stared at Tobias—the competitors, The Savior, and the Healer as well. He cleared his throat, still donning the slightest grin. “Apologies.”
The Proctor shot him a glare before continuing down the line, and Tobias’s mind wandered almost instantly. The questions bordered on ridiculous; some were poor attempts to boast, while others were mere romantic clichés. “Do You know how beautiful You are?”—a cheap compliment disguised as a question, but The Savior’s pleasant demeanor didn’t once waver. Then a groan sounded; the Healer slumped in her seat, her eyes continually rolling into the back of her head, and Tobias bit his lip just to stifle his laughter.
“Shepherd,” the Proctor said. “Your question.”
Tobias went rigid. Kaleo sat tall, perfectly poised and assured, a smile on his face. “What is Your favorite flower? So I can spoil You with them when the time comes.”
Flowers? Fucking flowers? The man was playing a role, pandering to The Savior for personal gain. Tobias stared at The Savior long and hard, praying She would condemn him, smite him, or do whatever it was that Saviors did to shit like Kaleo. Instead, She met Kaleo’s smile with Her own.
“It’s funny. I hear everyone decorates with lilies on My birthday, yes? They were My Mother’s favorite.” Her gaze became distant. “Lilies are beautiful, of course…but I’ve always preferred roses. Pink ones.”
“Then we should alert the realm. Roses on every holiday, it must be done.”
Tobias dug his fingers into the bench, fighting to calm his simmering rage.
“Prince,” the Proctor continued. “Your question.”
Flynn leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Marry me.”
The Savior wavered. “That wasn’t a question.”
“It wasn’t? Well then, let me try again. When would You like us to be wed?”
The men around Flynn laughed, as did The Savior, hiding Her lips behind Her hands. Meanwhile the Healer rubbed her forehead as if physically drained by all the questions, and again Tobias fought to repress his own grin.
The questions dwindled as man after man made his best attempt at a first impression. Tobias stared into The Savior’s apple-green eyes, trying to get lost in Her gaze alone, as there was nothing else to work with. If only he could be as enraptured as everyone else, but their questions were tired and uncreative, and Her answers were a paltry introduction. Fifteen questions later, and the Woman before him was still a stranger.
“Now for our final competitor,” the Proctor said. “Artist, ask your question.”
Tobias’s head perked up, his gaze locking with The Savior. She’s beautiful. But that was all he knew of Her—Her immense beauty. Nothing more.
“What is Your name?”
The room went silent, save for the stirring of chagrined men. The Savior cocked Her head, and after a brief stillness, She smiled.
“Cosima. My name is Cosima.”
Cosima. He didn’t know much, but at least he knew Her name. “It’s a pleasure to meet You, Cosima.”
“Your First Impressions have come to an end,” the Proctor barked, startling the room. “Your questions have been answered. Now it is time for Her Holiness to deliberate.”
Deliberate? Tobias sat up straight, the men around him looking just as perplexed—and even horrified—as him.
“Today’s task was more than a simple opportunity,” the Proctor said. “Based on your performance, one man will receive the first reward of the Sovereign’s Tournament.”
“Would’ve been nice to have known that from the start,” Caesar muttered.
“You will never know anything from the start,” the Proctor spat. “You must prepare yourself for all possible outcomes, no matter the endeavor.”
The room went quiet. The Proctor scanned the men, his nostrils flared. “The Savior requires a moment alone. Kneel.”
The men dropped to their knees, The Savior beaming in Tobias’s peripheral vision.
“Rise.” The Proctor waited for the men to obey, a grimace plastered across his face. “The results will be presented in the sanctuary. You’re dismissed.”
The men trudged from the room, bowing or smiling, desperate to make one last impression. Tobias glanced The Savior’s way; Her gaze was far from his, dancing over the line of men, and so he ducked through the portal, following the others as they poured into the sanctuary.
“Oh my God!” Caesar spun toward his friends. “The Savior! Can you believe it? Oh my fucking God!”
Beau slugged Neil in the arm. “I told you She wasn’t fat.”
“She was fat in places,” Neil said. “Two places, specifically.”
“She was gorgeous!” Caesar said. “Did you see Her eyes? Like jade!”
“Who was looking at Her eyes?” Neil scoffed.
Tobias ignored them. He had met The Savior, had gazed upon Her celestial flesh, yet little had changed. The men around him