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Except now I’m not there to do that. My chest constricts painfully.
But I’m fixing that. I’ll get back and never leave them alone again.
Galen’s hard stare has me holding my breath. He rubs his hand down his face and sighs. “Fine.”
My smile broadens, and it’s not a bit fake.
“But follow my lead, do what I say.”
“Aye, aye, captain.” I salute.
He nearly rolls his eyes. “You’re worse than Sylvie.”
“But, hey”—I nudge him—“you love her, so I can’t be that bad.”
His sideways glare says otherwise.
“Have you considered my offer?” comes a voice from behind us.
I jump. The prince from the Court of Fire stands in all his glory, wearing an outfit not that unlike mine. And oh boy, it does him all the favors that mine doesn’t. It’d be a lie to say my mouth doesn’t water a bit at the sight of those sculpted abs in his lean form. Or the thighs that any runner would envy. His deep red hair is tied back behind his head, and despite his warrior-like appearance, he exudes the strange calm of a scholar.
“Yes, join us.” I share my blinding smile with him.
“What?” Galen says. “Now wait, we agreed I’m—”
“In charge?” I turn to him. “Once the game starts, yes, you are.” I glance back at the prince. “If you wish to join us, follow Galen’s lead.”
The prince smiles and nods.
Galen rubs his hand across his face as if having a foreign prince and a human for allies is just about the worst thing that could ever happen to him.
“So, do you know anything about this game, Prince…” I incline my head and raise my brows. I should at least know my ally’s name.
A quirky smile pulls at his lips. “You really don’t know?”
Galen groans.
A touch of heat rises to my cheeks. Right, guess most people would have known that. I shake my head. “I’m new here.”
“Lysandir.”
“Right, well, nice to meet you, Lysandir.”
“As for the game…” He looks up and past me toward the crowds gathered to watch. He steps near us and whispers, “Watch the crowd. See where they look. It may give us some clues.”
I blink. He’s right. Already their attention has been glued to certain areas.
Our announcer—and golly, I don’t know his name either—traipses out onto a raised stage that overlooks the various entrances into the maze. His outfit today is garish green with highlights of gold and red, like some kind of parrot. He’d fit right in at a Mardi Gras parade, though the fae seem to love it too, their voices rising in a strange chant before he calls them silent.
“Today’s game is a perennial favorite,” he says. “The labyrinth!”
Fae clap and stomp their feet, creating a rolling thunder that echoes into my bones.
This time, I pay attention as he describes the history of the game. However, just about every sentence sends my heart plummeting further and further.
Beasts. Obstacles. Traps. And the whole darn thing is a maze.
As a teen, I was a champion over old man Murdock’s annual corn maze. I held the record two years in a row. But the scariest things in there were the men who stumbled in after too much cider, and they were easy enough to avoid. I rub at my necklace through my shirt. This promises to be much more dangerous.
