34. Lysandra
Puck idly traces lines up my arms as I lie curled into his chest. Our high has long since worn off, but neither of us has mentioned it—or said anything at all—opting to stay in our blissful bubble rather than return to reality. We fucked for most of the night, eventually passing out in each other’s arms. We’ve been lying here ever since.
“How long can we extend this truce?” Puck murmurs, kissing the top of my head. I hum and snuggle closer to him.
“When we leave the room, things will get complicated.”
“That settles it then, we’ll stay in this room forever.”
The sound of that makes me feel light enough to soar around the room. It feels so good to be here with him like this. I know it’s an illusion; I’m seeing the world through rose-colored glasses I’ll have to discard when we leave, but fuck does it feel wonderful.
“At least we have a bathroom,” I joke. “And, as you’ve proven, we can summon food.”
Puck reaches over to the bowl of strawberries he summoned last night and dips a piece of fruit in whipped cream. When I don’t raise my head to take a bite, he bops me on the nose, leaving a dollop of cream on my face.
“How dare you?” I gasp, sitting up in feigned shock. Puck’s laugh is full and infectious. He grips my chin and kisses my nose, transferring the whipped cream to his lips before popping the strawberry in his mouth. “I should dump that whole bowl on you.”
“Only if you’re offering to lick it up, princess.” He waggles his eyebrows. I try to keep a scowl on my face, but it’s a lost cause. Playful Puck is entirely too cute. As soon as I crack a smile, he pulls me into a kiss, flipping us over so he’s hovering over me.
“We’re seriously never leaving this room,” he murmurs, his hands skimming the length of my body as he kisses down my neck. I bloom under his reverent touch, my legs falling open of their own accord so he can slot himself between them.
“We’d rack up quite the bill with Hades.”
He nips the magical spot between my neck and shoulder that makes me wet. “We can afford it. We’re royalty.”
Both of us still. We’re royalty. Those two, simple words are all it takes to grab the rose-colored glasses off my face and smash them on the ground. We didn’t even have to leave the room for our problems to catch up with us.
The reality is that Puck and I can never have anything while we’re at odds with each other. And since neither of us will concede the throne, we’ve been doomed from the start.
He sighs and drops his forehead between my breasts. This is over, our bubble is popping, and soon we’ll go back to life as we know it: getting ready for the final trial. It doesn’t matter how much I want to preserve this moment, it’s already gone.
“We should get going,” I say. Puck rolls off me, staring at the ceiling as I clutch the sheet to my body. There’s something too vulnerable at letting him see me naked right now.
“Are you still angry at me?” he asks softly.
“Yes. No.” I scrub my hand over my face. “I don’t know.”
“I can work with that.”
I stand, but he catches my hand and yanks me back onto the bed. His kiss is long and slow. It tastes like goodbye. I linger in it for too long, letting it whisper promises that can never come to pass.
After I break away with a regretful smile, I file away the memory of waking up in Puck’s arms for a day when I need it, and we get out of bed. We barely look at each other as we get dressed, though once I see Puck summon a new shirt, I follow his lead and summon new clothes as well—no need to do a complete walk of shame.
“One second,” Puck says, standing in front of the door and taking my hands in his. “Hypothetically…what if we needed another truce?”
The roguish look he gives me makes my toes curl. I lick my lips and shrug. “When would one need that truce? Hypothetically.”
Puck feigns contemplation. “I guess, maybe tonight?”
“Tonight,” I echo, trying not to sound as excited as I feel. Because I feel like I’m pumped full of helium and am about to float away.
“It’s necessary.” He pulls me against him, and I can already feel his hardening cock. “And it’s your fault.”
“My fault?”
His hands drift down to cup my ass. “How do you expect me to function when you wear pants like this?” His hand slides into the back pocket of my jeans and he pulls me up to kiss him. This one has no trace of goodbye. It’s a promise. A promise of all the filthy things he’ll do to me tonight if I let him.
“You’re fascinated with my ass,” I murmur, and he swats it playfully.
“I’m fascinated with every part of you, princess.”
He melts me with another kiss, and every objection I might have had is completely erased. I can already tell this will come back to bite me, but it feels too good for me to care.
“We keep this quiet,” I assert. “It’s too complicated for anyone to know.”
“Whatever you want.”
“Then I’ll come to your room tonight,” I say quietly.
With one last kiss, we walk out of the sex club in search of the portal.
We don’t see a soul as we leave Hades’ club together and get in the portal, but we decide to take separate exits so we won’t be seen arriving at the palace together. Except we both teleport back at the same time, landing in front of the drawbridge beside each other.
“I thought you were going to your room,” I whisper-shout when I land.
“I thought you were going to your room,” he mocks, imitating my tone.
“I wanted to go to our garden for a bit.” Puck latches onto the word our like a bloodhound with a scent. “I didn’t mean—”
“No, no.” His smile is brilliant and entirely too friendly considering we agreed to go back to normal. “You called it our garden. As in, it belongs to us both.”
“You’re insufferable.” I stalk over the wooden planks and pass under the archway of the palace wall. I love this arch; its covered in ivy and faerie lights so it looks more like a mythical portal than a doorway. “You could have at least teleported inside the walls.”
He ignores me. “My dear Lysandra, why would you feel the need to go back to a place that belongs to us both? Are you feeling nostalgic for when I hate fucked you against the wall? Because if that’s the case, we can end our truce early and—
“So glad you could both join us.” Zahir’s droning voice makes me jump about a mile into the air, and Puck angles his body protectively in front of me.
An entire crowd of Fae are waiting for us in the shade of the wall—all of whom may or may not have heard Puck talking about hate fucking me.
Wonderful.
The crowd is composed of the monarchs, the trial judges, and the rest of the second generation—the latter of which look worse for wear. Larisa’s eyes are glazed; Radley has multiple hickeys, though the V-neck he’s wearing suggests he wants them on display. Even Hades, who is always immaculately put together, is without her signature red lipstick. The only one who looks unruffled is Devorah, who is wearing her white judges robes.
“It’s time to announce the next trial,” she announces, pursing her lips to hide her amusement.
Did she hear us talking? Hades knows everything—there’s no way someone goes into one of her rooms without her knowledge—but I trust her to keep quiet. The rest are assessing us, but there’s no outright judgment from anyone other than Zahir, who looks like he’s taking a massive shit.
At least Puck and I didn’t arrive in last night’s clothes. I’ve never been more thankful that I can summon things out of thin air.
My eyes flit to Puck’s for a brief second, and I find it hard not to smile at the mischievous glint in his eye. There’s nothing subtle about the way he looks at me—like he wants to swallow me whole. Eye fucking me in front of the monarchs is definitely not keeping things quiet.
“As you know, the two of you are tied going into the final round,” Raul continues. “So, the winner of this next trial will win the crown.”
“The final trial is meant to test your bravery,” Devorah says. “And we’ll do this with a duel.”
I tamp down the urge to whoop. Katie trained me in dueling, making sure I could not only beat her but everyone in the army, including vampires and werewolves.
I can do this. I can win a duel.
“You’ll face a Fae with similar magical prowess,” Celesta says, leaving me to surmise that it won’t necessarily be someone with the same kind of magic, but someone equal in power and strength. “Summoning is prohibited, but you will be given the choice of one weapon.” I shrug at that; there’s not much I can’t make with my earth magic if I need to.
Puck has grown serious, and I glance over to see him calculating his next steps. He doesn’t meet my eyes, apparently back to being my competitor.
For now. Until tonight.
“The duel will end when someone yields, is knocked unconscious, or dies,” Devorah finishes.
Did she just say dies?
The blood drains from my face, and I search the crowd of monarchs for any hint that they’re joking. They’re all stone-faced.
Puck asks, “Are we seriously fighting to the death?”
“If it comes to that,” Gwyneira says coolly.
By the goddess. I know they want to test our bravery—and no doubt our conviction—but do they really expect us to kill for the chance to rule?
Of course, they do. They’re Fae. Cruelty is in their blood.
“You will have two weeks to train and prepare yourself,” Devorah says, and I inwardly swear. That’s so much buildup; so much time. A lot can happen in two weeks in Faerie, and that terrifies me more than the trial itself.
“Good luck. We’ll see you then.”
Seven Days Later
“Fuck the goddess and the horse she rode in on,” I bemoan, curling in on myself until I’m as small as I can get.
During training, I got my period. I knew it instantly, as if a dark cloud of doom descended on my uterus.
When I was staying with my grandmother, she told me my menstruation might behave oddly in Faerie since I’m a hybrid of elemental Fae, harpy, and human. In the mortal realm, I always took a birth control tonic to lessen my cramps, but I hadn’t thought to ask for it since I’ve been here. My last dosage wore off, so now I’m doubled over on the leather couch in the music room while Farah hunts down the palace healer to make my damn tonic.
“Princess?”
Fuck, no.
I am not in the mood to see Puck tonight.
Since we arrived back at the palace, we’ve spent our days training, schmoozing courtiers, and running the court. Then, every night, we call a truce—which means we’ve fucked on every surface in my suite and his. But there’s no way in hell I can have sex tonight. Even if he had no issue with period sex, I’m in too much pain.
I groan and roll to face the back of the couch, trying to become one with the furniture.
“What’s wrong?” Puck’s voice is panicked.
“Nothing. But I—” The pain takes that moment to not only throb in my center but radiate through my back. “Just…no truce tonight.”
Puck doesn’t respond, and for a second, I think he left until I hear the flap of wings. When I open my eyes, he’s perched on top of the couch like a bird. His legs are tucked under his body and he leans as close to me as he can without toppling over.
“What’s wrong?” He’s not panicked anymore; he seems angry. His emerald-green eyes have darkened, and his jaw tics so hard I wonder how he doesn’t crack a tooth. But his anger isn’t directed at me; its like he’s mad at whatever had the audacity to make me hurt.
It’s oddly sweet.
“It’s just cramps,” I say, holding my tender abdomen. His brow furrows. “I have my period.”
“Oh.”
Then, he flies off my couch and disappears through the door to the music room. “What the hell?” I call after him. There’s nothing but quiet.
I lower my head and close my eyes. What was that? Did the mention of my period scare him? I swear to the goddess, males are the same everywhere. They can face down an army of literal zombies, but the mention of shedding endometrial lining sends them running—
I’m suddenly lifted in the air. I yelp and thrash in an attempt to get loose from whoever plucked me from my couch sanctuary.
“Easy, princess,” Puck says as he maneuvers me so I’m bridal style in his arms. I’m too stunned at his presence to fight when he carries me across the sitting room, through my bedroom, and into the ensuite.
Candlelight flickers against the white tiles, filling the bathroom with a warm glow. The clawfoot tub is filled with water that releases lavender-scented steam into the air and magical bubbles that don’t pop. Flower petals are scattered around the floor and countertops, turning the space into a mini-oasis.
I’m speechless.
Puck sets me on my feet and starts taking off my clothes. When I’m completely naked, he cups my cheeks in his hands and kisses me sweetly. “Did you think I’d leave you when you’re in pain?”
I blame my hormones for my watering eyes and wobbling lower lip.
He guides me to the tub and helps me in. The mix of the warm water and the lavender scent relaxes me quickly, the spasms in my abdomen subsiding slightly. After dipping under the surface to wet my hair, I find Puck standing at the edge in only a pair of boxer briefs.
“Are you coming in?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “This is for you, princess.”
“Then why—”
“Come here.” He sits on the edge of the tub, sticking his legs into the water. I scoot closer. He motions for me to turn around, and after I do, starts rubbing my back. I moan as he slowly works down my shoulder blades, kneading and massaging the knots in my muscles. He continues all the way down, beneath the surface of the water to my lower back.
“While I was getting this ready, Farah said the healer would be by in a bit,” Puck says, kissing my temple as his fingers travel forward and he begins to massage my stomach. “There was some stupid emergency. Someone got trampled by a centaur—
“How dare they?” I quip.
“—and I didn’t want you to be in pain while you waited. I also asked Darient to run to the army base to get that pizza you like.” His voice turns gritty at the mention of the pizzeria, which only makes me laugh. “And the chef is making chocolate cake.”
“You didn’t have to do this.” I lean back so my head is against his chest. He answers with a kiss to my temple.
This is dangerous. My heart is thudding against my ribcage harder than when I was on Euphie. Puck did all this for me. He could have left; he doesn’t owe me anything. We’ve been glorified fuck buddies for the past week, but that doesn’t indebt him to me.
I’m in so much trouble.
We sit in companionable silence. Even if I wanted to focus on my anxiety about the way Puck makes me feel, his fingers are magical and knead away my worries. When I tell him as such, he laughs and says, “You already know my fingers are magic.”
Heat builds low in my belly, but not because Puck is doing anything sexual. Simply because having this male’s hands on me makes me insatiable.
“Stop that,” he murmurs, kissing the sensitive skin beneath my ear.
“Stop what?” I take his hands and move them lower on my body.
“If you want me to take care of you, Lysandra—” fuck, I love it when he says my name, “—I will. You know I will. But if it’s going to make you hurt afterward, you need to stop.”
I huff. He’s right. I know, for some, that orgasms help with period cramps but they always make me feel worse. I release his hands, which he uses to tilt my chin to the side so he can kiss me.
“Your Highness.” Farah knocks on the bathroom door. “There’s pizza and a tonic here for you when you’re done.”
“Thank you, Farah,” I respond, snuggling back into Puck’s hold. “Will you stay for pizza?”
“I’ll stay all night if you want.”
“I’m not sure I’ll be up for sex, even after the tonic.”
“Then, we’ll talk. And play music. And I’ll hold you,” he says like it’s the simplest answer in the entire realm.
I turn in the water, rising onto my knees so I’m closer to his face. “I’d like that.”
So, that’s what we do. We eat pizza and chocolate cake, we fight over which songs to play—him on the piano, me on the guitar—and we fall asleep tangled up in each other’s arms.
And when I wake the next morning with Puck spooning me, I know—without a doubt—I am completely and totally fucked.