I say nothing. I can’t.
She straightens, smoothing an imaginary wrinkle from her bodice. “Pathetic.” She smirks. “A frightened little virgin playing queen.” Then she turns and disappears back into the crowd, laughter trailing after her like perfume.
I stand there long after the music swallows her whole, pulse pounding, the thought lodged deep and ugly in my chest.
What if I die like this?
The aroma of spiced meats and sweet nectars mingles with the tang of the night-blooming roses that populate the castle gardens. A harp’s mellow notes float from a hidden gallery, underscoring the murmur of fae laughter and clinking glass.
Arther steps forward onto the dais. His voice rings clear across the hall. “Tonight, His Majesty honors your courage and grants you gifts for the final Trial, which will take place in two months’ time.”
One by one, Seraphina, Mariel, Vivian, Cassy and I step forward, heaving with pride and uncertainty as Keiren presents each of us with our tokens.
Seraphina kneels to receive an obsidian-hilted dagger.
“To protect what is yours,” Keiren intones. Her fingers close around the hilt as if finding an old friend.
Mariel accepts a vial of liquid that shimmers like moonlight on water.
“To mend what is broken,” he says. She presses it to her heart as though sealing a vow.
Cassy receives a silver crescent-moon pendant.
“To guide your way in darkness,” he whispers. Tears gather at her lashes.
Vivian receives a silver chalice.
“To hold what is given.”
When he turns to me, the room seems to hush. His cloak of mid-night silk trails at his heels, embroidered with draconic runes that flicker gold in the torchlight. He extends a small glass orb, its interior swirling with molten starlight.
“To awaken what sleeps,” he says, hands steady as the orb settles into my fingers.
Its warmth blooms through my palm, spreading along my veins in a slow pulse. In that moment, I feel every heartbeat echo in my chest—and a tremor of wonder at what it means and how it might help me survive the final Trial.
I drain my goblet and reach for another, the burn of wine a welcome pulse against my nerves. Each swallow numbs the edges of my anxiety.
I need air.
I weave between dancers and fluttering sprites until I spot Mae leaning against a marble pillar, silver goblet in hand.
“Fire,” she greets me with a soft smile, eyes brighter than the lanterns overhead. I sink beside her.
“You’ve made him so happy,” Mae murmurs, nodding toward the king, who’s still watching from the dais. “I haven’t seen him that relaxed in nearly three hundred years.”
My throat tightens. “Happy?”
She lifts her glass. “You’ll make a fine queen.”
“Yes, you will indeed.” Arther approaches, offering a low bow. “Good evening, Lady Fire. Miss Mae, you look lovely this evening.”
“Hello, Arther,” Mae replies, then straightens suddenly. “Darling, you look pale. You must be parched. I’ll fetch you a refill.” And just like that, she’s off, leaving me alone with Arther’s earnest eyes.
I can’t help myself. “When are you going to tell Mae how you feel?”
Arther stiffens, clearly stunned. “In what way?”
“Oh, come on,” I tease. “We all see the way you look at her—and the way she looks at you.”
