Chapter Six
y mind can’t fully absorb my surroundings as we make our wayM through the enormous hallways of the palace. There is gold in every direction I look. Layers and layers of it in hues from the softest yellow of freshly churned butter to the deepest, most intense shades of fiery orange.
There are mirrors and gilt and thick woven rugs worked with shimmering thread. We pass soaring vaulted rooms where the tinkling notes of festive music drifts into the halls. There is laughter and conversation and an ostensible sense of weightlessness in the air, like darkness could never find its roots here.
I hear the refrains of an instrument—is it a piano? And another one, somber yet beautiful. Perhaps a violin? They’re things I’ve imagined, buried
in my tangled memories.
“Come,” Gabriel says, his voice low. I’ve stopped in front of a room filled
with High Fae absorbed in the sight of a pale-skinned female in a golden
dress, blonde curls piled on her head, strumming a towering golden harp.
Tiny crystal goblets dangle from their fingers, filled with bubbling liquid.
They whisper to each other and toss their heads back in careless fits of giggles. They seem so happy and light. So at ease and in tune with the world around them. What would that feel like? “You’ll be able to listen to music later.”
So entranced by the sight, I startle and turn to Gabriel, remembering he’s there. With a reluctant nod, I go to follow his purposeful steps. We curve
around several corners and through more wide hallways set with expansive arched windows revealing not just the bright sky, but a clear ocean, so blue it’s nearly green. I’ve stopped in my tracks again, my hand drifting to my throat as I try to soak in this picture like I could dive straight into its depths.
“I never thought I’d see such a thing,” I whisper, a knot cinching in my chest. “It’s magnificent.”
The ocean’s waves roll over one another, white frothy caps tumbling in slow crests like playful clouds. Though I can’t actually hear it, I imagine the sound it must make. Like the roar of lions and the resounding crash of thunder.
“My lady,” Gabriel says, his voice softer this time, his expression less
stern. “We are going to be late. Please. I promise to take you down there later if you’ll come along.”
“Okay.” I nod, finally tearing my gaze away. I think I could sit there for a hundred years and never tire of this view.
Finally, we arrive at a tall set of double doors made of white painted wood
and covered in a filigree of gold leaves and flowers. One door stands partially ajar, and Gabriel nudges it a few inches further, marching into the room and holding it open before he gestures me inside.
At my entry, the chatter cuts off abruptly, every eye in the room pointing my way, heads practically rotating behind them like owls. I swallow, and my
hands ball in the fabric of my dress, probably ruining it with my sweaty palms.
This room is just as resplendent as every other one, with soaring ceilings and massive windows and the evidence of riches upon riches everywhere.
What am I doing here? I don’t belong here. There has been some grave mistake.
I count nine High Fae females, all of whom appear to be around my age, huddled in a group. Each one is more exquisite than the last, with pink lips and long lashes and big, vibrant eyes. With glossy hair and smooth skin and slender limbs. They each wear a golden dress that makes mine look like a dusty rag dug out from the back of a closet. How pathetic I was to think this dress was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen just a few minutes ago.
The room also includes a line of nine more Fae guards in armor just like Gabriel’s, each with a set of white feathered wings on their back and that same golden sun tattooed on their neck. Besides the females and warders, there are a handful of others, including a High Fae female with a severe expression who’s currently peering at me over the glasses bridging her nose.
“Ah, it’s about time. Our Final Tribute has arrived.” Why does everyone keep calling me that? And why do their voices drop to an ominous level when they do?
The Fae sweeps forward, her critical gaze studying me from every angle.
Her straight blonde hair is cut to her chin, and her eyes are a striking green.
She wears a golden skirt with a billowing, buttery overcoat that hangs past her knees. Though she’s about my size, her straight shoulders and the imperious way she tips up her chin make her seem at least a foot taller.
“You’re a little thin, but you’ll have to do.” She grimaces, a hand pressing to her chest. “What is that on your face?”
Pushing her glasses up, she leans in so close I can smell her breath, and I wrinkle my nose. I’m fairly certain Fae don’t require enhancements like glasses. Their vision is far superior to that of mortals, so the glasses must be for show. Maybe she thinks they make her look smart. Well, I have news for her.
“Is that a scar?” She says it like I’ve lifted up my dress and piddled on the
floor. I touch my cheek, suddenly self-conscious. I’ve never been ashamed of my scars before. They are a living map of my physical pain, each one earned in the acrimony of my torture. They’re badges of honor. Constant reminders of every moment I survived what so many couldn’t. Of how I’ll keep surviving if I just hold on tight enough.
How dare she judge me for them?
“Madame Odell, the healers did what they could, but some of them were too much, even for their gifts. They’ve promised to keep working on them over time,” Gabriel says, appearing at my side.
Madame Odell sniffs and leans back, judging me from head to toe, definitely finding me wanting. “Well, she’s here now. I suppose there’s
nothing else for it. What’s your name, girl?”
I open my mouth to answer, but I’m so nervous it comes out as nothing but a pitiful squeak. I clear my throat and try again.
“I’m Lor,” I say quietly, noticing the nine other females cover their mouths, their bright eyes dancing with glee. A few don’t succeed at
suppressing their giggles, and I hear a delicate snort, followed by a gentle ripple of malicious snickers.
“Lor who?” Madame Odell asks. "No family name?"
I shake my head. “I’m just…Lor.”
I have no family name. My legacy is dead. They threw me into that prison
as a child and stripped away everything.
“Hmm,” she says. “Well, if you survive the Trials, perhaps you’ll earn yourself one. I don’t know why I’m surprised an Umbra rat is nameless. We really should just clear out the lot of them.”
“I beg your pardon,” I say, my neck flushing with heat in anger and humiliation. “What did you just say? What’s an Umbra rat?”
The woman ignores me, turning to face the other nine females, and claps her hands. I look at Gabriel, sticking him with an angry glare.
“You promised me some answers,” I hiss under my breath. “I didn’t come here to be insulted. Don’t they teach you any manners in this fancy palace?
What the fuck is going on?”
“Patience,” he says, his jaw tight. “And watch your mouth. You’re a lady now.” The look he gives me suggests he’s not convinced of that, though.
“I will not be patient.” I grit my teeth. “You’ve stolen me from—”
A hand clamps around my arm, and Gabriel yanks me against his broad chest. “Do not finish that thought, my lady,” he hisses in my ear. “Or there will be consequences that will make your previous life seem like a sweet
memory.”
His blue eyes burn with an intensity bordering on dangerous, and for the first time since I’ve woken up in this strange reality, I’m truly afraid. It turns out I have been kidnapped and been made to wear a dress fit for a queen, wrapped in luxurious sheets, and fed buttered toast. But it’s clear none of it
was done out of kindness. I give a slow nod, somehow understanding it’s best to keep my mouth shut for now—something I’ve never been very good at.
“Gabriel!” Madame Odell calls. “Bring her here. We’re to enter the throne
room now.” She punctuates the last word like an arrow shot straight through my heart.
Gabriel nods and drags me over to where the other nine Fae wait with his large hand clamped around my biceps so tightly it’s probably going to leave a
bruise.
I’m going to kill this asshole.
As I’m unceremoniously dumped in front of the group, they all take a small step back, as if afraid to get too close. The crinkle of their elegant noses
accompanies the curl of their perfectly painted lips. I get the sense that if I were to yell “boo” right now they’d all faint into a pile of golden-swathed matchsticks.
Madame Odell claps her hands. “Get in line. All of you.” There’s a flurry of gold fabric and silken curls tossed over shoulders as the Fae file into an orderly line. They smell like a rose garden, doused in rich perfume, the scent so cloying it coats the inside of my nose and thickens in my lungs. I’m shoved to the back of the line as I suck in deep breaths, panic swirling inside my stomach and tightening. What’s about to happen?
The woman in front of me is so pale her skin glistens like snow. Her bright red curls are paired with striking emerald eyes, and she keeps peering over a
slender bare shoulder as if I might leap up and help myself to a bite of her smooth, creamy skin. I won’t lie—I’m tempted.
As I contemplate how she’s probably never been touched by anything harsher than a feather, a door at the opposite end of the room swings open and the line in front of me starts to move.
I’m not sure why, but I search for Gabriel, seeking confirmation that this is where I’m supposed to be going. He hasn’t exactly been friendly, but right
now, his face is the only one that’s familiar. He’s watching me, his brows furrowed, his expression giving away nothing.
A hand stamps itself in the middle of my back, and Madame Odell shoves me. “Move,” she hisses. “I knew digging you up from The Umbra would be a disaster. I’ll never understand why the king entertains this ridiculous tradition.”
Lurching forward, I process her words, following the procession into a room that’s even more intimidating than every room I’ve already seen. It’s so
bright I have to squint against the glare of sunlight on gold. It’s everywhere.
On the floors and the walls and even the ceiling, except for a curved glass dome that arches overhead where more blue sky is visible. The sun’s warmth beats down, and I wonder what that would feel like on my bare skin.
Giant windows are inset into every wall, revealing the sandy shores and tumbling waves of that crystal-clear ocean. Gleaming curtains stretch the height of the room, so many miles of fabric one could build an entire village of tents.
We file down the center of the room, where the bright red head of the woman in front of me appears to be floating as if she’s gliding on air. We walk through parallel lines of more guards, these ones human without wings
or tattoos, who stand with straight backs looking ahead as if we aren’t even there. Hundreds of well-dressed High Fae and mortals stand beyond the guards, murmuring and whispering as they eye me and the other nine females with open judgment.
Up ahead, I catch my first glimpse of the dais, where two thrones sit
backdropped by points of gold molded into the curving rays of the sun. They fan out like the palm of a hand held open, offering something that feels almost like salvation.
High Fae flank each side of the dais, garnished in jewels and silk and lace and the immutable security of their privilege. The wealth. The extravagance
is almost painful to look at. I think of my rough grey prison uniform and my narrow cot and the meager scraps of food I was fed day after day when there are people living like this.
With a pang, I think of Tristan and Willow, wondering where they are and what they’re doing. I pray to Zerra for the millionth time that they survived the riot, and that I’ll see them soon.
The females ahead of me have arrived at the front of the room. They spread out into a line facing the dais, landing me directly in the middle, and it’s then I come face to face with what feels inexplicably like a shift in the course of my entire destiny.
A High Fae male sits on one throne, dressed in more gold silks, including a fitted brocade jacket with a line of shiny buttons and a pair of breeches that look brown at first, but shimmer with gold thread when he moves. His soft brown boots come to his knees, and his hair gleams like polished copper, reflecting a shaded river of brown and orange and gold in the sunlight.
Piercing aqua eyes, the same color as the ocean outside, regard me and the nine other females as his gaze sweeps over us all. He has high cheekbones, a
defined jaw, and a pair of full, perfect lips. In a day where I’ve experienced the pinnacle of beautiful things, he shreds them all to dust. I go breathless just
being in his presence.
This could only be the Sun King.
When his eyes land on me, they pause, a curious spark accompanying the
barest curve of his mouth. But I must have imagined it. There’s no possibility he’d ever notice me next to the rest of these other nine perfect specimens of feminine beauty.
“Welcome,” says the king with a smile that reveals a set of flawless white teeth. His eyes are bright with warmth. “It’s been over five centuries since
Aphelion has had the good fortune of crowning a new queen.” His thoughtful gaze floats to the empty throne at his side before he regards us again.
“As you know, it is the greatest of honors to be chosen as one of the ten Tributes to compete in the Trials. You’ve beaten out hundreds of other hopefuls to find yourself here, and I am counting on you all to give your very best. Only the bravest, most loyal, and most clever female can hope to ascend
and rule by my side.”
I blink rapidly, shaking my head, sure I’ve just misheard him. I’m in Aphelion? I harbor only a vague notion of the details that define the continent of Ouranos, but I do know this southern kingdom is about as far as one can get from The Aurora.
Forgetting that puzzling fact, what’s even more pressing is the notion that I’m here to compete for the title of the Sun Queen?
Again, I’m convinced I’ve died, and this is all an elaborate dream. My mind must have truly shattered when I was in the Hollow. I didn’t know my imagination was capable of weaving such impressive tales.
A Fae male in a golden robe has stepped forward, his hair so light it’s
nearly white. He stands with his hands behind his back and clears his throat.
“The Sun Queen Trials are a tradition dating back through Aphelion’s history.” His head held high, his voice booms through the large chamber.
“For thousands of years, the Trials have chosen the line of queens to rule over the kingdom. Ten of the most beautiful and most skilled females from the
finest families in Aphelion are selected to compete in the areas of etiquette, grace, stamina, logic, wit, and seduction.”
At that, I frown, vertigo pulling the golden rug out from under me. There
are so many questions perched on my tongue they threaten to drown the entire room. Gabriel catches my eye and, as if sensing my thoughts, silences
them with an admonishing glare. He mouths the word don’t from across the room, and I push back with a glare of my own, my nostrils flaring.
“Save one,” continues the Fae male, and his eyes fall to me with the heaviness of an anchor sinking to the bottom of the sea. “One human Tribute is selected from The Umbra, whereby they, too, will have the chance to win this most coveted of prizes. It is a reminder to all mortals that anyone with
the acuity and desire can change their lot in life if they choose. A reminder that we are the ones in charge of our own destinies.”
A murmur runs through the room while I contemplate his words, a polluted laugh threatening to burst from my chest. They dragged me here to compete as some kind of evidence that the dregs of society can alter their fate if only they work hard enough?
Again, someone is claiming I’m from The Umbra. Mag. Madame Odell and now this Fae. I can only surmise from everyone’s reaction this must be some kind of Aphelion slum, or perhaps another prison? But I didn’t come from The Umbra. Nor am I even from Aphelion. A tingle fractures at the back of my neck and a burn twists in my stomach.
None of this seems good.
The Fae male is speaking again. “The ten Tributes will compete in four challenges over the next eight weeks. Each challenge is designed to test a variety of skills and attributes. If you fail to complete the task in a manner we deem satisfactory, you will be disqualified. These challenges are not for the
meek and many Tributes have succumbed to death over the centuries. In between challenges, you’ll receive lessons and training designed to help you survive.”
The crowd meets that declaration with a swell of excited chatter.
Death? My already queasy stomach tightens into more knots.
“The Tributes who pass all four challenges will then stand before the Sun Mirror, the arbiter and judge of who is worthy of ascension to Imperial Fae and to rule as Sun Queen. Only the Mirror sees the truth and future destiny of who is meant to be queen.” The man stops and takes a dramatic pause, his gaze skating over us as though he’s looking at some of us for the very last time. “Good luck to you all, and may Zerra bless you and keep you.”
A round of polite clapping fills the room, smiles on everyone’s faces. Well, not everyone. The perfect complexions of the other nine Tributes are now tinged with green, and they look as ill as I feel. Being a Tribute may be an honor, but it’s clear it comes at a great cost. The reality of what we’re being asked to do has dimmed their earlier smugness.
Why am I doing this? What am I doing here?
While the chatter continues, I look up to find the king watching me. He’s breathtaking, and I return his open stare, somehow understanding this is what he expects of me. His brown hair sparkles in the sun and his blue-green eyes seem to find a place buried deep in my spirit I hadn’t known I'd lost. I make out the lines of his muscled body through his clothing—broad shoulders and
narrow hips and strong thighs. When he leans an elbow on the armrest, I note the beauty and strength of his large hand.
I’m caught in a spell, unable to move or speak. But then a hand circles my arm, distracting me. Gabriel towers over me with all the warmth of an iceberg. He looks over at the king, and they exchange a look I can’t interpret.
“I’m going to compete to marry him?” The words slip out in a breath that floats into the air and then coalesces into the whisper of a promise I once made when I was barely old enough to understand it.
Gabriel’s lip curls. “You’re going to try, I suppose.”
“I have to win the trials first,” I say.
He snorts out a laugh, and my gaze snaps to him. “That’s not exactly what
I mean.”
“What are you talking about?”
“It means you’re the Final Tribute.” Gabriel takes in a deep inhale, his gaze sliding once again to the king, who is now conversing with another Fae.
“And in nearly eight thousand years of the Sun Queen Trials, the Final
Tribute has never once survived.”
