Page 55 of Fallen Star

I just have tostayalive until they do.

Figuring it’s best to be as aware of my surroundings as possible, I move toward one of the windows and glance out.

There’s a large courtyard right outside—which is surprisingly normal-looking compared to everything else I’ve seen in this place so far. Probably because it’s in, as Aerix referred to itas, thehumanwing. A few people are in it, doing surprisingly normal activities—playing cards, reading, and drawing. The only thing obviously “wrong” about the courtyard is the tall concrete wall surrounding it, like a rock-solid cage.

Beyond the courtyard, the blood-filled moat is as foreboding as ever, the stars reflecting on its surface. The city sprawled out on the other side is alive, pulsing with haunted energy, and the space all the way out on the hill shimmers, reminding me of the magical ward we passed to cross into the Night Court.

I trace the edges of the window frame with my fingers, assessing its width, its height, and trying to calculate how I could climb out without breaking my neck.

But even if I succeeded, then what? Learn why—as Aerix so lovingly put it—my kind “fears the dark?”

No. If I’m getting out of here, it won’t be through brute force. It will be by winning whatever game they have in store for me.

From what I know so far of the fae, theylovegames.

Faerie Games,I think. Like that book I read and loved a few years back.

And right now, I need to dress the part.

So, I make my way to the wardrobe to see what I have to work with.

The gowns inside are strikingly beautiful.

Deep, shimmering blacks that catch light like the surface of a moonlit lake. Another with a sheer material that looks like mist caught in the starlight. There’s one of deep crimson, fading into black as it flows down into the skirt. The one behind it has the most intricate beading that I’ve ever seen in my life—rubies, sapphires, jade, and amber—swirling as if they’re alive. And the final one is black leather and velvet, overlaid with sharp silver embellishments that mimic the curve of crescent moons and the sweep of wings.

What kind of game am I dressing for?

Beauty,I think.

As I was walking through town, that’s what the fae kept mentioning. How pretty they thought I was. And, as I look out at the people spending time in the courtyard, there’s no denying that they’re all attractive.

If my looks will keep me alive, then best to lean into that as much as I can.

After a bit of deliberation, I settle on the one in the back—black leather and velvet. The moon patterns will hopefully show an interest in the night, and the wing design will hopefully show a message—I might notbeone of you, but I can stillthinklike one of you.

Now, my hair.

It’s always been long, thick, and hard to control, which is why I’ve been watching videos online for how to manage it for as long as I can possibly remember. Plus, it might be relaxing to have something to do with my hands, instead of pacing around and getting more anxious by the second. Sort of like how I sometimes do puzzles to calm my mind.

Inside the vanity, I find an array of silver-handled brushes and combs.

Then I look into the mirror and gasp.

My reflection shows someone I barely recognize. Pale and thin, with eyes that look too large in my face, and cheekbones that give me a distinctly hollow look.

This past week has left its mark on me.

I need to get to work.

So, I section off my hair and begin weaving it into an intricate pattern of braids—one of the ones I learned during that phase where I was obsessed with historical styles. It takes forever, and my arms ache by the time I’m done, but the result is worth it. It’s almost crown-like—elegant and severe at once.

I am not soft. I am not weak.

And they will not break me.

A knock at the door makes me jump.

The two fae women from earlier glide inside, and I shoot up, fidgeting slightly as their eyes sweep over me.

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