“Ladies first.” King Ashton bows, then pivots and darts right. King Cassius, moving impossibly fast, catches King Ashton in a tackle and flings him to the ground. King Ashton groans but rolls to his feet, dusting himself off.
All the while, I stand off to the side, praying no one throws me the ball.
“Your turn, Alette!” King Sylvian calls, grinning.
I freeze, a sinking horror overwhelming me. “No, I’m fine watching,” I protest.
“Catch,” King Cassius says, lobbing the ball at me with expert precision. I flinch, but somehow my hands find it. The leather is smooth, shockingly heavy.
“Run,” King Sylvian whispers, right behind me. “Don’t stop. Run until you hit the line.”
I glance at the far end of the field. It’s not that far, really, but with two fae kings between me and it, I might as well be trying to run up a mountain.
But King Sylvian nudges me forward, so I take off, legs pumping as fast as they’ll go. The wind whips my hair into my face. For a moment, I’m not thinking of the fae, or the old stories, or the memory of blood. I’m just running.
Then King Ashton appears beside me, his stride effortless, his hand catching my arm. He could pull me down easily, but instead, he slows, matching my speed, eyes dancing.
“Want to try something fun?” he asks.
I shake my head, but he’s already sliding in front of me, blocking my path.
I skid to a stop. The field is silent except for our breathing.
King Ashton reaches for the ball, but I clutch it tighter.
“Good form,” he says, almost gently. Then he sweeps my legs, catching me as I topple. He doesn’t slam me to the ground. Instead, he lowers me down, careful, like he’s cradling something fragile. We land in the grass, my back against the earth, and King Ashton rolls, so his body is pinning mine.
I can’t breathe. Not because I’m hurt, but because he’s so close, his hair tickling my cheek, his brown eyes inches from my own. He smells like honey and sweat and something wild.
“Never thought I’d get you under me so soon, little human,” he murmurs, his lips a breath from my ear.
Before I can say anything, King Oberon barrels in, grabbing King Ashton by the neck and yanking him off of me.
“Keep your hands off her!” King Oberon snarls, throwing King Ashton back. The two men hit the ground and immediately start to wrestle, rolling in the grass, cursing and punching.
King Cassius is there instantly, kneeling beside me. “Are you alright?”
“Fine,” I say, voice shaking. “He didn’t hurt me.”
King Cassius gives King Ashton a withering look. “She’s not made of steel.”
“Next time, I’ll use silk,” King Ashton says, grinning up from beneath King Oberon’s knee.
“Enough!” King Cassius snaps, separating the two. “You’re acting like fools.”
“They’re always like this,” King Sylvian says, pulling me to my feet. He brushes dirt and grass from my hair, his touch soft. Then he pauses, holding my face between his hands, as if inspecting me for damage.
“I’m okay,” I repeat, staring into his eyes. They’re the color of moss, bright and alive.
“You ran well,” he says, holding my gaze longer than necessary.
I don’t know what to say, so I look away. “It sounds like it’s time for the game to end.”
“Probably,” King Sylvian says, and I can feel that he’s still staring at me. Still too close.
As I start to walk back, a strange pain shoots through my ankle. Not bad, just a twist. I take a few steps forward and feel a tinge of pain. I must make a noise, because King Oberon turns instantly, his gaze sharp.
“What happened?” he demands.
