Nearby diners had begun to take interest. The closest ones along the table turned their heads to watch inconspicuously.

“Then, begin.” Finley waved her hand over the candle. The wick burst into flame.

Abrial and Lyra attacked their bowls like a pair of rabid wolves.

Excited chatter broke out around them in the dining tent. A few people stood up to observe the commotion.

“What’s going on?”

“Look, they’re competing! It’s an eating competition!”

“No way can they finish those ginormous bowls — they’re crazy!”

“What’s the prize?”

“Who’s the one in black and red, I haven’t seen her around? How is she eating so fast?”

“Is she even human? Who eats like that?”

Abrial and Lyra wolfed down dumplings like they were water — or even less, air. There was a clear difference in their speeds, however. While both lifted, chewed and swallowed at the speed of light, the pile of soft white dumplings in front of Abrial was declining at a faster rate. It had only been minutes, but she had picked away at it without slowing until it was only half-full!

“She’s eaten fifteen — nor, more, twenty! Look at her go!”

“How is that possible?”

“Go, girl in black and red! Eat, eat!”

The surrounding crowd grew until people from all over the wide dining tent were standing up to get a look at this commotion. People began to crowd around Lyra and Abrial, cheering wholeheartedly. Abrial remained laser-focused on her bowl, lifting her chopsticks to her mouth over and over again in a habitual, fiercely fast manner. Lyra glanced around, looking slightly sick, and pressed more dumplings into her mouth. Both of their cheeks bulged like round pork buns.

“Look, Dieter, look!” the tiny orange-haired girl from the sword fighting class earlier today, Klara, pushed through the crowd to the front, pulling her brother along. She looked incredibly excited.

Dieter yanked his hand out of her small grasp as soon as he saw what the commotion was about. His pale, thin lips curled sourly with irritation and he turned to leave.

“Pigs!” he muttered savagely. “Of course she’d be interested in a sport like eating.”

As he attempted to leave, he found that the crowd was pressing in too heavily and excitedly, leaving no room for him to escape! All he could do was turn around and stand with a sour face next to his little sister, crossing his arms and pretending to be uninterested in the competition.

A bubbly feeling was beginning to grip Abrial deep in the abdomen. It was becoming harder to force soft dumplings down her throat. They were absolutely delicious, though she hadn’t been paying much attention to the savory, warm taste before. But now, they were tasting more and more like something too sweet or much too salty, and her tongue tried to push them away as she stuffed them in with forceful chopsticks. Urgh…

Just…a few more, she repeated to herself, refusing to slow her pace. Her vision actually seemed to be doubling, but she focused it fiercely. Just…five…more…

There was a look of concern forming on Finley’s face as she watched Abrial’s expression of progressively increasing nausea, mixed with the determination in her eyebrows that meant she wasn’t going to stop, even if she vomited.

Finley had just reached out to snub the short candle and stop the competition when shrill a voice cried out,

“Move! What is going on here? Move aside!”

The rowdy crowd went silent and parted rapidly, suddenly afraid. A divinely lovely female figure swept up to the girls sitting at the table in the midst of the chaos, her limbs draped with pale jade and white silk, her beautiful, dark arched eyebrows frowning.

“An eating competition? Abrial, Lyra — put down the bowls! I won’t have anyone throwing up in here. Abrial!”

Lyra had immediately set her bowl weakly in relief, but Abrial hadn’t stopped, continuing to try to press more dumplings into her already full-to-bursting cheeks as though she couldn’t hear. She was basically a chipmunk hoarding dumplings by now. Bi Gho sighed dramatically, then flicked her smooth, pale wrist, causing Abrial’s bowl to zoom out of reach. She strode up to Abrial, robes fluttering behind herself, and swatted a spot on Abrial’s back with a pale palm.

With a squelching choking noise, the dumplings stuffed in Abrial’s cheeks, which she hadn’t even gotten around to chewing yet, flew out into the wooden bowl. Abrial coughed violently.

Abrial vaulted to her feet and spun around, dark eyes flashing with irritation.

“Who did that?” she demanded. “Who made me spit them out? I wasn’t done! I just had to swallow a few more! I was almost there, I swear!”

Her eyes fell on Bi Gho’s pale face hovering serenely above her. She froze.

“Oh…” she said. Her face paled suddenly. Awkwardly, she raised a hand to wave. “Hello, Gho-jie!”

Bi Gho sighed, flicking her fan open and waving at herself a couple times. Long, silken strands of black hair fluttered beautifully around her face. First, she turned to the crowd, which was still watching intently and muttering. They hadn't had the satisfaction of seeing the end of the contest yet, even though the winner was clear.

“All of you, the party’s over. Go finish dinner.”

Grumbling, the crowd dispersed.

Once they had all gone away, Bi Gho turned to Abrial, still fanning herself as though she needed to cool down from a splitting headache.

“You really didn’t hear me arrive, did you? So concentrated on the task at hand, with the spirit of a champion. I can’t blame you. Eating competitions become intense very easily. But both of you, no more of this.” She gave both Abrial and Lyra a serious look with her dark eyes, gesturing with her fan towards their large bowls. “We’re not low on food supplies at this time of year, so I’m not worried about you taking other peoples’ portions. But really, you’ll just make each other sick! And if you get sick, who’s going to want to eat in a tent that smells like vomit? No one! No one that I know of, at least.”

Lyra cast her eyes down in shame, her knit hat sagging with her expression.

“Sorry, Bi Gho,” she said at the same time as Abrial, both sounding ashamed.

Bi Gho sighed, closing her fan gracefully and stowing it back in her wide sleeve. Then her face split into a lovely, coral-lipped smile. Her eyes sparkled mischievously as she leaned close to the two girls, clasping her hands within her sleeves.

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“That was very impressive,” she said quietly. “If there weren’t so many people here, I would join you two. Alas, if I approved of this, the dining tent might fall into chaos, with everyone trying to copy you and holding eating contests. Then we would have a real problem with shortage of food. If you do this again, do it when no one is around, all right? And please make sure not to throw up on the cushions if you feel sick. Go outside and do it in the grass, then have it cleaned up.”

She leaned back, eyes still sparkling, and held a smooth, white finger to her smiling lips. Then she swept away, her pale jade and pearl robes swirling behind her like divine clouds.

Abrial blinked, speechless. Lyra’s elbow, which was surprisingly pointy, jabbed her in the ribs excitedly.

“I—I can’t believe it! We’re not in trouble!” she grinned, pearly white teeth shining. “I thought for sure she was going to yell at us for a second there, but I guess Bi Gho only ever really yells at Bi. Bi Chanjuan, I mean.”

“Did you say something about me, hmm?”

Abrial and Lyra whirled around simultaneously.

Bi Chanjuan stood in front of them, leaning on one hip with her arms crossed. Her skin seemed even paler at night, like the essence of the moon. Even though they didn’t look quite alike, that was something, at least, that Bi Chanjuan and her sister shared — skin so smooth and pale that it seemed to glow.

Bi Chanjuan’s face was split into a sarcastic cherry smile that seemed to sneer slightly, her dark eyes flashing. In contrast, she tapped her golden-nailed fingers lazily on her upper arms.

Bi Chanjuan took a step closer, her black shoes shining dangerously.

“What’re you doing here?” Abrial scowled, crossing her arms. “Are you into eating contests or something?”

Bi Chanjuan’s smile widened. She stepped closer. On the other side of the table, Finley rose silently to her feet, watching Bi Chanjuan with a grim look in her clear hazel eyes.

“Actually,” Bi Chanjuan said coldly, “Jiejie just came to fetch me for dinner from a tent where I’ve been sitting at a table since this morning, writing poetry lines five thousand times.”

Abrial stared, puzzled but still looking extremely irritated.

“Uh…I didn’t know you liked poetry that much?”

Bi Chanjuan snorted, stepping closer. She was now within an arm’s length of Abrial, the sweet smell of flowers and blood permeating the air. Finley shifted slightly, eyeing Bi Chanjuan’s long golden nails, and the long, thin knife sheathed in the belt of her satinous green robes.

“No!” Bi Chanjuan snapped. “No, I don’t like poetry! Not that kind, anyway, about stupid morals and kindness! It’s torture! I had to write that shit down five thousand times because of you. Jiejie said I could either apologize to you for what I said earlier today and write lines fifty times, or not apologize and do it five thousand times instead. I would rather cut out my intestines and set them on fire than apologize to you again! So I sat in a fucking tent all day hunched over a fucking paper writing fucking stupid lines…” Bi Chanjuan’s dark eyes seemed to be rimmed with red, her fury practically spilling out like steam from her lips. Abrial wondered momentarily if she was about to start spewing blood like spit.

Bi Chanjuan raised a glittering golden fingertip and flicked it toward Abrial. Finley jerked, then steadied. Bi Chanjuan had only raised it to point threateningly at Abrial’s chest.

“I swear, if I wouldn’t get in trouble for it and if it wouldn’t make my hands messy, I'd tear your heart out,” Bi Chanjuan murmured, her expression so dark that it seemed to make the whole room colder. Nearby diners glanced briefly at the scene, then returned to eating. It was nothing out of the ordinary for Bi Chanjuan to threaten to murder someone in public, apparently.

“Can you just shut the fuck up?”

An annoyed voice carried from the next table over. It belonged to that irritating orange-haired boy, Dieter, who had dragged his sister Klara to sit back down after Bi Gho had broken up the eating contest. He was glaring at Bi Chanjuan with eyes like hot coals, except…um, green coals.

Bi Chanjuan whirled on him, advancing towards his table like a hissing snake bearing down on its prey. Her white teeth even glinted like fangs in the flickering light of the tents’ lanterns.

“You,” she hissed, seeming to spit poison. Klara cowered behind her brother, who shot her a scathing look and shook her off.

“I don’t want to hear shit from a fucking Roatian, and especially not from you,” Bi Chanjuan continued, stabbing a sharp fingertip at Dieter’s face. “You’re a guest in this camp, and you’re so useless you can’t even do magic, but you still always fucking have something to say! Do you know how much risk this camp is in just because you’re here? I should’ve killed you the day you arrived and sent your body back to your country! Then I wouldn’t have to see your fucking irritated face every other day!”

Abrial’s mouth fell open watching Bi Chanjuan’s fury landslide onto Dieter. She felt somewhat annoyed. She’d felt very ready to fight Bi Chanjuan with her daggers or with insults, but now someone else was getting involved? What was she supposed to do with all of the anger, then?

Dieter’s pale face contorted where he sat, his green eyes flashing with rage. He shot to his feet, baring his teeth at Bi Chanjuan in a way that Abrial thought looked…kind of silly.

“You’re a magical Gongkuan bitch who’s lived here your whole life!” he snarled, curling his fists. “What would you know? If you sent my dead body back home, my dad might start a fucking war! How is that any better than being hunted down by your evil-ass emperor? You’d all die either way!”

“Oh, please!” Bi Chanjuan snorted, shooting daggers at Dieter with her red-rimmed eyes. Lyra had stealthily circumnavigated the table and hoisted up little Klara, carrying her away from the commotion. Bi Chanjuan didn’t pay that any attention. “Are you trying to pull that ‘My father is the King of Roatia, you better watch what you say’ shit? Do you really think Roatia could start a war with the Emperor of Gongkua? He’d wipe out your entire fucking kingdom before soldiers even stepped foot in the mountains! No one can fight a war against a monster like him, it’d be a hilarious fucking mass suicide!”

Dieter’s face was so red it looked like it might explode, like a ripe tomato squashed by a pestle. “You fucking bitch!” He stabbed a finger at Bi Chanjuan now, his pale hand visibly shaking with rage. “I never said I was trying to use my dad as leverage! You think I’m some sort of cushioned, spoiled little prince, don’t you? Well, I’m not! I chose to fucking leave the palace in Roatia! By myself! I don’t want anything to do with my dad, and I don’t want to represent a country that fucking cowers at the feet of your stupid Emperor!”

“‘I’m not a cushioned, spoiled little prince’?” Bi Chanjuan snorted, her laugh high-pitched and maniacal. “Give me a fucking break! It doesn’t matter if you chose to leave, you’ve still lived in a fucking palace your whole life! Don’t act like you haven’t acted ungrateful about the food served here every fucking day…”

They continued on like this, squabbling and shrieking and swearing vulgarly. Abrial scanned the tent, wondering why Bi Gho hadn’t appeared yet, but it seemed Bi Gho had left after bringing Bi Chanjuan to the dining tent.

As they had finished their food, Abrial and Finley quietly put their bowls away and left.

On the walk back to Finley’s tent as the screams faded away, Abrial was full of questions about what Bi Chanjuan and Dieter had been shrieking about.

“That’s the Prince of Roatia?” she asked incredulously. That skinny, pale, short-haired kid with a terrible temperament? “He’s the Prince of Roatia?”

“Yes,” Finley nodded. “And his sister Klara is the Princess.”

“Wow. Him, he’s not much,” Abrial muttered. “I thought princes were supposed to look noble, or whatever. He doesn’t look like he has royal blood at all.”

“Having royal blood has little to do with looking noble,” Finley said simply.

They walked in silence for some time, Abrial breathing in deeply the scent of grass and night, and Finley staring up at the full moon, which reflected like a silver coin in her clear hazel eyes.

Suddenly, Abrial stopped short. Finley turned to see Abrial’s face had gone white as milk, her eyes wide as peaches. She looked very peculiar.

“Abrial, what is it? Are you feeling ill?”

“Finley,” Abrial choked hoarsely, sounding as though she had just drank a bottle of spoiled milk and couldn’t properly speak anymore.

Finley turned, reaching for Abrial’s pale face. She felt Abrial’s smooth forehead swiftly; it wasn’t hot.

Abrial took her hand and pulled it away. Her lips trembled, her expression still really, really sour.

“Finley,” she repeated, her voice trembling. A laugh escaped her lips, mixed with another choking sound that sounded suspiciously like gagging. “Dieter is the Prince of Roatia. My parents…wanted me…to marry him?”