“Good morning,” Seth murmured. He had been up working on another painting. It wasn’t right, but something would be. It drove him, the pressure to capture something perfect, something ideal, and give it to her—a gift to one queen to pay the fee to return to another. What he felt for Sorcha was oddly like what he’d felt for Linda. He wanted her approval. He wanted her to look at him with pride.

But right then, Sorcha extended a hand, and he offered her his arm as expected.

“Manners, Seth. Women always appreciate a man who treats them with manners.” Seth’s father was at the mirror fastening the stiff white collar of his dress blues at the time. The military dress uniform seemed to turn his father into a different person, with a straighter spine and sharper moves. It also turned Linda into a different person. Seth’s mother sat beside him, stroking his hair absently and gazing adoringly at her husband.

“Manners,” Seth repeated obediently as he snuggled into her embrace. He might be in the fourth grade now, but he wasn’t going to turn down one of his mother’s rare moments of cuddling. There was no doubt that she loved him, but she wasn’t usually affectionate.

“Do little things to let her know that there’s nothing and no one in the universe that matters more than she does when you look at her,” his father said as he turned from the mirror. He held out a hand to Linda, who smiled and came to her feet. She was still in her housecoat, but her hair and makeup were already done for the night out.

As Seth watched, his father kissed her hand as if she were a queen.

His father’s lessons on life weren’t always clear at the time they were given, but they were invaluable. Seth tamped down on a surge of longing for his family.

Beside him, Sorcha was silent. She’d led him to another hall and approached one of the numerous tapestries that hung on the walls. Faded threads made the palette more muted than it must once have been, but age didn’t detract from the beauty of the scene. Sorcha herself was depicted in it, surrounded by courtiers in various positions of attentiveness. Couples danced in what looked to be a formal way. Musicians played. But it was apparent that everyone in it was gazing at Sorcha, who sat regally observing the tableau. The real Sorcha—who looked much the same as her rendered image—pushed the weighty fabric aside. Behind it was yet another door.

“It’s like a rabbit warren around here. You realize that this”—Seth pushed the aged wooden door open—“doesn’t look like it belongs in the hotel at all?”

Laughter like the peal of crystal bells escaped her lips. “The hotel is a part of Faerie now. It doesn’t quite conform to the rules of the mortal realm. It conforms to my rules. The whole of the mortal realm would too if I chose to linger there.”

Outside the door was a different walled garden. A path wound into the heart of it as if to invite them to yet another world. The garden walls looked as though they were made of stones fitted together with spatial understanding in lieu of mortar. Flowering vines crept over those crumbling walls; their blooms burst out of crevices in erratic patterns.

“It’s a bit chaotic for you, isn’t it?”

Sorcha shook her head. “Not really. This my private garden where I meditate. No one comes here but me or my brother…and now you.”

And as they walked, the stones in their path realigned themselves, the blossoms assumed a predictable pattern. It was surreal—even after all he’d seen. “Not in Kansas anymore, are we?”

“Kansas?” Her forehead furrowed. “We weren’t in Kansas to begin with. That state is—”

“Things are weird here,” he amended as he led her around an uneven flagstone.

“In truth, things make sense here.” Sorcha trailed fingers over the plain-looking blossoms of the night-blooming jasmine. “Appearances are deceiving.”

“The art is almost done.” He was anxious that she like it.

Only a few days left.

“I look forward to the unveiling.” Her tone was light, but amusement lurked under it. “Unveilings are interesting. It’s a moment of clarity….”

“Sorcha?” He caught her gaze. “What’s up?”

“I need to explain the ‘catch’ in the deal you made.”

Seth’s nerves weren’t too jangled yet, but he suspected that they were about to be. “I was hoping I’d done well.”

She squeezed his arm. “I’ve been making contracts since before your mortal records even existed. You knew the dangers and still stood firm.”

“So I was a fool?”

“No, you were what mortals often are: blinded by passion.” She let go of his arm and leaned her face closer to the jasmine. It made a shivery sound as it extended itself to her. Moonlight, from inside of her, illuminated her skin.

“What is it?” His heart thundered as he started to turn the words over in his mind. He’d warned Aislinn about making a deal with a faery king, but then he’d done much the same. Fear built in his chest as he waited—and evaporated when Sorcha turned her face to look at him.

Glamour to soothe me.

He knew it even as calm returned to him like a cool breeze on too-hot skin. Sorcha smiled and turned her face back to the jasmine.

And he waited, watching her—my perfect queen—enjoy the simplicity of her gardens. “Don’t do that. Don’t influence my feelings.”

The calm breeze fled.

She straightened and stepped back on the path. “A month in Faerie with me is what you bargained.”

“It is.” He offered her his arm again.

She put her hand back in the crook of his arm and resumed walking. “Time moves differently here than in the mortal realm.”

“How much differently?”

The rhythm of her steps was unchanged as she said, “A day here is six days there.”

“So I’ve been gone more than five months?” He said the words slowly, trying to make sense of what Sorcha was revealing: he’d been away from Aislinn for almost half a year while Keenan was at her side. They’d been alone together—while she was already half enthralled by Keenan—for longer than he and Aislinn had officially dated.