No winners here

“It doesn’t count if you are already planning your defeat,"  Cerlix says to him before pushing him through the portal. 

The words ring in his head as he treks his way through the dark woods, making sure to step over splintered branches and overgrown tree roots. It’s the only words he’s clung to since arriving in his destination. He takes deep breaths trying to center himself. 

He unconsciously touches the metal wrapped around his throat in a cold embrace. It was a faded blue, that akin to the color of dead lips, littered with soft pink diamonds. A beautiful collar, but a collar nonetheless. If he did everything right, it would be the last time he wore it. 

He remembers when his master nominated him for this competition. It was after the last competition as per tradition. He was standing behind his master, head bowed low and shoulders hunched in together. The winner, a girl that year, was being politely congratulated. Her methods were nothing special.

The King took that moment to rise for a short speech. The king had ice blue skin that almost seemed translucent in certain lighting. Atop his head was a crown carved out of ice into bare trees. He was dressed in an emerald green shawl that had fluffy white fur on the inside peeking at the base of his neck. His wings were spanned out behind him, a silvery color that seemed to shimmer. His trousers were thin, and a simple earthy brown perfectly fitted to his legs. For all that this was the Winter Court no one certainly dressed like it.

At the end of the King’s speech he of course asked which masters would volunteer their human slaves for next year. To his surprise, after a few masters offered his own had risen, pale pink skin standing out against her black fitted dress that flared at the bottom with icicles hanging on the trim, and nominated him. He made sure to hide his shock though it had been difficult. 

The game was objectively easy for someone raised in the Fae court. Lure a human into being a slave. No lying was allowed, you had to use manipulation tactics like a true Fairy. No brute force was to be used either. If the human didn’t walk into the Fae realm on their own, then it doesn’t count. There was no limit to the number of competitors there could be, sometimes hundreds other times only twenty. Whoever convinced their human into giving up their life first won. That simple. 

The real challenge was the unpredictability of humans. Two years ago, a contestant had gotten their human to the tree that entered into the Winter Court, before the human freaked out and ran, costing the contestant the competition. 

The reason the slaves themselves tried so hard to win? Freedom. Technically. In actuality you were just a slave without a collar constraining you. It became your job to keep a steady stream of human pets and slaves in the court. Not exactly a studious or even moralistic job, but at least you got paid for it and having your own room didn’t hurt either. 

He had an entire year to prepare and strategize for the competition. He paid careful attention to every conversation had around him. He had looked up past winner’s tactics. He spoke as if the magic binding lies from spilling from Fairies lips existed in him too. His friend Cerlix, his master’s daughter, had helped out when she could.

Finally, a week before the competition, contestants were allowed out with their masters or a trusted person of their master, into the human realm. Here they would scope out humans that seemed easy to prey on, that were desperate to leave their lives, and try to formulate a plan suited to their needs.  

Now here he was, stalking through the forest, to find his chosen person. Doubts plague his mind as he continues his path. He knows that the other masters and Fairies that watch this event have a betting pool going on. On who will do the best, who will do the worst, and on who will not even bring back a person at all. He had taken a peek of it and his name was nowhere to be found. At least being the worst would have made him known.

Once again, he wonders if the only reason his master chose him for this was for the off chance that he did win, her daughter would no longer be associated with a mere slave. He’s about ninety five percent sure that if he fails this Cerlix will no longer be allowed to be his friend. That in itself was a reason he could not fail. 

Strong resolve aside, that did not change the fact that he was up against people like Lotus, who was essentially his master’s pseudo son and had been training for this for the past three years, and Shadow, who had a younger sister who was owned by a cruel master and so her resolve was just as strong. He had caught glimpses of her training and it had seemed more like she was preparing for a court case. Perhaps she has the right strategy though, guilting someone into compliance was still compliance. 

What was he doing here among these people? He clearly wasn’t going to win, and it wasn’t like he would be letting someone down when he didn’t. If anything, he was probably making his mother turn in her grave, considering this event was the reason her own freedom was given away. If she had known she was pregnant with him she surely wouldn’t have but life wasn’t fair. You didn’t always get warnings. 

He had been born a slave and refused to die one. Cerlix’s words slither into his mind again, “It doesn’t count if you are already planning your defeat.” He grabs hold on them and his resolve strengthens. There was no time for doubt, he had a competition to complete.  

With that he continues on until he was insight of his victim’s house. Everyone had been dropped off a mile from their destination, to “make it fair.” The porch light is bright enough to spill into the woods he is currently in. The boy he was taking lived around three miles from the rest of civilization. 

He stopped behind a bush that kept him just out of sight. He pulled a mirror from his bag to check his appearance. He decided to leave his waste length dreads out tonight, even letting them frame his face in a wild manner. His outfit was a pure white tunic draped over one shoulder that contrasted nicely with his deep brown skin. He’s lucky that his eyes are naturally gold, something about breathing in the air of magic since he was born, so he already looks otherworldly.

It was common knowledge that the best way to lure someone away is to make them think that you yourself are a Fairy. Of course, since lying was forbidden, you had to rely solely on your appearance. He knows he looks eternal right now. 

He knows that his target will be out soon. Brandon Lynax was a twenty-two-year-old country boy who lived on the edge of town and routinely checked the well by the woods around this time as if searching for something. What that was he didn’t know or care, it was habit he would exploit. 

He hears the side screen door open and then shut before the sound of feet gradually get louder. He peeks between the bush to see Brandon leaning against the well, looking down. Now was his chance. He silently moves from behind his cover to make his presence known.

“Looking for something?” he questions before clutching his left arm in pain because a rock collided with it. “Ow,” mutters, glaring at the boy.

Brandon pulls his lips back ever so slightly before rolling his eyes. “I’m sorry, who sneaked on whose property?”

Which is a fair point but that didn’t take the pain away. He almost retorts this but then remembers he is here for a reason, so he simply smiles and tries to retain his otherworldly aura. 

“Good point,” He says before walking closer to the boy. 

The closer he gets the more relaxed he feels. There was a specific reason why he had chosen this boy. Even if he wasn’t the winner this should grant him some favor in the court. He stares at Brandon, taking in his tanned skin, sandy blonde hair and grassy green eyes. His muscular build coupled with his features made for an appealing look however that was not the reason he had chosen the boy. The reason was, well, the rock that had been chucked at him without Brandon lifting a hand.

He circles around the blonde boy remembering the circumstances that lead him here. When he had been searching for a human to trick, he was aware that he couldn’t chose just anyone. It wouldn’t be impressive to win by choosing the most boring person on the planet to persuade. He had been looking for a truly stubborn person that was set in their ways. He had searched high and low from Antarctica to the Netherlands but for some reason felt that no person’s personality would truly shine through to his audience.

He was down to his final day when he had randomly come to this small town in Georgia. It was more of having nothing to lose than an actual quest. He had felt Brandon before he saw him. Felt the almost violent wave of sunshine wash over him and he had recoiled from it scared of getting burned. Having grown up surrounded by magic he knew what it felt like and Brandon most definitely had it. 

A quick visit to Brandon’s mother had revealed everything he needed to know. If Brandon’s mother had all her facts straight, then Brandon was the bastard child of the Summer King. It wasn’t uncommon for fairies to mess around with humans but usually they were careful enough to result in no pregnancies. However, he had heard that the Summer Court was less anal about it. A “if it

happens it happens” sort of attitude. 

He is sure that if the Summer King knew, then Brandon would not be in Earth realm staring into wells and going by the name Brandon. There is a chance that he is wrong, but it doesn’t change the fact that Brandon is a halfling and definitely from the Summer Court. There was power in that itself. Having a slave from the Summer Court, even if it is only a halfling, would be an insult to them. Subtle, but powerful. 

“What are you doing?” Brandon asks, snapping him back to the moment. He pauses in his circling before once again centering himself and continuing. 

“Brandon Lynax,” he says. “The poor boy with the crazy mother.”

“Aren’t you a bit too old to be bullying,” Brandon snaps. 

“Relax,” he soothes. “I know your mother isn’t crazy.” He reassesses his thinking before correcting himself. “Well, I know that she didn’t start off as crazy.”

Because there was no reason to pretend that woman was sane. She would stare into the sun and just mutter to herself. He honestly felt a little bad for her. 

Brandon grits his teeth before pulling out a cigarette and a lighter. “Your point?”

“Well, perhaps I know the reason behind this.” And really that’s all he can say without forfeiting his spot in the competition because everything else he’s concluded is pure speculation. 

Brandon blows out a puff of smoke. “I don’t have time to play these games. If you know something say something.”

“Don’t act completely clueless with me,” he says, keeping control of the conversation. “I know that your ears are more pointy than normal. I know that lies seem to get stuck in your throat. I know that the trees bend to your will and that sometimes the sun whispers to you.”

“Let’s say all of this is true,” Brandon starts. “How exactly would you know this?”

This was it, the moment he had spent a year practicing for. Of course, he hadn’t known that it was specifically for this moment, he hadn’t even known that Brandon was a thing until a day ago, but he still felt something in his bones urging him to achieve the impossible. 

He stops his circling in front Brandon and holds out a hand. 

The thing about magic was that technically anyone could use it. It was just that certain beings were born with the natural talent for it. Humans couldn’t sense magic unless they had actively been around it. Even then, it was practically impossible to grab hold of it. Magic is so slippery. It’s like trying to grab a hold of a wiggling mermaid’s tail. Most tried to aggressively force it into submission and when that failed, they would give up entirely. 

He was born in the Winter Court, breathed in magic his entire nineteen years of life. He has seen magic wielded and felt the just barely there being brushing against his existence. He had figured what every Fae knew but guarded closely, magic was alive and breathing. Of course violently grabbing at it would turn it away. Magic wanted to be gently courted and flirted with before granting anyone access to it.

It had taken eight months to realize this and he had spent three getting to know magic in a way that he never thought possible. He spent his last month practicing letting it consume him before slowly lowering its amounts. 

With his stretched out hand he feels for the magic currently in the atmosphere and allows a trickle to enter him. He tries to keep his face neutral but he’s not sure how well he’s doing. Humans are not genetically developed enough to store magic, that was just a fact. Every little bit that enters his system scorches him like the cold. 

Perhaps he will grow use to the feeling, perhaps it will kill him, but he cannot stop now. 

He weaves the magic into a snowflake, it appearing in the air as he concentrates. When the task is done he presents the snowflake to Brandon.

“Maybe,” he says, and very soon Brandon would learn that the word maybe means absolutely nothing. “Things whisper to me too.”

Brandon takes the snowflake, wonder written on his face. “What are you?”

A human slave trying to survive.

“The better question is, do you want to know what you are and where your father has gone?

He can tell that he has Brandon captivated. In Brandon’s eyes, he has all the answers to lifelong questions. Let the boy think what he never explicitly said. 

“My father? What does he have to do with this?”

“What doesn’t he?” he replies back. “You don’t surely believe that you randomly accumulated your gifts on your own do you? You are genetically predisposed to magic; congratulations are ahead of every human ever.”

“Wait, wait-“

He tries to maintain his patience but the bit of magic that he used has left him drained and with a splitting headache and he would very much just like to sink into the Earth and merge with nature.

“Look,” he interrupts. “Why don’t we go back to my place and discuss all of this. You must be feeling very overwhelmed right now.” 

“Your place? Where exactly-“

“The Winter Court, of course,” he says. He leans into Brandon’s personal space and gently cups his face until the boy is staring down and deep into his eyes. He’s been told that his gaze makes him look gentle, which works to his advantage perfectly. “Come on, you can learn all about your father at my home.”

It’s not a lie, Brandon could research his father in the Winter Court, just not the way he’s probably thinking. His father is at the very least a Summer noble and at the very most the Summer King. He would probably hear all kinds of gossip while entertaining guest and cleaning rooms and serving food. He pushes away the wave of guilt trying to form. Brandon would be fine. 

Nothing was ever said about lying to himself.

Brandon, the silly, stupid, apparently trusting, boy follows him. He grabs his hand leading him to their destination. He distracts the boy with speculation about his mother’s madness saying that the magic Brandon naturally consumed as a fetus is probably what drove her mad. The influx rate that assaulted her senses must have been too much.

Seeing that that bit of information makes Brandon upset he quickly changes to subject to the Winter Court. He speaks only of the positives, the food, the beautiful people, the festivals. He doesn’t mention the slaves that pick the food, dress the people, and set up the festival. Brandon would learn soon enough.

When they finally reach the portal that dropped him off, he quietly sighs in relief. He pulls out a blade from beneath his tunic and pricks his finger. Blood wells up and he quickly squeezes it into the outline of the portal. It opens, shimmering with white and blue, and he gestures to Brandon. “You first.”

He doesn’t want a runner.

Brandon stares at him for a moment before entering Winter Court. He follows behind quickly and is immediately assaulted with confetti. It takes a moment to realize that he’s won the game. His highlights play in the crystals attached to the pillars. 

His master walks over to him, a silver key in her pale pink hand and unlocks his collar. It’s only a symbol, he knows. He is very much still chained here, will probably be questioned about his use of magic over and over again, and just condemned an innocent boy to slavery, but it feels like a weight has been lifted.

He breathes.