by Melissa Marr
“Was that all?”
He swallowed audibly. “No.”
“Then why do you reject me?”
Tavish sighed. “Siobhan . . .”
“I have appetites still,” she said, no longer hesitant to admit things that she’d have denied as a mortal.
“No advisors to enjoy. No Dark King,” Tavish said, nodding. “Are there no guards you could enjoy? Or perhaps one of the solitary fey?”
And Siobhan felt an unusual burst of guilt. She shouldn’t, not in the Summer Court, but the fact of his seeing intercourse as a task made her feel rejected. Had he only lain with her out of duty? Had it been an onerous duty?
“I suppose I shall need to see if Seth or Irial have any willing victims,” she said, heat shimmering in her voice.
“You could speak to Ash if you have immediate needs.”
Siobhan stepped back from him. “Perhaps. Unlike Keenan and his advisors”—she held his gaze—“Ash doesn’t send me to faeries’ beds for information.”
“Did you dislike going there?” Tavish sounded confused, as if being sent to spy was a joyous act.
“I enjoyed the act. Here. And in their court. I will not disparage the joy I took in the Dark Kings’ beds—either of them.” She shook her head. Over the decades, she’d been sent to the Dark King, and while she’d enjoyed the acts of intimacy at the time, the reality that she had been used was depressing. Because Irial had longed for Niall, the Summer King would send her first to Niall and then to Irial.
“But…?”
“Pleasure doesn’t erase the lack of choice,” Siobhan said. “I was Keenan’s spy, his discarded lover, and . . .” She stopped herself and met Tavish’s gaze once more. “Is it so wrong to have wanted one of them to love me? To know what foods I liked best or what flowers or what color even. As a Summer Girl, I was bound to the will of the Summer King because of the curse, but . . . to go from words of love to being asked to bed the friends of the man I thought I loved. . . to learn he was faery, that I was no longer human . . .”
“Were you forced?”
Siobhan sighed. “There is no true answer there. To love Keenan? No. To become a faery? Yes, but that was a curse.”
“By the Dark King,” Tavish frowned and rose from the floor.
“No. Niall was kind. He refused me often.”
“The other one?”
Siobhan laughed. “Irial? Never. He always offered drink or meal or conversation instead of intimacy.” She paused, weighing how much to admit, before adding, “I sought him out because he had the thing I wanted. Love. It wasn’t love for me, but if I had been with Niall, if his touch and scent were recent on my flesh, Irial treated me as if I mattered.”
If not for the faith her queen had in her, if not for the fact that Niall and Irial had reconciled, she would have left the sunlight for the shadows when she was freed. They had their charms, and she was a woman who’d appreciated those charms. Often. It had seemed like a fine plan at the time, but there was no place for her now.
Stiffly, Tavish said, “I have difficulty seeing any merit in Irial.”
Siobhan sighed, stepped closer to Tavish, and prompted, “But do you understand what I sought?”
The look Tavish gave her was, perhaps, the most honest she’d seen him appear when dressed. “I spent nine centuries concentrating on my king’s lovers. Bedding the ones who were not the queen, advising him on the next one, always the next one.” He gave her a wry smile. “I’ve never been allowed the time to pursue a woman of my own interest, and my duty still prevents my desires. Unfortunately.”
The guilt Siobhan felt over being a burden in her days as a Summer Girl twisted with heartbreak that he’d, apparently, found her so unappealing. Steeling herself so as not to reveal her crushed ego and wounded heart, she updated him on Irial’s revelation.
“We shall speak with Ash tomorrow, then, about our court’s plan.”
“I’m worried,” she admitted, voice barely a whisper. “The Winter Court will not respond well.”
Tavish nodded. “Indeed.” Then, he caught Siobhan’s wrist. “Fresh berries with the dew still wet.”
“What?”
“Your favorite food,” he clarified. “You say it’s fruit or berries, but the ones that make you happiest are those berries that are only just barely off the vine. And your color isn’t one, but the way the skies look when the sun is about to rise. You said as much when we were in the southern continent.”
Siobhan stared at him, mouth slightly agape.
“I’ve thought about what I wanted,” Tavish said. “When you left to be in other beds, in other arms, when I was too old or too silent or too . . . me to have you. When I had to do my duties to my court and king.” He cupped her face. “You were never a chore.”
He brushed his lips over hers. Then, before she could react, he pulled back. “You were never truly mine, Siobhan, but that didn’t change what I wanted. Duty merely prevents it.”
Somehow, she found herself outside his room, alone and perplexed. She touched her lips. Tavish saw her. Not the girl she was when Keenan chose her. Not the woman who had been cursed. Not the advisor to the queen. Her.
And he was going to ignore his feelings—and hers—as if denial was romantic somehow.
Siobhan looked at the now-closed door. “You’re a fool, Tavish.”
Before meeting the queen, Siobhan had to see Tavish for a training session. This time, however, she was not opposed to being there in the makeshift gymnasium. She’d barely slept—not only worrying over Tavish’s revelation but also over the news that the Dark King delivered to their court.
Despite everything, though, Tavish acted as if there were no major events on the court’s horizon. He treated her no differently, either. If she had any doubts about her own memories, she would be alarmed.
This was the faery who advised the emotionally excessive Summer King for nine centuries, who advised his father before him. He was not easily unsettled, and if he was, he certainly didn’t reveal it.
Siobhan made it her personal mission to touch him as often and as inconspicuously as possible all morning.
By the end of the session, he was looking at her with flashes of either desire or fury in his eyes.
“Meeting,” she reminded him with a casual stroke of his upper back.
“Siobhan.” Tavish pinned her with his gaze.
She licked her lips. “Are you warm? I’m becoming desperate with this heat.”
One of the Wild Hunt visitors said his name then, drawing him into a discussion about the efficacy of wooden weapons as an alternative to faery-made metals since the access to Faerie was now limited.
“Sorry to interrupt,” she said cheerily. “Would you mind terribly if I borrowed your shower? We need to meet the queen soon, and I’m sweaty.”
Siobhan ran her fingertips over her cleavage, drawing many gazes in the gesture. Admittedly, she didn’t usually act that way now, but years of being a Summer Girl had a few advantages.
“Fine.” Tavish stared at her. “I’ll stay here until you’re done.”
She laughed. “Silly man. I don’t mind being naked around you.”
He gave her a look that seemed almost angry, but she knew how he felt now. If he hadn’t wanted her to find a solution, he ought not have revealed his feelings.
Quickly, she stretched up and kissed just under his ear, on the side of his neck. “You’re the best,” she said lightly.
His jaw clenched tighter.
“Off to get naked,” she murmured cheerily.
The Dark Court guest flashed her a wicked smile and walked away as Siobhan laughed. Sometimes she wondered if Tavish had hidden how ruthless he could be or if the war had changed him.
“Siobhan?” Tavish said, voice barely level.
She paused. “Mmmm?”
“Do warn me if you’ll have a guest with you,” he said.
“Not to worry, I can handle it myself,” she teased. When he said nothing, she added, “Do y
ou want to watch?”
He closed his eyes.
“Siobhan, are you coming?” Mae, one of the other former Summer Girls, said in tone that implied that the question was a repetition.
Tavish opened his eyes and stared at them both.
Siobhan blushed at the look he was giving her. Perhaps she’d pushed him too far. Forcing her gaze to Mae, Siobhan asked, “Coming where?”
“Shopping.” Mae smiled with the sort of genuine happiness she’d only recently developed. The Summer Girls had been dependent on the Summer King for their entire lives. For all practical purposes, he had been the sun: they bloomed or wilted because of him. The end of the curse benefitted many faeries, not just the former king.
Mae all but bounced in place as she waited for Siobhan’s reply. “Everyone is coming.”
“Next time, ok?” Siobhan hugged her. “I need—”
“You really do. I saw that look.” Mae grabbed Siobhan in a fierce hug and whispered, “Ask Tavish to train longer. A bit of grappling would be good for you both.”
Siobhan looked back at her co-advisor. “Trust me. I know.”
#
Aislinn wasn’t surprised to see Siobhan walk into the study early. Of all of the faeries in the court, Siobhan was the one most likely to treat Aislinn with the comfort of a friend, rather than insist on distance. The others weren’t unkind, but the ease with which Siobhan talked to her was rare. Whereas most of the Summer Girls, guards, and court members occasionally forgot the deference that said that she was their queen, Siobhan occasionally remembered it.
“I’m bored,” Siobhan complained.
“I thought the girls were going shopping,” Aislinn said. “Perhaps after the meeting . . .”
Siobhan gave her a level look. “If new frocks were exciting, why didn’t you go?”
“I like shopping.” Aislinn frowned as she said it, though. She hadn’t used to like it, but there were times when being the embodiment of Summer had meant changing who she was. “Evolution” was what Tavish called it. She wasn’t so sure she liked evolving, but she liked who she was and loved her court so she didn’t ponder that detail overmuch.
Siobhan flopped onto one of the overstuffed chairs, and then almost immediately stood and paced, and then sat again. Her foot tapped on the floor, and her hands seemed to move constantly, sweeping her hair up into a twist, fidgeting with her necklace.
“What?”
“If I quit, would you hate me?” Siobhan blurted out.
Aislinn smiled. “Tavish?”
“He’s a fool,” Siobhan said. “I could totally advise you and do . . . be . . . well, whatever it is.”
“Date him?” Aislinn supplied helpfully.
“That. I guess.” She sighed loudly. “I could love him, I think, although”—she let out a muffled scream of sorts—“that’s fucking terrifying. The last man I loved stole my humanity.”
“I am aware,” Aislinn said. “We’ll figure it out.”
She looked up and saw the door open as Tavish stepped into the room. He looked between them and his expression grew wary. “Has the meeting begun without me?” he asked lightly.
“No,” Aislinn said in the same tone. “Siobhan was considering her resignation. She is having difficulty working with you, I think.”
“Why?” He looked at them both, and then settled his gaze on Siobhan. “Did I offend you?”
“No.” Siobhan glanced at her queen and muttered, “Thanks, Ash.”
Aislinn burst into peels of laughter. “My pleasure. You’ve both brought this to my table, and I happen to think my choice of advisors is inspired, so we need a new plan.”
“Aislinn?” Tavish prompted.
“Kiss her, Tavish. Woo her. Seduce her.” The Summer Queen gestured between them. “It’s the season for love. Why are you trying to argue with your queen?”
“Respectfully, your majesty, I am not sure that”—he lowered his voice—“intimacy between your advisors is a wise plan.”
“Noted.” She clapped her hands together. “This is the Summer Court, and if you don’t want me to lose an advisor, I suggest you stop being obstinate and romance one another.”
Her advisors exchanged a look.
“Now,” Aislinn continued, tone serious. “What shall we do about my dear old great-grandfather?”
Siobhan and Tavish exchanged a look, and for a moment, she wondered at his thoughts. Hidden behind dark eyes and stern looks, Tavish seemed like an odd fit for the summer, but she knew he was a writhing mass of passions, barely hidden some days. Talk of the Dark King rarely brought out his better side—and Aislinn knew that.
She was, however, young. She’d lived merely two decades, and of a handful of those years was as a faery. She was impulsivity embodied. In truth, knowing that the blood of the last Dark King flowed through her veins explained a few things. Aislinn had a courage that was more than human, more than fey. Add shadows to the Summer Court, and she was the result.
“I don’t suppose we can murder him, and hide the evidence,” Tavish said, voice light enough to make it sound like a joke.
“Bananach murdered him once already,” Aislinn said cheerily. “Didn’t take.”
“Alas.” Tavish downed a drink. “Perhaps we might speak to Niall first.”
“And Donia,” Siobhan added.
“I told Seth,” the queen said. “Not who although I bet he already knows. He said he doesn’t, but that’s only true if it involves him.” Aislinn scowled and muttered, “Future-seeing makes for confusing relationships.”
Siobhan reached over and squeezed her hand, offering silent support. Then she asked, “How do you feel about it?”
Tavish had advised a cursed king and before him a frolicking king. Aislinn’s age and gender were sometimes confusing to him, but Siobhan was relieved to see that the flinch gave way to kindness.
“He has redeeming traits,” Tavish said, sitting taller in his seat. “He protects his court, Ash. Or did.”
“I know.” Aislinn scowled. “I just . . . I’ve never had a father or grandfather. I grew up with Grams. A house of women. Female friends—other than Seth but he was always more. What do you do with grandfathers or fathers?”
“He’s probably not like others,” Tavish offered.
A knock heralded a frowning guard. “Your Majesty?”
“There is a . . . cub. Well, two cubs,” he said, as he stepped to the side. There, tumbling over themselves were a pair of small tigers. They were absolutely, without a doubt, the cutest, least appropriate thing Siobhan could imagine raising in the loft.
But the queen was already on the floor, snuggling a tiny predator.
“The note says—”
“We know who sent them,” Tavish started.
Aislinn was giggling even as she said, “Utterly foolish man.” Then she was growling at a baby tiger and asking it, “What in the world am I to do with you?”
“’Light and dark go well together. A little shadow doesn’t undo the brightness,’ it says.” The guard looked at them, not sure what to do.
“Is it signed?” Siobhan asked.
“‘Love from your . . . Pappy.’”
Aislinn scooped the tigers into her lap, and then set sun spots across the floor so they could pounce on them. “I always wanted a kitten,” she mused.
There was no work that would distract her then, so Siobhan and Tavish excused themselves.
Outside the door, Tavish looked at her, “We will need to speak to Niall about this.”
Siobhan nodded. “At least they’re cubs.”
Tavish sighed. “Nature thrives around her, so it’s not a crisis. What if it’s the start of a habit? Where would we put a menagerie?”
At that, Siobhan was assailed by visions of nonstop gifts from a doting former Dark King who had always, apparently, wanted children. “Call Niall.”
Tavish paused before turning away. “May I woo you?”
“Yes,” Siobhan answered. “A million times yes.”
>
He touched her cheek. “I want to take our time, do things right. I’ve watched both of my kings destroy women they loved. I’ve watched Irial destroy Niall. I don’t ever want to hurt you.”
Siobhan thought she might legitimately swoon. They’d been intimate many times, danced, spoken, fought, but this was different. New.
“I’d like that,” she said, feeling oddly shy and young. “I want to take care of you, too.” She leaned up and kissed him softly before pulling back just enough to speak. “And then, I want to have my way with you.”
Tavish closed his eyes briefly.
“Over and over,” she added, “until neither of us can walk.”
He swallowed audibly and rasped, “That . . . would be good, too.”
And before she could reply, he kissed her until she had to lean on the wall for support. It would, in fact, be very, very good.
Aislinn knew who Urian was the moment he stepped into her court. Her great-grandfather’s warning that he would come wasn’t why. Urian looked like family.
Shadow-dark skin and what would’ve been a twin to her own dark hair before sunlight changed her. He stood with his father’s arrogance, and something of a wicked glint in his eye. This was not a faery who had found his heart.
This was an angry faery.
“What shall I call you?” Urian didn’t bow, didn’t even lower his gaze. “Niece? Ash-Girl?”
Aislinn lifted a hand to stop the guards who started to move closer.
“Murderess?” he asked, voice lower.
Aislinn lifted her chin and stared back at him. “Queen.”
He laughed. “Not my queen. I bow to no one.”
Aislinn repressed a shiver of fear. She was strong enough to fight any faery in existence now—at least those in her world. That didn’t mean she wanted to do so, and power didn’t always overcome skill.
Urian looked around, smiled at Siobhan and winked at a guard. “I thought I should meet the woman who mattered so much that my niece died.” He stared intently at Aislinn and said, “You are a strangely pretty little murderess.”
“I didn’t kill my mother,” Aislinn started.
Urian brushed his hand to the side, shadows slid across the ground as if he was summoning them.