Page 32 of Rivals
When Daphne’s words sank in, Nina barked out a disbelieving laugh. “The books aren’t about Alina. She’s a coldhearted, scheming manipulator. She’s the villain!”
Daphne shrugged. “Villain, hero—isn’t it just a matter of perspective?”
Nina felt herself getting increasingly angry, at Daphne and Gabriella, and—irrationally, ridiculously—at Alina, though she was a fictional character. They all just steamrolled through the world, taking what they wanted, tossing aside anyone they couldn’t use. Letting their whims dictate their actions.
“You’re wrong,” she said hotly.
Daphne smirked. “Nina, I can’t be wrong about my favorite character. That’s a matter of personal opinion, definitionally.”
“It’s still wrong of you to like her! But you don’t see her as evil, do you? Anything is acceptable in pursuit of a crown, is that right?”
Nina’s blood was pounding, the rest of the room receding to a blur as she stared at Daphne. And yet…there was something oddly refreshing about talking to Daphne like this. With Daphne she could say exactly what she thought, no matter how viciously unfiltered. The only other person she could talk to with such brutal honesty was Sam.
“I respect that Alina is clearheaded in going after what she wants,” Daphne countered. “And I still don’t understand why you insist on calling her evil. Luke has killed people over thecourse of the series too. A lot of people. Yet he is brave and she is evil?”
“Because Luke was defending his throne!” Nina burst out.
“Alina thinks it’sherthrone,” Daphne said quietly. “They can’t both have it.”
She wasn’t talking about Kingmaker anymore, was she? This was about the two of them, and Jeff.
“Jeff and I are friends again, okay? That clearly bothers you, but guess what? I don’t care.”
Daphne’s voice was low and significant. “That’s all you want with Jefferson? To befriends?”
“I know this won’t make any sense to you, given the way your mind works,” Nina scoffed, “but some of us actually hang around Jeff because welikehim. Not because we want to be a princess.”
It was probably time to head home; Nina had already gotten her moment with Makayla. But Rachel had looked up the tickets to this benefit online, so Nina knew that they’d cost six hundred dollars apiece. For that much money, she should at least try one of the cheese tartlets that were being passed around. And whatever expensive beer they served at events like this.
Nina started to turn, but Daphne’s voice chased her. “Where do you think you’re going?” She sounded outraged that Nina had dared to walk away mid-conversation. As if Nina owed Daphne anything.
“To the bar,” Nina snapped.
Daphne elbowed past her. “Not if I get there first.”
Daphne stormed ahead, her heels making satisfying clicks against the stone floor. She had no idea why she was blazing past Nina like this, or really why she was talking to Nina at all, except that something about it was curiously refreshing.
Lately it had felt like Daphne did nothing but pretend. She pretended with the press, with the world, with Jefferson, saying over and over how “excited” she was to take a year off school. Daphne was a master of artifice, but this lie kept turning sour in her mouth—because her heart wasn’t in it.
Talking to Nina, Daphne could drop the picture-perfect act and say how she actually felt for once. After all, that was how she and Nina had always been: each of them hurling barbed truths at the other with the intention to kill.
They reached the bar on one side of the atrium. To their right, a set of doors led to the public reading room, its walls lined with stained-glass windows. The setting sun slanted through the panes, casting dancing patches of red and blue and gold over the floor, like a living carpet.
Daphne watched Nina shove her way to the bar, waving enthusiastically to get the bartender’s attention. “Excuse me. Can I get a beer? And a specialty cocktail for her,” she added, with a dismissive wave in Daphne’s direction. “If you could find a paper umbrella, too, that would be great.”
Daphne cut in. “I don’t need the cocktail, thanks. A white wine would be perfect.”
“You don’t want the…” Nina paused to read one of the hand-lettered signs near the bar, then winced. “ ‘Rye and Prejudice’?”
“Whiskey and cherry juice? No thanks.” Daphne shuddered. “Besides, a Jane Austen drink should never be pink.”
“That might be the first thing you and I have ever agreed upon.” Nina sounded annoyed to have been deprived of another reason to hate Daphne. But then, she had more than enough reasons as it was.
“Second, if you count our love of Kingmaker,” Daphne pointed out, only somewhat sarcastically.
“I refuse to count that, given how misguided your opinions are.”
The bartender returned with their drinks. Daphne took a sip of wine, her eyes automatically flicking around the room to study the crowds. Lord Philip Rattray stood in the corner; he always had the irritated, slightly impatient look of someone who thought he had better places to be. And there was the Countess of Claremont, deep in conversation with Madeleine Barrett—who was only five years older than Daphne but already had three broken engagements to her name.
