Unfortunately, the inevitability of his dealings behind the thrones—of his court, of the High Court, and over the years, behind the Summer Court and Winter Court— weighed on Irial. Revealing the degree of the machinations that Irial had indulged in over the years took time. Going into Niall’s office and dropping the full extent of the job on him was cruelty that remained unnecessary. Eventually, he’d need to tell Niall everything, but in the interim, Irial would do what business he could.

It staves off boredom anyhow.

He stood at the gate to the mortal realm, and for a moment, he let himself wonder how life would’ve been if he’d brought the court home when Beira’s reign became so overpowering. Back then, when Miach died, the thought had occurred to him. It felt like a wise possibility—but it also felt like retreating. The Dark Court thrived on upheaval, so returning to Faerie instead of letting them grow strong while the young Summer King tried to find his missing queen . . . it simply wasn’t logical.

Irial snorted. Logical. Clearly, he’d been too long in her presence.

He pressed his fingers against the veil that divided the two worlds. The material twisted around his hands, holding him for a moment. It had always done so before, recognizing him as its own. The fact that it still did so comforted him. He was no longer Dark King, but in actions, he functioned as if he still retained a share of the mantle. Like a consort. He smiled to himself at the thought of telling Niall that he’d opted to fill the role of Dark Court consort.

Actually . . .

Telling Niall such a thing was sure to set off an entertaining argument. The new Dark King had the infuriating habit of trying to pretend he was merely a seat-warmer holding the court. He clung to his maudlin mourning— as if Keenan hadn’t been likely to betray Niall since the beginning. Inevitable. That was one thing that Irial knew for certain: some truths are inevitable. There are surprises, pleasant and not, but on the whole, faeries were who they were; courts were what they had always been; and centuries passed without too many unforeseen choices—but those who did take surprising routes were fascinating.

Niall was fascinating; Leslie was fascinating; the new Summer Queen had the potential to be fascinating. To one who had the possibility of living for eternity, encountering so many unexpected faeries and mortals was a treat.

“Irial?” Devlin had caught up with him.

The expected could be entertaining as well. “Mmm?”

The High Queen’s brother was never unexpected when he was within the boundaries of Faerie. His activities in the mortal world, however, belied his insistence that he was a creature of order.

Devlin began, “I will be in the mortal world for business. As a courtesy to the current Dark King, I would let you know—”

“I’ll tell him.” Irial paused, tasting Devlin’s emotions even as the High Court assassin repressed them. “Perhaps the court could offer you our hospitalities?”

“Your intercession is kind.” Devlin nodded curtly and turned away. The relief he vehemently suppressed was all the sweeter for the guilt that threaded through it.

“One of these days, you’re going to admit to her that you belong in the shadows,” Irial murmured.

But despite fey hearing, Devlin did not reply. He was a curious one, claiming allegiance to Order even though the shadows in him belied his court affiliation.

Like Niall before. The new Dark King had clung to the frivolity of the Summer Court, denied his pleasure in a good fight or skillful manipulation, for centuries. He was settling in to his rightful court of late, but he hadn’t shaken the judgmental habit that he’d picked up over the years. Should he know of the things Irial handled behind the scenes, it would be worrisome. It wasn’t that any one secret would be particularly traumatic for Niall to learn of, but the sheer number of secrets Irial kept made waiting seem prudent. Niall was at a delicate place in adjusting to the court.

And I am unwilling to tell him things that will make him frown at me.

Ranting was acceptable. A certain amount of violence could be overlooked. It was disgust and disappointment that Irial hoped to avoid.

Chapter 4

After centuries of making the transition, the journey from Faerie to the mortal world still felt jarring. The differently colored landscape, the disconnection time, and the hordes of mortals all thrilled and displeased him simultaneously. Faerie was unchanged for all of eternity, but the mortal world seemed to alter in a moment. Irial marveled at the ways the world had evolved in the centuries that stretched behind him, and he wondered what would follow their already remarkable progress. Some faeries found mortals to be little more than vermin, but Irial was enthralled by them. More so since I am no longer a king. Of course, he was more fascinated by the faery he now approached.

The new Dark King stiffened as Irial came to stand beside him. It was a conscious effort, an attempt at a lie of sorts to pretend that Niall was unhappy to see him. They were both aware of the fact that, as Dark King, Niall had known where Irial was for several moments prior to this. He’d felt Irial’s emotions, knew them well enough to identify Irial without looking behind him. Irial smiled and let his joy at seeing Niall flare.

The king glanced at him. “Why are you here?”

Irial lowered his gaze respectfully. “I am seeking an audience with the Dark King.”

“How did I you know I was here?” Niall asked.

“You are fond of the spot when you are pensive.” Rather than bother hiding it, Irial let himself reveal his happiness at that truth. Communicating with Niall was far easier now that Niall could taste all of Irial’s emotions. “I know you, Niall. I know your habits. This space”—Irial gestured at the small courtyard outside the mortals’ library—“soothes you.”