Chapter 3

Three

As a child, I often daydreamed about what the fae realm would look like. There was art that survived on our side, of course. Sketches and paintings done by some of the mortals that had visited the fae realm and documented what they saw.

There’s a famous painting called “Dream in a Fae Meadow” that hangs in the lobby of Midnight Harbor’s Public Library. It was done by Monroe Holstead in the early 1900s and depicts a meadow with a vibrant array of wildflowers in every shade of the rainbow with a fae woman in the center twirling in the sunlight, her white dress billowing around her.

The art practically glitters with light and magic even though it’s only paint and canvas.

When I push through the doorway into the fae realm, I have that painting stuck in my head. It’s the consolation prize, I tell myself. If I’m marching to my death, at least I’ll get to see the beauty of the fae realm before my last breath.

But it’s nothing like the painting or the fantasy.

The light is too bright, almost blinding. I throw my arm up to shield my eyes thinking maybe it’s just my deficient eyesight that’s been tainted by the mortal side and the mortal sun. Then I notice Arion do the same beside me.

He groans loudly. “What is that godawful smell?”

The air is musty, like an old wet basement.

I blink into the light, desperate for a pair of sunglasses. Shapes and colors start to come into focus, and I see an overgrown forest just behind Maven. Moss hangs from the velvety green branches. Ferns are tangled around one another on the forest floor, almost like they’re matted. There’s a worn dirt path down the center, but it’s fighting for relevance against the encroaching woods.

The air is too hot, too wet, and it clings to my skin and makes my shirt stick to my spine.

“What the fuck?” Arion looks around. “What happened here?”

Maven laughs it off. “Just a bit of overgrowth, is all.”

But the look on Arion’s face tells me this isn’t normal, that it’s not the home he remembers.

I take in a breath, and the wetness of the air weighs down my lungs. It’s like breathing in soup.

I immediately hate it.

This is nothing like the dazzling Holstead painting.

It’s not bright and gorgeous and glittering.

It’s heavy and oppressive.

I can literally feel the energy of the place buzzing up my legs, like something is off, like the energy is looking for anything else to cling to because there’s too much of it, too much wrong energy.

“Come,” Maven says and starts down the overgrown path. “The queen is expecting us to be prompt.”

I glance at Arion. “You look worried.” I keep my voice low.

He starts to say something and then clamps his mouth shut, jaw flexing. “I remember it differently.”

“Better?”

“Hurry along, faeling,” he answers, dodging my question. “My brother is right; we can’t keep the queen waiting.”

With a huff, I follow him down the path, unsure of what I’ll find at the end.

The thick, green woods carry on for far too long. Sweat soaks my back. My hair is plastered to my forehead.

Somehow Maven and Arion don’t look the least bit affected by the heavy air. They clearly have something I don’t. Do fae not sweat? And if not, how come I’m like a drenched rat right now? Or rather, mouse .

I blame it on the binding. I’m still not fully tapped into my fae power.

The woods finally break for rolling hills where a serpentine river cuts into the land. The moving water helps dispel some of the heat, but just barely. I get close to the edge and look down to find muddy, dark water.

The buzzing in my legs is more noticeable.

The river cuts away from the path, and we trudge up the hills.

“Almost there, princess!” Maven yells over his shoulder, the bright sun glaring off the metal detailing on his tunic.

“Just over the next hill,” Arion adds, probably sensing my struggle.

I’m not out of shape, but I’m not athletic either. It’s been a while since I’ve gone on a hike. And never in hot, sticky summer air.

Arion and Maven stop together where the hill, from my vantage point, meets the blue sky.

“Just look at it,” Maven says, his hands on his hips.

Arion catches his breath, frowning into the distance.

One foot in front of the other.

Come on, Jessie, you can do it.

The sooner I get this over with, the sooner I can get back to Midnight and Bran.

Well, maybe .

No, no maybes!

I will make it back home.

I will get through this.

I had nothing to do with this rebellion. They must know that.

I reach the top of the hill and come up alongside Arion. Hands on my knees, I bend over, taking in several deep breaths.

“Did the mortals break our princess?” Maven asks with a chuckle.

“She’s been living as a mortal for twenty years. Give her a moment.” Arion crouches in front of me. “Are you all right, faeling?”

My lungs are tight, my body drenched. The buzzing in my legs isn’t helping the weakness in my muscles. And my head is spinning.

“I don’t feel so good,” I huff out.

“You need water. We’re almost there. Stand up and take in several deep breaths.” He hooks his hand around my inner elbow and coaxes me up. I suck in another breath, thinking it’s more woods or hills in front of us, dreading it already. But then, in the distance, sitting in a smoggy valley is a giant castle with a dozen spires stretching toward the sky.

“Holy shit,” I say.

Maven smiles at me. “The Summer Court. Isn’t it lovely?”

“It’s…something.”

The air from here reminds me of the smog I’ve seen in pictures of polluted cities. It’s thick and almost yellow.

Something is definitely, definitely wrong with the fae realm.

“It’s all downhill from here.” Maven follows the path, heading for the palace.

Arion waits beside me, his jaw set in a grim line.

There’s no going back at this point. He knows it and I know it.

“If she commanded it,” I ask him, “would you kill me too?”

He cuts his gaze to me, eyes narrowed. “Why would you ask me that?”

“Would you?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“Well, it could be worse. You could have said yes.”

He grumbles.

I start ahead of him on the path.

I should be afraid. I am a little worried.

But something in my gut tells me there’s more going on here than just my parents’ rebellion.

Like Arion said, if they wanted me dead, I’d already be dead.

The hike down the hill isn’t as bad as it was up the hill and I’m able to catch my breath. Some of the path is steep and rocky though and I have to watch my footing. Whoever dressed me after I passed out in the fairy grotto didn’t think to equip me with hiking boots.

When the earth levels out, the castle looms larger, and cottages start to dot the countryside. As we pass, some of the fae come out of their houses to watch. A man with big purple eyes glares at me from his front stoop. At the next house, two children with tined horns like that of a deer point and whisper.

Do they know who I am?

The closer we get to the castle, the more fae we pass as if word is spreading before us.

They bow for Maven. They gawk at me.

The worn dirt path soon meets a cobblestone road. Mature hardwood trees line the road, equal distance between them creating symmetry I absolutely love.

Maybe this place won’t be so bad after all.

Arion is beside me suddenly causing me to jump. His scowl has deepened, and his eyes are darting this way and that.

“What is it?” I ask.

The crowd has thinned out.

“Something is wrong,” he answers.

“Like what?” I keep walking and it takes me several steps to realize he’s stopped. “What are you?—”

“Down, faeling!” He barrels toward me just as an arrow is shot from the nearest tree…directly at my neck.