Unforgiving

4. love

They are disgusting.

Ivory was winded from hearing the Cordelias gab, but he nodded along.

"You should stay h—"

"My Hope! My Shield!"

Ivory's heart was filled with relief. The eldest Gross brother stood beside him. The blondes changed their energy quickly to tones of respect and sweet greetings.

Franc Gross had risen in ranks in the empire's navy. He was Ivory's Hope, more than any royal could ever be. As of late, Franc made the kind of money that helped refurbish many parts of their estate. By thirty-five, he had pioneered and reinvented ocean warfare. He was seen as someone who could restore the family name.

Ivory hoped he would. Like Ivory, he had been obsessed with his studies. He was the star of his class at the Rouge Academy, graduating Valedictorian. Ivory would have, too, but he had been warned against upstaging Aaron.

Now, he was going to be second to the blonde brat again— No, he would be dead last.

Always.

"I apologize, my dear Imperials," Franc said, throwing his arm around Ivory's shoulders. "I was so deeply jealous of my sweet Ivory, of the way he's been taking up all of your time."

"He has a way of capturing one's attention," Allia replied, lightly.

"Him only?" Franc asked, smirking. With his tan skin, straight, shiny cherry-red hair and eyes, he was out-of-this-world, sporting a devilish visage that drew people in. Even his eyelashes and eyebrows were bright, stark shades of red.

It was a blessing (or curse) that some thought hailed from Love. Even when Ivory was growing up in this new family, he marveled at it. In his other lives, he knew of Gross'. He'd seen his current great-grandfather, bumbling and beautiful.

Every Gross had a distinct allure, and had appearances that had no rhyme or reason. Someone with golden hair, skin and eyes could give birth to someone with blue hair and brown skin. The only thing that linked them was their astonishing, powerful beauty. There was a reason they were loved before they went bankrupt. Many people were obsessed with marrying into their family.

Now they wanted their family.

He had never thought he would be born into such a family, but he felt the strong urge to protect them.

"If you will excuse me," Ivory said, bowing his head, "I will take my leave."

He silently thanked his brother for the distraction. He finally arrived at the cake table. He thought of his little nieces and nephews at home, who would probably appreciate the special desserts the royals received.

Soon, his plate was full of brownies, crepes and cookies that sparkled and shined with delicious enchantments. He took a bite of a fire jelly crepe and swooned. He blew a bout of jam-purple flames and wondered at it. Ivory could do magic, but most people had their magic bound, even nobles. A person needed to either be an elite, a royal or a mage soldier. That wasn't the case before the Cordelia reign, but... nobody alive was allowed to be more powerful.

Ivory was going to take another bite of his prize when a nervous, soft voice addressed him.

"Er.... Good evening, my lord..."

He turned to see the maid from the mirror. Miriam Will stared at her feet. She was still on her plain, tan traveling garb, typical of a servant going out. She said, "I'm not sure, my lord... but we might be... I mean..."

Ivory held back an eye roll. "Yes?"

"Um—"

"The pairings will now be announced by the King and Queen! Please, take heed!"

............................

After the Announcement Party...

Storming into his bed chambers, Ivory tore off his blouse, breeches and cravat. He glowered at his reflection in the mirror. The lovely young man was moments away from vomiting.

Vile. That is what they are, VILE!

"Look how beautiful we all are," his mother used to say, stroking his wisps of silvery-white hair. Almost a decade ago, two beauties, mother and son, peered into a ruby-laden looking glass. It was one of the oldest heirlooms of the Gross's, the last marker of luxury the family had. "We have been blessed by Love Itself."

Love. The concept only a small portion of people in Rouge Empire lived by. It was the abstract, archaic god that Ivory's most recent family prayed to.

He always thought worshiping the particular entity was a rather unfortunate thing to do. To be disgraced for matters you had no control over was one thing, but to actively follow a religion that differed from the populace, by choice, was sure to earn the family an even worse image.

Ivory threw a sheet over the mirror and went to his bed. He shivered from the cold, but didn't bother to put on his night clothes. He covered himself up with his crimson-red blankets and tried to forget the Trials, forget the ceremony, forget that abominable afterparty, forget all of Rouge.

When his father asked him to enter the Trials, he hadn't really thought he would be chosen. There were dozens of other people who actually wanted to be there, to compete. Why was he chosen? Was it because of his appearance? Or was it to finally pick off the Gross line—?

No. That won't happen. He was suddenly filled with a strong, powerful resolve. He had felt this way before, but this time it was deathly serious. He had no idea how he would accomplish his new goal, but he would.

I need to live. I need to win.