She turned and kissed the palm of his hand; as she did so, her hair brushed against his arm, and even that brief caress left frost-flowers traced on his skin. “You’re wrong. It’s all mine to take, Keenan . . . especially if it brings you to my step.”

The sky grew gray, and a fierce shriek from a sudden storm gave voice to the hurt Donia couldn’t. The air became snow-filled. Still, glowing at the center was Keenan, illuminated in sunlight, still smiling at the faery who stood against him. All around him was a blizzard, but he looked happy.

He’d broken her heart time and again, but all Donia could think was that he was here and he was hers in this instant. Not Rika’s. Not Ash’s. Not any of the former Winter Girls or current Summer Girls. He smiled, and she shoved a torrent of ice at him. His answering flare of sunlight turned every bit of ice into steam.

She knew that her court was inside the safety of her home and would turn their faces away. Like her, they too often looked on him with affection. Centuries ago, he’d been a child who’d played in this Winter Garden, the son of another queen, a queen he’d killed. The woman who’d cursed him and her both had bid them to cherish him, and they still did.

“I miss you,” he whispered into the storm.

“Yet you curl up with your queen and leave me alone,” she reminded him.

“Don—”

“No,” she interrupted. “I know every objection, every word, every wish you’ll utter, Keenan. I’ve heard them for decades.”

“You know I never wanted this,” he swore. His sunlit skin glowed as he walked toward her, stalking her like she was something he could capture.

Embarrassingly, she wanted to be captured.

When she stayed still, letting the ice roll out across the ground but not striking him, he paused. His eyes widened slightly. “Don?”

“This doesn’t mean I forgive you,” she whispered, and then she pulled him to her, unmindful of the burns his sunlight left on her skin and the frostbite she left on his. They’d obliterate each other one day if they kept this up, but she couldn’t step away any more than he could.

This is who we are. This is how we destroy everything. He’d turned away from her, abandoned her for his Summer Queen. Even now that he was back, he was trying his damnedest to convince his queen to accept him. Aislinn is his queen; he should be with her. Donia understood everything he’d done—why he’d rejected her, why he’d tried to romance his queen. She could even admit that she might’ve done the same things in his position. We’re wrong together. He was the embodiment of Summer, and she was Winter. Everything about them was in opposition.

This will end badly.