"It behooves me." Irial saw no reason to be other than honest. "I understand addiction: it's one of my court's coins. Niall doesn't belong with Keenan, not now, not anymore. Keenan's mistreated him more than you know."

Aislinn's placid smile didn't waver, but tiny sparks of sunlight showed in her eyes. "What difference does it make to you?"

He leaned back and stretched his legs out in the aisle, as comfortable as he could be in the crowd of frolicking mortals. "Would you believe I care for Niall?"

"No."

"Fey don't lie."

"Not overtly," she amended.

"Well, if you won't believe that" — he shrugged—"what can I say? I enjoy provoking the kingling." He reached out for her hand. Unlike most faeries, the Summer Queen had enough speed to avoid his touch—sunlight can move as quickly as shadows—but she didn't. Keenan would've.

Queens are so much more pleasing to deal with.

Irial was assailed by the seeping heat of summer's languor, steamy breezes, and a strange-sweet taste of humid air. It was lovely. He held on to her hand, knowing that she felt his court's essence as surely as he felt hers, watching her pulse flutter like a captured thing, caught and struggling.

She flushed and pulled her hand away. "Being tempted isn't the same as being interested. I'm tempted by my king every moment of every day … but I'm not interested in sex for empty pleasure, and if I were, it wouldn't be with you."

"I'm not sure who I should envy more—the kingling or your mortal toy," Irial said.

Sparks illuminated the club as her temper finally became less stable. But even as her mood vacillated, she wasn't as temperamental as Keenan. "Seth is not a toy" — she appraised him then with a clarity Keenan didn't have—"any more than Leslie is a toy to you. Is she?"

"Keenan won't understand that. When he took mortals, he took their mortality."

"And you?"

"I like Leslie's mortality the way it is." He shook out a cigarette, tapped it on the table. "This isn't a secret you'll get from me … any more than I'll tell you the kingling's secrets or Niall's."

"Why not just let her go?"

He stared at her, wondering idly if she'd light his cigarette. Miach, the last Summer King, used to derive curious amusement from lighting things afire. Somehow, Irial doubted Aislinn would, so he pulled out a lighter. "I'll not answer that, not now, not without a reason. She's mine. That's all that matters."

"What if I told you our court would take her back?"

He lit his cigarette, took a long drag, and exhaled. "You'd be wrong."

Irial didn't mention that the Summer King didn't care one whit about Leslie. The Summer Queen might care for his Leslie, but Keenan? He didn't truly care for anyone other than his own fey and his queen. And not always to their best interests.

Irritated but still in control of her emotions, Aislinn gave Irial a look that would send most fey to their knees. Before she could speak, he caught one of her hands again. She struggled in his grip, her skin growing hot as molten steel.

"Leslie belongs to me, as surely as your Seth belongs to you, as the Summer Girls belong to Keenan."

"She's my friend."

"Then you should've done something to protect her. Do you know what's been done to her? How lost she's been? How afraid? How very, very broken?"

As much as he found it touching that Aislinn cared for his girl, it wasn't reason enough to sacrifice Leslie. They hadn't protected her, hadn't kept her safe, hadn't made her happy. He would do those things. "When she adjusts to the changes—"

"What changes? You said she was still mortal. What did you do?"

Tiny storm clouds clustered around them until the club was hazy with them. The conversation wasn't going to improve, so Irial stood and bowed. "My court deals in darker things than yours. The rest is not mine to say. Later, if she wants to, she'll tell you."

Then he left the Summer Queen and her retinue of scowling guards. Despite his court's need for dissension among the denizens of Faerie, he had no patience for politics, not now. He had something—someone—more important to attend to.

Chapter 26

Leslie and Seth were several blocks away before she finally asked, "Do you know what's going on?"

Without missing a step, Seth said, "They're not human. None of them."

"Right." She scowled. "Thanks. Joking really helps."

"I'm not joking, Leslie." He glanced past her as if someone were there and smiled at the empty street. "Ask Irial for the Sight. Tell him you deserve it."

"The Sight?" She didn't smack him, but she wanted to. She felt utterly off-kilter, and he was mocking her.

"And guards," he added. Then he stopped and motioned to the open space in front of her. "Show her."

"Show me wha—"

A girl with black leathery wings appeared. She smiled in a predatory way. "Ooh, are we going to get to play?"

Niall's voice came from behind her, "Take a walk, Cerise. She belongs to Irial now."

"Irial took a mortal? Really? I heard rumors, but … hmm, she's a bit plain, isn't she?" The winged girl looked astounded, amused, and curious all at once.

Leslie stared at her: she couldn't turn to look at Niall, couldn't begin to get her head around what he had just said. Belong? What about us? What about everything he whispered to me? Belong? A burst of anger consumed her sadness but faded immediately. Belong? Like a trinket? I belong to myself. But she didn't say any of it, didn't turn to face him with confusion written plainly on her face. Instead she stepped up to the winged girl, Cerise.