Page 52 of A Bride for the Winter King
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.
