Page 65 of Fallen Star

Two girls hurry past us as we make our way down the hall, whispering so quietly that I can’t hear. Judging from their normal, non-inky black eye colors and lack of wings—and fromknowing we’re in the human quarters—I can immediately tell that they’re not fae.

“This will be your room,” my fae escort says, stopping in front of an intricately carved wooden door and pushing it open.

Decorated in golds and creams, with an elegant chandelier floating overhead, and plush furniture arranged in the common area, it’s even nicer than where they put me in when I first got here. But I don’t think it’s all mine. Because three doors branch off from the main space. Each one is identical, except for the small plaques engraved with names: Sophia and Victoria.

The third plaque is blank.

“Dinner is in thirty minutes,” the fae woman says, giving me a quick once-over. “You’re expected to join the others and present yourself appropriately. There are a few dresses in your room that are suitable for dinner. They’ll be slightly big, but they’ll work. You’ll be fitted for your own dresses soon.”

With that, she spins on her heel and leaves, the door clicking shut behind her.

I barely have a moment to process it all before one of the other doors flies open, and a girl steps out. She’s petite, with dark hair cascading in loose waves down her back. Her dress is elegant but simple—green silk that swishes around her ankles—and she looks slightly younger than I am. Fifteen, or maybe sixteen.

“Hi,” she says with a surprisingly bright smile, given our circumstances. “I’m Sophia. Welcome to… well, you know. Prince Aerix’s guest suite.”

Guest suite?

“Is that a fancy way of saying ‘luxury prison?’” I ask, and while her smile wobbles, it doesn’t disappear.

“You’ll adapt,” she says, but there’s something in her eyes—a hint of weariness that makes me think she hasn’t quite “adapted” herself.

“Does this include spa days and gourmet food?” I ask, motioning around the luxury suite. “Perhaps even the free?—”

I’m interrupted by another door opening—the one labeledVictoria.

The woman who steps out is older—mid-thirties, maybe—and in her red velvet dress, her entire demeanor screamsdo not mess with me.She’s slightly taller than I am, with brown eyes, and dark, perfectly styled hair.

I can’t help seeing the similarities between the three of us.

Apparently, Prince Aerix has a type.

“Well, isn’t this cozy,” she says with disdain, looking me up and down. “Another stray for our prince’s collection.”

“Victoria,” Sophia says softly. “She’s new. She’s probably scared.”

“She doesn’t look scared.” Victoria steps closer, her sharp gaze making me feel like a bug under a magnifying glass. “She looks… bedraggled. Disheveled. Unkempt.”

“Studying for your SATs?” I raise an eyebrow.

“What?” She scrunches her face in confusion.

“Don’t mind Victoria,” Sophia jumps in. “She’s Canadian.”

Victoria huffs and crosses her arms, turning her attention back to me. “Keep it coming,” she says. “The prince might like his toys to have some spirit, but test him too much, and you won’t last long here.”

She glances at the door with a blank plaque, and I have a feeling she’s referring to whoever occupied that room before my apparent assignment to it.

“Good to know.” I raise an eyebrow, unwilling to let this girl think she can walk all over me. First impressions matter, especially in places like this. “Anything else, or are we done with the veiled threats?”

“There is noveilhere,” she replies, forcing an obviously fake smile. “Would you like some help choosing what to wear to dinner? I know exactly what Aerix likes. And what he doesn’t.”

“I know how to dress myself,” I say, although judging by the fact that I’m standing here in the equivalent of Night Court underwear, I suppose I can see how that might be unapparent. “But I need a minute. Alone.”

Victoria snorts. “Take all the minutes you want. Just don’t be late for dinner, or we’ll all pay for it.”

“Don’t scare her,” Sophia protests, but Victoria’s already retreating to her room, the door shutting with a decisive click.

“Let me guess,” I say when it’s clear she’s not coming back out. “She was going to recommend something she knows Aerix will hate?”

---