CHAPTER 24. He is no less a personage than the King of Faerie Very numerous indeed are [his subjects] and very various are they in their natures

He is no less a personage than the King of Faerie…Very numerous indeed are [his subjects] and very various are they in their natures. He is the sovereign of those beneficent and joyous beings…who dance in the moonlight.

—The Mabinogion (notes) by Lady Charlotte Guest (1877)

Keenan stirred his drink idly. The Rath usually cheered him, but all he could think about was how to convince Aislinn that she was essential. He had let his emotions go earlier, let his power leak all over her, and she'd swooned— recognizing it as it called to her own changed self—but he'd need another tactic for their next meeting.

Never the same move twice.

"If you aren't going to talk, go dance, Keenan." Tavish spoke calmly, as if he weren't worried. "It will do them well to see you smiling."

Beyond him, the girls were dancing, spinning in that dizzying way that they liked, and giggling. Guards—on and off duty—circulated through the crowd. Though it was his club, the winter fey and the dark fey both frequented it more and more, making his own guards increasingly necessary as time passed. Only the high court fey seemed able to follow house rules somewhat regularly. Even his own summer fey weren't well behaved most nights.

"Right." Keenan slammed back the rest of his drink and motioned to Cerise.

His cell rang, and it was her. Her voice. Her. My resistant queen. "Aislinn?"

He made a writing motion in the air. Tavish held out a napkin; Niall scrambled for a pen.

"Sure…No, I'm at the Rath. I could come now. …" He hung up and stared at the phone.

Tavish and Niall looked expectantly at him.

Keenan motioned for Cerise to go back to the floor. "She wants to meet and talk."

"See? She'll fall in line like the rest of them," Tavish said approvingly.

"Do you need us or can we go"—Niall snagged Siobhan around the waist as she walked by—"relax?"

"Go dance."

"Keenan?" Cerise held out a hand.

"No, not now." He turned away, watching the cubs run through the crowd, barely avoiding being trampled under the dancers' feet.

He let his sunlight trickle out over the crowd, setting several illusory suns to rotate over the dancers. My queen sought me out. It would all be as it should, soon. My queen, finally beside me. He laughed joyously, seeing his fey frolic in front of him, the fey who'd waited with him. Soon, he'd be able to restore the court to order. Soon, all would be right.

Aislinn walked down to the abandoned building by the riverside, murmuring Donia's advice over and over with each step: Take the offensive. She tried to believe she could do it, but the mere idea of going into their den made her feel ill. She'd seen enough faeries going into Rath and Ruins over the years that she'd known to avoid it at all costs.

But here I am.

She knew where he was, knew that he'd come if she beckoned, but Donia thought this was wiser. Be aggressive. Strike first.

Aislinn clung to the hope that there was a way to keep her life, at least as much of it as she could.

I still don't even know what he wants, not really. So she was going to ask—demand—that he talk to her, that he tell her what he wanted, and why.

I can do this. She stopped at the door.

In front of her, half leaning on a stool, was one of the club's bouncers. Under the glamour, he was a terrifying sight—curled tusks spiraled out on either side of his face, ending in sharp points. He looked like he spent all of his time lifting weights, a fact he didn't hide with his glamour.

She stopped several steps away from him. "Excuse me?"

He lowered his magazine and looked over his sunglasses. "Members only."

She looked up at him, catching his gaze as best she could, and said, "I want to see the Summer King."

He laid the magazine aside. "The what?"

She straightened her shoulders. Be assertive. It sounded a lot easier than it felt.

She tried again. "I want to see Keenan. He's in there. And I know he wants to see me. I'm the"—she forced the words out—"new girl in his life."

"You shouldn't come here," he grumbled as he opened the door and motioned to a boy with a lion's mane standing just inside. "Tell the…tell Keenan that…" He looked at her. Ash.

"That Ash is out here."

The lion-boy nodded and scampered off, disappearing through a doorway. His glamour made him seem cherubic, his lion's mane a wild twist of sandy-blond dreads. Of the fey around town, the lion-maned ones were among the few that never seemed to cause trouble on purpose.

The guard let the door fall closed with a thud. He picked up his magazine, but he kept glancing at her and shaking his head.

Her heart thudded. Trying to feign nonchalance, she glanced back at the street. Only a few cars had driven by so far; it wasn't a busy area.

If I'm going to go for aggressive, why not start now? A practice run. The next time he looked back at his magazine, she said, "For what it's worth, you're sexier with the tusks."

He gaped at her. The magazine hit the damp ground with a soft smack. "With the what?"

"Tusks. Seriously, if you're going to go with a glamour, add bars in place of your tusks." Aislinn gave him an appraising look. "Bit more menacing, too."

His grin was a slow thing, like sunrise creeping over the horizon. He altered his glamour. "Better?"

"Yeah." She stepped closer to him, not touching, but closer than she'd have believed she could get without panicking. Pretend it's Seth. She tilted her head so she was looking up at him. "Works for me."

He laughed, nervously, and glanced over his shoulder. The messenger wasn't back yet. "I'm liable to get flogged if you keep doing that. It's one thing to go for a mortal, but you"—he shook his head—"you're off limits."

She didn't move, not closing that last little gap, but not backing up, either. "Is he that cruel? To beat people?"

The guard almost choked on his laugh. "Keenan? Hell, no. But he's not the only player. The Winter Girl, Keenan's advisors, the Summer Girls"—he shuddered, lowered his voice—"the Winter Queen. You never know who's going to get pissy about what once the game's in motion."

"So what's the prize for the game?" Her heart thumped so loudly now, she felt like she'd have chest pains any minute.

Keenan and Donia weren't telling her everything; maybe he would. Donia might say she was trying to help, but she was one of the players.

The messenger was coming back, leading two of the vine-decorated faeries she'd seen in the library.

Focus. Don't panic whatever he says.

He leaned down so his tusks framed her forehead and whispered, "Control. Power. You."

"Oh."

What does that mean?

She mutely followed the vine-covered girl, wondering if the fey ever gave a straight answer.

Aislinn—my queen, here—followed Eliza through the crowd; they parted for her as they did for him. She was lovely, a vision come true. The Summer Girls spun like dervishes. Winter fey sulked. And the dark fey licked their lips, as if in anticipation. Others—solitary fey and the rare high court fey who mingled in the crowd—looked on, curious, but not invested in the outcome. It was as if his life, his struggle, were nothing more than a tableau for their amusement.

Eliza stepped up, bowed her head. "Your guest, Keenan."

He nodded, then pulled out a chair for Aislinn. She wasn't smiling, not happy at all. She wasn't here to accept, but to fight.

And everyone's watching.

He felt curiously ill at ease. He'd always chosen the field of battle, always set the stage, but she was here—in his club, surrounded by his people, and he hadn't a clue about how to deal with it.

She came to me. Not for the reason he'd like, though; her posture was proof enough that she was there to deny him. As strategies go, it was a good one. Even if she wasn't the queen, she was the best game he'd had in a long time. If she weren't so terrified of him, it would be a lovely start to the evening.

"Let me know when you're done staring at me." She tried to sound blasé and failed.

She turned away and flagged down one of the innumerable cubs that scampered around. "Can I get something normal that mortals drink? I don't want any of that wine I had at the faire."

The cub bowed—his mane bristling when another faery tried to step closer—and went in search of her drink, not slowing for the fey clustered around him, becoming lost in the throng of dancing faeries.

From the edge of the dance floor, Tavish and Niall watched openly, using the guards to form a barricade of sorts to keep the girls farther away. They rarely had sense about what should and shouldn't be said. Tonight they were almost impossible to deal with, believing their queen was finally among them.

"I'm done staring," he murmured, but he wasn't. He didn't think he ever would be if she dressed like that very often. She had on some sort of vinyl pants and a very old-fashioned blouse that laced up with a red velvet ribbon. If he tugged that ribbon, he was fairly certain the whole thing would come undone.

"Do you want to dance before we talk?" His arms almost ached to hold her, to dance as they had at the faire, to swirl in the fey—our fey.

"With you? Not likely." She sounded like she was laughing at him, but her bravado was forced.

"Everyone is staring." Staring at both of us. He needed to assert himself or the fey would think him weak, subservient to her. "Everyone but you."

So he dropped his glamour, letting all the sunlight he carried illuminate him, making himself shine like a beacon in the dim light of the club. It was one thing for a mortal to see a faery; it was another to sit before a fey monarch.

Aislinn's eyes widened; her breath caught on a gasp.

Leaning forward across the table, Keenan darted a hand out to grab one of her tightly clenched hands.

In a move too fast for mortal eyes to see, Aislinn yanked away—then scowled down at her hand, as if she could quell the reminder of how changed she already was.

Then the cub Aislinn had sent for refreshments was back, holding a tray of drinks; three of his pride followed him, each carrying a tray of the sugary mortal snacks the fey preferred.

With a friendliness she denied feeling for the fey, Aislinn smiled at them. "That was quick."

They stood straighter, tawny manes puffed in pleasure.

"For you we'll do anything, my lady," the eldest one answered in that gravel voice the cubs all had.

"Thank"—she caught herself before she said those uncomfortable mortal words—"I mean, it's kind of you."

Keenan smiled as he watched her. Maybe her changing attitude was a result of her own changing body; maybe it was a product of her inevitable acceptance of the fey. He didn't care, though, as long as she was smiling at their faeries.

But when she glanced away from the cubs—compelled to look at his glowing face—she stopped smiling. Her pulse beat in her throat like a trapped thing. Her gaze skittered away from him; she swallowed several times.

It isn't the cubs that make her blood race, that make her face flush. It's me. Us.

The cubs sat their trays on the table: ice cream, cakes, and coffees; desserts from local bakeries and sweet drinks with no alcohol in them. They snarled at each other as they pointed out delicacies.

"Try this."

"No, this."

"She'll like this better."

Finally Tavish came over to the table with one of the guards to remove them. "Go away."

Aislinn watched silently. Then, with visible decisiveness, she turned back to Keenan. "So let's talk about your little game. Maybe there's an answer we can find that'll let us both get back to our lives."

"You are my life now. This"—he waved a hand dismissively around him at the club—"the fey, everything, it all falls into place once you accept me."

None of it mattered without her beside him. If she says no, they all die.

He whispered, "I need you."

Aislinn clenched her fists. This wasn't working. How was she to reason with him when he sat there shining like a celestial object? He wasn't threatening her, wasn't doing anything but tell her things that should sound sweet.

Is it so awful? She wavered as he looked at her so intently—seeming for all the world like he was a good person.

He's a faery. Never trust a faery.

His harem stood behind her, other girls who'd been where she was. Now they mingled in the crush of bodies around her, faeries themselves. It wasn't a life she wanted.

"That's not the sort of answer that helps." She took a deep breath. "I don't like you. Don't want you. Don't love you. How can you think there's any reason to …" She tried to find the right words. There weren't any.

"To court you?" he prompted, half smiling.

"Whatever you call it." The smell of flowers was overwhelming her, dizzying. She tried again. "I don't understand why you're doing this."

"It's already done." He reached out.

She pulled away. "Don't."

He leaned back in his seat. The blue lights of the club heightened his inhuman appearance. "What if I told you that you were the key—the grail, the book—that one object that will rescue me? What if I said you were what I need to defeat one who freezes the earth? If your acceptance would save the world—all these faeries, your mortals, too—would you do it?"

She stared at him. Here was the answer that they'd been hiding from her. "Is that what this is about?"

"It might be." He walked around the table, slowly enough that she could've stood and put the chair between them.

She didn't.

"There's only one way to find out, though." He stepped just close enough that she'd need to shove him away to stand. "You have to choose to stay with me."

She wanted to run.

"I don't want to become one of them"—she motioned to the Summer Girls—"or some ice faery like Donia."

"So Donia told you about that." He nodded, as if this too were normal.

"The detail you didn't mention? Yeah." She tried to sound reasonable, as if being told her options were harem girl or ice faery was an average thing. "Look. I don't want to be one of your playthings, and I don't want to be what Donia is."

"I don't think you will be either of those. I told you earlier. I want you to choose to be with me." He pulled her to her feet, leaving her standing far too close to him. "If you are the one—"

"Still not interested."

He looked weary then, as unhappy as she felt. "Aislinn, if you're her, the key I need, and you turn away, the world will continue to grow colder until the summer fey—including you, now—die of it, until mortals starve." His eyes were reflective, like an animal's eyes under the weird lights of the club. "I cannot allow that to happen."

For a moment Aislinn stood there, unable to find a word to say. Donia had been wrong: she wasn't able to talk to him, try to reason with him. He wasn't reasonable.

"I need you to understand." His tone was frightening, the warning growl of a predator in the dark. Just as quickly, he sounded desperate as he added, "Can't you at least try?"

And Aislinn felt herself nodding, agreeing that she'd try, desperate to end his unhappiness.

Focus. That wasn't what she came here to do. She gripped the edge of the table until it hurt.

Seeing him, knowing that he was real, knowing what the world he was offering her truly looked like—it wasn't making it any easier to resist. She'd thought it would, thought the horrible things she'd seen would make her stronger, more resolute. But as he stared imploringly at her, all she could think of was the desire to give him what he wanted, anything to make that sunlight flare over her again.

She tried concentrating on the faeries' awfulness, thinking about the cruel things she'd seen them do. "Your faeries aren't important enough to be worth me giving up my life."

He didn't answer.

"I have seen them. Don't you understand? The ones here"—she lowered her voice—"I've seen them groping girls, heard them, watching them pinch and trip and mock. And worse. I've heard them laughing at us. My whole life, every day, I've seen your people. I don't see anything worth saving."

"If you accept me, you would rule them—be the Summer Queen. They would obey you as they do me." His eyes implored her, not faery wiles now, just a look of desperation.

She lifted her chin. "Well, if the way they act is any indication, they don't obey very well. Unless you don't object to their actions."

"I've been too powerless to do much other than count on their better natures to make them listen. If you rule them, you could change that. We could change so much. Save them." He made a sweeping gesture to the crowds of dancing faeries. "Unless I become king in truth, these faeries will die. The mortals out there in your city will die. They're dying already. You'll be around to watch it happen."

She felt the tears in her eyes, knew he saw them, and didn't care. "There has to be another way. I don't want this, and I won't become one of the Summer Girls."

"You will. You are unless you choose to be with me. It's a simple thing. Really, it's laughable how quick the process is."

"And if I'm not this grail of yours? I spend eternity like Donia?" She pushed him away. "How is that a good plan? She's miserable, in pain. I've seen it."

He winced and looked away when she mentioned Donia, seeming so much more real for it. It made her pause. He might have a lot to gain, but from the look of pain that raced over his face, he'd lost a few things that mattered.

"Just tell me you'll think about it. Please?" He leaned in and whispered, "I'll wait. Just tell me you're considering it. I need you."

"Can't you find another way?" she asked, although she knew the answer, knew that there wasn't another answer. "I don't want to be your queen. I don't want you. There's someone else I—"

"I know." Keenan accepted a drink from a cub who'd scurried under the legs of one of the innumerable guards that followed Keenan. With another sad smile, he added, "I am sorry for that as well. I do understand, far better than I'm able to say."

The inevitability of it all was starting to set in. She thought about it: the things that would change, the things she wanted to keep unchanged. She had so many questions. "Is there another way? I don't want to be a faery at all, and I certainly don't want to rule them."

He laughed, mirthlessly. "Some days I don't either, but neither of us can change what we are. I'll not lie and say I wish I could undo it for you, Aislinn. I believe you're the one. The Winter Queen fears you. Even Donia believes you are the one." He held out his hand. "I wish it didn't trouble you. But I'm begging you to accept me. Simply tell me what you want, and I'll try."

In a moment uncannily like the faire, he waited with his hand outstretched, asking her to accept him. At the faire she thought it was almost over; now she had the sinking feeling it was only beginning.

How do I tell Seth? Grams? What do I tell them? Simply willing it all away had never worked with the Sight, and she was beginning to believe that this was much the same. She knew she was changing, despite how much she'd been trying to deny it.

I'm one of them.

If she were to survive, she needed to start thinking about figuring out the faery world.

Then she realized that both the guard and Keenan had mentioned another ruler, another player in this game of theirs. She looked at him and asked, "Who's the Winter Queen? Could she help me?"

Keenan choked on his drink. In that blurringly quick way he moved, he clutched her arms. "No. You cannot let her know that you see us, that you know any of what is transpiring." He shook her slightly. "If she were to know …"

"If she can help me …"

"No. You must believe me. She's more vicious than I can begin to explain. I might not strike out at you for seeing us, but there are others who would, including the Winter Queen. She's why I am powerless. Why the earth freezes. You must not seek her out." His fingers dug into her arms until she began to glow too. He seemed terrified, a thought she didn't want to consider too closely.

He considers himself powerless?

Mutely she nodded, and Keenan let go of her arms, smoothing out her wrinkled sleeves.

Aislinn leaned in closer, her lips almost on his skin since the music and noise were growing louder by the moment. "I need to know more than this. You're asking too much for me to…" She couldn't continue for a moment, thinking of what he was asking her to give up, to become. What I'm already becoming. "I need more answers if you want me to think about any of this."

"I can't tell you everything. There are rules, Aislinn. Rules that have been in place for centuries …" He was almost yelling to be heard over the noise. "We can't talk here amid their excitement."

All around them the faeries were cavorting, moving in ways clearly not mortal, even with their glamours in place.

He held out his hand again. "Let's go to the park, coffee shop, wherever you want."

She let him take her hand, hating how inevitable her choice was beginning to seem.

Keenan felt her tiny hand in his, as soothing as the touch of the sun. She hadn't said yes, but she was considering it, accepting the loss of her mortality. Sure, she would mourn, but it was often like that for the newly fey girls.

He led her toward the door, well aware that the summer fey were watching with approving looks. They danced nearer, brushing close and smiling at Aislinn.

And she held her head high, as bold as she'd been when she walked through the crowd to see him. He suspected that she saw them as they were: not their glamours, but their true faces. She did not dance, but she did not flinch away when they came near. For a sighted mortal, it was a truly courageous thing.

He knew she heard the murmurs of those who— unaware of her Sight—chose to stay invisible, who wandered even closer and brushed a hand against her hair.

"Our lady."

"The queen is here."

"Finally come to us."

They hadn't heard her doubts or desperation. They only heard that the mortal girl had sought him out; they only knew that she left with him. After the Eolas' words at the faire, they believed she was the one who would free him, rescue them. He hoped they were right.

"The Summer Girls in the library, they said"—she looked away and blushed before rushing through the rest of her words—"they sounded like they, umm, dated mortals."

It hurt, her asking that. He hadn't ever thought that when he found his queen, she'd be so uninterested in him. He ground his teeth, but he answered, "They do."

"So I could …" She paused as they approached the door.

The guard—who'd added strange metal rings to his glamour since Keenan had arrived—grinned at her. "Ash."

Bold once more, she grinned at him. "Later."

Shocked by her easy smile at the guard, Keenan turned to ask her what had transpired between them—far better that than discuss her desire to continue to have a relationship with a mortal.

They stepped outside, and he felt it: the bone-aching wave of cold.

"Beira." Hurriedly he whispered, "Please, stay near me. My mother is coming toward us."

"I thought you lived with your uncles."

"I do." He stepped in front of Aislinn, putting himself between them. "Beira is supremely unqualified to care for anyone."

"Now, now, sweetling, that's not very kind." Beira stepped out of the darkness like a nightmare he couldn't ever stop remembering.

Her glamour revealed her usual strand of pearls resting on a gray dress. It revealed the thick fur jacket she wore. It didn't reveal her snow-filled eyes or the sparkle of frost on her lips. Keenan knew Aislinn saw it, though. He knew that she saw his mothers true face. The thought didn't comfort him.

Beira let her icy breath float toward his face as she sighed and said, "I just thought I should meet the girl who's got everyone talking."

Then the Winter Queen leaned closer still and kissed him on both cheeks.

Keenan felt the bruises, the frostbite, forming where her lips had touched his skin, but he didn't speak. Fortunately, neither did Aislinn.

"Does the other girl know you're out with her?" Beira stage-whispered, pointing at Aislinn and wrinkling her nose.

He balled his hand into a fist, wishing he could let his temper reign, thinking of Beira's threats to Donia. Now, with Aislinn beside him—vulnerable still—he dared not. "I wouldn't know."

"Tsk, tsk, temper is so unattractive, don't you think?"

He didn't rise to the bait.

She clapped her hands together, sending a wave of cold toward him, and gushed, "Aren't you going to introduce us, darling?"

"No." He stayed in front of Aislinn, keeping her out of Beira's reach. "I think you need to leave."

Beira laughed, letting her chill roll through the sound, making him ache.

He tried to keep Aislinn shielded safely behind him where that icy air wouldn't touch her, but she stepped up beside him and stared at Beira disdainfully.

"Let's go." Aislinn took his hand then, not in love or affection, but in a sign of solidarity. This wasn't the anxious girl he'd been talking to at Rath. No, she looked more like a warrior, one of the old guard who forgot to smile even in moments of bliss. She was glorious.

While he stood there, fighting not to falter under the chill Beira had released, Aislinn pulled him down and kissed each of his bruised cheeks, her lips soft as balm on the painful bruises. "I can't stand a bully."

Warmth shot through his hand, burned on his cheeks.

It can't be.

Keenan looked from Aislinn to his mother. They stood facing each other like they were ready to wage a war the likes of which fey hadn't seen in millennia.

Unable to focus, Keenan stared at the Dumpster down the alley, the half-asleep man curled in a nest of frayed cloth and boxes, and listened to the sound of his advisors and guards approaching behind them.

Beira moved closer, her bone-white hand lifting toward Aislinn's cheek. "She has a familiar face."

Aislinn stepped out of Beira's reach. "No."

Beira laughed, and Aislinn felt something cold and vile sliding down her back.

Whether or not she was angry about becoming one of them no longer mattered; it had stopped mattering when Beira bruised Keenan. An instinct to protect him flared to life in her—an urge she'd felt often enough for her friends but never for a faery. Maybe it was the way he'd looked in the club, the growing sense that he was as trapped as she was.

Beira couldn't stand against us both. Not both the Summer King and Queen. As much as she didn't like that possibility, it sounded right as she thought it.

"Until we meet again, lovelies." Beira waved and two withered hags stepped forward, flanking her much the way ladies-in-waiting did in paintings of royalty. Under their glamours, these faeries shared none of Beira's dark beauty; they simply looked like someone had sucked the life out of them, leaving empty shells, haggard and glassy-eyed.

Without glancing back, the three strolled down the alley. Shards of ice, cracked and angled like broken glass, glittered in Beira's footsteps.

Aislinn looked over at Keenan. "What a bitch. Are you okay?"

But he was looking at her with awe in his eyes. He put a hand to his cheek; the bruises were fading as she watched— leaving a red imprint where her lips had touched his skin.

His two "uncles" came up on either side of him. His guards moved out around them. Too little, too late. Several of the faeries were speaking at once.

"Beira's gone?"

"Are you…?"

But Keenan ignored them. He lifted Aislinn's hand to his cheek, holding it there. "You did that."

One of the faeries stepped closer. "What did she do? Are you injured?"

"She didn't see, did she? Beira?" Keenan asked.

His eyes widened, and Aislinn saw tiny purple flowers blossoming inside them.

She pulled her hand away, shaking her head. "This doesn't mean anything, doesn't change a thing. I was just… I don't know why I even did that."

"You did, though," he whispered, taking both of her hands in his. "You see how different it is now."

She trembled.

He was looking at her as if she were the grail he'd spoken of, and her only thought was to run, far and fast, run until she could run no farther.

"We were going to talk. You said …" Her words vanished as the weight of it hit her. It's true. I'm the…She couldn't even think it, but she knew it was true, and he knew it too. She shook her head.

"Is someone going to fill us in here?" The quieter faery uncle stepped up.

Still holding fast to her hands, Keenan tilted his head to motion them forward. His voice a low whisper, like the rumble of thunderstorms, he announced, "Aislinn healed the Winter Queen's touch."

"I didn't mean to," she protested, trying to tug free of his grasp. Any flash of friendship, of protective instinct, had vanished as he gripped her hands too tightly in his.

"She kissed Beira's frost, and it's gone. She unmade Beira's touch. She offered me her hand—by choice—and I was stronger." He let go of one of her hands to touch his cheek again.

"She did what?"

"She healed me with a kiss, shared her strength with me." Still holding one of her hands, Keenan dropped to his knees, staring up at her, golden tears running down his face like rivulets of liquid sunshine.

The other faeries dropped to their knees beside him in the dirty alley.

"My Queen." Keenan let go of her other hand to reach up toward her face.

And she ran. She ran like she'd never run in her life, crushing the still-shimmering ice under her feet, fleeing the sunlight gleaming in Keenan's skin.

Keenan knelt on the ground for several moments after Aislinn ran away. No one else rose.

"She left." He knew he sounded weak, but he couldn't find the strength to care. "It's her, and she left. She knows, and she left."

He stared down the alley where she'd vanished. She hadn't moved as quickly as the fey, but she'd been moving far quicker than a mortal could. He wondered if she'd even noticed.

"Shall we retrieve her?" one of the rowan-men asked.

Keenan turned to Tavish and Niall. "She left."

"She did," Tavish said as he motioned the guards back.

They faded into the shadows, close enough to hear should they be summoned, but not so close that they'd overhear a softly spoken conversation.

Niall took Keenan's arm. "Give her tonight to let it settle on her."

Tavish moved to Keenan's other side.

"She was going to think about it. She said that inside." Keenan looked from Tavish to Niall and back. "She still will. She has to."

Neither faery answered as they led him forward, his guards following behind them silently.