“I know. All the desert fey heard. Donia will be a good queen.” Rika smiled at the thought of Donia’s ascendency. She, too, was originally mortal, and she’d made the same foolish mistake that so many girls had—to love Keenan and risk everything. Rika grinned before adding, “She’ll be good at standing against you too, especially since she hasn’t forgiven you.”

Lightning hit the ground behind her, and Rika laughed at him. Like so many of those born faery, he was a petulant child sometimes. When she’d first become fey, such outbursts frightened her. Now, she knew that he was merely stomping his foot in a way that only he could.

“And you have?” He stood, and both of the chairs crumbled.

Rika didn’t bother moving, letting herself lean into the collapsing chair, watching the streams of sand flow over her leg into the rips in her jeans. She grinned up at him from the desert floor. “No, but my forgiveness doesn’t matter as much, does it?”

Keenan’s face was emotionless, but lightning jags around them revealed the emotion that his face didn’t. Despite the bright display of his volatile temper, he still spoke as if he were calm: “If you need anything, I am there to call upon.”

“Actually Sionnach is here if I need anything.” She held Keenan’s gaze. “I’m solitary. Those of us in the desert . . . we don’t belong to you even now that you’re stronger. That won’t change.”

“If you need me—”

“There would be a price, and I’ve more than paid my dues for your ‘help.’ I learn from my mistakes.”

The rain hit, soaking her, but sizzling to steam before it touched him. “The Summer Court is stronger,” he said. “But because of the changes, things will be unstable for now . . . even out here. Not everyone’s happy with the power shift.”

Although Rika was wet and sand-covered, she felt victorious as she sat on the desert floor and mocked the Summer King’s understatement. “You think? We already know that.”

She looked up at him, wishing he was most anywhere but here, wishing he wasn’t still so beautiful, wishing she didn’t understand how the curse had hurt him too. She didn’t truly hate him, but she didn’t want to feel sorry for him. Softening toward him was dangerous. That truth was unchanging. “What do you really want, Keenan?”

“I want to protect you, to take you under my court’s protection.”

She shook her head. “I don’t need you.”

“I—”

“I don’t,” she repeated. “I can’t lie because of what you made me. So let me say it again: I don’t need you, and I don’t want you in my life in any way.”