Asnowy owl chirpsfrom the rafters of the banquet hall as I walk in and I suppress an eye roll. She’s quieter than before but only just.
Heads turn to watch me as I march forward in the same clothes I wore yesterday, all the way to the front of the cavernous room to the champions’ table facing the crowd. I have no allies here.
The loudest whispers I’ve ever heard fill the hall.
I am a shadow fae with a soul to match. And I’ll let that be my strength. I’ll use my anger, my lack of fear, my emptiness, to my advantage.
I study the champions sitting along the front table. I don’t recognize any of them, but based on their expression, they sure as hell know who I am.
Each fae is risking something important to enter the trials. Each one needs this.
I don’t.
I have nothing to lose.
And that will be the reason I win.
I reach the table and claim my place between a redheaded female—fire fae for sure—and a stalky, bearded male. His hair is unwieldy enough that, paired with his short statue, I assume he’s part dwarf.
The redhead clenches her jaw, eyes pinned straight ahead like she’s trying not to attack me. Wonderful. Another member of my fan club. Beside her is a male with long, straight white hair, blue eyes, and sharp cheek bones who openly sneers in my direction.
Yes, this is going to be a lot of fun.
The dwarfish fae on my left has a calm demeanor but keeps his determined gaze straight ahead, neither looking to me nor to my enemies at my right.
He doesn’t wish to choose a side. That’s fine by me.
Based on the plaque in front of him, he’s from the Crumbling Court—one of the non-ruling courts. If I don’t win, I’d like another fae from a lesser court to win. A fair consolation prize. Perhaps the dwarf feels the same.
“Did you not bring any other—do you call those clothes?” the redhead asks, keeping her nose high enough to be thoroughly ironic.
I smirk, eyeing her ensemble. Tight, black jumpsuit with a plunging neckline and multi-colored glistening beads adorn her belt. “Do you think your pretty gems and tight clothes are going to help you win the trials?” I ask sweetly. “Or did you only enter as an excuse to attract a husband?”
This was apparently the wrong thing to say. Every muscle in her body clenches, hands in fists, back bent in a crouch. “I’m going to rip you to shreds,” she seethes, low enough that only I—and perhaps our immediate neighbors—can hear.
I smile and turn from her just as her white-haired neighbor settles a gentle hand on her forearm. “I’m looking forward to it.”
I take a moment to note the clothing of the other champions. They are either in fighting leathers, armor, or black-tie appropriate apparel. I am the only one who sports the just-rolled-out-of-bed look.
I’m in jeans and an Avenge Sevenfold T-shirt, but my boots are thick and sturdy. Admittedly, I should invest in a jacket of some kind for any cold weather trials, but that’s a problem for another day. Today will be a short trial. A few hours at most. They’ll want to cut down the entrants with one swift blow. Meaning today will be intense and extreme but quick. It will not be an endurance challenge.
The obsidian doors fly open to reveal a large statured male in nearly as casual attire as I am. His pants are leather but that’s typical fae apparel, his shirt a white tunic, and a simple black jacket that hangs low enough to cover his ass.
I pull in a long breath and hold it. I steady my expression into one of cold indifference as Rev approaches. The whispers he fuels are quiet, blending together to create a low hum, vibrating with authority.
Considering his family rules one of the most powerful courts in the fae world, odds are on him to win this, despite the questions of why he hasn’t yet been named heir. But the effect of his presence is more than his family. There is a sense of power about him. In his stance and his bright eyes. Gone is the dull black of pain and back is his bright silver gaze.
Fae eye color holds a major clue to their power. The color matches their court and their magic elements. The brightness showcases their strength. Clear and bright equals strong. Dim and dark means one of two things—pain or weakness. It’s important to distinguish the two or you risk greatly underestimating a foe. A potentially fatal mistake.
I watch his features closely. He holds a confident calm, the only evidence of his tension is in his jaw as it clenches tight.
He’s controlling his emotions in order to posture his strength. It is no secret how he feels about me, but letting his emotions take over could make him appear weak to the court.
It’s all about politics in the fae world.
As for me? I steady my anger and pain. My empty, scorched soul on full display. Complete opposite strategies.
“Welcome, fair folk!” a puck with streaks of purple in her mane, matching her deep purple horns, says bright and excited. Her legs are thick and long, ending in hooves. “And welcome to our champions. One of the folk sitting at this table will become a hero to our entire world. History and the spirits will honor you greatly!”
