Page 6

LYSANDER

S weets. The word rings in my ears all week as I hide upstairs, avoiding the club. No, surely hiding isn’t the right word. I’ve just been busy with my costumes.

It’s not like the human scares me. There must be another explanation for the way my knees lock up and my tongue fails me whenever I see him.

The words he tossed my way are stuck like gleaming gems in my head.

Pretty boy. Sugary sweet. Generous. My face burns when I think of them, far from the graceful, collected image everyone has of me.

Today I’ve only come downstairs because Syril asked to see me, but when I knock, their office is empty.

Thumping music carries down the hall, reminding me with a flash of guilt that there’s a show tonight and I should be in the audience.

The dancers are a pair of nymphs, and the costumes I made for them are two glittering matched sets that tear away when the wearer undoes the ribbons.

It was a fun challenge to come up with the ribbon placements, and they were happy to show me their dance routine so I could fit the costume to it.

Everyone has been generous about my little hobby.

Projects like this give me purpose. The least I can do is attend the show.

Today I hesitate, and instead I land in the staff room. The Sanctum has been nothing but welcoming, but I still find it hard to adjust.

Of the four kingdoms, wildlings like me are least suited to life among other monsters.

My people — gentle fauns, flock-minded harpies, protective dryads, even the aloof naga — are monsters of the forest. But with dwindling forest to live in, we have no choice but to live side by side with other kingdoms, a reality I’ve long been sheltered from while my family was in hiding.

Fairies are protectors. A fairy’s touch is deadly, and his ur-form is a vicious warrior.

But me? I’m a coward who jumps at shadows and lets nightmares rule my sleep.

Even within the safety of The Sanctum, I itch to hide from prying eyes.

Especially his eyes. Other monsters give me a wide berth, but the human steps over the invisible border as if it’s the easiest thing in the world, so easily it makes my skin prickle.

If I wasn’t wearing the amulet, would he still look at me the same way? The spark of… curiosity, or whatever it is, could turn to fear, or even disgust. His easy, almost arrogant grin might fade. He’s probably withdraw, leaving me cold.

Wouldn’t he?

I shudder. A gentle knock comes on the doorframe, pulling me out of my all-too-vivid thoughts.

“Syril is in, Your Highness,” Lilian says softly.

“It’s Lysander,” I remind her automatically.

Her ears flick in embarrassment and she bows quickly. “Of course, Prince Lysander!”

Before I can correct her again , she escapes, the tap-tap of her hooves in the hall a reprimand.

Syril looks up when I enter the office. “Lysander. Thank you for coming.”

They come out from behind the desk, drifting on shadowy tendrils. Syril is a shadow dryad, their top half wreathed in a crown of branches and their bottom half a creature of pure shadow, like Orion. They straddle two kingdoms, wildling and shadowfey.

“Lilian said you wanted to see me.”

“I hope you didn’t frighten her.” Syril’s eyes twinkle. “She just rushed into the kitchen.”

“I didn’t mean to.” I sit on the divan, clutching my hands in my lap. I should be a leader to her — and all the wildlings — but instead I’m an awkward fool. Syril isn’t a prince, but they’re more composed and in charge than me by many orders of magnitude.

“Did you enjoy the show?”

“Of course,” I lie.

“The riigan wine is helping you sleep?” Syril presses gently.

“Yes.” I look down. “Thank you.”

“I can still find someone for you to talk to. It helps to be understood — trust me, I know it.” They sit delicately on the other end of the divan, too far to accidentally touch me. Nonetheless, I grip my hands together tighter.

Talk to someone? It sounds ridiculous. What would I talk about?

“I don’t see how it would help,” I tell them.

“I think you need to open up to someone , Lysander.”

“I’d rather not.” My jaw tightens. My mother is gone. Elsabeth left me. There’s no amount of talking that would bring them back to me.

Syril sighs. “Let’s discuss the festivities, then.”

“Yes, please.”

I make an effort to unwind enough to participate.

Monsters have three traditional festivals — the Greening at the spring equinox, the Crossing at midsummer, and the Solstice at midwinter.

Festivals in the safe house were celebrated quietly, but Syril organizes grand gatherings every year.

I agreed to be part of the celebrations this year, but the tangible requirement is still unclear, and I tell Syril so.

A gleam enters Syril’s eye. “To be frank, darling, what I need is easy. Simply your willing presence. The Watchers are on my back about the size of our gatherings, saying they’ll attract humans, or that cross-species incidents could spill over into human territory.

They claim to be factionless, but they’re royalists at heart — shadowfey royalists, no less, and King Hellebore and I do not always agree about what’s best for the community.

Your official endorsement would hold his dogs at bay. ”

Most of what Syril says goes over my head, but the gist is clear. “You just need me to… show up?”

“Precisely. Be a sponsor. Arrive wearing something suitably royal, look as though you approve, and I’ll handle the rest.”

“That seems simple enough,” I say slowly.

I’m not completely naive — I know by letting Syril parade me around, I’m aligning myself with them and their agenda.

The thing is, after being here six months, I’m not sure I disagree with it at all.

The four monster kingdoms have drawn distinct borders for centuries, or at least tried, but here in The Sanctum the lines blur and no one is worse off for it.

Even wildlings like Lilian seem to have found a place. Borders feel… antiquated.

“Now, it is tradition for royals to join the Crossing at midsummer,” Syril begins, and my stomach sinks.

“N-no,” I blurt unthinkingly.

The way their eyes widen fractionally makes me suddenly sick.

“I couldn’t possibly.” I hurry to cover my trip up. “I’m not my father’s heir.”

The Crossing is the oldest tradition, outstripping even the King’s Oath itself.

It stems from a time when all monsters would cross Lake Ayucta to reach the island in the middle, the birthplace of magic, where they replenished the very essence of their being.

That was before cracks opened in other parts of this realm to let magic through.

In those times, kings and common monsters would race side by side to reach the island first.

In later days, it became a symbol of commonality — a reminder that all monsters came from the same source, whether wildling, stoneskin, or waterspirit.

Shadowfey are, of course, different.

But for once it isn’t the idea of replacing the king — my father — that scares me.

The truth is more selfish. I was just an infant when my mother, Elsabeth and I fled the wildling valley and escaped across the sea, but my subconscious must remember our long voyage, because on my long list of fears, water is close to the top. For years I couldn’t even take baths.

I can’t let Syril know that. It’s beyond embarrassing.

Syril frowns. “The monsters in Greenriver would be glad to see you join, heir or no. But I don’t mean to extract unwilling promises. Do what you’re comfortable with.”

“I can be a sponsor, whatever that entails,” I say firmly.

“Excellent.” The gleam becomes a sparkle. “You can see how as someone of mixed heritage, these kinds of inter-kingdom politics irritate me.”

I nod mutely, pretending I do, indeed, see.

“I appreciate this, Lysander. Now I have one more thing to discuss with you. Have you met our newest staff member?”

My stomach jolts uncomfortably. “The human?”

“Ah, you have. He’s my little pet project, I suppose you could call it.” Their mouth twists in a wry smile. “Orion tells me he’s settling in well, but how do you find him?”

Bold. Curious. Fascinating.

“Me?” I clutch my knees. “I don’t — I don’t know. I have no knowledge of humans.”

Syril goes on, oblivious to my thoughts. “Do try to get to know him. He’ll be here for a while, if he doesn’t turn down the amulet, and others may follow your example. We might inhabit human cities, yet many monsters are still afraid of humans. If we want to thrive, we must mingle.”

“Yes, of course,” I agree, though I’m reeling inside.

More humans? Will they all be as charming and interested as this one? Doubt rises at the thought. But why would he be special?

Back in the silent haven of my room I flick the lamp on, chasing the cool shadows away, and curl into the egg-shaped hammock that Bear hung for me.

It wraps me tight in a sad simulation of a real embrace.

I stick one foot out and push off the floor, rocking the hammock gently.

Syril believes I’m something I’m not — a true prince, with poise and influence.

Orion, Lilian, Plato…all the staff seem to feel the same, to varying degrees.

As long as they remain outside the invisible barrier that seems to circle me, the illusion will hold.