Page 79 of A Game of Love and Betrayal

An unladylike growl rumbled through Valentina. “Captain Ryker Waterborn, that’s who. He was supposed to be mine.”

Brynleigh’s wings fanned out behind her, and her head snapped up. She dropped her hands and curled into fists. “What the fuck did you say?”

She knew he and Valentina had been seeing each other early on during the Choosing—they were a small group, after all—but she’d never heard the fire fae lay a claim on Ryker.

And Brynleigh did not like it. Not one bit.

“You heard me.” Valentina had the gods-damned audacity to take another step closer to her. “The captain is the most prestigious fae here. He would’ve made the best husband for me. And you had to come in with your dirty blonde hair and sharp fangs and ruin everything.”

Anger was burning lava as it ran through Brynleigh’s cold veins. Shadows flooded out of her, and she snarled.

“Fuck you.” Brynleigh’s fangs burned. Her nails sliced through her palms and drew blood. Stepping closer to Valentina, she met those violet orbs and hissed, “He’s mine.”

Her claiming words rang through the hall. Somewhere deep within Brynleigh, something shifted.

Valentina’s eyes widened, and her mouth opened and closed. Was she in shock that Brynleigh would claim her man so openly? She wasn’t the only one.

Brynleigh hadn’t meant to speak the claiming words. At least, not with so much passion and truth. Of course, Ryker was hers… to kill. She refused to acknowledge that there might be any other reason she had claimed him.

The guard cleared his throat. “Miss de la Point, it’s time.”

Thank all the gods. Shooting Valentina one last glare for good measure, Brynleigh moved towards the doors. She ran her fingers down her gown and straightened an invisible wrinkle before drawing in a deep breath.

Once again, rule ten ran through her mind.

“I’m ready,” she said confidently.

The guard nodded and opened the door. The music slowly died as hundreds of eyes turned towards Brynleigh at once.

She refused to feel nervous beneath the weight of their attention. Instead, she held her chin up high and kept her wings tight behind her as she stood in the doorway, taking in the ballroom.

It had undergone yet another transformation. There were no signs of the rebels’ attack. Now, the ballroom was a grand space meant to house the party of the decade. Six diamond chandeliers glistened. Ruby tapestries adorned the walls, bearing the Republic’s crest. Servers wearing black milled about handing out flutes of sparkling wine and small finger foods.

And the people.

Gods, there were so many of them. There had to be close to five hundred, if not more. The scent of their blood was enticing, but Brynleigh had already drunk plenty tonight in preparation for being in front of so many people.

Horned and winged elves stood among fae. Werewolves chatted with witches. Shifters interacted with vampires. There were even a few humans among the crowd. The clothes were a testament to the beauty and expansiveness of the rainbow, each outfit slightly different from the last. Everyone was masked, like her.

Despite the face coverings, Brynleigh noted many familiar faces in the crowd. Guards she’d come to recognize over the past few weeks intermingled with guests. They wore suits and gowns, attempting to blend in, but nothing could hide the glint of awareness in their eyes. Weapons bulged under black jackets, and she pitied anyone who tried to attack tonight.

A ten-piece orchestra sat on the stage, their stringed instruments poised mid-air.

A herald dressed in crimson-edged black stepped out from the shadows on her right. “Ladies and gentlemen.” His voice boomed through the now-silent hall. “It is my honor to present the ninth participant in this year’s Choosing, Miss Brynleigh de la Point.”

Her heart pounded in her chest as she waited for someone to move. It felt like every second stretched longer than the last until finally, someone in the crowd clapped. They triggered the others, and a roar of applause soon filled the ballroom.

Blood rushed to Brynleigh’s cheeks, and she fought the urge to look down at the floor. It wasn’t that she minded the attention, per se, but simply that she wanted to get this evening started.

The sooner she got in there, the sooner they could get to the proposals and the sooner the evening would be over. She’d be engaged and one step closer to her goal.

And yet… those claiming words echoed in her mind. What was she thinking, saying them out loud?

He’s mine.

Her heart thrashed in her chest, a wild animal. Emotions threatened to rise. Her lungs burned. She closed her eyes, inhaling deeply. Those watching her probably mistook her actions for nerves.

They were wrong.

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