A sanctuary. Pools carved from black stone ripple with luminous water glowing in soft blues, greens, and golds. Steam rises in slow tendrils, catching the light like fireflies in mist. Crystal basins line the edges, overflowing with soaps and oils in glass jars. Towels the color of moonlight hang from hooks carved from ivory.
Winged attendants flicker overhead—fairies, their light like thimbles of dawn. They move with quick, competent hands, laying towels and decanting oils.
“This way,” Mae says, not glancing back. “You must be cleansed.”
We enter a domed chamber of obsidian stone. Water streams from dragon-mouthed fountains into sunken baths. The scent of herbs rises in the steam.
A flicker of motion draws my eye, and a small green fairy no bigger than my palm, with dragonfly wings and wild green curls, zips up to me. “I’m Marburianna!” she squeaks. “You can call me Marb. I’m yours now!”
“Mine?” I edge a step back.
“Yes. I’ve been assigned to you. I’ll help you dress, guide you through the Trials, and keep you from dying. Basic stuff.”
“Trials?” I echo, just barely stopping myself from repeating,Keep me from dying?
Lounging beside the largest pool, Mae tips her head. “For six centuries, Abrellia has sent brides in exchange for protection from wars, plagues, and the darker magics that still prowl your roads. Those who arrive here compete in theBloodmoon Bride Trials. Your standing—and survival—determine your place in His Majesty’s court.”
“Compete?” I stutter out, still astounded. “Place?”
She only smiles. “You’ll understand more tomorrow. For now, soak. Eat. Heal.”
The fairies work fast, magically stripping off our clothes and tending to our wounds. When one tugs too hard near my collarbone, and I flinch, freezing in place as my breath catches.
Memory slams into me. Rough hands. Darkness. A locked door. The smell of wine and a man I never asked to touch me. My father’s voice telling me to be polite, to do what was expected of me. A voice promising it would all be over soon if I just kept quiet. The sharp yank of fabric. The burn of shame.
“Wait—don’t—” I choke, stumbling back with crossed arms in a feeble attempt to shield what little remains of my modesty.
The fairy tugs again, oblivious.
Then a hand closes over mine, firm and grounding.
“You’re okay,” a soft, soothing voice says beside me.
She stands with half her shift already gone. A line of scars trails down her shoulder like lightning. Her dark brown hair gleams, soaked and clinging. Her moss-green eyes soften, steady and kind. Her skin is golden-tawny, glowing faintly like polished amber. She’s taller than me, somehow willowy and solid at the same time, and her presence feels like the hush of a forest after rain.
She squeezes my hand once, anchoring me to the present. “Just breathe,” she says. “You’re safe.”
I nod, still breathless and shaky, but the trembling slows. Her voice is gentle and certain, the kind you trust without knowing why. Together, we wade into the nearest pool. The glowing water casts a soft shimmer across the ceiling.
“I’m Mariel,” she offers as we lower ourselves into the warm water before letting go. “From Eldrien. You’re from Solmere?”
I nod.
“That explains the sun in your skin, then,” she says with a half-smile.
We look at each other for a moment. Her face is open and gentle, but there’s something older behind her eyes. She huffs, almost a laugh.
“It’s always strange at first, isn’t it?” she says. “Being touched when you didn’t ask for it.”
I glance sideways. She’s not guessing; the constellation of scars across her body tells its own kind of story. I want to ask what happened, but I already know. She holds herself not with fear but with quiet vigilance. A survivor’s stance.
She’s been used before. Hurt. Yet here she stands, calm and whole and kind.
“I didn’t even know my name was drawn,” Mariel says softly, gliding her arms through the water. Its ripples catch the glow, casting halos over her tawny skin. “Not until they put the red mark on my door.”
“Is that how brides are chosen where you’re from?” I ask, steadier now. “Tagging random doors?”
She exhales. “Not exactly. It’s less fate, more convenience. Our leaders use the Bloodmoon as a way to rid themselves of the… undesirable.”
