Summer Bound: A Wicked Lovely Story Read online

  But he stopped.

  “No,” he said finally. “You are her advisor, Siobhan. To pursue this, one of us would have to abandon that duty.”

  Siobhan blinked to try to push her lust back enough to answer him. “Ash said that?”

  “No.” Tavish rested his forehead against hers. “I have served this court since the last king’s father was ruler. How could I leave my responsibility? How could I abandon her for . . .”

  “A meaningless fuck?” Siobhan finished, stinging with his rejection and lack of regard for her. “I suppose I could ask Irial if there are others in his court not so opposed to my affections.”

  “Then I suppose you should await the end of his meeting with Aislinn, to advise her and speak to him,” Tavish said. “I would rather not speak to him at all.”

  Tavish stepped away, striding out of the room before she could reply.

  And Siobhan was grateful that the rain was still dripping on her face. It helped hide her tears. No man had ever wanted her—not the Summer King who stole her humanity or the Dark Kings who saw her only as a friend and sometimes lover. Was it so impossible to find one who wanted her wholly?

  Perhaps she was not suited for the Summer Court.

  Aislinn stared at the faery who watched her with such open and obvious affection. The room flooded, and if not for the bubble of sunlight she created around them, he’d have been drown. He’d not moved even as rain and thunder rolled through the loft.

  “I can’t do this,” she repeated.

  “Talk to me? We speak often, Aislinn.” Irial stayed on the floor, but his voice had a comforting tone she’d rarely heard. Oddly or not, it upset her to have him worry over her feelings.

  “We cannot be family. You are partner to the Dark King.”

  “And your partner is child to the High Queen.” Irial lifted a shoulder in a half-shrug. “My other partner is friends with the Summer Queen, who is friendly with the Shadow Court, as well.”

  Aislinn sighed. “I assume Sorcha knows?”

  “She cursed me.” Irial shrugged again, but the look of pain in his expression was enough to make the coldest heart soften. “Your great-grandmother and I wanted to keep our daughter safe.”

  “Grams. You forgot about Thelma to protect Grams.” Her grandmother, the sweetest and fiercest person Aislinn had ever known, was half-fey. She’d hidden it or . . .

  “Does Grams—”

  “Elena knows,” Irial said. “We are to meet, and she has already told me that if I keep trying to send guards or buy her things, she will ask you to set ‘my faery arse on fire.’ I believe there was an explanation about a magnifying lens and sunlight. I seem to be an insect in this example.”

  The embodiment of Chaos, the former king of the worst of the faeries, looked positively charmed by Grams threatening his life. It was disconcerting.

  “Aislinn?”

  She met his gaze.

  “Elena has a brother,” Irial said softly. “He’s not as human as she is. Some fey children are more human, and others are more fey.”

  “Like Ani and Tish.” Aislinn felt a twinge for Tish, who had died in the months when Bananach was rampaging.

  “They were like children to me,” Irial mused. “I didn’t remember then that I had children, but I wanted a daughter. I dreamed sometimes of—” He shook his head. “I would have given Elena the world if I could, but the only way to protect her and Thelma was to leave. If I stayed, Keenan would’ve discovered her. Or Beira would’ve. How could I let him touch my beloved? Or my daughter? Or . . .”

  When Aislinn said nothing, Irial took her hand tentatively. She looked at him.

  “Or you.” Inky tears slid down his cheeks. “I missed a century of having my daughter. I’ll never meet Moira . . . please, Aislinn, at least consider letting me into your life.”

  “We’re almost friends, so . . .” she started awkwardly. “You’re already here. And you’re Chaos. Upheaval”—she stood and walked toward the door—“which you more than deliver. Surely, that’s enough.”

  “Aislinn . . .” His voice broke.

  She shook her head, back to him. “I had no father. No grandfather. I have no idea what one even does with a father, and it’s not as if you seem much like a grandfather.”

  “Faeries are different,” he began.

  Aislinn looked at him. “I cannot offer anything easily. You must know that, Irial. I have duties. I am a queen to a court that was cursed. By you. I am a faery because of your curse.”

  “No,” he said, walking to stand at her side. “You are a faery because I fell in love with your ancestor. I surrendered her and my children knowing then that I would meet you. I saw it, Aislinn. I saw the future; Sorcha allowed it. I looked into the now, and I saw you. You were the reason I was able to give up Thelma. I knew that you would exist, and that you would break the curse.”

  Aislinn stared at him. It was all she could do without letting the emotional storm inside escape.

  “I knew you would be a magnificent queen, and that because of you I would again meet the daughter I once held in my arms.” Irial’s voice broke. “I remember it all now, the love I had for Thelma. The loss. I was ready to let the world die if it meant being with her and my children.”

  “Do I know my . . . grand-uncle?”

  Irial shook his head. “Elena tells me he left home when he was young, and that she hasn’t heard from him in almost forty years.”

  “So, there is a faery that knows who you are, who I am,” Aislinn said, not sure what that could mean. “He’s related to two faery courts by blood, and we have no idea what he’s doing.”

  Irial nodded. “He will visit you or me now that we know.”

  “He’s your son.” Aislinn shivered. “I cannot fathom what he must be like.”

  At that, Irial grinned. “Elena is my daughter, and she’s a magnificent, kind, gentle creature. A lady like her mother.”

  Aislinn laughed. “Can I be there when you tell her she’s gentle? And ladylike?”

  While Aislinn loved her grandmother wholly, she was well aware that Grams was as gentle as a lion. She could be sweet, but threats to her loved ones were not tolerated. In a flash of clarity, Aislinn realized then that she understood that impulse—and that she was looking at the faery from whom they had inherited their ferocity.

  She turned to Irial and kissed his cheek quickly. “I need time. To consult with my advisors and . . . I cannot promise anything.”

  Irial looked like he had received a lifetime of gifts all at once. “Anything for you, granddaughter. Anything I can do or slaughter or bring.”

  She wasn’t ready for his intensity. So, she nodded and repeated, “What I need is time. Please?”

  “As you wish.” The former Dark King, her great-grandfather, bowed deeply and strode toward the door, sloshing through water and floating flower buds.

  And Aislinn had no idea what to do with this knowledge—other than begin to try to locate Grams’ brother and figure out what this all meant for her grandmother, who was apparently over a century old and had been hiding that detail.

  Siobhan watched a markedly less cheerful Irial exit the queen’s chambers. He seemed lost in thoughts—which undoubtedly did not bode well. She waited until he was at the door before stepping to his side.

  Irial met her eyes.

  “Does my queen have need of me?” Siobhan asked.

  “You’re her advisor these days.” Irial studied her. “She’ll tell you. She must. Before word and whisper circulate, she’ll need to figure out what her thoughts are.”

  “On?”

  “The news that my great-grandfather has been found,” Aislinn said as she stepped into the room, not drenched as Siobhan was. The Summer Queen appeared as beautiful and radiant as always. Her once-black hair was sun-kissed, and her skin had the perpetual tan of days lounging at beaches.

  “I was always here,” he said, staring at her covetously. “I missed so much. I want to grant your request for time, but E
lena . . . insists that I gain your consent before spending time with me, Aislinn. Her loyalty to you is a beautiful thing, but I want to know my daughter.”

  “Will Grams die?”

  “We all die eventually,” he hedged.

  “Irial . . .”

  He sighed. “I have no idea. The obstinate streak in her—” He pressed his lips together in a most un-Irial way. “She won’t answer a thing until you consent. Visiting her would alarm people, as if I am a threat to my own daughter, so I am left hoping your request for time is not--”

  “I need time,” Aislinn said. “Grams is her own person; she does what she wants. And if the other courts are alarmed by your visit to her, I will manage it. I do not object to your visiting your daughter.”

  Irial bowed deeply, and when he stood, he was smiling as widely as Siobhan had ever seen him do. “You are a gift, my dear.”

  And then he was gone, presumably off to see the queen’s grandmother.

  His daughter.

  Siobhan and Aislinn exchanged a look, and then her queen said, “You can tell Tavish.” She sighed. “Be gentle with him. . . and let him know that if his feelings toward me change, I . . . I accept it. I cannot do more today. Tomorrow we will deal with whatever this means. Update Tavish. I will speak to you in the morning.”

  Aislinn turned and left Siobhan to break the news to her co-advisor.

  Siobhan tapped at Tavish’s door. “Tavish?”

  “Enter.”

  She stepped into the room, struck by the sheer number of plants in his space. One wall held a number of faery-made weapons. Cutlasses, rapiers, and daggers, fashioned in fey-friendly metals hung in cabinets with glass doors. A sitting area, complete with comfortable seats and a wet bar, filled the left of the room. Off to the right, behind a thick wall of foliage, was Tavish’s bed. Wooden, simple, and overflowing with luxurious linens.

  “Things looks different,” she said mildly.

  “We are settled finally.” Unmistakable pride thickened his voice. “Should I have no creature comforts?”

  “Not a criticism.” She met his gaze. “It’s welcoming, the kind of space that says a lot about the owner.”

  He shrugged. “I do not have many guests.”

  “Ours is a court of pleasure.” She stepped closer. “I remember you having regular guests.”

  Tavish stiffened.

  “I remember being your guest.” Carefully, she touched his chest, resting the flat of her hand over his heart. “Fondly, Tavish. I remember those nights and days with joy.”

  “Niall and I had a duty to the Summer Girls,” Tavish said, voice low enough that she wanted to move closer still.

  “Was that all?”

  He swallowed audibly. “No.”

  “Then why do you reject me?”

  Tavish sighed. “Siobhan . . .”

  “I have appetites still,” she said, no longer hesitant to admit things that she’d have denied as a mortal.

  “No advisors to enjoy. No Dark King,” Tavish said, nodding. “Are there no guards you could enjoy? Or perhaps one of the solitary fey?”

  And Siobhan felt an unusual burst of guilt. She shouldn’t, not in the Summer Court, but the fact of his seeing intercourse as a task made her feel rejected. Had he only lain with her out of duty? Had it been an onerous duty?

  “I suppose I shall need to see if Seth or Irial have any willing victims,” she said, heat shimmering in her voice.

  “You could speak to Ash if you have immediate needs.”

  Siobhan stepped back from him. “Perhaps. Unlike Keenan and his advisors”—she held his gaze—“Ash doesn’t send me to faeries’ beds for information.”

  “Did you dislike going there?” Tavish sounded confused, as if being sent to spy was a joyous act.

  “I enjoyed the act. Here. And in their court. I will not disparage the joy I took in the Dark Kings’ beds—either of them.” She shook her head. Over the decades, she’d been sent to the Dark King, and while she’d enjoyed the acts of intimacy at the time, the reality that she had been used was depressing. Because Irial had longed for Niall, the Summer King would send her first to Niall and then to Irial.

  “But…?”

  “Pleasure doesn’t erase the lack of choice,” Siobhan said. “I was Keenan’s spy, his discarded lover, and . . .” She stopped herself and met Tavish’s gaze once more. “Is it so wrong to have wanted one of them to love me? To know what foods I liked best or what flowers or what color even. As a Summer Girl, I was bound to the will of the Summer King because of the curse, but . . . to go from words of love to being asked to bed the friends of the man I thought I loved. . . to learn he was faery, that I was no longer human . . .”

  “Were you forced?”

  Siobhan sighed. “There is no true answer there. To love Keenan? No. To become a faery? Yes, but that was a curse.”

  “By the Dark King,” Tavish frowned and rose from the floor.

  “No. Niall was kind. He refused me often.”

  “The other one?”

  Siobhan laughed. “Irial? Never. He always offered drink or meal or conversation instead of intimacy.” She paused, weighing how much to admit, before adding, “I sought him out because he had the thing I wanted. Love. It wasn’t love for me, but if I had been with Niall, if his touch and scent were recent on my flesh, Irial treated me as if I mattered.”

  If not for the faith her queen had in her, if not for the fact that Niall and Irial had reconciled, she would have left the sunlight for the shadows when she was freed. They had their charms, and she was a woman who’d appreciated those charms. Often. It had seemed like a fine plan at the time, but there was no place for her now.

  Stiffly, Tavish said, “I have difficulty seeing any merit in Irial.”

  Siobhan sighed, stepped closer to Tavish, and prompted, “But do you understand what I sought?”

  The look Tavish gave her was, perhaps, the most honest she’d seen him appear when dressed. “I spent nine centuries concentrating on my king’s lovers. Bedding the ones who were not the queen, advising him on the next one, always the next one.” He gave her a wry smile. “I’ve never been allowed the time to pursue a woman of my own interest, and my duty still prevents my desires. Unfortunately.”

  The guilt Siobhan felt over being a burden in her days as a Summer Girl twisted with heartbreak that he’d, apparently, found her so unappealing. Steeling herself so as not to reveal her crushed ego and wounded heart, she updated him on Irial’s revelation.

  “We shall speak with Ash tomorrow, then, about our court’s plan.”

  “I’m worried,” she admitted, voice barely a whisper. “The Winter Court will not respond well.”

  Tavish nodded. “Indeed.” Then, he caught Siobhan’s wrist. “Fresh berries with the dew still wet.”

  “What?”

  “Your favorite food,” he clarified. “You say it’s fruit or berries, but the ones that make you happiest are those berries that are only just barely off the vine. And your color isn’t one, but the way the skies look when the sun is about to rise. You said as much when we were in the southern continent.”

  Siobhan stared at him, mouth slightly agape.

  “I’ve thought about what I wanted,” Tavish said. “When you left to be in other beds, in other arms, when I was too old or too silent or too . . . me to have you. When I had to do my duties to my court and king.” He cupped her face. “You were never a chore.”

  He brushed his lips over hers. Then, before she could react, he pulled back. “You were never truly mine, Siobhan, but that didn’t change what I wanted. Duty merely prevents it.”

  Somehow, she found herself outside his room, alone and perplexed. She touched her lips. Tavish saw her. Not the girl she was when Keenan chose her. Not the woman who had been cursed. Not the advisor to the queen. Her.

  And he was going to ignore his feelings—and hers—as if denial was romantic somehow.

  Siobhan looked at the now-closed door. “You’re a fool, Tavi
sh.”

  Before meeting the queen, Siobhan had to see Tavish for a training session. This time, however, she was not opposed to being there in the makeshift gymnasium. She’d barely slept—not only worrying over Tavish’s revelation but also over the news that the Dark King delivered to their court.

  Despite everything, though, Tavish acted as if there were no major events on the court’s horizon. He treated her no differently, either. If she had any doubts about her own memories, she would be alarmed.

  This was the faery who advised the emotionally excessive Summer King for nine centuries, who advised his father before him. He was not easily unsettled, and if he was, he certainly didn’t reveal it.

  Siobhan made it her personal mission to touch him as often and as inconspicuously as possible all morning.

  By the end of the session, he was looking at her with flashes of either desire or fury in his eyes.

  “Meeting,” she reminded him with a casual stroke of his upper back.

  “Siobhan.” Tavish pinned her with his gaze.

  She licked her lips. “Are you warm? I’m becoming desperate with this heat.”

  One of the Wild Hunt visitors said his name then, drawing him into a discussion about the efficacy of wooden weapons as an alternative to faery-made metals since the access to Faerie was now limited.

  “Sorry to interrupt,” she said cheerily. “Would you mind terribly if I borrowed your shower? We need to meet the queen soon, and I’m sweaty.”

  Siobhan ran her fingertips over her cleavage, drawing many gazes in the gesture. Admittedly, she didn’t usually act that way now, but years of being a Summer Girl had a few advantages.

  “Fine.” Tavish stared at her. “I’ll stay here until you’re done.”

  She laughed. “Silly man. I don’t mind being naked around you.”

  He gave her a look that seemed almost angry, but she knew how he felt now. If he hadn’t wanted her to find a solution, he ought not have revealed his feelings.

  Quickly, she stretched up and kissed just under his ear, on the side of his neck. “You’re the best,” she said lightly.