Red eyes. Red eyes burning bright, stalking through the dead of night. The children’s song followed Poppy through every village she passed, a curse made of words that clung worse than her curse of flesh. Years ago, her stepmother Cordelia had slipped poison into her warm milk, and Poppy had woken trapped between forms—wolf ears jutting from her skull, fur patchy across her cheeks, eyes burning red, canines too sharp for her mouth.
No man would ever choose her now. Cordelia had made sure of that. She traded herbs and knowledge for bread and cloth, keeping to the edges of towns, hood pulled low. But when Widow Ranley’s chickens were found slaughtered, the village needed a monster to blame.
Poppy had been nowhere near the farm, but good wife Henley pointed her finger, and the crowd didn’t care about truth. The constable bound her wrists, and as they dragged her to the cart, Poppy saw the chickens pecking peacefully, alive and unharmed. It didn’t matter. It never did when you looked like her.
The cart to the Alpha King’s castle carried thieves and debtors who whispered of his dying sisters. Six princesses fading like cut flowers, worn shoes every morning, though they never left their chambers. People who tried to solve the mystery vanished. The king promised a reward, but what good was a reward if you never returned?
Poppy’s mind sharpened. She had nothing left to lose. In the great hall, a massive golden tree shimmered with fruit like captured sunlight. The king sat on his dark throne, scarred and storm-eyed.
Poppy lowered her hood before the gasping court. “I offer myself to discover what afflicts your sisters,” she said. “In exchange for freedom and any favor you promised the others. ”
The king’s eyes flared.
“Three days. Solve the mystery, and you shall have freedom and any favor you desire. Fail, and I execute you as planned. ”
Poppy accepted.
Her voice did not waver. She was lodged beside the princesses’ rooms. Near midnight, one princess rose like a sleepwalker and offered Poppy a steaming cup. “A warm drink for our lady in waiting.
” Poppy remembered Cordelia’s poisoned milk. She poured the liquid into her cloak and feigned sleep. The guard drank his cup and collapsed. An hour later, the princesses rose in gowns of silk and starlight, pressed upon a stretch of floor, and a hidden stair opened.
Poppy followed them into the dark. The stairs ended in impossible radiance. Gold trees, twilight sky, music swelling with harps and flutes. The princesses stepped into boats steered by radiant young men, drifting toward a crystalline lake.
Poppy had no boat. A voice came from beside her: “Does the lady need a ride? ”
A man lounged in his own boat, dark-haired and sharp-featured, eyes shifting between silver and deep blue. Poppy pulled her hood lower.
She climbed in carefully, refusing his hand. He laughed. “I do not care about your curse, human child. ”
They crossed the lake to a ball beneath a pavilion carved of crystal.
The princesses whirled endlessly, their movements mechanical, lifeless. The fay court found them amusing. “They won’t last long at this rate,” her companion said. They were compelled to dance themselves to death by the Fay King’s amusement.
Poppy demanded proof to take back. He suggested a branch from a crystal tree. When her fingers closed around it, something heavy settled over her like invisible chains. “You said I could take it.
” “I said you should, not that you could. You’ve stolen from me. ” He bowed with mock grace. “You’re looking at him.
Valyrian, Fay King of the Silverwood Court, at your service. ”
Poppy realized she’d been played. But she demanded a bargain instead: give her a chance to free the princesses. Valyrian studied her.
“Show us your curse, human. ” She pushed back her hood. The fay court murmured—curious, not horrified. They thought she looked perfectly normal, just a bit furry.
Poppy forced herself to stand straight. “Why didn’t you bargain for me to break your curse? ” Valyrian asked. The question caught her off guard.
She hadn’t wanted the princesses to die. “All humans are the same,” he said. “Deceitful, hateful, quick to turn on one another. ” And then he revealed that her first trial had already begun while she was unconscious.
She was trapped in a maze now, and time was ticking. In the maze, Poppy found an old woman bound to the place by Valyrian’s whim—he wanted her to cry. Poppy poured out her whole tragedy: her mother’s death, her father’s neglect, Cordelia’s cruelty, the poisoned milk, the banishment. The old woman listened blankly, then laughed.
“Crying so pathetically over a little bit of fur? ” She laughed until tears streamed down her cheeks. Valyrian materialized with a crystal vial and caught them. “Well, you did make her cry.
Congratulations. ”
After that, days blurred into weeks in the fae court, golden leaves falling and regrowing. Valyrian showed her wonders—the Hall of Whispers, the library where books wrote themselves, gardens blooming in response to her moods. He taught her games, exchanged riddles, made her laugh.
Poppy stopped asking about her final trial. She felt at home. Then she overheard the pixies gossiping: “Poor princesses, still dancing alone in those woods. No one’s coming to save them.
” The words hit her like ice water. She hadn’t thought of the princesses in weeks. She fled through the palace until she found a grove of golden trees she’d admired her first night. “The king’s collection of champions,” the sprite Drop said.
“All the brave humans who came before you. ” Poppy stared at the trees in horror. That evening, she confronted Valyrian. “I want to take my third trial.
” “When it pleases me,” he said. She demanded he free the people in his grove if she succeeded. “Why bargain for strangers who would fear your appearance? ” She winced.
“Because no one deserves to be trapped forever. ” Valyrian was quiet. “Give me your true name, and if you succeed, I will restore them all. ”
“Poppy,” she said.
“My name is Poppy. ”
The world shifted, reforming into a magnificent ballroom. “Your final trial,” Valyrian announced. “You must find what you need to go home before the last dance ends.
” She began searching, but he pressed her to dance. They moved together perfectly, and he showed her visions—her return to the Alpha King’s brutal court, the suspicion and hostility, the world seeing her as nothing but a monster. “But you don’t have to go. You could stay here.
As my queen. ” He showed her a reflection of herself perfected—beautiful, unmarked, worthy. “Never again would someone you love choose another over you. Stay with me, Poppy.
Be my queen and my equal. ”
Her heart hammered. It was everything she’d ever dreamed. But she asked, “What of the princesses?
” He brushed it aside. “You barely knew them. Does it truly matter? ” She reached for him—and her fingers passed through his cheek like mist.
He wasn’t real. None of this was. “You’re not real,” she whispered. Pain flashed across his features—genuine, devastating.
“I wish I hadn’t had to,” he said quietly. “I wish things could be different. ”
Poppy understood. The final trial wasn’t about finding an object.
It was about finding the will to leave. She lifted her chin. “I won’t abandon the princesses. Not for beauty, not for power, not even for you.
”
The ballroom began to fade. “You have succeeded,” Valyrian said formally. “You found what you needed. You may return to your realm.
The princesses will accompany you, and those transformed into trees will be restored. ”
“Will I see you again? ” she asked. His smile was heartbreaking.
“In a way. ” The world spun, and she was falling. Poppy woke in the Alpha King’s castle. The princesses stood radiant around her, and dozens of rescued champions blinked in confusion.
But the king snarled, “I see a group of vagrants and criminals. For all I know, you’ve made this all up. ” Poppy barely heard him. She was staring at the golden treasure tree still standing in the hall.
Something was wrong. Everyone else had been restored. The tree remained. Then she remembered the fairy tale the princesses mentioned—an ancestor supposedly won the tree in a contest with a fae creature.
The creature said if he lost, the tree would stay forever, unless sunlight touched its leaves. Poppy’s blood turned cold. Atherra meant sunlight. She’d learned that word in Valyrian’s court.
“For my reward,” she told the king, “I want sunlight to shine directly on this tree. Open the ceiling completely. ” The king thought her mad, but he’d sworn any reward. Guards opened the skylight.
Sunlight poured down like liquid fire. The tree shimmered, golden bark flowing like water, and when the radiance faded, Valyrian stood where it had been. “It was you? ” Poppy breathed.
“After three centuries of imprisonment, you have given me back both freedom and form. ”
He explained. Words had power among his kind. To speak of his imprisonment directly would have made the binding permanent.
He couldn’t trust his court—too many would see his vulnerability as a chance to claim his throne. “Every conversation we had, every moment we shared, I was speaking to you from this very spot, unable to be fully present. ”
Poppy stared at him. “You didn’t want me to win or lose,” she whispered.
“You wanted me to stay. ” He admitted it. “I wanted to keep you with me, safe and whole and mine. ”
Then he offered her everything.
“Come back with me. Be my queen in truth this time, not as part of some trial. ” Poppy searched his face for deception. “Is this another trick?
” He cupped her face in his hands. “No trick. Though I warn you, I may spend eternity making up for every moment I couldn’t truly hold you. ”
Poppy’s mind worked, careful and precise.
“Will I be your queen forever? ” “Forever and always, until the stars burn out and beyond. ” “And I shall not share you with others. You will be mine alone.
” “Yours alone in this life and whatever comes after. ” “And you will love me, only me above all. ” “Only you for all eternity. ” She reached for his hand.
“And we will be equals, partners in all things. ” “In all things. My equal in power, in rule, in love. ”
She took his hand, and magic blazed through the hall.
When the light faded, Poppy stood transformed—glowing with confidence and power, her curse dissolved. “How? ” she wondered. Valyrian grinned.
“Those words you made me say—they were marriage vows. The moment I agreed, we were wed. By fae law, we’re bound as equals. And you are now my queen.
”
Poppy gaped. “You tricked me. ” But she was laughing through her tears. “Of course I did,” he said, pulling her close.
“And I shall trick you many more times, just as you will undoubtedly trick me. After all, you are now my queen and equal. Deception is one of our greatest arts. ”
The princesses cheered.
The hall erupted in celebration. And then Valyrian kissed her, real and warm and full of promise. Poppy heard none of the noise. There was only Valyrian, solid and present and hers, and the sunlight streaming down to bless their union.
The fairy tale at last had found its happy ending.
