The servants who prepared me for lunch with Queen Titania treated the process like I was about to attend a state dinner rather than a casual meal. Maybe that was the point? They fussed over my clothes, providing me with a silk shirt in deep green and a vest embroidered with silver thread that not only fit like it was personally made for me, but was the most comfortable shirt I’d ever worn. They insisted on washing my hair with something that smelled like lavender and made it impossibly soft. And they absolutely refused to let me keep the purple protection ointment visible on my skin, but thankfully, they didn’t remove it.

  "The Queen finds the stains unsightly during meals," one of them explained while dabbing at my temples with a cloth soaked in something that tinged the purple to a barely-visible lavender. "You may reapply if you need to after lunch."

  I didn't argue. Arguing with Fae servants seemed like a fast way to end up in a worse situation.

  By the time they finished, I looked like someone who belonged at a Fae court instead of someone who'd spent the last three years chasing cosmic disasters through dimensional portals. I barely recognized myself in the mirror they held up.

  "The Queen awaits in the Garden of Infinite Summer," the head servant said, gesturing toward a door I hadn't noticed before. "Follow the path of white stones. Do not stray from it."

  I followed the white stones through gardens that made the rest of the Summer Court look understated by comparison. Flowers bloomed in riots of colors, just like everywhere else in the Fae realm, except these were the most beautiful of all. The air itself seemed to shimmer with barely contained magic and impeccable beauty. I kept my eyes on the white stones and tried not to think about what might happen if I accidentally stepped on the wrong piece of grass.

  The Garden of Infinite Summer turned out to be a circular clearing surrounded by flowering vines, with a table set for two in the exact center. The table itself was made of living wood that I could literally see was slowly growing (at first I thought it was ants moving along the wood..but it was the wood itself, filling in imperfections. Branches of the table formed elegant curves that held crystal plates and wooden utensils.

  The spread was extraordinary. There were fresh fruits that ranged from familiar strawberries to fruits shaped and colored like raindrops but resembled the texture of pineapple. I saw delicate pastries that seemed to be made of crystallized honey, drizzled in the most perfectly tempered chocolate ganache. There were cold fruit soups in jeweled bowls, and flowers that were apparently edible all delicately arranged around the food. While I preferred my carnivore ways, even I had to admit this whole table had my stomach roaring with hunger.

  Titania sat at one end of the table, and she was somehow even more beautiful in the garden light than she'd been on her throne. Her gown today was made of what looked like woven sunlight, and her red-gold hair was arranged in an elaborate style that incorporated living flowers. Away from her throne and in a more relaxed setting, I could absolutely see how she could capture someone like Oberon’s heart.

  "Mac Sullivan," she said, gesturing to the seat across from her. "Please, sit. Eat. We have much to discuss."

  I sat carefully, hyperaware of every movement, every word I was about to say. This was the political minefield Garrick (and even E.W) had warned me about when it came to dealing with Fae, and I needed to navigate it without causing an international incident. The most dangerous moment in your life is the moment you sit down at a Fae dining table.

  "Your Majesty," I said, "thank you for the invitation. Your garden is breathtaking," compliments to the host were required, lest one be forbidden to taste the food…by losing their tongue.

  "It is, isn't it?" She picked up a crystal glass filled with a rich, twinkling white wine. "I designed it myself. A place where I can think without the constant demands of court." She took a sip, watching me over the rim. "Tell me, Mac Sullivan, did you enjoy the hunt?"

  "Very much, Your Majesty. It was unlike anything I've experienced," I said and sipped from my own glass after Titania placed hers down. It was, without a doubt, the best riesling I’d ever tasted. I had to restrain myself from gulping it down, or taking another sip (more Fae protocol, you sip when your host sips…or they throw it in your face…or they throw a knife at you, I forget which for that disrespect).

  "My husband loves the hunt," Titania said, and there was an edge to her voice. "He loves it more than attending court, more than managing his duties, more than..." She trailed off, then smiled sharply. "But you didn't come here to discuss my marital frustrations. You came to hear about the Task, yes? To learn about the gifts we Fay enjoy?"

  "I'm trying to understand what would be meaningful to both you and Lord Oberon, your majesty," I said carefully.

  "Meaningful." Titania laughed, but it wasn't a happy sound. "What's meaningful to Oberon is freedom. The hunt. His friends. Everything except the responsibilities he swore to uphold." She picked up a pastry and broke it into pieces without eating it. "Do you know what I gave him when we were first married? A crown. Not a crown of gold or jewels—those are common enough. A crown of living ivy and flowers that would never die, never wilt, never fade. I wove it myself with magic that took me weeks to finish the binding. I had never spent so much effort on crafting anything before."

  "That sounds beautiful," I said, genuinely meaning it, “A gift made with real love.”

  "It was." Her expression darkened. "I gave it to him with a promise. That just as the crown would never die, neither would our love. That we would always stand beside each other, always be equals, always face the courts together." She crushed the pastry in her hand. "He wore it for centuries. Then he set it aside. Now I don't even know where it is. Probably forgotten in some corner of my garden where he loves to meet his…playthings, a reminder of broken promises."

  I filed that information away carefully. The crown may be here, somewhere in her garden.

  "I'm sorry, Your Majesty," I said, because I didn't know what else to say.

  "Are you?" She looked at me sharply. "Or are you just gathering information for your Task? Tell me, Mac Sullivan, why are you so interested in old gifts? In what Oberon and I gave each other centuries ago?"

  My heart rate spiked, but I kept my expression neutral. "I'm trying to understand your relationship, Your Majesty. The Task requires gifts of equal value, and I thought perhaps understanding what you valued in the past might help me understand what you value now."

  Titania studied me for a long moment, those luminescent green eyes seeing far too much. "Be careful what you take from my court, mortal," she said quietly. "I notice when things go missing. And I remember who was asking questions beforehand."

  It was a warning. Subtle enough to be deniable, but clear enough that I couldn't mistake it.

  "I would never take anything that wasn't freely given, Your Majesty," I said, which was technically true even if my plans involved borrowing items without explicit permission.

  "Good." She picked up another pastry and actually ate this one. "Now tell me about catching the Stag. I want to hear every detail, and I'll know if you're embellishing."

  I told her the story—the plan, the climb, the Brownie, the fall, the wild ride. She laughed at the parts that were genuinely funny and looked impressed at the parts that were genuinely dangerous. By the time I finished, some of the sharp edges had left her expression, and she looked less like a frustrated queen and more like someone who was genuinely interested in a good story.

  "You have courage, Mac Sullivan," she laughed as I finished. "Foolish courage, perhaps, but courage nonetheless." She stood from the table. "I have court matters to attend to. You're dismissed. And Mac?"

  "Yes, Your Majesty?"

  "Don't disappoint me with your gifts. I have high expectations." She swept away through the garden, leaving me alone with the remains of lunch and a head full of information I needed to process.

  I found Oberon that evening in what appeared to be a workshop attached to his personal quarters. He was examining a bow, checking the string tension, and didn't look up when I knocked on the open door.

  "Mac Sullivan," he said without turning. "Come in. I was hoping you'd stop by."

  "My lord," I said, stepping inside. The workshop was fascinating—weapons on the walls, hunting trophies, maps of the forest marked with notes and drawn depictions of animals. "I wanted to thank you again for the hunt. It was... unforgettable."

  "As it should be." He set down the bow and turned to face me. "But you're not here just to thank me. What's on your mind?"

  I decided honesty was the best approach. "I had lunch with Queen Titania today. She talked about the crown she gave you when you were first married."

  Oberon's expression shifted—surprise, then something that looked like pain. "The crown of living ivy and flowers. I haven't thought about that in..." He trailed off. "Where is it now?"

  "She said it's somewhere in her garden. Forgotten."

  "Forgotten." Oberon sat down heavily on a wooden bench. "I didn't forget it, Mac Sullivan. I set it aside because every time I wore it, I was reminded of promises I couldn't keep. Of being the partner she deserved while also being..." He gestured vaguely. "Myself. The Fae who loves the hunt and the freedom and the wildness of things."

  "She thinks you forgot her," I said quietly.

  "I could never forget her." Oberon's voice was rough. "Do you remember what I gave her when I first saw her? When I knew I would love her for eternity?"

  "Tell me again, my lord."

  "A rose." He smiled at the memory. "Not just any rose. I enchanted it so it would always smell like happiness—whatever scent would bring joy to whoever held it. I knelt before her and offered it like a fool, and she laughed. She kissed my cheek…" His expression turned melancholic. "I wonder if she still has it."

  "Where did you keep it, my lord? After the wedding?"

  "In our shared bedchamber when we are together, on a shelf where I could see it every morning. A reminder of the moment she chose me." He looked at me directly. "But I haven't looked at it in months, Mac Sullivan. Maybe longer. I've been so focused on the hunt, on being away, on proving I don't need..." He stopped. "I'm a fool."

  "You're a Fae in love who doesn't know how to balance freedom with partnership," I said, which was possibly too honest, but Oberon just laughed.

  "Truth from a mortal. How refreshing." He stood. "The rose should still be in our chambers, on the eastern wall. She never moved it. Last I heard she hasn’t entered that room since I…went on my trips." He paused. "Why are you asking about these old gifts, Mac Sullivan?"

  "Because I'm trying to solve an impossible riddle," I said. "And I’m told the answer is something you and Queen Titania have forgotten you possess."

  Oberon studied me for a long moment. "You're clever, mortal. Cleverer than most give you credit for. If you figure out that riddle, you'll have done something no one else could." He clapped me on the shoulder. "Now go. I have plans for tomorrow, and you have gifts to find."

  "This is insane," Garrick said, watching me prepare the Blendstep potion in the Wandering Kitchen. "You're going to sneak into both the Queen's garden and their bedchambers to steal—"

  "Borrow," I corrected.

  "—to borrow items that belong to the rulers of the Summer Court, based on a riddle from a talking stag and the vague hope that these are the gifts you need."

  "Yes."

  "And you're doing this using a potion you've been saving for two years that will only last five minutes."

  "Five minutes and three seconds," I corrected, carefully measuring out the aether dust. The Blendstep potion was expensive—prohibitively so. The aether dust alone had cost me a month's wages from my bartending job, and the ambrosia seeds had required a favor from a minor Greek deity that I was still slightly embarrassed about. I'd been saving this potion for exactly the right moment, and breaking into the Summer Palace to retrieve forgotten gifts definitely qualified.

  "Mac," Garrick said seriously, "what if you're wrong? What if these aren't the right gifts?"

  "Then I'll have wasted the most expensive potion I own and still be stuck with an impossible Task," I said, adding the ambrosia seeds to the mixture. "But Garrick, think about it. The Stag said they both possess something they've forgotten. Something of equal value. These gifts—the rose and the crown—they're symbols of their love. They gave them to each other when things were good, and now they've both set them aside and forgotten about them."

  "But they're physical things," Garrick said. "The riddle said it couldn't be bought or made or stolen."

  "The items can be stolen," I said, adding carrots to the mixture and watching it turn a peculiar shade of translucent gray. "But what they represent can't be. Love, Garrick. The answer to the riddle is love. And these items will remind them of that."

  Garrick was quiet for a moment. "I hope you're right."

  "Me too." I poured the finished Blendstep potion into a small vial and held it up to the light. It looked like liquid fog, swirling with faint iridescent colors. "Because if I'm wrong, I'm going to be polishing squirrel tails for the next seven years."

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  Saoirse found me just before midnight, as I was preparing to leave for the palace. She was wearing dark hunting leathers and had a serious expression that suggested she knew exactly what I was planning.

  "You're going to do something stupid," she said without preamble.

  "Probably," I admitted.

  "And you weren't going to tell me."

  "I didn't want to get you in trouble if something went wrong."

  She stepped closer, those crystalline blue eyes catching the moonlight. "Mac Sullivan, I've been in trouble since the day I met you. At this point, I'm committed to the chaos." She pulled out a small crystal from her pocket, about the size of a walnut, that glowed with soft blue light. "Take this. It's a communication crystal. I can speak to you through it, but you won't be able to respond. I'll be outside the palace, watching. If something goes wrong, I'll create a distraction."

  "Saoirse—"

  "Don't argue. Just take it." She pressed the crystal into my hand, then kissed me quickly. "Be careful. Come back to me. And for the love of all the courts, don't get caught."

  "I'll do my best."

  "Your best usually involves falling out of trees and accidentally succeeding through sheer luck."

  "Then I'll aim for that," I said, and she laughed despite the tension.

  The Summer Palace at night was even more beautiful than during the day, which made it significantly more dangerous. Everything glowed in the moonlight—flowers, fountains, even some of the paths—creating pools of light that I'd need to avoid. Guards patrolled in pairs, moving with the casual efficiency and rhythm of people who'd done this for centuries.

  I crouched in the shadows outside the palace grounds, the communication crystal tucked in my pocket and the Blendstep potion in my hand. My heart was hammering against my ribs, and I was acutely aware that this was possibly the stupidest thing I'd done since agreeing to chase Lucien through a mysterious portal.

  Saoirse's voice came through the crystal, soft and clear. "Two guards at the east entrance, three near the main gates. There's a gap in the patrol route near the fountain—you'll have about thirty seconds when no one's watching."

  I waited, counting heartbeats, until I saw the patrol pattern she'd described. Then I uncorked the Blendstep potion and drank it in one swallow.

  The effect was immediate and unpleasant. Pins and needles erupted across every inch of my skin, the sensation so intense it bordered on painful. My vision blurred, and my hearing became muffled like I was underwater. For a horrible moment I thought I'd made a mistake, that the potion had gone bad or I'd mixed it wrong.

  Then I looked down at my hands and couldn't see them.

  I was invisible. Nearly transparent, like the Predator from the movies—if you looked carefully, you could see a shimmer in the air where I stood, especially if I moved, but in the darkness and shadows, I was effectively gone.

  Five minutes and three seconds. Starting now.

  I moved quickly but carefully toward the palace. The enchanted boots helped, keeping my footsteps silent even as I ran across the open ground. I slipped past the guards, who were focused on the perimeter rather than what might already be inside it, and entered the palace through a side entrance that servants had used earlier.

  Inside, the palace was quieter but no less magnificent. Glowing crystals provided soft light, and I could hear distant music and laughter from somewhere deeper in the building. I consulted the mental map I'd built from observations of servant traffic over the past few days, and the fact that they lead me through most of the palace to get me changed and ready for lunch. Then I headed toward their bedchambers.

  The rose first. It was closer, and if I got caught, at least I'd have one item.

  Their chambers were on the second floor, in the east wing. I climbed stairs that seemed to be made of compressed soil and rock, passed through hallways where the walls were living, crawling vines, and finally reached a door marked with a stag's head wreathed in oak leaves, and a glowing sun. Yeah, this was probably it.

  I tested the handle. Locked, of course.

  But the lock was mechanical, not magical, and I'd learned a few things during my years with Garrick. I pulled out a lockpick set I'd kept in my hip pouch and got to work, my invisible fingers making the task slightly harder, but not impossible (I normally practiced at home while watching TV, going on pure muscle memory and feel.

  The lock clicked open after about thirty seconds. I slipped inside and closed the door behind me.

  Their chambers were surprisingly modest compared to the rest of the palace. A large bed, a desk with several papers, interesting…nocturnal implements on the walls (oh you spicy couple, you), and—there, on the eastern wall just as Oberon said—a shelf.

  And on that shelf, in a simple glass vase, was a single rose.

  It was still perfect. Still blooming despite having no soil or water. And when I got close to it, I could smell happiness—in my case, fresh coffee and old books and Saoirse's hair after she'd been riding.

  I carefully lifted the rose from the vase and tucked it into the protective case I'd brought. One down.

  Saoirse's voice came through the crystal: "Guards changing patrol. You've got about three minutes until someone comes near Oberon's chambers. Move."

  I moved.

  Getting out of Oberon's chambers was easier than getting in—no lock to pick from the inside. I retraced my steps, heading toward the garden where Titania kept the crown. The pins-and-needles sensation was starting to fade, which meant the potion was wearing off. I’d been keeping count as I went. About two minutes left.

  The Garden of Infinite Summer at night was different from during the day. The flowers glowed softly, and the whole space felt alive in a way that was both beautiful and slightly menacing. I followed the white stone path to where I'd had lunch with Titania, then branched off into the areas she'd mentioned.

  "A reminder of broken promises," she'd said. Somewhere visible but forgotten.

  It took a precious fifteen seconds, but I found it tucked behind a flowering bush near the garden's edge—a crown made of living ivy and flowers that still bloomed despite being set aside. It was beautiful, delicate, and when I picked it up, I could feel the magic in it. The promise Titania had woven into every strand.

  I placed it carefully in the protective case next to the rose. Two down. Now I just needed to get out.

  Saoirse's voice crackled through the crystal: "Mac, you need to move NOW. There's a patrol heading right toward—"

  The muffled hearing snapped back to normal. The pins and needles vanished. And I felt my skin begin to glow.

  Pink. Bright pink. Glowing like a beacon in the darkness. A very unfortunate side effect to the potion that anyone with an ability in Alchemy would recognize immediately. Not a good thing when you’re up to no good.

  Oh no.

  I ran, no longer caring about stealth because stealth was impossible when you were glowing like a radioactive flamingo. I sprinted through the garden, onto the white stone path, heading for the palace exit. Behind me, I heard shouts—guards realizing something was wrong.

  I burst through the side entrance just as my invisibility completely faded. I materialized in front of two guards who were stationed at the main gate, both of them jumping back in surprise as a glowing pink mortal suddenly appeared out of thin air.

  "I—uh—" I stammered, trying to think of an explanation.

  "What are you doing out here?" one guard demanded. "Were you invisible? How did you—"

  "I was testing a potion," I said quickly. "For the feast. Needed to see if it worked. Apparently it works very well. Almost too well. Anyway, I should go prepare more food. For the feast. That's coming up soon."

  I was babbling. The guards were staring at me with expressions that suggested they weren't buying any of this.

  "The mortal who rode the Golden Stag," the second guard said slowly. "What were you doing invisible in the palace?"

  "Potion testing," I repeated. "Very important. Can't have invisible food at a feast. That would be awkward. Not that I was uhh, making food invisible. I was just... testing. General testing. Of potions. For... things."

  This was going terribly.

  "We should report this," the first guard said.

  "Or," I said desperately, "you could just let me go back to the Wandering Kitchen, and I'll make sure you both get extra dessert at the feast. Really good dessert. The kind that makes you forget minor incidents with glowing mortals."

  They looked at each other. The pink glow was finally starting to fade, thank god.

  "Extra dessert?" the second guard said.

  "The best dessert you've ever had," I promised. "Made specifically for you. Whatever you want."

  Another long look between them.

  "Fine," the first guard said. "But stay out of the palace at night. And no more invisible potion testing."

  "Absolutely. No more potion testing. Thank you. You're very understanding. I'll remember this." I backed away slowly, clutching the protective case. "Dessert. The best dessert. You’re going to love it."

  I turned and walked—not ran, because running would look suspicious—back toward the guest grounds. My heart was hammering so hard I thought it might break free from my chest. But I'd done it. I had both items. The rose and the crown.

  The perfect gifts.

  I made it back to the Wandering Kitchen without further incident and took a breath of relieved air. I opened the container strapped on my belt and carefully examined the prizes I’d nearly been thrown in Fae prison for. They looked even more beautiful together—the rose in its simple perfection, the crown with its intricate weaving. These were the answer. I was sure of it.

  Tomorrow I'd start preparing the feast. The day after that, I'd present these gifts to Titania and Oberon, they'd remember what they meant to each other, and the Task would be complete. Everything was going to work out.

  I was just reaching for my notebook to write down the success when I heard Garrick calling me, from outside of the tent. The tension in his voice was obvious. I quickly put the notebook back down, hurried outside and looked around. Garrick was nowhere to be seen. “Now is not the time for jokes partner—” I began, and was rudely interrupted by a voice I knew all too well.

  "Bravo, Mac Sullivan," a man said, his French accent just barely audible.

  I spun around, and Lucien Leblanc was standing in front of the entrance to the Wandering Kitchen, applauding slowly. He looked exactly as he had in Paris—impeccably dressed, infuriatingly handsome, smiling like he'd just watched the best performance of his life.

  "How did you—" I started, reaching for my chef's knife.

  "Get in here?" Lucien finished. "This is the guest area, after all. There’s really no restrictions on who comes and goes here.”

  He stepped closer, eyeing the rose and crown with obvious appreciation. "Those are beautiful. Really, truly beautiful. The perfect gifts, I imagine."

  "They're mine," I said, moving between him and the items. "Back off, Lucien."

  "Oh, Mac. I wish I could." He sighed, and he actually looked regretful. "But you see, this is all part of the big game you don't realize you're playing. And these—" he gestured to the rose and crown, "—these need to be somewhere else for a little while."

  "I'm not letting you take them."

  "I'm afraid you don't have a choice."

  I lunged for him, knife in hand, but my foot hit something on the ground—a pressure plate, maybe, or a magical trigger I hadn't seen in the darkness. There was a flash of golden light, and suddenly I couldn't move.

  I was completely immobilized. I could see, could breathe, but my muscles refused to respond to any command. I was locked in place like a statue, still holding the knife, still mid-lunge.

  Lucien walked around me carefully, as if admiring a sculpture. "An elegant trap, yes? I set it this morning while you were having lunch with Titania. Just in case." He moved to the counter and picked up the protective case. "You're very resourceful, Mac Sullivan. I mean that sincerely. Breaking into the Summer Palace, retrieving items from both rulers, escaping mostly undetected—that takes real skill."

  I tried to speak, to move, to do anything, but nothing responded.

  "I want you to know," Lucien continued, tucking the case into his coat, "I have nothing against you personally. You and Garrick are just... necessary. Pieces on a board I've been arranging for quite some time. This entire situation—the Law of Consequential Guardianship, the Task, all of it—it's all part of something much larger than you realize."

  He walked back to stand in front of me, and his expression was almost kind.

  "You'll figure it out eventually. You're smart enough. But for now, I need these—" he patted his coat where the case was hidden, "—and you need to complete your Task another way." He smiled that infuriating smile. "Good luck with your feast, mon ami. I'm sure you'll figure something out. You always do."

  Then he was gone, vanishing like he'd never been there, and I was left frozen in place with absolutely nothing.

  The immobilization spell released about thirty seconds later, and I collapsed to my knees, gasping. The protective case was gone. The rose and crown were gone. Everything I'd worked for, everything I'd risked—gone.

  I heard footsteps and looked up to see Garrick approaching, Snow at his heels.

  "Mac? What happened? I heard—" He saw my expression and stopped. "Mac?"

  "He took them," I said, my voice hollow. "Lucien took them. Both of them."

  "The rose and crown?"

  "Everything." I stood up, my hands shaking. "Three days until the feast, Garrick. Three days, and I have nothing. No gifts, no backup plan, nothing."

  Garrick stepped forward, clearly trying to be helpful. "Mac, maybe... maybe the gifts aren't supposed to be physical things. Maybe it's something more symbolic, something that represents—"

  "Then you'll definitely be of no help here!" I snapped, the words coming out sharper than I intended. "If it's not physical, if it's not magical, if it's something symbolic or metaphorical or whatever cosmic nonsense you're thinking—then I can't make it or find it or steal it. I'm just a mortal, Garrick. I don't have your cosmic powers or your ability to see the fundamental truths of the universe. I'm just a bartender who's very good at reading people and making food, and neither of those skills are going to solve this riddle!"

  Garrick's expression crumbled. He looked like I'd physically struck him, and I immediately knew I'd crossed a line.

  "I... I'll let you work," Garrick said quietly. "Sorry for bothering you."

  He left, Snow following behind him, and I was alone in the Wandering Kitchen with my failure and my guilt.

  I slumped against the counter and put my head in my hands. Three days. Three days to figure out impossible gifts for two Fae rulers who were locked in a pattern of mutual frustration and forgotten love. Three days before I'd be sentenced to seven years of servitude to an angry squirrel.

  And I'd just hurt the best friend I had because I was too stressed and angry to think clearly.

  Saoirse found me about an hour later, still sitting on the floor of the Wandering Kitchen, staring at nothing.

  "Garrick looked upset when he walked past me," she said, sitting down beside me. "What happened?"

  I told her everything—the successful heist, Lucien's trap, the theft, my outburst at Garrick. She listened without interrupting, and when I finished, she was quiet for a long moment.

  "What did Garrick say, exactly?" she asked. "Before you snapped at him?"

  "That maybe the gifts weren't physical. That they were symbolic." I laughed bitterly. "Which is completely unhelpful because how do you give someone a symbolic gift? What does that even mean?"

  "It means," Saoirse said carefully, "that Garrick might actually be on the right track."

  I looked at her. "What?"

  "Many gifts for the Fae are symbolic in nature, Mac. More than something of physical value or substance." She reached over and took my hand. "Think about it. The rose and crown—they weren't valuable because they were magical objects. They were valuable because of what they represented. The promises they symbolized."

  "But I don't have them anymore," I said. "Lucien took them."

  "So maybe you were meant to lose them." Saoirse squeezed my hand. "Maybe the answer to the riddle isn't those objects at all. Maybe it's what they represented in the first place."

  I sat with that, turning it over in my mind. The Stag's riddle: The gift you seek cannot be bought or made, cannot be stolen or traded. It is something they both possess in equal measure, yet neither remembers they have.

  Something they possess. Not something they possessed. Present tense.

  "I need to think," I said.

  Saoirse nodded and stood. "I'll leave you to it. But Mac? Go apologize to Garrick. He was trying to help, and you know it."

  "I will," I promised. "After I figure this out."

  She left, and I was alone again with the riddle and my thoughts and the growing suspicion that I'd been thinking about this wrong from the very beginning.

  Something they both possess. Something they've forgotten. Something of equal value.

  Not the rose. Not the crown.

  Something else. Why couldn’t this stuff ever be easy?