Chapter 7
Alette
It’s supposed to be over, but the party just won’t freaking die.
The table is gone, the wedding arch already wilted and sagging, but the clearing thrums with bodies and noise.
Lanterns swing and reek of burnt paper, nymphs climb each other like kittens, and the satyrs stomp and laugh and fight in circles around the wreckage of the feast.
I want to curl up in the dark and sleep for days, but the nymphs have other plans. They hoist me onto their shoulders. There's at least four of them, their skin sticky and sweet as honeycomb, their hair laced with petals and dew, and they parade me through the crowd.
Zomas is waiting, arms open wide. When the nymphs set me down, he scoops me into a bear hug and spins me until my stomach sloshes. “Beautiful bride!” he bellows, voice booming over the clearing. “Come, dance with me!”
It isn’t a request.
He pulls me in, one massive hand swallowing my fingers, the other circling my waist. His fur brushes my legs and makes me want to kick him in the shin, but I grit my teeth and let him lead.
We circle the empty patch where the table used to be.
The other guests clear a path, some clapping and whistling, others just watching with lazy, predatory interest.
I don’t know how to dance. Not like this. My body is stiff as firewood, but Zomas is relentless. He swings me in time to the rhythm from the satyrs’ instruments, his hooves drumming the ground, his hands never still. Every time I try to put space between us, he just tugs me closer.
“You dance like a frightened rabbit,” he says, laughing. “Let go, little queen! What’s the worst I could do?”
“I can imagine a lot of things. My imagination is treacherous like that,” I whisper.
He throws his head back and howls. “You’re funny! I like that. Humans are always so scared, they forget how to enjoy themselves.” His grip tightens, spinning me so fast the world blurs.
The lanterns stutter overhead, and for a second, I see faces in them that aren’t there—my father’s, my mother’s, even Oberon’s scowl, mocking me from inside the glass.
And then, I think of dancing with the other kings.
How different it felt. Even then, barely knowing them, there was something far safer about dancing with them than Zomas.
I swallow, trying to keep my head above water. “Why did you want to marry me?” I say, forcing the words past my lips.
Zomas stops dancing, but keeps a hand on my back. His eyes are gold, unblinking. “Because you’re the Chosen One. The goddess’s favorite.”
“And that's enough?”
He leans closer, voice dropping. “For one night it is.”
I don't understand.
The press of his body is a warning. I force myself to meet his gaze, even though my neck prickles with gooseflesh. “And then you had Ashton and I marry because…?”
He grins, showing all his teeth. “Because the maze likes a show. Because I like a show. And because I wanted to see if you’d survive the night.”
Survive the night?
I don’t know what to do with that, so I try for a different tactic. “How did you know I was the Chosen One?”
He laughs, a softer sound. “Please. You may as well paint a target on your back. I smell the goddess all over you.”
It's that obvious?
He leans in again, so close I smell the sweat and wine on his skin. “Be careful, Alette. The goddess makes promises, but she doesn’t always keep them. Just remember that nothing in the maze is as it seems.”
I’m shaking, but I refuse to let him see it. “You sound almost… worried for me.”
Zomas barks a laugh and spins us again. “Maybe I am! Maybe I like you, little queen. The world would be dull without a girl like you to stir it up.”
I try to pull free, but he won’t let go. “So what’s your advice? How do I get out of this maze alive?”
He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he slows our dance until we’re just rocking in place, his arms a cage.
“Don’t trust anyone who isn’t a king,” he whispers.
“Everything here is a trap. The maze doesn’t want you dead, not at first. It wants you lost. Broken.
If you ever think you’ve won, that’s when you lose. ”
He lets that hang between us, then finally releases my hand.
The music swells as someone bangs on a drum, maybe a hollow log, maybe just the ground, and the other guests close in, forming a spinning circle of bodies and light.
“May I have this next dance with my beautiful bride?” Ashton asks behind me, and his deep voice sends a shiver up my spine.
Zomas steps back, gives a sweeping bow, and hands me off to Ashton, with a funny look I can't quite read. Almost like he wants to say more.
Ashton pulls me in, gentle but insistent. His touch is a relief after Zomas, soft and familiar. He smells like… man and flower petals and the last of the wedding wine.
“You okay?” he says, voice low and careful.
I nod, but my head’s swimming. “Did you hear any of that?”
He shrugs. “Enough. Satyrs are always cryptic. But he’s not wrong about the maze.” His hands settle on my hips, and we move together, slower than before.
I want to believe him, but the warning sticks in my mind.
Ashton leans close, lips against my ear. “You did great. Everyone loves a good wedding.”
“I hope it was worth it,” I say. “Now the maze thinks we’re really married.”
He pulls back and grins, that lopsided smile. “If it keeps us alive, I’ll marry you a hundred times.”
I’m not sure whether to be offended or flattered.
The party spins on. The satyrs and nymphs dance in wild, tangled knots, switching partners every few seconds, sometimes more than that.
At one point, a nymph dips a satyr and kisses him so hard he nearly falls over.
Zomas keeps court at the edge of the clearing, pouring wine and telling stories to anyone who’ll listen.
The air is thick with heat, laughter, and something else… magic, maybe, or just the tension of a thousand eyes watching us.
But through all of it, Zomas’s eyes keep finding mine.
He’s laughing and singing, but there’s something in his eyes. Maybe a warning. I'm not sure, but it's darker than the shadows of the labyrinth itself.
Ashton keeps dancing with me, but his eyes are on the exits. “We’ll slip away when things calm down,” he murmurs. “Better to keep them happy for now.”
I nod, letting myself relax into his arms for the first time all night. He’s warm, solid, and for a second I remember what it felt like to be held just because someone wanted to, not because they needed to prove a point.
“Hey,” I say, after a while. “Thanks. For what you did back there.”
He squeezes my hand. “Anytime. You’re a terrible bride, but you make a good partner.”
I snort, then choke on a laugh. “You’re the worst. I hope you know that.”
He bows his head, smiling. “You say that, but you let me kiss you.”
I don’t answer, but I don’t let go, either.
“Want to sit for a little while?”
“I'd love that,” comes out in a rush of breath.
He takes my hand, pulls me to the edge of the clearing, and we sit in the moss, watching the creatures continue their never-ending party.
“You think the others made it through the night?” I ask.
He shrugs. “If anyone could, it’s them.”
I rest my head on his shoulder, and let myself feel safe.
Just for a little while. As time passes, I half-expect Ashton to take the opportunity for another show, maybe sweep me into a dip or kiss my hand in front of everyone, but he just sits beside me quietly.
For a few minutes we watch the party, the air humming with light from the torches and the smell of wild mint.
“You know,” he says, after a long, companionable silence, “this is the least miserable night I’ve had since we fell into this damned labyrinth.”
I laugh, then snort, then immediately regret the sound. “That’s not saying much.”
“Maybe not. But it’s nice to forget, even for a minute about the weight of what we're doing here.”
We watch a nymph try to ride a satyr like a warhorse, then topple off into a fit of giggles. I’m about to ask Ashton a question when he says, “I miss humans, sometimes.”
I look at him, puzzled. “Miss us? Have you spent a lot of time around humans?”
He sits up straight and rubs the back of his neck, looking sheepish. “Well, see, I’m not… entirely fae.”
My brain sputters. “What?”
He looks away. “I never talk about it…”
I wait.
“It's really not a big deal.”
I hold my breath.
“My mother was human, and my father… you know he was king of the wind fae. The only thing he ever loved more than power was collecting things that made him feel more powerful. He took my mother as a concubine, then locked her away in the north wind palace when he found out she was pregnant.”
I try to process this, but the facts keep slipping through my fingers. “You’re…half human?” It sounds impossible. Everything about him marks him as a fae.
He nods, then shrugs. “When I was born, the other wind fae were furious. They called me mongrel, halfbreed, soft-boned. They said my father should drown me in the lake and start over. But he wanted an heir, and no one else could give him one. So I grew up half a prince, half an embarrassment.”
I reach for his hand, not even thinking. “Was it bad? Being… both?”
He shrugs again, but his voice goes tight.
“Not so bad. The fae hated me, but I was good at pretending. I learned their tricks, their games. I learned how to be cruel so they’d forget I was soft inside.
” He squeezes my hand, gentle as a feather.
“But sometimes I remembered my mother. She used to sing to me, tell me stories about her village. She made the best honey cakes. I’ve never tasted anything as good. ”
I can’t help myself. “What happened to her?”
He’s silent for a long time, watching the party. “She died. My father told me she fell from the cliffs during a storm. But I know he pushed her. He was afraid she’d teach me to love humans, to want a life outside the palace.”