Irial returned his attention to the pair across from him. Aislinn was murmuring to Keenan, soothing him. "Calm down. Niall's not going anywhere … especially not to the Dark Court. He's safe—"

"Precious, you wound me." Irial laughed, immensely pleased by such naïve belief, a true rarity in the courts. "Niall and I were close, if you will, before the young kingling was alive."

Keenan's anger flared. His fists were clenched so tightly, he was hurting himself. "And he's spent centuries suffering for it."

Irial leaned across the table. "Do you know how he struggles to deal with his yearning for Leslie? How very difficult …" He paused, pleased to see the tightening expression on Keenan's face. "But perhaps there's a reason he didn't tell you? Perhaps he's still more my court than yours. Perhaps he's been mine all along. …"

"Stay away from Niall," Keenan said. Waves of desert heat radiated from him, pulsing against them all.

Beside him, Aislinn absorbed that heat as quickly as Keenan released it. "Keenan. Damn it. We need to discuss Leslie's situation. Calm down or take a walk."

What a nice idea. Irial smiled at Aislinn. Then he turned back to Keenan, holding his gaze as he said, "He could reign in my court. What do you offer him? Servitude? Faeries? He's a Gancanagh, Keenan. He needs mortal touch or some focus to assuage the yearning. He has denied himself for centuries to protect you. What's he to do without a cause? Play nursemaid to the Summer Girls?"

Keenan struggled—and failed—to hide a flash of despair. A tiny rain shower began on the dance floor. The patrons squealed and laughed, no doubt explaining it away with a mundane answer—a faulty sprinkler head or leaky pipe.

"Niall is better off with me. His loyalty is to my court; that's cause enough," Keenan said.

"Did you know that he has seen Gabe of late?" Irial lowered his voice conspiratorially and added, "He's been under watch by Bananach. Do you think she'd bother with him if he weren't a part of my court?"

The heat radiating from Keenan's skin made the water in the room hiss into a steam. "He's not Dark Court. He belongs among faeries who don't torment him. He's happier—"

"No. He's not. The best we can hope for, kingling, is to find ways to be at peace with what we are. You understand that, don't you? He's teetering on the edge. You've given him the keys to his own destruction." Irial watched Keenan, saw the acknowledgment he knew he'd find if he pushed hard enough.

"Don't go there." Keenan was carefully not glancing at his queen, carefully not admitting that he'd manipulated Niall and put Leslie at risk.

"Walk away from this, kingling," Irial warned. "This isn't a conversation you really want to have. Is it?"

The Summer King lashed out, a sharp wind that burned across Irial's face, drawing blood to the surface. The intensity of the fury made it all the more nourishing for Irial.

Aislinn kissed Keenan's cheeks. "Go on. I can deal with him." She waved her hand at the crowd of mortals. Too many of them were watching, curious and eager. "They don't need to see this."

Keenan made an abrupt gesture toward several of the rowan-men, and the guards—who looked like nothing more than the ominous young men in the dark alleys of most cities—moved closer. They leaned against a nearby wall, shooting menacing looks at Irial. It was a charming little show, their posturing—as if any Summer Court fey could daunt the head of the Dark Court. Without another word, Keenan vanished into the half-drenched crowd on the dance floor.

Irial smiled at the young Summer Queen. "Now that he's gone, let's you and I get to know each other."

Aislinn gave him a smile that was caught between mortal innocence and faery cunning.

I could grow fond of this one. She was a more challenging adversary than Keenan right now.

"You shouldn't try Keenan like that. I'm not sure what secrets you two were exchanging, but this is my court now. Needling him isn't going to help." She didn't bother to keep the heat out of her voice, but unlike her king's, Aislinn's temper wasn't a concentrated slap. Instead the blistering summer heat pushed against Irial like a sudden gust, causing him to swallow hard against the taste of sand on his tongue.

Delicious. He drank down her acrid temper with relish. "Secrets? Keenan was brought up longing for power— power I took from him under the will of the Winter Court. We have a history … not quite as fulfilling as my bond with Niall, mind you, but the kingling has impotence issues with me."

"I know what your court is. I know what you do. You're responsible for the evil—"

"Evil?" He laughed then, letting every bit of his courts true nature into the sound.

The Summer Queen caught her breath. Her face flamed red, and the waves of anger radiating from her brought blisters to his skin.

"Not evil, child, and I'd rather you didn't insult me so" — Irial leaned closer, watching her face as she wrestled her emotions back into place—"because as much as I like your reaction, you've too many complications to interest me that way."

"If Keenan hears—"

"Tell him. Give him the extra reason to attack me." Irial licked his lips as if sand were truly a tangible thing, not simply a flavor in the air.

She switched topics. "Why are you trying to cause him troubles with Niall?"