Fragile Eternity (Wicked Lovely 3)

The waitress stopped to clean the tables nearest them—again. She stared at Niall with blatant interest. Most faeries and mortals did. Niall was a Gancanagh, seductive and addictive. Until he’d become Dark King, his affection was also fatal to his partners.

“Who was she? The faer—” Seth broke the word off as the waitress came to their table with a clean ashtray. He told her, “We’ll let you know if we need anything.”

“I don’t mind stopping, Seth.” She spared him a scowl before turning her attention to the Dark King. “Niall…Is there anything you need?”

“No.” Niall stroked the girl’s bare arm. “You’re always good to us. Isn’t she, Seth?”

After the waitress walked away, sighing and darting a glance back at Niall, Seth rolled his eyes and muttered, “We ought to pass those charms of yours out to everyone here.”

A grin replaced the gloomy expression on Niall’s face. “Spoilsport.”

“Enjoy it. Enjoy the attention, but reserve your affection for faeries,” Seth cautioned.

“I know that. I just need”—the Dark King winced as if the thought hurt him—“I just need you to keep reminding me. I don’t ever want to be what Keenan is, what Irial was.”

“Which is?” Seth asked.

“A selfish bastard.”

“You’re a faery king, man. I don’t know how much choice you have. And with what just happened with the raven-faery—”

“Don’t. I would spare you and myself from your knowing the unpleasant things in my life if you’ll let me.”

Seth held up a hand in a

halting gesture. “Your call. I’m not judging you either way.”

“That makes one of us then,” Niall murmured. After a still moment, he straightened his shoulders, rolling them like he was testing for motility. “I suppose the true dilemma is where to direct my bastardness.”

“Or you know, try harder on the resisting-it thing.”

“Sure.” Niall’s expression was bland as he added, “That’s exactly what the Dark King is to do: resist temptation.”

CHAPTER 6

Aislinn was feeding the birds when Keenan came in slamming doors and scowling. One of the cockatiels clung to the back of her shirt and poked its beak through her hair to watch the Summer King. The birds were a source of comfort for Keenan. Sometimes, in his melancholy or irritable moods, sitting and watching them was one of the only surefire ways to adjust his temper. The birds seemed to know how valuable they were and acted accordingly. Today, however, he didn’t pause among them.

“Aislinn,” he said by way of greeting before he walked past her and to his study.

She waited. The cockatiel took flight. None of the other birds came toward her. Instead, they all seemed to be watching her expectantly. The cockatiels’ crests were raised. The other birds merely stared at her—or in the direction Keenan had gone. A few squawked or chirped.

“Fine. I’ll go see him.”

She followed him into the study. The room was one of the two that were Keenan’s domain. The other—his bedroom—wasn’t one she ever entered, but the study was where they usually went when it was just the two of them. She felt weird going in there without him. The Summer Girls sometimes curled up on the sofa with a book, but they had no interest in keeping boundaries with Keenan. Aislinn did. The closer summer crept, the more she felt a pull toward him—which she didn’t want.

Aislinn stood just inside the doorway, trying not to feel ill at ease about being in his space. He kept telling her that the loft was hers as much as his, that everything was hers now. Her name was on store accounts, credit cards, bank cards. She ignored them, so he went for more subtle gestures, things that he thought would make her feel at home in the loft. Little threads to tie me. It wasn’t obvious at first glance that he’d changed the study again, but if she looked around the somber room, small things would be different. She didn’t live there, but she spent enough time at the loft that it was a second—third—home these days. Her nights were divided among home, Seth’s, and the loft. She kept clothes and toiletries in all three places. Her real home, the apartment she shared with Grams, was the only place where she was treated like she was normal. At home she wasn’t a faery queen; she was just a girl who needed to do a bit better in calculus.

While she stood tentatively at the door, Keenan sat at one end of a dark brown leather sofa. Someone had set out a pitcher of ice water; condensation was rolling down the sides of it in little rivulets. It puddled on the surface of the slab of agate that served as a coffee table. He tossed away one of the newest pillows, an oversized deep green thing without any ostentatious decorations. “Donia won’t see me.”

Aislinn closed the door behind her. “What for this time?”

“Maybe over asking about Bananach. Maybe still over this business with Niall. Maybe something…else—” Keenan broke off midthought and scowled.

“Did she talk to you at all?” Briefly, Aislinn rested her hand on his forearm before going to the other end of the sofa. She kept her distance by habit, breaking it only for etiquette or gestures of friendship, but every day it grew more difficult to keep that distance.

“No. I was stopped at the door again, refused admittance to the house. ‘Unless it is official business,’ Evan said. For three days, she’s been unavailable and now this.”

“Evan is just doing his job.”