Ink Exchange (Wicked Lovely 2)

“I know what your court is. I know what you do. You’re responsible for the evil—”

“Evil?” He laughed then, letting every bit of his court’s true nature into the sound.

The Summer Queen caught her breath. Her face flamed red, and the waves of anger radiating from her brought blisters to his skin.

“Not evil, child, and I’d rather you didn’t insult me so”—Irial leaned closer, watching her face as she wrestled her emotions back into place—“because as much as I like your reaction, you’ve too many complications to interest me that way.”

“If Keenan hears—”

“Tell him. Give him the extra reason to attack me.” Irial licked his lips as if sand were truly a tangible thing, not simply a flavor in the air.

She switched topics. “Why are you trying to cause him troubles with Niall?”

“It behooves me.” Irial saw no reason to be other than honest. “I understand addiction: it’s one of my court’s coins. Niall doesn’t belong with Keenan, not now, not anymore. Keenan’s mistreated him more than you know.”

Aislinn’s placid smile didn’t waver, but tiny sparks of sunlight showed in her eyes. “What difference does it make to you?”

He leaned back and stretched his legs out in the aisle, as comfortable as he could be in the crowd of frolicking mortals. “Would you believe I care for Niall?”

“No.”

“Fey don’t lie.”

“Not overtly,” she amended.

“Well, if you won’t believe that”—he shrugged—“what can I say? I enjoy provoking the kingling.” He reached out for her hand. Unlike most faeries, the Summer Queen had enough speed to avoid his touch—sunlight can move as quickly as shadows—but she didn’t. Keenan would’ve.

Queens are so much more pleasing to deal with.

Irial was assailed by the seeping heat of summer’s languor, steamy breezes, and a strange-sweet taste of humid air. It was lovely. He held on to her hand, knowing that she felt his court’s essence as surely as he felt hers, watching her pulse flutter like a captured thing, caught and struggling.

She flushed and pulled her hand away. “Being tempted isn’t the same as being interested. I’m tempted by my king every moment of every day…but I’m not interested in sex for empty pleasure, and if I were, it wouldn’t be with you.”

“I’m not sure who I should envy more—the kingling or your mortal toy,” Irial said.

Sparks illuminated the club as her temper finally became less stable. But even as her mood vacillated, she wasn’t as temperamental as Keenan. “Seth is not a toy”—she appraised him then with a clarity Keenan didn’t have—“any more than Leslie is a toy to you. Is she?”

“Keenan won’t understand that. When he took mortals, he took their mortality.”

“And you?”

“I like Leslie’s mortality the way it is.” He shook out a cigarette, tapped it on the table. “This isn’t a secret you’ll get from me…any more than I’ll tell you the kingling’s secrets or Niall’s.”

“Why not just let her go?”

He stared at her, wondering idly if she’d light his cigarette. Miach, the last Summer King, used to derive curious amusement from lighting things afire. Somehow, Irial doubted Aislinn would, so he pulled out a lighter. “I’ll not answer that, not now, not without a reason. She’s mine. That’s all that matters.”

“What if I told you our court would take her back?”

He lit his cigarette, took a long drag, and exhaled. “You’d be wrong.”

Irial didn’t mention that the Summer King didn’t care one whit about Leslie. The Summer Queen might care for his Leslie, but Keenan? He didn’t truly care for anyone other than his own fey and his queen. And not always to their best interests.

Irritated but still in control of her emotions, Aislinn gave Irial a look that would send most fey to their knees. Before she could speak, he caught one of her hands again. She struggled in his grip, her skin growing hot as molten steel.

“Leslie belongs to me, as surely as your Seth belongs to you, as the Summer Girls belong to Keenan.”

“She’s my friend.”