Desert Tales: A Wicked Lovely Companion Novel

“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.

Rika and Jayce were cuddled together on another bench. They had heaps of furs wrapped around them like blankets, and Donia smiled at the way Rika stroked the pelt across her lap. It was good to see her less angry at the past she’d known. For years as the Winter Girl, these same furs were what they’d had for blankets. When Rika had been freed, she’d cast off most everything that reminded her of the life she’d been living. When Donia became the Winter Girl, she hadn’t realized the extent of Rika’s anger. Over time, she’d seen through the illusion that Rika had created to protect Donia. Rika had been far more furious than she’d admitted. Once Donia realized that, Rika stopped visiting, as if she couldn’t bear to see reminders of the curse. Now, though, Rika finally seemed closer to actual peace. Her time in the desert had mellowed her—perhaps her mortal had helped too.

A red-eyed Hawthorn Girl alit from the tree branches; her wings glittered as if the frost clung to her. “The Summer King is here.”

“Let the games begin,” Donia murmured.

Rika reached for Jayce’s hand.

Donia smiled. “Rika?”

She looked up at her queen, a question plain in her eyes.

“Nothing has changed . . . not truly. I won’t silence your voice,” Donia said. “I owe you too much for that.”

The look Rika gave her was one of extreme gratitude and relief. Some of the tension left her body. “You are kinder than I could ever be.”

Keenan strode into the garden, glowing brightly enough that Rika darted forward to shield Jayce with her body. “Turn off the glow. There’s a mortal here.”

The light blinked out, but the heat was still oppressive. The garden was in a fast melt. Water poured from the trees where ice had covered the branches a heartbeat before—it looked like a waterfall crashing to the ground and rushing away.

Two of the Hawthorn Girls pulled Jayce toward the house in a flash of movement. By the time Keenan stood staring at Donia, Jayce was safely out of reach. Rika felt foolish for even bringing him, but now wasn’t the time for such thoughts.

“What have you done?” Keenan snapped. Earth was boiling at his feet, bubbling up in black ooze.

“It’s good to see you too.” Donia pointedly lowered one bare foot to the earth, holding her skirt up just a bit so her bare ankles and calves were visible. Snow spread from her foot over the earth in a thickening blanket.

“Don . . .” He raked a hand through his hair. “Why?”

“She came offering fealty.” Donia was motionless, winter-still. The only movement was the ice and snow crackling out over the ground. Water droplets froze mid-fall, forming icy spires under the tree, sharp, jutting angles that looked menacing in direct contrast to the calm on her face and in her tone. “This is a Winter Court matter, between a queen and her subjects.”

“You know . . .” He growled in frustration. “She told you I offered her my protect —”

“I refused. Several times,” Rika interrupted. She shivered in the icy blast of Donia’s temper.

Keenan ignored Rika.

“She’s a desert-dweller,” he said.

“Strong enough to be Alpha, as I understand.”

“You can’t even walk there, Donia. Even at the height of the last Winter Queen’s power, she couldn’t take the desert.” Steam sizzled around him as the snow approached him like a white wave. It melted as fast as it grew.