The trees are bleeding.

I suppress a shudder.

“Is that normal?” I ask, wiping what I can of the—cringe—blood off of me as the two of us exit the oak forest.

It wasn’t just that one tree. Several more surrounding oaks had bits of blood trickling from their trunks.

Des shakes his head, his brow furrowed. “No.”

Why would a tree bleed? And is it just the oak trees right where we were training, or is it the whole forest of them?

I think back to last night, when Des had me pressed up against another oak. That one had been just fine …

One of Des’s guards comes striding out to us, his eyes wide. “Your Majesty—” His voice cuts off abruptly when he sees me.

“You may speak freely,” Des commands.

The guard’s attention returns to Des. “Two of our soldiers are missing.”

Two soldiers are missing?

Des raises an eyebrow. “It’s well past noon. Why am I being informed of this now?” Des demands.

The guard shakes his head. “The festivities … they had the morning off … They were supposed to check in for roll call at twelve. When they didn’t, several soldiers went looking for them. Their beds are still made, their bags still packed. We don’t think they made it back from the celebration last night.

Des’s mouth tightens. His gaze briefly moves to me, his expression inscrutable.

“Continue searching for the men,” he finally says. “There’s still a chance they’re sleeping off the effects of last night.”

Des’s grim gaze meets mine, and his eyes say what his mouth won’t: there’s still a chance, but it’s an infinitesimally small one.

Bleeding trees and missing men.

And we haven’t even been here a day yet.

Training for the rest of the day is canceled. Des and I part ways at the garden, him to check on his men, and me to take a shower. Wearily I climb up the staircase that wraps around the giant cedar, passing room after room.

Going to have buns of steel before this week is through.

Des and I are on something like the thirty-seventh floor.

I pause when I see Temper’s room ahead of me, giving myself a moment to catch my breath. As I lean against the railing, enjoying the view, the door to my friend’s room opens.

I raise my eyebrows when I see Malaki slipping out.

Whelp. Temper bagged the Lord of Dreams alright.

As soon as he sees me, he ducks his head, running his hand along the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable.

I raise my hands. “None of my business.”

But it’s going to become my business the moment Temper corners me. She loves divulging all the juicy details of her sexploits.

He clears his throat, then nods sheepishly as he passes me.

His footsteps are fading down the stairs when I think of something.

“Wait,” I swivel around, “Malaki—”

He stops on the stairs below me and turns around, his eyepatch glinting in sunlight. In the harsh light of day, the scar that stretches out from beneath the patch is even more gruesome.

“Is there any way I could see the Flora Kingdom’s sleeping women?”

His brows furrow. “I could ask …”

I suck in my lower lip. “Would you?”

He studies me for a moment longer. Finally, he nods. “Consider it done.”

By late afternoon, Malaki’s made good on his promise.

I stand inside one of the Flora Kingdom’s expansive greenhouses, Temper at my side. The hot conservatory is filled to the brim with sleeping women, each one laid out in her glass coffin. Like in the Kingdom of Night, there are hundreds, if not thousands, of them, their caskets spread throughout the building.

“This shit is motherfucking disturbing,” Temper says next to me, “and I’ve seen my share of disturbing.”

Considering that solving cases is what she and I do best, and an idle Temper is never a good thing, I brought her along to help me, filling her in on the mystery during our walk over here.

I nod, my gaze moving from woman to woman. I’m still not used to the sight even after all this time. It’s the little details that get to me—how one’s pointed ears peak through her hair, how another looks like she might have dimples if she were to wake up and smile.

I still remember Karnon’s terrible kisses, how he’d force his dark magic down my throat. Being a lowly slave had benefitted me then. Whatever tainted spell he’d put these women under, I’d escaped it.

The door to the conservatory opens, and in strides the Green Man.

“I heard I’d find you here,” he says, his footsteps echoing throughout the room.

“What’s this frilly little pipsqueak up to?” Temper asks under her breath, watching Flora fae head our way.

I shrug. “I think he finds us curious.”

“Hmph.”

The Green Man reaches our side, introducing himself to Temper, who looks less than impressed.

“So, you plan on solving the mystery?” he says, turning to me.

I can hear the subtle scorn in his voice. Why wouldn’t he be scornful? Ten years this mystery has plagued the Otherworld, and all the king’s horses and all the king’s men couldn’t stop the disappearances from happening again—and again and again.

“I plan on trying.”

His eyes move over the women around us. “I knew some of these women … personally.”

The way he says this makes me want to scrunch my nose. I think that he was more than just friends with some of these soldiers.

Temper and I share a knowing look. God, I love having my best friend here with me.

“Where are the children?” I ask, turning my attention back to the Green Man.

“They are sleeping a different sort of sleep,” he says cryptically.

My brows furrow in confusion.

“Mara has them killed,” he explains.

“Damn son,” Temper says.

You know shit’s bad when Temper’s impressed by the mercilessness of it.

“‘Poisoned fruit’—that’s what she calls them,” the Green Man elaborates. “They’re removed as soon as they enter the kingdom—rot spreads quickly.”

I fold my arms across my chest. “The queen’s trees seem to be rotting as well—why aren’t they too being removed?” I ask.

The Green Man assess me. “What are you talking about?”

“The sacred oak grove. The trees are bleeding.”

“Fucking hell,” Temper says under her breath.

“You must be imagining things,” he says. “The oaks are fine.”

Imagining things?

“No, I’m not—”

Temper puts a hand on my arm. “Ain’t no use trying to talk sense to this dude’s crazy ass. He and his wife kill kids.”

The Green Man’s expression turns patronizing as he looks between the two of us. “Don’t tell me you have a bleeding heart when it comes to those creatures?”

“It just seems hypocritical,” I say. To protect a plant but smother a fae life.

“It would be hypocritical if the trees were afflicted the same way those children are,” the Green Man says.

Ugh, why did I even bring this up? Fairies can be so tedious to talk to.

“Forget about it,” I say. I bump Temper’s shoulder. “There’s nothing here to see.”

We move between the aisles of coffins, heading for the door.

“Even if the trees have developed rot, they didn’t start out that way,” he says to our backs, “the children did. You can cure an illness, not a permanent state of existence.”

I ignore him.

“They say a specter haunts this place,” he adds, changing the subject.

I stop.

“He’s just tryin’ to reel you in, girl,” Temper says, grabbing my arm and urging me on. “Be better than his tricks.”

But I’m remembering something I heard a month ago, about a shadow watching over the children in the Night Kingdom’s nursery.

I turn around. “What do you know?”

He smiles. “The slaves are usually the ones who see him. They say that during a full moon you can see him move about the coffins.”

“‘Him’?” I say, stepping a bit closer. “How do you know it’s a man?”

He tilts his head. “Because there’s only one person who attends these women now—

“The Thief of Souls.”