One by one, dark fae began to rise from their seats. Some were graceful, others bold, but all of them exuded the raw power that made the dark realm so formidable. Each fae walked to the helm and placed a slip of parchment inside, their names disappearing into the swirling magic within.

The first to rise was a sharp-featured woman with silver-streaked hair and piercing violet eyes. She glided to the helm and dropped her name in with a smirk, sparing me a glance that sent a shiver down my spine. “I fight for the honor of this realm,” she declared, her tone dripping with condescension, “and to remind our people that a queen without magic is no queen at all.”

The room erupted into murmurs, and my cheeks burned, but I kept my expression calm, refusing to give her the satisfaction of a reaction. Beside me, Drakaris’s hand tensed on the edge of his goblet, though he said nothing.

Next was a hulking male with horns curling back from his head, his obsidian armor gleaming in the low light. He strode to the helm with a heavy step and tossed his name inside with a laugh that rumbled like thunder. “If I win,” he said, his voice booming, “I will execute the powerless queen. What use is a mate bond to an empty vessel?”

A ripple of laughter swept through a portion of the hall, and my stomach churned. I clenched my fists beneath the table, forcing myself to stay composed. Drakaris’s eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening as he leaned back in his chair, exuding a calm menace that promised retribution if the jest went too far.

“I’d like to see you try,” Sylvain’s voice cut through the din like a blade, her sharp gaze fixed on the hulking fae. “You’d be dead before you got close. She's a guest."

The laughter died instantly, and the tension in the room became palpable. The hulking fae glared at Sylvain but said nothing, his confidence dampened by the razor-sharp threat in her tone.

More fae rose, some announcing noble intentions, others veiling their ambitions with flowery words. But a few, like the first two, made their disdain for me glaringly apparent, each barb cutting deeper than the last. My chest tightened, but I kept my head high, determined not to show weakness. If this were a test, I would not fail.

When the last name was added, the helm glowed briefly, its magic sealing the entries. Drakaris stood, his presence commanding as he addressed the room. “The gauntlet is set. Each of you has placed your name into the helm, knowing the stakes. Let me remind you that any threat against the queen will be met with the full force of my wrath.” His voice dropped, lethal and cold. “You will show her the respect she is due, or you will not live to see the gauntlet.”

The room fell silent, the weight of his words settling heavily over the crowd. Despite the protection in his tone, I couldn’t shake the doubt gnawing at the edges of my mind. How could I possibly survive this? How could I prove myself in a world where strength and power ruled—and I had neither?

Drakaris sat back down, his gaze briefly meeting mine. There was a flicker of something in his eyes—determination, perhaps?—before he turned his attention back to his plate.

I exhaled slowly, steeling myself. This wasn’t just about survival anymore. It was about earning their respect, their belief that I was more than just a powerless queen.

The past three days had passed in a blur of intense lessons, frustration, and fleeting moments of triumph. Quill and Svlvain proved to be unrelenting teachers, their approach to instruction as sharp and merciless as their personalities.

Svlvain had drilled me relentlessly in pronunciation, her sharp corrections cutting through my stumbling attempts like a blade. Quill, by contrast, focused on teaching me the subtle nuances of the dark fae language—how a single inflection could shift a word’s meaning entirely. I hadn’t had time to think about the gauntlet, let alone the looming stakes of the marriage alliance.

By the morning of the gauntlet, I could string together basic phrases with only a slight hesitation, though my accent still earned the occasional smirk from Svlvain.

“Little Light,” she’d teased earlier that morning as we prepared. “You may not sound like one of us yet, but at least now you won’t accidentally insult someone by greeting them with the wrong tone.”

Quill had simply grinned and added, “That’s progress.”

But as I sat in the elevated viewing box overlooking the vast arena, none of that mattered now. My nerves buzzed as I watched the competitors prepare for the gauntlet.

Drakaris stood among them, clad in sleek black armor that seemed to absorb the dim light around him. He exuded effortless confidence, his eyes gleaming with excitement as he adjusted the leather straps of his boots. He didn’t look at me, but I could tell he was aware of my gaze, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

Beside me, Svlvain leaned casually against the edge of the box, her sharp eyes scanning the field. "Don’t look so tense, Little Light," she said, her tone light but with a hint of amusement. "This is tradition, not an execution. Drakaris thrives on this."

I exhaled, gripping the arms of my chair tightly. “This is barbaric.”

Svlvain shrugged, her braid swaying over her shoulder. “He’s not foolish enough to lose. And if someone does manage to beat him, well…” Her lips curled into a sly smile. “Let’s just say they’ll have earned the right to stand beside you.”

Quill sat on my other side, his expression less amused but no less confident. "The gauntlet is brutal, but Drak has never lost. This is how we settle our disputes.”

The arena roared to life as Drakaris stepped forward, raising a hand to silence the crowd. His voice carried effortlessly across the space, deep and commanding.

"The rules are simple," he began. "Three rounds to test strength, wit, and mastery of magic. Round one: no magic. Hand-to-hand combat with weapons until half the contestants are eliminated." His eyes flicked to the competitors, who stood poised and ready, their weapons gleaming.

"Round two: defensive magic is permitted. Shields, barriers, and counterspells. Again, we fight until half remain."

He paused, letting the tension build before continuing. "Round three: a full magic battle royale. All limits removed. The last one standing will claim victory. Any violations will result in execution. Agreed?!"

The crowd erupted in cheers and applause, their anticipation palpable. The competitors bang their weapons on their shields in a rhythmic chant, their eyes fixed on Drakaris with a mix of reverence and challenge. The atmosphere crackled with energy, each heartbeat echoing in the arena like a war drum.

I watched, my hands clammy as I felt the weight of the moment pressing down on me. This wasn't just about tradition or settling disputes—it was about power, about proving oneself in the most primal way possible.

Drakaris' gaze flickered to me for a moment, a silent challenge that sent a shiver down my spine. He was in his element, a predator among predators, and I couldn't shake the feeling that I was nothing more than prey in his eyes.

Beside me, Svlvain's voice cut through the tension like a knife. "Remember, Little Light," she murmured, her eyes fixed on the arena below. "In this world, strength is often the only language some understand."

Quill leaned closer, his voice low. “Watch closely. That’s your future down there.”

I nodded, forcing myself to focus as Drakaris returned to the center of the arena, his movements fluid and assured.

The first round began with the blare of a horn, and chaos immediately erupted. Weapons clashed as contestants lunged at each other, their strikes precise and unrelenting. Steel rang against steel, and the sharp crack of shields breaking filled the air.

Drakaris moved like a shadow, his twin swords flashing as he deflected an incoming strike and countered with brutal efficiency. His opponent—a burly fae wielding a massive axe—crumpled under his blow, knocked unconscious rather than killed. Drakaris never wasted energy where it wasn’t necessary.

I winced as another fae was thrown to the ground, blood staining the dirt beneath him. The brutality of the gauntlet was something I hadn’t fully prepared myself for. These weren’t mere sparring matches; every blow carried the weight of life or death.

Drakaris faced another challenger, a wiry fae with a spear, who darted forward with impressive speed. Drakaris dodged effortlessly, sidestepping and disarming his opponent in one smooth motion. The spear clattered to the ground, and with a swift kick, Drakaris sent the fae sprawling.

Svlvain smirked beside me. “Show-off.”

As the round wore on, the number of contestants dwindled. Some were dragged off the field by medics. Others lay motionless where they fell. When the horn blared again, signaling the end of the first round, only half remained.

Drakaris stood among them, barely winded, his armor splattered with dirt but otherwise unscathed. He met my gaze for the first time, his smirk widening as he gave a small, mocking bow.

I clenched my fists, my heart pounding in my chest as I watched him. The cheers of the crowd blended into a cacophony of noise around me, but all I could focus on was the dark fae standing tall and formidable in the center of the arena.

Beside me, Quill’s voice cut through the chaos, low and steady. “He’s a legend.”

Svlvain leaned forward, her eyes sharp with interest. “He’s more like a god, Shade. He’s lethal. But don’t count yourself out yet, Little Light. This is only the beginning.”

I tore my gaze away from Drakaris to look at them both. Quill’s expression was unreadable, a mask of calm determination that contrasted with Svlvain’s subtle smirk.

“Remember what we taught you,” Quill said, his eyes meeting mine. “Control your fear. Focus on your opponent’s weaknesses. Adapt and survive.”

I nodded.