When Irial left Faerie, he was no more informed than when he arrived. He had once known these mortals—or at least known of them. Tonight, he stood staring up at their building. He was unsurprised when he felt the approach of the one being he’d ever loved. Was the mortal one he’d rescued from the gancanagh? Had he hidden them because the eldest one was addicted to his beloved Niall? Or was she the child of his beloved? Why had he asked Sorcha to curse him?
Did Niall know he’d had a child?
Gabriel was the only other faery Irial could imagine protecting, and the Hound had a child already. A half-ling son, and if Irial’s suspicions were right, he had at least one more child who was half-mortal.
Niall’s daughter.
Irial strolled away from the building until he found a park. Once he was situated, he sent messages over his connections to his fey. “Bring me my gancanagh. Gently. Trick and whisper.”
The minutes ticked by as Irial found himself at a table at the edge of the park. He sat inside, alone, at a wooden table in a small bar. The building was stone and wood, brick and mortar. Niall could sit here with him in relative comfort.
“Dark King.” Niall’s voice came from behind him.
Irial felt his abyss guardians, shadows that were both part of him and somehow sentient, surge toward him. He felt the twist of guilt, longing, and lust that Niall quickly crushed. And under it all, Irial tasted love. It was buried, but it was still there. With that, Irial’s tension lowered just enough to hide his own feelings.
“Did you miss me, love?” Irial said as he glanced back at Niall.
Although it didn’t show on Niall’s face, Irial could taste it. Like honied fire. Niall had always been such fun.
“No guards,” Niall asked. His concern had an edge of genuine curiosity now. “I know you summoned me when you heard I was seeking a formal audience.”
Irial pushed out a chair. “Sit.”
“Not your lackey.”
“Please, Niall?”
Whatever he heard in Irial’s voice was enough for his curiosity to flare even brighter. He took the chair, although he pulled it back as if Irial couldn’t resist touching him.
Irial smiled to himself. Someday, he’d wear down Niall’s fears. He no longer looked at the Dark King with only hate in his eyes. The love—and the lust—were always obvious again.
“Do you ever think about the days where no bed was forbidden?” Irial asked. “Where a woman would slide from my arms to yours? Where—”
“Not if I can help it.” Niall’s expression tightened.
The wave of lust from Niall that washed over Irial was enough to make the Dark King pause. He shook out a cigarette, tapped it on the table. “Do you ever think of children?”
Niall stilled, and for a flicker of a moment, Irial watched him. He wasn’t sure if he could force the question. Did Niall know?
“Have you any?” Irial asked.
Niall took Irial’s unlit cigarette and sniffed it. Carefully, he held to his lips and looked at Irial.
Stunned, Irial lit his cigarette. He didn’t let himself think of other times when Niall had allowed him other intimacy that ended with cigarettes and silences. “Feeling bold?”
Niall took a long drag and exhaled. “Earlier, my king mentioned that although he does what’s needed to fulfill his duties, sometimes, to enable that, he needed to remind himself why.”
Irial watched him curiously.
“I am here to tell you that we are in this town, that my king will commence seeking his queen here.” Niall smoked and stared at him for several moments. “I am reminded that I risked death to leave you.”
“Do you think I wouldn’t risk death to tempt you back?” Irial took Niall’s cigarette and lit his own with it. After a long moment, Irial asked, “Are you trying to see if I’ll seduce you tonight?”
“I’d refuse.”
Irial smiled. “Tonight? Probably. You’re not meant for the sunlight, though, Niall. We all know that.”
“I have no patience with Winter.” Niall still held his gaze, as if whatever urge was riding his nerves tonight was going to tempt him toward actions they’d both regret.
“I wouldn’t tell you no,” Irial whispered. “But the things you’re thinking are no good for either of us.”
Shame surged in Niall, and Irial drank it down. Such guilt and shame and lust and anger made time with Niall intoxicating.
Despite that, Irial confessed, “I would never refuse the things I see in your expression tonight, gancanagh. I miss that.” He clasped his hands together to resist taking Niall’s hand or starting a fight that would lead to a way to excuse what Niall was craving. “But what I still want is something else.”
Niall scoffed. “I don’t recall propositioning you for anything.”
“Answer me this: do you have children in this world?” Irial asked, again tasting the feelings that told the truth in a way no words could: Niall was confused. That meant that if those were his relations, Niall knew nothing of them.
Had we both forgotten? Was it Niall’s secret and that’s why Irial had asked to forget? There was no one else Irial truly loved.
“What game are you playing?” Niall asked, his voice dropping lower in suspicion.
Irial stood, unable to answer and unwilling to lie.
Then Niall grabbed his arm—and Irial let their connection gape open. He shoved his own lust, need, fear, and possessiveness toward Niall. He stood watching Niall shudder as if he was swallowing rich wine.
Niall pulled his hand away.
“Don’t grab me unless you want to hold on,” Irial whispered. He hated that the only times Niall touched him for centuries were when he was injured and didn’t remember their kisses, nights when Keenan summoned him to press shadows into the injured body of the faery he wished he could drag home tonight.
Or anger.
Irial enjoyed both, but neither was enough.
“I will do what I can to protect what you have made, gancanagh.” Irial offered his vow, even though Niall wouldn’t understand. The vow was binding nonetheless.
Then he slipped into the night, because protecting Niall’s child was more important than giving in to the terrible longing in Niall’s eyes. Giving in, despite the pleasure it would bring, would make Niall hate him later.
So Irial made his way out of the bar, and as he walked he sent the lust that was boiling over slide along the tendrils of connection with the court. He knew Niall well enough to know he’d return to wherever the Summer Court was staying and find his pleasure with Summer Girls.
“I am in need of satisfaction.” Irial sent the invitation to his court. He’d think of his gancanagh doing the same elsewhere in this horrible city, and then soon, he’d approach the halflings that his beloved had surely fathered and find a way to protect them from the Summer King.
There was no way that Niall’s granddaughter was the mortal who would be Summer Queen. Irial would help her flee Huntsdale, and then in a few years perhaps he could come to terms with the idea that the missing Summer Queen could be a young woman several generations removed from his beloved.
I may have to ask Sorcha to re-curse me.