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“Who are you?” Alice asked.
“I’ve gone by many names in many languages. The great bard once referred to me as Puck. But you may call me the Oaken King,” he responded. He held out his right hand, palm up, waiting for Alice to return the gesture.
Alice placed her hand into his awaiting palm. He bent down and kissed the back of her hand. Alice recoiled her hand—or at least, she attempted to. Her hand was held in place by the Oaken King. His gaze met her emerald green eyes. Her heart fluttered, stricken with such beauty. Her free hand shook. Her lips quivered. A drop of sweat rolled down her neck. She batted her eyes, attempting to break contact.
“You are a remarkable beauty. Full of joy and life. Yet . . . I sense a sadness in your eyes. They betray you. Tell me more,” he said, still holding onto her hands.
Alice attempted to pull away. She wanted to, but she couldn’t. She was entranced. Enthralled. Similar to her first meeting with Sylvia. Alice didn’t know if he was ensnaring her in hispresence or if his beauty had overwhelmed her natural desires. She wanted to let go. She had to let go, yet Alice was lost in his smoldering dark eyes.
“Breathe,” he said. “Breathe with me. You’re holding your breath.”
He inhaled and Alice did the same.
“Good,” he replied. “Now, tell me what troubles you.”
Alice gulped. Images of Hugo coursed through her mind. Their entire history laid out in a series of moving images. The first time she met him in the backyard. The day she followed him into the woods. The Halloween night he visited her. The first time they made love and the last time. The fight with the vampires as they stormed his old house. His proposal. The wooden stake stabbing him in the back.
Alice’s heart beat faster and faster, each beat more forceful until it was crashing against her rib cage. Sweat poured down her back. Tears welled in her eyes. She wanted to let go, but she couldn’t. The images repeated over and over in her mind. She let out a scream.
“Let her go!” Ez yelled.
The Oaken King let go of her hand, and the fairy world came rushing back to reality.
“I’m awash with the enlightenment and clarity of the situation,” he said as his fingers traced the contours of his chest and dripped to his side. He turned to a figure behind him. “The ash stick spoke the truth. She seeks our guidance and wisdom in her time of need.”
Alice caught her breath, placing a hand over her heart. With each breath, her heart calmed. “What did you do to me?” Alice yelled, furling her eyebrows.
The Oaken King turned back around. “I needed to make certain you were who you said you were,” he said in a soothing voice. “I granted you an audience because the stick said yousaved it and its tree from an infestation. It told me of how you lost a loved one.”
All eyes focused on Guinevere.
“The broomstick said those words?” Oliver asked.
“Yes. It informed me of all the troubles you’ve faced and how kind you are,” the Oaken King answered. “I mean you no harm. Now please, enjoy our fruits. Drink our mana. Bathe yourselves in our waters. Fill yourselves with the nourishments of life.”
He moved with the grace of a ballet dancer to a wooden throne and once again claimed his seat. A leg draped over the side of the chair. The robe pulled back, leaving nothing to the imagination. The throne was carved from a solid piece of oak. Intricate vines and leaves, crafted from a master craftsman, with every detail bored into the wood. He plucked a grape from an awaiting bowl next to him with one hand and drank from a gold cup in the other.
Alice’s emerald eyes wandered around the oval throne room, having a moment to take in the surroundings. They weren’t alone. Fairies of all sizes gathered in the throne room of the Oaken King. Some were taller than six feet; some were as small as six inches. All with pointed ears and high eyebrows.
The smaller ones fluttered around on pairs of wings. They chittered and chattered amongst themselves, laughing in glee. The room overflowed with alluring individuals, each one drawing Alice in with their beguiling charm. They competed for her attention, each one more enticing than the last. She was held captive by their beauty and grace.
Bowls of fruit and gold cups filled with reddish-purple wine littered the room. A waterfall poured down a rock wall into a pool at its base. Submerged in the water were bluish-green colored fairies with multicolored hair—water sprites. They were naked and splashing each other. They smiled and winked at Alice, beckoning her to join them in their aquatic activities.
Behind the throne, filigree carved columns opened the room to nature. Fields of grass carved with winding rivers and rich forests dotted the landscape. The sun shone. The sky was a mixture of shades of blue and white.
Heat filled the room. The Raskins unzipped their winter coats. Alice gave a quick thought of removing her tailcoat, but she held fast.
Max barked at all her new friends. Her eyes followed the smaller fairies and sprites fluttering too close for their inspection. She gave a series of barks, and they flew away.
“What an exquisite creature,” the Oaken King said. “May she join us here at Midsummer?”
“No,” Alice responded. “She’s my dog.”
“A pity. She loves it here. She’s telling me so,” the Oaken King replied.
“Your highness, we seek passage to the land of the dead,” Ez said.
All chattering stopped.
