Prologue

Moon Age Fifteen

T he Elven games, or if you want to be fancy The Elven Tournament of Blood, is held every ten years in the Elven Realm. Ten years ago today, my father was taken away in a cage.

The Fae Queen sentenced him to eternal imprisonment. I still don’t know what the charges were, because the Fae guards wouldn’t tell me shit, and my mother dipped out before I could get answers from her.

What kind of mother abandons her child the day after she loses her father? Not only that, but I was extremely ill. I still remember that day so clearly.

“You must enter the Elven games, Moon. Only the Elven crystals will be enough to free me,” my father says as the magical collar is wrapped around his neck. “Take this! Never take it off, Moon, no matter what.” The necklace is still too big, and the crystal hangs almost to my belly button.

Tears fall down my face as I watch my father walk onto the platform and up into the cage. I look around the sidewalk as strangers pass me by, no one saying a word as they all stare at my father.

“Is there someone I can call to come get you, sweetie?” the older woman from the ice cream shop we just left, asks. My melted strawberry cone lies on the concrete, and I wish I could just melt with it.

“My mom,” I say, wiping my snotty nose on my shirt, as I watch my father disappear.

My mother picked me up off that sidewalk and cradled me in her arms as I cried. I started feeling sick that day, and by the time the sun went down, I was feeling so bad, I couldn’t even sit up. When I woke up the next morning, Grams was crying, and my mother was gone.

For years, I thought she was coming home. Then I realized that was just some dumb kid’s naive wish. Mom was gone. Dad was gone. But I had Grams.

I flick the TV on and turn to the universal channel that's only available for the Elven Games.

“I wish you wouldn’t watch this,” Grams grumbles, as she walks into the room.

“I have to.” I cross my arms over my chest and settle in. I watch every player carefully, noting the things they do wrong and where they fuck up. I watch the things that get someone killed, and the one man no one seems capable of beating.

Crow. An Elven man that moves with deadly accuracy but looks like some kind of model. Shoulder-length blond hair and curved ears. His brown eyes spark to life with every kill. Even though death isn’t supposed to be a part of the games, we all know it’s inevitable. It’s like an unspoken promise. I mean, Tournament of Blood? What kind of name would that be if no one bleeds?

I note the way he fights and the fact that he’s skilled in every trial of the game as well. He’s fast, agile, and quiet.

The way he moves is impressive, and two weeks later, when he wins the tournament, I’m not the least bit surprised.

“Thank goodness it’s over,” Grams murmurs, as we watch Crow receive his trophy and the ultimate reward. Rare Crystals, only available if you win the Tournament. He’ll be treated like royalty for the next ten years. Until the next Games, and there’s a new Champion.

That Champion will be me.