Faery Tales & Nightmares

ring. Blood trickled from a set of teeth marks on his forearm and soaked the denim around a jagged tear on his leg. His opponent, an average-sized Hound, growled as Niall landed a punch that rocked the Hound’s head backward. Before the Hound could respond, Niall followed through with a second punch to the throat, which had the Hound toppling to the straw-covered floor.

As Irial stared, Gabriel came up beside him. “Always was a ruthless bastard in a fight.”

“Does he do this often?” Irial watched his king put one boot-clad foot on the fallen Hound’s chest.

“Most every night since you made him king.” Gabriel’s emotions tangled between amused and content. “Seems to be taking to the job if you ask me.”

“Perhaps I should’ve asked you,” Irial murmured. He felt a curious wave of sadness that Gabriel had kept this from him. It wasn’t wrong of Gabriel, but it was yet another loss.

Niall looked over his shoulder then to stare at Irial. While the Hounds couldn’t taste emotions, the rest of the Dark Court could. Of course, that didn’t mean they always understood the reason for the emotion—which was abundantly clear in the surge of fury that Niall felt.

The Dark King grabbed the Hound at his feet and hauled him upright. He shoved the injured Hound toward the rope and snarled, “Next.”

If they had been any other two faeries, Irial would’ve pulled his king aside and explained that the sorrow was not over seeing Niall battering the fallen Hound, but over Gabriel’s secrecy. They weren’t any other faeries though, so Irial did the next best thing: he stepped forward.

“Don’t be absurd,” Niall ground out.

Without taking his gaze from his king, Irial ducked under the rope. “If you would, Gabe?”

“Hear we’re expecting blood. Who’s visiting?” Gabriel asked.

“Devlin. Sorcha undoubtedly would like him to make a statement. It is traditional.” Irial waited for a moment, listening to the receding footsteps and motors already coming to life. The Hunt was vacating the stable, undoubtedly at Gabriel’s silent command.

Softly, Irial added, “The pups should stay close to home for a few days.”

Gabriel’s teeth snapped and a low snarl emanated from him. “My pups are—”

“Safe enough,” Irial interrupted, “if they stay out of sight. Sorcha has issued orders to take halflings, so just tell them to stay low for a few days.”

Niall took a step toward Irial and said in a low voice, “This is why I need you here. You have centuries of dealing with the nuances. The court needs that wisdom.” He did not add that he needed Irial too, but the emotion was there for Irial to taste—as was the resentment. “I require your presence and your safety. The gates to Faerie are unseen to you now, Irial.”

“Well, this evening is just full of surprises, isn’t it?” Irial raised a fist. “You’d leash me then? I went there for—”

Gabriel cleared his throat loudly. “We’ll stir up a little nourishment for the court tonight.” He paused briefly and then said, “Niall?”

Niall glanced away from Irial.

“Your strength is the court’s strength. Don’t much matter whether you feed on fury or lust, or who you do that with, but you need to be strong.” Gabriel put word to what they all knew. “I’ll gather some of the solitaries or the Summer Girls if you’d rather—”

“The Summer Girls are not to be given to the court.” Niall bared his teeth. “No one is permitted to be touched without their consent.”

“We know that,” Gabriel said. “The old king made that rule. The Hunt brings them, but they choose to stay or go.”

Niall gave Irial a curious look, but Irial said nothing. If he’d told Niall, it wouldn’t have changed a thing, but it would’ve started a conversation that neither of them had been ready for in the years that had passed. Knowing Irial regretted being unable to protect Niall didn’t undo the past.

Finally, Niall looked away. “Do what you must to bring nourishment for the court.”

“And you,” Irial added. “A few fights aren’t enough and you know it … although I’m glad you are fighting at least. Now if you were fu—”

“Stop.” Niall’s emotions were all over the spectrum. His gaze snapped back to Irial. “Don’t think I’m going to be easy to beat just because there were a few Hounds trying to pummel me.”

At this, Irial’s flash of irritation vanished. He lowered his fist and laughed. “You’ve never been easy about anything, love.”

The fist that slammed into Irial’s face was faster than he remembered Niall’s punches being, but it had been a very long time since Niall had hit him. Striking a king wasn’t tolerated unless it was in an agreed-upon match, and for the past eleven centuries, Niall had known that Irial was a king.

And that I withheld that little detail when we met.

A second punch didn’t come.

Niall stared at him. “We’re in a ring, Irial. You can strike a king here.”

Irial grinned as he heard Gabriel call, “We ride.”

As the Hunt started to leave, the stable was a storm of emotions that both he and Niall consumed. While those emotions were still flooding them, Irial said, “Should I have extended that offer to you a second time when you learned that I was a king?”

“Maybe.” Niall smiled briefly. “I thought about this often enough.”

“Hitting me?”

“No,” Niall corrected as he swung at Irial. “Beating you half to death.”

Then, they were too busy to argue. Irial wasn’t as quick with his fists, but he let every emotion he felt free. Reading Irial’s emotions and Niall’s own rage-guilt-pleasure over the knowledge put Niall off-center enough that Irial was able to withstand the next hour better than either of them had anticipated.

Eventually, however, Irial was prone on the ground. He couldn’t open his left eye, and he was fairly certain that at least one rib was cracked. “I’m done.”

Instead of walking away as Irial expected, Niall plopped down on the floor. He was covered in blood and sweat, and he was content.

“It’s easier than I thought,” Niall said.

“I’m not that easy to beat.” Irial smiled and then winced as the movement made his lip bleed more freely.

“It’s easier being their king than I thought it would be,” Niall corrected.

“I knew what you meant.” Irial forced himself to sit upright, and immediately reassessed the number of broken ribs to at least three. “You were always their next king. You knew that. I knew it. Hell, Sorcha knew it.”

Niall’s eyes widened slightly. “She told you that?”

Irial had forgotten how much more open Niall had always been after a fight. “Not directly, but her emotions did.”

Hesitantly, Niall asked, “What emotions? The High Queen doesn’t … does she?”

“She does in the presence of the Dark King.” Irial held Niall’s gaze as best he could with one eye swollen mostly shut. “I asked if you were ever going to be the next king, and she felt both excited and sorrowful. I didn’t know for sure then, but I hoped—and now, I think that she knew, that she looked forward to you being this.”

They sat silently, but not without communicating. Over the centuries, Irial had read Niall’s emotions without his knowledge. Tonight, for the first time, Niall consciously revealed his emotions for the purpose of sharing the things he couldn’t verbalize. The years had changed them both, but those changes had only made Niall more suited to being the Dark King. Niall was both relieved and disappointed that this was so. He was also happier than he’d been since he’d left Irial’s side more than nine centuries ago.

As am I.

Eventually, Niall stood. “Things will never be like they were before.”

“I didn’t think they would.” Irial stared up at him.

Unexpectedly, Niall extended a hand—and then grinned as he tasted Irial’s shock. “You fight better than I remember.”

“You broke several ribs.” Irial accepted Niall’s hand and was pulled to his feet. “I can’t see from one eye, and