Chapter 9
Despite all the illusions and magical creatures around him, it felt surprisingly easy for Gerard to fall into the familiar rhythms of combat and rest. It was at challenge days like this that he’d first proven himself at the academy, years ago—and when he and Lorelei stepped off the tournament field after their first trial, they were greeted by a buoying roar of applause.
Of course, he knew it wasn’t aimed at him, the mortal stranger in their midst. Lorelei, for all that she ruled a mortal realm, was clearly still considered one of them and, even more clearly, had been missed.
He shifted out of the way without regret as a winged and clawed crowd of her admirers surged towards her on the sidelines of the field, every fae attendee eager to greet and congratulate her for this first triumph.
Gerard came to a halt far enough away not to be trampled but close enough to keep a wary eye on his mischievous captor—and a hard, flat-handed blow hit the back of his bare left shoulder.
Instinct dropped his hand towards the hilt of his waiting sword.
Discipline curled his fingers together before they could clasp that hilt and start him down the path towards a rash new battle.
Keeping his expression unperturbed, he turned without haste and found an eight-foot-tall creature from a fairy tale beaming down at him with unmistakable goodwill.
The broad antlers of a stag speared out from the fae male’s tawny, shoulder-length curls, polished hooves poked out beneath his dramatically billowing purple trousers, and the furred hand he’d clapped against Gerard’s shoulder in congratulations now pulled back in a friendly, beckoning gesture.
“Well done with that basilisk!” he boomed deafeningly.
“But you’ll need to dress yourself for your next trial.
Come over to my stand, and we’ll see what I can do to cover you! ”
With the autumn air prickling against his sweat-laced skin, it was a tempting offer—but Gerard cast a quick glance at the crowd that surrounded Lorelei and stayed firmly in place. “I appreciate the offer, but I had better wait for my partner.”
“Oh, she won’t mind. See?” The antlered vendor waved cheerfully above the heads of the crowd to catch Lorelei’s attention. “Princess! May I have the honor of clothing your partner, please?”
“Aw. Only if you insist on taking away all my fun.” Even without being able to see Lorelei’s face, Gerard could hear her theatrical pout in that teasing voice.
“Put the cost on my account, please, and do help him find us drinks while you’re at it.
Gerard, darling, don’t panic,” she caroled. “I’ll join you soon, I promise!”
With an effort, Gerard resisted the temptation to roll his eyes. “I’ll do my best not to panic too much in the meantime,” he said—and allowed his new, antlered companion to lead him into a scene of magical chaos.
Apparently, while he had been fighting his first trial, every vendor at the court of Efaelen had been busy creating a whole village-worth of small wooden stalls with an eyewatering assortment of goods on offer.
Banners for each stand danced in the air above them without any visible support, while flashy illusions reached temptingly towards attendees from every side.
The actual payments changing hands made little sense to Gerard’s human eyes—could a simple acorn or a small brown leaf truly purchase a rich velvet cloak?
—but with Lorelei as his promised sponsor, he was thankfully spared the challenge of working out any more dangerous fae bargains on his own.
Within minutes, he had settled on the least garish tunic he was offered, belted it securely into place over his woolen trousers, and set out to find food and drink.
He would need it to fuel all the trials to come …
And there were plenty of them.
Of course, time passed differently in the fae realm; Gerard had known that much for years. Even so, it was a shock to realize, several hours later, that the bright sun still hadn’t shifted in its arc across the sky.
The beautifully carved mug he’d been given after his first trial by a leaf-haired, bark-skinned dryad refilled itself again and again across the day with a sparkling, transparent juice that tasted of fresh pears and ginger.
It tingled against Gerard’s tongue, filling him with newfound energy every time.
Its taste perfectly complemented the hot strips of earthy venison, fried with mushrooms and onions and richly flavored with savory herbs, that he and Lorelei scooped up together after their fourth trial.
By that point, the large mass of competitors who had all started together earlier had been split into a series of separate trials, half of them competing on the field each time while the other half rested and awaited their next turns.
Lorelei’s admirers were all busy in the stands now, leaving the two of them alone for the first time since the tournament had begun.
Food had been their first joint goal—but then, in an agreement made by nods and glances through the chaos of the noisy vendors’ village, they made their way to a quieter spot where they could eat and watch the ongoing trials.
Gerard’s fixed intention was to analyze the tactics and skills of their competitors, the better to prepare to face them later. Even so, as they stood together, it was impossible not to take any note of his captor, more unguarded than he’d ever seen her before.
Leaning against the trunk of an oak tree with her fine gown spattered in mud, her long, blonde hair in wild tangles, and a smudge of dirt covering her left cheek, Lorelei looked nothing like the sophisticated, sultry royal whose scandals had inspired salacious plays and songs for the past decade.
As she studied the field before them, her blue eyes were bright with interest, enjoyment, and unshielded calculation.
For once, the rapid workings of her brain weren’t hidden behind her usual guise of gay, careless frivolity … and as he watched her track the progress of all fifteen simultaneous trials on the field with ease, Gerard’s lower body tightened against his will.
Heedless of his covert gaze, Lorelei popped another rustic strip of venison into her mouth with her small, bare fingers, letting the juices slip carelessly down her palm.
Shadows from the leafy, trailing branches above her dappled her fair skin, while a light, autumnal breeze played with her tangled curls.
Gerard would never know how it felt to touch those curls and discover just how soft they might feel against his own calloused fingers.
… And it shouldn’t have even occurred to him to wonder.
That idea was so outrageous, it should have been unthinkable—but Jovar knew, this whole day had been beyond his conception.
First, he’d been transplanted from the icy depths of a mortal winter afternoon to a comparatively warm fae autumn morning, and now he was surrounded by impossibilities on all sides.
No wonder his mind and body were both straining at his leash!
Finishing the last of her snacks, Lorelei slipped one finger into her mouth to suck off the last of the juices …
And Gerard swiftly averted his gaze, lifting his cup to his lips for a long, refreshing swallow.
Ahhh. His shoulders relaxed as magical energy tingled through him once again, gifting the strength that he needed to force his rebellious attention back to the action on the field instead of the enemy beside him.
“There!” Four minutes later, Lorelei pointed decisively at the second pair to win a trial, ignoring the official results being announced by a herald at the top of the field. “Those two will be our most dangerous competitors. Did you see how they took out that final troll in their obstacle race?”
Gerard’s eyes narrowed in consideration as he followed the path of her finger to a partnership of hobgoblins.
He’d taken note of that particular pair, too, but until now, he hadn’t sensed her paying them any special attention.
“They weren’t the fastest at completing their trial,” he said, leadingly.
“But they were clever about it—and that’s what’ll count in the next rounds,” she told him.
“Everything we’ve been called upon to do so far”—defeating the basilisk, escaping a seven-headed hydra, shattering illusions, harnessing a wild wyvern, and more—“has been based on simple feats of physical or magical strength. Once the first mass of contestants is winnowed away, though, everything will become much harder. Then we’ll need cunning as well. ”
Excellent. The word rose through Gerard’s throat with such force, he had to snap his jaw shut to contain the telltale utterance before it could escape into the air and reveal too much to her … and to himself.
In the names of all seven of Jovar’s holy sentinels, what was wrong with him?
He was still a prisoner, despite his captor’s earlier teasing; no bribes, however delicious or enticing, could possibly change that grim truth. He knew better than to allow himself any traitorous enjoyment.
But, damn it, it had been years since he’d last had the opportunity to pit his wits and strength against such satisfying challenges … and as the bells rang to summon them for their next round, he couldn’t deny the simmering anticipation in his gut.
He ought to fight against every lifelong instinct and make himself lose to shame his captor. He ought to want this whole venture to explode in Lorelei’s face, to make her the laughingstock of the fae and force her to regret ever daring to abduct him.
And yet …
If he did forfeit these trials and put on a show of utter helplessness, how would that reflect upon his own emperor, who had granted him so many great honors in the first place?
How would it reflect upon the Serafin Empire itself if any mischievous fae observer were to spread the news of the pitiful display they’d witnessed to their friends in the mortal world?