I look at them with my bright eyes and a cocky smirk on my face. The looks on their faces are shocked, perplexed; there is disbelief among all of them.
I watch for the Lord's reaction, yearning to see even slightest expression on his stoic face. He is a Leptira; leader of one of the eldest fae clans.
More screams and flabbergasted gasps erupt.
"Your Fairness, please, you cannot be serious!"
"She must be executed! She is a changeling, it's obvious as a day!"
And I wonder what makes it so obvious? Is it my wings, as thin as paper that was chewed on by moths, unsuitable for flight, dry from lack of the pixie dust? Is it my greyish skin? My eyes like two slits, my piercing teeth, the little horns on the top of my head? My red hair, red like flame? My small frame?
I just grin at all of them, showing a set of sharp teeth, and they all take a step back. I almost growl at them, playfully so, but decide not to. I'd love to provoke them, but maybe that's better left for another day. Right now, I need something from them… and the Lord needs something from me.
I put my hooked blades back and bow to the Lord as I stand atop a pile of the bodies. "My Lord," I sing, "you told me to best them all, and so I did. I don't remember any rules against changelings competing."
He hasn't said a word so far. He is studying me, I can see it. Deciding whether to trust me or not.
"Your Fairness!" Someone else has decided to protest. Multiple voices mix and echo and I give them all an amused look.
"You can never know what she could do! Shift into your daughter, into you, kill you in your bed!"
I almost laugh. Sounds very interesting. I almost shift in front of them, just to scare them.
But no. I've never stooped to such lowly tactics, I've never cheated. If I am going to beat the fate, I plan to do it fair and square, and I plan to watch the fate cower in despair as I wipe the damn smirk off her face. Spinsters that spun the threads at my birth may be damned, all three of them. Who do they think I am, to follow their thread?
"I think you should let the Lord speak," I tell them. Everyone goes silent, like I've bitten them. It's laughable. And pathetic.
"Lord…" someone else tries.
The Spring Lord stands tall - his black beard nicely cut, his long black hair cascading down his shoulders, tied up into a loose bun at the end. It's in contrast with his pink wings, resembling sakura blossoms. His eyes are so dark brown they appear almost black; staring at me, judging me. I hold my head high.
Next to him stands Biela. I already know who she is. Word travels far. Bad word even faster than a good one. The Whip of the Court, as they call her.
She is looking at me suspiciously, her gaze sharp, like she is the jury and the judge and the executioner. I keep my head high - I will not bow to the likes of her. She smartly keeps her mouth shut, lips pressed together, just one tight strait line on her face.
I bow to the Lord. "I can leave, if needed. Nothing out of my pocket." Well let's see what other assassin- pardon, guard, he would find, if not me. He just taps his beard, thinking things over.
"I did say I'd accept the one who bests them all," at last he says. He gives me a look, as if he's trying to stare into the depths of my soul. Well, I won't let him do that. "She's bested them all. So… what is your name?"
"It's Nyx." The night. "If it pleases you."
"What if it doesn't?"
"Then I get my things and fly off."
"She can't fly," someone snorts.
I want to bite them so hard that I leave a mark that gets passed through generations.
"Oh don't underestimate me," I just stick my tongue out at them.
They flinch. They barely believe I can speak, let anything else.
Biela leans over to whisper something to the Lord. I intently watch her every move. She is a danger, a problem - and from what I've heard, a damn smart problem. The worst kind.
He frowns a bit. "No," he tells her. "I made a promise. Besides…"
He looks at me. "I trust her."
Bad decision.
"Why?" I blurt out. Why did I ask that? I might as well stick a huge 'UNTRUSTWORTHY' paper on my forehead.
"Because you are here for something."
He's right. He can see that I'm uninterested in killing him or taking his position or being his doppelganger. He nods.
"Bring out the royal cloak," he orders. A few fae begrudgingly leave to obey his bidding. When they return, they carry a pink cloak, made of silk, with emblem of the Leptirae court, the Court of Spring and Blossoms.
I smirk.
They approach me, a bit suspicious, like they're scared I will actually bite them. I resist the urge to playfully snap my teeth at them and instead get down on one knee. None of them want to cloak me.
"Now, Nyx…" the Lord speaks as the fae keep their distance and throw the cloak over me, "By Celestia's grace, by grace of gods old and new, I welcome you to my Court, to serve as a protector of the royal name, the royal crown, and the royalty itself. You kneel as a bandit, but you rise as a member of my guard, equal to my other guards in all regards."
"Not if you ask me," Biela mumbles under her breath, but I hear her just fine. I rise, my head and chin held high, as I watch them all. They are disgusted.
"Whatever you put on yourself… don't forget who and what you are," one of the fae hisses into my ear.
I chuckle.
Don't worry. I won't.