Page 20 of When the Woods Go Silent

CHAPTER NINE

KIER

The scents wafting from the busy restaurant are both intoxicating and cloying. Nausea-inducing, to someone who knows who and what creates the irresistible dishes.

It’s a bit like someone beckoning you forward with a bouquet of flowers in one hand while hiding a dagger behind their back, ready to stab through your throat.

None of these humans have a clue.

Poor, wretched things, ignorant of true magic even as they tell their stupid stories about flying broomsticks. It’s why I love them, really. My brothers don’t understand, just as our Queen mother never did.

There’s something enchanting about creatures who are drawn to danger with such blind fervor. Moths to a flame, all of them.

Invisible behind my glamor, I lean against a tree and watch them queue forGoblin Market, idly counting how many come in and how many leave. Surprisingly, the numbers stay the same. So these particular gobbelins must be working a more subtle game with their appetites. It’s a relief, actually, that I won’t need to intervene quite yet.

Fae have historically never cared at all for how the humans fare among magical races, but things changed several years ago,when my wretched mother was vanquished by the Qilin Queen. It isn’t just the fae lands of Aralia, either - all of Haret has changed. For the better, my brothers insist.

I’m sure they’re right, as usual. I have no real opinions, preferring to stay out of it as much as possible. Instead, I jump at any chance to come to Earth, no matter the mission.

The night darkens around me, and fewer and fewer humans walk the streets. I barely feel the passing of their time, but I am keenly attuned to the awakening of the nighttime forest. These woods are old growth - much older than any of the human buildings here.

The very trees are teeming with unspent magic, and it’s positively delicious.

Satisfied thatGoblin Marketis operating well enough within its magical boundaries, I push off the trunk I’d been leaning against and slip between the dark trees. Immediately, my lungs fill with the scents of growing things, and my own magic simmers in my blood. Evergreen branches dip to brush against my shoulders, their needles tasting my fae skin, and I murmur something reassuring in my native language.

The trees understand it well enough, but they’re inexperienced in returning conversation.

Or maybe it’s me who hasn’t practiced enough - as the youngest Aralian prince, I’ve never really had to work for anything. The very fact that I’m on Earth on official royal business shows how much things have changed.

Just one year, Brigance and Ronan had told me. One year serving the crown. And then I’d be free to continue life as the carefree, careless rake I was born to be.

It’s been three years now since that promise was made.

My mood sours a bit as I try not to think of the difficulties and extra responsibilities of running a kingdom without a queen.

None of it matters, though. Selfish as I am, I’m still not willing to betray my brothers or Aralia. And so I simply coast, taking the easiest tasks I can, leaving them to the grittier work of restructuring and ruling a kingdom that has gone a little wild after my mother’s indiscriminate cruelty was abruptly ended.

If one of us would only choose a queen and mate, perhaps the magic would stabilize, but none of us are ready to carry that particular cross, just yet. Fae nobility are an absolute menace, and I detest them all.

I sense I’m nearly in the heart of the forest, and the trees have thinned a bit, revealing a narrow, quiet meadow, silvered with moonlight and rippling in the early spring breeze. It’s not as pretty as Aralia, but I’d be happy enough here.

Then, the breeze shifts, and I catch a telltale crackle in the air. My magic answers, reaching to identify it. My eyes widen when I do. This was not the magic I’d been hoping to find - it’s extremely rare, and it’s certainly not a gobbelin trait.

But as my feet carry me silently beyond the meadow and deeper into the side of the woods that’s lined with cave-pocked mountains, tracking the source on instinct, I’m completely certain what I’m hunting.

Dreamwalker.

ROSE

My mind feels fuzzy, even though I’ve already been up an hour and had two mugs of coffee.

I dreamed hard again last night, and although I can’t remember the twisted plot, I can’t stop seeing the glowing eyes and the wicked tongue between my thighs.

It wasn’t exactly Arlo, but it wasn’tnothim. Something in my imagination just isn’t quite ready to let him go, even thoughhe shouldn’t be worth my time. There were plenty of other interesting options in the restaurant last night.

“So, you’re sure you didn’t see Arlo last night?” Ruby asks, interrupting my thoughts like she was reading my mind. She’s trying to make her voice sound casual as she finger-combs her dark hair and rubs at the smudged mascara under her eyes.

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