Lexa
“Stay close,” Kaleb whispers sternly over the top of my head as we follow a set of fae guards through the bowels of the castle.
“It’s not like I can go anywhere,” I reply under my breath, trying to wrench my arm free of his iron-like grip. He hasn’t let go of me since the moment Lis and I stepped out of his house and met him in the courtyard, where, unfortunately, the man had effectively stolen my breath away.
His hair is loose, falling just shoulder-length and brushed back. Instead of grubby, coarse fabrics, he’s wearing a finely made suit that fits his body like a glove and makes him look like a man I’d find in Maeve’s castle–royalty.
It sent a jolt through my system, to say the least, and after the slightly open moment we’d shared in the sparring ring today, I can only assume that the look on his face when he’d seen me had him feeling the exact same way.
Shock.
The thin, almost satin-like fabric of my dress ripples over my body, every curve and muscled angle on display. Two upper-thigh-high slits show off my legs in full detail, and the halter top leaves my entire back on full display. It’s not a dress I’d normally wear. I doubt I’d have a reason to wear something as beautiful as this, and I’m honestly not sure how Lis managed to fashion it to fit my body when it had been just a long sheet of fabric only an hour ago, but here I am, and I don’t think Kaleb is happy about it at all.
A strand of my hair, loose and falling down my back in soft, brushed out curls, is stuck between my arm and his palm, pulling with every step I take through the shadows.
“You’re ripping my hair out!” I whine, but he only tightens his grip, his eyes locked on the space above my head, like he can’t bring himself to even look at me.
We’re led up a stairwell into the castle proper, where the wet, grim stone walls finally bleed into wallpaper and cooled air carrying the scent of food and wine.
My skin feels like ice. Kaleb is also uneasy when I glance up at him, noticing the way his eyes crease as he scans our new surroundings.
I know we’ve been summoned to the castle, but I have no idea why. He seems to know, however, but hasn’t said a Goddess-damned thing about it.
The guards open a set of pearlescent double doors, and a small crowd spirals into view in the center of the reception hall–everything made of crystal, everything shimmering in the light of multiple chandeliers.
Faces turn to us as Kaleb leads me down a row of white marble stairs. I scan the crowd, trembling against my will, and spot Chessie and Meg.
I lurch, but Kaleb doesn’t allow me to move toward them. Yet.
The king stands at the center of the crowd. Shifters and lesser fae servants weave between bodies carrying platters of drinks and little bites to eat, but the king watches my every move when Kaleb eases us off the stairs. Once we step into the crowd, his eyes turn to Kaleb’s face.
Kaleb tightens his grip. His touch is warm and solid, a surprising comfort as people and beings I don’t know turn to look down at me–all of me.
Then I realize why he hasn’t let me go.
“Kaleb,” the king drawls with a sickly sweet kind of smile. His pale eyes dance as he takes in Kaleb’s hard as nails expression, chuckling to himself. “Always a pleasure to have you at my parties. You always bring such an interesting vibe to whatever event you attend.” A ripple of fae-ish laughter follows. Kaleb bristles, but he bows low, and I follow his lead even though every fiber of my being screams in protest.
“And you,” the king smiles, stepping closer as we rise. “What a lovely, feral thing you are. I am so looking forward to seeing you in my special games.” His tone is like honey, and he smells like everything delicious, but it’s too much. It’s fake, like he has some kind of shield around himself, like he’s a bright light, and all the men standing around him are moths drawn to a flame.
The king glances at Kaleb with a smug grin before turning back to his party. He lifts a hand, and doors along the side of the room open to reveal a luxurious dining experience only a few yards away.
Suddenly, Kaleb’s hand clutching my arm isn’t a total inconvenience. My leaden legs relax to limp noodles when he turns us toward the dining hall.
A single long table stretches the length of the dining room. Food is piled high on golden platters, scenting the air with sweets, savory offerings, and spices. After a week in the Glade, the smell of food this rich and plentiful doesn’t settle like it probably would have otherwise. I just imagine the empty storeroom in the Glade.
The king beckons for everyone to follow, to squeeze into seats at the table. Kaleb remains where he is, however, as the crowd funnels into the dining room–everyone dressed in their finery and jewels–everyone but Silas, who’s standing beside a confused and uneasy Chessie.
Meg, however, throws her head back in a high-pitched, girlish laugh, walking with her sponsor and his companion–both fae men, both beaming down at her like she’s the salt of the earth. She doesn’t so much as look back at us.
I notice. Chessie notices. Even with the distance between us, we look at each other with similar expressions of skepticism.
Silas eventually moves with the dwindling crowd, but the second Kaleb and I breach the archways of the dining room, the king motions to him, lifting an insanely full goblet of wine. “Come sit at the head of the table with the rest of the sponsors and trainers, Kaleb. Let your precious treasure mingle with her competitors. This is the only time she’ll get to talk to them outside of the games.”
Kaleb, his hand still wrapped around my arm, doesn’t budge. A prickle of knowing skitters through my chest. I can feel the rage flowing off him like a wave of pure heat, simmering where we’re joined.
“Don’t pretend you like me now,” I grumble, trying to discreetly pull away. “You get a break from me for the evening. You’ve been up my ass for seven days. Don’t you want some time apart?” The sugar in my voice makes him scowl and drop his hand, but I notice the way he tightens those fingers into a fist as he begrudgingly walks to the far end of the table, leagues away from the chairs meant for the competitors.
Kaleb’s touch is instantly replaced by Chessie, who pulls me to a set of empty chairs and weaves her fingers between mine under the table, her breath soft and warm against my shoulder. She squeaks, “Lexa, I’m so happy to see you!”
I glare across the table at Meg, however, who’s giving me a cat-like grin. “What was that all about?” I ask, and Meg arches her brows.
“What?” She pops a grape into her mouth.
I lean forward as far as I can, glancing at the burly warriors now seated on either side of us, hissing, “You know what. That laugh? Fluttering around with your sponsor–”
She leans forward, her face half obstructed by a tiered golden serving dish loaded with pastries and fruit. “I’m just playing their game, Lexa. You should, too. Your trainer looks like he hates you and is probably looking forward to seeing your guts strewn across the arena in a few days’ time.” She glances around in a half-hearted attempt to confirm she’s not overhead, “They will give us what we want as long as we play along.”
Chessie frowns beside me, but Meg leans back, turning into conversation with a tall, lean fae man seated beside her.
I don’t even look at our fellow competitors, but I can feel them looking at me as they scoop food onto their plates. Soon, the noise at the table blurs every side conversation, and I’m lost in the hum of chewing, drinking, and scraping forks.
“Are you not going to eat?” Chessie asks, giving my arm a soft nudge.
I stare blankly at my plate. “I’m not hungry.”
She glances down the table at where Silas and Kaleb are seated across from each other–Silas dutifully talking to the king while Kaleb watches everyone, his expression stern and icy.
“Is Silas actually treating you well?” I ask.
Chessie swallows a bite of food and nods, hiding the softest of smiles behind her napkin. “Did he tell you I was worried sick about you? Because I asked him if he would.”
I lean back in my chair, meeting Kaleb’s eyes from down the table. He holds my gaze for several seconds, searching my eyes, then moves onto his next victim.
“He did.”
“They’re brothers, you know. Him and your Alpha King. Silas told me all kinds of stories about Kaleb. He sounds like–”
“An emotionless asshole?”
“Like a hero.” Chessie sighs dramatically, her big green eyes sparkling as she looks in Kaleb’s direction with her chin perched on her fist. He looks at her, furrows his brow, and quickly looks away, shifting in his chair like her sudden attention is making him entirely uncomfortable.
But then he looks at me again. Only briefly. For whatever reason, I feel a little tug deep in my chest. An ounce of warmth I quickly banish.
I’ve spent the entire week getting beaten up by him. Over and over. He never lets me win, and I honestly admire him for that and that alone. But still, there’s never any softness about it.
He scans our surroundings like he’s ready to jump out of his chair if one of these men even glances in my direction.
I purse my lips and look down at my plate.
Chessie notices, of course.
“You think he’s handsome too, right? Because… he’s the most handsome man I’ve ever seen in my Goddess–forsaken life–”
“Chessie, please–”
“You can’t be serious.” She coos, shaking my arm. “Gods, can you imagine him walking into Silverhide? The girls would murder each other just to get him to look in their direction. I’d beg my dad to let a guy like him pay my bride price.”
I run my hand down my face, peeking at my empty plate through my fingers.
“Silas is also just downright beautiful,” Chessie continues with dreamy, girlish goo-goo eyes that might actually make me go insane if she doesn’t stop. “Every day after training, he takes me for a walk around his grounds. He grows roses, Lexa, and when I mentioned how pretty they were, I found a vase of them in my bedroom when I went to bed that night–”
“Would you bitches shut the fuck up?” growls the man seated on my right.
I go totally rigid, my spine locked as I discreetly reach for the fork tucked beneath my napkin. “I’m sorry, did you say something?”
“I said–”
I slam my fork into the back of his hand so hard it pierces flesh, then the table beneath. Every conversation quiets as the man howls with pain, but I reach for a pastry, taking more than a moment to find the prettiest one. I can feel every set of eyes on me as I set the pastry on my plate and unfurl my napkin, letting it fall neatly onto my lap, before making a show of looking for my fork.
“Oh,” I giggle, “That’s where I put it.” I yank the fork from the man’s hand, and he gasps in pain, sweat pouring down his temples.
I look down the table, locking eyes with the king.
He stares back, this time without the sugary sweet smile he’d given me when I’d pointed an arrow at his face last week.
Kaleb, however, glances around the table one last time before loading his plate and relaxing. He looks at me only once, and the ghost of a smirk touches the left corner of his mouth before he dips his head and finally enjoys his dinner.