A voice sounds from outside the tent. “I am a warrior for the House of Rixa. May I enter?”
My body freezes. Damn. I’d know that voice anywhere: Lincoln. The tension-bands cinch around my spine and creep their way up my neck.
Wearing sweats today? Officially my least-most awesome plan, ever.
Bera waddles over to the tent entrance. “Just a moment, your Highness.” She holds the flaps of fabric together and turns to me. “Be quick about it now. The tournament’s about to begin.”
There’s no point arguing. If I’d done a little research, I wouldn’t be in this mess. I whip off my sweats and slip on the marshmallow monstrosity. My tail quickly punches a hole through the back and whips around the dress, patting the fabric like it’s a strange beast. I slip my feet into the white heels and shoot a glance at Cissy. “I’m not even going to ask you how I look.”
She winces. “Don’t.”
I wave to Bera. “I’m all set. Is there another way out of here?”
“No.” Bera releases the flap of fabric and whips open the tent door. She holds up her hand. “Just one moment, your Highness. A few maidens need to leave first.”
I’ve only one option: smile and work the gown like it’s the best thing ever. I plaster on a huge grin, saunter up to the tent flap, and step outside. Lincoln stands there wearing black body armor with an eagle crest insignia on his chest. Our eyes meet; the air around us crackles with some kind of energy. He looks me over from head to foot, his face unreadable.
“Miss Lewis.” He bows slightly.
“Your Highness.” I try to curtsey and end up dragging the gown through the mud. Behind me, Cissy steps outside.
“Excuse me.” Lincoln disappears into the tent, closing the flap behind him.
Cissy links her arm with mine. We walk forward a few paces, then she leans in, her voice barely a whisper. “So, how did it go back there? Any yelling, kicking, spitting?” She doesn’t need to add ‘with the Prince.’
“No, we said hello and that was it.”
Cissy frowns. “Humph.”
“What do you mean, humph?”
“I mean, if you want to keep my envy demon away, we should stop this conversation right now.” She pauses, and then rubs her eyes with her knuckles.
I wince, dreading what I’ll see when she pulls her hands away. I can’t handle a major envy meltdown right now. I move a bit closer to Cissy. “Are you okay?”
My best friend lowers her hands. Her eyes are their regular tawny brown, thank badness. “Let’s change the subject.” She gestures to my gown. “Can you move around in that thing?”
I place my hand on my heart, raising my other palm to shoulder level. “I hereby solemnly swear to listen to Cissy’s fashion advice from now on. This makes two monster dresses I could have avoided if I had taken help from you.” I look down at the muddy hem of my gown. At least the weight of the dirt is holding down some of the puffiness.
“Next time we have to go fancy for something, we’ll get ready together.” She winks. “We can still do some damage control today, though. I say we sit in the pavilion.” She eyes my gown again. “Back row.”
“Excellent idea. Lead on.”
We hike through the mud to the nearest pavilion. I pause by the stairs to the seats, seeing nothing available in the back row. My heart sinks. There is, in fact, only one open chair in the entire pavilion, and it’s next to the Great Ladies. Yuck.
I turn on my heel. “Maybe we should check out the pavilion on the other side.”
A whiny voice calls out. “Miss Lewis, come sit by us!” I look up to see the Scala Heir wearing white robes and waving in my direction. I squelch the urge to chuck my shoe at her head.
Seating etiquette at a thrax tournament is diplomatic stuff. Girly-girl stuff. Cissy stuff. I lean over and whisper in her ear. “Help?”
Cissy nods, speaking in a low voice that only I can hear. “I got this.” Turning to the Great Ladies, Cissy curtsies low. “We thank you for the kind offer, but Myla and I need to sit together. It’s a quasi tradition.” She whispers in my ear. “That should shut them up. Thrax have all sorts of rules about following tradition, theirs and those of other realms.”
Adair rises to her feet. “To our people, no tradition comes before the desire of the Scala Heir. And I very much desire to speak with Miss Lewis.” She snaps her fingers. Three blonde girls in yellow gowns appear by our side. “These are ladies of my House. They’ll accompany you to an excellent seat at the opposite pavilion. Miss Lewis stays here.”
My upper lip curls with disgust. I speak to Cissy out of one side of my mouth. “Options?”
Cissy lets out a low groan. “I got nothing.” She gives my hand a squeeze. “I’m so sorry, Myla. I’m new to this diplomacy stuff. The tradition excuse was all I had.”