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He bowed low to Serissa Braer, and never forgot her name.

* * *

Far to the west,in the mortal lands, humans had a saying. Never trust a fae. Rissa remembered reading about it somewhere. She used to believe that their animosity toward her kind was due to their proximity to the unseelie realms. The dark fae were known for mischief, wickedness, and cruelty.

Now she knew better. It was never wise to trust any fae. Her, most of all. While she couldn’t lie, it was rare that a truth escaped her lips these days.

“We share your sorrow, friend,” she said, her voice a clear, musical sound filling the entire hall.

She smiled down at the two males in front of her, a pixie and a salamander, both adorned in attire woven from forest leaves and fresh moss.

The rest of the court was watching them with contempt, snickering and whispering nasty things. The gentry had never been kind to the fairies, the lower class of fae. The trouble these two brought to her attention was beneath their notice, worthy of contempt.

The pixie lived in a tree the salamander’s newborns had burned to a crisp, and since then, their two families had quarreled.

Such lowly issues were never brought before the royal court when her father ruled over it. It was customary for the heir to replace the current king in his absence. She was supposed to learn to rule. But on days when Rissa was on duty, the advisors saw that she heard nothing of consequence.

She didn’t mind. Rissa may sit on the white ash throne occasionally, with a wreath of flowers in her hair, but she knew one thing. The crown of sunlight would never be hers.

The gentry may look down upon the salamander and the pixie. But her, they truly hated. Their disgust was as plain as starlight.

“We will consider your position and get back to you by nightfall. In the meantime, you will cease your warmongering.”

A lie, but one she could voice easily enough. She’d already made her decision, and Rissa wasn’t in the mood to hear the gentry mock her for it.

The pixie glared at the salamander. Great or small, no member of the court respected her.

“I will have your oath, or I will take no action.”

Her voice remained even and unfeeling. Indifference was a skill she’d learned long ago. The fae usually responded to it.

The two fairies bobbed their heads.

“Aye. Till nightfall then.”

Rissa nodded. “We’ll meet beneath your tree. Next.”

It was a long morning. Sacrilegious behaviors on fairy raths, littering in a naiad’s pond—apparently, some youths were indeed that stupid—a well-meaning brownie messing with a banshee’s curse, and various garden fae cross about the spring flowers this year. They blamed the court for not celebrating the ancient festivals meant to replenish the lands of their magic.

They weren’t wrong. Rissa had seen the change, just in her fifteen years. The winters were colder, lasted longer. Night was swallowing sunlight.

But there was little she could do about it. She appeased them with kind nonsense, general enough that the words wouldn’t choke her throat. Finally, the last complaint was heard, and she was free.

Rissa rose from her father’s throne and crossed the hall of starlight, the largest room in the Flower Garden, with a high glass ceiling that allowed for a clear view of the sky, eyes forward, unblinking. She walked at an easy pace, though she longed to rush out. She could barely breathe in this place. In any of the castles. Beneath any roof.

She was a child of the wild, in and out. The soft dusting of colorful feathers at the side of her neck, all over her shoulders, was a constant reminder of that.

Finally, she was out. Rissa rushed to her quarters, kicked off her fancy shoes, and dropped her high-collared white and gold dress to the floor, exchanging the court raiment for a pair of light brown breeches and a leather top reinforced around the heart with metal plates. She sheathed her two long knives on her belt, took her bow, and finally leaped out her window, jumping down to freedom.

Her bare feet served her better than any shoes in the spring. She’d have to find a new pair of leather boots before winter, as her last pair was so worn they had holes her toes peeked through.

The gardens of this palace were extensive, and to the south, they merged with the woods of Lailan, a domain she had yet to fully explore. The court rarely settled in the Flower Garden for long.

The directions to the pixie’s troublesome tree had been clear enough for her to find it with ease. It was a beautiful oak tree that had no doubt grown for decades. Though one of the large sinuous branches was burned black, the tree hadn’t suffered for it. As she'd expected, the fairies had been fighting for their pride, or perhaps because fighting was a good way to interrupt the dull monotony of their long lives.

She had perhaps an hour or two before sunlight, and neither complainant was anywhere near.

Good. She didn’t enjoy making a spectacle of herself.