The Iron Crown (The Darkest Court)

A happy call goes up from outside. Lugh and the rest must have returned from their ride. Some

how, that simple reminder makes this offer seem fragile, as if it will disappear if we don’t accept soon enough.

Aislinn smiles. “The Summer Court would be happy to attend your Samhain festivities.”

“I’ll talk to Lugh about it,” I promise Roark and Smith. “With your mother’s passing and the shades’ release, it may be easier for him to be in the Unseelie sídhe. But I’m sure getting the invitation from you directly would encourage him to accept.”

Roark nods and together the four of us step outside. Lugh, the Hunt, and the rest of our missing visitors ride up in short order, laughing and joking as they dismount. Their infectious joy brings smiles to the rest of the milling fae. Even Roark seems amused.

“We had a race back,” Lugh explains, though no one asked him the question. “I won.”

“You cheated somehow,” Sláine says. “Used your glamour, I’ve no doubt.”

“I’d never do that! Using glamour would forfeit the race,” Lugh argues. “You’re just upset that you were at least a horse-length behind me. It’s not my fault you couldn’t keep up with Liath.”

“No horse so small should be so fast,” Sláine grumbles, heading toward the prepared caravan and checking in with Fuad. Seb, shaking his head with a smile, trails after Sláine, though he stops beside Aislinn to talk about something. The Hunt abandon me and Lugh in favor of saying goodbye to their new Seelie friends. I don’t mind. It gives Lugh the excuse to sidle up and press the long, warm line of his body against mine.

“How’d you do it?” I ask under my breath.

“Now you’re accusing me of cheating?” he asks, eyes wide with hurt at my betrayal.

I wrap an arm around his waist and press my fingers against the beautiful line of his hip, not at all deterred by his mock outrage. “Lugh. I know you.”

He sucks in a breath when I tighten my grip, pressing against the faint bruises I left on his hips when we made love this morning. He wouldn’t let me apologize for them, and when I saw him inspecting them in the mirror, I realized he was as fond of them as I was of the scratches he left down my back. Sluggish heat stirs under my skin and I lean closer, letting my lips brush against his ear as I whisper, “Intimately.”

“Goddess,” he mutters. “You’re insatiable.” But he doesn’t move away. Instead, he grins and says, “Fine. I used glamour. He thought I was farther behind him and slowed up so his horse wasn’t winded when he got back. Never even noticed when I passed him.”

“Sounds like a morning well spent.”

He hums his agreement and returns to watching his brothers. While I’m glad for his ease, I still have to ask, “Did you have a good talk?”

“I suppose,” he hedges. “We tried at least. He wanted to know if the Triumvirate was still equally balanced between all of us.”

“And is it?”

Lugh shrugs. “I don’t feel it as much. He doesn’t either. Seems like Roark’s taken on most of it now that he can share it with Finny.” He shifts and leans around me to catch a glimpse of his brother. Roark stands with Sláine now, making a polite, yet heartfelt, goodbye. Seb and Smith embrace and talk about how best to visit within the next few weeks. “We agreed to stay in touch more frequently with him. And with Finny, since he’ll tell us the truth if Roark tries to hide anything. We’ll figure it out.”

“I’m sure you will.”

Smith waves us over and we join their group. Aislinn gives us hugs before letting me help her onto her horse’s back. Sebastian shakes my hand and hugs Lugh, whispering something in his ear that leaves him serious and nodding. When they’re done, Sebastian pats Sláine’s shoulder and heads to his horse, offering the chance for a final, more private goodbye.

Sláine looks between Roark and Lugh, strangely flustered now that the moment has come. “Until Samhain, I suppose,” he says, with only a little uncertainty.

“Until then,” Roark agrees.

“We’ll see you soon,” Lugh says.

On their promises, Sláine swings himself up into his saddle. With their full party mounted, the Seelie move forward. They call goodbyes to the gathered Sluagh on their way to the main gate.

Lugh grabs my hand and tugs. “Come on,” he urges.

I follow him to one of the sets of steps leading up to the battlements. Watchmen greet us as we rush past them, though Lugh doesn’t slow his pace until we arrive at the wide section above the gate. Lugh leans on the battlement, watching the Seelie exiting below. His body’s tight with a tension I haven’t seen for months and I know he’s working up to something. When will it break through? Smith and Roark chat with Sláine as they walk him to the gate and Lugh quivers when his eldest brother appears on the other side of Eyjar’s wall.

“Sláine!” he calls down.

He glances up, surprised to find Lugh watching from above, and offers a cautious wave.

Lugh waves back. “Safe travels,” he says.