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Her own fingers tightened ever so slightly on the unyielding support of his arm, but she kept her expression sunny and unembarrassed. Here in Efaelen, there was none of the judgmental prudishness of the mortal realm, which twinned women’s so-called virtue to a prim aversion to physicality. No one here would be scandalized by the idea of Lorelei taking a lover! And as no one here knew Gerard’s identity, no one could be horrified on his behalf—or likely to send any dangerous reports to Otto in the mortal realm.

Today was their last day of freedom and happiness, so she planned to savor every moment to the utmost. By this time tomorrow, Gerard would hate her for twisting their bargain and keeping him a prisoner. He would have every right to do so, but until then …

Winning the Tournament of Leaves would be the perfect proof to her competitive lover of just how well they worked together, to help him eventually forgive her and even want to be partners again.

One day.

Possibly.

Ugh! No, she couldn’t let herself think about any horrible consequences now. The idea of Gerard’s steady amber gaze icing against her in betrayal—turning against her just as her first two lovers had, this time due to her own choices—made every lingering golden ripple disappear, replaced by a sick churning deep in Lorelei’s stomach.

Enough. Being a queen meant making unbearable choices for the sake of her people’s safety, even when “people” meant a stubbornly noble general. For now, she needed all of her focus for the next set of challenges. As she and Gerard neared the field, the noisy, enthusiastic crowd parted easily around them, revealing their final three pairs of competitors waiting ahead. Oberon, magnificent in swathes of deep copper and umber silk, stood by the throne in low-voiced conversation with some of his usual hangers-on.

Hmm. That particular grouping looked significantly smaller than the day before. Could it be a sign that the court was turning against its temporary host? One could always hope, after the public tantrums he’d thrown the day before.

Smiling serenely, Lorelei gave him a courteous nod as he turned to face her and her partner. Oberon’s upper lip twitched with distaste as he glanced up and down their rumpled, grass-stained and sparkle-covered outfits … and then his gaze moved past them, over Lorelei’s left shoulder, and his lips compressed into a tight but disturbingly smug smile.

What was he plotting now? As Lorelei took her smiling place by the other contestants, she aimed a discreet glance in the direction he had turned. One of Oberon’s missing sycophants was hurrying towards them from the woods beyond, beaming with the confidence of a pet who knew he’d earned a great reward.

Gerard leaned close, his whisper brushing warmth against her skin. “’Ware the lackey.”

Of course he’d taken note as well. Lorelei nodded infinitesimally, shifting even closer to his side and drawing strength from the reminder.

Whatever Oberon threw at them, they would face together—and there was no one here who could defeat them as a unit. Of that, she was entirely certain, even as a cold breeze flew across the tournament field and made her shiver with the first bite of oncoming winter.

At Oberon’s signal, the usual herald stepped forward with her golden hunting horn. As she raised it to her ivy-green lips, the air itself seemed to withdraw in a deep, pulsing, expectant breath—and then she blew a long, ringing peal that echoed across the field, through the crisp autumnal air, bringing the big, rustling crowd to attentive silence. The magic of so many fae’s gathered energy and attention formed a palpable pressure in the air, and Lorelei felt her heart beat faster with the thrill of it.

For so many years, she had sat in those outskirts, looking on as a mere guest. Now, she was finally an active participant, proving to everyone at her mother’s court that she did still belong here, among them, no matter where else her mission had carried her.

“Welcome,” Oberon proclaimed, his voice magnified to echo across their audience, “to the final day of our sacred tourney, the day in which we choose a final pair of competitors to share this shining victory.” He raised his hands in a slow clap. When he drew them apart, a single golden arrow lay across each of his palms. “Any bearer of this sign will be ever welcome at our highest tables, the pride of Efaelen forevermore.”

Lorelei didn’t need any golden arrows to earn her usual place at her mother’s table as a diplomatic guest of state. Still, every muscle in her being tightened with fierce yearning at the sight of future triumph made tangible. When she finally wrenched her gaze away to glance up and to her side, she found Gerard’s keen gaze fixed on those golden symbols, marking them as his target. Of course. Neither of them would ever fight for anything less than first place.

Perhaps they really were two of a kind.

“Only three more challenges lie before you,” Oberon announced, his gaze passing over all four pairs of competitors. His smile was gracious and his voice honeyed … but when his gaze landed on Lorelei, he closed one eyelid in the briefest possible wink. The hairs on the back of her neck lifted in warning. “Each pair will be given a different clue before being dropped into position to solve your joint riddle. The first to find the prize, of course, will win. And now, if everyone will bear with me a moment as I hand out those clues…”

Lorelei’s eyebrows drew together as she watched him stroll towards the closest pair of competitors, a tall dryad and a shorter swamp hag, and lean over to whisper into the dryad’s ear. Where had all this nonsense about secret whispers come from? In every trial thus far, each pair’s hints had been visible to the audience at large, so that the onlookers could vicariously enjoy that deeper challenge. There was no reason not to let the audience see or hear these clues, too …

Unless Oberon was planning to cheat.

As he moved with unhurried grace to the second pair, the first pair huddled together for an urgent private conference. Did they look too excited by what he’d told them?

Damn it, she couldn’t stand not knowing her enemies’ plans! Where were Ailana’s spies when she needed them? Lorelei set her teeth together, trying not to let her anxiety become visible in foot tapping or any other telltale movements. She was nearly shivering with the effort of staying still—until Gerard’s free hand closed over hers, warm and steadying.

Silently, she let out a long breath, letting herself absorb strength from his big figure beside her. Whatever trickery Oberon might attempt, they would handle it together. Whatever …

“Now.” Oberon’s smile was a fierce peeling-apart of lips around his teeth as he stepped into place just before them. “Which hint was I meant to give you two, to help you succeed in this challenge?” he murmured. “Let me think … oh, yes. I do remember now.” Vicious triumph lit his face as he leaned even closer and whispered with the full force of his magic: “Gerard Emmanuel de Moireul, I command you by your true name to kill Lorelei, your partner.

“And now!” he said brightly to the field as a whole. “Let the trial begin!”

The world shifted beneath their feet. Colors whirled sickeningly around them as they were swept away into the setting of their next trial.

Lorelei landed with a painful thud on rocky ground—and Gerard wrenched his arm violently away from her as he reached to draw his sword.

25

“Get away from me!” Gerard bellowed the words with all his might—but they emerged only as a hoarse and desperate whisper from the moving cage of his body, which was no longer under his control. As if caught in a nightmare, he felt his own hand reach against his will to grasp the hilt of his sword while Lorelei stumbled backwards, mouth wide open in shock, nearly tripping on the rocky mountainside where the two of them had been dropped.