9. Lysandra
By the time I wake up in the morning, it seems the entire realm knows of my arrival. Farah told me pixies saw me enter the meeting with Vlad and hovered nearby, ready to collect gossip. Apparently, this is a common occurrence in Faerie.
She brings letters from Fae in the court that either express their excitement for meeting me or—more commonly—how they want me to leave and abdicate the throne to King Puck. King. Not interim king. Just regular old king. Like he’s already won the damn trials.
“Don’t fret, Your Highness,” Farah coos as she unsuccessfully tries to curl my hair into the proper Spring Court fashion. My hair has always been pin-straight, and with its current short length, there’s really no wiggle room. She eventually settles on pinning a flower crown on my head, and dressing me in a pastel pink sundress made of gauzy material that hugs my chest and flows out into an ethereal skirt. It’s a little fluffier than I usually wear, but Farah insists it will make me seem more queenly—whatever that means.
“Interim King Puck sent word that he has a meeting with the palace chefs this afternoon,” Farah says as she applies a layer of foundation that obscures some of my freckles.
“He didn’t want to tell me himself?”
“I think the fact that he’s telling you at all is great progress since yesterday.” She regards me curiously. “You don’t seem to hate him as much as I assumed you would.”
“I’m good at hiding it. Keep your enemies close and all that.”
Truthfully, Im not someone who hates easily. Puck has been a hostile asshole since I arrived, but its not like I expected to be friends. He killed my mother, and even if he had his reasons, Im never going to like him.
Except I did like bantering with him. And the thought I glimpsed in his mind was…surprising. I expected a fantasy from someone like him to be all about his pleasure. A vision with me on my knees would make more sense. Instead, he was turned on by the thought of me sitting on his face—a position where he’d get little to no pleasure of his own.
A little shiver goes through me, and I fight the urge to clamp my legs together. I shouldnt be thinking about riding Pucks face. I shouldnt be thinking about him at all unless its about ways to one-up him.
Maybe I just need to get laid. It’s been a while.
“Might I suggest—” Farah starts.
“Please don’t suggest I get to know him.”
“I said nothing, Your Highness,” she says with faux innocence, spinning me back to the mirror to observe her handiwork.
“What’s the closest town?” I ask as she fastens a simple gold chain around my neck.
“That would be Blath.” Her eyes connect with mine in the mirror and her mouth parts. “I must caution you against going into that town, Princess.”
“Is it unsafe?”
“No, but—”
“You can ask a guard to accompany me if you’d prefer, but I would like to go into the village to meet the townsfolk. It’s the one aspect where Puck has the advantage. I may have studied the state of affairs in Faerie, but I don’t know the Fae.”
“You should stay within the walls and meet the courtiers,” Farah scrambles. “They’re fond of Puck, and they have more sway when it comes to things of the court. You’d do well to win them over.”
“And I can do that too,” I assure her, not letting my gaze drop. “I’ll meet them tomorrow at the labyrinth party. Today, I’ll meet the citizens of the court.”
Farah, realizing I’m not going to budge on this matter, dips her head in respect and scurries out of the room.
“That was bold.” The voice at the door startles me enough that a vine snakes around my wrist in anticipation of an attack. I turn to see Hades leaning against the doorframe in a sleeveless black blouse and exceptionally tailored pants. Her heels are high enough that, even leaning over, she appears taller than her petite stature. Her red-painted lips tip up in amusement as I calm my beating heart.
“You make quite the entrance,” I mutter.
She chuckles softly. “I’m used to sneaking up on people. It’s how I survive in my business.”
Hades runs the Underground, a series of tunnels and rooms that reside under the entire realm. It’s the highway for all seedy dealings, including drugs and weapons, and, from what I hear, it even has a sex club. She’s run it for centuries—hence the nickname Hades—but recently became the sole ruler of her territory when my mother died.
“I hear you’re going into town,” she says, checking her nails like the news is of no interest to her. I get the feeling that Hades does nothing unless it benefits her—speaking to me included.
“I have some ground to make up.” I gesture to the pile of letters, some of which are smoking.
“You should ask my brother to accompany you. He’s good with townsfolk. For some reason, they love him.”
“Izar?” I ask. “I shouldn’t be asking you?”
“Only if you’re looking to meet the worst of the realm,” she boasts as if owning the section of the realm that has a bad reputation thrills her. “He’s in his chambers. East tower, third floor, second room from the stairwell.”
Before I can ask anything else, she fades into nothing. Teleportation is possible in Faerie, but it’s usually restricted inside the palaces. My studies taught me that only Seelie Court Fae are permitted to teleport within the walls, and Hades is Unseelie.
Unless Puck changed the wards.
Fuck. I need to investigate that later, but not today. Today is about meeting the citizens of Spring Court.
Teleportation works best with a specific place in mind, which I assume is why Hades told me the exact tower and floor to find Izar. I close my eyes and repeat those words over and over as I feel my magic wrap around me and squeeze. Just as it feels like my lungs are about to burst, the sensation releases and I’m in a hallway that’s decorated in shades of red and gold. Very medieval.
Izar pops his head out of the door and gives me a wide smile. “My sister said you’d be stopping by.” His dark hair and beige skin make his gray eyes pop as they meet mine. His wings—large, black wings that remind me of a bats—are out today, and he’s wearing a black button-down shirt rolled at the sleeves to reveal a tattoo that looks like a mermaid tail.
“I have an entire aquatic scene on my back,” he says when he notices me staring. “The siren tail is just the end. I love the water.”
“Isn’t the Night Court a desert?”
He clutches his chest and dramatically says, “And it’s the greatest disappointment of my life, which makes me chuckle. He offers me his tattooed arm. Shall we? I momentarily consider using the portal, but remember Farah’s warning and let him lead me downstairs.
“I have a naval fleet based on the Allagi River,” he continues. “Whenever I can, I take a ship out to sea. You’ll have to join me on the boat sometime.”
From anyone else, I would have assumed the invitation was a proposition, but there’s an earnest quality about Izar that makes me believe he’s only interested in my friendship. “I’d love to.”
“In fact, the entire second generation—and our significant others—take a yacht cruise from the Night Court to Pa Ferie every so often.”
“The island in Summer Court?”
He nods. “We’re due for a trip. You’ll have to come.”
“Sounds like a plan. An island vacation would be amazing. I spent the past three mortal years in New England.”
“Never been.” We exit the tower and make our way down the main hall. “I wasn’t encouraged to spend time in the mortal realm, but I did stay in Scotland for a bit after the Witch War. It was lovely.”
“Never been,” I echo. “I…well, I was in hiding most of my life. My father was afraid that, if he brought me around other magical beings, they’d realize who I was.”
“Must have been hard.”
“It was.”
A companionable silence falls between us as we exit the palace to the grounds. “Are you comfortable letting me into your mind so I can show you where to teleport?” he asks when we step beyond the entryway. “Otherwise, we can walk or fly. It’s not too far.”
I swallow, trying to figure out how to navigate this particular landmine. Letting Izar into my mind—even if it’s only to show me a picture—could be dangerous. The Night Court Fae are notorious for being skilled in mental magic. Who knows what he could learn while my shields are down? On the other hand, refusing him outright could offend him, and I’m trying to make friends, not alienate them.
“Actually,” he interrupts. “I’d prefer a walk in the sunshine if that’s alright by you.”
“Yes,” I say emphatically, and we walk through the grounds and over the drawbridge.
The weather is perfect today, warm with a hint of a breeze that carries the scent of flowers and fresh-cut grass. It makes me want to skip and twirl across the kelly-green plain with my arms outstretched to the sky like I’m in a musical. I refrain though. Barely.
“Can I ask a question?” I ask as Izar guides me toward a series of rolling hills. “Your sister teleported out of my room earlier. Aren’t there wards that prevent Unseelie Fae from teleporting in Spring Court?”
“Not to mention the wards around the palace themselves, which only allow Seelie royalty and palace workers to teleport within the walls,” he confirms. “Hades always finds workarounds.”
“I didn’t think that was possible.”
“She’s powerful. It’s part of the reason she and my brother don’t get along. He’s afraid of her, and she knows it.”
“Why don’t you get along with her?”
Izar sighs. “She assumes I’m on my brother’s side and has pushed me away since we were children.” Sensing Ive entered perilous waters, I drop it.
Soon, a small village appears in the distance. The houses appear to be made of some kind of stucco with brown roofs. Flowers of all colors hang from gutters, vines snake up the sides of walls, and shrubs frame windows and walkways.
Izar and I walk down a small dirt path that leads to the center of the town. A trio of pixies fly across the street right in front of us and start swearing rather loudly, telling us to watch where we’re going. When they see me in earnest, they all gasp, their tiny mouths popping open before they flit off, chattering just as noisily. I don’t hear much of the conversation, but I catch the words princess and usurper.
“Three,” Izar whispers. “Two. One.”
As soon as he says it, townsfolk burst out of doors, crowd windows, and stop gardening to watch us walk down the street. Everything in the town stills as I look around, noting the different races of Fae. Until now, I’ve only met elemental Fae, the ones who appear almost human, and brownies, who are short and similar to what we call dwarves in the mortal realm. Here, there are centaurs and leprechauns and trolls; so many species I read about but have never seen in person. It’s all I can do to not gape open-mouthed.
“Pixies work fast,” Izar says and looks at me expectantly. “Well, go on. Greet your citizens.”
I’m thankful for Vlads grueling training. If not for that, Id have no idea where to begin. As it is, I’m still nervous, but I start with a soft smile.
The only child in the town, a female with skin the color of rich soil and wide gray eyes, approaches me cautiously. It’s remarkable how human she appears with her rounded ears and the way she clutches a stuffed dragon. She inches closer, and her gaze lingers on the flower crown on my head.
Without thought for my pale pink dress, I sink to my knees on the dirt path so I’m at eye level with her. “Hi there,” I coo. Her little brow furrows, unsure whether or not to trust me. “My name is Lysandra, but my nieces call me Ly-sa. What’s yours?”
“Reina,” she replies before shoving her thumb into her mouth.
I extend my hands and flowers slowly emerge, twisting around vines until they form a small crown that’s a mirror image of mine. “You know, in the mortal realm, the name Reina means queen.” Her eyes widen. “It looks like you need a crown.”
A smile splits her face, lighting up her features as she takes her thumb from her mouth and grabs the crown, setting it upon black hair. “Mama,” she calls, waving to a woman hovering close by, who has the same gray eyes. “Look!”
Her mother steps forward and dips to her knees, brushing Reina’s hair behind her ears and cupping her face before turning to me. “Princess,” she says warily. “Thank you. Welcome to our village.”
As if the words spur on the rest of the townsfolk, Fae come forward to greet me, some bowing deeply, others offering me a handshake. Most are polite, though a few of the older members are cold while I chat with them. Some ask about the competition or wish me luck, some offer gifts, and a few who have spent time in the mortal realm ask about sports teams, television shows—most of which have been long canceled—or about the state of affairs with the witches.
When the initial crowd clears, Reina insists I walk through the town center with her holding my hand the entire way. Izar and Reina’s mother—Rachael—trail us. Reina chats animatedly in that way only children can do, pointing out the houses of her friends—all fully emerged Fae—and boasting that she’s the only child in the entire village.
“Ooh, this is Baxter’s bakery,” she shrieks, tugging me in the direction of a simple yellow house with an open sign on the door. Delicious smells waft from the open window, the scent of butter and sugar mixed with lemon and blueberry. My stomach growls appreciatively. “He has the best cakes in the entire court. Right, Mama? They’ve even asked him to bake for festivals at the palace. And, sometimes, he’ll give me samples—the ones that cracked in the oven that he doesn’t want to sell.”
I hold the door open for her while Izar and Rachael stop to chat with a pixie. The tinkling bell is the only indication of the little tornado coming for the poor baker.
The bakery isn’t a storefront, but rather a kitchen with a large wood-burning stove and a couple of café-style tables. Countertops that look like stainless steel line two of the walls, and brightly colored paintings of baked goods decorate the others. Besides the lack of a refrigerator and any other electronics, the place seems remarkably human, and a perfect place to indulge in a sweet treat.
“Reina!” the baker exclaims without turning around. He summons a chunk of butter from the air and plops it into a glass bowl. “How do butter cookies sound today, my love?”
Children are so rare in Faerie that they’re considered a blessing, and everyone in town treats Reina like their own daughter. They fawn over her, give her enchanting nicknames, and—according to her mother—spoil her rotten.
Baxter is a stout male with tawny brown skin and brown eyes with flecks of gold that catch the light streaming in through the window. His white apron is smeared with chocolate, and flour dusts his thick brown hair.
“I see you brought a friend to visit,” he says, dipping his head in a bow.
“I’ve heard you have the best cakes in the realm.” I remove a coin purse and extend a gold piece. “I’d love to buy four.”
“Your money is no good here. It’s an honor to serve—”
The words die on his tongue as Izar and Rachael walk inside. Izar stops in his tracks, the door propped against his arm in its attempt to close.
Theres a moment of shock, of parted mouths and slowed breaths, and then an overwhelming warmth that has nothing to do with the stove permeates the kitchen. Magic crackles. Its as if energy streams between the two males in a glorious tether.
“Oh my,” Rachael breathes, her gray eyes welling with tears.
“What’s happening?” Reina asks around a mouthful of cookies she stole off the countertop.
“Something magical.”
The two males start moving closer to each other, that invisible tether urging them closer.
“I…” Izar says, his eyes roving over Baxter. “You’re—”
Im— Baxter stutters.
“My mate.”
“Yes.”
Izar swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he reaches for Baxter’s hands. When he takes them, both males inhale sharply. Hi, they whisper in unison. Baxter chuckles; tears brim on Izars dark lashes.
“We should give you some privacy,” I murmur as Reina’s mom beckons her closer.
“I—” Izar shakes his head. “I was supposed to escort you around the town.” He sounds like he’d rather die than leave the bakery.
“I’ll be fine,” I assure him. “See? I’ve already made a friend.”
“I can protect her, Your Highness!” Reina says, puffing out her chest. Izar nods distractedly and turns back to Baxter, who is smiling shyly.
Reina, her mother, and I leave the shop, and I flip the “open” sign to “closed” before shutting the door behind me. Rachael is crying now, and I can’t help the tear that brims in my eye as well. “I’ve never seen that,” I murmur. “Fated mates are very rare in the mortal realm. I was lucky enough to know a pair, but I didn’t see their mating. That was—”
“It’s the most sacred magic of our realm,” she says, dabbing her tears. “The goddess must be smiling on you to show you such a sight on your first day here.”
After scoring a butter cookie from Reina—which was perfect, crumbly yet moist—I part ways with my new friends. I meander through the town, waving to those who are outside and stopping to chat with a few Fae when I hear a familiar voice.
I follow the dirt path toward a stone cottage that’s a bit larger than the others. The door is painted bright red, which matches the poppies growing underneath the windows. The yard is contained inside a white picket fence.
I round the corner, and there, sitting on a bench with a beautiful female under the shade of a maple tree, is Puck. The female is thin, long, and lean, like most of the elemental Fae I’ve come across in court. Shes fair with a light smattering of freckles on her nose that somehow enhance her appearance—unlike mine, which makes me look like Little Orphan Annie. And her hair is the kind of ruby red that only comes from a bottle in the mortal realm, but I know in my gut is natural.
She laughs at something Puck says, tilting her head back and emitting a musical sound that plays on the wind like chimes. His smile is wide and easy, and he looks at her like she’s the center of his entire world. She says something that makes him light up, and he kisses her knuckles before she interlaces their fingers and keeps his hand on her lap.
I can’t explain the sinking feeling that settles in my gut, why my throat suddenly feels tight, or why I can’t look away.
After another musical laugh, the female’s eyes find mine. Her head tilts in a feline way, and she gives me an inviting smile. My own is weak, and I quickly teleport away before Puck catches me watching him.
Even as I reach the safety of my rooms, I can’t help but replay the way his face looked so carefree. So different than the guarded mask he gives me.