Aisling floated between dreams and the real world. Her mind wandered through thoughts, trying desperately to place them in the drawers they needed to be in. She didn’t sleep at night anymore. She had to be awake for the sluagh and all the responsibilities that came with being the Raven Queen.

As a swan, there was too much to worry about. Wild animals found her thick wings interesting, and even the Fae stared at her breast with a hunger in their gaze that wasn’t sexual.

The sun burned behind her eyes, keeping her half awake when all she wanted was to sleep.

Water rippled, waves caressing her side, as someone or something stepped into her lake. Usually, Aisling would dismiss such subtle movements. She knew what they were. The sluagh often visited her, keeping their distance but letting her know she wasn’t alone. Sometimes, a deer would wander past her lake and pause for a cold drink. These were sounds she was familiar with.

Again, the water trickled as if it were being poured from a vase or goblet. No animal could make that sound, which meant someone was trying to capture her attention. The sluagh left her alone. They knew this was her sacred time, thought that she was a swan to connect with nature since none of them had been alive when there was a Raven Queen.

That left only one person who would dare to bother her when the moon hadn’t yet risen, a faerie who constantly gloated that he’d bested them. Aisling opened one eye and glanced across the wide expanse of the lake.

A man crouched at the edge, a gold goblet in his hand that he dipped into the lake. Black hair spilled over his shoulders to his waist, nearly touching the water as he bent down. His clothing was impeccably made, emeralds sparkling on his lapel and down his waistcoat. Broad shoulders tapered to a narrow waist, and crushed velvet pants hugged his long legs.

He might have been handsome if pale scales didn’t stretch up out of his collar.

She paddled closer, dipping her head until her beak nearly touched the water. How dare he? The previous Raven King, the one who had cursed both her and Bran to this ridiculous life, all because he didn’t want to be stuck in this kingdom anymore.

He had no right to be here.

The sluagh still whispered his name in fear that he would return to the throne. Darcy: descendant of the dark one. And now she knew why he was named thusly.

An ancient tome had revealed his story. He was born into a family of Unseelie who were part snake. They devoured their prey whole, enjoying taking their time in torturing all whom they ate. He had not been a good Raven King. In fact, he was worse than any in history.

She clacked her beak in warning. He wouldn’t dare come too close to her, or she would bite his fingers so hard they would snap off at the knuckle.

Darcy lifted his head. His eyes were the color of sunlight filtered through leaves, slitted pupils contracting when he saw how close she had gotten.

“Aisling,” he said with more warmth than he should. “My sweet queen, how have you been?”

She beat her wings against the water, rearing up. He had no right to call her his queen, let alone address her. He’d left their people, the sluagh, the dullahan, the dearg due, in the hands of Bran and herself with little guidance. She’d had to pick up so many of the pieces he’d left behind.

Perhaps he understood what her movement meant because he leaned back away from the shore. The goblet dissolved into nothing in his palm, magic glimmering on his fingertips like gossamer threads. “I see you remember me.”

Of course, she remembered him. How could she ever forget the man who had doomed her to a life such as this?

“Good. I thought I would stop by and see what you’ve done with my kingdom.” He glanced around, and a broad grin revealed pointed teeth. “It seems like you’ve done nothing thus far.”

She was going to bite him. She was going to beat her wings against his skull until those sharp teeth rattled out.

“I came by to see your husband. Or wait, he’s not your husband, is he? You’re just his consort, or a king’s plaything, whatever it is you tell yourself to justify the insult.” He paused and glanced back at her. “I also wanted to see you. The rumors really are true, aren’t they? The Raven Queen always suffers with the king, no matter what form she wears. Strange. I didn’t know the curse would be quite so powerful. Here you are, a swan instead of a woman. Unless that’s by choice?”

She hissed at him.

“Not by choice then.” Darcy chuckled. “Well, that’s new then. You’ll want to hear what I have to say to your… We’ll call him ‘king.’ I apologize for making you leave your lake, little swan.”

She didn’t want him to see how awkwardly she walked on land. It was yet another weakness he could exploit.

She also wanted to hit him.

Aisling narrowed her eyes and watched him saunter away, his hands loose at his sides and entirely too comfortable in this kingdom of broken souls. This wasn’t a place he could play in, nor was it a place for him to rest his head. The sluagh were afraid of him. He’d done enough damage already.

Anger burning hot in her chest, she paddled to shore and clambered out of her lake. Giving herself one quick shake, she sprinted forward and took to the air.

Wind whistled through her wings like a shrieking banshee. Stealthy she was not, but that didn’t matter to her. She wanted Darcy to hear her, to know that he was about to be hit by powerful wings and an angry woman who despised him.

He ducked at the last second, however, one of her outstretched wings still clipped him on the top of the head. Enough to mess his perfectly smooth hair.

That was a win.

She landed ungracefully, breathing hard and hissing through her beak.

“Trouble in paradise?” he asked, chuckling as he walked by her. “That’s the Raven King’s curse, you know. Happiness will forever elude him, and you are his happiness. You know who’s enjoying life to the fullest?” He pointed at himself. “Me.”

She hated him.

A slow, sluggish crawl of magic dripped down her long neck, and she knew the sun had set below the horizon. Aisling glanced over her shoulder at the streaks of pink. She wouldn’t be able to follow Darcy now. She’d have to wait until the curse ran its course.

Footsteps crunched away from her. He picked his way through the rubble and large chunks of stone with a familiarity that she hated. He had been king of this land for too long. His mark would forever linger upon its people and the land itself.

She wondered if he had caused much of the rubble during his reign.

A line of heat filtered down her arms, sticking to her fingertips and ripping at the feathers until a few floated to the ground. Gasping, she tried to see through the sparks in her vision. It would be over soon, the pain was fleeting, and then she would be herself.

However, it was difficult to think through the pain. Her face ached as her beak melted back into a face. Sinuses expanding, white hot agony spread behind her eyes and down her throat.

She tilted her head back and let out an aching call that turned into a human moan. The magic released with a pop. Aisling sagged to the ground, her muscles feeling as though they’d turned to liquid.

Every evening she endured the same brutal transformation. Every morning she wondered if she could continue in such a manner for much longer. She dreaded every waking moment.

As always, warm woolen fabric draped over her shoulders. The quiet voice of a sluagh murmured, “Mistress, are you well?”

Not at all. She still couldn’t breathe normally, but Darcy had a head start on her and she refused to miss anything he had to say to Bran. Pushing herself up, she rested her weight on her forearms and let her head hang. Brokenly, she responded, “I will be. I must get up. Help me.”

“Was that…?” The sluagh paused before licking its beak and then reaching out its hands for her to take. “Was that the old Raven King?”

“It was.”

“Why is he here?” It pulled her to her feet, ducking underneath her arm and tucking the fabric around her nude form. “Has he come to take back the throne?”

“Never,” she spat. “He’s back to see what trouble he might rouse before returning underneath whatever rock he crawled out from.”

“I don’t know, mistress.” The sluagh started the shambling journey toward the stairs that led to the castle. “He’s never returned before. Why is he here now?”

“We must hurry. Bran will turn back into a raven soon. We don’t have much time.” She looked at the horizon and prayed for the moon to rise slowly. She needed to speak to Bran, about more than just this.

They hurried up the stairwells, leaping over areas where the stones had completely fallen and crawling over pieces that were precariously hanging over the edge. Aisling held her breath in moments like this, still too weak to stand on her own and fully aware that the sluagh she leaned against was very fragile.

Finally, they made it to the castle.

“Mistress?” the sluagh asked, “are you well enough to stand on your own?”

Of course, the creature wouldn’t want to see the man who had tormented their species for so many years. She straightened, holding her own weight and catching her balance.

She was strong enough to do this. Aisling tilted her chin up, squared her shoulders, and walked down the great hall that led to the throne room. Cobwebs covered the ceiling, and vines grew in from the shattered stained-glass windows. Her home had always been something similar to a dying creature. Broken at the edges, somehow still struggling to hold onto life.

Voices lifted from within the throne room, angry and raised in great shouts that didn’t bode well. She was likely going to have to stop yet another battle. Aisling sighed, gathered her wits, and shoved open the door.

The two men stood on either side of the throne, their arms gesturing wildly as they shouted. She could only catch snippets of what they were saying.

“You have no right to return—” Bran growled.

Only to be interrupted by Darcy who threatened, “That is a borrowed throne boy—”

“Did you think I would let you—”

“Let me?”

“I will throw you out by your—”

“I’d like to see you try!”

Aisling stomped toward them and held up both her hands. “Gentlemen!” Her shout cracked through the room and rose into the rafters.

They both paused and turned to stare.

Silence rang in her ears, and she let out a happy sigh. She’d gotten used to the peace of Underhill. Even the sluagh were careful to remain respectfully quiet in their every action. For the most part, the throne room was quiet and calm.

Until the two of these men had decided they needed to have a shouting match that made her skull ache. Aisling lifted her hands to her temples and rubbed the sensitive spots. “What are you doing here, Darcy?” she asked. “It’s not to check in on us. We all know that’s a veiled lie. You might as well get it over with.”

“I so thoroughly enjoy annoying the Raven King. Perhaps he can feel for a few moments what I’ve lived through for a thousand years because he refused to take his rightful place as my heir.”

“It wouldn’t have changed anything,” she replied with an angry huff. You still would have remained in the same role you hated so much. Out with it.”

He bristled, some of the scales on his face lifting in anger. “Do you have to ruin everything, witch?”

“When it comes to you, yes. I don’t trust you as far as I can throw you.”

Bran stomped forward, his boots cracking against the floor. He reached forward to catch the drooping fabric revealing her shoulder and carefully slid it back into place. He touched a finger to her chin. “Clothing, Aisling?”

“Missing currently. I didn’t want to clean up Darcy’s blood tonight. There’s far too many more important things for me to do.”

“You might have left him to rot. I would have taken care of it on the morrow.”

“My knight in shining armor.”

Darcy made a gagging sound. “Are you two always like this? It’s disgusting. You see each other for less than fifteen minutes a day. I’d think you would forget about each other.”

“We see each other for less than fifteen minutes a day,” Bran repeated, staring into her eyes with a heat she had missed dearly. “We’ve learned to make the best of those fifteen minutes whenever they are given to us.”

She might have melted if she didn’t disagree with him. They weren’t making the most of the minutes, or perhaps not in the way she wanted to. There was always something to talk about. The sluagh were like children so she and Bran were rarely alone. She missed him.

Darcy let out a loud chuckle that blasted through her with the chill of a winter wind. “Say that one more time, Raven King, and I think she might just tear out your heart. Do you want to hear why I’m here before you turn into a bird, or would you rather leave me alone with your delicate wife?”

Aisling rolled her eyes and ignored him licking his lips like an animal. The man was all bluster with no action. He’d proven that when he put on a show for the Unseelie Queen and gotten them all into this mess.

“Out with it,” she growled once more.

“Fine.” Darcy strolled toward the throne and tossed himself down onto the black velvet. He hooked a leg over one of the arms, bouncing his foot with a familiarity that set her teeth on edge. “You’ve been summoned.”

Bran scoffed. “I wasn’t aware anyone could summon the Raven King. Who dares?”

“There is only one whom you answer to as the Raven King. Midir and his wife Etain lead the Wild Hunt this year, and they have called for you.”

“They call for me?” Bran lifted a brow. “Why?”

“They’d like the Wild Hunt to come early this year. And why wouldn’t they when a changeling child of such a high family with a good reputation was found to be lurking outside our kingdoms?” Darcy flicked his gaze to her. “All the Tuatha de Danann grow concerned.”

Aisling growled, “What dangerous things changelings are. Forgotten faeries cursed to live in human lands because no one here wanted them. Whatever would they do if they were left to live their lives in peace?”

“Easy there, little witch. Those are fighting words, and trust me when I say you don’t want to fight with Etain and Midir.” Darcy swung his leg off the throne arm and leaned forward. “They’ve sent me with a message. They’ll waive your curses for the length of time it takes for you to lead the Hunt. The sluagh are invaluable in sniffing out changelings, and they can take as many souls as they wish.”

“They can halt our curse?” she asked.

“For a time, although it’ll be easier with the new moon arriving. Your husband won’t turn into a raven when the moonlight hits.” Darcy shrugged. “You’ll still turn into a swan. No one knows where that part of the curse came from, or who even controls it.”

Aisling’s mind raced to keep up with what he was saying. They could exist without the curse of the Raven King for a few nights. They could be together more than fifteen minutes, and all they had to do was give up the sluagh for a short time. Aisling and Bran would still be with them, still watch over the creatures she now thought of as her children, but they would have to free them upon the human realm.

The sluagh weren’t faeries. In fact, they had all been human at some point in their life. Many secrets and myths existed about their kind, only one that she knew of remained true.

There were three ways to summon the sluagh to the human realm. The first was a war. The second was the Wild Hunt. The third was the crushing weight of sadness that humans frequently claimed was a person dying of a broken heart. In truth, it was the sluagh who stole them away to become bird-like monsters trapped for all eternity to hunt down human souls.

It was a sad existence, and not one she wanted to see thrust upon any others. No matter how much she desired to be with Bran for a few nights.

“Bran,” she muttered, “we cannot release them.”

“We aren’t releasing them,” he replied. “We’ll be watching them every step of the way.”

“I won’t see changelings hunted down like animals.”

“We don’t have a choice.” His voice was firm, his decision already made without asking her opinion. “Midir and Etain are known throughout all the Tuatha de Danann. They are fair and just. They won’t harm the changelings, only bring them back to our land.”

“Can you be certain of that?” She searched his gaze for the truth and found that he didn’t know the answer to her question. His expression answered her question without a word. Bran couldn’t be certain of their intent. No one could. They were still Tuatha de Danann, and every single one of their kind had their own agenda. The Unseelie and Seelie Fae could not control the beings who had created them.

Angrily, she turned toward Darcy and pointed at him. “Are you finished?”

He held up his hands. “I’m the messenger, darling. It’s not my fault you were summoned. I even suggested that I would lead the sluagh to allow the lovebirds a little more time to settle in.”

“Good.” She gritted her teeth and felt power build in her palms. “Then begone from this place.”

“You wouldn’t dare banish me.”

“Wouldn’t I?” Aisling brought her hands together in a loud clap that shook the foundation of the castle. A small puff of smoke remained where Darcy had sat on Bran’s throne.

The owner of said throne let out a soft chuckle and shook his head. “Did you really need to be so theatrical about it?”

“I don’t want him anywhere near us.”

How could he not care that Darcy was here? The man shouldn’t be allowed to even look at another sluagh for the rest of his life, let alone all the other forgotten creatures here. Aisling’s gaze caught on a shadow that moved along the wall.

The dearg-due woman was terrified out of her wits. Her eyes were bright red, fangs poking through her lips, and still she cowered against the wall. The previous Raven King had reminded the inhabitants of all the torment they had lived through in their human lives.

This was why they were banished. The Underfolk weren’t faeries; they weren’t human. Instead, they were magic-touched creatures who were warped so drastically from their original form that they couldn’t remember who, or what, they were.

Her heart twisted.

“I won’t use them,” she whispered. “I can’t do it, Bran. They’re too important to me now.”

“We won’t be using them.” He touched a finger to her chin, tilting her head so that she looked up at him. Even as she met his gaze, black feathers formed from the top of his head, falling to cover more and more of his body. “We’re setting them free to be who they truly are.”

Someone had said that about Aisling once. They’d said to leave her alone, let her stay in the witch’s hut with no one to help her. That’s who she was, a witch, and witches were always lonely.

She hadn’t chosen the life of solitude and had tried for so many years to speak with someone, anyone, who would listen. They always said the same thing. “Witches choose to be alone. It’s who they are.”

Bran’s form melted in front of her, his body shifting into that of a raven. He gave her one last look and brushed a gentle wing over her cheek before soaring up into the rafters and disappearing out a window at the peak of the castle.

If only she could go with him.

The temptation of sacrificing the sluagh, even for a few moments, just so that she could spend time with him burned through her. She hadn’t been able to truly be with Bran in so long. She didn’t care about the physical part, although she missed that as well. Aisling just wanted to hold him, to feel his heartbeat against hers without fear of him turning into a bird in her arms.

She sighed and turned on her heel. There would be time for such thoughts later. For now, she needed to calm their subjects who were terribly afraid.

The moon touched the horizon, casting a silvery glow over Underhill. The crumbling stone steps became gilded in its light, and the castle’s windows cast a warm glow from deep within the ancient building.

Aisling touched a hand to a dullahan’s shoulder. He’d asked for council with her, instead, he simply sat on a stone bench with her and watched the wind blow across the lake’s surface.

He hadn’t wanted much, he told her, just a few moments of peace. That was what she brought to her people, although she didn’t understand how. They liked to be in her presence, particularly when alone.

The time had come for her to change back into the hated form that had changed her life. She didn’t allow any but the sluagh to watch the transformation. She didn’t want them to know how painful it was.

The dullahan stood, carefully cradling his head in his hands. They were strange, headless creatures, and she’d grown used to the way they always tucked their skull underneath their arms and spoke easily enough. One didn’t look at the dullahan’s headless bodies. She always looked them in the eyes because that was the only way to be polite.

“Thank you, mistress,” he murmured, bowing before turning away from her.

“The pleasure was all mine.”

He was already too far away to hear her. She’d found the dullahan’s were, strangely enough, the shyest creatures in Underhill. They terrified humans every All Hallow’s Eve, but returned to their home as quiet, unassuming men who were painfully embarrassed of their strange looks.

A shadow flew toward her on the horizon. She’d seen him flying closer, his form growing bigger until she’d known it was past time for her to ask the dullahan to leave. Though Bran was certainly understanding about much, he would want their alone time before she changed back into a swan.

She stood in front of the bench and waited for him to reach her. She pushed down her black silk skirt, which slithered down her form to pool on the stone ground. It was a shame she’d waste such splendor during the change.

Bran flew in front of her, changing midair, and landed on the shore of her lake. With the sun setting behind him, he looked like a curl of smoke from a flame. And she, the lover of smoldering coals.

His black wings folded into a dark cloak around his shoulders, crushed velvet covering his torso and black pants hugging his strong thighs. He smoothed a hand down his chest and gave her a devastating smile that made her breath catch.

“Hello, witch,” he purred.

And just like that, she remembered what it felt like to fall so deeply in love that she could no longer see the light.

Bran stepped forward, and her eyes traveled up the regal length of his neck to the shadow just underneath his chiseled jaw. As if he read her mind, he cupped the back of her neck and pulled her forward.

She nestled into the hollow of his neck, where all her worries ceased to be, and blew out a breath. They were going to be fine as long as they were together.

“I missed you,” he murmured, pressing his lips against the long column of her neck.

Preferring to tackle issues head on, she shook her head. “We cannot allow the Wild Hunt to use the sluagh. Not this year, Bran, they’re far too fragile.”

“We don’t have a choice.”

“There is always a choice. I refuse to believe this Tuatha de Danann have enough power to force us to do anything. You and I are royalty now. They have to ask us before they take any of our people, and we can reserve permission this year. They need time to build up their trust in us and in themselves.” She pulled back to stare up into his dark eyes. “They’re more than just monsters. I know it.”

He tucked a strand of inky dark hair behind her ear. “I already told them we’d do it, Aisling. The sluagh have long been a part of the Wild Hunt, and I will not refuse anyone the use of them if I am there. More than that, I long to have a few moments alone with you again. More than just a stolen heartbeat.”

“I do, too, but we can’t put them through that.”

Bran guided her back to the stone bench and settled her onto its cold surface. He joined her and held her hands carefully against his heartbeat. “It’s not the sluagh that are bothering you. I know you too well, witch, or have you forgotten that we traveled across the Otherworld together? I’ve seen you fight bigger beasts than this.”

He’d seen right through her, even when she hadn’t realized a deeper worry burned in her stomach. “The changelings,” she whispered.

“We have to hunt them down.”

“We don’t.” She didn’t understand why the faeries always treated their lost kindred like animals. They were still faeries. She should know—she was one of them.

Bran squeezed her hands. “I know this is hard for you to understand, Aisling. It must seem strange to you that we hunt down creatures who we’ve sent away. It’s the royals responsibility to take those faeries, who should never have been sent to the human realm, and bring them home.”

She’d spoken to other changelings before. They were terrified of the Wild Hunt, where great beings hunted down their kind and dragged them back to the faerie realm. The human world was forgiving of those who were different compared to the faerie realm, where they would either be torn to pieces or forced into slavery.

“We both know that’s a lie,” she replied. “Do you really think they’re going to be welcomed home with open arms? What do you do with the changelings when you return?”

“They’re given up to their respective courts, who return them to their rightful place in society. We can’t change the opinions of faeries who only believe changelings are good for slavery.”

“You lived in the Unseelie court. You’ve seen what your own parents do to changelings returned to them. Bran”—she licked her lips—“the faeries aren’t sent home. Not when there are so many more uses for creatures no one wants.”

He stood abruptly and began to pace in front of her. “What do you want me to do? Stop the Wild Hunt? Even I’m not capable of that Aisling, you have to know that.”

“I’m asking you to give the changelings a fighting chance! Don’t send the sluagh out into the human realm where they will certainly find these creatures. Let them try and hide. It’s the least we can do for them when it was our families who sent them out there on their own in the first place.”

She could hardly breathe for fear he would deny her. The faeries would go, regardless of whether she traveled with them.

Underhill was far more frightening when she was here alone. She blew out a breath, watching the struggle in Bran’s gaze, and knew what he was going to say long before he said it.

He dropped to his knees in front of her, pressing his forehead to her thighs and shaking his head. “You’re asking too much. I don’t know how to describe this to you in a way you’ll understand, Aisling. I cannot say no to the Wild Hunt.”

“It’s been done before.”

“Never. To do so is to go against the very fiber of who and what I am. I know you did not grow up here.” He looked up, his eyes dark and tormented. “You are a wild flower they transplanted into a place where it could grow and form the most beautiful blooms I have ever seen. You are not truly faerie, and you cannot understand what it is you ask.”

“Please.” She tried one more time, knowing he would never give in.

Bran compressed his lips into a firm, white line. “The best I can offer is that you come with me. If we find any of the changelings first, they could have a place here before anyone else can claim them.”

It wasn’t ideal, but it was a start. The poor creatures would be condemned to a life of twilight for the rest of their lives. It was better than whatever the courts had planned for their own people.

She could only imagine the horrors faeries utilized to punish their own people. The clanking sound of chains filled her mind with ghoulish memories.

Bran straightened, and a mischievous light returned to his eyes. “Besides, what better opportunity than this to steal faeries from other courts? I think ours is far better.”

“I think so, too.”

He pulled her close to his side, and together they watched the sun set. A tingle of magic ran down her spine, and as always, she fought against it for as long as she could. Until the power of her curse ran through her body and crushed her very spirit.