They can take everything—my dignity. My future. My comfort. My joy.
But I won’t let them see inside.
I’m the villain in this story. There is no other option. And if it’s a villain they want, it’s the part I’ll play.
Footsteps sound down the trail behind me. Shades of black flash behind the twisting golden leaves around the bend and I stop. My heavy breath puffs out in wafts of mist in the chill morning air. Two males are sprinting down the trail behind me. Are they after me or working out their anxiety before the trials as I am? I’m not sure it makes much difference.
I wipe my cheeks of any evidence of my emotions and look around for a place to hide. I could press against one of the tree trunks in hopes their low hanging branches will veil me from sight, but I find it unlikely to work, and I’d rather face whatever threat is coming than for them to find me cowering.
I could go for a swim, but it’s rather cold, and I don’t know what dangers lurk beneath the surface of this lake. I have very little allies in the fae world. I doubt kelpies would enjoy my presence in their waters.
So, instead, I find a mostly bare tree, and casually lean against the bark. I cross my arms, empty my face of any emotions except annoyance and watch them approach. The two males slow to a walk to moment they see me. Or perhaps “march” is a more appropriate term for their heavy stomps and clear attempt at intimidation.
“Look what we found,” the taller of the two says. I don’t know him. I don’t know his power, or his court, let alone his name or why he holds the disdain on his expression. Except for the fact that he’s with Rev. Just being friends with my victim’s brother is enough for him to hate me along with the rest of them. “That human-loving, pathetic prince murderer,” he spits. “You know, I can’t even remember her name?”
My eyes drift to Rev, whose face is full of fiery hatred. His black hair drips into his darkened eyes. I look away from him before I betray more emotion than I intend to.
“But you have heard of me,” I say with a wink.
His lip curls into a sneer. He didn’t get the reference, I assume. I smile at his reaction. Exactly what I want.
“You’re nothing,” Rev says, his voice low and husky. “A murderer, whose days are numbered.”
I allow darkness to fill me. My eyes hooded and lazy, a bitter smile still on my lips. I put my hands on my hips. “And?” I flick an arrogant eyebrow.
At this, his anger erupts. His carefully controlled manner is gone as he stomps towards me, power rippling from him. I accept his hatred. I let it fill me. Surround me.
His hand is around my throat before I blink a second time, my head slammed against the tree trunk. The pain that shoots down my back chases away the fear. The insecurity. It fuels me. Empowers me.
In only moments, my lungs struggle for breath. “And you’re in my world,” he whispers, and I shiver at the feeling of his breath on my neck. If he only knew how much I liked it.
I grit my teeth, unwilling to fight back or show weakness. My body begins to squirm involuntarily as air remains absent from my burning lungs. He presses harder, and I grip his forearm. “You are weak. You will lose much more than this competition before your time here is done. I look forward to watching you writhe in pain.”
He throws me to the ashen pathway and spits at my fallen body. My ankle twists as I go down. I gasp for breath, fingers clawing into the muddy forest floor. Nameless guy howls with laughter, but Rev says nothing more as they continue their jog as if it never happened at all.
Rev
I sprint the rest of our run. I don’t stop until my lungs are raging, my legs burning and my head throbbing. At some point in the last mile, I lost Rook. I stand outside the steps to the back of the manor, hands on my knees as I pant.
“Damn.” Brielle skips down the steps towards me. “I’d wondered where you went off to. Looks like you’re torturing yourself before we begin.” Her laugh is light as bell. Delicate. Annoying.
I don’t respond, in part because I can’t stop heaving in massive breaths.
“Where did Rook go off to? I assumed he’d be with you.” She tilts her head innocently.
As if on cue, Rook rounds the corner, shoulders slumped and face red. He stops next to me, his chest heaving in breaths to match my own. “What the hell, Rev? You’d think you were running for your damn life.”
I roll my eyes. “Just because.” I suck in a breath, “you couldn’t,” another breath, “keep up.”
Brielle laughs again. “You know you only have a half hour until the banquet begins. You might want to bathe.” She wrinkles her nose at our sweat-drenched tunics.
“Beat you to it!” Rook says, jogging up the stairs. Damn, how does he still have energy? I follow behind slowly and Brielle falls into stride beside me. She’s already dressed in her glammed-up warrior garb. She’s the Flicker Court’s chosen champion, but I know she’s displeased with the fact that she can’t wear a dress for this first banquet. We’ll begin our trials immediately after and she can’t battle in a skirt. Not that she wouldn’t be willing to try.
I was there while her family fought her—literally— into wearing those leather pants, which she only conceded to once she called her seamstress in to add in a removable shear skirt over top, beaded belt, and low-cut satin top. She’s still not pleased, but perhaps she’ll change her mind when she realizes she’s easily the best dressed champion to date.
Annoying. Vain. But lovely.
She’s also one of the strongest fae in the competition, and as the High Queen’s niece, incredibly influential, so I forgive her vanity. We all have our vices.
Beauty without substance is a weakness. Beauty with power behind it? That’s what faeries are all about.
“So, what happened? Something happened, right?”
“We ran into the murderer on the trails.”
Her eyebrows flick up. “Is she alive?”
“For now.”
Brielle nods, fire burning in her amber eyes. “If you don’t do it, I will you, you know?”
I don’t respond to that.
“Or Rook. Or Nante. Or Crevin. Any of us. If you ask it, we’ll do it. We want her gone. We want her dead. And we want you as king.”
“You want me as king, but how many of my friends will lay down this competition to assure it to me?”
She purses her lips. “None.”
I nod. “I very well may need this win. The queen is not a fan of mine. My father’s outbursts have not helped my case. And with little to no accolades to my name, other than a famous dead brother, I need this.”
She sighs. “We won’t lay it down, but we will work together. We’ll cancel out any threat other than each other. Starting first with that witch. Then we’ll work it out from there. You need to prove yourself more than you need to win.”
“I need both.”
She nods. “Prove yourself first. Trust us in the beginning while we have a common enemy.”
“Then we turn on each other.” My voice is low, harsh. I won’t be looking forward to that part of the trials, but I know they’ll come. I know my own friends will rip my head off in order to win. Each one of us want to be the hero.
But only one of us can have it.
Caelynn
A snowy owl chirps from the rafters of the banquet hall as I walk in and I suppress an eye roll. She’s quieter than before but only just.
Heads turn to watch me as I march forward in the same clothes I wore yesterday, all the way to the front of the cavernous room to the champions’ table facing the crowd. I have no allies here.
The loudest whispers I’ve ever heard fill the hall.
I am a shadow fae with a soul to match. And I’ll let that be my strength. I’ll use my anger, my lack of fear, my emptiness, to my advantage.
I study the champions sitting along the front table. I don’t recognize any of them, but based on their expression, they sure as hell know who I am.
Each fae is risking something important
to enter the trials. Each one needs this.
I don’t.
I have nothing to lose.
And that will be the reason I win.
I reach the table and claim my place between a redheaded female—fire fae for sure—and a stalky, bearded male. His hair is unwieldy enough that, paired with his short statue, I assume he’s part dwarf.
The redhead clenches her jaw, eyes pinned straight ahead like she’s trying not to attack me. Wonderful. Another member of my fan club. Beside her is a male with long, straight white hair, blue eyes, and sharp cheek bones who openly sneers in my direction.
Yes, this is going to be a lot of fun.
The dwarfish fae on my left has a calm demeanor but keeps his determined gaze straight ahead, neither looking to me nor to my enemies at my right.
He doesn’t wish to choose a side. That’s fine by me.
Based on the plaque in front of him, he’s from the Crumbling Court—one of the non-ruling courts. If I don’t win, I’d like another fae from a lesser court to win. A fair consolation prize. Perhaps the dwarf feels the same.
“Did you not bring any other—do you call those clothes?” the redhead asks, keeping her nose high enough to be thoroughly ironic.
I smirk, eyeing her ensemble. Tight, black jumpsuit with a plunging neckline and multi-colored glistening beads adorn her belt. “Do you think your pretty gems and tight clothes are going to help you win the trials?” I ask sweetly. “Or did you only enter as an excuse to attract a husband?”
This was apparently the wrong thing to say. Every muscle in her body clenches, hands in fists, back bent in a crouch. “I’m going to rip you to shreds,” she seethes, low enough that only I—and perhaps our immediate neighbors—can hear.
I smile and turn from her just as her white-haired neighbor settles a gentle hand on her forearm. “I’m looking forward to it.”
I take a moment to note the clothing of the other champions. They are either in fighting leathers, armor, or black-tie appropriate apparel. I am the only one who sports the just-rolled-out-of-bed look.
I’m in jeans and an Avenge Sevenfold T-shirt, but my boots are thick and sturdy. Admittedly, I should invest in a jacket of some kind for any cold weather trials, but that’s a problem for another day. Today will be a short trial. A few hours at most. They’ll want to cut down the entrants with one swift blow. Meaning today will be intense and extreme but quick. It will not be an endurance challenge.
The obsidian doors fly open to reveal a large statured male in nearly as casual attire as I am. His pants are leather but that’s typical fae apparel, his shirt a white tunic, and a simple black jacket that hangs low enough to cover his ass.
I pull in a long breath and hold it. I steady my expression into one of cold indifference as Rev approaches. The whispers he fuels are quiet, blending together to create a low hum, vibrating with authority.
Considering his family rules one of the most powerful courts in the fae world, odds are on him to win this, despite the questions of why he hasn’t yet been named heir. But the effect of his presence is more than his family. There is a sense of power about him. In his stance and his bright eyes. Gone is the dull black of pain and back is his bright silver gaze.
Fae eye color holds a major clue to their power. The color matches their court and their magic elements. The brightness showcases their strength. Clear and bright equals strong. Dim and dark means one of two things—pain or weakness. It’s important to distinguish the two or you risk greatly underestimating a foe. A potentially fatal mistake.
I watch his features closely. He holds a confident calm; the only evidence of his tension is in his jaw as it clenches tight.
He’s controlling his emotions in order to posture his strength. It is no secret how he feels about me, but letting his emotions take over could make him appear weak to the court.
It’s all about politics in the fae world.
As for me? I steady my anger and pain. My empty, scorched soul on full display. Complete opposite strategies.
“Welcome, fair folk!” a puck with streaks of purple in her mane, matching her deep purple horns, says bright and excited. Her legs are thick and long, ending in hooves. “And welcome to our champions. One of the folk sitting at this table will become a hero to our entire world. History and the spirits will honor you greatly!”
I roll my eyes.
Most fae do not believe in benevolence. They seek power. They seek true immortality—to be remembered as a hero for all of time. The people at this table? They’re here for what the notoriety could do for them.
“The competition and the quest that follows, will require sacrifice,” the puck female continues. “You must battle against dark forces, push through pain. You will battle your own nightmares made real. You will be tormented from the moment you cross the thorn gates until the time you return. Today’s trial will test your strength and speed and magic and intelligence and endurance. We will test your willingness to sacrifice everything to achieve your goal.”
I smirk, knowing they are not seeking flawless heroes.
They stopped the Trial of Thorns a millennia ago because they believed it too barbaric—to test a future leader on their physical strength and ruthlessness alone. It made for great leaders, but not good ones. Because great can, and often does, mean terrible.
But for this—where entering the land of evil spirits and betrayers is the reward—it’s perfect. To enter hell and return, you must become one with the nightmares. You will only survive if you are wicked enough to face the darkness and own it. The Trial of Thorns is brutal. And only the most brutal will win.
They won’t be looking for the perfect angelic fae. They are looking for a fae damaged enough to have nothing to lose.
They are looking for me.
All I have to do is prove it to them.
There is a long pause as the puck runs her eyes over the champions. “Will you accept?” she says slowly, asking us honestly. “This painful and harsh game will result in notoriety, but you will be required to endure even harsher pain and torment as your reward. Please stand if you understand and accept the risks. Stand if you are willing to give up everything in order to win.”
I am the first to stand and a murmur cascades through the crowd.
I gave up everything that I was a very long time ago.
At the end of the table a very handsome fae prince stands, his nose wrinkled in disgust, a silent growl clear on his expression. He’s mad I beat him to it.
For a long moment it is only us, standing together but apart, facing a sea of fearful inhuman faces. Rev and me.
A dark haired male next to Rev is next to stand—the one from the forest today. Followed by the dwarf beside me. In the next moments, several others stand that I couldn’t name.
There are fifteen champions in total, one for every court. There was once only twelve courts, but civil war or quarrelling heirs have split three over the last millennia. Several courts were disinherited by the High Court, whether as punishment for rebellion or due to perceived weakness. Now, there are only eight courts with the ability to take their place as a ruling court.
That is one of the reasons people in my court have expressed pride in my murderous actions. They see it as a political move. Rebellious.
The Shadow Court has feuded with the Twisted Court for hundreds of years. Our last Shadow Court High King was over five hundred years ago. His ruling cycle included a drought, mass poverty, and a failed war with the dwarves. The next king was chosen from the Twisted Court, and he disinherited us, claiming our entire court weak. Not fit to rule. And he convinced the entire council of it.
Since then, our power has dwindled due in part to forced marriages—our strongest Shadow Court women married to other courts, taking their power with them. Our court lacks high education and opportunity, making it near impossible to overcome our disadvantages.
The redhead next to me is the last to stand, apparently enjoying the drama. She gets the loudest applaus
e as the last, ensuring her expression shows it wasn’t cowardice that made her wait—it was spectacle. I roll my eyes and cross my arms.
“Thank you, champions!” the purple puck shouts over the roar of the crowd. “Next, we will introduce each court’s champion. This will be your chance to showcase your court’s magic!”
Oh perfect. A chance to show off. Just what I want.
Rev’s turn to be introduced to the cheering crowd comes first.
“Reveln of the Luminescent Court.” Rev stands. His expression shows bored annoyance, but his body lights up in a white glow so bright the crowd gasps and covers their eyes. That’s just a party trick, but the crowd seems to enjoy it.
I twist my back in discomfort as I remember his brother’s ability to paralyze you. He could pin you down with his light. Unable to move—or scream. Does Rev have the same power?
Murmurs of discontent rumble through the crowd—originating at my court’s table—before the next champion’s name is even spoken. “Rook of the Twisted Court.” The male next to Rev smiles, handsome but cruel, his green eyes shining. A vine twists its way up his arm like slithering snake. It curls over his shoulder, around his neck and up to his head where it curls into a perfectly placed crown and grows thorns. He winks dramatically, and the crowd laughs through their cheer.
“Clever,” I mumble, and the dwarf-fae beside me snorts.
“Prickanante of the Frost Court.”
I can’t help but chuckle at the girl’s name—so many easy puns.
She glares at me but then beams with a massive smile to the crowd and holds out her hand. Ice crackles and twists, forming into a six-inch-high carving of a blue ballet dancer.
I begin wondering if we were supposed to plan and practice these little party tricks. I don’t have anything planned, but then, maybe that’s the best plan of all.
Rev
I cross my arms and wait for the other champions to be announced. They each have their little tricks. Enough to showcase their court’s magic, but not enough to give away their power.
Trial of Thorns (Wicked Fae Book 1) Page 4