She opened her eyes to stare directly into his abyss-dark gaze and whispered, “Or now?”
“Or now,” he agreed. He didn’t mock her weakness. He never did.
“Yes.” The word was barely from her lips before she wrapped her arms around him and gave up on being reasonable for a few hours.
Chapter 3
Sorcha sat and re-plaited her hair while Irial reclined on the floor next to her. He never provoked her or pointed out the truth of their relationship during these quiet moments. He didn’t even smoke his cigarettes so close to her. For all his shadows, he had a number of qualities that made her nights too often lonely over the years. No one but the Dark King had ever touched her heart so easily.
He was different this time, though, and she didn’t particularly like it. He wasn’t really hers, but he was the closest to hers that she’d ever had. “Is it Niall? Are you back in his good graces?”
“No. I consider myself fortunate that he even speaks to me these days.” He looked so wounded that she reached out and caressed his arm briefly.
“You do fall in love with the least acceptable people,” she said.
“And you don’t?”
“I don’t think I’ve ever fallen in love with anyone, even you. I enjoy how you make me feel. There’s a big difference.” The admission made her sad, but falling in love was so very unorderly. It wouldn’t do for the High Queen to get caught up in the melodrama of falling in love.
“You wound me,” he said.
“Not likely.” She gave him a genuine smile before picking up her garments from the floor. She held the pale cloth to her chest and turned her back to him. He moved her braid over her shoulder and fastened the tight bindings.
“I am worried about them both. I am worried about your sister’s machinations . . .” He watched her slip on her skirts while he spoke.
“She always presses for war . . . but things feel different this time,” she admitted. Part of politics for them had always been admissions that weren’t public knowledge. During Beira’s reign, Irial had come to her for solace; when he lost Niall, he had come to her for comfort; and when Beira murdered Miach, Irial had come to her—with all his unsettling presence exposed in a rare moment of vulnerability—and together they had mourned the last Summer King. That was the first time she’d opted to indulge in the glorious mistakes they’d shared the past few centuries.
Today is the last time.
“Niall holds her reins better than I did of late, but . . .” Irial scowled. “She’s growing stronger.”
“And Gabriel?” Sorcha waited, hopeful that the Hounds’ allegiance to the Dark Court was intact.
“He supports Niall.”
“With the trouble between Summer and Winter and between Dark and Summer . . .” She let the words fade away, not wanting to speak them into being.
“Niall strengthens the Dark Court. Had I stayed king . . . Keenan would’ve attacked in time. He’s not going to forgive my binding him. Nine centuries is a long time for rage to fester.” Irial’s regret was obvious even if he didn’t mention it.
They, and few others, knew the reluctance of his bargain with Beira. Binding Miach’s son wasn’t something the Dark King had wanted to do, but like any good ruler, he made hard choices. That choice had given his court strength. Sorcha, at the time, was grateful that Beira hadn’t set her sights on Faerie. In time, she would’ve, but then . . . then, it was Summer’s fall, Dark’s entrapment, and her staying silent.
“So we wait.” Sorcha reclaimed the calm reserve that was her daily mien. She gestured toward the door. “You need to go.”
“If I learn anything . . .”
She nodded.
“I do enjoy seeing you, Sorch”—his arrogance came back, covering the worry—“as much as we both know you enjoy seeing me.”
Then he unlocked the door and left.
Inside, she was filled with amusement and satisfaction . . . and a good dose of worry, but her face showed none of that as she strode out of the room.
She beckoned the nearest guard and said, “Escort him to the door so I know he’s gone from my home.”
Irial was relieved to taste the High Queen’s lighter emotions as he walked down the austere hallway. He’d actually considered speaking when he tasted the waves of regret she felt as he’d watched her dress. There were few faeries he’d count as friends—and fewer still Sorcha would trust—but for all of their opposition, they’d both valued their friendship. She didn’t speak of such things, of course, but he tasted her emotions. Which she knows. It would never be the sort of camaraderie that lead either regent to act in ways contrary to the good of their courts, but it was a valued bond. One that has ended.
He held hope that the new Dark King would one day find himself in Sorcha’s good graces—for both of their sakes. Centuries ago, when Niall had left Irial’s side, the High Queen had taken him in and cared for him. After I allowed him to be broken. Although she didn’t point it out to Niall, she knew then that he’d be the next Dark King one day. She’d refused to admit it when Irial lamented Niall’s refusal to even speak to members of the Dark Court, but her emotions revealed what her words would not.
There were so many machinations, so many secrets, and so little time to share that with the new king. Irial remembered his own early days of kingship, the errors he’d made, and the dizzying pleasure of finding his place. Niall was different, though; he hadn’t wanted to be king. He’d run from it for centuries, and so when Irial decided to bestow kingship upon him, with it came a silent vow of aid. Irial would do all that he could to allow Niall to settle into his role as easily as possible. It seemed a wise vow at the time.
“Or now,” he agreed. He didn’t mock her weakness. He never did.
“Yes.” The word was barely from her lips before she wrapped her arms around him and gave up on being reasonable for a few hours.
Chapter 3
Sorcha sat and re-plaited her hair while Irial reclined on the floor next to her. He never provoked her or pointed out the truth of their relationship during these quiet moments. He didn’t even smoke his cigarettes so close to her. For all his shadows, he had a number of qualities that made her nights too often lonely over the years. No one but the Dark King had ever touched her heart so easily.
He was different this time, though, and she didn’t particularly like it. He wasn’t really hers, but he was the closest to hers that she’d ever had. “Is it Niall? Are you back in his good graces?”
“No. I consider myself fortunate that he even speaks to me these days.” He looked so wounded that she reached out and caressed his arm briefly.
“You do fall in love with the least acceptable people,” she said.
“And you don’t?”
“I don’t think I’ve ever fallen in love with anyone, even you. I enjoy how you make me feel. There’s a big difference.” The admission made her sad, but falling in love was so very unorderly. It wouldn’t do for the High Queen to get caught up in the melodrama of falling in love.
“You wound me,” he said.
“Not likely.” She gave him a genuine smile before picking up her garments from the floor. She held the pale cloth to her chest and turned her back to him. He moved her braid over her shoulder and fastened the tight bindings.
“I am worried about them both. I am worried about your sister’s machinations . . .” He watched her slip on her skirts while he spoke.
“She always presses for war . . . but things feel different this time,” she admitted. Part of politics for them had always been admissions that weren’t public knowledge. During Beira’s reign, Irial had come to her for solace; when he lost Niall, he had come to her for comfort; and when Beira murdered Miach, Irial had come to her—with all his unsettling presence exposed in a rare moment of vulnerability—and together they had mourned the last Summer King. That was the first time she’d opted to indulge in the glorious mistakes they’d shared the past few centuries.
Today is the last time.
“Niall holds her reins better than I did of late, but . . .” Irial scowled. “She’s growing stronger.”
“And Gabriel?” Sorcha waited, hopeful that the Hounds’ allegiance to the Dark Court was intact.
“He supports Niall.”
“With the trouble between Summer and Winter and between Dark and Summer . . .” She let the words fade away, not wanting to speak them into being.
“Niall strengthens the Dark Court. Had I stayed king . . . Keenan would’ve attacked in time. He’s not going to forgive my binding him. Nine centuries is a long time for rage to fester.” Irial’s regret was obvious even if he didn’t mention it.
They, and few others, knew the reluctance of his bargain with Beira. Binding Miach’s son wasn’t something the Dark King had wanted to do, but like any good ruler, he made hard choices. That choice had given his court strength. Sorcha, at the time, was grateful that Beira hadn’t set her sights on Faerie. In time, she would’ve, but then . . . then, it was Summer’s fall, Dark’s entrapment, and her staying silent.
“So we wait.” Sorcha reclaimed the calm reserve that was her daily mien. She gestured toward the door. “You need to go.”
“If I learn anything . . .”
She nodded.
“I do enjoy seeing you, Sorch”—his arrogance came back, covering the worry—“as much as we both know you enjoy seeing me.”
Then he unlocked the door and left.
Inside, she was filled with amusement and satisfaction . . . and a good dose of worry, but her face showed none of that as she strode out of the room.
She beckoned the nearest guard and said, “Escort him to the door so I know he’s gone from my home.”
Irial was relieved to taste the High Queen’s lighter emotions as he walked down the austere hallway. He’d actually considered speaking when he tasted the waves of regret she felt as he’d watched her dress. There were few faeries he’d count as friends—and fewer still Sorcha would trust—but for all of their opposition, they’d both valued their friendship. She didn’t speak of such things, of course, but he tasted her emotions. Which she knows. It would never be the sort of camaraderie that lead either regent to act in ways contrary to the good of their courts, but it was a valued bond. One that has ended.
He held hope that the new Dark King would one day find himself in Sorcha’s good graces—for both of their sakes. Centuries ago, when Niall had left Irial’s side, the High Queen had taken him in and cared for him. After I allowed him to be broken. Although she didn’t point it out to Niall, she knew then that he’d be the next Dark King one day. She’d refused to admit it when Irial lamented Niall’s refusal to even speak to members of the Dark Court, but her emotions revealed what her words would not.
There were so many machinations, so many secrets, and so little time to share that with the new king. Irial remembered his own early days of kingship, the errors he’d made, and the dizzying pleasure of finding his place. Niall was different, though; he hadn’t wanted to be king. He’d run from it for centuries, and so when Irial decided to bestow kingship upon him, with it came a silent vow of aid. Irial would do all that he could to allow Niall to settle into his role as easily as possible. It seemed a wise vow at the time.
