Lincoln raises his hands, addressing the crowd. “This beast is not yet of age and has been mistreated. Killing it would be dishonorable.” The crowd responds with a grumpy murmur. Lincoln passes the muzzle’s leash to Nat. “Take him back to the Menagerie. Tell the Master of Creatures I’ll speak with him shortly.”

I watch Lincoln march off the tournament green. Unlike the Earl of Acca, Prince Pompous knows there’s no glory in pummeling a weaker someone who’s not attacking you. Who would’ve thought?

Another touch brushes my shoulder. “Hey, Cissy.” Turning around, I see that it isn’t my best friend beside me, but Bera, Queen Octavia’s handmaiden.

“The Queen would like to speak with you.”

Shock explodes through my body. “The Queen wants to speak with me?” I shoot a startled glance at Cissy. Her tawny eyes stretch wide.

“Aye.” Bera grips my sleeve, yanking me away from the wooden fence. “Now.”

My hand wobbles at Cissy in a half-hearted goodbye. “Catch you later, I guess.” What in blazes does the Queen want with me? Anxiety zings through my nervous system.

Cissy’s voice comes out as a squeak. “Sure, see you.”

Bera turns toward the royal pavilion. “Follow me.”

The crowd parts for us as we walk along. My heart hammers anxiously in my chest. What in unholy hell is going on? I hike up the steps to the pavilion’s main platform. King Connor and Queen Octavia sit side by side in throne-like chairs. The Scala Heir lounges beside the Queen, a nasty scowl on her face.

“Come here, Miss Lewis.” The Queen snaps her fingers and glares at the Scala Heir. Adair scurries away. Octavia nods to the now-open chair. Her crown slips forward a bit with the movement.

I slip into the high-backed seat beside her. “Hello, your Highness.” I wave to the King. “And your Highness.”

The King nods his head slightly. “Miss Lewis.” He looks regal with his shock of white hair and silver crown.

The Queen’s mismatched eyes narrow. “You may call me Octavia.” Up close, I notice her porcelain skin, high cheekbones, and delicate laugh-lines. Her sandy-brown hair is wound into a braided bun at the base of her neck.

“Thanks. Call me Myla.” I scan the scene. The Great Ladies stand near the steps to the royal pavilion. They all cluster around Adair, pointing at me and giggling. Ugh. My hands ball into fists.

With long fingers, the Queen lifts a golden wine goblet from a nearby table. She looks out over the crowd. I can almost see the wheels of her mind spin. “The Great Ladies stare at you, Myla.”

I turn in their direction and glare, my eyes flaring demon-red. Their faces whiten. Quick as a heartbeat, they all turn away.

I smack my lips. “Now they’ve stopped.”