Page 1 of My Faire Lady

1

Sweat rolls down my temple, curls across my chin, and splashes onto the metal armor hugging my chest. Blinding, midday sun sneaks through the narrow slits of my helmet’s visor—pinpricks against my eyes. I shift my weight on Shadow and balance the jousting lance in the crook of my elbow.

Across the field, the opposing knight steadies his unicorn into position. I let out a low groan and tighten my hands around my pegasus’s reins.

Here we go again.

My heels press against Shadow’s sides, and a knock raps against my mind.

“You’re the star of the faire, now act like it,” Boden says into my head. “You have to put on a show.”

I curl my lip at the fae, sitting at the top of the stands. “Easy for you to say, when you’re dressed as a king and lounging in the shade as selkies fan you with palm leaves.”

He chuckles, and I force him out of my mind.

My ancestors were some of the most respected and feared beings alive—brave and powerful enough to consecrate the land beneath me.

But me, the last Murrell witch?

I’m the fucking lady knight at the Renaissance Faire.

Boden stands and lifts the horn from the padded column, adjusting the collar at his throat. I brush my hand down Shadow’s mane, her feathered wings tucked carefully against her sides so no humans mistake her as anything but a regular horse.

That’s all we are—magical beings hidden under the noses of humans.

As if we didn’t rehearse dozens of times for this exact outcome, Boden furrows his brow at the score ledger. “Ladies and lords, it appears we have a tie!”

Two years ago, the crowd would have roared, screaming the name of whoever they favored to win—me, usually. But now, the half dozen humans stare blankly at their phones, taking advantage of the dappled shade. One, dressed as a minotaur—I think—drains his mead, tilting his head so far back his horns slip from his head.

I blow out a breath and, across the field, Jeremy flips up the visor of his helmet. He gives me a crooked, half-hearted smile that wrinkles the corners of his eyes. But it falls flat, and he lowers his helmet into place.

I like him more when he sulks with me.

“For our tie breaker,” Boden shouts, “Lady Scarlet and Sir Jeremy will conduct a final joust unlike any other!”

I hate my life.

“Standing on their steeds!”

At that, the hornless minotaur roars his approval and knocks over the tankard belonging to the woman beside him. She jumps up and shouts as her plastic, iridescent fairy wings fall from her shoulders.

I center my thoughts and trace a basic rune against the palm of my hand. Magic swirls beneath my skin, awakening, yet weaker than it was yesterday. Ignoring the worry that picks at the back of my neck, I lean forward and pat Shadow’s shoulder. “You ready?”

She huffs, and I steady myself with the pommel as I shift my feet beneath me. The binding spell takes hold, securing my armored feet to the leather saddle, and I ease myself to a crouch as Jeremy does the same across the field.

“And without their shields!” Boden yells.

I slide the shield from my forearm and fling it to the packed dirt—another part of our performance that once stirred a roar from the crowd. Jeremy’s hits the ground, and nothing but a dull echo follows.

My muscles strain against the lance, but I tighten my grip as Boden brings the horn to his lips. It blares across the arena, and Shadow jolts forward at a gallop. Wind whistles through my helmet, and I pin my focus on the reinforced metal at Jeremy’s shoulder—the exact spot I’m meant to tap.

Shadow speeds, feathers and fur rippling, and my heart thrashes as we close in on the center of the field. The wooden barrier is a blur, and I hold my breath as Jeremy shoots toward me.

Something shifts in the air, and my rune snaps. My breath catches, and my right foot slips off the saddle, throwing me toward the wooden barrier. Shadow whinnies, and I grapple for balance, but before a scream can pass my lips, Jeremy’s lance slams into the center of my chest.

The world tilts on its axis, and my back slams into the packed earth, knocking the air from my lungs. I gasp and roll onto my side, clenching my stomach as a dull throb spreads over my body. In the stands, spectators leave their seats, the minotaur stumbling down the aisle.

Shadow trots to my side and shields me from the sun as I roll onto my back, yanking the stifling helmet from my head. It hits the ground, and fresh air wafts across my face, cooling the sweat at my brow.