It’s funny—the way one’s brain has the time to come up with these things when you’re plummeting to your death.
But then Evander’s fingers locked into mine, the force of which sent my entire body weight flying into the pole.
Fear gripped me as I dangled over the ground. The only thing keeping me from plummeting to my death was the prince’s clasp on my wrist.
My head swam. Evander’s face was flushed red, his teeth gritted as he tried to keep a hold on my wrist while maintaining his balance as he lay sprawled over the top of the pole.
There was no way we were getting out of this. On purpose or not, he was going to drop me. Tears stung at my eyes as I pictured my parents watching, huddled together, white-knuckled as they squeezed each other’s hands, unable to peel their eyes off of me.
“Ellie, listen to me. Tell me where the next platform is.”
I didn’t have time to argue. “Directly to your left.”
“Is it large enough for both of us to stand on?”
I nodded, then realized he couldn’t see me. “Yes.”
“I’m going to swing you over.”
“What? No!” But my protests were too late, the breath I’d spent crafting them useless, because now I was sailing through the air. My feet hit the wide platform, and since I couldn’t hold my balance with my ankles tied together, the force of my landing launched my face onto the wooden surface.
For a moment, I savored my safety, but then I remembered Evander straddling the pole with his chest, and how it must have thrown off his balance to toss me over. I whipped around and found him grunting as he pulled himself up to the top of the log where he had just slipped. The muscles of his upper back rippled through his thin shirt, and I thought the fabric might rip apart with the force he was exerting. But then his chest hit the top of the log, and once he had his balance, he pushed himself off with his arms, swinging his feet until they landed in place.
The dynamics of the motion made no sense to me. It was like watching a double-jointed acrobat who could clasp their hands behind their back and pull them over their head.
Never in my life…
“Evander,” I called out to him. His pointed ears perked and moved in my direction, and he launched himself off the log, landing safely on the platform. “You didn’t wait for my directions.”
He crawled over toward where I was lying. I ran my fingers through his hair, tucking them under his blindfold as I pulled it off, revealing those stunning sea-green eyes.
Which immediately dipped to my mouth.
“I didn’t have to. I just followed your voice.”
His gaze lingered on my mouth for a moment, and I swallowed. In an unforeseen turn of events, he averted his gaze, almost awkwardly, then rushed to my ankles. As he undid my restraints, he didn’t look at me, for which I was thankful.
It occurred to me that, had Evander fallen to his death just now, I would have been free from my bargain.
I hadn’t thought of that in the moment. All knew was that I had desperately hoped he wouldn’t fall.
Huh.
Evander must have sensed the delicate flower of goodwill blooming between us, because he immediately overwatered it by saying, “You know you were trembling the entire time I held you. Was that for my touch?”
The king’s voice saved me from having to respond. “For our third and final trial of the day, the prince and his betrothed are to enter the pit. Guards, gag the woman.”
Instantly, someone stuffed a piece of stretchy fabric into my mouth and tied it tightly from behind. I winced as it dug into my skin, and Evander frowned.
“You don’t have to tie it so tight,” he said through gritted teeth, but the guard didn’t bother loosening it. Instead, he grabbed me by the arm and led me to a platform that hung over the metal pit. I looked down and instantly regretted doing so.
I didn’t fancy myself squeamish, but then again, I didn’t usually find myself being forced into a den of giant ants, either.
Myrmecoleon. The lions of ants. I’d heard about them in stories my father used to tell me before bed. The kind of stories that had always gotten him a scolding from my mother.
Their teeth were as sharp as razors and could rip even fae flesh to pieces.
And they were swarming the bottom of the pit.
Great.
Bile stung at the back of my throat, soaking the gag stuffed in my mouth.
The other guard led Evander away to an opposite platform across from me, but he kept craning his neck to keep his eyes on me. Concern etched his brow.
The king drawled, “It is well known among those bound by the covenant of marriage that the males must learn to read the unspoken signs of their females. A respectable husband must be able to interpret her needs without requiring an explanation in order for the marriage to be effective.”
Evander laughed dryly across from me, even as the words crept under my skin and boiled my blood. At least Evander, too, found this notion ridiculous. I’d never understood people who didn’t just tell the other person what they wanted, nor did I think it was anyone’s responsibility to learn to interpret—excuse me, assume—someone’s desires based on their body language.
“Through this trial, my son will demonstrate that he is able to decipher his betrothed’s mind, without the use of words between them.”
“Oh, this should be great.” Evander laughed, though he kept looking nervously at the bed of myrmecoleon crawling down beneath us.
“The betrothed will be provided a rendering of an item. She must communicate to the prince without her words what item is on the paper before the platforms descend and deliver them to their deaths.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Evander said, his words echoing my thoughts.
So our lives depended on my ability to play charades.
