Back at the house he was renting, the Summer King was greeted by the scowling expressions of his advisors. Tavish and Niall had been at Keenan’s side his whole life. They’d advised his father—and when Keenan was a child, they were his only guests from the Summer Court.
They were his family, and like any family they had secrets and discord.
If not for the intercession of the eldest faeries, those who lived in Faerie, he’d have only known Winter until he reached his eighteenth year. Tavish and Niall had been the ones who started to counter the stories his mother told him. In time, they’d become treasured friends as well as advisors. After nine centuries, they knew him better than he knew himself.
Today, however, Keenan was not as grateful for their insights. He didn’t miss the assessing looks they gave him.
“My king,” Tavish started.
Keenan shook his head. “No.”
“I understand that you have feelings for the Winter Girl.” Tavish shoved the long silver plait over his shoulder in a telltale sign that he was agitated. He was very loyal to the court, and his tolerance of the Winter Court or Dark Court was minimal at best.
“Stop.” Keenan had listened to more than enough lectures on duty. He knew his duty, and he’d see it through in time. When he’d told Donia he thought the girl was here, Keenan had been serious. He was drawn here, to her, and oddly, he’d been drawn to this area before. He met Tavish’s patient gaze and said, “I will take my joy where I ch—”
“Take it with the Summer Girls,” Tavish interrupted. “They require your time. She does not.”
Nearby, Niall sighed and rubbed his head. The second Summer Court advisor was the more emotional of the two faeries—on every topic save duty. There, Niall was quiet where Tavish had been willing to take risks that Keenan wasn’t sure he could accept.
Niall was not at ease with conflict. Still. He’d fight, and he’d sometimes allow himself pleasures that were beyond the typical court debauchery. He disliked quarrels, though.
“Are you sure you need this?” Niall asked, drawing their gazes. He rubbed his hair with both hands anxiously. His shorn wood-brown hair stood out at odd angles, and for a moment, Keenan had a thought that he might let it grow finally. It wasn’t mere vanity to hope that for him, but a wish that his advisor might finally heal. His close-cropped hair was kept that way to make certain no one missed the long scar that ran from his temple to the corner of his mouth.
“Tavish,” Keenan rebuked, glancing back at Niall.
“Joy matters,” Niall said with a shrug. “You know that, Tavish.” Then to Keenan, he added, “You should see her—unless it will make you hate yourself later.”
Those were words Keenan had said more than once to Niall, referring to the Dark King, though. His advisor, for all that he was loyal to Summer, had been a creature of the Dark Court before Keenan’s birth. And it took no genius to see that a part of the gancanagh still missed the other court. That was one of the many things Summer did not discuss.
The Summer Court was a place of frolic, of leisurely naps in the sun, and naked dancing in the rain. They were not so serious, and they had little time for regrets. In that they were more akin to the Dark than to the Winter Court or High Court.
At that thought, Keenan grinned. “Summer does as it wants, and I want Donia.”
Niall laughed at Keenan’s boisterous proclamation. He understood impulsivity better than most any fey thing. He’d gone from Solitary to Dark Court to Summer Court. In every iteration, Niall was driven by emotions and need. He’d joined the Dark for either love or lust, and he’d left out of rage and betrayal. He stayed with Summer out of some mix of those passions.
“Wanting Winter resulted in your father’s death,” Tavish said. “The curse we bear now—and for all of these centuries—is Winter’s doing.”
“And Irial’s,” Niall muttered.
Keenan couldn’t argue, but there were perks to being king. Not as many as he’d like, what with being cursed his entire life, but one undeniable fact was that the king answered to no higher laws. He shrugged. “I do my duties, Tavish. I shall continue to do so. Sometimes, to enable me to do so, I need to remind myself why.”
“For a mortal who is not your queen?”
“No,” Keenan corrected. “She’s a woman—a faery woman thanks to the curse—and one I love. Breaking the curse will free her and all of them”—he gestured into the house where Summer Girls were giggling and running—“and the world. Forgive me if I need a reminder of why I don’t give up.”
Tavish sighed and walked away, leaving Niall and Keenan in the room alone.
After several moments, Niall spoke, “I understand.”
Keenan waited, knowing his friend well enough to know there was more to say. Finally, Niall met his gaze and added, “The past is the past, though. You can’t live in memories.”
“The past is why I am cursed and you are my advisor,” Keenan said. “My father’s past. Your past.”
Niall said nothing for several moments. He was never at ease discussing his time with the Dark Court, as if ignoring it would erase it. Keenan didn’t have that luxury. If he didn’t break the curse—and stop Beira’s ever-growing power—his court and then the mortals that populated the world would perish.
Logic and hope both said he would find the missing Summer Queen, curses were meant to be broken. The Winter Queen might think she was invincible, but Keenan had faith. Somewhere in the world was a mortal who would save them. He simply had to find her.
Tonight, though, he was going to absolve himself of kingly responsibilities and simply pretend he was a faery who had the joy of romancing the love of his life. He knew that he would lose her when he found his queen, but regrets were the stuff of other courts. He might be a bound king, but he was still the Summer King.
He would figure out how to romance Donia, and he would also meet his obligations. Keenan paused as he headed toward his room, snagging a few Summer Girls who spun by him.
“Niall?” Keenan waited until his advisor met his gaze. “Please inform the Dark King that we are here. I saw the Hunt, and I know they are near.”
And Keenan pretended not to see the flash of shadows in Niall’s eyes. He wasn’t sure if his friend knew they were there, but Keenan saw it. The raw truth was that Niall would always have divided loyalties, one even he denied. Eventually, he would need to face whatever he felt for the Dark King. If not, Keenan would be forced to admit to Niall that the element that healed him was not, had never been, sunlight.