On a whole, the crowd looks just a smidge worse for the wear. There might be lazy smiles and casual touches, but I’ve seen several fairies hide a yawn behind their hand, and the conversations are somewhat muted.

Noticeably absent from the group breakfast are Mara and the Green Man. Their raised table sits at the far end of the room, looking lonely.

I’m about to ask Des what’s up with the Flora rulers’ relationship when, out of nowhere, my training leathers materialize in midair, falling to the table a split second later. They knock over a container of cream and the last of my coffee, the majority of the outfit landing in a bowl of honey.

Oh God, please tell me I’m hallucinating.

“Seriously, Des?”

The two of us are garnering attention from other tables.

He stretches, completely unbothered by the stares, the smallest silver of his abs peeking out beneath the edge of his fitted shirt.

“Training begins in thirty minutes,” he announces.

You’ve got to be kidding me.

“Training Nazi,” I mutter under my breath.

“What was that?” he asks.

“Nothing.”

An hour later, I’m clad in my leathers, my daggers at my sides and a sword in my hand.

The two of us spar in one of the gardens near the great cedar tree that houses our rooms. The monstrous tree looms high above us, the stairs that wind around it currently filled with Night fairies who are coming and going.

In the gardens, wisteria and roses grow along trellises while heather and lilac grow in thick clusters beneath them. Well, that, and about a billion other plants, some that I recognize and some that I don’t.

I stomp on a hyacinth blossom as I back away from Des.

“You sure it’s okay to be training here?” I huff. “I’m destroying the queen’s gardens.”

Des strides towards me, his sword clutched in his hand.

He smirks, hopping off a rock as he stalks forward. “Don’t pretend like what you’re doing is an accident.”

Alright, so I haven’t been too careful with my footwork; I might still be a smidge bitter about the proprietary way she interacts with Des.

“And no,” he adds, “the queen is quite fine with us training here, destroyed flowers and all. The only place she cares about protecting—other than her cedarwood guest houses—is her sacred oak grove.”

A.k.a., the place I boned Des last night.

I glance over at the edge of the gardens, where part of the oak grove butts up against its outskirts. In the light of day, I can see that the vast, wooded forest circles the palace grounds.

Why, out of everything here, some ordinary oaks are worthy of protecting, I’ll never know.

Des swipes at me.

I yelp, hopping back to dodge the blow.

“Release your siren.” The order comes out of nowhere.

“Why?” I pant, ducking beneath another swing of his sword.

“I’m curious about something.”

I carve my own blade upwards at him, but he springs away before I can make contact.

“Leave her alone,” I say. She had a busy evening last night. Even evil bitches like my siren need their rest.

The Bargainer disappears. A moment later his breath fans against my neck. I go rigid, remembering my dream.

“We can do this the easy way—” he slides the hair off my shoulder, his lips skimming my skin, “or the fun way.”

He doesn’t know just how effective he’s being at the moment. There’s nothing that gets my siren stirring quite like fear and arousal, and I’m feeling a bit of both at the moment.

“I could undress you slowly and lay you out on the grass,” he breathes. “I’d spread your legs apart and give you the most sacred of kisses.”

A flush creeps up my cheeks.

His hand smooths down my torso. “I’d savor that sweet pussy of yours right until you were on the edge, but I wouldn’t give you that release,” he says. “Not until you wrapped your pretty legs around my waist and begged me to bury myself in you.”

I push away from him, my body crying out at the sudden distance between us. My siren batters against the walls of her cage, and my control on her is slipping.

“I’d take you right out here, right where anyone might find us, just as my ancestors used to do.”

Jesus, that is dirty.

He circles around to the front of me, one side of his mouth curves up. “I would want them to find us, to see me claiming you.”

Fuck it. I give up.

My siren surfaces, turned on by all his taboo suggestions.

“There she is,” he says, backing up, and I can hear the glee in his voice.

I begin to pace restlessly, my eyes trained on him.

All of that, all of what he just said, it was just to release me. The thing is, I don’t like being teased, manipulated. I like doing the teasing and the manipulating.

I roll my neck, power thrumming through me, and I swing the sword in my grip a few times.

Des raises his sword. “Hello, lovely,”

I slit my eyes, and he must understand my look because he says, “Do you know why I brought you out?”

I don’t bother answering him.

“I want you to fight me,” he explains.

That’s not going to be a problem.

Casually, I saunter towards Des, my earlier reticence gone. It’s been replaced by a primal need for vengeance and bloodlust.

This time, when I get close to him, I swing my blade without the same hesitation as before. Des parries it, then moves forward, his own sword brandished.

I block the next blow, our swords locked together. Beyond them, Des’s eyes dance with mirth.

“Does it bother you, love, to be toyed with?”

I flash him a lethal look, my nails sharpening. Gritting my teeth, I shove his sword off of mine, slashing out with my claws. He spins out of the way, just avoiding the kick I aim for his crouch.

“Silly fairy,” I say, mocking him. “You know better than to toy with me. I’ll always make you pay in the end.”

If anything, Des looks more exhilarated than ever, which only serves to rile me up more. With a growl, I come at him again.

The two of us block then strike, block then strike. At some point our battle feels less like a collection of steps and swings and more like a dance. I move fluidly, my instincts guiding me, my courage making each of my blows sure and swift.

The more we fight, the harder he makes me work for it, and the harder he makes me work for it, the more I want it. Blood. Sex. Fighting. Fucking. Any of it. All of it. His violence and his passion are mine to use. Mine to exploit. Mine to savor.

I swipe low, my body rolling with the motion. As I follow through with the swing, I hear the whizz of Des’s blade, and then a snip. A lock of my dark hair tumbles to the ground.

“Oops,” Des deadpans, looking remorseless.

In response, I smile at him, and then I attack. I feint left, but then go right. Blocked. I kick out, aiming for his solar plexus. He dodges and spins away. Lunging forward, I strike again, aiming for his face.

I miss his jaw by inches, but my blade sheers off a stray lock of his white blonde hair. The two of us pause, watching it flutter to the ground.

Des’s expression is caught somewhere between shock and awe.

“You got me,” he says. “You actually got me.”

He straightens and smiles. “You know what this means, cherub?”

Warily, I take a step back. I’m still high off of my small victory, but I’m not yet too prideful to know when I should retreat.