“And that, my lovely Gancanagh, is why I am not qualified to be a king,” Irial said gently. “There are two people I would put before the court. It is not a matter of being tired of my court, or throwing it away, or punishing you, or trapping you, or any of those very diabolical things you would like to believe of me. It is, quite simply, the fact that I would damn them all if it meant protecting you or Leslie. The court requires a regent who will put court needs first.”

“And you think I would?” Niall asked.

“I know you would.” Irial smiled to let Niall know that this was a good thing, but the taste of Niall’s guilt was still heavy. Neither of them commented on what that meant about Niall’s loyalties—or the choices Irial had made in the past. Choices that put Niall second to the court. There was nothing to say that would lessen the ugliness of those choices.

“If you are my advisor, I will know where you are. I will not need to worry that you are trapped in Faerie or dead by Devlin’s hand because you angered Sorcha,” Niall said, with more of a snarl than Irial expected.

“Yes, my King.” Irial kneeled. “Do I take this to mean that my understanding with Sorcha is discontinued as well?”

Niall dragged his hand over his face. “Nothing’s ever simple with you.”

“I can ask her permission to visit her in the future . . . or simply remain here. I’m sure I can find other—”

“Until such time as I say otherwise, you will not enter Faerie to consort with Sorcha,” Niall interrupted. “What else did you learn?”

Irial remained kneeling, but he lifted his gaze. “Devlin will visit.”

“For what purpose?” Niall made an impatient gesture. “And get up. You’re far too amused by this posture, and it’s not the least bit about re—” The words froze again.

Irial laughed, but he stood. “It is a little about showing respect, my king.”

“Irial,” Niall started.

“Devlin often seeks respite in the mortal world that he cannot find in Faerie. I have long offered him the court’s hospitality; however”—Irial stared at his king then— “Sorcha knows of his visits. I am anxious over this first visit with there being a new king. Sorcha would not be remiss in making a statement. As your advisor, I’m strongly suggesting you keep the Hounds in house. You should have Bananach’s staunchest supporters in your presence. Devlin tends to get bloody in his visits, and this could be a particularly . . . energetic visit. We can make use of that to rid ourselves of the disloyal. It serves several purposes—for us and for Sorcha.”

“What aren’t you telling me?”

“About this? Nothing.” Irial shook his head. “I will stand at your side, as will Gabriel, and we will make quite clear that the Dark Court is not weak.”

“We are weakened. If we weren’t, you wouldn’t have done the ink exchanges.”

Irial stared at Niall. “The violence Devlin will bring will nourish them. It is part of why I make him welcome. This time, it will nourish your court, and therefore you.”

“I require more than violence.”

“Call some of the Summer Girls, summon the Vilas, a Hound”—Irial paused as he weighed the words—“anyone you desire is yours. Human or faery or halfling. Gabriel’s daughter is strong enough to relax with you.”

“No.”

Irial repressed a sigh. “You weren’t celibate in the Summer Court.”

“I’m not ready to—”

“Leslie is gone, Niall.” Irial crouched down and looked at his king. “She left. She needs a life in the mortal world, for now at least. You, my Gancanagh, require the pleasures you’re denying. If I thought you’d forgive me, I’d arrange them delivered to you as they once were. You weren’t so reticent then or when you were in the Summer Court. You are the king of the Dark Court. They are all yours to command.”

“Now that I’m their king, they might not feel free to say no.” The fear in Niall’s expression was only a tiny portion of the overwhelming fear Irial could taste. Niall lowered his voice, “I don’t want them to feel trapped.”

“Don’t be foolish.” Irial caught Niall’s gaze. “I would offer you anything you need. They would too. It’s not a trap to offer happiness to one’s regent.” Irial’s affection for Niall was not the least bit hidden. “If you worry, I will collect solitaries for you, or perhaps you ought to go see Sorcha yourself. . . . There are those who are not your subjects. Is that what you seek? Tell me, and I will make it so.”

“No. I simply don’t want . . . emotionless sex.” Niall looked away. “After Leslie—”

Irial growled. “She left.”

“I know.” Niall glared. “It’s only been a moment, though, and . . . I can’t.”

“As your advisor, I am strongly suggesting that you listen to my advice. Don’t weaken your court by being maudlin. You’ve never once been monogamous in your life, and if you think you could’ve been so with her, you’re a fool. You were a Gancanagh. Now, you’re the King of Temptation. You are what you are.”

“You’re a bastard. You know that?”

“I do.” Irial stood. “By tomorrow Devlin will be here, and if you expect to be your best, I’d strongly recommend that you go get—”