Darkest Mercy

Chapter 17

Keenan opened the door and stared at her and only her. His queen looked as regal as any ruler he’d known. Her chin lifted. Her gaze was on him—not welcoming, but judging. Her once blue-black hair had sun streaks as if she’d lived at the beach, and within her eyes he could see a hurricane in motion. She still wore common clothes—jeans and a simple shirt—as she had when she was a mortal, but her bearing made them the clothes of royalty. Sun sparks of emotion danced over her skin. The tiny bursts of light made her seem to flicker like the sun itself.

She didn’t rise to greet him. Instead, she sat in judgment within the study that had been his retreat. It, like most everything else, was hers now; his court, his advisors, the struggle of correcting the court’s weaknesses, the challenge of finding balance—they all belonged to the Summer Queen as much as to him.

In the hallway beyond him, several of the Summer Girls sighed, and others started dancing. Keenan smiled at them briefly before returning his attention to the Summer Queen. Unlike his dancing Summer Girls, the queen was not smiling.

At all.

“Nice of you to remember where we live,” she said.

“I needed a little time. . . .”

“Almost six months?”

“Yes,” he said.

As he approached his queen, sunlight flared from his skin. It wasn’t by choice; the sunlight inside of him burned brighter because of her. The king and the queen were drawn together. Attraction without love. It was the final piece of Beira’s curse. Keenan hadn’t realized how much he wanted an all-consuming love until the past year. He’d spent so long looking for her that he’d assumed they’d be perfect together. She was his missing partner; how could it be otherwise?

“Did you get my message that quickly? If I had known that’s all it took, I’d have sent word of the court’s predicament sooner.” Aislinn didn’t look away from him as she asked, and Keenan saw in her the queen he’d sought for so many centuries. She was bold where she had once been tentative, aggressive with him in defense of their court as she’d once been for her then-mortal beloved.

“I received no message,” he admitted. “I came back because it was time.”

The gleam in her eyes flashed brightly. “At least there’s that.”

“I . . .” he started, but he had no words, not when she looked at him with a tangle of hope and anger. He wasn’t sure if he should ask what message she’d sent or not, but as sunlight shimmered around her in a light show to rival the aurora borealis, he decided the question could wait.

She folded her arms across her chest. “You left me . . . our court. Do you have any idea what’s been going on?”

“I do. I had reports, and I knew”—he sat on the sofa beside her—“I was able to stay away because the court was safe in your hands.”

“You abandoned your court to do who knows w—” She turned to face him and gasped.

She reached out with one hand. She slid her thumb across his cheek. “You’re injured.”

Keenan pulled her hand away from his face.

“It’ll wait. Come with me,” he said softly, not a command—because she is the queen—but something more than a request.

He stood, but she remained where she was.

“Please?” he urged.

After a glance at the faeries who waited outside the room, Aislinn stood. Keenan put his arm around her waist, and happy murmurs filtered through the loft. With Aislinn at his side, Keenan walked down the hallway to his rooms.

At the door, a faery bowed.

Keenan nodded and led Aislinn across the threshold.

Once the door had closed behind them, she pulled away. “That wasn’t fair.”

He winced as she elbowed him in his injured side. “Holding you, or letting them believe I intend to return to where we were when I left?”

“Either.”

“Aislinn?” He walked toward her. “I need you.”

He stripped off his shirt.

She stared at him, and he felt the temperature in the room spike.

“Keenan? What are you . . . I can’t . . .”

“I need your help.” He tossed the shirt against the wall and lifted his arm. By peeling the shirt off, he’d reopened the gashes from Bananach’s talons. Blood trickled over his side.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were this badly injured?” Aislinn was beside him in an instant. Without thinking of the consequences, she laid one hand on his stomach and her other on his arm. “Who did this?”

“Bananach.” He let her push his arm out of the way so that she could see the ugly wounds. “She and three others cornered me.”

He silently apologized to Donia for what he was about to do, but the Summer Court would never be strong enough to survive the coming war if he didn’t force a change. I need my queen. My court needs this. For a faery king, he’d been patient since Aislinn had become queen. No more.

He looked at his queen. “Help me?”

She hadn’t moved away yet, but she had pulled her hands from him. “What do you need?”

He twisted to look at the injury and held his arm out from his body. “It needs to be cleaned, and—never mind.” He stepped away. “I can do it myself.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Aislinn scowled.

He hid his smile. “If you’re sure . . .”

“What do I clean it with?”

Keenan pointed toward a cabinet and winced. “There’s cleaning supplies on the top shelf.”

His queen opened the cabinet and stretched up, balancing on her toes.

“Can you reach them?” Keenan followed and used the excuse to put his hands on her waist. The pain of the toxins in his body was starting to make him feel weak, but he wasn’t yet at the point of exhaustion.

“Got it.” She pulled down the box of medicinal supplies and spun around so that she was facing him. “Why do you have these in here?”

“My mother used to take pleasure in injuring me every time I told her about the girl I thought could be my”—he touched her face with his hand, trapping her between him and the wall—“who could be you. I didn’t like the court to see my injuries.”

“Oh.” She took a steadying breath and then exhaled—against his bare skin.

He shivered at the feel of her breath, letting her see his reaction, showing her that he was far from immune to her, and then before she could ask him to move, he turned and walked away. Tease and retreat. He’d done this so many times that it was frightfully easy to slip into the role. I hate it. He pushed the distaste away. The court comes first. An unhappy regent was a weak regent; a weak regent created a weak court. We cannot be weak.

He glanced over his shoulder at her. “Is it easier if I stand or sit?”

“Your back is bruised too.” She walked up behind him and laid her hand flat between his shoulder blades. “Do we need a healer?”

“You can heal me,” he reminded her. He turned so they were face-to-face again. “After you clean the wounds, if you choose to, you could erase these injuries.”

“It’s not that easy.” She started to back away.

He caught her hand and held it against his skin. As his sunlight pulsed and drew out her light, he slid her hand toward his injured side. “All you need to do is touch me and let your sunlight make me stronger. I need you, Aislinn.”

“When I do . . . I would if it were life threatening, but . . .” She blushed and tugged her hand free of his. “You’re not being fair. You know what it feels like.”

“I do. It feels right.”

She opened the medical box and pulled out an antiseptic wipe. “Sit.”

He did so, and she leaned down and wiped the blood from his skin. She was careful as she cleaned the four gouges in his side. When she was done, she asked, “They look worse than they feel, right?”

“No,” he admitted. He put his right arm behind him to brace himself. “She’s War. Her touch is always worse than most faeries, and right now, she’s strong.”

Aislinn’s attempt at self-control faltered. Wind snapped through the room as her instinctual protectiveness flared to life.

“But you seemed fine in the study and”—she shook her head—“you were ignoring that, despite being in real pain, to explain to me. I thought we came in here because you were being . . .”

“Assertive?” he offered. “I was, but I didn’t want them to see me weakened, Aislinn. You know that they are already tentative. I’ll not show them anything that gives them doubts. My duty is to them. It has been so since I was born.”

Silently, she sat beside him and splayed one hand over the still-bleeding cuts. Pulses of sunlight slipped into his torn skin, burning the darkness of War’s poison from his body. He closed his eyes against both the pain and the pleasure. He wasn’t sure at first if Aislinn realized there were toxins inside him that she was destroying, but when he opened his eyes, she was staring at him. She’d felt the poisons, knew what he’d hidden: if she’d not helped him in time, he could’ve died.

“No different than the ice Donia poisoned you with, Aislinn.” He smiled at her. “Telling you wouldn’t have changed anything. You felt it. You’re fixing it.”

“Idiot.” Then, she put her other hand on his injured ribs and forced the sunlight into his skin. The feel was of honey just this side of too hot, soaking through his skin, seeping into the now-healing cuts. As they healed, he pushed back, letting sunlight loop toward her. He might be injured, but he’d been playing with Summer’s elements for centuries. Then, he was a bound king; now, he was freed. Because of you. He could feel the almost tangible edge of how strong they could be.

He returned the sunlight she was pushing into his body, and her fingers curled until her fingernails were scratching his skin. She didn’t push him away. Or pull me closer. His queen wasn’t sure what she wanted, and he wasn’t going to walk away until they both knew.

All or nothing.

Aislinn couldn’t keep her eyes open. She might not love Keenan, but there was no denying the way her body responded to him. She slid her hand from his side onto his bare stomach and felt the muscles under his skin tense.

He had his arm around her lower back and started to pull her onto his lap.

With more effort than she wished it took, she stopped him. “Keenan.”

His eyes opened, but instead of answering, he wrapped both arms around her, and fell backward onto his bed, pulling her with him. Her hands were flat on his bare chest, and her hips were against his. The shock of being in that position made her still for a moment.

“You’re not going to seduce me.” Aislinn pushed away and stared down at the Summer King, who was shirtless and prone on his bed underneath her.

Summer is the court of impulsivity. Keenan was offering her what Seth was refusing her. His kisses make me forget the world. His touch would be . . .

She sighed. “I’m tempted. You know that.”

“That was a no,” Keenan said.

“It was.” She sat beside him.

He didn’t sit up. Instead he rolled onto his side and looked at her. “Because of Seth.”

Aislinn nodded.

“So are you . . . completely together then?” Keenan stretched one arm over his head.

Despite her best intentions, her gaze traveled over him. Several thin scars marred the expanse of tanned skin, but they didn’t detract from his appeal. He was toned without being bulky, and his well-defined abs made her briefly think he shouldn’t ever wear shirts. Except no one would get much done if that were the case. Even when they’d been growing closer, she hadn’t seen him like this. He’d been careful around her then.

“You’re doing this on purpose,” she said in a voice far too breathy for her comfort.

He didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “I am.”

“Why?” She forced herself to look only at his face.

“Answer my question, Aislinn.”

“No, not totally. We aren’t . . .” She blushed. “Not by my choice.”

“Did he tell you what he sees?” Keenan asked in a voice too benign to be truly innocent.

She made sure her gaze didn’t waver from his face—much—and asked, “Sees?”

“In the future.”

“I don’t . . .” She frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Seth sees the future,” Keenan told her. “If he was certain you weren’t going to be in my arms, he wouldn’t refuse you. He knows you aren’t certain.”

“He wouldn’t hide that. . . .” Aislinn felt tears well up in her eyes, though.

“But he did. Seers are able to see possibilities. Not their own futures, but he can see your possible futures. No matter what you’ve said, he can see that you aren’t certain yet. We have not reached the point where you can say that you truly won’t be with me. You know—as well as I do, and as well as he does—that you don’t want to sacrifice your court for love. You’re their queen. Will you tell them that their deaths, their fragility, their court mean so little?”

“No.”

“Can you say you don’t want me?” he challenged.

Aislinn looked away, but Keenan laid his hand on her cheek and made her face him. “I am your king, Aislinn. Seth sees futures where you make the choice to be mine.”

“How do you know?”

“Because Seth is the one who helped me fight Bananach today.”

When several moments passed and she didn’t reply, Keenan asked, “What was the message you sent?”

“Keenan . . .”

“What message would you send to bring me home so quickly, Aislinn?”

In a steady voice, the Summer Queen said, “I told Tavish to send a message to bring you home, not that it was truth . . . but a misdirection, a faery manipulation.”

“Aislinn, what was the message?”

“That I was ready to let you convince me,” she confessed.

“Then, convince you I shall.” In one of those faery-fast movements that used to unsettle her, Keenan sat up so he was knee-to-knee with her. “I’ll be yours, and only yours, for all of eternity. We will move the court away from here.”

“But, I didn’t mean it. . . .”

“One week,” he said. “We will be together, or I will leave. I will do what I must from a distance. It is not how a court should be ruled, but we can make it so if necessary. I will not stay here and watch my queen choose to be with another. I will not. I will not stay here and fight against our natures. We will be together, or we will not see each other at all.”

“You’re not being fair, Keenan.”

“None of this is fair, Aislinn.” He slid his fingers through her hair, and flower petals showered them. “The indecision is keeping us from being happy, and that weakens the court. I could make you happy.”

Then he pulled his hands away, but as he did so, sunlight rained down over them. Vines twined up the bed and burst into bloom. Somewhere in the distance, she heard an ocean crash onto the shore, and she slid backward.

With effort, she kept her eyes open. “I just wanted you to come back.”

“And I’m here.” Keenan knelt beside her in the midst of a riot of summer blossoms. “We’ve tried approaching this as a job; we tried being coregents, but not truly together. It didn’t work.”

“Maybe—”

“No. The court needs to be strong, and having its rulers in stasis isn’t going to make our fey strong . . . or safe from Bananach. You can stop this at any point by telling me we will rule the court apart from a distance, but until you do so”—he let liquid sunlight drip onto her skin—“I’m playing for keeps. I’m not a mortal, Aislinn. I’m the Summer King, and I’m done pretending to be anything other than that.”

He leaned down and said, “We could be amazing together.”

Then he was gone.