When the Woods Go Silent (Haret Chronicles: Dark Fae #1)

CHAPTER NINE

K IER

The scents wafting from the busy restaurant are both intoxicating and cloying. Nausea-inducing, to someone who knows who and what creates the irresistible dishes.

It’s a bit like someone beckoning you forward with a bouquet of flowers in one hand while hiding a dagger behind their back, ready to stab through your throat.

None of these humans have a clue.

Poor, wretched things, ignorant of true magic even as they tell their stupid stories about flying broomsticks. It’s why I love them, really. My brothers don’t understand, just as our Queen mother never did.

There’s something enchanting about creatures who are drawn to danger with such blind fervor. Moths to a flame, all of them.

Invisible behind my glamor, I lean against a tree and watch them queue for Goblin Market , idly counting how many come in and how many leave. Surprisingly, the numbers stay the same. So these particular gobbelins must be working a more subtle game with their appetites. It’s a relief, actually, that I won’t need to intervene quite yet.

Fae have historically never cared at all for how the humans fare among magical races, but things changed several years ago, when my wretched mother was vanquished by the Qilin Queen. It isn’t just the fae lands of Aralia, either - all of Haret has changed. For the better, my brothers insist.

I’m sure they’re right, as usual. I have no real opinions, preferring to stay out of it as much as possible. Instead, I jump at any chance to come to Earth, no matter the mission.

The night darkens around me, and fewer and fewer humans walk the streets. I barely feel the passing of their time, but I am keenly attuned to the awakening of the nighttime forest. These woods are old growth - much older than any of the human buildings here.

The very trees are teeming with unspent magic, and it’s positively delicious.

Satisfied that Goblin Market is operating well enough within its magical boundaries, I push off the trunk I’d been leaning against and slip between the dark trees. Immediately, my lungs fill with the scents of growing things, and my own magic simmers in my blood. Evergreen branches dip to brush against my shoulders, their needles tasting my fae skin, and I murmur something reassuring in my native language.

The trees understand it well enough, but they’re inexperienced in returning conversation.

Or maybe it’s me who hasn’t practiced enough - as the youngest Aralian prince, I’ve never really had to work for anything. The very fact that I’m on Earth on official royal business shows how much things have changed.

Just one year, Brigance and Ronan had told me. One year serving the crown. And then I’d be free to continue life as the carefree, careless rake I was born to be.

It’s been three years now since that promise was made.

My mood sours a bit as I try not to think of the difficulties and extra responsibilities of running a kingdom without a queen.

None of it matters, though. Selfish as I am, I’m still not willing to betray my brothers or Aralia. And so I simply coast, taking the easiest tasks I can, leaving them to the grittier work of restructuring and ruling a kingdom that has gone a little wild after my mother’s indiscriminate cruelty was abruptly ended.

If one of us would only choose a queen and mate, perhaps the magic would stabilize, but none of us are ready to carry that particular cross, just yet. Fae nobility are an absolute menace, and I detest them all.

I sense I’m nearly in the heart of the forest, and the trees have thinned a bit, revealing a narrow, quiet meadow, silvered with moonlight and rippling in the early spring breeze. It’s not as pretty as Aralia, but I’d be happy enough here.

Then, the breeze shifts, and I catch a telltale crackle in the air. My magic answers, reaching to identify it. My eyes widen when I do. This was not the magic I’d been hoping to find - it’s extremely rare, and it’s certainly not a gobbelin trait.

But as my feet carry me silently beyond the meadow and deeper into the side of the woods that’s lined with cave-pocked mountains, tracking the source on instinct, I’m completely certain what I’m hunting.

Dreamwalker.

ROSE

My mind feels fuzzy, even though I’ve already been up an hour and had two mugs of coffee.

I dreamed hard again last night, and although I can’t remember the twisted plot, I can’t stop seeing the glowing eyes and the wicked tongue between my thighs.

It wasn’t exactly Arlo, but it wasn’t not him. Something in my imagination just isn’t quite ready to let him go, even though he shouldn’t be worth my time. There were plenty of other interesting options in the restaurant last night.

“So, you’re sure you didn’t see Arlo last night?” Ruby asks, interrupting my thoughts like she was reading my mind. She’s trying to make her voice sound casual as she finger-combs her dark hair and rubs at the smudged mascara under her eyes.

I snicker and give her a knowing look. “Ru. I didn’t see him at the restaurant. That guy you were making eyes at on the way out might be the other one I met, but it definitely wasn’t Arlo. Go get him if you want him,” I add, gesturing vaguely in the direction of Goblin Market , although we’re tucked snugly in our hodgepodge living room of combined furniture, drinking our morning coffee.

Her first cup, my third.

“Guess I don’t need that much encouragement,” she says finally, giggling and giving me her waggly eyebrows. She’d probably like him, too. Ruby has a thing for fixer-uppers, always trying to puzzle out ways to “help” them. Some people see it as manipulation, but I know her brain doesn’t always understand that solving people is very different from solving problems.

“Just don’t get carried away. You’re married to this store now, sister,” I tease, although it’s not an idle worry. Ruby has a way of disappearing into relationships, dissolving her single self in the quest of becoming a power couple. And although I try to tamp down my fears as she shakes her head at me and laughs it off, I’ve wondered what will happen to me if Ruby finds even more of what she’s searching for.

I know we’ll both always be book girlies, but committing to a stable job and steady lifestyle in a town that gets smaller as the days get colder... well, I have my guard up against both of our attention spans. Still, I love the dream we’re creating together. Even if it doesn’t last forever, I will never regret agreeing to this adventure.

“I need to film some videos for social today,” Ruby says, standing and shaking off the blanket before draining her coffee. She’s had a popular book review channel for ages, but it’s only now, with the store opening, that things are starting to head in the direction of viral.

“Do you need help?” I hope she says no.

“No camera assistance required today, don’t worry.” Ruby winks, and I smile sweetly. I get impatient with social media way too quickly. I’m more of an in-person, hands-on worker, and I live for seeing the real-time results of a hard-day’s work, rather than the roller coaster of being an online content creator.

“Then I hear more boxes of uncatalogued books calling my name.” I sigh, but the work is actually very satisfying to my brain. I love organizing things and creating systems that keep them that way. Numbers and spreadsheets and labels, oh yeah. So satisfying.

Not to mention office stationary - I’m just as addicted to pretty notebooks as I am to novels.

Ruby heads off to shower and make herself camera-ready, but I get to schlep down the stairs in my sweats. I keep telling myself I’ll dress up more when we actually have customers to wait on, but right now, I’m enjoying myself in true work-from-home spirit.

Even if something happens and Ruby changes her mind about this store or falls in love and moves in with some guy, I’ve already decided I can never go back to the corporate cubicle life I had before. Being my own boss has quickly become the dream I never knew I had.

In what’s become a satisfying morning ritual, I go from room to room, turning on the myriad of scattered floor lamps, opening heavy curtains to let sunlight in, and mentally taking note of how many more boxes I have left to unpack and add to my spreadsheets. With less than two weeks until our grand opening, I’ll need to get through about three a day. It’s manageable, even with all the other cleaning and painting we have planned.

The front room is complete, though, and with the early morning sun pouring in onto the gleaming forest green paint and all the glossy new hardbacks and thick paperbacks perched on the pink shelves like artwork, I can’t help but give a big, girly twirl.

This is all ours - fucking ours .

Ruby and I both grew up with next to nothing, and I know part of my worrying comes from that fear that it could always go back to nothing. But for now, all I feel is joy.

Laughter spills out of me as I spin in the open space, arms out like I’m giving the whole store a hug. I’m sure I look ridiculous, but there’s nobody here to see me.

Then a face blurs by as I turn toward the windows, and I stumble to a halt, cheeks flushing hot at being caught acting silly after all.

But when I step closer to the glass, all I see is an empty porch, and beyond, an empty sidewalk. I press my nose to the window, but I don’t see anyone walking away in either direction. As usual, the streets are quiet at this hour.

Still, the feeling of being watched persists, just like the other night.

My eyebrows pull down in a glare. I was having fun, damn it, and now I feel crazy again. Anger rises as I disarm our security system and unlock the deadbolts, throwing the door open wide to the chilly morning air. I lean over the wrought iron porch railing and scan left and right, but there’s still no sign of anyone anywhere. Could they really have disappeared so fast, with no shops open to duck inside?

And people out for early morning walks don’t just run into the woods if they’re spotted. Only creepers would feel the need to hide. Paranoia begins to crawl up my spine again.

I’ve never been the type to imagine things that aren’t there, but something about Clearwater definitely has me spooked.

As I turn back to the door, a glint draws my eye downward. I bend down to scoop up another white restaurant box. Seriously? If it’s from Arlo again, the gesture feels a little late.

This time, the box is paired with a glass cordial bottle, ornate and prettily shaped. A familiar golden liquid swirls inside, and my stomach churns along with it as I turn the bottle up and see the telltale deep red. It’s the pomegranate liqueur from Goblin Market .

Why is there a bottle of it on our porch? And when was this delivered? Was it Arlo? Did he see me dancing like a weirdo? Ugh. The questions swirl too fast in my head, and embarrassment makes my neck feel all hot and itchy. This is why I like to keep things under my control.

The breeze flutters a piece of paper down the steps and into the street, and too late, I realize there had been a note trapped under the box. So now I’m rushing into the road after an envelope, again hoping nobody is watching this damn comedy of errors.

Finally, I manage to step on the corner of the paper and retrieve it, crumpling it in my fist as I nearly drop the bottle onto the pavement. For fuck’s sake. I need to be chaperoned.

Even so, I feel better knowing I’m not hallucinating again. Embarrassing as it might be to think of being caught twirling like a kid, there actually was someone on our porch.

I hurry back inside the shop and place the gifts on the checkout counter before opening the crushed envelope.

My server noted you and your sister enjoying our pomegranate liqueur yesterday, and I hope this comes off as more of an apology than a bribe. I’d like to see you again, and find out the answer to my question.

- Arlo

I suck on my teeth as I read the note twice. What question did he ask me? Peeking into the box, I see four bite-sized tea cakes, decorated with delicate sugared flowers, sparkling in the lamp light.

A flush spreads across my cheeks, then straight down to my core as a sudden memory of the dream I keep having rocks through me. Those icy, flashing eyes. The heat of his mouth...

Right before we were interrupted that night, he’d asked me where I wanted his mouth. And now he wants my answer. Cheeky bastard.

I take the gifts back to our cozy kitchen office and set them on the farthest side of the broad table before settling in front of my laptop with a cold bottle of water. I hold it to my neck for a few seconds before gulping half of it down.

I don’t know how I feel about this apology. Is it sexy, or too little too late? Even my body seems divided. It sort of feels like he forgot about me until we showed up at the restaurant, and I’m not flattered by that. Either way, I know Ruby is going to encourage me to give him another shot.

Maybe I should, but I decide to push off the decision until later. I’m not won over by the gift - I would have rather had him just knock on the door and say hi, instead of creeping around like a weirdo.

Logging into my laptop, I roll my shoulders back and let go of a sigh, trying to clear my mind.

It would be nice to be like Ruby, and still be able to believe in fairy tales and happily ever after endings, but my life experiences just don’t ever seem to follow those plot lines. That’s why I developed this habit with guys - go for what I want from them right away so I’m not disappointed when they inevitably disappear.

Deep down, I’d love to find a forever relationship and have a big family, but I just don’t think it’s in my future. If there was a fairy tale about a slutty spinster who enjoyed having her back blown out now and then but chose to live alone with cats and books and coffee, I’d be the main character of it.

And I think I can be satisfied with that.