Langwidere had made a visit to see Locasta, the “Good” Witch of the North, to make a deal to divide the territories between the two of them once she’d discovered the intruder—Dorothy—had melted Reva. The truth was, Locasta was never good—she had secrets of her own locked and buried away. Locasta was just as bad as Langwidere, and if Langwidere didn’t respect the witch for her secretly wicked ways, she would’ve swiped her head. But Locasta’s head didn’t have the sort of beauty that Langwidere yearned for.
Now, her fingers twitched at the thought of collecting even more faces. She craved the feel of cleaning them up, wiping the blood away from their delicate skin, twisting their features into an expression that she wanted them to hold as they sat in their boxes and waited their turn to be worn.
As Langwidere gazed at her blonde wavy hair and pouty lips in the golden full-length mirror, she imagined the crown that would be atop her different hairstyles each day. But there was one problem still to solve. A nuisance. Glinda. Langwidere would need to get rid of the dopey witch so she could take over the South territory. And to achieve this, what she needed was a helper… Someone who would follow her lead…
She tapped several times at her dimpled chin then ran her hands down the lace of her dress. Oz would’ve been a good tool, but his body had grown too old and frail over the years. Besides, who knew how much longer he had to live. His mind was growing too forgetful from his addiction to faerie fruit, along with age. But alas, he was human after all—they all died in the end. Oz had been the perfect lover for a time—brainless, a follower, one who would eat the faerie fruit right out of her hand, lapping up each speck of juice from her palm, as she moved her naked hips against his.
Dropping her fingers from the front button of her dress, Langwidere focused on what needed to be done, and she removed her head from atop her neck. Holding it in between her fingers, she could still see by maintaining skin contact. She gazed up at the row of silver and ivory cabinets with clear glass displaying her collection. Even without her head attached, she was still beautiful with a willowy body, luscious breasts, a narrow waist, and soft pale skin. Every single inch of her was perfect in every single way—she knew this because she explored it with her hands each chance she got.
Opening an empty glass case in the middle, Langwidere placed her spent head inside, the world growing dark as she released her touch on it. She shut the glass and felt around for the case beside it, turning the bumpy knob. Langwidere pressed her palms inside and as soon as her fingertips brushed the fluffy curls of one of her beauties, sight came barreling back. Smiling, she brought the head toward her after shutting the case.
With a soft click, she adjusted the new head atop her neck. Each head contained a silver rounded disc at its base, as did her neck, so the attachment was flawless. She then wrapped a black ribbon around her throat to hide the thin line.
“There,” she murmured as her new emerald eyes met her image. In the glass sat a beautiful heart-shaped face with freckles, a button of a nose, and thick obsidian curls, falling just past her shoulders.
A heavy knock came at her front door, making her jump a fraction, interrupting her moment. Letting out an irritated sigh, Langwidere sauntered out of the room and down the hall as the skirts of her dress swished. All she could think about was how several of her cases were empty, and how she needed more heads to fill them. Ones that she could watch with pleasure, that she wouldn’t grow bored of. She would find the missing silver slippers, and she would take all the territories.
Her heels clicked across the hard-emerald floor before coming to a stop in front of the jewel-covered oval door. She pulled it open. To her astonishment, there stood a male—bare-chested, with long, wavy blond hair and wearing a fur-lined cloak resembling a lion’s mane. She knew who this was right away—she knew what he did to help a little girl take care of Reva—she knew how gullible he could be. He would be the perfect specimen, the one she now didn’t have to look for, the one who would do what she wanted in her bed as well as out of it.
“And what brings you to my home, Lion?”
Chapter Three
Lion
Lion’s smile oozed charm and confidence. The Wizard had told him that Langwidere was a fae of many faces, but he neglected to mention how attractive the rest of her was. He didn’t bother to hide his examination of her body before meeting her eyes again. The old Lion wouldn’t have known what to do with himself.
“The tales of your beauty hold true, Lady Langwidere,” Lion said with honesty.
She folded her arms. “Don’t tell me something I know full well. I asked what brought you here.”
“Oz ordered me to come and I owed him a favor.” Lion stepped closer to the threshold and attempted to touch Langwidere’s curls. She flicked his hand away. “Let me in so we can chat.”
“Your newfound courage has made you foolish, Lion. Why would I let an enemy into my home?”
Lion looked up at her from beneath his lashes. “Are you so sure I’m your enemy?”
Langwidere’s full lips turned into a frown. “You helped the mortal girl. It was very difficult to deal with Locasta after the human killed Reva, and it almost cost me the West.”
“Sorry about that.” Lion wasn’t sorry. Not even a little bit. Lion was glad to leave his cowardly ways behind, no matter the cost, and he’d do the same to keep his valor. “Oz may have a solution to your territory problems, if it would please you to listen…?”
Langwidere scoffed but stepped aside. “This better be good.”
Lion grinned and turned to maintain eye contact as he sauntered inside. “All of my ideas are good,” he told her and licked his lower lip.
“I thought this was Oz’s idea?” She glared at Lion, unamused, then stepped forward and picked up a lock of his hair. Her face softened. “Such a lovely color.”
“I—”
“Shh.” Langwidere’s index finger landed on Lion’s lips. It stayed only a moment before she traced each angle of his face with exaggerated slowness. Her eyes glazed over as she examined every inch of skin, from his neck up.
“Do you like what you see?” Lion inquired as she lightly skimmed his long eyelashes.
“Tsk.” Langwidere dropped her hand to her side and her eyes cleared. “It’s too bad I only wear female heads. Yours would do quite nicely.”
Lion smirked at the compliment. “Then you’ll just need to keep me around to appreciate my beauty.”
Langwidere narrowed her eyes at his confidence and spun on her heel to lead the way into a large room with high ceilings. A plush white carpet was settled over emerald flooring and gold filigree coated the walls. Between the molded leaves, faces stared out. There were elves and fauns and centaurs—every kind of fae was represented at least once, with one thing in common: open-mouthed, wide-eyed terror. The hair on Lion’s arms lifted and he tore his eyes away to take in the rest of the room.
The only piece of furniture was a gold high-backed chair with a white velvet cushion. With a snap of Langwidere’s fingers, bright orange flames sparked to life in a pit set in the center of the room. The faces on the wall seemed to glow as the flames danced across the filigree, but Lion forced himself not to look.