He nods, his gaze fixed ahead. “Hundreds.”
My shoulders slump at the weight of his words. “And they all… hate me?”
“Not all,” he says, and for a brief moment, my shoulders lift in hope. “Just most.”
That hope fades as my shoulders drop even lower. Why I thought Arax would be a sympathetic ear, I’m not sure. But slowly, he glances at me from the corner of his eye, his expression shifting.
“Do not fear. You are strong. Fae respect strength.”
A smile cracks the thin line of my mouth. “You think I’m strong?”
“I don’t think. I know.”
“Thank you, Arax,” I say softly, and he grumbles in response, his focus returning to the distance. Yet his words linger, a small kindness that distracts me from my rising nerves and encourages me to stand tall.
Moments later, Solena returns in a soft ivory dress, the lightweight silk draping gracefully to the floor. The fitted bodice accentuates her slim waist, and delicate lace trim adorns the neckline and sleeves. The forest green apron tied neatly around her waist perfectly complements my gown. Her black hair is styled in a simple yet elegant updo, with a few loose tendrils framing her face, and a delicate silver hairpin adorned with small green stones glimmers in the light.
“You look beautiful,” I say.
She seems taken aback, her chin dropping to her chest, a rare moment where I leave her at a loss for words. “It was hard finding green accents.”
“Well, you did an excellent job,” I reply.
I rush to Solena’s side, though the weight of my dress keeps me from reaching her as swiftly as I’d like. When I meet her in the center of the room, I link arms with her, clinging to the contact as if she’s my only anchor in this sea of uncertainty. She looks taken aback by my sudden familiarity, but I remember my wedding and the crushing loneliness I felt among the Fae. I don’t trust Daed to make me feel any more at ease now than he did then.
Comfort is a concept I doubt he understands.
Arax leads us toward the throne room, and it seems every Blade has been summoned to line the halls. As I pass by the arches, I catch sight of ships docking in the harbor, their sails billowing in the evening breeze, while the sky is filled with Fae wings as more arrive by air. I grip Solena’s arm tighter, my heart racing with each step, and I’m surprised when she squeezes back.
I look at her and manage a smile, and when she returns it with a clipped grin of her own, I can’t help but wonder if we are finally starting to understand one another.
We arrive at the antechamber where groups of Fae gather, waiting to be announced. The Fae of Baev’kalath stand apart with their dark hair and steely eyes, but the other Fae here are just as distinctive. Some have red eyes and long, thin sheets of hair that hang below their knees, while others are draped in heavy furs, their heads shaven to the scalp with only a braided top knot remaining. These must be members of the thrall houses.
“House of Sylthara of Thal’Morven,” Solena whispers in my ear, gesturing toward the Fae with red eyes. “Their LordSarberos is one of the oldest High Fae. See their runes?” She tips her chin, and I notice the Fae’s pale throats adorned with intricate black tattoos. “They use those runes to conjure ice and sleet. Their runeweaver is exceptional—the lines are flawless.”
“Runeweaver?”
“Those tasked with tattooing the runes onto skin. There are many levels of mastery.” She smiles coyly. “I was a runeweaver before I came to Baev’kalath. So was my mother, and her mother before her.”
“You don’t runeweave anymore?” I ask, hoping I’m using the term correctly.
“Baev’kalath boasts dozens of artisan weavers. I’m merely a novice in comparison. Perhaps one day I’ll return to it, but for now, mastering your unruly hair is challenge enough.”
I furrow my brow as Solena stifles a giggle, and for the first time, I find I don’t mind her teasing.
Arax grows weary of waiting, storming forward and extending his arms, forcing everyone to make room for me at the front of the line.
Although they move, not one amongst them is happy to do so. They scowl and whisper to each other. But just as I have grown accustomed to the constant rain and decadent gowns, so too have I accepted that I am despised by all Fae. Luckily, this dress protects me as well as a suit of armor, and even though Solena and I make a strange pair, it is nice to feel as if I am not alone for once.
The doors fall open and a wave of music, laughter and chatter floods the foyer. The room is dense with Fae and I can not even see the thrones on the dais at the other end of the hall. Arax pauses, and I can hear his surly grumble as he taps his foot impatiently. When we still receive no attention from the jabbering assembly, he pounds his fist hard against his armor chest piece and roars.
“Lords and ladies of Mordorin. Make way for Princess Amara Phaedren.”
My chest tightens. It is the first time I have heard his last name attached to me. But I have no time to digest it. The crowd falls silent and turns in unison, peering over shoulders and shuffling for a better position, all scrambling to get a closer look at the human bride. I am glad I can not hear their thoughts. They move towards the sides of the hall, revealing a grand banquet table that stretches the length of the room, all the way to the stone thrones before the stained glass window.
Silver candelabras rise from the table, casting an ethereal light over the twisted branch centerpieces. The branches, blackened and bare, entwine with roses so dark they could be soaked in the same blood as the wine, their edges dusted with frost. The air is thick with the scent of roasted game glazed in honey, mingling with the sweet, spicy aroma of exotic fruits and the earthy fragrance of wild mushrooms. Platters overflow with rich, decadent foods—meats spiced and roasted to perfection, velvety soups garnished with flowers that seem too beautiful to eat, and desserts that glisten like treasures, dusted in silver and wrapped in webs of spun sugar. It’s all so enchanting, but as always, there’s something menacing in the opulence.
Arax cuts a path through the guests. I stay close in his shadow with Solena at my side, not daring to stray too far, and once or twice he glances over my shoulder to be sure I am still there. I feel the weight of the Fae’s eyes upon me, inspecting and criticizing every inch of me as I pass them by. They say nothing, but they don’t need to. Their upturned, pointed noses and subtle shakes of their elegant heads speak volumes.
