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Maewyn tapped her fingers on her lips in thought as Roan’s raven appeared again above the trees. “For what?” she asked, but Aunyx was already gone.

The prince circled overhead before swooping down to land at her feet, a fae once again as his black feathers shimmered out of existence.

Suddenly alone in the gardens and standing so close, Maewyn felt a rush of warmth in her face.

He really was quite handsome, crimson hair disheveled and tips of pointed ears peeking out, the hard lines of his cheeks and jaw pulled taut with a satisfied smile.

“That was an impressive finish,” she admitted around a lump in her throat.

“Oh, but we are not quite done yet.” He flitted a hand over the broken pumpkin beside them, and the entire garden filled with the cracking of the other gourds.

Maewyn hadn’t seen them arrive, but there were suddenly many other fae amongst the rows collecting pieces of the newly broken fruits.

True color blossomed on her face then, afraid they’d seen how she had been staring at Roan.

But that was probably fine, good even, since infatuation was all part of the game they were playing.

Roan gestured, and yet another creature appeared while Maewyn was blindly entranced. An elk, coat white as snow with a great antlered head and a regal step brought itself right up to her and bowed deeply, bending its snout just to the ground.

“Oh, um, hello,” she said to it, and Roan chuckled behind her as she curtsied. The elk did not stand.

“He’s waiting for you.” Roan took her by the hips and guided her to the animal’s side.

She went stiff under his touch, her heart flying into her throat, but then he lifted her to sit on the elk’s back, and the breath went all out of her when he took his hands away.

She gripped the fur of the creature’s neck, trying to steady herself.

“Take this, Lady of the Harvest Way.” Roan offered her a large piece of the cracked pumpkin. Maewyn needed both hands to hold the chunk of gourd. Earthy and crisp smelling, the stringy innards were piled in its center, but no seeds were left after the ravens.

Roan then climbed up onto the elk behind her, and the animal stood.

Her body heaved forward, but steadying hands fell on her hips again.

Roan’s touch was firm, fingers curling around and gently digging into the soft flesh there.

The heat of him shored up against her back, and then they were moving, the elk carrying them out of the orchard.

On foot, the other fae followed. Maewyn had been both impressed and not with fae until now, frightened of them, annoyed by them, in awe of their magic, but as they traveled from the gardens and through a dark gateway, a somber sense of wonder took her.

She and Roan led the others, the elk taking slow, plodding steps.

The prince’s hands did not come away from her waist, and she didn’t want them to, her own occupied with the fruit.

There was a power within their silently moving procession, and despite her desire to fill the quiet with a hundred whispered questions, she held her tongue, feeling the answers were only over the next ridge.

A foggy field lay ahead, crimson rhododendrons appearing in the mist. The bushes climbed over the ground and wrapped themselves around the few trees that dotted the field, a wash of deep red painting the grey.

From behind one of the trees stepped another elk, its whiteness blending into the mist. Another followed, this one antlerless, and then another, much smaller.

Their ears flicked this way and that as they took in the approaching fae, and soon there stood a whole herd, massive bodies half hidden in the fog, and the assembled fae came to a stop twenty paces apart.

Roan dismounted, Maewyn’s waist cold where his hands had been, but then they came back as he helped her slip down off the great creature.

With a simple nod from the prince, Maewyn knew just what to do, offering what she carried to the elk who had given them passage to this hidden place.

He snuffled at it and then, with an enormous munch, took a bite that brought a spark of joy to Maewyn’s chest.

Some agreement had been sealed—she could feel the magic as well as she could feel her own heart beating. The harvest would be plentiful in the human realm, so she had decided.

The other fae stepped forward then, each meeting with an animal and making a similar offering.

There were quiet voices in the field and gentle braying in response.

One calf playfully chased another, and Maewyn couldn’t hold back her laughter.

It was then she noted the young fae children that had accompanied them, some so small they could barely toddle about, but they too were partaking, holding up mounds of sticky pumpkin innards for elk to taste.

She hadn’t thought about fae being children just as she hadn’t thought of them aging, but of course they were young once—everything was.

“This isn’t just symbolic for your people, is it?” she asked Roan as the elk licked her fingers of the last pulpy bits.

“My father says we’re compelled to complete this ritual every year, both by magic and by our own past,” he told her.

“There was a time when the elylae ruled that the corners of the realm did not honor the seasons but used them to dominate. Instead of a harvest, those in Tenhaef used the magic here to rot the other lands and bring about death. When the fae came into power, they did so by befriending the earth. We’re stewards as much as we are servants, it seems.”

“You’re at the mercy of some greater magic?”

He touched his chest. “I suppose so.”

That night for the first time, Maewyn found Roan’s bed exceptionally uncomfortable.

She tossed and huffed, vexed she could no longer enjoy the best part of her predicament.

In her defeat, she squeezed her eyes shut and tried to imagine cozier things: warm cups of cider, plump roasted gourds, Roan’s hands on her hips.

Damn him—he’s even ruined sleep!

Maewyn glared at his sleeping form from the corner of her eye, crimson hair disheveled as he lay there turned away from her.

Roan had no trouble that evening, stripping in that maddening way of his, careless and borderline crass, and then sinking below the covers beside her.

She’d gotten so used to his annoying voice and minor jabs that when they were gone, she just didn’t know what to do with the empty sound.

But it wasn’t just his words she missed.

It was beyond ridiculous, craving his touch, but it had finally happened. All she could do was pray the desire would be broken when she returned home, so long as she could find the way.

And if she could bring herself to go.