Chapter 8
Alette
There's an uncomfortable silence that goes on a bit too long but rather than answer me, they choose to simply ignore my question and drag me to the long oak table on one side of the room that servants have laden with a feast. Behind them, they lead a swarm of fae, who flit around the four kings like wasps disguised as butterflies.
Only I see their stingers.
The room seems to wake back up. The music starts playing.
The fae talk as we take our places at the table, King Cassius on one side of me, King Oberon at the head of the table on the other side of me, King Ashton on King Oberon’s other side across from me, and King Sylvian next to him.
Making it so I’m entirely surrounded. Every muscle in my body is tense.
Ignoring the magical dagger at my hip, I grip the hilt of the knife lying on the table, my eyes darting all around me, looking for danger in every movement they make. But there’s none.
The air is thick with the rich aromas of food, spices swirling together in an intoxicating blend that makes my stomach growl, reminding me how long it’s been since I last had a proper meal. The clink of fine glassware punctuates the air, each sound echoing through the opulent space.
They're happy. And calm. While I feel like I'm crawling out of my skin. I flinch every time one of the fae looks my ways. My palms are sweaty. My muscles are clenched so tight I think I just might snap and stab the next fae that moves in my direction.
This isn't good. Not at all.
I close my eyes, inhaling deeply, trying to calm my racing anxiety, but all I can smell are the exotic scents of food and perfume. Of a place alien to me. It’s a reminder that I’m surrounded by fae in the fae lands.
Another breath. Take another breath.
Opening my eyes, I see that servants have filled my plate with food. I force myself to grab my fork and take a bite of the beef on my plate that's swimming in sauce. My nerves make it taste like ash and unfamiliar spices, but I know I need to keep eating. Without food, I'll become weak.
Without food, I'll never escape.
“How are you enjoying our food?” King Sylvian asks, his lips curved into a smile that lights up his ridiculously beautiful face.
“I imagine it's better than most prisoners get,” I tell him honestly.
“Prisoner?” he repeats, smirking. “If I was going to tie you up, it wouldn't be to make you my prisoner.”
Horrified, I ask, “Then why would you tie me up?”
He blinks at me slowly and leans forward over the table. “For fun.”
I'm almost too terrified to speak. “For you.”
“For you too, I promise,” he says, flashing a wicked grin.
I shake my head, feeling like I've swallowed glass. “Not me. Never me.”
He leans back in his chair looking troubled. “It would be to slow things down. To make it last…”
“I'd rather you make my death quick.”
King Ashton, who sits beside him and has been obviously listening to our conversation, laughs. “No surprise there. She'd choose death over riding your caterpillar.”
“Python,” King Sylvian corrects grumpily.
King Ashton winks. “You keep telling yourself that.”
I stare, having no idea what they're talking about.
King Sylvian studies his nails. “Better a caterpillar than a two second ride.”
Something ticks in King Aston’s jaw. “I can increase this ride any time I want. It'd take a blessing from the gods for you to reach half my length.”
“You're just lucky the wind fae women are used to being disappointed.”
“I imagine the earth fae women are easily impressed.”
King Cassius sighs from beside me. “Is this really the conversation you want to have with the Chosen One? Your brainless heads can think of nothing better?”
“Old Buzzkill is here again,” King Ashton mutters under his breath.
Well… that was weird. The whole conversation. It must be a fae thing, because it felt like we were speaking two different languages.
Forcing myself to keep eating, I try to focus less on my anxiety and more on what's going on around me, but it's hard. I just feel so out of place. It’s not just the clothes, the lavish gown that hugs my frame uncomfortably.
It's the richness of the food that feels foreign on my tongue, and the silverware that glints in the soft light, reminding me of how far removed I am from my simpler life.
It's the big room. It's the pretty people. It’s…
everything. Including the fact that every one of these people has pointed ears, except for the humans who serve them.
This place feels like a nightmare.
I guess it is a nightmare. A nightmare I swear I've had before.
Time passes. The kings seem to forget me, but I can't forget them. It's like forgetting the sun in the sky, or the moon in the night. Their energy surrounds me.
I glance at the man I've tried really hard not to look at. I catch sight of intimidating King Oberon, who sits at the head of the grand table, a dark figure surrounded by the three fae kings… and me. Each of the kings radiate a presence that commands attention from everyone in the room. It’s almost overwhelming, the way they hold the room in thrall.
I’ve never been around people like them before.
Maybe it’s because they’re fae. Maybe it’s because they’re royalty, although nothing like the royalty I’m used to, certainly not like the lord back in town, but it feels like they have their own gravitational pull, a force that draws everyone’s regard.
I remember reading an old book in the town library about planets, stars, and the pull of the universe. How those celestial bodies drift in perfect harmony yet remain entirely separate from one another. These four men remind me of those entities in that book, their power palpable and intoxicating.
King Oberon is drinking heavily, his scowl ever-present, a dark cloud that hovers around him. Every so often, the heat of his gaze sweeps over me, a scorching feeling that prickles across my flesh like static electricity. I can’t help but wonder what he sees when he looks at me. Contempt? Disgust?
I shiver involuntarily at the thought. Grandfather was always crueler with his strap after a few drinks. Will the kings be crueler too?
King Cassius, seated beside him, is blatantly studying me, his pale blue eyes narrowing with an intensity that makes me feel like I’m a creature under a microscope. One he can’t quite figure out. I meet his gaze, and it feels like a challenge, a silent battle of wills.
What does he want from me? What do they all want?
King Ashton keeps catching my gaze, his expression flirtatious, a playful glimmer in his eyes as he winks at me.
Which is, frankly, just plain confusing.
I don’t know how to respond to that. My cheeks flush with heat, a response I can’t quite help, and I look away, focusing on the delicate patterns etched into the tablecloth instead.
And then there’s King Sylvian, who is grinning at me, a warm, inviting smile that makes him appear almost… eager? Eager for what? To see me experience this whole mess? It’s just weird.
“So, Alette,” King Ashton drawls, leaning back in his chair with a casual confidence. “Tell us about yourself.”
My nerves spike, and I fumble for words, my throat dry as I struggle to respond. “Uh…”
“Don’t worry, we don’t bite,” King Sylvian reassures me softly, placing his hand on mine across the table, which feels strange.
In an instant, King Oberon’s gaze snaps to our hands, and rage flashes in his expression. It’s a sharp contrast to King Sylvian’s gentle demeanor. Why does he care so much if our hands touch?
I draw my hand back, curling it in my lap, my pulse quickening. I don’t want to be caught in the middle of whatever volatile dynamic plays out between these kings.
Across from me, King Ashton sprawls back in his chair, looking bold and unafraid, an impish grin gracing his lips. “Speak for yourself, King Sylvian. I definitely bite.”
His eyes find mine, and I blush again for reasons I don’t understand. I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do, what they expect from me. They… get that I’m their prisoner, right? They get that I don’t want any of this?
“Let’s get back to the question. If this is going to work, we need to learn something about Alette,” King Cassius interjects. It’s unnerving, the way he seems to dissect me with just a glance.
Both the fae and the kings are staring at me, and the weight of their expectation feels heavy. I fight against the urge to shrink back, to hide from their scrutiny.
“Wh-what do you want to know?” I finally stammer, my voice barely above a whisper.
“How did you get that bruise on your face?” King Sylvian asks.
I touch my face and flinch. I’m so overwhelmed by my stress that I forgot about it. “I was hit by a guard when trying to escape.”
“Really?” King Ashton sounds fascinated.
King Cassius seems cautious. “Why were you running from a guard?
“They drew my name to be sacrificed to the… well… to you, so I tried to run.”
“I thought the humans were happy to be our sacrifices,” King Sylvian asks, looking confused.
A half snort laugh explodes from my lips. “Yeah, right. Do any of you want to be chained to an altar and violently killed?” I lift my hand to show the marks from the chains.
“She has a point. I mean, we’ve all taken our turns checking the altar,” King Cassius says quietly, and suddenly they all look uncomfortable.
Maybe I shouldn’t have said that. Maybe I should have kept my thoughts to myself.
“Are you married?” King Ashton asks, smirking as he takes a sip of his drink.
“No,” I answer easily, the word escaping my lips with a surprising steadiness.
“In a relationship?” he presses, leaning forward slightly, making me feel a bit cornered.
I shake my head, anxiety coiling tighter in my stomach. Why do they want to know this? What does it matter to them?
“Are you done?” King Oberon’s scowl deepens, his impatience evident as he looks between the others.
“I’m done,” King Ashton informs him, combing a hand clumsily through his long blond hair in a motion that feels almost theatrical.