Fragile Eternity

I have no right.

He pulled back only for a breath and whispered, “Tell me when to let go.”

“Don’t let me fall.” She held tighter. “Save me.”

“You’ve never needed saving, Aisli

“It feels like I do.” She felt tears slipping down her cheeks; as they moved in ever-faster turns, she saw the violets spring from the soil where those tears splashed to the ground. “I feel like…I feel like I’m missing a part of me.”

“Would you feel that way if…” His words faded away.

“If it were you who left me?” Her voice was as soft as she could make it.

“It was selfish to ask. Forgive—”

“I would,” she whispered. She closed her eyes against the tears—or maybe against the confusing emotions on his face. They matched the tumultuous feelings inside her. Even with her eyes closed, she knew that she was safe as she moved at impossible speeds through the crowd. Keenan had her in his arms, and he wouldn’t let her fall.

If I’d met him before Seth… She hadn’t, though.

Aisli

Keenan didn’t comment on bringing the subject up just then. “I’ve only truly loved a couple of times, Aisli

“You shouldn’t lo—” Her words froze on her lips.

“That would be a lie, my Queen.” His voice was gentle, even as he rebuked her. “One hundred eighty days, Aisli

“For the court.”

“No,” he corrected. “For you and for me. I miss your smiles. I waited for centuries to find my queen. Can we try this? Now that he’s…”

“…left me,” she finished. She caught his gaze, let herself forget that there was anyone else around, and stood still. The faeries spun around them. It was just them in the center of a maelstrom. “Yes. Make me forget everything but right now. That’s what the Summer Court is—not logic, not addiction, not war, not calm or cold. Make me warm. Make me not think. Make me anything but this.”

He didn’t answer; he just kissed her again. It was still like swallowing sunshine, and she didn’t resist. Her own skin began to glow until any faeries not of their court would’ve had to turn their faces away.

There was earth under their feet, but she didn’t feel it. She didn’t feel anything but sunlight chasing away everything that hurt inside of her. They moved through the park, flowers blossoming at their feet. She could taste the sunlight like warm honey on Keenan’s lips.

Like every other revelry, she felt drunk on the dance and night. This time though, when morning came, her feet weren’t touching the ground. She was in Keenan’s arms, carried from the park and from their court to the side of the river where they’d been after the first faire. There was no picnic, no carefully pla

When they had their monthly revels, they weren’t sensible, but they also weren’t vulnerable. Even War herself wouldn’t cross them tonight.

Aisli

Some stray thought whispered that she was on the ground in a formal dress, but she was Summer—frivolity, impulsivity, warmth. It’s what I am. With him now.

“Tell me when to let go,” Keenan reminded her again.

“Don’t let go,” Aisli

He gri

“Treat me like a faery queen then.”

“How so?”

She sat up and knelt beside him.

He stayed where he was, resting on the muddy bank, watching her.

Aisli

Every pleasure under the sun was hidden in the droplets of sunlight that fell from her skin to his. Faery magic was what she wanted to share with him. It was what she was now, and she didn’t have to worry that she would hurt him as she would a mortal.

If Seth weren’t human…

But if he hadn’t been human, she’d never have had his friendship or love. If she’d still been human, she wouldn’t have lost it either. But Keenan wasn’t human, and neither was she.

Not now, not ever again.

She caught Keenan’s gaze and gave him the words he’d given her: “I want to try loving you. Make me love you, Keenan. You’ve convinced so many others. Convince me. Seduce me so I don’t have to hurt anymore.”

She leaned toward him, but Keenan stopped her. He shook his head.

“This”—he gestured between them—“isn’t love. It’s something else.”

“So…”

“Slower. Falling into bed…or riverbanks…isn’t going to make you love me.” Keenan stood up and held out a hand. “You’re my queen. I’ve waited nine centuries to find you and almost a year more to reach this moment. I can wait a bit longer for the rest.”

“But…”

He leaned in and kissed her softly. “If you’re finally going to try to let yourself love me, we’re going to date.”

“We sort of have been.”

“No.” He caught her hands and pulled her into his embrace. “We’ve been trying very hard not to date. Let me show you our world. Let me take you to di

She paused. Sex seemed far easier than dating. They were friends; they had a spark. Sex isn’t love, though. Keenan wanted a real chance. That meant something more than sharing her body.

“My solution was easier,” she muttered, “and quicker.”

He laughed. “After nine centuries, I was willing to accept whatever terms you set, but if we’re going to try being together, I don’t want any doubts. If you don’t love me but still want to be…with me, I’ll settle for that, but I want a chance to have it all.”

“And if Seth…”

“Comes home?” Keenan pulled her closer and kissed her until the glow of sunlight shining from both of their bodies was blinding.

Then he promised, “That’s up to you. It always has been, hasn’t it?”

Chapter 31

Sorcha didn’t weep when she came to see him that last morning. Sorcha looked at the paintings he’d done for her, and she looked at him.

“They aren’t good enough,” Seth said. “None of them are, not really.”

“Would that I could lie to you,” she murmured. “But they are wrought of passion. I’d be selfish if I refused to let you leave.”

She walked around the room examining canvases she’d seen already.

“They aren’t good enough, but this is.” He opened his hand, and there in the center of his palm was a perfectly rendered cluster of silver jasmine blossoms. It was far more delicate than his other metalwork.

Sorcha’s eyes teared up. She stroked a fingertip over the silver petals. “It is. It’s exquisite.”

“I didn’t want to give you what you expected”—he pi

She laughed, and since there were no witnesses to her foolishness, she leaned forward and kissed his cheek. She’d seen so many mothers do that, but the simple gesture had never quite made sense to her. Objectively, she’d understood—maternal affection was a biological imperative. It caused the mother to feel tenderness toward her progeny, keeping the smaller, precious creature safe. It was all very reasonable, but as she pressed her lips to her son’s cheek, she wasn’t feeling logical. It didn’t feel reasonable. It was impulsive. It was something she wanted to tell him but found that she didn’t have words for.