The rushed flurry of preparation gave way to a brittle, quiet waiting. The guests had arrived, greeted and seated by other fae—the only ones worthy. The chosen human servants lined up outside the immense double doors of the Grand Hall, with me pressed shoulder-to-shoulder in the third row. My skin, tingling from the fae powder, felt strangely sensitive, and the borrowed House Edris livery—the shimmering blue, tailored too tightly, with a dangerously exposed neckline—felt less like a uniform and more like a sacrificial snare.
In my hands, a heavy, polished gold tray weighed down my arms, set with a poorly balanced yet highly artful crystal pitcher of rose-scented water that refracted the blinding light leaking from under the doors. The complex perfume of the feast—burning scented oil, floral fae perfume, and the overwhelming, stimulating aroma of fermented fruit and rich, spiced wine—wafted out, heightening our anticipation and terror.
The fae butler stood in front of us, perfectly motionless, his silver-bound hair catching the dim light. He resembled a conductor readying an ensemble of disposable instruments. He held the rigid line with a single, wordless command.
Then, the command came. A simple nod, sharp and efficient. The heavy, carved doors groaned open with theatrical solemnity.
A wild orchestra of sound and heat overwhelmed us: a cacophony of sharp laughter, charming fae voices, and the dizzying, high-pitched swell of a hundred string and wind instruments. No doubt the human changelings trained by House Edris were inside, proving their value to their masters.
The first wave of servants, the young men laden with massive gold tureens and heavy wine ewers, stepped forward and dissolved into the hall.
My turn was in the third wave—the relief wave, meant to refresh the first course. I shifted slightly to the side, pressing close to the carved jamb of the open door, desperate to steal a glimpse into the heart of the revelry before I was forced to blind myself with servitude.
The Feast of Crossing was a terrifying, breathtaking spectacle of opulent excess. It stretched away from us, seemingly boundless, illuminated by countless tiered chandeliers made of glittering, cut crystal that poured blinding, warm candlelight onto the scene. Every surface was overloaded with decoration: columns were wrapped in sculpted plaster-work, and the high ceiling was a riot of painted scenes framed in intricate gold leaf. It wasn’t just decoration; it was too much—a visual assault of swirling curves, rich velvet, and polished metal.
Down the length of the hall, rows of impossibly long tables were set with gleaming white linen and stacked with gold serving dishes. The bounty was appalling: mountains of sculpted butter, roasted game dressed in floral crowns, pyramids of exotic, unnaturally colored fruits, and wine—so much wine, reflecting the light in shades of ruby and unnatural violet.
But the true center of power lay at the deepest end of the hall, where the head table was elevated on a low dais. Seated there, amidst the highest-ranking fae, was the imposing, familiar figure of the Head of House Edris, draped in heavy blue velvet and gold, his expression stiffly composed.
Beside him sat two figures whose presence radiated power like a physical, suffocating heat. They weren’t merely powerful fae; they were the absolute center of the gravitational field.
The man, with a crown of woven gold branches and impossibly straight, trailing hair, a rich, dark auburn that looked both regal and slightly untamed, held an authority so immense it seemed to compress the very air in the hall. His face was a study in sharp, perfect indifference; his amber eyes dimmed, bored with the revelry beneath him.
Next to him sat a woman: her gold hair gleamed brighter than any gold decoration in the hall, a painful beauty sculpted from wealth and terrible power. She was draped in ivory and crimson silks. Her soft, pink smile was impossibly still, painted to hide the strange, fathomless darkness lurking behind her emerald-green eyes.
The power emanating from the pair—their sheer, suffocating essence—threatened to buckle my knees. I had never felt anything like it in the human realm, like the power of gods.
A young man beside me, his face suddenly pale and shining with sweat, breathed a single, shaky whisper, “Did you see? They’re here.”
Another man leaned in front of me, blocking my view. The tray in his hands dipped, his crystal glasses rattling violently; one of the candied cherries within rolled off the meticulously arranged berry pile. He stepped back to catch his breath and steady his hands, shock and terror in his wide eyes, a bead of sweat on his temple. His answer barely reached my ears over the roar of the feast: “The Seelie King and Queen are here.”
Not old gods, then. But just as dangerous to be around for a flawed mortal.
“I c-can’t,” the young man stammered, his eyes darting wildly. The fae butler nodded at us—time for the next group. I looked at my tray. Scented water. They could absolutely do without scented water.
My determination flared, overriding the panic. I had to see, to learn, to survive. Better for me to observe the front lines than offer this man to the wolves.
“Switch with me,” I ordered, my voice low, but fierce enough to pierce his terror.
He was stunned into immobility. But we didn’t have time.
“Switch with me now,” I insisted, my jaw clenched, forcing the command through the barrier of his shock. “I’m in the third group. Control yourself. And find a way to stay away from that side of the room near the dais when you go out, okay?”
His arms moved slowly—way too slowly—but he moved just enough that I could force the switch, gently trading my lighter water tray for his heavy, rattling burden of crystal wine goblets. Wasting no more time—already receiving a pinched, yet curious glance from the butler—I stepped forward, bracing myself, and entered the hall.
My forced confidence fueled immediate, desperate action. Where to start? Servants roamed between tables with half-empty trays, moving like puppets on strings. There was a clear divide in skill: the human favorites were effortlessly passive, their features smooth and unaffected by the constant, demanding calls for attention, enduring hands that touched not to request service but a taste. Those unused to the chaos had panic plain in their eyes, even with their persistent, obedient grins. I followed the experienced ones, the ones who’d learned to detach. Start at the beginning of the nearest table.
My tray of desserts in crystal glasses—small, luminous spheres constructed of candied berries and bleeding sap—was a popular choice, the weight significantly lighter before I left the first table. Fortunately, I wasn’t one of the strikingly beautiful favorites, whose lighter hair and softer voices made them easy targets for wandering, insistent fae hands. A few frightening pinches and pokes, but most of their attention was on the others.
There wasn’t much time to observe. It was only when my tray was entirely empty, my wandering ended halfway through the hall, that the fae lost interest in me. The pause gave me the space to hurriedly search across the blinding room.
The difference in power was palpable, like dampness in the air before a storm. It was a new awareness that took root thanks to the fae seed—a heightened part of my ability to sense thoughts and secrets. I tried to reach my mind out without touching skin-to-skin, to see if I could recreate what had happened at the Veil crossing.
No flood, no trickle. No direct thoughts.
But I could feel unique traces from the front tables. Similar to the way thoughts felt when they came to me, it was a collection of raw, powerful feelings I unconsciously pulled toward me—pride, contempt, hunger, and ancient, heavy boredom. Maybe it was something I could practice, learn to control better, the same way I’d practiced mind-reading with my magic show crowds. But I didn’t have Fia to watch my back.
One of those unique traces drew my attention—a strange, vibrant thread of coiled energy. At the table on the right, closest to the Seelie rulers, I noticed him. And, much like I found him too easily, Caius’s emerald eyes brightened, catching mine across the room. He’d seen me, alright.
I immediately slipped between the long tables, trying to get lost in the tangled dance of servants and blocked by other dark heads. At least my hair made me blend in. Most of the chosen servants were shades of brown, some even as dark as mine.
One of the other servants whispered that they needed more wine two rows up, but he had been ordered by a fae to get something personal—two contradicting orders. I assured him I’d take care of it. I rushed out of the hall, hurrying to fetch more wine.
Caius caught my elbow in the hushed servant hall, his grip firm but not bruising. The scent of him—rich cypress—was intensely intoxicating, an unsettling reminder of his powerful nature. The servants avoided coming too close, granting Caius the space to do whatever he wanted to me.
“How good to see you made it back safely,” he said, his voice a low, musical rumble.
My stomach churned, hot acid rising in my throat. That confirmed it. Caius had told House Edris he’d seen me. He’d given them the vital clue that led Dermot straight to us.
I kept my eyes fiercely down. He wouldn’t rattle me. Not here. Not Líadan.
“Is your lovely sister somewhere near?” he asked, his emerald eyes searching the crowd expectantly. “I’m sure she’d want to see how you perform tonight—in case she plans to bid on you herself.”
The teasing humor in his timbre was sickeningly cavalier. I bit down hard on the inside of my cheek, tasting blood before speaking.
“She’s dead,” I ground out, the word flat, final.
Pained surprise widened his emerald eyes. He looked genuinely… hurt. The beautiful, arrogant mask fractured, revealing a flicker of something sharp and deeply unsettling. “But Fia was…”
Hearing her name on his disgusting tongue spiked hot fury through me, an acid fire that threatened to dissolve my Líadan mask. I jerked my arm away violently. He released me immediately, his touch evaporating. My enraged quiver shook the tray, the gold surface warping with my fear. Inhale. Exhale. Control. You’re no match for a fae prince, Wren. I forced my shoulders to relax, to douse my fiery heat with cool resolve. He was the reason Fia had been murdered. I wouldn’t let him be the reason I died, too.
An uneasy acceptance vanished the surprise and pain from his deceptively alluring face. His eyes dropped to my hands, now steady, the tray perfectly balanced.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, his voice catching slightly on the last word. “That wasn’t my intention.”
Seelie can’t lie. The core tenet of fae nature rang in my mind. I risked meeting his green eyes. It was impossible to guess what he meant. He didn’t intend for her to die?
Fia had told me he’d warned her not to try to save me, yet he’d given her the information she’d needed to make it happen. The only thing I could be sure of was that he hadn’t wanted her murdered.
A sharp, stifled whimper from a recessed alcove down the corridor broke the heavy quiet between us. My gaze cut sideways instinctively, though I tried desperately to keep my rising distress hidden from the prince standing over me.
In the deep shadows of the stone archway, a fae woman had a serving boy pinned ruthlessly against the wall. One of her pale hands was wrapped tight around his throat, choking back his breath to keep him silent, while her other hand deliberately explored his body, tracing down his chest with a slow, violating intimacy. The boy was trembling; more so as his tunic dropped against the stone. He was young. Much too young.
A cold wave of nausea washed over me, thick and terrifying. This was the consequence of being a human in their world. We weren’t people to them; we were toys, pretty objects bred and trained to satisfy, entertain, and obey whatever wicked, selfish whim crossed their minds.
Caius seemed to notice the sudden, rigid stillness that took over my body. I couldn’t say a word, my chest locking as I barely drew breath, unable to tear my eyes away from the casual cruelty out of the corner of my eye. Following my line of sight, his green eyes narrowed, and the easygoing prince was suddenly forced to look at the ugly reality of his own kind.
“Leave him,” Caius commanded. His voice wasn’t loud, but the playfulness was gone, replaced by the flat, bored indentation of royal authority.
The fae woman froze. She slowly pulled her hand from the boy’s pants, her expression twisting not into shame, but a pout of petulant annoyance. I could practically feel her irritation prickling through the dim corridor. But even as the least likely to inherit his father’s throne, Caius was still a prince. She couldn’t defy him.
She offered a shallow, mocking curtsy and winked at him. “He’s all yours,” she purred, her voice dripping with suggestive amusement. Turning on her heel, she sauntered back into the main hall, completely unrepentant.
The young serving boy dropped his head in a hasty, trembling bow to Caius, his eyes wide with lingering panic. Without a second glance, he scooped his discarded tunic from the floor, turned, and rushed toward the kitchens—the only excuse he had not to return immediately to the predators in the hall.
The silence that rushed back into the corridor felt suffocating.
“She’ll just find him again later,” I said, the words cutting through my compliance, raw and bitter.
Caius met my eyes, unblinking. For a second, the look in his gaze wasn’t quite as unashamed as I would have assumed from a creature of the court. The disillusionment shadowed his emerald eyes.
“I know,” he said.
My eyes dropped back to the tray. “Is there anything more you need of me, Your Royal Highness?” I asked, my voice flat, perfected into the subservience of Líadan.
A loaded pause preceded his answer. His silent, penetrating assessment of me was painfully uncomfortable, focusing on the stiffness in my posture. “You may go,” he said, a low, unexpected roughness making the sound quiet.
Maybe fae princes were capable of feeling guilt. Good. That didn’t mean I’d forgive him.
I walked away steadily, the heavy, empty tray hanging limply, not even tempted to look back. Like Dermot, there was only one reason I’d ever want to see Caius again—and he’d be on his knees begging.
***
I returned to the hall, the weight of the wine tray grounding me in the immediate reality of my servitude. My spine was rigid, my expression a carefully crafted mask of friendly, passive efficiency—the kind that invited no curiosity and offered no resistance. Yet beneath the thin skin of my compliance, the encounter with Caius had left me fiercely agitated.
As I navigated the narrow gaps between the long tables, the smell of sweet fae wine and hot wax overwhelming the usual perfume, I cautiously tested my ability. I directed my awareness outward, searching for a trace, a thought, any resonance from the fae lords.
No words, but the faint pulse of feeling was there—a dull, rhythmic throbbing of self-importance and easy cruelty. It was like tuning a fiddle, a meticulous tightening that required patience to find the note and prevent the sharp snap of a string.
Then, amidst the chaotic noise and light, I felt the unmistakable pressure of a gaze, a humming demand that seeped into my bones. The sensation was intense, utterly focused on me.
I clenched my jaw, a fresh wave of irritation washing over me. Was it Caius again? Had he followed me, seeking further sport? The shame of my moment of weakness earlier fueled a defiant anger.
I turned my head, prepared to face the taunting emerald eyes and deliver complete detachment that would spoil his game.
But it wasn’t green that I saw.
My breath hitched—a crack in the glass of my composure.
He was a face from a dream, a figure of confused memory. His violet gaze—the exact, impossible shade I remembered from the little boy—had a strange, seismic familiarity. He wasn’t a child now, but I’d known those eyes all my life, and those eyes beheld all of me in an endless instant.
I’d never seen a face so captivating; it was an agonizing ecstasy that no canvas could capture. He was otherworldly, a ghost and a god, with silver-white hair that fell like polished silk, alabaster skin that seemed to absorb the light, sculpted features with a wide, defined jaw, high-set cheekbones, and dark, sharp brows framing those deeply hooded eyes.
The slight parting of his pale, rosy lips mirrored mine, a soundless, echoed inhale. The gentle swing of the elaborate earrings—delicate strands of silver filigree and polished amethyst—on his pointed ears hinted at the subtlest turn of his narrow chin toward me. He wasn’t just observing; he was locked onto me.
A swift, hard kick to my ankle dragged me back into my skin.
Stumbling, but managing not to drop the tray—thanks to years of fae dance lessons honing my balance—I hurried forward to catch up with the human server in front of me, now a half table’s length away. I glanced over my shoulder at the human behind me, receiving her nervous, wide-eyed stare. She was right to be worried. Attracting attention in this place was dangerous.
But my curiosity wasn’t spent. I tightened my grip on the tray, refocusing my attention on watching my steps, the careful placement of the wine, and how the servers next to me moved—timing their movements so they never stayed too long or left too soon to satisfy the endless, demanding fae appetites.
When I could, I snuck glances at the tables closest to the King and Queen, extra careful not to look anywhere above the edge of the royal couple’s table. Based on the arrangement, the white-haired young man was someone incredibly important—somehow directly connected to the royal family—as he sat at the table closest to the King and Queen—the same table as Caius, though halfway down.
There was another silver-white head beside him—a woman with mirrored features, her pale lips painted a startling crimson to add more color to her pale face, her sculpted curls piled high onto her head, woven and pinned with moonstone accessories and thick silver-beaded strings. A powerful fae family, clearly. The purple-eyed boy, now grown up, was one of them.
Who was he really?
My fear of Caius and the Seelie rulers was immense, but my desperation to understand that gaze—my distorted, suppressed memories where he’d offered me a lifeline—was greater. I had to get closer. The risk was necessary. I needed to see if the bond we’d had was real or just another fae trick.
I busied my hands by collecting empty wine goblets, an excuse to approach, ever careful not to look at Caius or the raised dais directly. Each movement was deliberately slow and careful. I didn’t want to give away my intentions. But my heartbeat quickened when I felt his eyes watching me again—or maybe I only hoped it was him again.
The young male fae at the table end closest to the dais seemed too interested in a conversation about hunting to pay attention to me. Now, slowly move to the far end and subtly touch his hand.
A hard, sudden hand snatched my forearm. I didn’t drop the tray, but the unexpected force rattled the crystal goblets with a sharp clatter.
The hand belonged to another horribly alluring fae, a young man crowned with wild, flaming red hair. His hazel eyes—wide and predatory—leered at me, a consuming hunger that locked my knees.
“Stop pestering the servants, Mael,” Caius said smoothly from his seat further down the table. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him watching us, tight amusement playing on his lips.
I knew the name. Mael. The Heir Apparent. While there was supposedly no clear winner yet, Mael was the oldest living son of the Seelie King and Queen. One of the worst fae to be caught by.
The golden-haired fae woman next to him—a subdued, dimmer version of the Queen behind her—glanced at me boredly, then delicately sipped her wine.
The cruel flame-haired prince grabbed my face, his fingers strong and hot, forcibly twisting my chin up to admire my features. Vile thoughts oozed from the contact. “What are you looking around for?” he asked, his voice low, laced with a familiar, entitled menace. “Something sweet catch your eye?”
The table erupted in indulgent, beguiling fae laughter. Admirers laughing at his dumb jokes? Yes, this had to be that Mael. I’d stumbled directly into a trap. And I was dressed in a snare.
“This one looks wild-caught,” Mael said, tracing the line of my jaw with a thumb. His eyes dropped to the low slope of my neckline. “Not a trace of civility.”
He thought I was the wild one? Disgust and rage blinded me, burning away the careful control. I forgot to think, forgot the mask. My mind, stripped of caution by the intense emotion, became entirely open. The thoughts in his head, the images he held, were a sudden, overwhelming torrent pouring into mine.
I saw the image of me in his mind, his cruel hands roaming to other places, and a particular diamond necklace, a piece of dazzlingly cold white fire, around my neck. Its unfamiliar name, a soft, intimate murmur of syllables, dropped instantly onto my tongue.
So I said it, my voice barely a strained whisper, yet clear enough to cut through the fading laughter: “Funny that you think the Ard Diamond would be prettier on me than Aillis.”
His fingers jerked away as if scalded, the sudden separation deafening, cutting off my ability to listen.
Red-hot fury and raw embarrassment tinged his cheeks. The entire hall muted with horrifying severity. The indignant rage I felt instantly drained, replaced by an acidic wave of terror. My stomach lurched. No. I’d made myself a target. Stupid. Now everyone was looking at me—from the Head of House Edris to the terrifying King and Queen.
“What did you say to me?” Mael hissed, each word pressed, weighted with the pressure of a hammer to my gut.
So much for getting out of here alive. The eyes of the high fey were on us—the foolish human and the humiliated heir apparent. The silence was softly broken by gossiping whispers, eyes darting between the red-haired prince and the beautiful woman beside him—his wife, Aillis. I’d seen a trace of her in his mind, a feeling like profound boredom attached to her in his thoughts.
“How do you know of the Ard Diamond, mortal?” the beautiful woman, Aillis, asked, her voice even and her expression deliberately detached, but a sharp pinprick of hurt and fear glistened in her eyes.
I’d never heard of the Ard Diamond—not with my ears. Unfortunately, it seemed every fae guest here tonight had heard of it. And it was something a lowly human servant should never, under any circumstance, know about. Any answer would doom me. The truth? Dangerous. A lie? Easily detected. Seelie creatures could not lie, so they’d learned to be very good at understanding when humans did.
“Answer her,” Mael demanded, his voice dangerously low, his red hair seeming to glow with his restrained anger, like fire banked in a forge. The compulsion to obey his demand clawed at my mind.
Stalling was over. His patience was a frayed thread, a snap imminent.
“I… misspoke,” I said. It was a terrible, unconvincing lie. “I-I heard someone say you gave your wife an… old diamond.”
He smiled, a terrible, hateful smirk that stretched his mouth thin. “Are you saying we all heard wrong?” he asked, gesturing casually to the ravenous, observing audience. Eyes all around were hungry for a downfall—mine or his, it didn’t matter. The hall was a throbbing entity, eager to feast on my pathetic struggle.
Aillis’ eyes widened slightly, the subtlest glance over at the devouring fae, the only outward sign of her nervousness. She placed her hand on her husband’s rigid shoulder and spoke in a low, calm voice, “Perhaps she did misspeak. You are intimidating, husband. It would not be the first time you terrified a mortal so completely that they spoke strangely.”
His chin raised, the compliment eased him back into his mask of amused control. He laughed, a short, sharp bark. “I suppose you wanted to catch my eye, foolish human,” he said, the fury still a dark shadow in his hazel eyes. “You should know better than to provoke me.”
He moved impossibly fast, a blur to my human eyes. One moment, he was standing; the next, I was on the ground. His heavy, polished boot slammed against my chest, knocking the breath out of me completely. The impact was brutal, crushing me against the hard stone floor. The scent of stale wine and copper flooded my nostrils. It was the same—just as fast as Fia’s fall in the cellar.
“It will be the last mistake you ever make,” Mael said, a growl delighted and hateful. He looked up at the watching crowd, pleased to show off his authority. Those fleeting seconds were my last chance to suck in air, to writhe and struggle to loosen the crushing weight even an inch.
“Anyone here intending to bid on this mortal?” he asked the hall, his voice echoing with mocking contempt. No one answered. He laughed. “Relax, I intend to compensate you.”
My hand clasped around his ankle, a desperate, instinctual movement. His boots were too high—I couldn’t reach his skin. He looked down, his lips twisting with disgust, flinching at the contact. He then kneeled heavily onto my chest, amplifying the pain. “It’s been some time since someone approached me with a death wish,” he said.
With a final, desperate surge of strength fueled by the memory of Fia’s blood, I clawed up, my fingertips brushing his arm, my nails scratching thin, red lines into his pale skin. It was enough. The violent scrap dragged more forbidden thoughts to the surface, close enough to grasp with the slightest touch. They can’t know I have it.
The red-haired prince delivered a blinding, brutal kick to my side, a cracking pain that curled me in like a dying spider, my arms and legs rushing in to shield the hurt. But I couldn’t stop yet. I’d dug my grave with a dumb, reckless statement—now it was time to dig myself out with another dumb, reckless statement. If there was one thing my sister had taught me about Seelie fey, it was their inherent desire to judge and punish those who break laws.
“You stole the Ard Diamond,” I gasped, choked, breathless, the sound indeterminable to human ears. But I was seeking a more sensitive audience. Pure malice aimed at me, the burning hatred in Mael’s eyes made him monstrous, sharp canines protruding from a mouth stretched in an animalistic snarl in the second before he killed me.
But the moment stopped.
The entire hall inhaled collectively, a chilling surprise that shocked the room in a renewed, astonished stillness. Standing between my furious attacker and me, his feet braced on the floor on either side of my curled body, was the white-haired fae. His straining arms were raised to halt Mael’s downward slash, caught mid-air, a struggle of muscle and will.
Coughing and wheezing from the pain and possible internal bleeding, all I could do was lie on the ground and watch. The purple-eyed fae looked down at me for a fraction of a second, and in that intense, singular instant, I felt the memory of the purple-eyed boy’s kindness crash into my pain. It was a dizzying current of understanding, recognition, and intense, protective focus—a connection that felt more real than the crushing pressure on my ribs.
“I think I’d like to hear what else she has to say,” the violet-eyed fae said, his tone showing no hint of effort despite holding back the furious prince. He shoved Mael’s arm away and straightened, his silver-white hair falling smoothly back into place. “It is an interesting accusation. Would you deny it, Mael?”
“Why would you care?” Mael snarled, rubbing his arm. A weak, spiteful smile curled his lip as he added, “It’s not as if it would ever be yours to give, Fionn.”
“Perhaps not,” the violet-eyed fae said casually, his voice possessing a quiet, terrifying resonance, “but there are a few in this hall who would disagree—and more still who might someday have that right.”
A golden-haired fae stepped in, grabbing Mael by the collar. “The bastard may not have a claim to the damn diamond, but you know I do,” he spat. He handled the heir apparent with too little reverence to be a humble noble. He was another prince. He had his father’s amber eyes and his mother’s golden hair. “Either deny it or tell me why.”
“Prince Mael did not steal the Ard Diamond.” The Queen’s voice rose above the squabble, demanding all attention with the sharp clarity of a struck bell. She stood to address her subjects, as ethereal and commanding as the rising sun, strands of gold hair like brilliant rays of light. Her sons looked over at her; the golden-haired prince reluctantly released his brother, a strained tension in his broad shoulders.
“Nor did I give it away,” she continued, her emerald eyes sweeping over the hushed tables, “as that is not my right.” She paused, allowing the gravity of her words to settle, observing reactions, taking note of the doubting frowns and the relieved nods. “I lent the Ard Diamond to my dear son, as a surprise for his lovely wife to lift her spirits after the tragic loss of their child.” The crowd murmured, the sound a practiced wave of sympathetic sorrow.
My neck twisted to catch a glimpse of Aillis over the table. Although her expression was meticulously unmoved, she was almost imperceptibly tensed, her eyes fixed rigidly on her folded hands. The air around her was brittle with suppressed emotion.
“As I too know what it’s like to lose a being so precious,” the Queen said, placing a hand over her heart, acting properly heartbroken, although the emotion never touched the dark, unfeeling depths of her green eyes. “Gazing at a thing so beautiful often helped me through such painful times.”
Mael composed himself instantly, donning a mask of mild grief and gratefulness, appropriate for public viewing. The golden-haired prince remained tense; the flexed muscles in his crossed arms and narrowed eyes were signs of his loathing restraint.
Fionn cast a fleeting glance over his shoulder, his violet gaze meeting mine—my mind went blank, the searing intensity of those eyes momentarily erasing the sharp, spiking pain in my side. But he looked back at the Queen so quickly, reminding me that I was abandoned and alone on the cold marble floor.
“The Ard Diamond was borrowed,” she assured her guests, her voice final, “to be returned to me, where it rightfully belongs, within a sennight.” The subtle warning in the word sennight hung in the air—a political chess move played out over my wounded body.
“And my wife and I are grateful for the Queen’s generosity,” Mael said, bowing low to acknowledge his mother. “Alas, this mortal has spoiled the surprise, so it is only right I return the borrowed diamond early.” He glanced at his brothers with exaggerated disappointment. “What a shame my brothers are so quick to listen to the ramblings of a little human.”
Brothers. Plural. The blonde-haired, broad-shouldered fae clearly had features of both his parents. But that left…Fionn. The violet-eyed prince. My purple-eyed boy.
“Yet she was right,” the Seelie King said. The hall was quiet again; the fragile ease the Queen had restored was instantly lost. The King remained seated, his posture casual, yet his bright, amber eyes studied me with a power that made the marrow in my bones feel cold.
“I doubt my son would be so foolish as to involve a human in his surprise,” the King said, the word surprise stressed just enough to be a subtle dismissal of his wife’s elaborate lie. He wanted his guests to doubt his Queen’s words. His wife’s eyes narrowed, but she didn’t look at him; she didn’t dare aim any displeasure at him directly. Their wordless fight felt like a heavy, invisible chain dragging across the floor.
“Explain yourself, human,” the Queen ordered, struggling to retain her slipping authority in the overwhelming presence of her husband. “Who has whispered this to you?”
I was too overwhelmed—and hunched over—to speak. I rolled onto my side, trying to get onto my knees. My side ached, spiking with a sharp, stabbing pain when I tried to lift my stomach away from my legs. The smell of metallic blood and dust was close, the pain dizzying enough to break my concentration.
A shadow stretched over me, and my chin raised just as an open palm reached out. The violet-eyed fae prince, Fionn, was down on one knee on the cold stone, offering his hand to me. The simple act felt impossibly tender amidst the surrounding malice.
“Did your masters teach you so poorly?” Mael demanded, impatient that I hadn’t answered.
“I often find it difficult to display good manners when you are near, Mael,” Fionn replied, a subtle, sharp tease in his even tone. He didn’t wait for me to decide—he carefully placed one hand behind my elbow and another behind my back, helping me to stand.
The brief, necessary contact of his skin was an electric jolt, flooding me with that intense sense of deep, protective familiarity. This was definitely the boy from my memories. The strongest, most dominant thought in his mind was knowing me—a bittersweet recognition of relief tightly tangled with thorns of worry. Yet his conscious mind was a fortress, thoughts blocked behind high, impenetrable walls.
He’s a prince. The realization was a heavy stone in my gut. He’d known my secret, yet never revealed his own status. Had it been a secret then, too?
Once I was balanced—unsteadily—Fionn distanced himself, stepping away instantly to face the Seelie King and Queen. The momentary physical warmth of his touch vanished, replaced by numb formality.
“Your Majesty,” he said, chin bowed to show reverence, “I suspect the human herself doesn’t know the answer. Her silence isn’t disobedience. She is simply too simple to understand.”
His answer struck me harder than Mael’s foot. He’d just implied I was an idiot. Seelie can’t lie. The brutal logic was undeniable—simple humans aren’t a threat—yet it was an unsettling contrast to the boy who’d once praised my cleverness in secret. The bond I’d trusted was frayed by doubt and bitter confusion.
The Seelie King laughed, a brief, deep chuckle that rattled the chandeliers. The answer had clearly amused him.
“Is that so?” he asked. His amber eyes, glowing with a restless, consuming power, landed on me. The intense pressure of his gaze urged my wounded body to kneel. Shakily, I obeyed the instinct, the movement sending a fresh, hot spike of pain through my ribs. I dropped down onto the stone, my arm clinging protectively to my throbbing side. I ducked my chin, pressing my face toward the ground—all the better to hide the lie in my expression.
“Your Majesty, I am deeply sorry for my incompetence,” I said, the words muffled by my position. “When the prince grabbed me, I suddenly knew. I don’t know why I said it—it was like I was enchanted.”
A rumble of relieved, if skeptical, gossip moved through the hall. Pretending to be naive and simple is a rational defense, I thought bitterly. Hinting that someone else motivated the political hit was a classic performer’s trick—take the attention off me by guiding eyes elsewhere.
“How curious,” the Seelie King said. His deep tone was too even, giving nothing away.
“This human just arrived in the fae realm,” Caius said, lazily swishing ruby-red wine in a raised goblet. His tone was bored, dismissive, a calculated attempt to minimize my significance. “She’s too new to be involved with anyone.”
“Just arrived through the Veil?” the Seelie King asked, head slightly turned toward the Head of House Edris.
“Yes, Your Majesty, arrived early this morning,” Lord Edris confirmed, his voice high and thin with terror.
“That explains her poor manners,” Mael sniped, eager to reclaim his pride. “She won’t last long.”
“I promise she won’t appear before you again, Your Majesties, Your Highnesses.” Lord Edris stumbled over his own words, his voice strained with worry that my behavior would reflect poorly on him and his house.
“She is available to claim, isn’t she, Lord Edris?” Fionn asked, his voice cutting through the panic, precise and sharp, his violet eyes locked on the Head of the House.
The man looked utterly puzzled, sweat glistening on his temples. “Of course, Your Royal High—”
“Then I claim her,” Fionn said, his voice flat, decisive, not waiting for the formal pageantry. The air around him suddenly thinned, rigid with his fierce resolve. “I doubt anyone else would offer you a fair price after her display of poor manners.” His head turned slightly, the movement minuscule, but I felt the immense, chilling sensation that momentarily numbed the pain in my side. “And my brother was overzealous with his punishment. Injuries like that would lower her value.”
The phrasing—lower her value—was a calculated, devastating blow to my pride. Yet, the act of objectification could save my life. A useless object no one else should want.
“And what if I choose to bid?” Mael challenged, his face hardened in frustrated fury, his voice harsh.
“Come now, brother,” Caius said, his gaze trained on his nearly-empty glass, his voice laced with mocking, velvet amusement. “We all know you’re only interested because Fionn is. You’ll forget all this tomorrow. Let Fionn feel like a hero and protect the little thing.” His eyes lifted, and he smiled, amused, adding, “It’s the brotherly thing to do.”
Mael’s glance passed between his brothers, the argument hitting its mark. He must’ve heard the reason in Caius’s argument, stronger than the spite for Fionn. He sat back at the table, lowering himself with a performative casualness, draping his arm around his wife’s, Aillis’s, tense shoulders. “You’re right, Caius,” he conceded, the rage draining into sullen defeat. “It’s not worth my time.”
A collective relief, punctuated by sighs and nervous laughter, swept through the hall. The clatter of crystal, clinking goblets, and the roar of conversation resumed. The golden-haired prince returned to his empty spot at the near table, a group of auburn-haired, similarly muscular fae praising him. Caius started a conversation with another fae beside him, and Mael deliberately turned away, pretending to listen.
I had been sold, my life was saved, and the immediate battle was over. Almost.
“But what of your other interest, Prince Fionn?” Lord Edris asked, leaning forward, his tense whisper an unwelcome intrusion into the receding chaos. He was unwilling to let go of a perceived loss of profit.
Fionn stiffened, a motion too slight to be noticed, but I felt the tension —a taut pull of resentment—as the restrained thought demanded that Lord Edris be silent. Lord Edris must have felt it too because he shuddered back. Apparently, this ‘other interest’ was a private matter, but Lord Edris was chasing leverage.
“I haven’t changed my mind,” Fionn said, his voice easily sliding into a smooth, passive, detached pitch. “Don’t be so greedy that you forget your own manners, Lord Edris.”
Fionn turned his back to the dais and paused, a subtle downturn of his violet eyes as he studied me, still kneeling, still bowed. The shame of being claimed as a damaged object warred with the dull hope that this change in ownership was better than remaining an unwilling servant on probation at House Edris.
The resumed feverish mood of the hall, the excited chatter, was a blurry, droning backdrop to the intensity of his distant gaze. His mind was severely guarded, as impassive as his neutral expression. Standing over me, the faint, cool scent of silver fir and creamy, soft sandalwood reached me as he murmured low, his voice barely audible above the feast:
“Now that you’re mine, there’s no need to stay here. Go. Be ready to leave at dawn.”
The relief of seeing him again—the fragile hope of having one last ally in the world—was now weighted by the knowledge that he was a fae prince, and I was his simple, claimed possession.