Chapter 2
?──── Koen ? ────?
The sun dips below the horizon as my boots scuff over the narrow cobbled path winding through Zea's Hollow. Familiar route. Familiar stones. But something about today makes the air feel too still, almost like the whole village paused mid-breath and didn't remember how to exhale.
I pass by Thomas, the old baker, cleaning the windows of his shop. The water slides over the glass in lazy waves—his magic isn’t as strong these days.
“Thomas! I told you to stop using so much magic. You’ll end up back at my clinic if you don’t rest,” Althea calls out as she walks toward him, her wavy black hair catching the breeze.
She’s the only healer we have in the village, and one of the few fae who live here at all. Most of them prefer their own towns. Can’t blame them, really. It’s hard to make friends with people who won’t live half as long as you will.
Thomas just laughs, as usual. He’s turning eighty-three next week and refuses to slow down, even though his grandson, Alistair, has mostly taken over the bakery.
I smile faintly and keep walking. Around me, the street is settling in for the evening—shopkeepers closing up, a man using a bit of wind magic to sweep the path, the smell of bread and herbs drifting from open doors.
Each shop is a little cottage, the owners living in the rooms behind, warm light already glowing through the windows.
I slow when I pass the shrine to Phynnera, half-hidden by ivy and pale-blue blossoms. Its sun-worn stones are warm with the last of the day’s light. The offerings are fresh bundles of herbs and a candle flickering in a clay dish—meaning someone has been here recently.
I don’t know why I always look at the shrine. Or why I always feel something when I’m there. Not exactly comfort . Just a low thrum in my bones, like a memory that I can’t seem to recall.
A golden leaf drifts down from the trees and lands at my feet. I bend to pick it up without thinking, and as my fingers brush the crisp edge, a shiver runs up my spine. My hand closes around the leaf.
As I straighten, my eyes wander to the lake beyond the trees. The surface ripples beneath the lowering sun. For a moment, I think I hear the echo of a laugh in the wind. A woman’s laugh. Soft and free, full of something I don’t even have a name for.
I shake my head hard, causing strands of my dark hair to fall across my forehead. “Get a grip.”
Yet, my boots linger on the path a heartbeat longer. My gaze stays on the water for a moment before I force myself to turn back toward the tavern.
I’m not sure why, but I keep the golden leaf clutched tight in my palm, and I don’t let go. Not even when I step inside to the clang of mugs and the smell of roasted meat.
The night passes achingly slowly. I mainly just serve regulars and a few women from a neighboring village. Calder and Alistair left a few minutes ago with two of the women, leaving me to close on my own.
When I’m done, I drag myself upstairs to the small apartment Calder—my friend and the tavern’s owner—lets me stay in. It’s old and worn, but liveable. A cramped sitting area, a narrow kitchen off to the side, one bedroom, and a washroom. It’s not much, but it’s home.
At least, for now.
I don’t feel like I belong here. Or anywhere. My heart beats like it knows where it’s supposed to be but can’t tell me how to get there. Like there’s somewhere out there that would feel right. A place that would feel like mine, but the path to it is lost.
I wash quickly and crawl into bed, already dreading tomorrow. Every day is the same. Wake. Walk the Hollow’s paths. Work in the tavern until closing. Collapse in bed. Repeat. I am restless in a way that sleep never seems to fix.
────────────? ? ? ? ?────────────
The next day, the tavern is alive with laughter, shouts, and the clatter of tankards as I wipe down the bar. It’s been rowdy since midday. I’ve already thrown out two drunks, and the sun hasn’t even begun to set.
Across the room, two men argue over a card game, voices rising with each round. I watch them warily, hoping it doesn’t turn physical. If I have to toss out one more fool, I’ll punch him myself.
“Will you stop scowling like that, Koen? You’re going to scare customers away,” Calder says, slapping me on the back.
“Good,” I grunt. “Then maybe it will finally quiet down in here .”
He chuckles. “You work in a tavern. What exactly did you expect?”
Normally, I don’t mind the noise as much. It drowns out my thoughts. However, my nerves have been on edge since yesterday, and I’m not sure why.
“You’re extra grumpy today.” Calder’s blue eyes observe me, concern creeping into his tone. “Everything alright?”
Leaning on the bar, I rub my eyes. “Didn’t sleep much last night. Strange dreams again.”
His brow furrows, but before he can reply, the door chimes and the tavern finally quiets as though someone snuffed a flame.
A royal guard strides inside. An unusual sight anywhere. But in a small village tavern? Unheard of.
“Can I help you?” I ask carefully.
The man nods, his wavy brown hair half pulled into a bun. “I am looking for Koen Moriver.”
“That’s me.”
“I’m Torin Virel of the Royal Guard. I’ve been sent to escort you to the capital.”
I blink. “…Excuse me?”
“You have been chosen as one of the six contestants in the Trials of the Fated.”
What? The words slam into me like a punch to the ribs.
I laugh, sharp and humorless. “There’s been a mistake. I never—” I pause, shaking my head. “I didn’t sign up.”
Torin’s expression doesn’t change as he shrugs. “Your name is on the royal registry. It has been approved. You’ve been summoned.”
My mouth opens, then closes again. All eyes in the tavern are on us. “I can’t just leave. I have a job here and—”
“Koen, can I talk to you for a second?” Calder cuts in, voice tight.
I whip toward him, stomach sinking in realization. “Calder…”
He raises his hands, guilty. “Don’t be mad.
I was having a drink with Alistair a few weeks ago, and…
well, there was this group of men talking about signing up.
They talked a lot about the princess. And let’s just say they weren’t being very…
respectful. I got angry. Punched one of them.
Alistair had to drag me away. We drank more.
Then…” He winces and rakes his fingers through his messy chestnut hair.
“We wrote a short letter saying you wanted to participate in the trials and paid some guy to take it to the palace.”
I stare, stunned. “You got drunk…and entered me into a royal competition?”
“We thought you’d be a better option than those bastards!”
“Why not sign yourselves up?”
“Oh, come on, Koen. You know I would not make a good king. Even if I am the strongest,” he adds with a grin.
I shoot him a look that says I’m considering murder, and his smile fades.
“Look, I can take care of the tavern just fine without you. Just…trust me.”
“What if I don’t want—”
“You’ve been summoned. I don’t think you have a choice,” Calder says, glancing toward Torin.
The guard only shakes his head.
“How long do I have?” I ask tightly.
Torin glances outside at the sinking sun. “We depart within the hour.”
Calder follows me upstairs as I go to pack.
I don’t have much, so it won’t take long.
I start shoving things into a satchel. My anger feels like it may boil over, and it’s taking everything in me not to rip the satchel.
The Trials of the Fated? They signed me up for a royal trial that could lead to marriage to Princess Serenya or… death. Neither option sounds pleasant.
“Calder, the tavern needs someone down there,” I say, my words sharp with irritation.
“It’s fine. The guard is down there.” He waves a hand like it’s nothing. “I’m really sorry, Koen. We didn’t think they would choose someone from some small village. But honestly, I think this will be good for you.”
“How will participating in a trial that could kill me be good for me?” My jaw tightens.
“I have faith in you.” He hesitates, then sighs. “I know you’re not happy here. What you’ve been doing…it’s not even living. You don’t come out with us anymore. You’ve grown tired of this place. This village. You need more. You need this.”
Then, of course, he grins. “Plus, the princess is , like , really beautiful. If you win, you’ll get a gorgeous wife, and you’ll be king.
Then I can visit you and have my own chambers in the royal palace .
” He puts his hands on his hips, shaking his head, still grinning.
“Fuck, man. I’m a genius. You’ll get out of this village, win, get married, and invite me to all the royal events.
Maybe even set me up with some of the princess’s friends. ”
I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying to convince myself that I shouldn’t punch him. “I’m not going for her. I’m going because I’m being forced to. I don’t care if I win. I just want to survive and then come back.”
His grin fades, seriousness settling in.
“Don’t. I like having you here, but it isn’t what you want.
I haven’t seen you happy in a long time.
Promise me you’ll try. Not just to survive, but to win.
Try to get to know the princess. She’s a mystery.
People say she used to always be around her people, smiling and helping any way she could, but for the last few decades, she hasn’t left the palace much.
Not many humans in our generation have even laid eyes on her. ”
“Great,” I grumble. “A princess who has given up on her people. Who would rather sit in luxury than help. Not interested.”
He groans. “You’re helpless, Koen.”
I finish packing in silence, and we head back downstairs. The guard is leaning against the bar, mug in hand.
“You were gone a while…” He pauses, lifting a brow.
I glare at him.
“…anyways, I helped myself to some ale. Left some coin on the bar top.” He sets the mug down and turns back to me. “Ready? If I get back too late for dinner, the princess will kick my ass.” His tone is half warning, half annoyance.
“Not helping her case,” I mutter to Calder.
He pats me on the back as I pass him. “Just try. And maybe act less…grumpy.”
I grunt a response, sling the satchel over my shoulder, and follow Torin out. He leads me to the stable, where two of the royal guard’s horses wait. Ten minutes later, we are riding toward Elarion, Syltheriel’s capital.
Eventually, the road curves along the lake, its surface shimmering under the fading light. I walk beside Torin in silence, the hooves of our horses clopping softly behind us. We decided to walk the last stretch to give them a break.
“You’re sure you don’t want to try to run?” Torin asks finally.
I snort. “And go where? It’s not like they would just wave and let me go back home.” I shove my hands into my pockets. “What exactly am I being delivered to? A bloodbath?”
“Probably.” He says it like it’s nothing serious at all.
I drag a hand over my face. “You’ve seen the trials before?”
“No. The last was before I was born. King Thalon was the victor that year.” A shadow crosses his face. “They only happen when it’s time for a new heir to take the throne.”
“So you don’t actually know what to expect,” I mutter. “That’s comforting.”
Torin chuckles under his breath. “I know what they say. That the trials test your strength, your heart, and your will. That they make men or monsters. Depends on the kind of soul you bring into them.”
“Right,” I say. “And it’s only humans who get to throw their lives away for this… honor . We break our bones for a chance at what you fae are born with. Seems fair.”
“Survive the trials, and you earn it,” Torin says. “The blessing, the strength, the immortality. It means something that way.”
“Sure,” I mutter. “Nothing says honor like dying to prove that we are not completely useless.”
He doesn’t argue with that. We walk in silence for a while, the crunch of gravel and the wind the only noise.
Eventually, he turns, studying me. “You’re nervous.”
“I’ve been entered into a deadly competition without my knowledge, and now I’m walking to my own execution. Wouldn’t you be nervous?”
He shrugs. “Maybe. But at least nerves mean you understand the risk. That’s not weakness .”
“And what is?”
“Arrogance,” he answers without hesitation. “Thinking you’re owed something or that wanting something makes you ready for it.”
I turn that over. “You think someone like me—someone who’s only ever poured drinks for people and never asked to be part of something like this—could survive in these trials?”
He half-smiles. “I think we’re going to find out.”
The palace looms larger as we climb the last hill, banners of black and gold snapping in the wind.
“Still time to run. I’ll give you a head start. I know this isn’t what you wanted,” Torin says casually.
“I have no intention of running.” My voice comes out steady, though my stomach twists. “I didn’t choose this, but I’m not running from it either.”
He nods once, a hint of approval showing in his features. “She won’t make it easy on you.”
“The princess?”
“She’s no girl in silks. She’s endured more than most warriors I’ve known. She won’t marry a man who can’t take scars.”
I stay quiet for a moment. “…I didn’t come to win her.”
The gates finally come into view ahead. Beyond them, the palace rises out of the dark, all pale stone and trailing vines, its spires catching the moonlight. I slow without meaning to. I’ve never been here before, but something about it feels familiar in a strange way.
“Never seen it before?” Torin asks.
“Never left the Hollow,” I murmur.
He smiles faintly. “Then welcome to the place that will change your life.”
Guards bow low as we pass into the courtyard. One takes the horses’ reins from us, and I follow Torin quietly as he leads me through the doors and down several marbled halls. At last, he comes to a stop.
“This is your room. All champions are housed in the north wing, where the royal guard resides when not on duty. You’ll have privacy and protection.”
I nod, walking in and setting my satchel down.
He lingers in the doorway. “Wash up. I’ll return soon to escort you to dinner, where you will meet the princess and the other champions. Then, the trials will begin at dawn.”
Once he is gone, the room is quiet, bathed in silver moonlight.
I sit on the edge of the bed, staring at the dark sky.
Why does it feel like I’ve been here before?
And though I’d never admit it to Calder, why does a part of me feel almost…
relieved to be here? As though leaving the Hollow behind was the first step toward something my heart has been searching for all along.