by Sofia Daniel
Had Sicily suspected? She had always made barbs about having sex for money and treats. I placed both feet on the same step and pulled hard on the rail to hoist myself upright.
She couldn’t have known. If she had, she would have said something or barred Elijah from the house. The tears fell, and angry breaths rushed in and out of my flared nostrils.
The bloody bastard.
The bloody, fucking bastard.
He had been my pimp, and the moment I had needed him for protection, he had buggered off. I turned around, swallowing hard and wiping the back of my hand over my damp eyes. If I ever followed through on what Pokeweed said and became queen, I would have him executed.
No, I would personally castrate Elijah and send him to the worst brothel in Dubnos.
Rapid footsteps echoed up the stairwell, and I straightened. A boy I vaguely recognized from the remedial class emerged from around the spiral staircase, his cheeks flushed. “Unity! Everyone’s been searching for you. The beauty contest has already started.”
“What?” In my fury about Elijah, I had forgotten why I’d rushed to reach the ground floor.
He grabbed my arm and pulled me down the stairs. I hurried after him, holding onto the rail to stop myself from toppling over. We had always been careful to place iron on the door before curfew so that the dark creatures roaming the streets didn’t sneak in uninvited.
The only faerie we allowed into the house was Elijah, who had claimed to be sensitive to iron. That had probably been a lie to let all those full-blooded high faeries to stream into our home house and take what they pleased from my body.
“Mr. Whittaker sent us out searching for you last night after he returned from Pokeweed’s,” said the boy as we descended what now felt like a never-ending set of stairs. “Where did you go?”
I mumbled something about Healer Tarax putting me to sleep all night.
As we reached the downstairs hallway and stepped off the last stair, a cheer echoed down the stone walls, making me grind my teeth.
“Oh, no,” said the boy. “They’ve already started without you!”
I spun to the direction of the sound and whizzed past the portrait of the royal family. The boy’s footsteps pounded at my side.
A door opened, and Flora stepped out. Her hard features softened into an expression of relief.
“Right then,” said the boy. “I’d better tell everyone you’re on your way.” He jogged down the hallway and disappeared around the corner.
She rushed to my side, her dark eyes wide. “Where have you been? We were searching into the night, and then Prince August said you were with his brothers.”
“Did he, now?” It was a struggle to keep the fury out of my voice.
“They should have sent you back to change into your gown,” she said.
I stopped walking. “What?”
Flora frowned. “The one on your bed,” she said in the tone of voice I’d heard used on slow people. “Isn’t that where you went with Prince Caulden yesterday?”
We turned around and headed in the direction of the remedial building. So much had happened over the last twenty-four hours, I didn’t know where to begin. She didn’t think my memories were real, so telling her that Elijah had sold faeries a shape-shifting elixir to come to my house to fuck me was pointless.
Out in the courtyard, the morning sun shone down from a cloudless sky, reflecting its glory on the manes of the horses poking their heads out from the stalls. As we darted toward the remedial building, no one shot arrows or threw explosives or glass vials. It was just me, Flora, and yet another one of Elijah’s gut-wrenching betrayals.
In the girls’ dormitory, a dress lay on the bed that stole my breath.
Stemmed wildflowers decorated a rose-pink bodice of the most delicate, gossamer fabric that curved to a horizontal band that cinched the waist. The thin fabric flared down into a skirt embroidered with the same plants curling and twisting down its length to a multitude of flowers at the hem, each the exact shade as the four princes’ hair.
A surge of emotion filled the back of my throat, and I choked out, “That’s for me?”
“Who else?” Flora gave me a nudge. “Hurry up. No time for showers, but I’ll fix your hair.”
On numb legs, I walked to my bedside and slipped off my blazer. Joy fluttered in my heart, which blew my rage about Elijah back to the corners of my mind. Pokeweed had made this for me. Was he just motivated by the wishbone breaking his curse, or was there more?
I shook off those thoughts and continued undressing.
Flora picked up the dress and slipped her hands under its skirt, getting it ready for me. When I’d removed my last scrap of clothing, she said, “Bend down. I’m going to use your cock-ring to fix your hair in place.”
I knelt, engulfed by the softest silk that glided against my skin like the softest caress. Slipping my arms through the top of the gown, I straightened. The opaque fabric underneath the gossamer parted for my wings and molded around my form.
Flora twisted the back of my hair and pinned it above my head. “There were a few stray flowers on the bed, so I’ve woven them into your hairstyle. Turn around.”
“Wow.” Flora stepped back, her eyes round and shining with awe. “I see why the princes chose you.”
“What do you mean?” I glanced down at the dress, marveling at the intricate dance of flowers on its surface. It was both wild and perfect for the four princes.
Flora turned me around, so I faced the mirror.
I sucked a breath. My reflection didn’t look as unearthly radiant under the influence of the Emporium, but Pokeweed’s dress made me look like something carved out of nature. It blended with my form, making my golden hair shine like buttercups and my skin as soft as petals with a rose blush.
A lump formed in my throat. If only Sicily was here to share this moment. She loved makeovers and would have squealed at the sight of me looking like a wildflower spirit. But she wasn’t here, and she would continue to suffer until I fixed things for all of us by getting that wishbone.
Closing my eyes, I sucked in a deep breath and gathered my courage. I was about to walk into a den of girls whose ambitions knew no bounds, a queen with a pathological hatred of me, and two princes who wanted me gone.
I turned to Flora, determination thrumming in my veins. “Let’s go.”
Chapter 11
If this was a movie, my soundtrack wouldn’t be Girls Just Wanna Have Fun or something upbeat and cutesy. It would be the Rocky theme because I was in a fight for my life.
Flora and I strode down the hallway in tense silence. My heart beat a fast, hard rhythm, and I deepened my breathing to remain calm. What if the contest was over and the winners announced? I was in the lead right now and couldn’t remember anyone mentioning a penalty for coming last, but Queen Titania might make the other trials invalid to make sure I ended up with none of her sons.
A male voice echoed through the hallway. “Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome our second contestant!”
Applause and cheers shook my eardrums, but this time, relief swept over me like a summer breeze. If they were only on contestant number two, then I still had time.
As we turned the corner, we found Mr. Whittaker standing outside the dining room doors with a group of remedial students, each beckoning at me to hurry.
My heart flip-flopped, and the first tremors of nerves crept over the lining of my stomach. Sending a silent thanks to Healer Tarax for enchanting me with enough nutritional elixirs to stop me from falling into a faint, I quickened my pace.
“Lady Gazania of Southane,” said the announcer, “What makes you the ideal candidate to win the heart of Prince Bradwell?”
I stepped through the door and swallowed hard. She stood onstage looking… magnificent. Hair like molten fire tumbling over mahogany skin, wearing a deep-yellow dress with accents the color of dried blood, Lady Gazania was the perfect combination of beauty and nobility.
Once the shock of seeing my rival
faded, I took stock of my surroundings. The dining tables were still arranged in a semi-circle from yesterday, but this time around a stage of three levels.
Lady Gazania stood at the lowest with a svelte, male faerie dressed in a sky-blue suit that matched his hair. On the next level up sat over a dozen fae nobles, some of whom had been present during the Duchess of Nevermore’s death.
The highest level of the stage backed against the wall. Queen Titania sat on the throne nearest to the door, her hard eyes boring into mine. I dropped my gaze to her dress, which shimmered like Emporium, and looked back at her face. There wasn’t a trace of joy or radiance, making me wonder what she looked like beneath all the cosmetics and glamor.
As Lady Gazania’s speech continued, I scanned the tables. Directly opposite the stage, Princes Caulden and Rory slumped in their seats, looking more tired than usual. Next to them, their two other brothers shot me glowers as fierce as the queen’s.
I raised my chin and glanced back at the stage, acting as though they and their attempts to get rid of me were unimportant.
Flora clapped me hard on the back. “Have you memorized your speech?”
“Huh?” I glanced back at the dark-eyed girl.
“These contests judge inner and outer beauty. If you don’t say something inspirational, you won’t get chosen, no matter how beautiful you look.”
Shaking my head, I huffed out a breath. “I’ll have to say what’s in my heart when I get to the stage, then.”
A round of rousing applause later, the host announced the third candidate. Lady Gala walked onstage, her shoulders slumped, and her platinum hair hanging limply over her gray smock.
Whispers filled the air, and nobody applauded.
“Lady Gala of Nevermore?” asked the host. “What makes you the ideal candidate to rule the Autumn Court alongside Prince Rory?”
She stared at the host, who shifted uncomfortably, and dark clouds appeared on the fabric of his sky-blue suit. A tense silence stretched throughout the dining room, and I tensed.
A pang of sympathy wormed its way into my heart. They should have canceled the beauty contest and waited for Lady Gala to overcome the horror of watching her mother suffer an excruciating death. This was so inhumane.
But they hadn’t spared any consideration for Helen, who was probably being ripped apart by monsters in Dubnos. I shook off those thoughts and tamped down my emotions.
“I’m not a good candidate for the Autumn Court,” said Lady Gala.
Gasps and hisses of indrawn breath filled the dining hall. I glanced at the row of dignitaries behind the stage to find the Duke of Nevermore standing with his fists balled.
The clouds over the host’s chest swelled, looking like they would rain. “Lady Gala,” he said with a voice soft with compassion. “Would you like to elaborate?”
She pulled back her shoulders. “There’s an evil spreading through our realm. One that seeks to destroy us all. My beloved mother was its victim and died in the most heinous manner.”
Lady Gala paused and swept her gaze around the room, seeming to make eye contact with each person sitting at the tables. The Duke of Nevermore lowered himself to his seat and stared into his lap.
“It’s insidious,” she said. “This evil goes beyond a desperate halfling resorting to dark magic to infiltrate our beloved royal family.”
I clenched my teeth. Even while making everyone feel sympathy for her, the wretched cow had to throw shade in my direction.
“Don’t listen to her,” whispered Flora.
“It’s hard not to,” I snarled.
Lady Gala pulled back her shoulders and raised her chin in a defiant stance. “As the victim of such misfortune, I find myself best placed to stamp it out of our realm, and as such, I withdraw from my pursuit of the Autumn Court and declare my candidacy to join all four courts and become the queen!”
My jaw dropped, and I reeled forward, barely catching myself before I fell to the marble floor at the force of her audacity.
“What in Dubnos?” said Flora, her voice nearly drowned out by the whispers spreading around the dining table.
Shaking my head, I glanced from the princes’ table to the throne, where Queen Titania bared her teeth in a snarl. Had Lady Gala turned mad from grief? If there was any evil spreading throughout the realm, she had accelerated it by opening that bloody portal to Dubnos.
“Quiet, please!” The host raised his hand, bringing everyone’s attention back. “Thank you, Lady Gala of Nevermore.”
She descended the stage with her nose in the air, looking like she could out-regal the queen. On the other side of the room, Ladies Salix and Gazania stood from their seats and stared wide-mouthed at their former friend.
The host cleared his throat. “Our fourth contestant is Lady Aster of Westerling!”
I glanced around for Prince August’s supposed fated mate, but couldn’t find any sight of the curvaceous crimson-haired faerie.
“Lady Aster?” The host placed his hand over his brow and looked from left to right. “Are you with us?”
The door swung open, and someone stumbled in. It was Lady Aster slumped forward, held upright up by four panicked pixies.
“Oh,” she said with a loud gasp.
“What’s wrong with her?” Flora muttered.
I shook my head. It was hard to tell with the Fated, as Lady Aster’s weakened condition might be a stunt to garner more sympathy after Lady Gala’s speech about her mother.
With a lot of heaving and pulling, the pixies hauled the faerie onstage. She bent over double, panting hard and looking like she’d either run the entire circumference of the Isle of Fae or was suffering the debilitating effects of a poison.
“Lady Aster,” said the host, his voice losing its certainty. “Are you well?”
She grabbed his arm and pulled herself upright, revealing her gown… Or lack of it. I tilted my head to the side, wondering if this was the same kind of gossamer as my dress. The fabric stretched around her every curve to the point of complete transparency, and she was wearing no underwear.
Loud, scandalized gasps filled the room.
“Is this some kind of trick?” asked Flora.
“Wait a minute.” After licking my finger, I slipped it in my pocket, scooped up a few grains of salt, and slipped it in my mouth. When my vision cleared, Lady Aster threw her head back and moaned.
The curvaceous faerie cupped her left breast with one hand, rolling her prominent nipple between her thumb and forefinger. Her right hand lay wedged between her spread legs, with her index finger moving faster than a thumping jackrabbit.
“Well…” said the host, his cheeks reddening and a miniature sun emerging from the fabric around his crotch. “I believe this is Lady Aster’s way of communicating her readiness to mate and provide the Summer Court with dozens of strong heirs.”
“H-help me!” Her voice was breathy, choked, needy as fuck and could only mean one thing.
Prince August really had given my Emporium dress to Lady Aster.
That complete and utter wanker.
“Enough!” roared the Duke of Westerling, his cheeks brighter than his daughter’s. “This evil of which Lady Gala speaks has infiltrated our academy and afflicted my darling Aster.”
The host placed a hand over his mouth and coughed. “Thank you, Lady Aster of Westerling!”
She bent over double and grabbed the hem of her gown, looking like she wanted to yank it off. The pixies behind her squeaked, and four more of the small creatures flew onto the stage and carried her off.
The Duke and Duchess of Westerling followed Lady Aster around the back of the dining chairs and out of the doors.
“I’ll bet he regrets wearing that mood-suit,” muttered Flora.
My gaze wandered back to the host, whose crotch flared with the brightness of the sun at its zenith. The students around the table broke out in a mixture of giggles and scandalized gasps.
I glanced up at the higher levels of the stage. The dukes lea
ned forward, looking disappointed about Lady Aster’s departure, while the duchesses shook with rage. Upon the thrones, King Oberon held a hand over his mouth, which barely hid his grin, and Queen Titania’s nostrils flared wider than a centaur’s.
It took several moments for the crowd to calm, but after Queen Titania banged the end of her scepter on the armrest of her throne, everyone went silent.
Two pixies stood in front of the host, holding a table cloth with a hastily scrawled ‘BEAUTIE CUNTESST’ on its surface. It only drew more attention to his arousal, which now made the sun in his fabric shine through the table cloth.
The host clapped his hands together. “Now that we have seen the final candidate, let all the contestants—”
“Wait!” I raised both hands. “I haven’t had the chance onstage.”
His gaze snapped to my side of the room. “And you are?”
Flora gave me a firm shove between my wings, making me stumble forward. Maybe she thought I wasn’t pushy enough.
Straightening, I pulled back my shoulders. “Unity Quayle, the fifth candidate.”
The host turned to the throne and spread out his hands in a what-do-you-want-me-to-do gesture? King Oberon leaned forward and nodded.
“Very well.” The host turned to the audience. “The fifth candidate!”
My lips pursed. Just because I wasn’t Unity of Some-Noble-Dukedom, it didn’t mean he had to skip my name.
As I approached the stage, only the remedial students at the far end of the room applauded, and I turned to the princes’ table, where Princes Caulden and Rory remained slumped in their seats.
Concern gnawed at my insides, but I smoothed out my features. If this was Doolish and they were a few years younger, I would wonder if they had been replaced by changelings. The two princes had probably spent the night looking for me or something.
I stood next to the host, who stared at me with the blankest expression.
“Aren’t you going to ask me a question?” I whispered.
His brows rose, and his lips twitched with the beginnings of a nasty smirk that said he was going to leave me high and dry. What a bitch.
