4. The Rules of the Nuptialis Probatio Are Few
4. THE RULES OF THE NUPTIALIS PROBATIO ARE FEW
ELOWYN
My mind strangely blank, I was gaping, wide-eyed and slack-jawed, at the doors so very undeniably closed now inches from my face. As was common in the palace, the doors were wooden, an intricate scene carved into them in bas relief of a monarch in a crown brandishing a sword as he stood atop a heap of dragon carcasses. How very fucking innovative . It was impossible to get far in the palace without the reminder of how unforgiving and brutal the place was, its pomp solely for show.
Before I’d succeeded in making sense of a damn thing, Ryder and West were at my side. What few attendants had lingered in the hallway behind us scurried away now, as if concerned they’d get caught up in whatever shit I was about to stir. Wise of them, really. I was definitely going to be stirring.
“What the fuck just happened?” I asked Rush’s friends .
Everyone and anyone who might have answers was on the other side of the doors.
“It looks to me that the queen excluded you from the trials,” West answered.
I tsked with heavy sarcasm. “You don’t fucking say, West? I got that part. Couldn’t help but. What am I supposed to do now?”
Before any reply, I tugged on both handles—hard—but they didn’t budge at all. Unnatural for any door, it could mean only one thing: magic was in play.
Despite that obvious conclusion, I jerked on them again and again and again.
Nothing happened. Not a fucking thing.
While rubbing his smooth-shaven chin, Ryder hmmed . “I didn’t think this was possible. The magic of the trials determined that you and Rush were co-winners of the Gladius Probatio. Of all the contestants, you should be the one most required to take part in the next stage.”
Feeling the mate bond rear within me, I didn’t bother quieting it. Rush was inside with a horde of grabby, wanton, disrespectful, man-stealing females.
When a growl rose up my chest, I didn’t hold it back, and when it emerged, by sunshine was it ever fierce. I sounded like the wolf West had likened me to, only I didn’t sound wounded. No, my growl was so vicious I appeared instants from rending flesh from bone.
Preferably, motherfreaking queenie ’s flesh. Her bones .
With both fists, I pounded against the doors.
“Let me in,” I shouted without a lick of self-consciousness.
The queen intended to keep me out? Me ? True heir to her throne and true mate to her heir apparent?
Fuck. No.
“Elowyn,” Ryder cautioned from close behind. “You’re still in the queen’s court. Be careful. She could accuse you of unseemly, disrespectful behavior.”
“Disrespectful,” I said with a snort. “As if I’m the one who’s disrespectful here.”
Again, I banged on the doors. My fists were loud against the wood. But if they were bespelled shut, I couldn’t even be certain those on the other side were hearing a damn thing. From this side—the freaking wrong side—no sounds leaked out.
I punctuated the slam of my fists with a looping chant of, “Let. Me. In.”
And then—the doors flew open.
With both hands raised, I stilled in mid-motion, gawping at Tall Announcer Guy.
Mere minutes had passed and yet the fae scarcely resembled the man he’d been.
Most of his shoulder-length hair had escaped the single braid that had rested along his back. The loose strands stood on end, long and straight, as if they were stiff wire. His eyebrows, usually thick and dark, were gone, tender pink flesh the only indication of where they’d been. And from his nostrils, now entirely hairless, emerged a small puff of smoke .
Of his clothing, only tatters remained of his dusty rose suit. A swath of fabric clung valiantly to his twig and berries, shielding them from my sight, but little else concealed his body and the hundreds of painful-looking gashes that sliced through every part of his exposed skin.
It was as if several umbracs had whipped him with their barbed tentacles, searing flesh with their poison while ripping off the top layers. Even his forehead, cheeks, and chin hadn’t been spared.
Innumerable lines of raw, red flesh welled with blood before weeping with it.
Despite the agony he must be suffering, the man held his spine straight and once more trained his stare on a point far behind me. In an admirably steady tone, he stated, “The Viscountess Elowyn Ashira of Forzantos.”
I blinked. So we were going to ignore the fact that something—likely the magic of the Fae Heir Trials—had nearly killed him? Okay, then…
Apparently I was back to being the phony viscountess of a clan territory I’d never been to instead of a mere “lady.” And the queen persisted in hiding the Xiomara of my name that linked me to her mother—to my grandmother.
Tall Announcer Guy stepped to one side and extended his hand toward the curtains, pristine and untouched by whatever had brutalized him.
Suddenly uncertain, I glanced at Ryder and West. Ryder was scowling when he shrugged, as if unwilling to say aloud what I already realized: no matter how I felt about anything, I had to go through with the next stage of the Fae Heir Trials.
West’s eyes were wide enough to crinkle his forehead. He offered no alternative option.
We all knew: I had no choice but to enter.
The curtains were pretty and delicate, but no doubt what lay beyond them was hideous with the queen’s touch.
“Right,” I muttered under my breath, looking straight ahead. Taking a cue from the announcer who didn’t so much as wince at his ravaged body, I straightened my shoulders and stepped through.
The Great Salon of Delicacies had been transformed since the last time I’d visited it. Reminiscent of the throne room, large windows lined one wall, more of those same shimmery, iridescent curtains draped in front of them, muting what would have otherwise been bright light. To compensate, dozens of palm-sized orbs bobbed at head height, but out of the way, glowing a soft white light. Hundreds, perhaps thousands, of small similarly colored flowers cascaded from every flat surface and from vases mounted to the walls.
Had the queen and all twenty-one contestants not stared back at me with varying degrees of hostility etched across their otherwise pretty faces, I might have been tempted to say the ambience was lovely.
Now, all I could seem to focus on were the blood splatters near the entrance, several arcs of them painting the floor and the walls, speckled across the nearest curtains, their contrast to the pure white theme of the event jarringly bright. The queen’s many disembodied ears and eyes, their veins blackened, floating around with the orbs—invisible to all the other contestants. How large and terrified the dark eyes of the unisus Azariah were. The muscles of his flank twitched, as if he struggled to keep himself from fidgeting. And how, despite everything I urgently needed to examine about the room—the newest setting for a fight I must win—my attention was ultimately drawn to Rush.
Looking away from me, he claimed the nearest head of the table. I studied what I could make out of his face, pointed toward the queen on the opposite end. His silver hair glimmered like actual moonlight beneath the glow of the orbs. His shoulders extended beyond the tall seatback. Draped in a white velvet marred by crisp lines of blood, crimson droplets dripped slowly from them until they were absorbed by the fabric. Blood also spattered across his tunic and hair, over his breeches, distracting me from the muscled lines of his thighs.
His weapons belt was glaringly absent. Boots polished to a shine and still clean.
I willed him to turn around and meet my waiting eyes—to be the one sole safe person in this entire room, the only one whose motivations I knew intimately, and trusted.
It was he and I against the queen. Against every one of her allies in the Mirror World, if it came to that.
So many sets of eyes—both those attached to living, beating bodies and the queen’s spies—roved across my skin, heating it.
My pulse bounced along the column of my neck while I waited for Rush to reassure me, to settle the bond between us.
To lay claim to me in front of all these pretenders.
He didn’t.
He didn’t so much as glance my way—when my core was still tingly from how many times he’d filled me during the previous night. When his very seed still clung to my inner walls, soft and yielding from all our lovemaking.
His name was a single exhale from slipping from my lips while I pulled myself together. My bond to this man didn’t control me. I wouldn’t let it—couldn’t. Maybe not ever, but definitely not now.
You alone are responsible for your actions , Zako’s voice reminded me as it echoed through my memories. Excuses won’t save you. In battle, there is only one person you can count on to ensure your survival: you. Choose your actions carefully. Every single thing you do speaks volumes to any opponent with enough skill to properly study you.
Slowly, I dragged my attention along a very long table, draped in more of that iridescent white, until I found the queen.
She, Ivar, Braque, and Azariah were the only ones untouched by the chaotic force that had torn through the room when I’d been denied entry. The vast table occupied the center of a nook carved from the larger room by a partition of billowing, shimmering fabric. The many swaths of it hung suspended from nothing—more magic.
Perched in a chair that was grander than the others, a veritable throne in its own right, the queen glowered at me. Accusation burned in her blue eyes, as if somehow I were at fault for the disaster that had devastated her artful scene.
Ivar and Braque sat to either side of her while Azariah stood behind her throne. Eleven seats lined each side of the table between the heads. Only one was empty.
“Bow to Her Majesty,” Braque commanded while Ivar did his best to glower a hole through my cranium.
Before I could catalog all the reasons not to, I dipped into a curtsy. “Forgive me, Your Majesty. I was startled to have been excluded from the event and forgot myself for a moment.”
“If only you were so easy to forget,” answered the queen with a frown of her perfectly painted lips. As it so often was, the pigment of choice was blood red. “What a disruption you’ve caused.”
“ I’ve caused?” I quipped, before considering our audience and how the queen was especially fond of punishing impudence when she had a crowd.
“Yes, you .” Her eyes narrowed on me.
Despite Azariah’s reassurances that she couldn’t kill me so long as the magic of the trials was active, I recognized murder in that stare of hers.
Jaw set so hard I had to make myself unclench my teeth, I replied, “My apologies for that too, then, Your Majesty.” There . Pandering and wheedling complete.
But then … it just slipped out. “Whatever it is I’m supposed to have done.”
Her eyes narrowed farther, until they were mere slits, as if they were throwing blades aiming at their target moments before launching.
“The insolence,” Braque hissed, but I didn’t dare look away from the queen.
Her stare remaining on me, she ordered, “You on my left side, slide one seat down.”
Without comment, ten women pushed back their chairs, stood, and shuffled to the one beside it before sitting.
The only empty seat had been beside Rush. Now, it was next to Braque.
“Take your seat,” the queen commanded me.
Wanting only to settle on Rush’s lap, I forced my body to walk past the females trying to take him from me. The farther from the doors I went, the less blood there was. The females’ hair though … every one of their carefully coiffed styles was in some level of disarray. The closer to the doors, the worse it was. Some ha irdos had toppled over. Others were adorned with wild wisps that had broken free of their holds.
Clack, clack, clack, clack . My heels seemed too loud against the wooden floor when everyone was so silent. Every gaze followed my steps.
Even Rush’s. I didn’t have to turn to know his moonlit attention was finally on me.
I would prefer to sit beside a pit of slithering, hissing snakes rather than Braque, and cringed as I lowered myself into the cushioned velvet chair.
He harrumphed and made a show of sliding his chair away a few inches.
On the inside, I rolled my eyes. Outwardly, I pretended nothing the ass-kisser could do would get to me.
Next, he patted his potions satchel. It rested beneath the swell of his plump belly, against his legs, nearest me. Making sure I noticed, he slid it to the other side.
As if I’d be idiotic enough to play loose with his potions after the pit of devouring they’d conjured in the arena. I still hadn’t forgotten the desperation of the guards as the whirlpool had sucked them into its abyss. Nor had I forgotten the one guard’s plea that I defeat the queen and restore the light to the Mirror World.
“Now that the last contestant has finally deigned to join us,” the queen said, as usual unperturbed by her discrepancies and hypocrisies. “Azariah, you will take over the announcements.”
The unisus jerked his big horse head in her direction. His magnificent twisted ivory horn pointed at her, no more than a few feet away. I willed him to gore her with it.
Do it, Azariah. Do it .
With how magical the creature was, perhaps he could overcome the queen’s invincibility. Maybe he could end her where none of the rest of us had been able.
He only squeaked nervously. “Me, Your Majesty?”
“Yes. Obviously, I need someone new for the job.”
Casually, she waved a hand in the air, and Tall Announcer Guy bowed and retreated through the double doors.
Dismissed.
I’d assumed Azariah was to announce each stage of the Fae Heir Trials as he had the first. Evidently, she still hadn’t forgotten how he’d proclaimed me as joint winner of the Gladius Probatio.
Azariah recovered quickly from his surprise. Memories of how willing the queen had been to let him die when the magic of the trials had punished him for voicing her lie that Rush was the sole champion undoubtedly spurred him along.
He tossed his regal head, his fluffy white mane fluttering elegantly, before clearing his throat. “It will be my great honor, Your Majesty.”
For the first time since I was ushered into the salon, her accusatory stare left me … to pin on him.
“Do not disappoint me again.” The or else hung in the air like one of the many curtains .
The unisus’ throat bobbed visibly, the tuft of his soft white beard oscillating. “I won’t, Your Majesty.”
“Good.” Those punishing eyes landed back on me even as she continued to address him. “Begin.”
“Esteemed and honored contestants from all corners of the Mirror World, welcome to the Nuptialis Probatio. The second stage of four that constitutes the Fae Heir Trials, its purpose is to further refine the pairing of male and female champions who will, if and so long as our revered queen approves, become crowned prince and princess and eventual heirs to her throne.”
I couldn’t help but notice they’d entirely dispensed with the pretense that my father had any say in whom would inherit his crown.
“The rules of the Nuptialis Probatio are few,” Azariah continued in an even, regal tone. “Contestants are allowed to use any and all weapons at their disposal to win. Whether it be magic or a tool of our physical worlds, none are off limits thanks to the great generosity of our queen.”
Generosity, my pretty ass…
Now that I had finally been fully unbound, I, like every other fae, was possessed of innate magic. However, unlike every other woman at the table with me, I was the only one new to my powers, the only one at an enormous disadvantage in that I scarcely knew how to access them let alone direct them.
I hadn’t expected the queen to be fair—of course I hadn’t. She was entirely too aware of how limited my understanding of my magic was.
“Only the Drake Rush Vega is forbidden from using his magic,” Azariah added.
“That’s right,” interjected the queen. “We wouldn’t want him to use his powers of persuasion to influence the outcome of this trial in the favor of his preferred contestant.”
While looking straight at me, the queen asked, “Would we, Natania?”
Was … was the bitch implying that Natania was Rush’s favorite? Not me? Not his fucking mate ?
Natania trilled a giggle so fake I wanted to rip it free of her stupid throat. “I wouldn’t mind, Your Majesty. There’s no need to apply that rule on my account.”
The queen laughed as if that were the funniest fucking thing in the entire fucking world. Braque giggled along with her. Ivar simply glared at me some more.
“Perhaps the other contestants would mind, however, Natania,” the queen said. “We must do what we can to make sure the outcome of the Nuptialis Probatio is fair and impartial.”
As fucking if…
“Of course, Your Majesty,” Natania replied too sweetly.
Her eyes trained on me alone, the queen said, “Continue, Azariah.”
He bowed his head in her direction, and again that majestic horn came in range for the winning thrust. Despite my silent urging, he still didn’t make a move to harm the awful woman.
“The Nuptialis Probatio will be composed of four individual events, each to be held on a different day and running for as many days as needed for every contestant to be properly judged. The judge will be, of course, Her Majesty.”
“There’s no one better suited in the entire kingdom to determine the quality of future royalty than our queen,” said Braque, the suck-up, gazing at her with open adoration.
“That’s right,” added Natania.
These were going to be very, very long days. Of that I had no doubt.
“Her Majesty will award points to the contestants at the conclusion of each event,” Azariah went on. “At the end of the fourth and final event, whoever has the most points wins. Of course, as contestants die along the way, they will become disqualified and they and their points removed from the trials.”
“Of course,” I muttered under my breath.
The assumption that competitors would die—he’d mentioned no if s—should have been alarming, terrifying. But what wasn’t terrifying about the queen’s court? I could scarcely believe it, but I was growing used to the constant threat of death that shadowed me everywhere in Embermere.
“No contestant is to leave the palace for any reason. Indeed, the twenty-two crown princess hopefuls will be sequestered together in chambers designed for this purpose so that no outside interference will taint the results of the trials.”
No competitor commented, not even the overly confident Natania. Our collective tension, however, was heavy in the air.
Not only would I have to overcome whatever four events the depraved queen could conceptualize, but I’d also have to survive close quarters with twenty-one women out to get me. Well, maybe not Octavia Lily Rose. So twenty. Dandy .
“The events will take place on the day and time Our Majesty appoints, beginning tomorrow. And she’ll provide entertainment for all parties at nighttime.”
“That’s right,” said the queen. “Starting tonight.”
Like one of her feethles licking its whiskers after a meal of warm blood, she grinned and waited for the tension to build. Knowing her, soon it would crackle through the air.
To jolt through my veins.
When I couldn’t stand another moment before discovering what cruel torture she’d engineered this time, she announced, “Rush will join me in my bed.”
She looked at him.
As did I.
Those silver eyes of his I so loved held steady, revealing nothing of his reaction, or if he even had one. His stoic face was relaxed, as if he didn’t care one way or another, but moonlight vines crawled rapidly up his neck, across his jaw, over the bridge of his nose, as he pretended not to notice, that it meant nothing.
When it meant everything.
His emotions were as in knots as mine.
How dare she do this to him?! There was no good in the woman. None. Not even a speck.
I felt her stare back on me.
I ignored it, not wanting to reveal how much she was affecting me.
Eventually, I faced her.
The moment I did, she said, “And you all will watch.”