19. Lysandra
The pizza party masquerade is a success, and Puck can suck it.
The evening air is cool in the garden, where I decided to host the party, but despite the chill, no one has ventured into the open ballroom. Faerie lights float overhead in long, looping strands that add to the stars twinkling in the night sky. Statuary depicting the different magical races litters the lawn, and fountains are strategically placed so the sound of babbling water underscores the chatter. A centaur plays a light tune on a lyre, providing a relaxed and elegant atmosphere.
The chef from the pizzeria in the Seelie Army Base stands before a brick oven I built beside the palace. I assumed most of the Fae would spurn my idea and stick to the salads or hors doeuvres, but slices are snatched up as soon as the chef sets them out, barely leaving time for them to cool.
The guests have gone all out for the masquerade. Some are using magical glamours to change their appearance, while others have masks that barely cover their eyes. Mine is a simple shape, covering only my eyes, but it changes color depending on who I’m speaking to. I enchanted my dress to do the same, and the result is stunning if I say so myself. My newly found family have forgone the masks completely, but have their beaks out. It’s the first time in ages harpies have attended any kind of society party; everyone seems thrilled to see them, clustering around as my grandmother delights them with stories of the colony.
Puck’s mask is white and covers half of his face—reminding me of Phantom of the Opera. I was hoping the attendees would find the look jarring and sinister, but his charming personality makes it enigmatic and alluring. I haven’t spoken to him, but I cant help but watch as he flirts with what seems like every female courtier.
“Stop scowling,” Larisa murmurs, following my gaze. She’s wearing a golden mask with a giant, black ostrich plume. “This is your party, enjoy it.”
“I’m not scowling. This is just my face.”
She snorts and pointedly scans my dress, which has turned a putrid shade of green—the color of mashed peas or vomit. Behar hides his amusement by wrapping his arm around Larisa’s waist and kissing the butterfly tattoo on her temple. His mask is the opposite of hers—black with a golden feather—and they’re so cute it’s nauseating.
I take her advice and do my best to enjoy myself, grabbing a glass of ale—I insisted on having it at the party to go with the pizza—and mingling with the guests. They praise me on a wonderful party and an even better win—all sentiments they’ve said before, but I politely thank them.
“Are you ready for the challenge tomorrow?” a wispy blonde asks. Her mask is molded to her skin so seamlessly that it looks like she’s made of the fur covering her nose and forehead.
“We’ll find out tonight what it is,” I say. I feel better with a win under my belt, but honestly, the next challenge—the test of our reasoning—could be anything.
The courtiers all speculate, each idea worse than the next until my anxiety starts to show on my face and I excuse myself. I wander over to the oven, and the chef lifts his colorful Venetian mask, leaving it to rest on top of his head.
“Have you eaten, Your Highness?” he asks. He’s a shorter male—close to my height—and his body looks like it was muscular once, but has softened over time. His black hair is peppered with gray and his eyes are kind.
My dress shifts into a buttery yellow. “Not yet.” I was too nervous at the beginning of the party to eat, and then I was pulled in a million directions with hosting duties.
“What’s your fancy?”
“Surprise me.”
While he works, he makes pleasant, casual conversation. Thankfully, he doesn’t mention the trials, instead sharing anecdotes from his time in the mortal realm, including his trip to Venice where he got the very mask that now lies discarded on the grass beside the oven. He jokes enough that I find myself laughing, but I can’t summon the energy to banter with him. I don’t know why; he’s perfectly nice and he’s attractive, but something’s missing.
“I have to hand it to you,” a voice rumbles beside me, making the hair on the back of my neck raise. I don’t have to turn to know it’s Puck. He’s the only one I’ve met in Faerie who can make my body come alive with a handful of words. Even though I was exhausted, I’m fully alert now. “It’s a great party. Everyone loves it.”
“Thanks,” I say, keeping my eyes forward. The chef—whose name escapes me—checks on me briefly before turning back to the oven and removing a Margherita pizza. “That’s my favorite,” I tell him, shamelessly adding a lilt to my voice that wasn’t there before.
“I know. You told me when you came to my shop.”
Puck makes a sound low in his throat, but I ignore him in favor of the pizza, which is way too hot and sticks to the roof of my mouth. It’s still delicious.
Is the sound I make a little too sexual? Probably. Did I do it on purpose? Definitely.
“Glad you like it.” The chef winks and Puck makes that weird sound again. Finally, the chef can’t ignore him anymore and asks, “What can I make you, Puck?”
“It’s Your Majesty,” he snarls.
“For now.”
I choke around the bite in my mouth. Most Fae spend their time bending over backward to accommodate Puck’s ego, even those who claim to support me. This male openly rebuffed him in his own palace.
It instantly makes him more attractive.
“May I have a word?” Puck asks, stepping between me and the chef and giving the male his back. My mask and dress go scarlet.
“I’m not interested,” I say, pushing him aside and taking another slice.
Puck grabs my arm and leans into my ear. “Why are you giving this male false hope?”
“Excuse me?” I shake out of his hold, elbowing him in the process.
“You heard me.”
I get in his face, rising onto my tiptoes. “Some of us prefer talking to people who aren’t trying to sabotage us.” I drop my voice. “And this conversation, with this male, has been the most exciting thing that’s happened to me all week.”
It’s a lie, but he doesn’t need to know that. He especially doesn’t need to know I’ve been thinking of the way he hovered over me during our tango every night this week as I’ve gotten off.
“Everything okay, Your Highness?” the chef asks. He’s rounded the counter and looks thirty seconds from challenging Puck to a duel in my defense.
“All good,” I say sweetly, turning to the male and placing my hand on his arm. “Thank you again for closing the shop to cater to us tonight. We’ll have to do it again soon.”
“I’d be happy to cook for you anytime.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Puck fumes.
“Why are you still here?” I bite, spinning around. “Go somewhere you’re wanted. If you can find such a place.”
The entire party seems to go quiet as my words hang in the air. Puck’s mouth parts and his skin goes as white as his mask.
He looks gutted.
His reaction catches me completely off guard. I assumed hed say something snarky, even potentially flirtatious, dancing that line we usually tread. I dont like the hurt in his eyes, and I especially dont like that Im the one who put it there.
I want to take it back, but I can’t speak. I watch as he grapples with his usual persona, trying to get it back in place but falling short. He looses a humorless laugh. “Always a pleasure, Lysandra.”
It’s the first time he’s said my name.
“Puck—”
He disappears into the crowd like a wraith, leaving me reeling with tears stinging my eyes. I shouldn’t feel guilty. It shouldn’t feel like there’s an anvil crushing my chest. He humiliated me the other day, this was me striking back.
None of the excuses make me feel better.
I’m not this person. I wasn’t raised to be like this. This place has brought out a side of me I don’t like. It’s cruel, vicious, and cutting.
Like your mother, a nasty voice whispers in my mind.
I vaguely register that the chef is saying something, but I don’t hear him. I’m preoccupied dredging up every bad thing I’ve heard about my mother since I arrived, her actions wrapping around my neck like a noose. I’ve worked so hard to prove I’m not her, and here I am, turning into the most hated female in the realm.
Someone clinks a glass of ale, pulling me from my self-deprecating spiral. I have to physically shake my head to clear the cobwebs of those poisonous thoughts until the party comes back into focus.
Devorah steps onto the ridge of a fountain in the center of the garden, one that’s been spelled to glow neon pink. “It’s time to announce the second trial!” her magically amplified voice announces.
I almost drop my now-empty plate. The chef takes it from me, and I nod my thanks before making my way through the throng surrounding the fountain to hear the announcement. “Lysandra, Puck, if you will.” She gestures to an empty patch of grass in front of the monarchs and the rest of the second generation. Puck doesn’t acknowledge my presence as I step up beside him. The silence between us is icy and tense—nothing like our typical spirited rivalry. If anyone notices, they don’t comment.
“The second trial will test your reasoning,” Devorah continues once everyone is in place. “It will push you to the edge of your mental stamina, and test your ability to use cunning and knowledge of the land to survive.
“We’ll begin at dawn tomorrow.” I swear under my breath. This party is meant to go late into the evening, which means I’ll be drained when we start. There’s no doubt that was on purpose. “It will last overnight, but could last as long as three days.”
Three days?How is that possible?
“The challenge tomorrow is a quest.” Everyone whispers and murmurs amongst themselves. “You’ll be given a clue or riddle at the starting line that will lead you to another, and so on. This challenge will take you across the realm, through each court.
“One final thing.” Devorah grins. I fight back my groan. The last time the judges said something like that, the twist was less than favorable. “You’ll need to complete this journey without the use of magic—that includes your wings.”
Are you fucking kidding me?
The murmurs of the crowd are equal parts shocked and excited, but I can’t breathe. How do they expect me to survive without my magic on a realm-wide venture? One of the courts is basically all mountains.
“You will be permitted one bag, which you can fill with supplies. These supplies can be magical, but you won’t be able to enchant any objects once you start your quest. The final clue will contain a riddle that you will be required to answer in order to win, so don’t think you can skip steps by finding the finish line early.
“Because Lysandra won the first trial, if she wins, she’ll be named queen. Do you have any questions?”
I’m in full panic mode. I have no idea how I’m supposed to do this. There’s no way I can carry everything I need. I may be able to get food along the way, but what about a change in clothes? The weather is so different in every court. There’s no way I can wear a heavy coat in Summer Court without getting heat exhaustion, but I can’t waste that kind of space in a pack, and I’ll need it for Winter.
“I’ll see you tomorrow at dawn outside the palace walls.” Devorah steps down from her perch and the crowd disperses, talking animatedly about the challenge.
Hands land on either side of my arms and spin me. In my panic, I must have zoned out, because Puck is nowhere to be seen. Hades stands in front of me, snapping her fingers to get my attention. “Focus,” she barks. “You’ve got this. You’ve studied enough to know more than most of us who were born here. Puck spent a lot of his time in the mortal realm before he was cursed, and then he was attached to Titania in the Spring Court. You can beat him.”
I drop my voice to a frantic whisper. “I’m not built to hike across the fucking realm.”
“I’m sure there will be ways to gain transport,” she assures me. “Worst-case scenario, I’ll give you a map of the underground and all the tunnel entrances. The only court there isn’t an entrance inside is Winter Court, but you’ll be fine there as long as you pack warm clothing.”
“What do I even pack?” I ask, bordering on hysterics.
“We’ll help,” Larisa says, coming up beside me, towing Behar along with her. “We can enchant your pack to shrink items inside, and when you take them out, they’ll return to regular size.”
I’m grateful for the help, but I still feel like the garden is closing in on me. “I need a minute.”
They all nod in understanding. “Let’s meet in an hour in your suite,” Hades says and points around the corner. “Go, be alone in your element for a while, then come back and say your goodbyes.”
She turns me in the direction she was pointing, then urges me forward until I’m staggering away from the party.