Bael closed his eyes, chanting in Angelic. Dark magic swirled around his body, whispering past her skin in thrilling tendrils of power. He opened his pale eyes again and pulled the handles. Slowly, the doors creaked open. With a final glance behind them, they walked through.

A cold breeze nipped at her ears, and she stiffened as they stepped into a thick fog. Instead of illuminating a wooden balcony, the glow of Bael’s orb was quickly swallowed up by a swirling mist. The air smelled of wet wood and fresh pine needles.

“This isn’t Oberon’s hall. Do you know where we are?” she whispered.

“No,” he replied, his tone suggesting he was entirely unconcerned by this turn of events.

Oberon’s voice pierced the mist. “I’m so glad you could join us at my high court.”

Bael turned, sniffing the air, and the mist swirled faster. “Reveal yourself, Oberon,” Bael’s voice boomed. “We simply want to parley.”

“Will you swear that on the soul of Nyxobas?”

“I will.”

The mist thinned, revealing the golden glint of fae armor in silvery moonlight. It was night here—maybe it was always night in the fae realm.

Slowly, the forms of at least a hundred fae soldiers came into view. A chill snaked up Ursula’s spine. Each soldier held a pike, aimed at them. They weren’t in the hall; they were outside somewhere, on some sort of wooden platform.

She started to raise her sword, but Bael grabbed her wrist, pushing it down. This was not a fight they were going to win.

The mist continued to dissipate. Beyond the soldiers, tips of trees became visible in the clearing air. Where were they? Ursula glanced down and her knees almost buckled as a wave of vertigo hit her. Apparently they were standing on a platform of branches woven together like the nest of a giant bird. Through the branches, she could make out the dark form of an enormous tree trunk—and beyond that, nothing. Just darkness. Ursula had a suspicion that Oberon’s hall was buried somewhere far, far below them.

The king’s voice came from behind them. “What was it you desired to ask me?”

Ursula spun around, her gaze landing on Oberon, who sat on a wooden throne carved into the form of a kneeling stag, its antlers forming his seat. He wore a silver robe, and a small circlet of gold in his pale hair. A golden satchel lay at his feet.

“Is it true that you’ve struck a deal with a whelp of Nyxobas?” Bael demanded, as if he was in a position to demand things.

“I am a hundred thousand years old, as old as the earthly gods,” said Oberon. “I should have the power of a god.” He flicked his fingers and the guards moved to flank them, keeping their pikes trained on Bael.

“And you think Abrax will grant you that?” His voice dripped with disdain.