On the solstice, Alun scheduled his last patient at seven so he’d have time to prepare for crossing into Faerie with whatever alchemy Mal had conjured up.

David had almost vibrated with excitement all day, charming all the clients—including surly Jackson Hoffenberg—even more than usual. Charming Alun more than usual too, if he wanted to admit the truth.

He bounded into Alun’s office at eight fifteen, as Alun finished dictating the last chart notes for Benjamin Tomlinson. He had exchanged his office attire—which was distracting enough—for a pair of brown leather pants so tight that Alun’s mouth went dry, a collarless white shirt open at the throat, and a suede vest with gold trim.

“What do you think?” He raised his arms and turned in a slow circle. “Will this pass muster at a fae jamboree? You told me only natural fibers or skins. Nothing synthetic, and no base metal.” He traced the stitching on his vest. “Gold is all right though, isn’t it? And stones?” He touched his onyx earring.

“Yes.” Alun laid down his recorder and growled, “Come here.”

David grinned and shook his head. The track lighting glinted on the highlights in his hair, and Alun had never wanted anyone, even Owain, more than he wanted David in this moment.

“No, sir. I don’t want to risk being late. It’s our first date outside the supply closet. I want it to be perfect.”

A date. Is that how he saw this? Alun blinked, and a slow smile stretched his lips. Yes. It was a date, in that he’d have the chance to spend time with David in a social setting, maybe arrange some alone time in one of his favorite spots in Faerie, the grotto on the other side of the hill from the ceilidh glade, a place he hadn’t visited in two hundred years.

Of course, any visit to Faerie, especially for a human, was fraught with the possibility of disaster. Alun would have to be absolutely certain they left before dawn, or David could return to a world he no longer recognized.

Now if only Mal would get here so they could get moving. The sooner the formalities of the evening were taken care of—his blasted oath of fealty to the Queen and her smarmy Consort—the sooner he could spend some quality time with David, preferably with clothing optional.

On cue, Mal sauntered in, dressed in his Court finery, which wasn’t that different from David’s outfit, although Mal never deviated from black leather and white linen. His broadsword was hanging in a scabbard slung across his back, and Alun raised his eyebrows.

“That’s not a ceremonial weapon. You’re going into the Queen’s presence battle-armed?”

Mal flicked the hilt where it extended above his left shoulder. “It’s obligatory for me, remember—Enforcer and bloody acting Champion. It’s my job to make sure none of the supplicants attempt to stage a coup.”

“I don’t give a rat’s arse for any coup, but I need to know how you plan to fool the gate into letting me through.”

David frowned, his gaze darting between Alun and Mal. “Fool the gate? What do you mean? I thought you were required to attend?”

Mal pulled a small linen-wrapped bundle out of the pouch at his waist. “Let me guess. My tight-lipped, tight-arsed brother hasn’t told you anything about the tenets of the Seelie Court, am I right?”

“Um . . .” David glanced at Alun, obviously not wanting to agree if it would upset him.

Alun spared him the distress, and stripped Mal of the satisfaction of announcing everything himself. “The Seelie Court has four primary mandates, and they’re non-negotiable. The first is honor, which we’re expected to defend to the death.”

“Okaaay. Not planning on killing anyone, although Mal’s sword is a little alarming.” David glanced at Mal from under his lashes. “Hot too.”

Mal grinned, the bloody bastard. “The second is looove. Want to test that one out with me, boy bach?”

David laughed. “No. thanks, but I appreciate the offer.” He turned back to Alun. “So far, I don’t see the problem.”

“Then there’s beauty.” Alun rubbed his misshapen jaw. “I don’t fit the requirements anymore.”

“So you need to get special dispensation? Bribe the bouncer? What?”

“Not so easy.” Mal set a tiny brown bottle on Alun’s desk. “Faerie isn’t a place as physical as this room, or this town, or even this country. It’s a magical construct, and as such, it has rules that are enforced by the spell that created it. If you don’t fit the standards of beauty encapsulated in the spell, you can’t get in. Period. Faerie simply will not exist for you, regardless of how many times you’ve been there before.”

David scowled, rivaling Alun’s most disgruntled expressions. “That sucks.”

“True. But it’s a fact we must deal with.” Mal pointed to the bottle. “There’s your ticket, brother. Drink up.”

Alun picked up the little vial between his thumb and forefinger. “What should I expect from this?”

Mal shrugged. “Not sure exactly. I got it from a druid I know. She swears it’ll make it possible for you to pass, but it’s only good for twelve hours. Since it’s the solstice, and night’s only eight hours long, that’s plenty of time for you to show up, abase yourself, raise a glass of mead or two, and scarper before somebody decides they need a piece of you.”

“Druids,” Alun muttered. “Of course it would be druids.” He uncorked the bottle and tossed back the contents, nearly gagging as the bitter brew seared his tongue and bit the back of his throat. “Gwydion’s bollocks, would it kill them to make it taste less like hell hound piss?”

Mal shrugged. “I imagine they don’t think the clientele who need this kind of potion deserve any extra effort. No need to tempt the palate.”

Alun tossed the empty bottle in the recycling bin. “Now what?”

Mal shrugged again and tucked the square of linen back in his pouch. “Guess we go. You’re not wearing that, are you?”

Alun glanced down at his dress shirt, tie, and summer-weight wool slacks. “Of course not. But I just finished work.”

“Then go change.” Mal smiled and swaggered toward David, who’d been watching the whole show with wide anxious eyes. “I’m sure David and I can find some way to occupy ourselves. You needn’t rush.”

“Wait.” David took a step back, one hand coming up as if to ward Mal off. “You said there were four tenets. What’s the last one?”

“Oh that.” Mal flicked his fingers as if brushing away a persistent insect. “Equilibrium. Or as I like to call it—payback.”

That’s when the cramps hit Alun’s belly and his head exploded in a burst of pain.

“Alun!” David started forward when Alun clutched his head and doubled over, but Mal caught his shoulder, holding him back. He struggled in Mal’s hold as Alun face-planted on his stupid gray carpeting. “Let go, damn it. He needs help.”

“You can’t do anything. This is the druid spell, doing what it’s supposed to. We can only wait until it’s done.”

Alun’s back arched, and he jerked, his limbs flopping as if he were seizing.

“Can’t we—” David swallowed as Alun curled into a fetal position, his body shuddering and jerking as if from invisible body blows. “This can’t be worth it. There had to have been some other way.”

“Trust me, if I could have found a way around this without involving druid magic, I’d have found it. With druids, there’s always a catch—some shite about cosmic balance. Besides, fae and druids? No love lost there.”

“Why?” Alun jackknifed, stiff-limbed, then curled again, tighter than before. God, David hated to see someone in this much pain, yet be unable to help.

Mal slung an arm across his shoulders, but it didn’t feel like a come-on. It felt like comfort from a companion in adversity. “The ways of our people, David bach. Who’s to say how the feud began, but since we dearly love a good feud, no one feels the urge to uncover the truth.”

“Then how can you ever fix it?” David leaned in to the embrace, counting the seconds in his head, determined to call 911, regardless of what Mal said, if this went on longer than another minute. “Equilibrium does not equal payback, no matter what you think. Once people start down that path, nothing ever evens out, because everyone on both sides is always convinced their loss is greater than the other person’s. So if you ask me, you’ve all broken a Seelie tenet. Why punish Alun and not everybody else? It’s so unfair.”

“Shite.” Mal rubbed his other hand over his face. “You’ve got a point.”

Alun groaned, his limbs jerking, and David pressed his fist against his mouth until he cut the inside of his lip against his teeth, tasting the metallic salt of his own blood. This has gone on long enough.

But as he ducked out from under Mal’s arm to grab the desk phone, Alun took a giant shuddering breath, and the tension went out of his back and shoulders.

He rolled to his hands and knees and shook his head heavily. “Damn druids. Always with the pain.” He pushed himself to his haunches and stood as if he were unfurling from a chrysalis.

When he lifted his head and blinked at them, David’s mouth fell open and his eyes threatened to leap out of their sockets. Was this what Alun looked like before the curse? He’d thought Mal was gorgeous, but Alun beat him to hell in a go-cart.

Dark, silky hair fell across a smooth forehead and framed cheekbones that would make any Abercrombie model weep. His nose, no longer fleshy, was straight and sculpted, his jaw strong and square, with the same cleft—although without the magical stubble—that his brother sported. His eyes were the same luminous hazel, but they were no longer shadowed by the oversized brow ridges. His lips—well, those hadn’t changed. Thank goodness.

“Mother of us all,” breathed Mal. “That witch really knows her craft.”

“What?” Alun’s chest still heaved in the aftermath of the transformation. “Is something—” He touched his face, and shock chased the weariness from his eyes. He swept his hands across his forehead, down his cheeks, over his jawline. “Shite.” He yanked his tie off and ripped open his shirt, scattering a handful of white buttons on the carpet like snowflakes.

His chest was smooth, unmarred, hairless. He looked up, mouth working as if he couldn’t form any words.

“If you’re done messing about, brother,” Mal drawled, “you’d best get ready to go. We can’t be late to the party—that’s just rude.”