Sitting deeper into the tent, where the light is more scarce, sits a boy no older than eleven. He’s clad in black, and the shadows around him thicken. Something is disturbing behind this look of innocence as if something old and foul is trapped underneath this pristine skin. The boy’s irises glow bright red under the chestnut locks draping his forehead, and his playful smile cannot conceal the aura of danger his whole being emanates.
“It is anything but a child, Talysse, and something tells me he’s the most dangerous of them all. Stay—”
“I know, Gale. I’ll stay away from him.” The boy snaps his head in our direction, his deep crimson eyes anything but childlike. There’s sadness there, collected over centuries, and hot, barely-leashed frenzy. Praised be Atos, some servants swarm the tent bringing trays with more food and hiding the odd child.
“Yep, just keep to your lemony cake and leave the ancient horror alone,” Gale says, leaning back and sipping on his wine as if he’s at a friend’s gathering, not about to enter the deadliest Trials on Phyllesia.
“You know,” I say, stretching over the table to help myself to some lemony cake with gold leaf on top, “for a guy about to face certain death, you’re remarkably chill.”
“Gotta enjoy the little things, Talysse. Like cake. And not being eaten by a wolf-man or a demon child.”
“Well, here’s to surviving the night then.” I raise my fork, offering a mock toast.
“To surviving the night,” Gale echoes, clinking his wine glass against my fork with a grin.
“Wait,” I say, licking my fingers covered in glaze. “Something’s not right. Five Elders, five provinces, five humans.” I point my sticky fork at us both, the blonde WPP and her chevalier, and the mercenary. “There should also be five Fae, right?” A creepy child, Lord Woodrick and his bone, the tattooed Huntress, and the silent Dryad. Four. The Fae wine hasn’t messed with my senses. “Where—”
A crowd of Fae courtiers spills into the tent. The silky fabric shakes with a sudden explosion of cheer, and the air thickens with the scent of perfumes.
“Oh, great,” Gale mutters, rolling his eyes. “Here comes the circus.”
Someone important is coming.
All eyes are glued to the entrance, and I nearly spit out my last piece of cake when, at the center of the crowd, sharp, beautiful, and deadly as a sword, stands Governor Aeidas.
“What threads of fate is Seuta weaving right now, and for what purpose? Why is this prick here?” I whisper, my voice tinged with both dread and curiosity.
A Fae female who appears frail and ancient—if you can judge age with their kind—leads the group. She steps forward and spreads her arms in a dramatic gesture. The wide split sleeves of her white silk gown sweep the floor like the wings of an odd, old bird. Sacred symbols are tattooed on her forehead, in even rows down her cheeks and neck. A thick golden disk hangs on a massive chain on her sunken chest, bearing the sacred stamp of the Elders; this must be a mage of the highest rank. Her long white hair shimmers like gossamer, and her eerie eyes, entirely black, surrounded by long white lashes, seem to reflect the lights like a dark lake. Her pale lips draw into a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. Silence reigns before she starts speaking. Even Gale is glaring at her, his fingers nervously playing with his massive golden earrings.
“Welcome, honored ones, and blessed be the sacrifice you make in the name of the Elders! Welcome to the Nightfall Trials,” she announces in a sweet, serene tone, sweeping those too-long sleeves in a well-practiced gesture. This Fae seems to be quite the performer.
“Now, welcome the last Fae contestant, Prince Aeidas of House Nightbriar, the heir to the Unseelie Throne!”
Deafening applause shakes the tent and rolls over the Unseelie camp. If Atos opened the ground beneath my feet and I plunged into the darkness of his halls, that would be far more preferable to the nightmare unfolding before my eyes.
The murderer of my parents is the fucking crown prince?
“He was serving as Governor of Satreyah when his brother perished. Now he’s the heir to the Unseelie throne,” Gale informs me coldly, making an effort to appear unimpressed by this display of power and excess.
“You mean when he poisoned his brother,” I correct him, my eyes glued to the Fae who single-handedly destroyed my life. The jealous younger brother, raised in the shadow of the throne heir, decided he had enough and poisoned him on his coronation day.
“And this one, Talysse,” Gale cocks his head pointedly at the Unseelie Prince, who looms over the crowd of courtiers, “this one you should avoid at all costs. If you have to choose between this cold-blooded killer and a Shadowfeeder, you’d better take the Shadowfeeder. At least you know what to expect.”
I nod in silent agreement, still trying to untangle my feelings. Oh, isn’t it ironic that Seuta has brought us together in this deadly contest, where I could slit his throat while he’s sleeping and not hang for it? My lips curl up in a mad, anticipating smile, and right at this moment, the prince’s intense gaze crashes into mine. Recognition ripples across his ridiculously handsome features. The Elders were too cruel, creating the cursed Unseelie so beautiful. And this murderer shines like the first sun rays after a long night, like a green shore before the eyes of a drowning man.
“A predator designed to trick and exploit,” Gale mutters, echoing my thoughts.
Yet I cannot help the fluttering of timid butterflies in my stomach, so I drown them in wine. The realization that the murderer of my family will sit on that cursed throne, wielding unlimited power over the fates of all humans in the five provinces, disturbs me in ways I cannot even fathom.
When he leans back in his tall chair, his eyes seek mine again, and for a fleeting moment, something passes between us. I cannot put my finger on it, but I feel the pull, the undeniable allure of danger and darkness that has brought so many to an early grave. It’s a velvety smirk in the dark, long fingers ending with sharp claws, able to caress or murder, depending on the mood of their owner.
“Talysse, are you drooling?” Gale teases, snapping me out of my reverie.
“Shut up, Gale.” I toss a piece of cake at him. He deftly dodges and responds by throwing a grape, which I manage to catch with my mouth. We laugh, but the sound feels hollow against the undercurrent of tension that hangs over us.
Despite our playful banter, the reality of our situation presses in. The festive air in the tent is a fragile facade, barely concealing the gravity of what’s to come. Around us, Fae courtiers move with a sense of anticipation, their eyes gleaming.
As the mage’s dramatic announcement fades, it’s clear that we are on the brink of something. The delicate balance of power and the intricate webs of alliances and enmities all seem poised for a drastic shift. The Trials are not just a test of survival; they are a stage for a much larger, darker play.
