by Melissa Marr
Donia turned away, staring past him as if doing so would hide her worry.
Carefully, even though he couldn’t hurt her with his touch now, Keenan threaded his fingers through her hair until she looked at him again. “Come away with me. Please?”
“Maybe we should take a few guards. Cwenhild says—”
“Cwenhild worries because she saw you when you were . . . when you almost . . .” Keenan’s voice faltered at the memory of Donia’s recent brush with death. Nothing had ever terrified him as that injury had.
He kissed her with all of the intensity that the thought of that day brought to him. He’d almost lost her.
She was his reason for living; everything that he’d ever dreamed of, perfect in ways that he’d long believed made their relationship impossible. All he had to do now was convince her that whether he remained mortal or tried the admittedly risky routes to regain his faery nature, they would be happy.
He felt snow fall around them as she relaxed into the kiss. Big fluffy flakes formed in the air; the brush of each flake was a welcome sensation, proof that she was happy.
Then she leaned away.
“You shouldn’t do that,” he whispered.
“What?”
“Stop kissing me to worry.” He trailed his fingertips along her face and down her throat. “We’ll be fine, and even if we did need the guards, they are only a blink away. You know she’ll send guards trailing after us.” He paused and hid his fear under teasing. “Or is it that have I lost your attention already?”
Donia smiled, as he’d hoped she would, and said, “No. I’m just not as . . . ridiculously optimistic as you are about everything, but that doesn’t mean I’m uninterested.”
He widened his eyes and shook his head, hoping that his flashes of insecurity weren’t as obvious to her as they were to him. Whenever she pulled away, he had the irrational fear that she’d decide his mortal state was reason to give up on the years they could have, that his loss of faery strength and longevity was grounds for sending him away, that his change was going to lead to her rejection. Lightly, he said, “I don’t know. You may have to prove it. There was definite wandering of attention.”
“You’re incorrigible.”
“Yes,” he agreed, “very much so.”
Smiling, she took his hand and led him to their room.
Two hours later, Donia was smiling to herself. She watched as he tossed their bags into the trunk and opened the door to let her wolf, Sasha, into the backseat of the Thunderbird. She gave Keenan another kiss and then climbed into the car. With the sort of laughter she’d enjoyed more and more since he’d moved into her house, he spun the car in a circle in the icy drive and zipped into traffic.
As they left Huntsdale behind them, her fears of all the things that could go wrong—the enemies that could break the now-mortal boy beside her, the fear that her own Winter would slip out and injure him—seemed more manageable. They were together; they were taking a vacation; and they were very obviously being trailed by the Winter Court guards.
I could tell him that I asked Cwenhild to send guards. I could tell him that his mortal fragility terrifies me . . . but that would lead to talking about his foolish plan to risk taking Winter inside his skin. He hadn’t brought it up in the past few days, but he would do so again. He had latched on to the idea that he could lift the Winter Queen’s staff, much as she had all of those years ago, and that in doing so, Winter would fill him. He’d even reasoned that it might be painless because he was fey until recently. He discounted the risks: that it would hurt him, kill him. He wasn’t any more willing to bow under impossible odds than he had been when he was a bound faery king. Or when I was dying.
Donia had tears in her eyes as she looked over at Keenan. He didn’t take his attention from the road but still unerringly reached out and twined their fingers together.
If he knew how much becoming fey could hurt, would he still want to try?
If he knew what it felt like to take ice inside a human body, would he want to try?
Would I have decided to risk it if I had known?
“Don?” He squeezed her hand. “It’ll be fine. Whatever it is, it’ll be fine.”
“You’re . . .” She let her words drift away with a cloud of frosty air.
“Relax, please.” He glanced over at her. “Next week we can deal with whatever you’re worried about. Right now, I just want to be together, have a holiday with the faery I love.” He smiled before chiding her, “Remember: you already agreed. Faeries don’t lie.”
“I did agree.” She smiled even as the reminder of faery rules—of the fact that she was fey while he was not—made her want to weep. Faeries might not lie, but he wasn’t a faery now. He’d given that up to save her life.
She angled her body so that she was staring at him. “And I am enjoying the scenery.”
Keenan laughed, but he kept his gaze on the road as she continued pointedly looking at him. Once she’d thought she took pleasure in looking at him because she couldn’t touch him, but now, she realized that it was simply the sight of him that pleased her. His sunlit skin hadn’t entirely faded when he’d become mortal. Unlike the mostly snow-pale faeries of her court, Keenan retained the sun-darkened skin he’d had as Summer King. His eyes were an icy blue now, but they were still beautiful enough to remind her why she’d stumbled over her own name when he’d first approached her almost a century ago—back when she was the mortal one.
He was relaxed, and even though he’d shed some of the volatility of the Summer Court, he was still impetuous. He’d been born of both Summer and Winter, so even after surrendering his sunlight and his faery nature, his nature was mixed in a way that hers wasn’t. Although, as he reminded her regularly, Winter wasn’t only calm either. Together, they’d found a peace, but it hadn’t dampened their passion at all. If anything, their passion had increased because they understood each other more fully.
Even if I’m not able to be impulsive.
Even if I must worry that I’ll injure him.
As a queen, not merely a faery burdened with the ice, she had control of herself. It was difficult, though, and she understood why Keenan had never lain with mortals. Every time they touched, she worried that she would lose control too much, but then he smiled at her, and she couldn’t say no.
For years, Keenan had made her believe in the impossible; he had made her strong enough to believe she could defeat monsters, to risk everything for his smile, to laugh even when they were facing daunting trials. Because he is beside me. She wanted to believe in the impossible now, but it was different when the risk was that she would lose him. Now that he was truly hers, she wasn’t sure she was strong enough to risk anything that could take him away. Is it better to have him for a few years, knowing he will die, or to take the risk that could either give us eternity—or end the years we do have?
“Are you with me?”
“I am,” she whispered. “I love you.”
He did glance at her this time. “You too. Always.” He paused, looked back at the road, and asked, “Okay, I give. What’s up? I know you, Don. You have that faraway look again.”
“I was thinking about us and . . . things.” She squeezed his hand. “I’m glad you suggested this trip.”
“And?”
Donia gave him a reassuring smile. “You make me happy, and I want you to be happy. So . . . no more worrying. We’re out here on a normal ‘human’ holiday.” She swept her arm out, gesturing at the traffic on the freeway, the roadside advertisements, and the lights of buildings she could see along the exit. “You’re new to being human, and it’s been almost a century since I was human. Back then . . .” She laughed at the sudden memory of her father’s scowling face. “Do you remember when you asked Papa to let you walk me home?”
Keenan switched lanes and directed the car onto the freeway exit. “He thought I had impure intentions.”
“You did,” she teased.
“I wanted your heart more, Don
.” He said nothing else until he pulled into a parking spot. He turned off the engine and grinned at her before adding, “Of course, I wanted your body too. I still do. I always have.”
She laughed. “Likewise.”
Keenan felt tension he hadn’t even realized he was carrying slip away as he opened Donia’s door and took her hand. Traveling with Donia was new. In all of the years they’d known each other, they’d never simply traveled for fun. Or alone. In truth, vacation itself was a peculiar experience for Keenan. He’d only ever been away from his court for a few short months in his centuries of living, and even then, he hadn’t been able to step away from the thoughts of the conflict he’d be returning to confront. Now, however, he was determined to enjoy an utterly peaceful trip with his beloved.
“Rest stops,” Keenan said. “I’m not sure about these.”
“You wanted a ‘human experience.’” Donia smothered a smile. “‘Road trips,’ you said. ‘Perfectly ordinary nonroyal travel,’ you said.”
Keenan looked at the litter-strewn ground, tables fastened down, and overtired families who all seemed to have dogs in their cars. With Sasha in the backseat, they almost looked like they fit in.
Nonroyal. Just us.
“You’re right.” He zipped his jacket. “I believe these sorts of trips include nonscheduled diversions too.”
The look Donia gave him was more suspicious than he expected. “Keenan . . .”
“Be right back. You can . . . walk our dog.” He grinned at Sasha, who bared his teeth in reply. Keenan laughed.
Donia and Sasha both watched him with expressions somewhere between bemused and irritated as he went into the building advertising itself as a “Welcome Center.”
Inside, he started gathering pamphlets on everything from wine tasting to caving to antique malls to a “miniature golf extravaganza.” He pulled out one for a hiking trail, another for an indoor racetrack, and several for bed-and-breakfasts.
“Can I help you?” an older woman offered.
“I’m on a vacation,” he said. “With my . . . girlfriend.” He looked over his shoulder as the door to the small building opened and a gust of cold air blew in. Because Winter herself stepped inside. He stared at her, his forever love. Quietly, he told the human woman, “I’m going to marry her. She’s perfect.”
The woman looked at Donia. “Is that a wolf?” she asked. “You can’t bring animals in here. . . . Actually, you can’t bring wolves in anywhere. What—”
“Sasha, wait for us at the car.” Donia opened the door, and the wolf padded outside and to the car.
As Keenan watched through the window, Sasha leaped onto the roof of the car and stretched out. His gaze didn’t waver from Donia.
“Apparently I’m not protection enough in my . . . condition.” Keenan looked back at the rack of pamphlets.
Donia walked over to stand beside him. She pulled out a pamphlet and flipped it over. “What’s a zip line?”
The pamphlet she held out showed a girl hanging from a wire in a contraption that looked like a cross between a trapeze and a saddle of sorts. The girl wore a helmet and gloves, and she looked like she was mid-laugh as she was suspended over a chasm. Keenan skimmed the pamphlet and read Evergreen Hills . . . four seasons resort . . . trails . . . zip line . . . ski slopes. He looked at Donia. “Our destination.”
Several hours later, they pulled into the parking lot of a roadside motel. It wasn’t their final destination, but Keenan saw no need to drive all day. Stops to rest and enjoy ourselves. He walked inside, feeling relaxed and exceedingly pleased with how well their trip was going.
The motel was everything that their home wasn’t: it was plain and impersonal and somehow oddly charming.
“Do you need me to do this?” Donia asked in a deceptively innocent voice.
“I can do it.” Keenan stepped up to the counter. “We need a room.”
The woman at the counter looked at him from the tips of his boots to the jeans to gray leather jacket to the loosely wound scarf around his neck. “I’ll need ID.”
“ID?” he echoed.
“You need to be old enough to rent a room, pay up front, and—”
“Why?” He didn’t know if he’d ever rented a room. As he stood there at the faux wood front desk, he realized that his guards or advisors had handled this sort of thing. He glanced over his shoulder at Donia. She turned her back, but not quickly enough that he missed her smothered laugh.
The receptionist said, “You need ID and a deposit in order to rent a room here.”
“Identification cards and deposits in case we”—he forced himself to look away from Donia and turned to the receptionist again—“do what?”
“Break things. Steal them.” She rolled her eyes.
“What do you think?” he asked Donia as she walked up behind him.
She wrapped her arms around his waist, and whispered, “I think you are used to having someone else do this.”
“True.” He read the name badge of the woman at the desk—Cinnamon—smiled at her, and asked, “Cinnamon, do you suppose—”
“No.” She scowled. “No ID, no deposit, no room. Your sort all think that works. Smile pretty, and we’ll roll over. Not going to happen.”
Donia was laughing out loud. Between giggles, she said, “Just like old times, isn’t it? You think turning on your charm will work, and I get to watch you fail.”
Shocked, Keenan turned to look at his beloved, and for a moment he was speechless. Donia was laughing over the curse, the competitions they’d waged over the mortal girls he’d tried to convince to take the test to be his queen.
As he turned, Donia kept her arms around him. She looked up at him. “If the girls who weren’t charmed had known what I know, they’d have been a lot easier to convince.”
“What’s that?”
She released him from her embrace and put her hands flat on his chest. “The . . . person behind the smile.” She stretched up and kissed him, twining her arms around his neck as she did so.
Without stopping kissing her, he swept her up into his arms. They stood in the motel lobby kissing until someone called, “Get a room.”
Donia pulled back and laughed. “That was the plan. They said no.”
At that, Keenan smiled. This was what he wanted: Donia happy. That was what he wanted every day now. The Winter Court mattered to him as much as the Summer Court had, but there was no struggle, no worrying over how to take care of the court. Donia’s court was healthy and, quite simply, the strongest of the courts. Whether Donia agreed to let him test his theory to become fey again or not, Keenan’s primary responsibility would still be one he undertook gladly: making sure Donia was happy. The difference, unfortunately, was that unless Donia agreed to let him try to become fey again, he’d only be able to do so for a blink. Mortal life spans were so brief as to be a heartbeat in the eternity that they could have if he became fey again.
He carried her out of the lobby and to the car, where Sasha waited. Beside the car, he lowered her feet to the ground. “So, navigating this human world seems a bit more complicated than I thought.”
Donia slid a hand into his inside jacket pocket and pulled out his wallet. She opened it, and extracted two cards. “Not really. Hand her these.” She held one up. “Identification.” Then she held up the other one. “Credit card.”
“Oh.” He frowned. “Are those new?”
“No. Cwenhild had them procured for you last month.” Donia slipped them back into the wallet, returned it to his pocket, and kissed him again. A few moments later she pulled back and opened her car door. “Come on.”
“But if I had them . . .”
She shrugged. “I figured if you couldn’t charm her, she has bad taste. Why stay in a motel where they have bad taste?”
“You’re a peculiar faery, Donia.” He walked around the side of the car and got in.
“We’ll find a nicer place. There’s a bed-and-breakfast I saw that looked pretty,” she suggested as sh
e sorted through the pamphlets they’d collected.
And Keenan figured it didn’t much matter why she wanted to stay elsewhere. He’d walk in and out of every hotel and motel along the road if it made her smile and relax.
A short while later, they were settled into an admittedly nicer hotel. Sasha was out wandering now that they were stopped for the night, and Keenan and Donia were alone in their “honey-moon suite.” He had opened the doors to the balcony, and snowflakes were fluttering into the room. Donia still marveled at seeing her once-sunlit faery not flinch from the snow. From me. She’d thought she was done being surprised when she became Winter Queen. She hadn’t expected that—or becoming a faery or that the boy she’d fallen in love with so many years ago was anything other than human.
Or that he’d ever become a human.
He’d sacrificed immortality and strength for her. In part, he’d sacrificed his court for her. Now, he wanted to risk the brief human life he still had. For me. She knew there were plenty of dangers if he remained human: he was vulnerable to threats from any faery that crossed their path—and Keenan had nine centuries of living during which he had made enemies; he was susceptible to human diseases, aging, and any number of threats; and he was in danger from her. The Winter that she carried in her skin could easily kill him if she lost her temper or lost control in a moment of joy.
But he’s alive.
Trying to become fey could take away the few human years he had.
Or give us eternity.
“You’re awfully far away,” he said.
She realized she’d been staring, but she wasn’t embarrassed as she had been for most of the years she’d known him: he was hers now. She could stare all she wanted, so she did. “I was thinking about how beautiful you are.”
He smiled. “Can you think that nearer to me?”
“Not if I want to have dinner.” She walked toward him even as she said it.
“Do you?”
“Not now,” she murmured as she slipped into his arms.
Later, when Keenan came out of the shower, he was greeted by the sight of the Winter Queen standing on the balcony looking out over the not-yet-snowy mountainside. She could’ve been carved of the ice that was her domain.