Darkest Mercy (Wicked Lovely 5)

“Can you say you don’t want me?” he challenged.

Aislinn looked away, but Keenan laid his hand on her cheek and made her face him. “I am your king, Aislinn. Seth sees futures where you make the choice to be mine.”

“How do you know?”

“Because Seth is the one who helped me fight Bananach today.”

When several moments passed and she didn’t reply, Keenan asked, “What was the message you sent?”

“Keenan . . .”

“What message would you send to bring me home so quickly, Aislinn?”

In a steady voice, the Summer Queen said, “I told Tavish to send a message to bring you home, not that it was truth . . . but a misdirection, a faery manipulation.”

“Aislinn, what was the message?”

“That I was ready to let you convince me,” she confessed.

“Then, convince you I shall.” In one of those faery-fast movements that used to unsettle her, Keenan sat up so he was knee-to-knee with her. “I’ll be yours, and only yours, for all of eternity. We will move the court away from here.”

“But, I didn’t mean it. . . .”

“One week,” he said. “We will be together, or I will leave. I will do what I must from a distance. It is not how a court should be ruled, but we can make it so if necessary. I will not stay here and watch my queen choose to be with another. I will not. I will not stay here and fight against our natures. We will be together, or we will not see each other at all.”

“You’re not being fair, Keenan.”

“None of this is fair, Aislinn.” He slid his fingers through her hair, and flower petals showered them. “The indecision is keeping us from being happy, and that weakens the court. I could make you happy.”

Then he pulled his hands away, but as he did so, sunlight rained down over them. Vines twined up the bed and burst into bloom. Somewhere in the distance, she heard an ocean crash onto the shore, and she slid backward.

With effort, she kept her eyes open. “I just wanted you to come back.”

“And I’m here.” Keenan knelt beside her in the midst of a riot of summer blossoms. “We’ve tried approaching this as a job; we tried being coregents, but not truly together. It didn’t work.”

“Maybe—”

“No. The court needs to be strong, and having its rulers in stasis isn’t going to make our fey strong . . . or safe from Bananach. You can stop this at any point by telling me we will rule the court apart from a distance, but until you do so”—he let liquid sunlight drip onto her skin—“I’m playing for keeps. I’m not a mortal, Aislinn. I’m the Summer King, and I’m done pretending to be anything other than that.”

He leaned down and said, “We could be amazing together.”

Then he was gone.

Chapter 18

Seth thought he was prepared; he thought that he understood Niall. As he walked into the Dark King’s house, he realized just how wrong he was. The floor was covered with the evidence of the Dark King’s fury: broken furniture and glass, bits of paper, a half-charred log from the fireplace that looked like it had still been burning when it was thrown. The debris was ankle deep in places.

A thistle-fey huddled against the wall with a strange expression on his face. As the faery turned, Seth realized that a fireplace poker had been driven through the faery’s thigh and pinned him to the wall. It hadn’t been obvious at first because it was so deeply embedded in the wall that only the handle was visible.

“The king is in mourning,” the faery said.

“I know.” Seth gestured at the handle of the poker. “May I help?”

The faery shook his head. “The king shouldn’t suffer alone. It is an honor to be in pain with him.”

“You did this?”

“No. My king did.” The thistle-faery leaned his head back. “I didn’t understand how I should feel at the loss of our last king. I understand more now.”