-DAY 1-

BLYTHE

The only way to become a courtier in the queen's court was to be a Swan. And to become one, a noblewoman had to win the Ivory Game. And each year, only seventeen would end up with the title.

Being a Swan meant you were better than the dozens who joined. It meant you outwitted them. It meant you were daring than the rest.

Each year, dozens joined, some for the first time like me; others a little more than once. Eligible girls received invites to the game. I received mine two years ago, but my father thought I was not ready. Since then I trained in almost everything because being a Swan meant everything.

I looked at the elegant facade of the Ivory House. Just a few miles away from Cloveshire Palace, this place had hosted all the Ivory Games since 1817.

This would be my playground for the next seven days, I thought as I watched a guard approach the carriage ahead of us.

"What's happening?" I asked when the carriage drove away with no one climbing out.

Logan looked up from the paper he was reading and joined me in the window. I immediately leaned back when his face almost touched my mine and quietly waited as our carriage drew to a stop and the same guard greeted us, "Good afternoon!"

"What's wrong?" Logan asked.

"Everyone should head straight to the lake," the guard said without explanation, shouting at the driver to move along as another carriage rolled in.

I stiffened. "The lake?"

Logan looked concerned. "Are you feeling alright?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" I replied, looking away.

"You don't look well. You need to relax."

I arched a brow as I swallowed the lump in my throat. Who was he to tell me what I needed to do?

We were almost the same age, with him just three years older. It was not the age that irked me, really. It was the knowing look in his eyes—as if he was wiser and better. He must think he was privileged to feel that way because he was good enough to earn my father's trust. That's why he was here—because my father had more faith in him than me. "I said I'm fine, Logan," I snapped.

SCARLETT

"Oh, for God's sake," my mistress Miss Avery Gadford growled, carefully picking strands of her perfectly curled blond tresses off her face.

We had been waiting inside the carriage for nearly an hour. She didn't want to go out and ruin her shoes, so we were trapped there in the heat. I fanned at her faster, but she slapped my hand and said, "You're ruining my hair, Scarlett."

"I'm sorry," I murmured, picking up a slower speed.

"We were too early." She huffed, already getting restless. It wasn't both our fault, of course. The villa we were renting did not allow us to stay longer than what we paid for, which was expensive.

Her eyes went to the carriage parked yards away from us. "That's Blythe Vandenberg," Miss Avery told me with a motion of her head. I could hardly make out the face of the woman inside. All I saw was red hair and ivory skin. "We were in the same class at Queens. She thinks she's perfect, but she always falls short. We should not worry much about her. Well, except for that one."

I followed her gaze. Unlike the others, this one exited her carriage to approach Blythe's. She had on a long blue coat, her breeches peeking through as she walked. "She has a cane, Miss," I blurted out before thinking.

"Maeve St. Vincent," Miss Avery said. "The worst of the lot. And the most cunning." We watched as Maeve opened Blythe's carriage door. "They're cousins."

I blinked in disbelief.

"They own all three Sinclair hospitals in Sutherland."

Maeve St. Vincent looked peculiar to me. Her black hair could have done a much better work. It was a mess, tied up haphazardly in a bun, something Miss Avery, who always wore her blond hair like a crown, could not forgive.

Miss Avery suddenly chuckled, her eyes on the last carriage. "Claire Braxton."

I stared at the brown-haired woman poking her head out the window.

"Blythe Vandenberg's greatest rival and the woman who ruined Maeve St. Vincent's life," she said. "Or leg, if I should be specific." I wanted to ask what happened, but with Miss Avery, I learned to just wait for whatever she was willing to offer. Her full lips stretched as she smiled at me. "This should be quite interesting, Scarlett."

For someone who had spent her whole life in the country, this new world was already beyond interesting to me.

"We have to be careful around them. All of them," Miss Avery said, her eyes on the line of elegantly dressed gentlemen standing by the lake. There were around two dozen of them. I watched as they moved and approached the carriages. My eyes followed the dark-haired man walking toward Maeve St. Vincent and her cousin. He glowed under the sunlight, but his smile was brighter. I had never seen such a handsome face before. Miss Avery was right: Magnificent things are in Coulway.

"This is our only chance, Scarlett." Her voice drew me back from my thoughts. She turned her head to look me straight in the eyes. "We cannot fail. Do you understand?"

I nodded, pressing my lips together. "Yes, Miss. I understand."

BLYTHE

The Ivory Game would not be complete without the game deputies: aristocratic young men who signed up for the task for the fun of it, or were pushed and shoved by their Swan mothers who hoped that they'd meet marriage prospects.

"Ladies," William, our cousin, greeted as he approached. "If you'll follow this handsome deputy." He smiled brightly, showing the dimples on both sides of his mouth.

"Why are we here?" I asked from inside the carriage.

"As game deputy, I cannot tell you anything, just that the game master has changed a few things," he said, clearing his throat and looking at Maeve, almost eagerly dismissing my question. "I thought you're not joining, cousin," he said to Maeve.

"I'm here for—"

"No, I don't need to know," he quickly said. "Shall we?" he asked, offering his arm. His eyes jumped toward Logan. "Servants may now proceed to the Ivory House."

Logan dutifully nodded and helped me out of the carriage. I hooked an arm around William's while Maeve walked just a step ahead with her cane.

"Just tell me, William, please," I begged as we finally reached the edge of the lake, joining the other ladies escorted by other deputies.

"I can't tell you anything."

I did not let go of his arm.

"Bly, I have to attend to other ladies."

I tightened my grip. "Tell me—Are we going into the water?"

"Don't worry. This is just the First Trial. You know you can always get an ivy some other way."

I gasped, my breathing coming in short bursts. "Oh, God, we're going into the water!"

"I did not say that," William blurted. "As a game deputy—"

"Say game deputy one more time and I'll kill you," I hissed. "Maeve, I can't breathe. Oh, God."

Maeve took my hand. "Relax before you have a spasm, damn it," Maeve wryly said. "Let William go."

"I can't—" I looked around, blinking a few times to stop the tears. "I can't."

"Good afternoon, ladies!" a voice shouted from the back. Standing on a makeshift podium, the head deputy, Damian Fairborne, son of the Prime Minister, continued, shouting, "Welcome to the 88th Ivory Game!"

He waited until the clapping and cheers stopped. "As you may have already realized, we're starting the game differently. For one, I am not the game master." The ladies laughed, their attention fully on Damian. "The game master will officially greet you tomorrow. For now, you're left with me for the First Trial. Is everyone ready?"

Of course, they were. Including bloody perfect Claire Braxton.

"Good. I'm sure you all know how the game goes, but let me briefly explain the game for tradition's sake. We have seventeen ivies," he said, and one servant came forward with a box.

We didn't need a closer look to see what an ivy looked like. It was a swan brooch.

"For the First Trial, you are to retrieve the ivies from the bottom of the lake. The seventeen successful swimmers will be the first owners. After that, the game is on," he continued with a smile that was almost wicked. "For the next seven days, you can steal ivies, bargain for them, or risk losing them in games and missions. The seventeen ladies who can present an ivy at the end of the game will be the final owners and will become this year's Swans."

Any hope I had melted away. I gripped Maeve's hand. Mine were cold. I was practically shutting down. This could not be happening to me. Not at the First Trial!

"Everyone should abide by the one rule of the game." Damian looked around. "No violence of any kind. Anyone who is caught causing harm to anyone will be sent home immediately. Remember—You can steal and deal, but never—?"

"Kill!" the ladies chorused with a laugh.

Damian smiled. "It's a shame you all came in wearing your beautiful dresses, ladies," he said, waving a hand toward the lake. Most of the ladies were getting ready, already forming groups with friends as he spoke.

"Form a line!" Damian shouted. "For everyone's safety, we'll divide willing participants into seventeen groups."

"One ivy for each group," Maeve murmured beside me. I could imagine the gears turning in her head as she spoke.

"An ivy will be dropped for each group!" Damian announced.

"This is not worth it," Maeve said.

"I agree. Now, let go, Blythe," William hissed.

"Blythe, what's wrong?" I did not have to see the face to know who it belonged to. Claire Braxton's soft, angelic voice still evoked the same response from deep in my gut. Immediately, I wanted to throw up.

I was stiff with unimaginable hatred as my eyes landed on her. She stood there with a look of mocked concern painted on her angelic face.

I wanted to claw at it; wanted to hurt her so badly she could not do the First Trial. But I knew that if I attacked her, it would be my fault, even if it was deserved. To everyone, she was nothing but nice while us St. Vincents were just vain, vile, and bitter.

"She's fine, Braxton," Maeve coldly said. "Move along."

Claire ignored her, stepping closer. "I heard all games are scavenger hunts this year." She said it so innocently it was almost evil; so sneakily as if we were friends sharing secrets.

"No one said anything about that," William said, but no one paid him attention.

"Blythe, are you fine?" Claire asked, brow furrowed with concern. I still wonder to this day how I had tolerated this witch at Queens for two years now. Oh, how I had kept myself out of trouble by not resorting to baser instincts.

"It's just the heat, Claire," I said, cursing myself when my smile quivered.

"We're not doing the Trial. It's too tedious," Maeve wryly said, pushing Claire out of my way without it looking intentional.

"Maeve! I didn't see you there," Claire said, dramatically stumbling back, hand on her chest as she pretended to look slightly scared. "I missed your violent tendencies at Queens. How is life without school?"

Maeve just stared at her coldly, long enough to erase the smile from her face. With an innocent blink, she focused on me again, the one person who always reacted to her taunts. "Why are you skipping the First Trial?"

"I enjoy a dry dress," I said.

Sensing the tension, William held out his arm toward Claire. "I'll escort you to the line, my lady."

Claire sweetly smiled at him. "Thank you, my lord."

"The best of luck, Claire," I said as Maeve held me back. "Don't drown—I still have to get your ivy!"

She sweetly laughed as William led her away.

"I hate her," I hissed, dramatically fanning my face.

"Just don't show it," Maeve said, looking at me.

I instantly corrected my face with a smile. "Do I look alright? I painted my lips. Not too pale?"

"Not as pale if you dive in that lake and die."

"I n-need an ivy," I stuttered as Claire got in line with her friends.

Maeve tightened her hold around my hand. "You can't bloody swim."

"But—"

"Stupid is the last thing you can be in this game," Maeve said, dragging me against the crowd. "Walk," she said, slapping my leg with her cane.

Walking away from the First Trial was the worst thing I could think of, but Maeve was right. I couldn't swim. Not even to save myself.

Maeve did not let go until we reached the tent where refreshments were offered to those who were skipping the trial.

In the two years I had been preparing, I never imagined myself standing among ladies who are far less capable than me. "How do I look?" I asked Claire.

"Like a loser," she indifferently said.

The heat of summer had nothing to do with the flush on my face. I felt ashamed, even more so as I watched Claire Braxton dive into the cool lake in perfect form.

"I would do anything to see her fail. I would even give up being a Swan if it meant she could not be one, too," I gritted out.

"Fret not, cousin," Maeve nonchalantly said. "She'll be taken care of," she added before she took a sip from her drink.