Prince of Air and Darkness

by M. A. Grant

  “Oh, Finn—”

  His head snaps to the side and his eyes meet mine. He’s confused, drained, and lost, but alive. So fucking alive, and he’s staring at my mouth like he’s never seen it before. I only wait until his gaze flicks back up to mine, until I see the heated invitation in his eyes, before closing the distance between us.

  His lips are soft and when I press my body closer, a groan rumbles from his chest. This close, I can tilt his head back and take his mouth the way I want. I dig my fingers into his hair and hold him there while I skim my tongue over his lower lip—

  He pushes himself up into me, hips pressed against mine, our cocks rubbing through our thin dress slacks. Our teeth click when he tries to deepen the kiss. He makes a noise that is half plea, half whimper and his tongue tangles with mine. Liquid heat slides down my spine and all my muscles tighten because Finn is kissing me like his life depends on it.

  And we’re in the middle of the Seelie sorority gardens where anyone could see us and report this back to my mother.

  I pull back with a rough “Shit.”

  He gasps, mouth working for a moment before he realizes what’s going on. He brushes a hand over his swollen lips as I stand. His mussed hair spills over his forehead. I have to walk away before he can say anything that will steal this moment from me.

  I end up running instead.

  Chapter Nine

  Phineas

  My suit’s ruined.

  I might be able to wash my pants to remove the worst of the stains, but the jacket is beyond repair.

  For the first time, I protected Roark. The fear of losing him was stronger than the fear of losing control.

  He put his hand in mine and my head cleared, like I’d stepped outside after a blizzard passed, surrounded by nothing but the cold and light and silence.

  He kissed me and I thought I’d known what it meant to burn before, but the pressure of his lips against mine, his taste... I wanted to fall apart like the shield we forged with the ley line, nothing but burning dust and dying light.

  “Holy fucking shit,” I mumble. My lips still tingle.

  By the time I stumble to my feet, Roark’s well out of earshot, reduced to a dark shadow skulking across the partially lit walkways. He’s not headed in the direction of the apartment.

  Maybe that’s a good thing. I’m not really sure. I’m comfortably numb from sensory overload by the time I reach home.

  Herman’s up on his laptop when I unlock the door. “Finny, they just sent out an alert that people should stay inside—” His eyes widen when I drop my shredded suit jacket on the ground inside and start stripping on my way to the shower. “What the hell happened?”

  “Someone attacked the Summer’s End Ball.”

  “With what? Knives?”

  “Vines, actually. With really big thorns.” I wince when my dress shirt unpeels from the slice across my ribs.

  “Isn’t that a Seelie trick?”

  “Apparently.” I twist, checking the depth of the cut. Not as bad as I expected.

  He throws a worried look toward Roark’s room. The door’s closed, confirming his absence from our apartment. “Is he...?”

  He trails off and looks back at me. Whatever he sees makes him shake his head. “Of course he is. You wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

  He sets aside his computer and rises to follow me. I can hear him outside the closed door as I shuck my remaining clothes and step into the shower. Once I give him the all clear, he comes in and continues the conversation as if I’m not washing blood down our drain. Again.

  “I can’t believe they were stupid enough to break the neutrality again.”

  “While Roark was in attendance, I know. Towel?”

  He goes momentarily silent before tossing it over the edge of the curtain railing. “Queen Mab is going to be pissed.”

  “I don’t think he’s telling her yet. He was headed for the dorms by the time I got out of the garden.”

  “I thought you said he got injured, too.”

  “Yeah. Sliced up like me.”

  “How’d you both get hurt?”

  “He was protecting the Unseelie who were there and I tried to help.”

  Herman chuckles, as if the image is too ludicrous to contemplate.

  “Shut up,” I order, lathering up my soap and hissing when it comes in contact with the cut. “We actually did a pretty good job of it.”

  “We?”

  “He was...him. And I used the ley line.”

  Silence. Then a cautious “You did? How do you feel? You didn’t blow anyone up?”

  “I feel...” Incredible. Alive. Powerful. “...fine. And yeah, everyone’s still alive.”

  “How is that possible? Your first year here, you used the ley line and took out the library. And then next year when you ran into the manticore—”

  I let him babble on, listing all my fuckups, while I finish washing. I dry off quickly, wrap the towel around my waist, and slide open the curtain. Herman’s still going when I examine my newest injury in the mirror. It hurts like a bitch, but at least it won’t need stitches. Another scar to add to my already impressive tapestry.

  “—so how is it that tonight you managed to avoid doing any of that?” Herman finishes.

  I shrug and a few beads of blood well up along the clean edges of the cut. “I don’t know. But I think Roark may be able to figure it out.”

  “That doesn’t make sense.”

  “He helped me use the ley line tonight.”

  Again, I’ve shocked Herman into silence.

  “I mean it,” I say. “Roark helped me channel the ley line.”

  “That’s impossible.”

  “Apparently not.”

  It only takes three panicked strides before Herman’s pale reflection hovers over my left shoulder in the mirror. “There has never been a recorded case of that happening, Finny. We’ve looked. Nothing in any of the Pantheons’ histories about that.”

  I grip the edges of the sink hard enough that I can feel my pulse in my fingertips. “I know.”

  Herman presses a hand to his mouth. One hoof taps against the linoleum while he thinks. “What the hell do you do now?”

  I grab the bottle of rubbing alcohol from the shelf and snag some toilet paper. “I work with Roark,” I say, the truth of that statement ringing down into me until it peals through the ley line. And then, as an afterthought, “I’ll ask him to tutor me.”

  Herman shakes his head. “No, you won’t. There are other options. Graduation is almost here. You’ll have your master’s and can get hired on somewhere that doesn’t require you to use your power regularly. There are ways around it.”

  The alcohol burns, but I keep at the wound. “It’ll be fine.”

  “No, it won’t. You are actually considering a relationship with the faerie prince. A working relationship with the same prince who you’ve avoided and complained about for the past six years. He has no redeeming qualities—”

  In the mirror, my mouth still looks kiss-red. The ley line purrs. He has some.

  I manage to swallow the words before they escape. My mind jumps back to the garden and my cheeks burn when the memory of his mouth destroys the little composure I have left.

  “Lecture me tomorrow,” I say hastily, bumping past Herman so I can get to my room. “I swear you can lecture all you want, but I need some sleep first.”

  “Fine. But only because I don’t want to stare at your gnarly chest anymore. And because Sue’s bringing breakfast and will help me interrogate you.”

  Herman must take his laptop into his bedroom because the apartment falls silent a short time later, and that tranquility stretches on. Normally I’d appreciate it, but tonight I can’t fall asleep. It’s almost two in the morning and my heart pounds like I just finished a workout. Every time I close my eyes, all I see is Roark’s pale face inches away, those lips that met mine and shattered something inside me I didn’t even know existed.

  The sardonic curve of his m
outh is a shade darker than the rest of his skin, tinged pink, the lower lip full and the upper lip marked by a sharp bow.

  I can’t stop thinking about the way my scalp tingled when he gripped my hair. How his chest flexed and how his thigh quivered when I pressed against him. The sparks that shot behind my eyelids when his hips nudged mine, disassembling me completely—before he abruptly rose and vanished into the night.

  He probably regrets what he did. What we did. It is Roark, after all. Like Herman said, we’ve been at each other’s throats for years, and I doubt a single night could change our animosity so easily. Besides, Roark never does anything without a clear plan in mind. The idea that he could be overwhelmed by the heat of the moment is absurd.

  Except, he wasn’t in control. That was clear from the way he pulled back, the haze over his eyes, the dilation of his pupils, and the raw grunt of his curse when he realized how far gone we were.

  I groan and sit up in bed. My skin is hot, too tight, and my dick is hard enough to ache. I breathe away the urge to wrap a hand around myself and tug a few times, to do anything that might take the edge off this overwhelming desire coursing through me.

  It had to be Roark. You couldn’t want anyone else, could you? You didn’t even try to find someone different.

  There it is. The pitiful truth that’s haunted me for years, no matter how much I ignored it. My desire has always been for Roark. No matter how much I lied to myself, I would never find anyone else who compared to him.

  And now that I’ve touched him, kissed him, stunned him to the point of retreat, there’s no chance for a return to blissful ignorance.

  Tomorrow, I’ll talk to him. But first I’ll sleep. I keep repeating that mantra to myself, even as I watch the minutes tick away. Tomorrow.

  Roark

  After fleeing from Smith, I did the only thing I could manage: I acted royal. I visited as many Unseelie underclassmen as I could. Most had fled the party together and could be met as a larger group. A few returned to their rooms to pack and leave campus. Those discussions were more difficult and require Mother’s immediate counsel.

  It’s nearly four in the morning by the time I stumble into the sídhe. No one expects me. I only sent one quick message announcing my arrival to my personal servant Bridget, who is already waiting for me.

  “Prince Lyne,” she chirps, ducking into a low curtsy.

  “I’m too tired for formalities,” I warn. “Please tell me you brought me some food.”

  Her tiny, wrinkled face lights up at that and she holds out a lace-edged napkin. She flicks open one corner and my mouth waters at the sight of her berry scones.

  I swallow and reach for them. “Is there—?”

  “Orange honey butter? Of course, young master.”

  She clucks over me, helping me out of my ruined suit jacket and tsking about how much weight I’ve lost. Her fussing is a comfort I’ve never taken for granted. That’s why it hurts to see threads of grey working their way through her hair.

  She inspects my jacket while I stand in the middle of the hall and devour the meal. I’m so ravenous, I don’t care if I’m dropping crumbs everywhere.

  “Do you need the healer before you see your mother?” she asks. My mouth is conveniently too stuffed for me to speak, so I shake my head.

  “After?”

  I swallow, wipe away the stray crumbs, and let her reclaim the napkin. “I doubt it. Will you draw an herbal bath instead?” Unseelie magick is not well suited for healing or rebirth, so I would rather trust Bridget’s herbal blends to speed my recovery.

  She checks my injuries once more so she can plan her mixture, but soon pats my shoulder in a gentle dismissal. “I’ll prepare it for you right away, Your Highness. I believe Her Majesty has already retired to her chambers for the evening.”

  Every step taken toward my mother’s chambers forces me to refine the news I’m about to deliver. Mother will want the pertinent details first: count of the injured, most reliable witnesses, other pantheons impacted. The qualitative details of our subjects’ reactions will come next.

  She won’t like what I have to say. I’ve never seen our people in such clear panic. I can tell her to expect six returning tonight or early tomorrow morning. The rest choosing to remain on campus were given my promise to meet on Monday with an update. Which means I need to coax Mother into giving me some information to share.

  The pair of redcaps guarding her doors exchange a concerned look as I approach.

  “Prince Lyne,” one says, lowering his halberd, “we didn’t know you were home.”

  “Unexpected trip. I need to speak with Mother.”

  “Of course, Your Highness. A moment, please.”

  The second knocks on the door, waiting for Mother’s command before pushing it open and slipping inside. I tap my foot as I wait, glad to see the guard’s discomfort. A moment later, the door swings open and the other guard emerges.

  “She’s waiting for you, Your Highness.”

  Mother’s chambers are a glittering expanse of ice and shadow. She dislikes carpets and drapes, and considers such trappings of warmth better suited for humanity. There’s a sleek elegance to the space as a result, but even as a child I recognized that its design reflects the austerity of its mistress.

  She’s seated in front of her vanity when I enter, checking herself in the polished ice of her mirror.

  “Roark, darling, I didn’t expect you home this weekend—”

  Then she sees my reflection in all its battered glory. She spins toward me, the yards of delicate gossamer making up her robe billowing with the movement. “What happened?”

  “There was an attack at the Summer’s End Ball.”

  She crosses the distance between us and lifts her hand toward my face with gentle ferocity. “Mo leanbh...” she whispers.

  Her fingers dig into my shoulder and she spins me, inspecting me from all angles. She hisses when she notices the slice across my back. By the time she turns me back to face her, she’s composed herself.

  “Sit,” she orders, gesturing to the chairs near her fireplace.

  She settles herself across from me and I’m struck by our similarities. Especially the darkness in her eyes and the subtle frown.

  She lifts a hand in invitation. “Now, explain.”

  I do. Everything, from the worthless negotiation with Aileen, to Smith’s unexpected arrival, to our near escape. I hedge on Smith’s full involvement. The mention of his instinctual use of a shield, with added emphasis that he couldn’t manipulate the power to move it should be enough. There’s no point lying about that part; the Unseelie who were there will talk soon enough. I’d rather be ahead of the gossip to limit Mother’s interest.

  Only one detail is wholly omitted. That kiss—that impossible, raw moment—is mine.

  What I do share is enough to make Mother’s raised brow climb higher and higher until it’s nearly lost in the soft fall of hair over her forehead.

  “So that’s what I felt,” she murmurs once I’ve finished.

  “What?”

  “Later. Are our people safe?” she asks.

  “Yes. I checked before coming here. They’re terrified. Minor injuries to some, nothing requiring medical attention. Several are returning home tonight.”

  “I’ll tell the guards. And the rest?”

  Carefully now... “We await your counsel.”

  Her fingers trace the delicate carvings in the arm of the chair. “What of the Seelie?”

  “I didn’t think to ask.” Nor did I have any fucks left to give.

  “No matter. I’ll find out when I contact Oberon and Titania in the morning. I’m sure the Pantheons will be contacting me as well.”

  “Since their children were caught in the cross fire, I’d be surprised if they didn’t.”

  She suddenly leans forward and reaches toward me, brushing her fingers over my hand. I turn my palm up and catch her hand with mine.

  “You look tired,” she murmurs.

  “
It’s been a long day.”

  “You intend to keep an eye on the human still?”

  I absently watch the light play over the facets of one of her rings. “Yes.”

  She gives a gentle tug on my hand, redirecting my attention to our discussion. “You realize when news of this spreads, someone else may come for him?”

  “Yes.”

  “The Court can’t afford any greater imbalance. His magick can’t be allowed into the hands of our enemies.”

  The silence stretches on as she watches me. Her hesitation to speak warns me that an ugly history is about to raise its head once more.

  “Roark, will you bring him here when I ask?”

  Not if I ask, only when I ask. As though Smith’s role in our war is inevitable. She never intended to let him go free, despite my interference. She assumes I’ll obey this time, that I’ve learned my lesson from our prior argument. She assumes I’ll cleave to my familial duty. She forgets that is no longer my sole concern.

  I have no intention of handing over Smith. Of letting anyone else near him. I want to make her bleed for asking.

  Instead, I school my features into polite indifference, augment it with a mere hint of my glamour. I present my Court face and say, “As you wish it, Mother.”

  She inspects me, and once again I’m a child learning to lie for the first time. It took years to learn to hide my true thoughts from her. Mothers always know, isn’t that the phrase? She can suspect my divided loyalties all she wants, but she can’t find evidence of treason on my face. The moment I hesitate in choosing her over Smith, she’ll kill him. Try to, since I’ll die before that happens. And Goddess help us both if we come to that crossroads again.

  “Roark—” I ignore the warning tone in her voice and wait, glamour steady. A short lifetime later she makes a face. “Very well.”

  “What should I tell our subjects on campus?” I press.

  Distracted, she waves a hand. “We’ll meet tomorrow to discuss it. I need to contact Dean Tanaka first. I’m sure the Seelie won’t want to risk further sanctions with stubborn posturing. They’re liable to be cooperative with a swift investigation into this attack.”