The sluagh maid tightened her corset with a brutal twist that left Aisling gasping. She placed a hand against her belly and glared at the other woman in the mirror.

“A little more delicately, if it pleases you,” she growled.

The sluagh shook her head. “The whale bones have been passed from mistress to mistress. Each one is ensorcelled to help you through any battle. The Wild Hunt is dangerous, my queen. I would not have you harmed.”

“I’m not helpless,” she said with a snort. “I wasn’t before I was your queen, and I’m certainly not now.”

“I don’t doubt that. A little bit of help goes a long way.”

She was right, of course. That didn’t mean Aisling needed to like it. She gritted her teeth and allowed the woman to continue strapping the midnight dress to her body like some form of ethereal armor. And in a way, it might have been. Aisling didn’t know much about faerie armor.

They were going to meet the leaders of the Wild Hunt, the creatures who had decreed that her own people, changelings, were little more than animals to be hunted down in sport.

Aisling already hated them.

And perhaps that wasn’t fair. They had their own reasons for enforcing such rules, but they were rules she simply could not agree with. She’d argued with Bran again. He said it was becoming far too frequent an argument for him to be comfortable, and she should let it rest. She couldn’t change the world simply because she didn’t agree with it. Faeries were a stubborn lot, and he was doing the best he could. They would save whatever changelings they could. In the meantime, she had to play along with the part.

“Trust me,” he’d said, swinging her in a circle before putting her down again. “Like you did before. Remember the library? My sisters? This is my world, Aisling. I know what I’m doing. I wouldn’t lead you wrong.”

She couldn’t help feeling as though he still might not understand this world as much as she did.

Or perhaps he didn’t understand its people at all.

The sluagh behind her let out a soft sigh that sounded like the wind and then stilled. Was she breathing? Aisling counted her own breaths, waiting for the sluagh to inhale.

When she didn’t, Aisling slowly turned around and stared into eyes she didn’t recognize. The sluagh were all very similar. Their eyes were entirely black with no emotion in them left at all.

These eyes were blue as the sky on a clear morn. They stared back at her with no recognition, blinking slowly as if they were trying to bring her into focus.

“Who are you?” Aisling asked. “And why are you here?”

“I wanted to see you.” The sluagh’s beak was open but didn’t move as though it were speaking. Instead, its mouth was left agape while another voice spoke from the empty chamber of its body. “I wanted to see the famed Raven Queen.”

“I’ll ask you again,” Aisling repeated. “Who are you?”

“I think you know. You’ve known the moment you stepped foot in Underhill that something was different here. That there was more hidden in the depths of this world than the sluagh and their king were letting on.”

Aisling swallowed and held her ground. “Carman.”

The sluagh remained still as death. Its chest did not fall nor did its fingers twitch. Even the eyes remained locked in a forward direction. Perhaps the witch didn’t have as much control as Aisling thought. A body was simple to direct like a puppet. This body had someone else in it, and she knew without a doubt that the sluagh fought for control.

She just had to distract the witch long enough to give the sluagh a fighting chance. Or perhaps, for a banishing spell to work.

“You have no right to be here,” she said quietly. “You were banished long ago.”

“Banished?” A laugh boomed from the open mouth of the sluagh. “Not quite, little girl, but you will learn my story soon enough. Haven’t you heard? I’m the mother of all witches. I felt your soul enter this place, and I knew you would be my successor.”

“I have no need of another crown.”

“Every woman needs more than one crown, my dear. We were made to bear life, more than that, to bear witness to all wrongdoings. I decided long ago that if we were to carry the weight of the world, then we would also decide its punishment.”

Aisling shook her head. “No one should be able to decide the fate of the world. No one.”

The laugh this time was edged in darkness. Aisling scooted back until her hand pressed against the mirror at her back. A spell danced in the edge of her mind. A simple one, one that she hadn’t practiced in a long time, one that would free the sluagh. She’d give it a little more time to fight, but not much longer.

Carman could find out too much if she remained here.

“There will always be someone trying to decide the fate of the world. Do you think there isn’t one out there already? I say, who better than you or I to make these decisions? We have lived the lives of these changelings.” At Aisling’s flinch, Carman gave a gleeful whoop. “You thought I didn’t know? Aisling, child. I know everything about you.”

“How do you know that? How do you know where we are going?”

“Everything that happens in Underhill happens because I approved it. Don’t think for a moment that the magic running through this place isn’t directly tied to me. I created Underhill. I am its lifeblood. They thought it would be my prison. Instead, it became my kingdom.”

She’d had enough of this witch’s poisonous words. “I have no use for you, nor do my people. Return to whatever hole you crawled out of.”

“I just have one more question for you, witch. Why haven’t you told the Raven King about me?”

Aisling hesitated because she didn’t have a response to that question. She’d had ample opportunities. She should have told Bran the moment she found out, but simply…couldn’t.

The sluagh’s expression changed, slowly as if time had nearly stopped. As Aisling watched, it raised a brow. “So you see, little girl? Perhaps you believe in my words after all.”

Aisling slammed her hand flat on the mirror behind her, and the spell flew from her lips. “Begone, demon, for you are not wanted here. I banish you to return to your cage. You are not welcome here.”

Power flowed through the eyes in the center of her palms and slid into the glass. She knew, if she turned, that she would see Carman’s true face. The woman was standing in front of her, not the sluagh.

Magic such as possession was dark. It should never be used, even by witches. She’d never even heard of someone breaking this law.

Bodies were sacred to pagan witches. It was a temple that each person should take care of, but witches would never force their conscious mind into another’s. To violate a person in such a way… It was black magic of the worst kind.

Claws skidded down the hallway outside her room and screeched to a halt. Lorcan dashed into the room in a flurry of fur and bared teeth. “Where is she?” he shouted as he entered.

Carman was already gone. Only the lingering scent of absinthe betrayed that she’d been in the room at all.

Lorcan’s ragged breath filled the room. He rushed to her side and plopped down next to her foot, sniffing the air until his whiskers bounced. “Was she here?”

“Yes,” Aisling replied, still staring at the sluagh who had yet to reanimate itself. “She was. Talking through this sluagh.”

He hissed. “Then they’ve been talking before. She wouldn’t have the energy to actually possess something. This one has been listening to her whispers a little too closely for comfort.”

“What do you suggest I do with it then?”

“Get rid of it. Carman is like an illness. She’ll spread from this one to the next, whispering in their minds and turning them against you. It’s what she did before, and she’ll do it again.”

Aisling finally stirred. She looked down at her dearest companion in shock. “Are you suggesting that I kill her?”

“You don’t know the stories of Carman, I do.” When Lorcan shivered, the fur along his spine rose. “She wasn’t just a terror for the faerie realm. She wanted all the human witches to unite under her. She wanted them to bow down and become a new realm, a third world, living here, where they would be able to attack both the humans and the faeries. It was a dark time for our people.”

“Did she succeed?” she asked. “Even the slightest amount? I can’t imagine witches joining together. We’re too solitary and our magic too volatile.”

“Where do you think most of these sluagh came from?” He looked up at her, his luminous eyes reflecting the light behind her in a burning green. “She sent the horde out for the witches who wouldn’t join her, and then she turned them into the wandering dead. These creatures were the first who either joined her or were forced to. Her power and control still lingers here. Never forget that.”

Gods, she hated it here. Aisling wanted a simple life. Was that too much to ask?

She sighed and walked up to the sluagh who was still as stone. Placing a gentle hand on its beak, she whispered, “Your services here are no longer necessary. Thank you for all that you have done. Rest now.”

It let out a quiet sound, like that of a peaceful end. Aisling let its lifeless body drop to the ground and tried to tell herself it was for the best. The sluagh wasn’t even itself anymore. Carman had taken everything it used to be and twisted all the good into something bad.

Still. It didn’t feel right to take its life away.

Lorcan rubbed against her leg. “Come away from this, Aisling. The others will take care of it for you.”

“I don’t want them to see it.” They didn’t deserve to stare at their fallen comrade and wonder what had happened. Aisling was a paragon to them. The kind woman who had fallen from the sky to teach them what it meant to be people again.

Instead, all she’d done was kill one of their own.

Lorcan dug his claws into her foot. “This wasn’t a sluagh anymore, Aisling, at least not one of yours. Carman had already twisted its mind, and it would have done anything to follow its new mistress. Do not let this linger in your thoughts.”

She nodded in response, she would let this stay with her. The death would remain as another black mark on her soul.

A soft sigh blew out from the cat at her feet. Lorcan knew her far too well and understood this wasn’t something she’d wanted to do. Letting the souls go from the sluagh army was as good as a permanent death. They disappeared. Not to heaven, not to hell, nowhere at all. They were just gone.

There was no time to deliberate on these thoughts. She had to rush to meet Bran at the portal that had opened in the great hall. The Wild Hunt waited for them.

“I can’t afford to be weak when I join the Hunt,” she whispered. “I don’t know how to banish these thoughts, either.”

Lorcan touched a nose to her leg. “Let me help.”

“You want to poke around in my head?” She hated the mere thought of it. Aisling had spent much of her life trying to forget memories, but she’d never allowed anyone to actually take them.

“The Wild Hunt admires strength above all else.” Lorcan met her gaze with wide eyes. “You’ll already have a hard time chasing down changelings.”

She knew it was a bad situation when even the cat was worried about her. Sighing, she nodded. “Fine. Only for a small amount of time. I want these memories back.”

He dug his claws farther into her foot, raising a bead of blood that rolled to her instep. “Earth, air, water, fire, hear this spell and my desire. This memory which haunts her mind, release her now for thus I bind.”

Aisling waited until she felt the strange, sleepiness overtake her. A wisp of darkness poured out of her nose, the black fog swirling in the air and funneling toward Lorcan who guided it to her nightstand. He nudged it toward a small empty vial that used to hold her perfume. It funneled into the jar in a swirl of color and darkness. He picked up the stopper in his mouth and carefully closed it.

“There,” he muttered. “Gone for now. I’ll put it back where it belongs when you return from the Hunt.”

She felt strangely foggy. Aisling touched a finger to her forehead and shook her head. “A memory spell?”

“Taken away with your consent. You know I’d never do that without permission.”

She did, but what had he taken away? Her natural curiosity nearly got the better of her, Lorcan had always been good at reading her mind. He gave her a censoring look and muttered a spell that hid something in the room.

If Aisling really wanted to, she could have negated the spell. Becoming the Raven Queen had given her certain powers that made her far stronger than ever before. Her mind wasn’t just a wealth of knowledge, but also a deep pool of ancient, wild magic that needed no words, no spells, just the will of a strong woman.

“The Wild Hunt awaits,” Lorcan reminded her gently. “As does the Raven King.”

Bran. The reason why they were going to this forsaken place where they would hunt down people just like herself.

Aisling set her teeth and strode forward. Though she was afraid, she refused to let it show. If they could help the changelings somehow, then this would be worth the trip. It had to be. There were far too many people who needed her.

She strode through the halls with sharp footsteps cracking in the empty palace. A few sluagh peeked out through doors and then quickly shut them as they saw the thunderous expression on her face.

Such reactions were precisely the reason why she shouldn’t be leaving. There were still so many who needed to understand that she wasn’t like the previous Raven King, and neither was Bran. They wanted to help the remaining sluagh return to their previous state, although they had yet to figure out how. No humans should be doomed to live among their ranks if they didn’t wish to.

A memory wiggled in the back of her mind, the tails of it hanging like tattered curtains. It wasn’t quite something she could pinpoint, a sick feeling the moment she thought of releasing the sluagh.

Her heart beat faster and her palms grew sweaty. What was the memory Lorcan had taken? What did it have to do with freeing the sluagh souls?

She rounded a corner, her thoughts distracting her, when a warm hand cupped her elbow and slowed her rapid speed.

“Easy, little witch,” Bran said with a chuckle. “We don’t have to charge to the Wild Hunt as though we are leading the entire troop.”

“I don’t want to do this, Bran.”

“Neither do I.” His eyes filled with shadows, dark and sad. She’d seen them many times since cursing him. He was plagued by demons she was only just discovering. Even now, he hadn’t told her his story.

Not a single word had passed between them of his tale. She knew he had been the Raven King’s successor his entire life. She knew he hadn’t spoken with his family in a very long time, something his mother hated and his father ignored. There were siblings, but he didn’t speak with them either.

Bran was a complicated man who held his cards close to his chest. Fifteen minutes a day wasn’t enough to push him for further details.

She met his dark gaze and tried to understand what he was thinking. “Then why are we doing this?” she asked. “We’re the king and queen of Underhill. Are we really at their beck and call?”

“Our titles aren’t exactly…recognized.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Our subjects are the fallen fae, the ugliest that neither court recognizes, or the sluagh who are really human souls twisted by a faerie curse. It’s not exactly a faerie court, Aisling.”

“Then why even call us king and queen? Call us the lord and lady of misfits for all I care. They shouldn’t give us the honor of the name if they don’t intend to recognize it.”

She bristled at the mere thought. Faeries had always considered themselves better than her. They looked down their nose at changelings, even ones like herself with infinite power and potential to be so much more than just a forgotten child.

At least, so she thought. She wanted to believe her abandonment could have been a misunderstood memory now that she’d met her sister. Elva had given her a considerable amount to think about. And it wasn’t just that her family might not have wanted to give her up, but perhaps they also had missed her.

Bran snapped his fingers in front of her face. “Where’d you go, witch? We’ve got far too much to do for you to be wandering off in your mind.”

She lashed out and grabbed his fingers, digging her nails into the soft skin at the back. “Don’t snap your fingers at me like I’m an animal.”

“Then don’t forget I’m standing in front of you.” He used her grip to tug her forward into his arms.

The soft sigh that brushed over her lips was one of pure pleasure. One of his hands slid over her shoulder and traced the bumps of her spine. He settled in the curve of her back, his thumb tracing a circle on her hip.

“There’s so much more I’d rather be doing with you,” he whispered, leaning down to press his lips to the hollow of her ear. “Instead, we’re going to be fighting in the Wild Hunt.”

“Who says we have to fight?”

“We always fight.” His chuckle vibrated through her, an answering call lifting from deep within her belly.

They argued about anything and everything they could, only because it felt right. She got a thrill every time she bested him. Likewise, he felt the same. They were competitive creatures by nature. The battles between them were long and hard-won.

The portal cracked behind them. Aisling glanced over his shoulder to see the strange spell that had opened in the middle of their home. It was an impossibly beautiful thing, unlike any magic she’d ever seen before.

Silvery like a fogged mirror, the magic was as tall as Bran and as wide as a doorway. It glistened as if it were liquid metal and shifted with ripples at the slightest breeze. The fluid magic solidified at the edges, creating a hardened shell like the frame of a painting.

It cracked again, a fissure breaking from one corner to the other.

“The portal won’t stay open forever,” she whispered. Her fingers dug harder into Bran’s hand, pulling him closer to her side. Her heart beat faster at the mere thought of being in the presence of so many lethal fae.

“Are you ready to face them?”

“Never.”

He tugged her closer, pressing her entire body against his, as if he might absorb her fear. She wished it were possible. He’d dealt with them his entire life, knew what to expect, how to act.

Aisling felt as though she were blind.

“I won’t let them touch you,” he muttered. “Don’t you dare worry about that. They won’t lay a finger on you. You’re no longer a changeling. You’re the queen of the Underfolk and ruler of the mighty sluagh. You are my second in command. They wouldn’t dare lift a hand to you.”

He thought she was worried about herself? Aisling let out a soft snort. “I can take care of myself, Bran.”

“I know you can. Sometimes, you shouldn’t have to.” He pulled back, keeping ahold of her hand. “Let’s join the Wild Hunt, my queen.”

She followed for the promise of warmth and happiness at his side, regardless of where they were. He would protect her, he would believe in her, but most importantly, Bran would never think she was something other than what she was.

They stepped to the portal and, as one, moved through the fluid. She felt the pull of magic as it yanked on her clothing. It touched her throat, and she understood the unspoken threat. It didn’t want her there. It tasted the changeling on her skin while whispering a promise that she wasn’t welcome, that she would remain alone for the rest of her existence.

A sharp tug on her hand pulled her through the magic, and she stumbled out. Bran caught her, steadying her against his side before he ran a hand down her hair.

He pulled her close for a seemingly romantic moment, then whispered in her ear, “Did you feel that?”

She nodded into his shoulder. There would be faeries staring at them. All the courts wanted to see the new Raven King and his queen. Already, she and Bran were putting on a show.

He let out a soft growl. “So the games began before we even arrived. Keep your wits about you, witch, and don’t stray from my side.”

“And if I do?”

“I’ll be honest, sweetheart. I have no idea what they want from us. This isn’t just about the Wild Hunt, it’s something far more than that. Everyone wants to show how powerful they are. There’s war brewing on the horizon again. I don’t know if that’s between courts or… within. Stay close to me and don’t make any deals with faeries you don’t know.”

As if she would know any of the faeries here. She’d only met a few lesser fae, boggarts and hobgoblins that wanted to help her with her magic in return for a first-born child. Tuatha de Danann and high fae were far above her rank as a changeling witch.

She held her breath and stood on her own. Aisling squeezed her eyes shut for a moment to steel herself for what she would see, then she turned to face the hordes of faeries that awaited them.

Her eyes were assaulted with colors, textures, and glimmering creatures that all seemed impossible. They filled the clearing to the brim, almost rivaling the stars in their glamorous forms. The Wild Hunt called upon only the best of each court. Aisling now knew what that meant.

The Seelie faeries were bright and blindingly beautiful. Their hair was the color of gold, their skin alabaster. Some were as dark as night, their eyes gleaming like moonlight on her lake, others were pearlescent, glowing beings. Each more beautiful than the last.

The Unseelie faeries were dark, their features warped by animalistic qualities. Feathers were common among those who had answered their brethren’s request. Some wore scales like a second skin. It was the giants far in the distance, seated at overly large thrones they had brought with them, that caught her attention.

“Bran,” she whispered, “your family is here.”

His expression darkened. “Of course, they are. Even if mother and father cannot hunt with the rest of us, they would want to see the spoils. Blood calls to them. My siblings will hunt for my family, and they’ll likely kill a few of the changelings, only to claim it an accident.”

Aisling steeled herself for another meeting with the Unseelie Queen. Bran was affected by the Raven King’s curse and therefore handsomely decorated in raven feathers. But his parents and the rest of his family?

She shuddered.

They were part human, part spider. Neither of his parents wore clothing. His mother preferred to drape the long, tangled strands of her hair over her chest. She reclined far away, her pale skin meeting the bloated belly of the spider seamlessly. Even from this distance, Aisling could hear the scratching of her legs as they shifted with her excitement.

“All right,” she said. “Let’s go see them.”

“See them? I have no intention of speaking with my family. Come with me. There’s someone I’d much rather introduce you to.” He held out an arm for her to take and smiled. “I’m not throwing you to the wolves just yet, witch.”

There were few people here she could guess he wanted her to meet. Elva wouldn’t be here since she was still on an island training to become stronger. Even her own family would likely be safely tucked away in their Seelie homes. Who else could there be?

Curiosity coursed through her veins. She tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow and grinned. “Lead away, Raven King. You’ve intrigued me.”

“As always.”

He drew her through the crowd, pausing only a few times to make introductions. She didn’t remember the names, or even the faces, of the faeries around them. It didn’t matter in the end. Aisling wouldn’t see them again any time soon, nor did she really care to allow them space in her mind. They cared not for her. She wouldn’t care for them.

Finally, he drew her through the crowd and deep into the heart of the Seelie court where no Unseelie would go. Aisling felt thoroughly out of place in their beautiful number.

Bran glanced down at her and grinned. “What is it, Aisling?”

“Hm?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look so uncomfortable before.”

She stared at a woman who passed by them. She wore no clothing. She didn’t have to. Her entire body glowed so brightly that no one would have seen the skin underneath it. The ephemeral creature was one she’d never even heard of before. Surely, there must be a legend of something like her?

“Aisling,” Bran said again, another laugh bursting forth from his chest. “You have to stop staring at them.”

“It’s impossible not to stare.”

“You’re one of them.” When she finally turned back to him, Bran touched a finger to her chin and tilted her head up. “Even among their ranks, you still stand out.”

“Hardly.” She felt like a weed in a garden of perfect roses. No one would ever notice her when there was so much beauty surrounding her. Oddly enough, it eased her mind. She didn’t want to be noticed. Here was the best place to hide.

“You are a black orchid in a bed of a hundred white roses.” He reached down, lifted her hand, and pressed it against her lips. “My poisonous flower.”

“Stop being so romantic.”

“You don’t like it?”

She did. Too much.

Aisling was uncomfortably aware they had been together in human form for longer now than they had in months. He was right here, touching her, and she couldn’t think.

Even as he guided her through the crowd, his warm palm grazed her back constantly. Sparks of energy traveled from his fingertips through her spine until she couldn’t even think straight. She wanted him. More than she’d ever wanted anything in her life.

Bran let out a ragged breath. “Later, my dear Raven Queen. Now, I want to introduce you to the only person I’ve ever called ‘friend.’”

That caught her interest. Aisling raised a brow. “Who might that be?”

“Surprised you, have I?”

“I didn’t think you were capable of friendship.”

“Most people are far beneath me for such a trivial thing but…he’s different. She’s different.”

“A couple then? I wouldn’t have thought you to be interested in such things.” Aisling’s chest burned at the thought. She wanted him to desire a relationship, a family, a place to call home. That was a conversation for another time.

He seemed to think so as well. His brows drew down for a moment before he shook his head. “Allow me to introduce you to Eamonn, King of the Seelie Fae, and his lovely wife, Sorcha.”

The woman’s name felt familiar, as if a ghost had passed through her mind. Aisling turned around and stared at the couple who had walked up behind her.

The man was incredibly handsome in a dangerous way. His jaw was strong, his hair wheat-colored and shaved on either side. He’d braided it into a long tail that swung to his waist. For a king, he was modestly dressed. A simple tunic and trousers adorned his body. A sword hung at his hip.

It was the woman who captured her attention. Hair like fire, freckles dotting her face, a proud expression and vivid green eyes that Aisling remembered all so well.

A grin spread over her face, and she shook her head with glee. “Midwife? I hadn’t thought you’d catch yourself a king.”

The calm expression on the redhead’s face changed into that of complete shock. Her jaw dropped open, and her eyes widened. A barking laugh split her lips, and she blurted, “Witch? Is that you?”

Bran narrowed his eyes, and his hand on her arm tightened. “You know each other?”

“Know each other?” the Seelie Queen said with another laugh. “She’s the only reason I’m here. When I was trying to capture the attention of the fae to bring me back, a plan which didn’t work in the slightest, your witch was the one who helped me. I never thought you’d come here, though! You seemed so against it.”

Aisling shrugged. “Neither did I. This wasn’t where I wanted to end up, but apparently it’s where my fate rested.”

Eamonn wrapped a meaty arm around Sorcha’s shoulder and stared at Aisling with an intense, blue gaze. “Who are you?” His bright blue eyes trailed down her body, and Aisling had the distinct feeling she was being weighed and measured. “I’m afraid I don’t know this story.”

Aisling opened her mouth to respond, hesitating when Sorcha beat her to it. “It’s not a story I thought I’d ever have to tell you. When you were ignoring my existence and stuck in your foolish war with your brother, I was trying to find a way back to the faerie realm. This woman helped me, although I’m afraid I’ve forgotten your name already.”

Unsurprising, considering the life story that Sorcha hinted at. Aisling had found herself intrigued by this human woman’s life. When she’d helped her through the portal, she had sensed there was something more to her. Not quite faerie, certainly not human. Perhaps, if she was nice enough, Sorcha would tell her the story in its entirety.

Shaking her head to clear the thoughts, she smiled at the couple before her. “Aisling. And no longer just a witch, I’m afraid. My true name is no longer spoken. I was Seelie Fae. Now, I am the Raven Queen alongside Bran.”

Eamonn’s expression darkened as he cast a look at Bran that would have seared flesh from bone if possible. “Your doing, I presume?”

“Not everything is my fault,” Bran responded with a laugh. He held up his hands. “She chose this life. I gave her an out. It’s not my fault if the woman is a glutton for pain.”

Aisling elbowed him. “Hardly. You wouldn’t have been able to rule the sluagh without me, and I certainly have no interest in remaining in the Seelie court now that I’ve been found out.”

“Found out?” Eamonn repeated. “How so?”

“I was a changeling.” The words still stung. She didn’t know how to explain it in a way that didn’t make her seem lesser in their eyes. The Seelie Court in particular liked the age-old practice of sending away their “ugly” children so they wouldn’t have to look upon them. The custom made her heart burn with anger. They had no right to send their children away. No one should hate their children that much, or value beauty over their own blood.

Surprisingly, the Seelie King made a disgusted face and squeezed his wife’s shoulder. “We’re working on changing the old ways, but it’s not as easy. Changing a millennia of traditions takes nearly as much time. I apologize that you’ve experienced such horrible things. We can’t erase those memories. I do hope, at the very least, someone has tried to rectify the issue.”

“I haven’t seen my family if that’s what you’re asking.”

Bran shifted next to her. The nervous twitch made her pause, but it was the Seelie King who narrowed his gaze on him.

Eamonn grunted. “Something you want to share, Bran?”

“I don’t appreciate the tone, Eamonn,” he replied.

“You just look like you’ve been up to something I wouldn’t approve of. I know that expression.”

“I’m a king now. A little more respect is in order.”

“Or what?” The Seelie King took his arm back from his wife and straightened. “I’ve bested you before.”

“When we were children. I don’t remember you besting me since our voices deepened.”

Sorcha stuck out an arm and laughed. “I’m glad the two of you haven’t changed at all. Neither of you is the better warrior. You both fight very differently. Stop arguing, you fools.” She winked at Aisling. “Who is your family, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Ilumin and his wife. My sister is Elva, although she has left the Seelie Court and sought training with Scathach and her women.” An icy chill fell between the two couples. Aisling frowned and looked up at Bran whose face had turned white. She licked her lips. “I take it that wasn’t the right thing to say?”

Eamonn grunted. “It certainly lowers my opinion of a man I thought had better judgement.”

“You’re back to making snap decisions about people without assessing the situation, I see,” Bran growled in return. His hands curled into fists, and Aisling saw the shadow of feathers forming.

“Should I not when you chose the sister of the woman you—” He paused, his eyes flicking to Aisling.

So, he was worried about what she did and did not know. As though Bran had chosen her simply because she had a connection with Elva.

Aisling had known of Bran’s fascination with her sister. Their relationship was complicated, and yet not something she couldn’t ignore. People had history, gods knew she did, and Bran had made it perfectly clear that his past would remain in the past.

They might not understand it, but Aisling always had.

She met the Seelie King’s gaze without flinching. “I know of Elva and Bran’s history. The past is something we must forgive if we wish to move forward in our lives.”

The darkness in his eyes cleared like clouds drifting away to reveal a clear blue sky. “Wise words from a witch.”

“It’s my experience that most things a witch says are wise.”

“Perhaps I haven’t been listening to them correctly then.”

Bran’s hand settled on her back, and Aisling felt as though she had somehow won a battle. The tension in the air eased. Eamonn and Bran drifted into a conversation about their courts, how Bran was feeling as a king, how Eamonn was handling his own people.

She cared little for their conversation. Politics always bored her. Aisling wasn’t cut out to be a queen like that. She wanted to talk about her people or how these two had ended up together when they were clearly such different people.

Most of all, she wanted to understand how this strange red-headed creature in front of her had become a queen.

Sorcha shifted and met Aisling’s stare. “You have questions for me?”

“Mind reader, are we?”

“Something of the sort.” Sorcha held out her hand and took Aisling’s. “We’re very similar, you and I. Two beings who aren’t quite faerie any more, but aren’t so far from it either. You’ll find the courts are much more welcoming than you would imagine.”

“I hope so.”

Aisling looked out over the crowd and doubted they would accept her the same as Sorcha. She remembered the way the feisty midwife had been. There had been something commanding about her even back then. Now, she had fit into the role of queen with ease.

The mass of faeries around her wouldn’t accept one they had already tossed aside so easily. Aisling had been unwanted the moment she’d been brought into this world. Until she had accepted witchcraft, and suddenly everyone wanted a spell.

What did they see when they looked at her? A tattooed freak who now controlled the most dangerous army the faeries had? Or did they see something to pity?

She shivered, her mind flitting between the possibilities until it was almost too much for her to bear.

Sorcha squeezed Aisling’s hand and let it drop. “You’ll get used to the stares and the scrutiny. Perhaps the best advice I can give you is not to care what they think. You’re a queen, and no one can take that away from you now.”

“Did they try to take it away from you?”

“They tried for only a heartbeat and then realized their fault. Eamonn and I have done much to change the Seelie court, but there will always be more that we cannot change with speed. Generations of darkness have bred within both faerie ranks. We do what we can to ease the pain of those who have been harmed by such darkness.”

It felt like a lesson as well as a promise. For once in her life, Aisling actually believed a faerie royal.

She frowned then nodded firmly. It was a promise she hoped to give to her own people as well. They would get through the Wild Hunt first, then she would make certain the sluagh and the other faeries under her care felt the same protection.

A sick feeling in her stomach warned that she might not be able to.