17. Puck
I’m hiding.
Lysandra’s ball is in full swing in the ballroom next door, but I can’t seem to drag my ass out of the throne room. Part of the mating ball tradition is that everyone in the realm comes—if only for small amounts of time—to see if they are the princess’ mate. I already know who my mate is. There’s no reason for me to be there other than political gain, but these Fae will only bring up my loss in the trial today. They’ll taunt and ridicule me, and I don’t have it in me to be tormented about my failures.
The boisterous music coming through the walls is such a contrast to the somber quiet of the broken chamber. After I was freed, I demolished every room that reminded me of Titania. The throne room is the last to be repaired. The marble is cracked—my handiwork one day when I stumbled in here drunk and decided it needed to go—the thrones are little more than kindling, and the pendants that hung from the rafters are in tatters.
“Thought I’d find you in here.” Edina ambles into the room, her long tulle skirt seamlessly avoiding the larger cracks in the flooring.
I perform a spell to refill my tumbler and toast her, downing the majority of it in one long swig before refilling it again. She sighs and sits beside me on the dais, one of the only places that’s not falling apart. “Glad to see your pity party has alcohol now. A super healthy choice, if I say so myself.”
I want to say she’s one to talk, but her disappearance into a bottle was my fault, and lashing out would only make me even more of a dick. “I don’t know why I have to go to this.”
“You sound like a teenager.”
“So what?” She arches an unimpressed eyebrow. “I wasn’t supposed to lose today, Edina. I was supposed to kick her ass at the first two trials so we didn’t need to have the third. I have no safety net now. If I lose—”
“Okay, yeah.” She moves to stand in front of me. “If you lose the next one, it’ll suck. But right now, you need to put your game face on and go out there.”
“They’re going to mock me.”
“Probably. But you’ll laugh it off—maybe tell the story about how Radley fucked a dryad—and get them back on your side. Because this—” She gestures up and down my entire body. “They will eat you alive if you show them this kind of weakness. And it will only be worse if you dont show your face tonight.”
My eyes lift to meet hers, and they’re shining with such sincerity it almost cleaves my chest in half. “Youre right.
“I know.” She extends her hand. “Now get off your ass, show them you’re not a sore loser, and dance with Lysandra.”
“What?” I say, pulling my hand back. “Are you out of your mind?”
“You need to prove you’re the bigger male. Because even if you win the crown, she’s still a princess and will be in your court. The other monarchs and courtiers need to believe you’re willing to accept her.” She bounces her hand until I take it. I let her pull me to my feet. “Leave the whiskey.”
I banish the tumbler and Edina fixes my tie while I smooth back my hair. “I’m not sure what I did to deserve your friendship,” I murmur.
“I know, I’m amazing.” She lightly pats my cheek. “Now, go charm them into forgetting your epic loss today.” Edina smacks my ass, making me laugh as I enter the ballroom.
Several heads turn as I walk in, and I’m about to say something to Edina when I realize she hasn’t followed me. Damn, shes good. She wants it to look like I came on my own rather than having to be dragged by my friend. Very clever.
The ballroom—decorated in gold tones that scream opulence—is divided into two clear sections tonight. One side consists of tables with large centerpieces of white hydrangeas, roses, and lilies, where the royals and other higher-ranking members of the courts sit. The other side is standing room only. The wall of glass doors is thrown open to the palace grounds so sentries can bring in groups of Fae from all races and status levels. Each group stays long enough for a drink or two—maybe a dance—before being ushered out to make way for the next. If Lysandra’s mate is in Faerie, by the end of the evening, she’ll know.
Between the two sections of the ballroom is a dance floor filled with couples whirling together in unspoken synchronicity to traditional Faerie songs played by a small orchestra.
I stop at the first table, a group from my court, and schmooze them for a while. As predicted, they joke about the loss today, but I take Edina’s advice and play it off as bad luck, promising I’ll win the next one.
Table by table, I win over the crowd with anecdotes and lighthearted conversation, all while Lysandra is passed around on the dance floor. I’ve only looked at her once. Maybe twice. Fine, I keep finding excuses to look over there.
The ninth time I look over, shes dancing with a male I don’t recognize. He has golden blonde hair and kind brown eyes. His face is young, and his ears are rounded—which either means he’s yet to emerge or he’s half-human—but he’s tall and very broad. Seriously, it looks like the seams of his tuxedo will burst if he raises his arms too high. Lysandra is leaning in a little too closely, its almost…intimate.
Who the hell is he?
I’m mid-conversation with a male angling to be my future advisor when my legs involuntarily carry me across the ballroom. I stop directly behind Lysandra. “May I cut in?” Her entire body stiffens, but she doesn’t turn around, so I turn my attention to the male. “I don’t believe we’ve been introduced,” I say, sticking my hand out for the male. “I’m Puck.”
“I—yes, I know, Your Majesty,” he stammers and drops Lysandra’s hand in favor of shaking mine. “My name’s Persey. Well, that’s my nickname, but that’s what everyone calls me because honestly, my full name is a little embarrassing. You see, my mother was told I’d be female and she loved the name so much that she kept it, even when I was born a male and—”
“That’s nice, Patty.” I put my hand on the small of Lysandra’s back. “If you don’t mind—”
“Oh, yes, of course, Your Majesty.” He awkwardly bows and scuttles toward the courtier side of the dance floor, bumping into Izar and his mate in the process.
“Who in goddess’ name is that?” I ask, watching as he almost takes out a server with an entire tray of entrées.
“My mate.”
My head swivels to Lysandra so quickly that my neck cracks. Her expression is hard for a moment before she breaks with a smile. “Joking,” she says, her laughter light and teasing. “He hasn’t even emerged yet. He’s only here because he’s the son of someone on our agricultural council. But you should have seen your face.”
She steps into me, placing one hand on my shoulder. Her body is close enough that her breasts brush against my chest. She looks up at me through long lashes, her brown eyes blinking earnestly. “Well?” she says, but I’m frozen. The traces of malice in her typical expression are missing, and it makes her look so…
Beautiful isn’t a strong enough word.
Devastating.
Ethereal.
Trouble.
It makes her look like trouble.
She takes my hand in hers, and it’s then I remember where we are—on a dance floor surrounded by Fae watching our every move. My hand wraps around her waist and we begin to sway to the soft melody.
For a few measures, we’re silent, Lysandra following my lead beautifully as I try not to think about how her soft body conforms to mine like it was meant to be there.
“No luck with your mate, then?” I ask at the same time Lysandra says, “Tough loss today.”
Her eyes narrow like she’s about to rise to my bait, but I’m not in the mood to verbally spar with her tonight. I offer a soft smile and say, “From what I heard, you were magnificent today.”
“I—what?” she balks.
“I can give credit where credit is due. My team was…let’s say, difficult to wrangle.”
“So, you’re saying I had it easier?” she snaps.
“For fuck’s sake, princess. I’m trying to pay you a compliment.”
Her features pinch, searching for a trap. “Well, thank you.” She looks down, avoiding me. “And no, it appears I don’t have a mate.”
“Yet,” I offer.
Her smile doesn’t reach her eyes, and I find myself wanting to wipe that look from her face—to erase it so she never feels whatever pain is brewing beneath the surface. “What are you planning for your victory celebration?” I ask.
That does it.
She lights up, her eyes sparkling in the soft candlelight. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
“Yes, that’s why I asked.”
It’s not a full laugh, but it’s something. The music ends and another male approaches, but I scowl over Lysandra’s shoulder, and he hastily bows and runs away. I motion to the orchestra, and they play a similarly slow song at my urging. Lysandra watches the whole thing with thinly veiled amusement.
“So, your party?” I urge.
She tugs a plump lip between her teeth and leans in even closer. I bend so she can whisper in my ear, and her cherry blossom scent envelops me. I want to bury my nose in her skin, to find out if she tastes as sweet. “I’m throwing a pizza party.”
“What?” I ask, pulling back.
This time, her smile is so wide it reveals a dimple on her cheek. Just one, but goddess, it’s perfect. It makes her look so innocent. I suppose she is; she’s shy of thirty and not yet hardened by Faerie, but right now, the optimism of her age is apparent and so alluring.
“I’m going to build a brick oven in one of the gardens. Edina said there’s a pizzeria in the Seelie Army base, and she promised to take me so I can speak with the chef. He spent some time in Italy, and it’s the best pizza Edina has ever had.”
“The courtiers will love that,” I deadpan. When Oberon was king, we used to have feasts of roast pork, turkey legs as large as our heads, and other rich dishes. But Titania tried to scale up the cuisine by serving fancy dishes with portion sizes better suited to pixies. The courtiers, in turn, became food snobs.
“I’ll serve salads too, but I want carbs,” she chuckles, and I find myself laughing along with her. “And it’s going to be a masquerade.”
I groan, which makes her laugh even louder. “You just want me to cover up my pretty face so you’re not tempted,” I tease.
“Sure, that’s it.”
“I can think of no other reason.”
Her chuckle is breathy and reminds me of the way she moaned my name last night. It has my cock stirring in my pants. “There’s something romantic about a masked ball that gives you a freedom you wouldn’t have otherwise. Freedom to act on forbidden desires.”
Fuck. Me.
The air between us shifts, crackling with energy, and the playful banter turns heated. Her gaze is like a caress, leaving goosebumps in its wake as it travels up my chest, and my neck, before settling on my face. I’m rock hard now, and it’s certainly not helped by the fact that her quick breaths are thrusting her cleavage up higher, to the point where her breasts are practically spilling out of her corset. I swallow, and she watches my throat bob with hungry eyes.
I may hate her and all she stands for, but there’s no doubt I want to fuck Lysandra. The thought of dragging her into the ruined throne room and having her ride my cock is hard to ignore.
“Well, when you put it like that,” I purr. Once again, she bites her bottom lip. Before I can think of what I’m doing, I lift my thumb and pull the flesh from her teeth. Her breath hitches as I linger, gripping her chin and keeping her steady.
I’m not going to kiss her. It doesn’t matter that she’s looking at me with those wide brown eyes, begging for it. I’m not going to do that. Kissing her would be an admission of defeat. It would mean she’s sunken so far into my skin that she’s affected my rationality and my ability to rule.
And if I do kiss her, it’s certainly not going to be in front of a crowd. It would be in private, where I could ravage her mouth and then her body.
But it’s not going to happen.
The music shifts to something a bit more carnal. The steps require me to pull Lysandra fully against my body as our legs intertwine with choreography. It’s a similar dance to a tango in the mortal realm. She gasps when I dip her, lowering my body along with hers so I hover above her. It’s impossible not to think of how perfect she would look beneath me, her body open and welcoming as I pound into her.
There’s a loud cough nearby, and I look up to find Edina and Eldoris beside me. They’re in a similar position, except Edina is obnoxiously giving me a thumbs-up.
I ignore her, turning back to Lysandra, who’s seen the entire thing. When I raise us both, her face has returned to its usual, immovable mask. “So, this was just an act.” It’s not a question, but she looks at me like she can glean the answer from my face.
I could go one of two ways with the answer. I meant for this to be an act for everyone watching, for them to think I was able to charm my enemy and thus would be able to work with even the toughest of allies. Except, I lost sight of that task when we started dancing, the moment I became entranced in our conversation.
Both are honest.
One protects my ego. And my heart.
I give her a sardonic smirk, letting the mischief I’m known for contort my face into a mask better than one I’ll don for her masquerade. Leaning in closer, I whisper, “Of course.”
Her hand grips mine hard enough to crush bone, and all familiarity—all friendship—disappears.
“Now now, princess,” I chide. “Fae are watching. You wouldn’t want them to think I’ve gotten under your skin.” Like you’ve gotten under mine.
Her foot, spiked heel and all, stomps on my foot. I wince in pain as she removes it and apologizes, her tone so sweet it makes my teeth ache. I keep her close after that, my fingers biting into her hip with enough force to leave a mark. I don’t examine why I love the thought of that; if she takes someone to her bed tonight, they’ll see proof I was here, holding her, marking her as my own.
“I despise you,” she grits through a forced smile, doing a kick that’s part of the dance. It comes entirely too close to my balls for comfort.
“Welcome to the fucking club.”
The song finally ends, and the couples pull apart, clapping for the orchestra. When the applause quiets, I take Lysandra’s hand and bend low, kissing her knuckles. “You look beautiful tonight, princess,” I say loud enough for everyone in the vicinity to hear me. “Thank you for the dance.”
I turn on my heel to return to my table, but I feel her gaze following me all the while. Her seething anger burns like a brand on my back. It only makes me smile wider.
I’ve grown comfortable with her hate. I can handle it.
What happened on that dance floor, though…I’m not sure I can handle that.