Aisling swept into the main hall, magic tingling along her arms and back. The curse didn’t want to release its hold on her. As with every day, she fought against it. Moonlight had touched her skin so she was human for as long as it was here now.

Her feet pounded on the ground as she ran to Bran’s side. He hadn’t come down to the lake, and she already knew why. Lorcan had told her enough. Bran needed to hear it from her lips.

What if he didn’t know? What if he hadn’t heard yet that his family was falling apart at the seams and was trying to tear each other to pieces? And could he even stop them?

She ripped open the last door and thundered into the throne room where she skidded to a halt.

Bran sat upon his throne, head in his hands, legs spread wide. He slumped against the royal seat as if the world had ended.

“You know,” she said, her voice carrying throughout the hall.

“I already heard.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t know how to help, but if I can in any way, you know that I will.”

He held up a hand. “There’s nothing you can do that I would ever ask for. My family has always fought between each other. I just didn’t…” He paused and cleared his throat. “I never expected it to come to this.”

“Can’t you talk some sense into them? The Unseelie court cannot go to war within itself.”

“Don’t you think I’ve thought of that?” Bran looked up. His eyes were sunken into his face, bruised and dark from worry. Sweat stained his brow, and she was certain he hadn’t slept in days. “The Seelie court will take advantage of this. I’ve already tried to contact Eamonn. He’s not interested in speaking with me on the matter. This will tear not only my family apart. It will tear apart the entire Unseelie kingdom.”

“What can I do?” Aisling couldn’t think of anything. The moment Lorcan had told her, she’d started the flight back to the palace. Every bit of her wanted to help, but the Unseelie were as foreign to her as the rest of this world. They wanted to fight with each other, so be it. They would fight, and the consequences of the royals’ choices would spill throughout the Otherworld.

He shook his head again, limp against the throne. “There’s nothing you can do. Our world is about to change, and not for the better.”

“Can you appeal to your mother? Certainly she won’t want to fight against her own child. She fought to get you back, and she made it quite clear you are her least favorite.”

“Thank you for bringing that up.”

“Don’t make me feel guilty for that. It’s the truth, and you know it.” Aisling walked up to his side and knelt at his feet. “You have to do something, Bran. They’re your family.”

“And they are fools.”

“And still you blood.”

He reached for her, scooping a hand under her chin and cupping her face. “Your heart is too big. You shouldn’t give them any pity. They’ve made a bed they must now lay in.”

There was something in his eyes that she’d seen before. A regret, but also the lust for adventure. “You’ve already done something, haven’t you?”

Bran lifted a brow. “And perhaps you know me far better than I give you credit for.”

“What have you done?”

He sighed and ran a hand over his head. “I’ve spoken with the council of the Wild Hunt. They’re the only ones who can lift my curse, although they cannot lift yours. They have agreed to remove the Raven King’s curse for a few weeks, enough to let me travel to the Unseelie court to try and talk some sense into my family. The council sees what I do. This could bring about a new era in the courts that we don’t want to see come to life.”

“Weren’t the leaders of the Wild Hunt this year both from the Seelie Court?”

Bran nodded.

“Then why would they allow you to help the Unseelie court? It doesn’t make sense, Bran.” She worried they were playing him as everyone else had done.

He blew out a breath. “There must always be dark and light in our world. If you take away the darkness, then there is nothing left. The Seelie court requires us to exist to remember their own values. Otherwise, the entire court system shatters.”

“Why wouldn’t Eamonn talk to you then? It benefits him to stop this madness.”

“It does. Hhe’s likely trying to figure out what he will do if the war begins regardless. For all his intelligence, Eamonn doesn’t think I stand a chance at talking some sense into my family.” Bran hesitated, a muscle on his jaw jumping. “And he might be right.”

She squeezed his knees, then smoothed her hands over his thighs in hopes that it might comfort him. “I believe in you, my love. Certainly they will listen to you. You’re the Raven King. There’s more to you than just the Unseelie prince now.”

“It depends on who started this war. I don’t even know which brother is fighting for the throne. Some of them have tried before and failed but…I suspect it is my eldest brother. And if it is, then this will be much harder.”

Aisling racked her memory for the name of his eldest brother and came up short. She couldn’t remember who he was, or if Bran had even spoken of him.

“Your eldest brother?” she asked. “Who is he?”

“A fool,” Bran spat. “Far more interested in power being given to him than gaining it for himself. He’s been tempted by many powerful people before, but he’s weak on his own. If he’s trying to take the throne, then someone else is behind him.”

Aisling could hazard a guess who that was. He darkened their doorstep enough for her to hate him already. “Do you think Darcy could be behind all this?”

“I don’t know. I wouldn’t be surprised to see the previous Raven King with my brother.” Bran sighed. “I have to go to them. Tonight. I don’t want to leave you and this entire kingdom all on your own but—”

She interrupted him. “We’ll manage. I’d rather go with you, though. Your family is not particularly kind to you, and I’d much rather be there to help you.”

“Who else would control the sluagh?” he asked. “You have to stay here. I know they’ve already formed more of an attachment to you than to me.”

“That’s not entirely true.”

He shifted his hand to the back of her neck and pulled her forward. “I’m not jealous, witch. I see why they’d prefer you over me.”

Bran pressed his lips to hers, tasting her for a long moment before groaning against her lips. She wished they had more time together. That they might have another night where they could dream at each other’s sides. Even if she turned into a swan at the first hint of sunlight.

“I’ll take care of everything,” she whispered against his mouth. “Just come back to me in one piece. Please.”

“Help me get ready?”

She knew what he meant. The Raven King’s armor could magically appear on his body any time he wished, and there was something calming about strapping it on him. She knew that he would be safe if she placed everything so that it covered every piece of him that might be hit in battle.

And she knew he would battle soon.

Without a word, Aisling stood and held out a hand for him to take. He let her pull him from the throne and guide him through the hallways of their home. The sluagh parted like a wave in front of them.

Dark eyes watched them with interest. She wondered if they knew what was going on. The creatures were highly intuitive, or they had access to both her and Bran’s mind.

They always seemed to know what their royals were thinking. If she was hungry, a sluagh appeared with a plate next to her. If she was thirsty, water would appear at her side, sometimes without her ever seeing them enter. She wondered if they knew her better than she knew herself.

Then she would wonder why they served her. Aisling hardly thought of herself as a good person or as someone worth serving at all.

She pulled Bran to their room and nudged the door open with her foot. When they first had arrived, Aisling assumed Bran would want his own room as they had in the Palace of Dusk. It wasn’t unheard of for couples to remain in separate facilities. In fact, most people would have chosen to do so.

Not Bran. He wanted her close to him, even if that meant he simply slept in the same bed as her. The longer they were in the room together, the more she understood why he wanted her to live that way.

Aisling glanced over at the black silk sheets and felt a smile spread across her lips. How many times had she lain there, inhaling his scent and breathing out a sigh of happiness? Just knowing that he still lived had helped her these many nights alone. When they did get a few moments together, that bed had kept them safe from the world. They’d loved and lost in this room. Sometimes together, sometimes apart.

She pulled him to the corner where an armor stand stood empty. Pointing at it, she lifted a brow. “Would you like to do the honors, or should I?”

“I believe I can still manage.” Dramatically, he cracked his neck and focused on the stand. In seconds, the armor of the Raven King appeared upon it.

Aisling gave it a severe glance, checking over his magic. He’d done well enough. Not a mark on it from the teleportation.

The entire set was a black, intimidating thing. The pointed helmet gave the impression of a raven, while the breastplate mimicked black wings arching back over the shoulders. Black leather padded his legs, while gauntlets gave his fingers claws.

She hated the sight of it. It had remained in the castle for only a few hours when they arrived here. Bran had cleaned the room of the previous tenant’s things while she had stared at the beastly thing.

Aisling knew what it meant. Darcy, the old Raven King, had made it very clear he enjoyed battle. Blood had been his harvest and his feast. He wanted to devour the world if he could along with the rest of the sluagh, and the power that gave him was only one of his favorite things.

She’d asked for the armor to be removed immediately. Bran had done so, and though she didn’t know where he had put it, she knew it was far away from this place.

Now, it had returned, and she hated it even more.

Without a word, she stalked toward it and pulled the breastplate from the stand. “Turn around,” she murmured.

Bran did so without argument. The clothing on his body disappeared with a whispered spell, leaving only a thin shirt and comfortable pants.

Her heartbeat quickened at the sight. Love for him bloomed deep in her soul, and it wasn’t just the physical reaction to seeing him like this. It was more than that. Something she’d never felt in her life.

The armor clanked in her hands as she rounded to his front. She placed it on his chest, then took his hand and forced him to hold it in place while she returned behind him to begin tying the straps.

“What do you think you’ll find?” she asked.

“Bloodshed. My family at each other’s throats, yelling most likely. If they haven’t started tearing into each other, I’d be surprised.”

“Do they do this often?”

“Around every century, although it’s never turned into a civil war.” He shifted, hefting the chest plate higher when she finished with the first strap. “We aren’t particularly loving.”

“I could have guessed that. You haven’t invited any of them to the castle, nor do you speak of them often.”

“Do you speak of your family?”

He had a point. Neither of them liked to bring up their pasts, although she was curious about his. Bran hadn’t ever spoken of it.

“No,” she replied. A swift tug to a strap had him wincing. “You know enough about my family already. Why would I talk about them when you know them far better than me?”

“Low blow,” he growled.

“Well, you did try to marry my sister.”

“I thought that didn’t bother you?” Bran craned his neck to look over his shoulder. “I made it clear I’m not interested in her anymore. I’m far more intrigued by you, witch.”

“I’m an intriguing person. I won’t argue that.” A part of her still wondered.

Did he want the Seelie bride with her long golden locks and her pretty voice? The life he would have had with Elva, her sister, was far different than this. Instead of gardens filled with golden wheat, balls with gowns, and gorgeous people, he had a dark castle with damned souls.

It must be hard for him to think about all that and not regret his choices.

“Aisling,” he murmured, turning and brushing her hands away from the metal feathers of his armor. “That is in the past.”

“What is that past?” she asked, searching his eyes for an answer she knew he would not give. “You haven’t said a word to me about anything, other than you aren’t close to your family. I know that. It’s not a secret. I don’t know you.”

He brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “You know me better than anyone else.”

“And that is still only a small piece of who you are. The Raven King. A man who can somehow ask people to remove his curse and they’ll take it away. You haven’t found anyone who can remove mine, not a single person who understands how it came to be.”

“I’m trying to—”

“Are you?” The words blurted from her mouth, and she hadn’t realized how much the wound had festered until she said them. The curse ripped her away from the changelings, the sluagh, him, every single morning. And she was still struggling to deal with the pain.

He stepped back from her, a frown marring his beautiful face. “Of course, I’m trying to break the curse, Aisling. I’ve been doing my best.”

His raven eye whirled in its socket, looking anywhere but her.

The air whooshed from her lungs. “You’re lying.”

“I’m a faerie, Aisling, I can’t lie.”

“Then you’re hiding the truth. I can read you like a book, Bran. You aren’t trying as hard as you can to break this curse. Why aren’t you?”

He ran a hand over his head. “I have other responsibilities now. I’m a king. I’m more than just Bran, more than an Unseelie prince. There’s so much to do here. You cannot condemn me for trying to learn how to take care of these people, to care about someone other than myself. I’m fighting against every single thing that’s been taught to me. I’m Unseelie. We’re selfish. We’re not supposed to take care of anyone other than ourselves.”

“I’m not asking to come first, Bran, I’m asking for proof that you have attempted to even find a spell, the history of the Raven King’s consort. Anything.”

He remained silent, and his eyes continued to stare above her head. It was the only answer she needed.

“Why?” Aisling asked, her voice thick and her soul weary. “Why aren’t you trying?”

“I am.” Bran’s voice cracked on the words. “We can’t have this conversation right now, Aisling. I have to go.”

Why did it always happen like this? The moments when she was just breaking through, he always had to whisk off somewhere to save someone else.

There was a war, she reminded herself. One that would affect all the faeries if she didn’t let him go. She couldn’t be the selfish creature she used to be, because she was now a queen and so many people relied on her.

She hated it. She wanted to go back to being the witch in the bog who looked out for herself and no one else.

Aisling nodded and reached forward. “Turn around. I didn’t finish yet.”

They remained silent. The only sound was the tightening of leather and clanking of metal as she made certain each individual piece would keep him safe. A voice in her ear whispered to leave one piece loose. Just give someone the opportunity to hurt him, like he was hurting her.

She wasn’t that person anymore. She couldn’t be.

Aisling sighed and patted his shoulder. “Done.”

“Are we?” He turned, his heart in his eyes. “I promised you the world, witch, and all I’ve handed you is hell.”

She wouldn’t speak of this. Not now. Aisling reached up and placed a hand on his cheek. “Come back to me in one piece, Unseelie. I’m not done with you yet.”

Bran stepped back with a troubled look on his face. He searched her eyes for something, then firmly nodded.

A portal opened behind him. Black tendrils of magic reached for his shoulders and caressed his arms. They pulled him through the murky darkness.

Then, he was gone.

Bran shoved through the magic of the portal, stepped into the Unseelie castle, and sucked in a deep breath. Why did it always have to happen like that? Damn it, he should have been able to stay with her. To reassure her that he wasn’t interested in her family.

That was why he hadn’t told her about his past. He didn’t want her to know how much he had changed just by knowing Elva. That she had torn out his heart when she chose someone else, and then his world had crumbled around him.

He wasn’t proud of his history. He’d been a horrible person, before and after Elva, although much worse after her.

Bran had seen the world as a place where people wanted to hurt him. Any kindness suddenly looked tainted, as if he were merely a stepping stone to the next best thing. And he’d hurt a lot of people.

Memories played through his head, visions of blood, gore, and violence.

A lot of people.

He shook his head firmly. He couldn’t get stuck on all the things he’d done. His family would scent that like blood in the water and tear into him instead of each other. As much as he wanted to distract them, he wasn’t willing to sacrifice himself to do so.

Growling, he stalked through the halls of the Unseelie castle. They were dark, as usual, lit only by torches on the wall that cast everything with a red hue. Not even the goblins were out and about. Usually that meant his mother was on a killing spree.

He hoped she was only killing the lesser fae. If she’d torn into his sisters again, then he would have to step in far more than he had planned on.

The door to the throne room was ajar. Light spilled through the small crack, already a terrible sign. Neither of his parents were fond of light. Their arachnid eyes were sensitive to anything bright, even more than that, they hated to be able to see each other completely.

Though they valued ugliness in their children, they still saw the same thing the Seelie did when they looked at each other. They were monstrous beings. Creatures that could only remain in the dark.

He slipped through the small crack and stepped into the place he most hated.

His mother lounged on the throne, silent. His father stomped past some of his children. All eight of his legs moved separately, but it was his flailing hands that made Bran wince. The King of the Unseelie liked to hurt people. He liked to feast upon pain, whereas his mother enjoyed fear. Together, they were a dangerous pair.

Bran glanced up at the cobwebbed ceiling. His sisters hung there from giant hooks in their backs. Blind eyes roving as they tilted their heads, trying to track where their father was so they could lower or raise themselves accordingly. Of all his siblings, his sisters had learned how to hide themselves.

He was surprised they’d come out of their library. It didn’t bode well for any of his brothers.

Three of them were lined up in front of the throne. Shoulder to shoulder, they left their back to their mother and stared at a single sibling who stood in the center of the room.

Eion was the closest in age to Bran, that was where their similarities ended. Some speculated that he wasn’t even the Unseelie King’s child. By looks alone, he certainly stood out.

Red hair cascaded from his shoulders in a great mane. His skin was so pale Bran could see his veins even from this far away. Slitted eyes watched the proceedings with far more intelligence than his other brothers.

He wore nothing more than a kilt, black with a ragged edged. Muscles shifted on his chest, and Bran observed that he was much larger than the last time they’d seen each other. Eoin had been building his body to be the perfect weapon. Always a bad sign with one of the Unseelie.

So, his youngest brother had finally grown up.

“This will not be forgotten,” his father growled. “Of all your brothers, it will never be you who sits upon this throne.”

“I’m the only one who should be your successor.” Eoin’s voice had deepened, too. It cracked through the throne room like a powerful whip. “My brothers lack what it takes to be king. They will run this kingdom into the ground. I will not stand by and watch them.”

The Unseelie King reared back onto four legs, the others waving in the air as he prepared to attack his own son. Bran had seen the aftermath of such anger before.

Stepping forward, he cleared his throat. “I believe they already have a king for a son. So you are wrong there, Eoin. My kingdom is prospering.”

Eoin’s shoulders tensed. “Hardly a kingdom in anything but name.”

“And yet, the name is all that matters.”

His mother leaned forward on her throne, hair sliding away to reveal pale breasts. “My son! You have returned to us.”

As if he would ever return for anything less than a war. Bran scowled at her. “To stop this nonsense and talk some sense into all of you. Have you forgotten what the last civil war did to us? To all of us?”

“Bran…” She slumped back in her throne like a petulant child. “That’s such boring talk. I’d much rather you pick a side and fight with us. Like the old days when you were still my favorite boy.”

She referred to a dark time in his life, one he had long ago refused to acknowledge. “Enough, mother.”

“This does not concern you,” Eoin snapped. “Go back to your hole in the ground.”

“Oh, if only I could, brother. I didn’t want to come here and fix what you have broken.”

Eoin lunged forward, only to be stopped by their father screaming, “Both of you! Enough.”

Bran had heard that tone of voice too many times in his life to not flinch. He shifted back, baring his teeth in anger. He was an adult, damn it. He shouldn’t be so afraid of his father shouting. He was also a king.

His father stalked forward, the talons on the ends of his legs clicking on the floor. “You were not invited here, forgotten son. I have no interest in seeing you.”

The words stung more than they should have. “I’m not letting you start a civil war with each other and tear apart this world. The Seelie have prepared for something like this for a very long time. They will take everything we have here and turn it into whatever they want. They will feed upon our civil war.” He met his mother’s gaze. “You know this, as well as I.”

“I lived it,” his mother replied. She shifted one of her legs, rubbing it against another one. The rasping sound of hair and arachnid skeleton reminded him of his childhood spent hiding from this monster of a mother. “The Seelie like to think we’re scared of them. We’re not.”

“You cannot control what happens if there is a civil war. While all of you are distracted with each other, they will swoop into this kingdom and take it back.”

“They can’t take back anything that wasn’t theirs to begin with,” his father growled.

“They can. All of us were just Tuatha de Danann, and then they left. Now we’re here, split into two groups who hate each other because of our differences, and you are all squabbling like children!”

Eoin began to laugh. He tucked his hands behind his back and shook his head. “Brother, there are three kingdoms. The Seelie who are the good faeries. The Unseelie who are the bad faeries. And the Underfolk, who no one cares about at all.”

How dare he? Bran whipped around and pointed severely at his brother. “I do. And you should, because they are good at what they do. Or do you no longer wish to have the Wild Hunt? If I remember correctly, you weren’t even invited this year.”

“For no reason other than an old prejudice.”

“No. Because you are unpredictable and you cannot even follow Unseelie traditions.”

“When have you suddenly cared for rules, brother? You always did lean toward Seelie, but pity for the weak? The changelings are brought back to their own courts for a reason.” His brother sneered.

“You don’t get to kill them just because you want to.”

Eoin had always done that, even as a child. If Bran had a puppy, Eoin would kill it. When his mother brought in a new maid, Eoin would lacerate her skin with a knife until she left. He was the perfect Unseelie child.

Mad.

His brother shook his head. “Oh, Bran, you never were able to understand exactly what we’re meant to be. I can. Which is why I say again, Father, I am the only one of your children worthy of that throne. If you won’t give it to me, then I will take it.”

Bran wanted to kill him where he stood. He was a child, despite all his centuries of life. No one this arrogant should ever be king.

Had he ever been like this? He knew the answer was yes. He’d been the worst of them all, trudging through the castle and striking the hobgoblins whenever he wanted to. That was why he had left this place.

The Unseelie castle was toxic. Everyone in it was unhappy, angry at the world, and wanted nothing more than to hurt everyone they loved. It was dangerous for him to even step foot in here with memories riding in the forefront of his mind.

Eoin conveniently forgot that only their father could declare a war. A usurper could try, of course, but few of the Unseelie would be so foolish as to fight against the current king. It was why his parents had ruled for so long. No one dared anger them. No one dared rise up against them.

Before he could scold his brother for such words, the sound of clapping filled the throne room. Stomach dropping, Bran turned to see yet another wraith step out of the shadows.

Darcy. The previous Raven King was looking far too good these days. The scales had completely grown back to rise over his throat like personal armor and covered his hands in pale green.

He finished clapping and shook his head with a fanged grin. “It’s always so lovely to see families getting along. Mine never liked each other that much. I’m glad to see that family tradition has spread all the way up to the royals.”

Bran bared his teeth. “What are you doing here?”

“Well, I’m here to support your brother. I also think there are very few people who could do your father and mother justice in their old age. And I don’t think any of your family could appropriately represent them. Other than Eoin, of course.”

“What do you get out of this?” Bran stepped closer to the other man. “You aren’t here because you like any of us. You aren’t capable of that. So there’s something else afoot.”

“You think you can read my mind? You’re nobody in this world anymore. The Raven King has no respect, no power, and no control over what happens in any of the faerie courts. The sooner you realize that, the better.” Darcy spread his hands wide. “I’m full of knowledge on how to run your kingdom the right way. Perhaps you should ask me.”

Perhaps he would kill Darcy instead.

His mother stood, and everyone in the room fell silent. They all knew how dangerous the Unseelie Queen could be. And more than that, how unpredictable she was.

He’d long admired her ability to silence a room with a single movement. She had not only the respect of her people, but their fear. They didn’t know what she would or could do. No one knew if the queen had magic at her bidding, or if she was just a malformed faerie who hadn’t learned much of the dark arts. Regardless, no one wanted to find out.

She left the throne and walked toward him, her feet tapping in a rhythm that raised horrible memories. Bran swallowed hard when she paused in front of him.

“My son,” she said quietly, tucking a hand under his chin and lifting his face so he had to stare up at her monstrous form. “I have missed you a great deal, and all the ridiculous things you do while you’re here. Do you think I forgot the performance you put on last time? And that little girl who you made a queen?”

“Her name is Aisling.”

“I don’t care what her fake name is. I know her true one, and you won’t fool me that easily.” She ran a nail underneath his eye, delicately pressing it against the thin skin. “You aren’t here for us. You never have been. Why don’t you tell me what you want, Raven King?”

Bran swallowed hard. “I don’t want to see a war open up and everything else spill into my kingdom.”

“You’re trying to be a good man? Well, you’ll have to try harder than this, little boy. You have too many black marks on your soul to ever be thought of as good.”

“I was once. I can do it again.” He’d given up all this, tried to be Seelie, all for Elva, because that was what she’d wanted.

“I remember how much you changed for the last woman you thought you were in love with. A shame really, you would have made an impressive Unseelie if you hadn’t fallen in with the wrong crowd. We know how you work. You try to convince someone you are exactly what they want. A shapeshifter, if you will. This one will give you up, just like the last one did.” She released her hold on his jaw and touched a finger to his nose. “And then you’ll come crawling back to me. Like you always do, my predictable, foolish son.”

“Not this time, Mother.”

“No? What changed? You’re still with a woman who is arguably out of your league. You have too much responsibility, so you’ve been avoiding it. And should I mention the curse? I’ve heard you’ve stopped asking around entirely on how to break that. I wonder why?” She grinned. “Is it, perhaps, because it was becoming too hard for you to figure out? So you grew frustrated and gave up?”

“Stop it.”

Eoin stomped his foot on the ground. “Why does the conversation always turn to Bran when he’s here? I’m threatening a war, and you’re talking about his love life?”

The queen held up her hand. “Silence, Eoin. We’re not talking about you right now.”

“I will destroy all your supporters and take this kingdom through bloodshed if I must!”

She narrowed her eyes, and the entire room trembled. “And I said we’re not talking about you right now. Would you like me to start?”

“No,” Eoin said, backing away slowly. “No, Mother.”

“Good. For a moment I thought you wanted me to be angry at you.” The words were more of a threat than if she had pulled a knife. The queen never got angry. Bran had seen her hunt, feast, and feed, but had only seen her angry once.

They’d had to rebuild the castle after what she’d done. He would never forget the blood and gore splashed on the walls. How the entire castle had been as silent as a tomb in the wake of her wrath.

When he shuddered, the movement brought her attention back to him.

“So,” she said. “Have you given up on this new, little toy? Or are you going to waste even more time trying to convince her you are more than just an Unseelie? My boy, you are part of us just as we are part of you. Acting like a good man isn’t going to change that.”

“I will break her curse. I will have her at my side like a queen should be.” Bran said the words, though he wasn’t certain he actually believed himself. There was more to the curse than he could have ever imagined. It was so intricate, so hidden, that there wasn’t anything he could do. And failure wasn’t an option. Unseelie failed.

He couldn’t do that to her. Not after everything she’d done for him.

Darcy chuckled, catching both Bran and his mother’s attention. “This is lovely and all, but you do realize I know how to break her curse, right?”

“No, you don’t,” Bran grumbled. He rolled his eyes, knowing that the other faerie was simply trying to get attention. He probably knew the same amount that Bran did, which was very little.

“I do. I was the Raven King long enough to do my own research. The consort’s curse is an old one. You already have everything you need to break it.”

“You wouldn’t tell me anything even if you knew how to break the curse.”

“Consider it a gift for taking me out of that cursed kingdom. You did me more favors than I could ever say. I wouldn’t have been able to align myself with an Unseelie prince and take the throne, for example.” Darcy nodded at Eoin. “Sorry, it’s not like you didn’t guess I wanted it for myself.”

Eoin shrugged. “I figured. We’ll deal with that mess once we destroy my family.”

“I like a man with ambition.” Darcy sauntered forward, his hands stretched out by his sides. “I’m not lying to you Bran. I do know how to save your lovely lady, and I’d very much like to tell you. There’s a soft spot in my heart for her. Not many women are so feisty.”

“You want something in return.” It wasn’t a question. Bran was certain this was a trap.

Darcy shook his head firmly. “No, of course not. I simply want to make sure that your little witch is the happiest she can be.”

“Why?”

“I already told you. There’s something special about that one. She’s beautiful, she’s powerful, and she isn’t afraid of anything. Qualities like that are rare in a woman. Perhaps someday she’ll bear you a child, and then I can have one of my own.”

Bran made a disgusted face. “I wouldn’t let you within sight distance of my children.”

“Perhaps that’s what I’ll ask for then.”

“My firstborn is off the table.”

Darcy shrugged. “Then consider it a gift.”

What was this dangerous man hiding? Bran narrowed his eyes. “What is it then?”

“The Raven King needs to have his consort become more powerful. I’m certain you’ve already seen what that power can do, how tantalizing it is. But, when she’s a swan, that power goes away, doesn’t it?”

He’d felt the change before. It wasn’t completely gone, a fact he didn’t want Darcy to know, it certainly waned as soon as the sun came up. Guarded, he nodded. “It does.”

“The curse is a way to make certain that the Raven King doesn’t become too powerful. It keeps him in his place, you might say. The Raven King has always had a hard time loving anything other than himself. It’s why we’re always Unseelie. Now, it seems like you might love this woman.”

Again, Bran nodded.

Darcy smirked. “Truly love her? Enough to save her no matter what the cost?”

“I’d give my life for her, willingly and without question.”

“That’s good. That’s very good to hear, because you’re going to have to do just that to break her curse.”

“What?” Bran hardly had time to think before Darcy gestured with his hand and Aisling stood in his arms. A cloak covered her body, and she struggled hard. He could see her face, that beloved face and the angry expression on it that always made his heart pound.

A knife appeared in Darcy’s hands and a mad expression made his slitted eyes glint in the dim light. “Just how far would you go to save her?”

When Darcy drew the blade across her throat, Bran didn’t think. He charged forward, ripped her out of Darcy’s arms, and blasted him back so far his spine cracked against the wall on the other side of the throne room.

Blood splattered Bran’s fingertips from where the blade had touched Aisling’s throat.

“Are you all right?” he asked, frantic that he was too late. He cupped her face and tilted her eyes up to look at him. “Aisling, my love, answer me.”

Darcy called out, “Say you love her! And the magic will know that you’ve declared yourself to her.”

Her eyes stared up at him, confused and angry. He didn’t know how to explain himself or his family. There weren’t words to justify what had happened to her. Now and throughout the entire time he’d known her.

Instead, he leaned down and pressed his forehead to hers. “I love you.”

Her hands beat at his chest.

“No, Aisling, stop it. I love you more than life itself. I pledge myself to you and only you for the rest of our existence.”

A crack of magic struck him in the center of the chest, so agonizing it nearly knocked him to his knees.

Was this the curse breaking? Why did it hurt him?

Darcy’s laughter filled the room, and Bran realized how much of a fool he had been. He’d trusted a faerie, yet again, who wanted nothing more than to destroy him.

His mother made a disappointed sound and walked back to her throne. “You’re too young to be a king. This is why we wouldn’t ever put you on our throne, foolish child.”

What had he done? What had Darcy made him do? With shaking hands, he reached up and pushed the hood of Aisling’s cloak back.

Golden hair spilled out, glittering like freshly hewn wheat. She shook her head, pointing at her throat.

“Elva,” he whispered.

“Isn’t that who you wanted?” Darcy called out. “After all this time, your perfect woman is now handed to you on a platter. Go ahead, take her. You’ve already pledged yourself to her, after all.”

“No. My words weren’t for her.”

“It’s far too late to change your mind, I’m afraid.” Darcy pushed himself away from the wall and laughed again. “Now, your little consort is free. She’s no longer tied to you, nor is she tied to Underhill, or feeding you her power. And that means I’m going to take her and show her what a real king can do.”

Bran released his hold on Elva and whipped around. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try to follow me without the massive power of the Raven King. It’ll take you a while to draw up the runes and chase me back to your kingdom.” Darcy shrugged. “You always were a little slower at magic than the rest of us. By the time you make it, your little consort will be gone and your castle empty once more.”

A portal came to life behind him, the red sludge familiar dark magic. Darcy stepped through it and disappeared.

Bran let out a shout and ran toward the portal, but it closed before he reached it.

“Damn it!” he screamed, punching a fist against the wall where Darcy had leaned.

With the previous Raven King gone, his spell had shattered. Elva let out a croaking sound. “That bastard took me from the isle without any difficulty. What is he? How is it possible he got around Scáthach’s wards?”

He pressed his forehead against the wall. “Does that matter right now? He plans to kidnap your sister.”

“Then you should be building your portal, Bran.”

The Unseelie queen laughed. “Naive little Seelie girl. He’s not going to do anything at all. It’s far too hard to save her now and so much easier to just stay here and give it all up.”

He shoved back from the wall and pointed severely at his mother. “You knew. You knew this entire time that there wouldn’t be a war. You baited me.”

“Perhaps,” she said with a shrug. “I like to see what you do. You’ve yet to prove yourself to be Unseelie, not completely, and I worry about you, child.”

Eoin finally spoke up, pushing out of the shadows and stalking toward their mother. “I will raise an army and prove you wrong—”

“Enough!” their mother shouted. All eight of her legs rose and then thumped hard against the ground, the echo of talons reverberating throughout the throne room. Bran’s ears screamed in pain, and he clapped his hands over them in hopes that he might drown out the sound. When the ringing stopped, he heard his mother growl at his brother, “The Unseelie are ruled by the most feared faerie in all the kingdom. They fear me, little boy, not you.”

Bran lifted his hands, magic pulsing through his veins as he began the spell for a portal, though he was weaker than before.

Let his family argue.

He was going to save Aisling if it took his last breath to do so.