The gardens leading to the palace were designed by someone who understood exactly how to overwhelm mortal senses without quite pushing them into complete shutdown. Every flower bloomed in colors that seemed just slightly more vibrant than they should be, releasing fragrances that made me think of every perfect summer memory I'd ever had. The positive memories were few, but this smell brought to mind all of them mixed together into something so good I could barely contain my joy at the mere scent of it. The paths were made of white marble that felt warm beneath my feet despite being in shade, and the trees overhead created patterns of light and shadow that moved to music that I could hear just on the edge of my senses.

  The music was getting louder as we approached, and I was starting to understand why E.W. had dedicated three entire pages to "auditory enchantment and its effects on mortal judgment." It wasn't just that the music was beautiful, it was, but it made you want things. I wanted to dance, wanted to laugh…hell I wanted to shed my inhibitions (and clothes) and just surrender to whatever the Summer Court was offering.

  I was taking notes as we walked, trying to document everything while my brain was still functioning at a semi-normal capacity. The official leading us glanced back at my notebook with what might have been approval or amusement, I could never tell with Fae expressions.

  "You are wise to record your experiences, Mortal Sullivan," they said. "Few of your kind maintain such discipline when first exposed to Summer's embrace."

  "Years of bartending," I muttered, scribbling down observations about the light quality. "You learn to keep working while drunk people are being drunk around you."

  Garrick shot me a look that suggested he wasn't sure if I'd just insulted the entire Summer Court, but the official simply smiled.

  "An apt comparison. Though I suspect you'll find our intoxication somewhat more... comprehensive."

  That was when we rounded a final curve in the path and the palace came into full view, and I genuinely forgot how to form words for several seconds.

  Calling it a palace felt inadequate. It was architecture as seduction, marble and living vines woven together in ways that shouldn't be structurally possible, yet they stood tall and strong. Columns that were also trees, or trees that were also columns. I honestly couldn't tell. Flowering vines cascaded down from balconies like waterfalls of emerald green, and the whole structure seemed to breathe, expanding and contracting slightly as if the building itself was alive and anticipating our arrival.

  "Holy shit," I heard myself say, which probably wasn't the most diplomatic response.

  "Indeed," the official said with what was definitely amusement now. "Welcome to the Palace of Endless Summer. Do try not to stare too obviously once we're inside…some of the courtiers find mortal awe tiresome after the first century or so."

  We climbed the steps, which were made of something that felt like warm silk under my boots, and passed through an entrance that was less a doorway and more a living archway of roses that parted as we approached. The scent hit me like a wall, and I stumbled slightly before catching myself.

  Garrick grabbed my elbow to steady me. "Mac?"

  "Fine," I managed. "Just... a lot."

  "It's going to get worse," the official said cheerfully, and led us inside.

  The interior of the palace made the gardens look understated by comparison. We entered what had to be the main hall…a space so vast I couldn't actually see the far end through the combination of distance and what appeared to be a perpetual golden mist that hung in the air. The ceiling was either impossibly high or didn't exist at all; I could see sky through what might have been glass or might have been nothing, and that sky was locked in permanent sunset, all golds and pinks and oranges that painted everything below in honeyed light.

  The hall was full of Fae. By the Goddesses above and below…I mean full.

  I'd seen Fae before, of course. The occasional visitor to The Crossroads Tavern in Salem, and through some scattered encounters during our adventures. But I'd never seen them in their own territory, on their own terms, and the difference was staggering. They were beautiful the way a forest fire is beautiful: captivating and dangerous and impossible to look away from at first. They moved through the space like dancers, like tigers, or maybe like something in between. Some were tall and ethereal, others shorter and more solid, but all of them radiated that same quality of being more than what humans were supposed to be. Some even wore little red caps…I heard about them, and kept a wary eye their way.

  And every single one of them turned to look at us as we entered.

  "Oh good," I muttered under my breath. "An audience."

  The official led us down the center of the hall, which gave me an excellent opportunity to feel every eye in the room tracking our progress. Some of the Fae looked amused, others curious, and more than a few looked hungry in ways that had nothing to do with food.

  At the far end of the hall (which took us a solid two minutes of walking to reach it) was a throne.

  No, that wasn't right. It was the throne. The very ideal of what a throne should be, carved from living wood that was somehow still blooming, cushioned with moss that looked softer than any silk I’d ever seen, and positioned on a dais that put whoever sat in it at exactly the right height to look down on supplicants while still being close enough to seem approachable. There were two thrones, beside each other, one was occupied, and one was empty.

  And sitting on that occupied throne was Titania.

  I'd read about her, of course. E.W. had an entire chapter on "The Rulers of Summer” which mostly concerned the reader with never, ever looking them directly in the eyes. I'd thought I was prepared for moments like this thanks to the past couple years of adventures with Garrick.

  I was not prepared.

  She was beauty beyond mortal comprehension, the kind that made perfect look plain and ordinary seem like an insult to beauty itself. Her red hair fell in long, intricate waves down her back and over her shoulders, the color shifting between golds and reds like living fire, tied in knots that seemed to form patterns that sent my eyes reeling. Her eyes were bright green, no, luminescent green, and when her gaze swept across the hall and landed on me, I felt something in my chest clench and my brain completely short circuit. This was beauty made real.

  Her body was curved in ways that made sculptors weep with inadequacy. Full breasts, plump and perfect, with her anatomy clearly visible through her gown…,if you could call it a gown. It looked like someone had woven ivy and leaves and flowers together, but strategic gaps revealed smooth expanses of cinnamon-brown skin that seemed to glow in the golden light. Her belly was supple and visible through the foliage, her thighs solid and powerful and also on display. When she shifted in her throne, turning slightly, I could see the curves of her lower back and the cheeks of her butt, barely covered save for a strategically placed branch of hanging ivy. Even her sex was only nominally covered, a leaf-like cloth that somehow managed to accentuate rather than conceal.

  I realized I'd stopped breathing and forced myself to inhale.

  Next to me, Garrick made a small sound that might have been a whimper.

  The official stopped about twenty feet from the throne and turned to us. "Kneel for the presentation."

  We knelt. I was grateful for the excuse to look at the floor, which at least wasn't sexually overwhelming.

  "Your Majesty," the official began, their voice carrying through the hall with perfect clarity. "I present Garrick the Gallant, also known as Garrick of the Infinite Ways, Herald of the Cosmic Paths, Guardian of the Threshold Between. And his companion, Mortal Sullivan, called Mac, keeper of records and logistics coordinator."

  There was a rustling sound throughout the hall (probably laughter though I wasn't looking up to confirm).

  "They stand accused," the official continued, consulting their ledger, "of multiple violations during pursuit through the Summer Market. Specifically: destruction of Vendor Nutkin's starfruit stall, resulting in the loss of seven dozen perfectly ripened fruits and significant emotional distress to the vendor. Recommended punishment: seven years servitude to Vendor Nuthold, during which the accused would be required to polish the vendor's tail daily and speak only in favorable adjectives."

  I heard Garrick inhale sharply next to me, but neither of us moved.

  "Destruction of the pottery stall of Merchant Clayweaver," the official continued, "resulting in the shattering of three hundred and thirty-three ceramic pieces, each imbued with minor enchantments. Recommended punishment: reassembly of all pieces by moonlight only, using time-enhanced adhesive, which must be applied precisely at the moment between seconds."

  My stomach was sinking with each new charge.

  "Disruption of the living flower cart of Gardener Petalspark, causing psychological trauma to seventeen sentient blooms. Recommended punishment: replanting of each flower in soil from their realm of origin, which would require travel to no fewer than six different worlds and dimensions."

  "Displacement of the Upward Fountain during reckless pursuit, temporarily reversing its flow and causing minor confusion for three nearby pixies. Recommended punishment: restoration of proper flow using only cosmic energy, channeled through interpretive dance."

  I bit my lip to keep from laughing at that last one, despite the seriousness of the situation. The thought of Garrick trying to fix anything via interpretive dance may make this punishment worth it after all.

  "And finally," the official said with what I was certain was relish, "violation of the Market Peace, a sacred tradition maintained for seven centuries. Recommended punishment: public apology delivered in interpretive dance form before both the Summer and Winter Courts, wearing nothing but flower crowns and expressions of sincere contrition."

  There was another rustle through the hall, this time definitely laughter.

  "Rise," a voice said, and I felt it more than heard it…like honey and whiskey and desire all mixed together and poured directly into my ears.

  We stood, and I made the mistake of looking directly at Titania.

  Her eyes met mine, and I felt every coherent thought I'd been having scatter like startled sparrows. The intoxicating air of the palace seemed to intensify, wrapping around me like warm water, and I became acutely aware of every nerve ending in my body. The desire that had been building since we entered the Fae Realm suddenly spiked, and I realized with horror that my body was responding in ways that were going to be very obvious to everyone in the hall.

  Next to me, Garrick was having the same problem, and from the renewed laughter rippling through the assembled Fae, everyone noticed.

  Titania rose from her throne in one fluid motion, and the entire hall seemed to hold its breath. She walked down the steps of the dais with the kind of grace that made me think of water flowing downhill, inevitable and beautiful…and impossible to resist.

  She stopped a few feet away from us, close enough that I could smell flowers and something underneath that conjured thoughts of pure, undistilled want.

  "Well," she said, her voice carrying that same honeyed quality, "at least you have the good manners to show proper appreciation."

  If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

  The hall erupted in laughter, and I felt my face burning. The arousal wasn't fading. If anything, it was getting worse, and I realized with dawning horror that there was magic at work here. The air itself was affecting us, and Titania's very presence was like gasoline on that fire.

  Then her expression shifted, the playful seduction morphing into something pouty and genuinely frustrated. "If only my husband were so drawn to me," she muttered, loud enough for the hall to hear. "But no, Lord Oberon is too busy hunting and whoring with faeries and Sidhe, men and women and beasts alike, to pay attention to his wife."

  Garrick started to speak, probably some attempt at an apology or explanation, but it came out as a jumble of stammered words that made no sense. "Your Majesty, I—we didn't mean to—that is, we're very sorry about the—perhaps if we could just—"

  I raised my hand, index and middle fingers forming a V—the Fae sign for requesting permission to speak. E.W. had been very clear about this being one of the only universally recognized gestures of respect.

  "Oh, thank the Ways," Titania said, cutting off Garrick mid-stammer. "At least one of you has actual manners. Garrick the Gallant, cease your prattling. I'll speak with the one who knows how to ask properly." She turned her full attention to me, and I felt like I'd just stepped into a spotlight made of pure charisma. "Speak, Mortal Mac."

  I swallowed hard, trying to organize thoughts that were being actively sabotaged by supernatural arousal and the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen standing three feet away. "Your Majesty, I beg your forgiveness for my forward question."

  "Granted," she said, waving a hand. "Ask."

  "Where is your husband, Lord Oberon? I had understood that you always held court together."

  The question clearly surprised her, and judging by the sudden silence in the hall, surprised everyone else too. But it did what I'd hoped: shifted her focus away from our crimes and toward her obvious frustration.

  Titania's expression darkened, though she was still devastatingly beautiful even when annoyed. "My husband," she said with clear distaste, "is out hunting. And drinking. And fornicating with whatever catches his fancy: faeries, Fae, beasts of the field, anything with a pulse and a willingness to tolerate his company. He claims he needs 'space' and 'time to himself.' As if we don't have eternity for such things."

  "Your Majesty," I said carefully, "I cannot understand how anyone could possibly choose hunting over attending to your needs."

  It was blatant flattery, playing to her vanity and her obvious frustration, but I needed to redirect this conversation before we ended up sentenced to seven years of tail-polishing.

  Titania's eyes locked onto mine with renewed intensity, and her smile became something predatory. "Can't you?" She took a step closer, and I could feel the heat radiating off her. "Tell me, Mortal Mac, would you like to fill my bed? Since my husband seems so disinclined?"

  Every Fae in the hall was suddenly paying very close attention.

  I stammered, like actually stammered, like some teenager instead of a professional bartender who'd dealt with propositions before. "Your Majesty, we're—that is, I'm—we're unfortunately here to apprehend a thief. He's hiding somewhere in the land of the Fae, and we need to—"

  Titania's expression shifted from seductive to irritated in an instant. "The thief. Of course." She turned away, walking back toward her throne with sharp, angry movements. "Everyone comes to my court wanting something. Entertainment, asylum, justice, forgiveness from punishments, even my husband's attention." She spun back to face us, and now her voice carried the full weight of royal authority. "Very well. To business then. Due to your actions, you have invoked the Law of Consequential Guardianship. Garrick the Gallant, you are responsible for all actions of the thief known as Lucien Leblanc while he remains in my realm."

  "Your Majesty," Garrick tried, but she cut him off with a gesture.

  "The punishments detailed by my seneschal are substantial," Titania continued, her voice carrying through the hall. "However, I am not without mercy. You may avoid these penalties by completing a Task of Atonement." She settled back into her throne, and her expression became calculating. "You will hold a feast. One that satisfies both my court and my estranged husband's court. The feast must be equal in its appeal to all attendees—no favoritism, no perceived slights. And at the conclusion of this feast, you will present gifts of equal value to both myself and Lord Oberon."

  The hall erupted in whispers and laughter. Clearly, this was either impossible or hilarious or both.

  "Equal value," I said slowly, because I needed to understand the trap we were walking into. "By what measure, Your Majesty?"

  Titania smiled, and it was the kind of smile that preceded a lot of regret. "By our measure, of course. Whatever I deem worthy, Oberon must also deem worthy. Whatever pleases him must equally please me. And both of us must agree that neither gift is superior to the other." She leaned forward slightly. "Do you accept this Task, or shall we proceed with the tail-polishing?"

  I looked at Garrick. He looked at me. We were completely screwed, but at least we were screwed with a theoretically achievable goal instead of seven years of servitude to an angry squirrel.

  "We accept," I said, because what else could we say?

  "Excellent," Titania said, settling back into her throne. "You have until the next full moon. That gives you... oh, twelve days. My seneschal will show you where you may make camp." She waved a hand dismissively. "Court is concluded. Everyone go back to whatever debauchery you were planning for the afternoon."

  The Fae began dispersing, though many of them were still watching us with unconcealed interest. The seneschal who had led us here stepped forward and gestured toward a side exit.

  "This way, please. I'll show you to the guest grounds."

  We followed them out of the hall, and I was very conscious of the fact that my body was still responding to the atmosphere of the palace. The arousal had faded slightly with the conclusion of court, but it was still there, a constant background hum of desire that was absolutely going to become a problem if I didn't do something about it.

  The guest grounds turned out to be a sprawling area of manicured lawns and flowering trees, with designated camping spots marked by standing stones. Several were already occupied with tents in various styles, some looking perfectly normal and others clearly supernatural in origin (I mean have you ever seen a tent with three floors?)

  "You may set up here," the seneschal said, indicating an empty spot near a particularly large oak tree. "Meals are provided at the common pavilion, though I suspect you'll want to prepare your own given your Task. Water is available from any of the fountains, though I recommend checking which direction they flow before attempting to drink."

  "Thank you," I said, already shrugging off my backpack. "We appreciate your guidance."

  The seneschal inclined their head. "A word of advice, Mortal Mac: protection against our atmosphere traditionally requires ironwort, blessed thistle, and crystallized will. The eastern market—"

  "Has ironwort and blessed thistle, but crystallized will requires either a direct barter with a willworker or three months of meditation under specific lunar conditions," I interrupted, then caught myself. "Apologies, Your... uh, Seneschal. I've been reading E.W.'s guide fairly thoroughly."

  The seneschal's expression shifted into something that might have been genuine respect. "You've done your research. Most mortals arrive woefully unprepared." They paused, studying me. "Do you have access to these ingredients?"

  "I do," I said, thinking of the carefully organized pantry in the Wandering Kitchen. Three years of traveling with Garrick had taught me to stock anything that might prevent supernatural disasters. Including anti-Fae aphrodisiac ingredients.

  "Then you are wiser than most," the seneschal said with what was definitely approval now. "Good luck with your Task, Mortal Mac. You may actually survive it."

  Then they vanished, leaving us standing in the middle of the guest grounds with a dozen curious Fae watching from various distances.

  "Right," I said, pulling out my bedroll. The one that contained the Wandering Kitchen. "Let's get set up before something else tries to kill us or seduce us. Preferably in that order."

  "Mac," Garrick said quietly, "I'm really sorry about all of this."

  "Later," I told him, because we could do the apology-and-planning conversation once we had a safe space. "Help me with this."

  I unrolled the bedroll onto the grass, and the canvas and poles spilled out in a heap that looked like complete chaos. Then I spoke the activation word, a simple phrase in Telladonish that the merchant at Crosstown had made me memorize, and the entire thing snapped together like a military tent on fast-forward.

  Poles erected themselves, canvas stretched and tied, and within seconds we had a small pavilion with a flapped entrance. From the outside it looked modest, maybe ten feet by ten feet. But when you looked through the entrance flap, all you could see was darkness with a small, soft light at the end of what appeared to be a short tunnel.

  The effect was immediately drawing attention. Fae were moving closer, watching with undisguised curiosity.

  "Is that a dimensional fold?" someone called out. "Haven't seen one of those in decades!"

  "It's beautiful," a female voice said, and I turned to see a Sidhe woman who was literally glowing slightly, her silver hair falling over bare shoulders and a dress that appeared to be made of moonlight. "May I see inside?"

  "Maybe later," I said, trying to be polite while also wanting to get the damn tent finished so we could get away from all these overwhelmingly attractive people. "Still setting up."

  But the work was getting harder. The euphoria that had been building since we entered the palace was intensifying, and I realized with growing alarm that we'd been exposed to the living intoxicants of the Summer Court for almost an hour now. My hands were fumbling with the final clamping of the tent poles, my focus kept drifting, and the Fae surrounding us were becoming more and more appealing with every passing second.

  "Mac?" Garrick said, and his voice sounded distant. "I'm feeling very... strange."

  I turned to see that he was surrounded by three Sidhe: two women and a man, all of them stunning, all of them touching him in ways that were definitely not helping with the arousal situation. The moonlight-dress woman was running her fingers through his hair, the man was slowly unbuttoning Garrick's jacket, and the third was whispering something in his ear that made him laugh in a way that sounded drunk.

  "Garrick," I tried to say firmly, but it came out breathy and unfocused. "Garrick, you need to... we need to..."

  What did we need to do? My brain was having trouble holding onto the thread of thought. The air smelled so good. The flowers were so beautiful. The Fae surrounding us were offering drinks and dances and other things, and none of those offers seemed like bad ideas anymore.

  "Come dance with us," the moonlight woman said, turning her attention to me. "The celebration is just beginning."

  "I should... I need to..." I gestured vaguely at the tent, which still had one more pole that needed to be snapped into place. Just one more. Then we'd be safe.

  Pole…

  Focus, Mac. Focus.

  I stumbled toward the final pole, my hands clumsy, while around me the Fae were laughing and singing and touching and I was finding it harder and harder to remember why I was resisting. Garrick was making happy sounds as the Sidhe systematically undressed him, his cosmic power flickering around him in what looked like drunken fireworks.

  "Garrick!" I tried to shout, but it came out as more of a plea. "Keep focus!"

  "I'm trying," he called back, though he didn't sound like he was trying very hard. "But they're very... insistent... and I'm having trouble... oh, that's nice..."

  The final pole. I could see it. Just needed to get it into the bracket. Just needed to...

  My hands connected with the pole and I pushed, hard, and it snapped into place with a satisfying pop.

  The effect was immediate. The entrance tunnel solidified, the magic of the Wandering Kitchen fully activating, and I suddenly had a destination that wasn't "wherever the Fae want to take me."

  "GARRICK!" I shouted with what felt like my last bit of coherent thought. "NOW!"

  I ran over, grabbed him by the collar of his shirt (which was now half-unbuttoned and about to be removed entirely) and started dragging him toward the tent. The Sidhe who'd been undressing him made a sound of protest and grabbed his feet, coming along for the ride as I hauled Garrick across the grass.

  Behind us, the other two Sidhe looked at each other, shrugged, and started having sex right there in front of the tent.

  I didn't stop. I dragged Garrick (and the Sidhe holding his feet) directly toward the entrance flap. Garrick was laughing while the Sidhe grasping his ankles was saying something about "did I mention I like feet?" and I was operating on pure survival instinct.

  We hit the entrance threshold, and everything changed.

  I passed through easily, pulling Garrick with me. The Sidhe holding his feet hit the magical barrier like it was a physical wall and bounced backward with a surprised yelp, releasing her grip. No one enters the Wandering Kitchen unless invited.

  Garrick and I tumbled into the tent, landing in a heap on the floor of what was suddenly a massive kitchen, and the flap sealed behind us.

  The change in atmosphere was instant and reorienting. The intoxicating summer air was gone, replaced by the clean, neutral smell of a professional kitchen. The euphoria drained away like someone had pulled a plug, leaving behind a headache and the embarrassing awareness of exactly how aroused I still was.

  Garrick groaned next to me. "What... what just happened?"

  "The many intoxicants that drift freely on the air in the Realm of the Fae. You should know this," I said, my voice shaking slightly as I pushed myself to my feet. The Kitchen looked exactly as I'd left it three weeks ago. A large cantina-style eating space that could seat 20 and a serving area with a window toward the back end. Behind it was a restaurant style kitchen with professional-grade cooking equipment, with a massive walk-in freezer and pantry on opposite sides. "We've been breathing supernatural aphrodisiacs for way too long. We're lucky we made it inside before..."

  I didn't finish the sentence. We both knew what "before" meant.

  "Oh," Garrick said faintly, standing up and attempting to button his shirt with fingers that were still shaking. "That's... that's not good."

  "No," I agreed. "It's really not."

  We stood there for a moment, both of us catching our breath, both of us trying to process what had just happened and how close we'd come to becoming permanent residents of a Fae orgy.

  Then I started walking toward the pantry with deliberate purpose.

  "Mac?" Garrick called after me. "Where are you going?"

  I paused at the pantry door and looked back at him. Outside, I could hear the Fae continuing their celebrations, and I knew we were going to have to go back out there eventually.

  "With all this rampant Fae sex going around," I said, reaching for the door handle, "it's time we brought protection."