“That would please us greatly, your majesty.”

“It is decided, then.” Titania nodded regally, dismissing us. “We will meet again tonight. I am most anxious to hear what you have been up to in the time you’ve been gone.”

We bowed, and Ash reached down a second time and brought the back of the queen’s hand to his lips. “Until tonight, my lady,” he murmured, and we left the queen’s court, feeling her eyes on us until we ducked back into the tunnel.

I held in my laughter until we were well away from the throne room, before turning on Ash with a gleeful cackle. “What was that, ice-boy? Since when did you get to be such a charmer? I didn’t think you had it in you.”

His face flamed. “I did what I had to do,” he said, crossing his arms and looking away. “We got close to the queen and saw what Leanansidhe sent us for. Now the question is, how do we get her away from Titania? How do we get her out of the Summer Court?”

“Worry not, ice-boy. I already have a plan.” I flashed him my best impish smile, rubbing my hands together. “One brilliant Goodfellow prank, coming right up.”

The Grand Dining Hall wasn’t really a hall, more of a marble courtyard underneath the stars, surrounded on all sides by a giant hedge maze. In the very center, surrounded by hedgy unicorns and lions, the Summer Queen held her most extravagant parties at a long white and gold table, very reminiscent of a certain Mad Hatter’s tea party. To be invited to one of these affairs, you had to be a personal favorite of the queen, or the next one on her figurative chopping block. Needless to say, Oberon never attended.

The labyrinth was easy for “Sir Torin” and I to navigate, despite a couple statues that tried pointing us in the wrong direction, and all too soon we reached the table in the center of the maze. It was surrounded by Seelie gentry in their fanciest clothes, gowns of feathers and rose petals, cloaks of baby’s breath and spiderwebs. And at the head of the table, her golden hair braided with flowers and sparkling moonstones, the Summer Queen smiled and waved us over.

Vi, the mortal child, sat in a chair on the queen’s right, solemnly plowing her way through an impressive fountain of pink and blue cake. Her violin sat on a pillow, held by a waiting satyr behind the girl’s chair. She didn’t look up as we approached, but the queen gave us a welcoming smile.

“Now,” Titania purred after introductions were made and the rest of the gentry were settled, “let us hear of your latest adventures, knights. Sir Torin, would you like to regale the court with your mighty quests and deeds?”

Beside me, Torin lowered his head. “Ah, my lady, nothing would make me happier.” He nodded to me with a small frown. “However, I believe Sir Fagan has won the right to sing of our adventures this evening. We made a bet on who would have the honor, and I lost. If it pleases you, I will leave the storytelling to him.”

Titania pouted a bit then brightened. “Very well, then, Sir Torin. I insist you keep me company for the evening. It is the least you can do.” She gestured to the empty spot on her left. “Do sit, Sir Torin. Relax for a while. Let my servants attend you for a change.”

“My lady, it is not proper—”

“I will decide what is proper in my court or not, Sir.” Titania’s voice was like a velvet coating over steel. “As you can see, my husband is not here, so I have the need to be protected from the riffraff at court. What better protection than having a famed knight errant at my side?” She gestured to the seat, more firmly this time. “Sit, Sir Torin. That is an order from your queen.”

Sir Torin sat. Vi stared at him over the table, frosting covering her mouth, but Titania didn’t even glance at the child. Her attention seemed to have completely shifted to the knight sitting at her elbow. Torin met the queen’s gaze and gave a hesitant, furtive smile.

“Well, Sir Fagan,” Titania said without looking at me, “it seems we are to listen to you sing of your adventures tonight. I do hope it will prove entertaining.”

Oh, you have no idea. “Certainly, my queen.” I grinned. Spinning away from the happy couple, I marched to the center of the courtyard, pulling out a lute as I did. Sir Fagan—the real Sir Fagan, that is—could do a fair job of strumming a tune, but tonight would be his most memorable performance yet.

My fingers flew over the lute strings, and I sang about two knights, sent by their king to retrieve the Treasure of the Moonbeast, only neither of them knew what it was. After weeks of searching and getting no answers, it was decided that the Treasure of the Moonbeast must be on the moon itself, and they needed the great pearl at the bottom of the Mermaid Queen’s ocean, rumored to be able to draw the moon down from the sky if taken from water. Both knights nearly drowned, fighting off waves of sirens and mermen as they fled back to dry land, but they did manage to steal the pearl. However, when they held it up to see if it would really capture the moon as the legends stated, the pearl slipped from their fingers, rolled off a cliff and fell back into the ocean from whence it came.

The Summer gentry roared with that tale, laughing and clapping, calling for more. I glanced at the head of the table and saw Torin and the queen, deep in conversation, paying little attention to me. Titania was leaning close to the knight, speaking in whispers, and Torin was nodding solemnly. Perfect.

“This next song,” I announced, as my audience fell silent, “is a tale about lost love, and how we must never take for granted what we have right now.”

This time, the song was soft and slow, full of yearning, about a knight who loved a noblewoman but feared expressing his love because of their difference in rank. It was a sad tune, and I made it as heart-wrenching as I could, weaving a bit of glamour into the notes for a bigger impact. I noticed two gentry who listened, enraptured, then stood and wandered away into the maze together.

I kept my gaze on Torin and the queen as I sang. They didn’t look up, but Titania’s head moved closer and closer to the knight, until only a few inches separated them. Sir Torin didn’t shy away once, capturing her hand as it reached up to his face, pressing it to his lips.

Abruptly the queen stood. Beckoning to a servant, she whispered something to him, pointing to Vi as she did. The satyr bowed his head and returned to the girl, taking away the cake and motioning her to follow. As the human and the satyr left the party, I grinned to myself.

Stage one, complete. Guess Vi isn’t going to be entertaining us this evening, after all. Now, my Summer Queen. You’ve sent away your little pet; are you going to take the bait?

Titania stretched luxuriously, then stepped up and lightly touched Torin’s shoulder, bending down to whisper in his ear. Yes, she was. Trailing her fingers down his arm, the queen stepped away, gave him a sultry look and sauntered off into the hedge maze.

Torin waited a few heartbeats, then looked up at me. I nodded.

Casually the knight rose, glancing warily around. No one was paying attention to him, their focus riveted on me, or each other. Several nobles were dancing now, in groups of twos and threes, their expressions dreamy and dazed. No one saw the Summer knight step away from the table and wander into the hedge maze after the queen. I kept the song going for several stanzas after he disappeared, then finally brought it to a close.

And that’s stage two. I gazed around at my handiwork. Yep, you still have it, Goodfellow. Amazing what one teensy love song can do to weaker minds. Too bad we don’t have more time; it’s been a while since I’ve made anyone dance for three days straight.

Now, on to the last stage.

I bowed to my audience. “Everyone!” I called as Summer gentry looked around in dazed confusion. “You’ve been a fabulous audience! But I’m afraid I really must dash! When the screaming starts, try not to stampede all at once. You all have a wonderful rest of the evening!”

They blinked at me, not really hearing a word I’d said, still caught up in their swirling emotions. I bowed once more and hurried, unchallenged, into the maze.

I knew where Torin and the queen would be. I’d been through this maze countless times, usually to crash the queen’s party or spy on the queen’s guests. Sometimes it was at Oberon’s request, sometimes it was for my own amusement. But I knew where I would find the wayward couple: at the hidden spring in the northeast corner of the maze, where Titania took all her “prospects.”

I heard their voices as I approached, slipping past the countless lions, hounds and unicorn topiaries lining the paths. Peeking around a mermaid fountain, I spotted the queen and the Summer knight near the edge of the pool. Titania was very close to Torin and had a slender hand on the knight’s chest, leaning close.

“My lady,” the knight was saying. “I…I cannot do this…anymore. What of your husband? Lord Oberon—”

“Lord Oberon,” Titania murmured, putting a finger against his mouth, “is not here. And what Oberon does not know—” she leaned in closer, her lips parting “—will not hurt him.”

I took a deep breath. Well, here we go.

“You are so right, Queen Titania!” Dropping my disguise, I stepped out from behind the fountain. “What Oberon doesn’t know will not hurt him. Why, I tell myself that almost every single day. It’s so nice to know we have so much in common.”

Titania jumped, stepping back from Torin, her eyes going wide as she saw me. “Robin Goodfellow!” she spat, curling her lips into a grimace of hate. For just a moment, she hesitated, then rose up to her full height, glaring down her nose at me. “How dare you! How dare you come here uninvited, especially when my husband is away from court! Or…did he put you up to this?” She gave me a look of black contempt. “You’ve always been his little spy, his good little watchdog, always there for the tasks he finds too distasteful to do himself. Pathetic. You both are pathetic!” Lightning flickered overhead, streaking down to smash into a bush, setting it aflame. I resisted the urge to wince. In the flickering shadows, the Summer Queen’s eyes blazed blue-white. “Perhaps the great Robin Goodfellow will meet with an unfortunate accident,” the queen mused, the wind snapping at her hair as she raised a pale hand. “Something that will silence him completely for a few centuries.”