Page 28 of Fae Trials

“Mistress Ellyllon,” Prince Caulden’s voice sliced through the chatter. “May we summon the fates to recall their decision?”

The headmistress shook her head. “Nobody has seen the fates for centuries.”

“Then I demand we force their hand.” Prince Rory rubbed his chin.

“Explain,” said Mistress Ellyllon.

He stepped forward. “In the days of Queen Maeve, anyone vying for a position in her court had to prove their worth in a battle to the death.”

I reared back, my life flashing before my eyes. “Wait!”

The entire room went silent, and everyone stared at me, the weight of their glares making my skin itch.

I cleared my throat and straightened my spine. “It wouldn’t be fair, because I don’t have any magic or training in weapons. Can’t I just sign something saying that I don’t want a mate?”

Lady Asher snorted. She turned to Prince August, looking like she wanted to tell him a joke, but he looked down at her with a stony expression, indicating that he didn’t want to hear it.

“I’m afraid that isn’t possible,” replied the headmistress.

“Why not?” I rasped.

“Prince Rory is correct,” she decided. “In a situation such as this with several candidates for the same position, the fates will decide who survives in a trial to the death.”

Every ounce of blood drained from my face, leaving me lightheaded. I had hoped Mistress Ellyllon was on my side, but it turned out that she was no better than the academy’s bloody wards.

“What?” I whispered.

The headmistress didn’t repeat herself. She didn’t have to, as her message reached me loud and gut-wrenchingly clear.

All four princes and their fated mates turned their attention to the person least likely to survive a trial to the death.

Me.

I swayed on my feet, hoping that everything from the time Sicily and I had gone to bed the night before the supposed shipment of iPads had been a dream. Something brought on by overindulging in one of Elijah’s delicacies. I might be able to brawl one or two of the faerie girls at a time, but I would lose in any kind of magical fight.

Prince Rory clapped his hands together, grinning for the first time I’d seen him since the incident with the drake. “When does the trial begin?”

Mistress Ellyllon raised a shoulder. “As long as you don’t interrupt the classes, I’ll leave it to you children to decide.”

Chapter 9

After essentially telling the princes to devise a way to get us girls to murder each other, the headmistress waved us out of her bare, stone room. A combination of fear and nausea kept me rooted to the spot, and I had to place a palm on the desk’s cool, glass surface to stop myself from passing out.

Princes Caulden and August left first with their noses in the air, followed by Prince Bradwell, who strode after them in a rush of cerise hair and wings.

“Mistress Ellyllon?” I asked.

“Yes, child?” The dark-skinned faerie tilted her head to the side, staring up at me from behind her desk as though she hadn’t just sentenced me to death.

“I—” The words died in my throat, mostly because a pair of forest-green eyes bored into the side of my face. They belonged to Prince Rory, who stared at me as if I was the answer to all his problems.

Lady Gala snorted. “Darling, what are we going—”

“Your Highness,” Prince Rory’s tone was flat.

The girl’s features fell. “What?”

I turned around for a better look at the drama. Lady Gala drew her hand back from the prince’s arm and held it to her chest as though it was wounded.