Melissa Marr: Desert Tales: A Wicked Lovely Companion Novel

“You’d stay? Really?” He pulled her into his arms again, torn between guilt and hopefulness. “With me?”

She laughed, not coquettishly but as if surprised. He had been the one keeping their kisses tame; he had been the one not pushing the lines.

“In a heartbeat . . . but . . .” She glanced at her watch. “I’m already going to be late.” She bit her lip, and then after a moment, she offered, “I could call my father on the way home tomorrow and say I had a flat or something.”

Sionnach brushed her hair from her face. He knew better than this. He was the Alpha here, the one tasked with setting the rules that the other solitaries followed. “But?”

“I’ll be grounded probably.”

“And they’d worry all night. . . .” He rested his forehead against hers. “Waking up with you beside me would be beautiful, but I don’t think either of us is ready for the costs of that.”

“Either of us?”

He pulled back to stare into her face and half answered her question: “I like seeing you. If you’re grounded . . .”

“Oh.” She blushed and ducked her head. “ That cost. I thought you meant there was something else wrong.”

Faeries don’t keep mortals, he thought quietly to himself . What would you say if you saw what I am? What if things went too far and there were a child? That thought reinforced his resolve. Half-fey children were dangerous to birth, and the courts stole them away if they were discovered. He wouldn’t wish injury to Carissa or cope with the loss of any child of his. He smiled at her and opened the door of her car. “Go home, Carissa, before my morals flee again.”

She climbed into the Jeep, and Sionnach hid his hand behind his back so she couldn’t see that touching the steel of the door bruised it. He kissed her lightly and stepped away.

“See you soon?” Carissa asked hopefully.

“As soon as possible.”

She nodded and drove away into the desert, leaving him to ponder his weaknesses.

Donia invited Rika and her mortal into the least formal of the sitting rooms. She suspected that the last Winter Queen had intended to have this room renovated, but the shabbiness of it was oddly comfortable. The rug that covered the hardwood floor was almost threadbare, although the muted greens and golds still somehow seemed opulent. More than once, Donia had thought that the rug was more suited to a museum than daily use. Delicate snow globes lined a shelf on the wall, proof perhaps that the dead queen had possessed a sense of humor. The only vibrant thing in the room was the bright crimson chair where Donia now sat with her bare feet curled under her. The rest of the furnishings were all muted with age, reminding her of the cottage where she’d lived when she was the Winter Girl. She felt like this room wasn’t as tainted by her predecessor’s often disquieting taste. The rest of the house she’d been slowly changing, but here she felt at peace.

Rika’s mortal, Jayce, sat on a faded floral divan. Rika, however, was pacing angrily as she said, “Keenan is trying to force allegiances.”

“With your solitary desert faeries?”

“Yes!”

“Which is unacceptable,” Donia said.

“I can’t let him force the desert under his control.” Rika paused in the middle of the rug and caught Donia’s gaze. “ I won’t be under his control, not again, not ever again.”

Donia remained motionless. “I see.”

“The Summer King is too focused on strengthening his court.”

“That hasn’t changed.” Absently, Donia smoothed her skirt over her ankles, thinking about the long-gone days when she’d needed boots in the cold winter. Now, the cold radiated from her very skin, and footwear was a nuisance.

“It won’t change, and others will continue to pay the price. Maybe not like we did, but it’s still all about him.” Rika folded her arms over her chest.

Donia knew that the price they both had paid for Keenan’s single-sighted attention to his goals was high, but it appeared that they were both again being caught in the machinations of the Summer King. It was his actions that had led to Donia’s being made queen—trying to remake a court that had thrived on violence and unchecked power for centuries. Ruling wasn’t without its benefits, but it was not the freedom she’d dreamed of one day having, nor was it a union with the only faery she’d ever loved. No, in his pursuit of his queen, Donia had been left injured. Her choices had been death or becoming the embodiment of Winter, and with it, being unable to touch the Summer King without pain to them both.

“Now that he’s stronger, I need help,” Rika said, drawing Donia out of her reverie. “He’s working with solitaries who shouldn’t have power. They are vile to mortals. One stabbed the desert Alpha, Sionnach. . . .”

“And you?”

“I can hold order against even the strongest solitaries. I’ve just not been interested”—Rika glanced at Jayce—“but things change. I’m willing to keep order, with or without the current Alpha, but I need something— someone— to spare me from Keenan’s meddling. I need a regent who will allow me to keep most of my autonomy. . . .”

Donia nodded. “You want me as a buffer between you and Keenan.”

Rika dropped to her knees on the rug in front of Donia. “I would offer you my fealty. I would be your subject—not his. Never his.”

“Pledging your support would mean fighting should I ask it of you. It could mean moving or surrendering anything I ask of you—” Donia glanced meaningfully at Jayce.

At that, Jayce said, “I’ll offer you my loyalty too if you accept a human’s fealty.”

Donia smiled at his unexpected offer, and a shower of ice crystals like falling stars appeared in the air. “Mortals don’t generally pledge to a court, as they don’t even know we exist, but I’d offer you my court’s protection if you love my sister enough.”

Jayce knelt beside Rika and took her hand in his. “Done.”

Rika bowed her head and vowed, “I vow to obey you, Donia. I will fight at your word, hold your friends as my own, and your enemies as my own.”

Jayce echoed her words.

“Your vow”—Donia reached a hand out to touch Rika and Jayce’s entwined hands—“is accepted. The Winter Court proclaims you both as our own.”

“Not just sister, but Queen,” Rika whispered. Then with a small smile, she came to her feet and embraced Donia.

And Donia tried not to think of what Keenan’s reaction would be when he learned what she had done. There weren’t many times that she had stood against him yet. It was the nature of their courts to be in opposition, but hers was still so much stronger that she had no need yet to be cruel. This, though, he would see as an insult. She sent a messenger to tell his faeries what she’d done, to invite the inevitable conversation to happen in her territory.

Hours later, they had moved to the Winter Garden to await Keenan’s arrival. Donia knew he’d come soon, and she’d rather not destroy the house with the inevitable argument that would accompany his appearance. She was more comfortable out here in the frost-heavy grass. It was one of the spots where she came for solace now. Inside, there were faeries awaiting her orders, seeking favors, or trying to make sense of their new queen. In the garden, there was silence. Wooden benches—fitted together by a craftsman’s skill, no screws or bolts anywhere in them—were tucked among the trees and shrubbery. Bird feeders and winter plants invited animals to find nourishment, and a few tamed creatures crept from their dens to seek her company. Beside the bench slept one such creature, an arctic fox. Only its dark eyes and nose showed in the snow bank. The rest of its body blended with the stark white ground. Absently, Donia ran her bare toes over its back.