Caelynn
The crowd parts asI pass them. My stomach sinks as I watch Raven fly overhead, just like we talked about, and right out an open window as planned—because Rev’s thoughtful eyes linger on her for too long.
I bite my lip and force myself to turn my attention elsewhere.
A set of golden eyes settle on me, bright and thoughtful, through the crowd. Drake, the Whirling Court champion winks at me and I stumble in shock. What the hell is that?
“Hello, mi-lady,” a little voice calls from knee level. I find a young pixie, his translucent black wings shuttering in nervousness.
“I’m not a lady,” I tell him quickly, despite the pleasant stirring in my stomach at the admiring gaze he’s giving me.
“That’s not what Mama says. She says you’re a hero.”
I squat down beside him, “You’re from the Shadow Court?” I ask. He nods eagerly. “There are some amazing things from our court. I’m proud of it.”
He beams.
“But I am not one of them,” I say sternly, and his lips turn to a pout. “I am not a hero, and I never will be. Don’t idolize me.”
I straighten and sweep away from him in an instant, dipping through the crowd quick enough that I won’t need to see the disappointment on his face. When I finally stop, face flushed, and scan the room, I find a set of angry silver eyes.
Rev. Always watching. Always noticing.
What does he make of that? Another reason to hate me, I suppose.She’s so evil she even makes children cry.
No one in this room is a friend. I have no true allies—expect those from my own court whose worship I despise. But I might be able to create an ally, if I play my cards right.
I search for the Crumbling Courts banners, hoping I can find the dwarfish fae—Tyadin, I remember—among the sea of angry inhuman faces. I cross through the hall, the crowds parting for me. The Queen’s speech will start in about twenty minutes, so I have that long to try to align something with him. I don’t intend to hang out here long afterwards, so the faster I can get this done, the better.
“Tell me,dwarf,” I hear a low voice say not far away. I turn towards the sound. “How hairy is your back, really? Enough to make a full cape?” I winkle my nose at the rude comment, though I can’t see the face of whoever spit it.
There are some actual dwarves in this court, though they’re often looked down upon. Faeries and dwarves have never been overly fond of one another. Dwarves are considered second class, among fae. There was actually a dwarfish kingdom across the ocean a hundred years ago, but in more recent years, it’s been destroyed by some fell beast.
The Crumbling Court’s yellowish brown banner hangs to the far right of the room, in the general direction I heard the insult from. I push through the crowd quickly, leaving a few aghast fae courtiers glaring at me. I turn back and wink when one female gives me a particularly loud squeal.
A fae from the Twisted Court stands with his arms crossed, towering over a younger fae. They wear the same colors as Rook—Twisted Court green—and the same lifted nose. Near them is a fae with a dwarfish build, but younger than Tyadin.
“Simply barbaric,” one fae says to the young stocky male, who looks to the ground uncomfortably. “How do you even fight being so short? You have to swing up, just to spar.” They laugh and the young fae drops his elbow onto the dwarvish fae’s cheek. “Oops!”
I reach them with one more step and without even speaking a word, I sweep my foot beneath the tallest of the bullying fae, knocking him to the floor. “Oops!” I say loudly. “Maybe if you weren’t so busy looking down on someone, you’d have been smart enough to pay attention.”
“You’re going to pay for that, witch!” the kid says from the floor.
I smirk. “I’ll be awaiting your vengeance eagerly. But you’ll have to get in line.” I shrug. The group scampers off, and I turn to the younger dwarfish fae.
He blinks in shock. Behind him approaches a familiar face, his arms crossed. “You okay, Torin?”
The younger male nods quickly. Now that they’re next to each other I see the resemblance isn’t just in their race. The slant of their eyes and shape of their nose is identical. They’re clearly related.
“I suppose I owe you a thank you,” Tyadin says, his face harsh—not at all appreciative.
I wave at him passively. “Not at all. I need no excuses to put a reigning court jerk in his place.”
He nods sharply. “Run off to Mama, okay?” he tells the youngster who I now assume to be his brother. The kid nods and pushes through the crowd towards the Crumbling Court banner.
“You came looking for me and found my little brother instead?” He looks over my shoulder as if he doesn’t want to look me in the eye.
