Darkest Mercy. Melissa Marr

you be free of the cold.”

      “I do understand.” She walked over to the hawthorn bush. The leaves brushed against her arms as she bent down and reached under it—and stopped.

      She straightened and stepped away from the staff. “I understand, and I want to help you . . . but I can’t. I won’t. Maybe if I loved you, I could, but . . . I don’t love you. I’m so sorry, Keenan.”

      Vines wrapped around her body, became a part of her, and as they stretched toward him, his sunlight faded.

      He dropped to his knees . . . and was once more in front of another girl. He’ d done this for centuries: asked the same words of girl after girl. He couldn’t stop, not until he found her. He saw her, though, and he knew that this girl was different.

      “Is this what you freely choose, to risk winter’s chill?” he asked her.

       She glared at him. “It’s not what I want.”

      “You understand that if you are not the one, you’ll carry the Winter Queen’s chill until the next mortal risks this? And you agree to warn her not to trust me?” He held his breath for a moment, feeling the sunlight flare in his body.

      “I don’t love you,” she said.

       “If she refuses me, you will tell the next girl and the next”— he moved closer—“and not until one accepts, will you be free of the cold.”

      “I do understand, but I don’t want to be with you for eternity. I don’t want to be your queen. I’ll never love you, Keenan. I love Seth.” She smiled at someone who stood in the shadows, and then she walked toward the hawthorn bush—and kept walking.

      “No! Wait.” He reached down, and his fingers wrapped around the Winter Queen’s staff. The rustling of trees grew almost deafening as he ran after her.

       Her shadow fell on the ground in front of her as he stood behind her. “Please, Aislinn. I know you’re the one. . . .”

      He held out the Winter Queen’s staff—and hoped. For a moment he even believed, but when she turned and took it from his hands, the ice filled her. Her summer-blue eyes filled with frost, and it crawled over her body.

       Aislinn screamed his name: “Keenan!”

      She stumbled toward him, and he ran from her until he couldn’t breathe in the freezing air from her continuing screams.

      He fell to his knees, surrounded by winter.

       “Keenan?”

      He looked up.

      “No. You can’t. Say no. Please say no,” he pleaded.

      “But I’m here. You told me to come to you, and I’m here.” She laughed. “You told me you needed me.”

       “Donia, run. Please, run,” he urged. But then he was compelled to ask, “Is this what you freely choose, to risk winter’s chill?”

       She stared directly at him. “It’s what I want. It’s what I’ve always wanted.”

      “You understand that if you are not the one, you’ll carry the Winter Queen’s chill until the next mortal risks this? And you agree to warn her not to trust me?” He paused, hoping she’ d say no before it was too late.

      She nodded.

       “If she refuses me, you will tell the next girl and the next”— he moved closer—“and not until one accepts, will you be free of the cold.”

      “I do understand.” She smiled reassuringly, and then she walked over to the hawthorn bush. The leaves brushed against her arms as she bent down and reached under it.

      “I’m so sorry,” he whispered.

      She smiled again as her fingers wrapped around the Winter Queen’s staff. It was a plain thing, worn as if countless hands had clenched the wood.

      He moved even closer. The rustling of trees grew almost deafening. The brightness from her skin, even her hair, intensified.

      She held the Winter Queen’s staff—and the ice did not fill her. Sunlight did.

       She breathed his name in a sigh: “Keenan.”

       “My queen, my Donia, I wanted it to be you.” His sunlight seemed to fade under her brightness. “It’s you . . . it’s really you. I love you, Don.”

      He reached for her, but she stepped away.

      Her sunlight grew blinding as she laughed. “But I’ve never loved you, Keenan. How could I? How could anyone?”

      He stumbled after her, but she walked away, leaving him, taking the sunlight with her.

      Keenan was still reaching for her when he opened his eyes. The cave where he’d been sleeping was filled with steam. Not frost. Not ice. He let the sunlight inside him flare brighter, trying to chase away the darkness where his fears and hopes played out in twisted dreams.

      Not so different from reality.

      The faery he’d loved for decades and the queen he’d sought for centuries were both angry with him.

      Because I’ve failed them both.

      Chapter 1

      Donia walked aimlessly, taking comfort in the crisp bite in the air. The promise of it made her want to draw it deeply into her lungs. She did, releasing the cold with each breath, letting the lingering breath of winter race free. Equinox was fast approaching. Winter was ending, and letting loose the frost and snow soothed her as few things could of late.

      Evan, the rowan-man who headed her guard, fell in step with her. His gray-brown skin and dark green leafy hair made him a shadow in the not-yet-dawning day. “Donia? You left without guards.”

      “I needed space.”

      “You should’ve woken me at least. There are too many threats. . . .” His words dwindled, and he lifted his bark-clad fingers as if to caress her face. “He is a fool.”

      Donia glanced away. “Keenan owes me nothing. What we had—”

      “He owes you everything,” Evan corrected. “You stood against the last queen and risked all for him.”

      “One’s court must come first.” The Winter Queen lifted her shoulder in a small shrug, but Evan undoubtedly knew that she was walking because she missed Keenan more and more. They didn’t discuss it, and she’d not descended into foolish melancholia. She loved the absent Summer King, but she simply wasn’t the sort of person to fall apart over heartbreak.

      Rage, however . . . that is another matter.

      She forced away the thought. Her temper was precisely why she couldn’t settle for only half of Keenan’s attention.

      Or heart.

      Evan motioned to the other guards he’d brought out with him, and they moved farther away, all but three disappearing into the night at his command. The three who remained, white-winged Hawthorn Girls, never wandered far from her side if at all possible. Except for when I leave without telling anyone. Their red eyes glowed like beacons in the poorly lit street, and Donia took a measure of comfort in their presence.

      “I would be remiss if I didn’t remind you that it’s too dangerous for you to be out alone,” Evan said.

      “And I would be a weak queen if I wasn’t able to handle myself for a few moments alone,” Donia reminded her advisor.

      “I’ve never found you weak, even