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 Garden. 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.

Following the Queen and King of Fauna is a group of beautiful men, each dressed in a deep green tailcoat and breeches, and behind them are a set of musicians, carrying harps and lyres, fiddles and flutes.

Mara breaks away from the fairies around her to approach the middle of the gathering.

“Welcome, welcome all,” she says, spreading her arms out wide, “to the first evening of Solstice.”

All around us I spot Fauna fae, Flora fae, and Night fae. There’s only one set of fairies that’s noticeably absent.

“Where is the Kingdom of Day?” I whisper to Des.

“They don’t usually come until first morning light.”

I make an “O” with my mouth, like that makes some sort of sense to me, when it really doesn’t.

Whatever.

“… This is a week of revelry,” Mara continues, “when even the Mother and the Father embrace deep in their earthen tombs. When water and wine, soil and sun, men and women all come together.

“This week, let us set aside our woes and vendettas,”—some Fauna fae cut their gazes to me and Des—“and let us drink deeply, eat hearty, love fully, and revel thoroughly.”

A cheer goes up from the crowd, several fairies whistling their approval.

Mara waits until her audience quiets before she continues. “Deep from the womb of the night we were born, and deep into the night do our spirits return when the body has died and the flesh has cooled.

“And so we shall begin this week of festivities with that which came first, before the flickering of the first light, the primordial darkness. Turn your gazes to the Lord of Secrets, Master of Shadows—Desmond Flynn, the King of the Night.”

She gestures across the clearing to where Des and I stand. The stares of the crowd were unnerving before, but they’re nothing to the heated focus of the gathering now.

My wings hike up at the attention, but Des is as calm as ever. Placing a steadying hand on my back, he maneuvers us towards Mara and her makeshift stage.

This is not exactly what I had in mind when I agreed to stay by the Bargainer’s side this evening.

Once we reach the Queen of Flora, Des’s gaze sweeps around the clearing. For a moment, the only sounds are the sputtering hisses of the bonfires.

And then Des begins speaking. “There are a few things all fae are born knowing: that the night is dark and the flesh is warm. That our lives might be long, but someday even they must eventually end. Tonight and for all of Solstice let us bring forth life from the darkness.”

His words sound old, like this verse has been recited long enough to have a sort of magic to it.

“Only in the shadows and dark spaces do we find our truest wishes and deepest desires,” he continues, the audience watching him raptly. While he speaks, his thumb draws small circles on my lower back. “Only in the night do we let go of our civility and loosen the ties that bind us during the day. Only then do we reach for soft skin. Only then do we dare to dream.

“So release your inhibitions, give in to my pull, find a willing partner, and sow yourself deep.”

I glance at Des. Is he suggesting what I think he’s suggesting … ?

The music strikes up, distracting me from my thoughts, and fairies take to the clearing, grabbing waists and hands. People begin to spin, and all that expertly coiffed hair and all those tightened bodices loosen themselves as people are sucked in by the music.

Even I’m not immune to it, my hips swaying from side to side, my hand going to my own hair, which hangs in waves down my back.

“You managed to keep me waiting this year, Desmond.” Mara’s voice is deceptively sweet as she comes up behind us. She places a hand on his shoulder, and he turns to face her.

“I thought,” she continues, “that perhaps you wouldn’t show.”

“Ah, how fun it is to keep you guessing,” Des says, his eyes sparking with mischief.

The men that followed Mara now come up to her, one proprietary hand goes to her hip, another grips her arm. One of them leans in, whispering something into her ear, his dark eyes pinned to me as he speaks. She leans back into their touches.

The whole thing has my skin prickling uncomfortably, especially when she flashes Des a wanton look. “Enjoy your evening, my Night King,” she says, and then she turns away, into the group of waiting men.

They close in on her, and a moment later I hear her peeling laughter as they begin to twirl her between them.

I swivel to Des, and right about now we have an entire conversation with our eyes.

That was fucking weird.

I know. It’s only going to get worse.

Des steps in close. “Would you like to—”

Before he can finish his question, a fae noble cuts in, the man’s dark brown hair plaited into an intricate series of braids that spill down his back. “Desmond, Desmond, Desmond, you’re a hard man to get ahold of …” He pats my mate on the shoulder, angling him towards a waiting group of similarly dressed men and women.

Des resists, reaching a hand for me.

His companion pauses, noticing me for the first time. Or maybe the fairy was aware of me, but he didn’t want to acknowledge my presence. Despite their interest in me, I can feel the subtle rebuffs coming my way. No fairy seems terribly eager to elevate a mere human to a status of importance, king’s mate or not.

“You go on,” I say to Des. “I’ll meet up with you later.”

He frowns. “Later,” he reluctantly promises, looking unhappy about my decision to skip away.

I get that he wants me by his side, but it’s clear that his audience wants him and him alone. And I’m not all that eager to stand next to him and play docile little mate while the rest of the fairies ignore me.

I back up, sensing that the crowd gathered here is still watching me. And that’s the irony of the situation. Pull me into a group, and I’ll probably be ignored for the conversation, but let me roam free, and every eye will be fixed on me.

Ignoring the looks, I back away, moving into the crowd until I find the woman I’m looking for.

“Finally I get you to myself,” Temper says. “I was thinking I’d have to hex someone to get three fucking minutes with you.”

“I wish you had,” I mutter. At least then I’d stop feeling like the most unfortunate person at the party.

Temper arches a brow, beginning to smile. “Good to know …”

“I need something to drink.” As soon as the words are out of my mouth, my eyes dart to the fairy wine.

“Bitch, I am already there.” Temper takes my hand and tugs me towards the table of wine. “I thought you were taking a break from drinking?” she says over her shoulder.

Errr, I never actually admitted that my sobriety was more Des’s idea than my own.

“Break’s over.”

“Praise black Jesus and all the baby angels,” she says. “Things are much more fun with a little bit of rum,” she sings, reciting a stupid song we came up with once upon a time in Vegas.

We get to the table and ladle ourselves each a glass of wine, carrying our bounty off once we each have a full cup. The two of us stick to the edges of the clearing, not fully in the party but not fully out of it either. We’re still just those two misfits who met back at Peel Academy.

“Ahhh,” Temper sighs after she takes her first swallow, “now this shit is good.”

I take a sip myself and—yum. Fairies make excellent wine. The two of us sip our drinks in silence, people-watching.

“I hate this place,” Temper finally says. She nods to the fairies mingling about the field. “Look at the way they stare at us. It’s worse than high school.”

In the darkness, I see the firelight flickering in their unnatural eyes. Their gazes indeed keep coming back to us.

“They’ve been staring at you too?” I ask, my brows rising.

“Since we road in,” she says. “You’d think they’ve never seen a human before.”

To be fair, I doubt they’ve ever seen a sorceress—or a winged siren.

… Not that that’s the reason they stare.

Here we are, the two enigmas amongst them, the humans who managed to outmaneuver the rules of their realm to end up in the highest echelons of fairy society.

“Did you notice?” Temper nods at the servers moving in and out of the crowd like ghosts.

I watch the humans, the changelings of this realm. Either they, or their ancestors, were swapped at birth with a fae baby.

“Notice what?” I ask, following her gaze.

“Look at their wrists.”

I take another look at one of the nearby waiters. It takes several seconds to see it at just the right angle, but when I do …

I suck in a breath.

The raised, mottled skin of their wrist is a raspberry color, and it’s styled in the shape of a leaf.

“They’re branded.”