Chapter 12 The Crown Prince
SOMA
With Mason gone, I find my way inside. The air thickens with the heat of a dozen ovens and the frantic movement of the kitchen staff. Stainless steel counters line both sides of the room, cluttered with bowls of fruit, trays of delicate pastries, and golden flutes filled with champagne. Steam rises from a wide pot at the far end, fogging up the windows.
Voices call out orders, and footsteps clatter on polished tile floors. A girl in black slacks and a high ponytail nearly crashes into me with a tray full of silver spoons.
“Watch it,” she mutters, barely slowing down.
Mumbling an apology, I move aside, sticking to the wall as I make my way through the chaos. Maids come and go. I don’t belong here, but someone will notice if I’m idle. Keeping my head down, I grab the nearest silver tray stacked with gleaming wine glasses. Red wine shimmers inside, dark and rich like blood.
A hand grabs my wrist before I can move, and I freeze.
“Soma, right?” A young woman with tight blond curls and an apron asks. “Your cousins said you’ll be helping. You’ll be in charge of the wine for table—” She stops when my face crunches. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah. I’m fine,” I lie quickly, pulling my hand free with a thin smile.
Maybe I should have gone with Mason, but my chances of getting food will be reduced. I can sneak off some items from the kitchen without anyone noticing. If he’s handling our travel expenses, the least I can do is provide food for the journey.
“Which table did you say?” I whisper.
“Andra.” The woman claps, and a tall lady steps forward. “She’ll assist you. Follow her. Don’t drop the glasses.”
“Yes, Ms. Roland,” Andra replies with an eye roll.
Without waiting for me, Andra struts out of the kitchen, and I rush after her. The hallway beyond the kitchen is quieter, carpeted, and wide, with arched doorways opening into the main event hall.
Chandeliers hang from the high ceilings, casting glittering light onto the polished marble floor. Everything feels colder, elegant but distant. I enter the reception hall, and the air shifts. I expected the main event to happen in the backyard, but I might be wrong.
Laughter echoes through the room. Soft jazz music plays in the background, and nobles dressed in silk and velvet lounge around candlelit tables, sipping, gossiping, and posing for the dedicated photographers.
Careful to keep the tray balanced, I creep toward the crowd. Andra nods toward the left, and she glides to the right. I take that as my cue and move in that direction.
As soon as I turn, I spot Maeve. She sits at one of the central tables, smiling at a man in royal blue. My cousins have always been pretty, but tonight, she’s stunning.
Her hair has been curled and pinned to perfection, and her gown is a blend of gold and cream. She turns, and our eyes lock for a split second. My blood runs cold, and I spin too quickly. Heart hammering, I make a beeline for the side hallway, hoping she hasn’t seen me because I want to make it to the end of today with food and zero drama.
But again, I’m never that lucky.
My foot catches on the edge of a rug I didn’t see, and I stumble forward. The tray tips. Ms. Roland’s warning rings in my head as the wine flies, making a sharp, wet splash as it lands on someone or something.
Gasps echo around me, and someone curses loudly.
“Shit.”
Why me? I pale, realizing I’ve dumped two full glasses of red wine on someone’s spotless white tunic. Deep red spreads like an open wound across the expensive fabric. I look up slowly, ready to apologize, beg, if necessary, but my words die on the tip of my tongue.
It’s him. The crown prince.
Brynne’s eyes sharpen as soon as they land on me. “You.”
Seconds pass as he stares down at the stain, then back up at me. His jaw clenches, but instead of shouting or kicking me out like I expected, he smirks.
Wait, does he not recognize me?
“It’s you. Somi,” he says. His voice sharpens with amusement, and I shrink into myself. I’d rather be slapped by Aunt Helen any day than face this brute again. “Very well.”
The smirk grows as his eyes flick over my face, lingering long enough to make my skin crawl. Heat rushes to my cheeks, not only from embarrassment, but from the eyes on us. Curious stares and whispered comments echo around us. I need to leave before he thinks of continuing yesterday’s punishment.
Before I can think of running off, a sharp but awfully familiar voice thunders across the room. “Somadina.”