Queen of the Games

They call me half-breed. Worthless. Powerless.
They have no idea what's coming.
Zepharina Nightbloom has spent her life as a servant in her father's house, hidden away like the shameful secret she is—half-human, half-fae, and utterly magic-less. But when she is threatened by death, Zeph makes a desperate choice: switch with her half-brother to take his place in the deadly Centennial Games, where forty fae champions fight to the death for the right to rule.
The problem? She has no magic. Basic fight training. And absolutely no chance of survival.
Until she's forced to partner with him.
Prince Tristan of the Winter Court is everything Zeph despises—arrogant, cruel, and devastatingly beautiful. He's also hiding secrets that could shatter her and her search for her missing twin sister. When a forbidden bond ignites between them during the trials, Zeph discovers hidden power to help her survive.
But as corpses pile up and the trials grow deadlier, Zeph must choose between finding her sister and the enemy prince who's claimed her heart. Because in a game where only one can survive, falling in love might be the most dangerous magic of all.

Perfect for fans of:
✨ Enemies to Lovers - From mutual hatred to undeniable passion

✨ Forced Proximity - Partnered in deadly trials with nowhere to hide

✨ Touch Her and You Die - Protective prince energy

✨ Morally Gray Characters - Heroes who aren't afraid to get their hands bloody

✨ Underdog FMC - Half-breed outcast who refuses to stay down

✨ Fated Mates/Prophecy - Destined for each other... and for chaos

✨ Tournament/Death Games - High-stakes competition with deadly consequences

✨ Secret Identity - He's more than just a prince 

✨ Forbidden Romance - Class differences, court politics, and impossible odds

✨ Found Family - Loyalty forged in blood and battle

✨ Shadow Magic/Necromancy - Dark, dangerous powers awakening

CHAPTER 1

I duck as the blade whistles over my head. It’s too close, but not close enough to matter. My lungs burn, chest tight as I gasp for air, but I've felt worse. Fifteen years of this, and I still need to be faster. Strong enough to find Amara when Father tries to disappear me too.
The air in the stable, thick with the scent of hay, manure, and old wood, does little to cool me. Eamon doesn't ease up. He never does. After all this time, and he still comes at me like he means to kill me and I respond in kind.
It’s only fair.
Another swing and I'm rolling through hay, dirt catching under my nails. Fuck. My back collides with the stable wall, rattling the rusted tools hanging there. The stone is cold against my heated skin.
"Again," Eamon says, his voice flat but his eyes watchful. A scar twists his left cheek, a souvenir from a campaign to the borderlands. “Your opponent won't give you time to catch your breath."
I spit blood onto the barn floor. "I know."
"Then show me." Eamon advances, blade gleaming in the dim light.
I push to my feet, ignoring the tremor in my legs. A bang comes from somewhere behind him, the distant slam of a door from the main house, and his focus shifts for a fraction of a second. I don't hesitate. My fist connects with his jaw and pain spiders through my knuckles.
He staggers but recovers fast, spinning with deadly precision.
The wooden practice blade cracks against my ribs. Pain explodes through my side. I wheeze, doubling over.
"Dead," he announces. “How many times do I have to tell you? You can’t drop your guard."
"Fuck you," I gasp, straightening despite the fire in my side.
"Again."
His eyebrow rises. "You've had enough today."
"I said again."
A hint of approval crosses his weathered face. He taught me this stubbornness, beat it into me through countless bruises and broken bones. If anyone comes for me, I won’t freeze. I’ll fight.
Eamon circles, blade at the ready. I mirror his movements, feet sliding silently through the dusty hay. I feint left.
He doesn't bite.
Of course not.
I dart right instead, spinning past his guard, my practice dagger aimed at his kidney.
He moves like water, flowing around my strike and catching my wrist. Pain shoots up my arm as he twists, forcing me down.
"Better," he says, "but still…"
I drag myself up and before I can respond, the barn door crashes open. Four silhouettes fill the doorway, backlit by the full moon outside.
My stomach drops because we are in deep shit.
“Run,” I grunt, ice flooding my veins. I'd know these silhouettes anywhere. They were father's personal executioners. The ones who made Jorik disappear last winter for speaking against the lord. The ones who always come back with blood under their nails.
We are fucked.
Eamon releases me instantly, stepping back as if distance could erase what they've seen. It won't and we both know it.
Koval enters first, the silver threads in his uniform catching the light. Captain of my father's guard, with a cruelty that makes him perfect for the role. He has a slash down his cheek, long blue hair, and skin a sickly green. He’s not high fae, but that hardly matters when you are a killing machine. Behind him comes Lirra with her curved daggers, Thorne whose magic can stop a heart, and Drav whose bulk fills doorways like a living wall.
"Well," Koval says, smile spreading across his face. "What have we here?"