“So…”

“Slower. Falling into bed…or riverbanks…isn’t going to make you love me.” Keenan stood up and held out a hand. “You’re my queen. I’ve waited nine centuries to find you and almost a year more to reach this moment. I can wait a bit longer for the rest.”

“But…”

He leaned in and kissed her softly. “If you’re finally going to try to let yourself love me, we’re going to date.”

“We sort ofhave been.”

“No.” He caught her hands and pulled her into his embrace. “We’ve been trying very hardnot to date. Let me show you our world. Let me take you to dinner and whisper temptations. Let me take you to ridiculous carnival rides and symphonies and dances in the rain. I want you to laugh and smile and trust me first. I want it to be real love if you are in my bed.”

She paused. Sex seemed far easier than dating. They were friends; they had a spark.Sex isn’t love, though. Keenan wanted a real chance. That meant something more than sharing her body.

“My solution was easier,” she muttered, “and quicker.”

He laughed. “After nine centuries, I was willing to accept whatever terms you set, but if we’re going to try being together, I don’t want any doubts. If you don’t love me but still want to be…with me, I’ll settle for that, but I want a chance to have it all.”

“And if Seth…”

“Comes home?” Keenan pulled her closer and kissed her until the glow of sunlight shining from both of their bodies was blinding.

Then he promised, “That’s up to you. It always has been, hasn’t it?”

Chapter 31

Sorcha didn’t weep when she came to see him that last morning. Sorcha looked at the paintings he’d done for her, and she looked at him.

“They aren’t good enough,” Seth said. “None of them are, not really.”

“Would that I could lie to you,” she murmured. “But they are wrought of passion. I’d be selfish if I refused to let you leave.”

She walked around the room examining canvases she’d seen already.

“Theyaren’t good enough, but this is.” He opened his hand, and there in the center of his palm was a perfectly rendered cluster of silver jasmine blossoms. It was far more delicate than his other metalwork.

Sorcha’s eyes teared up. She stroked a fingertip over the silver petals. “It is. It’s exquisite.”

“I didn’t want to give you what you expected”—he pinned it to her dress with a shaking hand—“so I worked on it when you weren’t here.”

She laughed, and since there were no witnesses to her foolishness, she leaned forward and kissed his cheek. She’d seen so many mothers do that, but the simple gesture had never quite made sense to her. Objectively, she’d understood—maternal affection was a biological imperative. It caused the mother to feel tenderness toward her progeny, keeping the smaller, precious creature safe. It was all very reasonable, but as she pressed her lips to her son’s cheek, she wasn’t feeling logical. It didn’t feel reasonable. It was impulsive. It was something she wanted to tell him but found that she didn’t have words for.

“It’s perfect.” She glanced down at the pin, and while the impulsiveness was riding her, she blurted out, “I don’t want you to leave. What if they harm you? What if you need me? What if—”

“Mother.” He smiled, peaceful and so very beautiful to her. “I’ll be a faery. Under the Dark Court’s protection, beloved by the Summer Queen, made strong by your gift. I’ll be safe.”

“But Bananach…and Winter…and…” She actually felt her heart beating uncomfortably fast. She’d known she’d feel something when he left, but this degree of worry and sadness was unexpected. “You could stay. We’ll send Devlin to fetch your Summer Queen to us and—”

“No. I’m not going to ask her to abandon her court for me.” He led her to the seat that looked out into the garden where they’d walked. She sat down, and he sat on the floor beside her feet.

“I need to go. I want to go. It’ll feel like a breath, and I’ll be back…home,” he assured her.

“I think I might hate your other queen right now.” She scowled.

Actual tears were building in her eyes. It was a simple physiological reaction; logic explained it away. The tears still fell.

“And I’m afraid. If my sister hurts you, I’ll…” She took a steadying breath. “Bananach is not to be trusted, Seth. Not ever. Never go with her anywhere again. Promise me you’ll stay away from her. She has only one goal—violence.”

“So why did she bring me to you?”

Sorcha shook her head. “In order to provoke someone. In order to get me to make a choice that would allow her to lay blame at my feet. I don’t truly know. I’ve spent eternity trying to guess her next move. It’s always about machinations for another war. I am left trying to make the right choices.”

“Did you make the right choice this time?”

“Yes.” She stroked his face. “Whatever happens next, this was the right choice.”

“Even if war comes…”

“The alternative was your death.” She swallowed a sob at the thought. “When you left with her there were two paths you could’ve ended up on—this one or left dead for your Summer Queen to find. Either Niall’s court or mine would have been thought responsible. Perhaps Winter. War would have had her wish.”

It felt strange to talk of such things to anyone other than Devlin, but her son would have a voice in her court when he was ready. He could be fully faery if she wanted it so, but that would free him to leave her. Their bargain made him need to stay with her.If he was fully faery, would he remain over there? That wasn’t something they needed to discuss. He wouldn’t ever be High King: she was eternal, the Unchanging Queen. He would, however, be an influence, a voice, a power. He would stand equal to Devlin. Sorcha wondered how well both her son and her brother would accept that.