“Aaah, there you are.” Irial greeted his king with shadows dancing in his eyes. “I wasn’t sure if you were finally asleep, Gancanagh. You’re fretting too much over things that are beyond your control.”

Niall stopped in the middle of the room and glared at Irial. “I do not accept that answer.”

Then, without another word to him, Niall approached the obsidian throne that appeared in the room, and Devlin idly wondered who was crafting the images in the dreamscape.

I am. From their various imaginings. Rae sounded fascinated.

He heard her laughter.

I am fascinated, Dev, I’ve never been able to do this. I wonder if—

Not an experiment, Rae, he reminded.

With more effort than he liked, Devlin walked toward the throne where Niall sat. Something in him rebelled at standing in front of that throne as if he were a supplicant. He wasn’t even sure what court he served. He wasn’t Sorcha’s advisor in his heart anymore, but he didn’t want to swear fealty to the Dark Court either. In truth, he served Faerie itself. Perhaps he always had.

Devlin stood respectfully in front of Niall, but he didn’t bow or offer any gesture of submission. “You need to return the Dark Court to Faerie.”

“No.”

Devlin pushed back his emotion as he’d done for most of eternity and added, “Sorcha is unbalanced. She wants to come here. Do you have any idea of what that would do to the mortal world?”

Niall—once an almost-friend to Devlin, once an almost-favorite of the High Queen, cherished of several courts—stilled. “Are you telling me what to do with my court, Devlin?”

Across the room, Irial tensed. He didn’t move, didn’t respond in any way that would draw attention, but Devlin saw the change. He knew the hope that led to such a movement. Niall had been a reluctant monarch. Centuries after Irial had first offered the court to him, Niall was finally the Dark King.

“I do not take direction from anyone, nor am I seeking your advice. I still have an advisor.” Niall’s attention flickered to Irial briefly. “Sorcha’s recent ailment is not my priority.”

“Would you sacrifice this world?” Devlin asked.

The look Niall gave him was disdainful. “Sorcha took my friend, made him her subject—”

“Her heir. Seth is far more than a subject.” Devlin still didn’t let his own anger into the words, but it was there all the same. Despite his eternity of loyalty, his mother-sister- queen had chosen a virtual stranger to be her heir.

“I’ve been heir to a court. It’s not writ in stone.” Niall gestured at Irial. “He kept his court for more than nine centuries after declaring me his heir.”

“You refused,” Irial reminded. He came to his feet and took a position of support behind Niall. “If you recall, Niall, you refused being my heir.”

“Yet look at where I sit.” Niall didn’t deign to glance back at Irial as he spoke.

“Seth is her heir. He is the consort of the Summer Queen, friend of the Winter Queen, and brother to the Dark King. He’s not in danger because of Sorcha’s action. She saved him from mortality, gave him the strength of a king, and other gifts that are not mine to reveal.” In the moment, Devlin wasn’t sure who he resented more.

“She claimed him as a pawn,” Niall said.

Devlin didn’t argue, couldn’t argue. Sorcha undoubtedly had considered the ramifications of her choice when she made the mortal a faery. What she hadn’t considered was the way it would change her. The High Queen had made an error in judgment, and the cost was one to be paid on both sides of the veil.

“Come to Faerie,” he repeated.

“No.”

“She needs a court to balance hers. She must be kept in Faerie.” Devlin’s anger was no longer hidden. His voice was filled with it.

“The Dark Court belongs in this world. I know my court, Devlin. I know what’s best for them. Each and every one of them is connected to me. I feel them, but”— Niall glanced back at Irial—“a king’s duty is to consider the well-being of his court first. Personal desires come second. Old friendships and worry for others are not how the Dark King governs.”

“You’d sacrifice mortals and faeries? If she comes to your world, that’s what will happen.”

“If she comes here, the discord will not injure my court. Taking them to Faerie would.” Niall lifted his gaze to Devlin’s face. “The Dark Court will remain here.”

Niall’s words made all of the shadows in the room shiver.

“Faerie needs the Dark Court.” Devlin’s anger slipped further out. “Sorcha needs a court to balance her.”

“Devlin?” Ani approached.

With a strange expression, Ani looked first at him, and then at Niall and Irial. “It does need that, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, that’s why we’re here… but your king”—Devlin looked at Niall—“isn’t cooperating.”

Ani stepped between Devlin and Niall. She reached out to Irial and squeezed his hand. He smiled at her, but didn’t speak.

“Once upon a time,” she began, “Faerie had two courts. The Dark Court left Faerie, and as the centuries passed, new courts were born of the strongest solitaries to fill the needs of the faeries who lived in the mortal world. If the Dark Court won’t return, there is need for a new court in Faerie. Someone who is strong enough to stand up to the High Queen needs to form that court… and such a court would need a Gabriel… or Gabrielle.”