29. Lysandra
He left me in a cave.
Naked.
In a fucking cave.
After Puck crossed the finish line, a guard came to wake me. The poor male couldn’t even look me in the eye when he told me I lost. It was humiliating.
What I don’t understand is why. Puck had countless opportunities to leave me behind. He could have left after we defeated the necromancers; he could have chosen not to tell me the location of the inn. Hell, he could have told me the inn was in Day Court, then hiked away from me—it’s not like I’m faster than him. So why, after all that—after he saved my damn life—did he choose to bail?
The palace grounds are littered with Fae when I return, tail between my legs, and freezing from my trip through the wastelands to the portal. I wanted to spend time with my hands in the dirt, using my restored magic to expel some of my frustration, but the only private place I’ve found is the rose garden. So, I opt to ignore everyone and flee to my rooms to lick my wounds.
After a scalding hot shower to remove the remnants of Puck’s scent on my skin, I find a note magically pinned to my vanity.
Your Highness,
I am pleased to inform you that the spare bedroom has been successfully turned into a music room.
I will be by in a few hours to help you prepare for a meeting with the agricultural council.
At your service,
Farah
The room is nothing short of a dream. Shelves line the walls, laden with books of sheet music, guitar picks, extra strings, and all manners of musical accessories. An upright piano sits on one side of the room, and the other has a comfortable-looking leather couch. My favorite is the longest wall, which has a lyre, a ukulele, and three guitars hanging from brackets with oak stools below them.
I grab an acoustic guitar, stroking the slick, varnished body that brings out the mahogany color. The familiar weight of the instrument brings a sense of normalcy I’ve been missing.
In the mortal realm, sometimes working with the earth became a chore. Growing flowers, tending to trees, and even carving rocks became something I had to do, rather than something I wanted to do. In those times, music became the way I processed my feelings.
It’s my solace. My therapy.
Since arriving in Faerie, everything—every day, every interaction, every use of my earth magic—has been about furthering my quest for the crown. I don’t want to think about that today. I want to let myself be carried away by music, to pour my heart into a melody and let it ease my burdens.
After grabbing a pick, I browse the selection of sheet music Farah procured for me. There’s everything from classical Faerie pieces to modern songs I heard on the radio before I left the mortal realm. I decide on a book of songs by a band called Nocturn, which was popular amongst witches and mortals a few years back. Their songs were some of the first I learned on guitar—and it had absolutely nothing to do with the major crush I had on the lead singer.
I balance on the edge of the leather couch and prop the book on a music stand, flipping through until I find a love song with a simple melody. I draw the pick over the strings one at a time, their twang filling the otherwise silent room.
Then, I play.
I don’t sing—though I can—this isn’t about that. I don’t want to focus on lyrics or how I sound. I want to focus on the swell of the music.
Song after song, I play until the book is done, and even then, I keep playing, making up melodies that bleed into each other. My callouses have faded in the past few months, so my fingers hurt after a while, but I lean into the bite of pain to keep me from spiraling into the depths of my thoughts.
Despite my best efforts, I can’t help but replay the events of the trial. I go over everything I said—everything he said to me. It all felt genuine, but I guess it was an act to lull me into complacency.
I’m not sure why I expected anything different. Puck has proved time and time again he’s willing to use trickery and deceit to win. This was what he did when we danced at my mating ball. He acted friendly and I let my guard down; then, he slipped right past it and fucked me over.
I hate that I let him get to me. I hate that he clouded my mind.
Most of all, I hate that I can’t stop thinking about his hands on me, his moans in my ear, or the way he looked at me like I was the most beautiful thing in the realm.
“Easy there.”
As if my thoughts summoned him, I look up to find Puck leaning against the doorway, his hands in his pockets. I hadn’t realized how hard I was strumming the guitar, but the sound coming out is harsh and angry.
“What do you want?” I intend for my words to come out biting, but I sound depleted. I set the instrument aside and stretch, the cracking and popping of my spine an indication that I’ve been hunched over for too long.
“I don’t know,” he says, his cocky mask slipping. “I don’t know why I’m here.”
“Because I need to put a better shield around my rooms,” I snark, returning the guitar to its place on the wall and putting away the music stand.
“I wanted…” he drifts off and runs his hands through his auburn hair. “I wanted to talk to you, but then I heard the music, and…you’re very talented.”
“You heard me play at the labyrinth party,” I remind him, not meeting his eyes as I put away my pick and the music book. I pull another one and bring it over to the piano, hoping he takes a hint and leaves me alone.
“I didn’t listen then.” He stays in the doorway, watching as I roll my shoulders and open to a random song in the book. Of course, the melody is difficult enough that I’m not sure I can play it. Guitar was my passion. The piano was something I learned so I could record full tracks.
“That’s a duet,” Puck says, stepping closer.
I feel his unasked question hanging in the air, but I refuse to acknowledge him again. This is my safe space and I don’t want him tainting it.
I pointedly turn the page to a solo piece.
“I wanted to say…” he drifts off again. “Damn it, will you look at me?”
“No.” I start to play. After a few notes, a shield slides between me and the piano, silencing the instrument no matter how hard I hammer the keys. My hands shake as I pull them off the keyboard and ball them into fists. I don’t turn around.
Puck sighs heavily and sits beside me, forcing me to slide over on the bench lest any part of him touch me. He goes back to the duet, removes the spell, and begins to play the higher part. “Play with me,” he whispers. The song sounds so incomplete without the bass line that it hurts my soul; it’s not meant to have this light soprano without the rich low notes to balance it out.
“Why do you have to bait me?” I ask, turning to the second page before I start playing along with him. “When you lost the first trial, I left you alone. Can’t you give me that same courtesy?”
“You call watching from a tree leaving me alone?” His tempo increases, and I follow suit. I didn’t realize he knew I was there that day, but I stand by my statement.
“I didn’t gloat.”
“I’m not here to gloat.” His magic flips the page. The melody gets increasingly harder, and we both pause our bickering to follow along with the notes. Our parts overlap and our fingers brush, sending sparks skittering through me.
“I’m here to apologize,” Puck whispers as the melody quiets. Somehow, in the crescendo, we got closer, our sides plastered together and our thighs brushing. “I shouldn’t have left you in that cave. I should have—”
He misses a note, the dissonant sound fitting for this moment. Something that could be beautiful, that could work together in perfect harmony, turns sour and ugly.
Abandoning the song, he turns to me, straddling the bench so I’m between his legs. I cross my arms over my chest, shrinking away from him and closing off my body, but I don’t leave. I’m not sure why I don’t leave.
“I know you’re my opponent,” he continues. “And I shouldn’t have to apologize.”
“You came here to tell me you don’t have to apologize?”
“No. Fuck.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Goddess, what are you doing to me?”
“What am I doing to you?”
“I can’t think straight when I’m around you. I lose sight of everything: my past, my future. Everything except you.” His eyes travel over my face like the answers will be written on my skin.
There’s so much in the silence between us. Hurt and anger, desire and longing. It charges the air and makes it hard to breathe. He brushes a stray lock of hair behind my ear. It would be so easy to let him apologize, to sink into his comfort.
“What are you doing to me?” he repeats, focusing on my lips.
He’s going to kiss me.
Puck has seen me naked. He knows what I look like—and sound like—when I come. But he hasn’t kissed me. If he does, I don’t know how I’ll keep hold of my heart.
I can’t fall in love with the male trying to take everything from me.
Time slows as he leans forward, his hold shifting so he can angle my chin. I feel his breath mixing with my own. His wildflower scent wraps around me, muddling my thoughts. His tongue pokes out, swiping a line over his bottom lip, and he’s looking at me like I’m his salvation and his curse.
My palms start sweating.
His eyes drift closed.
“Red.”
For an instant, he simply stares at me, locked in the same position.
“Red,” I repeat, the word barely a whisper.
He drops his hand and straightens, his face contorted in shock. “You said—” he starts and then swallows. A tear slips down my cheek and he reaches to wipe it away but thinks better of it. My chest heaves and my lower lip wobbles.
“What do you need from me?” he asks softly.
“I need you to go.” I don’t bother trying to hide the hurt he’s caused. Not anymore. Let him see. Let him see how leaving me in that cave ended whatever was brewing between us.
He nods, his body shuddering. He leaves without another word.
I don’t move until I hear the door in my suite shut, the resounding click like a death knell. The breath rushes from my lungs and, finally, I allow myself to cry. My body folds in on itself and I brace my hands against the keys of the piano. Not even the notes clanging together hide the sound of my sobs. I try to calm myself, but I can’t.
I’ve never felt so alone in my life.
With every tear I shed, I expel the humiliation of being literally caught with my pants down. I release the disappointment that I was so close to my goal, only to be thwarted because I trusted the one Fae I knew I shouldn’t. I cry for so long that, by the time I’m finished, I’m not even sure why I’m crying.
When my throat is raw and my eyes dry, I stumble toward my room and plop in front of the vanity. I need my friends. My real friends. Not the Fae here who, as much as I want to believe care for me, I can’t trust.
I wave my hand over the mirror and it clouds gray. This spell connects two mirrors; it’s the only way to communicate to the mortal realm from Faerie. I pray to the goddess it’s not too late there as it swirls until it finally pixelates into a picture.
“Aunt Ly-sa!” a small voice calls, and a baby face fills the frame. Her dark hair is in a sloppy braid, and her cheeks are smudged with something red. She waves, jostling her handheld mirror.
“Hi,” I squeak, trying to keep from bursting into tears again. “Oh, my girl, I miss you.”
“Why are you crying?” Lorraine asks, her amber eyes widening like the sight of my tears will cause her to cry. She’s always been such an empathetic child. I wipe my eyes and put on a good face for her.
“I’m just a little homesick,” I say. “I miss you and Misty.”
“I’ll get her!” She drops the mirror so hard I’m worried it’ll shatter. It hangs in a way that I see her little legs running out the door. I hear her say something—probably to her mom—and then she pushes the door open, her sister in her arms, which makes me laugh because her sister is almost the size of her.
“Say hi to Aunt Ly-sa,” Lorraine coos, and the baby babbles. “You can say hi. Say hi.” More baby babble. I watch the shift as Lorraine goes from kind and patient to toddler-level angry. “Say hi!”
“It’s okay, Lorraine,” I laugh. I’m still a little weepy, but seeing them is like a balm for my soul.
“What are you two doing?” Katie’s raspy voice is gentle, even when she’s scolding her children, and she deftly snatches the handheld mirror and props it up before sitting in a chair and wrangling the two girls into her lap. She tuts as she grabs a cloth and cleans Lorraine’s face as the girl wriggles to try and get free.
My friend looks bone-tired and a little green. Her usual silky chestnut brown hair is in a messy bun, and her unique auburn eyes have purple smudges beneath them.
“Girls, are you running your mama ragged?” I tease.
“Not them.” She looks down at her stomach, then says, “Go find Papa.”
The children clamber off her lap in a cacophony of squeals and goodbyes; Lorraine runs out the door while Misty follows on her hands and knees. When they’re gone, Katie flicks the door closed and flops onto the desk.
“What’s going on?” she asks, keeping her head down. “Why is your makeup smeared?”
“Why do you look like you’ve had your first taste of faerie wine?” I redirect.
“Don’t change the subject.”
I run my fingers through my hair. “Distract me for a minute while I get it together enough to tell you the story.”
Her face softens into a placating smile. “I’m pregnant again.”
I clutch my chest. “Katie!”
“No, don’t,” she snaps, holding up her hand. “I’m not ready to celebrate yet. I’m still at the point where I want to kill my mate and his fucking alpha, breeding kink bullshit, but I can’t because I’m nauseous and exhausted.”
I bite my lip to hold in a laugh. I was there when Katie was pregnant with Misty, and while I’m sure some women love the experience, she isn’t one of them. She loves her kids, and her mate—goddess knows they’re all over each other all the time—but being pregnant is something she loathes.
“Your turn,” she prompts. “Is it something to do with the second trial? That was soon, right?”
“It finished. I lost.” I catch her up on the entire ordeal, and when I get to the part where Puck saved me and brought me into a cave, Katie chuckles.
“Did you have to cuddle for body heat?” I roll my eyes, not sure I want to go into every detail, but my friend is observant. “Wait. Did you guys hook up? Is that why you’re upset?”
“Sort of,” I mumble.
“Did he do anything you didn’t want?” Katie demands. “Say the word, and I will murder him so horrifically they’ll talk about it for the rest of eternity.”
“I love it when you’re savage.” She fixes me with a glare, ignoring my attempted levity. “No, I just—” I blow air through my lips.
“Oh.” Her face stretches into a wide smile.
“Oh, what?”
“You’re falling for him,” Katie says in her no-bullshit voice.
“I most certainly am not.”
I end up telling her everything that happened, including our time together in the garden and our conversation this afternoon. When I finish, I say, “I ended it.”
“When you could get hurt.”
“No—
“And now, you’re crying about it.”
Now, it’s my turn to drop my head onto the desk. I know, on some level, I have feelings for Puck, but I don’t trust him enough to love him. He’s burned me too many times for me to ever give myself over to him. My body may want him, but my heart is another thing entirely.
“No,” I say, more confidently than before. “I’m not falling for him. There’s never going to be a scenario where that happens. If I win the trials, he won’t want anything to do with me. And if he wins, it’ll be because he fucked me over in this competition. I can’t forgive him for that.”
There’s a pregnant pause before Katie says, “I’m sorry you’re hurting.”
“Talking through it helped, I think.” I still ache, and there’s still a cloud of melancholy hanging over my head, but I feel better. More like myself—like I can go back to hating Puck and trying to beat him without getting caught up on everything that happened between us physically.
“Want to come hide here for a bit? Edina can grab you on the way. She’s coming here to help with the kids until I can function as a human again.”
“Can’t. I have to save face and show up at his victory event.”
“You should be super petty and bring a date,” she says, eyes sparkling. “What about the chef you told me about?”
“It’s not fair to lead him on when I’m not interested,” I say, and she grumbles her agreement.
“Are you feeling any better?” she asks, and I nod. “Good. Can we circle back to the whole vine-bondage thing? Because holy—
“Your Highness?” Farah knocks on the door and pokes her head inside.
“Have I mentioned you’re goddess-sent, Farah?” I laugh, as Katie wrinkles her nose at the interruption.
“It’s time to get ready,” Farah says without missing a beat.
“Right,” I sigh, turning back to my friend. “Miss you.”
“Call soon,” Katie orders, and I promise her I will. With one final goodbye, I wave my hand, and the mirror fogs, removing her face and leaving only my sallow reflection staring back.
“You have your work cut out for you,” I tell Farah, who squeezes my shoulders.
“Nonsense.” She strokes my hair and gets me ready to be back in public again, erasing the last remnants of this day.