“You would risk that? Our worlds colliding? Shall human and Tuatha Dé Danaan live together again? The Keltar have broken their oath, but we have not yet violated our end of it. The moment we do, The Compact will be void and the walls between our realms will crumble. Trial by blood will force us to share the earth, my queen. Is that what you want?”

“He’s right,” her consort stirred himself to speak. “Did the council consider that?”

If Adam knew the council half as well as he thought he did, yes. There were those on the high council who missed the old ways. Those who thrived on chaos and petty machinations. Fortunately, they did not include his queen. With the exception of whimsical entertainment, she disdained humans and had little desire to see them walking in her world again.

Silence shrouded the court.

Aoibheal templed slender fingers and rested her dainty chin upon them. “Interest me. Are you suggesting an alternative?”

“An order of Druids in Britain, descendants of those you scattered millennia past, has been awaiting the return of the Draghar; they have plans to force the Keltar’s transformation. If they succeed, do what you wish with him. Let that be his test.”

“Are you presenting a formal plea for his life, Amadan?” Aoibheal purred, her iridescent gaze shimmering with sudden intensity.

She’d spoken part of his true name. A subtle warning. Adam stared off into the distance for time uncounted. Dageus MacKeltar meant nothing to him. Yet he had a relentless fascination with mortals, indeed, spent most of his time among them in some form, to some degree. Yes, his race had power, but mortals had another kind of power, an entirely unpredictable one: Love. And once, long ago—almost unheard of among his kind—with a mortal woman, he’d felt it.

Had sired a half-mortal son.

Though he’d long endeavored to, he’d not forgotten those brief years with Morganna. Morganna who’d refused his offer of immortality.

He glanced at his queen. She would exact a price should he lodge a formal plea for a mortal’s life.

It would be a heinous price.

Then again, he thought, with a shrug of immortal ennui, eternity had been placid of late. “Yes, my queen,” he said, tossing his hair back and smiling coolly when the court gasped collectively. “I am.”

The queen’s smile was as terrifying as it was beautiful. “I shall name your price when the Keltar’s test has been met.”

“And I shall bide your law, given this boon: Should the Keltar best the sect of the Draghar, the thirteen will be reclaimed and destroyed.”

“You would barter with me?” A faint note of incredulity laced her voice.

“I barter for the peace of both our races. Lay them to rest. Four thousand years was long enough.”