52. Puck
Chapter 52
Puck
A rustling, like fabric caught in the wind, pricks my ears. My eyes dart to the stable doors.
“Emrys, check it out,” I command, my voice echoing off wooden beams.
His upper lip curls, flashing teeth. “Since when do I take orders from you?”
“Let me out,” the Baleful Hunt whispers, its voice a cold tendril slithering through my mind. “I’ll investigate for you.”
My fists clench. “Stay put. Until after the trials—after I’ve secured my leadership.”
Emrys narrows his eyes, scrutinizing me.
“Fine. I’ll go,” I snap, irritation crawling under my skin.
“I’m only helping you, Puck, because it aligns with my goals,” Emrys drawls.
I scoff. “Which are?”
His lips twitch. “For a moment, I almost laughed.”
The Hunt’s whispers grow more insistent, demanding respect. It hisses that the new King of Avorlorna would never tolerate such insolence.
“Hush,” I tell it. “The sooner we finish this, the faster you’ll have your wish. I’ll release you, but first, I must cement my position. For that, Titania needs to vanish.”
Murdering her in her chambers is impossible with the Keepers hovering about—they’ve barred me entry, claiming I’m unpredictable with a dragon inside. But if I unleash the Hunt prematurely, who’s to say it will return to host within my body? I need the crown first.
“Why not let me turn those wood-faced demons to stone, then?” The Hunt’s voice purrs seductively.
“The Keepers? I’ve explained why.” Their masks repel magic—not foolproof, but long enough to raise the alarm. Guards could potentially blind me, negating the Baleful Gaze. It is difficult, but not impossible if they cooperate.
The Keepers are here to control the Shining Host. They have contingencies.
I rake my fingers through my hair, frowning as fine dust sifts onto my shoulders. My joints creak as I brush it away, muttering, “Damned drafty palace . . . can’t keep the sand out.”
“Is something wrong with your head?” Emrys asks, gesturing at my face.
“He’s mocking your eyebrows,” the Hunt jeers. “Turn him to stone. Let me out!”
I glare at Emrys. “Are you insulting my appearance?”
“Simply stating you’re looking rather . . . gray,” he observes, eyes narrowing.
I wave dismissively. “It’s this blasted lighting. Everyone looks half-dead.”
The Hunt chuckles. “Trouble with your complexion, Puck?”
“Shut the fuck up,” I hiss, pacing. “I can’t focus with your incessant nattering.”
My boots crunch on straw. An itch crawls beneath my skin like sand, burrowing deeper with each step. I scratch absently, nails scraping oddly rough flesh.
Howling wind rattles the foundations. Nightmares in their pens shriek and growl, a hellish chorus. But they can’t escape—I had the doors rebuilt floor to ceiling.
“Double-check their pens,” I order Emrys. “We can’t risk a single escapee.”
These creatures slipping through must mean something is amiss between Titania and Oberon’s bargain. But I can’t allow the knights their martial law. My power would evaporate.
Emrys tugs on his gloves, striding toward the exit. How dare he ignore me.
“Stop!” I command. “I gave you an order.”
He reaches for the doorknob. A gust of frigid air carries the scent of frost and fear . . . and a figure stumbles in. A cape. Silver braided hair. Female.
Their Shadow, the?—
“Danger! He betrayed us!” The Hunt roars, clawing for control.
Emrys’s surprised expression baffles me. Is this betrayal or something else? Either way, I don’t wait to find out. I bolt for the opposite exit, slamming it behind me before my grip on the Hunt slips.
I stumble back, releasing the pressure building inside. The Hunt’s gaze erupts from my eyes, striking the stables. Wood crunches, transforming into solid rock before me.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” I pound my forehead. “Look what you made me do!”
The Hunt’s laughter grinds like stones in my skull.
“Turn it back then,” it taunts. “Or don’t you know how?”
“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” I need those monsters for the trials. My plan to claim the crown relies on moving the trials forward. If I can’t kill Titania in her bed, sending blood-thirsty exhibitors to murder her dream form is the next best option. The result might differ if she projected in Avorlorna. But Oberon—her ancient, twisted mate—has bound her to Nocturna for the Gentle Interlude.
Any harm done to her astral form outside her own dreamscape is lethal.
Everyone believes she slumbers to freeze the watergates, but that’s only part of the bargain. The other half: Oberon grants her people a reprieve from war if she returns to satiate his sick desires. I was so in love with her—so in awe.
Until the Hunt revealed her warped reality, including my wish. She does all of this for greed because she wants to have all the riches of Avorlorna for herself—without her mate’s influence. They’ve been fighting like this for eons.
I force myself to breathe. To think. The weight of my schemes threatens to crush me. My limbs grow heavier each day as if gravity’s intensifying. But I can’t falter now—not when I’m so close to true power.
The stone stables loom, a monument to my lapse in control. Emrys and that silver-haired witch—Willow—are trapped with the Nightmares.
The Baleful Hunt’s laughter echoes in my skull, a constant reminder of the precarious balance I’m trying to maintain. I grind my teeth, forcing myself to focus.
“Alright,” I mutter. “Think. How do we salvage this?”
Willow.
The one Titania fears.
“Why?” I ask the Hunt. “ Why does she fear this mortal?”
“Finally, you ask the right question.”
Chalky flakes dust my sleeve. I brush them off, staring at my nails. They seem harder and slightly discolored.
“Just stress,” the Hunt soothes. “Lack of sleep and this dusty palace—that’s all.”
Yes, I lack sleep. As I pace, the Hunt reveals more of Titania’s secrets. A plan crystallizes—risky, potentially disastrous, but what choice remains?
I turn back to the stone stables, a grim smile twisting my lips.
“Well, my dear Hunt,” I say, “it seems you’ll get your wish sooner than expected.”