“If I wanted to force myself to hurl, then yes,” I said idly, glancing from guest to guest like they were the most interesting thing I’d ever seen. Some of them stopped to touch Alis on the shoulder or to say a quick hello, giving me a smile as they passed. He was Symbia’s golden boy with the golden mane to go with it. Blond hair to his shoulders, brown eyes the color of dirty water—at least that’s what I thought, and a pair of lips that seemed to permanently be in a straight line whenever he saw me. Honestly, I didn’t look at the man much. He was like a potted plant to me: it sat in the corner, and nobody noticed it.
His father was Clinton Montgomery, one of the rich, popular faces of Symbia. If they only knew he was a Druid, they’d change their tune real quick.
I went to eat my other tart when Alis grabbed it with a scowl and tossed it behind him. It about hit a passing guest, and she gave me a scowl like I’d thrown it. “I wish to speak with you, not watch you shove tarts in your mouth.”
I gritted my teeth, and knowing that he’d follow me around until he said whatever he needed to say, I snapped, “Then get it over with.”
He looked at the ceiling, letting out a breath as if he wished for patience. “I wish to speak like adults about our future pledging.”
There was no ‘future pledging,’ but I only crossed my arms, waiting for him to continue. I’d learned that if I just let the man talk, he would leave me alone. But when his attention caught on my breasts, I sighed. This low-cut, stupid barmaid’s dress. Alis was idiotic and annoying, but he never ogled me; his interest ran only as far as that I could compel and persuade, an oddity in our world to even have one gift.
With a roll of my eyes, I brushed past him and ran right into my mother.
“Darling.”
I noticed Clinton on my side and Alis at my back. I’d been thoroughly ambushed. This was one of my nightmares—right up there with blood and death.
“Oh, look. My family all in one place. We’re only missing Grandmamma.”
My mother looked at the floor, clearing her throat, my suspicion suddenly rising.
“Calamity, don’t you look beautiful, if not . . . a little like one of the wenches I can buy a few moments with in the bachelor’s room.”
I turned with a large, fake smile. “Thank you, Clinton. They have a bachelor’s room here? What direction? I was hoping to earn a little coin for the night.”
His eyes flickered with annoyance. That was, in Clinton speak, a compliment: dark hair framed in an elegant wave, tanned skin, and blue eyes that contrasted everything else well. Many found him and his son attractive, but I couldn’t after getting to know them. Poisonous potted plants.
I felt a pressure that someone was staring, and glancing up, my eyes caught on Weston; he had his arms crossed as he leaned against a column, watching the scene. I swallowed, looking him over. He looked like a bloody prince if I ever saw one. How had I never noticed the arrogance about him that only a royal could have? Even the way he stood, with his legs slightly spread like he owned the floor I was walking on, screamed prince.
His stare was slightly unnerving as yesterday came flooding in. I couldn’t believe I was kissing him the night before. What had I been thinking? He was completely unpredictable, and it would be best to just stay away from him completely. Tell that to my drunken self later on in the evening . . . because Weston was like those sweet tarts: they were bad for me, but I still put them in my mouth. I blinked. That came out a little crasser than I’d intended. The truth was the truth, though.
A few Titans stood in his vicinity. Sleeveless black jerkins and black pants with an assortment of blades strapped to them like they were standing on a battlefield and not a ballroom floor. The guests weaved a large half-circle around them as they stood off to the side, not comfortable in their vicinity, it seemed. Pillaging and raping. My words as a six-year-old came back to me. Though maybe that was a lot of scaremongering, I couldn’t deny they looked like that would be a favorite pastime.
My gaze flicked to Princess Luciana who seemed enraptured in what some man of royal status was saying. She didn’t even seem to be sharing a glance with Weston. Maybe that gossip rag had been just that—gossip. Imagine that?
Pulling my eyes back to Weston involuntarily, my gaze caught on a familiar Titan among the few, whose intense and irate stare was on me. I gave Archer a sweet smile.
“Calamity, are you listening?”
“Of course,” I responded.
My mother frowned. “Well, Clinton and I have discussed your future, and we think it’s best for you to decide soon who you’ll be pledging on All Sister’s Day. There isn’t much more time.”
“Yes,” I said sarcastically. “I’m sure it’s because you’re thinking of my well-being.”
Alis frowned. “Calamity—”
“That’s my dress,” I interrupted, looking my mother over with a frown.
She glanced down. “No, it isn’t.”
“But that’s the same one you bought . . . you bought the same dress you gave me?”
“I thought we could match tonight, but for some reason, I couldn’t find you anywhere yesterday to tell you.”
I held in my slight amusement at that. “I don’t know what’s worse—you thinking we should match, or you pushing Alis at me like it would ever be a good idea.” I tried to push past her, but Alis grabbed my wrist painfully. I shot an incensed look his way, the dark inside me getting oppressively hot. “Let. Go.”
After a moment, he released his grip. “You’re going to pledge with me on All Sister’s Day. I’m the best match you could find.”