I awoke when a sharp pain struck me across the cheek. Blinking in the dim light, I could make out five distinct silhouettes, two of whom were in the process of releasing my wrists from chains. 

I blinked again, rolling my head; it felt heavy, but didn’t hurt anymore. Nothing was broken, only battered and bruised. The worst of it was a persistent itch in my nostrils where blood had dried.

I groaned and managed to push myself up. I was kneeling on a polished stone floor, surrounded by the same polished stone walls. To my right was a simple wooden cot with a worn but clean pillow. In front of me were four beautiful, uniformed men, with a lone woman who appeared to be the leader. Her red coat was embroidered with intricate floral patterns, and the sword at her hip looked to be golden. More decorative than anything else, then. 

“Where am I?” I managed, my throat still sore and acidic. It couldn’t have been long since Thorne ambushed me. 

“You are in the dungeons of the House of Songs, in the Court of Beauty,” said the woman, her voice even and commanding. 

“Why?” 

All of them had sharp, pointed ears. And all of them were unnaturally beautiful, each an epitome of health and youth, with faces so still and doll-like it seemed as though they feared expressions would twist their flawless skin. 

These must be high fae, like Lord Thorne and magpie-deer. Despite everything, I couldn’t help the hope igniting in my chest. Maybe these fae were more civilized, more willing to help.

“You were found trespassing into our territories, human. What have you to say for yourself?” 

Or maybe not. 

Trespassing into … What? I’d just woken up. How could I have been trespassing anywhere? Unless Sylas’s torture had somehow given me the ability to sleepwalk.

I stood up, leaning against the wall to my left for support. Two of the men drew their blades, while the others only put their hands on the hilts. For a bunch of what I assumed were fae guards, they were awfully worried a lowly human behind bars might attack them.

“Is the Overgrowth part of the Court of Beauty?” I asked cautiously. 

The woman in charge exchanged looks with the others, “It is not.” 

“Well, that’s where I was the last time I was conscious.” 

I expected her to argue, but instead she frowned. They must’ve found me passed out within their territory, and even they probably realized it’d be strange for an unconscious human to get herself anywhere at all. 

“What were you doing in the Overgrowth?” said the leader, her eyes narrowing.

I took another few steps closer, now an arm’s length away from the bars. 

In the hazy candlelight from the chandeliers above, I saw a beautiful woman with strong features and dark skin glowing with vitality. Her eyes were a warm hazel, and her dark hair was gathered in dozens of thin braids, the beads of which shone gold like her armor. 

“My sister was kidnapped by a Lord Sylas Thorne. I came from a town south of the wall to search for her.” 

She frowned even deeper, studying my face. I realized then that I’d been stripped down to nothing but my undershirt and trousers. All my weapons were gone.

“How were you able to avoid the spell?” she asked.

“What spell?”

“The one that steals the memory of the taken human.”

So this had happened before? Enough for even prison guards to know? 

I clenched my jaw to stop all the outraged questions from spilling out of my mouth. I had to reply if I wanted any more information. But I didn’t have a good answer. 

“I … I don’t know.”

The leader’s posture relaxed. She cocked her head to the side and the other soldiers turned and disappeared down the dim corridor. 

“You should not have come. This is not a place for humans such as yourself. This is not a place for heroes.” 

She turned as well and started walking away. 

“Wait!” I sprang forward and the impact of my body against the bars echoed through the stone hall. “Stop! I just want to find my sister! I didn’t mean to trespass, I don’t even know how I bloody did it! Come back here!” 

But she’d gone out of sight. I waited for a reply until I heard a door at the far end of the hall slam shut. I roared in anger and rattled my cage like a trapped animal. 

“Let me out! I didn’t do anything wrong!” 

Nobody came. I wasn’t even sure there were other prisoners here. If there were, they were all ignoring me. 

Finally done with my tantrum, I turned around in my cell, looking for anything usable. There was a small window right under the ceiling, but it was barred, and even if it hadn’t been, I wouldn’t have fit through it. I couldn’t see anything beyond it, either, other than a sliver of earth and grass that crested above the lower edge. It must’ve been night.

I sighed and sat on the bed. At least I had a mattress this time. And a pillow. 

My hair was still damp — which meant a few hours had passed since it got wet — and my arms and legs itched from the tiny cuts left by the pixies’ swords, but at least there weren’t any other side-effects.

I looked around again. The cell was clean, and the fact that there were clean bedclothes and a cot — plus the hole in the floor I didn’t dare step closer to in fear of the smell — meant they probably wouldn’t let me starve in here. I could try reasoning with the guard when they came to feed me. 

I tied my hair into a knot and lay down on the bed, scratching at the skin around my nostrils until I got all the crusted blood off. Compared to everything else I’d experienced so far, this wasn’t so bad. I was closer to the people — or creatures, rather, who could possibly help me, even if they refused right now. There was a roof over my head, and nobody was trying to kill me. At this point, this was as ideal as it could get. I was trapped in a prison, and while there were no laws in the Overgrowth, this was a court. That meant laws, systems, society.

Maybe they knew what justice was.

No guards came to deliver me food. Sometime after they’d all left, a tray with a wooden cup and bowl appeared inside my cell. In the bowl was a hot, red stew, with bits of what looked like fruit and meat gathering deliciously at the bottom. I had no way of testing it for magic, but I was hungry, so I devoured it all, surprised at how sweet yet spicy it was. Despite being unlike anything I’d ever eaten, the feeling of it settling in my empty stomach was pleasantly familiar. The cup contained some weak, warm wine. That was also something new to me, but I drank it regardless. 

Once I was full and rested, the frustration started to build again. I’d planned to charm a guard — somehow, despite never having charmed anyone before nor having the tools that fit the task —  but if they were going to magically send me food, how was I supposed to contact anyone? Surely they wouldn’t let me age until death here? 

I swallowed my creeping despair. Surely they wouldn’t do that …

I paced back and forth in the cell, shouted some more, and finally sat on the bed, curling into myself with my face to the wall like a child. I didn’t know how many hours passed. 

So this was how I’d die. Alone and ignored and toothless, unable to rescue the one person who mattered the most.

A shadow settled over me. First I thought the candles had all been blown out for the night, but I could still see everything just fine. I sat up in the bed and froze. 

There was a man standing on the other side of the bars. 

He was dressed in all black to match his short hair. A coat was snugly cinched around his waist, its tails so long they brushed the floor, with feather-like silver designs embroidered across his wide shoulders and numerous fine silver chains hanging from his ears. Ears which were longer than those of any high fae I’d seen so far, shaped like a knife’s blade, and pointing straight out from his head. It’d be funny if he wasn’t so terrifying. 

And if his eyes weren’t glowing bright blue. 

“You.” I threw my legs over the edge of the bed and stood up. I clenched my fists, though I wasn’t sure why.

I couldn’t fight him. Everything about him made me uneasy, but there was nothing I could do. 

“Comfortable?” His clear, pleasant voice carried throughout the stone hallway. He’d sounded almost friendly, but his face remained still, like a doll’s. If I hadn’t seen his lips move, I would’ve thought it impossible. 

“You followed me,” I said, stepping closer to the bars. “What do you want?” 

He quirked his head to the side, “I want what you want.” 

“And what’s that?” 

“Justice. Freedom.” He smiled, I think, the movement of his facial muscles so stiff it was clear they weren’t used to the sensation. His gaze remained completely flat.  

We stared at each other in tense silence. Magpie-deer was waiting for me to speak, to beg him for information, and though I wanted to give in, I couldn’t shake the feeling of wrongness rolling off of him in waves.

Now that I saw him in the light, I was struck by his unnatural beauty, moreso than Lord Thorne and even the fae guards. His features were sharp and elegant, softened by a pale, smooth complexion. The natural blush of his cheeks and rosiness of his lips made him look at once youthful and ageless. His eyes were deeply set and intense, framed by dark brows that gave him a perpetual brooding scowl. He was gorgeous in an off-putting, macabre way, an idealized portrait come to life without shedding the flatness of its previous existence.

I tried to hold his gaze for as long as possible and hoped to see doubt, or weakness, or evil intentions, but there was nothing. He was nothing. There was no person, no humanity behind those eyes. His beauty demanded my attention like the full moon on a dark night, but like the moon, it was alien and beyond reach. 

I stepped forward, wrapping my fingers around the bars between us. He was close enough to touch, not that I’d ever dare, and his jaw flexed almost imperceptibly at my proximity. 

“What do you want? And be more specific this time.” My command was weakened by the trembling of my voice.

“Do you think you are in a position to make demands?”  

The question made me shudder. 

“I want to know what I’m getting into and with whom before I do it.” 

Though he seemed pleased at my reply, his eyes narrowed, long lashes close to tangling into each other. 

“I am Valerien, Consul of the Court of Hunger.” 

That told me nothing, aside from the fact that he didn’t belong here. 

“Are you an intruder, too?” I said. 

“No. I am the ambassador of that court. It is my duty to represent its interest in political matters, thus I am free to travel to other courts as I see fit.” 

“Right. And what does the Consul of the Court of Hunger want with a lowly human, Valerien? Why did you help me that time in the woods? Why did you watch me get almost killed? Why did you turn into a magpie and taunt me?”

Valerien smiled again, his plump lips barely moving. Had he blinked even once since he’d arrived?

“Observant, are you?” he said snidely. “I was testing your resolve, making sure you would not meet your untimely demise at the hands of the lesser fae of the Overgrowth. And, I suppose, offering moral support.”

I scoffed, “Whatever good that did.”

“You are alive, are you not?”

Hardly because of his “moral support”! I couldn’t deny my living state without questioning my own sanity, however, and had to look away in defeat. 

He wore a smug grin when I looked back.

“I would prefer to keep you alive, Sidra of Dorotea. If you share that goal, you will agree to my proposal, and I will help you get out of this prison, as well as help you save your precious sister. All I want in return is a promise.”

“A promise?” 

“Yes. This is a very generous deal, all things considered. I could demand your service, since you are in my debt already, but your wiling participation is key.”

“How generous indeed,” I said dryly. “What’s the promise?” 

Valerien regarded me through narrowed eyes in what almost seemed like hesitation, before leaning forward and speaking in a low voice, “When the time comes, you will give your strength, will, and resolve to the task I give you. No matter what it is, you will complete it with the same vigor and heart that drives you to save your sister. Can you promise me that?” 

Though his tone and behavior hadn’t changed, I couldn’t help but wonder what sort of aid he needed if he was willing to ask a human for it. It spoke of desperation.

Something told me he’d refuse to reply if I questioned this, so I picked the hopefully more diplomatic option.

“And if this is something I will find reprehensible?” 

Valerien leaned back, apparently at ease again, “You will not.”

“How do you know?” I pressed.

He smiled, still smug, still superior, “Call it an educated guess.” 

Upon seeing my glare, he rolled his eyes — the most movement I’d seen from them yet. 

“You are fighting to save your sister from her kidnapper, are you not? Assume what I will ask of you is similar to that task.” 

“So you help me save her, and in return, I promise to help you later?” 

“I do not only need your help, I need your resolve, your drive. Without it behind your actions, you are useless to me.” 
 

“Lovely.” 

I turned around, grasping my forehead. 

There was no point in considering it, really. I had no choice. He’d helped me several times before, had he not? Compared to the other high fae, he hadn’t kidnapped my sister, tortured me, thrown me in prison … He could be my best chance at fixing all of this. Or, indeed, my last chance. 

I faced him. Grim acceptance must’ve shown on my face, because he smiled again, like a cruel child who’d found a bug turned on its back. 

He reached out, offering me his hand. It was large yet elegant, pale and smooth the way hands were when their owner had never worked a day in their life. His fingers, each adorned with silver rings, had nails so long and sharp they could pass for claws. Despite the fact they were impressively manicured, it was quite disgusting. 

My hand was clammy and numb from tensing my fists. His was warm and dry, which surprised me —  I’d expected his skin to be ice cold. 

I squeezed it tight and he returned the gesture, hand swallowing mine, his talons digging into my flesh a hair’s width away from piercing it. 

Another “smile” spread across Valerien’s handsome face as he held my hand for a moment longer than necessary.

“Well then,” he said, lifting his gaze to meet mine with a swoop of his eyelashes. “Get some rest now, Sidra. Tomorrow, you will be free.”

He left as soundlessly as he’d arrived, melting into the shadows of the hall, and I wondered if I’d exchanged one prison for another.