She felt her hope and his joy spread like a tempest through their court. Flowers blossomed everywhere they touched the earth. This was what they’d lacked: the promise of happiness. It can be enough. It has to be. Then, the world spun away, or maybe they were the ones spinning. She wasn’t sure. Summer Girls twirled by, blurs of vibrant green against shades of copper and mahogany skin as their flowering vines slithered over their barely clad bodies, and for an unexpected moment, Aislinn didn’t like how close they were to Keenan.
I have no right.
He pulled back only for a breath and whispered, “Tell me when to let go.”
“Don’t let me fall.” She held tighter. “Save me.”
“You’ve never needed saving, Aislinn.” Keenan, her friend, her king, held on to her as the Summer Court danced dizzily around them, like spirals radiating out from their combined sunlight. “You still don’t.”
“It feels like I do.” She felt tears slipping down her cheeks; as they moved in ever-faster turns, she saw the violets spring from the soil where those tears splashed to the ground. “I feel like…I feel like I’m missing a part of me.”
“Would you feel that way if…” His words faded away.
“If it were you who left me?” Her voice was as soft as she could make it.
“It was selfish to ask. Forgive—”
“I would,” she whispered. She closed her eyes against the tears—or maybe against the confusing emotions on his face. They matched the tumultuous feelings inside her. Even with her eyes closed, she knew that she was safe as she moved at impossible speeds through the crowd. Keenan had her in his arms, and he wouldn’t let her fall.
If I’d met him before Seth… She hadn’t, though.
Aislinn kept her face against his chest and told him, “I want to be sorry that you’re apart from Donia, but I’m not.”
Keenan didn’t comment on bringing the subject up just then. “I’ve only truly loved a couple of times, Aislinn. I want to try loving you.”
“You shouldn’t lo—” Her words froze on her lips.
“That would be a lie, my Queen.” His voice was gentle, even as he rebuked her. “One hundred eighty days, Aislinn. Seth’s been gone for one hundred eighty days, and I’ve watched you try to pretend it doesn’t hurt for every one of them. Can’t I try to make you happy?”
“For the court.”
“No,” he corrected. “For you and for me. I miss your smiles. I waited for centuries to find my queen. Can we try this? Now that he’s…”
“…left me,” she finished. She caught his gaze, let herself forget that there was anyone else around, and stood still. The faeries spun around them. It was just them in the center of a maelstrom. “Yes. Make me forget everything but right now. That’s what the Summer Court is—not logic, not addiction, not war, not calm or cold. Make me warm. Make me not think. Make me anything but this.”
He didn’t answer; he just kissed her again. It was still like swallowing sunshine, and she didn’t resist. Her own skin began to glow until any faeries not of their court would’ve had to turn their faces away.
There was earth under their feet, but she didn’t feel it. She didn’t feel anything but sunlight chasing away everything that hurt inside of her. They moved through the park, flowers blossoming at their feet. She could taste the sunlight like warm honey on Keenan’s lips.
Like every other revelry, she felt drunk on the dance and night. This time though, when morning came, her feet weren’t touching the ground. She was in Keenan’s arms, carried
from the park and from their court to the side of the river where they’d been after the first faire. There was no picnic, no carefully planned seduction. It was just them along the riverbank.
When they had their monthly revels, they weren’t sensible, but they also weren’t vulnerable. Even War herself wouldn’t cross them tonight.
Aislinn stayed in his arms when he sat down alongside the river. The cool water rolled over her feet and calves, like tiny electric pulses on her skin. It balanced the warm earth that they sank into as their combined sunlight turned soil into slick mud. And she shivered—as much from the river’s touch as from Keenan’s.
Some stray thought whispered that she was on the ground in a formal dress, but she was Summer—frivolity, impulsivity, warmth. It’s what I am. With him now.
“Tell me when to let go,” Keenan reminded her again.
“Don’t let go,” Aislinn insisted. “Talk to me. Tell me what you feel. Tell me everything you don’t want to admit.”
He grinned. “No.”
“Treat me like a faery queen then.”
“How so?”