Desert Tales: A Wicked Lovely Companion Novel

The ice didn’t recede from the garden, but the area around him had become verdant. Plants were flowering at his feet, and a morning glory vine was twined around his leg, blossoming.

“I don’t want to rule it, Keenan, but allies . . . perhaps it’s good to have allies, especially when Summer is trying my patience.” Donia schooled her features to keep her less regal emotions hidden. He was beautiful, and the anger on him only heightened that. This wasn’t the time for such thoughts. She would let Rika have her words with Keenan, and then . . . then Donia would enjoy the sight of the Summer King.

As the two regents exchanged words, one of the Winter fey reached for Rika, but she wasn’t done yet. She’d brought this problem to Donia’s court, sought intervention, but all three knew that Keenan’s actions were what had pushed her into needing to do so. He wouldn’t be returning to the desert now, and although she was grateful that she’d not see him again, she wanted to say her piece before leaving.

“You pushed me,” she said, interrupting the silence between Keenan and Donia. “You made the mistake of thinking I was yours to manipulate. . . .”

“So you swore loyalty to my opposing court? I offered to protect you, to strengthen the safety of the desert, and you do this?” Keenan’s voice made clear that his emotions were riding high.

“It would be neutral territory if you hadn’t tried to bully me,” Rika told him.

He stared at her with hurt plain on his face. Once that hurt would’ve made her agree to anything he asked. Now she held his gaze unflinchingly.

Air so hot that it was hazy beat against her as he stalked forward. The greenery around his feet extended with him. The Summer King unbound and angry was a daunting thing, and Rika had a brief moment of gratitude that he hadn’t been so forceful when he’d visited her in the desert a few weeks ago.

Sweat formed on Rika’s face, but she stood her ground.

A tree branch overhead burst into bloom so forcefully that the ice launched from it like an explosion. He looked sad, as if the shattering of ice had transformed his temper into sorrow. His volatility hadn’t decreased with his being unbound. If anything, in this moment, she would say that it had grown worse. Back when she was a girl he was trying to woo, she hadn’t seen his moods. Then, she saw only the charm. Later, when she tried to convince girl after girl not to trust him, she’d seen his temper and his sorrow. Even then, his sorrow worked on her more than his anger ever would.

He stopped in front of her, his eyes filled with loss and longing, and said, “I am not your enemy, Rika.”

Unwilling to let him have even a moment of victory, Rika pointed out, “You are not my friend either. You never were. You were my almost lover, my biggest mistake, my opposition, but you were never my friend. Friends don’t turn away when someone is lost and hurt, when someone is freezing . . . literally freezing for trusting the wrong person.”

Behind her, she knew Donia waited, the cool flow of arctic air pushing forward, easing the unpleasant sting of heat, and Rika was surprised to find the cold momentarily comforting.

Keenan opened his mouth, but before he could utter a misdirection or perhaps an apology, she said, “The fey in the desert have their freedom now even though it cost me mine. That is the choice I made. This time I chose to sacrifice my freedom knowingly, not as a result of lies.”

“Faeries can’t l—”

“Shading the truth is the same as lying, Keenan. Failing to tell dozens of girls what they are truly risking is the worst kind of lie.” She felt tears on her cheeks. “Don’t pretend that faeries are truthful. I am one now. I know exactly what we are capable of doing.”

For a moment he said nothing, and she had a sliver of softening in her anger. Then he spoke. “You rage that the ice was so horrific that you retreated to the desert for years, yet you chose Donia’s court. Wouldn’t you rather have the sunlight? We can work this out. Offer your fealty to me instead. . . .”

Even now, he focused only on what he wanted. She shouldn’t be surprised, not really. She’d said for years that he’d never change. Rika looked over her shoulder to see Donia. The Winter Queen didn’t look worried. She knew Rika too well to think that Keenan’s words would convince her.

“Keenan,” Rika started.

He reached for her wrist.

“No.” She pulled her hand to her stomach to avoid his touch, and then flung it forward and up to strike his face.

Keenan captured her fist in his hand and kissed her knuckles. “You’ve made a bad choice.”

This time the Winter Queen did speak. “Don’t touch her again.”

The possessive anger in Donia’s voice made Rika grateful that the Winter Queen knew that Rika no longer loved the flirtatious Summer King. He was not made for constancy; his court was one of frolicking, not faithfulness. When Rika had been forced to spend decades in his company watching him woo mortal after mortal, knowing that he spoke words of forever to them as he once had to her, she’d hated him. She’d hated herself more for having once believed that he meant those pretty promises. Since then, she’d thought that he could not mean them, had never meant them, but as Keenan’s gaze fell on Donia, Rika realized that she’d been wrong. Every beautiful dream Keenan had ever whispered was true—just not for the hundreds of girls before Donia. The Summer King truly loved the Winter Queen.

Rika would never tell him, but if he would have still smiled at her that way when she had been filled with ice—or even last year, she reluctantly admitted to herself—she would’ve said yes to most any question he asked. There were very few things in the world as beautiful as the Summer King’s smile when he was in love. Even still, Rika wished she could save Donia from the hurt of being loved by Keenan. Unfortunately, she’d been unable to do that when Donia was a mortal, and she certainly couldn’t do it now.

“I’m sorry, Donia,” she whispered. “I’m so very sorry I couldn’t protect you from this life.”

In a blink, Donia was standing behind her, gently squeezing her hand in acknowledgment of those whispered words.

“Go home, Rika,” her queen said evenly. Her gaze was still fastened on Keenan, and it was very clear that she still loved the Summer King, despite being cursed to be Winter Girl and now being the regent of his opposing court. Without looking away from Keenan, the Winter Queen added, “If you need anything, my court—and my allies who can enter the desert to aid you—will be here to call upon.”

Silently, Rika walked toward the house. The door opened at her approach, and another Hawthorn Girl stepped aside to let her pass.

From the relative shelter of the doorway, Rika glanced back to see Keenan brush his hand over Donia’s hair. At his touch, the Winter Queen’s hair became soft blond instead of ice-white. She leaned into his caress for a heartbeat, face flushed and steam rising from her skin. He was no better off: ice clung to his hair, his fingertips, and his lips. The curse had been cruelest to these two. Despite not being the Summer Queen he’d sought, Donia was someone he loved. Rika’s heart hurt for both of them when she realized that, despite everything, the two regents were in love—and no more likely to find a future than they had been when she’d been first cursed.

Donia stayed still until Rika was gone. She knew well that her court would relax now that the former Winter Girl and her mortal were safely away. The stakes in her quarrels with Keenan had always been high, and not too many decades ago, faeries had died when her temper was left unchecked. No one save another regent could survive if they were caught between Summer and Winter in true conflict—and Donia wasn’t sure how angry the Summer King was.

“The desert wasn’t yours to take,” Keenan said. His hand was next to her face, not touching, but near enough that his hand almost caressed Donia’s cheek. She’d settled for these half touches for so long, dreamed they could be more, and then he’d found his queen.

And I am an afterthought yet again.

She turned and kissed the palm of his hand; as she did so, her hair brushed against his arm, and even that brief caress left frost-flowers traced on his skin. “You’re wrong. It’s all mine to take, Keenan . . . especially if it brings you to my step.”

The sky grew gray, and a fierce shriek from a sudden storm gave voice to the hurt Donia couldn’t. The air became snow-filled. Still, glowing at the center was Keenan, illuminated in sunlight, still smiling at the faery who stood against him. All around him was a blizzard, but he looked happy.