22. Zoey

Zoey

Once I’m clean and dried off, I begin exploring my gilded cage.

The room is larger than my parents’ master suite back home, with a small sitting area off to the side, a single chandelier floating in the center of the ceiling, and two windows with velvet blue drapes hanging to the floor.

Sapphire would love it here. She’s always loved beautiful things.

She must be worried sick about me. Just like I am about her. Yes, she and Riven were doing a great job fighting those nixies, but what if there were too many of them? What if they got too distracted by my being flown away that they were overtaken?

What if they’re dead?

No. I can’t let myself go there.

I have to believe they’re alive. And that somehow, they’ll find me.

I just have to stay alive until they do.

Figuring it’s best to be as aware of my surroundings as possible, I move toward one of the windows and glance out.

There’s a large courtyard right outside—which is surprisingly normal-looking compared to everything else I’ve seen in this place so far. Probably because it’s in, as Aerix referred to it as, the human wing. A few people are in it, doing surprisingly normal activities—playing cards, reading, and drawing. The only thing obviously “wrong” about the courtyard is the tall concrete wall surrounding it, like a rock-solid cage.

Beyond the courtyard, the blood-filled moat is as foreboding as ever, the stars reflecting on its surface. The city sprawled out on the other side is alive, pulsing with haunted energy, and the space all the way out on the hill shimmers, reminding me of the magical ward we passed to cross into the Night Court.

I trace the edges of the window frame with my fingers, assessing its width, its height, and trying to calculate how I could climb out without breaking my neck.

But even if I succeeded, then what? Learn why—as Aerix so lovingly put it—my kind “fears the dark?”

No. If I’m getting out of here, it won’t be through brute force. It will be by winning whatever game they have in store for me.

From what I know so far of the fae, they love games.

Faerie Games, I think. Like that book I read and loved a few years back.

And right now, I need to dress the part.

So, I make my way to the wardrobe to see what I have to work with.

The gowns inside are strikingly beautiful.

Deep, shimmering blacks that catch light like the surface of a moonlit lake. Another with a sheer material that looks like mist caught in the starlight. There’s one of deep crimson, fading into black as it flows down into the skirt. The one behind it has the most intricate beading that I’ve ever seen in my life—rubies, sapphires, jade, and amber—swirling as if they’re alive. And the final one is black leather and velvet, overlaid with sharp silver embellishments that mimic the curve of crescent moons and the sweep of wings.

What kind of game am I dressing for?

Beauty, I think.

As I was walking through town, that’s what the fae kept mentioning. How pretty they thought I was. And, as I look out at the people spending time in the courtyard, there’s no denying that they’re all attractive.

If my looks will keep me alive, then best to lean into that as much as I can.

After a bit of deliberation, I settle on the one in the back—black leather and velvet. The moon patterns will hopefully show an interest in the night, and the wing design will hopefully show a message—I might not be one of you, but I can still think like one of you.

Now, my hair.

It’s always been long, thick, and hard to control, which is why I’ve been watching videos online for how to manage it for as long as I can possibly remember. Plus, it might be relaxing to have something to do with my hands, instead of pacing around and getting more anxious by the second. Sort of like how I sometimes do puzzles to calm my mind.

Inside the vanity, I find an array of silver-handled brushes and combs.

Then I look into the mirror and gasp.

My reflection shows someone I barely recognize. Pale and thin, with eyes that look too large in my face, and cheekbones that give me a distinctly hollow look.

This past week has left its mark on me.

I need to get to work.

So, I section off my hair and begin weaving it into an intricate pattern of braids—one of the ones I learned during that phase where I was obsessed with historical styles. It takes forever, and my arms ache by the time I’m done, but the result is worth it. It’s almost crown-like—elegant and severe at once.

I am not soft. I am not weak.

And they will not break me.

A knock at the door makes me jump.

The two fae women from earlier glide inside, and I shoot up, fidgeting slightly as their eyes sweep over me.

“Not bad,” one says, circling me slowly. “You clean up well.”

The other fae steps forward, her expression more scrutinizing.

In a flash, she reaches for my dress and yanks at the neckline, rearranging it so it dips dangerously low.

I jerk back instinctively, pulling the dress back up so I’m not at risk of popping right out of it.

Not to mention the fact that I’ve buried the amulet of warmth as close to the bottom of my breasts as possible. The only thing keeping it there is the dress’s tight bodice.

Any lower of a neckline, and the amulet might become visible.

The fae woman shakes her head and gives me a pointed look. “You’re here to please, human,” she says, challenge in her dark, midnight eyes. “Don’t forget that.”

My stomach twists.

Because it’s my blood. I know that’s what they want. What else could they want?

Well, there are definitely some other things they might want. But I’m not going to let myself go there. At least, not yet. It’s far too much to process at once.

The only thing I have to do right now is get through tonight.

“Follow us,” the other woman commands, already turning toward the door.

Once we’re out of the human wing, the maze of halls seems designed to disorient. Every turn reveals another identical hallway of black and crimson marble floors, floating chandeliers, and mirrored walls, until I’m totally lost.

Finally, we reach a set of doors that tower at least thirty feet high.

“The throne room,” the servant who didn’t touch my dress—the nicer one—tells me. “Remember—keep your eyes down. Speak only when spoken to. And when you do speak, keep it brief.”

“Not exactly my strong point,” I mutter.

“Then make it one.” She places a hand on the door and pushes it open, revealing an enormous throne room.

It has the same black and crimson marble floors as everywhere else in the Night Court so far, but there are also thick columns lining the walls, and a ceiling is so high that it’s like staring into space itself. Giant crystal chandeliers float at various heights above, although the edges of their crystals are sharp and tinged with red, as if coated with blood. Most strikingly, there’s a thin crescent moon hanging above them—which is the moon phase we’re in right now—its pale light casting a gentle glow over the windowless room.

And there, at the top of a raised platform at the far end of the room, are the thrones.

Six of them, arranged in a crescent.

Five of them are occupied.

The fae sitting on them wear flowing fabrics that shimmer and shift like liquid moonlight and blood, their black feathery wings spread behind them in a display of power. Their eyes, dark and predatory, sweep over me with varying degrees of curiosity and disinterest, as if I’m a piece of art up for auction.

I try not to flinch under their collective gaze, but it’s impossible not to feel like prey in front of a pack of predators.

Probably because I am prey in front of a pack of predators.

The one in the center speaks first.

“Come forward.”

My feet move before I can think, carrying me closer until I’m standing in front of them, although the steps leading up to the thrones put them at a much higher level than where I’m standing right now.

“Welcome to the Night Court,” he says. “I am King Thanatos.”

He’s dressed in black and crimson, his shoulders draped in a shimmering, inky cloak. His dark brown hair flows over his shoulders, and his eyes are the same midnight color I’ve come to realize is shared by all night fae.

Authority radiates off him, but I keep my eyes locked on his.

First impressions are important.

And I will not let him see me as weak.

“My queen, Ravenna,” he says, gesturing to the woman beside him.

Where the king radiates cold authority, the queen is darkness incarnate, with her jet-black hair and dark red velvet dress that trails out onto the floor around her feet.

Her gaze meets mine, and it takes every ounce of will power to not look down at my feet.

“And my children.” The king motions the others. “Prince Malakai, Princess Mirena, and Princess Cierra.”

Each one is beautiful in their own terrifying way. But most interestingly of all is that none of them resemble their parents, and they definitely don’t look like each other. Which makes me think that while he might call them his children, they’re likely not related by blood.

If vampire lore in this realm is anything like it is back home, I assume they were turned by their parents—not born to them.

“And I believe,” the queen adds with a cruel smile, “you’ve already met my son. Prince Aerix.”