Page 15 of The Ruthless Rivalry

I clasp the necklace tightly in my hand.

“She made this herself, didn’t she?” I ask, already knowing the answer.

My father nods, his eyes twinkling with pride. “She worked on it every night after you left. Said it had to be perfect for her big sister’s new adventure.”

I feel a sudden pang of homesickness. “I miss her,” I admit.

“She misses you too,” my father says, his voice warm.

Just as the moment settles, something—or rather, someone—ruins it.

Alfie appears before us out of nowhere, his ever-present toothy grin wide and gleaming. “Mr. Prescott, I just wanted to personally thank your daughter for her gesture during the pre-trial games. It’s rare for someone to give up their win like that.”

He pauses, looking thoughtful for a moment, then adds with a casual shrug. “Not that I needed the help, of course. But I’ll admit, handing over the golden flag didn’t exactlyhurtmy score. In fact, I think it might’ve given me just the boost I needed.” He winks, his grin widening. “So, yeah. Thanks for that.”

I couldn’t help but snort, quickly stifling it, my face betraying nothing. Giving Alfie the flag probably bumped him up from 'disastrous' to 'barely acceptable.' I’d seen his score — and let’s be real, he barely cracked the halfway point. If that was because of my flag, I wouldn’t be bragging about it. But then again, I’m not him.

My father’s brow furrows in confusion. “What do you mean? Alex found the golden flag and won,” he says, eyes flicking between Alfie and me, clearly trying to make sense of what’s happening.

I feel the heat rush to my face, but it’s not embarrassment that has me tightening my grip on the necklace. It’s the frustration of yet another thing I haven’t been able to explain, another piece of my life here at Altair being dragged into the light when I’d ratherkeep it buried. I hadn’t gotten the chance to tell him about the game yet—about what I’d done, about the mess it turned into.

Alfie, completely oblivious to the tension in the air, continues. “It was quite remarkable,” he says, clearly enjoying himself. “Your daughter had the golden flag in her possession—a guaranteed win—but she chose to hand it over to me. Quite the display of sportsmanship, I must say.”

My father’s gaze snaps to me, his expression shifting. A mix of surprise, confusion…and disappointment? “Is this true? You intentionally gave up your win?”

I meet his gaze head-on, swallowing down my frustration. “Yeah. It wasn’t a big deal.”

But Alfie’s big mouth isn’t done yet. “Not a big deal?” He beams, oblivious to the storm he’s stirring. “She had the audacity to publicly refuse further participation in the games, even with everything at stake. It was a foolish move, but somehow it paid off, since she miraculously rose to first in the ranking.”

I feel the walls close in around me. I don’t need Alfie to spell it out for everyone.

My father’s eyes narrow slightly, and I can see the judgment settling in.

“Alfie, weren’t you telling me about some new magic trick last week?” I blurt out, desperate for anything to divert my father’s attention. It’s a weak distraction, but it’s better than sitting here while my dad has time to ponder what I did.

Alfie blinks, momentarily thrown off. “Nooo, not that one,” he says, waving his hand dismissively. “But I have this fancy new one I’ve been perfecting since the other night. You’re going to love it! Both of you. I thought it would be perfect considering the evening.”

I roll my eyes internally but mask it with a groan. “I saw you got a twenty-five. Way to go.” I offer the forced congratulations, trying to shift the focus off me.

Alfie beams at my words, his enthusiasm undimmed. “Thank you! Now, for my latest trick…” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the golden flag of all things.

I stare at it for a moment, unsure whether to laugh or cry. How is it thatthisis what Alfie decides to pull out right now?

“Mr. Prescott,” Alfie says, his voice somehow even more theatrical. “Would you be so kind as to hold this for me?” He extends the silky golden cloth to my father.

My dad hesitates, clearly caught off guard by the sudden shift in conversation. He glances at me, his eyes still swimming with unspoken questions, before reluctantly taking the flag from Alfie.

“Now,” Alfie continues, stepping back with a flourish. “I want you both to watch closely.” He waves his hands dramatically over the flag in my father’s grasp. “On the count of three, this flag will transform into something entirely different. One…two…three!”

With a snap of his fingers, Alfie lifts the cloth in a swift motion, his hands moving so quickly I can barely follow. When he lowers it again, the golden flag is gone, replaced by a small, intricately detailed golden eagle. It rests in his hand, gleaming under the light, as though it had been there all along.

My father’s eyes widen in genuine surprise, his earlier concerns momentarily forgotten. “Impressive,” he murmurs, turning the statuette over in his hands.

I can’t help but feel a twinge of admiration for Alfie’s skill, even as I mentally curse his loose lips. “That…was actually pretty good,” I admit grudgingly.

Alfie’s grin widens, clearly basking in our approval. “But wait, there’s more!” he exclaims. He leans in close to the statuette and whispers something I can’t quite catch—wait, was he turning some kind of knob? To my astonishment, the golden eaglebegins to glow, its wings slowly unfurling, as though it’s waking from a deep sleep. Just like at the front gates to enter Altair.

The eagle stretches its wings fully and, with a sudden burst of light, lifts off from my father’s hands, hovering in mid-air for a moment. I blink, surprised.Thisactually looks like something that could be magic. The eagle hovers there, spinning slowly, like a model on display.

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