Irial knew they both were keeping secrets that could change the trust they were building, but it was progress. For now, that was enough.

Once we get past the visit from the High Queen’s emissary. What Irial had learned in his conversations with his spies had directed a course of action he’d intended to discuss with Gabriel tonight, but Irial had long since discovered the importance of improvising. A chance to mend his relationship with Niall outweighed the benefits of informing Gabriel of his plans. He could handle matters quietly, and then apologize to Niall if he was found out.

Chapter 8

Despite the things left unsaid, Niall knew that the house he lived in was not intended to go to the new Dark King. If the last king died, Niall would be entitled to all his predecessor’s belongings. The last king, however, was far from dead. He is very much here. Thankfully. Niall smiled—and then paused. Do I forgive everything? He had set aside centuries of dislike for Irial in a few short weeks. No. Niall walked across the foyer, knowing that servants waited in hopes of his needing something, anything. There were those in the Dark Court who seemed to thrive on being given orders. It was perplexing to him. Forgiving everything will never happen. That didn’t mean that Niall could cling to the illusions that he’d held to these past centuries: he couldn’t forget the good things any more than the bad.

Ignoring the faeries that waited in every alcove and around every corner, Niall made his way to his chambers. He opened the door and stopped.

“He said you needed me.” She stared at him, not moving, not crossing the thick carpet to stand nearer him. Once, she would’ve. Now, she watched him and said, “The Hound. He brought me here because you needed me.”

“No,” he corrected. “I needed a body to be here. Not you. It’s what I am now. I have need of a body.”

She shrugged. “I am a body.”

“No.” He wasn’t exactly happy to find one of the Summer Girls waiting there. He tried to think of her that way: one of the Summer Girls. He tried not to think of her as someone he’d once protected. It didn’t work.

“You could be anyone.” He slammed the door closed. “You—”

“You don’t need to try to make me upset, Niall.” Siobhan gave him a sorrowful smile. “Tell me.”

“Tell you what?”

“What you need,” she supplied. Even in this place, far different from her court, she swayed a little as if she heard music still. The long brown hair that she usually pinned into curls hung straight today.

“The last Dark King invited us here often enough. Tonight, though . . . I hoped it was you I was here for when I saw the Hound. I would’ve come without that hope, but I’m glad to have been brought to you.”

Niall hadn’t thought about it overly much. It made sense, though: the Summer Girls were without Keenan’s hatred of the Dark Court. They were creatures of pleasure, the embodiment of only the joys of Summer. Later, he’d ask Gabriel how often the Summer Girls had visited the court—and how often they could visit safely. Even in his fury with Keenan, Niall still believed that the Summer King would not sit idly by if the Summer Girls were harmed. His former liege manipulated as freely as every other powerful faery did—including me—but often that was out of the protectiveness he felt for his faeries. The Summer Girls, former mortals who’d been cursed to be faeries dependent on Keenan for their very sustenance, were particularly important to the Summer King.

“He always asked about you. The last king”—she unfastened her sundress—“I thought of telling you sometimes. More than once, he asked me to come to him right after I’d lain in your arms.”

Niall stilled. Did you? Why? How often? There was nothing he could think to say that didn’t sound bizarre—not that she would be fazed by a bizarre statement. The Summer Girls were unflappable. He stared at her as she dropped the dress.

“We knew that one day”—she stepped from the dress that now puddled around her feet—“you’d return to this court.”

If she had been any of the other Summer Girls, her words would’ve surprised him, but Siobhan had always told Niall things he hadn’t thought anyone noticed. She is my friend. He remembered the years when she’d first joined the Summer Court, when she realized that Keenan’s love was as fleeting as his attention had been.

As she watched him, she pulled her hair over her bare shoulder. “I remember when you taught me about this world, Niall. You spoke of them, of his court, with a difference in your voice. Your eyes grew dark when you spoke of him. Did you know that?”

The way she watched him was exciting. When he’d been in the Summer Court, he had always favored her, but the Summer Girls never seemed to care whose arms they were in. Do they, and I just didn’t know? He turned away from her, dismissing her with effort, and walked to the low chest at the foot of his oversized bed. He propped one foot up and began unlacing his boots.

Without looking back at her, he said, “You could go. There are others—”

She laughed. “I miss you. I’m here by choice. My king wouldn’t like it, but we are not disloyal to him. We did not speak of our court here . . . except to Irial, and he only asked after you.”

“Keenan would not approve,” Niall pointed out rather foolishly. What the Summer King approved of wasn’t Niall’s concern. Even now, the Dark Court was strong enough to withstand any threat the Summer Court offered them. Unlike the High Court or the Winter Court. He unlaced his other boot and dropped both boots on the floor. The black of the leather almost blended in with the deep burgundy carpet. I will not look at her. He sat on the chest.