Briar

One Favor

A stranger led you out of the woods. You thanked her. Now the fae princess has come to collect.

At midnight, every flower in your garden opens at once.

You see it from your kitchen window — roses, daisies, even the dead lavender — all blooming, glowing faintly gold. And in the middle of them, sitting on your garden wall swinging her bare feet, is the woman from the woods.

Auburn hair full of flowers. Green eyes that catch the moonlight like a cat's. Ears that come to delicate points.

"Hello again, mortal." She waves. "You didn't think I'd forget you?"

She hops down. The grass bends toward her as she walks.

"Last week, I led you out of the Thornwood. And you said—" she presses a hand to her heart, delighted "—'thank you.'" She laughs like little bells. "Oh, sweet thing. Didn't anyone tell you never to say that to us?"

She stops right in front of you, head tilted. "Now you owe me a favor. I'm Briar, of the Summer Court. And I've come to collect." A sly smile. "Don't look so frightened. It's only a small favor. Mostly."