31. Lysandra
After Puck’s victory party, I hightailed it out of the palace and went to visit my grandmother and aunts. I’m still not used to having so much family. It was always just me and my dad—especially after I emerged—but the harpy colony is teeming with people who want to know me. My aunts catch me up on all the realm’s gossip, mostly about Fae I’ve never met. The cousins who have emerged take me on flights around the Day Court, and the ones who haven’t teach me the games they play inside the cave. I even met my grandfather when he stopped by to have lunch.
Coming here was the best decision I could have made. It’s like pressing the reset button. Being with such a large family, some who have been around for centuries and some who are chicks—yes, that’s what they call them—makes me feel like I’m a part of something. Something that will go on forever.
On the third day of crashing on my grandmother’s floor, she wakes me with a pot of coffee and a stern look. There’s not much of a resemblance between us. She’s tall and tanned and has silky black hair, while I’m short and pale and my natural hair color is bright red. But the expression on her face has passed through generations.
“My dad used to call that look my bad news face,” I tell her. “He said that’s what I looked like whenever I failed a test or got into a fight with someone who trampled flowers.”
She takes my hands in hers, leading me over to the small table where we sat during our first meeting. “It’s time to stop hiding,” she says as she methodically pours the coffee and adds cream.
“I’m not hiding,” I mutter like a scolded child, but that’s a lie. Of course, she’s right. I am hiding. I don’t want to face Puck again. Whether I care to admit it or not, he hurt me.
“Don’t lie to your grandmother,” she chides, though her tone is gentle. “You know I love having you here, but you should return to the palace.”
“The last trial isn’t for a bit.
“You have work to do in the meantime. You know what Fae are like. If they sense any weakness, they’ll pounce. It’s time to put on a brave face and show them you can handle adversity.” She extends a thick, black envelope that has a red wax seal stamped with the shape of a three-headed dog. “This arrived for you this morning.”
I know immediately who it’s from; Hades has certainly embraced her nickname and turned it into a brand. Popping open the seal, I read the scrawling red script.
You are invited to the opening party for
The Tartarus Dance Club: An Extension of The Cerberus Sex Club
Tomorrow Evening
Club attire
Open bar
Please note: all explicit sexual activity will be moved to a private room (with or without the option for a voyeur window) and charged the applicable fee.
“What kind of impression could I possibly make at a sex club?” I ask, tossing aside the invitation in favor of my mug.
“Some of the most influential Fae in the realm will be at that party, dancing and drinking and what have you. It’s the perfect time to cement relationships and gather blackmail.”
“Hades won’t let me in the door if she thinks I’ll blab about anything that goes on in her club.”
“But they’ll know you know.” Her lips curl. “Don’t underestimate connections made by mutually assured destruction.”
I snort into my coffee and turn my attention to the sprawling mountainscape outside the window. I hate that the red rocks now remind me of Puck and our time at the inn—a time when we were still in a truce.
My grandmother takes my hand. “Sometimes, the people we care about hurt us. That doesn’t make our feelings go away.”
“That’s not advice.”
“I wish I had some.” She smiles affectionately. “Unfortunately, the position you’re in isn’t a common one. The person you want is standing in the way of something you want just as badly.”
“I don’t want him,” I insist, squaring my shoulders. Maybe if I say it enough, it’ll become true. “I never did. Not really.”
She doesn’t look convinced. We drink the rest of our coffee in weighted silence. I stall, taking the smallest sips I can manage, and while she notices, she doesn’t push.
When every drop has been drained from my mug, my grandmother motions to the door. “It’s time, dear.” I pout but stand and let her enfold me in a warm embrace. “You’re welcome back anytime, but use this place as a sanctuary, not a place to hide.”
“Promise.” I squeeze her a little tighter before letting go. “I’ll be gone in an hour.” She arches an eyebrow and I flash a grin. “That’s how long it will take me to say goodbye to everyone.”
Her laughter is full and loud as I walk down the halls to the main cavern to say goodbye to the rest of my family.
When I return to my suite, there’s a table sitting smack dab in the middle of my entryway with a wooden box in the center. The oak is extraordinarily carved with orchids, my favorite flower. As I run my fingers over the design, they fill with color. Green springs onto the leaves, the petals turn the same shade as my hair, and the background becomes a myriad of pastels that remind me of the sunset in Spring Court. I can’t help the smile that crosses my lips.
The stems of the flowers open the lid of the box. Gentle, tinkling music fills the air, and though I recognize the tune, I can’t place it. Inside is a delicate flower, but when I pull it out, the petals disintegrate until I’m holding the words: I’m sorry.
It’s then I realize what the song is. It’s the duet Puck and I played together.
I snap the lid shut, silencing the melody, and toss the box haphazardly onto the table before banishing them both into thin air. He doesn’t get to assuage his guilt with a box—albeit a pretty box. It’s not enough.
It will only be enough when I’m on the throne, and he bows to me.
I stalk into my bedroom and flick my fingers, sending a ball of magical light into the air. Sitting on the vanity is a note tied in a green ribbon.
I don’t need to read it. I don’t even need to give him the satisfaction of looking at it. I banish the note to the ether with the table and the music box and abandon my bedroom—which smells faintly of him—for the music room.
“Are you fucking kidding me?”
In the center of the room is the most gorgeous guitar I’ve ever seen. I’m not even sure one can call it a guitar, it’s a work of art. The strings are an iridescent material that sparkles in the light, and the wood is a rich cherry color painted with flowers that bloom before my eyes. When I walk over to it, the flowers shrink in the shadow only for night-blooming flowers to replace their counterparts.
“I’ll give him one thing, he’s good with magic.” I’m about to banish the instrument, but something in me halts. My hand practically trembles at the thought of discarding this beautiful thing.
One song. I’ll play it for one song.
There’s a new stack of music books with popular songs in this realm, but I ignore them. Just because I’m playing his instrument doesn’t mean I need to use his music.
The strings are soft but rigid. I pluck one to get a feel if I’ll need a pick.
“By the goddess.” The sound is unlike anything I’ve ever heard. It’s rich and warm and the beautiful notes coat the air. I play a chord and it fills me with joy, the music seeping into my soul. Another chord—this one in a minor key—and I’m overcome with intense dread. I play note after note, chord after chord, and marvel at how each one affects me differently. It’s the most magnificent sound I’ve ever heard.
“It’s the siren scales.”
I look up to find Puck leaning in the doorway. How does he do that? How does he know to sneak in when I’m vulnerable?
And why is he always leaning?
He has to know what he’s doing, that the way he crosses his arms makes his muscles bulge against the button-down shirt he wears, and the angle makes his legs look about eight feet long.
“They line the inside of the guitar,” he continues. I peer through the hole and see the incandescence amidst the darkness. “And the strings are—”
“I don’t care,” I lie. I desperately want to know what makes this guitar so special, but I won’t give him the satisfaction. I still can’t find the strength to banish it, so I summon another bracket and hang the guitar on the wall alongside my others.
“Did you get my note?” Puck asks, sticking his hands in his pockets. The gesture makes him look…insecure. Vulnerable.
“No.”
“You didn’t go in your room yet?”
“I did.” I shrug.
Puck’s face falls. “I’ll give you the gist, then,” he says. “I fucked up, Lysandra. There’s no excuse for what I did. It was cowardly to leave before you woke, and I’ve been kicking myself since the moment I left.”
“No, you haven’t,” I retort. “Because if you have, you would have come back for me. Or you would have stopped after you got your clue on the way back to the portal.”
He looks down in shame. “You’re right,” he agrees. “I should have had the balls to fight it out Fae to Fae.”
I don’t look at him, tracing the neck of the guitar. “I wanted to say that I won’t bother you again, but I’m here if you want to talk…or yell.”
When I look back to the door, he’s gone.
I gawk after him. The longer I stand frozen, staring at the door, the more my anger grows. How dare he come in here and act like he has the moral high ground? If you ever want to talk. Like it’s my fault we’re not talking.
My feet are moving before my brain can say otherwise. I storm out of the room—startling two maids who happened to be walking by—and stomp down the halls. When I reach his room, I fling open the door, ready to tear him a new one.
“He went to the throne room,” Puck’s attendant says, not looking up from his work. I grunt something that could be a thanks before turning on my heel. Each step I take has my rage simmering to a boil. I’ve dealt with the sadness of losing this challenge and the way I lost. Now, I’m livid.
The throne room is in the process of being remodeled, so the doors have been closed since I arrived. I came in once—with an architect to approve some plans—but it was such a mess that I left right away.
My vines wrap around golden handles and yank the heavy doors open with a reverberating clang. I storm inside, ready for a fight.
The marble, which was cracked and in disarray, is now a natural oak wood. The intricate stained-glass windows have been removed and replaced by simple, clear panes and the ceiling is entirely made of glass. Garlands of flowers magically float overhead, matching the flowers blooming outside the windows. It feels like an enchanted garden.
At the front of the room is a throne that’s been carved from crystal. The light illuminates the carved flowers and vines, which glitter and glisten in an array of different colors.
Puck is seated on the throne, hunched over with his elbow propped up and head resting against his knuckles. He looks up when I enter, surprise marring his features.
I conjure a rock and launch it at him.
“What the fuck?” He dissolves the rock with his magic before it careens through the window behind him.
“No,” I boom, pelting him with more rocks. He stands, blocking my assault as he battles his way closer to me. “You don’t get to be the one with the last word. I’m the one who gets the last word because I fucking deserve it.”
“You can have—
“You left me naked in a goddess-damned cave! It would have been more humane to let me freeze in the snow.”
“I know,” he says. I switch to vines, trying to wrap them around his torso, but I’m too angry and unfocused to have any kind of accuracy.
“No, you don’t know.” He reaches me and grabs my hands. No matter how hard I struggle, he holds me at bay. “You have no idea what it was like to have someone I thought…” I cut myself off before I say anything damning.
“Thought what, princess?” he asks, spinning me so my back pressed against his front. I thrash, but he holds fast. “Thought what?”
“It doesn’t matter,” I spit. “I was delusional. The only thing you care about is that.” I gesture to the throne.
“You think that?” Puck asks, releasing me.
“You’ve proved it over and over again.”
I back away from him through the empty room toward the dais. He tracks me, taking in the rigid set of my jaw. Anger has hardened me, erecting an impenetrable wall around my emotions.
The backs of my legs bump against the throne, and without taking my eyes off Puck, I lower myself onto the seat and cross one leg over the other.
His jaw tightens. I return his gaze with a glare hard enough to cut stone.
“Make no mistake,” I enunciate every word so my meaning is clear. “I’m done. Whatever was happening between us is done. Now, this is the only thing I care about.” I lovingly stroke the armrests. The crystal was carved by incredibly talented earth wielders, so it’s so soft it almost feels like it’s cushioned.
“Is that so?” Puck asks, rooted in place.
“You better get used to this view.”
“Oh?” He prowls forward, his long legs devouring the space in too few strides. “You want me on my knees, princess?” I hold my position. He’ll have to pry me out of this fucking chair if he wants me to get up.
He braces one hand on each armrest and leans in close. “You want me to bow?” he asks, his face inches from mine.
My heart rate increases, my face flushes, and my core clenches. Goddess, how does he have this effect on me?
“Yes,” I hiss.
He leans impossibly closer. “No,” he asserts, practically against my lips. “No, princess. The only time I’ll get on my knees for you is when you’re begging me to lick that sweet cunt again. And make no mistake,” he mocks my earlier words, “you will beg me.”
“Don’t hold your breath.”
“I won’t have to. I think you’re close to begging me right now. You may hate me—goddess knows you have reason to—but your body craves me. It wants something only I can give. So, yes. I’ll be here if you want to talk, or listen to my apology, or anything else.” My body comes alive under his slow perusal. “Would you like to get the last word in? Or may I leave?”
“Fuck you.”
“Only when you beg.”
He stays, waiting for me to make a move.
If it had been a week ago, I may have given in to the temptation of his body. If it was a week ago, I would have pulled him between my legs and let him feast on me. I would have submitted to him.
But no matter what my vagina—the traitorous bitch—wants, I don’t trust him anymore. And I can’t submit to him if I don’t trust him.
I stand, almost knocking our heads together before he jumps out of the way. Then, I saunter out of the throne room, swaying my hips, knowing he’s watching. It’s not a verbal last word, but when I feel the brand of his eyes on my ass, I take it as a win.
I exit and run face-first into Hades. I yelp and clutch my chest while she arches an eyebrow. “Don’t you have an empire to run or something?”
“I wanted to make sure you received my invitation.” She glances between me and the throne doors. “And I wanted to ask if you’ll still come if I invite Puck.”
“You can do whatever you want.” I shrug. “What’s the opening for? It’s not the sex club…”
“It’s a dance club—night club, I believe they call them in the mortal realm. But since it’s in the Underground, I encourage a little more…flare.”
“You want people to get horny and rent out the private rooms.”
“Exactly.” She grins. “You’re coming, then?”
I chew on my lip. Maybe this is what I need—a night to let loose and not care about the consequences.
“If you help me decide what to wear.”