Page 39 of Fae Trials

“I know most people in the Royal Court through my family.”

“See?” Folding her arms across her chest, Flora gave me a smug grin. “She doesn’t even deny it.”

“But I’m not spying for the Fated or helping them in any way,” said Helen.

Flora sniffed. “Just be careful. Backstabbing is commonplace both in the Fae Courts and here at the Royal Fae Academy.”

I shifted on my seat, glancing from Helen to Flora. My ingrained dislike of royal faeries made me imagine Helen with colorful wings, acting as arrogant and cruel as Lady Gala, but common sense pushed those thoughts aside. So far, Helen had been nothing but helpful and kind.

“It’s good advice.” Helen unfolded her napkin and set it on her lap. “You shouldn’t trust anyone.”

A pair of pixies flew around the fire pit carrying a crystal bowl filled with steaming, white-as-milk liquid. I sat straighter, watching them place the bowl on our table.

Pixies hardly ever visited human settlements during the day. They were gorgeous creatures with huge, half-moon-shaped eyes and massive, amber pupils. The rest of their features were human, with high cheekbones, full lips, and cute, pointed chins.

They were about the size of five-year-old children, but there was nothing child-like about them. If captured or attacked, a pixie could use one of its lives to increase its bulk and fight its way out of trouble. Some people said that ogres were pixies who had run out of lives, but I really couldn’t see the resemblance.

“Boer Ford soup?” asked the one on the left with a voice that sounded like jingling bells.

“What?” I frowned at what looked like bleached gruel.

“It’s a form of pumpkin,” said Helen.

“Oh! Yes, please.”

Helen and Flora also asked for a portion, and a third pixie flew over, holding a crystal ladle.

A loud drum roll sent a jolt of panic through my chest. I turned to the doorway, where Prince August strolled in with his buttercup-yellow wings outstretched. White magic gleamed around the edges, making my wings flutter and my traitorous heart skip a beat.

I balled my fists, trying to keep my breathing under control. I wanted my normal life back, not a faerie prince.

Flora gasped out loud. “Something important is about to happen!”

I turned to Helen and gulped. “Do you know what this is?”

Her shoulders rose to her ears, and she shrank in her seat, as though trying to minimize what she was about to say next. “Sorry.”

“What?”

“It’s a Royal Pronouncement,” she whispered.

Flora leaned into my side and snarled, “Speak up. This might make a difference to Unity’s survival.”

All the muscles in my chest constricted around my lungs, cutting off my air. “Please, if there’s anything I need to know—”

“Queen Maeve made pronouncements before making her subjects battle to the death to gain her favor.” She turned to me, her chestnut-brown eyes etched with pain. “The princes are about to start the death trial!”

Chapter 12

I glanced around the dining table for something to defend myself if a fight broke out. More silverware than I could count lay on both sides of my china plate, and I grabbed a steak knife and held it like a shield.

The pixie pouring the pumpkin soup squeaked and dropped the ladle into the bowl, splashing droplets of white liquid over the table.

Ignoring her, I glanced around the room, where Lady Aster’s crimson wings glowed in unison with Prince August’s. Her figure was more curvaceous than mine, and her wings more delicate, making me wonder what on earth Prince Caulden had been complaining about when he disparaged my body in the gymnasium.

“Prince August is the oldest,” Helen whispered. “If anything happens to King Oberon, it’s August who will take the throne.

“Oh.” I gave the golden-haired prince a second look. Hopefully, our current monarch would stay in power for a millennia.