The walk from the Queen's chambers to the Great Hall was a quarter-mile of red carpet and hungry eyes.
Aeliana moved through the stone corridors, the heavy train of her gown hissing against the floor like a serpent following her heels. The dress was a shade of deep, bruised plum, cut dangerously low in the front and back. It was Valerius's choice, of course. He liked her skin on display. He liked knowing that every man in the room was looking at what only he could touch.
Two Royal Guards flanked her. They kept their eyes forward, staring rigidly at the air, but Aeliana could feel the heat coming off them. She could hear the subtle shift in their breathing as her scent wafted past them.
"Eyes front, soldier," Lira snapped from behind, noticing a younger guard's gaze drift a little too low toward the Queen's neckline. "Unless you want to lose them."
The guard stiffened, his face flushing red.
Aeliana didn't react. She was used to it. In the three years since the conquest, she had become less of a woman and more of a myth. The Fae Queen. The Ice Doll. To the men, she was a sexual fantasy they whispered about in the barracks. To the women, she was a hate-sink, a creature so unnaturally beautiful she made them feel inadequate just by existing.
They reached the massive oak doors of the Great Hall. The noise from inside was a dull roar—laughter, the clatter of cutlery, the tuning of lutes.
The herald banged his staff three times. The sound cut the noise dead.
"Her Grace!" the herald bellowed, his voice cracking slightly. "Aeliana of the Silver-Root. Queen of Oakhaven. Consort to the Iron Throne."
The doors swung open.
Aeliana stepped into the light.
The heat hit her first—the collective body heat of five hundred bodies packed into the cavernous hall. Then came the smell: roasted boar, spiced wine, and the underlying musk of arousal and envy.
Every head turned.
For a second, there was total silence. It was the kind of silence that usually preceded an execution.
Aeliana kept her chin high, her expression serene and vacant. She let them look. She let the Dukes stare at her exposed shoulders. She let the Duchesses glare at her waist, which was cinched impossibly tight.
She was the rarest thing in the room, and she knew it.
"Gods," a man whispered near the front, too drunk to keep his voice down. "She doesn't even look real."
"Painted whore," a woman hissed behind her fan, her eyes raking over Aeliana's silver hair. "Does she think she's still in a fairy ring?"
Aeliana glided toward the dais. The High Table was raised five feet above the rest, a platform for gods to look down on mortals.
King Valerius sat in the center.
He was sprawling in his iron throne, a goblet of wine dangling from his fingers. He wore black velvet and wolf-fur, his chest exposed to show off the thick mat of hair and the scars of his conquests. He looked brutal, powerful, and undeniably handsome in a way that promised violence.
When he saw her, he sat up.
A slow, possessive grin spread across his face. It wasn't a smile of love; it was the smile of a miser looking at his gold.
"Finally," Valerius boomed, standing up. He opened his arms. "The moon decides to grace us."
Aeliana ascended the stairs. She stopped before him and sank into a deep, graceful curtsy, her dress pooling around her like spilled wine.
"My King," she murmured, lowering her eyes. "Forgive my delay. Perfection takes time."
Valerius laughed—a loud, barking sound that made the court relax. He stepped forward, ignoring the protocol of distance, and grabbed her hands. He pulled her up, hauling her into his personal space.
He smelled of strong spirits and iron.
"You are forgiven," he said, his voice dropping to a low, intimate rumble that only she—and the nobles in the front row—could hear.
He didn't let go of her hands. Instead, he slid one large, calloused hand up her bare arm, his thumb digging into the soft flesh of her bicep. He traced the line of her shoulder, then moved to her throat.
It was a display. He was marking his territory.
"Look at her," Valerius shouted to the room, keeping his hand wrapped around the back of her neck. "Have you ever seen anything so... beautiful?"
The men in the hall cheered, raising their mugs. The women clapped politely, their smiles tight and venomous.
"She is the jewel of my conquest," Valerius declared, turning Aeliana around so her back was pressed against his chest. He wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her tight against his groin. "The last of the High Fae. And she is mine."
Aeliana forced herself to breathe shallowly. She could feel the hardness of him against her lower back, the heat of his body radiating through her thin dress. It was suffocating.
"Sit, my love," Valerius whispered in her ear, biting the lobe gently. "Before I decide to skip the banquet and take you right here on the table."
He released her, shoving her slightly toward her chair.
Aeliana sat, smoothing her skirts with trembling fingers. She reached for her water goblet, needing to wash the taste of his scent out of her throat.
"So," Valerius said, dropping back into his throne and signaling for the wine steward. "Are you excited?"
"Excited, my King?" Aeliana asked, keeping her voice light.
"For the entertainment," Valerius grinned, pointing his goblet toward the center of the hall, where a large circular space had been cleared. The floor there was covered in fresh sawdust—to soak up blood.
"I have brought something special from the North," Valerius said, his eyes gleaming with childish cruelty. "A true monster. Gorm says it hasn't eaten in a week."
He leaned in, resting his elbow on the table.
"I've lined up ten of the Death Row prisoners. Scum. Rapists, murderers, traitors. I told them if they can kill the beast, they walk free."
Aeliana felt a sick lurch in her stomach. "Ten men against one animal? That seems... excessive."
"Oh, it's not an animal, my sweet," Valerius chuckled, watching the servants extinguish the main chandeliers, leaving only the torches burning around the pit. "It's a Wolf. A Shifter."
He looked at her, watching for a reaction.
"We are going to see how much blood it can spill before it dies. I have a wager with Duke Thorne that it takes down at least six men."
Valerius signaled the guards at the far end of the hall.
"Release the prisoners!" he roared.
A side gate opened. Ten men shambled onto the sawdust. They looked desperate, armed with rusty swords, axes, and spears. They huddled together, eyeing the massive iron gate on the opposite side of the pit.
"And now," Valerius whispered, grabbing Aeliana's hand and squeezing it hard. "Bring out the dog."
The main gates groaned open.
From the darkness of the corridor, the rattle of heavy chains echoed. A low, vibrating growl rolled through the hall, a sound so primal that the hair on Aeliana's arms stood up.
She leaned forward, despite herself.
Something was coming out of the dark.