The morning came not with light, but with a splash of cold water to the face.
Keira gasped and jolted upright, soaked and furious. Her hair clung to her neck, her clothes damp against her skin. Who had poured water on her face?
A tall Fae stood beside her bed, an empty goblet in one hand, a scowl etched across his aged face. His long silver hair was pulled back in a severe knot, and deep-set eyes peered down at her with something close to disgust.
"You sleep like the dead," he said flatly. "His Highness does not tolerate servants who sleep past the fourth bell."
Keira blinked, still dazed. Her heart thundered in her chest, more from the sheer violation than the cold.
"You—"
"Up," the Fae snapped. "On your feet. You'll not keep the Prince waiting."
She swung her legs over the side of the bed, teeth gritted. "Was that necessary?"
He didn't answer. Instead, he turned on his heel. "Follow."
Keira muttered under her breath as she pulled on her boots, trailing after him down the long, quiet corridor. The torches along the walls burned pale blue, casting everything in an eerie half-light, though it was already morning, or so she assumed. Time was strange here. Inconsistent. Like the palace itself.
They passed rows of tall doors, portraits whose eyes followed her, and stone statues that almost seemed to breathe. The air was cool and damp.
"If I may ask, what's your name?" Keira finally asked.
The Fae glanced back once. "Tarin. Head of interior function. Which means, little mortal, that you fall under my purview."
She bristled at the tone but said nothing. He led her through a carved archway and down a staircase, stopping before a set of swinging doors carved with grapes and curling vines. A wave of heat and spice washed over her as he pushed them open.
The kitchen was alive with noise and heat. Someone barked an order in a sharp, unfamiliar tongue; metal clanged, steam hissed. Fae cooks moved fast, precise, like they were part of some dance Keira didn't understand. None of them spared her a glance, not even a curious flick of the eyes. Like she wasn't even there. Like she didn't matter.
Tarin plucked a golden plate from the counter and thrust it into her hands.
"You will present this to His Highness. Do not speak unless spoken to. Do not spill anything. Do not look him in the eye for too long."
Keira looked down. The plate held thin, spiraled slices of silverfruit, glazed with something sweet and violet. A small crescent of bread dusted with gold sugar. Two spears of roasted crimson root. A goblet of clear liquid, not water, not wine. Something in between.
"He eats this for breakfast?" she asked.
"It is not your concern what the Prince eats. Go."
He turned and swept out of the kitchen. She hurried after him, holding the tray with both hands, heart thumping with every step.
They stopped before a wide double door near the far end of a new hall. This one was different from the others, wider, taller, with silver filigree and curling vines that shimmered faintly. Tarin opened one door just enough for her to slip in.
"Place the tray on the table. Then leave. Quietly."
She nodded once and stepped inside.
The room was dim, lit not by sunlight but by dozens of candles floating midair. They flickered above a long dark table set with more cutlery than Keira knew existed. Crystal goblets gleamed in the firelight. A decanter of wine, or blood, rested at one end. Though it was morning, the room might as well have been midnight.
And the Prince was nowhere in sight.
Keira hesitated. Was this a test? A trick?
She moved forward slowly and set the tray down at the head of the table. The silence pressed against her ears. There was no birds, no wind. Just the faint crackle of candlelight.
She turned to leave, and collided with something solid.
She stumbled back, nearly knocking over a golden pitcher. But a pair of strong hands caught it before it could fall.
Keira looked up into eyes the color of honey, rimmed in gold.
A Fae with blond hair and a sharp, amused smile stood before her, tilting his head like a curious bird.
"Well, hello there," he said, voice smooth like warm silk.
Keira quickly lowered her gaze and bowed her head, unsure of what to do or say.
He chuckled. "You're the new one, aren't you? The one Riven nearly turned the entire hall to ice over."
Keira's mouth stayed shut. She wasn't stupid.
"Oh, she's scared," the Fae cooed. "Look at that lip, trembling just so. Did they tell you we eat mortals for breakfast?"
She bit her lip, not from fear, but from rising anger.
His grin widened. "Fiery. I like that. I'm Cael, by the way. Prince Riven's unfortunate younger brother. I'm charming, devastatingly handsome, and very, very bored."
Keira said nothing.
Cael leaned closer, mock-whispering. "You should really learn to relax. The last girl who came in here looking like a trapped deer ended up married to a tree."
Her eyebrows twitched up just slightly.
"I don't mean that. I am just joking," he said with a wink. "Mostly."
He straightened and flicked an invisible speck of dust from her sleeve. "Well, little mortal, you've passed your first test. You haven't fainted, cried, or begged. Riven will be thrilled. Or at least… slightly less murderous."
He stepped aside and gave a mock bow. "Dismissed."
Keira moved past him, her spine stiff and her cheeks flushed, and as the doors closed behind her, she exhaled a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.
This place was madness.
And she was right in the center of it.