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Taking in the scene, the padded mats sprawled across the floor seemed more like a choice of obligation than safety. Perhaps they simply didn’t want dirty, human blood staining their floors. On each side of the room, two racks of weapons were filled with older equipment. My eyes flicked to the archery targets ahead, and I could no longer ignore the impending judgment, so I looked up.
Hemp ropes hung from the ceiling.
My mind wandered back to Breana’s cries—would they step in if a human decided to misuse the equipment? Decided to find escape on their own terms?
I shifted my weight between my feet, hoping I didn’t appear as nervous as I felt.
Sure, I might’ve spent most of my time outdoors growing up and was skilled on a horse, but none of that mattered in terms of physical combat.
I panned the line of competitors, gauging everyone’s reactions—Aeron, to no surprise, was all too impatient to begin. He flashed his teeth in warning when he noticed me staring, and I averted my gaze, allowing it to travel down the line.
Kids. All of us. Forced to grow up or die. Some lives ending before they began.
Lewis peered at me through long lashes, a slight blush on his neck. Having my soul sucked out of me and placed on a shelf sounded much more pleasant than what the king expected of me.
King Harkin and Prince Bowen strolled into the throne room, waving to the wild and untamed crowd as they breezed up the steps of the dais. Their hand movements were lazy but practical.
The guards stood at the base of the steps with their arms behind their backs, faces like stone as they stared ahead. What good sheepdogs they were.
Despite my better judgment, my gaze kept drifting to Talon, the emerald-eyed faerie, whose sharp features and tall, lean frame stood out more than the rest. It was almost an unfair advantage; how eloquent he was.
“Welcome back, competitors.”
An icy chill ran up my spine.
I peeled my focus away from Talon and recollected my thoughts as the king settled into his plush throne. Prince Bowen followed, flirting with a beautiful pixie who appeared to be made of moss and oak.
“I hope you found your accommodations to your liking. As I mentioned earlier, these assessments will put your skills on display for the entire court to see. Prove yourself worthy, and one of my guards here may volunteer to train you for the duration of the trials. To lead you to victory. However”—the king’s round face glowed—“should you fail to attract the attention of one, you shall be escorted to your execution.”
Execution? I bounced my foot; the room felt too small.
The other competitors gasped their surprise, whispering amongst themselves as they too processed the information. Past the barbaric trials, we offered no purpose to the fae. Watching us risk our lives was entertainment for them. Immortal beings, playing with disposable humans like we were nothing more than ants.
I wasn’t sure if I was going to be sick or wanted to scream.
“The courtier will call you up in groups of two to perform a series of miniature tests. We’ll judge you accordingly. The winner of each test will stay in until they’re defeated.” He pointed to the shapeless cloud floating high above the dais, displaying our names in alphabetical order. “My sentries will make their decisions at the end.”
Vomit.
I definitely wanted to vomit.
The fae court’s conversations ebbed to a faint whisper, and I watched as a select few made their way up and down the aisles with what appeared to be a cloth bag collecting coins.
My body went stiff, and I brought a hand up to cover my horror.
They were betting on us?
Just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse.
I dug my nails into my palm. Did they think they could give us upgraded sleeping arrangements and we wouldn’t question what sick angle they were playing? That we’d believe they were showing us mercy and be thankful? Maybe that’d work on people like Aeron, but I wouldn’t sweep it under the rug and accept their so-called generosity as anything less than manipulation.
A hush fell over the crowd, a tangible silence settling like a heavy curtain that waited for the show to begin. The courtier moved purposefully to the edge of the dais. With a parchment scroll in hand, anticipation hung in the air, and all eyes focused on the impending revelation.
Calandra bumped me with her shoulder, her button nose wrinkling as she noticed my displeasure, and I shook my head, mouthing I’d fill her in later.
“The first test will be archery,” the courtier announced. “Kelvin Amhurst and Aeron Beckworth, step forward, please.”
The boys strolled to the center of the floor, bumping their knuckles together before they each grabbed a bow and readied themselves at the mark.
