Chapter 11
Alette
The next morning, the sun burns its way through the windows, filling my room with heat and the soft chirp of birds outside.
I roll out of bed, feet hitting the cold stone floor.
The gown I wore last night is lying crumpled on the floor.
I put on my own clothes: worn pants, a tunic, boots with a hole in the toe.
Then I try to tie my hair back, but the fae servant girls have woven so many braids into it that I end up with a lumpy mess.
I leave it, deciding that as a fae prisoner it doesn’t really matter.
Lily greets me outside my door, her eyes wide and bright, as though she’d been waiting all morning for me. “My lady, breakfast is being served in the east gardens today. The kings thought you might enjoy the fresh air.”
I guess it’s better than being trapped in this room.
Still, I nod and follow her through the twisting halls, out past the grand doors, and into the open.
The gardens are greener and wilder than any field I’ve ever seen.
There are trees with silver bark, and flowers that change color when you look away.
And in the middle of it all is a long table set for five, covered in white linen and food so fancy I’m not sure which end to start at.
But the real spectacle is off to the right: a sand-lined practice yard, bordered by rows of hedges. And in that yard, four men with swords. The fae kings.
And they’re shirtless. All of them.
For a second I just stare, mouth open. In my world, men never take their shirts off in public. It’s rude, it’s shameful, it’s… it’s too much skin. Here, no one seems to care.
King Oberon and King Ashton are circling each other with swords, their bodies slick with sweat, chests heaving with effort.
King Oberon’s chest is a broad slab of muscle, dusted with scars and a spattering of dark hair.
King Ashton is longer, more whipcord than brawn, but the veins in his arms stand out like blue lightning.
The men move with lethal precision, swords clacking, sand flying.
King Cassius and King Sylvian are at the far end, sparring quietly.
King Sylvian is a brute. He’s taller than the others with a chest like a boulder, but he moves with a strange, slow grace, as though he’s always thinking two steps ahead.
King Cassius is paler, but not delicate, his body a map of old cuts and calluses, lean but dangerous.
They fight like they’re dancing, even as the swords slam together with bone-rattling force.
“Alette!” King Sylvian calls.
Four sets of eyes snap to me, and the energy shifts in a way I can’t understand.
King Ashton pauses in his fight with King Oberon to grin at me. “Good morning, beautiful!”
King Oberon kicks him in the stomach, and he goes flying.
Ashton lands heavily on the ground, but he jumps up off the dusty field without using his hands, which is impressive to watch. Now, the smile is gone from his face. “Alette, want to watch me kick King Oberon’s ass?”
“You’re all talk,” King Oberon growls.
They begin to circle each other again.
“Pathetic, aren’t they?” Sylvian jokes, then nods at Cassius. “We don’t need to fight like that. We both know I’m the superior warrior.”
King Cassius lifts a brow and strikes out, knocking King Sylvian’s sword from his grip. Instantly, Sylvian rolls across the ground, grabs his sword from where it landed, and points it at King Cassius once more. Neither of them look like they’re kidding around any longer.
The kings keep fighting, but not the way they were fighting when I first walked up.
This is more intense. They’re fighting like they actually want to hurt each other, while also, somehow, constantly glancing back to look at me.
I want to tell them that, yes, I’m watching.
What else is there to do sitting at this table alone?
But why do they care if I’m watching?
I force myself to put some food on my plate and pick at it. Usually, I’m starving, but I don’t seem to have much of an appetite in the fae lands, even though all the food looks amazing.
What’s wrong with me?
As I force myself to eat, King Ashton catches my gaze and winks, then turns back to King Oberon and whips the sword at his face. King Oberon deflects, drops into a roll, and comes up behind King Ashton. The wind fae blocks just in time, but the force of it knocks both men sprawling in the sand.
“Very subtle,” King Cassius calls over, wiping sweat from his face. “Is this what passes for swordplay in the Fire Court?”
“Care to try your luck?” King Oberon barks, climbing to his feet.
“I’d rather not waste my time,” King Cassius says, but there’s a challenge in his eyes.
I can’t help but stare. These men, they’re nothing like the humans I’d see when I visited town. Their bodies are too perfect, their movements too smooth. Even when they’re covered in dirt and sweat, they are inhumanely flawless.
King Sylvian sheaths his sword and comes over, grabbing a pitcher of water from the table and downing it in three swallows. Then he sets it down with a thunk and drops into the chair beside me, his weight making the whole thing creak.
“Morning,” he says, all confidence and easy charm.
“Morning,” I echo, wishing I could sink into the ground and disappear.
“Did you sleep well?” he asks.
I shrug. “It’s strange sleeping in a place with so many windows.”
King Sylvian grins. “If you don’t like windows, you should try the guest quarters on the lower levels. Some are little more than burrows.”
Before I can answer, King Cassius saunters over, dripping sweat, and sits across from us. “I told you he’d bring up his tunnels before noon,” he shouts to the others.
King Sylvian snorts. “Jealous?”
“You’re the one who always needs to be underground. I’m at home in any element,” King Cassius says, and gives me a brief, almost shy, smile.
“I like the outdoors,” I say quietly, because it’s true. I always have.
King Oberon and King Ashton are still fighting, but now it’s grown even more intense.
Their swords move faster, the blows sharper, and each time they clash, they get closer to real violence.
King Ashton lands a stinging smack to King Oberon’s thigh, and King Oberon responds by hooking King Ashton’s ankle and sending him face-first into the sand.
“Enough,” King Cassius calls. “You two are acting like children.”
King Oberon ignores him, grabbing King Ashton by the neck and yanking him upright. King Ashton throws an elbow, catching King Oberon in the jaw, and for a second I’m sure they’re going to kill each other.
King Sylvian rises and moves fast. He gets between them and shoves them apart, his arms out. “Remember that we have to be in fighting form for the labyrinth,” he says, and there’s a steel in his voice that makes even King Oberon take notice.
“Why are you always so keen on peace, Earth King?” King Oberon asks, anger flashing in his gaze.
“Because someone has to be,” King Sylvian answers, brushing sand from his chest.
The two men glower at each other, but slowly, grudgingly, the tension drains away.
They all come to the table, each grabbing more food and drink than I can imagine eating in a week back home, and for a long moment, no one talks. I keep my eyes down, focusing on the little golden rolls and sweet strawberries. I don’t want to watch them eat, don’t want to meet anyone’s gaze.
But the silence is a pressure. Eventually, I lift my gaze and ask the question that’s been gnawing at me since last night. “Why do you all hate each other so much?”
King Oberon’s head jerks up. He stares at me like he can’t believe I’d just said that out loud.
“We don’t hate each other,” King Ashton says, mouth full of fruit.
“That’s not what it looks like,” I say.
He grins. “We used to. I mean, all the different fae really used to hate each other. Now it’s more of a sport.”
King Cassius wipes his mouth with a napkin and says, “The four courts have been in conflict for as long as there have been fae. Most of it is tradition now. But there’s… history.”
“Lots of it,” King Oberon mutters, glaring at King Cassius.
I wait, but no one offers more. They just go on eating, tearing through the food like a pack of wolves.
“Alette–” King Oberon begins, touching my shoulder.
I flinch then scoot away, my heart hammering. These fae are constantly touching me. I’m not used to it. I’m not used to touch not hurting.
King Oberon drops his hand, far too focused on his food. The others have stopped eating and are staring, but when I glance at them, they go right back to their meal. I try to calm my racing heart. Try to pretend that I’m not always on the edge of a cliff of terror.
After a few more bites, King Cassius sets his fork down and leans in, voice soft. “You know, you don’t have to fear us, Alette.”
I look up at him, startled by the way he says my name. He’s not teasing. There’s something gentle in his eyes.
“You’re safe here,” he adds.
I glance at the others. King Oberon is picking apart a roasted quail, careful not to look my way.
King Sylvian is already half finished with his plate, and his muscles are twitching as he tears bread with his hands.
King Ashton is lounging in his chair, looking lazy, but I can tell from the way he keeps checking my face that he’s paying attention to every word.
“I’m not afraid of you,” I lie.
King Sylvian smirks. “You flinch every time one of us gets near you.”
I freeze. I want to argue, but I can’t, because it’s true.
King Oberon’s mouth twists. “Is it because of my control over fire? A lot of people fear the fire fae,” he says evenly, but it's threaded with an undertone of hurt.
“No,” I say, a little too quickly.
He leans closer. “Then what is it, little human?”
I chew my lip, not wanting to answer. Not wanting these fae to know too much about me. But Cassius is watching me with such open curiosity that I feel compelled to say something.