by Melissa Marr
He leaned back and took a sip of his water, watching her as he did so. “Well, so you don’t need to wonder…I was thinking—just now—that sometimes we get so caught up in the court stuff, Donia, Niall, your classes…It’s easy to forget that nothing I have would be mine were it not for you, but it’s never easy to forget that I still want more.”
She blushed. “That’s not what I meant.”
“So you’re going to play word games now?” There was no denying the challenge in his voice this time. “You can decide when my honesty is welcome?”
“No, but—”
“You said you wanted to know what I’m thinking; there weren’t conditions. No word games, Aislinn. Your choice.” He sat his glass on the table and waited for several heartbeats. “Have you changed your mind so easily? Would you prefer we have secrets or not?”
Aislinn felt the edge of terror approach her, not in fear of physical safety, but in fear that the friendship they’d been building was tumbling around her.
When she didn’t speak, he went on. “I was thinking that no one else could’ve handled any of the things you have. Even adjusting to being fey…Not one of the Summer Girls adjusted so quickly. You didn’t mourn or rage or cling to me.”
“I knew about faeries. They didn’t,” she protested. She hated the faery inability to lie more and more as he spoke. It would be easier to lie and deny how painlessly she had become fey. It would be easier to say that she wasn’t adjusting to her new life far faster than she’d ever thought. It would be easier to say she was struggling.
Because then he wouldn’t be doing this to me.
He’d given her space, given her time. He’d been a friend and not even approached the boundaries she’d set.
Run. Run now.
She didn’t.
And Keenan moved closer, invading her space. “You know it’s more than that. I know now that it was right that I didn’t find my queen all these years. Waiting for you was worth everything that I thought I couldn’t endure.”
He had a hand in her hair now; sunlight slid down her skin.
“If you were my queen, truly my queen, our court would be stronger still. If you were mine, without mortal distractions, we’d be safer. We’d be stronger if we were truly together. Summer is a time to rejoice in pleasures and heat. When I’m around you, I want to forget everything else. I love Donia. I always will, but when I’m near you—” He stopped himself.
She knew what he was not-saying. She felt the truth of it, but that part of her wasn’t something to give over to her court’s health. Had he known they’d feel this way? Had he known that her insistence on approaching queenship as a job and not a relationship was going to limit their court’s growth? She didn’t want to know the answer.
“The court is stronger than it’s ever been in your lifetime,” she murmured.
“It is, and I’m grateful for what you’ve given our court. I’ll wait as long as I must for the rest. That’s what I’m thinking about. I suppose I should be thinking about the list of things we have to do, but”—he leaned closer, holding her gaze—“all I can think right now is that you’re here with me where you belong. I do love Donia, but I love my court too. I could love you as we’re meant to love one another, Aislinn. If you’d let me, I could love you enough that we’d forget everything but each other.”
“Keenan…”
“You asked for honesty.”
He wasn’t lying. He couldn’t. It doesn’t matter. His telling her these things didn’t, couldn’t matter.
Aislinn could feel the sunlight that lived somewhere in the center of her. It stretched out to fill her skin to bursting. She was responding to Keenan’s brief touch with an intensity that she’d felt only with Seth—which was wrong.
Is it? A traitorous voice whispered inside her. He’s my king, my partner….
She put a hand on Keenan’s chest, intending to push him away, but sunlight pulsed between them at the contact. Their bodies were a giant conduit; sunlight looped between them like a stream of energy that grew stronger as it slipped through the barrier of skin.
His eyes widened, and he drew several unsteady breaths. He leaned toward her, and she felt herself leaning into him. Her arm was bent at the elbow so that—although she still had a hand on him as if to push him back—they were chest to chest, her arm pressed between them.
And he kissed her, something he’d only done when she was mortal. Once, she had been lost under the dizziness of too much summer wine and too many hours dancing in his arms. The second time was a taste of seduction when she was telling him to leave her alone. But this time, the third time, he kissed her so gently that it was barely a brush of lips. It was a question as much as a kiss. It was affection, and somehow that made it worse.
She pulled away. “Stop.”
Her word wasn’t much beyond a whisper, but he still paused. “Are you sure?”
She couldn’t answer. No lying. She could taste the ripeness of summer in the words, a promise of what she could have if she came just a moment closer.
“I need you to move back.” She concentrated on the meaning of those words, on the feel of the sofa, on the spines of the leather-bound books she could see on the wall behind Keenan—on anything but him.
She lowered her hand from his chest.
Slowly. Just concentrate on what matters. My life. My choices. Seth.
Keenan pulled back as well, watching her intently as he did so. “The court would be dying if it weren’t for you.”
“I know that.” She couldn’t move any farther away. There was nowhere to go; the sofa arm was already digging into her back.
“I would be useless without you,” he continued.
She clutched the pillow in her lap like it was a shield she could hold between them. “You held the court together for nine centuries without me.”
He nodded. “And it was worth it. Every torture was worth it for where we are now and for where we could be if you accept me someday. If we had the time to just be together as we should be…”
For another too-long moment, she stayed still, trying to find the words to diffuse the tension that had sprung up. This wasn’t the first time he’d been so expressive in his words, but it was the first time he’d reached out to touch her skin in anything other than casual affection. The combination was too much.
“Space?” Her voice broke on the word.
He moved back farther. “Only because you ask it of me.”
She felt lightheaded.
Keenan gave her a strained smile.
She stood on unsteady legs and walked to the door. She pulled the door open and clutched the doorknob until she was afraid she’d break it. It took more self-control than she’d have liked, but she caught his gaze. “This changes nothing. It can’t. You are my friend, my king, but that’s…all you can be.”
He nodded, but it was a gesture that indicated that he heard her, not that he agreed, which was abundantly clear as he said, “And you are my queen, my savior, my partner—and that’s everything.”
Chapter 7
Aislinn walked aimlessly through Huntsdale. Sometimes she didn’t feel able to be around Seth; that happened more and more of late with thoughts of Keenan lingering on her mind. She’d been thinking about the things Keenan had said and the way she felt when he reached out toward her, and she was afraid. His separation from Donia would make him more insistent on being with her. They were already too close with summer’s approach, and she didn’t know what to do about it.
Part of her wanted to talk to Seth, but she was terrified that he’d go away. No matter how often he whispered that he loved her, she still worried that she’d mess it all up, and he’d leave. Sometimes she wanted to run from the world of faery problems; how could she expect him not to want the same thing? Seth had to share her with her court and her king. If she told him that Keenan was pressuring her—and that she was tempted—would that be the final straw?
Seth gave her space, but he noticed when she
was upset and she wasn’t sure what she would say if he asked her why. My king, my other half, he’s decided to change the rules. And I barely refused. She wasn’t up for that conversation, not any time soon. She would be. She’d tell him. Just not yet. Not until I know what to say.
She wanted to talk to someone, but her only other friend who knew about the faeries, Leslie, had left town and refused to discuss them; telling Seth meant admitting to being tempted by Keenan; and her other confidant to things faery, Keenan, was the problem. Aislinn was faced with the unpleasant realization that her own circle of friends was far smaller than it had ever been. She’d never had a huge number of friends, but between the months where she was falling for Seth and trying to call it platonic and the changes with being a faery monarch, she’d drifted from the few friends she’d had. She still talked to Rianne and Carla at school, but she hadn’t hung out with either of them in months.
After a glance at the time, she called Carla.
Carla answered almost immediately. “Ash? You okay?”
“Yeah. Why?” Aislinn knew why: she never called anymore.
“I just…nothing. What’s up?”
“You free?”
Carla was silent for a beat. Then she said, “Depends on why you’re asking.”
“Okay, I was thinking I’ve been a lousy friend lately….” Aislinn paused.
“Keep talking. You’re on the right track. Next part is?”
“Penance?” She laughed, relieved that Carla was making light of it. “What’s the price?”
“Ten per game? Meet you there?”
Aislinn turned down the next street to head toward Shooters. “Spot me a few balls?”
Carla snorted. “Penance, sweetie. I’ve been eying a new video card, and you’re going to bankroll it by the time the night’s done.”
“Ouch.”
“Yep.” Carla’s laugh was joyful. “See you there in thirty.”
“I’ll get a table.” Then, in a decidedly improved mood, Aislinn disconnected. She knew that several of her guards followed behind at a discreet distance. Tonight, she didn’t want to see them, though. Shooting pool with a friend wouldn’t fix a thing, but it felt closer to the normal life she still missed.
With that in mind, she walked the half dozen blocks to Shooters. The h in the sign was out, so it read sooters—which was far better than when the first s had been out.
It had been weeks since she’d even stopped in. Guilt hit her again—and fear that she’d no longer be welcome. The regular crowd at Shooters worked hard and relaxed with equal enthusiasm. They were all older than she was—some old enough to be Grams’ long-ago classmates—but they didn’t draw age or class or race lines at Shooters. It was a place where everyone was welcome as long as they didn’t start trouble.
Before everything changed, Denny, a pool hustler somewhere in his twenties, had taken her on as a project of sorts. Denny handed her lessons off to his friend Grace when he felt like working a mark, and between their combined tutelage, Aislinn had become a pretty decent shot. She’d never be able to run tables like he did, but that sort of mastery came from shooting every day. Most of the regulars were cool to talk to or shoot with, but it was Denny and Grace whom she’d truly missed.
When she went inside, she saw Denny right off. He was at a table with Grace. When Grace looked up and saw her, her face folded into a smile. “Hey, Princess. Long time, no visits.”
Denny took his shot before he lifted his eyes from the table. “Out without either of the Princes Charming?”
She shrugged. “Girl time. I’m meeting Carla.”
“Grab a cue or a seat.” Grace’s voice had a cigarette-and-whiskey rasp to it that contrasted with her body. She sounded like a woman who should be a lithe singer in a vibrant scarlet dress, breaking hearts and inciting lovers’ quarrels, but Grace was a different sort of trouble. Wearing black boots, faded jeans, and a man’s button-up shirt, she was all muscle and just as able to handle any fights as the men in the room. She took immense pride in the fact that her Softail Custom was outfitted with more chrome and louder pipes than Denny’s.
“You want to shoot teams when Carla gets here?” Denny circled the table to reach his next shot. He’d tied his hair back, but the loose ponytail was already coming undone and falling into his face.
“Only if I get Carla,” Grace said. “Sorry, Ash, but the two of them together would kill us.”
Aislinn cracked a grin. “She already set stakes. Ten a game.”
“So, twenty then, for teams?” Denny cleared two balls in a complicated shot that Carla could explain by way of geometry and simple angles, but which Denny executed as a matter of precision and practice. Aislinn had neither geometry nor sufficient practice.
“Or ten still, even splits.” Grace opened a bottle of water.
“We might break even, if you have Carla,” Denny said. Then he finished clearing the table.
“Or not,” Grace muttered.
He grinned. “Or not.”
Something bluesy kicked up on the jukebox; Aislinn had been there often enough to recognize classic Buddy Guy. Across the hall, murmured conversations rose and fell among the clack of balls. Cries of defeat and victory broke into the familiar hum of Shooters. It’s good to be here. She’d spent too much time with faeries; hanging out with friends was the change she needed.
By the time Carla arrived, Aislinn could almost convince herself that life was as it had been before. Not that before had been perfect, but sometimes it seemed like things had been a lot clearer then. Contemplating eternity, a job she had no idea how to do well, and a relationship that was heading toward uncrossable lines—it wasn’t relaxing.
But Carla was there, Denny and Grace were there, the music was good, and the laughter was easy. The rest of the night was reserved for friends and fun.
“Game,” Carla crowed. She did a little victory shimmy that made Denny look away and Grace smirk.
“Somebody’s keeping a secret,” Aislinn murmured to Denny.
Denny narrowed his eyes. “Leave it alone, Ash.”
Grace and Carla were chatting as Grace racked the balls. Aislinn put her back to the table and kept her voice low. “Age is relative. If you—”
“No, it’s really not. Maybe someday when she’s had a chance to live a little more…but she hasn’t, and I’m not going to steal that chance.” Denny glanced at Carla as he sat back on one of the stools against the wall. “You two have years to enjoy your freedom before you settle down. I’m already at the point of wanting that.”
“So how old is too old?”
He grinned. “Don’t get prickly. Seth’s not too old for you. A year or two isn’t a big deal.”
“But…”
“But I’m almost a decade older. It’s different.” Denny pushed away from the stool. “Are we going to shoot or do each other’s hair now?”
“Jerk.”
He grinned. “Yet another reason you shouldn’t encourage me.”
“Whatever.” She smiled back at him.
As they played, Aislinn thought about Seth—and about Keenan—and she wasn’t sure if she agreed with Denny. Is he right? Is more than a few years too much? Part of her thought he was right. Being with Seth never felt like there was any question of maturity or wisdom or any imbalance. With Keenan she felt like she was constantly stumbling.
She pushed aside her thoughts and concentrated on the game. Carla and Grace made a great team, but Denny was more than their match. They all played for fun; he played for money most weeks.
“Hey, dead weight,” he called, “your shot.”
Carla laughed. “Ash is just trying to help me out, aren’t you?”
“It’s as good an explanation as any for the easy shot you missed earlier….” Denny smiled as he gestured to the table.
She didn’t miss that one, but she missed more than her share over the next few hours. It was the least complicated evening she’d had in a while—no unspoken issues or worrying about eve
ry word she said and each move she made. It was exactly what she’d needed.
When she got home later that night, Aislinn wasn’t surprised that Grams was waiting up for her. There might be guards that trailed her these days, and that whole never-let-faeries-know-we-see-them thing was pretty much a moot point now, but Grams still treated her like she was a normal girl. Well, as normal as I ever was. Home was the place where she could be small and afraid. It was where she was chastised for forgetting to add milk to the grocery list if she used the last of it. It was a haven…but that didn’t mean that the rest of the world was left at the door.
Aislinn walked into the living room. Grams sat in her favorite chair; she had a cup of tea in hand. Her long gray hair was still plaited but not up.
The braid was longer than Aislinn could stand her own hair ever being. As a child Aislinn had thought Grams was really Rapunzel. If the faeries were real, why not Rapunzel? They lived in a tall building with windows overlooking a strange world. Grams had let her hair grow even longer back then, and it was ashy blond. Aislinn had asked her, once, about her theory.
“But wouldn’t I be the witch keeping you safe? Trapping you up here in our tower?”
Aislinn had thought about it. “No, you’re Rapunzel, and we’re hiding from the witch.”
“And what happens if the witch finds us?”
“She’ll steal our eyes or make us dead.”
“So if we leave our tower?” Grams turned everything into a quiz. Everything was about them, and wrong answers meant staying inside longer. “What are the rules?”
“No looking at the faeries. No talking to faeries. Nothing to attract faeries’ attention. Ever.” Aislinn counted the big three rules off on her fingers as she said them. “Always follow the rules.”
“Exactly.” Grams had hugged her then. Her eyes were shimmering with tears. “Breaking the rules will let the witch win.”
“Is that what happened to Momma?” Aislinn tried to see Grams’ face, hoping for clues. Even then she knew that Grams didn’t always answer the whole way.