The hunter pressed himself close to the ground, holding himself so still that not even his tail twitched. His gaze had locked in on his prey, narrow pupils tracking its movements through the shifting pebbles. Saliva gathered in his mouth but he refrained from swallowing. Even such a minor muscle spasm might give him away.
A tremor ran through the forest, the gnarled trees shuddering as the ground quaked. His hindlegs tensed.
Fodhen were vicious, mindless creatures, rarely ever leaving their underground lairs. Beneath the earth they slumbered, waiting until something walked on the soil above them. Then their long fingers broke through the earth and dragged their victims down into the depths.
He'd lured this one with the scent of blood, leaving the carcass of his last hunt near its hiding place. Not even they could resist a free meal.
The earth burst, the beast unhinging its jaws to swallow the cadaver whole, and Chat Noir lunged.
Chat Noir meticulously groomed his paw, his tongue paying careful attention to the space between his toes to dig out the last of the dirt. At least, that was how it appeared to outsiders. In truth, his ears were perked and his gorgeous black fur free of all contamination.
No, he was merely luring his stalker into a false sense of security.
Chat suppressed a grin and leapt to the side, just as a body crashed right where he'd sat. He could not help the mocking laugh that escaped him when he took in orange fur caked in mud, obscuring the white patches.
Trixx was always so inept when they tried to sneak up on him.
The young fae huffed and pushed themselves to sit, purple eyes narrowed in an accusing gaze.
"Maybe next time, fox." Chat did not even attempt to keep the smugness out of his voice. Trixx was young, had scarcely seen fifty winters, whereas he was already close to his adulthood. It would be quite some time before the little spirit of illusion would be able to rival his power.
If he ever would. After all, Chat would be a Lord someday.
"What gave me away?" Trixx sprung to their feet, shaking all nine of their tails to clear the grime away.
"Everything."
"That's not an answer, Chat." The fox's bottom lip pushed forward in a pout. "How am I to improve myself if you will not give me hints what I'm doing wrong?"
"You keep picking the wrong target. There's easier prey than me."
"But Chat," they purred and snuggled close. "My aim is to capture you."
The black cat rolled his eyes and leapt away, escaping the other fae's grasp. Foxes were amorous creatures, and Trixx was no exception. They shot him a wounded glance.
"Is it this body? Does it not appeal to you?" Just like that, the flat chest gained curves, narrow hips broadening while the waist dipped. Trixx's voice climbed several octaves as they spoke. "Because I can be anything you want."
"Try reaching a century. You're too young for me."
"Age is smoke and mirrors, Chat. What is time in Underhill? For all you know I might have aged thousands of years since you last saw me. I could have fallen into a pocket dimension."
"Did you?"
"…well, no, but I could have."
"Well, that's good. For you to be such a bad hunter at age one thousand would have been cat-astrophic."
"You are cruel, Black Cat. Cruel."
"No. I am already claimed. As you should know."
Trixx snorted derisively. "Oh yes, I forgot. You are our Lady's future consort."
Chat smiled. "You'll see. She loved my last gift."
"She's being polite. Contrary to what you think, nobody enjoys finding dead birds on their pillow."
A faint blush heated his cheeks. "I would never insult my Lady with a gift so meager!"
Well, he had.
But that didn't count. It had been at the very beginning of his courtship, and his inexperience had shown. Like an overeager kitten, he'd utterly embarrassed himself in his infatuation, so unused to the ways of the civilized Court. She'd laughed with indulgence, but it was the kind of shameful memory that kept him from sleep at night.
"No, I gave her the still-beating heart of a Foghen."
And how her red eyes had shone with delight. She'd taken his tribute and devoured it right in front of him, its warm blood streaking down her face. Chat Noir had wanted to lick it off but had refrained. Touching her without permission would have been uncouth.
"You killed a Foghen?" Purple eyes grew wide in admiration and Chat could not help but preen. Yes, his hunting prowess was unrivaled. The black cat stalked the ruins of Underhill in search of foes to best, and so far none had been able to withstand his might.
That was why he and he alone would win the Lady's favor. While all the court squabbled amongst themselves, locked in an intricate dance of backstabbing, he was doing what needed to be done. Underhill was decaying, low creatures encroaching from all sides. Nothing pleased the Lady of Misfortune more than when he dragged the fallen corpses of her enemies before her throne.
And as much as he yearned to boast of it, he told Trixx nothing of the private audience she had granted him for his latest tribute. His Lady had said that whatever she wished to reveal was for his ears only.
Walking on two legs did not come easily to Chat Noir, but some occasions called for it. He was most dangerous when he was crouching low to the ground, always a mere heartbeat away from a fast and fatal leap. But not all beings understood that.
Some even thought the way he wiggled his tail in preparation of a pounce was cute. Idiots. They always died first. If Chat Noir never heard the syllable 'aw' again, it would be too soon.
But all creatures intuitively understood size. When Chat Noir walked on two legs, he towered over all but the fae descended from giants. Which came in quite handy when sauntering into the Nightmare Court.
Eyes shining with magic and malice swiveled to face him as soon as he entered her throne room. Prey? Food? Rival? He knew the questions they were asking themselves, and Chat Noir answered them with a toothy smile as he confidently strode past them all.
He was a rare sight at Court, preferred to stalk the outskirts of her realm and defend its borders.
But there was always a place for him here.
Wordlessly, he sat down next to his Lady's dais on the pillow laid out only for him. When she reached down to scratch him behind his ear, he cast a triumphant look to the rest of the Court, basking in their jealousy.
See? See how she favors me? I am her most beloved pet and you are nothing.
A purr rumbled in his chest and he closed his eyes, not listening to a word of what she and her subjects spoke of. They came to petition her for all manner of things, and it was all tremendously boring. Politics and favors and small mercies. What did he care? He lived to serve and to hunt and to kill his Lady's enemies.
It was only when the last of her subjects had been dismissed that he opened his eyes again.
"My Lady," he said softly. "You requested my presence?"
"Indeed." She bestowed a thin smile upon him and then beckoned him to follow. As always, he did just that, prowling behind her as she led him to the hall of staircases.
The seat of the Nightmare Court was a labyrinth, filled with endless corridors and winding stairs that led nowhere at all. The most treacherous trap was its central hub, a dizzying construct of stairs that rapidly veered with no warning and changed alignments. One wrong step and one would suddenly be walking on the ceiling without being aware of it.
But none of that concerned him for all he had to do was make sure his paws stepped into the black footfalls she left behind. Eventually, she turned toward a narrow door. When he stepped over the threshold, darkness lifted to reveal a soft light shining from above.
"Look up, my pet. Do you see it?"
Chat Noir tilted his head. Stars and galaxies danced on the ceiling. One swirling vortex in particular drew his attention, for it was hard to miss, taking up half the sky.
"What is that?"
"That's the human realm. The solstice grows close, and so do our worlds."
"Humans?" He'd heard of these creatures. A lifespan like insects, they said, withering long before death claimed them, doomed to spend decades crippled by decay. Faes remained strong for all their days until they died in battle or blew away like dust to rejoin the Underhill from whence they came.
"Abhorrent creatures," his Lady muttered. "Do you know of Iron, my sweet kitten?"
He'd heard the whispers and the tales. All fae instinctively feared the element that killed with its mere presence. For all his valor, Chat Noir was not foolish enough to not heed such warnings. "Iron is death."
"Yes. Yes, it is." She sighed. "Yet not to humans. They have put it to use, built great machines with it and wield it as a weapon. Short-lived they might be, but they breed like rats. With every passing year, they encroach on our territory. They desecrate our sanctuaries by building cities atop where our lands are mirrored, spear the earth with iron where we would place our portals. Underhill is dying because of them."
Chat Noir's eyes grew wide. He had seen the decay at the edges of her realm, but dying?
"There must be something we can do," he said, his fangs aching with the need to bury themselves in whatever had caused such anguish in his Lady's voice.
"There is." She turned to him with sorrow in her eyes. "My sweet Chat Noir, how long have we known each other?"
Time was a fickle thing in Underhill, flowing like water – sometimes a slow trickle, sometimes as rapid as a raging river. But Chat had done his best to count. "Five winters."
She nodded. "And I have watched you grow strong and clever, far exceeding even my wildest expectations. You are on the cusp of adulthood now, Chat Noir, and all that remains to claim your place in my Court is the completion of a Wilde Hunt."
His eyes lit up. A quest. She was here to give him the final test after which he would become an adult member of her Court, eligible to become her consort in more than spirit. How long he'd waited for this!
Yet was that worry he detected in her ethereal features? He would not fail!
"Chat Noir. Your Wilde Hunt shall be no easy task. What I ask of you is far outside the scope of what an ordinary Hunt would entail, but so is the reward I offer you. Succeed, and I will share all the power of Misfortune with you, making you mine for all eternity." He hissed in a sharp breath, his body aching with want. "Fail…" She raised her head toward the sky. "Fail and I fear Underhill shall come to an end."
He swallowed heavily, tail lashing back and forth. "You would trust me with something so important?" And such a reward? If he had understood her correctly, she was offering him to be more than even her consort. He'd be her Lord, taking the empty throne beside her.
"Yes. For you see, you have a gift that makes you uniquely suited to this task." She turned to face him, red eyes gleaming. "You are Iron Kissed."
"What does that mean?"
"It means you can withstand the bite of Iron. Walk freely in its presence, even bear its cut. I knew I had to have you long before we met. Chat Noir, I must confess, I tamed you for this task."
His brows furrowed, ears pressing against his head. This was why he was favored?
"So… did my gifts not matter at all?" He'd thought he'd been wooing her so cleverly.
His Lady laughed, the sound clear as a bell. "Such lovely gifts they were. A sacrifice of blood to strengthen me is never wasted." Her fingertips brushed his ears. "Your devotion is precious to me, my pet, and I cherish it. That is why it pains me to send you away. I did not expect to dread the day you left on your Hunt. Let me show you."
She held out her palm, black vapor gathering to form the shape of a handheld mirror. Gingerly, he took it from her and gazed at his reflection.
A reflection that was all wrong. Yes, that was his golden mane, though it was cut short, and he supposed he saw the resemblance in the jaw and the sweep of the nose and brows – but where were his ears? The eyes were white where they should have been green and when he parted his lips, his reflection's fangs were as flat as some herd animal's.
"This past winter solstice, Nightmare devoured a Lordling who was set to take over as ruler of one of the biggest human settlements. Your task shall be to travel to the human world and take his place, securing us the crown that would have been his." His Lady smiled, baring her multitude of fangs. "Then we shall destroy the human kingdoms from within. Cull their number and give Underhill the chance to grow again."
Chat Noir blinked slowly. "I'm supposed to pretend to be human?" How was he supposed to do that? He didn't even know what they looked like, let alone anything of their customs or mannerisms. Infiltration was a Changeling's task. Chat Noir was made for battle, not deception.
She nodded gravely and there was sorrow in her dark gaze. "I shan't lie – it won't be easy. Not only will your task be time-consuming and our separation far too long, but…"
He could not bear to see her pain. "What is it, my Lady?"
"The mirror is the key. Within, you will find all the memories necessary so that you might play your role convincingly. But you must be sparse in how often you consult it, Chat Noir. Take only the most essential of the Lordling's knowledge and leave the rest."
"Why?" The better a hunter knew his hunting ground, the more assured the kill.
"If you look too deeply into the mirror, Prince Adrien's memories will try to swallow you whole. If you do not take care to guard your heart and soul, they would convince you that you are him."
The disappearance of King Gabriel's only son threw the realm into chaos. Not only did it threaten the line of succession, but two cousin branches instantly locked into a heated dispute over whose claim to the throne was stronger. Worst of all, while he might have reigned for a few more decades and fathered more sons, the king went mad with grief.
The people pitied their ruler who had become the last of his line, outliving not only his son, but everyone who bore his last name. A once prosperous house reduced to a single madman.
Rumor had it that when Prince Adrien failed to return from his late-night excursion, the king had torn out his fair hair, scratching at his own face and howling about fae. The day after, he had ordered all mirrors in the palace covered.
Duke Bourgeoise, the king's steward, pledged his men toward tracking down the villains who had taken the prince. Yet the king wanted to hear none of it, refused to release funds for a search, and locked himself away to grieve.
His physicians prescribed laudanum to keep the nightmares at bay.