Dark Sun (Wicked Lovely #6) Read Online Melissa Marr

Categories Genre: Fantasy/Sci-fi, Paranormal, Romance Tags Authors: Series: Wicked Lovely Series by Melissa Marr

Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 64810 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 324(@200wpm)___ 259(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)

When the bestselling WICKED LOVELY series ended, the Faery Courts were in order. In the years following, peace was still tenuous, but every court seemed devoted to balance.

But now, Urian—son of the former Dark King and the fated Summer Queen, Thelma Foy—has decided to claim his destiny.
Urian knew the secrets that protected his relatives–both the mortal and the faery ones–since childhood. After the Summer Queen claimed the throne that should have been his mother’s and a lowly advisor claimed the throne that was his father’s, Uri is done hiding. The Dark Summer Prince is ready to claim one—or both—of the thrones that should rightfully be his.
When Urian discovers Kyla, unaware of her ancestry, he finally has the ally—or general—he’s needed. . . whether or not she agrees.
Far from the world of the fey, Kyla has spent her life aware that her bloodlines aren’t as mortal as those around her. When one of the creatures she’s been told to hide from discovers her in the desert, she decides to protect her human family by finding her place in the world of the faeries. She can’t trust Uri, but she feels drawn to him in a way she never imagined.
Secrets are revealed. Peace is threatened. And neither family ties nor accidental love can keep the balance between the courts now.


Prologue: Sorcha

Four years after Darkest Mercy

Prologue: Sorcha

* * *

Standing before the High Queen, Irial-- former Dark King and currently the embodiment of Chaos--looked somehow more regal in Faerie than he should. He held no dominion here, hadn’t for centuries. He wasn’t even Sorcha’s balance now, but Irial was as commanding as he had been when he was ruling the creatures of nightmares. Faerie recognized it, or maybe Faerie merely reflected the High Queen’s recognition.

Either way, the sky was cloudier, simply because Irial was here instead of in the mortal world where he lived. Once, he and all fey had lived in this world, removed from humans. Safe. Together.

But the once-Dark-King was a gancanagh, a seducer of mortals and faeries. Even Faerie was too small for him when he started feeling the urge to wander. Sometimes, the High Queen had brought mortals here in hopes of forestalling his inevitable departure. Once, she’d even welcomed the first mortal he’d loved.

It had never been enough.

Irial was, in all ways, Sorcha’s opposite. And though she still thought Irial belonged here, Sorcha had allowed actions to pass that resulted in closing the veil between Faerie and the world of mortals. There were exceptions, of course, to the closing of the veil. Some faeries could cross between worlds—just as in the beginning--but only a few exceptions traveled from here to the land of mortals.

Irial had always been an exception, and so was his son.

“I would say I regret that you had forgotten about your children,” the High Queen explained. “But it was what was necessary to protect the threads of fate, and I have enjoyed Urian’s company.”

“You know him better than I do,” Irial complained. “He’s my son, and I’ve missed his whole li—"

“He’s barely more than a century old, Irial. A teenager, as mortals call it.” Sorcha smiled. “An angry boy child.”

“When I was his age . . .” The former Dark King shuddered. “I was a monster.”

“Do you say that you are no longer a monster? Ignoring rules. Asking favors. Believing you are an exception . . .” Sorcha said lightly.

Irial sighed. He might be almost as old as the first faery, but he was as much affect as impulse. Sorcha stifled a smile at his pout.

Gods save us, if he ever realizes I’m not as immune as he thinks.

Faerie was the domain of the fey, and their kind were all about exceptions. The entire reason behind rules was to break them. Some of the fey had forgotten that, but not Irial. Never Irial. He’d defied death itself in order to stay with his beloved. He was a fool for love and had been for over a thousand years.

“Are you absolutely certain that you can’t help me this time, love?” Irial asked the High Queen in that familiar wheedling tone. “What if you just bring Urian here to Faerie? Trap him. If you want, I could even move back, take up my old role opposite you, help with him, live within the boundaries of--”

“No.” Sorcha frowned at him, seeing the future threads of violence that would follow if Irial tried to leave Niall.

“Sorcha . . .”

“I see all of the possible futures. So why would you presume to interfere without knowing the threads?” Sorcha prompted, both curious and irritated. “Do you not recall what your beloved Niall was like when he lost you?”

“He has Leslie. In time, they’d be fine without me.” Irial paced like a caged monster. “And I presume because I have children, Sorch. A son. A daughter who raised her children to hate what I am. A son who wants my death. I had no idea that Thelma . . . that we . . . that I had any children. My son, who is apparently over one hundred years old, is furious about things which I cannot fix.”