The dark realm’s throne room was as imposing as I remembered—towering obsidian columns adorned with veins of glowing crimson stretched toward a ceiling shrouded in shadow. The air felt heavy, charged with magic that seemed to pulse in time with my heartbeat.

Drakaris lounged on his black marble throne, his dark, molten-black eyes gleaming with mischief as Svlvain and I stepped into the room. A faint smile tugged at his lips, sharp and predatory, as his gaze swept over me.

"Ah, Little Light," he drawled, his voice a low rumble that reverberated through the chamber. "You’ve returned, and so soon. Tell me, does your council know you’re here this time? Or have you decided to go completely rogue again?"

I straightened my shoulders, refusing to rise to his bait. "They know," I said simply.

Drakaris leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand, his fingers adorned with silver rings that glinted in the low light. "I wasn’t expecting you to return to us, let alone propose a marriage. I’m beginning to think you enjoy it here."

Svlvain, standing beside me, smirked but said nothing.

"And what is this?" Drakaris continued, gesturing vaguely at my gown—a soft purple silk dress embroidered with silver thread. "Too colorful, too bright. Are you trying to blind us? If you’re to become the wife of a dark fae, you’ll need to tone it down."

"Maybe you’ll have to adjust your aesthetic," I shot back, lifting my chin.

That earned me a sharp laugh from him, the sound echoing off the walls. "Oh, and just like that, the ember becomes a fire. A little ray of light becomes a sun. I like that."

"You didn’t bring me here to comment on my wardrobe," I said, my voice steady. "Sylvain said you had agreed to the proposal."

Drakaris’s smile widened. "Indeed, I have. But first, I need to hear these... conditions of yours. I can’t imagine your council let you agree to this without some strings attached."

I hesitated for a moment, then stepped closer. "The council did not agree," I said. "And they denied any form of an alliance with you."

Drakaris arched a brow. "So… You’ve gone rogue against your council?"

"There’s more," I added, meeting his gaze. "They insisted I signed a resignation to turn my title over to the council. Which I declined to sign."

At this, his eyes lit up with amusement. "A runaway Queen, an overly ambitious council, Lycans off the coast, and you want to plan a wedding?"

I ignored the teasing and pressed on. "Will you help me?"

Drakaris leaned back on his throne, tapping a finger thoughtfully against his chin. "Very well," he said after a long pause. "But I must insist that you learn our language."

I blinked. "Your language? But I already—"

"Not the formal tongue, Little Light," he interrupted. "The true language of the dark fae. It’s woven into our magic, our very essence. If you wish to stand beside us, you must understand it. Otherwise, you’ll never truly be one of us."

I nodded, determined. "Fine. I’ll learn it."

"Good." He smirked, but there was a glint of something sharper in his gaze—something I couldn’t quite place. "Now, about this marriage..."

I frowned, sensing trouble. "What about it?"

Drakaris stood, his towering frame casting a long shadow over me as he descended the steps of the dais. He stopped just a pace away, close enough that I could see the faint shimmer of magic in his eyes.

"You won’t be marrying me," he said, his voice laced with amusement.

I stared at him, my mind racing to catch up. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," he said, his smile turning wicked, "that we’ll have a little competition. A test, if you will, to determine who you will marry. After all, why should I claim you outright? Where’s the fun in that?"

"You’re joking," I said flatly.

"Am I?" He arched a brow, and Svlvain chuckled softly beside me.

"Whoever wins the competition will have the honor of becoming your husband," Drakaris continued, clearly enjoying my disbelief. "Of course, I’ll participate. But there are others in my court who might wish to throw their names into the ring."

"This is absurd," I muttered, but he only grinned.

"Absurdity is a matter of perspective, Little Light," he said, his tone maddeningly smug. "And I find this idea... quite entertaining."

I clenched my fists, trying to rein in my frustration. "I am not a prize to be won. What exactly does this competition entail?"

Drakaris’s grin widened. "That, my dear, is for me to decide."

That night, the dining hall of the dark fae court was an opulent blend of grandeur and shadow. The long, obsidian table stretched nearly the entire length of the room, its surface reflecting the flickering light of the enchanted crimson flames hovering above. Dozens of dark fae filled the room, their faces sharp and angular, their eyes glowing faintly as they watched my every move.

I sat between Svlvain and Drakaris, the weight of their presence pressing down on me like a heavy cloak. My new dress—deep black with flowing, delicate fabric that seemed to shift and shimmer like starlight—was far more comfortable than anything I’d ever worn in my realm. It fit perfectly, accentuating my form without constraining me, and the intricate embroidery of silver thread along the edges gave it an elegance that left me momentarily breathless when I’d first seen it. Despite myself, I couldn’t help but admire its beauty.

Drakaris lounged in his seat beside me, entirely at ease, sipping from a goblet of dark wine as though the world wasn’t hanging on his every word. Svlvain, by contrast, was quiet but watchful, her presence a constant reassurance.

The low hum of conversation in the hall fell silent as Drakaris rose, commanding the room’s attention with nothing more than his presence. His gaze swept over the crowd, a predator surveying his territory.

"My people," he began, his voice carrying effortlessly, smooth as silk but undercut with steel. "I speak in common tongue so that our guests can understand. Tonight, we witness a turning point in our history. The realms of light and dark have long existed apart, divided by mistrust and fear. But that ends now."

The gathered fae leaned forward, curiosity etched into their faces.

"As you all know, the princess of the light has come to ally with us," Drakaris continued, gesturing toward me with a deliberate flourish. All eyes turned to me, and I resisted the urge to fidget under their intense scrutiny.

"But alliances forged only with words are fragile things," Drakaris said, his tone growing sharper. "Treaties can be broken, promises forgotten. True strength comes from bonds that cannot be severed—bonds of blood, of magic... and marriage."

A ripple of murmurs passed through the hall, and I felt my cheeks flush despite my best efforts to remain composed.

Drakaris raised a hand, silencing the murmurs instantly. "However, as is our way, such an honor cannot be given. It must be earned."

I stiffened, not knowing where this was going. We don’t have any competitions back home. The council dictated marriages. We introduce two people, and if they have compatible magic, then they are married.

"To that end," he continued, his grin sharp as a blade, "I propose a gauntlet royale. A test of strength, cunning, and resolve. Those who wish to claim the hand of Queen Ciara must compete. Only the victor will earn the right to stand beside her, to forge this bond between our realms."

The hall erupted in whispers, some of them excited, others skeptical. Svlvain glanced at me out of the corner of her eye, her expression carefully neutral, though I could see the amusement lurking beneath.

Drakaris turned to me, his gaze gleaming with challenge. "What say you, Little light? Will you accept our ways and allow this gauntlet to determine your future?"

Every eye in the room was on me again, waiting for my answer.

I swallowed hard, forcing myself to meet his gaze. "Yes," I said, my voice steady despite the tension coiling in my chest.

Drakaris’s smile deepened, and he raised his goblet. "Then it is decided. The gauntlet will commence in three days' time. Let the competitors prepare themselves."

The room erupted into cheers and laughter, the dark fae clearly thrilled by the prospect of the competition. I, on the other hand, felt a sinking weight in my stomach.

As the conversation around the table resumed, I leaned toward Svlvain. "Is this kind of spectacle normal for him?" I whispered.

She smirked, taking a sip from her goblet. "You’re in his court now, Little Light. Everything is a spectacle."

Drakaris turned toward me then, his eyes glinting with amusement. "Don’t look so worried," he said, his tone low and teasing. "It’ll be fun. And who knows? You might find yourself pleasantly surprised by the outcome."

I didn’t trust his version of “fun,” but I kept my thoughts to myself. Three days. That’s all the time I had to prepare for whatever chaos this gauntlet would bring.

“Let the entries begin,” Drakaris had said, his voice dripping with dark amusement. The silver helm at the far end of the hall shimmered with enchantments, ready to receive the names of any fae brave—or foolish—enough to compete.