Wicked Lovely (Wicked Lovely 1)

Keenan paused. He hadn’t thought about that very much; all that mattered was that she was good for him, for the summer fey.

Was he good for her? Between the sacrifices she’d need to make and difficulty of what stood before them if she were the true queen, he wasn’t sure. Probably not. “I’ll try to be, Rianne.”

“You’ve already got her out till dawn dancing: sounds like a good start to me.” Rianne patted him on the arm, consoling him for something she couldn’t begin to grasp. “Don’t worry so much.”

“Right.”

After she walked away, Keenan faded back to his normal state—invisible to mortals—and resumed walking to the loft. If there was ever a time when he needed the wisdom of his advisors, this was it.

Keenan felt the music before he even walked into the loft. He took a deep breath and stepped inside, a false smile on his face.

After only a cursory glance at him, Tavish removed Eliza’s arms from around his neck and went toward the study. “Come.”

At times like these, Keenan felt as if having Tavish’s presence was almost like having a father. The older faery had been the last Summer King’s advisor and friend; he’d been there waiting when Keenan had come of age and left Beira’s household. While Tavish would never presume to act like a father, he was far more than a servant.

Noticing their movement, Niall opened his mouth.

With a brief shake of his head, Keenan said, “No. Stay with the girls.”

“If you need me…”

“I do. Always.” Keenan squeezed Niall’s shoulder. “Right now, I need you to keep everyone out here.”

This wasn’t the place to talk. If word got out that he suspected Beira of trickery or maliciousness, if rumors spread that Aislinn had the Sight, it could go badly for all of them.

As he wound his way through the room—embraced by the Summer Girls who were spinning dizzily with off-shift guards—Keenan kept his face clear of any doubt. No hint of problems. Smile.

By the time he reached Tavish, he was ready to bar the door for the rest of the day. He believed the girls and his guards were trustworthy, but one never knew, no

t really.

Tavish poured a glass of wine. “Here.”

Keenan took the glass and sank onto one of the heavy leather chairs.

After Tavish settled on an opposite chair, he asked, “What happened?”

So Keenan told him—about Aislinn’s Sight, about Beira’s threats, all of it.

Tavish stared into his glass like it was a reflecting mirror. He spun it by the stem. “She may not be the queen, but Beira fears her. To me, that is reason enough to keep hope—more reason than we’ve had ever before.”

Keenan nodded, but did not speak yet. Tavish was rarely direct in his points.

Instead of looking at Keenan, Tavish let his gaze drift around the room, as if he were reading the spines of the books that lined every wall of the study. “I have waited with you, but I’ve never suggested that one of the girls was her. It is not my place.”

“I value your opinion,” Keenan assured him. “Tell me what you think.”

“Do not let Aislinn refuse the challenge. If she is the one, and she does not…” Tavish’s gaze stayed on the heavy books behind Keenan. “She must accept.”

The older faery had been somber so long that his vehemence was disquieting.

Keenan asked, “And if she refuses?”

“She cannot. Make her agree.” Tavish’s eyes were as black as pools in shadowed forests, eerily captivating, when he finally held Keenan’s gaze. “Do whatever you must, even if it is…unpalatable to you or her. If you heed only one word I ever say, my liege, make it this one.”

CHAPTER 20

[They offered] him drink…after, the music ceasing, all the company disappeared, leaving the cup in his hand, and he returned home, though much wearied and fatigued.