When Maven steps forward, the tension in the room deflates. He stutters briefly, tripping over the words he’s been taught, but he finds his voice. “Lady Mareena.”
Trying my best not to shake, I rise to my feet and face him.
“In the eyes of my royal father and the noble court, I would ask for your hand in marriage. I pledge myself to you, Mareena Titanos. Will you accept?”
My heart pounds as he speaks. Though his words sound like a question, I know I have no choice in my answer. No matter how much I want to look away, my eyes stay on Maven. He gives me the smallest of encouraging smiles. I wonder to myself which girl would’ve been chosen for him.
Who would I have chosen? If none of this had happened, if Kilorn’s master never died, if Gisa’s hand was never broken, if nothing ever changed. If. It’s the worst word in the world.
Conscription. Survival. Green-eyed children with my quick feet and Kilorn’s last name. That future was almost impossible before; now it’s nonexistent.
“I pledge myself to you, Maven Calore,” I say, hammering the last nails into my coffin. My voice quivers, but I don’t stop. “I accept.”
It carries such finality, slamming a door on the rest of my life. I feel like collapsing, but somehow manage to sit back down gracefully.
Maven slinks back to his seat, grateful to be out of the spotlight. His mother pats him on the arm in reassurance. She smiles softly, just for him. Even Silvers love their children. But she turns cold again as Cal stands, her smile disappearing in a heartbeat.
The air seems to go out of the room as every girl inhales, waiting for his decision. I doubt Cal had any say in choosing a queen, but he plays his part well, just like Maven, just like I’m trying to do. He smiles brightly, flashing even white teeth that make a few girls sigh, but his warm eyes are terribly solemn.
“I am my father’s heir, born to privilege and power and strength. You owe me your allegiance, just as I owe you my life. It is my duty to serve you and my kingdom as best I can—and beyond.” He’s rehearsed his speech, but the fervor Cal has can’t be faked. He believes in himself, that he’ll be a good king—or die trying. “I need a queen who will sacrifice just as much as I will, to maintain order, justice, and balance.”
The Queenstrial girls lean forward, eager to hear his next words. But Evangeline doesn’t move, an obscene smirk twisting her face. House Samos looks equally calm. Her brother Ptolemus even stifles a yawn. They know who has been chosen.
“Lady Evangeline.”
There’s no gasp of surprise, no shock or excitement from her. Even the other girls, heartbroken as they are, sit back with only dejected shrugs. Everyone saw this coming. I remember the fat family back in the Spiral Garden, complaining that Evangeline Samos had already won. They were right.
With a fluid, cold grace, Evangeline rises to her feet. She barely looks at Cal, instead turning over her shoulder to sneer at the crestfallen girls. She wants them to see her moment of glory. She wants everyone to know what she’s made of. A smile ghosts over her face when her eyes fall on me. I don’t miss the feral flash of teeth.
When she turns back around, Cal echoes his brother’s proposal. “In the eyes of my royal father and the noble court, I would ask for your hand in marriage. I pledge myself to you, Evangeline Samos. Will you accept?”
“I pledge myself to you, Prince Tiberias,” She says in a voice that is oddly high and breathy, contrasting with her hard appearance. “I accept.”
With a triumphant smirk, Evangeline sits back down and Cal retreats to his own seat. He keeps a smile fixed in place like a piece of armor, but she doesn’t seem to notice.
Then I feel a hand find my arm, nails biting into my skin. I fight the urge to jump out of my chair. Evangeline doesn’t react, still staring straight ahead at the place that will one day be hers. If this were the Stilts, I’d knock a few of her teeth out. Her fingers dig into me, down to the flesh. If she draws blood, red blood, our little game will be over before it even has a chance to begin. But she stops short of breaking skin, leaving bruises the maids will have to hide.
“Get in my way and I’ll kill you slowly, little lightning girl,” she mutters through her smile. Little lightning girl. The nickname is really starting to get on my nerves.
To cement her point, the smooth metal bracelet on her wrist shifts, turning into a circle of sharp thorns. Each tip glistens, begging to spill blood. I swallow hard, trying not to move. But she lets go quickly, returning her hand to her lap. Once again, she’s the picture of a demure Silver girl. If there was ever a person begging for an elbow to the face, it is Evangeline Samos.
A quick glance around the room tells me the court has turned sullen. Some girls have tears in their eyes and throw wolfish glares at Evangeline and even me. They probably waited for this day all their lives, only to fail. I want to hand my betrothal over, to give away what they so desperately want, but no. I must look happy. I must pretend.
“As wonderful and happy as today has been,” King Tiberias says, ignoring the sentiment in the room, “I must remind you why this choice has been made. The might of House Samos joined with my son, and all his children to follow, will help guide our nation. You all know the precarious state of our kingdom, with war in the north, and foolish extremists, enemies to our way of life, attempting to destroy us from within. The Scarlet Guard might seem small and insignificant to us but they represent a dangerous turn for our Red brothers.” More than a few people in the crowd scoff at the term brothers, myself included.
Small and insignificant. Then why do they need me? Why use me, if the Scarlet Guard is nothing to them? The king is a liar. But what he’s trying to hide, I’m still not sure. It could be the Guard’s strength. It could be me.
It’s probably both.
“Should this rebellious streak take hold,” he continues, “it will end in bloodshed and a divided nation, something I cannot bear. We must maintain the balance. Evangeline and Mareena will help do that, for the sake of us all.”
Murmurs go through the crowd at the king’s words. Some nod, others look cross at the Queenstrial choice, but no one voices their dissent. No one speaks up. No one would listen if they did.
Smiling, King Tiberias bows his head. He has won and he knows it. “Strength and power,” he repeats. The motto echoes out from him, as every person says the words.
The words trip over my tongue, feeling foreign in my mouth. Cal stares down at me, watching me chant along with all the others. In that moment, I hate myself.