34. And the Winner Is…

Chapter 34

And the Winner Is…

LORI

T he ballroom has been rearranged to sit a few hundred courtiers, with an elevated stage set up in front of the frosted floor-to-ceiling windows. I recognize a few faces in the first row, mainly the other sponsors.

Anticipation rumbles through the audience at our arrival. A handful of cameras hover over the public, most of them glaring at the hosts. Sara and Paul sit in a pair of teal velvet armchairs, three empty seats lined up next to them.

Seth zooms across the room to rejoin his colleagues while Byron escorts Daisy and me to the side of the stage where the Winter brides are waiting. I haven't seen them since they left us to freeze on the mountains, and my nails dig into my palms.

"Look who finally decided to grace us with her presence," one of them grunts.

Wendy shoots me a glance that spells out exactly how disappointed she is to see me alive. The off-the-shoulder neckline of her dress highlights her smooth, pale skin, and her dark hair has been styled in an elaborate updo.

"The brides are here," Sara announces, drawing our focus back to the stage. She retrieves three small envelopes from the inside pocket of her glittering white jacket. "Since the last challenge was cut short, I now hold the names of the three finalists personally selected by our king."

Paul leans forward, his hands fanning in front of him in a show of machiavellian excitement. Despite his gray hair looking flat and oily, his black suit and matching bow tie lend him a more polished appearance than his usual white tuxedo. "Shall we invite them on stage, Sara?"

"Yes." Sara tears open the first paper envelope, and her voice trembles as she enunciates, "Daisy Sinclair."

The crowd claps. A full-bodied gasp erupts from Daisy, momentarily freezing her in place. She quickly regains her composure, striding forward with a blazing smile on her red-painted lips. She climbs the three little steps to meet Paul, who hands her a single blue rose, pecks her cheeks, and gestures for her to take one of the three empty seats.

Sara tears open the seal of the second envelope. "Wendy Frost."

A dozen High Fae rise to cheer her on, and I suppress the urge to roll my eyes.

Sara opens the third envelope and holds it over her chest. "And last but not least, Lori Lovegood," she announces quietly.

My shoulders sag in a mix of worry and relief. For a moment there, I was almost certain she wouldn't call my name.

I walk onto the stage amidst deafening applause. Paul hands me a blue rose and plants a peck on my cheeks as well, before I take my place between Daisy and Wendy.

Sara moves to shake our hands. "Congratulations," she says quickly, her hand clammy in my grip. "And good luck."

Her fake smile sends a chill down my spine as I lean in. "Is everything okay?"

She averts her gaze and offers Wendy the same lackluster words of encouragement before hurrying offstage. A molten heat pools in my gut. Something's wrong.

I scour the room, but between the cameras, the quiet gardens beyond the windows, and the eager spectators, there's no hint of trouble.

"How does it feel to know, one way or another, you're going to receive a frost apple?" Paul asks. "Let's start with you, Daisy."

Tears glaze over her eyes as she opens her mouth and swallows hard. "I can't find the words, Paul."

I play absent-mindedly with the long-stemmed blue rose and accidentally prick my finger on its thorns.

"What about you, Wendy? You're already immortal, and many of our viewers want to know exactly why you joined the pageant. As you know, you're the first Fae to do so in decades."

Wendy offers him a wide, beauty-queen smile. "I just thought Winter Fae shouldn't hide from their birthright, Paul."

"Is that the whole truth, though?" Paul motions to the empty wall behind him. "Let's take a look at some footage we recovered from the mountains. There's no audio, but I think the images tell a clear story."

A projector sparks to life. The zoomed clip shows Wendy by the entrance of the mine, helping one of the Tidecallers secure the last of his cargo. The two of them share a quick hug before he flees, and Wendy lies back next to the other unconscious girls on the floor of the mine.

"Wait! It's not—I didn't—" Wendy stammers, her knuckles white over the armrests.

Paul shakes his head with a reproachful scowl. "Guards, please escort Miss Frost to a holding cell."

While the cameras capture every moment of Wendy's arrest, a stage technician removes her chair.

Daisy grips my hand. "I knew it," she whispers only for my benefit.

I draw in a deep breath, vindicated that Wendy was working for the enemy, but I'm not sure what role she was supposed to play, or why she looked so disappointed to see me earlier if her mission had already failed.

"A formal investigation will determine the extent of Wendy Frost's involvement with the revolutionist group known as the Tidecallers." Paul turns to the side camera. "But first, let's welcome the Winter King to the stage.

My spine stiffens, and I grip the rose tighter. Elio climbs the stairs two at a time and sits on the other side of Paul, his chair brightening from dark teal to a soft blue as it ices over.

I try to cross his gaze, but he's pointedly not looking in my direction, focused on Paul as he unbuttons his jacket. Adrenaline rushes in my veins, the poise and nonchalance of the Winter King making me doubt he's the same Elio I've come to know.

"My king, can I ask you a few questions?" Paul asks with a sheepish grimace.

"Fire away, Paul. It's important to be transparent. Now more than ever."

Paul nods several times, his rehearsed, conspiratorial grin sending shivers down my spine. "In the spirit of transparency, let me show you the rest of the footage we recovered."

Elio opens and closes his mouth, his frustration evident. After a deep breath, he grits his teeth and gives a reluctant incline of the head. "Alright."

"Here."

Sharp whispers erupt from the crowd. Paul seems to be going off script, and my heart hammers in my throat as another clip lights up the wall behind us. I see myself trying to help Elio to his feet before he points an ice shiv at my neck, and the image freezes.

"Let's pause here." Paul licks his lips, drawing out the suspense to rile up the audience. "If I may ask, what happened right before this? You were bleeding?"

"The apparent leader of the Tidecallers tried to kill me, but Lori stabbed him, and he vanished," Elio explains.

Inaudible conversations rise from the sea of courtiers, the High Fae now gossiping openly among themselves.

"Had Tidecallers been spotted in Wintermere before this?" Paul asks.

Elio gives a decisive slice of the head. "Never. The only knowledge I had of them before facing them on the mountain came from history books and the scary Faen tales I heard around the campfire growing up."

The language used leaves no room for interpretation. Fae can't lie, so this serves as both the pageant's finalist round and a political inquiry. Everyone watching from home will know that the Winter King isn't in leagues with the rebels crawling about his glacier.

Paul nods emphatically. "And what were they after?"

"Power. They carved out scales from one of Wintermere's sacred dragons and stole precious jewels from the mines. They tried to abduct the brides—most likely to harvest their magic, too." Elio pauses and looks straight at the cameras before adding, "While most of the rebels were found dead after the avalanche, I want to send a clear message that any individual found to have participated in this attack—whether within this court or not—will be severely punished."

He's in on Paul's televised stunt after all.

Paul inches forward in his seat, his linked hands braced over his knee. "You look angry with Lori here. Was she involved in the attack?"

"No."

The projection resumes, showing Elio with a bloody lip and me in my white silk dress as we argue, before he kisses the life out of me…

The crowd goes wild for it. Our gazes meet across the stage for a split second, and my chest heaves, the rush of heat between my breasts almost too intense for me to bear.

Paul chuckles as the clip ends. "You two certainly have sizzling chemistry, but what our viewers want to know is how Lori Lovegood ended up hanging upside down from that sleigh. Let's hear from her, shall we?" He shifts in his chair to face me. "Lori, why did you risk it all? Why didn't you stay on the dragon's back?"

I suck in air. "I—I just couldn't let him fall."

Heartfelt awws and soft applause echo across the audience.

I need Elio to hold my gaze so I can vanquish the unease in my belly. I want the crowd to disappear so it can be just us. A fluttering sensation scatters across my chest. I want to spend the night in his arms. And make him laugh. I want to marry him so we can break his curse—together.

Maybe Seth is right, and I've actually lost my mind.

Paul jolts me out of my epiphany. "I can't begin to grasp the athletics necessary to slide down that chain and tilt upside down like that. You must be in very good shape."

My eyes narrow. I don't like his congenial tone one bit, and he seems to want to make some kind of point with it. "I am."

"Some have said that a mortal would need magic to achieve such a feat." Paul's eyes dance. "Are they wrong?"

"Err—"

Paul angles himself to the crowd and cameras and serves the viewers an exaggerated sigh. "I think it's obvious to everyone here that Lori isn't the Spring seed she pretends to be. After her truly impressive stunt—after she saved our king—it pains me to acknowledge it, but the rules of the pageant are all too clear. The brides that participate in the Yule pageant must come from the first kingdoms. Isn't that right, Your Majesty?"

"Yes," Elio croaks.

My heart shrivels at the disingenuity of the exchange. Paul's speech. Elio's answer. It's all staged .

The host tips his head forward for a moment, his shoulders hunched in defeat. "It's a pity, but the brave woman we've come to love isn't eligible to win, and is, as of this moment, disqualified." He draws in a deep breath, letting the news sink in, waiting for the crowd to settle down before he nails the punchline. "Which means Daisy Sinclair will be our new queen."

Sara strolls back on stage with a bushel of blue roses, and fucking confetti rains from the ceiling. "Congratulations, Daisy."

The lens of the closest camera zooms in on my face, and I squint at it, only vaguely aware of the unhappy chatter in the audience.

"The wedding will take place tonight, so the sacred rites of the solstice can be celebrated by the king—and our new queen—at the stroke of midnight," Paul announces. He turns to Daisy with a questioning smile. "How are you feeling, Daisy?"

Sara scurries over to me in the guise of shaking the loser's hand. "Let's talk after this."

A cruel snigger bubbles out of my mouth. I watch, petrified, as Elio grabs Daisy's hand and pecks her lips, my Spring friend pale as snow, her heart probably about to shrivel and die, too.

Oxygen is sparse as I tear every ounce of shadows from the stage to shield myself from the pity glances of the crowd and the vicious intrusion of the cameras. I take it all. The shade under the chairs, the gloom between the velvet cushions—even the darkness draped over Elio's face.

And I run.