Chapter 48 - The Baffled King

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A Short Tale of Comfort in the Night, a Witness, an Order of Execution, a Dangerous Oath, a Dangerous Game, and the Silver Bladein the Dark

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They ended up on the floor leaning against Dylan's bed, the shaking human sobbing into his shirt as he lanced each and every festering soul wound and cleansed the oddly fey-like heart of all the poison inside it. She clung to him as if he were the only safe haven in a raging storm, his embrace her only shelter from the deluge of her own pain. She'd been shoving all of that pain down since childhood in order to cope. It had built inside her, fermenting into something almost tangible in its foulness. That was why Nuada had always felt so uneasy whenever she went from deeply upset to calm so swiftly; he had known somehow that what she was doing wasn't healthy. Had known that one day it would strain her mind to the breaking point.

Now the last of the brutal childhood memories had been stripped of that rot. Dylan's soul bled, but it bled cleanly. The haunted sorrow he'd always sensed in her was somewhat tempered now. It would always remain a part of her, but it lacked the knife-sharp edges that had always hurt her. Soon her heart would begin to heal. How had she kept down all of that hurt for so very long without losing her grip on sanity?

Luckily the mental block Nuala had placed in Dylan's mind, acting as an emotional buffer between her and the memories of the psychic tortures Eammon had inflicted on her, was still in place. What if that block had broken with all this old pain still simmering under the surface? Dylan would always bear the scars from that night, but would it have shattered her? What kind of damage might those memories, combined with these, have done to her? Nuada was almost afraid to think about it. Was almost afraid to consider the kind of monumental strength and control necessary to keep functioning all this time with those soul-scars still bleeding.

"They left me in that horrible place," Dylan mumbled into his shirt. The mortal was half-tucked into the protective shelter of his body, framed by Nuada's updrawn knees, just as they'd sat that long ago night in Findias. Dylan glanced up and met Nuada's eyes. "My parents. All this time I thought I was okay with what happened, I thought I was over it. Put it behind you - that's what everyone kept saying so I did, I thought I did, but... but they abandoned me in that place. They just left me there. How do you get to be okay with that? And John. It wasn't his fault, but he left me there, too. They all left me and now my sisters and my parents blame me for being trapped there. Or my parents did. Up until they died they blamed me. The girls blame me. John's the only one who doesn't."

"Dylan-"

"I d-didn't do anything wrong," she quavered. It was a child's words spoken with a woman's voice, but Nuada sensed the wounded child within her and felt his own heart bleeding. "I didn't do anything wrong and they t-tortured m-m-me. Why would they d-do that?"

He had no answers for her. Only comfort, such as it was. The stroke of his fingers against her cheek. The warmth and strength of his arm holding her to him. When she would fist her hands in his shirt and tremble anew with each fresh wave of grief, the rich timbre of his voice when he would say, "Tá mé anseo, Dylan. Tá mé anseo. Shealbhú isteach orm," seemed to help ease the pain.

And pet names. They always comforted. Even though Nuada knew she thought he didn't mean them, they still comforted. A litany of soft words that slowly smoothed away the razor edges of grief and hurt. "Mo mhuire. Mo duinne. A stóirín, mo aisling. Amháin a chara. Mo solas. Bheag amháin, ainm ceana. A chumann. Milis amháin. A stór, a thaisce. Bhraitheann do croí. A éirí gréine. Mo réalta tráthnóna."

My lady. My brown one. My little darling, my dream. Dear one. My light. Little one, darling one. Sweetheart. Sweet one. My dearest, my treasure. My heartbeat. My sunrise. My evening star. And the sentiment always left unspoken, but still fueling the smoldering burn at the very core of him: a ghrá mo chroí, my heart's beloved.

And then... oh, and then... Dylan reached up and laid the very tips of her fingers against the edge of his jaw and the line of his neck. Blue eyes like stardust were tired, but the shadows in their depths were not so dark. And she murmured in a voice like a sweet caress, "Go raibh maith agat... mo airgeadach." Thank you, my silver one. Then, looking almost confused, she added in a voice softened by wonderment, "Mo ridire bán. Mo prionsa dathúil." My white knight. My handsome prince. Suddenly her mouth quirked into the ghost of a smile. "Prionsa Fheictear."

Nuada smiled at her, surprised he was even capable of it. She'd called him my silver one. The Elven warrior was fairly certain he would blissfully trade a century of his life for her to do it again. Then the last two words fully penetrated and his wan smile morphed into what might have been a tired grin. "Prince Charming?"

"Tá," she replied. Yes.

For a long while they just sat there while she drifted closer and closer to sleep. He could see she was fighting it. No doubt she feared dreams. Well, he knew now from past experience with her how to soothe such fears.

"Would you like me to sing to you?"

She nodded. Settling himself a bit more so that his arm wouldn't fall completely asleep (though most of his fingers were already numb), Nuada began to sing softly, a soothing Elven lullaby from his childhood. Ironically, he'd first heard the song from his father when, upon waking from a nightmare as a small boy, the princeling had gone to the king in his study and lisped softly that he was too scared to sleep.

"A leagan síos do cheann milis agus traochta.
Oíche é ag titim.
Tá tú tagtha chun turas deireadh na bliana.

"Codladh anois.
Aisling de na cinn a tháinig roimhe seo.
Tá siad ag glaoch ó ar fud an gcladach i bhfad i gcéin."

Dylan sighed against Nuada's shoulder and relaxed a little. She felt weak and hollowed out, as if she'd been sick for a very long time and was only now just beginning to get better. She was cold, too. Her only warmth came from the Elf prince allowing her to cuddle with him.

Somehow Nuada had purged the deep, brutal hurt that she'd always tried so hard to suppress. It had hurt to walk through those memories. Hurt both of them. With every rape - and every blow, every fresh drop of blood, every scream - sharp eyes had caught the strain on that moon-pale face. Caught the barely suppressed grief and fury. But once it was all done, she'd felt so inexplicably free, as if a weight had lifted off her shoulders. Looking into firegold eyes, she knew that somehow he'd helped her to let go of that crushing pain. He had stood with her in the first true crucible of her memories and kept the promise that he would protect her.

"Cén fáth a bhfuil na faoileáin bán glaoch?
Trasna na mara arduithe ar ghealach geal.
Na longa a tháinig chun tú abhaile.

"Agus beidh gach dul chuig gloine airgid;

Bhfianaise ar an uisce,
Pas longa liath a thabhairt isteach ar an taobh thiar."

She wasn't going into work tomorrow. The children might go to Peri's as they'd planned, but she and Nuada would stay at the cottage. They would just... she didn't know what they would do, but she was so tired right then she didn't care. As long as she could just stay with him. And then... tomorrow night... then the vengeful Silverlance would go after Doctor Lucian Westenra and put an end to the monster. Unlike the Blackwoods, Dylan actually knew where the psychiatrist was. Now so did the Elven warrior. Once Nuada returned tomorrow night, she would know that that part of her childhood nightmare, at least, was over.

For some reason Dylan felt really brave. Maybe because she'd stared into the devil's own eyes and stood down the nightmare that had haunted her for so long. Or maybe because she was so tired that she was reaching the point of punch-drunk-stupid. Whatever the reason, words dropped from her tongue before she could really think about what they were, much less what they meant.

"You healed me," she whispered, stroking a fingertip along Nuada's jaw. "You healed my heart."

"No, mo duinne." Nuada brushed back that rebellious curl that always fell into her eyes. "You will heal your own heart. I merely reminded you that you already possessed the strength to do so."

"I love you, ya know," Dylan mumbled, snuggling against him and letting her eyes drift closed. She was so blasted tired. "More than anybody else in the world. Except John. You're equal with John. But I get tired of John sometimes - he snores. I never get tired of you. I love you."

His arm tightened fractionally around her as she faded out into that place between sleeping and waking, too exhausted to remain firmly rooted in the real world. She was still shaken, still battered by what had happened, so he didn't let her go once she began to drift further into slumber. He should pick her up and lay her on the bed - he knew he should - but tear tracks still glistened like diamonds on her cheeks and every so often her breathing would hitch with the echo of a sob. Leave her? How could he? Not after what he'd witnessed. Not after what he'd felt.

He'd felt it all - every drop of pain, every moment of fear and humiliation and hurt. Somehow what had been the worst was the terrified confusion so strong in the first few memories of those brutal assaults. She hadn't been able to understand why those bastards had ripped her apart that way. Like a wolf confused not only about being caught in a trap, but about what a trap even was and why it existed in the first place. She had been a hard twelve-year-old... but she'd still been only twelve. And the pain and degradation and fear had only continued until she turned fifteen.

Something had changed then, but she hadn't told him what. Had asked him not to look. Knowing that his presence in her mind was difficult for her at the time, he'd let it go, forcing himself to be satisfied with the fact that she and the children who had been trapped there with her - at least, the ones that had survived - had put an end to most, if not all, of the dark things that went on in that place once they escaped its grip.

Except this Westenra. The miserable wretch, it seemed, was untouchable. At least by human hands.

The Elf hadn't pushed about Dylan's time after escaping the mental hospital by turning eighteen, either. Some secrets required a level of trust he wasn't sure she could give him yet. At least not now, as fragile as she was going to be for a while. Some secrets, he could wait for. Instead he focused on those horrors that had brutally weighed her down, and purged the festering pain.

Nuada had done such soul-purging before, with fellow soldiers suffering from battle-haunts. It was an intimate thing, difficult on the one doing the purging. Each time he'd done it during the wars it had taken so much out of him. Left him exhausted in the aftermath. But he'd never done it with anyone whose hurt rooted so deeply in her life, and never for a human. The Elf was not at all certain that Dylan would recover the same way an Elven warrior might. In the morning if she seemed easier, then he would know what he'd done had worked as it should have.

But now Nuada focused on the present, on the woman in his arms whose body still shivered with tiny tremors even though she was asleep.

Dylan was wearing one of his shirts. Had he said she could do that? Probably. The prince didn't remember. What he did remember was picking up two stray thoughts from her as she'd begun to calm down from the trial of showing him pieces of her past. One thought had been that Dylan liked it when he called her "sweetheart" almost as much as when Nuada called her "mo duinne." That both endearments had given her a sense of being protected. The other had been that wearing Nuada's shirts, being surrounded by his scent that way, made his mortal lady feel so safe it almost broke his heart. She truly only felt completely safe at church and whenever she was with him. He hadn't known that until now.

Before, when he'd walked through her thoughts, he'd been looking for specifics about how truly she adhered to her faith. He hadn't seen anything else because he hadn't been looking for it. Maybe one day he would ask her to allow him into her thoughts just to... browse. To get to know her better. He didn't even know her favorite color, or which she liked better - summer or winter. Little things that he really should know. But there was time to learn more about her later.

For now, he just leaned against Dylan's bed, the mortal cuddled against him sound asleep. But he couldn't sleep. Not with those images, those memories swimming through his mind. Sickening. Horrific. Sensory details still stayed with the Elf as well. The sound of Dylan's sobs in his ears, the copper stench of blood and pain. Only when he breathed in the perfume of roses and lilies that threaded through her hair and focused on the steady shushing of each mortal breath did the memory fade a little.

They stayed that way as midnight came and went, and the wee hours of the morning began drifting by. The heavy clouds that had delivered snow the previous evening had cleared up. Now the sky through Dylan's window was black velvet studded with diamond stars. Nuada suddenly remembered Dylan murmuring, Remember the stars are bright tonight, and the moon is beautiful. Heavenly Father is always listening.

Firegold eyes fastened on the waxing moon brightening the dark sky. The High King of the World, the Star Kindler, was also called the Lamplighter of the Moon. Both the moon and stars were said to be gifts from the Highest of all Gods to His children, to remind them that somewhere in the world there was hope. That somewhere in the world, there was light. That no matter how dark things seemed, He was always listening. Dylan believed that. She believed it with all her heart and soul - he'd seen that for himself that night in Findias. Nuada wasn't sure that he did. Oh, he believed the gods were there. He also knew that those great beings worshipped as gods in olden days long past were not the same thing as the Star Kindler. The Elven warrior not only believed the old "gods" were there, but that the High King was there, as well. Had never doubted that.

It was not presence he doubted. It was predilection. Dylan believed her so-called Christian God listened to the prayers of those on earth, sometimes even if they doubted His existence. Nuada couldn't believe that. Not the way she did. Sometimes he slipped, and found himself pleading with some unknown, unnamed force of the universe that, if he were being honest with himself, he could admit was most likely his lady's divine Master. Even if the High King had no interest in one Elf prince who could not bring himself to have faith in such a being, Dylan was a child of that divine King, and surely He would concern Himself with her, at least a little.

But Nuada wasn't sure about that, or about the High King's interest in people in general. Which was why he felt like ten kinds of fool when he stared at the wintry night sky - a sky that, so the followers of the Star Kindler said, was a promise from that deity - and prayed silently, Please... please. She does not deserve this pain. I have done what I can to help her. Please let it be enough. She's so young. Even now, in some ways she's so very young. She has the strength to heal her heart, but she'll need Thy help. Please help her. Help me to keep her safe.

Dylan stirred, and Nuada realized he was trembling. He took a deep breath and let it out.
Forced himself to relax. He did not wish to wake her. Not yet. She deserved what peace sleep could give her for now. So the prince watched the stars wheeling in their celestial courses and waited for the dawn.

From the position of those stars, and the beautifully silver moon, it was maybe a couple hours after midnight when a hesitant knock tapped at Dylan's bedroom door. The Elf lifted his head from where he'd settled it against Dylan's hair as his lady stirred.

"Your Highness?" It was 'Sa'ti. What did she want? Before Nuada could open his mouth to ask the child exactly that, Dylan crawled out from under his arm and climbed to her feet. She answered the door while shoving a tangle of hair out of her face.

"What's the matter, 'Sa'ti?" There was no irritation in Dylan's voice. Tiredness, and (surprisingly) affection, but no irritation at being woken so early. Nuada stood up to more easily watch Dylan handle the ewah girl. The mortal added, "Did you have a bad dream?"

'Sa'ti scrubbed her face with the back of one hand and sniffled. "Yes. I looked for you in the music room but you weren't there. I was gonna ask the prince. A'du and Tsu's'di had bad dreams, too, but they're big boys and don't want to say anything."

Nuada watched, eyebrows raised, as Dylan reached down and hoisted 'Sa'ti up before swinging her to settle on one hip in a move so effortless she must have done it a thousand times. 'Sa'ti slid her arms around Dylan's neck and laid her small head on the mortal woman's shoulder as if it were the most natural thing in the world. An odd, distant yearning whispered beneath Nuada's skin. Not a physical longing. Something else. Despite the child's sleepy, tear-glossed eyes and the ruffled mane of tawny fur that served her for hair, in his mortal lady's arms she went limp with what seemed like a combination of happiness and relief. And on Dylan's face...

He knew that expression. He'd seen it on her before when she'd come home that evening and spoken to the children. Seen it the first night they'd come home and she'd put the children to bed with maternal kisses and bedtime stories. And he'd seen it on another woman's face, countless centuries before, so long ago he was still surprised he remembered the way that expression had softened moon-pale features and warmed his mother's eyes to rich forest green.

Dylan's face was soft as his mother's had been all those years ago, with the same kind of love his mother had felt. The realization sent another pang through the Elven warrior. But as soon as he realized what it was his heart ached for, he swiftly suppressed the longing. It could not be. Never. Not with her. But by the stars, he wanted it so badly now that he'd caught just a brief glimpse of what it could be like. But it could never, ever be.

Then the human asked, "Are the boys awake?" The little girl nodded. "Then how about you go tell them that I'm going to make some more hot chocolate, and then I'll come into the den and read you a story to help you fall back asleep, okay?" 'Sa'ti's hands clenched in Dylan's shirt and the child made a soft sound of distress. "Or we can go give the boys the message together and then you can help me make the hot chocolate. How does that sound?"

"Okay."

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When Nuada walked into the den nearly an hour later, he almost smiled. 'Sa'ti flopped on her back on the sofa, snuggling Neytiri the Mountain Lion with one arm and a very patient Bat with the other. A'du hung almost half-off the edge of the futon. Tsu's'di was the only one of the cougars in a normal sleeping position - the shifter youth sprawled across more than half the unfolded futon, snoring.

Curled up in the chair between the sofa and the futon, an open picture book in her lap - the title read Flower Fairies of the Winter - Dylan slept like an exhausted child. Her dark curls cascaded around her like a silken curtain. Her breathing was slow and even. No lines of distress marred those lovely, silver-scarred features. Just tiredness and the obvious signs of old sorrow.

Nuada went to Dylan's side and gently extricated the book from her grasp. He laid it on the mantel. Then, careful not to awaken the sleeping mortal, the Elf prince lifted her into his arms. Dylan's arm automatically slid around his neck as the Elf drew her slight form against his chest. She snuggled her face into his shirt. Because she was asleep, Nuada could brush a soft little kiss over the top of Dylan's head. She sighed in her sleep and cuddled closer.

The slight movements as he walked into the hall had her stirring, but not much. Only when he laid her on her bed and drew the blankets over her did she wake. "Mmm." Dark lashes fluttered. Blue eyes blinked up at the Elf prince sleepily. "Oh. Prionsa Fheictear."

Nuada did smile then. "Mo dathúil mhuire."

Dylan smiled up at him. "Your fair lady, huh? I kinda like that." She curled up beneath the blankets and murmured, "You won't go until tomorrow night, right? You promise?"

He nodded and lightly skimmed his knuckles over the scar on her satin-soft cheek. She went boneless as a sleeping kitten at his touch. If she'd been a kitten, Nuada was fairly certain she would have purred. "I promise. When I go to pay out justice, I will tell you. But I wish you would tell me where to find those other men."

She shook her head sleepily. "Don't know where they are. Besides, your dad might let the death of one human slide." She yawned widely enough that she risked cracking her face in half if she didn't go to sleep soon. "But four humans? Not to mention all their security people? (yawn) I don't think so. If by some (yawn) miracle you can get him to agree, then I'll (yawn) try and find them. But only then."

"Even half-asleep you are ridiculously stubborn," Nuada grumbled, then had to chuckle when she nodded vehemently. "So concerned for my safety, mo duinne?"

Those sleepy eyes blinked up at him. "Nuada. You're my best friend. I love you. Of course I worry for you." She reached up and caught a strand of his hair between her thumb and first two fingers. "And your pretty hair. I worry about that, too. Don't ever cut it. It's so gorgeous." She let it go and snuggled down beneath the blankets. "Now go away, I'm sleepy."

"Good night, then, my fair lady." The Elf prince gave her a gentle smile paired with an unfathomable look before he turned and walked toward the door. He only paused when, in a voice slurred with exhaustion, Dylan mumbled, "Good night, my handsome prince."

Once he closed the door to Dylan's bedroom, Nuada drew a deep cleansing breath. He let it out slowly, as if trying to expel the tender feelings within him. Then he went to the front room, where he'd kept the satchel he'd brought with him upon his return to Dylan's cottage. In the living room the Elven warrior strapped on his sword and slid a knife into each of the sheaths inside his black boots. His dirk fit the sheath on the hip opposite his longsword. Nuada made sure his twin-dagger was in its proper place in his burgundy sash and the golden ring that matched Dylan's still hung around his neck. The weight of their connection was as binding as the chain about his throat. Then the crown prince of Bethmoora slipped his lance into its sheath on his back.

An odd impulse made him peek into the den, to ensure the children still slept. They did. Something about the sight of 'Sa'ti cuddling her stuffed toy, A'du twisted up like an elf-knot in a horse's tail, and Tsu's'di with one arm around his little brother, eased a faint restlessness inside him. He carefully closed the door to keep from waking them.

Becan let him out of the cottage with silence so Dylan wouldn't wake, either. Nuada had promised his lady that he would not hunt the monster that had allowed other monsters to brutalize her, at least not until the coming dusk. The Elf prince would keep that promise. He wasn't going hunting... yet.

He was going to speak to his father.

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Dierdre hissed and snarled at the faerie that had finally returned to Bres' suite at Findias, but didn't rake her nails across the nuckelavee's single burning red eye as she so desperately wanted to do. No, Arrachd would not tolerate her display of temper. And the female gancanaugh could admit that the finned, centaur-like bogle frightened her. He was nuckelavee - one of the race so vile and horrifying that one look at them was said to frighten some mortals to death. His taloned hands could ruin Dierdre's face so badly that even her glamor couldn't make her beautiful again. One kick of his fleshless horse legs could easily cave in her chest. But that didn't stop the gancanaugh from wanting to shred the skinless, yellow-veined black muscles with her razor sharp nails to give some vent to the fury rising within her.

A witness. The idiot had left a witness behind at the museum. Bres had sent Arrachd to the mortal realm, to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, which was supposedly showcasing various artifacts from Ireland. Including, Dierdre had discovered, something that the humans believed to be a piece of the Golden Crown that controlled the goblin-made Army of golden soldiers once used by King Balor. So the Fomorian prince had sent his most vicious and efficient, most trusted soldier to retrieve the piece - which he had. Unfortunately the piece was a fake. But that was not the problem.

The problem was, Arrachd had also left behind a witness. A mortal brat had hidden in an air vent while her foolish parents had sacrificed themselves to keep her safe from Arrachd's butchery. The nuckelavee hadn't been able to reach the child, shielded by human metals and poisons, before the police had arrived to investigate whatever had triggered the museum's alarm. The idiot had left the child alive!

"Calm yourself, Dierdre, my love," Bres murmured, pulling the gancanaugh down onto the sofa beside him. Still snarling undering her breath, Dierdre shot her prince and lover a savage look. "Be calm. No one knows yet that Arrachd even had anything to do with the robbery at the museum. Things have died down. Now we can send him back to take care of the child. No human will believe her when she says monsters slaughtered her parents and stole a golden trinket from a glass case."

"Unless they have the Sight-" Ciaran began.

Bres cut him off. "No human of any real power or authority has the Sight. Most of those blessed with any form of the Sight die before they even manage to reach adulthood."

"Prince Nuada's little plaything is an adult," Dierdre reminded the blue-eyed prince. "She has the Sight. She might even be able to see through my glamor, if I'm not careful. You've heard the rumors - she's been blessed by a fear-darrig. She could ruin everything. In the same way, this little brat that you've let slip through your fingers could ruin everything else, Arrachd!"

"Sshe'ss one child," the nuckelavee protested in a sibilant hiss, narrowing his single eye at Dierdre. The gancanaugh moved closer to the Fomorian prince. Bres slipped an arm around her waist and tucked her against his side. "When I return to the mortal realmss, I will hunt her down and sslay her. Sshe will not be hard to find. I sstayed behind and watched the humanss that came to invesstigate. I know where sshe iss. And sshe knowss the Ssilverlance'ss whore."

Bres bolted upright. "The child knows Nuada's woman? How do you know that?"

"Becausse sshe came to ssee that child at the musseum." Now Arrachd shrugged as if it was of little import. The greasy ripple of exposed shoulder, arm, and chest muscles made even Bres feel faintly nauseous. "Sshe promissed to ssee the child again. Keep watch on the Ssilverlance'ss toy and we will find the child fairly ssoon."

"Now that you mention it..." Lí Ban, silent up until now as he sharpened his iron-edged sword with a whetstone, glanced up from stroking his favorite weapon to meet his prince's questioning gaze. "If you remember, Eamonn and the others that were supposed to keep watch on the human's cottage said that she went out with three children. Many times with a girl with black hair and a red-haired sidhe boy, but once with a girl-child of perhaps five summers, with wheat-blond hair. That sounds like the bratling we're looking for, does it not?"

Arrachd nodded, raw-skinned lips peeling back to reveal jagged teeth rotted a sickening yellow-brown. "Oh, aye. That ssoundss like the child. As I ssaid, sseek for the tart and find the child. I'll be on my way, then, Your Highnesss?" At Bres' nod, the nuckelavee bowed and took his leave. Once the door to the Fomorian prince's suite clicked shut behind him, Dierdre snuggled up to the prince and pouted.

"When can I make my move on the prince?"

Bres sighed. "Darling, you'll have to wait at least until he comes back before you can hope to employ your charms. Why so anxious? Should I be jealous of the Silver Lance, my sweet?"

Dierdre's low laugh was sultry, almost a purr. "Jealous? Of course not. I'm merely curious. I have simply heard things. I want to find out for myself if they are true. And there is the added bonus of hurting a human. You know how much I loathe humans. They are so... mortal. I want to see just how far I can push His Highness, and I especially want to see if I can make his little human toy cry."

"And what would you do to accomplish this?"

The gancanaugh's smile was sharp as broken glass and as toxic as the venom glistening at her lips. She brushed those lips across Bres' cheek. The Fomorian prince shivered as the scorching heat of Branwen's Tears seeped into his skin. He turned to find Dierdre's mouth with his. Ciaran and Lí Ban got up and left the suite to return to their own before they were forced to watch the prince succumb (again).

Just before Bres could claim her mouth, she murmured, "To capture the prince, all I have to do is kiss him once, and fill him with my poison, and he's mine. As for how to make the little mortal cry, and how to shatter their precious united front..."

She whispered her plan as Bres' ravenous mouth moved over her skin. He grinned and murmured, "You are so devious."

"That's why you love me."

.

In another part of Findias, Balor remained behind his desk when his son strode in, armed to the teeth and robed in shadows and scarlet. The old king removed his wire-rimmed half-moon glasses and laid them on the table. Of course a servant had rushed in only moments before to inform him that the Silver Lance was here. Here alone, without his human lady. Here alone, and from the molten bronze of his eyes, clearly infuriated. And since Nuada had arrived with his weapons still in his possession, obviously the Butcher Guards had not forced him to come before his father. Which meant the crown prince wanted something - whatever it was.

It also probably meant most of the guards on duty this morning were lying unconscious on the various castle floors. Wonderful.

Because it was the king's study and not the Great Hall, Nuada didn't kneel. He offered his father and king a strained bow and then stood at military attention. The king saw that his son's left hand clamped down on his right wrist hard enough that his knuckles burned white.

"I require an order of execution for four humans," the prince of Bethmoora said too softly. His voice was a vicious snarl.

"Good morning, Crown Prince Nuada." The One-Armed King of Elfland arched a subtly challenging brow. "It has been so long since last We saw you, We thought perhaps-"

"I do not have the time or the patience for political games today, Father," Nuada snapped, forcibly wrenching at Balor's attempt to keep the audience formal and knocking it awry. "Four men have harmed my lady and I want them punished. I want them dead. She will not tell me their identities unless I have your permission to kill them, for fear you will have me tortured or flogged again. Give me that permission now so I might rid my lady of these monsters tonight."

Balor narrowed his eyes. "You waltz in here after disappearing for nearly a month against my orders, after blatantly disregarding my recurring command that you come back immediately, you treat me as your equal if not your inferior, and then expect me to give you what you want simply because you demand it of me like a spoiled child demanding a sweet? I do not think so, Crown Prince."

"Father, you must-"

"I am your king, Silverlance!" Now Balor rose to his feet, his own eyes hot copper as they bored into Nuada's own molten bronze gaze. "You owe me your allegiance! You owe me your obedience! Yet when I summon you before me I receive a missive from the human woman you despise so much informing me that she 'requires your presence' as her escort for some female gathering or what have you and that you cannot be spared. She may have written that letter, and she may have thought it was her own idea, but I know you. I know that you have manipulated her into defending you against me in the hopes that I might show some leniency regarding your childish behavior. Then, after nearly a moon, you stroll in as if you are already king of Bethmoora and demand that I break the treaty we have stood by for centuries, break my honor for some perceived slight, and you use that woman as the excuse for why I should give in to you. But I must do nothing. It is you who are honor bound to obey me."

Nuada shifted his weight and straightened his spine. Oh, his father was furious. Nuada had never seen the king so angry. And underneath that anger... was that just a hint of fear? Not surprising. After all, if this was what Balor truly thought of his son and heir, the prince's disobedience took on a whole new meaning. Suddenly all sorts of possibilities opened up - sedition, treason, patricide, regicide. If Nuada was the sort of monster his father believed him to be.

There was only one way to play this. Shock the king. Dylan had been right about that. Shock Balor off balance. Shock him enough, and that balance would never be regained so long as the game was in play. They'd planned for their first move to play out upon their return to the courts of Faerie. Well, he'd have to make a move of his own now.

In a voice without anger, without venom or frustration, each word vibrating only with yearning and soft with sorrow and regret, Nuada asked, "When you bound me to Dylan... when you forced me before the court to pretend she was my truelove, my lady... did you know then?"

The One-Armed King of Elfland blinked in puzzlement. Taken aback by the sudden change in the prince's attitude, he could only ask, "Did I know what?"

Nuada met his father's eyes, and knew his gaze was no longer burning copper, but soft honey gold as he thought of Dylan, of moonlit eyes and faerie tales before the fire, gentle touches and impossible promises. Thought of why he was here. Of what he was about to say. Time for truth. Time to risk much to protect even more.

"Did you know then that I would fall in love with her?"

Balor sank slowly back into his chair. He stared at his only son. "What... what did you say?"

"I love her, Father." He swallowed hard to force down the sharp ache in his chest at the words. He could tell his father, but he couldn't tell Dylan how he truly felt. Stars curse it, anyway. "I had to leave. I am sorry for disobeying you, but I had to. She begged me to take her to the mortal realm that day. I could not refuse her. And then... she did not want to come back here. She has responsibilities in her world, people who depend on her. If she were an Elven lady from a great estate," Nuada added, borrowing Wink's words from a couple weeks ago, "would you expect her to abandon her people to be ever at my side? I would not. And I knew that if I returned without her, you would be angry. She knew it, as well, and begged me not to return to Faerie until she could come with me. I gave my word, Father. The word of a prince of Bethmoora."

His father continued to stare at him as if he had never seen Nuada before. It was unsettlingly similar to the look the king had given him the day the Golden Crown had been broken into three pieces and divided between Elves and men, and he had walked away from all he held dear. Finally Balor demanded, "When... how did... are you in earnest?"

"Do I not seem so?" And Nuada let his king, just for a moment, catch a glimpse of what lay beneath all the masks and court polish. Let Balor see the pain, the longing, the understanding that though Dylan made him happier than anyone else ever had or probably ever would, he could never truly keep her. It was more than he had shared with his father in over three thousand years. The effort not to retreat under the king's scrutiny was collossal.

When the Elf king at last looked on his son with new eyes, Nuada added softly, "Father, I stayed because neither of us were ready to return. She is still not ready. If I cared nothing for her, it wouldn't matter, but Dylan is the very beat of my heart and being here puts her at risk. I have to make sure that when we come back she'll be safe and that takes time."

"But she is not safe in the realm of the humans, either," Balor pointed out, still half-reeling from this unexpected confession. "These men you hunt - they have hurt her?"

Nuada's hands fisted at his sides. His short nails bit deep into his palms. "What damage they did was inflicted years before she and I found each other, but she will always bear the scars on her heart from what they did to her. They are beyond the reach of human laws. Justice must be had; they must be made to pay for what they've done."

"Is it justice you want, my son, or vengeance?"

Firegold eyes raked the king's face with one slashing look before Nuada began to pace furiously from one end of the room to the other. Only after several circuits did he finally speak. "There is no difference here. What I want and what justice requires are one and the same. And before you tell me that they're not, you are not the one who constantly wakes in the night to her screaming from dark dreams. You are not the one who has to hold her while she weeps until she can scarcely draw breath over the soul-pain of her memories. You have not heard her pleading for mercy in her sleep, night after night. These men did that to her. They tortured her for years. I. Want. Them. Dead."

Balor stroked his snow white beard with his hand of flesh. This was, most likely, a trick. An excuse the prince thought the king would swallow in order to justify slaughtering a few humans. But if it wasn't, then what? Night after night... hold her... He remembered something Nuala had related to him a couple weeks prior, something the prince had snarled at his sister his last night in Findias. When I held her in the dark, she whispered to me of love. "Where have you been staying all this time, my son?"

Those glittering topaz eyes narrowed and began melting towards hot bronze. "My honor and my role as Dylan's protector demand that I remain at her side. I have been staying at her home, by her invitation."

The king waited a beat. His gaze never left his son's face. "Where?"

"I've not bedded her, if that is what you are attempting to ferret out of me, Father," Nuada snapped. "I sleep on her couch. If she has bad dreams, I sit at her bedside until she falls asleep again. That is all."

"That is not all," the king murmured. Not from what he could glean from the frustration in the prince's eyes and voice. And not from what the princess had told him. "If you have not bedded her, you have at least thought about it." Whether his son loved the human or not, Nuala had been definite about Nuada's desire for the mortal.

That disturbed the king no little amount. Nuada had been adamant for centuries about how he felt regarding fae copulating with mortals; it sickened him. Better for the Hidden Ones to mate with animals than humans, according to the Silver Lance. And Nuala, when she'd told her father of the prince's uncharacteristic desire for the human woman, had seemed ill-at-ease. She'd been hiding something. Balor wondered if perhaps Nuada was angry that his body hungered for one of the mortals he claimed were beneath animals, and would allow his lust to fuel his anger - and his anger to fuel his lust - and drive him to hurt the human girl. It had to be considered. So no, that was not all.

Nuada fought against grinding his teeth. Thought about it? Thought about trying to erase those soul-scars by showing Dylan what love between a man and a woman was supposed to be like? Thought about what it would be like to have the scent of her on his body? To hear her whisper his name in his ear the way she did in her sleep? To offer her everything - his heart, his body, his soul - and show her that he loved her? And then to lie tangled together in the aftermath of passion, his head pillowed on her soft breast to hear her heartbeat and feel her breathe? Of course he had. Their relationship was chaste, and he still remembered his honor, but he wasn't dead. Would his father condemn him for that, as well?

"Would you be any better," the prince demanded, "if one of the most beautiful women you'd ever seen was sleeping right down the hall?" She was so lovely when she was asleep. Her hair always managed to spread around her like a dark halo. When no nightmares plagued her, the serenity in her face gave him an odd sense of peace. But those nights were rare indeed. More softly, almost to himself, Nuada added, "But I dare not even attempt anything beyond taking her hand, kissing it, or touching her hair. Holding her chastely. I have not even kissed her."

"Not once?" That didn't fit with Nuala's assessment of her brother's yearning. "Yet you claim to love her."

"And what if I kiss her?" Nuada growled, eyes flashing. "What if I kiss her and she is unready? What if I trigger one of those memories that still haunts her? Do you think I'd risk that? Do you think I wouldn't care about such a thing? That I would be so focused on my own pleasure that I would have no care for hers? I do not claim to love her - I do love her, with everything I am. I would not hurt her for the world if I could help it, not in any way. And the reason I have to worry about such a thing in the first place is these humans! I want them dead, Father!"

Calm amber eyes studied the enraged prince for a long moment in silence while Nuada continued to pace and snarl viciously under his breath. "Part of me doubts you," Balor said softly. Nuada did not roll his eyes, but the king got the impression that if his son had been several hundred years younger, he might have. "You have given me little reason to trust your sentiment regarding humans, my son. To say that in a month you have fallen so in love with a member of the race you've despised for thousands of years, a race you consider lower than vermin-"

"She is different," Nuada snapped. "She was born human, perhaps, but her heart is fey. And it was not one month. I..." Now he thought back, wondering when he had begun to fall. Was it that summer day at the faire? With pink wildflowers in a garland atop her dark curls and the setting sun burnishing her skin? In the old-fashioned gown of ivory and primrose velvet, she'd looked like one of the court ladies of Bethmoora. Had it been then? Or before, in the sanctuary, when she'd eased his pain and tended his wounds with gentle hands? Or after, as she read tales to him before a warm fire and offered him the safe haven he'd craved for so long? He didn't know. Only in dreams had he even realized that he was falling. "I do not know when she managed to take hold of my heart, but I have loved her for many months now. I just did not know it. This forced courtship was simply what made me realize it."

"Swear it."

Nuada blinked. "What?"

"Swear that you love her. You know what oath will satisfy me, Crown Prince."

Looking into Balor's eyes without flinching, Nuada said, "I swear on the Darkness That Eats All Things, on that Living Darkness that dwells beneath Faerie, that I love Lady Dylan Myers of Central Park."

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Nuada could see the shock and quickly-masked concern in his father's eyes. Oh, the king still doubted. Even with that unbreakable oath, he still doubted. The One-Armed King of Elfland did not trust his son. He feared for his son, because he doubted the truthfulness of his son's oath and so feared that the Living Darkness would come for Nuada. He did not trust the emotion in the prince's eyes or in his voice, didn't trust the sincerity of his words even though Nuada would never have dishonored himself by lying to his father and his king.

It did not matter, though, the Elven warrior reminded himself, swallowing down the hurt that never failed to strike whenever he spent any time in his father's presence. It didn't matter what the king thought of him. He'd walked into this knowing Balor would react this way. It should not have surprised him. It didn't surprise him. And the king's uncertainty was on even shakier ground now, which was exactly what Nuada and Dylan had wanted in the first place.

But Nuada wanted those men. Wanted those monsters' blood singing over his sword blade. So despite the chill and suspicion in his father's eyes, he kept pushing.

"Father... if it were..." The words burned in his throat like acid. Memories of blood and screams tried to swamp him. He shoved them down and away where they had no power over him, and he demanded, "What if it were Mother?" He saw his father flinch almost imperceptibly. "What if I wanted to execute the humans who took her from us? Would you care about the truce then? Or would you punish them for the pain and suffering they had caused?"

"Those beasts are already dead."

"But if they weren't! If Wink hadn't killed them, then what? If the truce had been in place then, would you have 'honored' it so shamefully? Would you have let my mother's killers roam free?"

Balor's hand of flesh curled into a fist atop the hawthorne-wood desk. "The humans who butchered your mother are one thing. These men you wish to slay are another."

"Why?" Nuada demanded. "Because of this blasted treaty? Or because Dylan is human? Because I am Elven? Because she is common and I am a prince? Or because I want them dead and so they must be innocent?"

"It is different because of what those human butchers did. The atrocities committed against your mother were unspeakable. As for your so-called lady-"

"The only difference," Nuada hissed in a voice like shards of jagged ice, "the only difference, between Máthair and Dylan is that by some miracle, Dylan survived, whereas my mother did not. But the atrocities were the same. The sins were the same." Emotion choked him for a moment and he almost couldn't go on. "You would have killed such loathesome animals in your lady's defense. Yet now you attempt to stand in my way when I would do the same? I love her. I love her. How can you ask me to let these animals continue poisoning the world after what they have done to her and to others?"

"My son, you must understand-"

"No! All the gods curse you to the bowels of Hell for this, Father, no! You must understand! She was a little girl!"

The Elven warrior's fist slammed down on the desk, splitting the wood beneath the infuriated blow. He fairly vibrated with rage. His eyes, the king saw, were dark and tormented and feral. Not quite sane. There was no doubting Nuada's sincerity now, if this had scraped away the thin veneer of civility fae royals wore to leash that part of them that was pure magic edged with madness.

"She was twelve years old and they... those monsters, they... gods, Father." That tortured gaze shimmered with what might have been the gloss of savagely enraged tears. "She was just a little girl. Who hurts a child that way? What could a child possibly do to deserve being hurt that way? Nothing. There is nothing..."

Nuada turned away in order to attempt to regain some control over the emotions churning within him. He hadn't known. By the fates, he hadn't known the full extent of it. All that blood, all that pain. If not for her fierce loyalty to the fae, she wouldn't have even been in that disgusting, festering hell pit to begin with. He tried to swallow the fury and the grief and nearly choked on them. All of this - her fury and his own, their combined grief, the brutal memories that he'd experienced in her mind, all of it - had been riding him ever since he'd walked through her thoughts. He held onto his control now only by the skin of his teeth.

Her parents had left her there, may the gods curse them to most desolate barren wastes of Annwn. If they hadn't already been dead, he might have been tempted to hunt them down as well, just for that. And those boys... those twisted, vicious mortal whelps that had delighted in her tears, in her pain, in her screams...

Damn them both, he thought, shaking, grief knifing him. Damn them both, damn them all for what they've done to her. Humans. Filthy, festering humans and their cruelty. Damn them all.

He couldn't push past the bitter taste of her pain. It still whispered inside his skull, still bled beneath his skin, still churned in his belly. Her pain, the ache of it like a taloned hand squeezing his heart. And part of that hurt was pain that he had caused when he'd abandoned her, when he'd left her with nothing but vicious words and the bite of his contempt, left her thinking he hated her. No wonder her heart had shattered again; she'd thought she could trust him, and he'd abandoned and betrayed her just like her parents, her sisters, her brother, and the man who would taste Elven silver this night. Mo duinne, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, sweetheart. But at least one of them will pay. I can do little else but I can do that.

Suddenly he just wanted to be home again. Just wanted to be in the little cottage amidst the green, the children asleep in the other room while he and Dylan sat before the fire and could just simply be together. Maybe the cat rubbing against his boots because Bat had an inexplicable obsession with Nuada's footwear. And she could read to him. They could finish the story. Once Upon a Winter's Night. Once upon a winter's night, he had found her. Found an ally, a friend, a love. Found sanctuary. Found a home, though he hadn't known it at the time.

By the stars, suddenly he was so tired. His father was not going to grant him permission. Was not going to let him put an end to these monsters. Why had he come? Why had Nuada thought Balor would ever allow him to do what was right for once instead of settling for what was easy? He would have to kill Westenra without his father's blessing. And since the king was probably going to punish him anyway, he would eradicate those other three human vermin while he was at it.

Dylan, mo duinne, I am sorry. I will be sorry for the pain it will cause you if - when - my father punishes me, but these men must die, and my father will not help. What else can I do, beloved?

But then, the sudden and reassuring weight of his father's hand on his shoulder nearly drove Nuada to his knees. A strangled sound escaped him. His father gripped his shoulder in a gesture of comfort Nuada hadn't felt in more than two thousand years. The Elven warrior squeezed his eyes shut.

"I can feel your pain, my son," Balor said gently. "I know that this sort of evil hurts you because of... because of your mother. And I know what it is to thirst for vengeance for one you love. I do know. But vengeance is a dangerous thing, and a quest for justice can easily turn to a search for revenge."

The Old Tongue sharpened the bitterness of the words he had not even allowed himself to think until now when the crown prince whispered, "Athair... what else can I do for her? I comfort her as best I can but it is never enough. The nightmares always come back. The fear is never far from her. Sometimes - often - I wonder how she can even bear my touch. I do not dare court her as I wish for fear that I will discover she cannot abide anything more than I've offered her. It would sicken me to bring any of those brutal memories back to her. What else can I do but this?" I feel so helpless. The words went unspoken, an admission of weakness Nuada could not allow himself, but somehow the prince knew the One-Armed King of Elfland heard it anyway.

"I know, my son." Balor gripped Nuada's shoulder firmly. "I know. I will give you three gifts, then. One is a choice. I must obey the bindings of the truce, as must you. However," he added when the prince turned to protest, "choose one of these human butchers, one of these monsters that has left your lady with scars on her heart. Choose one, and do with him whatever you like. I will sanction the execution of one. This way I may satisfy my duty both as a king and, hopefully, as a father."

He could be satisfied with that... for now. Perhaps over time, he could wear his father down until he agreed to let the prince execute the other three men. Or perhaps Nuada could arrange for very painful, violent accidents to befall those men. If only Dylan would tell him who they were! Where they were. What they looked like. But he shoved aside the frustration as his father continued speaking.

"The second gift is time. I expect you both to return by moonrise on the night of the Harvest Moon. That is a little less than a week from now. Until that time I shall leave you and your lady in peace. You will be punished for your disobedience... but I will stay my hand until that night.

"And the third is some advice about your lady. Have patience, Nuada. She is strong. I saw that the night she challenged me for you. A human facing off against an Elven king; I'd never seen such a thing. Give her time and have confidence in her courage. I know from what your sister has said that your lady trusts you implicitly. Don't let fear of hurting her hobble you."

Nuada closed his eyes. He had permission for one. Not only that, but his father was behaving as if he believed in the love Nuada professed to for Dylan, his impossible mortal lady. Although the king still doubted his son and heir, he would act as if he did not - for now. And how long had it been since Balor had offered him advice? How long had it been since he and his father had talked about anything without snarling at each other? Centuries. Since the first moments of his exile. More than two thousand years. It took every ounce of will not to fall against his father's shoulder and embrace him. Instead, he merely looked at the king in mute plea.

"Speak your mind, my son."

"Dylan is... she is mortal. One day she'll grow old. One day she'll..." He could not bring himself to say die. "I do not want to regret the way I spent what days I have with her. What comfort can you offer me for that, Father?"

His father's eyes, for the first time in too long, held a wealth of affection and sympathy. There was still the lurking suspicion, but it was tempered by softer things because this was a grief Balor knew well; after all, he had been king for a long time and had seen many of the fae fall in love with mortals. This was the curse of an immortal who lost their heart to a human. Even a king could not change that. "Only this - do not borrow trouble before it is here." Then the king released his hold. "Was that everything you wished to speak to me about?"

Surprised, Nuada said, "Well, yes, I-"

"Good." Balor glanced at the clock on the wall. "Since you have kept me from my paperwork until Caspar has finally deigned to serve the midday meal, perhaps you would pay back the debt to an old Elf and stay a bit longer. Just an hour," Balor added, when Nuada looked as if he might protest. This new, tenuous connection between them, as fragile as a spider web, seemed ready to break at any moment. "Just an hour."

After an interminable silence, Nuada nodded slowly. "Dylan will probably not be awake yet. Long night," he added at the king's inquiring look. "She fell asleep near dawn. I could stay for an hour. Perhaps we might... play a game of chess."

Balor's smile was like a window to the past, as warm and comforting as when Nuada had been a boy. Here was the man that had taught him to ride a horse, to dance without making a fool of himself in front of all the girls at court, how to swim and read and yes, how to play chess. And Nuada realized that Dylan had done this. Somehow Dylan had managed to give him back his father. Even if it was just for this one hour where they would eat together and battle across the king's favorite marble chessboard, her presence in his life had given him his father back.

Thank you, beloved.

"I think a game can be arranged," his father murmured. Nuada's own smile was wary, but it was there, and it was one-hundred percent sincere.

.

Dylan glanced at the clock hanging up in the kitchen. Where was Nuada? It was nearly four in the afternoon. He'd left at dawn, Becan said, armed as if for war. But he'd promised not to go after Westenra before the coming dusk. He wouldn't lie to her. So where had he gone, then?

She could admit she was worried about him. Especially because she'd gotten something very interesting in the mail that morning. Even now, as she and 'Sa'ti kneaded the made-from-scratch cookie dough at the kitchen table, one blue eye kept glancing every now and then at the pale gray envelope on the counter. She hadn't opened it yet because she had a fairly good idea what it said, but after the cookie dough was ready she'd have no choice. Darn it.

"Can I help?" A'du called from the kitchen doorway. "Tsu's'di said I was getting underfoot."

"Sure." She indicated a bowl full of cookie dough on the counter. "Wash your hands, up to the elbows. Then bring that over here and sit on my other side, okay? And what's Tsu's'di doing, anyway?" Dylan asked, adding another handful of chocolate chunks to the dough on the wax paper in front of her. Tsu's'di had stayed in the den all morning except to get his siblings dressed and ready for the day. He hadn't even come out for breakfast - Becan had brought him fried eggs on toast. All three children had stayed at the cottage instead of going to Peri's on the off-chance that Nuada came home; Dylan didn't want to be out when he returned.

Now, A'du did as Dylan ordered. Then he carefully followed her instructions about how to beat the thick, heavy dough into something soft and malleable. Every so often Dylan would add a handful of chunky chocolate bits to either of the children's lumps of cookie dough. She warned both of them not to eat the chocolate by itself - chocolate had iron in it, and would make the children sick unless mixed with a potion to combat iron fatigue. While the ewah boy helped his new mistress, he explained that Tsu's'di was practicing something the prince had shown him the day before. Something about bodyguard stuff. Tsu's'di had to be able to do it perfectly by the time His Highness came back. At least, that's what Nuada's note had said.

"Do either of you guys know where His Highness went?" Dylan asked, blowing a lock of hair out of her face before it managed to slip into her mouth (again). And how come Nuada hadn't left her a note? But 'Sa'ti and A'du shook their heads. "Oh, well. He'll be back when he decides to come back."

"A'ge'lv," the young ewah boy murmured after a while. "What's that paper on the counter?"

Dylan eyed the invitation as if it had grown fangs. "A friend of mine decided to invite himself over tonight. That's why I want the prince to come back soon. I'd rather have him here when my friend arrives." Because who knew how Nuada would react to the Keeper of the Samhain Tree popping up at the cottage on the very night Westenra was slated to die?

"Is he really a friend?" A'du wanted to know. "Or is he a fake friend?"

She frowned, thinking of a twenty-one-year-old psych major volunteering at Saint Vincent's Hospital, forcing herself to confront the nightmare on a semi-daily basis just to prove she could. And she thought of a
thirteen-year-old boy with wild tufts of carrot-colored hair and freckles. A boy everyone thought was going to die. She thought of a stupid and reckless deal she'd made with the shadowy Other Kin that had been hovering in the boy's hospital room. She thought of the odd scar on the underside of her forearm, a scar the color of old bones. And she thought of four other children who had saved her life, and that boy's, by making the exact same deal she had. Had Mr. Moundshroud known that would happen?

"He's a real friend," Dylan replied. Then, belatedly, "Sometimes."

And he was going to pay her a visit tonight. Fun. Well, as long as he brought Pip with him, she'd be okay with that. He was a good kid. Hopefully Nuada wouldn't try to severely damage the once-human youth on principle.

.

The spearman moved forward three paces, effectively capturing the pale king. "Mate," Balor murmured. Amber eyes widened in mock-outrage and Nuada scowled. The king laughed. "You're out of practice, my son."

"I have not had an opportunity to play against anyone with any skill in a long while," the prince muttered as he reset the chessboard. The last few hours had helped him to get some semblance of control over his emotions. Now he could pretend that every muscle in his body didn't strain to be in motion as he hunted down that human and destroyed him. He could actually enjoy, for the first time in a long while, spending time with his father. At least a little.

"Your lady?"

Nuada shook his head. "She does not really play. I plan to teach her." Firegold eyes darted to the clock on the wall of the king's study. "I cannot stay much longer, Father. Dylan will be wondering what's happened to me. She does not trust you, you know." With all the pieces in their proper places, Nuada moved a pawn forward. "She considers you a threat."

A black marble pawn moved. "No doubt due to your sterling commendations of me," the king replied dryly. His son moved. Balor countered. The battle began in earnest as simple foot soldiers fell, slaughtered by Elven strategy. "When you return, I will strive to rectify her opinion."

"I have told her you do only what you believe is best for our people," Nuada replied, and captured one of his father's castles.

The king arched a brow, but said nothing. What he believed best for the people of Bethmoora? To address that little word-choice would dance them both too close to topics they couldn't afford to discuss right now. For now, the king had to let things lie smoothly. He had to wait, and be patient, and see if the prince made any mistakes.

If Nuada spoke the truth, if he loved the mortal woman, then that was cause for rejoicing (unless Balor's sneaking suspicion about the girl was correct and she was a bad influence on the crown prince). Yet if it wasn't the truth, it would come through eventually in the prince's speech, in his actions. And then the king would know how dangerous his son truly was.

But all Balor said was, "She does not believe you."

The prince's look was equal parts sorrow and exasperation. "No. She says that, as no one else is making my well-being their number one priority, she will do so instead." The hidden barb may or may not have been intentional. Balor didn't acknowledge it. Nuada added, "Which means she has little patience for those who may attempt to hurt me." Now dark lips quirked into a smile. "She is very fierce in her defense of me, I must admit."

"The court ladies would do well to run, then," Balor replied with a bland smile. His son's castle fell to the black marble queen. Then Balor exclaimed, half in dismay and half in amusement, "Oh! Missed that," as Nuada's spearman captured the black queen. "Very good. Did you know, my son, that your lady is acquainted with King Roiben Darktithe?"

Nuada admitted he was. Roiben had written to him during his stay at Dylan's cottage to congratulate him on his "romantic conquest," saying Dylan was a catch any man could take joy in, and that she outshone many of the jewels of Roiben's own courts (of which, Nuada added silently, he himself had no doubt).

The Elf prince also admitted he knew that Dylan knew several important Bright Ones and Other Kin both in and on the border of Twilight Realm: Lady Kaye and Lady Valiant of Roiben's Bright and Night Courts; Clarissa Fray and Jace Lightwood of the Shadow Hunters; Aislinn, Queen of the Summer Court; Iriall, a gancanaugh and former King of the Dark Court, through his own mortal lady, Leslie; the Daywalker known as Simon. She'd earned the regard of Joan the Wad and her consort; done a service and earned a favor (as yet to be redeemed) of the Reynardine; and yes, she was even on friendly terms with the Keeper of the Samhain Tree, Master Carapace Clavicle Moundshroud and his protege. Dylan knew a lot of people because she knew a lot of children. Was she friends with all of them? Nuada didn't know that because he and Dylan hadn't talked about it.

The only faerie he knew Dylan knew, that he also knew for a fact Dylan did not consider a friend, was the greenwoman who called herself the High Queen of Grand Central Park. But apparently the human woman knew a girl who'd done the queen a favor once upon a time. Because of that girl's request, Dylan's little cottage was safe from mortal predation - and from most lesser fae who might want to do her harm. Only sidhe nobles and other high-ranking fae were a danger.

"She is a dangerous woman to offend, your lady," the One-Armed King of Elfland said. The words sounded off-hand and casual, but Nuada knew better. The king moved a spearman a few paces across the board, leaving it at an angle to the black marble king, and studied his son.

"She is well-liked by our people and many other fae," the prince replied. He moved his own white knight to protect his queen from his father's black spearman. "That is all; she would never abuse what favor she receives from the Shining Ones." His father moved again, and Nuada neatly slid a hierophant into place. "Check."

The king countered the maneuver, then mentioned the incident at the Troll Market. Nuada grimaced. Noting the look on the prince's face, his father actually chuckled and demanded the story. Nuada told it with obvious reluctance. He did not expect to get into any sort of trouble with his father over the incident. If anything, he thought the other Elf might approve. That wasn't the problem. The fact that his father knew of what had occurred meant that the grapevine in Faerie was active, and the main topic of conversation was the prince (who disliked having his privacy invaded if he could avoid it) and Dylan (who would blush and become incredibly nervous if she found out the fae were talking about the two of them that much). Although they planned to use the gossip to their advantage, that didn't mean either of them liked it.

"She's brave," Balor murmured.

Nuada snorted. "She's reckless." Better to undersell Dylan's self-control for now. Let his father believe that her humanity meant she couldn't play political games with the courtiers and nobles of Bethmoora. "Sometimes I'm almost tempted to wring her neck for all the trouble she gets into." Then he sighed with no little fondness. "But if she were anything other than what she is, she would not be the woman I love."

"Do you wish she were fae?" Balor asked suddenly. Nuada looked up from the board to his father's lined face. "Do you wish she were fae instead of human?"

"I wish she were immortal," Nuada replied without hesitation. "Like our people. Only because then..." Then he could tell her how he felt. Then he could marry her, marry her truly, and give her the children she wanted so much. He could make her happy. He could be with her. And... "Because then I would not have to watch her die."

Balor studied his son, and considered. Did he - could he - believe that the Silver Lance, the bane of humanity, could ever love a mortal woman? He wasn't sure. It was a hope, but a distant one. To think Nuada could change so much in but a month... The angry warrior that had refused to "sully himself" with a human was a thousand worlds away from this melancholy prince. But was it all real? Or was this some sort of trick by the prince? Well, then, for what purpose? What could be important enough to the prince that he would allow such slander to fall on him? Balor wasn't sure, but he couldn't afford to believe. Not yet.

Yet if it was true... if this love Nuada spoke of was in fact real... there was a way for the two of them to be together. His son would not have to live a life of grief and sorrow in the wake of his truelove's death. If she actually was his truelove, and not just his unwitting pawn.

But would Nuada have sworn that most unbreakable oath if it wasn't true?

In the end, the Elf king bid his son goodbye without straining the new bond slowly forging between them. Before Nuada strode out of the king's study, Balor clasped his son by both forearms in the warrior's way and said, "Do not borrow trouble before it comes, my son. I will see you again soon?"

"Yes." Nuada hesitated. There was so much he wanted to say, but most of it tread too dangerously close to things that might anger his father and erase the minor victories the Elf prince had won today. So he merely inclined his head with the faintest hint of a smile. "Thank you, Father."

"Give my regards to your lady," the king said. Nuada nodded and strode away, anxious to return to Dylan's cottage...

.

Although perhaps not quite right away.

Nuada walked into the Royal Kennels with an ear out for either Miyax, the agloolik that took particular care of Nuada's dogs, or...

*It's the prince!*

What sounded like a herd of stampeding cattle turned the corner at the end of entryway for the Kennels. It turned out to be a pack of large dogs - the smallest reached the middle of the Elf prince's thigh at the dog's shoulder, and the biggest stood higher than his waist - racing toward him. The Elven warrior folded his arms and simply waited. As expected, the pack of fey Irish wolfhounds skidded to a halt about a foot from the toes of Nuada's boots, though the puppies all wagged their tails hard enough to half-knock themselves over. The leader of the pack, a red female named Flannán, approached her master and sat, offering him an adoring look from dark brown eyes.

*Master,* Flannán said. Her tail wagged once. Unlike the other dogs, Flannán was fully grown and no longer possessed the exciteability and (as she called it) lack of good manners that the pups did. So she did not even consider jumping up on her hind legs and trying to lick the prince's face.

Well... maybe a little bit. But only a little.

"Flannán," Nuada said, and laid his hand atop her head to offer her a scratch behind the silky ears.

Many faerie hounds, unlike their mortal counterparts, could speak and possessed intelligence at about the same level as Elven adolescents. The prince's hounds were known both for their beauty and their intelligence. He'd bred and trained them over countless centuries to hunt and to fight, to defend, so they had to be clever and able to handle themselves without a master's guidance.

He'd come back every couple months during his exile to see Nuala - though it was clear to him that she was uncomfortable in his company, he could not deny himself hers - and to make sure that Nils Fjøsnisse, Master of the Stables, was taking proper care of Nuada's horses and that Miyax was taking proper care of his hounds. The prince still took an active role in breeding and training both, even though his role was greatly reduced from what it had been. This habit had been one of the bones of contention between the crown prince and the king; if Nuada could be bothered to return to Findias for the sake of his beasts, why couldn't he be bothered about court events?

The answer had been obvious. Nuada loved his horses, and his dogs. He hated court functions. And because of something his father had often said. "Animals are like children - they don't understand why promises sometimes have to be broken, so be careful what promises you break to them." The king hadn't been able to fault such reasoning. At least not after the initial grumbles.

Now he looked with pride on his best she-hound and said, "I am going to need one of your pups for something special."

*Hunting? Is it hunting? It is!* The puppies cried, wiggling harder and bouncing up and down.

Nuada swallowed his amusement as one of them yipped, *Wabbits!"

*Shhh!"* Said another, which crouched down and snapped playfully at another puppy. *We're hunting wabbits.*

*I love wabbits!* Another cried, bouncing so hard and fast it was almost vibrating.

"Not hunting," the prince said firmly, and the chatter stopped. Maybe he ought to bring Dylan here, he thought. She liked dogs. No doubt the pups would adore her. But for now, he had to focus. "Not hunting," he repeated. "Guarding."

Immediately the pups went very, very still. Fifteen pairs of wide, eager eyes fixed on Nuada's face. No more wiggling. No more tail-wagging. The pack was suddenly as serious as Flannán had been this whole time. The red she-hound turned her head to study each of her offspring for a moment. Then she reached back with a paw and pushed a she-pup forward.

The pup was about the size of a roe deer, with silky fur the color of fresh milk. Her paws were large enough that Nuada knew the puppy would one day grow into some serious size. She might even be taller than her mother, whose shoulder stood higher than Nuada's waist. The dog's eyes were dark amber, the body lean and wiry, the chest deep and the head long, with a sharp muzzle. Flannán gave the puppy an encouraging lick along the muzzle and nudged her a little closer to the prince.

The puppy looked into Nuada's eyes and said, *I can guard. I am Eimh Ionsaí, but I like Eimh. I can guard.*

Eimh Ionsaí. It meant "swift attack" in the Old Tongue. Flannán named her offspring according to their strengths. Which meant this little she-hound was fast and fierce. Still... To his prized wolfhound, Nuada said, "She is still young." If she'd been a human child, she might have been about ten or twelve years old.

*She is fast,* Flannán replied confidently. *Her heart is strong and brave. Her teeth are sharp. She has good sense. She can guard.*

Nuada knelt and looked more closely into the puppy's eyes. A strong heart. He could see that in her. And good sense, which was hard to come by in a puppy. He knew his dogs and knew that this one would probably be best for what he wanted. What settled it was that Eimh did not look away from him. Instead, the pup held out a paw and said, *Shake, and it is a bargain. I will guard for you, Master.*

The Elf prince grinned and shook the proffered paw. "You'll get a little more training over the next week," he said. "When I return at that time, it will be your task to guard..." How to explain Dylan's identity to the guard dog? "My lady."

Eimh cocked her head. *Lady? A female?* Then her ears perked up and her tail wagged. *Mate?*

Oh, for the love of... well, why not? "Yes."

All the hound pups cried, *There will be new Elf puppies!* Nuada tried not to grit his teeth. The young wolfhounds started wiggling and bouncing again while Flannán gave him a supremely sympathetic look. And Nuada still needed to talk to Nils, now that he thought of it. What would the head groom say about the pups' new idea of "elf puppies?"

.

"Then we sprinkle the cheese on like this," Dylan murmured to 'Sa'ti and A'du, who watched with avid eyes as she showed them how to make pizza. Apparently the ewah children had scavenged pizzas out of dumpsters before, but the commercial stuff from Domino's and whatnot was so full of preservatives and grease that it had made them sick. Just thinking about the two children having to look for food in a dumpster made Dylan's eyes sting, but she didn't let them see that. She'd simply informed them that she knew how to make pizza that could actually be eaten by faeries. Tsu's'di had even helped her by putting the little pizza crusts in the oven and then taking them out for her. Her ripped-up arm hadn't appreciated her attempting to lift something as heavy as the cookie sheet she used for the purpose.

While the children emulated the way Dylan sprinkled shredded mozzarella cheese on the sauced little mini-pizzas, Dylan took a minute to sip from her mug of hot cider and turn on the little kitchen radio. Cheerful Christmas music came out of the speakers. She narrowed her eyes. Thanksgiving wasn't for another few days and the Christmas music was already being played. Christmas Creep was becoming an epidemic these days. Ah, well. Maybe she could find a non-commercial Christmas song that she liked a lot. She flipped through the stations and paused at the familiar wind chimes and flute music from the beginning of her favorite Celtic Woman holiday song.

"Christmas pipes, Christmas pipes,
Calling us, calling on Christmas night-
Call us from far, call us from near.
Oh, play me your Christmas pipes."

'Sa'ti and A'du glanced at each other as the a'ge'lv began to sing along to the radio. They'd never heard her sing before. Now they watched her surreptitiously from the corners of their eyes as they worked on the pizzas and the a'ge'lv went to the other side of the stove to chop fresh strawberries and bananas. There was something in a silver pot on the stove that she stirred occasionally with a wooden spoon while she sang. Both children could tell she really liked the song - her smile was really big, and happier than they'd seen it all day. And her voice was kind of pretty.

"Christmas bells, Christmas bells,
Over the hills and over the dells,
Ringing out bright, ringing out clear -
Oh, ring me your Christmas bells.

"Christmas strings, Christmas strings,
Playing that peace that Christmas brings.
Fiddle and bow, gentle and low,
Oh, play me your Christmas strings."

Dylan glanced at the Jello currently taking its sweet time melting in the silver pot on the stove. She only wanted it half-melted, but apparently it was a long, slow, drawn-out process to get it even that softly gelatinous. Oh, well. It gave her time to take care of the fruit. Once that was cut up and the Jello was as disolved as she wanted it, she could scoop it into a bowl and add the fruit and stick it in the fridge. It would be ready to eat by the time the pizzas were cooked and eaten (or, in the case of the children - including Tsu's'di - devoured).

"Now what?" A'du asked once there was enough cheese on all the sauced little mini-pizzas. He didn't want to interrupt the a'ge'lv singing - he liked it a lot - but he was really hungry and wanted to eat his pizza now. "What next?"

"Depends on what you want to put on it," the mortal replied, brushing her hair out of her face and giving the Jello another narrow-eyed look. "There's toppings in the small bowls on the kitchen table. How about we..." She trailed off as Becan popped into sight on the counter opposite the stove, looking perplexed. "What's up, Becan?"

"His Highness has returned," the brownie said. Fidgeted with his hands.

"All right," Dylan said slowly, frowning. "Is something wrong?"

"His Highness says that he requests milady's presence in the front hallway," the brownie replied. "Alone."

Dylan bit her lip, thinking. Why suddenly so formal? But she nodded and indicated the fruit and the pot on the stove. "Becan, can you do something with the Jello? I know you're gonna make pumpkin cookies, but I don't want it to go nuts on me while I'm in the other room. And Tsu's'di," she added, glancing at the youth who'd been scrubbing plates in the sink (she hadn't realized it had been a long time since she'd pulled out this specific set of dishes and they'd been kind of dusty). "Can you take a quick break and chop the strawberries till I get back?"

"Of course, A'ge'lv," the cougar shifter replied, drying his hands on a towel. He offered her a short bow and a smile. "As you wish."

She rolled her eyes at the attitude of servitude but smiled back at him. With admonishments for the children to wait until she came back to put toppings on the pizzas (in the meantime, they could snack - snack, not feast - one some of the leftover cheese) Dylan brushed imaginary crumbs from her black shirt and walked out into the hallway. As she approached the front entryway she yanked the scrunchie out of her hair and shook out her ponytail. She didn't like tying her hair back, but when cooking, it was a necessity.

Nuada watched Dylan shake out her hair so that it tumbled around her shoulders in a careless, dark cascade. She was so lovely. Even in the simple thin black shirt and black jeans, wearing the penguin socks once more, she was still so beautiful. And as she approached him she carried the scents of baking bread, autumn spices, and sweet things from the kitchen. The whole cottage smelled of baking things. Becan had said that Dylan had been baking a lot that day. Apparently she hadn't slept as long as the Elf prince had anticipated. Had she been worried with him gone so long? Was that why she hadn't slept as long as he'd expected?

"Hey," she said softly, sliding her arms around his waist once she got close. Then she pulled back as the dirk and longsword at his waist got in her way. "Whoa. Okay, then. I thought Becan was exaggerating when he said you went out armed for war." Her eyes were concerned when they met his. "Don't take this the wrong way or anything, but where have you been?"

"I went to see my father."

It was a hard and hurtful thing that the first thing she asked him, the first thing she thought to ask when she learned that he'd spent the day with his father was, "Are you hurt? Did he hurt you? Are you okay?" It told him exactly what his lady thought of the man who had sired him. Dylan reached out to touch Nuada's face. Pulled her hand back at the last minute, as if she were afraid of hurting him. Her voice quavered when she asked again, "Did he hurt you?"

"No, mo duinne," he said gently. "He did not harm me. I went to get an order of execution from him for those men."

Silvery blue eyes went wide. "What? No! That wasn't what I meant! You weren't supposed to do that! He could've... he might've... what were you thinking! Oh, my gosh, I could strangle you! What the heck were you thinking? You idiot! I told you, I'm not worth that! I can't believe you did that!"

Nuada blinked. She was angry with him? She was angry that he'd done everything in his power to see her avenged, to see justice served, without suffering the consequences she feared so much? His hands curled into fists at his side as he snarled, "I was thinking that the men who hurt you deserve to die slow, incredibly bloody deaths. I was thinking that I am sick and tired of you screaming yourself awake some nights because of what they did. I was thinking that I would do anything to stop you from hurting so damn much. I was thinking-"

Nuada cut off the words and looked away. He'd been calm on his way home from Faerie. Calm enough that he thought the storm inside him had blown over. Clearly he had been mistaken.

"Hey." Gentle touch on his arm. After a long, tense moment, molten bronze eyes met her gaze. "Hey. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to yell at you. I was just... I've been worried about you. You didn't leave a note for me or anything. I'm sorry. I just... I couldn't stand it if you got hurt because you were doing something for me."

"My father did not hurt me, Dylan."

"I know," she said. "But he might have and I just... panicked." Her eyes were bleak when she added in a whisper, "You nearly died before, because of him. He's your father and you love him, and I'm pretty sure he loves you, but that doesn't change the fact that he nearly killed you once - on purpose. So I panicked. I'm sorry. Please don't be mad." Dylan bit her lip hard enough that Nuada almost winced in sympathy. Then she opened her arms to him. "Hug?"

"Come here," he said, and gently pulled her to him. She carefully slid her arms around him and let her hands rest on the backs of his shoulders, away from the weapons he carried. The weight of her head against his shoulder comforted and soothed the violence still churning inside him. It didn't lay it completely to rest, but it helped. "I knew it was a risk," Nuada murmured as he let his fingers tangle in the dark curls cascading down her back. "But if it had worked it would have been worth it, mo duinne. As it is, I have my father's permission to go after Westenra tonight."

She jerked back so she could look up at him. "You do?"

The feral-eyed Elven warrior nodded. "He said I could choose between the four men, and execute one. I chose Westenra... unless you would have me choose another."

It was a struggle to push down the sudden desire to just spill the names and offer up the faces of the Blackwood boys and their father to the Elf prince, so that he could kill them all. Kill them all, and finally end the nightmare. But she didn't dare. She knew she didn't dare, especially now. Having already gone to the king, if Nuada executed all four of them, Balor would hurt him. He would hurt Nuada and maybe this time her interference wouldn't save him. Maybe this time, the One-Armed King of Elfland wouldn't stop until her prince was dead. Dylan couldn't be sure. So she shook her head.

Then she frowned. "You left at dawn, Becan said. Why are you just getting back now? You didn't... I dunno... get in a brawl or something because your dad only gave you the option of killing one of them or something, did you?"

"You're mistaking me for one of the Álfar," the prince replied, offering her a half-smile. "Drunken brawlers, the lot of them. Actually, I spent the majority of the day with my father." Seeing the sudden shimmer of almost-fear in those lovely blue eyes, he added, "Nothing happened, my lady. Nothing bad, anyway. It was... it was almost as if... as if I'd never gone into exile. As if the last two thousand years hadn't happened. We played chess and shared a meal and talked."

"About what?"

"You, mostly," the prince replied. "He was impressed with your... connections." His wan half-smile morphed into a smile for true when Dylan grinned wickedly. "Especially the Keeper of the Samhain Tree. That is a very important political ally to have, I'll admit." Then his smile slipped away. "I told him we were in love."

She gave him what she hoped was a syrupy smile in case the children were watching, but she took his hand and said through the link, Could he tell you were lying?

I told him I loved you, Nuada said slowly. That is not a lie.

Her mouth fell open. What?

I am fond of you, Dylan. I care for you. I've told you this before.

Her mouth snapped shut, fell open, and snapped shut again. Fondness and love are not the same thing! You can't just... just tell me you love me and then be like, "Oh, yeah, I'm fond of you, remember?" That's not the same thing! And are you sure he didn't see through that?

I am a very good actor, mo duinne. He disengaged his hand from hers to hide the sting pricking behind his breastbone. Did she have to sound so affronted about the idea of him being in love with her? Well, no matter. He'd known, ever since she'd talked to his father about why she would not marry Crown Prince Nuada Silverlance, that she had no interest in any man who did not follow the Star Kindler. He should not have been surprised.

It still hurt.

Aloud, the prince said softly, "I must go now."

"What?" Dylan blinked, temporarily puzzled by the change in topic. "Where are you going?"

Nuada reached up and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. His eyes were solemn and his face carefully blank as he said, "I must go now, sweetheart." He could see when it clicked. It did not take more than a moment. Those rain-swept eyes widened. Nuada said gently, "I will return by dawn. I promise."

"Be careful," she whispered. "Please don't get hurt. Please..."

He framed her face between his hands, cradling it with gentle strength. "You fear him. He is one of the monsters out of your childhood. Of course you fear him. There is no shame in that. But I do not fear him. He cannot harm me." He let his fingers ghost over her cheeks before his hands slid down to settle at her waist. "Do not fear for me. All right? I will be back by dawn, amháin a chara, my dear one."

Then, because the children were in the house and thus the two of them were still entrenched in the courtship charade, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to her forehead. Her hair held the mixed scents of chocolate and strawberries and night-blooming jasmine. He could feel the warmth of her breath against his throat.

"Nuada..."

"You have told me that I am your dearest friend. That you love me." He stepped back and took her hand. "Hold onto that love, Dylan, until I return."

She scowled at him. "You think I'd love you less for what you're going to do." When he didn't say anything to negate that, she balled up her fist and thwacked him in the shoulder. "You're being an idiot. If I didn't want you to do this, if I thought this was morally objectionable, I would not have given into you when you asked me for the information in the first place. I have more spine than that. If I thought what you were doing was in any way wrong, I wouldn't help you - I'd kick your butt. But you wouldn't do something morally wrong, so there's no worries. Just don't get hurt."

"And if I do get hurt?" Nuada asked.

"Then I'll knock you flat on your butt and beat you over the head with your own lance," she informed him flatly. "Then I'll hog-tie you-"

"With what?"

She mock-glared at him, and he only raised an eyebrow and offered her a lazy, sardonic half-smile. She poked him in the chest. "My bed sheets, smart guy. Go ahead and laugh. You think you're so safe just because you've got Herculean biceps of steel. But I could tie you up if I got to you in your sleep. Especially if you went and got yourself hurt like an idiot. And once you're at my mercy, I'll call Francesca and inform her that she can have her way with you."

"What?"

Dylan smirked at his wide-eyed look of absolute horror. "You heard me. She'll be really excited; trust me. She's been dying to meet you. And to get your shirt off."

Nuada stared at her. "Your sister has not met me - has not even seen me - and yet she lusts after me."

"Really strokes your ego, doesn't it, Mr. Elven Casanova?"

"I don't know whether to be flattered or horrified. Actually... yes I do. Horrified." Rather, absolutely disgusted that a human (at least, a human that wasn't Dylan) lusted after him. Nuada scowled when Dylan started to laugh at him. "This is not amusing." Dylan just pressed her face into his chest and giggled helplessly. "Your sister is..." He could not think of a word to describe her sister that wouldn't make his lady punch him again. "You would not really try to tie me up and leave me to her." When Dylan continued to laugh, he added with a bit more uncertainty, "Would you?"

She smiled up at him. "Scared?" He just looked at her. "Oh, you big baby. She's not so bad." Dylan laid her cheek against Nuada's shoulder and sighed. "You know, I don't think... I don't think you're really scared. I think you're just being silly to make me feel better. Thanks for that. I do feel better. I'm just really nervous about this. What if something happens?" She suddenly glanced up at him, wide-eyed. "What if you get shot? The security guards have guns. You can't hurt them, they're good people, some of them are my friends, but they have guns. You could get shot."

"You have no faith in me," he muttered. As if a handful of fat, lazy human security guards could do anything to him. As if they would even see him if he did not wish to be seen. Did she have no trust in him at all? "I am insulted."

"Every time you've ever gotten into a fight since I met you, you've nearly died. It's only happened twice, but still. The night we met, you were shot... what, seven times? And the night your father had you whipped, you almost died twice. Once right when I got there and a second time when the poison took effect. Every time I let you out of my sight, something bad happens. Faith has nothing to do with it; it's common sense. So I'm warning you - you come back with so much as a scratch or a bruise or a... a... stubbed toe, and I will take revenge."

"Indeed? As you are not going to tie me up as a gift for your sister, what could you possibly do to me?"

Dylan pursed her lips for a moment. Then she smiled. "Something that will absolutely horrify and disgust you to no end, Your Highness."

He arched a brow in challenge.

She took his hand and let the thought whisper through the link. If you get hurt, I'll kiss you right on the mouth. Then she grinned when he nearly choked on his tongue. See? I've found effective blackmail. A bit juvenile, but effective. She glanced over her shoulder at the kitchen. How long had she and Nuada been out here? Everything in her kept pushing to make him stay, to keep him talking just a little bit longer... but he had places to be and things to do. So she reached up and touched his cheek.

"Dylan-"

"Be careful," she said, now all seriousness. "Please, Nuada, please... just be careful. There's security guards and surveillance videos and all kinds of things. Be careful. Come home safely."

Home. Come home safely. When was the last time anyone had said such a thing to him? More than two thousand years ago, at the beginning of the war against the humans. Nuala. Soft words of love and blessing. Only he hadn't come home then. He had gone into exile instead. But now... Come home safely.

Nuada took her hand and pressed the tips of her fingers against his mouth. Dylan's eyes went soft and misty. I will, he said through their link. I shall be home by dawn. But as he moved to the front door, Dylan suddenly blurted his name. The Elf prince turned back to her. "Yes? What is it?"

"I just... um..." She'd been about to confess that she loved him, that she'd do anything if he just stayed home tonight. She suddenly had an awful feeling about this. But she knew Nuada wasn't going to stay. He'd been right - Westenra had to be stopped. And this was the only way to do it. So Dylan just mumbled, "I'll have dinner waiting. Erm, breakfast. Whichever it is when you come back." She shrugged self-consciously. "Just thought you'd want to know."

"You need not wait up for me-"

"I want to," she said quickly. Blushed. Brushing ineffectually at her hair, she smiled. "It's okay, I want to." She looked as if she might speak again, her eyes dark with some emotion, but all she ended up saying was, "Good night, Nuada."

"Good night, Dylan."

He waited until she'd gone back to the kitchen, until the gentle murmur of conversation started up between his lady and the three children in her service, before turning back to the front door. Becan locked the door behind him.