Tall, shapely, and concealed—the emerald-green cloak She wore left most of Her a mystery. She stopped in front of Her golden chair, and two gentle hands slid free from Her cloak, lowering Her hood.
The air in the room became thin, as if each man had sucked in a simultaneous breath. Her skin was like milk, white and creamy, the only hint of color the flush of Her cheeks. Her eyes were small and bright green like sour apples, the color ripe and distinct. Her lips were full and pink, and Her hair was a fiery red, rolling down Her shoulders in waves ending at Her collarbone. She was regal. She was poised.
She was stunning.
She unfastened the jeweled clasp at Her neck, and Her cloak dropped to Her wrists, exposing a flowing dress in the same emerald shade. A belt of pearls adorned Her waist, and two full breasts sat high, brimming over the neckline of Her dress.
Absolutely stunning.
“Kneel,” the Proctor ordered.
All sixteen men dropped to their knees, their heads bowed. Tobias stared at the floor, the sound of his shallow breathing punctuated by an airy voice.
The voice of The Savior.
“Please be seated.”
The men obeyed, sitting along the bench. The Woman had taken a seat alongside Her court, and the men’s gazes danced over Her hair, Her breasts, Her lips, Her breasts, Her eyes, Her breasts.
“You have been blessed with the presence of The Savior,” the Proctor said. “The one true Savior until Her divinity is passed. You may each ask Her one question of your choosing. We’ll begin with the Poet.”
The Poet sat at the start of the line, perhaps the most ill-suited for their oiled appearance. A bandage covered his mess of an eye, but the other one was set on The Savior, beaming with excitement. He bowed his head. “Your Holiness.”
The Savior smiled. “Hello, Poet.”
“The question,” the Proctor said.
The Poet cleared his throat. “Is it true? Does Your skin glow?”
“It does, in the sunlight.” She lifted a hand, eyeing Her white flesh. “My body is filled with energy—a divine illumination. It can be quite stunning…though I do mean that literally.” She flicked Her wrists, pointing to the room around them. “That’s why I’m meeting you here, hidden from the sun’s rays. It’s best this way for now.” She blushed. “The glow can be overwhelming for some.”
“Physician.” The Proctor’s voice came out sharp. “Ask your question.”
The Physician looked just as anxious as the Poet, his brown skin beading with sweat. “Your magic. Can we see it?”
The Proctor growled, “Physician, you are to ask The Savior questions, not request performances—”
“It’s all right,” The Savior said. “I don’t mind.”
The Proctor went silent, visibly fighting back a scowl, while The Savior was his antithesis—soft and gentle. “Would you still like to see it? My magic?”
The Physician wavered. “Only if You truly don’t mind.”
The Savior slid Her hands through Her hair, pulling out an elaborate pearl pin and resting it in Her palm. “Open your hand for Me, dove.”
The Physician did as he was told, sitting stiff and alert. They stared at one another, The Savior’s eyes fierce and focused, and a second later the pin disappeared from Her hand and reappeared in the Physician’s.
The entire room gasped, mystified, while the Physician gaped at The Savior.
“A gift,” She said. “From Me to you.”
The room buzzed, enthralled by the magical display, and the questions continued with the same amount of intrigue. Some men focused on Her title—“What’s it like to rule the realm?”—while others were direct—“What are You looking for in a man?” Each answer She gave was kind, uttered with a smile; ruling the realm was hard but rewarding, and She wasn’t sure what She wanted in a man, but She’d know it when She found him.
The entire spectacle was cordial. Pleasant.
Dull.
The tedium hit Tobias much sooner than he had anticipated. He was bored. Already? He shifted in his seat, trying to stir himself, but every part of him was wrapped up in indifference.
“Your Holiness, do You fancy Yourself a thief?”
All heads shot toward Beau, who sat in the center of the group, his chin high.
The Savior faltered. “Pardon Me?”
“Adonis, explain yourself,” the Proctor hissed.
Beau smirked. “I only ask because it seems as though You’ve stolen my heart.”
A throaty sigh punctuated the silence. The Healer rolled her eyes almost theatrically, mouthing what looked to be a few choice words, and Tobias couldn’t help but laugh, utterly amused by her disdain.
The Proctor spun toward him. “Do you have something to contribute, Artist?”