Page 49 of The Book of Legends
But the lie is transparent, and it clearly amuses Tristan.
“Leave it alone, Tristan,” another Fae says, watching me with quiet interest. “We all know how Nieve feels. She’s made it obvious a few times. I guess she still can’t take the hint.”
“It’s pretty obviousyoucare what Nieve feels,” I shoot back.
His jaw twitches. Nieve’s not the only one hiding something.
Tristan turns back to me. “Is that why you’re here? Curious about the rest of us, Selene? Or is it true—were you sent by that tyrant, Therion?”
I’m not surprised he knows my name. Everyone seems to know I’m the so-called traitor.
“I’m not from here.”
Tristan crosses his arms, and more Fae step forward behind him, forming a loose circle. It reminds me of high school—the moment right before the bully takes his first swing.
“I heard you go around telling people that. I’ll entertain it. Where are you from?”
“Idaho. It’s on a planet called Earth.”
“Never heard of it.”
“Of course you haven’t. But I think you're smart enough to know there’s no way someone like me could outsmart Prince Kainen alone.”
“There’s no way she doesn’t wieldsomesort of magic,” a voice from the back murmurs.
More mumbles of agreement follow.
“I assure you—I’m human. No magic. No powers.”
“What do you think, Devlin?” Tristan asks.
Devlin, the white-haired Fae Nieve had been watching, lifts his chin. “Prove it.”
“You mean fight you?” I ask, stunned.
Devlin shrugs. “Or you can stand there and let Tristan kick your ass. Your choice.”
My stomach sinks. I havezerocombat training. And these aren’t normal guys—they’re freaking fairies with magic and muscles. I didn’t miss their fangs when they spoke.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Nieve snaps. “She’s not a warrior.”
Tristan gestures to my leather pants. “She’s dressed like one. I’m sureyouhad something to do with that. Like that dress you wore for me.”
“You’re such an asshole,” I spit.
His eyes flash, shifting color—and then a blast of energy slams into my chest. I hit the ground hard, the air whooshing from my lungs.
I gasp. Cough. Try to breathe.
“What the hell, Tristan?!” Nieve shouts.
Devlin grabs her, holding her back. “Settle down, Nieve. This’ll be quick. You can go back to fan-girling when it’s over.”
Nieve tries to wrangle free, but she’s no match for him.
I push up, lungs still burning—and sprint.
I hurl myself forward and kick Tristan square in the balls.
