Page 72 of The Never Queen

Vane and I drop into the hand-hewn pews cut from some of the oldest toadwood trees on the northwest end of Neverland. The wood is rich and sturdy, with bright red blooms of fungus embedded in the rings, now dead and sanded flat and covered in glossy resin.

The treehouse is old and weathered, but it’s always been missing this feeling, every piece of furniture, every piece of molding or adornment containing history and life.

It makes me even more eager to have a home we have all built, full of the things we have chosen together.

Now a captive audience, Marabella, Sarena, and Anza quickly get to work. They have an entire toolkit in their bags with brushes and seafoam pads that they use to blot at our faces.

Vane checks me halfway through and snorts out a laugh. “You look ridiculous.”

“Peter Pan has never looked so good!” Anza says.

“I agree,” Sarena adds.

“See?” I give Vane a brotherly shove. “You’re just jealous.”

“He is.” Marabella gently places a gem along my temple. “But we’ll make you just as fabulous, Dark One.”

“Just Vane,” he corrects. “I am the Dark One no more.”

The girls nod and flush and continue their work.

By the time the music begins, marking the opening of the binding ceremony, Vane and I areglittering.

The twins come out first, taking their places on the dais at the head of the Great Hall. They are wearing their traditional ceremonial clothing — matching jackets in a deep shade of navy blue, the gold embroidery done in the style fitting their kingly status among the fae.

Kas’s hair has been braided in two, with Bash’s hair neatly combed back away from his face now that it’s grown out so much, but not enough to braid.

The music shifts to a lighter, more whimsical note and we all turn back to the Great Hall’s balcony two stories above us.

I won’t pretend to know the intricacies of the politics running through fae court and the royal fae line, but historically, the royal family has always been of the winged fae, and anyonejoining the royal family is required to enter in a binding ceremony by flying down from the balcony.

Doren never made that distinction, but I’m sure it crossed his mind that while Darling can technically fly down, she doesn’t have wings to do it.

But flying is flying, isn’t it? Who gives a fuck how it’s done.

The music swells and Darling steps forward.

And she is fucking radiant.

She’s wearing a dress in a softer shade of blue to signify her soon-to-be official royal status. Her dress is studded with glittering diamonds, and gold embroidery to match the twins’ jackets.

Her hair is braided and twisted and curled, drawn away from her neck, where a giant sapphire sits above her breasts.

Her gaze scans the crowd, and when she finds me and Vane, glittering beneath the glowing lights, her smile widens.

The musical notes crescendo, marking the time for Darling’s descent.

Her blue slippers come to the edge of the balcony and she leaps down.

The crowd gasps, holding its breath, as Darling’s feet land softly on the stone.

A cheer runs through the fae court.

Darling never makes a show of her ability to fly, so not many here have seen her defy gravity. They’ve only heard about it.

Several of the courtiers rush forward, fluffing the large skirt of Darling’s dress, and then she’s making her way toward us, and the dais.

As we agreed, she stops by the front pew where Vane and I are waiting.