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He sits on a tree stump, his limbs spread around a tall, curvy piece of wood with strings affixed down the center. Clefts carve through the frame’s belly, coiling at the ends. I see knobs at the top and a dartlike stand at the bottom.

Puck’s head dips, wild layers of hair tumbling over his face. Those bladed ears spring from his head.

He doesn’t see me, but I see him. Fables, how I see him.

Clad in umber breeches, his thighs are spread in a broad stance to accommodate the cello. It leans against his naked chest, jolting as he runs a wand-like bar across the strings. His arms flex, the muscles bunching, sweat glistening in his clavicles.

He plays with his eyes clamped shut. He plays with his whole body, putting his weight into it. He plays with all his vicious heart.

The satyr’s right arm slides back and forth while his left digits vibrate over the cords. The pace is languid, at once seductive and yearning. The composition sways in one direction, then plunges low. So low that I feel it in my womb, and lower, and lower.

In one fluid movement, Puck lifts his head. His eyes open to find mine.

Air hitches between my teeth, getting trapped there. I grip the leaves on either side of me.

My cheeks roast with mortified heat. However, his expression doesn’t change, nor does the music. His fingers move fluidly without pause, without tripping over the notes.

It’s a vision worthy of anthology illustrations.A satyr plays his cello, its seductive glamour luring innocent mortals into his lair.

I linger. The music seeps in, its effects accumulating like sips of wine—potent, addictive. He plays, and he plays, and he plays. We stare, and we stare, and we stare. His melody dares me to stay, to listen, to find out.

The notes taper high, then quiver into a crescendo. Next, they descend once more, rippling to the ground and sinking in. The melody evaporates with a final shiver, leaving silence in its wake.

I step into the enclosure, folding my hands in front of me. “That was…” Splendid, dazzling, magnificent. “…exceptional.”

When it comes to compliments, my deficiency rings clear. For once, I cringe at the tactless description. Exceptional? It was a sterling performance.

Puck lowers that stick apparatus, oxygen venting from his chest as if he’s worn himself out. “You think so?” he pants. “I was going for tantalizing.”

“No, you were not.”

“No, I wasn’t. For once.”

Yes. The rulers of the Solitary wild have used their instruments to enchant mortals—to no benevolent end.

But not now. Not me.

Where did the cello come from? How did Puck transport it here?

Do I need to ask? Likely, he’d evanesced to retrieve the instrument, then materialized back here.

Puck assesses my unshod toes, the leggings clinging like film to my limbs, and the sweater covering everything else of notoriety. I feel his gaze penetrate beneath the material, no matter how heavy the yarn.

“It’s past your bedtime, luv,” he intones. “Need help sleeping?”

I refuse to answer that. “Where did you learn to play?”

The satyr drapes his arms over the cello. “Cerulean taught himself the flute. Elixir taught himself the harp. Not one to be left out, I had to keep up with them. That the instruments represented each of our worlds appealed to us, and I liked earning the skill instead of being entitled to it like a maudlin prince, or endowed with it like some extravagantly, long-suffering prodigy. I might have mentioned before, I fancy working with my hands.

“But now you’ll ask, why the cello? I thought so.” Puck drags his index finger down a string. “It reminds me of roots. The notes are immersive and resilient, the effect profound.” He glimpses my face. “It reaches deeply.”

I gulp, clench my fingers tighter.

“Also, the trees like the music, so to speak,” he says. “And I’m ever at their merry service.”

I have no idea what to make of that, but I’d like to know.

Puck adjusts the cello, shifts himself on the stump. “If you want another tune, your wish is my command. For a price, of course. My music doesn’t come cheaply, especially with a ruler’s schedule. Don’t you see how very busy I am?”