Ursula took a deep breath. Let’s do this.
She quickened her pace to keep up with the oneiroi, who navigated between the sea of demons, seated at the tables. Some appeared entirely human—and shockingly beautiful. Others sported more demonic features: horns, talons, or even eyes the color of blood. And yet they were beautiful in their own ways, too. Men with chiseled features, women in glittering gowns, their bodies lithe and delicate. Since arriving here not long ago and spending time with Cera, her definition of beauty seemed to be expanding.
She surveyed the guests—gowns of dusky purple, midnight blue, or shimmering black seemed to be the favored colors. Some women had jewels threaded into their hair, and many of the men wore dark suits with silver accents.
And each one of the demons stared at Ursula as she passed their tables.
Obviously, word had spread about her presence. The hellhound harlot. Wait till they see the whole dress.
Avoiding their stares, Ursula followed the oneiroi deeper into the hall, closer to the platform. Finally the oneiroi stopped, and gestured to an empty chair at a long table, filled with female demons sporting totally demonic features: horns, talons, white eyes, sharp teeth. All beautiful. All dripping with diamonds. And all staring right at her.
The oneiroi pulled out a chair by a striking woman whose jet-black hair tumbled over a white gown.
“Your seat, milady.” The oneiroi held out a hand. “May I take your cloak?”
Ursula unclasped the cloak, pulling it off. Before she handed it to the oneiroi, she snatched the silver ring from her pocket.
As the other women took in Ursula’s daring gown, they gasped audibly.
Ursula’s shoulders tensed. That’s me. The hellhound harlot. She rubbed the ring between her fingers.
She tried to force what she imagined was a pleasant expression onto her face and sat down next to the raven-haired woman. Immediately to the right of her sat a striking woman with flowing black hair. Her skin was so pale, it could have been carved from marble or alabaster. Ursula almost mistook her for human until she glimpsed a flash of sharp fangs. A goth princess.
To Ursula’s left sat a woman in a dark blue dress. Two long blond braids draped over her formidable bosom—appropriately covered in opaque fabric. Unlike my gown. But what most drew Ursula’s eye were the delicately curled horns growing from the woman’s forehead. Their tips had been capped with gold. Overall, she looked like some kind of terrifying Viking.
As Ursula sat, the women turned away from her. Her eyes flicked up to the dais, and she watched Bael take his seat at the end of the nobles’ table. It must really irk him to watch Hothgar steal his role as Sword.
The goth princess raised a delicate white arm. “So who will be joining the pool?”
Around the table, the demonesses began plucking off their jewelry, tossing them onto a plate in the center of the table—enormous diamonds, black opals, and deep violet gemstones so rare, Ursula didn’t even know what to call them.
Her eyes widened. There, on a silver plate in the center of the table, lay a pile of carelessly discarded jewels that were probably worth more than the GDP of a small nation.
Goth Princess rubbed her hands together. “Is everyone clear on the rules?”
The Viking raised a hand. “The one who picks the winner gets the whole pot. Yes?”
Goth Princes sighed. “No, a quarter of the pot goes to whomever chooses the most finalists in the melee, a quarter goes to the one who picks the winner of the race, and the remaining half goes to whomever picks the winner of the duels.”
The Viking grinned. “This is going to be so exciting. We haven’t had a proper tournament in ages.”
A woman whose silver hair tumbled over a black gown narrowed her eyes at Ursula. She drummed long, pearly talons on the table. “Did you want to join the pool, hellhound?” The woman’s eyes were nearly as pale as her skin, framed by black lashes. “You’ll have to contribute if you want to join.”
Ursula tried to flash a friendly smile. She knew how rich, glamorous chicks worked. They were perfectly happy to be your best friend, as long as you never threatened to outshine them. Best to be humble in this crowd. “I’m afraid I have nothing of value to offer.”
Talons nodded approvingly.
The Viking’s brow furrowed. “So what do we do about Bael?”
“What about him?” asked Goth Princess.
Viking cocked her head. “He’s already won a tournament before. He’s older than the rest. I don’t think it’s fair to pick him for the final winner.”
The princess nodded. “Excellent point. Can we all agree to leave the Lord of Albelda off the ballot, mortal as he might be?”
Around the table, the women nodded. No one wanted to annoy Goth Princess.