Page 29 of A Court of Sugar and Spice
“Not forever,” he assures me. “There are other ways to pass between the realms. Fewer than there used to be, but you need not remain here forever, unless you wish it. And you may decide you want to stay. Humans who reside in this realm age far more slowly than they would in their own realm—a distinct advantage, if you can survive the other dangers here. Unfortunately, even in the Seelie kingdom, human life expectancy isn’t as long as one might wish. There are so many little ways to die.”
The smile he gives me is pure savagery, sharp-toothed and wicked. “Eat your fruit, darling. We’ll be home soon.”
“This house once belonged to anabhartach,” says the Sugarplum Faerie, flinging the door wide and holding it open for us to enter. “Instead of craving the blood of humans, he craved the blood of the Fae. He pretended to be a dealer of rare magical ingredients, specifically banned ones. He would disguise himself in various ways and appear at Night Markets in both the Seelie and Unseelie kingdoms. Whenever someone questioned him about dark, illicit substances, he would arrange to meet them in secret, claiming to have the item they needed. And then he would drain their blood, every last drop.”
“You’re a wonderful storyteller.” Louisa pushes past him into the house. “We certainly won’t have nightmares after that lovely tale.”
Normally she would be dancing through the place already, exclaiming over all its quirks. She’s definitely not herself, and I don’t think it’s only because of the mind-bending changes and life-threatening peril we’ve encountered today. Perhaps I can find a moment to talk with her about it.
The Prince enters the house next. I take a last, long look at the blue-and-purple forest, at the soft multicolored lights winking through the trees, at the huge white blooms nodding near the door of the rambling house. My mind is no longer overcome by the Faerie landscape, but I don’t think I could ever get used to such beauty. I think, if I returned to the mortal plane now, everything I saw would seem dull and drab by comparison.
“You really are an artist,” says the Sugarplum Faerie.
I glance at him, quirking an eyebrow.
“The way you’re devouring the scene. Not just admiring it, but swallowing it whole. Saving it, so you can mull over it later.”
“I suppose.” I’m about to pass through the doorway when he bars my way with his arm.
“Someone has taught you to feel shame about your needs, both artistic and primal.” His golden eyes pierce mine. “Your guardian, I presume.”
“We spent less than two days with our guardian.”
“A parent, then.”
“My father.”
“Interesting. You and your sister had the same upbringing, yet she seems more open than you, swearing, yelling about cocks and cum and such things during our battle with the mole-rat. And I do believe she was doing something naughty with my cousin before we showed up.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised.” Then I bite my lips and look away from him, feeling as if I’ve betrayed Louisa in some way.
“She’s the experienced one.” He leans toward me, mischief in his eyes. “But you’re the secret freak, aren’t you, darling?” Closer he bends, inhaling, his lashes drifting shut. “I can smell it on you—the delicate sweetness of your lust. Like melted sugar, sliding between your legs.”
My skin is fire and ice at once, burning and chilling with a fever beyond any illness.
When my sister used to sneak out, at night or during long, dull afternoons when my father was working, I stayed behind. I knew she didn’t go far—she couldn’t, without someone noticing and telling our father. And she didn’t always leave the property—she had ways of bringing the fun into the cellar, the garden shed, or the stable.
I knew what she was doing. And even though I refused to accompany her, I took care of my needs in other ways. I would crawl into our dark closet and touch myself, over and over, sometimes coming three or four times before I was sated. I couldn’t do it on the bed, because Papa refused to let us lock our door, and I didn’t want him to surprise me in such activities. But just as Louisa had places for her trysts, I had a place of my own.
All the dark fantasies that played through my mind during those stolen moments—I have never spoken of them to anyone, not even my sister. I fear they are too shocking, even for her.
The Sugarplum Faerie’s pink lips open, and his breath sifts into my parted mouth. A slight shift forward, and he would be kissing me.
“Clara!” My sister’s voice, a sharp tone I’ve rarely heard from her. “Are you coming in?”
The Sugarplum Faerie drops his arm, smirking, and with a sweeping gesture invites me to enter the house.
It’s warmly lit by lamps unlike anything I’ve seen—floating glass balls filled with dancing flame, fueled by magic. Wooden paneling gives way to plaster halfway up the walls, and the beams overhead are thick, glossy, and well-worn, etched with runes.
After the tiny entry hall, there’s a great space upheld by thick posts, also rune-covered. Couches, cushions, and low tables litter the room, all of them draped in lush blankets and covered with pillows. The walls are lined with cubbies, cabinets, and shelves, each packed with glass jars.
And every glass jar is filled with candy.
Small barrels stand here and there, each one packed to the brim with toffees, sugared nuts, caramels, and other candies wrapped in twisted paper or colorful leaves. At one end of the room, tall glass canisters contain chocolates, gumdrops, and pebble-sized crystals in a hundred different hues.
With a little of her usual spark, Louisa darts forward. “Have you ever seen so much candy in your life, Clara? This is more than we saw in the shop Papa took us to that one year!”
“It’s a sweetshop of sorts,” says the Sugarplum Faerie. “But not the kind you’re thinking of.”
