I've cried all the tears possible. My eyes droop with exhaustion. I'm so close to falling to sleep in Sage's strong arms. My eyes open and close slowly, like a thick film has been placed over my entire world.
"Let's get you back to your room," he sighs, hoisting me up into his arms as I try to speak. My voice comes out as a garbled moan that turns into a hiccup. I'm in no condition to return to the party: puffy eyed and exhausted. I don't complain, but put my arms around his neck, hiding my face in his chest, the royal emerald cutting a diamond- type shape into my forehead.
We're walking and walking, and Sage is talking to me, because I feel his chest rumble and hear his kind voice.
I don't even consider that he could be talking to someone else, until I'm laying back down in my safe warm summer bed, tiny summer creatures gossiping around me, nestled in my curls. I hear another voice that is not Sage's.
"You have to know that this is best for her," Sage says even toned, almost trying to convince his guest. I feel like they're watching me sleep, but with my last moments of consciousness, I am struggling to listen to the conversation.
Puck's voice, clear and sharp, cuts through the room, and I can do nothing to stop it from reaching my ears. "I am what is best for her. I love her," he says, like a needy schoolboy.
Sage sighs. "If you love her, you'll want to keep her safe, Robin," he explains the reasoning behind our marriage.
"No," Puck spits, enraged again. "If I love her, I'll keep her happy."
"You're being irrational."
"What do you care?" Puck snaps. "She's just your puppet."
It's one of the first times I've ever heard Sage truly angered. And it's frightening even in my exhaustion. "Do not put words in my mouth and emotion in my heart," Sage hisses. "I respect your love for her, Robin Goodfellow, but I will do what I think is right for Makayla. You think you can keep her happy? How? Being chased by both courts? Or better yet, hiding her here again? It's bigger than you or me or her, Robin. Her fate is tied directly with both our courts, you know that. You know that there is more at play here, more at stake."
"I won't stop fighting for her," Puck says quietly, spitefully, and I don't even know how he can be so malicious towards Sage.
"I'm counting on it," he retorts, and I am so curious, but sleep takes me away to good dreams.
In my sleep I am with Puck, wearing clothes so human it makes me smile. A pair of dark jeans are slung low on my hips and a maroon cami hangs on my body comfortably. My black curls tickle my bare arms and blows in the wind lightly. My head rests on Puck's stomach as we both lay in a patch of sweet smelling grass, reminding me too much of our pink and white garden.
I know it's not real, and I can't resist asking, "Why did you let me leave?"
He responds quite Puck- like. The Puck I know and love says cheerily, sarcastically, "Of all the questions to ask in such a gorgeous dream as this, Mac, you have to pick the one that we're going to fight about the most?"
I chuckle, picking a blade of grass from the ground, feeling its dying life force fade between my fingers. "Just this one, Puck," I ask, squinting in the sunshine to see his red hair and amused face.
"I didn't let you leave," he says to me, running a hand through my hair. I am so calm, it's almost uneasy. How am I so calm? "I was forced to not do anything about it. Oberon knew I would react without thinking. Do you remember when he yelled at you and you ran off?" I nodded against his abdomen a 'yes'. "Oberon ordered me to not talk to you or look at you or save you. I couldn't not follow his orders.
"Pushover," I snort, masking my hurt.
"It's not like that," Puck sighs. "I literally can't not do what he says. It complicated, Mac. But when you left, I never stopped trying to communicate with you, to be with you. I never gave up on us."
I pushed back a lump in my throat, threatening to make me cry again. My heart tearing in two. My duty confused. My head spinning. The dream seemed to real. And I couldn't help but notice that Puck was too. "This is real, isn't it?"
Puck snaps and the world fades to white. The floors, the walls, the ceiling: white, undersigned concrete. "I mean every word, Mac. I'll never stop fighting for you."
"God, you suck," I mutter at him, still laying back against his chest, his hand still playing with my hair, my eyes watering as I shut them tight and awake to a new winter day.
