The Dark Queen paced the length of her court, her dress a shimmer of smoke and shadows, her midnight hair stirred by the ever-present night breeze. In one hand she held a crystal sphere where a small flame flickered. It was the barest ember of fire—but it was enough.

She had made a bargain, and she would remain true to it. The fey folk were ever bound by their word. But bargains were tricky things, and she had centuries of experience. The poor mortal who had thought to negotiate with her had gotten what he wanted, but at a price few would pay, and for a far shorter time than he believed.

The queen smiled, as bright and sharp as the stars overhead. In a swirl of night, she mounted her throne and settled into its tangled black depths. To one side stood a knot of musicians: a long-fingered creature with a wooden flute, a squat goblin holding a skin drum, and a sad-eyed man with a battered guitar slung across his back.

“Music,” she said, gesturing to the players. “I would hear a song from my new Bard—something pleasant to pass the time. A tale of treachery and deceit, perchance.”

The denizens of her court laughed, their cackles and gibbers echoing off the trunks of the tall oak trees. Pale moths fluttered away from the sound, wings beating like panicked hearts.

“As my lady commands.”

The man set his fingers on the strings of his guitar, bowed his head, and began to play.

THE END