really happened to her? Were you there the day she died?" I whisper, even though no one can hear us.

"I wasn't. By then I was already cursed and avoided social gatherings at all costs." He frowns, the straight line of his brow interrupted only by a faint scar. "I heard that one of the brides was killed back at the castle."

"Yes, she turned to solid ice."

His fists curl and uncurl at his sides. "Damn it, Lori. I'm not in charge here. I can't protect you."

"Don't fret. Your buddy Elio isn't that dangerous." I emphasize the word, the sting of his lie by omission still raw.

A heavy sigh whistles out of his lungs. "Don't say it like that. Elio and I haven't been friends in a long time. You need to be careful with him."

Seth barrels down the corridor, his purple gaze searching the space in front of him like he can't see us but is pretty certain that we're close. He walks right past us and peeks inside the men's room, and the women's. "Are you guys having a secret bathroom meeting without me?"

Damian brings him into the conversation, and Seth jolts in surprise. "Jeez. That's a strong cloak of shadow you got there, D. I must have walked right past you." He rubs down his chin to mask a cringe, clearly spooked. "The others have remarked on your absence."

"Are you sure you don't want to come home with me, Lori?" Damian offers.

I nod with unwavering confidence. "Tell Nell I'm doing great. I'm going to get answers."

Damian glowers at my sponsor, his fists balled at his sides. "If something happens to her, I'll hold you personally responsible." The Shadow King reluctantly spins on his heel, his eyes glued to Seth for a breath before he returns to the dining room, a patchwork of serpentine shadows hanging over his shoulders like a cape.

Seth arches a brow at Damian's retreating back. "Wow. He's grumpy today." He stretches gingerly, clearly relieved to be rid of the Shadow King as he looks me up and down. "Are you alright? You look a little pale."

"Do you know what the next challenge will be?" I ask quickly, pushing aside my fears and doubts in favor of more pressing matters.

"No, but it's supposed to be brutal."

My fingers curl around the flimsy edge of silk above my knee. "I'm ready."

When I get back to the tent, the flaps seal behind me, and the girls all turn in my direction.

"What?"

"We're all here, now. Read the card," a Winter bride barks.

Wendy picks up the white, embossed invitation in the middle of the table and reads it aloud. "If you want to participate in the next challenge, you've got to renew your commitment to the Winter Court. There's only eight of you, now. The winner of the pageant will marry the king and become queen. You might have come for fame, money, power, or immortality, but think long and hard about the consequences of your decision. If, and only if, you're ready to continue, gulp down the blue elixir. If you wish to leave, you'll be escorted back to the new world at once, never to return to Faerie."

That's a huge drawback. Most of the seeds here expect to work for the Spring Court if not chosen, the way I serve the Shadow King. Being exiled from Faerie forever is not an out many would choose, but I guess it's still an out.

A new card appears on the table, and Daisy snatches it before the Winter brides can react. She licks her lips, the white, rectangular piece of paper fluttering in her grip. "Beware the dangers of the mountains. And each other. The ones who make it to the battlements of the Ice City before dawn will accompany the king on the last part of his journey before our return to court. The others"—her brows pull together—"will be left behind."

"Left behind as in go home, or left behind to freeze to death?" A Red asks.

Daisy grunts. "That's the beauty of this competition, isn't it? The mystery."

The tiny blue vials contain about an ounce of liquid.

"What happens if we drink two? I'd happily keep that one out of the running," Wendy says, but the veil of magic keeping us from seeing the cameras thins at her suggestion, and a forced chuckle dribbles out of her mouth. "Just kidding, of course."

I offer her a wry grin and pick up one vial from the rack. "Cheers!" Tipping my head back, I swallow its contents without hesitation.

Almost as soon as the exaggerated "ha" leaves my lips, everything turns to shadows.