Summer 2022

Rayce was bursting with excitement on the inside but was careful not to let it show on his face. Baelerithon had spent many long hours teaching him to master his expressions, to only show the emotion that he wanted others to see. The Fey are unable to speak untruths, Baelerithon had cautioned him, but you'll find their faces lie with ease. You must strive to master this, or be taken in by your enemy's artifices.

Living as they did, hidden away in the far reaches of the Seelie Court, Rayce had not yet had a chance to practice this skill with any supposed enemies, but he hoped that he would be ready when the day came. Baelerithon had made no secret that his Shadowhunter blood made him a target for the Fey who blamed his father for the failed Dark War and the resulting Cold Peace. Others would mark him out for being a son of the Seelie Queen, who was still consolidating her power nearly a decade and a half after the throne had been shaken by the debts incurred to the Nephilim, the loss of many territories in the Mundane world, and the slow economic growth of their Courts as they struggled to recover under the yoke of sanctions that were far too harsh. It was a difficult time to be a prince of the Seelie Court, but Rayce was determined to acquit himself well.

Tonight would provide that opportunity at last. The Nephilim and their Downworlder allies were celebrating the signing of the Eleventh Accords in Alicante today, without the Fey, and instead the Queen was hosting a glorious celebration of their own. Months had been spent making preparations for the revels, and in defiance of the mandate that no Faerie be allowed to bear arms, she had set a tournament of champions to entertain courtiers and low-born Fey alike. And Rayce had been named to the champion's roll! At last, a chance to show everyone what he could do!

He had dressed carefully in his light-weight black leather armour. Zeke said that when he had finished growing, he might be able to find an actual set of Shadowhunter gear, but it was too much trouble to acquire sets that he would soon outgrow. He flexed the last piece of his armour in his hands, hesitating before donning it. A half-mask. It covered the lower half of his face. Arynessa had suggested it, saying that the mystery would add to his appeal, but it got awfully hot in there...

Rayce sighed and slipped it on. He would honour his sister's wishes. He left his bedroom and padded down the hall to the great room. It had changed over the years as he had progressed in his training, the walls covered in more weapons, and the great tree limbs that made up his aerial training course had slowly grown patches of moss and mushrooms. He took a deep breath in as he did every time he crossed into this room. It smelled like home.

Arynessa was already waiting for him with Zeke, and Rayce's breath caught for a moment. His sister was sheathed in a one-shouldered white silk column dress, done in the Grecian style. Delicate white flowers and petals twined up her other shoulder and across her collar bones, brushing gently against her soft lilac skin. Her small waist was circled with more of the same flowers, and the dress spilled to the floor from there. Her purple hair was drawn back into an intricate, yet lazy-looking sweep that still allowed her tresses to float down across the open back of the dress where still more flower petals dotted down from one shoulder until they faded at her lower back. When he stopped to stare at the diamond and amethyst jewels sparkling in her hair and from her ears she fixed him with a teasing look and arched an eyebrow at him.

"Did you forget that I am still a princess of the Seelie Court, brother?" Rayce tried to stammer an apology or a compliment, or even just some sort of intelligible words, and failed miserably. Baelerithon would have been disappointed. So much for all of his control, if his own sister could so easily disarm him.

Zeke pushed off from the wall where he had been leaning. "Well, if you could find the royal feather duster when we get back, princess, I think you've missed a few spots in my room." He tossed Rayce the double-bladed staff that had been a gift from the Queen for her son's 13th birthday the year before. He caught it easily and latched it into place on the harness that he wore across his back without a second thought. The weapon had become a part of him the day his mother had bonded it so.

Arynessa shot Zeke a look of disgust, but did not respond. She held her hand out to her brother, and Rayce offered his arm genially. The three of them left the apartments behind. Arynessa glided along at her brother's side, leading the way through the tunnels of the Land Under the Hill. Even Zeke had not come this way often, and certainly not since moving in with the Seelie Queen's children. They were heading toward the ley line terminus.

Following the Cold Peace, it had become increasingly dangerous for the Fey to travel in the world above when they had lost the protection of the Accords. Vampires with a taste for Faerie blood, werewolves with grudges, and even warlocks had started taking advantage of the unarmed Faeries and many had been killed before they could regain the safety of the Courts. Never one to be stopped by the lesser races, the Seelie Queen had conceived the notion for a system of travel that would make use of the world's ley lines. The Fey had always been the most skilled in the workings of the earth's magic, and it had not taken long before a way had been devised to step into them and travel safely along the veins of the earth. A more primitive version of this had been used to move Sebastian Morgenstern's Endarkened forces during the Dark War.

The Unseelie Faeries had always held greater confidence when working with ley line magic, but the Queen had left them out of her plan deliberately. She had envisioned an even greater exploitation of the earth magic once it had been proven to work, and even now, Seelie artisans and sorcerers were working toward carving out a place that existed outside the realms of Men and Fey alike, cradled within a ley line chasm. She dreamed of the revenues the throne could generate by operating a place that would be untouchable by the Nephilim. The Shadow Markets in the Mundane world were a pale reflection of what she hoped to achieve.

Soon, others appeared in the tunnels around Rayce, Arynessa, and Zeke. Sideways glances and whispers followed them. Rayce adopted a look of confident indifference, eyes predatory but calm, posture nearly arrogant, his instructions from Baelerithon clear in his mind. His brother had warned him that tonight was pivotal for his position in the Court, that he would be weighed in the balance and must not be found wanting. He must show strength.

The terminus was crowded with all sorts of Faeries in every hue imaginable. Wings fluttered, hooves stamped, and horns poked up through the crowd to mark their owner's positions. Rayce watched as small groups stepped up to the blue-white blaze at the end of the platform and then vanished inside the light.

When they reached the head of the queue, it was their turn to be enfolded by the blaze of ley line magic, and Rayce felt apprehension twist in his gut as he stepped over the threshold with Arynessa holding tightly to his arm. His vision flared a brilliant white-blue and he snapped his eyes shut. Heat enclosed him and he felt as if his flesh were searing over an open flame, racing over his skin greedily. He fought the urge to scream and he felt his sister's hand grip his forearm, for comfort or in warning, he couldn't tell.

It was over in a few moments and the light vanished, leaving him standing in a blissfully dark cavern. Wisps of smoke drifted up from his face and hair, the only places not covered by his armour. Zeke was smoking much more heavily and coughed violently a few times, beating at his clothes as if he really had been set on fire. He pushed his hands back through his dark hair and shook his head.

"I really do hate that. A man is not meant to be cooked well-done. I'm much more of a rare kind of guy." Arynessa's eyes shot daggers at him for even alluding to steak. Zeke backpedaled. "Rare... zucchini."

Rayce was secretly pleased that the leather half-mask was concealing his smile from his sister; he was pretty sure that his training hadn't advanced far enough along to keep a straight face for this. The Fey were not known for their sense of humour, and he was happy that he had Zeke so that he could learn about human teasing.

"A forbidding was woven through these channels against those of Nephilim blood, Ezekiel. Consider yourself fortunate that I travel with you, or you may have found yourself as a bit more of a... char-broiled... zucchini." A small, slow smile spread across Arynessa's beautiful face.

The threesome moved quickly to clear the arrival area and left the shallow cavern. An ancient forest stretched away in every direction under the night sky, black trunks rising up toward the moonlight. Rayce inhaled deeply, his first breath of open air. He wondered at the vastness of the sky above him and felt his heart fall in love with the moon and the stars instantly. Baelerithon had warned him that it might be frightening the first time, all that open space, but this was wonderful. He felt alive.

Arynessa was still guiding him gently with her hand on his arm, Zeke trailing. They were heading toward an area that had been lit by Faerie light, floating unsupported in the darkness. When they broke through the trees, a great clearing was revealed, brightly lit and already filling with Fey from all over the world. Laughter rang out, chiming like bells in the wind, and Rayce could hear faint music from farther back in the trees. At the far end of the clearing, a twisted throne of ancient oak rose from the ground, waiting for the Seelie Queen. They passed behind it in silence and Rayce sighed inwardly. It was so grand.

Arches of creatively-grown boughs enclosed an area at the edge of the trees, ivy and moss growing over to screen the inside from view. Arynessa stepped through a curtain of dangling ivy and motioned for Rayce and Zeke to follow her.

"This is where you must wait for the tournament to begin, brother. Follow the other knights when they enter the clearing and wait for any challenges. Hold to your honour, Rayce. You've trained hard for this, and I am certain that there are very few warriors who could match you even now. Gwyn of the Hunt, perhaps, and one or two others I know, but they will not come tonight." Arynessa gestured to a stump that had been smoothed and contoured, offering Rayce somewhere to sit. "Wait here, both of you." She brushed her lips across Rayce's brow and slipped back out into the night, white silk whispering across the ground.

"You'll notice that I didn't get a kiss, right?" Zeke snorted. "You can wait in here, Rayce, but there's no way that I'm missing out on Faerie revels. Nothing else like them in the world. I just need to find a pretty something to give me a token so I don't end up gnawing on my own toenails in an hour." He clapped his hand on the boy's shoulder and pushed through the ivy as well.

Rayce was alone in the make-shift pavilion. Zeke and Baelerithon had taught him patience, but it was sorely tempted now. He could hear the noise outside rising as more and more of the Fey filtered into the clearing and his curiosity soared. His heart warred with his mind silently and he had almost resolved to just go outside for a little bit of a wander when the ivy was brushed aside and a tall Faerie knight entered.

White chain-link mail nearly shone with an inner light, and the knight reached up to remove a great helm adorned with the antlers of a stag. A shock of thick, dark hair fell free and tilted black eyes fixed on Rayce with interest.

"The little Shadowhunter prince, at last. I had heard that you would be brought out for show and put through your paces tonight, but I had hardly dared to hope." The knight's voice was low and rippled over Rayce like soft velvet.

Baelerithon had cautioned him to employ stoic silence if he could not be sure to gain advantage with a response. It is far more difficult for your enemies to gain a hold on you if you provide nothing with which they might grapple.

He was spared from answering as other knights began to arrive and gave greetings to one another. Rayce watched their interactions intently, catching some names spoken in low voices. His eyes followed the knights as they spoke quietly with heads drawn close or with open postures and loud voices. He absorbed as much detail as possible and filed it away for examination later. Nearly all of them shot sideways glances at the silent prince who had moved to one side of the enclosure to avoid leaving his back exposed. He returned every glance with a hard stare of his own, his green eyes filled with confidence and a hint of challenge. Inside, his heart raced, but outwardly he appeared calm. He silently thanked his sister for the half-mask that concealed the flush in his cheeks.

The Seelie Queen's voice lifted outside the pavilion to address the gathered Fey. Inside, the knights formed a double column, and Rayce slipped into line at the back. Cheers and wild stamping rang through the crowd, though Rayce could see a few of the knights shaking their heads and murmuring to each other ahead of him. His mother's hands clapped together and the knights marched forward smartly, entering the clearing through a gap in the onlookers.

When they stood before the gnarled oak throne they knelt as one to the Queen. Rayce stared up at his mother, drinking in the radiance that shone from her, until a ripple passed in front of the throne. His green eyes flicked toward the movement and he could see the faint image of a young girl, probably only a few years younger than himself. She appeared ghostly, but even so, her hair glittered a gold-blond that was shot through with platinum, silver, and bronze threads. Her gold eyes were locked on Rayce's in what looked like shock and his eyebrows drew together in confusion. She can see me?

The apparition vanished in the next second like it had never been there and Rayce exhaled slowly, unaware that he had even been holding his breath. He'd felt such a connection with the strange vision, and it unsettled him.

Time passed in a blur as the first of the knights, the one in the white chain-link mail who had taunted him, took his place in the arena to await the first challenger. Rayce and the others formed a double line in front of the throne and knelt once more as an honour guard while the matches were fought. His place on the end gave him an unobstructed view of the combatants, and he watched the matches eagerly.

He had only ever fought against Zeke in the last ten years. Although Baelerithon had been trained, he declined to cross blades with his little brother, and Arynessa had laughed away his challenges, telling him that she knew how to choose her battles. He had always been given the impression that Zeke was not as strong a fighter as the Fey, that his human blood would handicap him. But Rayce could see now that he had been wrong. Zeke could easily defeat these Faerie knights... and Rayce could easily defeat Zeke.

Rayce felt his excitement mounting as the line of Faerie knights to his left dwindled one by one as they fought against challengers from all over the world. There were a great number of Faeries who had not retreated to the Courts after the Cold Peace had been handed down, secluding themselves further within the human world instead. This place, deep within the Black Forest of Germany, had been a Faerie stronghold for centuries, inspiring many Mundane 'fairy-tales'.

At last, Rayce was the final champion remaining and he moved forward to take his place on the churned-up floor of the arena. He wondered who would challenge him.

"Can the Seelie throne count on your support when the time comes, Cassius?" Arynessa asked of the one-winged Faerie. Dealing with him always filled her with mixed emotions, though she had known him for over a century. A thin screen of trees hid the arena from view where they conferred just inside the tree line.

"Do you know what price your mother has set to challenge your young brother tonight, beautiful Arynessa?" His grey eyes searched her own.

"Yes." She would give him no more of an answer than that if he was going to answer her questions with more questions.

"How long will you allow him to believe that he fights for the honour of the throne, and not simply to refill the royal coffers from the purses of those who would pay any price to so freely attack one of the children of Raziel? Or indeed, to clash with a prince of the Courts?" His left hand stroked the long white-blond plait that ran down his chest.

"My brother will know when he needs to. Let his young mind dream a while longer." She touched Cassius' shoulder with carefully measured hesitation and delicacy. "It is you who concerns me now."

A scream of pain pierced the night from the arena and Arynessa's head whipped toward it, her hand flying to her throat in fear. It hadn't sounded like Rayce, but...

Cassius laughed quietly beside her, a low chuckle that made her ears burn with shame. "You care about him, princess. Now I know." He folded his dark leathery wing around himself and vanished before Arynessa could say another word.

She pushed through the spectators and saw Gwyn of the Hunt forcibly lifting away her brother's opponent as the maddened Hunter screamed at Rayce, "You are not a Shadowhunter!" Her brother looked confused, and she could read the hurt on his face from here. A mistake, to show that to so many. His mask had been ripped away, along with some of his armour. She sighed; she had tried to protect him with it. The reactions to this little incident would ripple out for years. She would have a lot of work to do.

The next morning, Rayce was awake early and even the allure of his aerial gym couldn't pull him away from the memories of the previous night. He lay on his back in the centre of the room, staring up into the branches that held no starlight behind them now. The Hunter's face had been so distraught. And he had looked at Rayce with such loathing. Was this what his people thought of him? And that ghostly girl...

Arynessa appeared from the hallway that led to their bedrooms. She was wrapped in a soft dressing gown of pale blue, and she padded toward where he lay and sat down, crossing her legs in front of her. She pulled her brother's head into her lap and stroked his soft white hair gently. He closed his eyes.

"Are you thinking about last night?" She asked him.

"I can hardly think of anything else right now, sister. What did I do to that Hunter?" Her fingers in his hair felt good.

"Oh, Rayce, it wasn't your fault. It would take longer than I would like to explain it properly, but you must trust me when I tell you that the Hunter's hatred was directed at another, and you were a convenient outlet for it. Do you understand?"

Rayce said nothing.

The roots at the door flexed and Rayce sat up in a flash, startling Arynessa. Zeke slouched through and sagged back against the door as it closed and sealed itself once more. He looked surprised to see them.

His clothes were in disarray and his hair was a wild tangle, threaded through with an impromptu coronet of leaves, grass, and twigs. He cleared his throat.

"Am I up late, or are you two up early at this point? I've lost track."

Arynessa rose in a fluid motion and shook her head, heading back to her room, and they heard her door close.

Zeke looked at Rayce and gave him an exaggerated shrug. "What's on your mind, kid? You've got the same look on your face that Bael gets when it's my night to cook."

Rayce laughed easily, tension fading from his shoulders at the familiarity of Zeke.

"It's just last night. The Hunter."

Zeke nodded. "Good. I wanted to talk to you about that anyway." He gestured to the wall where Rayce's staff lay in its cradle. "Pick that up."

Confused but trusting, Rayce rose and took up his staff while Zeke finished fishing around in the inside pocket of his formal tunic for something. Then the older Shadowhunter helped himself to a practice sword, unusual since they had been training with live blades since Rayce had turned 12 and been able to bear Marks that would heal what little damage Zeke could manage to inflict on him. Zeke had been very clear that blood was the best motivator to become faster, but feather-light blade guards for Rayce's staff had been a part of the gift last year. He clipped them in place and turned to face Zeke.

A collar snapped around Rayce's neck before he could blink and Zeke pushed out at him, hard, causing him to skid across the great room floor. Rayce was still reeling in shock as turned the skid into a roll that brought him swiftly up to his feet, facing his tutor. Zeke had already rushed at him, practice sword arcing in from the right.

Rayce reached into that part of him that shifted when he willed it and visualized himself above Zeke, ready to drop down on his shoulders and bear him to the ground.

Nothing happened.

Zeke's practice sword cracked against Rayce's side with enough force that he felt a few ribs break. He collapsed sideways, gasping, tracking Zeke's movements to see where the next blow would come from, but the Shadowhunter had already dropped his weapon and was kneeling at Rayce's side.

"I'm hoping that you're listening right now, Rayce." The boy nodded weakly, fire burning through his ribs. "You can't rely on your shadow-stepping to get yourself out of trouble every time. Someone else is going to figure out the same thing I did, and when that day comes, you're going to need to remember how to fight like the rest of us." Rayce had been tested with cold iron before and found that it had little effect on him with his mixed blood, but that had been before he had learned about his gift.

Zeke rose to grab his stele from a table strewn with smaller weapons. He sketched an iratze across the injury and then tugged the boy's nightshirt back into place. Rayce's breathing slowly eased as the healing rune faded with use and he nodded at Zeke.

His hands reached up to feel the collar that Zeke had snapped around his neck, and the older Shadowhunter leaned over to undo the clasp and hand the whole thing to Rayce.

It was an ugly piece of twisted, cold iron, the catch designed to lock in place and vanish into the spiraling surface, making it harder to unlock if one could not see it.

"Don't let your sister find that," Zeke said, jabbing a finger at Rayce's chest. "Do you have any idea how hard it is to smuggle cold iron into the Seelie Court? If I have to put out that much effort again, it's going to be for bacon-wrapped steak, boy. We'll train with that when your brother and sister aren't around."

October 2026

"When were you going to tell me?!" Rayce hurled at Zeke, grabbing two handfuls of his tutor's shirt and slamming him up against the smooth, wooden wall of the kitchen.

Rayce had finally grown into his body and now stood taller than Zeke, just over six feet in height. Years of hard training had left his arms muscled without being bulky, his athletic frame built for speed and agility. Today it felt like it was built for murdering.

"Tell you what, boy? And you'd best remove your hands before I remove them for you."

The prince regained some control and unclenched his fists, but did not step back. "That you turned me into a prize-fighter and let me think it was honour. That you've been lying to me for years. That my brother, my sister, and my mother have been playing me for a fool."

Inwardly, Zeke felt his heart twist. He himself had found out after that first night. He had taken Arynessa outside the apartments and confronted her about it, and she had told him it was for the best if Rayce didn't know yet. Just a few more years, she had pleaded. And, to his shame, Zeke had agreed.

Zeke didn't answer. Couldn't.

Rayce nodded slowly and turned away, stalking toward his bedroom. When he had reached his 18th birthday last week, his mother had gifted him with the ability to finally open the apartment door and granted him freedom within the Court, though she had warned him against ever trying to leave.

He had hardly been home since, spending every free moment he could exploring the wonders of the Seelie Kingdom with no desire to leave the Land Under the Hill. But he had also, at last, been free to speak to others who weren't Zeke, his sister, or Bael. And he had learned how the Court saw him. A trained pet, a tame Nephilim to kneel before the throne and draw enormous sums as his skill in combat had grown and the contest to defeat him had intensified.

All the fights over the years since the first time had suddenly made sense to him. Sometimes his opponents would request a certain set of weapons, or no weapons at all, and sometimes a time limit had been enforced, or a specific number of matches. He had been only too pleased to show off his many proficiencies, never knowing that those opponents had paid extra.

He pulled his cloak from the back of his door and tossed some clothing onto it, then bundled it closed with a belt. He threw the door open again and yanked his double-bladed staff from where it hung on the wall. The harness he wore for it was already in place, a constant part of his attire, and he crossed the great room to the front door.

"For what it's worth, we did it because we loved you," Zeke called to him. "You can't leave, Rayce. Your mother won't allow it." He was leaning against the wall by the opposite hallway, arms folded across his chest.

"She'll be too late to stop me," Rayce snapped, and then he was gone.

The Faerie lights in the tunnels came to life and faded again as he flew past them, his cloak roll tucked under one arm and his staff across his back. He had a pretty good idea of where he was going; he just had to get there before anyone could find him. In a way, it was convenient that the apartments were so far from the heart of the Court.

He quickly found himself in one of the long tunnels that led out to the Mundane world, reserved for the use of the Hunt. He smelled the change in the air as he raced along its length toward the exit.

Rayce was jerked off his feet as an invisible force tangled his ankles and he fell face-first into the hard-packed earth. He twisted around to see what had snared his legs, and his staff wedged uncomfortably under him. There was nothing there.

He rolled back to his knees and tried to stand, but a shooting, fiery pain raced up his legs, cramping his muscles. He gasped out loud and tried to crawl toward the exit that stood only a stone's throw away. The burning ripped upward again and Rayce curled inward on his side, the pain so blinding that he couldn't move. He forced himself to breathe in and out, focusing on this one task as his mind raced. A trap?

With effort, he tried to coordinate his writhing to take him back closer to the Court to see if the screaming in his muscles would alleviate. It was so intense that it was impossible to tell if it was working.

Rayce had no idea how long he had laid there, cramping and burning but stubbornly silent, before he felt a hand seize one of his wrists and start dragging him. Whoever it was didn't seem to care one way or another about being gentle.

When he could unclench his eyes, he looked up to see a vaguely familiar face staring down at him. Long, pale green hair swished back and forth as she continued to drag him, her gold eyes filled with amusement. Kylea. Another of his sisters, though one he saw only infrequently. She served as an enforcer within the Courts, her peculiar gift for tracking blended with a streak of viciousness that begged for release.

She dropped his arm when she had judged they had come back far enough.

"I should thank you, little brother. Now I will collect on the bet that was laid against how long it would take you to run once you found out. Mother wants to see you."

Rayce's eyes flicked down the tunnel toward the Court. He could shift away from her and keep shifting until he was able to lose himself somewhere else.

"Oh, yes, brother," Kylea said wickedly as she saw him weighing his options. "Please try to run. I so love to hunt. And I've always wondered how I would fare against you; I just never had the money to find out." Her laugh was cruel as she reached down again and hauled him up.

The Seelie Queen dismissed everyone except her handmaidens from her informal sitting room, rising from her divan that sat upon the dais and served as her seat of power here. Kylea vanished with a smirk at her brother, who stood covered in dirt, dark earth ground into his white hair from that first fall in the tunnel.

"I did warn you against leaving, my son," the Queen said.

Rayce glowered up at her. "I won't fight anymore. You won't make another penny off me, mother."

She descended slowly, the green of her gown so dark it was nearly black. Her hair was unbound and it fell wildly from beneath her glittering crown, spilling over her shoulders and down her back. Quiet menace dripped from her smile as her lips curved upward.

"Well that's me done, then, isn't it? Very clever, Rayce." She now stood before him, eyes sparkling. "Unless I've already thought of that uncreative response."

His jaw ached from clenching it so tightly. His hands flexed at his sides. If his mother took note of the fury that was welling up in her son, she gave no sign.

"You'll continue to fight, and you will fight well. Losing will go very poorly for your beloved Zeke."

Rayce felt a hollow pit open in his stomach. Zeke.

"You see, son, he is also bound to this Court by the mistakes he made when he first came, although regrettably, not to me. He has nowhere to run. You have no idea what price I could fetch for an hour to torture him... and I would see to it that the hours were endless." She paused to make sure he was absorbing her words.

A tear betrayed him, sliding down his cheek. The Queen reached up with one delicate hand and touched it, then put her finger to his lips.

"Our arrangement will continue as before, my son." She turned around, the dismissal clear, and he had no choice but to leave, wrenching open the heavily-carved door and rushing past the guards before they could see his face.

He couldn't tell Zeke. The older Shadowhunter might try to do something drastic to himself or others to free Rayce from the Court, and it couldn't be risked.

He crossed through a cavern where a spring bubbled up and fresh water rushed away along carved channels in the floor. He cleaned away as much of the dirt as possible and rinsed it from his hair. A shirt from his bundle served well enough to dry him off and he stuffed it back into the lump after wiping down his weapon.

Trapped, he thought. He gathered up all of the despair and sadness that threatened to overwhelm him and crushed it down into a tiny ball inside him. Bael had been unknowingly training him for this moment his entire life. Rayce carefully locked away all the hurt and every part of him that was screaming at him to stop. He had a part to play, now, and the consequences of failure would be Zeke's to pay. He wouldn't allow it.

When he stood again, he was calm. Cooler, more distant. Part of the boy that he had been had died today, but Rayce would remember why.

It wasn't long before he was pressing his hand against the dark wood next to the apartment door. He took a deep breath and pushed his way in.

"Rayce!" Arynessa flew across the distance between them and threw her arms around his neck. His right hand came up to gently rest on her back and he buried his face in her hair, eyes turning to find Zeke.

His tutor was watching him with hard eyes. "Changed your mind, boy?"

Arynessa released him and stepped back. Before he had locked away that other part of himself, his heart might have ached to look down into her violet eyes and lie, but no more. He got the feeling that this would be the first in a long line of lies he would tell, his half-Faerie nature allowing him to circumvent the truth.

He smiled easily, dimples creasing the corners of his mouth and his eyes lit up, already allowing his face to lie as Bael had taught him.

"Everything's fine."

**Author's note: The physical description and name for the character of Kylea was submitted by Stiles Salvatore and was chosen to appear in this story with her permission.