“Space?” Her voice broke on the word.

He moved back farther. “Only because you ask it of me.”

She felt lightheaded.

Keenan gave her a strained smile.

She stood on unsteady legs and walked to the door. She pulled the door open and clutched the doorknob until she was afraid she’d break it. It took more self-control than she’d have liked, but she caught his gaze. “This changes nothing. It can’t. You are my friend, my king, but that’s…all you can be.”

He nodded, but it was a gesture that indicated that he heard her, not that he agreed, which was abundantly clear as he said, “And you are my queen, my savior, my partner—and that’s everything.”

Aislinn walked aimlessly through Huntsdale. Sometimes she didn’t feel able to be around Seth; that happened more and more of late with thoughts of Keenan lingering on her mind. She’d been thinking about the things Keenan had said and the way she felt when he reached out toward her, and she was afraid. His separation from Donia would make him more insistent on being with her. They were already too close with summer’s approach, and she didn’t know what to do about it.

Part of her wanted to talk to Seth, but she was terrified that he’d go away. No matter how often he whispered that he loved her, she still worried that she’d mess it all up, and he’d leave. Sometimes she wanted to run from the world of faery problems; how could she expect him not to want the same thing? Seth had to share her with her court and her king. If she told him that Keenan was pressuring her—and that she was tempted—would that be the final straw?

Seth gave her space, but he noticed when she was upset and she wasn’t sure what she would say if he asked her why. My king, my other half, he’s decided to change the rules. And I barely refused. She wasn’t up for that conversation, not any time soon. She would be. She’d tell him. Just not yet. Not until I know what to say.

She wanted to talk to someone, but her only other friend who knew about the faeries, Leslie, had left town and refused to discuss them; telling Seth meant admitting to being tempted by Keenan; and her other confidant to things faery, Keenan, was the problem. Aislinn was faced with the unpleasant realization that her own circle of friends was far smaller than it had ever been. She’d never had a huge number of friends, but between the months where she was falling for Seth and trying to call it platonic and the changes with being a faery monarch, she’d drifted from the few friends she’d had. She still talked to Rianne and Carla at school, but she hadn’t hung out with either of them in months.

After a glance at the time, she called Carla.

Carla answered almost immediately. “Ash? You okay?”

“Yeah. Why?” Aislinn knew why: she never called anymore.

“I just…nothing. What’s up?”

“You free?”

Carla was silent for a beat. Then she said, “Depends on why you’re asking.”

“Okay, I was thinking I’ve been a lousy friend lately….” Aislinn paused.

“Keep talking. You’re on the right track. Next part is?”

“Penance?” She laughed, relieved that Carla was making light of it. “What’s the price?”

“Ten per game? Meet you there?”

Aislinn turned down the next street to head toward Shooters. “Spot me a few balls?”

Carla snorted. “Penance, sweetie. I’ve been eying a new video card, and you’re going to bankroll it by the time the night’s done.”

“Ouch.”

“Yep.” Carla’s laugh was joyful. “See you there in thirty.”

“I’ll get a table.” Then, in a decidedly improved mood, Aislinn disconnected. She knew that several of her guards followed behind at a discreet distance. Tonight, she didn’t want to see them, though. Shooting pool with a friend wouldn’t fix a thing, but it felt closer to the normal life she still missed.

With that in mind, she walked the half dozen blocks to Shooters. The h in the sign was out, so it read sooters—which was far better than when the first s had been out.

It had been weeks since she’d even stopped in. Guilt hit her again—and fear that she’d no longer be welcome. The regular crowd at Shooters worked hard and relaxed with equal enthusiasm. They were all older than she was—some old enough to be Grams’ long-ago classmates—but they didn’t draw age or class or race lines at Shooters. It was a place where everyone was welcome as long as they didn’t start trouble.

Before everything changed, Denny, a pool hustler somewhere in his twenties, had taken her on as a project of sorts. Denny handed her lessons off to his friend Grace when he felt like working a mark, and between their combined tutelage, Aislinn had become a pretty decent shot. She’d never be able to run tables like he did, but that sort of mastery came from shooting every day. Most of the regulars were cool to talk to or shoot with, but it was Denny and Grace whom she’d truly missed.

When she went inside, she saw Denny right off. He was at a table with Grace. When Grace looked up and saw her, her face folded into a smile. “Hey, Princess. Long time, no visits.”

Denny took his shot before he lifted his eyes from the table. “Out without either of the Princes Charming?”

She shrugged. “Girl time. I’m meeting Carla.”

“Grab a cue or a seat.” Grace’s voice had a cigarette-and-whiskey rasp to it that contrasted with her body. She sounded like a woman who should be a lithe singer in a vibrant scarlet dress, breaking hearts and inciting lovers’ quarrels, but Grace was a different sort of trouble. Wearing black boots, faded jeans, and a man’s button-up shirt, she was all muscle and just as able to handle any fights as the men in the room. She took immense pride in the fact that her Softail Custom was outfitted with more chrome and louder pipes than Denny’s.

“You want to shoot teams when Carla gets here?” Denny circled the table to reach his next shot. He’d tied his hair back, but the loose ponytail was already coming undone and falling into his face.

“Only if I get Carla,” Grace said. “Sorry, Ash, but the two of them together would kill us.”

Aislinn cracked a grin. “She already set stakes. Ten a game.”

“So, twenty then, for teams?” Denny cleared two balls in a complicated shot that Carla could explain by way of geometry and simple angles, but which Denny executed as a matter of precision and practice. Aislinn had neither geometry nor sufficient practice.

“Or ten still, even splits.” Grace opened a bottle of water.

“We might break even, if you have Carla,” Denny said. Then he finished clearing the table.

“Or not,” Grace muttered.

He grinned. “Or not.”

Something bluesy kicked up on the jukebox; Aislinn had been there often enough to recognize classic Buddy Guy. Across the hall, murmured conversations rose and fell among the clack of balls. Cries of defeat and victory broke into the familiar hum of Shooters. It’s good to be here. She’d spent too much time with faeries; hanging out with friends was the change she needed.

By the time Carla arrived, Aislinn could almost convince herself that life was as it had been before. Not that before had been perfect, but sometimes it seemed like things had been a lot clearer then. Contemplating eternity, a job she had no idea how to do well, and a relationship that was heading toward uncrossable lines—it wasn’t relaxing.

But Carla was there, Denny and Grace were there, the music was good, and the laughter was easy. The rest of the night was reserved for friends and fun.

“Game,” Carla crowed. She did a little victory shimmy that made Denny look away and Grace smirk.

“Somebody’s keeping a secret,” Aislinn murmured to Denny.

Denny narrowed his eyes. “Leave it alone, Ash.”

Grace and Carla were chatting as Grace racked the balls. Aislinn put her back to the table and kept her voice low. “Age is relative. If you—”