The bath had been a temporary reprieve, the warm, scented water a stark contrast to the pervasive chill of the Fae stronghold. But the moment she stepped out, the cold seeped back into her bones. It was Lyra who helped her into the armor.
The twilight gown felt even heavier than before, the velvet and diamonds a tangible weight of expectation and performance. Lyra arranged Elara's hair, braiding it in an intricate style that was distinctly Fae, weaving a few thin, silver chains through the dark strands.
"You look..." Lyra began, stepping back to survey her work, her peridot eyes wide. "...formidable, Your Highness."
Elara looked at her reflection in the obsidian wall, polished to a dark mirror. The woman staring back was still pale, but the shadows under her eyes were less pronounced. The gown no longer looked like a costume on a frightened girl. It looked like a statement. The starlight embroidery seemed to shimmer with a faint, inner luminescence, a subtle answer to the gloom of the hall. She looked like a piece of the night sky that had fallen to earth, cold and untouchable.
"Good," Elara said, her voice steady.
A moment later, a sharp knock echoed through the chamber. Lyra opened the door to reveal the same soldier who had escorted her earlier. "The Commander requests your presence in the great hall for the evening meal," he announced, his tone impersonal.
This was not a request. It was a summons to her first trial.
She followed him out, her head high, the heavy skirts of her gown whispering against the stone floor. As she entered the great hall, the hum of conversation died abruptly.
The hall was vast, the ceiling lost in shadow high above. The walls were the living, inner wood of the petrified tree, grooved and whorled with ancient patterns. Long tables, carved from the same ghostly pale wood as the furniture in her room, were arranged in a U-shape around a central fire pit where flames of unnatural green and blue danced, casting shifting, eerie light on the assembled Fae.
Hundreds of eyes turned to her. She felt their gazes like physical touches—curious, disdainful, hungry. She ignored them, her own gaze fixed on the high table at the head of the hall.
Kaelen sat in the center, a carved throne of dark wood and obsidian behind him. He was not wearing armor, but dark, elegant robes that made him look no less dangerous. To his right sat the Fae woman with the marble skin and golden eyes, her beauty so sharp it was almost painful to look at. To his left was an empty chair.
Her chair.
Kaelen watched her approach, his expression as inscrutable as ever. He did not stand, nor did he gesture for her to sit. He simply waited, forcing her to complete the long, exposed walk to the high table entirely on her own.
Every step was an agony of self-consciousness, but she did not falter. She reached the table and stood before the empty chair, meeting his stormy gaze.
"Commander," she said, her voice clear and carrying in the silent hall.
"Princess," he replied, the single word a bland acknowledgment. He finally gestured to the chair. "You are late."
A ripple of laughter went through the courtiers closest to the high table. The red-haired Fae male she had seen earlier grinned, raising his goblet in a mock salute.
"I was not informed of the time," Elara said, remaining standing. "A simple oversight, I'm sure."
Kaelen's eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. The woman beside him, the one with golden eyes, let out a soft, melodious laugh. "The customs here must seem so strange to you, human. We dine with the closing of the light. It is a simple thing to learn."
Elara turned her gaze to the woman. "And you are?"
The woman's smile tightened. "Lady Seraphine. A loyal advisor to the Commander."
"A pleasure," Elara said, her tone implying the exact opposite. She finally took her seat, the movement graceful despite the trembling in her knees. The moment she was seated, the hall erupted back into conversation, the noise a wall she was grateful for.
Servants began bringing out platters of food—roasted meats glazed with dark sauces, strange, luminous fruits, bread that looked black as charcoal. It was beautiful and alien. A goblet of wine the color of blood was placed before her.
Kaelen paid her no further attention, engaging in a low-voiced conversation with Seraphine. It was a deliberate snub, a way of putting her in her place before his entire court. She was to be seen, not heard.
She picked at her food, the rich flavors turning to ash in her mouth. The conversations around her were a buzz of a language she didn't understand, punctuated by laughter that felt like it was at her expense. She felt a familiar, draining sensation—the beginnings of magical exhaustion. The strain of this place, the oppressive shadow-magic, was a constant pressure on her own light.
"So, Princess," a voice drawled from her left. It was the red-haired Fae. He leaned towards her, his amber eyes gleaming with malice. "We are all so curious. The great starlight of Liranel. Is it true you can heal the very earth? Perhaps you could demonstrate. A small trick for your… hosts?"
All eyes at the high table were on her again. Seraphine watched with veiled amusement. Kaelen had stopped talking and was observing her, his goblet held loosely in his hand, his expression unreadable.
This was a test. A cruel one. To perform would be to jump like a trained dog. To refuse would be seen as weakness, or worse, an admission that her power was a myth.
Elara placed her fork down carefully. She looked at the red-haired Fae, her face a calm mask. "My power is not a parlor trick, my lord…?"
"Lord Theron," he said, smirking at the coincidence of sharing a name with her father. "And why not? Are we not allies now?"
"Allies," Elara repeated softly. She let her gaze sweep over the watching Fae, then back to Theron. "And do allies typically demand performances from one another like court jesters? Or is that a custom of the Shadowfell I have yet to learn?"
A few Fae nearby choked on their wine. Theron's smirk vanished, replaced by a flash of anger. Seraphine's amused expression tightened.
Before Theron could retort, Kaelen spoke, his voice a low rumble that cut through the tension. "That is enough, Theron."
Theron shot Elara a look of pure venom before leaning back in his chair, chastised.
Kaelen turned his gaze fully on Elara for the first time since she had sat down. The intensity of it was like a physical weight. "The Princess's power is not a subject for dinner entertainment," he stated, though his tone held no defense of her, only a reaffirmation of his own authority.
He was not protecting her. He was protecting his asset.
The rest of the meal passed in a blur of quiet humiliation and simmering anger. When Kaelen finally rose, signaling the end of the feast, Elara stood with the others, her body stiff.
As she turned to leave, Kaelen's voice stopped her. "A word, Princess."
She turned back. The hall was emptying quickly, the courtiers filing out with curious glances. Soon, only the two of them and a few guards remained by the dying blue-green flames.
"You have spirit," Kaelen said, walking around the table to stand before her. He was so much taller, his presence overwhelming. "That is… unexpected."
"I am full of many things you do not expect, Commander," she replied, her voice cool.
He reached out, and before she could flinch away, his fingers brushed a strand of hair away from her shoulder, his touch startlingly cold. His gaze was fixed on the starlight embroidery at her collarbone. "Spirit is one thing. Defiance is another. You would do well to learn the difference here. Defiance has consequences."
"Are you threatening me?"
"I am stating a fact," he said, his hand dropping back to his side. "This is not your soft human court. The shadows here do not forgive. They consume." His stormy eyes met hers, and in their depths, she saw not a threat, but a warning. "You would be wise not to shine too brightly, little star. You might attract more than just attention."
He turned and walked away, leaving her standing alone in the vast, dark hall, his words echoing in the silence. The Unwelcome Feast was over. The real game, it seemed, had just begun.