Facing the Fae [BOOK TWO]

Chapter 3

A week wasn't nearly enough time to prepare.

Rebecca came to the conclusion as she stood in front of the floor length mirror in her room. Behind her a woman she didn't know was fussing over her, touching her hair, her dress, everything she could reach. Rebecca wanted to shrink away but she'd just stood for the last hour letting the woman do whatever she wanted.

There'd been no talk, other than the woman mumbling to herself. Rebecca was glad since she'd been too busy freaking out.

The concept of all of this was crazy. Was it crazier than the rest of this? She didn't know.

According to Ferro, thousands of Fae would turn up to compete. To compete. Thousands more would turn up to watch. It was all taking place in an arena akin to what she'd seen the Ancient Greeks fight in.

There was a raised podium, high above the rest. It was where Rebecca would sit. To get up there you had to walk up a set of stairs. It was high enough that no one could get up unless they climbed up the stairs. Everyone could see her, but no one could reach her.

It gave her some sense of security—but not much. Ferro was going to stand next to her the whole time, translating it all into English, but even that wasn't comforting.

All those staring at her . . . judging her. And the Faerie Skye would be there too—as Rebecca had dubbed her since she didn't know her name. The current daughter of the stand in Queen.

Rebecca was going to officially take her place. Knock her off her pedestal.

It was extremely gratifying.

But that didn't mean she wasn't having a heart attack. First off, the woman had made her slide into a dress that looked ridiculous. She was floundering in it. The dress wasn't overly large but it was impossible to miss. Bright gold. One shouldered. It was floor length and soft. A belt around her waist. It didn't feel tight or restricting but Rebecca still hated it.

"You look like a Queen, Becca."

She jumped, turning her head to see Ferro in the doorway. He was decked out in the black gear, a real sword at his waist.

"Do I?" she asked, as the woman twirled some of her hair. "I feel like an idiot. And I'm terrified."

His grave eyes met hers, hand resting against the sword at his waist. "Rebecca, I'm not going to lie. You should be scared. But you'll be safe. Know that."

"I know. You'll stab them with your sword." She tried to keep her voice light but it didn't work.

He said nothing to that, only walking over to her. When he was close, the woman stepped away, averting her eyes. "Your mother would be proud Becca."

God, this sounded like she was getting married. She had to laugh. "Yeah." Purposely refusing to dwell on the thought of her mother, she asked, "No one knows it's me?"

"No." He shook his head. "They think it's for your mothers stand in—she'll finally become Queen. No one know it's you."

That made her feel worse. "What if I throw up or something? Or pass out?"

When he wrapped his arms around her, she shoved her head against his chest. He'd become somewhat like family to her, without the blood relation. So the familiarity wasn't surprising. "Rebecca, you're going to do fine. I'll be there the whole time."