Chapter 2

Lyra’s POV

“Finally,” a red-headed girl sighed as the guards shoved me into place beside her.

The carriage overflowed with young women packed around the edges like wall ornaments. Some carried small pieces of luggage, some, like me, had nothing but the clothes on their backs.

Well, aside from the necklace on my chest.

Silks and scarves draped the redhead in a performer’s costume, making it clear she wasn’t nobility. She crossed her legs, leaning heavily onto her hand, “I thought the tributes would never end.”

“What, scared of the competition?” scoffed Violet Sutton, her dark curls bouncing around narrowed brown eyes. She was from the Sutton viscounty; I’d seen her once or twice at balls before my father stopped taking me.

Personally, I’d have preferred they kept gathering tributes until the end of time. Most of the girls, trembling and pale, looked like they agreed. This was the last time any of us might see the outside world ever again.

Even as I thought it, the carriage door shut and locked.

Outside, I could hear the palace messenger confirm, “That’s every region’s tribute accounted for.” Through the bars on the window, I watched him adjust thin glasses on his long nose and shuffle his papers into his bag. “Head back. We want to get there before nightfall.”

My heart jumped into my throat. I had until we arrived to think of a way out. But no one escaped the Selection.

What could someone like me do? My proclamation that I would return, only minutes ago, felt like an impossible goal—something I could only fall short of even if I used up my soul to fight for it. But I had to try.

“How am I supposed to seduce anyone if I smell like country girls before we get there?” the redhead complained, peering at her reflection in a compact mirror. “At least my make up is holding.”

“Kiki, was it? What makes you think he’d ever get close enough to smell you?” Violet shot back. “My family has something more to offer than barley fields.”

“I’ve spent years training to bear heat you can’t imagine,” Kiki snapped, “so my chances don’t depend on a silly title. This is fate!”

Violet favored her with a cold smile, “You’ll die burning, regardless. Only a noble, the true queen, could survive.”

Making love to a dragon was like swimming in lava. Their body temperature was much higher than any human could handle.

The girl on my other side tensed, her shaking intensifying. We both knew the chances of survival were close to zero. No matter how noble you were. I took her hand, holding it between us where the others wouldn’t see. She smiled weakly, gripping it back.

“Don’t fight each other over something impossible. We should be trying to stay as far as we can from the Dragon King,” I tried to speak up.

“It’s not impossible! The Selection is to find the true queen,” Violet protested. “The prophecy states she will be the only one able to bear him an heir.”

“And I’ve been training to withstand His Majesty’s heat,” Kiki bragged. “I can dance in fire without a single burn; I can take it.”

My heart stuttered. No, she couldn’t.

Extreme heat did horrific things to the human body. I couldn’t even recognize my mother after… after the fire that killed her ten years ago. She hadn’t even looked human.

The girls here could all look like that soon. My throat closed. Now it was my neighbor’s turn to squeeze my shaking hand.

Fire was my greatest fear. I’d survived it ten years ago, but now I couldn’t even eat warm soup. Only food that had already gone cold with no touch of flame remaining.

If the others had even the tiniest chance of becoming queen, I had none. A hint of heat could set me off. And I had none of the virtues a queen should possess. No beauty. No notable talent. Not even the support of my family.

Whoever was destined to be queen, if she existed, she would look like she’d walked out of a fairy tale. Her family would love her.

Shaking off the thought, I comforted myself that even my duck-like laugh meant I was out of the running. That lightened my mood enough to stop shaking.

“What’s your name?” the girl next to me whispered as Violet and Kiki sniped at each other. At least they were keeping it down this time.

“Lyra Walker,” I answered quietly. “You?”

“Mirabelle Stone.” Her eyes were soft blue, puffy around the edges from crying as they met mine. She looked young—younger than I was, even if she was still old enough for the Selection. “Do you really think we can live through this?”

No, I didn’t.

I gripped her hand tighter, “We have to try.”

She nodded, leaning her head on my shoulder. Around us, the other girls held each other, whispered their fears, and cried for one another as the carriage bumped along. Strangers bound by the Selection, riding to our deaths.

Each rattle, each slow turn, made all of us tense at the thought of arriving. Even the girls who claimed they would be queen fell silent, shoulders creeping toward their ears each time the carriage slowed.

The black walls of the carriage glistened with gold accents, royal colors that let none of us forget where we were heading. The bars on the windows and the guards laughing above made sure there’d be no escape, either.

I didn’t know how destiny was supposed to work, but if it needed all this effort, maybe I could be ordinary enough that fate didn’t bother assigning me a role in the Dragon King’s delusion. I could find a way to be forgotten at the palace and slip away. I’d have nothing but my painting tools, but it’d be better than being sacrificed.

At that moment, the carriage slowed to a halt, horses nickering outside.

“Come out,” shouted a guard, pounding on the door before opening it. He grinned toothily, “We’ve arrived, ladies.”

“Oh, get back to your barracks,” came a new voice. A short, middle-aged man in palace servant’s clothes waved the guard away and gestured for us to join him in the courtyard.

Quickly, I stood with the more ambitious girls, pulling Mirabelle along. The faster we got out, the longer we’d have to examine our surroundings.

The castle loomed over the open square, elegant and foreboding. I was more interested in windows and exits than architecture. My heart fluttered—more glass windows than I’d expected for something built by a warlord. Glass broke easily. They might provide a way out.

“Three tributes will be honored with meeting the Dragon King today,” the steward announced. Time was running out.

“Abigail Crux,” he read the first name, making a strawberry blond sob aloud.

Mirabelle clung to my arm and I put a hand on hers, stomach twisted for both of us. Only three names.

“Kiki of the Actors’ Guild,” the steward continued.

I let out my held breath. Two out of three done. It was unlikely either of us would be selected.

The steward looked up and listed the final name.

“Lyra Walker.”