Page 22 of A Bride for the Winter King
My distaste for the whole new way she decided to torture me sharpens into anger. “Butfiftybrides? Was it really necessary? How can I hope to keep track of them all, sight unseen?”
Fifty women. Fifty pointless conversations. My brain is about to implode.
She holds my reproachful gaze. “It’s the fiftieth Yule pageant in that many years. The people craved something different,flashy, and a little more modern, so we’re emulating the new mortal trends.”
Thick make-up covers the dark circles under her blue eyes, and her white turtleneck is meant to cover the snow flaking off her skin. Rouge brings a shade of color to her cheeks, but it’s all for the cameras. Sara’s blood runs about as cold as mine. And she hasn’t been sleeping, either, so she tried to conceal her real mood with a little more makeup than usual.
She offers me a restless smile. “We’ve all grown tired of the same old routine.”
Routine is safe. It allows me to go through the motions without too much hassle.
“And I’m grateful for your efforts, as always.” I hand her back the list, stowing my moody thoughts and grievances away. “Whatever you decide. Keep a handful from each court not to disappoint anyone in particular. And get rid of all the Spring seeds, per usual.”
She pries a new piece of parchment from her planner—a list she already prepared. “You don’t even want to see their names?”
My eyes narrow. “Is that judgment in your voice?”
“You should take this process more seriously. Most of these girls have waited their whole lives to come here,” she pleads. “Spring seeds included.”
Sara acts as a replacement for my frozen soul. She’s my moral compass—the annoying little angel standing on my shoulder.
“Fine.” I scan the page quickly and skim the names. “Here. I looked. Get rid of them.”
“None of them managed to grab your attention?”
A familiar name, written in a peculiar fashion, catches my eye, and I pause, surprised to see her on the list of Spring seeds. Spring brides are usually cheerful and cliché. I never would have thought that a woman as brutally honest and refreshingly sarcastic could belong to Freya.
“One stood out,” I finally admit.
The thick American accent and sultry voice were certainly memorable amid a series of wide-eyed, romantic fools.
“Who?”
I tap her name. “Lori.”
“Oh… How did she manage that?”
Lori made me smile, but I’m not going to freak Sara out by mentioning it. I grab an apple from the bowl on the high table and bite into the crisp red fruit. “Don’t worry, Sara. I’d never marry a dandelion fluff again.”
She keeps the list right under my nose and lowers her voice. “Freya herself will attend the Yule brunch this year. It would be a bad look to eliminate all her candidates before the real challenge even starts. You can’t turn your back on Spring forever.”
Why not?Spring has certainly turned its back on me, and the sweetness of the apple isn’t enough to erase the sour taste in my mouth.
“Keep a handful, then, not to single anyone out. As long as Seth isn’t the one presenting them at the Yule brunch, we can keep a few of his fuck friends around for a few days,” I say.
“So…Lori. In or out?” Sara acts aloof, but I haven’t been on a first-name basis with a bride from the speed round in ages, and we both know this.
I should really eliminate any possible distraction sooner rather than later.
“In,” I say instead, my brain not quite right today.
“Are you sure?”
I toss the apple core into the trash. “Yes. For now.” The strange warmth at the pit of my belly doubles, and I think back to Lori’s brazen comment about my dead wives.
No contestant has ever been so honest with me—not from the start. In spite of myself, I think I’m going to like her.
Paul runs in, panting, and dabs his flushed face with a handkerchief. “Are you ready? Even I can’t go on speaking forever,” he jokes with a big, nervous smile.
