AYASHA'S POV
Cold steel pressed against my throat, dragging me from sleep into sharp awareness. My eyes snapped open to find Pavati hovering over me, my own dagger in her hand. The blade bit lightly into my skin, not deep enough to draw blood but close enough to make my pulse hammer against the metal.
"Do you trust me now that you will sleep with no regard?" Pavati's voice was soft, almost conversational, but her dark eyes held something wild and unstable.
I forced myself to remain still, fighting every instinct that screamed at me to fight back. "You will not kill me."
"Won't I?" The blade pressed a fraction deeper.
"It will go against the King's new rule," I said, keeping my voice steady. "And you want me alive to get more... help."
Pavati's lips curved into a smile that didn't reach her eyes. She held the position for another heartbeat, then dropped the blade with a soft thud onto my chest. The weight of it felt heavier than it should have.
She leaned down until her mouth was next to my ear, her breath warm against my skin. "Do not be so cocky, Luna Ayasha. I do not have the strongest mental state right now." Her voice was barely a whisper, but I caught every word. "Unlike you, I did kill someone back at the tents."
The confession sent ice through my veins. I'd suspected, but hearing her admit it so casually made my stomach clench.
Pavati straightened and moved away from my bed, her movements fluid and graceful despite the darkness. "I heard movement outside," she said in a normal tone, her earlier wildness hidden again. "They are already being awakened."
Before I could respond, a firm knock echoed through our chamber. Pavati was already moving, pulling the wooden chair away from the door and turning the heavy key in the lock. I sat up quickly, clutching my dagger and trying to shake off the lingering fear from her wake-up call.
The door swung open to reveal a group of servants dressed in the brown and gray of house staff. They flooded into our small room like water through a broken dam, carrying basins, bottles, and armfuls of fabric.
"Luna Pavati and Luna Ayasha," the lead servant said with a respectful bow. "The competition will take place shortly and we have been ordered to prepare you."
Pavati stepped aside to let them enter. I watched in amazement as they transformed our simple chamber into something resembling a preparation room. Two large copper basins were set up near the fireplace, along with an array of soaps, perfumes, and oils that filled the air with scents of jasmine and rose. The elaborate dresses they carried made my eyes widen—rich fabrics in deep blues and emerald greens that probably cost more than most people earned in a year.
Lamia was a lot different than Whitewater.
More servants appeared carrying buckets of steaming water, which they poured into the basins with practiced efficiency. The water released more fragrant steam, turning the air thick and warm.
"If you would enter the baths, please," one of the Omega servants requested politely. "We will assist you with preparations."
I looked at Pavati, who shrugged and began removing her simple tunic without hesitation. She seemed completely comfortable with the attention, the servants, the whole elaborate process. I followed her lead, though more reluctantly.
The water was perfectly heated, warm enough to ease the tension in my muscles but not hot enough to be uncomfortable. The Omega servants worked with gentle efficiency, washing our hair with soaps that smelled like spring flowers and scrubbing our skin until it felt soft and new.
One of them worked rose oil into my hair while another massaged perfumed lotion into my arms and shoulders. I'd never experienced such luxury, even in my father's castle. The whole process felt surreal, like we were being prepared for a celebration rather than a competition that might end in death.
They dried us with thick, soft towels and helped us into undergarments made of silk so fine it felt like wearing air. Then came the dresses—mine was deep forest green with silver embroidery that caught the light, while Pavati's was midnight blue with gold threading at the hem and sleeves.
The Omegas styled our hair with careful precision, weaving small braids through loose curls and securing everything with silver pins. They applied subtle cosmetics that enhanced our features without making us look painted.
When they finished, I barely recognized myself. The mirror they held up showed a woman who looked more than the simple nobility of whitewater, like someone who belonged in Lamia.
"I will lead you both outside now," one of the Omega servants said.
I turned to look at Pavati and felt my breath catch. Behind all that calculation and hardness was undeniable beauty. Her dark hair gleamed like polished obsidian, and the midnight blue dress made her skin look like porcelain. She looked like an angel, ethereal and otherworldly.
"Careful, Luna," Pavati said, noticing my stare. "It looks like you are about to devour me."
Heat rushed to my cheeks and I looked away quickly. She chuckled, the sound lighter than I'd heard from her before.
"You would look good if you smiled more," she said, adjusting one of her sleeves.
"There is nothing to be happy about," I replied.
"What about surviving?"
I didn't answer. Survival felt like such a small victory when it came at the cost of everything else I'd lost.
The Omega servant led us through corridors I hadn't seen before, past tapestries depicting Lamia victories and stone sculptures of past kings. The fortress was larger than I'd realized, with passages that seemed to wind endlessly through the mountain itself.
We finally stopped before massive double doors made of dark wood and carved with intricate designs. The servant pushed them open to reveal a room that took my breath away.
It was more ballroom than anything else, with soaring ceilings supported by carved stone pillars. Chandeliers hung from above, their candles casting warm light over polished marble floors. Tall windows lined one wall, offering views of the mountains beyond, though the glass was too thick and high to offer any hope of escape.
The other surviving Lunas were already gathered inside, and I felt another shock seeing them. Like Pavati and me, they'd been transformed. Gone were the tired, frightened women from the camp. In their place stood figures who looked like they belonged in royal courts.
There was the Luna from the Desert lands, her bronze skin glowing against a dress of deep red silk. The Luna from the High plains wore white that made her pale hair look like spun silver. Each of them had been made beautiful, polished like gems for display.
When Pavati and I entered, the Omega leading us stopped at the threshold. She stepped back and shut the door behind us with a solid thud. I heard the sound of keys turning in locks, and when I glanced around the room, I realized every other door had been sealed as well.
We were trapped inside.
A man who clearly belonged to the Lamia pack stepped onto a raised platform at the far end of the room. He was older, with gray streaking his dark hair and scars marking his hands and forearms. A warrior, then, though one who'd lived long enough to gain authority.
"Welcome, Lunas," he said, his voice carrying easily through the large space. "The first competition is now here, and that is beauty."
He gestured to us with obvious pride, like we were his personal accomplishments. "Beauty is the foundation of all feminine power. It is the weapon that can bring kings to their knees and the shield that can turn away the sharpest blade. A Luna without beauty is like a sword without an edge—useless in the hands of even the strongest warrior."
I fought the urge to roll my eyes. The speech sounded rehearsed, full of flowery language that meant nothing.
"The first round will be objective and fair," he continued. "Each of you will have three votes to cast. You cannot use any of your votes for yourselves, but you may distribute them among the other competitors as you see fit."
I frowned. Three votes each, distributed among the others. With eight of us remaining, that seemed almost... reasonable. Fair, even.
"The Luna with the highest number of votes after the competition will receive a wish—something within the King's power to grant. The Luna with the lowest number of votes will be punished accordingly."
The word 'punished' sent a chill down my spine, but the competition still seemed manageable. Vote for the most beautiful women, avoid being voted for least. It was shallow and demeaning, but compared to last night's bloodbath, it felt almost civilized.
That feeling lasted exactly until the man's next words.
"However," he said, and his smile turned predatory, "the King's decree about harming fellow competitors is off the table during competition time. In this room, you can kill and get away with it. Any Luna who dies will have her votes transferred to whoever killed her."
The bottom dropped out of my stomach. There it was—the real challenge. Not beauty, but murder dressed up as a competition. Kill your competitors and claim their votes. The more women you kill, the more votes you'd have to distribute, giving you more power to influence the final outcome and your fate.
My mind raced through the mathematics of it. Eight women, three votes each, twenty-four total votes. If someone killed just two others, they'd control nine votes—more than enough to determine both the winner and the loser.
"The competition begins now," the man announced. "You have one hour to cast your votes. Choose wisely."
He stepped down from the platform and took a seat in an ornate chair that had been placed against the wall. Other Lamia officials I hadn't noticed before took similar positions around the room's perimeter. Judges, I realized. Or maybe just spectators here to watch the show.
The eight of us stood in the center of the ballroom, beautiful and deadly in our silk gowns. No one moved for a long moment. We all understood the real rules now.
This wasn't about beauty at all. It was about who was willing to kill for votes, and who was smart enough to survive the slaughter.
I caught Pavati's eye across the space between us. She gave me the slightest nod, her earlier warning about protecting my face suddenly making perfect sense. Beauty might be the stated goal, but keeping my face intact—keeping myself alive—was the real challenge.
The woman from the Desert lands took the first step, moving slowly toward the Luna of the High Plains. Her hand was hidden in the folds of her red dress, but I caught the glint of metal.
The hunt had begun.