Sionnach looked to the hallway behind Keenan. Rika’s silhouette was barely visible in the dark. This opportunity was too good to ignore. King or not, the arrogant court faery needed to be reminded that there were things that were not acceptable, like leaving Rika so sorrowful that she had hidden herself away from everyone for years. Although Sionnach had hidden his own sorrow at seeing her so lost and confused, he certainly hadn’t forgotten it. He never would. To Keenan, Rika was one of scores of mortals whose lives had been changed irreparably by nothing more than the bad luck of his having noticed them. For nine hundred years, the Summer King had wooed mortal after mortal, trying to convince them to love him, hoping that they would love him enough to take the ridiculous test to determine if they were the one mortal who could free him. Those who loved him enough were the unluckiest: for their foolish trust in him, they were cursed to carry ice in their bodies until the next girl agreed to the test. If Sionnach had been a different faery, if he’d been Keenan’s friend, he would feel sorry for the king’s centuries of searching. He wasn’t, though. He was Rika’s friend.

He stared at Keenan, offering him his most convincingly innocent expression. “It won’t matter what you’re here to say. Rika doesn’t follow very well; she’s more of a leader.”

“Rika?” Keenan gave Sionnach a look of incredulity at that. “She was a sweet girl when I met her. Time doesn’t change that. She might have a few fits of temper, but—”

“But what?” Rika interrupted as she walked closer to them.

Keenan turned to face her. He shrugged, arrogant and apparently not concerned that she’d heard his idiocy. “I came back to give you another chance to discuss this. I can give you the security I never could before. You could keep order here in the desert for me. You give me your vow, and I give you my strength to get things safer here. It’s better for everyone. . . .”

Sionnach laughed, interrupting the Summer King, who fixed him with a glare. Sionnach’s laughter was only a little forced. Logic had begun reminding him that he shouldn’t use those stomach muscles, that moving and laughing were liable to make him cry in pain before long. He swallowed against the sound that wanted to crawl out of his throat.

“Shy, no laughing,” Rika ordered, and he knew that she was well aware of the way it was making him feel.

“Yes, Rika,” he demurred, giving her a very obedient look, and then he smirked at Keenan. “She’s a natural leader, only a fool wouldn’t see that.”