The High Lady, seated upon her throne, wore a frown that deepened as the chaos unfolded.
“What’s happening?” a fae woman asked, glancing nervously at her companion.
“Is this some form of entertainment for the evening?”
“Perhaps,” the other replied, her tone indifferent. “They do enjoy such theatrics in the Day Court.” She stretched to see over the crowd, her curiosity tempered by uncertainty.
Seconds dragged by, yet nothing happened.
The unease in the air thickened, pressing down on the crowd like an invisible weight. Fae began inching toward the single open door, some seeking answers, others a chance to escape the heavy atmosphere.
Then they stopped.
Gasps and stumbles rippled through the assembly as two platoons marched into view-four wide and four deep. These were not ordinary fae. They towered like living mountains, each one a fortress of muscle and menace. Their eyes were as dark as midnight, their hair black as the void. Even their tunics and leathers shimmered faintly with silver, a stark contrast to their somber attire.
“The Night Court legion,” Noemi whispered, trembling. Her small hands quivered at her sides, betraying her fear.
The warriors moved with the precision of a storm, swords strapped across broad backs and knives sheathed along powerful thighs. Tattoos coiled down their arms and faces, inky spirals that seemed alive in the flickering light. Among them, a dozen stood apart-fae with hair like pale ice and eyes the color of crystalline water.
As one, they unsheathed their swords.
The room froze, hundreds of breaths caught in collective dread.
One fae, bold or foolish, stepped forward. His light blue-colored hair caught the light, and the threads of water magic surrounding him shimmered faintly.
“What is the meaning of this?” he demanded, his voice sharp as a blade. “Are we to be corralled like animals in a foreign court?”
Murmurs of agreement rippled through the crowd, but others hushed him, their fear outweighing their indignation.
Another fae, his dark blue hair blazing like sunlight, pushed forward. “I will not be imprisoned here!” he growled, storming toward the platoon with fury etched into his face.
The warriors moved as one, their swords thrust forward in a deadly wall of steel. The golden-haired man froze, a blade stopping mere inches from his face.
“You will remain here until further orders are received,” one of the warriors barked, his tone as cold as his stare. “Stand down, or force will be used.”
Panic erupted like wildfire. Some fae surged forward in defiance, while others fled, pounding on locked doors or attempting to shatter windows. Only the door behind the warriors remained open-a single path shrouded in menace.
A flash of fire magic blazed through the room, its heat licking the air.
The sharp ring of a blade followed, slicing through the chaos.
Then came the blood.
Scarlet droplets sprayed into the air, splattering the stunned crowd. Screams of terror mixed with cries of fury as the first rows of fae recoiled in horror. The atmosphere turned electric, the instinct to flee warring with the urge to fight.
Fifteen fae rushed forward, their magic crackling in the air, while others fled in every direction. But whatever spirit magic had sealed the room ensured no escape.
Leonardo seized my arm, his grip firm, while I grabbed Noemi, pulling her along.
We ran. Blood-splattered fae screamed around us, their finery soaked in crimson. The carnage was everywhere, but so was Marinella.
She stood behind the High Lady’s throne, no longer clad in a gown but in fitted leathers adorned with knives. Her long hair was bound at her neck, her smile sharp as a blade.
I froze as my eyes locked on hers.
Then came the silver flash, an arc of light that painted the air as her blade sliced the High Lady’s throat.
Time slowed.
The High Lady’s life drained away in a crimson spray, her immortal body slumping to the floor in a grotesque finality.
Power surged within me, fierce and untamed. Scarlet and emerald threads intertwined, weaving a pattern that made my head spin. I didn’t know what I was doing-only that I had to act.
Desperation, not emotion, fueled my magic.
The blast hit Marinella square in the chest, sending her crashing through a marble pillar. The stone crumbled beneath her weight, smoke rising from the scorched surface where her body had struck.
The dome of spirit magic shattered like glass, raining sharp fragments across the room. Doors burst open, and the crowd surged toward freedom.
Leonardo held Noemi tight, her face buried against his chest as chaos swallowed the ballroom.
“Run!” he shouted, his voice cutting through the cacophony.
I turned, catching sight of Isotta. Blood adorned her dark hair like rubies, her expression one of chilling excitement. But when her eyes landed on Leonardo, the thrill turned to icy fury.
Leonardo glowed, his form radiating silver light. Threads of sapphire magic swirled around him, weaving patterns before dissolving into liquid moonlight.
When the light faded, a crown rested upon his head-waves of silver cresting with diamonds at their peaks. He stood tall, transformed into the High Lord of the Water Court.
Isotta screamed, her fury unleashing a wave of destruction. Shards of ice erupted from the garden fountains, spearing the ground and cracking marble as we fled.
“Guards! Bring them to me!” Isotta’s snarl echoed behind us.
“Leonardo, call off your warriors or have them help us!” I shouted as pale-haired guards stormed into the room.
Noemi’s voice rang out, desperate and tearful. “We can’t leave Graziana! I won’t leave her!”
But escape was all we could focus on as chaos consumed the court.