Chapter 13: Chapter Eleven

A ray from the sun that dared to shine through my window forced my eyes open. I had wished for it to blot away, but it cheerfully refused, mocking me as it poured light into the room. I squinted at the alcove where the offending sunlight filtered in through a set of three recessed windows. The largest in the center had a transom above it, flanked by two smaller ones. They were bare of curtains, leaving me no escape from the brightness.

I shifted my gaze around the room, noticing a mahogany desk beneath the windows, with a horse-shaped lamp and an incongruous thin computer monitor perched on top. It felt out of place in a world that was supposed to be magical, a touch of modernity amidst the archaic surroundings. My eyes drifted to the arched ceiling, slats of redwood tracing the curve of the walls, leading down to a wide fireplace made of brownish-gray stone. And in front of it, in an oversized chair, sat my aunt.

I quickly turned my face back into the pillow. I couldn't bear to look at her—an impostor wearing my mother's face.

"Our apologies for telling you that way." My aunt's voice was flat, almost bored. I reluctantly pushed myself up in bed to look at her. She didn't seem sorry in the least. Her expression was as distant as her tone, but she held a small box on her lap.

"Where are my friends?" I didn't care about anything else but that. My grief for my mother sat heavy in my chest, but my concern for Luis, Dom, and Adrian clawed at me with equal intensity. If anyone harmed them... if I lost them too...

Athalia ignored my question, her cool gaze fixed on me. "Luke only thinks about duty. Honor above all—that is his way. He does not mean to be heartless, but I must admit this situation is highly irregular."

I thought back to my kidnapping, the slap Luke gave Erick, and Luke's arrogant declaration that I would have to marry him if I didn't win some sort of trial. Irregular didn't even begin to describe it. I sat up fully in bed, flinching as another beam of light assaulted me through the large windows. Beyond them, I saw a redwood balcony overlooking frozen mountains and forests.

"Where are my friends?" I repeated, my voice colder now.

Athalia sighed as if my persistence bored her. "I do not know where Luke is keeping them. That is not why I'm here." She stood, placing the box on the bed beside me. "This belonged to your mother. She left it as her closest kin in my care, but now it belongs to you."

"I don't want it." The words slipped out, sharp and immediate, before I could stop them. I turned my body away from the box, bile rising in my throat. I didn't want my mother's possessions. I wanted her.

"You must take it," Athalia said, her tone hardening slightly. "The contents are things only the daughter of the Brigid should possess."

They kept calling my mother "The Brigid". Brigid was her name. But I didn't feel like arguing that at the moment.

I wanted to hurl the box at her, but instead, my trembling fingers traced its surface, painted with intricate trees in a circle. My grief and rage swirled together, but I couldn't act on either. "When can I see my friends? I want them safely away from here."

Athalia's voice softened just slightly. "That is my hope as well." She hesitated momentarily, her gaze lingering on me as if she wanted to say more. But then her lips pressed into a thin line, and she turned away. "I will send some maids to help you."

"I don't need maids," I snapped, but she had already disappeared through the door.

Left alone, I stared at the box, half-expecting something to spring out of it—perhaps a snake or some creepy doll. But nothing moved. Slowly, cautiously, I lifted the lid. Inside were three layers of velvet, each carefully displaying a collection of jewels. My hands shook as I picked up a necklace made of golden daisies. It was delicate, beautiful, and entirely out of place in this world of ice and death.

"That's a lovely one."

I nearly dropped the necklace in shock. My heart leaped into my throat as I spun around, clutching the jewelry in one hand and reaching for something to throw with the other. I grabbed the nearest object—a crystal rose from the bedside table—and hurled it at the voice.

The intruder easily caught it, placing it gently on the reading table beside him. His grin was broad, mischievous, the kind that promised trouble, but the sort of trouble you couldn't help but get involved in. He was strange—stranger than anyone I'd met so far. His short, spiky hair was dyed a shocking shade of pink, at least I thought it was dyed, and he wore the most ridiculous combination of colors I'd ever seen. A mustard-colored dress shirt clashed wildly with a purple jacket and teal dress pants, yet he somehow carried it off. Peacock-like and obnoxious, yet there was a seductiveness about him, a vibrancy I couldn't ignore.

He wasn't handsome in the conventional sense. His nose was crooked, and his smile showed a slightly twisted eyetooth. But something in the way he moved, his confidence, his careless charm, made him captivating. He exuded an effortless charisma, a magnetism that made it hard to look away.

"I'm Ciaran," he said like it explained everything, his almond-shaped eyes—an impossible blend of opalescent colors—glinting with amusement.

I blinked, still gripping the necklace tightly, concerned that this man might hurt me. "Who...?"

As though he could read my mind, he waved his hand dismissively. "Princess, if I were here to harm you, I'd have already done it."

He winked as though we were sharing some private joke. "Lovely place, isn't it? Shame about the company, though. Your aunt is... less than agreeable."

I climbed onto the bed, backing up against the headboard to put more distance between us. Ciaran's presence felt overwhelming, like someone turned on a spotlight on my gray, grieving world. "How did you get in here?"

"Magic, of course," Ciaran said with a dramatic flourish of his fingers. "Impossibilities and breaks in reality. You know, the usual."

I narrowed my eyes at him, comparing his simplistic answer to the annoying answer Erick had given me the day before. "If you're here to kill me, just get it over with. I don't have time for games."

He laughed, the sound light and almost musical, and I was disarmed again, gawking at him as I struggled with my attraction. "Kill you? I'm not that kind of creature, Princess." His grin widened, showing more of that twisted eyetooth. "I'm here to offer you a deal."

I stared at him, trying to reconcile this colorful, vibrant presence with the stark, frozen world outside. He was so different from Luke—where Luke was cold and calculating, Ciaran was warmth and unpredictability. And that made him dangerous in a different way. "What kind of deal?"

Ciaran sat down on the edge of the bed, his gaze never leaving mine. The mattress dipped slightly under his weight, a reminder that he was real, solid, despite how surreal everything felt. "Choose me for your court," he said, his tone steady but light, as if it was a foregone conclusion. "Trust me, you'll thank me later."

"My court?" I asked. Then, I remembered the preposterous things Luke said yesterday. My eyes narrowed.

"For the trials," he explained as he grinned at my expression, leaning back slightly, resting his hands on his knees. His posture was casual, but the thrum of his energy was not. "You're going to need allies, and I think you'll find I'm useful."

I studied him, weighing my options. Even though I was crazy to be thinking it, I couldn't shake the sense that he was necessary. He felt oddly familiar in a way I couldn't quite place, and something about him made me want to say yes. "You sound like Luke. He was always spouting the same nonsense."

I hadn't even gone on a proper date, and now I was expected to marry seven men?

Ciaran shifted, his lips twitching into something that wasn't quite a smile. "Ah, Luke. So earnest, isn't he? Always so serious." He leaned forward, clasping his hands together loosely. "You have to admire his dedication."

I frowned. "Admire? He's planning my entire life. He's suggesting I marry my friends, too."

Ciaran's eyes flickered with subtle disdain. "Luke is nothing if not efficient. He's trying to cover all contingencies. But don't let him fool you. He's not controlling you—he's waiting for you to take control."

His words gave me pause, and I shifted uncomfortably on the bed. "What does that even mean?"

"He's Alerian through and through," Ciaran said, a note of exasperation creeping into his voice as he ran a hand through his bright pink hair. "In this world, women lead, and men serve. He's not trying to control you, Princess. He's trying to push you into the spotlight, whether you're ready or not."

I blinked, taken aback. Luke, waiting for me to take the lead? Considering how he'd been orchestrating everything around me, the idea felt foreign. "So, what does that mean for my friends? For the people I care about?"

Ciaran tilted his head, studying me with more gravity now, his fingers tapping lightly against his leg. "You care about them. That's obvious. But if you want to keep them safe, you'll need to figure out how to use the power handed to you."

I felt myself choke up. "You think I have power? You people force me into this. Into these trials, these... marriages."

He leaned forward, his eyes locking with mine, his tone turning low and serious. "You have more power than you know, Madeline. These trials are about more than just survival. They're about understanding what's at stake, what you're willing to fight for, and who."

My heart was pounding in my ears. "And you... you think I should just accept you into my court? Just like that?"

Ciaran's gaze softened, and instead of the teasing grin, there was a faint smirk, like he was holding back from laughing outright. "Look, I'm not offering you roses and moonlight. I'm offering you someone who can get things done. Someone who doesn't play by the rules."

I raised an eyebrow, skeptical. "And what's in it for you?"

He exhaled softly, leaning back again, his gaze never breaking from mine. "A good question. Let's just say I'm looking for a wildcard. And you, Princess, are exactly that."

I folded my arms, refusing to let him charm his way into this without more answers. "You still haven't explained what this 'court' is. Or why you think I'd want you there."

His fingers drummed lightly on the edge of the bed. "Each woman in the trials has a court—seven members to help her through the challenges. Luke already has you locked into a... shall we say, traditional approach. But you're allowed to choose your allies. And I'm offering myself as one of them."

I let out a shaky breath, trying to make sense of it all. "But... I don't want to marry my friends. I don't even want to be part of this."

Ciaran shrugged, his expression softening. "That's the thing about fate, Princess. It doesn't care what you want." He stood up, brushing imaginary dust from his jacket. "But, if you choose me, I can help ensure you're not just another pawn in this game."

"And in return?" I asked, my voice quieter now.

He paused, glancing back at me with a gleam of something unreadable in his eyes.

His grin was as dazzling as ever. "If you pick me for your court, I'll owe you one favor. Anything you want."

"Anything?"

"Anything within my power," he clarified, the mischief still dancing in his eyes. "And trust me, I've got a lot of power."

I exhaled, the weight of everything settling heavily on my shoulders. "And you think I can trust you?"

He laughed, and something within me clenched at how the sound made the air sparkle. Right. That was a dumb question. He was about as trustworthy as a fox in a henhouse.

"I'll think about it," I said finally, my voice firm - pushing the odd lure I felt toward him away.

Ciaran's expression turned sly, and I felt like one of those hens in that coop. "That's all I ask, Princess. Just think about it."

And with that, he stood, giving me a playful wink before disappearing with the same ease that he had appeared, leaving me with my thoughts, fears, and the weight of what was to come.

In his place, on the bed, was a tiny golden key. I picked it up, baffled, and put it in my pocket.