His hair is dark, his shoulders broad, his eyes a dimmer silver than I remember—though I suspect I can blame myself for that. Seeing me causes him pain. That’s a fact I’ve got to live with.
I may never see the full beauty of his eyes, so very much like his brother’s. Eyes I darkened forever.
Finally, he turns his attention away from me and towards his queen, political favor winning out over his hatred. Now that I know he isn’t watching my every move, I dare a glace up to the agitated bird perched in the rafter above. Her clucking has calmed into a dull murmur.
Then, I very carefully examine the fae prince I haven’t seen in over a decade.
My gaze flicks to his hands first, thick fingers gripped in a tight fist, then up his muscled forearm covered in tattoos.Those are new.Black lines twist and curve like a maze of roots and thorns and disappear under the rolled sleeves of his grey tunic.
I continue my search over his body—my competition. My enemy.
I pass over his broad chest and shoulders, covered in a thick leather vest, quickly. Those only tell me what I already know—he is battle ready.
Past his long neck and sharp chin, my eyes linger on his plump lips, soft and delicate unlike every other part of his body. The brutal lines of his cheeks, the anger in his eyes.
Reveln is harsh and brutal and eager to kill.
Me. He’s eager to killme.
I didn’t need to examine him so closely to come to this conclusion, but I could use the reminder. I’m sure he’ll give me plenty of those in the coming days.
“Tomorrow we will begin,” the queen says with her smooth, eerie tone, “by introducing each of our chosen champions. A representative of each and every court. Fifteen of our strongest fae will compete in this severe competition. At noon, our first challenge will begin. By the end of this month, our savior will be chosen.”
The room begins a frantic whispering. I keep silent, focused straight ahead. Usually the trials would last for a minimum of three months. So this expedited version will prove to be intense.
“We will not cut from the number of trials or their severity. There will simply be less time to recuperate between challenges, which will be a realistic representation of what you will face if you are chosen for this important quest.
“As you all know, we do not have time to waste. We must choose our champion as quickly as is feasible. But even more importantly, we must ensure we choose therightone. Politics cannot play a role. Not in this. We must choose the fae that is the most powerful, resourceful, brave, and brutal. Only the strongest fae can survive the Schorchedlands, and so, only the strongest fae will with these trials.”
Failure is indeed not an option. I’ve not yet seen the devastation with my own eyes, but I don’t need to in order to understand the fate of faery in all forms is at risk. If they’d told me ten fae children have died from the scourge, I’d justify the trials. The number they’ve told me—three hundred—is inconceivable. That’s nearly a quarter of all faerie children in our world. Because we age so slowly, children are rare. Children are precious.
I had considered leaving this world to their fate—I do not intend to take my place back in the Shadow Court, savior or not. But there are a few reason I’ve decided to take the risk.
Firstly—pure pride. I am able to win this, and I will prove it.
Second, because I too believe every court should have the opportunity to rule, not only the most prosperous.
Three, for all the cruelty in this world of wicked fae, their love of children will always remain. And it remains in me.
I might be bad deep down. But I will fight for those that can’t fight for themselves. And maybe, just maybe, if I save them, I’ll redeem myself from my own condemnation. Maybe I’ll be able to live with myself one day.
