Page 57 of Their Rejected Queen

The entire room turns toward an attractive royal at the head of the table. Fear sizzles through my veins.

When a royal is around, that typically means someone is going to die.

I glance up at the cameras again and note that each one has a red light. They’re definitely on.

“Keep an eye out,” I whisper to Sofia.

I don’t remotely know how a cooking challenge could be dangerous, but now I’m eyeing all the knives and metal skewer sticks and debating which one would make the best weapon.

“Hello, ladies,” the royal says with a bow. He’s wearing frills at his wrists, and his fingers glint with too many rings. “We have a special surprise for you today. Who enjoys wine tasting?”

The girls murmur with nervous excitement. I’m not the only one aware that this much attention means there’s going to be a show.

And when there’s a show, someone dies.

“You know who also enjoys a good glass of wine with their meal? Our sponsors!” chimes the royal, who appears to be our host for today’s entertainment.

The curtain at the end of the room parts, and men begin walking in.

Including Arwan.

My eyes widen as he walks directly toward me. Each sponsor chooses a table, and Arwan has clearly claimed mine.

An attractive male with white-blond hair takes Sofia’s table, rendering her silent. While he’s gorgeous, Sofia just admitted to me that she has no intention of participating in the games.

I have a feeling she might not have a choice.

Cursing these damn royals and their idea of entertainment, I openly glare at Arwan.

“Aw, I thought you would have missed me,” he purrs. His tongue flashes out to wet his lips, dragging my attention to them before I snap it up again. “It’s been an entire month.”

“Has it?” I reply without hesitation. “Time flies without you around, doesn’t it?”

Arwan doesn’t take the bait. Instead, he gives me one of his panty-melting grins, which shows off his dimples that I want to stick my tongue in.

Damn royal and his excessive attractiveness winning every banter.

A shifter in black leathers and a foreign pendant begins placing wineglasses on the long table.

Arwan has his back to the table and is instead facing my station.

“What’s going on?” I whisper to him as I lean in.

He leans in as well, seeming to enjoy our closeness as our lips near. “Do you really think the candidates should have all the fun? We sponsors like to play, too.”

I eye every table and inspect the royals who have taken a seat.

One wipes his hand on his velvet pants.

Another clenches his jaw.

“Why are they nervous?” I whisper back.

Arwan’s smile grows as if he’s pleased I noticed that. “Am I nervous?” he asks instead.

I glower at him. “I hate it when someone answers a question with a question.” When he doesn’t respond, I take in his posture and his expression.

He doesn’t look at all nervous. He’s also dressed more elaborately than usual.