The day begins with chains. Not the cold iron ones from the dungeon, but the invisible kind — rules, expectations, eyes watching me from every corner of the palace. Everywhere I go, I feel it: the weight of being prey among predators. The wolves don't need to bare their teeth; I already know how quickly they could tear me apart.
By midday, a guard comes for me. No words. Just a hard grip on my arm, dragging me down corridors lined with banners and snarling wolf crests. I know better than to ask where we're going.
But when I hear the roar of a crowd, my stomach drops.
The throne room isn't empty this time. It's transformed into something else — a pit, a stage. Benches rise high along the walls, packed with nobles, warriors, and courtiers. Their eyes glitter with bloodlust. Torches blaze. The floor of the chamber is cleared, marked in a perfect circle of silver ash.
An arena.
At the center sits Kairo on his throne, unreadable as ever. He leans on one hand, golden eyes fixed on me as I'm shoved into the circle.
I can barely breathe. "What the fuck is this?"
"The Trial of Fire," a voice purrs. Sylara.
She steps gracefully into the circle opposite me, her silver hair glimmering in the torchlight, her smile sharp enough to cut glass. Dressed in flowing crimson, she looks every bit the queen she wants to be. And she's about to make me her prey.
Kairo's voice cuts through the noise. Cold. Commanding. "The court demands proof that the human can survive among us. She will face her first test."
My blood runs cold. "Test? Against her?"
Sylara's eyes shine with amusement. "Don't worry, little mouse. I'll make it quick."
Laughter ripples through the crowd.
---
The rules are simple — too simple. Survive three strikes. That's it. I don't need to beat her. I just need to survive her long enough not to humiliate the King for sparing me.
The gong sounds.
Sylara moves faster than I thought possible. One moment she's standing, the next her hand is around my throat, nails biting into my skin. The crowd roars.
I gasp, clawing at her wrist, but she only smiles down at me. "Fragile. Pathetic. This kingdom will eat you alive." She shoves me backward, hard. My body slams into the floor, air leaving my lungs in a ragged gasp.
"One," the announcer calls.
The crowd howls.
I stagger up, throat burning, vision swimming. My legs shake but I force them steady. If I fall again, I'm dead.
Sylara circles me, eyes gleaming like a cat toying with its prey. "You think you're special? That he spares you because you matter?" Her smile widens. "You're nothing but a distraction. And distractions burn."
She lunges again, claws aimed for my face. Instinct takes over — I drop to the ground, rolling just in time. Her nails scrape stone where my head had been. My heart hammers so loud I can barely hear the crowd's roar.
I grab a handful of ash from the floor and fling it into her face. She shrieks, stumbling back, eyes burning with fury.
The crowd gasps. Then silence. Then a ripple of approval.
Kairo's expression doesn't change — but I swear his golden eyes sharpen. Watching me. Measuring me.
Sylara wipes her eyes, her calm mask cracking. "You'll pay for that."
Her next strike is harder. Faster. She catches me across the ribs with enough force to send me sprawling. Pain explodes in my side. I choke back a scream, tasting blood.
"Two."
The crowd chants louder now, torn between laughter and bloodlust. Some are impressed. Others want me dead.
I push myself up again, dizzy, ribs screaming. My knees threaten to give out, but I force them to lock. If I stay down, I lose. If I lose, I die.
Sylara stalks closer, lips curling. "No more games."
She grabs me by the hair, yanking my head back. Her claws hover over my throat. The third strike. The killing blow.
I should scream. Beg. But instead, words rip out of me, raw and furious.
"Do it. Kill me. Prove to everyone you're so desperate to win his crown that you had to slaughter an unarmed human."
Her grip falters. Just for a second. Just long enough.
The crowd erupts — whispers, snarls, outrage. Some of them are nodding. Some of them are sneering. But the one that matters is Kairo.
He stands. The chamber goes silent.
"Enough." His voice cuts through the room like a blade.
Sylara freezes, her claws still at my throat.
"Three strikes are done," Kairo says coldly. "She survives."
The crowd protests — some furious, others disappointed — but no one dares speak against him. Not here. Not now.
Sylara releases me with a shove that sends me crumpling to the floor. Her smile returns, brittle and venomous. "Enjoy your victory, little mouse. It won't last."
---
Later, bruised and barely able to walk, I'm dragged back to my chamber. Mira leans in the doorway, arms crossed, eyes glinting.
"Not bad, human," she says. "Didn't think you had it in you."
I collapse onto the bed, groaning. "Go fuck yourself."
She chuckles. "ooooh, feisty bitch. Keep that up, you might survive a week."
But when she leaves, I'm alone with the pain, the bruises, the memory of Sylara's claws at my throat… and the way Kairo had looked at me.
Not with pity. Not with disgust. But with interest.
And somehow, that terrifies me most of all