He glides over the stopped procession, landing smoothly into his saddle, his wings folding behind him.
The crowd’s earlier cheers have been replaced with an ominous silence. The only one who doesn’t seem affected by it is Des. He reaches for me, pulling me into a savage kiss.
Des tastes like blood and love and death. He kisses me like he’s pillaging my mouth, and I don’t mind one fucking bit. I kiss him back greedily, drinking in my Night King’s essence.
He might be death on wings, but he saved me.
Right in the middle of our kiss, a cheer goes up through the crowd. It’s a little more feral, a little less forgiving, than our audience’s previous roars.
Des pulls away from my lips, his hand on my neck still holding me close. In his eyes I can see a spark of fear, a dash of adoration—but most of all, I see a deep and endless well of fury. Here’s the monster behind the war cuffs and pretty fabric, the monster I don’t want to tame, the one I want to unleash.
I am the darkness, his eyes seem to say, and you are my lovely nightmare. And no one will take this away from us.
He blinks, and the swirling chaos in his eyes dies down. “Are you okay?”
I nod.
“Good.”
He releases me, and already my body aches from the absence of his violent touch and his malevolent eyes.
Soldiers are coming up to us, asking questions, while others are pushing the crowd back. Where the Fauna fairy fell, there’s now a thick cluster of fairies fighting amongst themselves. Things are turning ugly, and the crowd is getting heated.
Waving away the men and women that come to talk to him, Des lets out a whistle, signaling for the procession to resume. Rapidly, men and women fall back into line, some mounting their steeds, others resuming their position as foot soldiers.
This time when the convoy moves, it doesn’t meander. My steed begins to gallop, its shoes sparking against the stone road as it races up the streets, following the line of horses and soldiers back towards the palace.
Next to me, Des’s face is set into uncompromising lines. It’s not until we’re through the gates that his expression relaxes—though his hands still manage to grip his reins like he’s choking the life out of them.
Eventually, our group heads towards a building I’ve never seen before. The circular annex is massive, its large double doors thrown open in invitation. Our procession doesn’t slow as it barrels towards it.
Excitement and a thread of fear move through me. I can’t see anything beyond the marble structure’s shadowy entrance, but I can tell that there are too many horses and too many fairies to possibly fit into the building.
No one else seems to share this concern. Not even Des, who’s still brooding from where he sits next to me.
The first of the foot soldiers that head up our convoy storm through the doorway, their bodies disappearing within. Then the next row disappears, and then the next.
And then the first of the mounted guards head inside. There’s thirty feet remaining between me and the door, then twenty, then ten …
Des and I pass through the double doors, our horses’ hooves echoing as we enter the vaulted room. I only have time to see the air ripple like cloth ahead of us before Des reaches over and grabs my hand.
A portal, I realize. Of course.
Seconds later, we’re dashing through it, my stomach bottoming out as my body is forced through time and space.
My horse hits the ground on the other side of the portal, not missing a single stride.
I blink several times, squinting at the bright light I’m suddenly doused in. Sunlight. I drink it in like it’s sex or carnage, feeling my magic swell.
I close my eyes again, enjoying basking in it. I’d almost forgotten what it felt like. When I open my eyes, my gaze goes to the endless, rolling fields that stretch out in all directions, the small wild flowers that speckle them swaying in the breeze. It’s only ahead of us that the hills give way to forested mountains and purple peaks.
“Welcome to the Kingdom of Flora,” Des says next to me, releasing my hand. His earlier fury is completely gone.
Even though we’ve long since left the danger back in Somnia behind us, my horse doesn’t slow. Our entire procession moves at full speed. Even the foot soldiers are running, and I can’t help but think that all the wishes in the world couldn’t convince me to run with a herd of galloping steeds at my back.
But maybe that’s just me.
The sun begins to set as we ride, the setting sky giving my skin a rosy hue and making my glowing dress dance in all sorts of colors.
After some time, the grasslands give way to woodlands, the hills growing steeper the farther we travel. Eventually, our group slows, my horse falling back from a gallop to a canter, and then finally a leisurely trot.
A few bends in the road later, I realize why.
Up until now, the trees have been big, but ahead of me, they utterly dominate the scenery, their trunks far bigger than even the Giant Sequoias I’ve seen back in California.
And the more I stare, the more I realize that these trees are homes. A staircase twists up one, and another two are connected by intricately wrought bridges made of branches and vines. Built around and inside the trunks of these trees are elaborate fae structures. Currently, hundreds of Flora fae gather along their treetop bridges and balconies or on the edges of the footpath to watch our procession as it passes them by.
The path we follow curves, and the trees part. Ahead of us, a castle made of grey stone and covered largely in flowering vines stands amidst a ring of goliath trees.
The Flora palace.
The closer we get to it, the more fairies gather along the sides of the road. Many of their gazes are pinned to Des, the King of the Night, riding in on his dark steed, but a good number of them are focused on me, their eyes taking in my glowing skin, my face, my wings.
Let them know that this is what it means to be human, the siren whispers. I am no thing to be trifled with.
There are no gates to divide the palace grounds from the rest of the land, but as we cross onto palace grounds, for a split second the air feels viscous, like I’m moving through honey. Whatever this magical barrier is, it’s meant to keep most people out.
On the other side of it, the crowd that waits for us is noticeably wealthier. Their clothes are more ornamented, their hair more elaborately coiffed, their jewelry more intricate. Many of them touch their fingers to their foreheads as we pass, what I’m assuming is a sign of respect.
At the foot of the castle, our procession stops, and the music our group has been playing up until now fades away.
Next to me, Des vanishes from his horse, earning several gasps from the crowd of onlookers. He reappears at my horse’s side.
“Time to disembark, Callie,” he says.
Des reaches for me, helping me off the horse. He’s completely unaware of himself—his beauty, his strength, his magnetism. However, he’s not oblivious of me. He holds me close for a beat longer than necessary, his eyes moving from my eyes to my lips.
“I’m still holding you to your promise,” I say softly, my glamour making music of my words.
A secretive smile lights up his face as he remembers his vow to give me everything I wanted. “I haven’t forgotten.”
He finally releases me, and the two of us move forward with our group once more, this time on foot, while our horses are led away. We head through huge double doors made of heavyset wood.
I try not to stare as we enter the palace, but it’s hard not to.
The forest seems to have made its way into the castle. The floors are covered with wild grass and dotted with spring flowers. Vines crisscross the stone walls, each strand heavy with blooms. Even the chandelier hanging over our heads is an extension of the natural world, the frame made almost entirely of what appears to be living, flowering wood and moss. The only thing not living appears to be the waxy, dripping candles that dot the chandelier.
We cross the
entryway and all but a few of Des’s soldiers break away, lining up on either side of the door that leads deeper into the castle.
Des takes my hand. “Time for introductions,” he quietly explains.
Now for the most curious part of the entire evening.
We all wear pretty masks, pretty masks that hide depraved thoughts. Mine’s hidden behind glowing skin and a melodic voice. Des’s lurk deep in the shadows. What will this queen and her consort king show me?
Our now much smaller group heads through the door in front of us. On the other side of it is a throne room, this one packed with fae of all shapes and sizes. Most look like normal fairies, but then there are some that look more like plants than people, a few that I’m pretty sure are hobgoblins, and one that has an uncanny resemblance to a troll. All of them are attired in sumptuous outfits. Clearly, these are the most privileged of the Flora Kingdom’s citizens—most privileged and probably the most fickle, their allegiance as pliant as my body under Des’s touch.
The Bargainer and I walk down the aisle, our bodies still glowing—in my case partly because of the clothing and partly because of my skin. I feel the room’s eyes on me, their gazes like a touch. Their curiosity, their envy, their yearning fills me up.
I’m intrigued by all these alien creatures, creatures I barely understand and cannot control. They, in turn, stare back, their eyes mesmerized by my skin and face. I know I look like a strange angel, my black wings shimmering under more of those odd chandeliers.
When we reach the end of the aisle, the guards in front of us step aside, unveiling the raised dais behind them.
Leaning back on a throne made of vines and flowers is Mara Verdana, the Queen of Flora.
Her wild red hair cascades down her shoulders and chest, her eyes the same sharp green color as the plants we’re surrounded by. Her skin is alabaster pale, and her mouth is just as voluptuous as the rest of her appears to be.
There are flowers in her hair, flowers woven into her dress, and her crown is simply a wreath of them. But she is the loveliest flower of them all. I find I want to touch that skin of hers and see if it’s as petal-soft as I imagine it to be.
She watches us with narrowed eyes, a slight, amused smile on her lips. She might be the Queen of Flora, but just like Des, she looks to me like a panther, something beautiful and dangerous that will strike when you least expect it. For all her magnificence, she must be a deranged thing.
Next to her, in a throne noticeably smaller, is her husband, the Green Man. True to his name, he is green from head to toe. His hair is the dark hue of evergreens, and his skin the pale color of spring grass.
I was expecting a brawny, bearded man, but compared to the Bargainer, the Green Man is more of a dandy, his face pretty without that hard roughened edge that Des’s has. Unlike the portrait I saw of him, he has no beard, his face as smooth as his body is lithe.
The siren in me finds that she has no interest in him. There’s no power to coax from him and no danger to feed from. All I feel towards the man right now is … pity. Such a creature has all the trappings of a wild, violent thing, but next to his vibrant wife he’s docile, compliant, defeated.
Des and I come up right to the edge of the dais. I don’t know what fae etiquette is in this situation, so I touch my fingers to my forehead like I saw other fairies do to us.
“Queen of Flora, Green Man,” Des says, inclining his head to both of them, “as always, it’s a pleasure.
Mara stands up, her sage green gown swaying as she does so. Her face splits into a smile. Her happiness is like an arrow to the heart. I wonder just how many people have given up all that they hold dear to bask in this woman’s smile.
She spreads her arms. “Welcome, my Emperor of Evening Stars.”
My emperor?
My hands begin to curl.
Mara descends down the steps, her eyes not once traveling to me. My hackles are rising.
I am not someone to be ignored, my siren hisses.
She comes in close to Des and kisses him on either cheek. Behind her, the Green Man steps down from his throne, trailing after her, his amber eyes on me. Just from the way he’s staring, I can feel his longing. I can feel all of their longing. It hangs in the air like perfume; I am something enviable, something strange and taboo.
How many hands wish to stroke my flesh, how many faces wish to bury themselves in my hair … ? Mara can have her moment with Des. The King of the Night is mine, and the Flora Queen’s subjects might as well be under my spell.
“Mara,” Des says, “this is my mate, Callypso Lillis, one of the last of the sirens.”
Reluctantly, Mara turns her gaze from Des to me. Genuine interest flickers in her eyes. “What a beauty.”
The compliment is a balm to the bloodlust thrumming beneath my skin. Beauty is one of the few powers I still wield in this foreign place. But somewhere deep inside me, the compliment sours.
There is nothing that defangs a woman quite like being called beautiful, my rational mind whispers.
Resting her hands on my upper arms, Mara pulls me in close and kisses each of my cheeks. Behind me, I hear her subjects suck in air, and I get the sense that Mara just broke etiquette.
Because I am human …
She releases me and straightens. “Desmond is lucky to have found himself such a gem. And you are lucky to have found yourself a mate in a king.”
Slippery, slippery woman. Her words are not quite an insult, but they’re phrased just so that they toe that line.
I give her a slow, curving smile. “You are too kind.” This is the first time I’ve spoken directly to her, and the room goes quiet as they listen to my harmonic voice.
Mara waves over some of her people. “Please show the king and queen to their rooms,” she orders them, not bothering to let the Green Man greet us. To me and Des she says, “The feast begins in an hour in the Sacred Gardens. I look forward to seeing you both there.”
Chapter 21
The two of us stand inside the suite we’re staying in, finally alone. Nearly every surface around us is covered with flowering plants. They grow from pots, they wreath the walls and hang from the ceilings. The smell of them is almost too powerful.
The suite itself is alive, situated inside one of the colossal trees that ring the castle. Above and below us are more rooms, where the rest of our group is staying.
My skin dims as I force the siren back to her watery depths, locking her away. I rub my arms, remembering all of the siren’s egotistical, screwed up thoughts.
Des raises an eyebrow. “I still owe her,” he says.
Yes, the sexual favors she was planning on pillaging from him.
“She’ll be back to collect from you at some point.” I run my hands through my hair, reclaiming my body. “Why did you want the siren out?”
“Fairies are always aware of power dynamics,” Des says, folding his arms as he leans against a side table. I wanted Mara to meet you at your wickedest.”
And who better to pit her against than my siren?
I let out a shaky breath. We’re not even an hour into the visit and already I’m being sized up.
This is my welcome to Solstice. Let the festivities begin.
By the time we make it to the Sacred Gardens, the sky is dark and I feel more like myself.
“Sacred Gardens,” I murmur as we walk under a flowering trellis and enter the wooded clearing. “That sounds like something teenage me would call my vagina.”
Next to me, Des smirks. “Undoubtedly, cherub.” His eyes turn a little sad, and I wonder if, like me, he’s thinking about all the time we missed together between then and now.
As soon as we enter the garden, which isn’t so much a garden as it is a flowering meadow surrounded by hedges and trees, the crowd’s attention moves to us. A sea of strange faces stare back at me and Des, and there are only two I recognize—Temper’s and Malaki’s. The two must’ve arrived here shortly before we did.
Des leads me deeper into the Sacred G
arden. The area is lit by dancing fairy lights and several bonfires. Out here it smells like jasmine and smoke, and as the fire hisses and burns, it drifts up into the star-filled sky above.
Des leans into me, his breath tickling my ear. “It would behoove you to know—”
“Did you just say ‘behoove’?” I interrupt him. “How old are you, eight hundred?”
“—that as King of the Night,” he continues without missing a beat, “I’m expected to help lead this evening’s festivities, and as my mate, you’re expected to be at my side.”
“Because I have so many other places to be,” I say. I catch sight of a giant urn of fairy wine. Stop numero uno once the party begins.
Des’s eyes brighten, his lips curving into a pleased smile. “Word of warning, cherub: sass is a turn on, so if you expect me to keep my hands off you and your precious beads, you might want to work on being pleasant.”
I raise an eyebrow. “If you think I’m going to be some docile, agreeable girlfriend, you’re—”
Before I can finish, an invisible hand pushes me forward, into Des’s arms. He still has that smug-ass smile on his face. “Mate is the correct term,” he says, his voice pitched seductively low. “I’m not your”—he makes a face—“boyfriend—I’m neither a boy, nor particularly friendly.” He ends his little speech by kissing me on the nose.
I realize the mistake I made only once Des’s lingering hands finally release me. He baited me, deliberately, knowing I’d mouth off to him and he’d get his opening.
Wily man.
I glance around us. The spit of the flames and the glow of the flickering light play with my vision. Now fairies are flashing us sweet smiles, now they’re leering at us suggestively.
The whole thing is discomfiting, like Des and I are some drama that’s unfolding purely for their pleasure.
But just as soon as I notice the unnatural attention, it gets diverted. The crowd goes quiet, and from the darkness emerges Mara, the Green Man on her arm. The train of her dress drags behind her, leaving a trail of flower petals in its wake.