The disgustingly sweet words were only saved from being gag level sugary because of how well Braid weaved them from a mess into a coherent piece.

I may have been a little biased.

The words tasted like… pastry—that was better—and created a scene of the beginning of a bond, two lovers staring at one another while they experienced that unforgettable tightening, like the loveliest of hugs. With each word, he spoke an illusion appeared to match it. The two lovers danced together to express their joy at finding happiness.

Ridiculous! Who would do that? This poem is stupid.

Unfortunately, the audience appeared to be very into his recitation.

Finally, the poem ended with the two embracing each other and turning into a circle that represented the completed bond in our subset of Elven culture.

When he finished, he flashed me a dimpled grin, eyes sparkling with triumph.

But cheap tricks wouldn’t necessarily win. They could help, especially towards the audience members who were laymen.

“Very good. Now it’s Bard Silvercat’s turn. If you would…”

“Of course.”

I began to recite the words I wrote. Words that expressed how I felt every time I thought too much.

They dripped with truth and radiated the same soul-shaking terror I had experienced every moment since I met her. Because this strange person, who I didn’t know the first thing about, who knew nothing about anything, who amused me, and empathized with me. Who I knew, would always be on my side. Was quickly becoming everything to me. And that was utterly terrifying.

As I ended my short composition, my eyes flicked to her and I had to stop my hands from trembling. Because I knew, it was already far too late to continue denying it...

Fuck.

But it didn’t matter what my feelings were, because I still planned to leave after we found the Artificer who could remove my prisoner's collar. Bonds only bred unhappiness. I’d seen it with my own eyes.

I bowed to the audience as I received cheers.

The audience voted then came the judges turn.

“Fantastic!” The first judge said. “Absolutely fantastic! Both of you did very well even if Bard Silvercat is too low level to create an illusion to go with his poem. But we’re professionals and won’t hold that against him. Unfortunately, while both your poems were at the same quality level, Bard Silvercat’s poem didn’t seem to match the theme of this contest. I’ll have to go with Bard Braid’s poem.”

I nodded and Braid looked smug. The next two judges just outright agreed with the previous judge and voted the same way.

Braid would win this. But this was for the best since if I won then both Mia and I would become too conspicuous.

Next up, it was the bonded couple’s turn. “We both decide to go with Bard Silvercat’s poem.”

What? I stared at the couple, hiding my shock.

The MC continued to move the contest forward, “And the audience voted for Bard Braid, So this means—”

“Wait!” Davis yelled. His cheeks and the tips of his ears turned red.

The MC came to a stop, but he was very professional and walked over to the pair.

“We’ve decided to use our veto here,” Ernawen said while smiling at Davis, “and give the final win to, Bard Silvercat.”

The judges, the audience, Braid, and even myself, almost all said the equivalent of, “Eh?!”

I only just managed to keep my eyes from bulging in shock.

“Although Bard Braid’s poem was impressive,” Davis continued, “We both felt that Lore’s poem expressed that feeling of being hopelessly drawn to a stranger via the bond. It matched better with our actual experience.”

“How did you manage to express that so well?” Ernawen asked while her eyes shimmered with excitement. Was she hoping for gossip or something?

Shit. Lie. Fake it. With a happy smile. “My father and stepmother were inexplicably bonded one day. He would often apologize to me and describe how impossible it was to avoid one’s bonded fate.”

While those events were true, my father never apologized to me nor said any such thing. Once he’d found his bonded, he didn’t give a damn about the family he’d had before he met her.

Nodding their heads, Davis and Ernawen pretended to understand and I, bowing low, pretended that I graciously accepted their understanding.

“For winning the short poetry contest you will receive a small prize of 4,000 PMk and a spot in the finals of the music contest later this evening.”

“Excellent! Thank you!”

Shit. Why did they have to pick mine? And winning by veto? Can I not?

The glares of Braid’s fans sent chills down my spine.

Please?