Fragile Eternity (Wicked Lovely 3)

When Keenan came through the ridiculously carved door—his copper hair shining like a beacon—Donia wanted to go to him, just for a brief moment to pretend that what they shared, that their decades of history entitled her to such easy comfort. It didn’t, especially when Aislinn was beside him. Keenan’s attention to his queen’s every thought and action bordered on obsession.

Would Ash care if I went to him?

To some degree, Donia doubted it: the Summer Queen had been the one to arrange Donia’s tryst with Keenan at Winter Solstice. She’d been the one insisting that Keenan did, in fact, love Donia although he’d never said the words. Yet, Keenan wouldn’t risk even the briefest display of emotion around Aislinn.

So they all stood awkwardly in the foyer, surrounded by a number of Hawthorn Girls who calmly watched from the church pews that lined the walls. Sasha lifted his head from the floor where he was resting. The wolf glanced at the summer regents briefly, closed his eyes, and resumed sleeping.

Evan, however, wasn’t so calm. He eased closer to Donia. “Shall I stay with you?”

Mutely, she nodded. Evan was her closest friend these days; she suspected he’d been so for years before she acknowledged that his omnipresent protectiveness was not simple duty. She’d thought his guarding her was because so many other of Keenan’s guards were afraid of her, but when she’d become the new Winter Queen, Evan had left Keenan’s court to stay at her side. She reached out and squeezed his hand in silent gratitude.

“The others?” he murmured.

“They stay inside. We’ll go out back.” She raised her voice then and said, “If you’d like to join me?”

Keenan was beside Donia. He didn’t touch her, not even a casual brush of her hand. He opened the door as they approached, as familiar with the house as she was. It was his mother, the last Winter Queen, who’d lived here before. After holding the door for her and for Aislinn, Keenan entered the garden. Snow and ice melted in his wake. Better that than having the Summer King and Queen inside where my fey are. Donia wasn’t willing to risk endangering her faeries, and while Aislinn might do fairly well at containing her emotions, Keenan was volatile even on his best days.

If she watched long enough, Donia knew she’d see storms crashing in his eyes. When they’d been together, those flashes of lightning seemed mesmerizing. Now, they seemed too bright, too brief, too everything.

“Be welcome here today.” Donia gestured to one of the wooden benches scattered throughout the winter garden. They were clever things, fitted together by craftsmen’s skills, no screws or bolts anywhere in them.

Keenan didn’t move. He stood in her garden, as untouchable as he’d been for most of their relationship, making her feel somehow lacking. “Do you have any guests?” he asked.

“What business is that of yours?” she responded.

I do not answer to him, not now.

Under the edge of the bench, an arctic fox crouched. Only its dark eyes and nose showed in the snowbank. The rest of its body blended with the stark white ground. As Aislinn and Keenan came closer—warming the air around them—the fox darted away to the thicker snows by the high walls that surrounded the garden. Despite Donia’s dislike for the last Winter Queen, she enjoyed the winter garden immensely: in this, at least, Beira’d done a wise thing. The garden’s walls and roof allowed for a small bit of winter year round—a nourishing sanctuary for her and her fey.

Donia sat on one of the benches. “Are you seeking someone specific?”

Still standing, Keenan gave her an exasperated look. “Bananach was seen near here.”

Aislinn laid her hand on his arm to stop his short-tempered words.

“Although I’m sure you are well cared for here”—the Summer Queen smiled blindingly at Evan, who had moved behind Donia—“Keenan needed to check on you. Right, Keenan?”

Keenan glanced at Aislinn, seeking something—assurance, clarity, it was hard to say with them. “I don’t want you talking to Bananach.”

The ground at Donia’s feet grew heavy with snow as her temper stirred. “Why exactly are you here?”

Tiny storms flashed in his eyes. “I was worried.”

“About?”

“You.” He moved closer, invading her space, pushing her. Even now, when she was his equal, he had no regard for her boundaries. Keenan pulled his hand through his copper hair. And like a bespelled mortal, she stared at it, at him.

“Worried about me or trying to dictate to me?” She stayed as still as winter before the storm breaks, but she felt ice churning inside her.

“War being at your door is of concern to me. Niall’s furious with me, and…I just don’t want any of the Dark Court near you,” Keenan said.

“It’s not yours to decide. This is my court, Keenan. If I choose to listen to Bananach—”

“Do you listen to her?”

“If Bananach or Niall come here, I’ll deal with them, just as I would with Sorcha or any of the strong solitaries…or you.” Donia kept her tone cool.

She beckoned to the Hawthorn Girls, who’d moved to the doorway.