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We cross the entryway, and all but a few of Des’s soldiers break away, lining up on either side of the door that leads deeper into the castle.

Des takes my hand. “Time for introductions,” he quietly explains.

Now for the most curious part of the entire evening.

We all wear pretty masks, pretty masks that hide depraved thoughts. Mine’s hidden behind glowing skin and a melodic voice. Des’s lurks deep in the shadows. What will this queen and her consort-king show me?

Our now much smaller group heads through the door in front of us. On the other side of it is a throne room, this one packed with fae of all shapes and sizes. Most look like normal fairies, but then there are some who look more like plants than people, a few I’m pretty sure are hobgoblins, and one with an uncanny resemblance to a troll. All of them are attired in sumptuous outfits. Clearly, these are the most privileged of the Flora Kingdom’s citizens—most privileged and probably the most fickle, their allegiance as pliant as my body under Des’s touch.

The Bargainer and I walk down the aisle, our bodies still glowing—in my case partly because of the clothing and partly because of my skin. I feel the room’s eyes on me, their gazes like a touch. Their curiosity, their envy, their yearning fills me.

I’m intrigued by all these alien creatures, creatures I barely understand and cannot control. They, in turn, stare back, their eyes mesmerized by my skin and face. I know I look like a strange angel, my black wings shimmering under more of those odd chandeliers.

When we reach the end of the aisle, the guards in front of us step aside, unveiling the raised dais behind them.

Leaning back on a throne made of vines and flowers is Mara Verdana, the Queen of Flora.

Her wild red hair cascades down her shoulders and chest, her eyes the same sharp green color as the plants we’re surrounded by. Her skin is alabaster pale, and her mouth is just as voluptuous as the rest of her appears to be.

There are flowers in her hair and woven into her dress, and her crown is simply a wreath of them. But she is the loveliest flower of them all. I want to touch that skin of hers and see if it’s as petal soft as I imagine it to be.

She watches us with narrowed eyes, a slight amused smile on her lips. She might be the lovely Queen of Flora, but just like Des, she looks to me like a panther, something beautiful and dangerous that will strike when you least expect it. For all her magnificence, she must be a deranged thing.

Next to her, in a throne noticeably smaller, is her husband, the Green Man. True to his name, he is green from head to toe. His hair is the dark hue of evergreens, and his skin the pale color of spring grass.

I expected a brawny bearded man, but compared to the Bargainer, the Green Man is more of a dandy, his face pretty without that roughened edge Des’s has. Unlike the portrait I saw of him, he has no beard, his face as smooth as his body is lithe.

The siren in me finds that she has no interest in him. There’s no power to coax from him and no danger to feed from. All I feel toward the man right now is…pity. Such a creature has all the trappings of a wild, violent thing, but next to his vibrant wife, he’s docile, compliant,defeated.

Des and I come up right to the edge of the dais. I don’t know what the fae etiquette for this situation is, so I touch my fingers to my forehead like I saw other fairies do to us.

“Queen of Flora, Green Man,” Des says, inclining his head to both of them, “as always, it’s a pleasure.”

Mara stands, her sage-green gown swaying as she does so. Her face splits into a smile. Her happiness is like an arrow to the heart. I wonder just how many people have given up all they hold dear to bask in this woman’s smile.

She spreads her arms. “Welcome, my Emperor of Evening Stars.”

Myemperor? My hands curl.

Mara descends the steps, her eyes not once traveling to me. My hackles are rising.I am not someone to be ignored, my siren hisses.

The queen comes in close to Des and kisses him on either cheek. Behind her, the Green Man steps down from his throne, trailing after her, his amber eyes on me. Just from the way he’s staring, I feel his longing. I feelalltheir longing. It hangs in the air like perfume; I am something enviable, something strange and taboo.

How many hands wish to stroke my flesh, how many faces wish to bury themselves in my hair? Mara can have her moment with Des. The King of the Night is mine, and the Flora Queen’s subjects might as well be under my spell.

“Mara,” Des says, “this is my mate, Callypso Lillis, one of the last sirens.”

Reluctantly, Mara turns her gaze from Des to me. Genuine interest flickers in her eyes. “What abeauty.”

The compliment is a balm to the bloodlust thrumming beneath my skin. Beauty is one of the few powers I still wield in this foreign place. But somewhere deep inside me, the compliment sours.

Nothing defangs a woman quite like being called beautiful, my rational mind whispers.

Resting her hands on my upper arms, Mara pulls me in close and kisses each of my cheeks. Behind me, I hear her subjects suck in air, and I get the sense Mara just broke etiquette.

Because I am human…

She releases me and straightens. “Desmond is lucky to have found himself such a gem. And you are lucky to have found yourself a mate in a king.”