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But then I’ll lose my shot, my way home to Gran.
I straighten my spine and look straight ahead at my competition.
I can do this. For her.
“The king’s little human? Don’t think that gives you an advantage,” one woman taunts as I pass.
A few others glare my way. One bares pointed fangs.
Oh peachy, just peachy. As if I wasn’t at a disadvantage already being human, my competition hates me.
I could stand near the outside of the group and face the crowd, but somehow that would be so much worse. The fae are all taller than me. If I can get to the center, maybe I can fade from view. I glance back over one shoulder, judging the distance, and smack right into somebody.
The impact knocks the wind from my lungs, and I stumble back, arms flailing as I try to keep my balance.
The man grabs my hand to steady me. “Careful.”
“I’m sorry. So sorry. I didn’t mean to bump into you like that.” The words spill out of me. “Really, I thought the way was clear. I looked back, then bam! Right into you and—”
“It’s fine. You’re small enough that you bounced right off.” His lips twitch as if he’s holding back a laugh.
“Right, well.” I brush stray hairs behind my ear. I hold out my hand to shake. “Anyhow, I’m Wren.”
He stares at it.
Shoot. Probably not a fae greeting. I’m about to drop it when he grabs my hand and gives it a little shake.
“I know.” Warm brown eyes twinkle with mirth.
A flush creeps across my cheeks. Of course, I bet they all do after that announcement and Sigurd showing me off to the crowd.
“I’m Galen,” he says.
“Nice to meet you, Galen.”
He’s built like a warrior but with more lean muscle than the body-builder type. Brown hair—not as long as many of the fae, male or female—curls around tanned ears in a balanced face that’s more boy next door than football star but still handsome.
I stick close to him as the announcer gives another grand, sweeping history of the games, most of which is drowned out by the steady thump of my pulse in my ears.
“And now,” the announcer says, “we shall begin the first game of this season’s competition, where no less than half of our competitors will be eliminated.”
I suck in a breath. Half? Already?
A murmur runs through the fae around me. Competitors shift on their feet and nudge one another. The heel of my boot slides across the ground. I’m not ready. Whatever this is—
“Fate,” the announcer begins, his deep voice carrying over us all, “always plays a hand in shaping our destinies and guiding our great court. It is only appropriate that it plays a role in our first challenge as well. Competitors, if fate is on your side, you shall advance. If not…”
I can’t see him. Even so, I can picture his shrug as the crowd responds in chuckles and indistinct commentary.
“A game of luck?” I ask.
Galen glances over at me. “Sounds like it.”
“Each competitor shall advance and select one gem from within this bag,” the announcer says. Above the heads of the fae around me, I can just make out the top of a blue sack as it’s raised in the air.
Competitors jostle toward the announcer. A few take off at a run, aiming to be first. One at a time, each reaches into the bag and pulls forth a glittering gemstone so big the potential value of it has me swaying on my feet. The blue stone hanging against my chest is suddenly heavy. It’s not real, is it? I glance toward the box, where Sigurd and the others sit in the shadows under an awning. My fingers slide over cold, hard stone. It’s so different than the little bird that sits just below my collarbone. I insisted on keeping my own necklace, even if it doesn’t fit perfectly with the rest of the outfit.
One by one, stones are drawn.
