38. Lysandra
Puck is the only thing I can think about as what feels like every Fae in the realm congratulates me. Multiple times, I try to politely excuse myself, but someone always blocks my way out. After Gwyneira gives me a look cold enough to freeze hell, I stop trying.
When I finally return to the palace hours later, my feet hurt and I’m sweaty and depleted, but I need answers. I need to know if Puck’s words were true.
I’ve loved you since the moment you tied me to that damn hedge in the maze, it just took me a long time to realize it. I can’t imagine the rest of this life without you in it.
I knock on his door and wait. No response. “Puck?” I knock again. The door opens a crack, and I push it wider. “Puck, can we please talk—”
The room is empty.
Not completely, but all the important things are gone. The books have been cleared from the built-in shelves, the bar cart is absent, and the deck of cards we left on the coffee table after a game of strip poker is missing. He even removed the tree in the spare bedroom where he suspended me with vines, leaving behind only the blanket we used for aftercare on the oak wood floors.
I meander into his bedroom, looking for a note or something that might have the answers I seek. It looks the same as the last night we spent here. The windows are open, a breeze fluttering the half-open curtains and casting light onto the mural of the Varesen Forest behind his headboard. The sheets are rumpled and a towel was tossed haphazardly on the chair before the vanity, but the wardrobe is devoid of clothing and the potted plants that littered the floor are missing.
It still smells like Puck—that unique blend of wildflowers and leather—and memories of our time together bombard me. It wasn’t just about the sex, or the fact that we were so attracted to each other that we needed an outlet. We talked and laughed. We played games and ate meals. We were…happy.
And he left.
I’m not going to fight you.
But I want him to fight me. I want to talk this through without thousands of Fae watching us. I want to know if, despite everything, he was being honest.
I want to know if I made a mistake.
Because seeing his stuff cleared out feels like I made a mistake. It feels like the loss of a limb, like something I always thought I’d have is just gone and has left a hole in its wake.
You’ve won, Lysandra.
“He left right after the trial,” Farah says, startling me. I meet her warm brown eyes, and she gives me a gentle, knowing smile. “He had the servants help so he wouldn’t be in your way.”
“I thought the monarchs made him vow to be my advisor. I trail my fingers over the empty vanity. The tinctures and salves and other skin care items he had were the subject of my relentless teasing for weeks—until he confessed it was a routine that kept him grounded during his time under my mother’s thumb. It was one of the only times he confided in me about that period of his life.
“He still wont stay in the king’s rooms,” she says. It makes sense, but it doesn’t stop the growing tightness in my chest. I scrub it with my hand, trying in vain to ease the ache.
Maybe my instincts in the arena were right, and he was trying to deceive me. Or maybe I hurt him so badly he can’t stand to see me.
The lack of knowing is going to drive me insane.
“May I ask what happened?” Farah asks. “Not even the werewolves or vampyres with their enhanced hearing could make out what you were saying.”
“Puck tricked me,” I say, but the words feel wrong as they come out. “Or, I think he did…I’m not sure.”
I tell her the story. I tell her about the way his eyes sparkled with the possibility of leaving together, every earth-shattering word he said, and my decision to go with him, only for him to call forth his magic. I tell her about the feeling of betrayal and how I reacted to protect myself. And finally, I tell her about the unfiltered hurt on his face, and my immediate uncertainty.
Farah listens dutifully, nodding along but keeping her face stoic and not letting me read into her emotions.
When I finally finish, she sighs. “I’m not sure what his motives were,” she says carefully. “But regardless, I think he loves you.”
“He doesn’t—”
“Why couldn’t he? You’re beautiful and smart; funny and kind. You’re a catch and everyone in this realm knows it.”
“My mother—”
“Isn’t you.” She takes my hands in hers. “And Puck knows this. He may have blamed you for her sins when you first arrived, but you proved you are nothing like your mother, and he saw that.
“I’ve watched him with you,” she continues. “Even when you both claimed to hate each other, he was drawn to you. And since the second trial…by the goddess, he was besotted with you. That male looked ready to lay the realm at your feet if you asked him to. There’s no doubt in my mind he’s in love with you. And, if I may be so bold, I believe you’re in love with him too.”
I dont know how to respond. For a second earlier, when I let my heart take the lead, I was ready to give up everything for Puck. I know I have feelings for him, but they’re mixed with hurt and betrayal, and I can’t make heads or tails which is real.
“You don’t think he was saying it to trick me?” I ask.
“No, I don’t.”
“You think he loves me?” My lower lip wobbles.
“Oh, Your Highness.” Farah comes over to me, and I dissolve into tears. Her hug feels like that of a mother’s, warm and comforting, so I bury my head in her shoulder and cry. She doesn’t rush me or offer platitudes; she just rubs my back and makes calming sounds while I get tears and snot all over her tunic.
“I don’t know what to do,” I sob into her shoulder. “Farah, what do I do?”
“Do you want to be with Puck?” she asks, stroking my hair.
“Yes.” I pull away to look her in the eyes.
“Then first, you accept the crown you were born for. After that, you find a way to get him.”
“I don’t think it’s that easy.”
“Love never is.” She steps away. “You should get some rest. Your victory ball is tonight and then you have only a few days to prepare for the coronation ceremony.”
I don’t think the strongest sleeping tonic in the realm would be enough to turn my brain off. I don’t think anything will, except for the one person who has done everything in his power to avoid me.
“You shouldn’t go looking for Puck right now,” she cautions, eying me skeptically. “Give this a few days to settle.”
“I will,” I agree, giving her a false smile.
“Straight to your room, then.” Her lips are pursed, her brows arched like she knows what I’m thinking.
“I need some air. I’m going to go to the rose garden.”
She doesn’t believe me, but after a moment of looking torn between accepting the dismissal and locking me in my rooms until the ball, she curtseys and tells me to be back in my rooms in two hours.
As soon as Farah leaves me alone, I teleport into the Varesen Forest below Puck’s treehouse. The welcoming magic of the forest seems distant today. The trees don’t sparkle, the leaves don’t land playfully in my hair. If anything, it feels like they’re giving me the cold shoulder.
I ignore it as I extend my wings and take to the sky. Their indifference turns hostile the second my feet leave the ground. Branches close ranks, trunks lean inward, and leaves scrape against my skin like they’ve grown thorns as they try to block my path to the treehouse. It’s when a tree swings a branch like a baseball bat that I lose it.
“Enough,” I bellow. My magic seeps out, wrapping into their essence and grappling for control. A breeze tickles the leaves, but where it usually sounds like they’re laughing, today it sounds more like a warning growl.
“I need to talk to him,” I implore, softer this time. “To apologize.” I loosen my magic, a show of good faith, and hover in the air like a hummingbird as I wait for the trees to clear the path they’ve blocked. They collectively harrumph before leaning away and letting me up to the balcony.
I land on the cherry tree wood and come face to face with Edina.
“Nope,” she says flatly, arms crossed over her chest. Considering she’s rail thin, she looks incredibly imposing. Her sapphire eyes, her magic brimming right under the surface, and her usually smiling mouth is set in a firm line.
“E—
“Lysandra, I mean this without any disrespect—I still consider you a friend—but you need to fuck off.”
“Please.” I take a step toward the sliding glass doors, but they ice over. I try the handle anyway, threading a vine through the impenetrable ice. When it doesn’t work, I attempt to harness the wood of the tree. The damn thing laughs at me, and I can practically hear its voice in my ear whispering you think we’d pick your side?
“You done?” The desire to punch Edina in her disapproving face is strong, but I’m not entirely sure I could win that fight. She’s a protector, and right now, she’s caring for her friend.
I sigh, tilting my head back to stare at the canopy of trees that should be providing me comfort but are making me feel like an outsider. Tears prick my eyes.
“I need to know—” I start, my voice barely a whisper.
“You already know,” she says. “You broke him today. He doesn’t care about the trial, he’s upset because, when push came to shove, you chose a job over him. You don’t get to walk in and apologize for that. Not when the wound is this raw. When you do apologize, you need to fucking mean it.”
Her words are harsh but I know they’re true. “How do you know I don’t mean it now?”
“You’re too confused to mean it now.” Her tone softens. “You need to process everything that happened today. Alone.”
I bite my lower lip. “When will I see him?”
“He’s magically bound to go to the coronation, so you’ll see him then.” Edina’s icy exterior breaks and she reaches out to rub my arm. Her skin is freezing, so I’m not sure if it was the comfort she intended, but I take the gesture as a sign of good faith.
“Can you give him a message? If he’s open to hearing it?”
“Tell him yourself in a few days,” she says with a gentle shake of her head. “Now, go. Get ready for your party.”
I want to argue, but some deep, brokenhearted part of me knows that she—and Farah—are right. So, I nod and dive off the balcony edge. I feel her eyes on me as I freefall until the last second, when my wings snap out and I fly along the forest floor back to the palace.