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Fae held their breaths as his second flew. It did the same as the first.

I leaned forward, knowing that the third would be the one that mattered. The one that won it all. It flew and sank into the target with a thwack.

It landed dead center.

Fae thundered, and Roar beamed. Pride for him rose in my chest. He might not truly be mine, but we shared feelings for each other—attraction, warmth, and friendship, or so I hoped we still did after last night. Still, no matter how he felt about me, I wanted him to succeed.

The judges conferred for only a moment before they approached the king’s box. King Magnus rose and descended a few steps to hear the dwarves’ ruling. He nodded at their missive and then walked the rest of the way into the Ring where a dais had been hurriedly placed by two scrappy-looking satyr younglings. Once front and center, the king held up his hands. The arena silenced.

“The archery portion of our tourney is complete,” King Magnus proclaimed. “Might the following competitors come forth? Prince Vale Aaberg, Warden Roar Lisika, and Edwing Yarla.”

The prince, the warden, and the female faerie, Edwing, stepped forward. Of the archers, only Edwing appeared happy to be in the lineup.

“Stars and Fates, Vale and the warden need to calm down.” Saga sipped her wine. Behind me, I heard a servant filling more glasses. “They’re like two wolvea in puberty.”

I couldn’t agree more. A tension that was surely felt all throughout the Ring vibrated between Roar and Prince Vale, stiffening their shoulders, feathering muscles in their jaws. Worst of all, both of their gazes kept flickering to me.

As far as I was concerned, only Roar had a reason to be upset. Roar had disliked that Prince Vale’s scent was on me, even if it had been an accident that we’d run into one another. I felt very sure Roar had said something to the prince before the tourney, which had only made things worse.

What a mess.

“Third place goes to Edwing Yarla!” King Magnus beamed a winning smile though I noted it did not reach his ice-blue eyes, while the judges walked forward to hand the faerie a trophy arrow made of copper.

“The judges tell me that second place was close,” the king continued and again, the crowd quieted, waiting for his word.

Would it be prince or warden? Anyone who watched would have seen Roar best the prince, but perhaps the judges took the other rounds into account? And of course there was always the option of favoritism . . . I didn’t like to think that would happen, but The Warrior Bear was a prince. Was he pampered and entitled as well as vile enough to leave his people to fight on their own?

“However our esteemed judges determined one fae showed more prowess than the other, so second place goes to . . .” A pause rang through the arena. “Prince Vale of House Aaberg!”

The prince bowed and stepped forward to receive his trophy arrow of silver.

Behind him, Roar smirked, and when Prince Vale rejoined the lineup, the warden shot the prince a smug look.

“That leaves only one fae as the winner.” King Magnus held out a meaty hand. “Warden Roar Lisika takes the archery portion of today’s tourney!”

The crowd went wild, and Roar spun on his heel, waving at the common fae, in a smart move. The more he endeared himself to the commoners, the less likely the king would be to deny Roar’s engagement.

When my fiancé turned back to the royal box, one dwarf ran up, carrying a golden arrow. He handed it over, but before Roar took hold, a scream from the other side of the arena rang out.

When I located where it came from, I gasped. A male faerie soared into the arena, a black cloak fluttering behind him, bow at the ready, and an arrow aimed at the king.

Then, many things happened all at once: the arrow flew and Roar leapt toward the king at the same time as Prince Vale spun to take on the attacker. From the arena, two more faeries leapt into the sky, each pointing arrows at the royal box.

I sat there, frozen in place, horrified. When the first arrow plunged into Roar’s right shoulder, I screamed.

Chaos broke out as fae began running and the other two arrows flew. They struck, but not their targets. Instead, two courtiers in the royal box fell, blood gurgling from their mouths. A goblet of wine flew past my head only to shatter on the stone wall that separated the box from the field. Blue glass scattered across the floor, and wine ran at my feet, red like Roar’s blood.

At my side, a guard grabbed Saga by the arm. She dropped her goblet, and another glass shattered on the ground as her guard pulled her to the side to safety. Fae around me ran, fleeing. Coming out of my shock, I stood to follow when the merchant reeking of onion tripped out of his seat directly above mine and fell forward.

He was far larger than me, and his weight threw me forward too. The fae flung me into the half stone wall that separated the royal box from the arena, his weight threatening to crush me, squeezing the air from my lungs. I groaned as, beneath the pressure, my ankle twisted unnaturally.

When the weight of the other fae lifted, I slouched into the wall, finally able to get a full breath. One would think that he’d help me to stand, but no. The merchant didn’t even yell an apology over his shoulder before he ran off, leaving me alone in the box.

I swallowed down the pain and fear and looked up and over the banister in time to find soldiers swarming the field. They’d already captured the first archer, though the second two still soared through the air, shooting at the soldiers.

As though the culprit could feel me watching, they twisted to find me staring and pulled back an arrow.

I yelped and dropped to the ground. Glass from the goblets of wine that had shattered dug into my hands and shins, where my dress had hiked up. I swore, but pressed down harder into the floor, trembling and trying to ignore the glass cutting me up, the wine soaking my dress.