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The Thief had deliberately orchestrated a situation where I’d drink the wine and become fae, all so that his power could hold dominion over mine. Before then, his magic didn’t work on me, just as it didn’t for all humans.

“What can I say?” he responds. “Fairies in love can be terribly predictable, I’m afraid.”

The Thief comes around to my front, and I finally get a good look at him.

He’s as I remember him from my dreams and that brief moment in the woods. Jet black hair, inky, upturned eyes, pouty mouth, alabaster skin.

Like all the other fairies I’ve met, he’s beautiful. Almost unbearably so. Not for the first time, I wish that evil looked as it should.

I step away from his touch. The night shrouds us on all sides, but even in the darkness I can make out the twisted oaks that surround me.

My stomach drops. I’m back in Mara Verdana’s sacred oak forest.

Could’ve sworn I’d left this place.

Off in the distance, I can hear the faint notes of a fiddle and the snap and crackle of a bonfire. The smell of wood smoke carries on the breeze. There’s something under the smell, a scent that’s somewhat sweet. If only I could place it …

The Thief of Souls walks over to a tree, his boot scuffing a root. “This, I believe, is where you fucked the Night King.”

I feel bile rise up my throat.

Jesus. Had he watched us?

His gaze meets mine. “How do I know that?” He glances at the tree trunk again. The normally rough bark is coated in a slick substance. “I have eyes everywhere.”

As I watch, the Thief presses a hand to the glistening bark. Within seconds, whatever coats the tree trunk now spills onto the Thief’s hand, the dark rivulets snaking between his fingers and down his wrist.

And now I place that strange scent.

Blood.

It drips from the tree the Thief touches, and now it’s smeared across his hand.

The Thief gives me a small smile, his eyes glinting in the darkness.

I begin to hear the slow patter of rain. Only—I’m not sure it’srainthat’s dripping from the trees’ boughs.

As I watch, the oak in front of me starts to groan and tremble.

The Thief eyes me up and down. “Fae magic suits you well, enchantress. I confess that I’m eager to see how it interacts with my own.”

Around me, the trees crack and splinter, making wet, popping noises.

One by one, the trunks peel open like banana skins. Nestled inside each is a sleeping soldier, all of them still as death. Blood oozes down their skin and drips from their tattered clothes.

The oak next to the Thief ruptures, revealing a bronze-skinned fairy. The Thief touches the soldier’s cheek, and for an instant, his face morphs into that of the sleeping man. Then the illusion is gone, and he’s himself once more.

I shudder.

“I’ve been waiting awhile for this day to come,” he says distractedly, still staring at the soldier. He drops his hand and turns his full attention to me. “Tell me, enchantress, can you make a man—any man—fall in love with you? Not just enchant them for a time, but truly conquer their hearts?”

My skin’s pricking.

The Thief leaves the soldier’s side, pacing towards me. Around us, the sound of wood splintering and blood dripping swells until I feel l might go mad.

All at once, the woods fall eerily silent.

Without warning, my siren flares to life, triggered by some pressing, unknown fear. My skin brightens, illuminating the Thief’s face in the dark night.