5. Puck
“She is the rightful heir to the Spring Court throne.”
You’ve got to be shitting me.
Gwyneria’s announcement hangs in the air as everyone, including myself, is rendered speechless.
How did everything fall apart so spectacularly so fast?
When Vlad came into the room, I thought he came to celebrate; it was elation unlike anything I’d ever felt. And the female who came in with him…I’d never seen her but I assumed Vlad had some reason for bringing her that was…celebratory. Maybe I’d gotten too used to the courtiers throwing their daughters—or themselves—at me since Edina and I called time of death on our relationship that I jumped to conclusions. Ridiculous conclusions, in hindsight.
I ogled her, for goddess’ sake. She’s the daughter of the female who controlled me for centuries, and I was thinking about how good she’d look riding my cock.
My blood drains from my face as reality sinks in.
I’m not going to be king.
The monarchs were hesitant to crown me to begin with, not wanting to encourage future coups. Now, they have a legitimate reason to not put me on the throne.
And what’s even worse, since I agreed to help the new monarch and support my court, I’m once again bound by a magical agreement that trumps my desires. I won’t be able to leave. I’ll be chained here, forced to help my tormenter’s daughter reign as queen.
I’m going to be sick.
It takes everything, every single ounce of control I have, not to storm out of this room. I sit stoically, breathing through my nose because if I open my mouth I’m going to scream. Or vomit. Possibly both.
The rest of the second generation are slack-jawed. Edina looks like she’s about to punch her mother in the face, though the female in question doesn’t seem to notice. Was she ever going to vote for me? Was I always destined to sit here today feeling the bite of rejection?
“However.”
I try not to let that one little word raise my hopes, but I must be a masochist because it does. I cling to the word like it’s the last bit of water in the Dorchas Desert.
“We realize this situation is unusual,” Gwyneira continues. I catch the tiniest hint of a smile. Again, my heart stutters, desperate to find meaning in gestures that would otherwise be meaningless.
“Puck has been an exemplary interim king,” Simi says. “And since Lysandra is untested, we have decided to hold a trial.”
“A trial?” Lysandra’s voice—which has been even until now—cracks slightly. She’s still standing beside me, which lets me see her hands balling into fists behind her back.
Seeing her anger ignites a spark of satisfaction in me. Who does she think she is, coming here and expecting to be handed a throne? Did she really think she wouldn’t have to work for it?
“Three, to be precise,” Simi continues. “Each trial will revolve around a trait valued by the Seelie monarchs.”
“The first trial will be hosted by Summer Court,” Gwyneira says. My brow furrows as I wonder why she’s speaking for Queen Talia, but she continues before anyone can question it. “It will test your leadership. The second trial will be hosted by Spring Court, and will test your reasoning.”
“And the final trial will be hosted by Day Court,” Simi concludes. “And will test your bravery.”
Leadership, reasoning, and bravery.
It seems straightforward, but knowing the monarchs, it’ll be anything but. They’ll twist those traits into truly sinister challenges designed to break us. Growing up and spending the majority of my life in Faerie should give me an advantage, but I won’t underestimate Lysandra. As Eldoris pointed out earlier, she trained under Vlad, and I have no doubt he prepared her for every possibility.
I glance at her and note her earlier surprise and anger is well masked. She’s nodding intently, behaving like the perfect little princess as the monarchs explain that a binding spell will be cast if we both agree to the trials. I’m sure there’s a reason for it, but I’m not listening. I’m more focused on Lysandra, trying to discern a way to convince her to abandon this pursuit. If she’s anything like Titania, she’ll be a terrible queen, and our court is due for a ruler who works for their betterment.
“Do you agree to these terms?” Gwyneira asks, pulling me out of my distracted haze.
“I do,” Lysandra says, and there’s a pulse of magic throughout the room as she’s bound to the terms of the trial.
They wait expectantly for my decision. I hate the idea of being magically bound to anything—I’ve already entered into one bargain that I regret today—but if I want to be king, I need to win these trials. And to win, I must participate.
“I do.” The binding magic feels suffocating, but it’s gone as quickly as it came, leaving a sour taste in my mouth.
“Wonderful,” Simi says. “The trials will begin in three days.”
“The night prior, I expect you to host an inaugural ball. Together,” Gwyneira states. “I’m sure you will find some help amongst your friends.” She sends pointed looks to all of the second generation. Edina rolls her eyes; Hades looks about three seconds away from telling her to fuck off.
“Any questions?”
“Your Majesty,” Lysandra says calmly, her even tone firmly in place. “I don’t wish to be a burden, but since my mother had no other property but the palace—”
“You’ll be given the queen’s chambers, Lysandra,” Gwyneira announces. Like it’s her place to dictate anything in my court. She catches the puff of air that escapes my nostrils and gives me a smile that’s somehow more terrifying than her usual glower. “Since Puck has already moved into the king’s chambers, I assume this will be sufficient?” She phrases it like a question, but there’s no questioning her tone.
I paste on a fake smile. “Of course. I’ll have someone show Lysandra to her rooms as soon as we’re done here.”
“We’re done. Children,” she says, causing many of the second generation to bristle. Most of us—excluding Edina—are over four hundred years old; we’re far from children. “You are to remain in Spring Court until the ball.”
All the important people in the courts have rooms in each other’s palaces. The Spring Court palace has an entire tower dedicated to the guest chambers of the other monarchs, their children, and a few prominent members of their courts’ societies. It doesn’t matter that we can return to our homes in minutes with teleportation and portal travel, it’s a courtesy that’s extended for use at any time, most often following or preceding a ball.
“One final thing,” Zahir interjects with a wicked gleam in his eye. I swear, before he became king, he wasn’t this much of an asshole. We actually got along, and he hung out with the rest of the second generation frequently. Maybe it’s the toll of losing both parents at once, maybe it’s the power. Or maybe we should have listened when Hades said he was always a douche.
“The leadership trial requires each candidate to form a team. You will choose from the people in this room, excluding the current reigning monarchs.” At least Zahir knew better than to call us children. “Three people to a team. The one left will join the judging panel.”
As one, the monarchs stand to leave. We all bow our heads in respect until the doors close behind them.
“I’m on Puck’s team,” Edina says as soon as the doors click shut, her arm shooting in the air as she declares her allegiance. Beside me, Lysandra stiffens. I wonder if she thought Edina would be an ally since they knew each other in the mortal realm.
“Who said I want you?” I tease.
“Fine, I’ll be on Lysandra’s team.”
“The fuck you will,” I snap, and Edina grins. I narrow my eyes, a little annoyed that she would bait me at a time like this. “Edina’s on my team.”
Lysandra boldly circles the table and takes the seat at the opposite end of the table so she can stare me down. “If we’re doing a schoolyard pick, then I get to pick next.” She rests her elbows on the oak table and steeples her hands, flashing a confident smirk. I instantly want to wipe it off her face.
“Who said we were doing that?”
“I have no idea what that means,” Eldoris mutters.
“Of course, you don’t,” Edina says placatingly before reaching across the table for his hand.
“How would you suggest we pick teams, then?” Lysandra continues, ignoring their interruption. “In a way that’s fair.”
“Assuming anything in Faerie is fair is your first mistake, princess.”
Edina clears her throat and leans toward me. “Loving the sarcastic nickname. But maybe don’t pick one that emphasizes her title and the fact that she has a stronger claim to the throne than you.” I glare. “Just a thought.”
“Hades,” Lysandra declares despite my previous objection. “Will you be on my team?”
“I’m all yours. Hades is an instigator in the best of situations, so even though she’s wearing a stone-cold expression, I know she’s loving this.
“I pick Eldoris,” I say, keeping my attention on Lysandra.
Her grin is feline, and positively evil. “I pick Larisa.”
Fuck.
Larisa is one of my best friends. I should have picked her, but I made a momentary decision based on strength and that was stupid. From the look on Lysandra’s face, she knows every one of my thoughts and is enjoying watching me squirm.
I meet the amber eyes of my friend before she turns away, tossing her honey-colored hair in front of her face so she doesn’t have to look at me. That was a rookie mistake. Larisa holds grudges, and the last thing I need is to make more enemies.
I assess the three remaining members and chuckle as an idea hits me. Fine. She thinks she can best me at politics? Lets see how she handles this.
Radley. My friend mockingly salutes me, but Im too busy watching as Lysandra realizes shes been backed into a corner. She swallows and looks between her remaining options—Izar and Devorah.
Devorah has a shrewd mind and will make a fantastic queen, but she’s been almost exclusively training in court politics since she emerged, and her magic has weakened as a result. On the other hand, Hades notoriously doesnt get along with her brothers, and though she has a better relationship with Izar than Zahir, its still tenuous.
The silence stretches on, so quiet I can practically hear the wheels turning in Lysandras mind. Call it petty, but Im fucking loving this.
“Oh, for goddess’ sake! Devorah throws her hands up in the air. I’ll judge.”
Thank you for volunteering, Lysandra says on an exhale of relief.
Very kind of you, Devorah. I grin wolfishly and turn to my opponent. But for someone who claims they want to be a leader, its pretty disappointing that you cant even choose a teammate for a little game.
Izar winces and someone sucks in air through their teeth. But Lysandra returns my grin, and says, Its no worse than someone who claims they want to be a leader calling this trial a little game.
I see red. I know I have to save face, to come back with a pithy retort that shows shes not affecting me. Its something I used to be good at, redirecting someones barb in a way that makes them look foolish. But my thoughts are slow, like theyre wading through sludge as they try to push past my ire. The last time I felt this level of simmering rage, I tore someones head off.
The moment is broken by a snort, and Hades says, This is gonna be fun.