The Glass Queen (The Forest of Good and Evil #2) - Gena Showalter Page 0,121

today, too. Before, she’d expressed interest in Milo; today he’d made it clear he didn’t want her.

And Saxon was still staring at me.

Oh! I’d let my attention veer. And now I couldn’t look away. In his mind, were we standing up or lying down while we kissed? Were we clothed or unclothed?

I dropped my spoon, the silverware clattering. Multiple eyes zoomed to me, and my cheeks blazed.

“You are a vision tonight,” Milo told me.

“Thank you,” I mumbled, even though I knew he didn’t mean it. I wasn’t a fool; I knew he only wanted Leonora’s power.

I swallowed a spoonful of soup, unable to enjoy its rich flavor. How could I convince this man to end our engagement and give me any details he remembered about the potion’s recipe?

“Why do you want to wed me?” I asked. Would he admit the truth?

My boldness surprised him. “You already know the answer. Unlike everyone else, including the avian prince, I comprehend and appreciate who you are and what you can do. We will rule this kingdom together.”

“Is that what Leonora promised you? A seat on the throne, at her side?”

“Yes,” he replied, unabashed as he enjoyed a bite of soup.

“She’s lying to you. She wants Saxon, and no other.” A desire we shared.

“You’re wrong,” he snapped, drawing the notice of others. He slinked down in his seat, his cheeks reddening. Keeping his voice at a lower volume, he said, “She’s helping me take my rightful place.”

He’d used present tense, not future. What have you done, Leonora? “Why do you think a throne is your rightful place?”

“I’m the most powerful warlock in all of Enchantia. Why should bloodline matter?” He smirked, then flicked me a pointed glance and took another bite of soup. “A weak bloodline puts a weak royal on a throne.”

I took no insult, not this time. I was too wrung out already. More than that, I knew what I’d survived. And now, I could even add the taming of a fierce avian crown prince to my tally of feats. Does he still imagine our kiss? Don’t look. Don’t you dare.

“What does Leonora expect in return?” I asked.

“She will be my wife, and I will help her conquer the Avian Mountains.”

They would destroy two kingdoms. Milo, for the good of himself alone. Leonora, for vengeance. “This isn’t going to turn out well for you, warlock. She isn’t—”

“Shut up,” he hissed. “You don’t understand the ways of war.”

War, he’d said. Not love. And he was very, very wrong about me. I understood war in ways he never would. My mind had been a war zone since the day of my birth. “You think you’re guaranteed to win.”

He smirked. “Wrong. I have already won.”

“Then I have already lost, and nothing I learn will change that. So tell me. Do you remember your father’s recipe? His barrier spell?” Did he and Leonora hope to use them against me?

The smirk deepened. “I remember enough.”

Oh, yes. They would use them against me.

For the rest of the six courses, we sat in silence. I accepted that I couldn’t convince this boy to betray the phantom. I’d find help another way. I’d played with the idea of visiting the Evil Queen. Everly. So why not do it? Dying was the worst that could happen. But if you were dead anyway...

As servants passed out toffee pudding for dessert, my father gave his glass another clink. The guests grew quiet.

“As you know,” he announced, “the tournament is close to its end. A mere ten combatants remain. Tonight, one of you will advance to the final, without having to participate in the semifinals.”

Twitters of excitement sprang from all but two of the combatants. Milo lifted his chin, ready to win. Saxon stared at me, making me shiver. What did my father have planned?

“All you have to do,” the king continued, “is be the one to convince me to give you this coin, using twenty words or less. A good negotiator can do much with little.” He held up a small golden disc, his hand shaking. “We’ll start at the foot of the table. Know that if you win, I will expect to receive what is offered.”

As selfish as Milo.

The snake-shifter said, “Give me the coin, and I will bring you the head of Roth Charmaine, your greatessst enemy.” His forked tongue turned the s into a hiss.

“Give me the coin,” the goblin piped up next, “and you will have my eternal devotion.” A wild pledge for a goblin to make. For the