The man, a farmer by the look of his mud-caked boots, gently lays the animal on the wood. Its limbs flop akimbo, its small, horned head lolling to the side, revealing crimson-stained fur across its throat and another gash across its belly.

The crowd draws in a collective gasp.

That poor, sweet creature. Who would do this sort of thing?

The queen rises to her feet, her voice ringing with finality when she speaks. “The wolves have returned to Rosehill.”

That’s impossible…isn’t it?

“Your children might not remember what it was like the last time a wolf found its way across The Divide,” she goes on, “but many of you do.”

The murmuring around us grows louder. A portly fae with crinkly lips and wild gray hair sprouting from beneath a straw sun hat mutters that she doesn’t think it was wolves at all, but the Unseelie themselves who killed the goats.

No wonder the fae are so closed-minded, with vicious slander like that swirling around.

Everett said no wolves have been spotted anywhere near the bridge. Could he be mistaken and one slipped past? Or was the goat killed by something else?

“What if it’s not the wolves?” a man to my right shouts. “What if that’s what the Unseelie want us to believe?”

The queen raises a bejeweled hand, silencing the crowd once more. “Now, now, let’s not jump to conclusions.” Although her words are meant to placate, her twisted smile incites more bellows of agreement. “I think we can all agree that we must remain vigilant until the culprit is caught. That is why the king and I are proposing a curfew. All fae must return to their homes by dusk.”

The younger fae curse and groan, no doubt more annoyed about missing out on socializing than any genuine concern for their own safety.

The king’s lips purse as he glances over at his wife. When she doesn’t meet his gaze, he turns back to the crowd. “We thank you for your cooperation and look forward to the day this beast is caught so that we might live in safety once more.”

“First, we’re not allowed out on Wednesdays, and now this?” a young man in front of Nia grumbles to the one next to him. “Fucking Unseelie. Ruining everything.”

My nails carve crescent moons into palms as I glower at them. They need to stay inside when it gets dark. So what? Ever and the rest of his men are responsible for staying outside, on their own, watching the bridge in exchange for bloomin’ water.

I’m sure they’d be more than happy to stay in the warm comfort of their homes instead of spending every damn night in the wretched darkness.