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“Mental clarity,” I repeat, noting how each word requires more effort to form, consonants catching on my tongue like they’ve forgotten their shape. “What kind of enchantments?”

“Oh, nothing invasive. Merely ambient magic to ease anxiety, promote restful sleep, encourage... rational thinking.” Her smile turns predatory. “We find that candidates perform better when freed from emotional distractions.”

Cold spreads beneath my ribs like swallowed ice. They’re not just drugging me with ambient magic—they’re rewriting my emotional responses, cutting me off from my bonds, making me compliant for the trial.

“The Wild Court delegation will want to know I’m safe,” I say, though the words feel increasingly hollow, like I’m reciting lines from a play I don’t remember auditioning for.

“Of course. Though I do think you’ll find human protection more... reliable than Fae political promises.” Amarantha’s violet eyes gleam with calculated satisfaction. “Agent Davis has volunteered to serve as your personal guardian during this difficult time. Such dedication from someone who truly knows you.”

Warning bells should be screaming in my mind, but they sound distant now, like alarms heard from underwater. Thisisn’t random assignment—it’s deliberate manipulation designed to push me toward accepting Davis as the safe option.

“Davis isn’t qualified?—”

“Agent Davis has extensive experience protecting assets in hostile environments,” Graves interrupts with military precision. “And unlike certain Fae influences, his loyalty is unquestionable. His feelings for you are... quite genuine.”

The way they exchange glances makes nausea rise in my throat, though even that feels muted, unimportant. They’re not just isolating me—they’re actively positioning Davis as my only source of safety and human connection.

We finally reach a door carved from a single massive pearl, its surface gleaming with protective runes that make my thorns ache in retreat. The symbols pulse with Seelie magic so pure it feels like being slowly poisoned by perfection—each pulse sending waves of wrongness through my system that the suppression magic can’t quite silence.

“Your chambers,” Amarantha announces with obvious pride. “The Court’s finest guest quarters, warded against intrusion and equipped with every comfort. You’ll find bathing facilities infused with calming minerals, clothing suited to formal proceedings, and nourishment designed to optimize magical performance.”

“Optimize for what, exactly?” But even as I ask, the suppression magic makes the question feel less urgent, less important. Like wondering about distant thunder when there are more immediate concerns.

“For the Trial of Power, of course. The manifestation requirements are... substantial.” She examines her perfectly manicured nails with studied indifference. “Calling forth and uniting the Four Treasures. Quite ambitious for someone so recently awakened to their magical heritage.”

Graves produces documents covered in ancient script and official seals. “The trial parameters were established centuries ago. Solo manifestation of all four treasures, sustained unity for verification, witnessed by representatives from all three courts.”

“Solo manifestation?” The words stick in my throat as fragments of warning echo through the magical fog:Some failures destroy everything you’ve become.

“Naturally. The Trial of Power exists to prove individual worthiness, not collective effort.” Amarantha’s smile turns predatory. “Though I suppose if you possessed the necessary bonds with the treasure guardians, you might call upon their assistance. Assuming, of course, you knew who they were.”

Her words should freeze my blood, but the suppression magic mutes even that response. She knows I don’t have that information. Knows I’ll be attempting something designed for bonded souls while completely isolated from anyone who might help.

“And if I fail?”

“Then the courts will have their answer regarding your claimed heritage,” Amarantha says with false sweetness that makes my teeth ache. “And appropriate measures can be taken to ensure your... proper placement in our society. Fortunately, Agent Davis has already expressed willingness to assume permanent guardianship responsibilities.”

The words hit my solar plexus like a physical blow, cutting through even the magical fog. Not death—something worse. Enslavement disguised as rescue, with Davis as my jailer and the courts’ blessing to make it legal.

The door swings open to reveal quarters that look more like a shrine than a bedroom. I step inside, immediately overwhelmed by the assault on my senses. Everything gleams with pearl and crystal, from the massive bed draped in silk that shifts betweensilver and gold to the bathing chamber that pulses with soft light. Beautiful. Perfect. Suffocating.

The air itself feels thick with enchantment, every breath carrying magic designed to soothe and suppress. My thorns recoil so deeply beneath my skin I can barely feel them, my connection to my own power growing more distant with each moment I spend breathing this poisoned perfection.

Each inhale takes effort, like breathing through layers of silk. Each exhale requires conscious intention. The magic doesn’t just coat the surfaces—it’s woven into the very atmosphere, making resistance feel not just impossible but unnecessary.

This is how they break people. Not with torture or violence—with kindness that hollows you out from the inside. With beauty that makes you forget who you used to be. With comfort that teaches you to stop fighting.

“Rest well,” Amarantha commands, and the words carry compulsion magic that makes my eyelids heavy despite my best efforts to stay alert. “The trial will require every ounce of your strength and focus. Agent Davis will ensure you have everything you need for... optimal preparation.”

She steps back, allowing the guards to position themselves outside. Not protection—imprisonment with a smile.

“The Seelie Court respects human bonds,” Graves adds with that smile I’ve learned means someone is about to suffer. “Agent Davis understands your needs better than any Fae political alliance ever could. His protection will continue indefinitely, should the trial prove... unsuccessful.”

Fear tries to shoot through my nervous system, but it’s too little, too late. The suppression enchantments drag my awareness down like quicksand, making even basic self-preservation feel distant and unimportant.

Amarantha closes the door with deliberate ceremony, and I hear the distinct sound of multiple locks engaging. Not justphysical barriers—magical ones that pulse with Seelie authority and make the air itself feel thick with containment.

For several long minutes, I stand in the center of the opulent prison, testing my limitations. I press my palms against the walls, and they feel solid as granite despite their pearl-like appearance. The windows resist my touch like they’re made of steel rather than crystal. Even the door refuses to give when I lean my full weight against it.