Chapter 51 - Take Me Out Tonight

that is

A Short Tale of Watchers, Repentance, Establishing Boundaries, Goodbye, a Recurrence, an Invitation, Something Odd, Entertainment, and a Question

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Cold, emerald-glamored eyes watched the little cottage amidst the green. For just a moment, the icy crimson-slitted black gaze of a gancanaugh flickered through the fey illusion as rage surged through faerie veins like poisonous iron. He shouldn't have still been here, stars curse him to the blackest pits of Annwn. He should have grown tired of the stupid human cow long before this. It had been a month. Yes, she was good at showing a calm face to Bres, but Dierdre was growing hellishly impatient waiting for Silverlance to get finished playing with his annoying mortal toy and return to Bethmoora. When would she get a chance to play with him?

"You shouldn't be here, milady," a cool voice murmured from the forest behind her. A shadowed figured leaned against a tree. Cool gray eyes regarded the venomous fae woman in her sultry black dress and scarlet cloak, her curls spilling around narrow shoulders in a cascade of snow-flecked spun garnet. "His Highness Prince Bres would not like it if he found out you'd ventured into the realm of mortals without an escort."

Dierdre scoffed. "I'm not his possession, Iolo," the gancanaugh snapped at the fae lord. "And I want to set the first layer of my trap now, to make sure the Silver Lance is ready for what I have in mind when he returns. I could have done this in Findias if he was actually there, but he isn't. He's here. With her," Dierdre added with a feral snarl. "Now shut up and leave off, Huntsman."

Iolo arched one soot-black eyebrow before turning and fading away into the woods once more. While his master worked with Prince Bres, he had to put up with Lady Dierdre and her childish ways. Once that alliance was over, he could be done with all of the petty antics of his master's allies. Elves were so juvenile.

The gancanaugh woman bared her teeth in a savage smile as she pulled the dream spell out of the pocket of her blood-red velvet cloak. So Nuada had not yet tired of his little pet. It mattered little, once you got right down to it. In fact, perhaps it was better this way. Better because the human's pathetic protective enchantments - the wooden gate of white oak, the elder trees planted every so often along her garden walls, the dark green rosemary bushes - were less of an obstacle to laying a dream spell than the prince's room being warded against such magic. Once Nuada returned to Findias, Dierdre would have to settle for using her own poisonous wiles on him. Which was why she was here to begin with.

She studied the woven dream spell in her black-gloved hand. This one was different from the others. There was no silver thread for memory or scarlet thread for anger. Only blue for nightmares, black for dread and madness, white for grief and heartache, blood-red for violence, and burgundy for lust and sex. Thirteen knots for a dark purpose. Silken cord, for a silken trap. All the threads soaked in the glistening venom of the dangerous and fey Love Talkers.

Bringing the knotted spell to her poison-slicked lips, Dierdre breathed the words to activate the spell, her lips so close to the threads that they brushed the silk in a mockery of a kiss. Magic slithered through the the threads. Swelled in the gancanaugh's palm like a toxic bubble slowly expanding. With a swift pop of release, the bubble ruptured and enchantment swept toward the cottage amidst the green. The protective charms around the house were as nothing in the face of the dream spell. The magic washed over the human dwelling, slowly seeped inside it, and settled therein, as heavy and sticky as black mud.

"Let's see how you like that, Silverlance," Dierdre said softly. "When it becomes too much for you, I'll be waiting."

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Rivulets of fear-sweat worked as well as being doused by a bucket of ice water to shock Dylan out of a half-remembered dream of her screams and rivers of amber blood, Nuada's cries of pain and the salt of mortal tears. Shoving at her sweat-stringy hair with a hand that shook, she struggled to focus on the real, the now. Struggled to focus on something other than the memory of Nuada being tortured in her dreams.

Please, no, she prayed. Her breath came in ragged gasps that seared her throat. Please don't let that happen. Please. Moundshroud's warnings and her own fears throbbed through her skull. She could still hear the crack of the whip as it bit deep into Nuada's back. Please, Heavenly Father, I beg You, please.

Dylan swallowed hard as warmth slowly seeped into her body. Everything was all right. Well, maybe not all right, but close enough that she didn't need to worry right that minute. Everything would be fine. She was okay. Nuada was okay. They were both all right, everything was all right.

Except for... except for....

Warm soft lips on hers. Gentle. So very gentle. His arms around her, different from any other time before. She'd trembled in his arms as he'd whispered that he wanted her. Her. No one else. He chose her. Kissed her. Loved....

Someone else.

The reminder crashed down on her, wrenching her back to reality. What was she doing, daydreaming about something so pointless? She had more important things to worry about, darn it. What time was it, anyway? How long did she have before she had to go into work? A trembling hand picked up her cell phone from the piano bench beside the sofa-bed where she slept. Dylan glanced at the readout and the worst of the sharp pain pulsing in her chest fled to the back of her mind.

Oh, crud, she thought, hauling herself to her feet using the piano bench. Her knee threatened to buckle as the cold air and stiffness from sleep threatened to lock it. She leaned against the piano for a moment, forcing the stiff joint to bend until she could actually walk. I'm gonna be late for work. Crud, crud, crud! Super crud! Crud-tastical!


Then she paused. Wait... I don't have work today, do I? She sank back onto the sofa-bed and tried to think through the haze of exhaustion fogging her thoughts. Today was Wednesday, but she'd cleared her schedule the day before, right? Because Nuada had left to go and face Westenra and she'd waited up for him. She hadn't wanted him to be alone when he came back, not after facing off against that sort of nightmare. No work meant she could sleep in.


Oh, good, she thought fuzzily, and slumped back onto the sofa. Even as utter weariness dragged at her eyelids and nearly glued them shut, she managed to get one more thought through her head before she fell asleep. I'm probably gonna sleep all day. I hope Nuada... can handle... the kids....

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Golden eyes snapped open as night began to descend. Memory came flooding back, battling briefly with the wisps of nightmare before Nuada came back to full consciousness. His first thought upon waking echoed hollowly in his skull. She loves me. The second was, Where is she?


He found her sound asleep on the sofa in the music room, shivering a little beneath a blanket. A second blanket had slipped to the floor. Nuada brushed it off and carefully draped it over her. After a few moments the shivering stopped. She didn't stir. Had she truly been up all the night before, waiting for him? He could not recall a time when someone had waited up for him that way. The thought sent warmth curling around his heart and inflicted just a brief twinge of irritation. She constantly hounded him about sleeping and eating properly, and then neglected herself in favor of looking after others. They would have to talk about that at some point.


Nuada sighed and left the room, closing the door carefully behind him so as not to wake her. She never slept enough. They would have to discuss that; they would have to talk about a lot of things, to be honest. Such as the events of the previous night. The kiss, the confession. What it all meant. But until then, he had some errands to run, and Dylan needed to sleep. They could speak once he returned.

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She woke only briefly, still physically and emotionally drained from the last few days. Consciousness only stayed with her long enough for her to eat something, drink some water, and read the note Nuada had left for her on the refridgerator.

Gone to run some errands. I shall return soon. Try to stay out of trouble.

No soft words, no endearments. The note was clear and succinct, straight to the point. If she hadn't been so beastly tired, Dylan might have been worried about that. Instead she stumbled back to bed and slept until dawn.


The Elf prince returned on the edge of the pearly-gray light of false dawn. He, too, was tired. Bone-weary after the ordeal of the day before and the journey through the sick mind of his lady's enemy. Unsure, in a way he disliked immensely, after the events of the night before. Would Dylan regret what had passed between them in the cold light of the new day? When she woke, would she still look at him with that same affection and trust? He didn't know. Was almost afraid to find out.


He looked in on the children first. They sprawled across their respective surfaces in the den, sleeping the death-like slumber of exhausted children. Perhaps he and Dylan had been abusing Becan, forcing him to deal with the ewah cubs while the prince and his lady dealt with other matters. Well, there was no help for that. Perhaps once they returned to Findias, Dylan could spend more time with them.


Before trudging to the bedroom, he looked in on Dylan as well. She was still asleep, but her face no longer bore the signs of brutal exhaustion and nightmare. He wanted to go to her. Wanted to reach out and brush his fingers across the satin-soft curve of her cheek. Feel her breath warming his skin. But he would wake her if he did so. So he only closed the door and went to bed.

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In the morning, early winter sunlight creeping through the windows, Dylan limped down the hall to her room and knocked perfuctorily on the cracked door before pushing it open. Nuada lay sprawled on his belly across her bed. She knocked once more, a bit sharply this time, and sleepy golden eyes blinked open and half-heartedly glared at her.

"Danu's mercy. What, woman? Do you have any idea what time it is?" He reminded her so much of John in that moment, John when as a kid she'd had to wake him up for school and he'd been a complete grouch-potato, that Dylan actually managed a smile. Nuada scowled at such loathsome cheer so early in the morning. She could sympathize. Knowing him, he hadn't been asleep long.

"Actually," she replied, hustling toward her closet and giving nothing away by tone or expression, "I do. It's eight-fifteen. I have to meet a patient at nine-thirty. I have less than an hour to get ready before I have to leave. I have to hop in the shower, and I didn't want you to snap awake if I have to trot out here to get dressed, wearing nothing but a towel since my bathroom is the size of a spitwad and the humidity is terrible. We've been there, done that, even bought a t-shirt."

"Fine," he grumbled sleepily, and grabbed a pillow out of the chair beside the bed. By this time, Dylan had collected underthings, her rainbow toe-socks, jeans, and a shirt. She started to make her way toward the bathroom. "I will not look. Now let me sleep." And the crown prince of Bethmoora covered his head with the pillow.

Just before zipping into the bathroom, Dylan tossed over her shoulder, "You know, it's a good thing I trust you or I'd have actually made you get up and go somewhere else to sleep."

A muffled snort issued from beneath the pillow. "You and what army?"

But she'd already hopped in the shower.

Once in the safety of the white and blue tiled cubicle, she sank into her shower-chair and stretched out her bad leg. The water was shockingly cold because she hadn't waited for it to heat up. Icy needles drove into her knee and she winced. Grumbling under her breath, she pulled down a bottle of soap. She never showered standing up anymore. Her leg wouldn't allow it so soon after waking up. Getting up from the shower-chair would be a pain in the kiester, but she could handle it. She could handle just about anything... except last night.

As soon as the thought managed to flit through her head, she finally registered the guilt in her chest and knew exactly where it came from. I'm sorry, Heavenly Father, Dylan prayed silently as the water began to warm up, driving away the cold. I shouldn't have let him kiss me like that. I know that necking is against the Law of Chastity. I'm sorry. It won't happen again. I'll talk to him. I don't think he actually knew we weren't supposed to do that, so it's my fault.

She knew some people might have thought that a bit silly; something as PG as what Nuada had done being called necking in the first place, much less that such a thing was forbidden by her faith. Her sisters had often told her that kind of thinking was prudish. But honestly, what would've happened last night if Nuada's gentle nip - and he had been gentle - hadn't frightened her?

Dylan remembered whispering, I trust you. Also remembered him begging her not to say such things, whispering that she shouldn't trust him with this particular thing. And she knew exactly why, now, in the light of day, without that enticing shivery feeling blurring her faculties. Because if she gave Nuada free reign to do as he wanted - which she probably would have, if he'd asked for it, and thank heaven he hadn't - they would've ended up in bed together. And that was entirely unacceptable.

I'm so sorry, Heavenly Father, Dylan said silently, and a tear spilled down her cheek. Regret for the transgression, but also sudden nerves because she wasn't sure how Nuada would take what she had to say (her last - her only - boyfriend hadn't been receptive at all to the boundaries placed around their relationship by her faith). Dylan swiped the tear away and sighed. I'm okay. Anyway, it won't happen again. I'll make sure. I promise.

Once out of the shower, shivering in the chill as cold water trickled down her spine even after she was dressed, she poked her head out to peer at the prince stretched out on the bed. "Are you asleep?" She asked.

"Yes." The word came out sounding more like a bear growling than an Elf speaking, but Dylan shuffled out, attempting in vain to clasp her medallion around her neck. Popping into the chair beside the bed, she gave up and dropped the necklace on the bedside dresser so she could deal with her socks instead. Her feet were freezing.

Her cell phone chimed. Nuada bear-growled something else from beneath the pillow about "odious contraptions." Dylan saw that Ariel, her secretary, had texted to inform her that she would be at the cottage in about twenty minutes.

So much for breakfast, Dylan thought, stuffing on her socks. The phone chimed again, and the psychiatrist smiled wanly at the second text. Ariel was bringing food from the local Farmer's Market, just on the off-chance that her boss hadn't had a chance to eat breakfast yet. The younger woman had worked for Dylan for more than three years; she was more like an executive assistant than a secretary. Luckily for Ariel, Dylan wasn't exactly demanding. Her only extravagance was getting a ride to and/or from work during the week when John couldn't be had.

Dylan hastily texted her secretary back and informed her she'd be out when Ariel arrived. It was a thirty-minute drive to the office. That meant if Dylan was going to be on time, she had to be out the cottage door and through the Park's gates by the time the other woman's rust-bucket of a Chevy truck pulled up.

Another chime let Dylan know Ariel had gotten the message.

"Could you turn that hideous thing off?"

She'd never heard him so grumbly before. He sounded just like a growly boy. As soon as the thought fleshed out in her mind, Dylan smiled. Nuada was actually relaxed enough that he didn't feel as if he needed to hide how tired he was. She imagined this was probably how he sounded with Wink when the prince had had too little sleep, as well. It meant he trusted her. But all she said was, "I thought you were asleep," as she pulled on her boots. They still had to talk.

One bleary golden eye peered out at her from beneath the pillow. "Even A'du'la'di could not sleep through such a racket."

"Are you lucid?"

Nuada blinked at the lack of amusement in Dylan's voice. He'd only been teasing. Nuala often said when they were children, before the wars and before she had pulled away from him, that he was as testy as a wasp-stung bear in the mornings if he didn't get enough sleep. But somehow being in Dylan's very comfortable bed, in the cozy little stone cottage at the edge of the Park, soothed the exhausted irritation and made it possible to jest with his lady. It seemed she was not in the mood, however.

"Lucid enough," the warrior replied, forcing himself to full wakefulness. His tired body begged for mercy but he ruthlessly denied himself. He wanted to ask Dylan if something was wrong... but that would have been foolish. He could tell simply by looking at her that something was amiss. Once again he thought of the bittersweet pain her confession of love had wrought in him. How she'd responded so eagerly to his lightest touch, to his kisses, two nights ago. Was she regretting that now? He said nothing, however. Merely waited for her to speak.

She picked up her medallion and let the chain slip and slide through her fingers, a nervous gesture he'd never seen her do before. Her hands were shaking. When he glanced down at her feet, he could tell she was scrunching her toes, even through her boots. For some reason she wouldn't look at him.

After a long moment, feeling inexplicably nervous, Dylan said softly, "Nuada... what happened last night... or the night before, I mean... it can't happen again."

An interminable silence. Tension strung out between them, and still she couldn't seem to bring herself to glance his way. Instead she focused on the flickering coin-like glitter of her golden medallion. Her hands shook with nervous tremors.

"I see," Nuada said. That was all. No questions, no demands for an explanation. Just two words that conveyed absolutely nothing. For just a moment Dylan was terrified that he would get out of bed, pack his things, and leave again. He sounded so similar to how he'd been the night of their argument. Was he angry?

"It's not that I didn't like it," she hastened to explain, her words sounding weak even to her own ears. But liking didn't even come close to describing the fluttering warmth and happiness that Nuada's arms around her and his kisses had left in their wake. And the rough-velvet caress of his fingertips across the scars on her stomach still sent shivers down her spine. Which was the problem. "I just... we can't... I mean...."

This shouldn't have been hard. She had to follow the Law of Chastity, end of story. She'd made a covenant, a sacred oath. Surely Nuada, who was so honorable and valued promises so highly, could understand that. So why did she feel so nervous about this?

Because she had no idea what he would think, what he would do. Because she didn't want him to think... what? That she was toying with him. He'd talked to her before about how so many women at court came after him because of his station. He'd told her of women who tried to play games, tried to make him feel things for them before attempting to use him for their own ends. She never, ever wanted her prince to feel as if he had to worry about such things with her.

"Is it because...." The prince's voice was as soft as a shadow. Dylan hadn't known Nuada could sound so unsure. "Because I frightened you?"

Her head whipped around and she stared at him. "No, Nuada, no. Of course not." He hadn't frightened her; the ferocity of her reaction to him had. There had been that instant of flashback, that lightning-strike moment of mind-numbing terror, but that hadn't been at him. He couldn't think that. And besides, that wasn't even the crux of it, anyway. The main issue was her; her vulnerability to his longing meant that she absolutely had to stick to the rules she lived by. "No, it's just that you're... I think you're... I mean, physically, you're just really, really-"

"Hot." The corner of Nuada's mouth quirked a little. "Yes, I know."

Dylan rolled her eyes, suddenly feeling more at ease. He was teasing her. He knew she was nervous, and he was trying to make her feel better. Was it any wonder she adored him?

"Your pride in this fact apparently knows no bounds, my love. Anyway," she added, missing the look of sweet pain that flickered for a moment in Nuada's eyes, "the point is, you are very attractive. Very. And I have no real sexual experience of any kind to draw on here. No kind of defenses or anything. Until last night I'd never really been kissed except by that drunk idiot at my prom that I told you about and that doesn't really count because that was like being kissed by an inebriated dog."

The Elf prince nearly choked on a laugh.

She nodded, smiling a little. "Yep - teeth, tongues, and drool. He lacked your skills. So the thing is, if you wanted to, you could kiss me probably once and turn me into a puddle, to which you could then do whatever you wanted.

"I know you wouldn't," she added quickly. "I know you wouldn't do anything I wasn't comfortable with. My point is, I am very comfortable with you. You're so... gentle. And sweet and careful and just... I can't even begin to describe how amazing you are and how grateful I am that you are just so amazing. But because of that, when I'm around you, I want so many things that I shouldn't. And it's really important because of that, that I follow the Law of Chastity at all times or we're going to end up doing something that's going to get me in serious trouble. I don't necessarily mean sleeping together, but... well, there's just a lot that could trip me up. I know you probably think this is all ridiculous, but I covenanted with the High King of the World when I was eighteen to obey His laws and I have to. Does that make sense?"

She'd been saying all of this to the medallion being twisted around in her trembling fingers, but now she finally shot the Elf prince one wild-shy glance to gauge his reaction. He was staring up at the ceiling, hands behind his head, expressionless. Dylan bit her lip. "Nuada?"

"I am thinking," he replied, then jerked his chin toward the door. "You should eat breakfast."

"Are you angry with me?" She asked softly.

One brow winged upward. "If I was, would you back down from this?" Dylan shook her head. "Go eat, Dylan. I need to think."

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As pathetic and juvenile as it was, she found she had a hard time forcing herself to eat more than a few bites of the scrambled eggs and toast Becan made for her. She was too distracted to even be surprised that there was breakfast this early. Usually Dylan had to fend for herself in the mornings before work. But instead of thinking about that, she sipped absently at a glass of orange juice and tried not to fidget as she shredded her toast into crumbs. The children were up, but were playing in the den, so she didn't have them to distract her.

She jumped when Nuada's hands came to rest lightly upon her shoulders.

"It's only me," he said gently.

"You scared the living daylights out of me," Dylan mumbled, and took another sip of juice. "Done thinking now?"

"I have a few questions." He took the seat diagonal from hers. His knee brushed against hers beneath the table. "Why is this so important to you?"

"You know I value my commitment to the Star Kindler," she said. "This is what He has asked of me. I promised to do it. You should also know I take my promises very seriously." She hid her hands under the table. For some reason they were still trembling just a little. Sometimes that happened when she was nervous - an involuntary reaction brought on by prolonged use of thorazine and other anti-psychotics - but she didn't want Nuada to see it. "And I don't know if you know this, but I consider... I consider sex and kissing and pretty much everything in between to be very special. It has a profound effect on people, or it should. So I wouldn't do that with just anyone. Although you're not just anyone," Dylan added, feeling her cheeks heat.

There was a wealth of amusement in the Elven warrior's voice when he replied, "Oh? Am I not?"

She gave him a look that spoke volumes. "No, Your Highness, you're not. As if you didn't know that already. You know how I feel about you, but you also know how much I value keeping my promises."

And she knew the consequences of breaking that particular promise. If they ever... ever slipped up like that, it had the potential to ruin her life. The certain - and the worst - resultant problem would be that it would cement her emotional attachment to Nuada and quite probably deepen it. Once they were no longer together... how much worse would the separation hurt then? And how much would it hurt if she ever got to experience that kind of intimacy with Nuada, only to see or hear about him sharing it with someone else?

Oblivious to her thoughts, the Elf prince inclined his head in acknowledgment. "I do know that. Which leads me to another question. You owe me two acts of service. You swore that no matter what they were, you would perform them. What if I asked you to do something that broke your Law of Chastity?"

"It's not my Law," she replied in a voice that was a mere thread of sound. "But breaking my word to any fae is a seriously dangerous thing to do. I know you wouldn't hurt me, but other fey things would more than likely hunt me down and eat me for not keeping that promise. So if you asked me for something... sexual, it actually wouldn't break the Law of Chastity, because it's not a choice between obeying or being forsworn. It's a choice between obeying or getting killed. There's only one thing forbidden me in a situation like that, and it has nothing to do with chastity."

"Convenient." The prince noticed she said nothing about what such a request would do to the two of them, to the trust between them. But he knew. Such a request would shatter her faith in him like crystal beneath the blow of a goblin's hammer. But she had agreed to the service because she trusted that Nuada wouldn't abuse that trust.

"Fair," she countered. "He is a God of justice and mercy, after all. I don't know how it applies to someone being tortured, though. I think that would be a situation-by-situation thing, and you'd probably have to get permission or something, but I don't actually know. It's not exactly something that gets brought up in Sunday School."

Nuada huffed a laugh. "I would imagine not." Catching her eye, he added, "You thought I would be angry over this. I'm not. Merely curious. What, exactly, is allowed? Things did not really go very far that night."

Dylan's mouth dropped open. "Speak for yourself. The stomach-touching was a big no-no. Neck kissing, also not okay. Not to mention it gives me the tingles," she added, then clapped a hand over her mouth. "You didn't hear that. That did not come out of my mouth." Was he secretly laughing at her? She was afraid to look and find out. "Anyway, mouth-kissing is acceptable. Hand-holding. Hugs. Basically everything we've been doing up until our little makeout session-"

"I'm not familiar with that term."

She blushed hotter. "Passionate kissing. Everything up until last night is fine, and closed-mouth kissing on the lips is okay. Anything else is banned until further notice." Anything else had the power to turn her into a giant puddle of goo. Gooey-ness needed to be avoided at all costs.

"I see."

Again with those toneless words. It made her nervous. "Is that acceptable to you, Your Highness?"

The prince arched a brow. So formal suddenly. He reached around and captured Dylan's hand, which trembled a little in his grip. He brought it to his lips and brushed a soft kiss across the knuckles. "I will admit I'd hoped for a little more... but this makes things far more interesting for us both." He offered her a crooked half-smile. Then he added, more seriously, "And you must know I will always respect what boundaries you set, mo duinne. I would never force you into anything, no matter how innocent I deem it, if it makes you uncomfortable. Never."

Dylan nodded and smiled. "I know. I trust you. I don't know why I was so worried; I feel kind of silly now. Thank you, Nuada." Her hands no longer shook, so she gently extricated her hand from Nuada's grip and picked up her medallion. Despite the lack of trembles, she still couldn't get the stupid thing clasped. "Ugh. For real? I always have a hard time with this. My fingers are so fat."

The Elf prince got to his feet and came to stand behind her. He plucked the necklace clasp from her fingers. "Allow me."

It took him barely half a minute to hook the tiny chain-link onto the hooked clasp, but in that time the very tips of Nuada's fingers continuously hovered over Dylan's skin at the back of her neck, tantalizing with the promise of a real and solid touch. It was so much like when she'd challenged him to seduce her using only his voice. She hadn't believed he could do it - and truthfully, he hadn't. He'd used his voice and his breath, his warmth and his nearness, and the temptation of a single touch which she wanted so that same nearness wouldn't drive her crazy.

Now, with the heat of his body at her back, warming her through her shirt, she fought a shiver. Those deft fingers easily adjusted the chain, sliding the cool gold against her neck and over her collarbones. Dylan could feel the gentle rhythm of his breath ruffling her hair. Almost feel his heart beating steadily in his chest which was so close to her body. And he wasn't even actually touching her. He only touched the chain and the necklace clasp.

Then Nuada allowed his fingertips to graze the soft silken column of her neck. Dylan's breath caught in her throat. Those gentle fingertips whispered over her pulse. Ghosted over her skin in the barest hint of a caress. His only excuse, Nuada decided as he focused on memorizing the feel of Dylan's skin under his fingers, was that he was exhausted. He'd been asleep for perhaps fifteen minutes - slumber had proved elusive while doubts and second thoughts and futile wishes had plagued him - when Dylan had woken him. That was his only excuse as to why he couldn't seem to stop touching her. Why he traced delicate, intricate patterns like phantom knotwork along the side of her neck and listened to her struggling to breathe evenly. He did that to her - he did. He made her breath catch. Made her heart pound. Not only that, but she allowed him to do it. And by the stars, her skin was so exquisitely soft....

"Is this all right?" Nuada asked in a murmur. "Do you want me to stop?

She had to swallow a few times before she managed to say, "Um... I don't... it's okay. I just... you're turning up the charm now, aren't you?"

"Hmmm. Perhaps a little," Nuada replied. She could hear the smile in his voice. He brushed his lips against her temple and felt the shiver whisper down her spine at the tantalizing caress. "But I shall stop if you wish."

Dylan was definitely on her way to being a nice big puddle.

"I think you should," she mumbled, and he slowly pulled away. "Okay, a little lightheaded now. Your fault. All your fault. Stop that. You're killing me." Nuada's smirk was one-hundred-percent male satisfaction. Once she got her equilibrium back, Dylan rolled her eyes. "You're terrible." Then, biting her lip, she added, "So... what do we do now? I have to go to work in a few minutes, but when I get back... what do we do?"

"How do you mean?" He leaned a hip against the kitchen counter.

Suddenly nervous again, she shoved at her hair. "Well... I know that you... I know you don't love me, and I don't expect you to. I'm just wondering... I'm just wondering what you expect from me, I guess. I wonder how... how you feel. I mean, you said I was... I...." She groaned and dropped her face into her hands. "Do you feel awkward? Because I totally feel awkward whenever you're not being all suave and charming, and if you felt awkward I would feel so much better because I feel really really... I don't know what to do here. I mean... we're completely screwed, aren't we?"

Raking her hands through her hair again, still damp from the shower, she added, "We can't be... we can't really be anything to each other, can we? Even if we wanted to be. I mean, I... I never thought you would feel anything for me other than hate or, if I got really lucky, tolerance. So the fact that you can look me in the eye and say that I'm dear to you is just incredible to me. I'm lucky. But what about you? Do you even... do you want to... I don't even know what I'm trying to ask. You know what, never mind. I'm exhausted. I'm not making any sense. Just ignore me."

Nuada opened his mouth. Closed it again. Chalk it up to tiredness, but he hadn't followed practically any of that. He frowned, then opened his mouth again to ask for clarification. Her phone chimed. Nuada glared at the irritating device and muttered something uncomplimentary.

"I have to go," she said softly, snagging his attention back from whatever foul fate he was currently devising for her phone. "I'll be back tonight."

"I will be here," Nuada said.

She met his eyes, warm honeyed gold as soft and melting as sunlight. Did he know she was still afraid she would come back one day and he would be gone? Vanished into the wild woods of the Park again, the swirling whiteness of the snow covering his tracks. Did he know how much the possibility of it terrified her? But she didn't ask. Only smiled a bit wanly and went to get her outdoor gear.

At the door, as she reached for her coat, Nuada caught her hand. Startled, Dylan turned to him. Very gently, giving her time to protest, he pulled her against him. One arm slid slowly around her waist. His free hand came up to cup her cheek. The rough-velvet of his fingertips brushed along the scars banding the satin softness of her cheek and the delicate line of her jaw. The breath shivered out of Dylan on a sigh.

"May I kiss you goodbye?" Nuada's voice was a gentle murmur so close to her ear that his breath caressed her skin.

"I...." Dylan tried to swallow the giddiness tickling in her stomach. It was so strange to think that he would ask this of her. That she could have this. Strange and wondrous. Even if it was only just one more kiss, or a dozen, or a hundred, it didn't matter. So she said the only thing that felt right. "Yes."

His lips touched hers with a sweetness she hadn't expected. Last night, even that final kiss hadn't been so feather-light and gentle. There had still been an urgency, a need under the veneer of Nuada's self-control. Now he let his mouth linger against hers, a whisper of promise as soft as a sigh. He breathed her in. Tasted the longing within her, and let her taste his own. Dylan twined her arms around his neck and melted against him. He was so solid and warm. She ignored the soft ache in her chest at the thought that this couldn't possibly last, couldn't possibly go anywhere. It didn't matter so long as the Elven warrior kept kissing her so sweetly. She could be content just with his arm around her and his mouth on hers.

"Mo mhuire," he whispered against her lips. Nuada lightly caressed her cheek, the edge of her jaw, the side of her neck where the pulse fluttered like a trapped butterfly. It was a struggle to keep his hand above her shoulders when what he wanted was to ghost his fingers over the scars on her belly, the silvery marks on the nearly-smooth planes of her back. He wanted so much to trace that spill of whiteness above her heart.

Instead he kissed her again. He'd never realized until last night just how tempting Dylan's mouth was. Especially her lush bottom lip. It took an extraordinary amount of control not to nip at it now. Every instinct urged him to ignore the constraints of his station, his duty to his people. Ignore everything that kept him from showing her just how much she meant to him. But he would not. Because he couldn't, and because she'd asked him not to. So he only murmured, "Mo duinne."

Was she imagining the slight tremor in his voice? Imagining the way his gold-dusted eyes lingered on her face as if drinking in the sight of her? His gaze caressed her face, and something shimmered between them, as intangible as light and breath. A wish and a fantasy. It felt like there was something just dangling out of reach, something she wanted desperately that was just waiting for her to reach out her hand and grasp it.

"Mo airgeadach," she breathed, my silver one, wishing she could stay for just a few more minutes and be in his arms. Was this what it meant to be in love? Never wanting to leave the presence of the one who held your heart? There had never been anyone who made her feel like that before. Even from John, who meant the world to her, she often needed a break. Just some time to be by herself. But not from Nuada. She didn't want to leave him, not for a moment.

Unfortunately, real life was calling, so she only said, "Tá grá agam duit, Nuada."

I love you, Nuada. He closed his eyes and took a deep and shuddering breath to draw the scent of her into him. Something treacherous pried his mouth open and the words began to unfurl on his tongue before he could stop them. "Dylan, mo duinne, I-"

Her phone trilled, shattering the moment. The Elf prince growled something and tightened his grip on her a fraction, but when she pulled back a little, he let her go.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. Nuada liked the slightly ragged way she spoke, as if his kisses had stolen her breath away.

What he did not like was the huskiness to his own breathing. Didn't like that he had almost slipped up and confessed the truth of his heart. He had to get control of himself around her. He couldn't let this yearning, this adoration, affect him so much. Even though her lips beckoned, inviting him to kiss her again.

Dylan added, breaking his thoughts, "I have to go, my ride's here. I'm sorry."

"Be careful," Nuada said. He compromised on not kissing her mouth by brushing his lips over one of the scars gracing her cheek. Her soft sigh sent a frisson of awareness down his spine. "I shall see you tonight."

Her smile when the Elven warrior released her warmed him in ways he couldn't afford to think about or feel, but when she walked out the door, the absence of her left him cold.

.

"My sweet," Bres growled, and Dierdre jumped nearly a foot in the air. The gancanaugh whirled to see the Fomori prince watching her with cool eyes. "I was growing lonely without you, my love," he said softly. "Two visits in two days to the mortal realms have left me feeling bereft." Then, frost coating his words, he demanded, "What are you doing here?"

Affecting her customary pout, the gancanaugh replied, "Laying the foundation of our plan, my love. Playing with Silverlance's mind. His suite is warded against magic, so all we can use once he returns is my poison. I want to play a little." Slipping her arms around the prince's waist, she cuddled against him and smiled. "I've been so bored in that boorish castle, watching you flirt with that stupid tart." Thoughts of Nuala had Dierdre's pointed teeth flashing in a vicious parody of a smile. Running her fingers up and down Bres's chest, she added, "What am I supposed to do with myself, Your Highness?"

"And just what exactly is this little ploy of yours supposed to do?"

She shrugged. Resting her forehead against the Fomorian prince's shoulder, she said with a chilling smile, "Oh, you know. Shake his certainty. Push him closer to madness. Give him those violent and violating nightmares that you were so clever in coming up with. Exhaust him. If he's tired and unsure of himself, he'll be more likely to make mistakes. And," she added, edging her voice with just a hint of whine, "I'm so bored, Bres. He's sleeping right now, since his little whore left a few hours ago and it seems our prince didn't sleep well last night; I cannot possibly imagine why." Her sarcasm was unmistakeable. "So please let me play with him, please?"

Bres arched an eyebrow. Dierdre should have been content to play with him. Was she beginning to prefer the Tuathan prince over the Elf prince of Ciocal? Or was it simply that her lover was dangling the Silver Lance on a string in front of her and keeping him out of reach, making Dierdre want Nuada more and more?

"Use this one as well," the Fomorian ordered instead of playing along with her childishness. He pulled a tiny vial on a chain from around his neck and handed it to her. The contents glittered with smears of ruby and emerald against shining obsidian black. "You wish to push Silverlance to the breaking point? Pour this onto the snow on the threshold of the garden and then make your way back to Findias. The spell will soak into the ground and last much longer than our little knot-spells. It will take a while to manifest, but as it does... well. Perhaps I shall leave it as a surprise for you. And we will talk about your disobedience when you return."

"Disobedience?" The gancanaugh demanded. "What do you-"

The prince's fingers fisting in her hair, wrenching her head back, silenced her protests. He leaned in until his lips were only a whisper away from hers. "You make no moves that I do not approve first," Bres snarled. Dierdre went pale. "You're privileged to share my bed, but I am in charge of this campaign. Not you." He gave her hair a brutal yank that had tears of pain gathering at the corners of her eyes. "Do you understand?"

"Y-y-yes, Your Highness. Forgive m-me."

He brushed a kiss across her trembling mouth. "Forgiven. And we shall... discuss your punishment when you return."

Your punishment.... Dierdre whimpered.

.

Night had fallen on the world, gnawing with teeth of ice and darkness, when Nuada bolted awake. His hand trembled when he shoved at the sweat-dampened hair hanging in his face. Every shuddering breath seared his throat and chest. Nightmares. Fates, he hated them. Hated to seek rest, knowing that when he finally fell asleep he would be thrust back into a hell where he was forced to bear witness once more to bloodshed, to slaughter, to treachery and butchery and grief. Or worse... nightmares of his mother, of his last memory of her. Dark visions of Cethlenn, sometimes dreams of Nuala, or worst of all, Dylan.

He was unsure which was worse - those dreams where Eamonn or some other tortured her, hurt her, and he was forced to watch... or when he was the one to shed that mortal blood or break those fragile bones. When he was the one to put that betrayed look in his truelove's eyes before being forced to watch her die.

After the nightmare during that first week in the cottage, where he'd drawn his knife and spilled just a few trickles of Dylan's blood upon waking, he'd managed to get enough control over himself that he never accidentally attacked her again. That did not mean he no longer suffered such nightmares. The peaceful dreams of Dylan were rare and precious. The ones that ended in her death were far more common.

Nuada sighed and swiped at the moisture on his cheeks. It wasn't that hot in the cottage; why, when she haunted him in slumber this way, did he always wake up in an icy sweat? He sighed again and pushed the question from his mind. He had things to do tonight before Dylan came home from work. When he'd been drifting off to sleep again after she left, an idea had taken root in his brain. Something he could do for her, something special, before they returned to the dangerous games in Faerie. But he had to make arrangements first. Focusing on those arrangements would help him shove the nightmare far, far away.

He hoped.

Out in the kitchen, he found Becan sipping from a floating wooden spoon that held a taste of whatever simmered in the pot on the stove. The brownie glanced over and smiled. "Milady has not returned from work yet, Sire. And Lady Peri came by this morning and picked up the children. She'll bring them back at seven-thirty, unless my mistress asks for them back sooner."

"That is well, then. Becan, I need you to run a message for me to Annwn." Nuada held out a slip of paper. "To King Arawn Death-Lord. And another to my father. Can you do that?"

"Absolutely, Your Highness. Give me but a few minutes to finish up and I'll deliver it at once."

.

Becan had gone and returned with an answer by the time Dylan came home from work, limping a little from the cold and the late hour. Her brownie floated a cup of warm cider to her as she gratefully sank into one of the living room armchairs. Nuada lounged near the hearth, sharpening the edge of his sword, thoroughly enjoying both the heat from the hearthstones and the sight of Dylan relaxing after a day at the office.

She wore a button-down white shirt. He'd never seen her in something like that before, and he'd been too tired this morning to really notice. Besides, it looked entirely different now that she was relaxed. Unlike this morning, when she'd kept it buttoned almost to the collar, now the top four buttons were undone. The silky ivory material framed pale, scarred flesh and the top few inches of her blue undershirt. A single lock of dark hair whispered against her cheek before falling to brush over the delicate collarbones. The firelight danced over her skin, mellowing some of the harsher scars. Shadows gathered at the hollow of her throat.

For a brief moment Nuada thought of the way Dylan's breath had caught in her throat when he'd brushed his lips against the side of her neck. Remembered the fleeting taste of her skin, the way her heart had raced when he'd touched her. Remembered that sweet, sweet sound at the first touch of his mouth to her vulnerable throat.

The Elven warrior wrenched his gaze away before his thoughts ran away from him. How was he supposed to keep his thoughts (and thus his actions) chaste if he kept staring at her this way? Letting his eyes devour her, as if he'd been starving and was finally allowed the taste of food?

Instead he stared at the Christmas tree. He hadn't noticed it until this evening, which told him just how tired he'd been. It was, impossibly, beautiful. He loathed the human concept of decorated holiday trees usually; mortals seemed to gravitate between cutting down a healthy tree for no viable reason whatsoever and then throwing it away after only a couple weeks, or purchasing noxious ones of metal and plastic. Nuada knew of no one else who had a living tree growing through their floor. Of course the Elven prince realized such a thing would only work if supported by magic, but it was still a brilliant idea. And the bright green fir did look lovely with its faerie lights and its glass and ivory ornaments.

Movement caught his eye, pulling his attention away from the Christmas tree - Dylan tucking her hair behind her ear. Then her fingers went to the medallion around her neck. Fiddling with it. Dragging his eyes back to her slender neck and the scarred expanse above the neckline of her undershirt. Was it possible she was doing this to him on purpose? He immediately dismissed the thought as ridiculous; not his lady, who still blushed whenever she caught sight of the feral-eyed Elven warrior training shirtless. Besides, she seemed completely oblivious to his scrutiny at the moment. So why was he having such a difficult time keeping his thoughts away from what had happened the night before, and everything it meant?

She was in love with him. By the stars, he'd never have dared hope for that. But that knowledge made him yearn even more for things he could never have. Sitting before the fire, letting his eyes linger on Dylan's face and form, it was so easy to imagine this was more than just temporary.

"Did Peri come by and pick up the children?" Dylan asked after a while, gently breaking the silence. "I texted her this morning and asked her to come by."

"I was asleep, but Becan said she did."

"Good," she said, smiling. "It sucks that I missed her - she's one of my few sort-of close friends from Faerie. And her son, Bean, is adorable. He and A'du will get along very well, I think." Then Dylan made a face. "Or they'll fight like a pair of wet cats over Kate. Hopefully not." Dylan's smile returned as she sipped her cider. "And through some fluke in my scheduling, I don't have any appointments tomorrow. I don't have the day off, per se - if there's an emergency, I'd get called in - but I've got another day off. I think Ariel had a hand in that, though. My secretary," she added at Nuada's inquiring look. "Sometimes when Ariel gets worried about me for whatever reason, she'll surreptitiously clear my schedule for a day. I hate it when she does that. I get bored at home doing nothing."

Nuada gave her an affronted look. "I beg your pardon? I happen to be at home, my lady. You most certainly would not be bored with me."

Dylan grinned. "True. You're very stimulating, Your Highness."

"So, Dylan, you are free tomorrow?" The prince asked, a thought sudden blooming in his mind. "No responsibilities, nothing?"

His lady looked startled for a moment. "Wouldn't it be easier to leave for Findias right at the start of the weekend instead of tonight?"

"Leave for... mo duinne, that wasn't what I meant. I want to take you somewhere else."

"Somewhere else? Like... out?" She blinked when he nodded. "You mean, like... like a-"

"A date," Nuada said, pausing for a moment in stroking the whetstone along the keen edge of his sword. He arched a brow. "If my lady is willing, that is."

"You're asking me out on a date?"

Did she have to sound so utterly incredulous? Had he not made his intentions clear the night before, and this morning? Unless the king so ordered, their relationship would not progress beyond courtship, but he did mean to do Dylan honor by courting her as she deserved. "I am. I want to take you somewhere, to see something very special. If that's all right," he added when she didn't respond right away. Her eyes looked more than a little wet. "Dylan?"

"Yeah," she whispered. Then, more firmly, "Yeah. I'd love to go on a date with you. Absolutely." Dylan laughed a little, as if surprised at herself. "It'll be fun."

The prince frowned. "Are you crying?"

She scoffed, though without scorn. "No. That would be silly, which even you must agree I'm not. I've just never been asked out on a date before." She shrugged, but Nuada noticed her surreptitiously brush at her cheek with one hand. "So where are we going? Or is it a surprise?"

He got to his feet. "A surprise."

"Okay, when are we going?"

"Well, after you finish packing, we'll leave."

Dylan blinked at him. "Packing? Why... wait, right now?"

Nuada sheathed his sword and offered his lady his hand. When she took it, he drew her smoothly to her feet. "Yes, right now. It will take a while to get there. King Arawn has loaned me the Chariot of Annwn for the trip, but he means to take it back Friday evening, after we return to Findias." She opened her mouth to ask how he'd managed to get the otherworldly Welsh king to agree to such a thing again, friend or not, but he beat her to it. "I have my ways. You'll want to pack two full changes of clothing."

Still Dylan hesitated. The prince wondered suddenly if it was because, by telling her to bring spare clothes, it was obvious that this would be an overnight trip. Just the two of them. Alone together, in a way different from how they were now. Was that what gave her pause? Did it entice her, the thought of being alone with him out in some imagined darkness? Or did it simply frighten her?

And now he was thinking of terrified eyes staring up at him as the light faded from their depths, as hot blood smeared his hands and Elven ears caught the sound of Dylan's heart struggling to keep beating. Eamonn, somehow crawled out of his grave and laughing as Nuada begged the light of his heart not to leave him. Nightmare. Only a stupid nightmare. He would never hurt Dylan, never. Gods, not ever. He would rather drive a blade into his own heart than use it on her.

"Nuada. Hey." A mere thread of sound that pushed back the memory of death and purged the sour taste of half-remembered dread from his mouth. Nuada looked into Dylan's concerned face. She reached up and lightly touched his cheek. "Are you okay? Suddenly you went far away. What's the matter?"

"You know you are safe with me, Dylan," he said, forcing himself to ignore the echoes of tenebrous dream. "Don't you? If you do not wish to go with me, I'll not force you. I can only ask you to trust me."

She rolled her eyes at him. "I do trust you. Didn't I say that the next time you asked me that, I'd beat you with your own lance? I'm pretty sure I said that. Anyway, I'm just wondering why I need a change of clothes and whether they should be nice clothes or-"

"Rough clothes. Jeans, perhaps."

One dark brow quirked. "You're advocating me wearing jeans? I thought you hated jeans."

Against his will, an image of Dylan doing the dishes in her favorite pair of worn black jeans came to mind. He disliked the modern clothes humans seemed to prefer, but it was different with his lady when she wore certain things. One of them was jeans. Especially that pair. Which should have disturbed him, but it wasn't his fault when the sable denim showed off her hips and her incredibly long legs, and suddenly he could imagine the feel of the denim under his hands as he rested them on her legs, and underneath of that....

Nuada's fingers twitched. "They would work best for what I have in mind." Which was something completely innocent, though if his twin had taken a look into his thoughts at that moment, Nuala certainly would not have agreed with that assessment.

Dylan cocked her head and gave him a concerned look. "Are you okay? You sound funny all of a sudden."

"I'm fine. Go on."

In her room, Dylan found a bag already packed sitting on her bed. A brownie was catching his breath slumped down next to it. His human mistress folded her arms and smiled down at him. "Becan. I can pack my own bags, you know. And carry them."

"But, milady, your arm," the wee fae protested. He gestured to the bandage that covered her half-healed arm, which made her right shirtsleeve a few shades darker than the other. Whatever curative brew Nuada had poured on those ragged tears that day at the Troll Market had sped up the healing, but not enough that it didn't still hurt a bit. "You shouldn't strain it."

She didn't bother biting back a sigh. "Oh, Becan. I adore you."

Her brownie smiled.

.

It was as they went through the little garden gate that Nuada felt it - a sticky sort of cobwebby feeling, as if he'd passed through a thin sheet of tar. Dylan felt it too; he could tell from the way she looked around as if searching for something, brow furrowed, running her free hand up and down her arm as if to wipe something away. Dylan stepped closer to him, frowning. Her grip on the strap of her overnight bag tightened perceptibly.

"What was that?"

"I don't know," Nuada said softly enough that only she would be able to hear him. "It felt like magic. Perhaps Becan has reinforced the wards around the cottage?" But somehow the prince knew that wasn't it. The enchantment, whatever it was, had felt malevolent but unfocused. Not directed at specific people. He certainly felt no ill effects from the brief contact. Firegold eyes cut to the mortal at his side, who offered him a smile. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah," she said, shrugging. "Just felt weird. I don't think it's Becan. Maybe it's an angry dryad or something."

"Or something," the prince muttered. He took Dylan's free hand in his, suddenly very eager to be in the safety of the Chariot and out of the open. Inexplicably, he felt eyes needling at his back, as if someone were spying on him. On them. "Come on."

Although she didn't really need help getting into the carriage waiting at the entrance to the Park, she let Nuada help her anyway. The warm pressure of his hand lightly grasping hers as he took just a bit of her weight sent a tingle up her arm. And once it came time to withdraw her hand from his grip, he was slow to release her, letting his fingertips glide over her skin and sending her pulse racing. That brief moment of contact dispelled the last lingering unease. When Nuada followed her into the carriage, she gave him a look that she sincerely hoped was exasperated and not starry-eyed.

The mortal asked, "Were you doing that on purpose?"

Dark lips curved into a smile that just skirted the edge of self-satisfaction. "Doing what?"

Silver-washed blue eyes narrowed at the prince looking far too pleased with himself. Well that was a huge, resounding yes. Dylan debated kicking him - all right, it would just be a little bitty nudge with her toe - in the ankle, since no one should be able to look that smug and that attractive at the same time, but decided against it in favor of leaning her head on Nuada's shoulder when he took a seat beside her.

Adult she might have been, but it took a lot of self-restraint not to squiggle with happiness like a teenager that she was allowed to snuggle Nuada this way. Then, just as the carriage slid into butter-smooth motion, she realized something.

"You know... I should've brought a book," Dylan muttered. "You said this was going to take a while, and I didn't think to bring a book. Now I'm gonna be bored. Rats."

"I beg your pardon?" One knife-thin brow winged upward. "What is with this sudden idea that I am boring? Many women find me quite arresting, I'll have you know." His lady's mouth twitched before she smoothed her face to blankness. He shifted away from her. "Are you laughing at me? Believe me, darling, I can be quite entertaining. You thought so yourself last night."

"Okay, then," she replied, folding her arms. "Entertain me."

Oh, she was playing with fire. Didn't she know better? Instead of giving into the desire to seriously play back, he reached up and gently tugged a stray curl. "Or you could entertain me."

"I could, actually, you're right," Dylan admitted, scootching just a bit closer. "That might be fun." She took his hand in hers. Lightly traced along the length of each of his fingers. Her touch was as light as a whisper. "I'm trying to think of something entertaining to do."

"You know, simply because I kissed you does not mean you're allowed to manhandle me."

"Are you complaining?" She actually sounded concerned at the idea. "I can stop if you want me to."

She started to pull away, but he caught her wrist in a gentle grip. "No. No, I simply wondered why do you do it."

Dylan bit nervously at her lip. This was one of those subtle relationship-rules establishing things, she was fairly sure. "I guess I just... like touching you. I guess. And the way I see it - though correct me if I'm wrong - we're basically dating. Right?"

Nuada inclined his head.

"If you want me to ask permission to touch you, I will, but you haven't asked it of me yet, and we touch all the time. I mean, I'm not going to try and jump on you or anything without asking, but for something simple, I would presume this is okay unless you tell me otherwise. So... is this okay?"

Wondering if he would regret it, Nuada said, "It is."

He returned his hand to her keeping, and she continued stroking his fingers and tracing the lines of his palm. Dylan had never really had a moment simply to study the prince in any sort of depth. Now she took her time memorizing the texture of his skin, mapping out the paths of golden blood flowing beneath the surface.

No foppish nobleman's hand, this. The years of training and war had roughened it with calluses and marked it with a few small, death-white scars. The fingers were long, like an artist's or craftsman's. His knuckles were marked with their own sprinkling of tiny scars. A very light dusting of blond hair covered the back of his hand.

She could feel his pulse as steady as a drum at the center of his palm. Could feel the inherent strength in his hand. Could imagine - could remember - the feel of his hand against her skin, cradling with that same gentle strength.

"Are you still thinking of something entertaining?" Nuada asked, his senses zeroing in on each feather-light stroke of Dylan's finger. Her touch seemed to draw along every nerve, sending tiny sparks shimmering through his blood. She was drawing him in despite himself, inch by slow and torturous inch. Oh, he could pretend that each caress did not torment him. He could pretend that this mortal did not seduce him with her every breath.

But pretense was all it was. Maybe this trip had been a bad idea after all. Could he truly resist the temptation to kiss her as he had the night before?

"Actually," she said, "I am. I've already thought of something."

The kiss of her fingertip against his palm, following the rough-etched groove of his heart-line, sent fresh shivers of heat darting beneath the skin. Her other hand cradled his, leaving his own hand open and vulnerable to her slow inspection. The slender fingers of Dylan's other hand curled against the sides of his wrist. His blood hummed through his veins, pulsing against the almost-intangible grasp. It took him a moment to ensure he wouldn't stutter when he asked, "Reading my palm?"

"No. Something much, much better." Moonlit blue eyes met gold-kissed ivory, and scarred lips curved into a slow smile as her fingers grazed the sensitive flesh at his inner wrist. A tremor went through him at the brief contact.

Nuada struggled to keep his breathing even and managed to echo, "Better?" What could possibly be better - or worse - than this torture? She was doing this to him on purpose. She had to be. A silken lock of her hair slid against his outstretched fingers. They twitched just a little, reflecting the sudden urge he felt to tug the ribbon out of Dylan's hair and tangle his fingers in those shadow-soft curls.

"Oh, yes." She very carefully curled his fingers into a fist. That mishievous smile widened into a grin. "Rock-Paper-Scissors, let's go."

He blinked, not sure if he'd heard her correctly. "What?"

"Oh, you heard me right," she said, still grinning, shifting back a little. "Don't even pretend you didn't. What's the matter, my love? Scared you'll lose?"

Little imp. I cannot believe she did that to me. Firegold eyes narrowed dangerously. "As I have told you many times, Dylan - you should never challenge an Elf."

"And as I've told you, my prince, you don't scare me." She shifted into the proper stance for the upcoming battle and raised her fist. "Ready?"

A challenging lift of one dark brow forced the Elven warrior into a similar position. At least no one would find out about this. Except perhaps Nuala. Which he could deal with, since he and his twin had often played this game as children - though they'd called it something else. Oh, but she would pay for toying with him this way. Yes, she would.

He inclined his head, and his lady grinned. "Okay, then. Rock, paper, scissors."

.

How many times had he lost? Nuada realized with some shock that not only did he not know, since he hadn't kept track, but he didn't care, either. Sometimes Dylan had won. Sometimes the prince had. It was better than playing against Nuala; almost invariably, such contests had ended in a stalemate. Instead of truly viewing it as a challenge, he'd simply enjoyed the experience. Somehow Dylan made it so easy to simply enjoy things.

Now Nuada brushed back a few stray curls as his lady sighed and shifted in sleep. Though a cushion kept Dylan from laying her head directly in his lap, her hand half-curled against his knee was oddly comforting. The dim interior lights of the carriage cast intriguing shadows across her skin. Every so often her fingers flexed, like a kitten kneading the air in her sleep. The feel of her skin warmed him, even through the silk of his black trews. Her other hand was held lightly trapped between his thigh and the cushion. Her fingers just peeked out from under the pillow. The tips rested against the palm of his free hand. Though that little bit of torment had been a few hours ago, the Elven warrior could still feel the echoes of her fingertips skimming over his flesh like phantom fire.

He drew his fingers through her hair, a bit surprised that the tangle of curls parted easily for him. Sleep smoothed her features. Left her looking as peaceful as a sweetly-dreaming child. Using Elven skill, keeping his touch as soft as a whisper of moonlight, Nuada let his fingers drift along the scars that covered so much of her face. They weren't like his, rough and rigid and pale. Instead they were exotic stripes of silver, coral, and pearl. Dylan seemed to think that, underneath the scars, she was pretty. Somehow she had yet to realize that the scars only made her more beautiful.

"Do you have any idea what you do to me, mo duinne?" Nuada whispered so softly only the wind might hear him. "Can you possibly understand what it is, to love and hate in equal measure? I loathe your entire race... and need you almost past enduring. Somehow you are inside my thoughts, under my skin, a part of me. How have I fallen so far?"

His eyes and his fingertips followed the rose-pale scar that started just at the corner of Dylan's eye and ran beneath her ear. He'd heard some nobles at Bethmoora whispering about how that particular scar dragged at her features, pulling at her left eye more than a little. He'd heard the word unsightly bandied about. Heard the courtiers snickering over their little joke. Yet when he looked at this razor-thin mark, how it affected her looks was not the first thing - or even one of the first things - that came to mind. What came to mind was how close the initial wound had come to the delicate veins and arteries just beneath the scar. A little more pressure on the knife, a little more force, and she would have bled out before he'd arrived that night. He would never have known her. Never have tasted this delirious pain that hurt so sweetly.

What would his life have been like without her? Bleak. Joyless. The same empty grayness of preparing for the coming war that so few believed in, day after day after day. No hot chocolate or bedtime stories with the children or snowball fights. No faerie tales before a fire or conversations about faith and life and hope or comfort after vicious nightmares. No torturous caresses or impossibly sweet kisses. Would he have to return to that when the courtship charade ended? Because as long as the king didn't command them to marry, eventually the charade would end. Could he bear that? Could he bear to say goodbye to the woman he loved, who loved him?

Perhaps... just perhaps... they could have a part of their dream. Just perhaps, they could wed without the king's order. They could be together for those few years granted to mortals before she was out of his reach forever. There could be no children for them; the vitality of his kingdom ordained it thus. And she had said she would never wed a man who did not follow the Star Kindler. But she loved him. He felt it in her. Maybe, just maybe, they could....

"Marry me, a ghrá mo chroí," he whispered. Each word seemed to etch itself into his heart. Weighed on him like a stone. If only he could speak such words to her when she was awake. When she could answer him. If only he had the courage to tell her he loved her as she loved him. But a time would come when they would be wrenched apart, either by time and death or by the cruel fate awaiting her people when he finally raised the Golden Army. Could he bear to lose her after making her such an integral part of his life? Or would it shatter the Elven warrior as nothing else had? "Would you ever consider marrying me? Could you marry a monster like me?"

She didn't reply. Only slept on, curled against him as trustingly as a small child, oblivious to the questions that weighed on him so heavily and to which he possessed no answers.