If she watched long enough, Donia knew she’d see storms crashing in his eyes. When they’d been together, those flashes of lightning seemed mesmerizing. Now, they seemed too bright, too brief, too everything.

“Be welcome here today.” Donia gestured to one of the wooden benches scattered throughout the winter garden. They were clever things, fitted together by craftsmen’s skills, no screws or bolts anywhere in them.

Keenan didn’t move. He stood in her garden, as untouchable as he’d been for most of their relationship, making her feel somehow lacking. “Do you have any guests?” he asked.

“What business is that of yours?” she responded.

I do not answer to him, not now.

Under the edge of the bench, an arctic fox crouched. Only its dark eyes and nose showed in the snowbank. The rest of its body blended with the stark white ground. As Aislinn and Keenan came closer—warming the air around them—the fox darted away to the thicker snows by the high walls that surrounded the garden. Despite Donia’s dislike for the last Winter Queen, she enjoyed the winter garden immensely: in this, at least, Beira’d done a wise thing. The garden’s walls and roof allowed for a small bit of winter year round—a nourishing sanctuary for her and her fey.

Donia sat on one of the benches. “Are you seeking someone specific?”

Still standing, Keenan gave her an exasperated look. “Bananach was seen near here.”

Aislinn laid her hand on his arm to stop his short-tempered words.

“Although I’m sure you are well cared for here”—the Summer Queen smiled blindingly at Evan, who had moved behind Donia—“Keenan needed to check on you. Right, Keenan?”

Keenan glanced at Aislinn, seeking something—assurance, clarity, it was hard to say with them. “I don’t want you talking to Bananach.”

The ground at Donia’s feet grew heavy with snow as her temper stirred. “Why exactly are you here?”

Tiny storms flashed in his eyes. “I was worried.”

“About?”

“You.” He moved closer, invading her space, pushing her. Even now, when she was his equal, he had no regard for her boundaries. Keenan pulled his hand through his copper hair. And like a bespelled mortal, she stared at it, at him.

“Worried about me or trying to dictate to me?” She stayed as still as winter before the storm breaks, but she felt ice churning inside her.

“War being at your door is of concern to me. Niall’s furious with me, and…I just don’t want any of the Dark Court near you,” Keenan said.

“It’s not yours to decide. This is my court, Keenan. If I choose to listen to Bananach—”

“Do you listen to her?”

“If Bananach or Niall come here, I’ll deal with them, just as I would with Sorcha or any of the strong solitaries…or you.” Donia kept her tone cool.

She beckoned to the Hawthorn Girls, who’d moved to the doorway.

The ever-silent faeries drifted outside and looked at Donia expectantly. They were the family she’d never expected to find in the cold Winter Court. She smiled at them, but didn’t bother to hide her irritation when she told Keenan, “Matrice will show you out. Unless there are personal matters you wanted to discuss?”

The lightning in his eyes flared again, illuminating his face with that strange flash of brightness. “No. I suppose not.”

Protective to a fault, Matrice narrowed her eyes at his tone.

“Well, then, if we’re done with our business”—Donia kept her hands relaxed, refusing to show him that even now she was tempted to reach out to ease that temper—“Matrice?”

Keenan’s anger fled for a moment. “Don?”

She gave in then and touched his arm, hating that it was her—again—who had to reach for him. “If you want to see me, not the Winter Queen, but me, you are welcome at the cottage. I will be home later.”

He nodded, but didn’t agree, didn’t promise. He wouldn’t—not unless his real queen had no need of his attention.

Donia hated her for a moment. If she weren’t here… Of course, if Aislinn hadn’t become Summer Queen, Keenan would be wooing yet another mortal, in search of the one who’d free him.

At least I have part of him now. That’s better than nothing. That’s what she’d told herself at first, but as he turned away, accepting Aislinn’s hand as they walked, following the Hawthorn Girls back toward the house, Donia had to wonder if it really was better.

That night, Donia walked toward the cottage with the illusion of solitude. In the quiet, Evan undoubtedly trailed behind her. If she concentrated, she’d see the blurring wings of the Hawthorn fey in the shadows, hear the chiming music of the lupine. A year ago those same details would’ve set terror in her heart. Evan had been Keenan’s fey then; and Winter Court faeries had been harbingers of conflict, emissaries from the last Winter Queen, carrying threats and warnings.

So much had changed. Donia had changed. What hadn’t changed was how badly she craved Keenan’s attention, his approval, his touch.

Frozen tears clattered to the ground as she thought about the impact of that craving on her life. She’d surrendered her mortality in the hope that she was his missing queen. I wasn’t. She’d watched him woo innumerable mortals in that search as if it didn’t hurt each time. It did hurt. She’d willingly gone to her death at his mother’s hands for helping him find that queen. But I didn’t die.

Instead she was at the helm of the court that had overpowered and oppressed his own for centuries—and her court wanted it to stay that way. Too much of a climate change too fast wasn’t good for any of them. Her court pressed the matter, rustling for a few shows of force to remind him that they were still stronger. While in the dark, when it was just the two of them, Keenan would whisper sweet words of peace and balance.

Always in the middle…because of him. And he’d walk away from me for Ash if she’d say the word….

Angry with herself for dwelling on it, for even thinking of it, Donia swatted at the tears rolling down her cheeks. He wasn’t hers, would never be truly hers, and she couldn’t help but feel terrified of that inevitable truth.

She stepped onto her porch.

And he was there waiting, beautiful face furrowed in concern, hands reaching out for her. “Don?”

His voice held all the yearning she’d felt for him earlier.

All of her clarity faded as he held open his arms. She slipped into his embrace and kissed him, not bothering to keep her ice in check, not caring if it wounded him.

He’ll stop.

But instead of pushing her away, he pulled her closer. That awful sunlight he carried in his skin flashed brighter. The snow that had begun to fall around them was sizzling away as quickly as it fell.

Her back was against the door. She hadn’t unlocked it, but it still swung open. At a glance, she realized that Keenan had melted the lock.

It’s not Solstice yet. We shouldn’t. Can’t…

There were welts on her arms where he touched her, blisters on her lips. She tangled her hand in his hair and held him tighter to her. Frost spread down his neck.

He’ll stop. I’ll stop. Any second now.

They were on the sofa, and tiny fires burned on the cushion above her head. She let her winter slip further out. The room was filled with heavy snowfall. The fires hissed as they were extinguished.

I’m stronger. I could stop.

But he was touching her. Keenan was here, and he was touching her. She wasn’t stopping. Maybe they could make it work; maybe it would be fine. She opened her eyes to look at him, and the brightness blinded her.

“Mine,” he murmured between kisses.

Their clothes kept catching fire, smoldering out as the snow smothered the flames, only to ignite again. Blisters covered her skin where his hands had gripped her. Frostburnt patches of skin were visible on his chest and neck.