Chapter 33 The Banquet
The Banquet
Ismooth the silk of Cassy’s gown one last time, the fine threads whispering between my fingers as her slender back bows to me.
My own dress—emerald silk shot through with molten gold filigree—feels impossibly tight across my ribs, as if it’s cinching in my heart itself.
Despite Keiren’s protests at my decision to dress here rather than in his chambers, I insisted on being with my friends.
In Mariel and Cassy’s warm and cluttered room, I feel more anchored than in the grand corridors of the king’s wing.
Keiren and I have hardly been apart in a week, from morning training to late-night reading by the hearth to drifting off wrapped in his arms. Whenever the nightmares rear their ugly head— surprisingly less, lately—he makes tea, and we trade stories until his voice lulls me back to sleep.
I’m not used to this, someone truly caring about me, least of all a man.
My routine has woven itself around him so thoroughly that I could almost forget the world beyond his presence. But tonight is different.
Cassy shivers, her fingers trembling at her throat as she holds her necklace. “There’s a beast,” she whispers, voice so hollow that it echoes in my chest. “Living inside. Clawing at the edges. Hungry.”
Mariel, Vivian, and I exchange a tense glance. In the dim glow of the firelight, Cassy’s eyes look like polished moonstone, distant and unfathomable.
“It’s just nerves,” I say, trying to steel my voice.
“Tonight’s feast… It’ll be a welcome distraction,” Vivian adds.
Cassy’s lips curl into something like a smile, but not quite. “The darkness will devour us,” she breathes, looking from Mariel to Vivian, then directly at me. “You’ll see.”
A bolt of cold runs down my spine. But before I can press her on what she means, a quiet knock comes at the door. We turn to find Arther standing with a silver tray balanced on one forearm.
“His Majesty awaits,” he announces, bowing with measured grace.
We head to the great hall. As we cross its threshold, its magic washes over me.
Above us, glowing fae lanterns drift like captive stars.
Sprites pirouette on unseen currents, weaving trails of light that shimmer against the marble pillars.
Oarks in jeweled armor stand sentinel along the walls, their wide eyes flicking from guest to guest, watchful in a way that makes my skin prickle.
Keiren had told me that the two who attacked me were brothers to the oark who’d whipped Brimstone. It was possible they’d been paid to assassinate me, but more likely, they were avenging their brother, who Keiren had executed.
Every corner of the hall whispers with enchantment… and something darker beneath it.
Seraphina corners me near the edge of the ballroom, her wine-dark gown clinging like a second skin. The music swells, laughter ringing too loudly around us.
“You look nervous,” she says lightly, eyes flicking toward the dais. “Funny thing, nerves.”
I don’t answer.
She leans closer, breath sweet with spiced wine. “You know, I thought you’d be glowing by now. Radiant. Satisfied.” Her smile sharpens. “But you look exactly the same.”
My stomach tightens.
“Did he not touch you?” she murmurs. “Or did you freeze up before he could?”
Heat crawls up my neck. “That’s none of your—”
Her gaze drops—quick, assessing—then lifts again, alight with something cruel.
Understanding dawns.
She laughs. Soft. Disbelieving. “Oh. Oh, stars.” Her voice drops. “You haven’t slept with him.”
The words land like a slap.
“You’re still untouched,” she continues, delight curling every syllable. “All this time. All that opportunity.” Her head tilts. “Tell me—does it frighten you? Facing death without ever knowing what it’s like to be wanted?”
I say nothing. I can’t.
She straightens, smoothing an imaginary wrinkle from her bodice. “Pathetic.” She smirks. “A frightened little virgin playing queen.” Then she turns and disappears back into the crowd, laughter trailing after her like perfume.
I stand there long after the music swallows her whole, pulse pounding, the thought lodged deep and ugly in my chest.
What if I die like this?
The aroma of spiced meats and sweet nectars mingles with the tang of the night-blooming roses that populate the castle gardens. A harp’s mellow notes float from a hidden gallery, underscoring the murmur of fae laughter and clinking glass.
Arther steps forward onto the dais. His voice rings clear across the hall. “Tonight, His Majesty honors your courage and grants you gifts for the final Trial, which will take place in two months’ time.”
One by one, Seraphina, Mariel, Vivian, Cassy and I step forward, heaving with pride and uncertainty as Keiren presents each of us with our tokens.
Seraphina kneels to receive an obsidian-hilted dagger.
“To protect what is yours,” Keiren intones. Her fingers close around the hilt as if finding an old friend.
Mariel accepts a vial of liquid that shimmers like moonlight on water.
“To mend what is broken,” he says. She presses it to her heart as though sealing a vow.
Cassy receives a silver crescent-moon pendant.
“To guide your way in darkness,” he whispers. Tears gather at her lashes.
Vivian receives a silver chalice.
“To hold what is given.”
When he turns to me, the room seems to hush. His cloak of mid-night silk trails at his heels, embroidered with draconic runes that flicker gold in the torchlight. He extends a small glass orb, its interior swirling with molten starlight.
“To awaken what sleeps,” he says, hands steady as the orb settles into my fingers.
Its warmth blooms through my palm, spreading along my veins in a slow pulse. In that moment, I feel every heartbeat echo in my chest—and a tremor of wonder at what it means and how it might help me survive the final Trial.
I drain my goblet and reach for another, the burn of wine a welcome pulse against my nerves. Each swallow numbs the edges of my anxiety.
I need air.
I weave between dancers and fluttering sprites until I spot Mae leaning against a marble pillar, silver goblet in hand.
“Fire,” she greets me with a soft smile, eyes brighter than the lanterns overhead. I sink beside her.
“You’ve made him so happy,” Mae murmurs, nodding toward the king, who’s still watching from the dais. “I haven’t seen him that relaxed in nearly three hundred years.”
My throat tightens. “Happy?”
She lifts her glass. “You’ll make a fine queen.”
“Yes, you will indeed.” Arther approaches, offering a low bow. “Good evening, Lady Fire. Miss Mae, you look lovely this evening.”
“Hello, Arther,” Mae replies, then straightens suddenly. “Darling, you look pale. You must be parched. I’ll fetch you a refill.” And just like that, she’s off, leaving me alone with Arther’s earnest eyes.
I can’t help myself. “When are you going to tell Mae how you feel?”
Arther stiffens, clearly stunned. “In what way?”
“Oh, come on,” I tease. “We all see the way you look at her—and the way she looks at you.”
He runs a hand through his hair. “I—I couldn’t. These things take time.”
I press on, frustration flaring. “What in the world are you waiting for? You two have been bound together in this accursed castle for centuries! Life’s full of ‘what ifs.’ If you never shoot your shot, you’ll always wonder, ‘What if?’ You’ve already danced with her, Arther, and she hasn’t rejected you. Just tell the poor woman!”
“Here you are, dear,” Mae’s voice cuts through the tension as she returns with a fresh chalice. Arther glances from her to me, his jaw dropping in confusion.
I shoot him a mock sigh. Twirling a finger toward the ballroom, I mouth, Dance!
Finally, the light bulb goes off. Arther clears his throat and bows to Mae. “Miss Mae, may I have the pleasure of this dance?”
Mae beams. “Why, of course, you old fossil—I thought you’d never ask!”
And with that, he whisks her off into the swirl of dancers.
I settle back against the pillar and take a long draft of the spiked fairy nectar. Couples spin around me, Mariel waltzing with a sapphire-eyed fae, Vivian’s laughter mingling with her partner’s. They all seem so… alive, as though the onyx stones themselves are exhaling in relief.
My gaze drifts upward, remembering the last dance we shared in the garden. The press of his hand at my waist. The way his voice softened around my name. How he nearly told me he…
No. Definitely not going to think about that right now.
I lean my head against the pillar, hoping the cold stone will slow my rapidly increasing temperature. Suddenly, a familiar silhouette steps into view.
“You are a miracle worker,” the king murmurs, leaning one arm on the marble beside me, the other at my waist. Keiren’s cloak pools like midnight at his feet.
“Oh really?” I say, voice rough. “How so?”
His golden gaze examines me, and I swear his skin shimmers in the moonlight.
“Mae and Arther,” he murmurs. “They’ve loved each other for centuries, yet neither dared make a move. You changed that, first on the night of the second Trial and again tonight.”
He gestures toward the dance floor just as Arther presses a kiss to Mae’s cheek.
I blink, surprised and delighted.
“They say if you never try, you’ll never—” He falters, searching for the proverb.
I laugh, setting my glass on a nearby stand. “Well, finish it.”
His smile turns warm. Private. “Would you dance with me?”
My heart thuds. I curtsy, offering my hand. As the harp’s first notes rise, he catches my fingers and draws me into the circle of light.
“Arther and Mae were right,” he says quietly. “You’ll make a fine queen.”
“I’m not sure I want to be queen.” The confession slips out before I can stop it.
“Just think of all you could do once the curse is broken.”
Hope and fear spiral together. I want to believe—
Until he brushes a stray curl from my cheek, his breath warm against my lips.
I close my eyes and lean…
A guttural growl tears through the music.