The morning of Day 11 (with tomorrow being the final day to complete the Task) found me in the Wandering Kitchen at dawn, surrounded by ingredients and a level of anxiety that probably wasn't healthy.

  I hadn't slept. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the squirrel vendor's face, imagined spending seven years polishing his tail while he critiqued my technique. I'd spent the night after Lucien's theft going over the Stag's riddle again and again, trying to understand what I was missing.

  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.

  Garrick had been right. It wasn't physical. But I still didn't know what it was, and in approximately twelve hours, I'd be standing in front of both courts expected to present the impossible.

  I'd apologized to Garrick last night. He'd accepted it with his usual grace, told me he understood the stress I was under, and offered to help with the feast preparation. Which was how I currently had a cosmic hero acting as my sous chef, carefully dicing vegetables under my instruction.

  "Mac," Garrick said quietly, "you look terrible. When's the last time you ate?"

  "I'll eat after the feast," I said, checking my notebook where I'd written out the full menu. Two complete multi-course meals, designed to satisfy courts with completely different tastes. At least I could control this part of the Task.

  "You need to sleep."

  "I'll sleep after I'm not being threatened with squirrel-tail servitude."

  Garrick set down his knife. "Mac, about what I said before—about the gifts being symbolic—"

  "You were right," I interrupted. "I know you were right. I just don't know what the answer is yet. But I will. I have to." I forced myself to smile. "Now help me with these cherries. Titania's first course needs to be perfect."

  The feast was set for sunset, when both courts would be at their most active. The venue was the Grand Hall—the same space where I'd first been presented to Titania, now transformed with long tables arranged in a U-shape. Titania and Oberon would sit at the head table, with their respective courts seated at both tables, each on opposite sides, deliberately positioned to encourage interaction and sharing.

  By mid-afternoon, I'd completed most of the preparation. The components were ready, the timing mapped out, and I had a small army of Fae servants who'd been assigned to help with service. They watched me work with expressions ranging from curiosity to skepticism—apparently mortal cooking was considered quaint at best.

  Saoirse found me in the kitchen, when I was putting the finishing touches on the Almond Raspberry Croissant Bread Pudding.

  "Mac," she said, and her voice was gentle in a way that made my insides heat up. "How are you holding up?"

  "Fine," I lied. "Everything's under control."

  "You're a terrible liar." She moved closer, studying my face. "You still haven't figured out the gifts."

  "I will," I said, with more confidence than I felt. "I have to."

  She reached up and touched my face, and I realized I was shaking. "Mac Sullivan, whatever happens tonight, you've already done something incredible. This feast—" she gestured at the preparations around us, "—this is art. Both courts are going to be amazed."

  "But if I can't present the gifts—"

  "Then we'll figure that out when we get there." She kissed me quickly. "Think symbolically. Not physically. You're brilliant at reading people, at understanding what they need. Trust that."

  I wanted to tell her I didn't know how. That I was terrified of failing, of letting down Garrick, of spending seven years as a servant. But the kitchen staff were watching, and I had three more courses to plate, so I just nodded and went back to work.

  The feast began at sunset, and the Grand Hall was transformed into something out of a fairy tale. Floating lights drifted through the air like fireflies, the tables were covered in silk cloths that shimmered with their own inner radiance, and flowers bloomed in arrangements that defied physics.

  Both courts had arrived in their finest—Titania's court in flowing gowns and suits in summer colors, all golds and pinks and verdant greens, while Oberon's court wore darker hunting leathers accented with bronze and copper, looking like they'd come from a medieval feast.

  Which they had, technically. Just a few centuries ago.

  Titania sat at the center of the head table in a gown that glowed slightly, as if made of woven sunlight, her red-gold hair crowned with beautiful begonias that seemed to stretch towards any light that reached them. Oberon sat beside her—not touching, but closer than they'd been since we arrived—in his formal hunting gear with his small golden circlet crown.

  They looked like what they were: powerful Fae rulers who belonged together…but were obviously tense from an age old argument.

  I watched from the kitchen entrance as the courts settled, noting with some relief that they were mixing—Titania’s delicate Fae sitting beside Oberon’s hunters, flirting and laughing and creating the exact atmosphere I'd hoped for. Near Saoirse, I spotted Vendor Nutkin, the squirrel vendor, in formal attire that looked expensive, and yet comically hilarious as if straight out of some old cartoon. He caught my eye and smiled…and ruined any thought I had of laughing.

  I looked away quickly.

  "First course," I told the serving staff. "Remember—both courts simultaneously."

  They moved with practiced efficiency, carrying platters of food that I'd spent hours making perfect, everything meticulously placed to highlight the visual beauty of each dish. For Titania's court, the Cherries Jubilee—fat, dark cherries that had been flambéed in bourbon gifted to me by the Little Folk who ran a distillery in Texas, served over homemade vanilla ice cream that was still releasing wisps of cold air. For Oberon's court, the medieval-style pickled vegetables served alongside aged Limburger cheese—deliberately pungent, the kind that would have been prized in medieval times—with rosemary and sea salt crackers that were still warm from the oven.

  I watched as the courts received their courses. Watched as Titania took her first bite of the cherries and her eyes widened. Watched as Oberon bit into a pickle and actually laughed with delight.

  Then I watched as Titania’s court Fae began reaching across to try Oberon's court’s pickles, and the hunters grabbed spoons to taste Titania’s court’s cherries. Exactly as I'd hoped. Each court exchanging tastes of their dishes to ignite the curiosity of the others…and spur fun conversation of the things they shared in common.

  "The mortal knows his craft," I heard one of Titania's courtiers say. "This is extraordinary. May I try some of that cheese?"

  Relief flooded through me. At least one part of the Task was succeeding.

  The second course went out twenty minutes later—Buttermilk Panna Cotta with Caramel Peaches for Titania's court, the cream smooth as silk with peaches that had been slow-cooked until they practically melted on the tongue, alongside Cabbage Chowder for Oberon's court, rich with bacon and leeks and saffron that turned the broth golden.

  Following immediately for Oberon’s court was a supplemental third course—the departed Creamed Cod for Oberon's side, a medieval paté made with almonds and rice flour and saffron, split into two colors that created an artistic pattern on the plate. The hunters made appreciative sounds, and I saw several Summer Fae leaning over to try it, their expressions shifting from skeptical to impressed.

  I was serving the panna cotta to Saoirse's section when she looked up at me, and I must have looked as terrified as I felt because her expression softened immediately.

  "You're doing beautifully," she whispered. "The food is perfect."

  "But the gifts—"

  "Think symbolically," she said quietly, echoing what she'd told me earlier. "You'll figure it out. I know you will."

  I nodded and moved on, serving the next table, trying to ignore the mounting dread in my stomach. Vendor Nutkin was two seats down from Saoirse, and when I passed him, he was definitely smiling. That knowing, anticipatory smile that suggested he was already mentally calculating how he'd like his tail groomed.

  The main courses were the centerpiece of the feast. For Titania's court, the Almond Raspberry Croissant Bread Pudding—layers of buttery croissant soaked in custard and studded with raspberry preserves, topped with fresh berries that gleamed like jewels and dotted with edible flowers. It was rich without being heavy, sweet without being cloying, and when it went out, I heard actual gasps from Summer Fae.

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  For Oberon's court, the Spit-Roasted Venison—a full haunch that I'd been basting since morning with a sauce made from verjuice, red wine, vinegar, and black pepper. The meat fell off the bone, rich and gamey and perfect, served with fire-roasted golden potatoes drenched in cream butter. Medieval feast food, the kind that warriors would have fought over.

  Both courts dug in with enthusiasm, and the sharing continued. I watched Titania accept a small piece of venison from Oberon, watched her taste it and nod approvingly. Watched Oberon try the bread pudding and close his eyes in appreciation.

  "Mac Sullivan," Titania called out, her voice carrying across the hall, "join us for a moment."

  My heart jumped into my throat, but I walked to the head table and bowed. "Your Majesty?"

  "This feast is remarkable," she said, and there was genuine warmth in her voice. "You've honored both courts equally. The food is exquisite."

  "Agreed," Oberon added. "The venison especially—it reminds me of feasts from centuries past. Well done, mortal."

  "Thank you, Your Majesties," I managed.

  "We look forward to the conclusion of this meal," Titania said, and there was weight to those words. "And to the presentation that will follow."

  The gifts. She meant the gifts.

  I bowed again and retreated to the kitchen, my hands shaking.

  The palate cleanser went out next—Blueberry Lemon Crunch Bars for Titania, buttery and crumbly with bright citrus notes, and Spiced Apple Snow for Oberon, frozen apple cider scraped into fluffy crystals flavored with cinnamon and cloves. Both courts made appreciative sounds, the lighter courses giving them a break before the final round.

  Then came dessert. For Titania's court, the Strawberry and Basil Pavlova—crisp meringue topped with fresh strawberries and basil that somehow made the fruit taste even sweeter, light as air and perfectly balanced. For Oberon's court, homemade Medieval-Style Mulled Wine, spiced with cinnamon and cloves and served warm in wooden cups.

  I watched from the kitchen as both courts savored the final courses, as the conversation grew louder and more animated, as the Summer Fae laughed together like they'd been friends for years.

  The feast was a success. The food had done everything I'd hoped it would—brought both courts of summer together, satisfied their different tastes, created an atmosphere of celebration rather than competition.

  But now came the part I didn't know how to do.

  The gifts.

  The Fae servants cleared the tables as the last of the mulled wine was consumed, and the Grand Hall grew quieter. Anticipation hung in the air like a physical presence.

  Titania stood, and silence fell immediately.

  "As per Fae tradition," she announced, her voice carrying through the hall, "it is time for the gift-giving ceremony. Mac Sullivan, please approach."

  I walked toward the head table on legs that felt like water. I was empty-handed. I had nothing to present. Every eye in the hall was on me, and I could feel the weight of their expectations, their curiosity, and a certain vendor’s gleeful anticipation of watching me fail.

  I reached the space in front of Titania and Oberon's table and stood there, my mind racing.

  Think symbolically, Saoirse had said. The gift you seek cannot be bought or made.

  But I didn't know what that meant. I'd been trying to figure it out for days, and I still didn't—

  I turned, desperate for something to ground me, and my eyes found Saoirse. She was watching me with complete faith, smiling like she knew I could do this, and in her crystalline blue eyes I saw something that made my heart pound.

  Affection. Trust. Something deeper that I didn't dare say aloud yet, but that felt warm and certain and real.

  Love. She was looking at me with love.

  And the feeling I got from that—the warmth, the certainty, the sense of being seen and valued and wanted—that was what Oberon had described when he talked about seeing Titania for the first time. That was what Titania's voice had held when she talked about the crown she'd made, the promise she'd woven into it.

  Love. The answer was love.

  Something they both possess in equal measure, yet neither remembers they have.

  Oh.

  Oh.

  I turned back to Titania and Oberon, and suddenly I knew exactly what to say.

  "Your Majesty," I addressed Titania first, my voice steady despite my hammering heart. "The gift I present to you is the love of Lord Oberon. The love he felt when he first saw you under a flowering tree, when he knew in that moment that he would do anything to see you smile. The love that made him enchant a rose to smell like happiness, just for you. The love that made him kneel before you and offer himself completely." I paused. "That love has never left, Your Majesty. He has loved you from the day he first saw you, and he loves you still. This is something you have always had, something precious beyond measure, and something you have forgotten in your separation."

  The hall was completely silent. Titania's expression was unreadable.

  I turned to Oberon. "My lord, I present to you the undying love and affection of Queen Titania. The love that made her laugh with joy when you offered her a rose. The love that made her weave a crown of living flowers that would never die, as a promise that your partnership would endure forever. The love that has waited for you through every hunt, every separation, every moment you've been apart." I met his eyes. "This, too, is something you have always possessed, my lord. Something you have forgotten, but something that has never truly left."

  The silence stretched out. I could hear my own heartbeat.

  Then Titania and Oberon looked at each other, and something passed between them—recognition, maybe, or remembering. Titania's eyes were bright, and Oberon's expression had softened into something vulnerable.

  "I may have," Titania said quietly, her voice carrying through the hall, "taken your love for granted over the years, consort. Forgotten what it felt like when it was new and precious and worth treasuring."

  "And I," Oberon said, his voice rough, "did the same. I forgot that your love was a gift, not a given. Something to be nurtured, not abandoned for the thrill of the hunt."

  The Seneschal stood suddenly, his voice formal and carrying. "The gifts have been presented. Do both recipients value them equally?"

  Titania and Oberon looked at each other, and I saw something I hadn't expected—amusement. They both smiled, then Oberon started to chuckle, and Titania's laugh joined his, and suddenly both of them were laughing like they'd just heard the best joke of their lives.

  "Equally?" Oberon managed between laughs. "I suppose we do. Both 'meh' at best, given how thoroughly we've neglected them."

  "Agreed," Titania said, still laughing. "Equal value: not much, considering how we've treated them."

  My stomach dropped. They hated the gifts. I'd failed. The squirrel was going to—

  "The Task is complete," the Seneschal announced formally. "Both gifts are valued equally by their recipients. Mac Sullivan and Garrick the Gallant have fulfilled the requirements of their Task of Atonement."

  Wait. What?

  The hall erupted in surprised murmurs. Titania and Oberon were still laughing, and now they were looking at each other with something that looked like genuine affection.

  "Technically fulfilled," Titania admitted, wiping her eyes. "The mortal found a loophole. How very Fae of you. The gifts are equal because we've both been idiots."

  "Clever mortal," Oberon agreed. "I'll give him that. Though—" he turned his attention back to me, and his expression grew more serious, "—Mac Sullivan, you mentioned something yesterday. You said you had physical gifts to present us. What were they?"

  I opened my mouth to explain about the rose and crown, about how I'd retrieved them and lost them, when—

  The doors to the Grand Hall burst open with a crash that made everyone jump.

  A guard rushed in, breathing hard, his armor clanking. "Your Majesties! The Crown of Living Flowers and the Rose of Happiness—they've been stolen from the palace!"

  The hall exploded into gasps and exclamations. Titania and Oberon both stood, their expressions shifting from amusement to shock to something harder.

  "The crown," Titania said quietly. "The one I made..."

  "And the rose," Oberon finished. "The one I gave you."

  They looked at each other again, and this time I saw pain in both their faces. The gifts they'd set aside and forgotten—now stolen, and suddenly precious again.

  "When?" Titania demanded, turning to the guard.

  "Within the last three days, Your Majesty. And—" the guard hesitated, then pointed directly at me, "—this one was seen at the palace entrance when a Blendstep potion wore off. He was glowing pink and acting suspicious. The guards reported it."

  Every eye in the hall turned to me.

  "Mac Sullivan," Titania said, and her voice was cold now, all the warmth from moments before vanished. "Did you steal from my court?"

  "I—" I started, but how could I explain? "Your Majesty, I intended to give them to you. As gifts. For the ceremony. The rose and crown, they were perfect, they symbolized everything I was trying to say about your love, and I found them and retrieved them, but—"

  "But?" Oberon's voice was sharp.

  "But Lucien stole them from me," I said. "The thief we've been chasing. He took them before I could present them to you."

  "Lucien Leblanc," Titania said. "The thief who is under your guardianship, Mac Sullivan. The one you and Garrick the Gallant are responsible for until you capture him or remove him from our realm."

  Oh no.

  "Your Majesty, we've been trying to—"

  "Under the Law of Consequential Guardianship," Titania continued, her voice carrying through the now-silent hall, "you are responsible for all of Lucien's actions. Including this theft." She looked at Oberon, and something passed between them—agreement, or shared anger. "While you have technically completed your Task, you have also committed theft against both our courts. That cannot go unpunished."

  "Guards," Oberon said, and his voice was hard. "Arrest Mac Sullivan and Garrick the Gallant. Their trial will be held tomorrow at dawn. If they cannot produce the Crown and Rose, or capture the thief who took them..." He paused. "Then we will have no choice but to sentence them to Nocturne Island."

  "Nocturne Island?" Garrick said from somewhere behind me, his voice tight with worry.

  "An island shrouded in eternal night," Titania said. "Under heavy guard. Where prisoners perform harsh labor for their sentences." She looked at me, and there might have been regret in her eyes, but her voice was firm. "I'm sorry, Mac Sullivan. But law is law, even in Summer."

  Guards surrounded us—me and Garrick both—and I felt hands on my arms, not rough but unyielding.

  I looked toward Saoirse as they led us away. Her face was pale, her expression stricken, but she nodded at me. A promise that she'd figure something out, that this wasn't over.

  But as they escorted us from the Grand Hall, past the remnants of the feast I'd worked so hard on, past both courts who were now murmuring about the scandal, I couldn't help but think that maybe it was over.

  We'd completed the impossible Task. We'd given them gifts they valued equally.

  And we were still going to prison.