They heard it in a pub, passed between humans who half-believed it themselves — a hill where the fair folk hold a summer feast, and a fairy queen who wears something that could fetch a price if it ever left her neck.They went together, boots loud in the grass, speaking in low voices that carried further than they realised. The hill was already awake when they arrived. Lanterns hung where there should be none. Foxglove pressed in close, brushing their sleeves as they moved. By the time they saw the fairy court, it had already closed around them.The fairy queen stood among her court. When she turned, the necklace shifted with her — a foxglove held in metal, its weight settled into place as if it had always belonged there. One of the humans stepped forward, then another. Offers came quickly. Coin, trade, anything that might convince her to part with it.The court did not refuse. A goblet was passed forward instead, dark and sweet, held out as if this were how such things were done. They hesitated, then drank, because that felt like agreement.After that, the terms settled easily. Voices smoothed, hands opened, nothing asked for again. The necklace remained where it was. The humans stayed where they were placed, long after the feast had moved on without them.
