Page 2 of Can you take it?

Each chair was filled with a person staring wide-eyed at me. This was most definitely not what Tartarus should have looked like.

Someone in the sea of sitting fae stood up from their chair and with an absurdly grating voice called out, “Look he’s got his testicles in his grip right now! We know why he was sent here aye?! Lust!” The crowd of fae all cackled loudly.

The blood from my balloon penis finally returned to my head and I dropped my hands over my area with a gasp, my face as hot as the sun I once wielded.

I heard one time in a tavern, decades ago, that if one ever landed themself in fae hell, they needed to establish dominance or they would be eaten alive and taken advantage of—it’s the only way to survive.

This was definitely not doing that.

An incredibly sassy whinny and stomp came from behind Walter, and my eyes landed on one of the most comforting sites I could have imagined.

It was Thistle, my floricorn friend. I hadn’t seen her since she had disappeared at the library of the Fates. The feisty mare stood tall (not actually that tall) in the most handsome leather tack while giving the man holding her lead a good struggle. “What the fuck is going on? What is my pony doing here?” I said aggressively.

“Let’s see ’em!” a haggard old wench with one eye shouted from the far right. “Show the testicles!” The crowd rallied with the wench.

They could probably look down my throat and see my spleen, my mouth was so wide.

Dominance, like the men at the tavern had said—it wasn’t too late. “Pipe down!” I shouted back at them using as much vocal fry as I could muster. The fae tittered back when my voice came out absurdly low and creaky. “Sit back down! I’m not showing you my testicles!”

Walter chortled.

The wench looked offended and sat back down with her brows raised. “A bit…testy ain’t we, Seelie?” Laughter rippled like ocean waves through the never-ending room.

I heard the same hiss and growl I had heard huddled in the corner. I turned to find that it had only been the raspy wheeze of Walter’s laughter. He was trying to keep a neutral demeanor, albeit quite unsuccessfully.

“Welcome to Eromreven,” he coughed. “Quite an entrance.” The room’s echoing roar of laughter felt like static in my ears. Several people had stood on their chairs chanting vile, lurid things. The entire room was quickly spiraling out of control. “Arrow, take Thimble⁠—”

“Thistle,” I corrected Walter. “Thistle to the mill.”

“What? Where’s that?” Did I trust Walter? I’d only known him for a short time before his death.

“She’ll be safe there, with the other horses. She showed up about ten minutes before you,” he replied.

Panic surged through me at the thought of her leaving. She was familiar and comfortable—two things I really wanted right now. “Can’t she⁠—”

“Shit,” Walter mumbled, cutting off my protests. “Silence,” boomed a voice filled with so much control and power in that single word, I nearly sat like a dog.

Without a second of hesitation, silence filled the room, save for the errant sound of a stray scooting chair. My eyes landed on the master of the voice and I was surprised yet again. She strode toward me with the grace of a panther. The hair on the back of my neck rose in warning. I may have lost my powers but not my instincts.

A curtain of long, black hair moved at her back, swaying like a pendulum behind her waist as she strode toward us, her large ivy-green eyes locking me in. Her golden brown skin seemed to hold the fire of the lights on the wall as she strode past them. She was beautiful and dangerous in a thin cream fabric gown with a tight, high-cut red bodysuit-type thing under it that gave me a glimpse of cleavage and an eyeful of curves. A deep growl vibrated beside me, and I turned to see Walter had turned feral and was giving me a death stare.

“If you wish to see the rest of Tartarus, put your eyes back in your head before I take them,” Walter snarled.

Oh shit. “My apologies.” I quickly raised my hands in surrender.

I was not about to ruin things with the only friend I had here. Besides, I had come to the realization that fate had probably not made a soul mate for me—not if this was what the Fates had planned for me. I wasn’t meant to have someone of my own, and that was okay. In truth I was rather grateful they never gave me a match, as I would have been forced to leave her in Seelie all alone forever. Though would I still have volunteered to come here, had I been with the love of my life? Doubtful. Still, I was only a man, and this woman was startlingly beautiful, though her dark power alone was enough to make me uncomfortable.

“Thank you for the alert, Walter. You may go now,” she said with a trace of scolding attached to her tone.

“He’s a friend of mine. I want him taken care of,” Walter said with a whisper of challenge as his eyes slowly roved the woman, making no attempt to hide it. My eyes darted back and forth between them, trying to figure out what was going on.

“Oh, don’t worry. He’s Seelie—and a royal. We’ll take care of him just as we do the rest of his kind.” Her dark eyes narrowed on me in the most odd and piercing way.

“Eletha, come on,” he gently pleaded, his challenging tone more of a whine now.

Eletha. Why did that name ring a bell?

The woman softened the tiniest bit at his words, then rolled her eyes and stepped up to Walter until her ample chest grazed his.