Chapter 10 A Rotting Kingdom
Chapter Ten
A Rotting Kingdom
Apetite figure steps into the clearing, her shoulder-length platinum hair gleaming like spun frost, her silver eyes glacial and brimming with spite. Translucent wings flutter softly behind her, scattering shards of sunlight as she practically glides across the grass.
She wears a gauzy gown in the palest shade of green, more suggestion than fabric. It clings to her like a whisper, elegant and indecent all at once.
She still glows faintly, just as I remember—mesmerizing, ethereal, dangerous.
Tinker Bell.
A faerie of unearthly beauty and deep, festering resentment. She looks older now, too, no longer the mischievous little sprite of my memory, but a woman.
“Hello, Tinker Bell,” I manage, my voice tight. The words scrape awkwardly against the quiet. Heat rises to my cheeks as I shift in the water, suddenly too aware of my nakedness. Vulnerable is not how I ever wanted to meet her again.
Her mouth curves into a knowing smirk. Of course, she can read every thought etched across my face.
“Yes, hello again, Wendy Darling.” Her voice chimes like silver wind bells.
She undresses before me without the faintest flicker of bashfulness. I drop my gaze, heat prickling across my skin. She slips into the pool across from me, her body gliding through the steam. A soft, breathy moan escapes her lips as she settles, and then—silence.
A long, awkward, almost suffocating silence.
I should get out, dry off, and leave. But I can’t move. I can feel her gaze on me, assessing me, pinning me in place.
“So,” she breaks the silence, drawing out the word until it drips with mock sweetness. “You’ve returned to Neverland at last. Tell me, do you like what he’s made for you? Your pretty treehouse?”
I stiffen, uncertain how to answer, and she smiles wider.
“Do you even see it?” she presses. “The way the roots twist in pain beneath your feet? The air—how it chokes on his magic?” Her voice grows softer, more dangerous. “Of course you don’t. You’ve never looked past his smile.”
“Tink…” I start, but she waves a dismissive hand, sending droplets scattering through the steam.
“He was obsessed with you, and you knew it,” she says lightly, almost dreamily. “His precious Wendy Darling. The girl who left, ruined everything—and never even noticed.”
Her words land like blows. “Tinker Bell, what are you—”
She lets out a high, mirthless laugh. “You really don’t feel it, do you?” she murmurs, eyes narrowing, silver irises flashing with fury barely leashed. “The rot beneath the magic. The decay in every shadowed leaf. All of this—” she gestures wide, to the forest trembling around us “—is your fault.”
The words hit me like a slap. I flinch.
“How could any of this be my fault?”
She smiles wide, but it’s cold and cruel. “When you left him, his obsession only festered. It grew until it twisted him. Until it twisted everything.” Her silver eyes gleam as she leans forward. “You’re a plague, Wendy. A sickness in this place.”
A Plague.
The word hooks into my chest like a thorn. Peter had called me something similar—said I lived inside him like a virus.
“Tink…” I swallow hard, the back of my throat dry. “Is Peter… sick?”
She laughs, brittle and musical, a sound that makes the fine hairs on my arms rise. “Oh, don’t pretend. That sweet little concern of yours is almost touching. Commendable, really. Especially since I doubt your reunion was as sweet as you hoped.”
I freeze.
“But between us?” Her voice lowers. “You’re too weak for what he’s become. He’s breaking, Wendy. And you—” her gaze drags over me, slow and scathing—“you’re not strong enough to hold him together.”
My body moves before I can think. I glide across the steaming water, closing the space between us until we’re nearly nose to nose.
“Stop speaking in riddles.” My voice cracks. “Tell me what I need to do. Tell me how to help him—how to help Neverland.”
Something flickers in her expression. The malice slips, and for an instant, I see grief beneath it—grief and a love so twisted it’s become venom.
Then it’s gone.
Her eyes harden. “Leaving would be a good place to start.”
I shake my head, chest tight. “You know I can’t do that. I—I don’t think he’ll let me.”
Saying it aloud feels jarring. But the truth is already there, settled like a weight in my gut.
I’m not free here.
I’m his captive.
“Well, you should do whatever you can to get out while you still can.” Her voice drops to a whisper, barely louder than the steam rising around us. “Because when the king falls…” She leans close, her lips grazing my ear. “So does his kingdom.”
I stand, trembling, a horrible mix of shame, confusion, and heartbreak knotting inside me—twisting tighter with every breath. My chest aches, too full, too fragile, like I’ll split open if I try to hold it all in.
I step from the spring without a word, steam clinging to my limbs, too drained to care about modesty. I dry off with the towel Peter left me, the fabric barely registering against my skin. I dress in jerking, graceless motions, then turn toward the path. But something makes me pause.
I glance back. Tinker Bell still sits in the water, her silver hair plastered to her cheeks, eyes lowered. She looks smaller now. Less cruel. Lost, even. A fragile thing drowning in her own bitterness.
What’s really happening in Neverland? What rot has taken root beneath its magic? And what part did I play in it?
The questions circle my mind as I spend the rest of the day hiding in Peter’s—our—room, curled up in the window seat with The Secret Garden open in my lap. I don’t dare venture out again, and if that makes me a coward, so be it.
Sunlight fades to amber, sliding in thin slants across the floorboards. Still, I linger in my self-imposed exile, mind looping through every unsettling truth I’ve uncovered since Peter returned—his missing shadow, the darkness curling beneath his skin, the way he willed himself to grow up.
Each thought feels heavier than the last. My head is pounding from too many thoughts when footsteps echo outside the door, before it swings open. Peter stands in the doorway, expression unreadable.
“Come down,” he says evenly. “Dinner’s ready.”
As we descend the winding staircase, I reach out, tentatively, letting my fingers brush the fabric at the small of his back. “Are you okay?”
He glances over his shoulder. “Yeah,” he says with a shrug. “Just been a long day.”
“Dealing with the shadow beasts?”
“Yes,” he answers, clipped. Final.
We reach the main floor of the treehouse, where the air smells of roasted meat and rosemary.
The fire crackles in the hearth, casting a soft golden light over the space.
Peter guides me toward the long wooden table beside the kitchen—a sturdy, timeworn thing carved from the same dark wood as the rest of the furniture.
He takes the seat at the head, pulling out the chair to his left for me. Across the table, Tinker Bell glides into the seat with Finn beside her. Her features remain smooth, giving nothing away. She doesn’t even look at me. Thorne settles on my other side, offering a brief, polite nod.
Before us sits a simple but hearty meal: thick slices of bread, roasted rabbit glazed in herbs, carrots browned at the edges. The savory scent of thyme and rosemary hangs heavy in the air, making my stomach tighten with hunger despite the tension threading through the room.
“Dig in,” Finn says brightly, reaching for the bread. “Oh—one second, Tink.”
He stands, disappearing into the kitchen. When he returns, he carries a small plate of fresh fruit and plain vegetables, setting it gently in front of her.
Tinker Bell actually smiles. Not her usual cutting smirk, but something soft, genuine. “Thanks, Finn,” she murmurs.
“Did you make all this?” I ask, glancing up at him.
Finn beams, his blue eyes lighting like the sky at dawn. “Yeah. I like cooking almost as much as I like growing the food. Though Peter caught the rabbit—one of his traps.”
I glance at Peter. He’s already eating, piling roasted rabbit and bread onto his plate without a word. I follow suit.
“Well, thank you, Finn,” I say sincerely. “This looks delicious.”
Finn’s smile brightens further, boyish and pleased. The simple pleasure in his expression warms me—it’s disarming in a place that seems to have lost touch with its roots.
Peter loudly clears his throat.
I glance at him. His jaw is tight, eyes narrowed.
I ignore him. Apparently, even compliments are forbidden territory.
I take a bite—and nearly moan at the taste. The rabbit is tender, melting on my tongue, the herbs sharp and fragrant. My eyes flutter closed, just for a second. When I open them again, four pairs of eyes are fixed on me.
Peter’s gaze is dark and stormy, his glare burning holes through me. Tinker Bell looks like she’s just bitten into something bitter. Finn and Thorne are both staring wide-eyed.
“That good, huh?” Thorne says, grinning faintly before taking a bite himself and moaning. “Yeah, damn. You outdid yourself, Finn.”
I sink lower into my seat, cheeks flaming. I risk another glance toward Peter. His whole body is tense, shooting everyone at the table a lethal glare.
Once the plates are filled and everyone’s eating, silence falls—not awkward, exactly, but not easy either. The clink of utensils, the crackle of fire, and the faint hum of Neverland’s night creatures fill the void between us. And for a moment, I’m pulled backward into memory.
My first dinner in Neverland had been loud and wild. The Lost Boys laughing, shouting over one another, food flying across the table, stories spun in half-truths and laughter. That chaos had felt like magic. Dinner had felt alive.
But this… this is the cost of growing up. We’re adults. There are manners now. Napkins folded neatly beside plates. Postures straighter. Mouths quieter. Every glance carries weight, every silence a warning. We are not boys and girls playing at eternity anymore.
Peter breaks the silence first. “They’re getting angrier.”
Thorne grunts, reaching for the bread. “You don’t have to tell me that. Fought off one of the bastards last week near the southern cove—just lingerin’ on the beach, like it was waiting for something.”
Finn’s brows draw together. “You fought a shadow beast? Alone?”
Thorne shrugs. “Didn’t exactly have a choice, did I?”
Peter nods, almost absently. “They’re drawn to fear. The more of it in the air, the closer they come.”
A chill crawls up my spine. “What are they, exactly?”
He doesn’t answer.
“They’re not just shadows, I can tell you that,” Finn says. “There’s something sinister about them. Something that watches.”
Peter’s fork scrapes against his plate. “They are fear and rage made flesh,” he says.
I stare at him. “But how did they get into Neverland? I thought you said—”
“The faeries’ boundaries were weak,” Peter snaps, cutting me off. “That’s how they got through today.”
Tinker Bell bristles, wings twitching. “It’s not the faeries’ fault evil lurks inside Neverland, tearing at the seams.”
Peter shoots her a scathing look, but doesn’t reply.
Thorne leans forward, elbows on the table. “What I want to know is what they want. Just chaos? Or something more?”
Peter says nothing, his face shuttered. Tinker Bell glowers beside him.
I glance between them, heart pounding. There’s more to this—something neither of them will voice. And Peter’s silence feels louder than any confession.
Tinker Bell’s demeanor suddenly changes before my eyes. Her posture softens, her lips curl into a smile too polished to be real. The shift is so quick it sets my nerves on edge.
“Well, thank you, Peter, for protecting my home today,” Tinker Bell purrs, her voice all honey and silk as she reaches across the table, her fingers brushing over his knuckles with intimate familiarity.
I freeze. My eyes snap to their hands, expecting—hoping—he’ll pull away. But to my horror, he doesn’t. He grabs her hand and squeezes it gently, murmuring, “You’re welcome.”
The air leaves my lungs. Tinker Bell’s smirk is slow, taunting, her silver lashes dipping in mock innocence.
“I joined Wendy in the hot springs earlier,” she says sweetly. “I was so disappointed you weren’t there.” Her lips curve in a pout.
My jaw drops. Did she just—?
My gaze jerks between them. Have they… bathed together?
The thought hooks cruelly through my chest. Jealousy follows hot and fast, impossible to reason with. It rises like a flare, searing its way up until I can hardly breathe.
Peter is watching me. Watching the storm build behind my eyes like it’s a show made for him alone. And slowly, that calm, detached mask of his shifts. The corner of his mouth lifts.
He’s enjoying this.
My pulse stumbles, then races. Rage and disbelief crash through me in equal measure. How dare he?
His declarations. His supposed obsession. Those dark, possessive promises whispered against my skin—they can’t be real if he can touch her like that. If he can smile while I’m sitting here falling apart.
My thoughts spiral, frantic, feral. Has he touched her like he touched me? Has she made him lose control?
The pain builds until it’s everywhere—in my throat, in my lungs, beneath my ribs.
I shove back my chair. The legs scrape harshly against the wooden floor. “I need some air,” I mutter, keeping my head down as I stand.
No one stops me. Thank God, because if I stay one moment longer, I’ll scream—or sob.
I’m almost to the door when his voice cuts through the quiet, his tone lethal.
“Wendy Darling.”
I freeze.
He hasn’t moved from his seat. Hasn’t even turned to look at me.
“Are you certain,” he says, every syllable precise, “you’re prepared for the consequences of running from me?”
The air turns to ice. The anger, the hurt—they collapse into something darker. A tremor of fear. And, God help me, something else.
Excitement.
Slowly, Peter turns his head. His eyes catch the firelight, no longer green, but black. Depthless and wild, like the heart of the forest at midnight.
“Because when I catch you…” His smile unfurls, slow and vicious. “I’m going to break you.”
I gasp, spin, and fling the door open. Cool night air rushes over my skin. Bioluminescent flora shimmer like stars beneath the trees, and the moon glows silver overhead.
I take off down an unfamiliar forest trail. I run like my life depends on it—because I’ve tempted the monster. And it isn’t a matter of if he catches me.
It’s when.