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“Most nights are still manageable,” King Preston said, shifting his focus toward the ascending stairs. “Some, no creatures emerge at all. But others, we must prepare for an intense battle. So we are forced to always be on our guard once the sun goes down, never knowing what sort of night we will endure. This is why our people will not accept you, a mere mortal, unless you prove yourself. They have had to demonstrate their might and courage for two decades in order to survive. All we ask is that you subdueonecreature. If you cannot even do that, then you’re no Silverfrost. They have no reason to put their hope in you.”
“If you want me to prove myself, then don’t sacrifice me. Allow me tousemy magic.”
Preston and Nerissa burst into laughter.
“If you can’t access your magic,” Nerissa said, “then that is because your pathetic human nature won’t let you.” She shook her head. “You don’t wear forget-me-nots any longer, Snowflake. Whatever fae blood is in your veins must be something less powerful.”
Preston shrugged elegantly. “I’m not surprised. Can you imagine a royal fae choosing to breed with a mortal?” He grimaced. “Disgusting.”
Garrick’s voice was quiet. “Other royal families in Brytwilde marry humans.”
Nerissa startled, as if she’d forgotten the hunter was there. Then she turned, running a hand along his cheek. “Beautiful, I don’t keep you around for your thoughts. Silence.”
Obediently, Garrick clapped his mouth shut, his expression settling into one of cool indifference.
Footsteps echoed down the stairs to the left, and a man with ram’s horns and flowing blond hair emerged. He dipped into a hasty bow. “Your Majesties, the people began gathering hours ago. They grow impatient.”
“Good.” Preston shoved me forward. I stumbled, catching myself before I fell into the man. “Take her to the arena. My sister and I need to find our seats so we can enjoy the view.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
There was no remorse in the horned man’s eyes as he escorted me up the seemingly endless flight of steps, until sweat beaded on my brow and slithered down my back and I had to pause to catch my breath in the stairwell. Above, the murmuring of an unseen crowd thundered toward us, muffled but overwhelming all the same. How many citizens had walked from the city and waited here for hours? How many truly thought I was headed toward victory, and not my slaughter?
“Nearly there, Your Majesty,” the man said, startling me from my thoughts.
“If you truly think I am a Silverfrost,” I panted, “why lead me to my death? This is a spectacle! A horrifying show.”
Though his silver eyes were kind, his brow furrowed with confusion. “It is an honor to show your courage and power to your people, Your Majesty. A time-honored tradition among your ancestors.”
I had a wild desire to tear back down the staircase and rush from the fortress, to take my chances in the cold among the monsters that lurked within Brytwilde. As if sensing my thoughts, the man went on, “Come, there’s no reason to resist. If you run, the guards will kill you. At least in the arena, you’ll have an opportunity to defend and prove yourself.”
Swallowing back the urge to cry or scream, I gritted my teeth and forced my legs to move. One step. Another. The pulsing ofapplause and shouts and pounding footsteps rattled my chest the higher the horned fae and I rose, until I could hardly hear my own breaths.
“Here,” the man announced as we stopped at a landing. The steps stretched onward above us, but to our left, a narrow hall led into shadows.
Like the entrance to the arena in the castle, this hall stopped at another heavy door, guarded by two fae who watched me impassively. But unlike at the castle, I could sense wrongness clinging to the air. It was the sickly-sweet stench of rot mingled with a sensation that made me feel as if the air was slithering across my skin. Like the shadows were alive and moving—and toying with me. An icy chill snaked through my veins, but no power accompanied it. This wasn’t the cold of my winter magic. It was the cold of sheer terror in the presence of something evil and awful.
“I hope, for all our sakes, that you pass this test,” my escort muttered, and then without formality, shoved me toward the guards. A tall, curly-haired woman seized my wrist.
“Quick!” her companion shouted, unbolting the door.
The woman practically threw me inside, and the door slammed behind me.
Darkness.
