At first it looks like any other forest, the trees packed tight, the underbrush heavy with frost. But soon the landscape starts to twist, the trees bleeding color where there shouldn’t be any. Trunks shimmer blue, green, even violent red. Some trees aren’t trees at all; they’re twisted up like ropes of glass, light refracting inside them as if they’re full of lightning. In other places, the ground pulses, moss blooming in spirals of white and indigo, the mushrooms clustered at the base of every trunk glowing with their own inner moons.
The animal life is just as incredible, maybe more so. I spot a peacock in the distance, but when it turns, the sunlight catches and refracts. Its feathers are shards of transparent crystal, each plume razor-edged and precise. It looks like it could cut a person to ribbons if it got close. A family of rabbits darts past the trail, their fur shimmering with what I first thought was dew at first, but is actually tiny moving scales, like fish or snake skin. Above us, birds with tails longer than my arm chase each other from branch to branch, their songs piercing, their eyes ringed with a metallic shine.
Miles pass. The path narrows but we push through, my heart in my throat every time something moves in the underbrush. Once, a herd of deer crosses the trail, only instead of antlers, they have boughs of silver and gold, and their hooves spark where they hit stone. One pauses to stare at me, its eyes blank and endless, like looking into a well at midnight.
But the wolves are even more incredible.
They appeared as the sun moved higher in the sky, shadowing us from the trees. From a distance they appeared to be regular wolves, but when one breaks cover to pace alongside me, I see the truth: it’s twice the size of any wolf I’ve ever seen, fur like burning amber, eyes molten gold. Its teeth are too white, too long. Its lips peel back in a smile far too deliberate for a wolf, before it lopes off into the brush.
I shudder and press closer to the kings, but they don’t seem concerned. The only thing they look at, other than the road ahead, is me. Their gaze keeps darting back to me, as if making sure I haven’t run off. Which, to be fair, I absolutely would do if I thought I could get away with it.
King Sylvian glances back at me again, but when our eyes meet, he slows a bit on his horse until he drops back to ride beside me. My spine stiffens, and I look away, feeling like the big man is far too close. He’s far too handsome for his own good.
“You doing all right?” he asks over the pounding hooves of our horses.
I don’t know what to say. No, I’m not alright, but I’m not admitting that. “There are… a lot of unique creatures in the fae lands.”
He smiles, and I can tell it’s genuine. “If you see something and want to know what it is, ask me. I know every tree, every animal out here.” He sweeps a hand at the landscape as a flock of birds flies overhead. “My family has ruled this part of the world for centuries.”
It’s interesting to hear the pride in his voice. “What are those birds called? The ones with the silver tails?”
“Mirrowhawks,” he says instantly. “They steal shiny things. They’ll try to take your dagger if you don’t keep an eye on it.”
I slide my hand to the bone hilt, checking. It’s still there.
“What about the peacocks I saw? And the strange rabbits?”
He goes on, excited now, eager to share. “The glass peacocks are dangerous, but only if you chase them. They’re all males, and in mating season they’ll fight to the death. The rabbits are harmless, but their scales are poisonous if you try to eat them.” He glances at me. “Not that you’d try.”
“I’ve eaten worse,” I say. He blinks and looks impressed, before his expression falls into something sadder.
He’s about to say more, but King Ashton swoops in, sliding his horse between us, edging King Sylvian aside.
“Bored yet?” he asks, sunlight turning his hair an even richer gold.
I shake my head. “More like overwhelmed. Your lands and the creatures are… a lot.”
He leans over. “You get used to it. Want to know a secret?”
I don’t, but I know he’ll tell me anyway.
He drops his voice. “King Sylvian is terrified of bugs. Not the big ones—just the ones that sting. Last spring a colony of tick wasps moved into the palace and he slept outside until they were gone.”
King Sylvian groans, but there’s no real anger in it. “You’re such a child.”
King Ashton laughs. “Yet, I’m not afraid of wasps.”
King Cassius drops back to reach my other side, his posture perfect, his expression unreadable as always. “Try not to mind them,” he says. “They’ve been fighting like this since before they could walk.”
I glance at him. “And you?”
He shrugs. “I try not to get involved. The fae have enough to fight about.”
King Ashton leans back, a hand behind his head, riding one-handed. “Cassius once made an earth fae cry just by talking. He’s not as nice as he looks.”
“Really?” I’m not sure I believe it.
The back and forth goes on like this for hours. They switch off, taking turns riding beside me, sometimes just to argue with each other, sometimes to share a fact or two. Every so often, King Oberon will drop back, as if by accident, but he never says anything. He just rides close enough to make sure I’m still there, then pushes ahead.
