“You didn’t do it, did you?”
Irial shrugged. There was no harm in being held accountable for what Niall had likely done. From all of his years in the Summer Court, Niall carried an impulsiveness that sometimes made him unable to use caution or common sense—and those outside the Dark Court thought Irial guilty of many an ill-thought out act that was Niall’s doing.
“So. . . not you.”
“I didn’t say that, love. I am guilty of all manner of things. I simply asked which has you in this mood.” He lit a cigarette, pulling the smoke into his lungs with the comfort of a man who will never weaken or die from the poisonous stuff. It was a pleasant perk of being fey.
“No. I can feel your emotions, Irial. It’s not the same as before, but it’s growing stronger the past few months.” Leslie spoke carefully as if she were weighing the words, sliding invisible fingers over the tendrils that flowed between their bodies again. “When I . . . cut the ties, it was like a ghost that passed by me sometimes, but now, it’s like I can feel you more and more every month.”
“Not enough to know whether I’m truly guilty, though.”
“True,” she murmured.
He caught her hand and pressed it to his cheek. “Does that help?”
Leslie laughed before saying, “Touching you alwayshelps, but it doesn’t always make you easier to read.”
She caressed his face for a moment before settling onto his lap. There was no doubt in her, no insecurity as there had been when he’d first seen her. Back then she was a broken doll hiding her fears behind a false bravado. She’d survived an assault that left her screaming inside and trying desperately to pretend she was untouched by the pain. She’d been everything he needed for a conduit to feed the Dark Court: all but destroyed but still fierce inside.
For the past several years, the Dark Court had been her home. The monsters she’d saved would willingly kill or die for her. Admittedly, they’d also willingly kill for a cookie, but they wouldn’tdiefor just anyone. They’d donned glamours and cheered her every victory while she was at university. They’d been planning a party for her upcoming graduation that even Irial thought might be a bit over the top, but he wasn’t their king anymore and their current king would agree to any excess if he thought it would please Leslie.
“Niall’s away,” Irial said, trying to remember that she wasn’t only his, not now.
“I know. I saw him last week.Heisn’t avoiding me.” She slid her hand from Irial’s cheek to his throat. “I’m here to see you, Iri. You can’t hide from me if I’m in here with you.”
Possessiveness flared at the thought of a few uninterrupted days with her. He ground his unfinished cigarette. No amount of time with Leslie was ever enough, could ever be enough. She was too mortal, too fleeting, and fate had a horrible habit of stealing those he loved.
As Leslie twined her arms around him and pulled him into a kiss, Irial stopped thinking. She was here now, touching him, and that was more than he’d ever expected when they’d first been bonded. Ink exchanges were often fatal, so by the time he realized he loved her, he’d expected her to die. When she severed their bond, it held a likelihood of killing her. When he’d been poisoned, he hadn’t even had time to see her before he slipped into a comatose state. So to be kissing her several years later was . . . whatever cameaftermiracles.
And like all miracles, he couldn’t even quite believe this was real. He’d been the thing that led the worst of Faerie’s monsters for over a millennium, the embodiment of Discord for the past few years, and his greatest fear was losing the two people he loved.
He’d done so once. Twice. Three times. Centuries ago, he’d lost the faery he now shared his home with, and then he lost the mortal he’d loved, and then he’d lost Leslie briefly, and then he’d died.
Dying ended up being a temporary state, but he felt the finiteness of life since that unfortunate event.
Losing a loved one always hurt, but with Niall and Leslie, they were still alive even when they weren’this.He’d been separated, partly, from them when he died. That, too, was bearable. Death of a loved one, on the other hand, was a far uglier thing. He’d gone through it once, and he’d thought the madness of losing the only other mortal he’d loved would break him. He wouldn’t do it again.
“You mustneverdie,” he whispered to the woman in his arms.
Leslie smiled, kissed him again, but she made no such promises.
Mortals age. They die. And Leslie thought she was mortal still. He hoped she was wrong, but he wasn’t sure. The thought thathemight be wrong made him pull her tighter to him. “Never. Ever. Leave. Me.”
Not long after, both of them half-drunk of kisses, Leslie watched Irial decided what and how much he could still misdirect her. It was a lie, but he had been king of the Dark Court for literal centuries. He was good at lying by way of omission, misdirection, and other subterfuge.
“I need answers,” she nudged.
From the comfort of the sofa, Leslie watched the centuries’ old faery pace as he acted only slightly older than the boys at university. Faeries age slower than mortals, and Irial had been a creature of self-indulgence so long that he reacted to restrictions, rules, or confusions with a mix of temper and embarrassment.
“Time to talk,” she announced.
“Fine.” He sulked—and she tried not to laugh. Learning to live with the Dark Court meant learning that the monsters were often not as scary as people thought, and not nearly as scary as they pretended. At least it seemed that way to her.
Certainly, after the battle between the courts in which Bananach died, Leslie could admit that there was a violence to them that she rarely saw.
“I graduate in a few weeks,” she nudged. “Isthatwhat has you upset?”
“No.” Irial poured himself a drink.