Stopping Time and Old Habits (Wicked Lovely 2.50)

“I know.”

“So of the two, I am more expendable.” Irial shrugged.

“You are not expendable. . . . And I couldn’t speak it if it were untrue”—Niall held up his hand before Irial could interrupt—“neither could you, so we both believe we speak truths. You told me of this visit, advised me how to proceed, and then undermined me. You should have told me what you learned.”

Irial kneeled. “I’m not very good at serving.”

“I noticed,” Niall said.

The truth was that even as he was apologizing, Irial was not subservient. Kings weren’t meant to become subjects, and after centuries of being a king, Irial wasn’t likely to change overnight. Or at all. The consequence of that truth, however, was that the one faery in the Dark Court best able to advise Niall was also the one least suited to being anyone’s subject.

“We need a solution or you need to go,” Niall started.

Irial lifted his gaze. “You would exile me?”

“If you work against me, yes, I will.” Niall frowned. “Tell me what you know. Maybe we need to do so every day. A meeting. . . . Or a memo, or I don’t know.”

Irial started to rise to his feet.

“No,” Niall whispered. “You will kneel until I say otherwise.”

A slow smile came over Irial’s face. “As you will.”

“I’m not joking, Irial. Either I’m your king or you are gone. If I am to rule this court, I need you”—Niall paused to let the weight of that sentence settle on both of them— “more than I think I’ve needed anyone. So tell me right now: do you want the court back, do you want to leave, or do you intend to be my advisor in truth?”

“I want to keep you safe. I want to see you happy. I want to make this court stronger.” Irial looked only at Niall despite the growing number of faeries outside the shadowed barrier. “I cannot be their king.”

“Then stop trying to make all of the decisions.” Niall ignored the fighting outside the wall as well. A fair number of Ly Ergs stood in front of Devlin, who was steadily throwing them across the room as if they were weightless. “You learned that the High Queen wanted a show of Devlin’s strength, a strike that would be a noticeable display of her assassin’s strength.”

“Yes.”

“I sent Gabe to find out which of your spies you’d visited, and then I waited to see what you’d do.” Niall let his pleasure in the situation be obvious in his voice. “I manipulated you, Irial. I had no choice because you didn’t come to me.”

Irial turned away to watch another faery go sailing by the barrier. “May I rise?”

“No.” Niall hid a grin. “You will give me your vow.”

“On what?”

“I will have your vow that you will tell me when there are threats that you consider protecting me from, threats to me or to the court or to you that you consider withholding, and you will tell me what they are as soon as you are reasonably able to do so.” Niall had weighed the words in his mind as he’d sat stewing over Irial’s deceit. “You will vow to trust me with ruling this court or you will become solitary, exiled from the court and from my presence until I decide otherwise.”

The terror that Irial felt then almost made Niall waver. He didn’t, though. He continued, “You will spend as much time as I require in my presence, teaching me the secrets that you are even now thinking I can’t handle yet.”

“There are centuries of secrets, my King.” Irial shifted as he spoke.

“Do not move,” Niall snarled. “Either you kneel there and give me your vow to all that I just said”—he reached out, gripped the underside of Irial’s jaw in his hand, and forced his once-friend, once-more, once-enemy to look at him—“or you may stand and walk out the door.”

“If I tell you everything, neither of us will sleep or do anything else for months.”

Niall squeezed Irial’s throat, not hard enough to bruise— much—and asked, “If I directed you to tell me what you hide, would you be able to give me a full answer?”

“In time? Yes. Today? No. Centuries, Niall, I’ve been dealing in secrets for centuries.” Irial stayed motionless in Niall’s grasp. “I told you about my understanding with Sorcha. I had Gabe bring you one of—”

“Yes,” Niall interrupted, squeezing harder now. “Did they spy for you?”

“Only on you.”

With a snarl, Niall shoved him away. “You vow or go.” Even as he struggled to remain kneeling, Irial didn’t hesitate in his words. “My vow . . . and full truth within the decade.”