Page 11 of A Lady’s Guide to Fae Kings

“Yes, Mrs. Pettigrew.”

“But she does need to attend,” Sorcha pointed out, having stayed silent for as long as she was physically capable.

“Fine, fine, but be quick.”

Sorcha shook her head when Mrs. Pettigrew finally marched away, trailing Argyle like a pale, damp shadow. “I thought her hair was actually going to turn into snakes that time. I don’t know why she treats you as she does.”

“Because she can.”

“Because you let her.”

“Don’t needle her, it’s her birthday.” Briar pinched Pippa. “We are going to leave you to your work now. But send word if you change your mind.”

Mrs. Pettigrew, it turned out, could do so much worse.

Pippa was the last to leave her post, stopping to tidy a hastily dropped stack of books on a side table. The cheerful chatter moved away as the others shrugged into their coats and outdoor boots. Pippa ought to have kept pace with them.

She knew that now.

Instead, she was distracted by one more book to shelve. A haphazardly tossed periodical was but a moment’s work.

Or would have been, had it not been for the goblin.

A book sailed from its shelf and landed on the floor.

“Well, that’s rude,” Pippa murmured. Some books were fractious, and it was solstice, after all. The parade of students and scholars and professors had finally dwindled, but the somewhat frantic energy lingered.

Another book shot from the shelves.

The third would have hit her square in the nose if she had not ducked.

That was a bit much, even for a festival day and the end of examinations.

Pippa found the goblin almost immediately. He was squat, wearing patched pants and grinning as he tossed books around. He had a gold tooth that flashed. Goblins loved gold and beer and mischief. Sometimes a spot of murder. Destruction of all kinds.

They were not even particularly malicious, only deeply chaotic. And they were decidedly discouraged from unattended access to the Library.

“Who let you in?” Pippa demanded. “Where is your minder?”

“Don’t need one!” He cackled. “I’m a bloody king, you know.”

“Good for you,” she replied mildly, plucking a book from his grasp. “That does not belong to you, Your Majesty.”

He cackled again. “What’ll you give me if I leave?”

Bribery was a time-honored tradition. It worked with toddlers and poltergeists and goblins. But Pippa had already changed out of her work apron and only had salt and rowanberries and iron on her person. Blast.

Another book hit the floor, care of the toe of the goblin’s muddy boot.

It landed face down, which was not good for its spine. Pippa narrowed her eyes. “Stop that at once.”

“It’s solstice. I want presents.”

“This is not how one gets presents.”

“It’s how I get presents.”

It was hard to argue with that, as goblins amassed gifts daily in exchange for good behavior. Or at least manageable behavior.