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I'm in the Throne Hall at the Palace of Elfhame. King Eldred is holding a revel for all the high gentry. As a faerie and a member of the High Court, it's the perfect event to catch up on the affairs of the other courts.
People are getting drunk everywhere, dancing until the soles of their shoes wear thin. Looking around, I spot a pair of brown-haired girls and the general arriving with his wife and daughter.
As I pass the tables to get some wine, a sudden force pulls me backward. I turn to see Balekin, Prince of Elfhame and son of the High King, giving me a cold smirk.
“Come. Dance with me, and I promise not to make you regret it… just yet.”
He bows and offers me his thorned hand, his silver, owl-like eyes fixed on mine. I hesitate for a moment.
“It would be most discourteous to refuse a prince. Or are you in the habit of insulting royalty?”
Ignoring him would be an insult—to the crown, to his family, to everything this twisted court holds dear. So I take his hand.
It's startlingly soft, like velvet sheathing a dagger, and in one smooth motion, he pulls me close—so close I can feel the heat of him.
I'm lucky my blade is strapped tight beneath my clothes, hidden along my thigh. Exactly where I need it, unseen by all.
We begin to move, gliding in time with the music—something like a waltz, but more dangerous, more sharp. It's the kind of dance I’d always dreamed of performing: elegant and wicked.
It reminded me of Bridgerton. The onlookers blur at the edges of my vision, but I see them whisper. There are rumors—ones I’ve heard passed from lip to lip—that there are those who want the king, his father, dead.
I glance up. He’s watching me, intent and unreadable.
“When I am king,” Balekin murmurs, “there will be no room for weakness... only power. I’ve seen how you move in this court. Join me. Be part of my circle—my Court of Grackles ”
I blink. Me? I barely manage a surprised, “Why?”
I’d heard whispers of his court—the infamous gatherings he hosts at Hollow Hall.
Wild and full of debauchery. I first heard the story from a troll, half-drunk and missing two teeth, muttering like it was a warning. Never once did I imagine I might be part of it.
“Because they already look at you like you belong here,” he says smoothly. “And I... know how to use what’s valuable.”
“Just like you used your siblings, I suppose.”
A slow, deliberate sigh escapes me as I signal discreetly to my handman. At once, torches ignite the luxurious walls.
Fire licks upward like serpents, and panic erupts through the ballroom. Screams rise, chairs fall, nobles scatter. The music doesn’t stop—it only grows wilder, louder, as though the orchestra is possessed.
But Balekin does not flinch.
His grip on my hand tightens when I try to pull away. An arm snakes around my waist, grounding me to him. I stare into his eyes—reflecting the blaze behind him like molten gold, fierce and unshaken.
Shit...
I force myself to smile, pretend everything is still composed, still under control. He laughs, low and cutting.
“The High King is gone,” he says with dark amusement, “along with the rest of the cowards. What a splendid evening.”
I glare at him.
“Likewise. I'm drowning in poison dancing with you, my prince.” I bite back, making him chuckle.
He twirls me then, lifting me—dress and all—as if I weigh nothing at all. The flames roar closer, but we keep dancing, faster now, wilder. The room is a burning inferno, and we are its center.
He knows what I came to do. To kill the king. To take the blood crown.
And yet—he helps me ….escape?
Before I can speak, he hoists me over his shoulder like I’m his prize and carries me across the chaos to the throne.
There, hidden beneath the floor, he reveals a secret exit. A tunnel. A way out. We vanish into the darkness.
He asks again—for me to join his court, to stand at his side in whatever plans he's weaving in the shadows. He lowers me from his shoulder and we head to the stables.
I narrow my eyes. “What plans?”
Balekin’s smile deepens, unreadable.
“Soon, you’ll know,” he says softly. “When the crown passes—when the High King finally yields his title.”
The coronation. The successor. I realize, too late, what he might mean.
Before I can press further, we ride on horseback under the starry sky, toward —Hollow Hall. His estate. His lair. I don’t know what awaits me there, but still... I agree.
“So,” he murmurs, leaning close enough that I feel his breath brush my ear, voice low and intimate, “I’ve heard you like sleeping... is that true?”
I don’t have the time to answer.
His eyes shift—strange, gleaming—and suddenly, I feel my eyelids getting heavy. He’s trying to glamour me and it's working.
I feel myself being lifted, weightless in his arms. My limbs are heavy, but I recognize the scent of his coat—smoke, cold steel, and something darker. He carries me through the flickering shadows toward the estate. The doors recognize him, they open without a word, and we slip inside.
The corridors are cold and lined with iron sconces, he moves without hesitation, taking me past a war table cluttered with ancient maps and blades, into the strategy room. Oddly, there's a bed there—low and carved from dark wood, as if someone planned to rest between battles.
He places me down with unexpected care, his hand briefly brushing my cheek. Then, with a slow and deliberate gesture, he pulls the blankets over me. Tucks me in.
“Sleep well,” he murmurs.
He lingers at the edge of the bed for a moment longer, his silver eyes shining in the dim light. Then he turns and leaves, the door closing with a soft click behind him.
I glance around the room. A tall shadow looms near the doorway—Madoc’s red cap and sword visible. His presence is a strange comfort.
Then the exhaustion swallows me whole, and I drift into sleep.
And then I wake in my bed.