by Leigh Walker
“Nothing.” Blake blinked at us. “But what on earth am I going to talk to him about?”
“If you ask Tamara,” Shaye said, tucking a curl behind her ear, “she’ll tell you talking’s overrated.”
Tamara rolled her eyes then turned to Blake. She looked at her as if seeing her for the first time, perhaps recognizing Blake’s beauty and viewing her as a threat. “You should talk about your hair and how you do your makeup. Ooh, and about your period. Tell him all about your menstrual cycle. Men love that sort of talk.”
“No they don’t.” Blake scoffed. “I have a brother. He likes talking about farts.”
Tamara shrugged, dismissing her. “So talk about farting then, and see how far that gets you.” She got a dreamy look on her face. “It doesn’t matter anyway. He sent me flowers. He only has eyes—and lips, might I remind you—for me.”
Oh, sure, you squat-loving douche-nozzle.
But I said nothing, forcing myself to enjoy my pancakes instead. I was making myself look on the bright side, but it wasn’t easy because sitting here, listening to Tamara go on and on about her relationship with Dallas, I was starting to feel as if I was going a bit crazy.
Was it only a few days ago that we’d visited my sister, that Dallas had held me in his arms? It seemed as though centuries had passed. And seeing him in the hall like that, cool and distant, had only made me feel more schizophrenic.
It’s the contest. It’s the game. It’s political. Still, I felt disjointed, as if all of my pieces weren’t adding up.
Maybe if I told my friends the truth, it’d make me feel better, more whole. But even though I could have bragged, and talked about the moments the prince and I had shared, I wouldn’t do that. Those moments were private, for him and for me. In addition, it would hurt the other girls’ feelings. I might be a jerk sometimes, but that was when my temper got the better of me. I would never do that on purpose.
But Tamara would. I watched her as she continued chatting—about her favorite topic, herself—occasionally popping a grape into her mouth. I remembered everything Dallas had said about her and how he claimed that he could never care for her.
I’d believed him. I still wanted to believe him. But if he’d told the truth, what on earth was he playing at now?
Tariq pulled me aside after our morning lessons. “Miss West. I need to speak with you, please.”
“Oh joy, your Royal Emissary.”
He frowned, then ushered me into the library. “I have a favor to ask.”
“Like I said, joy.” I knew he’d do this sooner or later. It just happened to be sooner than I’d like.
“I want to film a scene with you and the prince this afternoon.”
“But you said he had a date with Shaye and then one with Blake.”
“He does.” Tariq clasped his hands together. “But that is none of your concern. I’ve sent a special dress to your maids. Put it on after lunch. I’ll send for you when we’re ready.”
“But what do you want me to—”
His eyes flashed in annoyance. “As I said, it’s none of your concern. The production crew and I are handling everything. See you in a bit.” He hustled off before I could finish my question or object. As I watched his retreating form, I felt certain that’s exactly the way he wanted it.
Chapter 21
Fire I Can Spark
“That’s the dress?” I took a step back from the offensive garment.
“It’s not that bad.” Bria fingered the sequins. “It’s just a bit…leggy.”
I eyed the gown, what there was of it. It was black sequined with a halter neck, an open back, and a slit in the front that would practically go up to my eyeballs.
I crossed my arms against my chest. “No way.”
Evangeline sighed. “I’m afraid the royal emissary insisted. He told me to remind you that you owe him a favor.” She wrinkled her nose. “I highly doubted it, but you know how he can be. No use arguing with that one.”
“I’m sorry you had to deal with him.” I was even sorrier I’d agreed to do as he asked.
“Well, there’s no time like the present.” Bettina hauled out the makeup crate. “Let’s get to work.”
I sighed as Bria started in on my hair. “So this dress… Does that mean you have another date with the prince, so soon?” she asked.
“That’s the thing—no, I don’t. So what are they planning for me?”
My maids looked at each other, clearly perplexed.
But I was almost glad that no one had an answer. I was pretty sure that I didn’t want to know.
I teetered down the stairs in my heels. The dress’s front slit had one upside—I could freely take a step. Still, I cursed under my breath as I cautiously descended, praying I didn’t trip. The last thing I needed was to break my neck and bleed out while surrounded by vampires.
Tariq met me in the grand foyer. He beamed when he saw me. “You look perfect.”
“I look ridiculous.”
“I should’ve expected you’d be difficult.” He rolled his eyes. “Follow me.”
Eve passed us in the hall. “Where are you going, dressed like that? You look like a human sacrifice!”
I sighed. “Something for the Pageant.”
Tariq grunted, impatient as ever. “Enough, ladies. Gwyneth, we’re on a schedule.”
I clasped Eve’s hand as I passed, wishing I could stay and talk with her. “I’ll come and see you soon.” Not only did I want to avoid whatever it was Tariq had planned for me, I needed her. Eve was a great reality check. She could probably talk me down from the ledge I felt myself fast approaching.
“I can’t wait to catch up and hear what this,” she pointed at my dress, “is all about. His Highness is going to lose it when he sees you.”
“We’ll see,” I said weakly. Feeling that something was absolutely going to be lost—most likely my dignity—I followed Tariq with slumped shoulders.
“Posture, Gwyneth, posture.”
I straightened up, giving him side-eye a safe distance behind his back.
We arrived at one of the formal lounges, and he peered inside. “Ah, Mira’s ready for us.”
“Are you putting me on camera right this instant?”
He smiled with what looked like feigned patience. “No, we’re going to brief you first. But don’t smudge your makeup because you’re going on soon.”
He ushered me inside, and Mira waved us over. She’d set up at one of the tables with her notes spread everywhere. Her assistant, Rose, paced nearby. She kept reviewing things on her clipboard and muttering to herself.
“Don’t mind Rose.” Mira motioned for us to take seats. “She’s just trying to figure out the final dating slots. With the prince’s busy schedule, it’s a nightmare. Thank goodness, we’re in the home stretch.”
She smiled at me. “You’re looking very sharp, Gwyneth.”
I frowned. “My vampire friend just told me I looked like a human sacrifice.”
Mira laughed politely. “Well, your friend’s not entirely wrong.”
“I’m sorry?” I spluttered.
“No, no, don’t misunderstand me. It’s just that Tariq’s raised some concerns about your…presentation…in the show, and he’s asked us to address it.”
“I don’t understand.”
Mira’s gaze flicked to Tariq then back to me. “After the last episode, he’s concerned that you’re coming off as too vanilla. I thought it would work, casting you as the good girl and Tamara as the vixen, but Tariq’s worried that you’re falling a bit flat. And after doing some polling, I can’t disagree with him.”
“So you wanted to change my look to this?” I picked at the flimsy gown. “Even Tamara wouldn’t wear this dress!”
“Sure, she would.” Mira chuckled. “Now, we’re going to give you some lines. It’s not a script, per se, but a suggestion about what to say in your scene.”
I blinked at her. “You’re staging this.”
Mira and Tariq exchanged
a look. “It’s more like we’re putting an editorial spin on it.”
“I don’t want to do it.” I’d liked Mira up to this point, but what she was proposing didn’t sit well with me. “I feel like it’s lying. This is supposed to be a reality show.”
Mira smiled tightly. “Here are the lines. Why don’t you read them and take a moment, while I check in with Rose?” She handed me a piece of paper and excused herself.
I read the script. I put the paper back on the table. “There’s no way in hell I’m saying that.”
“Why, Gwyneth, of course there is,” Tariq said silkily. “I’ve only just come from a meeting with the king. He was ranting and raving about the rebels and how we need to control the situation.”
“Did something happen?”
“There’s been hints of another upcoming attack on the palace,” Tariq said. The self-satisfied tone dropped from his voice, and he became all business. “The king’s reasonably upset.”
I shook my head. “I don’t understand what any of this has to do with me or the Pageant.”
“I’m worried that the king thinks the contest is contributing to the rebel attacks. With the increased publicity surrounding the Pageant, the rebels have become bolder. It’s like they’re trying to take advantage of the spotlight. The king has raised the question if it’s safe to continue.”
“That’s one thing.” I bit my lip. “But can you explain to me why, because of the rebels, you want me interrupt the prince’s date and say this garbage? What does any of this have to do with me?”
Tariq sighed. “The king also said, and this is a quote—that no son of his ‘was going to be involved with rebel scum.’”
My cheeks heated. “And you’re insinuating that he was talking about me?”
“Of course he was. You’re the one who let Benjamin Vale out of his cage. It’s not like the king has forgotten about it.” Tariq picked up the piece of paper and jabbed his finger at it. “You see, I’m trying to protect you with this just like the prince has tried to protect you from his father.”
“You’re trying to make me look bad in front of the prince, his father, and everyone else in the settlements.”
“My goal is to have it look as if you and the prince are at odds. If things have cooled between you, the king will not see you as a threat. He won’t make a fuss, and the contest can continue, unfettered.”
I scoffed. “But Mira just said I’m too ‘vanilla.’ So I’m not a threat, anyway!”
Tariq tilted his head, inspecting me. “The latest polls say you’re the Pageant’s front runner by a mile.”
“Oh.” I never would’ve expected that. “So Mira just lied to me about the polling?”
“She presented facts strategically in order to persuade you. That’s not lying. I didn’t want to get into all of this if we could avoid it.”
I rubbed my temples. All of these maneuverings were mixing together, spinning out beyond my comprehension.
“Gwyneth.” He waited until I looked at him, then he continued. “With this latest update on the rebels and the fear of another rebel attack, I’m worried that the king is going to clean house. After what happened with Benjamin Vale, you’re vulnerable. If he believes the prince still has a strong attachment to you, he will view you as a potential weakness, and he will have you sent home.”
“Wouldn’t that suit you fine? You said you wanted me to go rot back in Four. Then you and Tamara can plan the wedding of the century, while I eat beans from a tin for the rest of my life.”
“I would certainly enjoy that.” He sighed. “But after spending time with the prince this week and seeing him with Tamara and the other contestants, I’m afraid those dreams of mine are in direct opposition with reality. He’s putting on a show for the cameras while he bides his time, waiting for the end of the contest. That’s all.”
I felt a headache coming on. Was he telling the truth? “So?”
“So I’m worried that the prince is going to try and throw the contest if the king kicks you out.” Tariq let that sink in.
“Do you really think that’s going to happen?”
“You know that His Highness is stubborn and strong-willed. The king is just as bad, if not worse.” Tariq’s nostrils flared. “The Pageant is my baby, and it will succeed. I will not see it undone because of a royal pissing contest.”
“But by saying these things, I am going to hurt the prince.”
“You will hurt him in the short term,” Tariq acknowledged. “In the long term, you will save him from himself and from the king. You will save him by saving yourself.”
I snatched the piece of paper from him. “After this, the king will hate me even more. I’ll look the fool.”
“The king will no longer see you as a threat, and that’s a good thing. Flying under the radar for the rest of the competition is in your best interest. He will no longer think you have the prince’s favor, and you will no longer concern him.”
“And what if it’s true, that I no longer have the prince’s favor? And what about the godforsaken polls you are all so concerned with?”
“I can’t control the prince’s feelings. And maybe you can’t, either.” Tariq’s eyes glittered. “As for the polls, the viewers love a good drama. They’ll be rooting for you. I know it.”
“So you are doing this to…help me?”
Tariq chuckled. “Make no mistake, Gwyneth. I’m only interested in helping myself.”
“Ah. I see.” Because I finally did.
Mira came back to her desk. “Are we ready?” She sounded quite sure that the answer would be yes.
But all I wanted to say was no.
Chapter 22
Games
Goosebumps broke out all over my arms as I waited in the wings. “This feels wrong,” I whispered to Tariq.
“Put your feelings to the side. Remember what matters most: the prince.”
I shot him a look. His pretty face was half-framed in shadow. If there was anyone I shouldn’t trust, it was Tariq. And yet, the prince was what mattered most to me. I had to protect him, even if it meant hurting him—and hurting myself—not to mention Shaye. I hadn’t really given that a lot of thought, but as I peered at her, sitting with the prince and laughing, I realized that she was going to be more than a little upset. I was about to rain on her parade. Pour on it, actually.
Mira bustled in. “It’s time. They’re just finishing their game.”
“Why are all the second dates about games?” I asked.
“It’s because of security concerns. The Black Guard doesn’t want the prince roaming too far because of the prisoner who escaped.”
I nodded, watching as Dallas and Shaye flipped up numbers on the board game they were playing. Dallas rolled the dice, and Shaye clapped, cheering him on.
Mira turned to me, smoothing my hair and adjusting my gown. “I know you don’t like that dress, but it’s becoming.”
“I don’t want to do it,” I said again.
“I know.” Mira smiled at me kindly. “Do your best. There’s a good reason for it, right?”
My gaze wandered over to Tariq, who watched Shaye and Dallas with interest. “I hope so.”
Mira leaned forward and whispered in my ear. “I’m rooting for you. I won’t make you look bad in the final cut, I promise. I’ve been doing this for a long time. This scene will be good for ratings, I promise. Everyone loves a good conflict.”
“What’s that?” Tariq asked.
“Nothing,” Mira said. “I was just giving Gwyneth a little friendly female advice.”
“Right. Is it time?” Tariq gave me another once-over. “She looks ready.”
“We can send her in now.” Mira nodded at me. “Go ahead, Gwyneth. The sooner you start, the sooner you’ll be finished.”
I nodded, teetering on my heels. I could hear the blood rushing in my ears as I went through the door without knocking. The cameras swung in my direction.
“Your Highness.” My voice came out hoarse. “A
word.”
Dallas looked up from the game, completely taken aback, and the smile disappeared from his face. He shot to his feet. “Gwyneth? What’s the matter?”
“I need to talk to you.” I barely got the words out. My mouth had gone completely dry.
Shaye looked at me, worry plain on her face. “Are you all right? Is it your sister?”
Her kind concern just made this worse. I took a step forward, remembering my instructions. “My sister’s fine. I just wanted to see His Highness.”
They looked at each other quickly, confused.
Shaye laughed nervously. “Well, His Highness is sort of on a date right now.”
“I don’t care.” I stepped forward again, a bit recklessly.
Dallas finally noticed my dress and all the makeup. He looked concerned. “Miss West, are you quite all right? You don’t seem yourself.”
“I just—I just wanted to see you.” That, at least, was the truth.
He looked at Shaye. “Would you mind giving us a moment?” He sounded uncomfortable.
Her mouth briefly puckered in annoyance, but then she nodded, ever the peacemaker. She swiftly left the room, mercifully without giving me a backward glance.
Dallas immediately came to my side. “Gwyneth, what’s wrong?”
“I haven’t seen you all week.” My voice wobbled. This was part of the script, but I felt the words sharply. And I hated myself for it.
He reached for my hand. “I know. I’m sorry, but I’ve been busy.”
“I k-know. But I had to see you. I’m tired of waiting. I’m tired of you spending time with these other girls.” My eyes pricked with tears. The tears were not scripted.
He turned back to the cameraman. “Can you stop filming?”
The cameraman shook his head no then made the sign for still rolling.
Dallas turned back to me, annoyed—whether with the cameraman or me, I wasn’t sure. “Can we please talk about this later? I’ll figure out a way we can meet in private.” He kept his voice low.
