Seems like this show-off is pretty popular around here.
The town behind the walls looks surprisingly dull—simple square buildings devoid of decoration or hints of luxury. But its Beacon is new and tall, and crystals of the halo grid are placed on every street corner. If only Tenebris had defenses like this against the horrors of the night!
Barracks and gray one-story houses line the steep cobbled road. Crowds roar all the way to the city square. A tall granite monolith rises at its center, and the magic vibrating around it fills my mouth with a metallic taste. Lines of Unseelie soldiers in polished cuirasses, bearing the Ancestral Mark’s heraldry, secure the perimeter.
Aeidas pulls the reins, and I squint against the bright sun, studying the artifact. The three massive rocks resemble a doorframe, and strange glowing runes are carved into the weather-worn stone.
“Have you ever traveled by portal, Talysse?” the prince asks, and I scoff. He knows very well that Fae portals aren’t accessible to humans. They’re locked away and heavily guarded in their black bastions. The only way a human can reach Nighthaven is by winning the Nightfall Trials or being sold as a slave.
The warmth behind me vanishes suddenly, and I nearly slide off the saddle. That would’ve been quite the entertainment for the Unseelie crowd.
Aeidas is off the horse, and I squeak pathetically when his large hands wrap around my waist and pull me down. Flailing, I grab his shoulders for support—sweet mother Cymmetra—how can a body be that hard? I slide down the rugged plane of his torso, heat spreading between my thighs. We stay like this for a brief moment, eyes locked, my breast pressed against his bare chest. He releases me quickly, looking away, but not before I catch the heat in his sage green eyes. Crossing his arms, he points at the obelisk.
“Well, Talysse,” he says, his voice once again cold and imperious, “it’s time to show you my home.”
*
I stumble out of the portal, my senses numb by the roar of raw magic. The blinding lights dancing before my eyes dissipate, and the knot in my stomach loosens a bit. Elders, that was something I’d be happy to repeat. The world is still spinning, but firm hands seize me before I can fall. The touch is familiar, unwelcome, and it sends a jolt through my body—like a spark waiting to ignite. There’s no need to look to see who it is; my body already recognizes this particular touch, and it reacts in frustratingly unpredictable ways. I slap Aeidas’s hands away and shake my head to clear my thoughts.
The portal has brought us to a circular square, similar to the one back at the outpost bastion, but far more crowded. The royal guard, clad in armor bearing the royal coat of arms, is easy to spot. They are everywhere, holding back colorful crowds of Fae. It seems like the whole capital has gathered to see the contestants who survived the first of the Nightfall Trials. Merchants and street performers take advantage of the gathering, and music mixes with excited chatter and the shouts of the townsfolk. The aroma of roasted meat tingles my nose, and my belly responds with an angry growl. Just like before, the crowd roars when they spot their prince, and Aeidas lifts both hands in greeting.
The noise nearly makes the roof tiles of the buildings around fall off by the sheer force of their chant.
“Aeidas! Wildling! Aeidas!” They chant, applaud, and stomp their feet. I suddenly feel small and terribly vulnerable. Here I am, surrounded by the kind who killed my parents, at the mercy of a ruthless prince with an unclear agenda.
And why, in the name of Atos, do they call him the Wildling?
My fingers close around the magical Flint in my pocket, the smooth surface cooling my emotions. He didn’t take it away from me, though he had many opportunities. He could have left me in the dark garden of Sorayah the Songstress, or let me drown, or let that child monster have me and claimed my victory as his, but for some unknown reason, he didn’t.
Fae are traitorous and self-serving, and this one here has more refined ways. He will try to deceive me soon; I know it in my bones. Maybe he’s making me trust him in order to get some sick pleasure from breaking me later.
We climb a wide street with smooth pavement surrounded by ornate granite buildings. Artfully carved onyx statues of the Elders and some unknown Unseelie Kings line the street, their glossy black eyes following our procession.
The street ends at the feet of a monumental black staircase leading to the most magnificent building I’ve ever seen. It is a symphony of towers, steep roofs, breakneck stairways, arched bridges defying gravity, and wide, ornate windows. It is breathtaking. Noticing that I have fallen behind, the prince turns around and—to my embarrassment—chuckles when he sees the awe written all over my face.
Just great. The human girl from the stables sees big houses for the first time. I look pointedly away, straighten my doublet, and follow him on the steps leading to the palace, where a group of courtiers is already awaiting us.
Stepping through the grand doors of the Fae palace, I am immediately enveloped by an aura of ancient, crumbling decadence. The entrance hall looms vast and imposing, its polished dark jade floor gleaming under flickering light, like the surface of a murky lake that might hide unseen depths. The crystals of the chandeliers catch the light, casting a kaleidoscope of colors onto the vaulted ceilings high above.
Walls of onyx, etched with intricate, timeworn patterns, guide the procession through a labyrinth of endless, spiraling staircases. Each step on the polished black stairs echoes with whispers of centuries past, their handrails adorned with delicate carvings of mythical creatures and ancient runes that seem to pulse with a life of some old, forgotten magic.
Magnificent tapestries hang from the walls, masterpieces woven with threads of gold and silver, depicting the Fae’s history—battles of old, coronations of long-forgotten kings, and the serene beauty of enchanted forests before the Hex. The draft moves them, bringing the scenes almost to life as we pass.
The palace halls stretch endlessly, their high vaults arching gracefully overhead, supported by slender columns of jade. Sunlight filters through tall, arched windows draped with heavy velvet curtains, illuminating the dust motes that dance in the air and casting long, eerie shadows that play tricks on the eye.
Every corner of the palace whispers secrets. The scent of old books and the sharp tang of magic lingers in the grand halls. Mirrors, darkened by time, with frames encrusted in jewels, are lined up along the walls, and I catch a glimpse of my reflection. Elders, I look tired. I take a deep breath, struggling to keep up with the prince, carried away in a conversation with one knight in black armor. The air is thick with the scent of old stone and the faint aroma of incense and wilting flowers.
Seems like our march through the melancholic beauty of the palace is nearly over when we enter a wide corridor with ornate doors on both sides. Looks like some kind of quarters and my suspicion is confirmed when the guards halt before a door.
“Your chambers, Talysse Nightglimmer,” the knight in unmarked armor declares and pushes the heavy door open.
Relieved that I’ll be finally left alone with my thoughts and that I’ll get a chance to rest, I rush in.
Without hesitation or a word of goodbye, I slam the door behind my back. Yet two glowing sage eyes still pierce me, and his touch still lingers on my skin.
Beyond the heavy oak door lies an intimate and shadowy haven. The opulent darkness of the room is disturbed by the warm glow of the flames of a black marble fireplace. The walls, draped in deep velvet tapestries of midnight blue and onyx, seem to absorb the light. The air, perfumed with the scent of burning wood and faint incense, is pleasantly warm.
In the center of the room stands a magnificent four-poster bed, its dark mahogany frame intricately carved with twisting vines and mythical creatures. The canopy above is lined with heavy velvet curtains in a rich, deep purple, edged with delicate silver embroidery. I pat the soft mattress and brush my fingers over the layers of sumptuous fabrics—silk sheets in deep garnet, a plush ebony comforter, and an array of pillows of various shapes and sizes.
