Protective to a fault, Matrice narrowed her eyes at his tone.

“Well, then, if we’re done with our business”—Donia kept her hands relaxed, refusing to show him that even now she was tempted to reach out to ease that temper—“Matrice?”

Keenan’s anger fled for a moment. “Don?”

She gave in then and touched his arm, hating that it was her—again—who had to reach for him. “If you want to seeme, not the Winter Queen, butme, you are welcome at the cottage. I will be home later.”

He nodded, but didn’t agree, didn’t promise. He wouldn’t—not unless his real queen had no need of his attention.

Donia hated her for a moment.If she weren’t here… Of course, if Aislinn hadn’t become Summer Queen, Keenan would be wooing yet another mortal, in search of the one who’d free him.

At least I have part of him now.That’s better than nothing. That’s what she’d told herself at first, but as he turned away, accepting Aislinn’s hand as they walked, following the Hawthorn Girls back toward the house, Donia had to wonder if it really was better.

That night, Donia walked toward the cottage with the illusion of solitude. In the quiet, Evan undoubtedly trailed behind her. If she concentrated, she’d see the blurring wings of the Hawthorn fey in the shadows, hear the chiming music of the lupine. A year ago those same details would’ve set terror in her heart. Evan had been Keenan’s fey then; and Winter Court faeries had been harbingers of conflict, emissaries from the last Winter Queen, carrying threats and warnings.

So much had changed. Donia had changed. What hadn’t changed was how badly she craved Keenan’s attention, his approval, his touch.

Frozen tears clattered to the ground as she thought about the impact of that craving on her life. She’d surrendered her mortality in the hope that she was his missing queen.I wasn’t. She’d watched him woo innumerable mortals in that search as if it didn’t hurt each time.It did hurt . She’d willingly gone to her death at his mother’s hands for helping him find that queen.But I didn’t die.

Instead she was at the helm of the court that had overpowered and oppressed his own for centuries—and her court wanted it to stay that way. Too much of a climate change too fast wasn’t good for any of them. Her court pressed the matter, rustling for a few shows of force to remind him that they were still stronger. While in the dark, when it was just the two of them, Keenan would whisper sweet words of peace and balance.

Always in the middle…because of him. And he’d walk away from me for Ash if she’d say the word….

Angry with herself for dwelling on it, for even thinking of it, Donia swatted at the tears rolling down her cheeks. He wasn’t hers, would never be truly hers, and she couldn’t help but feel terrified of that inevitable truth.

She stepped onto her porch.

And he was there waiting, beautiful face furrowed in concern, hands reaching out for her. “Don?”

His voice held all the yearning she’d felt for him earlier.

All of her clarity faded as he held open his arms. She slipped into his embrace and kissed him, not bothering to keep her ice in check, not caring if it wounded him.

He’ll stop.

But instead of pushing her away, he pulled her closer. That awful sunlight he carried in his skin flashed brighter. The snow that had begun to fall around them was sizzling away as quickly as it fell.

Her back was against the door. She hadn’t unlocked it, but it still swung open. At a glance, she realized that Keenan had melted the lock.

It’s not Solstice yet. We shouldn’t. Can’t…

There were welts on her arms where he touched her, blisters on her lips. She tangled her hand in his hair and held him tighter to her. Frost spread down his neck.

He’ll stop. I’ll stop. Any second now.

They were on the sofa, and tiny fires burned on the cushion above her head. She let her winter slip further out. The room was filled with heavy snowfall. The fires hissed as they were extinguished.

I’m stronger. Icouldstop.

But he was touching her. Keenan was here, and he was touching her. She wasn’t stopping. Maybe they could make it work; maybe it would be fine. She opened her eyes to look at him, and the brightness blinded her.

“Mine,” he murmured between kisses.

Their clothes kept catching fire, smoldering out as the snow smothered the flames, only to ignite again. Blisters covered her skin where his hands had gripped her. Frostburnt patches of skin were visible on his chest and neck.

She cried out, and then he pulled back.

“Don…” His face was grief stricken. “I didn’t mean to…” He propped himself up on one arm and looked down at her bruised arms. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I know.” She slid to the floor, leaving him alone on the smoking sofa.

“I just wanted to talk.” He watched her warily.

She concentrated on the ice inside of her, not on how close he still was. “About us, or about business?”

“Both.” He grimaced as he tried to pull on his tattered shirt.

She watched him button it up, as if that would help hold it in place. Neither spoke as he fussed with the ruined cloth. Then she asked, “Do you love me? Even a little?”

He stilled, hands aloft. “What?”

“Do you love me?”

He stared at her. “How can you ask that?”

“Do you?”She needed to hear it, something, anything.

He didn’t answer.

“Why are you even here?” she asked.

“To see you. To be near you.”

“Why? I need more than your lust.” She didn’t cry as she said it. She didn’t do anything to let him know how badly her heart was breaking. “Tell me we have something more than that. Something that won’t destroy either of us.”

He was a sunlit effigy, as beautiful as always, but his words weren’t beautiful. “Don. Come on. You know it’s more than that. Youknow what’s between us.”