Theron’s displeasure was palpable as we prepared to leave the Water Realm. His sharp eyes followed Varianlir like a hawk; his lips pressed into a thin line. He had expected us to choose the winner of his little contest—some polished, politically advantageous noblewoman who would play the role of the perfect second queen.
Instead, we’d picked Contessa—the one who had lost her match by a stupid slip.
And the best part? The look on his face when Varianlir had casually draped an arm around my shoulders and announced, "We’ve made our decision," had been priceless.
Contessa played her part beautifully. She stood at my side, her expression carefully schooled into something between shy admiration and quiet pride as if she were honored but not too eager. The whispers had already started—Did the
