The prince is looking at me. Not at the female tributes as a whole—no, his eyes are locked right on me. God fucking dammit. Bastian can probably hear my heart galloping like it’s trying to bust out of my chest.
Nathan is still staring, and even as the weight of my brother’s focus makes my skin itch, the prince narrows his eyes at me.
Shit.
He knows.
Chapter Eight
I expect the prince to call me out, to drag me or Nathan or maybe both of us forward and make an example of us in front of everyone. But he doesn’t. He stays silent, still looking at me intently, and for the first time, it occurs to me that maybe the vampire prince is staring at me for a different reason entirely. Maybe whatever has drawn his focus to me is a good thing—maybe it’ll keep him from noticing the way Nathan is staring at me too.
Prince Bastian doesn’t say a word as Anastasyia introduces us all, one by one. On the other side of the platform, Arthur is working his way through the male tributes, having them each say their names.
I grit my teeth as Nathan gives his real name. Did he learn nothing from me at all? Apparently not. At least he isn’t staring anymore, but if he doesn’t wipe that shocked look off his face, we’re going to be caught anyway.
“And there you have it,” Anastasyia says proudly as Arthur finishes. “All twenty of them.”
The prince nods slowly, finally releasing me from his gaze to run his eyes over all of us. After a moment, he waves a hand, apparently dismissing us. Anastasyia bustles past me to the end of the line and leads us back to our table. The new male tributes are being led to the empty tables I expected them to go to earlier. The large dance floor is between us, but there’s a direct line of sight from the male tables to our table.
Fantastic, more opportunities for Nathan to blow my cover.
“I don’t think the prince liked us very much,” Chelsea says glumly as we all find our seats again.
“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Anastasyia says briskly, smiling perfunctorily. “The prince has his moods, and not all of them are pleasant. If he disapproved of any of you, he would have had you taken away for—well, that doesn’t matter. All that matters now is that you behave yourselves. The feast will begin in just a few minutes, so… well, just do as you’re told, and everything will be fine. Now, I need to have a word with Arthur. That was a disastrous presentation.”
She’s off again a moment later, making a beeline toward the vampire man assigned to watch the new male tributes. I shoot a quick glance in Nathan’s direction, glancing at him from beneath my eyelashes.
He looks stunned, staring at the table in front of him as if it might hold the answers to all of his many, many questions. I have to find a way to talk to him. He needs to know how to act and what to expect. He needs to know that his contract is over, null and void, the second I find a way out of this place, and he needs to be ready to run.
“Here you are, my pretties,” a high, autumn-wind voice says. A vampire waitress pulls up to our table with a cartful of fruit. With super-human speed, she whips plates around the table, one to each of us. I poke at a grape suspiciously, and she laughs.
“Oh dear, do you really think we’d poison our own tributes? No, love, this is good, hearty food. A bit sweet—we do like our desserts too, you know. Eat up.”
She disappears as quickly as she arrived, feeding the other female tributes before darting over to the male tributes’ tables. It’s hard to hear it all from this distance, but it sounds like she gives them a similar speech to the one she gave us, and Nathan turns a little green around the gills.
I can relate. Knowing that you’re being fed only to be eaten is enough to kill your appetite forever.
Winona doesn’t seem to have a problem with it. She’s eating seductively, making eyes at some of the vampires—mostly the ones sitting nearest the high table—as she wraps her lips around her fingers to suck off the juice from the fruits.
I guess I have to admire the girl’s ambition, but I can’t say I understand it.
“Oh, these are the best berries I’ve ever had!” Chelsea’s eyes light up, and she stuffs a berry in her mouth with no seductive artistry whatsoever. Winona spares a moment to wrinkle her nose in Chelsea’s direction, then goes back to her hunt. Chelsea pays no attention to her. She’s living in the moment, dissociating from the horrors around her in favor of relishing tidbits of misleading goodness. Like a sheep mowing the lawn on its way to the slaughter.
I’m torn between pity at her misfortune and fury at her stupidity. I stare at my fruit, wondering if it’s the strain of the long as fuck day or some kind of spell that makes it look so appealing. And here I thought my appetite was dead. But there are predatory eyes watching me, watching all of us, checking the ingredients we fill our bodies with. I refuse to touch the plate.
In time, it’s cleared away, replaced with a fragrant salad topped with some kind of fried meat and crumbles of fried and battered onions. My stomach growls audibly.
Fuck it. Maybe just a nibble. If I don’t eat, it’ll make me weak, and I’ll regret it eventually.
But before I can reach my fork, a vampire sweeps silently up to the table. All the girls go still, as if collectively holding their breath.
“So nice to see you again, Elise,” the man says in a voice like honeyed butter. “Come. I’ve missed your taste.”
The girl who
