Chapter 8: Glided submission
The marble was cool under Briana’s bare feet, a sharp contrast to the hazy, oil-slick warmth still humming in her muscles. She stood at the edge of the villa’s private spa, watching rose petals drift like sad, fragrant confetti across the surface of the pool. The masked attendants had vanished, leaving behind the scent of jasmine and a silence that felt heavy.
Luna, wrapped in a plush white robe, padded over. Her Viking-blonde hair was damp at the ends. “You okay? You’ve been staring at that water for ten minutes.”
“Just thinking,” Briana said. Her voice was quieter than she intended. The memory of those skilled, impersonal hands moving over her skin, of Luna’s relaxed sighs beside her, felt like it belonged to another person. A before person. Before the King’s announcement.
“About being ‘family’?” Luna leaned on the railing, her blue eyes shrewd.
“Yeah.” The word tasted foreign. Family didn’t send you to a spa to be prepped like a prize. Family didn’t have a contest for your… for Hannah’s hand. But family also meant safety. It meant she wasn’t going to be paraded in front of cameras tonight, competing in a pageant she never wanted any part of. The relief was a guilty, hidden lump in her throat.
“He did it to control her, you know,” Luna said, not unkindly. “Hannah. Taking you off the board. One less variable. One less thing for her to risk everything for.”
Briana flinched. She knew. Of course she knew. The memory of the yacht’s cabin, of the ship’s tremble matching her own, of Hannah’s royal composure shattering into gasps against her neck—it was a live wire she couldn’t stop touching. That hadn’t been about variables or control. That had been a wildfire. And now someone had tried to build a wall around it.
“Don’t,” Briana whispered.
“I’m just saying. Now you get to watch. Like the rest of us.”
The great hall was all sharp edges and glittering light. One hundred women, now fifty, stood in a nervous, gorgeous archipelago on the polished floor. Briana stood apart, near a pillar where Kiara joined her, a flute of something sparkling clutched too tightly in her hand.
“This is barbaric,” Kiara muttered, her eyes scanning the crowd for Hannah.
“It’s tradition,” Briana said, the words automatic. She’d heard them so often lately.
“Yeah, well, tradition smells like expensive cologne and sweat tonight.”
The King and Queen were on a low dais, regal and remote. Hannah stood slightly to their left. She was a vision in ice-blue silk, her posture perfect, her gaze fixed on some distant point above everyone’s heads. Briana tried to catch her eye and failed. The distance between them, twenty yards of marble and expectation, felt like a canyon.
One by one, names were called. The safe. The eliminated. There were tears, stiff smiles, hollow congratulations. Luna’s name was called among the safe; she didn’t look relieved, just gave a slight, grim nod. The ceremony was a slow, brutal peeling away. A reduction.
Briana watched Hannah. Saw the barely perceptible tightening of her jaw when a contestant from a minor kingdom, a sweet girl who liked botany, was let go. Saw the way her fingers, hidden in the folds of her gown, were surely clenched white. This was her life. This ritual, this performance.
As the last eliminated woman was escorted out, a palpable shift occurred. The remaining fifty seemed to stand taller, their eyes calculating, re-evaluating each other with new ruthlessness. The game had narrowed. The stakes were higher.
The King stepped forward, his voice filling the hall. “Congratulations to our remarkable fifty. You have earned your place in the next trial. A test of compassion and commitment. You will be assigned community service projects in the city. How you connect with the people of Cordonia will be closely observed.”
A murmur rippled through the crowd. Community service. A photo-op charity event, Briana thought cynically.
Then the King’s eyes found hers. They weren’t warm, but they were acknowledging. “Finally, a note. Miss Briana Hawthorne, while no longer a contestant, has shown a unique… understanding of my daughter’s spirit. She will remain with the court as a guest of the family, and will assist in overseeing the authenticity of the upcoming trials. An ambassador, of sorts, for the real world.”
All eyes swiveled to her. The attention was a physical shock, hot and itchy. She felt Hannah’s gaze finally snap to her, wide and startled. Ambassador? Overseer? It was a gilded cage and a spotlight, all at once. She was being placed on a shelf, in full view, untouchable but useless.
Later, the party swirled—a forced celebration. Briana escaped to a balcony overlooking the midnight sea. The sound of the waves below was a distant crash and hiss.
“He’s clever.”
Briana didn’t turn. She knew the voice. The scent of bergamot and vanilla announced her.
“He gives you everything and nothing,” Hannah said, coming to stand beside her. She’d shed her royal poise for a moment, shoulders slumping. “You’re safe. You’re honored. And you’re completely removed from my reach.”
“Is that what you want?” Briana asked, staring straight ahead. “To reach me?”
Hannah’s hand brushed against hers on the cold stone railing. A spark. “You know what I want. What I need. After tonight, watching that… I need to not feel like a doll on a stage. I need one thing that’s real.”
“We’re being watched, Hannah,” Briana said gently, her heart hammering. “Probably right now.”
Hannah. Sighs and leaves.