Chapter 7
Alette
Just keep breathing.
Just keep breathing.
The mantra repeats in my mind like a lifeline as I try to ignore the massive fae king at my side.
But I could no more ignore him than I could a blade at my throat.
His arm is rigid beneath my hand, muscles tight as iron, and his breathing is faster than it should be, so quick that the rushed sound seems to fill my ears.
Every few steps, he glances at me, as if making sure I haven’t vanished.
Does he know how badly I want to run?
We stop in front of heavy oak doors.
“How much do you know of the fae?” he asks, his voice low. Dangerous.
“Just that they’re dangerous,” I manage, trying to avoid the way his deep blue eyes seem to be assessing every inch of me.
“Well, you’re about to learn a lot in a very short amount of time.”
It sounds like a threat. But is it?
My heart pounds as the doors swing open without a sound.
Music spills out first. Then warmth. Then light.
The hall beyond is enormous, the ceiling rising high above, carved with patterns that catch the golden chandelier light.
It gleams across polished stone floors and flickering sconces, turning everything soft and unreal.
The air is thick with rich scents—meat, spice, sweetness.
It’s so overwhelming it makes my chest tight.
It’s beautiful.
Too beautiful.
The kind of beautiful that makes it painfully clear I don’t belong here.
King Oberon pulls me forward before I can hesitate.
The hall is filled with fae. They stand in separate groups, like four different worlds forced into the same room.
One group wears deep blues, their gowns and suits shimmering like water beneath moonlight.
Another wears greens and browns, their clothing rich and natural, like the forest itself has claimed them.
A third group is dressed in silver and white, pale and elegant, almost glowing.
The last group wears reds and oranges, bold and bright, like living flame.
They’re all beautiful. And they’re all dangerous.
Their voices murmur together, low and quiet. But as we step farther into the room, something shifts.
“The chosen one,” someone calls.
The words slice through the hall. The music stops. Silence follows. Every head turns. Every eye finds me.
My breath catches. My fingers curl into my palm as panic crawls up my spine. I want to disappear. I want to run. I want to be anywhere but here.
King Oberon keeps walking, dragging me with him like I belong at his side.
I don’t. I don’t belong here. I don’t belong anywhere in this place of monsters and kings and power. But their eyes stay on me. Watching. Waiting.
Then there’s a movement, a flash of green, and I spot King Sylvian.
His brow is furrowed, and his lips are drawn into a tight line as he makes his way toward us, his tall form cutting through the crowd effortlessly.
The way he carries himself is different from King Oberon.
There’s a gentleness to him, a subtle grace that draws my eye even amidst the chaos.
His eyes flicker with something I can’t quite read as he approaches, and I feel a jolt of hope that maybe he’ll save me from this madness.
Except he’s just as much a part of this as King Oberon.
“What are you doing with her?” he demands, his voice sharp but tinged with concern. Is it possible he cares? Or is he simply trying to assert his authority?
King Oberon shrugs. “I took my human,” he says, his tone dripping with possessiveness.
“Your human?” King Sylvian repeats incredulously, disbelief etched across his handsome features. “She’s my human. I found her. All you found was dead girls. The goddess rewarded me with finding her on my day to check the altar, which means she’s mine.”
Anger rushes through me. “Was it nice to stop finding dead women left behind?”
King Sylvian stares at me, seeming confused. “It was. That’s what I’m saying.”
I have to take several breaths, surprised that I’d spoken. Surprised by how angry I still am. “All those women were people. Daughters. Sisters.”
“But none of them were the chosen one,” King Oberon snaps. “And now I have her.”
“You mean I have her,” the earth fae says.
Because, of course, that’s what matters here.
The tension between them crackles in the air, palpable and thick, and I feel a rush of anxiety as I wonder who will win in this strange contest of ownership. Do I even want one of them to win? I’m a person, not a thing. As fae, though, they’ve probably never considered that.
“Then try to take her from me,” King Oberon growls, his hand coming to rest possessively on the hand I have wrapped around his arm.
The air seems to grow thicker as the tension mounts.
The fae around us are watching closely, some with curiosity, others with barely concealed excitement, their eyes gleaming with the thrill of the unfolding drama.
My stomach just flips. Drama isn’t the worst thing in the world…
unless, of course, you become the center of it, which I am now.
Before anything can escalate further, another figure steps forward, a man with a devil-may-care grin plastered across his face.
My heart beats a little faster as he turns his smile onto me.
I can’t help but notice the way his presence commands attention, the easy charm that radiates from him like sunlight.
He’s tall and broad, maybe taller and broader than the other two by just a bit, with shoulder-length blond hair, left loose, and warm brown eyes that seem to sparkle with mischief.
He raises his hands in mock surrender, a playful glint in his gaze, and winks at me, sending a flutter of something unnameable through my stomach.
“You two are like dogs fighting over a bone,” he teases, his voice rich with amusement.
His gaze flickers to me once more, softening just a little as he takes in my appearance, and I feel a blush creep up my neck at the unexpected attention.
“Though I suppose that’s to be expected with such a lovely human in our midst.”
The tension in the room eases, if only by a little, as the fae’s gazes shift back to their drinks and conversations. But I still can’t shake the sense that I’ve just stepped into something I don’t understand. Another layer of danger that only a fae would be able to pick up on.
The blond man reaches out and takes my hand, and for some reason, I let him. “King Ashton,” he introduces himself, his voice smooth and charming, each word a gentle caress. “Welcome to our world, lovely human.”
My heart beats a little faster as he presses a kiss to my knuckles.
“And what’s your name?”
“I—" My voice falters, caught in my throat as I swallow around the lump of uncertainty. “Alette.”
“Alette,” he stretches out my name, a playful lilt in his voice that is almost pleasant. “A beautiful name, fitting for a beautiful human.”
His hand closes around mine, and he pulls me from King Oberon’s side.
I bounce against his hard chest and let out a little gasp of shock.
Without looking up, I can feel the tension between the kings simmering in the air, although I don’t know why it’s so important to them that they win this game they’re playing.
King Oberon takes a step closer to us, the possessiveness in his voice a growl as he asserts, “The human is mine.”
King Ashton waves his words away like they’re gnats, his confidence unwavering. “Not to worry, I only borrow women, never keep them.” His tone is teasing, yet there’s an undercurrent of something more, something that makes me wonder how deep this rivalry runs.
Without looking back, King Ashton leads me gently toward the fae dressed in silver and white, ignoring King Oberon, who glares after us with a fierce intensity.
I feel like a pawn in a game much larger than myself, pulled between the forces vying for control.
“How much do you know about fae?” he asks, his voice warm and inviting, as if he’s genuinely interested.
It’s weird to be talked to like I’m a person, like I matter. “Nothing,” I tell him, because it’s better than calling them bloodthirsty monsters.
He smiles, and it lights up his whole face. “Would you like me to teach you a bit about them?”
Knowledge is power, I remind myself. “I would.”
“This—” he gestures grandly toward the fae in flowing whites and silvers, “—is the wind fae. My people,” he tells me proudly, a glimmer of affection in his voice as he waves his hand over them.
“The fae in reds and oranges are fire fae, led by King Oberon. The fae in brown and green are earth fae, led by King Sylvian. The ones in blue are water fae, led by King Cassius.”
He looks at me, and I have to swallow around the lump in my throat. “Oh, interesting,” is all I manage, my mind racing to catch up to everything he just explained.
“My people are the ones you should focus on,” he tells me, and then he winks again, before he brings me straight into the middle of the crowd of them.
They seem to envelop me in an instant, a whirlwind of movement and sound, exclaiming at my short stature, my hair, my eyes, their voices rising into a chorus of wonder.
Hands reach out to touch me, fingers brushing against my arms and shoulders, the warmth of their curiosity a stark contrast to the cold fear gnawing at my insides.
The words “chosen one” are spoken in awe under their breath, and I hear the tone of reverence in their voices, which is more than a little unsettling.
Yet, none of them go anywhere near the dagger at my hip. Which probably isn’t an accident.
The wind fae are… kind. At least, that’s how they’re presenting themselves right now. Which is a surprise. Who would ever associate fae with the word “kind”?
“What do they call her?” one woman asks.
“Alette,” King Ashton tells them proudly. It’s strange—I haven’t heard anyone say my name with pride since my father died.