Page 9 of The Beautiful Blade

I glared up at the moon, its silver face half-shrouded in shadow, and felt a chill seep into my bones. I would defy him. I would find my own way.

The moon glared back at me, as if he disapproved of my rebellion. His light dimmed as I moved deeper into the forest. The shadows grew thicker, swallowing the faint path ahead.

The deeper I went, the darker it became. Avarix’s light didn’t follow me. It stayed behind, as though turning its back. I strained my eyes to see. The shadows were pitch black, pressing in on all sides.

I heard the creak of branches above me, the soft rustle of unseen creatures moving through the underbrush. A branch snapped, close enough to send ice straight through my veins. I froze, my heart lurching painfully against my ribs.

I was not alone.

The silence that followed was deafening. I couldn’tsee anything, couldn’t hear anything beyond my own ragged breath. But I felt it—something watching me.

My hand moved instinctively to my thigh, where the dagger Jorge had made me was strapped. My fingers curled around the hilt, comforted by its cool weight as I waited.

CHAPTER FIVE

JORGE

Fifteen years old

The chandeliers of the dining hall glowed with the flickering light of glass crystals that caught and scattered the golden hues of the two suns. My tray was balanced carefully in my hands, each step measured as I moved from one fairy dignitary to the next, refilling goblets and clearing empty plates.

I kept my head down, as I always did. It was safer that way. With Olric and Dain long gone,I'd been able to breathe easier these last three years. I could sleep without one eye open, my body braced for their next cruel prank.

The fairies barely noticed me—a human in their midst was as unremarkable as the tarnished cutlery they used to adorn their gilded table. And yet as I set a plate in front of one of the guests, I caught sight of a faint stain on its edge—a dull smear marring the sheen of the supposed gold.

It wasn't real gold. It was just an alloy. Evergrove Manor had sold off all its gold years ago, after King Oriven had died. Queen Indira's expenses had gone unchecked, and they were tendrils away from bankruptcy these days.

She might have driven her people to ruin entirely if not for a twist of fate. Another kingdom's chamberlain had stumbled upon my designs for pegasus shoes while at a dinner party. Word had spread quickly, and soon, other noble houses were bringing their steeds to me, eager for the innovative shoes that eased the strain on their wings and hooves. It wasn’t long before an inventor took notice. He came, examined my work, and asked to buy the design.

Queen Indira hadn’t hesitated. She sold the rights immediately. I was her servant, after all. I’d given the inventor everything he needed, knowing it would keep food on the table. That was all that mattered.

But the inventor had seen more than just the shoes. He caught sight of my carrier apparatus, the lightweight framework designed to redistribute cargo weight for pegasuses, allowing them to fly longer distances without injury. He’d purchased that design, too. The money had flooded in, enough to keep the manor from collapsing under its own excess.

That had been years ago. And now those funds were gone as well.

Queen Indira sat the head of the table. Her posture was poised and regal, her hands folded elegantly in her lap, her pale lavender skin glowing faintly in the dim light. She didn’t look at me, didn’t acknowledge my existence or my contribution.

My fingers brushed the edge of her plate as I refilled her glass. The metal responded, warming beneath my touch. I felt it yield to me, its surface softening, the tarnish dissolving like smoke. When I lifted my hand, the plate gleamed as though it had just been forged.

"I hear he’s a terror on the battlefield." The thin-lipped noble with a nose perpetually tilted upward spoke with the air of someone who had never seen a battle but enjoyed discussing them over fine wine.

"They say the trolls scatter at the sight of him.” This came from a broad-shouldered man draped in embroidered silks, his voice thick with self-importance.

“As well they should,” Queen Indira chimed in. “He’s the only thing keeping the Northern Border secure.”

“Such a shame to think of a creature as lovely as our Princess Charlotte being sacrificed to a monster," said Thin Lips. "But that’s royalty for you.”

Their laughter was soft, almost pitying, as though they truly believed their sympathy carried weight. I glanced toward Charlotte at the far end of the table. She sat stiffly, her posture perfect, her gaze blank save for the faint curve of her lips—a mask of politeness she wore as easily as her silk gown.

But I knew better.

Her hands were hidden beneath the table. She wasn’t paying attention to the conversation at all. She was watching the Convergence Games on her handheld crystal viewer.

A smirk tugged at my lips despite myself. That was Charlotte—silent rebellion wrapped in royal decorum. They all saw her as a perfect little princess, poised and obedient, ready to be bartered away for the good of the realm.

But I saw her—the real her. I saw the way her thumb slid over the edge of the crystal. I saw her eyes narrowing slightly as something on the screen caught her attention. Likely, Kael had delivered a devastating kick with his newly armored thighs. After the last games, Charlotte had come aroundto mechanical enhancements after Drakos had decimated the field with his fists of steel.

I turned back to my work, the tray feeling heavier in my hands now. The mention of the Beast Prince had tightened something in my chest, a knot of helpless anger that refused to ease. They talked about Charlotte’s future as though she weren’t sitting right there, as though she weren’t a person with her own mind, her own will.

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