Why?

Winter fey passed him with uneasy glances. Solitary fey clustered in small groups at his approach. Even the usually implacable kelpies in the city fountains watched him warily. Once, he'd deserved such suspicions, but he'd shunned the Dark Court. He'd chosen to remake himself, to make amends for what he'd done.

But the sight of the wounded mortals and the anxious faeries made Niall's thoughts return to memories best left forgotten: the glass-eyed awe as a tiny red-haired girl drooped in his arms, exhausted from too many hours in his hands; Irial's delicious laughter as a table crashed under the dancing girls; Gabriel's joy at terrorizing the people of another city while Irial poured more drinks; strange wine and new herbs in their dishes; dancing with hallucinations; objections from mortals taken out of his embrace… And he'd reveled in all of it.

By the time Niall reached Huntsdale and went to the Summer Courts loft, his depression was far too pronounced for him to join the revelry. Instead he stood at the large window in the front room staring at the browning ring of grass in the park across the street. There they celebrated the Summer Court's rebirth, rejoicing at the court's new—albeit uneasy—accord with the Winter Court. Summer had come unseasonably early this year—a gift from the Winter Queen, a peace offering or token of affection perhaps. No matter. It was beautiful. It should soothe him but did not.

He sighed. He'd need to mention the state of the greenery to Keenan. Think of duties. Think of responsibilities. He'd spent a lifetime atoning for what he'd done. Whatever aberration was making him feel so off the past few days would pass.

He rested his forehead on one of the tall panes of glass in the main room. Across the street, faeries danced in the park. And as always the Summer Girls spun among them, darting in and out of the throng in that dervish way of theirs, trailing vines and skirts. Keenan's on-duty guards watched over them, keeping them safe, and off-duty guards danced with them, keeping them amused.

It looks like peace.

That's what Niall had fought for, what he'd pursued for centuries, but he stood alone in the loft—a silent watcher. He felt distant, disconnected from his court, his king, the Summer Girls, everyone but one mortal girl. If he could take Leslie to the dance, spin in the revelries with her in his hands, he'd be there.

But the last Summer King had made clear the terms of accepting Niall's fealty. No mortals, Niall. That's the price of being in my court. It wasn't so awful. Mortals were still enticing, but between his memories and his vow, Niall had learned to resist. He had not wanted for dancing—in revelries or in his bed—and it had been enough.

Until her. Until Leslie.

Chapter 10

By the end of the week, Leslie was more exhausted than usual. She'd taken extra shifts so she could afford to cover the groceries and still have money for the rest of her ink. She'd tucked that ridiculous tip away, not sure if she'd keep it. If it was a tip, she'd have a good deal toward getting a place later, enough to get started on her own, get some basic furniture. Which is why it's not a tip. That much money doesn't come for free. For now, she'd keep doing what she was doing before—earning her own money, paying her own way. Which means being broke. She knew Rabbit would let her do payments, but that would mean admitting she needed credit, and she wasn't keen on that plan either.

Better to be tired than sold, though.

But tired meant forgetting to control her words. Her cattiness slipped out after school while she and Aislinn were waiting for Rianne to finish meeting with a counselor. Apparently, a private counselor wasn't quite enough intervention; Rianne's mother had notified the school as well, and Sister Isabel had waylaid Rianne at the last bell.

Aislinn was watching up the street. She had folded her arms, one hand resting over the thick gold band on her upper arm. Leslie had seen it when they'd changed for PE. Now it was hidden under Aislinn's shirt. What's she doing that she's getting all these baubles? Leslie didn't think Aislinn was dumb enough to be trading herself for money, but lately it seemed that Keenan's wealth was in Aislinn's hands.

Without thinking it through, Leslie said, "So are you watching for the second-string boy-toy or the starting player?"

Aislinn stared at her. "What?"

"Is it Keenan's or Seth's turn to take you home?"

"It's not like that," Aislinn said. For a brief moment, it looked like the air around her shimmered, like heat rising off the ground.

Leslie rubbed her eyes and then stepped closer. "I'd rather believe it was like that than that you're letting Keenan use you because he's got money." She squeezed Aislinn's arm where the bracelet was. "People notice. People talk. I know Seth doesn't like me, but he's a good guy. Don't screw it up because of blondie and his money, okay?"

"God, Les, why does everything have to be about sex? Just because you gave it away so easily—" Aislinn stopped herself, looking embarrassed. She bit down on her lip. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that."

"Like what?" Leslie had been friends with Aislinn since almost the moment they'd met, but friends didn't mean she told Aislinn everything, not anymore. They were close before, but these days Leslie needed barriers. She didn't know how to start the conversation she'd needed to have for months now. Hey, Ash, do you have the handout from Lit? By the way, I was raped, and I have these hella-awful nightmares. She was holding it together, planning to move away, to start life all over again—and when she imagined trying to talk about it, about the rape, she felt like something was ripping her apart. Her chest hurt. Her stomach clenched. Her eyes burned. No. I'm not ready to talk.