The Hall of Silver was a gaudy place, tossed with tinsel and wreaths for the two months of Yule ceremonies. The air was frost-kissed from the natural North Corner chill, only warmed by the enchanted fireplaces crackling with glowing red logs and the whispers of fairies who’d left tricks inside them. Spiked citrus drinks were carried in by lesser fairies in burlap gowns and rope shoes, and small-self fairies buzzed in the heights of the vaulted crystal ceilings, lighting the room like a scatter of stars.
Harpists and flutists performed ancient melodies of merriment for the visiting nobles from each of the Four Corners of Ever. The representatives congregated around a banquet table piled high with spiced meat and colourful fruit for the first Yule feast.
Cress stepped in, and a hush came over the Hall. Only the bravest High Lords of the Ever Corners stole glances at the fairy Prince. The rest dipped their heads and avoided eye contact while the stares of lonely females prickled his back like warm elfshots. He strode into the quiet banquet, his nose twitching at the scent of cinders polluting the room.
From the banquet table, High Lord Bonswick flashed Cress his crooked smile. The Lord of the East had his leg propped up on the chair beside him. Cress knew no faeborn fool would dare try to claim the seat. “Welcome back. Watch out for poison, Prince,” Bonswick said, then leaned forward to whisper, “No one likes you here.”
Cress’s cold turquoise gaze settled on the High Lord. The other fairy males cowered and shifted in their seats as Cress approached the table, but Bonswick winked.
“They’re too afraid of me to like me,” Cress said.
“Right.” Bonswick dragged his leg back to himself and sat up. “What’s worse, everyone?” he called down the row. “To be disliked, or to be feared?”
Noble representatives looked at each other in question, some hiding smirks as they no doubt guessed the High Lord of the East was up to no good.
“Or both?” Bonswick’s glassy silver eyes darted back to Cress, his mouth twisting into a smile. “I suppose both is worst of all.”
“Shall I get your chair, Prince?” A calm, male voice cut into the cold tension, and the sound of a chair sliding out echoed over the banquet. Cress glanced over to find Mor casting him a knowing look. Mor’s black assassins’ gloves tightened on the backrest of Cress’s chair when Cress didn’t sit right away. Cress took his seat without another word.
“Aren’t the two of you cute?” Bonswick fluttered his black lashes. “Would you like to get my chair, too, Mor? Or do you only pull out chairs for North faeborn monsters?”
Murmurs rippled down the table.
“I cannot decide which of you is worse,” Bonswick went on. “The monster-Prince hated by his own court, or the Shadow Fairy leech we’ve allowed to be in our presence.”
Though Cress’s fingers twitched to stone with the thought of smashing Bonswick’s banquet plate, he stole a glance at Mor.
Mor kept his brown and silver eyes on the floor. Cress expected the assassin’s tattooed skin to tighten, but Mor’s shoulders remained relaxed. The fairy folded his gloved hands.
“After all, it was your people who nearly destroyed the Four Corners. Right, Shadow Fairy? Would you still call them your people?” Bonswick’s finger tapped the tabletop as he waited for a response. After a moment, he laughed and turned back to Cress. “You won’t speak up for that slave?” he asked with forced blinking.
Cress took a long drink from the goblet of spiked ice and citrus before him. “Mor can speak for himself, you fool. He has a mouth.”
Bonswick’s smile grew. He nodded to the golden emblem with the wings of the North pinned to Mor’s chest. “Gold doesn’t belong on slaves. Especially enemy leeches. Give that to me.”
Cress’s cold stare narrowed on the High Lord across the table. The Prince opened his mouth to intervene, but beside him, Mor said, “What’s worse than being feared and disliked, Lord Bonswick?”
Bonswick worked his jaw, his smile fading as Mor unclipped the emblem and tossed it over. Mor answered before Bonswick could offer a reply. “Being naïve.”
Bonswick caught the emblem and sizzling sounds erupted. The fairy shrieked and hurled the gold clip to his plate where it rolled over once and landed flat, no longer an emblem of gold, but a heavy coin of cold iron.
Males snickered down the table and heads with gold-braided crowns turned away to pretend they didn’t see. Mor’s curly, dark hair shifted as he performed a shallow bow and took his leave.
Cress’s face threatened a smile. He took another sip of his citrus.
Bonswick didn’t blink as he rubbed the fresh burns on his fingertips. For once, the High Lord of the East kept quiet as the banquet food was served, but his stare followed Mor around the room until Mor left with the rest of the High Queene’s assassins through the silver arch. His gaze remained fixed there throughout dessert.
Cress finished his sweetened shellfish appetizer and sipped his citrus. He set his goblet on the tablecloth with a loud thud, rattling the candlesticks and making Bonswick jump. When their gazes locked again—turquoise and glass—a ripple of heat and power ruffled the table’s napkins and flickered the candles’ flames.
“If you touch him—” Cress’s voice was a low, horrid growl, “—I will slice your fingers off.”
“He’s a peasant,” Bonswick bit out.
“He’s an assassin.”
“He’s worth nothing.”
“He could kill you with a spoon.”
Bonswick broke his frown to laugh. “He wouldn’t dare.”
“He would if I told him to.”
A fresh hush befell the table as three dozen sets of fairy eyes went wide.
Bonswick slowly rose from his seat and leaned toward Cress. “Did you just threaten a High Lord of the East, Prince Cressica?” he articulated. “All for the sake of that Shadow Fairy leech? What if I cut out his tongue for calling me naïve? No one would stop me. What if I take his eyes for looking at me the way he did?” Bonswick bit his lower lip. “You might think yourself powerful here in the North, but I’m the most powerful fae in the East. Perhaps we should test our powers, you and I.”
Cress shoved his empty plate away and stood with a sigh. “Do you know why my assassin called you naïve, Bonswick?”
Chimes sounded from the silver arch announcing Queene Levress, High Queene of the Ever Corners, and commanding every soul into utter silence. Cress spoke anyway, turning heads and drawing gasps. “Because unlike everyone else in this room, you do not know better than to poke at monsters.”
“Silence!” The Queene’s command was a whip. Fairies down the banquet table lowered their eyes and bowed their heads. All but Cress and Bonswick.
The rustling of the Queene’s robes filled the hall as she rounded the table, bringing an icy wind that made skirts shiver, rattled antlers, and dislodged hair feathers. It brushed the back of Cress’s neck and fluttered his long hair.
“Drop your eyes, you foolish, faeborn males.” The Queene’s ice crawled up Cress’s feet and forearms like burns. “I will not hesitate to take your eyes from you, Cressica. It will not bother me to have a son-in-law with no eyes,” she said, and Cress’s rebellious gaze darted to Queene Levress in surprise.
Across the table, Bonswick bit his mouth shut and fought a smile. The High Lord obediently lowered his eyes like everyone else.
But Cress stared at the Queene with parted lips.
“I’ll forgive you for not bowing your head to me this once, Prince, because I imagine this news has startled you,” the Queene said. She turned to face the nobles from the Ever Corners filling the banquet hall. “The rumours are true. I have decided that Prince Cressica, my ward and First Assassin of the North, will wed my daughter,” she said in her high voice. “Now, eat. Eat until you’re sick, all of you. I demand it.”
A frigid silence hung in the Hall of Silver; even the harpists held their breath. But as the Queene moved for her throne at the head of the table, fairies dropped to sit and began shovelling hot soup, sweet blossoms, and spiced meat into their mouths too quickly for enjoyment.
Only Cress was left standing.
