It was an evening much like this one, in a place surrounded by glowing flowers, except it was Winter’s territory and not the wyldwood. They hadn’t seen me, hadn’t known I was awake, but I had watched Ash and Meghan that night; listened as he told her he was leaving, alone, to retrieve the Scepter of the Seasons. I’d listened as he told her to go home, back to the mortal world, to forget him. I’d watched both their faces, Meghan’s streaked with tears as she tried to be brave; Ash’s torment carefully sealed away. I’d said nothing, done nothing, as he’d broken her heart, turned away and walked out of her life.

And…I’d been glad.

I scrubbed a hand over my face, disgusted with myself. I’d been glad, because Ash had crushed my princess’s heart, because he was gone, and perhaps I could finally get her to look at me. I had been too patient, biding my time, waiting for the day the princess would open her eyes and see her faithful Puck as something more than a goofy friend. I would be more than her guardian and champion and the jester who made her laugh. I would be her everything, if I could.

With a sigh, I yanked the mushrooms from the fire and bit into them aggressively. After Ash had left, I’d tried to mend my princess’s shattered heart, the one the stone-cold ice-prince had broken so efficiently. And for one blissful moment, I’d thought I had a chance. The memory of Meghan’s kiss was seared into my brain, and I would never forget that day, one of the happiest moments of my life. But, against all odds, Meghan and Ash had found their way back to each other, defying every court of Faery to be together, and I was left behind. In the end, I’d lost her.

So why the hell am I still here?

“Goodfellow.”

I jerked up. The deep voice wasn’t Ash’s; it was far too low and powerful to belong to the frosty ice-prince. I knew it instantly; it was a voice that could command entire forests and woodlands, a voice that I had obeyed long before I ever met the mercurial prince of Winter.

Oberon stared at me over the fire, his eyes glowing amber in the shadows, the expression on his narrow face making the very ground quake in fear.

“Hello, Robin,” Oberon murmured, unsmiling. “I fear we must have a little talk.”

Aw, crap.

* * *