The Bride Tournament (Hexed Hearts Book 1)(2)
“Sit so we can begin,” Violet chirped from her perch on the fainting couch. The brunette buzzed with excitement, her short curls bouncing in time with her frantic movements. “We’ve got invitations.”
“Received invitations, dear.” Lady Irene nodded in thanks as Ellie passed her a teacup.
Ellie filled her own cup after she’d handed Marigold and Violet saucers. She popped a blackberry peach tart into her mouth. It was rare that she was asked to attend tea, and she planned on taking advantage of the offerings.
Marigold Burbe, the eldest of Irene’s two daughters, prattled on about the invitation with a sloppy smile. Ellie blocked out her high-pitched voice and tried to look anywhere but those bulbous lips that frothed with a frightening gleam.
Ellie stared through the dirty iron-framed windows at the afternoon light. Violet and Marigold, from the sounds of it, had also received invitations from Galacia’s royal family. Prince Something-or-Other had returned from six years abroad, and the king and queen had planned a grand celebration to welcome him home.
As was the custom in royal families, the crown prince had left Galacia for the end years of his schooling, so he might develop political relationships with other kingdoms.
“Rumor is he’s quite handsome.” Violet beamed. She gave a dreamy sigh and flopped back against the sofa cushions.
“He’s mine,” Marigold said. “I am the better illusionist.”
“Nuh-uh.” Violet frowned.
“Ladies, decorum,” Lady Irene snapped. “The crown prince will seek a bride of unrivaled magical ability. Both of you girls will be granted the chance to prove your skills in the Bride Tournament.”
The girls shifted in their chairs, sitting straighter.
“Since Ellie has no skills, she’ll help you ready yourselves,” Lady Irene finished.
Ellie’s fingers curled around her teacup. That old-familiar flush of embarrassment climbed across her cheeks. She may have inherited her mother’s looks, but had there been magic running through Lady Eleanor’s veins, the line had expired upon her death.
“Are you even paying attention, Ellie?” Marigold barked from her settee.
Ellie met her stepsister’s gaze with feigned interest. “You were talking about the Homecoming invites?”
“Yes, well, you can’t go.” Marigold raised her upturned nose in triumph.
Anger boiled beneath her serviceable gray gown, but Ellie kept her tone calm. “As the event is for all members of prominent families, I am allowed to attend. However, I won’t.”
“You better not,” Marigold spat. Crumbles of peach and blackberry tart sprayed the honey-oak floor.
Ellie sighed. She’d be sweeping up the mess.
“Marigold dear, control your temper. Take a deep breath.” Lady Irene passed a silk handkerchief to her eldest child. “Now, Elizaveta, you must understand that Marigold does not wish to shun you.”
Ellie pasted on a fake smile but said nothing; her cheeks were getting a workout today.
Lady Irene raised a brow and continued. “Rather, we have a standard we must uphold in social settings. Our close circle of acquaintances does not look kindly on those who have no practical ability with magic.”
Ellie took a deep breath through clenched teeth.
“Naturally,” she commented, and busied herself with the rest of her tepid tea.
The new magic the nobles practiced wasn’t practical, at all. Old magic was better; it was useful and life giving.
“The royal family has given us such short notice,” Lady Irene prattled on. “We don’t have much time until the Homecoming reception, and we must figure out what you girls are to wear.”
Violet gasped. She’d been suspiciously quiet for the last bit of the conversation. A quiet Violet was never good.
“We should make new dresses!”
“Ah, lovely idea, Vio—” Lady Irene winced as Violet rambled on.
“—with gold laces up the sleeves to my shoulder where I will have a flutter of butterflies trailing across the bodice to the other sleeve—”
“Let’s buy new dresses!” Marigold declared, trampling over her sister’s words.
Lady Irene tried to speak louder than her daughters. “This is a reception, dears, not a ball. Surely you own a gown suitable for the occasion.”
Violet kept on chattering.
Ellie snuggled deeper into the soft wingback chair with a smile, enjoying the clash of shrill voices. It was nice when the Burbe ladies argued over something besides her. A few moments later, the women set down their teacups and carried the argument into the hall and up the grand stairs to their bedrooms, where they would no doubt spend the afternoon trying on every gown they owned.
Ellie cleared the tea service and swiped up Marigold’s crumbs with one of the sturdy handkerchiefs she always kept her in pocket. She trudged to the kitchens and placed a small kettle of water to boil while she washed the tea set and prepared a serviceable luncheon for Father.
Ellie sliced an apple and arranged a buttered tart for him while she waited for the kettle.
Up until a few months ago, Ellie hadn’t been a servant in her own home. There’d been a butler who’d retired, an elderly maid who’d died in her sleep, and a groundskeeper and handyman who quit once the other two were gone. In response, Lady Irene had announced she was selling the manor to move to apartments in the Citadel—the capital city of Galacia. Meanwhile, she wanted to put her husband—Ellie’s father—in a ward as his mental state worsened.