Maescia—small as she was—was fast. Every so often, she would pause and wait for them before skipping ahead again.

The farther she led them, the more buildings appeared, but there were no other faeries in sight. It was quiet and oddly deserted.

Maescia paused again to wait for them, and this time when they reached her, four more faeries appeared, fanning out behind her. “Your horses go no further,” she informed them.

Seraiah shot Kestrel a wary look, but Kestrel seemed unruffled. “Of course,” she said, dismounting. Kestrel had no sooner pulled her saddlebag from her horse than one of the new faeries whisked the horse away.

The rest of the group followed Kestrel’s example, and one by one, their horses disappeared. When they were alone with Maescia once again, she gave them another one of those pointy-toothed grins. “Follow, follow,” she singsonged, beckoning them forward.

She led them through narrow twisting streets, humming all the while. In some spots, the buildings were so close together they had to turn sideways to squeeze through.

The faint sound of music drifted in the air, blending in with Maescia’s humming. The farther they walked, the clearer it became. It sunk into her body—into her very bones—urging her to dance. The music at the Eostre celebration had made Seraiah want to dance as well, but not with this sense of urgency. Her body swayed along with the eerie beat.

Kestrel caught her eye and gave a slight shake of her head. “Fight it,” she mouthed. “Be strong.”

Seraiah knew from the stories if she were to give in to the urge to dance, she would never stop. Kestrel had warned her she would never want to leave or see her sister again. She wouldn’t even spare a thought for Sterling as she spun and twirled with abandon.

The idea of forgetting everything might be appealing to some—who wouldn’t want their problems to disappear—but Seraiah wasn’t ready to let go.

Finally, they popped out into an open-air courtyard.

The courtyard was filled with the swirl of other dancers and revelers. Food and drink were passed around freely, and everyone moved to the music. Everyone, except a lone figure on a throne at the very center of the circle, that was.

This must be the Summer King. The ruler of all these cavorting creatures.

Maescia wove a path through the dancers toward the throne.

Seraiah tried her best not to stare at the faeries as she followed behind Kestrel, but it was difficult not to. They—like Maescia—appeared almost human until you looked at them directly. Then you saw their true features, and most were frightful.

She also spotted a few humans in the mix. These must be the ones Freya had told her were stolen away. They all wore dreamy expressions on their faces, as though they were in another world as they danced and twirled with the faeries around them. Most were thin—nothing more than skin and bones—as if they had danced away their bodies.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

Maybe they had.

The urge to join them became harder to resist the closer they drew to the center of the circle. Even the elves were having difficulty ignoring the call of the music. She caught the other two eyeing the crowd, not like they were suspicious, but like they wanted to join in. Their hands had fallen away from their weapons and hung loosely at their sides. So much for the protection Eryx had wanted them to provide.

Seraiah drew her hands into fists, letting her nails bite into her skin. But I will not join them. I am not like them. I am stronger.

“I’ve brought some guests, Your Majesty,” Maescia said, bowing low to her king.

Kestrel bowed as well, and Seraiah quickly followed suit. All of them held their bows until the Summer King bid them to rise. That was when Seraiah got her first good look at the King.

Unlike the others, he didn’t even pretend at being human. His bronze skin glowed as if he had swallowed the sun itself. A gilded crown, the exact color of his molten gold eyes, sat perched atop his copper curls. Everything about him radiated.

“Welcome to my Court, friends—or are you foe?” His voice caressed them like the air on a warm summer afternoon. He chuckled to himself. “I suppose that remains to be seen.”

He paused, appearing to listen to some unheard voice.

“You seek information about your missing queen. How desperate you must be to come here. I can’t recall the last time I hosted any elves.” His eyes passed over Kestrel and moved to Seraiah. “But humans, on the other hand . . .”

Fear gripped Seraiah’s heart at his wicked grin. Kestrel had been right. She was safer in Nyrene. This was a mistake, and she should have never come here.

None of them should have.

“And what will you exchange for the information about your precious queen?” His eyes stayed glued to Seraiah, even though the question was directed at Kestrel.

No one spoke. They all knew better than to offer anything. The faery would name his own price, and they would be free to accept or walk away.

The Summer King rose to his feet, surprising Seraiah with his height as he towered over them. Perhaps it was only an illusion to make them feel small and powerless, but she couldn’t be sure.

He stalked down the few short steps to the floor where they stood and quicker than her eyes could see, grabbed hold of her chin, forcing her to stare into those molten eyes. Seraiah could feel their pull—feel herself sinking into their depths, and she knew if she wasn’t careful, she would drown.

“How about this girl? This human seer. I have not seen one of you in quite some time. You might be fun to have around. You could tell me all the greatness I have in my future.” His words seemed to reach her from far away. His fingers burned her skin, and yet she could do nothing but stare into those eyes.

Still, no one else spoke.

“On the other hand, I already know my greatness, and humans are quite fragile. They wear out so easily.” He let go of her chin and turned away.

Seraiah blinked slowly, coming back to the surface. Her skin was still on fire where he had touched her, but she resisted the urge to check for damage. Instead, she stayed perfectly still and quiet. She didn’t want to draw that attention back to herself again.

This is for Sterling, she reminded herself. She’d failed her sister once, but she would not do so again.

The king paced in front of his throne, his hands behind his back. “I think we should make a game of this. What do you think, Maescia?”

Maescia, who Seraiah hadn’t realized was still there, spoke up. “Oh yes, my King, games are just delightful. It’s been so long since we have played a game.” She clapped her hands together gleefully, bouncing on her toes—the picture of an excited child.

It sent another shiver of fear down Seraiah’s spine. A game would not end well for them.

“Let me think, then. We cannot make this too easy now.” He paced back and forth some more, ignoring them entirely.

Seraiah stole a glance at Kestrel and could see from the look of horror in her eyes that this was not going at all how she had planned. It only solidified Seraiah’s fear. Maybe if she had stayed in Nyrene, the negotiations with the Summer King would have been more favorable.

Too late for that now.

Suddenly, the King stopped, and his eyes alighted on her again—a smile spreading slowly across his face.

“Ready to play?”