Wicked Lovely (31 page)

She stopped walking and caught his gaze—the fierce look back on her features. "But I will not live with you or be
with
you."

"You'll still need a room at the loft." He didn't say "when trouble arises," but there'd be time to address that later. Royalty could be murdered: his mother had proven that. "There will be times that meetings may run late or—"

"My own room.
Not with you."

He nodded. He could afford to be patient.

"I will
not
stop going to school either," she added.

"We could arrange tutors—" he began.

"No.
School, then college."
She sounded determined, fierce.

"College.
We shall find one that suits you then." He nodded. He might not like her insistence on independence—when he had first begun to search for her, women were more docile—but clinging to the mortal world wasn't unreasonable in her circumstances. It might even benefit their court.

She rewarded him with an almost friendly smile then, looking deceptively cooperative. "I can do this if it's a
job,
you know?"

"A job?" he repeated.

"A job."
She had a strange tone in her voice then, like she was musing on it as she said it.

He didn't say anything to fill in the silence that hung at the end of her words.
A job?
His consort viewed their union as a job?

"I don't know you. You don't know me." She gave him another strangely intimidating look. "I can work with you, but that's all I can be. I'm
with
Seth. That isn't going to change."

"So you're asking to keep the mortal?" He tried to keep his voice even, but it hurt. He knew she was implying it earlier, but to say it made it seem so much more real. His queen—his destined partner—was planning to be with another, with a mortal, not him.

She lifted her chin again. "No. I
am
keeping him. There's no asking involved."

He didn't argue, didn't point out how finite mortals were. He didn't tell her that he'd waited for her,
her alone,
for his whole life. He didn't remind her of how they'd laughed and danced at the faire. None of that mattered. Not now. All that mattered was that she was saying yes.

"Is that all?" he asked gently.

"For now."
Her voice was thin then, no longer filled with temper or aggression. She seemed lost for a moment, and then, hesitantly, she asked, "So?"

He wanted to rejoice, to sweep her into his arms until she recanted her terms, to weep that she was saying no at the same time as she said yes. Instead he said, "So, my queen, we find Donia."

He pulled out his cell and punched in Donia's number. She was out—or ignoring him—-so he left a message to call him.

After he disconnected, he sent guards to find her.

"I know where she lives," Aislinn murmured. "I can meet you there. You could call me and—"

"No. We'll wait together." Now that she was here beside him, Keenan was utterly unwilling to let her out of his sight until it was done. He wasn't sure he'd ever be willing to let her out of his sight. "Whether you see it as a job or not, you are my queen, the one I've waited for. I will be by your side."

She crossed her arms over her chest, hugging herself. "Remember how you asked about starting over"—she glanced nervously at him—"can we for real this time? Try to be friends, then? It's going to be a lot easier if we try to get along, right?" She held out her hand as if she were going to shake his hand.

"Friends," he said, taking her hand in his. The absurdity of it struck him then—his destined queen saw their reign as a job shared by friends. In all his dreams of finding his queen, of finally reaching this point, Keenan hadn't ever imagined it would be a strained attempt at friendship.

After she pulled her hand free, they stood awkwardly for a moment until he asked, "So where would you go if I weren't with you?"

"To Seth's."
She blushed, lightly.

Keenan had expected as much; Aislinn seemed to turn to her mortal—
to Seth,
he corrected himself—more and more. Keenan gave her what he hoped was an encouraging smile and announced, "I would like to meet him."
I can do this.

"Really?"
She looked more suspicious than surprised. Her forehead creased in a small frown. "Why?"

He shrugged. "He is a part of our lives now."

"Yeah…"

"So I should meet him." He walked away so she couldn't see his face, pausing as he turned the corner to ask, "Shall we?"

Their favourite camp and resting-place is under a hawthorn tree
…[
which is] sacred to the fairies, and generally [stands] in the centre of a fairy ring.

—
Ancient Legends, Mystic Charms, and Superstitions of Ireland
by Lady Francesca Speranza Wilde (1887)

Aislinn stood motionless as Keenan walked on. Some of the guards waited behind her; others shifted in front of Keenan, like a moving fence around them.

"Introduce you to Seth," she tested the words on her tongue. It made a certain amount of sense to introduce them. At least that's what she tried to tell herself, hoping it would loosen the tightness in her chest.

They walked like that—in tense silence—until they were almost at the railroad yard.

"He's a good person, your Seth?"

"He is." She smiled to herself; she couldn't help it.

Several of the guards pulled back with pained expressions as they stepped into the railroad lot.

Keenan had a strange, half-bemused smile as he murmured, "I've not spent much time around mortal males. The ones I've known haven't seemed very friendly when I've courted the other girls."

She choked on a laugh. "You think?"

"What?" Suspicion crept into his voice.

"Keenan, you're gorgeous. You've got this whole"—she gestured at his khakis and dark green pullover, casual on most people, stunning on him—"drop-dead amazing thing going for you. Most girls probably trip over themselves to talk to you."

"Most, but"—he paused to give her a wry smile— "not all." She glanced at Seth's still-closed door before saying, "I still noticed how you looked."

"Of course.
You're mortal." He shrugged as if her admission was to be expected.

And she supposed it probably was. Seeing him without his glamour was like looking at a perfect sunrise over the ocean, like seeing a meteor shower in the desert, and then having someone ask if you wanted to keep it for your very own.

She bit her cheek to stop from laughing at the idea of him trying to befriend Mitchell or Jimmy or almost any of their friends. They weren't anywhere near secure enough to go out in public with Keenan—even if he wore
a glamour
to look common. A half-swallowed laugh slipped out, and he frowned briefly at her.

"What?"

"Nothing," she said with only a trace of laughter. Then she had another thought. "Do the faeries treat you like that too?"

"I am the Summer King." He frowned again, looking confused.

Aislinn did laugh then, a full-out belly laugh.

"What?" he asked yet again.

Still trying to quell her laughter, Aislinn motioned to Niall.

Hesitantly he said, "My queen?"

"If you approach a faery, a girl, does she, umm, always reciprocate your interest?" Aislinn watched his face grow as confused as Keenan's had.

"I am the king's advisor. The Summer Girls have desires—" He glanced at Keenan, as if seeking approval. Keenan shrugged. "Our king has only so many hours to relax. The guards and Tavish and I do our best to keep the girls content."

Her laughter fled.

Turning from one faery to the other, she asked, "How many girls
are
there?"

Keenan lifted a hand in a waiting gesture. Then he looked at Niall and said, "No more than four score now?"

Niall nodded.

Keenan added, "They are far too numerous to care for without help."

Aislinn asked incredulously, "So no one says no?"

"Of course they do—not to Keenan—but to us." Niall gave her a look that said he clearly found her questions as baffling as Keenan had. "But then one of the others is there. They are
Summer Girls,
my queen. Summer is for the pleasures, the frivolity, the—"

"Got it," she interrupted. "So your court—"

"Our court," Keenan interjected.

"Right.
Our
court is rather affectionate?"

It was Keenan's turn to laugh. "They are…. But they also crave the dance, music, laughter. …" He grabbed her and spun her in a circle, letting his glamour drop for a moment so warm sun spilled over her. "We are not cold as the Winter Court or cruel as the

Aislinn caught the guards smiling at them, looking happier as Keenan laughed. She felt happier too, and she wondered if it was because she, too, was one of the Summer Court now.

She shook off the languor and asked, "So the faeries that hurt people aren't ours?"

Keenan's smile faded as quickly as it had come.

"Many are not, but some still are. Once we are strong"—he paused and took her hand and stared at her so intently she had to fight not to run—"we can do more to stop them. The Summer Court is the most volatile of the courts, passionate. Without the guidance my father gave them, not all have limited their passions to honorable pursuits. We have much work to do."

"Oh," Aislinn said. The enormity of what she'd agreed to undertake suddenly settled on her, seeming impossibly daunting.

Keenan must have seen the worry in her expression, for he quickly added, "But we shall relax as well. The Summer Court is a place of dance and desire. To only work would be as untrue to our nature as it would be to allow the darker things to go unpunished."

"It's pretty huge, what I'm agreeing to do. Isn't it?" She clenched her hands in tight fists to keep them from shaking.

His voice was cautious as he agreed, "It is."

"What do I, I don't know,
do?"

"You rouse the earth when the winter needs to loosen its grip; you dream the spring with me." He took her hands— unfolding her fingers so that her palms lay open atop his— and said, "Close your eyes."

She trembled, but she did as he asked. She felt his breath on her face as he spoke in soft whispers.

He said, "And they dreamed slender roots sinking into the soil and furred creatures stretching in their dens, dreamed fish racing the currents, field mice weaving through the grasses, and serpents basking on the rocks. Then the Summer King and Queen smiled at the new life they'd called to wake."

And she could see it—the world stretching like a giant beast too long asleep, shaking off the snow that had kept it dormant too long. She felt her body glowing, knew that she was glowing, and she didn't want to stop. She could see the white willow that she'd heard rustling in the breeze when she'd first seen Keenan; she could taste that fragile scent of spring flowers. Together they would stir the creatures, the earth itself. They would look on the waking world and rejoice.

As she opened her eyes to look at him, she realized that she was weeping. "It's so … huge. The things that need to start to live again…How will
I
?
We?
What if I fail?"

Keenan cupped her cheek in his hand briefly. "We won't."

"And the rest?
The court stuff?"
She wiped her cheeks, trying not to flinch as she saw that the tears were golden. Hurriedly she tucked her hands into her pockets and resumed walking. "I don't know how to rule anyone."

He shrugged when he strode up alongside her. "So you learn. I'll be there. I
do
know how to rule. But today we don't think about all that. That's the beauty of summer as well. There are balls to have and dancing to be done. If we rejoice, our court will, too. It is as much a duty as waking the earth."

"Right, sounds like an easy job. Wake the earth, rule the unruly, repair the broken stuff, and party." She swallowed with difficulty as they stepped into Seth's lot, anxious both at the enormity of the task and at the strangeness of telling Seth. "I guess anyone could handle that little list?"

"No, but the Summer Queen can," Keenan assured her; then he favored her with one last blinding smile before he turned his attention to the opening door and said, "Today, though, we begin with only the first step. I meet my queen's beloved and try to befriend a mortal, yes?"

"Yeah.
That one is doable." She shook her head as if to shake away the stress, but then she looked up.

Seth stood waiting as patiently as he did any other day. The rest of her worries, her changes, the world itself faded.
How will Seth feel?