In the 17th Century, the ancient sprawl of Epping forest is bursting with magic and those who go unseen by human eyes: the elves who rule the summer court, and the goblins who rule the winter court. It is said that if a human catches the eye of one of the fey, they are either doomed or blessed. Contains the stories: Wulfren and the Warlock: When Wulfren wakes from a strange dream of a human captor with long silver hair, and grey eyes, his brothers tell him they rescued him from a warlock, and take Wulfren back home to the goblin king's palace. But Wulfren isn’t so sure the matter is that simple. Why was he missing so long? What are the strange dreams of the beautiful man with the silver hair? Dalliances with humans are severely frowned upon, especially by Wulfren’s father, but Wulfren is willing to risk the scorn of his family to find the human who haunts his dreams. Quiller and the Runaway Prince: After a hard winter, Quiller is sent deep into the forest on a family errand, and is surprised when a human stumbles into his path. Quiller swoops in to pester him, perhaps even eat him, but there is something special about the human: his scent is royal, though he protests that he is not, and soon Quiller finds himself agreeing to help the human with his troubles—in exchange for a kiss.

Goblins

“This is a hunting dance,” Tansy said quietly to me. “It’s for good luck with the hunt.”


I was too distracted to care; who had been spying on me and Cashel in the trees? Was it Cameron? If so, where was he? Looking around at the villagers in the firelight, some still wearing their masks, I tried to pick him out.


When I get my hands on him, he’ll wish he’d never been born.


Calls rose up, as new dancers entered the space. A maid, strewing flowers. Followed by three men, wearing dancing masks, brandished long bows. Horns were blown by musicians, and the masked men reached into the quivers at their backs to produce arrows. Alarmed, I pulled Cashel close to me, moving myself in front. Tansy noticed my panic, and placed a hand on my arm. “They aren’t real arrows,” she said, above the din.


Chapter 57