25. Lysandra
“Stop it, you did not,” I howl in laughter. Puck joins in, flashing me a positively criminal smile. “You did not steal a stardust necklace from the Queen of the Night Court.”
“I wouldn’t say steal,” he draws out the last word, and I cackle. “In all honesty, Haiza was all too willing to trade the trinket once she heard I knew gossip about our dear Zahir.”
When we reached the portal, Puck informed me the inn is on the border of Day and Summer Courts. It’s in the lower bit of the mountain range, so while there is some hiking, there won’t be nearly as much as if it was located near my family’s home. And surprisingly, he stayed with me.
I’m covered in red dust from the clay-like stones, and the higher we’ve hiked, the more the trees have dwindled, leaving us without any reprieve from the relentless sun. In half an hour, Puck and I applied a magical sunblock twice. On the positive side, the humidity from the Summer Court has faded, and occasionally, a gentle breeze cools the air
When I was sure I looked like a sweaty disaster, Puck forced us to stop to drink water and eat something—I shared the apples and peanut butter I packed—and he launched into his story of the second trial.
“I know the priestess who performed their marriage ceremony,” he continues. “Zahir wanted there to be a clause about fidelity that would let him take lovers, but keep Haiza loyal. The priestess didn’t like that, so she changed it enough that Zahir wouldn’t catch the difference in the old Fae ceremony.”
“And Haiza didn’t know any of this?”
Puck shakes his head. “She’s always known Zahir is unfaithful, but she had no idea that, if she ever discovered his indiscretions, she was also entitled to an affair.”
“Really?”
He extends a hand down on a particularly tough bit of rock, and I take it, allowing him to pull me up. His hand in mine is oddly natural. It’s soft, not at all calloused or worn, but strong enough to make me want to lean into him.
“For every affair she discovers, she’s allowed one of her own. And since I told her of one in exchange for her necklace...” He shrugs nonchalantly, but I can tell he’s loving the chaos he created. “She was headed to Hades’ sex club when I left.”
“Good for her,” I muse. “Though I’m not sure why Zahir bothered getting married if he didn’t want his wife.”
“From what I remember, Zahir, Izar, and Hades’ parents died very suddenly from a bit of magic that went wrong. I don’t know the details, but Zahir was thrust into a role of power before he was ready. His advisors suggested he marry to secure an alliance with some of the rival families in court and bear heirs as quickly as possible. He didn’t want it—and honestly, I don’t think Haiza wanted it either—but now they’re here.”
“Did the advisors want you to marry?” I ask carefully, ignoring the roaring jealousy that arises at the thought. “Before I arrived?”
“They wouldn’t dare suggest I enter into another magical contract,” he says, his voice dark around the edges.
“So, you never want to get married?”
“It’s not as common here as it is in the mortal realm. There’s no divorce here, so marriage is something entered into very cautiously. If you notice, even Edina and Eldoris are in no rush to get married, and their arrangement started as a way to solidify an alliance.”
The longer he talks, the more my skin crawls. I’m not sure why hearing Puck’s views on marriage makes me want to throw up; it’s not like I want to marry him. It makes perfect sense to avoid marriage—especially since Fae marriages are bound by magic that makes them unbreakable.
Maybe it’s the girl in me. The one who was raised in the mortal realm—who always pictured a ceremony with a large ballgown and hundreds of guests watching me walk down an aisle toward my future.
I shove the feeling aside, and we hike in companionable silence until we come to a clearing with a Victorian-style house with a faded blue sign above the door. It’s quaint, and not at all what I’d expect for an inn in the middle of desert mountains. White, scalloped trim frosts the beams of the house, standing out starkly from the sunshine-yellow paint. There are large bay windows with tinted glass to block out the harshest of the sun’s rays, and a giant wrap-around porch with rocking chairs gently swaying in the breeze.
“That’s the place,” Puck says, halting in his tracks. I’m not sure why he seems upset to see our destination. I, for one, am exhausted and hope our next challenge will take place from a bed. It has to be the late afternoon, and we’ve been trekking around the realm since dawn.
“Off we go, then,” I say, and step forward, only for Puck to snag my arm. The force has me stumbling back into him, bracing myself with my palms against his chest. His green eyes have darkened as he skims my body, lingering over the tight camisole I wear and the leggings that leave little to the imagination.
“We’re still in a truce,” he muses.
“Yes…”
His hands cover mine and his thumb gently brushes against my knuckles. That small contact shoots a bolt of electricity through every bit of my skin. His scent intensifies, sweat mixing with his usual floral scent, and I know he’s aroused. I wet my lips; he tracks the movement.
“We could stay in a truce for a bit longer,” he says. His voice has dipped to a mere rasp, the same tone he used to whisper dirty words in my ear last night.
“I told you; I’m not sleeping with you again.”
“You said no last night too.” His stare is like a brand—hot and forceful—and fuck if I don’t like it.
What’s wrong with me?
“I meant it.” My thoughts have turned hazy, and I struggle to focus on what’s right in front of me as my memory replays every moment from our tryst in the garden. Puck on his knees, eating me out like a man starved, his vines gagging me, the way his cock felt as he used me.
“And yet, you haven’t said the one word that makes everything stop.”
He crowds in, and when I step back, I bump against a tree. It’s a small thing that certainly won’t be able to hold my weight if pressed against it, but somehow I don’t think that matters to Puck. He proved time and again last night he could lift me while he fucked me into oblivion.
“You two gonna come in, or what?” a brash female voice calls.
Puck growls in frustration, and I turn to find a brownie with her hands on her hips. Brownies are a race of Fae that are short in stature and usually have brown skin, hair, or eyes. This particular female has skin the color of oak, and raven hair that’s streaked with dark blue highlights that match her eyes. She wears an apron loosely tied over an aquamarine sundress.
I slip out from Puck’s hold. “Truce is officially over,” I singsong with an exaggerated pout. His hand rubs at his jaw, and he purses his lips to hide a smile as we follow the brownie inside.
The inn is a disaster.
The first floor is an open concept, meaning we can see every inch of the destruction. The living room is covered in soot from a fireplace and the sunny yellow rug that sits before the fire is torn to ribbons. The chairs are all broken; stuffing from the couch cushions is in fluffy white piles. A peek into the kitchen nook tells me it’s in a similar state, with broken plates and burnt food items crusted onto dirty pots and pans. The only place that looks undisturbed is the front desk.
Brownies are notoriously neat, so much so that tales of their cleanliness have made it into mortal lore. The female who showed us inside is twitching with the desire to fix the place. For one of their establishments to be trashed like this…there’s no way this isn’t the challenge.
“As you see,” she says, her voice tight as she tries to focus on me and Puck, rather than the disaster of a room. “We had some rowdy guests check out this morning. You will each have a list of rooms to clean, and when you’re finished, I’ll give you the next clue in your journey.”
She hands me a list with several room numbers as well as the word kitchen. Puck’s scowl as he scans his list would be enough to make me cower, but the brownie seems unphased.
“Inspection of the rooms can be done after individual tasks or all at the end.”
She turns on her heel and sits on a high stool behind the check-in desk, looking seconds away from collapsing into a crying mess.
I start toward the kitchen, trying to figure out where the hell to start.
“How is this a mental challenge?” Puck asks as he walks into the living room. He scoops up the couch cushion innards and deposits them in a nearby garbage can. “The previous ones all required us to think in different ways than we’re comfortable.”
“The last one, especially.” I fill the sink with hot water and soap before dropping the food-encrusted pans in to soak. “Maybe we’ll be lucky this go around.”
I grew up on a farm, I’m used to manual labor. This should be a piece of cake.
I have never been this wrong in my life.
I decided to have the brownie—whose name is Kyra—inspect each room I cleaned as I was done. It took a while for me to sweep up the broken plates, clean the counters, and wash the pans, and while I’d never longed for a dishwasher more, I got it all done.
Or so I thought.
“Inspection failed,” Kyra says, and stomps back to her desk without another word. She didn’t even check everything.
“What failed?” I ask, scanning the pristine area. Not to toot my own horn or anything, but anyone could eat off the tiled floors.
“Would this be a mental challenge if I just told you?” she mocks.
Fuck.
“For the record, Puck’s the one who said that.” She pretends to ignore me, but I see the smile curving the corner of her lips.
Puck didn’t ask for an inspection after he cleaned the living room, opting to get a final assessment when he was done with all his rooms. He’s in for a world of surprise when he comes back and she says the word failed.
I scrutinize every inch of the kitchen, running a gloved finger over every sill, every cabinet door, every inch, but there’s no dirt. What in the hell could—
I freeze when I spot one bead of water in the sink. One drop. Snatching a paper towel, I sop it up and call Kyra back over. “Inspection failed,” she says without leaving her perch.
“Are you kidding me?” I’m ready to flop on the floor. My eyes are starting to burn from the lemon scent of the cleaning solution and the arid mountain air. Sweat is dripping down my back.
And I still have two rooms to go.
I get on all fours and re-scrub the floors, figuring I had to have missed something in the tile grout. I wriggle and shove my body into every crevice—even behind the pantry—looking for any stray piece of dust. When I’m finished, I decide to throw out the sponge I’ve been using, since there’s no way it’ll be clean again.
That’s when I see it.
The garbage.
I didn’t take out the fucking garbage.
I drag the entire can outside so no stray garbage juice gets on my clean floors. Once I’ve dumped the bag in the dumpster on the side of the inn, I scrub down the outside and inside of the can for good measure. When I return the can to the kitchen and replace the bag, I turn back to Kyra. “Inspection passed.”
“Thank the goddess.”
I head upstairs to the honeymoon suite to start cleaning that room, only to run headfirst into Puck, who’s heading downstairs for his final inspection. “What took you so long, princess?” he teases.
I’m too tired to verbally spar with him—or to question why the sight of him in yellow rubber gloves is doing something for me—so I smirk. “Good luck with your inspection,” I call and walk into the room I’m cleaning next.
I’m stripping the bed when I hear Puck’s roar of frustration, and it makes me laugh hard enough that I get a burst of energy.
Until I find a used sex toy, and my fatigue—and disgust—comes back in full force.