Wicked Lovely (Wicked Lovely 1)

Early the next morning, Donia awakened on the floor, Sasha’s body between her and the door. No one had brought her a message from Keenan. No guards had knocked on her door.

“Has he forsaken me?” she whispered to Sasha.

The wolf laid his ears back and whined.

“When I actually might welcome his presence, he’s not here.” She wouldn’t weep, though, not for him. She’d done enough of that over the years.

She’d expected him to hear of Agatha’s death, to come demanding she accept his help. She couldn’t, but it would’ve been easier—safer—than what she’d have to do now.

“Come, Sasha.” She opened the door and motioned Evan to her. At least he’s here waiting.

The rowan-man joined her, keeping a respectful distance, standing in the withered grass in front of the porch until Donia said, “Come inside.”

She didn’t wait to see if he’d follow. The idea of inviting one of Keenan’s guards into her home—even Evan, whose presence had been steadfast the past few decades—unsettled her.

Gesturing to the seat farthest from her, she asked, “Has Keenan been told about Agatha?”

“He was out when Skelley arrived at the loft. One of the others went to the faire to find him.” Evan cleared his throat, but his stare was bold. “He was preoccupied with the new queen.”

She nodded. So it’s truly her. Beira would be furious, a force to fear.

It’d been so long since Donia had much to truly fear. Between Keenan and Beira, she was cosseted, safer than most any fey or mortal.

“I’d ask that you allow a few guards closer.” Evan dropped to his knees, showing a respect his kind rarely offered any fey other than Keenan. “Let me stay here with you.”

“Fine,” she murmured, ignoring both hi

s brief look of shock and her irritation at it. I can be reasonable. Then she said the words she’d never said to any of Keenan’s guards: “Tell Keenan I need him to come. Now.”

It didn’t take long for Skelley to summon Keenan—not long enough for Donia to prepare for the pain of seeing him in her home. When Evan led Keenan in, she stayed in her rocking chair—curled into herself, arms folded tightly over her chest, feet tucked up beneath her.

Before Evan had closed the door behind him—returning to the guards outside—Keenan was across the room, standing beside her.

Sasha moved closer, pressing his body against her, trying to soothe her. Donia absently petted his head.

She glanced at Keenan and said, “I wasn’t sure you’d come.”

In a strange mimicry of Sasha’s position, Keenan dropped to the floor. “I’ve waited decades for you to want me around, Don, begged to be in your presence.”

“That was before her.” She felt foolish for it, but as much as she wanted Aislinn to take up the staff, she was jealous. Aislinn was the one; she’d spend eternity with Keenan.

“Things are different now.” Donia tried to keep all of her emotions out of her voice, but she failed.

“I’ll always come when you want me. How many times have I told you that?” he whispered, his words carrying that warm breath of summer. “That won’t change. Ever.”

She reached out, putting her hand over his lips before he could say anything else. A thin layer of frost formed where she touched him, but he didn’t complain.

He never does.

She didn’t pull away, although his breath burned her. “I heard the news from the faire, that she’s the one.”

When Evan had told her, she’d almost wept, imagining eternity in this pain, alone, watching them dance and laugh. Unless Beira kills me.

“Don…” His lips moved against her fingers, gentle even as they hurt her—just like the words he’d say if she didn’t stop him.

When there were no witnesses, he’d let himself be the person he’d been before she knew he was a king—the person she fell in love with. It was why she avoided being alone with him.

“No,” she said, not wanting the gentle side of him, not now. Today she needed him to be the Summer King, to set aside the person he could be without the crown. She needed him to be arrogant and assured, able to do what needed doing.