17. Chapter 17 #2
Ren Harper, You are hereby invited to attend my Name Day gathering this evening. If you’re wondering, yes, attendance is expected. Proper attire is required. Try not to start any duels with your temper, at least not before dessert. —Royal Princess Kaelin of House Vaelaran
Ren stared at the letter for a long moment, her jaw tightening. “Of course it’s from her,” she muttered.
Mirella’s voice drifted out from inside the room, rich with amusement. “Oh, this will be interesting.”
Ren shot a glare over her shoulder. “Do you ever stop talking?”
“Not when you make it this easy,” Mirella purred.
Ren groaned, shoving the letter into her pocket before leaving.
Training had been brutal.
Ren’s jaw still ached where someone’s elbow had caught her cleanly, though she was lucky it hadn’t blossomed into a bruise. The sting lingered as a reminder of another day spent on her back in the dirt, fighting to keep up with the fae.
That evening, Ren stepped with weary legs into a world of silk and moonlight.
The air shimmered with laughter and the clink of crystal. Apparently, the kingdom was celebrating Princess Kaelin’s Name Day with an extravagance fit for a goddess.
The palace’s banquet hall glittered like a hoarded dragon's trove. Silver-trimmed columns soared upward, while enchanted chandeliers floated overhead. The music swelled and fluttered like birdsong in spring, violins weaving under the chatter of fae nobility.
As Ren stood there beneath the velvet drapes and jeweled light, something in her curled with quiet fury.
A thousand silver goblets, ornate forks, and sugared petals on cakes set in intricate designs, while outside these glittering walls, children starved on muddy floors, families drank rainwater and begged for mercy from healers who had no medicine left to give.
Ren watched in bated silence as a noblewoman laughed, dabbing sweet wine from her painted lips with a napkin threaded in silver.
Ren’s thoughts whirled. What kind of kingdom drowned itself in luxury while the rest of the realm suffocated in rot and ruin ?
The sickness was spreading. She’d seen it, smelled it, lived it. Yet here, the only thing spreading was perfume and gossip.
Kaelin presided like a goddess of starlight, lounging on her raised throne at the head of the hall. A glass of wine balanced lazily between her fingers, her other hand resting on the polished arm of her seat. Every so often, her voice lilted in a soft, silvery laugh that made Ren’s skin crawl.
Ren’s gaze caught on the glittering arc of Kaelin’s smile, the effortless grace in the way she held the room’s attention. Sometimes, Ren never knew if the real enemy was the sickness creeping through the realm or the fae themselves.
As if on cue, Ren caught sight of King Maelion standing near the throne’s base, tall and draped in a deep blue cloak embroidered with silver designs. He sipped from a heavy goblet but didn’t partake in the laughter or the dancing.
His gaze was steady, assessing, and cold as he surveyed the room. When his eyes met Ren’s for a fleeting moment, she felt as though her thoughts were laid bare, like he had already weighed her, found her wanting, and coolly dismissed her.
Queen Lyra, seated not far from her husband, was draped in gauzy silks of moonlight and shadow, her pale hair pinned up with gleaming combs.
But what struck Ren was the flush painting her high cheekbones, the soft gleam of sweat at her temples.
Her laughter, too, was a shade too loud, the musical quality tinged with something giddy and unrestrained.
She twirled her goblet between her fingers, the jeweled stem catching the candlelight as she leaned back, her voice lilting through the hall.
Drunk on wine or drunk on her own power, Ren wasn’t sure which.
The queen’s gaze drifted lazily over the gathered nobles, her lips curling in a flirtatious smile as she exchanged murmured words with a silver-haired fae seated nearby.
For a fleeting moment, her gaze slid over Ren.
Then her attention shifted again, back to her wine, her laughter spilling through the air.
“I wasn’t aware vermin received invitations to royal affairs.”
The smug words slithered in from Ren’s left. Her jaw tensed even before she turned.
There he stood, the blonde fae male from training, swathed in layers of sapphire and silver.
His golden hair was swept back to reveal a face carved in aristocratic angles, the kind that might’ve been considered beautiful if not for the sneer twisting his mouth and the gleam of superiority flashing in his glacial blue eyes.
He looked like the kind of man who’d toast your name at a feast, then plant a dagger in your back before dessert.
Ren arched a brow. “Do your feathers always ruffle this easily, or is it just me?”
The fae male let out an airy, mocking laugh, the sound as polished and hollow as crystal glass.
“You won’t last long in training,” he sneered, stepping closer. “Fae courts aren’t meant for humans who think a few lucky swings in the pits make them worthy.” His eyes flicked over her plain tunic with disdain, lips curling. “This realm eats girls like you alive.”
Ren met his eyes with a slow smirk. “Then the realm better sharpen its teeth.”
Before the fae male could respond, another voice cut through the charged air.
“Lucan,” Talen said. “Good to see you again, mate.” He turned to Ren with the faintest smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Ren, meet Lucan Brightbane. One of our more decorated soldiers.”
Lucan’s jaw went taut, annoyance clearly written on his face, before he schooled his features into false pleasantries. “Glad to see you back at court,” he managed to Talen, though his tone lacked warmth. “It’s been too quiet without you. ”
Talen tilted his head with an amused gleam in his forest-green eyes.
“Careful, Lucan. Say something sincere and people might think you’ve grown soft.
” He added with a light chuckle, “Though if you’re really aching for noise, we can always spar sometime.
See if all that pomp and polish still holds up under pressure. ”
Lucan’s lips thinned, but he bowed stiffly and stalked off into the crowd, leaving only the scent of burnished amber oil laced with white pepper and myrrh, along with bruised pride in his wake.
Ren raised a brow. “Friend of yours?”
Talen gave a short laugh. “Lucan Brightbane’s father holds a seat on the High Council and has more coin than half the realm. The Brightbane estate spans half of the eastern coast.”
Ren frowned, eyes following Lucan’s retreating figure. “Is that why he looks down on people like me?”
Talen turned to her fully now, his expression softening into something more reflective.
“Honestly? I don’t know. Maybe it’s because humans live shorter lives.
Maybe because we hear more, feel more, see further in the dark.
” He shrugged, the gesture unguarded. “But that’s not a justifiable reason.
The truth is, it’s just always been that way. Prejudice passed down like tradition.”
Ren crossed her arms, jaw tight. “Sounds like a tradition worth breaking.”
Talen smiled. “Then I suppose it’s a good thing you’re here.” They lapsed into a few moments of silence until Talen mused softly, “My family, on the other hand, likes the finer things.”
“It appears they do.”
Talen’s gaze slid toward her. “If you’re really lucky,” he said, voice low, “you’ll be chosen for the first dance.”
Ren arched a brow. “Is that so?”
“At nightfall,” he explained, “the royal family dances with chosen citizens, those who’ve proven loyalty or valor.”
Ren gave a faint scoff. “How intriguing.”
Still, her eyes drifted back to the throne. Princess Kaelin was draped in violet silk and threaded amethyst, her gown clinging to every enviable curve.
Ren, in contrast, stood in a plain emerald-green tunic, its sleeves slightly rumpled, dark pants tucked into scuffed boots.
She had wiped mud off them hours ago, but it clung stubbornly to the seams like a second skin.
The moment she stepped into the ballroom, she realized that she was woefully underdressed.
The weight of a hundred burning fae eyes followed her like judgment incarnate, making her skin prickle beneath the wrinkled fabric.
Beside her, Talen murmured under his breath with the hint of a smirk, “Ever been to a ball before?”
“Only the kind where someone breaks a chair over your head after you mouth off in a tavern.”
Talen chuckled. “Charming.”
She resisted the urge to tug at her sleeves. “I fit in just fine.”
“You know,” he said, voice low so only she could hear, “Fae can be uptight about tradition. Clothes, etiquette, posture. But honestly?” His lips twitched. “You walk into a ballroom in boots like that and still hold your ground. That says more than any jewelry or dresses ever could.”
Ren blinked at him, caught off guard by the sincerity.
He shrugged. “Still, I’m sure my sister could lend you a dress or two. She’s got more embroidered gowns than any sane person should, and she owes me a favor.”
“You want me parading around in court silks and glitter like a fae noble?”
Talen laughed. “Just saying the option’s there. Might be amusing to watch.”
Then applause erupted, seizing their attention.
A hunched figure was brought before the throne, small, nimble, with pointed ears and bells braided into fine, sea-glass hair. A fae court jester.
“An offering, gifted from one who withholds their name,” the herald intoned.
Kaelin tilted her head. “Do something amusing, jester.”
The fae bowed low, flourishing his hands in dramatic flair. He juggled three crystal goblets, each one catching the golden chandelier light. The crowd clapped.
Ren watched with growing unease as the fae jester stumbled and bumped into a noble watching from the edge of the dais, her eyes tracking the wobble of the tallest goblet as it spun a little too wide. But he regained his footing, receiving another round of applause.