“Well, this evening is just full of surprises, isn’t it?” Irial raised a fist. “You’d leash me then? I went there for—”
Gabriel cleared his throat loudly. “We’ll stir up a little nourishment for the court tonight.” He paused briefly and then said, “Niall?”
Niall glanced away from Irial.
“Your strength is the court’s strength. Don’t much matter whether you feed on fury or lust, or who you do that with, but you need to be strong.” Gabriel put word to what they all knew. “I’ll gather some of solitary or the Summer Girls over if you’d rather—”
“The Summer Girls are not to be given to the court.” Niall bared his teeth. “No one is permitted to be touched without their consent.”
“We know that,” Gabriel said. “The old king made that rule. The Hunt brings them, but they choose to stay or go.”
Niall gave Irial a curious look, but Irial said nothing. If he’d told Niall, it wouldn’t have changed a thing, but it would’ve brought up a conversation that neither of them was ready for in the years that had passed. Knowing Irial regretted being unable to protect Niall didn’t undo the past.
Finally, Niall looked away. “Do what you must to bring nourishment for the court.”
“And you,” Irial added. “A few fights aren’t enough and
you know it . . . although I’m glad you are fighting at least, now if you were fu—”
“Stop.” Niall’s emotions were all over the spectrum. His gaze snapped back to Irial. “Don’t think I’m going to be easy to beat just because there were a few Hounds trying to pummel me.”
At this, Irial’s flash of irritation vanished. He lowered his fist and laughed. “You’ve never been easy about anything, love.”
The fist that slammed into Irial’s face was faster than he remembered Niall’s punches being, but it had a very long time since Niall had hit him. Striking a king wasn’t tolerated unless it was in an agreed-upon match, and for the past eleven centuries, Niall had known that Irial was a king.
And that I withheld that little detail when we met.
A second punch didn’t come.
Niall stared at him. “We’re in a ring, Irial. You can strike a king here.”
Irial grinned as he heard Gabriel call, “We ride.”
As the Hunt started to leave, the stable was a storm of emotions that both he and Niall consumed. While those emotions were still flooding them, Irial said, “Should I have extended that offer to you a second time when you learned that I was a king? Would it have pleased you to strike me?”
“Maybe.” Niall smiled briefly. “I thought about this often enough.”
“Hitting me?”
“No,” Niall corrected as he swung at Irial. “Beating you half to death.”
Then, they were too busy to talk. Irial wasn’t as quick with his fists, but he let every emotion he felt free. Reading Irial’s emotions put Niall off center enough that Irial was able to withstand the next hour better than either of them expected.
Eventually, however, Irial was prone on the ground. He couldn’t open his left eye, and he was fairly certain that at least one rib was cracked. “I’m done.”
Instead of walking away as Irial expected, Niall plopped down on the floor. He was covered in blood and sweat, and he was content.
“It’s easier than I thought,” Niall said.
“I’m not that easy to beat.” Irial smiled and then winced as the movement made his lip bleed more freely.
“It’s easier being their king than I thought it would be,” Niall corrected.
“I knew what you meant.” Irial forced himself to sit upright, and immediately reassessed the number of broken ribs to at least three. “You were always their next king. You knew that. I knew it. Hell, Sorcha knew it.”
Niall’s eyes widened slightly. “She told you that?”
Irial had forgotten how much more open Niall had always been after a fight. “Not directly, but her emotions did.”