Angol
Thirty girls. One fae prince. Who will win the tiara?
A competition for the fae prince to find his 'one true love,' hosted at a glamorous faerie palace and televised for the entire human world to watch.
Honestly? It's ridiculous.
I have zero interest in it.
I may fit the 'rags' part of the Cinderella mold-an ex-foster kid who literally came from nothing-but the heir to this faerie throne is no Prince Charming.
From what I've heard, he's an arrogant a-hole just like the rest of the fae who stepped into our world a few years back and decided they were better than us.
I have no desire to marry one of them.
And then I accidentally wind up as one of the contestants.
Before I can wrap my mind around it, I'm whisked away into a world of glamor and magic, dresses and balls, backstabbing princess wannabes, and a faerie prince who seems to want to be here even less than I do.
But the longer I'm part of the competition, the more I realize the Glittering Palace isn't what it seems on the surface.
And neither, it turns out, is the prince.
