I roll my eyes.
Most fae do not believe in benevolence. They seek power. They seek true immortality—to be remembered as a hero for all of time. The people at this table? They’re here for what the notoriety could do for them.
“The competition and the quest that follows, will require sacrifice,” the puck female continues. “You must battle against dark forces, push through pain. You will battle your own nightmares made real. You will be tormented from the moment you cross the thorn gates until the time you return. Today’s trial will test your strength and speed and magic and intelligence and endurance. We will test your willingness to sacrificeeverythingto achieve your goal.”
I smirk, knowing they are not seeking flawless heroes.
They stopped the Trial of Thorns a millennia ago because they believed it too barbaric—to test a future leader on their physical strength and ruthlessness alone. It made for great leaders, but notgoodones. Because great can, and often does, mean terrible.
But for this—where entering the land of evil spirits and betrayers is the reward—it’s perfect. To enter hell and return, you must become one with the nightmares. You will only survive if you are wicked enough to face the darkness andown it. The Trial of Thorns is brutal. And only the most brutal will win.
They won’t be looking for the perfect angelic fae. They are looking for a fae damaged enough to have nothing to lose.
They are looking for me.
All I have to do is prove it to them.
There is a long pause as the puck runs her eyes over the champions. “Will you accept?” she says slowly, asking us honestly. “This painful and harsh game will result in notoriety, but you will be required to endure even harsher pain and torment as your reward. Please stand if you understand and accept the risks. Stand if you are willing to give up everything in order to win.”
I am the first to stand and a murmur cascades through the crowd.
I gave up everything that I was a very long time ago.
At the end of the table a very handsome fae prince stands, his nose wrinkled in disgust, a silent growl clear on his expression. He’s mad I beat him to it.
For a long moment it is only us, standing together but apart, facing a sea of fearful inhuman faces. Rev and me.
A dark haired male next to Rev is next to stand—the one from the forest today. Followed by the dwarf beside me. In the next moments, several others stand that I couldn’t name.
There are fifteen champions in total, one for every court. There was once only twelve courts, but civil war or quarrelling heirs have split three over the last millennia. Several courts were disinherited by the High Court, whether as punishment for rebellion or due to perceived weakness. Now, there are only eight courts with the ability to take their place as a ruling court.
That is one of the reasons people in my court have expressed pride in my murderous actions. They see it as a political move. Rebellious.
The Shadow Court has feuded with the Twisted Court for hundreds of years. Our last Shadow Court High King was over five hundred years ago. His ruling cycle included a drought, mass poverty, and a failed war with the dwarves. The next king was chosen from the Twisted Court, and he disinherited us, claiming our entire court weak. Not fit to rule. And he convinced the entire council of it.
Since then, our power has dwindled due in part to forced marriages—our strongest Shadow Court women married to other courts, taking their power with them. Our court lacks high education and opportunity, making it near impossible to overcome our disadvantages.
The redhead next to me is the last to stand, apparently enjoying the drama. She gets the loudest applause as the last, ensuring her expression shows it wasn’t cowardice that made her wait—it was spectacle. I roll my eyes and cross my arms.
“Thank you, champions!” the purple puck shouts over the roar of the crowd. “Next, we will introduce each court’s champion. This will be your chance to showcase your court’s magic!”
Oh perfect. A chance to show off.Just what I want.
Rev’s turn to be introduced to the cheering crowd comes first.
“Reveln of the Luminescent Court.” Rev stands. His expression shows bored annoyance, but his body lights up in a white glow so bright the crowd gasps and covers their eyes. That’s just a party trick, but the crowd seems to enjoy it.
I twist my back in discomfort as I remember his brother’s ability to paralyze you. He could pin you down with his light. Unable to move—or scream. Does Rev have the same power?
Murmurs of discontent rumble through the crowd—originating at my court’s table—before the next champion’s name is even spoken. “Rook of the Twisted Court.” The male next to Rev smiles, handsome but cruel, his green eyes shining. A vine twists its way up his arm like slithering snake. It curls over his shoulder, around his neck and up to his head where it curls into a perfectly placed crown and grows thorns. He winks dramatically, and the crowd laughs through their cheer.
“Clever,” I mumble, and the dwarf-fae beside me snorts.
“Prickanante of the Frost Court.”
I can’t help but chuckle at the girl’s name—so many easy puns.
She glares at me but then beams with a massive smile to the crowd and holds out her hand. Ice crackles and twists, forming into a six inch high carving of a blue ballet dancer.
