Living Hunger

Frederique barely recognized herself.

The reflection staring back from Lysandro's gilded mirror was sharp, dangerous. Her once-disheveled hair had been tamed into sleek red waves, framing her pale face in an almost regal fashion. The dark circles under her eyes remained, but Lysandro had dusted her skin with some kind of shimmering powder, making her gaunt features seem ethereal rather than sickly.

She looked... haunting. Otherworldly.

Like a monster playing dress-up.

"You'll do," Lysandro purred from behind, arms folded as he admired his own work.

"Sharp, but understated. You're a Redcap, not some fawning Sidhe debutante. You don't need excess to intimidate. Let your presence speak."

Frederique wasn't sure if her presence could do anything but shake.

The hunger gnawed relentlessly under her skin, worsened by the strange perfumes Lysandro had dabbed onto her neck. She felt exposed. Vulnerable. Dressed like bait for something older and far crueler than anything she'd faced yet.

"Remember, darling," Lysandro continued, smoothing invisible wrinkles from his violet silk sleeves, "the King won't be impressed by groveling. You're not asking for permission. You're demanding recognition. He'll test you, yes... but you must never act weak. You're a Redcap. Stand tall."

Easier said than done.

The salon's walls shifted with a ripple of glamour as Lysandro traced a symbol along the mirror's surface. The entire room twisted, the air shimmering, and then...

The scent of damp earth hit her first.

Frederique blinked, and they were no longer in the salon.

The space before her was cavernous, as if carved from the roots of some ancient tree. Black, gnarled wood twisted upward into impossible arches, the branches tangled together like bones. Dim, pale-blue lights flickered above, casting eerie shadows across the stone floor.

A throne sat at the far end, crafted from the same dark wood, but grown rather than built... an extension of the twisted, living architecture itself.

The figure seated upon it watched them with an unnatural stillness.

The King of the Night Court.

He was tall... impossibly tall. His features were sharp as glass, his skin pale with a silver sheen that caught the flickering light. Midnight-black hair flowed past his shoulders, framing a face that seemed ageless but cold, untouched by mortal time. His eyes, however, were the most disturbing... pure silver, pupil-less, glowing faintly in the gloom.

At his side, twin Sidhe warriors in armor of onyx and frost watched with the same detached cruelty.

Frederique felt her throat tighten.

' I'm out of my depth. '

But Lysandro didn't falter.

The Redcap swept forward, every movement theatrical as he offered a deep, sweeping bow. His crimson-streaked hair tumbled forward like a river of blood.

"Your Majesty," Lysandro drawled, voice echoing in the strange chamber. "I bring a guest. One of our kind... raw, untamed, but full of potential."

The king's pale gaze shifted toward Frederique. She could feel it, heavy and cold, like a weight pressing against her ribs.

"And she seeks our court?"

Lysandro tilted his head.

"She seeks knowledge, my King. Power. She is young, but... uniquely gifted. A Redcap who hasn't broken."

The king's expression did not change.

"You believe she has the will to survive?"

Lysandro's smile sharpened.

"She has already begun. She's killed... and resisted the urge to lose herself in it."

Frederique flinched. That night.

The alley. The monster. The taste of blood on her tongue.

The king shifted, and the twin guards mirrored his movement, stepping forward.

"Prove it."

Frederique's heart pounded.

"P-Prove... what?" she whispered.

The King's voice was a whisper of frost.

"Prove you belong here. Prove you can control the hunger."

Without warning, the twin Sidhe moved.

They didn't attack... exactly.

The air thickened as their presence filled the space, pressing against her senses like a storm about to break. One drew a curved blade of shimmering black glass, while the other spoke words in a language she couldn't understand, but felt... thorns, sharp and invasive, digging into her thoughts.

Fear.

They wanted her to feel it. To break.

The hunger howled.

Feed.

' No. '

The voice inside her, Frideria, stirred. Not loud... but watching. Waiting.

Frederique forced her knees to steady, her breath shallow but controlled.

She didn't summon the claws. Not yet.

Instead, she let the fear linger... just enough.

The Sidhe circled her, prodding, testing. Their glamour coiled tighter, pressing against her mind like claws of ice...

and then...

She laughed.

It was bitter. Cold. A sound that tasted of defiance.

"Is this supposed to impress me?" Frederique rasped, voice shaking but clear.

The Sidhe froze.

The hunger wanted blood... but she wouldn't give them that. Not yet.

She stared into the king's pale, dead eyes and forced a grin.

"I'm already haunted by something worse than you."

* Silence. *

The pressure lifted.

The king's lips curved... not quite a smile, but close.

Lysandro clapped once, delighted.

The king leaned back into his throne.

"...Accepted."

And just like that, it was done.

Frederique felt the tension snap loose from her chest, but the hunger remained, lingering just beneath her skin.

The king spoke again, quieter this time.

"You will serve. And in turn, we will make you stronger. But strength must be tested. Tonight, you will receive your trial."

Frederique swallowed hard.

"What kind of trial?"

The king's gaze turned colder.

"A test of usefulness."

Lysandro whispered in her ear, his grin audible.

"Congratulations, darling. You're officially one of us."