“The ballroom is secured, Your Majesty.” The guard’s voice is gravelly, his head bowed towards the king who nods curtly.
If I wanted to look into his eyes, I’m sure I would see all the questions swimming in them. Questions about how many dead, how many Ordinaries captured, how much damage. But he doesn’t dare voice his thoughts, not in front of an audience and especially not when he’s still trying to conceal what is truly happening.
The king stands from his large, wooden chair and clears his throat, further quieting the already hushed room. “What happened today was unfortunate, and I can assure you it will not happen again.” I nearly snort at the empty promise. “But we will not let this incident scare us, cripple us, control us. And for that reason, the Trials will continue as scheduled.”
At that, shocked murmurs ripple through the crowd, though I can’t say I’m surprised. He needs to keep up his strong facade, show no fear. “We are Elites. We are power.” The king pauses, scanning the crowded room with that green gaze I avoid. “Honor to your kingdom. Honor to your family. Honor to yourself.”
The cluster of people around me echoes his words, reciting Ilya’s motto. My lips move with them, playing the part of the contestant, the one who is honored to be here. The one who is an Elite just like them.
The guards begin ushering guests and nobility out of the sticky room, and I’m nearly trampled by pointy heels and polished shoes from where I still sit on the floor before I scramble to my feet.
“I wish I could walk you to your room, but unfortunately, I’ll be trading this stuffy room for another one. Father will likely have Kai and I in meetings right up until the first Trial begins, discussing the events that occurred tonight.” Kitt’s voice is strained, tired.
“But the guards will make sure you arrive safely to your room, not that there is any real threat now.” His eyes slide down to the dagger hugging my thigh, on display for all to see. “And if there was a threat, I’m sure you could handle yourself just fine.” He offers me a smile that I barely manage to return.
His eyes drift from me to land on something else near the back of the room. I follow his gaze only to find that the king and queen are staring right back at me. The king is watching through narrowed eyes, and it takes all my strength and training not to throw the same look his way.
“I’ll see you after the Trial.” Kitt’s voice cuts through my thoughts. “I will see you after the Trial. You expect to survive this, remember?”
I duck my head and smile despite myself.
If I make it out of this first Trial alive, I know exactly what I’m going to do.
I’m going to find the Resistance.
And thanks to the curly-haired boy and the note I nicked off him, I know exactly where they will be.
“See you then,” I say to that top button of his shirt before briefly meeting his eyes. They hold a certain warmth and worry, looking less and less like his father’s with every blink.
I’m shoved towards the door in a current of human bodies and swept out into the hallway. The corridors are teeming with guards and guests, all scurrying from one place to another. I’m herded down the hallway, swallowed by the sea of people around me. We pass the cracked doors of the ballroom, and through them, I can see rubble and red painting the floors.
My curiosity refuses to release me from its clutches.
It’s not hard to slip away from the Imperials, the group. I’ve mastered the art of going unnoticed and overlooked. Soon I’m pushing open the ballroom doors, the guards completely oblivious in the mayhem.
I’m greeted with gore. Well, the remains of it. Dark blood still splotches parts of the floor, most of it already scrubbed clean with jets of water by the Hydros milling about, leaving nothing but pearly stone in their wake.
Teles are clearing the ballroom of the heavy chunks of rubble, and Gusts wield the air around them to blow all the debris and dust from the floor. In no time at all, the room will be fixed, restored to its pristine state. As if nothing happened.
I’m about to slip back out the door when a mass of messy black hair catches my eye. He’s sitting—no, slumping on a large slab of stone near the far end of the ballroom, dirty and drenched with blood.
My heart hammers against my ribcage.
He’s hurt. And more importantly, why do I care?
I stumble down the steps, taking them two at a time. I nearly twist my ankle in the deadly contraption that are my heels before ungracefully flinging them off my feet, letting them tumble down the stairs before I nearly do the same.
I’m suddenly in front of him, having cleared the ballroom in a matter of seconds. I drop to my knees, looking up into his bloody, dirt-streaked face. His gray eyes only look startled for a moment before they begin roaming over me, searching my body for injuries as I do the same to him.
Words spew from my mouth. “What happened? Where are you hurt?” I look around, scanning the room. “And where are those damn Healers?”
“Ah, Gray. Just the person I wanted to see.” He grinds out the words through gritted teeth, though he’s still acting like his cool, collected self.
“What happened?” I demand, taking in his ripped clothes and the exposed chest beneath, now covered in gashes. His hands and most of his body are coated in blood, though I’m sure most of it doesn’t even belong to him.
“Before we get to that,” he fights to keep the grimace from gracing his features, “did a Healer get to you?” He’s suddenly serious, pain forgotten as his eyes sweep over me yet again.
I’m both confused and annoyed with him—a common occurrence, it seems. “What? Yes. I’m fine.” I dismiss his question and scoot closer, hands slightly outstretched. “But clearly, you’re not.”
“And here I was thinking you hated me and my stupid dimples. I’m touched you care so much about my well-being, Gray.” Even while in obvious pain he still finds a way to smirk. Along with being a total ass.
“Oh, don’t mistake my motives, prince. I only want to keep you alive long enough so I can punch that smirk off your face. Again.” There’s little bite in the words, and he huffs out a laugh as he shifts on the stone, exposing more of his back to me.
I gasp. “What the hell is wrong with you?!”
“Darling, that is a very loaded question.”
I ignore his comment, unable to tear my eyes from the throwing knife buried deep into the flesh of his right shoulder blade. “You’ve had a knife in your back this whole time and you just let me talk?” I’m sputtering.
A dimple accompanies his crooked grin. “Oh, but the sound of your voice was such a welcome distraction from the pain.”
Once again, I ignore him before standing to my feet to inspect the knife slicing deep into his back. Sighing, I mumble, “Yeah, well, now you get to hear me telling you that you’re a complete idiot.”
“That’s still one of the nicer things you’ve said to me, so, I’ll take it,” he says smoothly, seemingly undisturbed by the piece of metal impaling his body.
I can’t even imagine what pain he’s been through to make this wound seem so bearable.
“Okay,” I say slowly, “tell me what to do.”