The Lost Queen (Book 1 of The Lost Queen Series)

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Maescia—small as she was—was fast. Every so often, she would pause and wait for them before skipping ahead again.

The farther she led them, the more buildings appeared, but there were no other faeries in sight. It was quiet and oddly deserted.

Maescia paused again to wait for them, and this time when they reached her, four more faeries appeared, fanning out behind her. "Your horses go no further," she informed them.

Seraiah shot Kestrel a wary look, but Kestrel seemed unruffled. "Of course," she said, dismounting. Kestrel had no sooner pulled her saddlebag from her horse than one of the new faeries whisked the horse away.

The rest of the group followed Kestrel's example, and one by one, their horses disappeared. When they were alone with Maescia once again, she gave them another one of those pointy-toothed grins. "Follow, follow," she singsonged, beckoning them forward.

She led them through narrow twisting streets, humming all the while. In some spots, the buildings were so close together they had to turn sideways to squeeze through.

The faint sound of music drifted in the air, blending in with Maescia's humming. The farther they walked, the clearer it became. It sunk into her body—into her very bones—urging her to dance. The music at the Eostre celebration had made Seraiah want to dance as well, but not with this sense of urgency. Her body swayed along with the eerie beat.

Kestrel caught her eye and gave a slight shake of her head. "Fight it," she mouthed. "Be strong."

Seraiah knew from the stories if she were to give in to the urge to dance, she would never stop. Kestrel had warned her she would never want to leave or see her sister again. She wouldn't even spare a thought for Sterling as she spun and twirled with abandon.

The idea of forgetting everything might be appealing to some—who wouldn't want their problems to disappear—but Seraiah wasn't ready to let go.

Finally, they popped out into an open-air courtyard.

The courtyard was filled with the swirl of other dancers and revelers. Food and drink were passed around freely, and everyone moved to the music. Everyone, except a lone figure on a throne at the very center of the circle, that was.

This must be the Summer King. The ruler of all these cavorting creatures.

Maescia wove a path through the dancers toward the throne.

Seraiah tried her best not to stare at the faeries as she followed behind Kestrel, but it was difficult not to. They—like Maescia—appeared almost human until you looked at them directly. Then you saw their true features, and most were frightful.

She also spotted a few humans in the mix. These must be the ones Freya had told her were stolen away. They all wore dreamy expressions on their faces, as though they were in another world as they danced and twirled with the faeries around them. Most were thin—nothing more than skin and bones—as if they had danced away their bodies.

Maybe they had.

The urge to join them became harder to resist the closer they drew to the center of the circle. Even the elves were having difficulty ignoring the call of the music. She caught the other two eyeing the crowd, not like they were suspicious, but like they wanted to join in. Their hands had fallen away from their weapons and hung loosely at their sides. So much for the protection Eryx had wanted them to provide.

Seraiah drew her hands into fists, letting her nails bite into her skin. But I will not join them. I am not like them. I am stronger.

"I've brought some guests, Your Majesty," Maescia said, bowing low to her king.