Kaleb
The ballroom in the palace is crowded but so quiet I can hear the echo of my footsteps. I didn’t bother to bathe, let alone change into something more appropriate for this occasion. My shirt is dust-stained red and wilted from a day spent in the sun, in the sparring ring, where I beat my tension into submission until I couldn’t so much as lift my arms anymore.
Fae guards stomp beside me, flanking me on either side until we reach the top of the staircase leading down to the wide, ornate ballroom where a crowd of mostly men waits. The balcony overlooking the ballroom is wrapped in banners, like some kind of celebration is being held soon, the decorating in the early stages.
A celebration for the victor, the champion, of the Trials that are not yet over.
Several faces turn as I move down the stairs on my own. My boots leave red-hued dirt in their wake, a bright stain on the marble tiles–like blood. Like every step is a reminder of the blood spilled only to entertain these beings now turning to watch my approach, chandelier light illuminating the tips of their pointed ears and their glistening wings.
I was called from the Glade just like Silas said I would be, but I expected a formal one-on-one with the king, not this. That’s probably coming.
I see sponsors and trainers alike situated around the crowd. Meg’s trainer is here, but her sponsor is not. The only other victor still in the running–a fully fae male whose name I don’t recall–is nowhere to be seen. His sponsor is here, looking pale as he glances around, careful not to look directly in my eyes when I come to a stop next to the only friendly face in the room.
High Lord Everett tucks his wings in tight to allow space for me to stand beside him and moves to the side so we’re practically shoulder to shoulder. A soft hum of muffled conversation expands around the room again, and Everrett says in a near whisper, “You just missed the king’s announcement about the next game.”
“It’ll be a hunt, I’m sure.”
“How did you know?”
“He’s following the same schedule as the last Trial ten years ago. It was the obvious choice.”
Everett looks over his shoulder like he’s worried about being overheard. I scan the area, noticing the guards appearing out of the shadows of hallways branching off the ballroom, standing still in wait for their next command.
“If the announcement is over, why is everything still here?” I ask under my breath, and he knits his hands together, a motion that seems more like a nervous tick than a calculated movement.
“It isn’t over, at least, I don’t think so. The king left abruptly.”
“Why?”
He grits his teeth and bows his head. I’m taller than him, but it’s plain he has no intention of being overheard now. “There’s been increasing reports of unrest north of here, in the Highwoods and the fae courts of Nyantha. Soldiers were sent to disband several rebel armies trying to push forward into capital territory. The free wolves have united, it seems, with the high fae of Nyantha, and the king is growing increasingly unstable according to reports from within his inner circle. He’s furious wolves are getting the better of the soldiers he sent to guard the borders, and the fae of the north aren’t doing anything to aid him. Shifters are luring fae into the Highwoods, and they’re never seen again.”
“Maybe they’re defecting,” I reply with a bored sigh. “Have you ever been to the Highwoods, Lord Everett? I’ve heard it’s beautiful. The shifters have a king, you know.”
“I am aware of King James.”
“Alpha King James. He’s a wolf,” I correct. “The king of the only free wolves in Pantharas.”
“Well, our king believes those wolves are property of the fae and is livid with the King of Nyantha for allowing them such freedoms.”
“He believed that of the halflings who disappeared as well, didn’t he?” I bite back what I nearly gave away–that Emberfyll isn’t just a myth, that the rumors that the missing halflings perished in the turbulent sea blocking the king’s access to Eastonia have been proven false by my mate. While I trust Silas, I don’t necessarily trust his friends.
“Nevertheless, he’s unstable. The Trials were supposed to be the distraction he needed to keep the other lesser fae kings and their flocks in line, but your victor’s progress has resulted in conversations and side-picking. Guess which side the majority of the lesser fae kings and high lords are leaning now?”
I take a deep breath when a trio of guards moves from the shadows, cutting through the crowd in my direction.
Everett leans in further, whispering, “Everything is in place. We’re just waiting for a spark now.”
It jars me to my core, but I don’t have a moment to react, to try to make sense of what he said. I know little of Silas’s plans because I refused to involve myself. It’s a fae issue. The rebellion has nothing to do with the shifters, the slaves, or the lesser fae kind. It’s high fae lords against their king, but the undercurrent in the room shifts in real time as the guards motion for me to follow, and I look behind me and see hope in the eyes of men who should want for nothing.
Who know nothing about not having enough to eat. Who know nothing of watching women and children perish from starvation and lack of medical care. Who know nothing about the sound of the gate closing behind four-hundred-men who will never return home.
Now, they look at me like I’m their savior.
In reality, Lexa is the lamb destined for sacrifice, and I’m the one holding the knife at the altar the rebellion built.
I will not allow it.
Not her. Never her.
The hum of the ballroom fades as the hallway stretches, narrowing, twisting at odd angles. I follow the guards up short steps and winding staircases. I’ve had one other one-on-one meeting with the king–just one. It was shortly after I won my Trial and gave him my wish, which he was obliged to grant.
A wide, heavy wooden door opens to an even wider, round room with an altar at the center–a basin full of crystals so pure I can see the gleam of the king’s turquoise robes through them when he swishes to face me, but it’s the man a few feet to his left that makes a shiver run down my spine.
Hannibal Archanis rests his long, spindly white fingers on the top of a cane of pure onyx, his nearly white eyes locked on mine as the door closes me in with these beasts of wings and stolen power.
“Alpha King Kaleb,” the king says in a sing-song voice that rattles my bones. “So good of you to come. I did not think you’d accept my invitation.”
I’m done with games. I’m done. I can’t take it anymore–watching my people die. Watching my mate get thrown into the fire over and over for their sick entertainment. Knowing that Silas and his rebellion are waiting for the moment to strike while my people are trapped in the Glade, unable to escape whatever war comes knocking at the gates most have never traveled beyond.
Knowing I have a mate, but I can’t keep her. I can’t as much as kiss her without damning myself to a hell of my own design. A mate I can’t want without feeling the crushing desperation already taking root in my soul over the fact that I will lose her.
“I am a slave. I am not given choices.”
The king arches his brows, but my gaze is still on Hannibal, the king’s spy, they call him. I know the beast was born long before my time. He’s some kind of spiritual advisor to the king and his court–someone close to the gods, they say. Someone who can see the prophecies written in the stars.
“Why are you here?” I ask him bluntly, emotionless.
Hannibal smiles. “It is so odd seeing something like you after being away so long. Half beast, half fae. An abomination, really. To taint such glorious blood with that of a dog feels like it should go against the gods, but look at you. Towering creature of muscle and death, aren’t you? I was not here for your game, but heard a great many tales–”
I turn to the king, cutting Hannibal off. “What do you want from me?”
The king glances at Hannibal,but then looks at me. “I must have a discussion with you about the upcoming Trial and your victor. Don’t think I don’t know that she’s been moved out of the Glade. You and your kind must think you’re two steps ahead of me, don’t you?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Then, where is she? My guards were sent to the Glade at sunrise this morning to fetch her, to house her here with the rest of the victors. It’s a little treat for them, in my opinion, especially her, having lived in mud and filth these past few weeks.”
I cock my head. “She did not find that necessary.”
“Or you, I suspect? Tell me, Kaleb, about this little pet of yours. Have you had a taste of her yet? Others are curious.”
Hannibal smirks. My gaze locks on his. “Is there something funny about that?”
“You’ll address me as lord–”
“I will address you as nothing. I have long denounced your church and gods. I am a shifter, which is made clear everyday I spend keeping my kind alive in the Glade.” I edge toward him but turn to face the king before closing the distance between us, adding, “The rules of the games are sacred. Everyone, every king, knows it. They’re written in the blood of the fallen, who come from every background–high fae, lesser fae, and shifters. People like me.” I look at Hannibal. “Separating victors from their trainers and sponsors goes against the rules, but you know that. I’m guessing I’m here because I am the only one who said no.”
“And hid your victor instead!” the king booms. I look at him out of the corner of my eye, smirking.
“If you believe she’s hidden, you must not be as close with your high lords as you believe you are, Your Highness.”
“Ah, I see. Your brother, Silas, is involved.” He reaches up to run his fingers through his silky brown hair, his ageless face making him look more like a sixteen-year-old boy than the ancient being he is, but his thick, deep voice betrays his age. “Silas is always up to something, isn’t he? Little bastard.”
“What a way to speak about your nephew.” I smile, and the king’s eyes lock on mine. “Did you not think I knew?”
“It’s not a secret Silas’s father is my brother.”
“Was,” I correct, angling my body to the door. “Murder is an unforgivable act to the fae, is it not? And to think, if Prince Urus hadn’t met such a violent end, my brother could have been the one standing in this room eventually, a true heir to the throne, with real power. There are others who agree the wrong man holds all the power. I wonder if that’s why you sold Urus’s wife, my mother, into your twisted halfling breeding program after his death.”
The king pales with sudden rage. “You will watch your tongue. Your title is a formality at best, halfling. You are no king. I could kill you where you stand.”
“And do you think the Glade won’t rise in retaliation?” I move in on him until he takes a step back, submitting. Hannibal notices and straightens as I viciously eye the men. “You may keep us in magical chains, bound to the dirt, unable to access our true nature, but you forget how resilient shifters are. Who won the war, Your Highness, in Eastonia?”
The king turns a violent purple, but Hannibal reaches, resting a hand on his shoulder. “You have such confidence–”
“And you,” I snarl, cutting him off, “failed in a mission overseas. Miserably. You underestimated the family in power and came crawling back to your precious king to spin tales of glories that never happened, I assume. Have you not? Tell me, Hannibal, how long did you live in hiding, hunted by one god in particular? Can you feel how close he is now?”
Hannibal tilts his head, suspicion lighting behind his eyes. Recognition flares, and his hand drops from the king’s shoulder.
“Lexa is mine,” I tell him. “The Glade belongs to me. My mate will win the games, and then you will be answering to the Glade in blood.”
“How dare you speak to me in such a way!” the king booms, his powers flickering around me so thickly I can taste them, but it’s Hannibal I’m watching with curiosity. He’s unsettled. A rat in a cage, suddenly desperate. “I could have you executed if I wished!”
“But you haven’t because you know what will happen. I was the champion of my Trials. A hero. Blessed in the sacred order. You kill me, and everything you’ve built comes crashing down, doesn’t it? But it’s already weak to begin with. The High Lords and lesser kings who send their warriors into the Culling will finally see how you’ve twisted the sacred games and turned them into a purge. They see the cracks already.” I bow deeply and turn for the door, my heart heavy in my chest. I move through the palace without being dismissed.
He’ll throw everything he has at Lexa now, I know it.
It doesn’t matter if he knows where she is. He can’t touch her. High Lords have already placed their bets. She’s untouchable everywhere but within the games themselves, and he knows it. He wanted me to come here so he could try to intimidate me. It didn’t work.
A guard stops me in the depths of the arena on my way to the Glade. He pulls me into the shadows as another pair of guards moves into sight, passing us without so much as glancing in our direction. The guard slips a note into my hand and leaves as quietly as he came. It’s from Chastan.
The Alphas have all agreed on one thing.
They’re ready to fight.
They’re just waiting for my lead.
I curl the note in my fist, glancing toward the shadow of the gate. It’s nightfall, shadows creeping toward my toes as the sky turns a deep, brutal violet that fades into stars.
I step toward the gate, then pause, a decision weighing heavily on my heart.