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But just as soon as I notice the unnatural attention, it gets diverted. The crowd goes quiet, and from the darkness emerges Mara, the Green Man on her arm. The train of her dress drags behind her, leaving a trail of flower petals in its wake.

Following the Queen and King of Fauna is a group of beautiful men, each dressed in a deep green tailcoat and breeches, and behind them are a set of musicians carrying harps and lyres, fiddles and flutes.

Mara breaks away from the fairies around her to approach the middle of the gathering.

“Welcome, welcome all,” she says, spreading her arms out wide, “to the first evening of Solstice.”

All around us I spot Fauna fae, Flora fae, and Night fae. There’s only one set of fairies that’s noticeably absent.

“Where is the Kingdom of Day?” I whisper to Des.

“They don’t usually come until the first morning light.”

I make an O with my mouth like that makes some sort of sense to me, when it really doesn’t.

Whatever.

“This is a week of revelry,” Mara continues, “when even the Mother and the Father embrace deep in their earthen tombs. When water and wine, soil and sun, men and women all come together.

“This week, let us set aside our woes and vendettas”—some Fauna fae cut their gazes to me and Des—“and let us drink deeply, eat heartily, love fully, and revel thoroughly.”

A cheer goes up from the crowd, several fairies whistling their approval.

Mara waits until her audience quiets before she continues. “Deep from the womb of the night, we were born, and deep into the night do our spirits return when the body has died and the flesh has cooled.

“And so we shall begin this week of festivities with that which came first, before the flickering of the first light: the primordial darkness. Turn your gazes to the Lord of Secrets, Master of Shadows—Desmond Flynn, the King of the Night.”

She gestures across the clearing to where Des and I stand. The stares of the crowd were unnerving before, but they’re nothing to the heated focus of the gathering now.

My wings hike up at the attention, but Des is as calm as ever. Placing a steadying hand on my back, he maneuvers us toward Mara and her makeshift stage.

This is not exactly what I had in mind when I agreed to stay by the Bargainer’s side this evening.

Once we reach the Queen of Flora, Des’s gaze sweeps around the clearing. For a moment, the only sounds are the sputtering hisses of the bonfires.

And then Des begins speaking. “There are a few things all fae are born knowing: That the night is dark, and the flesh is warm. That our lives might be long, but someday even they must eventually end. Tonight, and for all of Solstice, let us bring forth life from the darkness.”

His words sound old, like this verse has been recited long enough to have a sort of magic to it.

“Only in the shadows and dark spaces do we find our truest wishes and deepest desires,” he continues, the audience watching him raptly. While he speaks, his thumb draws small circles on my lower back. “Only in the night do we let go of our civility and loosen the ties that bind us during the day. Only then do we reach for soft skin. Only then do we dare to dream.

“So release your inhibitions, give in to my pull, find a willing partner, and sow yourself deep.”

I glance at Des. Is he suggesting what I think he’s suggesting?

The music strikes up, distracting me from my thoughts, and fairies take to the clearing, grabbing waists and hands. People begin to spin, and all that expertly coiffed hair and all those tightened bodices loosen themselves as people are sucked in by the music.

Even I’m not immune to it, my hips swaying from side to side, my hand going to my own hair, which hangs in waves down my back.

“You managed to keep me waiting this year, Desmond.” Mara’s voice is deceptively sweet as she comes up behind us. She places a hand on his shoulder, and he turns to face her.

“I thought,” she continues, “that perhaps you wouldn’t show.”

“Ah, how fun it is to keep you guessing,” Des says, his eyes sparking with mischief.

The men who followed Mara now come up to her—one proprietary hand goes to her hip, another grips her arm. One of them leans in, whispering something into her ear, his dark eyes pinned to me as he speaks. She leans back into their touches.

The whole thing has my skin prickling uncomfortably, especially when she flashes Des a wanton look. “Enjoy your evening, my Night King,” she says, and then she turns away into the group of waiting men.