Chapter 45 - There's a Place Downtown

That Is

A Short Tale of Medley, a Kiss, Connections, Counter Measures, an Inconvenient Question, and a Prince Among His People

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Late morning light filtering coldly through the curtained windows slowly roused Nuada. The haze of the dream dissipated as firegold eyes blinked and the Elven warrior sat up, stretched the kinks from his spine. Sleeping in a chair all night was not a good idea for an Elf his age. Maybe if he were ten centuries younger.

The fingers tightly curled around his own recalled his thoughts to the woman stretched out on the futon-couch. Frizzy curls spread out across her pillow like a halo. A smile tugged at the corner of her scarred mouth. Dark lashes fanned out across her scarred cheeks. Her breathing was deep and even and there was no sign or trace of nightmare in those peaceful features. On impulse Nuada reached out and brushed back that one rebellious curl that always seemed to delight in putting itself where it wasn't supposed to be. Dylan shifted and sighed. Didn't awaken.

He'd dreamed of her, hadn't he? The Elf prince couldn't quite remember if he had, or what that dream might have been about. He had dreamed. He knew that much. But when he tried to remember that dream, there was only a deep sense of melancholy and a brief simmer of desire. Not even a wisp of memory to give him a clue.

Dark lashes fluttered briefly. Sleepy blue eyes focused on a pale Elven face. She smiled. "Good morning." A quick and puzzled frown. "Have you been here all night?"

Nuada's shrug held all the casual arrogance of an Elf prince. "I dozed off. How do you feel?"

"I feel absolutely wonderful," she said, engaging in a long languid stretch as boneless and luxurious as a sleepy cat's.

Feral eyes zeroed in on the elegant arch of her spine and the slender expanse of her throat for a moment as that golden simmer flared into something hot and caressing. Nuada wrenched his gaze to the banked fire in the hearth. Oh, he'd dreamed of her, all right. There was no way the sudden lust was a coincidence. So why could he not remember? When he strained for even a piece of that elusive dream, for just a moment Nuada thought he tasted the summer sweetness of golden honey and ripe strawberries, but that was all the prince could catch.

His lady seemed completely oblivious to the male appreciation being leveled at her, though. "Mmm. I think I'm all better." Dylan sat up and swung her legs over the side of the couch. "No fever. No headache. Throat feels fine. And I'm starving. I haven't been hungry for the last few days."

Now she grinned. Pumped her fists in the air and kicked her feet like a delighted child. "Yes! I'm not sick anymore! Which means I can take a shower without worrying about passing out! Huzzah for troll potions!" She hopped to her feet. "Going to take a shower now!"

He couldn't bite back the grin that kept trying to steal over his face as his mortal lady hustled for the corridor that led to her room. "Dylan."

She skidded to a halt at the door, sliding a little on the wooden floor in her sock feet. "Is it important? Can it wait? I really, really want to take a shower. There are not enough words in English and Gaelic combined to tell you how desperate I am for a shower. Pretty please? Can it wait?"

It could, so he inclined his head and made a shooing motion with one hand. "Off with you, then."

Dylan half-trotted, half-limped out of the den in search of the desperately longed-for shower. Nuada settled back into the chair. Something niggled at the very back of his mind. Barely a wisp of thought. Another one of those where if he tried to catch it, it would flit away and he'd never learn what it had been. Patience was needed here. Unfortunately, the Elf prince had other things to worry about. Other things to discuss with his lady once she was ready for the day. So he dismissed that flicker of a thought and focused on more important things.

Did Dylan have work today? Nuada realized he wasn't sure. If she did, it would give him some time to think. Wink's plan... was a good one. It had risks, but then, so did Nuada's original plan. Still, the cave troll's idea had fewer risks. But would Dylan see it like that? And then there was the king's threat. Balor was considering attempting to take Dylan away from him. How to prevent him without actively disobeying his father's orders? Once was already too much and King Balor was already incensed about that. Nuada didn't dare attempt disobedience again, especially so soon. Something else would have to be done to keep Dylan at the prince's side. But what?

A quick thought, there and gone before he could grasp it. The amber-eyed fae warrior merely waited. The thought returned, this time as the seeds of an idea. It would only work if they decided to go with Wink's plan of convincing the king, but... but if they did so, then it would work. Balor was old, and tired. He also cared about his people's sentiment. If Nuada could get the fae on his side of things, his father could do nothing to Dylan. And it would buy them time to... to what?

For the first time, the prince realized the full import of what he had learned of his feelings for the human woman. If he did not continue pretending to court her, he could not keep her by his side, and then what? He would be alone again. And what of Dylan? How abandoned would she feel if Nuada left her yet again? But the prince also knew he couldn't court her forever. Then what? Marry her? He could not do that, either. Not unless his father commanded it of him because then (it could be said, at least) his loyalty to the Hidden Folk would not be broken, as he'd be obeying an order from his king.

So was that the best the Elven warrior could hope for? To be forced by a vow of fealty to wed a mortal. Forced to wed the woman he loved, but wed her in name only. Sentenced to however many decades of dangerous political games by day. Cold, empty nights without passion, without the comfort of her sleeping beside him. Making her his princess, his wife. And after so many years of being forced to be the mortal princess among the fae, would things change between them? Would Nuada still be able to lay claim to the friendship and love in Dylan's heart if she ended up trapped with him?

And she would never know the joy of motherhood. Dylan's fondest dream, stolen from her. If she wed the Silver Lance and became a princess of Bethmoora, she would never have children of her own. No child in line for the Golden Throne could have mortal blood flowing in its veins. That mortality could weaken the kingdom, the people. Sap the vitality from Bethmoora itself and all its twilight denizens. If they were ever forced to wed... he could not give his lady the child she wanted so much.

The sound of singing broke the thought to pieces. It was faint at first, but sharp Elven ears could easily catch the words. Dylan sang, her voice weaving in and out with the pattering of the shower so like heavy rain on a rooftop. Nuada got to his feet and headed for her room. The door was cracked. Becan curled up on his little pillow bed just beside the door, snoring softly. Casting out with his senses, he made absolutely certain Dylan was actually in the shower before he pushed the door open and went to sit on her bed. He was just going to listen for a minute.

"You think I'm pretty without any makeup on," the mortal sang from the shower. "You think I'm funny when I tell the punchline wrong. I know you get me so I let my walls come down. They're up, then they're down.

"You're so hypnotizing.
Could you be the devil? Could you be an angel?
Yeah, you get me, so I let my walls come down.
You're gonna leave 'em falling down."

Nuada closed his eyes and smiled. Human music could not hope to hold a candle to the great ballads and songs of his people. And Dylan really could not keep in tune if she didn't have a melody to listen to. But the words to this song soothed something inside him. Maybe because Dylan was the one singing them. Or perhaps merely because he was still a bit tired. It didn't matter. He would just sit and listen for a bit longer.

In the shower, Dylan luxuriated in the wondrous feel of actually being clean. Three days of no showering had left her feeling a bit itchy, both figuratively and physically. Now she enjoyed the rich perfume of her rose-scented soap and shampoo and continued to sing as the water hammered down on her, deliciously steamy.

"Let's go all the way tonight; do it all again.
We can dance until we die. Do it all again.
Kiss me, k-k-kiss me and ignite the light.
Take me, t-t-take me and let it shine!"

Once out of the shower, she dried off and wrapped herself in a fluffy blue towel. She stepped out of the master bathroom. She was still humming the Katy Perry Medley. Smiling. Just so flipping happy to be clean and smelling nice. Then Dylan froze.

Stretched out across her bed, deeply asleep, was Nuada. Bat was curled up not on the bed, but on Nuada's feet. The aforementioned feet stuck out over the side of the bed. Bat rumbled appreciatively of his new perch and kneaded the air with little paws. The fact that the prince didn't protest meant he had to be completely out.

Well, crud. She couldn't change clothes in the bathroom - the humidity from the shower meant the door would stick. Last time she'd made the mistake of closing the bathroom door and then trying to shove it open again, it had cracked right down the middle and she'd had to replace it. And no way was she going to stand around and wait for him to wake up. It was freezing, her skin was still damp (not to mention her hair was wet), and she was in a towel! A very thick towel that covered her from knees all the way up to her chest, but still. And Nuada had fallen asleep on the clothes she'd laid out for herself.

He must be so tired, Dylan thought. A pang of worry hit her. He's been looking so run-down. I hate to wake him. Then a shiver iced its way up her spine and she had to clench her teeth to keep from squealing. Never mind. He could wake up just for a few minutes.

Dylan crept over to the slumbering Elf prince and, with one hand on a bedpost for balance, poked his booted foot with her toe. He simply grunted and rolled from his back to his side. This served to deposit an irate and supremely offended cat onto the floor. Bat hissed and stalked away, limping a little. Dylan bit her lip. Poked Nuada's foot with her toe again. Another grunt, but this time tired amber eyes opened and the prince rolled onto his back to look at whatever had dared to prod him.

"Hi," she said, clutching the towel to make sure it didn't slip down or fall open. The towel was thick, and fluffy as a stuffed lamb, but under Nuada's beautiful and intense, suddenly ivory-and-honey stare, Dylan felt just a teensy bit naked. Then the Elven warrior sat up and she felt more than a teensy bit naked. More like a whole lot naked. She clutched the towel even tighter. "You fell asleep on my bed."

"My apologies," Nuada said softly. "I came back here because I heard you singing."

She winced. "Oh. Sorry."

"No, no. I... liked it." Just as he liked the way beams of wintry sunlight through the curtained bedroom window danced golden across Dylan's skin. Her delicate collarbones and those lovely shoulders were lightly dewed from the shower. Her hair was still wet. One dark tendril clung to her scarred cheek. As Nuada watched, a drop of water trembled from the tip of that damp curl before dropping to that cream-pale skin. Feral eyes watched the bead of water slip from collarbone and down over the swell of her breast before disappearing beneath the towel. He closed his eyes and strained to keep his thoughts on something innocent. "What was it called?"

Dylan cocked her head. "Um... well, I've been singing for the past thirty minutes, so I'm not sure which song you mean." She hesitated. When Nuada opened his eyes to read her expression and find out why, he quickly shut them again to keep from staring at the way Dylan nibbled gently on her bottom lip. "Would... you like me to sing something for you sometime?"

He surprised himself by saying, "Yes." And he remembered a lullaby in a dream. Hush, child, the darkness shall rise from the deep...

"Are you going to open your eyes anytime soon?" Now she was using what he called her kitten voice - the voice that reminded him of Bat when the little black kitten's attention locked on a piece of string and he refused to pay attention to anything else until he was finished thoroughly investigating (and probably shredding) that string.

"I shall open my eyes when you are properly dressed."

Because he'd been a fool to come back here when he was still tired. Still tired, and therefore not in total control of his thoughts. He'd meant to leave her room once the singing stopped or the water shut off. Had not meant to fall asleep. Had not meant to see Dylan prodding him with her foot and giving him a tantalizing glimpse of lean, fantastically long leg silvered in places by old scars. He hadn't seen anything higher than mid-thigh, but... well. He'd learned two things: that the various scars that covered Dylan's body extended that high up both of her legs; and that no matter what happened with the courtship charade, no matter if there was no hope for anything between them, Nuada would strangle any cocksure feckless idiot who tried to put their hands on those exquisitely lovely legs.

"Well, in that case you should probably stand up. You're sitting on my shirt." He obliged and Dylan tried to dress quickly while the prince kept his eyes shut and his back turned. Unfortunately she discovered at that moment that she hadn't grabbed a pair of clean underwear, so she had to go rifling through her closet, with a hastily yelped "Don't open your eyes yet" tossed in Nuada's direction.

The Elf blew out an exasperated breath. "Are you not dressed yet? How long does this take?"

"Excuse me! It's not my fault I can't find my underpants," Dylan hissed as she tossed around for something decent to wear. When was the last time she'd done laundry? Becan wasn't comfortable washing her underthings. As an afterthought, she added with just the barest sniff of feminine disdain, "It's not like I can just grab any old thing and yank it on. It has to match."

Match what? Nuada wondered a bit desperately. The images that question produced set his blood thrumming, so he deliberately shaded his voice with a healthy dose of ire and growled, "You have one more minute before I open my eyes."

"Um, no offense, Your Highness, but you open your eyes and I'll screech like a banshee. Then I'll kill you flatter than dead."

Whatever that means, the prince thought, but his mouth twitched with amusement.

In the end, Dylan ended up screaming. But not because of Nuada. Because she found a spider in her sock drawer. Luckily she was almost fully dressed by that point, and had a tennis shoe on hand, so she shrieked once as scritchy legs made menacing little motions at her before she smashed the sleepy-from-cold black widow with the shoe. Becan gave the tiny corpse to an appreciative Bat as a bribe. Dylan had the brownie magically fetch the freshly-laundered penguin socks Nuada had bought her (Becan knew his mistress's priorities) from the drawer and check them for more spiders before she felt safe in putting them on.

"Are you afraid of spiders?" Nuada asked with one quirked eyebrow.

The look she slashed him with would've left a lesser man bleeding. "No. I'm afraid of anything poisonous enough to kill me with one bite. Aren't you?"

"Cautious, yes," he said with smug male pride. "Afraid? No."

She actually had the gall to roll her eyes at him on her way to study her reflection in the bathroom mirror.

"Dylan," Nuada said suddenly, an odd thought tugging at him. The mortal, who stood in front of the mirror trying to cinch the clasp of her golden medallion, glanced at him over her shoulder. "Did you... do you remember dreaming last night?"

The human frowned. "Now that you mention it... no. Like, at all."

She got the necklace situated and walked out of the bathroom. The Elf prince absently wondered about her apparent obsession with jeans. This pair looked exactly like the white pants she'd worn in one of the dreams that had plagued him while he'd been gone from her. The shirt was identical to the one in the dream, as well. Take what you need. He couldn't think about that sweetly whispered temptation right now. Or about how strange it was that he'd dreamed of Dylan wearing an outfit he'd never seen before that she actually owned. Had that dream been a shared one, then? How, when he hadn't been in physical contact with her? Nuada could wander his sister's dreams if he chose, as Nuala could with his own, because of the link that bound them. He had no such link with Dylan.

Then he remembered that strange, mindless panic that he'd felt for just a few moments several days before returning to Dylan's cottage. A mind-touch he hadn't recognized. A mind-touch with a strange familiarity to it. Had that been Dylan? Was a link forming between them? How?

"That's funny," Dylan continued, oblivious to the prince's thoughts. "If I have nightmares, I usually remember them in... well, horrendously vivid detail, actually. The rare times I have good dreams, I remember at least bits and pieces of them. But now I'm drawing a blank." Now she shrugged. "Huh. Weird. Why do you ask?"

He had no idea. The question had just suddenly popped into his head. "Curiosity," the prince replied.

"Oh. Okay. By the way," the mortal added as she approached the Elven warrior. There was an odd hesitation in her eyes. "About the penguin socks."

He put thoughts of odd psychic links between Elf-kind and mortals aside and raised an eyebrow. Clearly she had something on her mind. But Nuada was completely unprepared when she threw her arms around his neck and did her very best to hug the air out of him.

"I love them," she whispered, the warmth of her breath caressing his ear. The deliciously rich scent of summer roses enveloped him. "I love them so much, I love them. Thank you, thank you, thank you. They're the best." And then, miraculously, Dylan brushed impossibly soft lips against his cheek in a sweet caress that left his skin tingling. Hugged him again, even more tightly. "I adore them utterly, thank you, Nuada."

Before he could do much more than open his mouth, she'd released him and was in the corridor, heading for the den. Nuada stared after her. His heart gave an odd lurch in his chest. A kiss. A chaste one, a simple kiss on the cheek, just a friendly kiss, but... freely given. No strings attached. No trap. Just a simple kiss. Innocent.

As if of their own volition, his fingers lightly touched the spot where Dylan had kissed him. He could still smell the sweet scent of roses.

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King Balor placed his half-moon glasses on the bridge of his nose and studied the letter on his desk. His personal secretary had brought it to him as soon as he'd gone into his office that morning. Apparently a brownie had brought it to Findias from "the crown prince's mortal lady." Balor had opened it, read it twice, then spent the next half hour trying to decide whether he should be infuriated or amused. There was no way that Nuada had had a hand in the penning of that letter. It was too devastatingly courteous for his son's somewhat heavy hand. Which meant the human had written this letter.

"...His Highness had told me of the wisdom of the One-Armed King of Elfland... the prince walks a fine line between honor and duty... he seeks only to honor your orders, Majesty... you bound him to me, and he has sworn in turn to protect me until his dying breath... I am nothing but grateful for Prince Nuada's consideration... I have come to rely on him in many if not all things... he has been gracious enough to be my protector these last few weeks when life in the mortal realm called me from Faerie... we hope soon to be able to return to the royal halls of Findias and I know the prince is looking forward to seeing his family again...

"Unfortunately my time is not my own, and there are a few people who need to speak with me before we can return... any questions should probably be addressed to the Shadow Hunter Institute, care of Jace Lightwood or Clarissa Fray... Nuada was also kind enough to offer to act as my escort if I need to meet with Master Moundshroud... you must be so proud of such an honorable son, Your Majesty, as any true father would be..."

Carefully worded insults and threats veiled as compliments and bland statements. She played the game well, the prince's human. And one other thing. A handful of names mentioned as if in passing, but Balor knew it was deliberate. Very deliberate. And those names were very interesting, indeed.

"Nuada was kind enough to allow me to visit a few friends while in mortality. Lady Kaye and Lady Valiant were both very pleased to see me, and I took the liberty of offering Bethmoora's regards (as the prince's lady, of course). I was also asked by Lady Kaye to send back the regards of King Roiben of the Seelie and Unseelie Courts of New York and New Jersey, even though this was more of an informal meeting (Valiant and Kaye are old friends of mine). His Majesty King Roiben Darktithe was pleased to hear about mine and Nuada's new connection, by the way. I think you may be hearing from him soon in congratulations."

If that wasn't obvious, the Elf king was going senile. No human with the Sight would be foolish enough to claim false ties with someone like Roiben. An Elf knight that had fought his way to the Unseelie Crown, then played the political games necessary to win the Seelie Crown as well. Only for his area, but New York and Jersey covered quite a bit of ground compared to some other American-based fae kingdoms, and held a lot of different types of faeries. As for the Lady Valiant, the particular friend of the pixie-changeling Lady Kaye... the Sight-blessed human with ties to those faerie courts and to the half-human demon-slaying Shadow Hunters was also friends with Lady Dylan of Central Park.

Lady Valiant. Lady Kaye. King Roiben. Three names that carried a lot of weight in the Twilight Realm. Jace Lightwood and Clarissa Fray, two of the best Shadow Hunters in the western hemisphere. And Master Carapace Clavicle Moundshroud. The Keeper of the Samhain Tree. That one was stronger even than fae royalty.

Just how well-connected was Nuada's human lady? How tight were those connections? How far were the Other Kin of Dylan's acquaintance willing to go for one mortal? And, most importantly, were those connections now available for use by the Crown Prince?

A light knock on the study door had the king muttering, "Enter."

Nuala entered the room and sank into a graceful curtsy before her king. Balor studied his daughter. She looked pensive. Had she heard that the prince's mortal lady had written to the king? Had she also heard that the human's letter was a frostily acidic "go kiss a pig" couched in courtly language? The king fought not to rub his throbbing temple with his good hand. Attempting to use this mortal had turned out to be more complicated in the execution than Bethmoora's sovereign had anticipated.

"Father, has my brother returned?" The princess asked hopefully.

"Can you not sense him?"

Nuala shook her head, her eyes dimming with sudden sorrow. "He has put up so many shields between us that I only know he is alive, somewhere. I cannot read his mood, the state of his sanity, nothing. If I pushed, then perhaps, but-"

"Do not push, Princess," the king commanded. The use of her title was not lost on the fair-haired Elven woman. "Prince Nuada will return when he deems it convenient, or when the Butchers hunt him down and drag him back." Now he offered his daughter Lady Dylan's letter. "Read this."

Amber eyes grew wider and wider as Nuala scanned the note. "M-M-Master Moundshroud? She knows the Keeper of the Samhain Tree? How?"

"That's something I would very much like to know," muttered the king. "It appears we've greatly underestimated the mortal that has given her loyalty to the prince. I did not think to find out if she was well-connected or not. What sort of connections could a human possess that would interfere with our plans, after all? But... Moundshroud. How does an adult human know of Moundshroud?"

"But he would not interfere with us, would he?" Nuala asked. "His concern is with those mortal children born on Samhain and the power they wield. Do you think Dylan-"

"No." No, Balor thought. Humans born on Samhain were often blessed - or cursed - with the Sight, but they also possessed other gifts. Other powers. The king would have been able to sense such power in the prince's human if she possessed it. Nuala would have picked up on it when the Elf princess had scanned the mortal's mind for falsehood the night of Nuada's trial. "It is not that. Something else. Connections, not power. In truth, I am not worried about the human. It is the prince's handle on those connections that worries me. Does Nuada intend to use these new potential allies against us?"

"Nuada would not do that!" The princess protested. "My brother would never attempt to break our previous treaties with these allies. His honor would never allow it. And he is unfailingly loyal to you, Father, surely you know that! He may do things which we don't approve of, but Nuada would never deliberately act against..."

The bland look the One-Armed King of Elfland leveled at the princess spoke volumes. Nuala bowed her head. She had not told her father about the disturbing images she had seen in her brother's mind during that shared dream. She would not do so now. Her twin had said that the mortal was alive and unharmed. That had been the truth. If Nuada hadn't hurt Dylan yet, Nuala was fairly certain he wasn't going to.

As long as their father did not push him. Which seemed exactly what Balor was intent on doing.

"He needs to be brought to heel," Balor said in a voice devoid of any emotion. The princess could not suppress a shiver. "He needs to learn obedience to his king. I will not suffer a dog to bare its teeth at its master. I will not suffer my son and heir to thrust aside my orders as if they are nothing. The Crown Prince must be made to understand that disobeying my orders the first time only makes them harder to swallow the next time round."

It had to be done, the king thought. The worst thing a commander or a king could do was issue an order they knew probably would not be obeyed. But this time it had to be done. Prince Nuada had to be made to obey in all things whatsoever his liege lord commanded of him. Including - especially - regarding the human woman.

"Father," his daughter began, and Balor slashed her with an icy look. She stepped back and lowered her eyes to the floor again. "Majesty."

"Princess Nuala?" A subtle reminder that he was the king as well as her father. A reminder that her heart could not sway her now. Her counsel had convinced the One-Armed King to allow his son these past centuries of self-imposed exile. Convinced him to let Nuada's initial rebellion against his father and the treaty with the humans go unpunished and even unquestioned. But no longer. Nuada would learn obedience.

"What do you mean to do, Your Majesty?" The princess asked, dread swirling beneath the words.

Glacial topaz eyes locked with Nuala's amber gaze. The king set his half-moon glasses on his desk and made sure he had his daughter's full attention before Balor said in a voice as soft as shadow and as lethal as poison, "I mean to show him that a wise king commands his subjects' love... but if that fails, a king will settle for fear."

It took her a moment to understand. After all, what could her father possibly do that would instill fear in Prince Nuada Silverlance, the warrior who feared no one and nothing? But she remembered her brother's despair and shock when she'd told him the king was considering taking the human woman from him. A threat to Dylan then? Disobeying my orders the first time only makes them harder to swallow the next time round. What order? What commands had the king issued the prince regarding the human? Except...

"No." Spoken with sorrow and pity for the twin slowly being chained by his king's plans. "No, Father, please, that's not fair. Give him more time-"

"The only thing we have left is our honor, Nuala," Balor said gently. His face could have been carved from white marble. "If your brother's own honor does not prevent him from shattering ours, if his love for and loyalty to his king does not compel him to honor the truce with the humans and to show the proper deference to his sovereign... then we must use what weapons we possess against him. The human is one such a weapon. She is the best tool to bring him to his knees."

"And if he refuses?" The princess demanded, desperation edging her voice because of course Nuada would refuse. He might lust after the human, but his pride would not allow that lust (or the softer fondness he inexplicably seemed to feel for Dylan) to be used to force him to do anything he did not wish to do.

Or anything Dylan does not wish him to do, Nuala thought. She didn't know where the words came from, but she knew with utter certainty that they were true.

But the king's feral amber gaze was without pity or mercy when he said, "Then the crown prince will be punished for his disloyalty to his king."

.

Unfortunately for Nuada's peace of mind, Dylan ended up going to work the same day she'd managed to shake off the worst of her illness, and for the rest of the work week. She wore makeup to cover most of the bruises so she would not incur a lot of unwanted questions. He hadn't said so, but the cosmetic covering had eased the sick rage churning in Nuada's belly whenever he saw those dark smudges at her throat and the bruises on her face. He stayed at the cottage, though it made the place between his shoulder blades itch to think of Dylan out there alone without him to protect her. But Eamonn, the enemy they had truly needed to fear, was dead.

She ought to be safe enough, the prince thought. Please let her be safe.

Friday night, he was cooling down from a light workout - for once in the living room instead of the den, so that he could hear when Dylan came home - when the bolts on the front door slid back, the door swung open, and Dylan stepped into the cottage. Nuada had been in the middle of doing a push-up, but he paused now to take in the sight of her. Winter air had nipped color into her cheeks and a few as-yet-unmelted snowflakes sparkled against her dark hair. She looked tired and a little more worn than he would have liked, but happy. She enjoyed her work. Enjoyed helping the young ones who needed her.

Or perhaps she was happy to come home to him. Maybe...

"Hey! I'm home. Now let's go outside," Dylan said, brushing the snow out of her hair. "We can go to the playground. Please? Can we?"

Nuada shook his head as he went back to doing slow push-ups. "You've pushed yourself too far already these last few days, mo duinne. Maybe tomorrow. Sit down and rest for a while."

His mortal lady heaved a melodramatic sigh and said in a stage whisper, "Spoil sport." But after shrugging out of her cold-weather gear and kicking off her boots, she obliged him by curling up in the leather armchair near the hearth. Within minutes, Becan had a steaming mug of apple cider ready for her. She sipped it gratefully. "Becan, I absolutely adore you forever." Dylan watched the Elven warrior continue exercising as she sipped at the hot cider. "How many of those have you done?"

"I have one-hundred-fifty-six remaining," Nuada said. Nothing in his voice indicated he was under any strain. Dylan just watched the shirtless warrior as powerful muscles flexed with every movement. For once the long spill of star-blond hair wasn't loose or in a horsetail, but a thick silvery braid which brushed the floor as Nuada raised up once more on powerful arms before slowly descending again. Firelight danced along the smooth expanse of scarred back. Every movement showcased the strength of the broad shoulders.

And she really needed to stop staring and close her mouth before she drooled into her cider. "One-hundred-fifty-six remaining? Out of how many?"

"Two thousand," the prince replied. "Although now it's one-hundred-fifty-three." He did another, moving slowly to put more strain on the muscles. "One-hundred-fifty-two." Feral eyes surreptitiously studied the human sipping cider from a porcelain coffee mug. The mug had a kitten with a very wicked glint shining in the depths of its eyes, and the words Doom - Now in Fun Size written across the top. He resisted the urge to shake his head. Some of the oddest things amused her. "How was work?"

"Fine," she said, her eyes locked on a scar gracing Nuada's back to the right of his spine. "Why?"

"Merely curious," the prince replied. Then he frowned when a familiar piece of paper floated to where Dylan sat, courtesy of her brownie. Dylan beamed and murmured her usual response-in-lieu-of-thanks, "Becan, I adore you." The mortal unfolded the paper and began to read the words written on it.

Nuada stopped moving to sit up and study the missive. "Is that my letter?" He asked.

Dylan shot him a wild-shy glance and shrugged, but she was pinking up a little. The Elf prince got to his feet. Once at her side, he peered over the top of the page.

"It is. That's the letter I wrote you."

He reached for it. Dylan pressed it to her chest. "Hands off. No touching. I intend to have this thing framed." When he kept reaching for it, she twisted to shield it with her body and glared. "Touch my letter and I will bite your fingers."

Surprisingly, he had no doubt she meant it. "It means that much to you? Why?"

The look she gave him would have made a lesser man feel like an imbecile. "Because it's gorgeous and I love it. So no touching. It's mine. If you wanna read a beautiful courtly letter, go write another one for yourself." The look she gave the letter was soft and sweet. Nuada thought he might have blissfully traded his soul for her to look at him that way. Then she turned those impossibly blue eyes on him and smiled. "I wish I could write a letter like this. Where did you learn how?"

Now he shrugged and dropped into the chair opposite hers. "I am a prince, Dylan. And you seem capable of writing a very diplomatic letter when the mood suits you."

"Yeah, but this wasn't diplomatic. It was..." She struggled to think of an adjective she hadn't used a thousand times already. Beautiful was out. Lovely was out, too. So what could she say? The truth. "There are no words for how it made me feel. And you meant every word, didn't you?"

Eyes like warm, melting honey met and held her own. "I did."

Dylan grinned. Set the letter on the side table by her chair. "Jeez, you are the absolute greatest, you know that? You're going to make some incredibly lucky Elf girl really happy one day."

When she brushed ineffectually at her hair, the firelight glinted on the golden band around her ring finger. Crimson sparkles danced briefly across her skin. Nuada felt the weight of the other ring around his neck like a millstone. The metal was strangely warm against his skin. Time seemed to hang suspended between them as he studied her face in the dancing light of the fire. Amber glow caressed her cheekbones and mellowed the harsher scars on her face. Shadows flickered in the hollows of her throat and where her slender neck met her shoulders. She really was beautiful. How had it taken him almost a year to see that?

"Do I make you happy, Dylan?" He asked before the question had even registered in his brain. His jaw tensed and he fought against the urge to scowl. Why had he asked her that? Why did it matter? But there was a soft expression on her face that he never saw except when it was directed at him. Dylan looked at no one in just that way except him, and that made him feel...

She cocked her head and dazzled him with her smile. "You make me happier than I've ever been in my life."

He had to look away for a moment. No one - no one - had ever said such a thing to him before. Just as no one looked at him the way she did. Nuala had once, when they were young, but even his beloved twin had never told him that he made her happy. Nuada asked, "Why?"

A casual lift of one shoulder. "I don't know exactly. All I know is that when I see you, the world is right and everything is fine." Her brows furrowed as she frowned. Then she smiled again. "Unless one of us is in trouble. Then I know that the world will be right and everything will be fine since you're there and I'm with you." Her smile was faintly embarrassed now. "Stupid, I know. Pretty sappy stuff. I'm sorry. Anyway," she added, looking everywhere but at him (which was good since he was struggling a bit for composure), "I'm starving; how 'bout you? Becan probably made dinner."

Becan had made dinner, which turned out to be breakfast - scrambled eggs, toast, muffins the size of small planets, and fresh strawberries. Becan was kind enough to allow them to eat in the living room, for which his human mistress bestowed a kiss and affirmation of her adoration when the meal was almost finished. When Dylan used the word "allow" in her expression of disguised gratitude, Nuada reminded her that the brownie technically called her mistress and not the other way around. The unruffled mortal deftly drew attention to the prince's use of the word "technically."

Then she smiled, shrugged, and picked up a blueberry muffin twice the size of her fist. She took a bite. Nuada's eyebrows shot up when she lightly kicked her feet (he ignored the deep satisfaction that came when he saw she wore the smiley-face socks he'd bought her) and made a very happy sound.

"Give me some of that," he ordered. He'd already finished his own food, but the happy sound she was making had stirred his appetite a little.

The happy sound stopped. She shifted and held the muffin away from him, as if he meant to snatch it from her. "Mine."

Nuada bared his teeth at her in a smile. "Darling. You're going to share that with me." Especially if it could make her make that noise. The same noise she made whenever he was massaging her bad knee and hit a particularly lovely spot.

Darling. Every time he called her that - all two times - it sent shivery flutters through her belly and made the blood rush into her cheeks. To keep the Elven warrior from noticing her blush, she went back to her muffin while the heat in her face cooled. "Blueberry muffins are my favorite. You told me to be selfish every now and again, so I am. No blueberry anything for you today."

One slender brow quirked sardonically. "I could take that from you with no trouble if I chose, mo duinne," the prince said softly. Dylan shook her head slowly from side to side, a direct and deliberate challenge. Her lips quirked and she took a slow bite of berry pastry.

Nuala used to do that, he thought with a flash of affection. When his sister had possessed a treat he wanted, she'd often teasingly taunted him with it. "I could easily get that pastry from you if I wanted."

"No, you really couldn't." She popped another bite in her mouth. Licked a trace of blueberry juice from her index finger. A delicious heat bloomed in the pit of Nuada's belly. "Not a chance," Dylan added. "Try it and I will exact supreme vengeance on you. And my vengeance will be slow and painful."

I will have my vengeance, Your Highness. And you will not like it. At all. A faint trace of memory, there and gone again. Dream? Probably. Felt like one. With the words came an echo of amused mischief and a twitch at the corner of his mouth as his lips tried to curve into a grin. A good dream, then, whatever it had been about. A dream of careless fun with Dylan, most likely.

But he only shrugged at the foolish mortal woman who dared challenge him. Let her underestimate his ability to snatch pastries. She would learn from the mistake eventually. It had been many centuries since Nuada was a boy, but he wasn't so out of practice that a human could hope to stand in his way.

"So I've been waiting till the weekend for you to tell me," Dylan said, interrupting his thoughts on muffins and revenge. "What did Wink say the last night he was here? What had you so worried?"

And suddenly the lighthearted mood was gone. She felt it the instant the questions were out of her mouth. The honeyed warmth in his eyes faded as his brow furrowed and he turned to stare broodingly into the fire. He wasn't angry. If anything, he just looked worried. And tired. So very tired. She set dinner on the little side table by her chair and got to her feet. Nuada glanced at her as she came and sat in front of the fireplace, near enough that the heat of the hearth was just the right shade of scorching. She patted the carpet at her side. With a sigh, the prince settled himself beside her.

"Nuada, cad atá cearr?" Dylan asked softly in Gaelic. When the Elven warrior merely sighed, she laid her hand on his where it rested on the rug between them. "Inis dom - tell me. I can't help you fix it if you don't tell me what's wrong." So he told her. About Wink's suggestion to trick the king instead of the court. About Nuala's warning that the king was considering trying to take her from him. At that, Dylan went very very still. "I don't care if he orders me to stay far away from you," she said. Cold anger frosted the words. "If you want me with you, Nuada, I'll be there. He can't stop me from being with you if that's what we want. He's not my king."

"But he is mine. He could stop me from being with you," Nuada whispered. "He could order me to stay away."

She jolted. Gaped at him. "But... but you wouldn't!" Seeing an oddly bleak look in those topaz eyes, she added in a whisper, "Would you?"

Would he? The Golden Army... that was disobedience to save his kingdom, his people. Other kingdoms and peoples. He could justify that. His honor demanded it of him. But to defy his king not once or twice, but continuously, just so he could be with a woman his honor should preclude him from wanting in the first place? No.

"Would you?" She repeated, and he could hear just the faintest whisper of dread in her voice.

He could not lie to her, so he did not answer.

Dylan shifted so she could fist her hands in his shirt. "No! He can't do that. He can't just tell you to stop hanging around me. Why would he? I thought he wanted you to be stuck with me. He's the one who tried to force us to get engaged. I don't understand. Why would he go to all this trouble and then threaten to force us apart?"

"He thinks you might be a bad influence on me."

She gave him a disgusted look. "For real? That's his excuse? Do you know how many people say that about me on an almost daily basis? I thought he was supposed to be this great, wise warrior king. Not some angsty parent with no idea how to control his kids." The look he gave her was sharp with the first edge of anger. Dylan sighed and let go of his shirt. Stared into the fire. "I'm sorry. I forget sometimes that he's your father. I just hate... I hate that if he wanted to he could turn your life upside down for no reason other than just because he felt like it."

"My father will only do what he thinks is best for his people," he said softly, trying to believe it.

Gentle fingers brushed against the back of his hand. A tingling shiver pulsed up his arm. Topaz eyes sliced to that scarred face full of compassion. Dylan whispered, "And what about what's best for you?"

"You said it yourself, my lady. I am a prince - my life is not my own."

For a long while there was nothing but quiet as the fire crackled and the Elf prince listened to the sound of Dylan breathing. Her fingers on his hand let him feel the gentle pulse of her heartbeat through that small touch. There was nothing more for him to say. Nothing she could say that would change the cold, comfortless truth of his statement. Finally, however, she did say something.

"Your life sucks."

"Your life has been worse than mine," Nuada said. "And you have lived for only three decades. I have lived for more than forty centuries. When I think of that, when I think of the fact that everything you have lived through should have made you heartless and vicious but has only made you merciful and kind... my life does not seem so hard."

Now she shrugged. "My life has become much... much better, since I met you." She pretended not to see him squeeze his eyes shut and swallow hard. Instead she just said, "So. Wink thinks we should focus on making your dad think we're recklessly into each other instead of worrying about convincing everybody else at court. It might keep him from being so angry that we've been gone for such a long time. Do you think that would work? Do you think he'd be so happy about your so-called 'softening' that he'd forget about punishing you?"

"I think if my father believed me in love with you he would leave gifts of gratitude for all the old gods at every temple and shrine in Bethmoora." As he'd intended, Dylan laughed. "The problem isn't his reaction. It's convincing him of our love to begin with. He wouldn't simply accept we were in love simply because we said so."

Dylan chewed her bottom lip for a long moment as an idea slithered into her brain. He was not going to like it, not one little bit... but that was the point, wasn't it? Because the king would know that Nuada wouldn't like it, would hate it, the fact that he was doing it ought to at least shake Balor's certainty about how the prince felt about her.

So she sighed and said, "I have a thought about convincing him."

She told him her idea. His eyes went wide.

"I know! I know. But it wouldn't be so bad for you. I mean, you said... you said I was... well..." The word beautiful hung suspended between them like a filiment of spidersilk. After a long moment of pregnant silence, Dylan added, "We don't have to. It's just an idea."

A magnificent idea, Nuada thought, reckless and quite daring. It would shock the king, no doubt about that. Nuada's lips twitched as he imagined his father's face. And there were ways to play out the scenario to increase that shock. To unsettle King Balor. And beginning a battle with the enemy off-balance was the best way to start. Yes, Dylan's plan was a brilliant one. But did he honestly think so because it would actually work or because he wanted to go through with that idea for his own reasons?

Both, he realized.

"You are right," the prince said slowly as he thought about it. "I know I can convince my father of my reactions in that sort of situation. And I know we would not have to worry about your reactions."

"My reactions? How do you know that?" Dylan asked.

He just looked at her. Just looked. Then, very slowly, one ash-blond brow winged upward and dark lips curved into a smug smile. He caught her hand and raised it to his mouth. Brushed his lips across her knuckles. But this time, it wasn't a simple caress of lips against skin. He pressed a slow soft kiss to each of those slender knuckles. Let his mouth linger and his breath warm her skin. Nuada grinned when a shiver raced up her spine.

"As I said once before," Nuada murmured against the back of her hand, deliberately pitching his voice low so that it slid over her like velvet. She shivered again. Her eyes were just a bit glassy. A blush painted usually cream-pale cheeks a charming pink. "Centuries of experience and considerable skill, mo dathúil amhain."

Glassy eyes cleared, then went misty as the compliment translated in her head. My lovely one. "Okay, you're right. My reactions are pretty much guaranteed since you're the hottest guy I've ever met in my life."

The Elf prince offered her a winning smile. "You forgot to mention charming."

She extricated her hand from his grip and rolled her eyes. "Modest, too. So you think he'd buy it?"

Nuada nodded. "It would shake him, at the very least. Shake his certainty about us. Once that certainty cracks, we slip in the knife and pry the crack wider-"

"Until we break his certainty wide open," she finished with satisfaction in her voice. Drawing her knees up to her chest, she propped her chin on folded arms. "We make him think we love each other to avoid him trying to come after us for slipping the leash for so long. We play along with his courtship game so that he's not paying so much attention to us and we can find a reason why he can't force us to marry. Play along with the whole thing to lull him into compacency." Now she frowned and nibbled on her bottom lip again. "But if he orders us to marry before we find that reason, then we have to obey. But I think... I think that the love-angle will buy us more time than we would have had otherwise."

He reached out and skimmed his knuckles along the thick, silky scar that slashed down her cheek. His smile was equal parts pride in her and... was that anticipation on his face? The same sort of anticipation Dylan was sure he felt when sparring or doing any of the other things that thrilled him. A warrior's anticipation of the battle to come, of a challenge to be met.

"I told you that you were clever."

"So you like my idea?"

The prince loved it. And loathed it. He couldn't quite decide between the two. It was tantalizing. It would also be torture. The entire "love-angle," as she called it, would be absolute torture. But it would work. And this first obvious move of theirs would work as well. If they played it right, it would be the first blow against Balor's defenses, and it would be a hard blow. A decimating blow. Balor wouldn't recover from it because it would shock him so much.

"It is a fine plan. And I have a plan of my own for my father's strategy regarding attempting to separate us." Dylan cocked her head in curiosity. Nuada smiled. "The best way to cripple that little idea of his before it gets off the ground is to get our people on our side."

Our people, she echoed silently with shock and a swift catch of breath. Our side. And before. He'd said us. He'd said we. They were a team. He trusted her. She hadn't thought he would ever trust her again, but with a simple pronoun-shift, Nuada had told her that she was not the only one who understood loyalty. Not the only one who was sorry for what had happened between them.

She knew that the prince was just as careful - if not more so - with his words as she was. That pronoun-shift had been deliberate and specific. Which was why Dylan dropped her head onto Nuada's shoulder and took a deep breath. Soaked up the warmth of him and drew the feral scent of wild woods into her lungs.

"So how do we do that?"

"Simple. I do what all noblemen do when they finally catch the woman of their dreams - show her off. Have you ever been to the Troll Market?" When Dylan shook her head without lifting it from his shoulder, Nuada added, "Good. That means you'll be surprised when we get there. One thing the fae absolutely love is being admired. I expect you'll do a lot of admiring while we're there."

She jerked upright. "You're going to take me to the Troll Market?"

"Unless you object- oof!" The air rushed out of him when she threw her arms around him and hugged him hard, pressing her face into his chest. "Well, then. I take it you are excited by the idea?"

Her enthusiastic nod was all the answer Nuada needed. He would have to see if those two rusalki were still playing street corners. Dylan would enjoy their music.

.

The four litter-bearers knelt before the Golden Throne of Bethmoora, and the Jade Emperor stepped down from the brocade-swathed litter to stand before the One-Armed King of Elfland. Almond-shaped eyes like gleaming jet met eyes of brilliant gold. A thousand things passed between the king of Bethmoora and the emperor of Dilong. Questions and challenge in the slanted dark eyes. A request - edged subtly with command - to wait for the answers, glinting in Balor's gaze. Then Balor just barely inclined his head. The golden light of the King's Hall made the crown of antlers gleam darkly. Emperor Huizong also inclined his head.

"Welcome to Our Golden Hall, Emperor Huizong," the royal Bethmoora Elf said in a voice that held all the power and authority of his kingship. It held no surprise at seeing the emperor himself standing before the Golden Throne instead of mere ambassadors. "You honor Our kingdom, Our hall, and Us with your presence."

Five Dilong Elves stood behind the imposing emperor - three princes well into adulthood who wore the formal black bianfu of the Dilong military, accented with gold; a girl with the first blush of womanhood about her, who wore the royal blue, elegant silk mianfu and phoenix crown of a first-rank princess; and a very young girl in ensorceled green silk embroidered with golden cranes, whose long dark hair was bound and adorned by pale jeweled wood orchids (cleverly held in place with a touch of magic). Balor knew well the practicality behind putting young children in enchanted clothes. It certainly kept formal court clothes from dying cruel and messy deaths at the hands of their young wearers. He'd done the same with Nuada and Nuala when they were little.

These five were very dangerous for various reasons. Even though Huizong was the one who controlled them, Balor would keep an eye both on the emperor and the young royals who'd accompanied him to Bethmoora.

"We thank you, King Balor, for your generous welcome," the Dragon of Dilong said in the same voice that Balor had used. A monarch's voice. "You honor Us with your consideration." Then the emperor stepped back about two paces to allow the five Dilong royals that had accompanied their emperor to step forward.

Huizong's three oldest sons - Prince Zhenjin, Prince Gaozu, and Prince Hou Junji - offered Balor unison bows from the waist with military precision. The Jade Emperor's youngest sister, Princess Yin Mei (who was clearly there mainly to keep an eye on the vertically challenged, barely-out-of-babyhood Princess Ming Xian), helped the little princess make the proper feminine bow to this tall, intimidating, antlered man whom she had never met before.

He had eyes like her grandfather, the small princess thought. Her mother's father, not her father's father. Father's father was dead but he'd been very scary when he was alive. This king had nice eyes the color of honey. They were very kind when he looked down at her, even though his face was coolly polite. Court face, her brother Qing Long called it when their father looked like that.

King Balor and Princess Nuala made their own courtesies to these young royals. The king surreptitiously studied the three princes. If there was to be a proxy challenge over Nuada's courtship with Dylan, one of these three would be the one to battle Bethmoora's crown prince. But which one? Zhenjin, the eldest at forty-three centuries, was rumored to be the Silver Lance's equal in combat with edged weapons. Gaozu, who was a few decades younger than Nuada, was a master of hand-to-hand combat (which the crown prince also favored). As for Hou Junji... little was known about the Elf who had recently seen his three-thousandth summer. At least as far as fighting went. Would the third eldest prince be the one to challenge Nuada?

Suddenly, clearly unprompted, Princess Ming Xian looked around and lisped endearingly into the silence, "Where'th Printh Nuada?"

.

Saturday dawned bright and clear, the pale sunlight turning the fresh-fallen snow into a glittering expanse of diamond. The sky overhead was the sweet pale blue of aquamarines. Pearly wisps of cloud were kissed by the soft glow of the winter sun. Cold turned Dylan and Nuada's breath to curling steam as they made their way towards the nearest entrance to the subway.

Once they got to the tunnels, they stopped briefly at one of the prince's underground lairs for coin. They planned on getting breakfast, and he planned on finding her another gift. He hadn't told Dylan about that part yet. Knowing her, she would object to him spending money on her. At least in private. In public, she would help him maintain the image they wanted - needed - to present to the rest of the fae.

And Nuada could admit (albeit only silently and to himself) that he wanted to give her something to make her happy. Happiness, and peace, would be nothing but a dream when they returned to Findias. He simply was not sure how to give his mortal lady that happiness without the use of material things. He had never had someone tell him that his very presence made her happy before. But once they returned to Faerie, once things began falling into place, would his presence still make her happy? Would he still be able to give her that feeling that the world was right and everything was fine?

They also met up with Wink. Nuada didn't want to risk taking Dylan somewhere as dangerous as a fae bazaar without the troll at his side. Just in case. But finally they were at the main entrance to the faerie market beneath the Brooklyn Bridge.

Are you ready for this? He had to make sure, had to be certain that she was ready to engage in this battle. And it was a battle. A political one instead of a fight with fists and blades, but a battle nonetheless. They could afford no hesitation from either of them. Once the fae of the market were allowed to see the prince and his mortal lady, the pretense would have to begin and it could not stop except within the safety of Dylan's little cottage. She deserved one last chance to back out.

Eyes like the moon over Bethmoora met his own, and Dylan smiled. She already held his hand, but now she slipped her free hand around his arm to turn a semi-formal escort's stance into a far more intimate one. A silent request to let the people of Bethmoora see them not merely as crown prince and lady, but also as two people in love.

A wise choice. Nuada noted absently that it would make her seem more approachable to his people, more one of them and less other. Then, in the same words she'd used that night at court, she offered him a brilliant smile of warmth and encouragement before replying, Let's do this.

Because the charade was about to begin, because Wink knew they were going along with the troll's plan, and because he wanted to and was allowed to because of that plan, the Elven warrior cupped Dylan's cheek with his free hand. Pity he wore gloves. He would've loved to remind himself of the silken feel of her skin. Not that he would ever forget. Still...

His heart stuttered a little when she turned her face into his palm and sighed softly.

Wink grumble-rumbled a reminder that it was cold out here and if they simply wanted to gaze longingly at each other, could they please go back to their cottage and do it there instead of making the rest of the world want to retch?

Nuada slanted his oldest friend a scathing look. They made him ill? What about the besotted look that always stole over Wink's face whenever a certain rhinemaiden crooked her little finger, pursed wine-red lips, and batted those long black lashes? The mention of which made the massive troll warrior scratch at the spur of his broken tusk and glare at the gate to the market. The prince was fairly sure that with just a bit more prodding, the cave troll would have blushed.

But his vassal and shield-brother was right. It was cold - though Dylan did not seem to mind the chill inside her warm, leather coat - and this little maneuver needed to get done before one or both of them lost their nerve.

"Oscailte," Nuada commanded the gate in the Old Tongue. Open. And the gates eased back to unveil the Troll Market.

At first, none of the Other Kin doing their early-morning shopping noticed anything different. Nuada Silverlance was a common fixture of the Troll Market. He and the massive cave troll shopped there often for various supplies. Sometimes he even brought a woman (usually a lady of leisure). And because the prince was acting as if nothing unusual were going on, the faeries meandering throughout the market didn't notice anything unusual, until one of the various piskeys so numerous throughout the Troll Market squeaked the words, "The prince's lady!"

It wasn't an instantaneous shut-up-and-stare deal. Dylan was very, very grateful that it wasn't one of those instantaneous shut-up-and-stare deals. Instead, it was slow and subtle. A piskey seated atop an outdoor bar who got a good look at her squeaked something in Gaelic. The clurichaun knocking back a clear glass stein of transparent blue liquid half-choked on his drink and blinked rapidly at her, as if he didn't quite believe his eyes. And why should he? The Silver Lance striding through the Troll Market with a mortal on his arm? An ugly one, too. Other eyes surreptitiously darted from market wares to the human and Elf before going back to the items again. Sneaking peeks at the much talked about human woman that had ensnared Nuada Silverlance.

At least it wasn't hideously shockingly silent, the mortal thought with no little gratitude. The hushed chatter of a crowded bazaar made her feel a lot better. So did the solid, comforting strength of Nuada's hand holding hers and the warmth of his arm under her other hand. But she could feel those curious eyes glancing at her every so often through the early-morning crowd. Like needles pricking the length of her spine. So she laid her cheek against Nuada's shoulder as they walked through the semi-crowded market street.

Are you all right? Nuada's mental voice was gentle and warm inside her skull. You're tense.

They're all staring at us. Well, looking at us. I hate being stared at, I've got to tell you. It makes me edgy. Out of habit she offered a smile to everyone and anyone who glanced their way, even though those glances made her knees want to quake. Do you know what they're thinking?

Envying me, of course, the prince replied. Teasing her. Trying to make her smile easier, more genuine. It helped. Dylan's tense shoulders loosened a little. Feeling his lady's nerves fade away some, Nuada added, An important rule of being royal, mo duinne - never let them see you sweat. Her smile widened. Remembering that they were supposed to be pretending to be crazy in love with each other, she nuzzled her cheek against his shoulder.

Wink grumbled and put a little space between himself and the "lovebirds." Dylan laughed at the troll, but not unkindly. Like a sister laughing at a brother, the prince thought. Then she sighed. Her breath was a warm caress against his neck.

Nuada swiftly and successfully suppressed the urge to stiffen and pull away from her. It was not that he objected to Dylan nuzzling against him, or objected to the kiss of that warm sigh. Far from it. And that was the problem. He'd been right to think that this charade had the potential to be very painful for him.

When was the last time he'd gone for a simple walk through the Troll Market with a woman on his arm? A lovely woman he could relax around, whose company he enjoyed? Her hand was warm against his, even through his soft, kid glove and her leather one. Her fingers laced with his. It was oddly intimate considering it was such a simple gesture and they were out in public. The gentle weight of her head on his shoulder was familiar and comforting.

When the courtship charade ended, if it ever did... he would miss this. The easiness of it. The peace. The simple joy of being with her like this.

And suddenly, for the first time, Nuada seriously considered what would happen to him when Dylan was no longer the vivacious mortal woman that owed him her fealty. What would happen when she grew old, as mortals did. When she died.

The pain that hit him then was an icy fist in his belly. Nuada swiftly shoved it down. Down, where no one - not even Nuala - could feel it. No one could know how much the thought of losing his mortal lady affected him. No one. Not his enemies, not his allies. Dylan was a weakness anyway. But if anyone ever found out exactly how very much he would suffer if he lost her, in the wrong hands that knowledge could effectively cripple him.

Not if, he realized. When. When I lose her. Gods...

Are you okay? She snuggled closer, trying to draw Nuada back from wherever he'd gone. She'd felt the mental wandering through their linked hands like a muffled echo. So Dylan squeezed his hand just a little more tightly. Pretended to study the goblin-run stall they were approaching, which displayed various crystal figurines and little golden statuettes. You're upset, she added. She could feel him coming back to the present time and place. Am I laying it on too thick? Should I let go?

No, Nuada said quickly. Too quickly. He fought against closing his eyes. Fought not to show anyone, including the woman on his arm, the brief frisson of panic and slashing pain that sizzled up and down his spine. You are doing just fine. I was... distracted. Time to pay attention. Brief question - do you play chess?

Chess? Her amused puzzlement pushed back the clutching emotion. Um, kind of. Not really. I mean, I know how. I know the rules and such. I've never had anyone to play with before, at least not regularly. John doesn't really play, either.

Would you like to learn how to play? Play well, I mean. On my level. They were moving rather slowly, strolling rather than actually walking, but Nuada's eyes had settled on one of his favorite market stalls and he'd caught a glimpse of something very interesting. I could teach you if you like. He got her mildly confused assent as they stopped in front of the stall. A sallow-skinned Bethmoora goblin grinned and bowed to the prince and the human.

"Good morning, Do Mhórgacht," the goblin said. Then, tentatively, but still smiling, he added, "And good morning to you, mo mhuire."

Nuada inclined his head. His smile was friendly with just a touch of fondness. "Good morning, Laigdech."

Silently he gave Dylan a brief history of his relationship with the goblin. Laigdech was a toymaker who specialized in clockwork. He was a member of the Artificers' Guild. Good enough to become guildmaster in this part of the country, if he'd had the ambition to do so (which he didn't). His goblinwork pieces were some of the best, which was why Nuada used them. And there was a new collection of pieces set up at the corner of the stall shelf that had caught the prince's attention.

Aloud, the prince added, deliberately shading his voice with tenderness, "May I present my fair lady, Dylan of Central Park?"

"Good morning, sir," Dylan murmured.

The goblin studied the mortal woman with eyes as cool and dark as slate. Average height for a human. Slender, but with curves. Not like the stick-like scarecrows most humans seemed to desire in place of women these days. Thick, lustrous hair woven into a dark braid and tied with a pale blue ribbon hung over one shoulder. A blue tunic glinting with silver threads and dark denim trousers beneath a well-made leather coat. Laigdech realized he couldn't tell whether the coat was made by mortals or by a fae; a very good coat, then. Slung across wide hips hung an elegant white leather belt with a knife sheath. The crest of Nuada Silverlance was embroidered in silver and metallic blue threads across the leather. She had skin the color of fresh cream. Lips of soft coral. The rich scent of leather interwove with the sweet perfume of summer roses.

But those were not the first things the goblin had noticed about the prince's startling lady. The first thing he'd noticed was the scars. Vicious, slashing lines that ripped across what might have been, for a human, a rather pretty face. They cut across those coral lips and the cream-pale skin. Some of them dark pink, some pale as chalk. Thick and thin. The wounds that had left those scars would have been numerous, painful and bloody.

And then there were her eyes. Haunted. Ancient. Those fey-like blue eyes may not have seen all the things witnessed by the firegold eyes that gazed lovingly at the scarred face. After all, the prince had lived for thousands of years. This woman was mortal. But she had seen many things. Shadows. Secrets. She understood the darkness of the human race and the mortal realm because it had touched her. Touched her and left her with those brutal scars.

Laigdech had known Prince Nuada as long as the prince had made his base in New York - at least for the last century. The goblin had always considered himself a keen judge of people. One had to be so in order to be truly successful in business. He had only gotten better at it over the last hundred years of knowing the prince. So he was fairly certain about what he saw in those blue eyes. Perhaps that was why the Silver Lance had fallen in love with the human in the first place; because here was a woman who understood the darkness the prince fought so hard against.

My fair lady, the goblin thought. My fair lady. He found her beautiful, the prince did. Otherwise why compliment her so obviously? The softness in usually hard eyes, the tender undercurrent to the prince's usually regal voice, and the way he kept his fingers linked with hers... the Elf prince loved her. The goblin was glad.

"It is an honor, my lady," Laigdech murmured, and meant it.

"The chess set," Nuada said, drawing the goblin's attention back to retail. "That one." He gestured to a chessboard of faceted amber and white gold. A complete chess set was lined up on the board, white crystal pieces on one side and gold-cast pieces on the other. "It's clockwork. Do you have a set that requires assembly?"

"It might try your patience, Do Mhórgacht." But the goblin was already reaching beneath the counter for what the prince wanted. He'd had a feeling once he'd put the chess set together that the sheer complexity of the clockwork would attract Nuada's fancy, so he'd created another set to be assembled. "There are many very small pieces. Or do you mean to teach your lady about goblin work? It might be a little too complicated for a beginner."

Nuada flashed the human a smile that brought out a faint blush to mortal cheeks and put a familiarly feminine look in her eyes. Laigdech had a wife, and he knew what that look in a woman's eyes meant. Fluttering joy from the rush of romance. Every woman in the Troll Market knew that no one did romance like Prince Nuada.

Then the prince lifted his lady's hand to his lips. Despite the slim black leather glove, he dropped a quick kiss to her knuckles. Laigdech hid his grin when the mortal blushed more hotly.

"I would be willing to teach my lady anything she wishes to learn," Nuada murmured against Dylan's knuckles. "Anything at all." He waited a beat. Two. Dylan swallowed hard when his secondary meaning penetrated. "And I would not worry about things being too complicated. She is a very fast study."

You're killing me, here, Dylan informed him. Even her mental voice sounded a little breathless. Stop that. And I thought we were getting breakfast before actually doing any shopping. How come you want this thingie so much?

Because I enjoy putting clockwork pieces together. Do you have no recreational interests? Besides devoting yourself to your God and making trouble for poor, unsuspecting Elf princes. He felt her mental eyeroll and had to bite back his grin. She was such fun sometimes. My life does not revolve completely around war and combat training, mo duinne.

So you're a geek? Her amusement only increased when he lightly plucked the definition of the word from the outermost edge of her mind, like gently scooping up a delicate soap bubble from the surface of a pool of water. He winced inwardly at the image of scrawny boys in button-down shirts and humongous spectacles fiddling with various mechanical odds and ends while breathing disgustingly through their mouths. That's so cute. You're a techno-geek.

Clockwork chess pieces packaged and paid for, they bid Laigdech goodbye and continued on their way. Both of them had been acutely aware of the eyes on them. Acutely aware of the various Fair Folk secretively watching their every move, listening to their every word. Many of the observers were surprised to hear the human woman actually teasing the crown prince of Bethmoora about being a "techno-geek." What surprised the watchers even more was how the prince responded to the teasing: by turning to murmur his responses against the mortal woman's ear in a low voice, a warm smile curving dark lips. The Fair Folk continued to watch as the prince's mortal lady caught the delicious scents from a baker's stall.

Oh, my gosh, Nuada, Dylan cried, grinning as she pulled him with all the delight of an eager child toward the minotaur who'd only just laid out two fresh trays of baked goods for the morning rush. I am fairly certain those are snickerdoodles.

What in the world, the prince wondered, was a snickerdoodle?

Apparently the gods' gift to mortals.

As they reached the baker's stall, Dylan asked, "Your Highness, can we please pretend for the next, like, ten minutes that we're not grown-ups and have cookies for breakfast? Please?" And because they were still pretending, because they were supposed to be pathetically in love, delight and guilt wrestled in her chest as she slid her arms around Nuada's neck and gave him her best hopeful look.

The prince couldn't stop the grin that spread across his face as the minotaur tending the stall kindly turned his amused laugh into a discreet cough (though nothing could hide the Greek fae's smile). Nuada was expected to indulge his lady, was he not? Many fae who made pets of humans spoiled them shamelessly. And once the cookies were gone, if they got hungry again, they would simply go to the Drunken Dwarf, which served wonderful breakfast and lunch. He and Wink ate there often. So Nuada gave Dylan a fond look and said, "Very well, then."

Dylan immediately turned to the minotaur. Pointed at a tray of cookies sprinkled with cinnamon and sugar. "Are those snickerdoodles?"

"Indeed they are, milady."

The look she gave Nuada was equal parts gratitude and longing. The Elven warrior was fairly certain the only reason his mortal lady didn't hop up and down and squeal like an overexcited girl-child was due to the fact that they were adults (even if they were shucking such constraints for the moments it would take to devour the treats). So he said, "A dozen." And those fey blue eyes lit up like stars.

.

And who needed to be adult? Nuada thought a little wildly later that afternoon. In the last six or so hours, he'd done so many things in the Troll Market that he never would have anticipated. Had snickerdoodles for breakfast (all right, they tasted wonderful, but he was a grown man and grown men did not eat cookies, much less for breakfast). He'd agreed to try a strange concoction of shaved ice and cherry syrup they'd bought after the cookies from a cailleach bheur that Dylan said was basically a slushee (whatever a slushee was. And who ate anything made of ice in winter?).

Mostly they window-shopped, which he never did. When he came to the Troll Market he came with a purpose. Not so with his lady, apparently. They looked at jewelry (although thank the Fates, only briefly); books and illustrated scrolls from Bethmoora and Dilong; scarves of Nyame and Onibi silk; weapons both ceremonial and practical from dactyl and álfar forges; ensorceled armor from Idris; handmirrors and other ladies' trinkets of star-bright Iaran silver and gold; embroidered storytelling tapestries from the fiefdom of Roland in Eirc; intricately designed, indescribably soft Shahbaz carpets; figurines and sculptures of colored glass and bone-white porcelain from Annwn. Dylan delighted in every new item displayed by the faerie merchants, and most of the faerie merchants delighted in her admiration and enthusiasm. And Dylan didn't seem to mind the slowly thickening crowds as the day wore on, either.

They stopped at Yang's little space and Dylan admired the rai and fūjin flowers as well as the more natural blooms. The prince could admit he was wary of taking her to Erik's forge (Brünnhilde might be there). He could also admit, albeit silently and only to himself, that he was terrified of the idea of taking her to Aso's tent. What might the weaver say to Dylan? The dark-skinned Elf unfortunately knew a lot of stories about Nuada that the prince never wanted Dylan to hear. Embarrassing stories.

His lady stopped to watch a pair of tawny-maned, tawny-eyed narasimha children as they breathed haunting lullabies from ebony ring-flutes. Their young faerie lioness companion held out a woven basket for coins. Nuada tossed her a silver piece. She caught it with the basket and then offered Dylan her slim hand, palm up. An intricate red henna design of blossoming flowers adorned her palm.

"Oh, that is absolutely lovely," Dylan exclaimed, bending to get a closer look. "Did you do that?"

The young lioness shook her head. "My mother did it. She and my sister will return to the Troll Market in a few days. If you would like to come back, Mem Sahib, my mother can make a mark for you."

Blue eyes flicked to Nuada, but then Dylan had to gently explain to the lioness that as a child of the High King of the World, she wasn't allowed to accept such marks - even beautiful ones such as the henna the maiden bore. Dylan smiled and thanked the young girl anyway, assuring her that she would be back sometime to hear the lovely music and admire the pretty lioness again. Then she thanked the girl's brother and sister for the music and she and Nuada walked on.

Did I hurt her feelings? Dylan wondered.

She is a business woman, despite her young age, the prince assured her. She was not offended. Then he asked, You cannot get skin markings? Why?

Well, we can if it's a cultural thing. If I was actually from India, then I could probably get a henna tattoo. Or if I was Samoan or something like that. But just for giggles? Nope. It's not my body; God gave it to me. That's what the followers of the Star Kindler believe - that the body you're born with is a gift from Heavenly Father while on this earth, sort of like a loan, and you have to take care of it until He asks for it back according to His rules.

What happens if you get hurt? If you obtain scars?

Well, Dylan replied, smiling, as long as you didn't do it on purpose, I don't think He'd mind. I mean, He'd be sad that you got hurt, because He loves you - wouldn't you be sad if your child was injured? - but not angry or anything. That's why I'm not too stressed out about what He thinks of most of my scars. It's only the ones that are self-inflicted that worry me at all. But God forgives, and I have long since repented, so I'm not too worried. Oooh! Persipan apples!

Completely caught off-guard by the abrupt change in topic, Nuada was yanked along toward the sweets-selling stall.

Dylan also made sure to approach various street performers and admire their skills. A cinnamon-skinned yakshini danced amidst a swirl of crimson and amber veils, needle-sharp teeth bared in a feral smile, her forked tongue flicking in and out to taste the air. Fauns coaxed melodies from honeywood panpipes. Sinuous scitalis dancers wove and swayed like the dazzlingly bejeweled snakes they shifted into. At least half a dozen children surrounded a gravel-skinned puckwudgie telling a story of the infamous and wily Coyote, the Trickster.

There was even a golden-eyed ifrit, looking like a genie straight out of the Arabian Nights, manipulating multicolored fire into deliriously beautiful shapes like blooming roses, fierce dragons, and butterflies with dazzling fiery wings. When they fluttered around the human woman, the flames held none of the blistering heat she'd expected. Only the soft warmth of sunlight.

When they stopped at a street corner to watch a young Nyame Elf juggling blue, black, and white cloth balls full of sand, Nuada even stepped off his dignity long enough to show Dylan that he, too, knew the trick of keeping several items in motion in midair. She in turned surprised him with a bit of sleight of hand, making one of the small pennybit coins loaned her by the juggler disappear in her palm and then reappear behind Nuada's ear.

"Where did you learn to do that?" Nuada asked her as they headed for the corner where he'd seen the two rusalki during his last visit to the faerie bazaar. The resonating melody of a hardingfele and the eerie tune of a seljefløyte hummed on the air.

"John taught me," she replied, and some of his good mood soured.

It seemed that Dylan and her twin were as wrapped up in each others' lives as he and Nuala had once been. John had taught her sleight of hand. John used to tickle her breathless when they were children playing in the snow. John always took care of her. And it was John, her oh so precious and so very human brother John, that had hurled obscene accusations in Nuada's face. You just watched. You let it happen. Insolent, blackhearted human whelp. How could he be kin to her? How could he be Dylan's twin?

He'd been distracted, the Elven warrior thought later. And perhaps Wink had been distracted as well. How else had it happened? How else had they managed to lose track of her long enough for everything to happen? But in that instant of distraction Dylan disappeared from his side. He had an instant of surprise. A slice of unease raking down his spine. He started to turn his head to scan the crowded street.

A duet of victorious howling wrenched his attention, followed by a wolf's snarl. Nuada heard the harsh trumpet of an enraged swan. The sound of a frightened child crying. Antiphonal, vicious feline snarls. And a familiar mortal voice yelping in pain.

The the feral-eyed Elven warrior was slicing through the crowd of merchants and their customers. Wink bulldozed a wide path behind him.