Wicked Lovely (Wicked Lovely 1)

She lifted her chin again. “No. I am keeping him. There’s no asking involved.”

He didn’t argue, didn’t point out how finite mortals were. He didn’t tell her that he’d waited for her, her alone, for his whole life. He didn’t remind her of how they’d laughed and danced at the faire. None of that mattered. Not now. All that mattered was that she was saying yes.

“Is that all?” he asked gently.

“For now.” Her voice was thin then, no longer filled with temper or aggression. She seemed lost for a moment, and then, hesitantly, she asked, “So?”

He wanted to rejoice, to sweep her into his arms until she recanted her terms, to weep that she was saying no at the same time as she said yes. Instead he said, “So, my queen, we find Donia.”

He pulled out his cell and punched in Donia’s number. She was out—or ignoring him—so he left a message to call him.

After he disconnected, he sent guards to find her.

“I know where she lives,” Aislinn murmured. “I can meet you there. You could call me and—”

“No. We’ll wait together.” Now that she was here beside him, Keenan was utterly unwilling to let her out of his sight until it was done. He wasn’t sure he’d ever be willing to let her out of his sight. “Whether you see it as a job or not, you are my queen, the one I’ve waited for. I will be by your side.”

She crossed her arms over her chest, hugging herself. “Remember how you asked about starting over”—she glanced nervously at him—“can we for real this time? Try to be friends, then? It’s going to be a lot easier if we try to get along, right?” She held out her hand as if she were going to shake his hand.

“Friends,” he said, taking her hand in his. The absurdity of it struck him then—his destined queen saw their reign as a job shared by friends. In all his dreams of finding his queen, of finally reaching this point, Keenan hadn’t ever imagined it would be a strained attempt at friendship.

After she pulled her hand free, they stood awkwardly for a moment until he asked, “So where would you go if I weren’t with you?”

“To Seth’s.” She blushed, lightly.

Keenan had expected as much; Aislinn seemed to turn to her mortal—to Seth, he corrected himself—more and more. Keenan gave her what he hoped was an encouraging smile and announced, “I would like to meet him.” I can do this.

“Really?” She looked more suspicious than surprised. Her forehead creased in a small frown. “Why?”

He shrugged. “He is a part of our lives now.”

“Yeah…”

“So I should meet him.” He walked away so she couldn’t see his face, pausing as he turned the corner to ask, “Shall we?”

CHAPTER 29

Their favourite camp and resting-place is under a hawthorn tree…[which is] sacred to the fairies, and generally [stands] in the centre of a fairy ring.

—Ancient Legends, Mystic Charms, and Superstitions of Ireland by Lady Francesca Speranza Wilde (1887)

Aislinn stood motionless as Keenan walked on. Some of the guards waited behind her; others shifted in front of Keenan, like a moving fence around them.

“Introduce you to Seth,” she tested the words on her tongue. It made a certain amount of sense to introduce them. At least that’s what she tried to tell herself, hoping it would loosen the tightness in her chest.

They walked like that—in tense silence—until they were almost at the railroad yard.

“He’s a good person, your Seth?”

“He is.” She smiled to herself; she couldn’t help it.

Several of the guards pulled back with pained expressions as they stepped into the railroad lot.

Keenan had a strange, half-bemused smile as he murmured, “I’ve not spent much time around mortal males. The ones I’ve known haven’t seemed very friendly when I’ve courted the other girls.”

She choked on a laugh. “You think?”

“What?” Suspicion crept into his voice.