fit for queens | jacinta + colt

Jacinta doesn't turn around when he walks into the room. She remains staring into the mirror, watching him walk toward her and trail his finger along a curly lock of her hair. He looks different from most of the other members of the upper class in the Capitol — more classically handsome and sleek rather than unnaturally beautiful and over the top. In the reflection of the mirror, their eyes meet, and Jacinta feels a little jolt of heat flash through her face. She hadn't meant to hold his gaze like that, and she breaks away as soon as a bit of pink threatens to peek through her foundation.

He stops in front of her and says with a smooth voice, "My name is Colt. And I'm going to make sure they never forget you." She expected a polite introduction, but not this, not a declaration such as that. "Or the fact that you are a survivor." A survivor — a survivor, not a victor. Now that's new, that's something she has not heard yet. No one in the Capitol seems to greatly acknowledge the weight of all those memories and how they are already tearing into her mind, replaying over and over again. Slitting Atlas's throat, slashing Daniela's chest open, stabbing Cynthia in the eye. She used to be able to walk away like she didn't care, but now she's not so sure.

"A survivor," she repeats. That is all she really feels like right now — a survivor, not a murderer and especially not a victor. But she doesn't share that thought with Colt. Instead, she says, after a pause in between, "I suppose so, yes." She uncrosses her arms and lets them hang at her side so she doesn't appear more hostile than she intends.

"I've already heard all about you," she says, her voice sounding a bit lower and more gravelly than normal. "I think you caused quite the stir when you finally gave in and became the stylist for District Seven female." And she would know — it's practically all anyone around her can talk about.

Colt Royale smiles at her and she's not sure if he's being proud or smug. (Though she doesn't think she really cares.)

"So my reputation precedes me," he replies. Jacinta studies his face as he speaks, his tan skin, his short and neatly trimmed beard, his expressive dark eyes, his sleek black hair. It is difficult not to let her eyes wander — though she would never consciously allow that thought to stick in her mind. "I guess we have that in common."

But he is a designer, a man who built a name for himself through sheer determination and willpower. Even if he is from a wealthy background, he still had to work for at least some of his fame and money. Jacinta never did; she was born and raised an heiress and now she is famous and infinitely wealthy for killing people. Nothing she has ever done should have earned her these things, but here she is, with more money than she knows what to do with and more fame than she could have ever dreamed up.

Colt saunters over to the corner of the room, where a black bag hangs on a coathanger. He unzips it and reveals the dress for Jacinta to see — it is extravagant and green and lacy and so sheer. She is sure she has a dress like it at home, that same deep Salazar green (though her parents would never allow her to wear something that revealing).

"I design for powerful people. That’s why I’m here," Colt tells her. "For you," he continues, and his words seem so . . . heavy. She doesn't know any other word to describe it.

Jacinta has never considered herself powerful before, not since she was ten years old and completely naive, enveloped in pride for her family's golden name. Colt's words hang oddly in the air, but they don't sound untrue. She supposes he is right; victors do have a hold over the Capitol, whether they like it or not.

But she doesn't know what to say — she is already a bit flustered by such an influential figure like Colt, and she still hasn't recovered from the Arena. Instead of being smooth and poised as she should be, she clears her throat after a pause and says, "Ah, thank you. So, are you going to turn around while I change, leave the room, or . . . ?" She blushes such a bright scarlet that she is sure it shows through her makeup.