Chapter 65
The trial room smalled like buttal and cinnamon
Long tables stretched across this mostbite fusi, study ducted una Hajja ta directive: Create a dessert that reflects your forte.
I stared at the words for a moment longer thishi should Not breatha
અને ચા કે ક્યારે ન તો ન ક અમિયા
My hands moved on instinct. Cardamom. Cinnamon, revin super i raded the dinhigh density Banaan my desire, ramsambarinatala nigame in the with my mother, laughing as we tried to make do with ingredients
It was a similar pastry to the one I’d baked for Damon. The one I’d th a niska i numer digjed
It wasn’t flashy. It wasn’t dressed in sugared violets or spun gold. But it was home
As the oven warmed the room, I worked in silence, measuring everything by feel. The scent began to rise sweet and spicat, like
through. I kept my eyes down, focused on the layers of glaze and the final dusting of sugar across the top
When the bell chimed to signal the judging round, I stepped back, wiping my hands on a towel. My cake sat centered on
familiar. I wasn’t here to impress. I was here to be as honest as I could.
And then I smelled it.
A sharper note of honey. A touch of orange peel. I turned slowly toward the table two rows across.
Nora’s station was neat, perfect. Her cake taller than mine, dressed in sugared garnish and adorned with candied hazelnuts. The color was deeper, ther spices bolder–but the foundation? The base?
It was mine.
No mistaking it. The flour ratio. The spice mix. The glaze pooling just slightly at the edge.
Mine.
I watched as she smoothed the edge of her plate with a pristine cloth. She smiled sweetly at the judges when they approached, her voice soft as the offered her explanation. “It’s an old recipe from my childhood. My mother used to make something similar during the harvest festival.
My stomach turned.
Liar.
One of the judges took a bite, eyebrows lifting in delight. “Complex flavor. The honey notes are subtle. Excellent balance.”
They lingered longer at her station than they did at mine. At mine, they offered polite nods. A few notes on simplicity. One small compliment about the texture. No sparks. No flickers of surprise.
I stood there and took it, my fingers clenched tightly behind my back.
Ruby snarled. She stole it. We should confront her. Now.
I didn’t move.
amon and passed
Because what if it wasn’t her? What if someone in the kitchen shared it? What if the recipe had been lifted from the tray I around like some inside joke? I had no proof. No witnesses. Just the scent that still clung to my fingertips and the ache of something private turned public.
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Chapter 65
When the trial ended, I packed up in silence. Nora didn’t look my way. Maybe she didn’t have to draybe she alwady baño
Or maybe she didn’t realize how much she’d taken. Either way, the damage was done.
As I left the room, the compliments still echoed behind me clever adaptation, striking presentation, elevated roots, and one of these ter
The sun had long since dipped beneath the horizon, leaving the palace cloaked in quiet, humming lamplight.
I didn’t make it all the way back to my room.
Halfway there, a voice stopped me in the corridor. Quiet. Hesitant. “Lady Elena?”
I turned to find a kitchen aide—maybe sixteen at most–hovering near the wall, her apron still smudged with flour. Her eyes darted up and down the hall before she stepped closer.
“…I just thought you should know. I overheard one of the judges earlier.” She glanced down. “He said the King made a comment during fasting?
My heart slowed. “What kind of comment?”
The girl’s fingers fidgeted with her apron hem. “Just that… he thought Nora’s version was stronger. More refined, he said.”
I felt something inside me stutter. “Thank you,” I managed. My voice didn’t crack. That surprised me more than anything.
The girl offered a quick, guilty nod and hurried off before I could say anything else.
Ruby growled in the silence she left behind. So he knew, she hissed. He tasted both. He remembered yours–and still chose hers.
I didn’t reply. I didn’t trust myself to.
Because what could I say? That it didn’t hurt? That I hadn’t stayed up the night before, wondering if he’d known the flavor was mine the moment it touched his tongue?
And if he did, did he still like hers more?
You should confront her, Ruby snapped. Or him. Or someone. Don’t let this slide like the paper under your door.
But my legs had already started moving, not toward confrontation, but escape. The only place that didn’t require masks.
The library.
It was mostly empty this time of night. Just a single steward shelving books at the far end. I made my way to the mezzanine level, to the alcove tucked beneath the stained–glass window–my hiding place. The place where lies didn’t echo as loud.
I didn’t sit right away. I paced. One hand tracing the cool spines of law volumes and regional history texts like I could scrape the anger off my skin.
Ruby pulsed beneath the surface, pacing with me. Say something. Scream. Demand fairness. He knew it was yours. He knew.
But maybe he didn’t. Or maybe he did and it didn’t matter. Maybe liking something more didn’t mean he liked me less. But it felt like it. And Goddess, that was the part I couldn’t say out loud.
I dropped into the velvet–lined seat beneath the window, pressing my palms to my eyes.
When I finally looked up, the court gossip scroll shimmered beside the reading lamp–unrolled, as if waiting for me.
I shouldn’t have looked. I knew that. But I did/
The ink reformed as I touched the edge, a ripple of golden script across the page. A fresh ranking update had just been added. The header sparkled: Elite Candidate Adjustments – Update nine.
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Chapter 65
Nora – 1; Vanessa – 2: Elena 3
It was only a single shift. A single place. But it felt like a fracture
I stared at it long enough that the words blurred. My throat didn’t even tighten. But something inside me curled inward, brittle and raw,
Ruby went quiet. Not because she didn’t have thoughts–she always did but because even she knew this wasn’t about justice
This was about being erased.
Without scandal. Without exposure. Without warning.
All it took was someone who could smile for cameras, bake prettier lies, and steal the story I didn’t even get to tell.
I rolled the scroll closed slowly, setting it aside with care. My hands were steady. My breath even.
But my chest felt hollow. The ache wasn’t rage. Not really.
It was something more hollow. A realization that I’d stepped into this palace with the fire to survive and somehow ended up buried beneath other people’s victories.
I leaned back, letting the shadows fold over me like a second skin.
And for the first time since arriving, I wondered–not if I could win.
But if anyone would remember me at all.
