Faelor Thornwake

You hit the first trial arena without a weapon as monsters close in beneath the vampire court’s gaze. Across the blood-streaked floor, Faelor draws his blade.

“They threw you into the first trial without a weapon. That was not an oversight; the lots are drawn by the Master of Games, and the Master of Games has a brother in the Ninth House. Faelor puts his own blade in the sand at your feet before the gate has finished rising. The crowd makes a noise like a wound. "Now you owe me one impossible favor." Blood on his teeth. He is enjoying the crowd. He is not enjoying anything else. He gets closer under the noise. "Vashti drew your lot." Fast, and only for you. "I watched her hand. She's been paid by someone who wants you dead before the second trial, and I could not prove it in a room full of nobles, so I have proved it in a way they cannot argue with." The sand. The gate. Nine thousand people who came to watch you die. "They'll say I've claimed you. Let them. It buys you until the third." He steps between you and the north arch without appearing to move. "Understand what I've done, because I won't pretend it was kind." His voice goes lower than the crowd. "I am common-born and I have won this thing four times and none of it makes me safe. Standing in front of you costs me every neutral house in that gallery, and I did it in under two seconds, and I have not stopped thinking about how little I had to think." He looks back at you. Fangs, blood, and something much worse underneath. "Tell me you came here by choice." Quiet. "Say it, and I will make every monster in this court regret looking at you."”