Chapter 69 - What You Don't Know

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A Short Tale of Awakening, Thwarted Memories, Talk of Tomorrow, a Word on Respect, the Power of the Star Kindler, a Boon Granted, and a Bargain

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Darkness and dreams twined ruthlessly around Dylan as she slept through Monday night. Morphean thorns pricked and clawed at her, drawing intangible blood, while nightmare visions assaulted her mind.

She knew she was dreaming, in that distant lucid way that sometimes came during a nightmare, but she couldn't wake herself up. Could only try to scream herself awake as pale hands bruised and broke her. As a cruel mouth drew blood with every violating kiss. As poison dripped onto her skin and flooded her veins with fiery ice.

Stygian blackness and silver threatened to smother her as she flailed. Clawed. Kicked at the one whose hands burned with that icy poison that made her body burn as well.

She bolted awake to a voice softly calling her name. The same voice as that morning. A warm, gentle, coaxing voice calling her out of the darkness. Banishing the nightmare with regal authority.

Dylan drew in a shuddering breath. Shoved at her hair to get the tickling strands off of her skin. Swallowed the gritty dryness in her throat.

Finally, after she was certain she wouldn't scream or break down, she met worried golden eyes.

"I'm okay," the mortal whispered.

She wasn't, not by a longshot, but Nuada didn't need to know that. Didn't need to know that her stomach churned and her heart threatened to shatter her ribcage with its pounding. Didn't need to know her skin crawled and tingled - nearly frantic to be touched, even though the thought of being touched made her almost physically sick.

"I'm fine," Dylan added, shifting away from him. "I... what are you doing in here?"

Only then did she realize her dogs and her guards weren't in the room. The false light of pre-dawn made it just a bit easier to see that only Nuada remained in her bedroom. The door to his room was half-open.

"I felt your distress," he murmured. "It woke me, and I wanted to be certain you were well. I thought you might have been having a nightmare."

"I was," Dylan said. The longer she kept her eyes wide open, the more awake she felt, and the quicker the sick tingling all over her body faded away. "I always have nightmares, unless you're with me or I'm having that dream...."

Her eyes flashed to him. She bit her lip. Tasted blood when her teeth found the cut that hadn't yet healed.

"Stop that," Nuada commanded. His voice was soft, but it was a command nonetheless. "You are bleeding," he added, and brushed a drop of blood from just beneath her bottom lip with his thumb. She shivered. "You should have more care, my lady."

A rueful smile tugged at the corner of said mouth. "Habit. It helps with... stuff."

He raised both eyebrows. "Stuff."

"You know, not... not giving into my emotions when I'm freaking out or panicking or whatever. I learned it in the institution. Physical pain is easier to handle than emotional pain for me."

"Then you are not, as you said, 'okay.' This nightmare hurt you."

Dylan shook her head. "It wasn't the nightmare. Or, it was, but that's not it."

The awful crawling feeling, like being covered in maggots, was all but gone now. Legs still covered by the blue velvet blankets, she drew her knees up to her chest.

"I mean, I'm all right. Honestly. Now that I'm awake. I was just... thinking."

Nuada sat on the edge of the bed. He didn't touch her; it was almost as if he knew not to push beyond the single touch he'd already employed. As if he knew how uncomfortable she was with being touched just then.

"And what were you thinking of? Having second thoughts?"

She blinked. Frowned. "Second thoughts about what?"

She blinked again when he simply looked at her. "About us, you mean."

Nuada canted his head.

"Nope. No second thoughts here. Why? Are you having second thoughts? Instead of pining for a lowly human commoner, you'd rather find a gorgeous Elven noblewoman to woo and make into a princess? Because that would be sensible. I'm kind of a longshot."

His rueful smile matched hers. "If you ask my father, he will tell you I have rarely been sensible. And I am not afraid of long odds. I prefer to take my chances."

He slowly reached out, the way one moved when attempting to coax a wild thing, and tucked that one rebellious curl behind her ear.

"Will you tell me what you were thinking that caused you such sorrow?" Her teeth caught at her lip again. Nuada cupped her chin. "Stop, mo duinne. I can smell the iron and salt in your blood."

Wide-eyed, she covered her mouth. "Oh. I'm sor-"

"Do not apologize. I ask only that you stop. And that you tell me what made you so sad."

"I... I was just thinking... that I always have nightmares, except when you're with me, or when I have that dream. The one about us. And then I was thinking about the dream itself, and about... everything in it. Just thinking."

"Tell me."

A brief headshake. "I... I have to get ready for work. It's probably around seven already. I should-"

He touched one of her hands, which lay atop her knee. "Why will you not tell me?" She started to bite her lip. Stopped herself. "There is something specific you are thinking of," Nuada said. "Something you do not wish me to know. Why?"

Dylan shrugged. "I don't want to upset you." She looked away. "Can this be one of those times where I just keep quiet and you let it go?"

"If that is what you wish. I will leave you to ready for work."

After he'd gone back into his bedroom and closed the door, while her guards were filing back into the room, Dylan flopped back onto the bed and sighed.

He didn't seem angry, but all the same, I think I botched that.

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A'du'la'di and 'Sa'ti woke as the sun was peeping through the healing chamber window. They'd cuddled together all night, unable to stop shivering after all that they had heard the night before. Only near dawn had they finally managed to fall asleep. Tsu's'di was passed out in a chair, snoring.

Now the two cubs stared at each other, remembering everything they'd heard whispering through the wall. A'du hugged his baby sister.

"I'm scared," she whispered. "What if we get caught?"

"It'll be okay, 'Sa'ti," he purred. She snagged her claws in his sleep-tunic. "We'll go tell the prince right now. Nobody will catch us. C'mon. Let's go."

The ewah boy slid out of bed. His wounds were healed, but he still got dizzy sometimes. Didn't matter, though. He and 'Sa'ti had to get to Prince Nuada and tell him everything they'd heard. He took 'Sa'ti's hand. Brushed his cheek against the top of her head.

"Don't be scared. It's okay."

Moving on cat-quiet feet, the children slipped out of the room, leaving their brother asleep in his chair.

They crept down the hallway, trying to look inconspicuous. Every so often they would pass a guard, but they were simply children, and recognized as the servants of the prince's lady, and so were not stopped.

Unfortunately, they were too edgy to approach one of the Butchers and ask for directions wherever the prince might have been at that moment. Which meant that before long, A'du and 'Sa'ti were hopelessly lost.

"We're not in the Healers' Wing anymore," 'Sa'ti whispered, looking around. "Where are we?"

"I think we're near the a'ge'lv's rooms," A'du said. "But I'm not sure. Um... maybe we should ask for directions. There's guards and stuff."

'Sa'ti clutched at his hand. Her tail lashed furiously. "What if they're bad guys?"

His whiskers twitched. Good point. If either of the two fae they'd overheard talking could be bad guys, then anyone could be a bad guy. Or almost anyone.

A'du'la'di wished the prince would just find them. Or Ailbho or Uaithne. But they were probably eating breakfast in the guard barracks. A'du'la'di didn't know where that was. And he knew A'ge'lv Dylan's lady guards were waiting in her sitting room for when she came back from her job, so they wouldn't find the cubs either.

So what were they supposed to do?

"Are you two lost?" A soft, kind voice asked.

A'du whipped around, ears flattening against his skull, one hand landing on the prince's knife at his belt. 'Sa'ti bristled and pressed against him. Silver eyes twinkled with amusement and the Elf woman's pale lips curved into a smile.

"There's no need to be frightened. I'll not hurt you, little ones. I'm a friend of Prince Nuada's."

Slowly, slowly, the ewah cubs' fur laid flat. "You are?" A'du asked. He opened his mouth to taste the air. The Elven lady didn't smell like she was lying. Didn't smell like she meant them any harm. She really was a friend of the prince. "Um... do you know where he is?"

The Elven lady approached with a rustle of full velvet skirts. "Is it truly important? His Highness is a busy man, little one. And he and His Royal Majesty have many things to discuss. The prince may be too busy to see you right now."

A'du nodded. "It is. It's really important."

Those silver eyes studied them. A slender black brow winged upward. "One does not interrupt a private meeting between the king and the crown prince without due cause. Perhaps if you told me what it is you wish to tell the prince, I can determine if it is truly worth risking His Majesty's ire."

"What's ire?"

Another quirk of pale lips in a small smile. "His anger. You do not wish the prince to get in trouble, do you?" A'du and 'Sa'ti shook their heads, wide-eyed. "Tell me what has you so concerned. I promise you, no harm will come to you if you do. You may trust me with this."

A'du opened his mouth. 'Sa'ti tugged his sleeve. When he glanced at her, she shook her head. It was supposed to be a secret. They were only supposed to tell the prince, or the bad guys might find out the cubs had heard them talking. And what if the lady didn't believe them?

But A'du twitched his ears at her. They had to tell her. They didn't want His Highness to get in big trouble with the king again. What if the king took the Silver Lance away again?

"Well... it's kind of a secret. You have to promise not to tell anyone."

"I will have to tell the king and the prince if they ask me. I am a member of the court. I cannot refuse His Majesty. He is lord and sovereign here."

Gray eyes met bright turquoise. 'Sa'ti shook her head again, more vehemently this time. A'du slipped an arm around her. "It's okay, 'Sa'ti. She's a friend of the prince. And regular Elves can't lie. She won't hurt us; she said so." To the Elf, he said, "So, okay. You can't tell anyone but the king and the prince. Promise?"

The Elven lady smiled. "I promise that I shall not divulge what you tell me here, save to my sworn lords or at their behest."

"Okay. So, it's like this. Last night, we heard these voices...."

And A'du'la'di told the Elven noblewoman in a voice as whisper-quiet as he could make it all about the two voices they'd heard the previous night, and what 'Sa'ti had heard the night before that. How they had to tell His Highness because A'ge'lv Dylan was in danger and probably the prince was too. And the little boy told the Elven woman the identities of the Elf and the other faerie who'd been plotting behind closed doors.

Polunochnaya bit back a sigh at the end of the child's recitation. Truly, her master needed to be more careful. Contacting and instructing one of his minions within earshot of not one, not two, but three cat fae? One of whom had exceptional hearing, even for that species, and all three of whom were in service to the crown prince?

Well, nothing to be done about it now, really, except eliminate the problem.

Except they were only children. And not even half-human, like the greenman bairn below stairs that Nuada was taking such an interest in. These were full-blooded fae youngsters, for all they were common-born. She couldn't just kill them.

And it would draw too much attention to her master if the little ones turned up dead; that ought to convince her master they couldn't be disposed of out of hand.

The Zwezdan Elf knelt before both children. Deliberately caught and held their eyes. After a moment, the children's cat-slitted pupils dilated. Their eyes unfocused. The tension drained out of their little bodies.

"What are your names?" Naya asked in a voice like a sere northern wind.

"A'du'la'di," the little boy mumbled.

"U'de'ho'sa'ti," said the little girl.

"Are those your true names," the Elf demanded, "or your common names?" Both children replied that those were their common names. "Do you know your true names, little ones?" They nodded. "Tell them to me." When the children hesitated, Polunochnaya pushed just a little harder with her glamor. "Tell me."

"Da'lo'ne'ga," A'du whispered, and the little girl whispered, "Nv'ya."

"Da'lo'ne'ga and Nv'ya, I command you by the power of your names to forget the plotting you overheard last night and the night before. To forget revealing your names to me, and forget that we spoke. To forget you ever saw me. Forget the identities of the conspirators. Forget that you ever meant to report any of this to Prince Nuada. Forget what you learned from Healer Conn last night, as well as what you learned from my master - the fae he spoke to. You will forget that these two men are enemies of the prince and his lady. Do you understand?"

"Yes," A'du said tonelessly. 'Sa'ti nodded.

"Good. By the power of your names, I command you to go back to the healing chamber you came from, crawl back into bed, and fall asleep. When you wake, you will have forgotten all that I commanded you to forget. On your way, you will behave as if nothing is amiss with either of you. Go now."

Without another word, the children turned and walked away.

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Work passed quickly, and Dylan was actually back in Findias before the sun set. Eimh and Sétanta hopped off of her bed as soon as she appeared in her room and whuffed, pressing against her legs and wagging their tails so hard the large hound pups practically vibrated. They were too well behaved and too aware of their large size to bounce around and jump on their person as they would their master.

"Where's His Highness?" Dylan asked as she went into her sitting room. Uaithne and the other guards were waiting for her; all but Tsu's'di, who was still with A'du - who would be allowed back in his own room tonight but was scheduled for one last looking-over by the healers.

*Waiting for you in his study,* the night-black hound replied, nosing his person playfully towards the door bridging Nuada's front room and her sitting room. *He needs to talk to you about important stuff. Alone.*

Well that sounds a bit ominous, she thought, and went to find her prince.

When she knocked, and Nuada bade her enter, she was surprised to find him making notations in a ledger. Every so often he would check a loose sheet of paper on his desk that seemed to be a list of some kind. Another sheet, full of cramped spidery writing, was on the other side of the ledger.

Finally looking up, the prince gestured to a black leather armchair. "One moment," he mumbled, and blew a breath on a page in the leather-bound volume to dry the ink faster. He set the ledger aside. "How was work?"

Despite the nerves fluttering in her stomach, she smiled. "Fine. What are you working on? Prince stuff?"

Nuada sighed. "This winter has been hard on some of the border villages in the mountains. Blizzards, mostly, and a poor harvest this past autumn. A band of human raiders are preying on them, as well.

"Oh, yes," he added when she made a sound of surprise. "Humans still reside in Faerie. Not many, and most are outlaws, though a few in Bethmoora are servants or slaves to fae masters. But winter is a time of desperation for all. The humans prey on those who have little enough to begin with, and leave them with even less, if they leave them alive at all. The villages need help, and the Crown is obligated to give it. My father refuses."

"What? Why?"

"He says to do violence against the humans, any humans, would break the truce between our world and theirs." This was spoken with an old and tired bitterness that made Dylan want to reach out to him. He looked and sounded so tired, suddenly. "What humans do is in their nature, he says. And honoring the truce is in ours."

"That's stupid," she replied flatly. "Attacking humans out of nowhere is one thing, but it's the king's job to defend his people. If those villages need help, he's supposed to give it. Can't they... I don't know, mobilize the army or something? Send a company of Butchers to deal with it? That's what they do in books and movies - send trained warriors to deal with bandits while training the villagers how to fend off the enemy."

The prince shook his head. "My father will not hear of sending military aid of any sort. So I am trying to find a way to send aid of another kind." Pale fingers flicked across the ledger page. Satisfied that the ink was dry, he closed the book. "We have tithes and taxes enough that the Crown ought to at least be able to send supplies to feed those who cannot feed themselves. Starving farmers are as nothing against hardened, merciless killers."

Dylan cupped her chin in her hands. "Why are you handling it, though?"

A casual shrug belying the shadows around his eyes. "I am the crown prince. It is my duty to protect and defend my kingdom and my people. And the funds will no doubt come from my own estates if my father proves reluctant to approve of royal funds for my plans."

"So... so you might have to pay for everything? Just you as Nuada, not you as the prince? Can you afford that?"

Another shrug. "I am the crown prince. Whatever my people require, I shall give them. Down to the last breath in my chest. Down to the last drop of blood in my veins. That is what it means to serve."

Then he smiled a little. "However, that is not what I wished to speak to you about. We need to discuss some things."

Dylan settled into her chair and tried not to fidget. Tried not to think of her last conversation with Balor, and the threats he had made. "That sounds ominous," was all she said.

"For the most part, it is fairly innocuous. By now, nearly all the envoys that mean to attend our Midwinter festivities have arrived. The last handful are scheduled to come tomorrow morning at the latest, if they do not make it by tonight. The formal reception is tomorrow evening."

A slight pause to study her face and gauge her potential reaction. "As my truelove, you are expected to stand at my side when the royal family greets them before the banquet."

She swallowed. "Oh. Um... I...."

"It will not be so bad, mo duinne. You will like most of them, I think. You will get along well with Lady Cassandra, especially. She, too, is mortal."

A mortal noble of a faerie kingdom? "Who is she?"

"The queen of Saami, to the north. The wife of Lord Mashkaupeu."

Dylan's eyes were wide in her face. A mortal queen of a faerie kingdom? And Mashkaupeu... she knew that name from Roiben. Mashkaupeu was the Inuit faerie king, the one that Inuits and other northern Native Americans called the Great Nanook.

"The lord of the northern munaqsri? The White Bear King? He's here?" Excitement shivered up and down her spine; she'd heard stories about Mashkaupeu. She leaned forward. "Who else will be there?"

Most of the people Nuada listed off and described, she'd never heard of before, and others she'd heard of but never seen - the twin czarishkas and the czarvitch, or crown prince, of Zwezda; the Erlking of the misty kingdom of Windhaven; Princess Dinarzadi and Prince Dastan, the second- and third-eldest children of the Sultana of Shahbaz; young Prince Emīru, heir to the Phoenix Throne of Onibi, and his two younger sisters; the Iaran princess many called the Obsidian Butterfly.

Dylan hung on Nuada's every word, especially regarding those he was certain she would get along well with - the mortal Lady Cassandra of Saami; the young Princess Eilonwy of Annwn; Princess Sif of the Nordic kingdom of Álfheim, whom Nuada insisted would be amicably jealous of Dylan; and Crown Princess Kamaria of Nyame, who would also apparently be jealous of the scarred human woman, and the princess's brother, the Prince Royal Kagiso. Sif, Kamaria, and Kagiso would especially get along with the scarred mortal healer.

"Are you sure... are you sure they'll like me?" She asked. "I don't want to make you look bad, or upset your friends, like what happened with Zhenjin."

"They will love you. Eilonwy especially, and unlike Sif and Kamaria, she will not be jealous of you. Eilonwy is an old friend; Arawn is her father." A smile quirked dark lips. "She and I were betrothed once." The mortal's mouth dropped open. "During my exile, actually. My father approached Arawn about the idea. Arawn wrote to me and asked my opinion."

"And? What happened?"

"With Arawn's letter I received two others - one from Eilonwy and one from her younger brother, Prince Mathonwy. I was well acquainted with their family by this time. Mathonwy's letter begged me to agree to his father's proposal."

"What did Princess Eilonwy say?"

He grinned. "Something along the lines of, if she had to marry someone for political reasons, at least it was me, and not that 'murdering whoremongering lech,' Prince Zeburan of Onibi, nor was it Prince Endymion of Mytikas, who was apparently 'adorable, but tended to drool.' According to her letter, at any rate. He was only a little thing at the time, so that excused him, she said.

"And I knew she would grow up to be tolerably lovely, and we were friendly enough, so I agreed." His grin softened to a rueful smile. "Then she fell in love with Prince Henri de Gevaudan. Apparently an old man like myself cannot compete with a young half-merman prince who shapeshifts into an albino grizzly bear."

Dylan choked on a laugh. "Wow. That is an interesting combination. How do you even get that? What kind of fae is he? Basically a French mer-bear prince. Is that what they're called? Mer-bears?"

"I do not know," the prince said with a sigh. "As he lacks a discernible fish-tail, I hardly think it matters. But yes, to use your words, I was passed over for a French mer-bear.

"His father is King Ursus and his mother a mermaid. Eilonwy's brothers believed it a fair trade, however - apparently he is just as marvelous as I am at hand-to-hand combat. They are to be married on the summer solstice. Annwn is hosting the Lithe festivities in this coming year. And better Henri than Zeburan."

"Who's Prince Zeburan, exactly? What's so bad about him?"

Nuada hesitated. "That is a tale for another day. At any rate, we need to go over what is to happen tomorrow night. You will have to be ready no later than sunset...."

He outlined how the somewhat formal welcoming ceremony would go, and what each person was expected to do. As Nuada's a truelove - not his wife, not his betrothed, but merely the mortal he was courting - little was expected of her but to stand at his side and look pretty, except when introduced to the individual envoys. Then she would be expected to curtsy or incline her head, depending on who was being introduced.

Thankfully, her connection to Nuada allowed her to sit with him at the banquet itself, even though the king's table would be crowded with the highest-ranking dignitaries and royals from each envoy and she was just a simple human. Like before, she would be situated between Nuada and Nuala.

The ranking between the three of them was strange, to Dylan's way of thinking. Nuada outranked both the prince and the human, of course, as crown prince and king's heir.

It helped that he was the oldest. If Nuala had been eldest, even if she hadn't had the bond with the land that would bestow the title of heir to the throne, Nuada still would have outranked her, but the discrepency between their political influence and their magical power wouldn't have been so great.

Nuada's ties to Dylan put her, while not on equal footing with Nuala, as close as it was possible to be without being a princess herself. She had the ear of the crown prince; until now, the human woman hadn't realized just what that meant. Nuada was more likely to listen to her than he was to the princess.

Although she lacked overt political power, the mortal possessed a subtle strength that few, if any, recognized. Dylan wondered if the king worried about that.

It had been hard for Dylan to think of Nuada as the crown prince, for some reason. She could feel his authority. Had always admired the regal way he carried himself, and his quiet air of self-possession and power.

But that wasn't the same thing. Knowing his responsibilities, seeing him fulfilling them, listening to the way he talked about protecting and defending his people... it was brought home to her in a way it never had been before - he was the crown prince of Bethmoora. One day, he would be the king.

"You know something?" Dylan asked suddenly. Nuada raised both eyebrows, inviting her to share. "You are absolutely incredible. Seriously. How did you get to be so amazing?"

He blinked, clearly taken aback. Then he smiled, that slow smile tinged with little-boy mischief. His eyes were warm gold. "Superior Elven breeding."

She rolled her eyes. "Saw that coming. So is there going to be dancing at this banquet? Do they do dancing at banquets? Or is that balls? Or both? Am I gonna have to dance? Not that I won't want to dance with you, but I don't know as many dances as would maybe be expected of a prince's truelove and I don't want to make you look stupid or anything."

"You cannot dance at all?"

"Well...." She blew a lock of hair out of her face. "I can do a few medieval-style dances and a couple of semi-newer ones. Heart's Ease. Quadrille." Dylan made a face to show just what she thought of that particular dance form. "Morning Mist and the Scarlet Ribbon. The Entwine."

Nuada's brows rose higher. "You can dance the Entwine?"

She grinned. "I've never been caught, either."

That lazy smile came back. "Would that be a challenge, my lady?"

"If you like."

He grinned, and it was as if the shadows from their conversation about the faerie villages had all but disappeared. "You should be able to get by with what you know. Though I forbid you, my lady, as crown prince, from dancing the Entwine with anyone but me."

Her eyes lit up. "Wait, so you can actually dance the Entwine?"

Nuada scowled. "Of course. I am a prince, darling, not a barbarian." Dylan just rolled her eyes and laughed. "Although you will still have lessons in the waltz under my sister's stern eye.

"Do not worry," he added, seeing the flicker in her eyes. "I will do my best to be there. Or if not me, I am certain I can enlist Zhenjin or one of the others to be your partner and instructor in my absence. The Midwinter Ball is next week."

"Yeah." She sounded positively thrilled. "Am I... going to have to dance with your dad?"

A shadow passed over firegold eyes. "My father has not danced since my mother's death," he murmured. "I do not even know if he remembers how." That firegold gaze faded a little, graying out until sorrows and shadows darkened the Bethmooran gold.

Then Nuada shook himself and forced his mind back to the present. "Speaking of the king, you and I have something very important to discuss, Lady Dylan."

Dylan looked up, recognizing that he'd just made the transition from simply Nuada to the crown prince addressing not his truelove, but a woman of his household who was under his authority.

She wasn't quite sure how she felt about dealing with her prince as the prince. Didn't quite know where she stood with him.

"All right."

"Do you understand your position in the Bethmooran court?" Prince Nuada asked softly.

She immediately shook her head.

"Not really. I know I'm your lady, and that gives me some kind of political pull, but I don't know how far that extends or how it applies to court life or anything."

"Your position is... unique, milady. By right of your attachment to the crown prince, you outrank nearly everyone at court because I say so. Without a true title, without magic or wealth or land to give you true standing, your power at court stands on the shoulders of my own power.

"However, our power is not equal. There are a few people in Bethmoora you do not outrank, a few people around whom you must tread carefully, who are of little consequence to me politically.

"One of them is the chamberlain. You need to be careful with him, because he answers to no one but the king. I may challenge him. You may not.

"Princess Nuala is another such person. Ledi Polunochnaya and A'ge'lv Na'ko'ma are below you in rank; you may refuse them what you like, and they have no right to compel you. The princess, however, does. Only the king and I may gainsay her. Do you understand?"

She swallowed. Nodded. Prince Nuada locked eyes with her, and there was a seriousness in their depths that made Dylan's stomach tighten.

"Am I in trouble?" The words popped out before she could censure them.

Nuada closed his eyes. Sighed.

"Yes."

Silver-washed blue eyes widened. "Oh."

"The king spoke to me yesterday regarding your behavior. Lady Dylan, you cannot disrespect the king. At least, not where anyone but I can hear you. You certainly cannot speak to him as you have been doing.

"He is the sovereign in this kingdom. He has complete authority. He could, if he chose, execute you for how you have been speaking to him."

"You would never let him-"

"I would not be able to stop him," Nuada enunciated, each word sharp as a lance blade. "I would try - gods, I would try. I would bare my chest and offer him my own knife to cut out my heart if it would save you from him, but there are no guarantees.

"He may not kill you if you continue as you have been. He may simply imprison you, or hurt you, or punish you some other way, but I dare not risk it. We dare not risk his anger." Bitterly, the prince added, "There is enough to anger him as it is. Dylan, you must be more careful. You cannot let your temper get the better of you, not even in my defense."

"But he-"

Prince Nuada held up a hand. She fell silent. "It does not matter what he did or did not do. What he did or did not say. It does not matter."

"But it does! It matters to you! I'm not gonna just stand back and let him hurt you-"

"No," the prince said firmly. "No, it does not matter. It cannot. Not where he or his spies can see. Yes, you will simply stand back and allow him to do as he pleases, because he is the king. Leave challenging him to me. If he oversteps his rights as the monarch, it is my duty and mine alone to challenge him."

"That's not fair to you."

"It is how things must be. It is how things are."

He pinned her with glittering topaz eyes.

"I am not asking, Dylan. I am ordering you, as the crown prince of Bethmoora, to whom you have pledged your loyalty. You will respect my father, if only to his face and to the public eye. You will keep your temper. You will do all in your power to avoid angering him. You will speak to him with respect no matter what he says or does. You will do this."

After a long moment, Dylan nodded. Her hands were shaking, she realized; why? She pressed them flat to her legs in an effort to at least hide her shakes.

"O-okay. I mean, yes, Your Highness."

A flicker of something in topaz eyes, there and gone too swiftly to be identified. "Don't," he murmured, and he was simply Nuada again. "Do not do that, Dylan, please. Not when it is just the two of us."

She nodded. Closed her eyes. "I didn't mean... I'm not upset with you or anything. I just... I don't know..." She opened her eyes. "Did I get you in a trouble?"

Nuada sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "When am I not 'in trouble' with my father? He is angry over many things right now. Over A'du'la'di's request. Your disrespect. The attack on Sunday, and that it resulted from my breaking house-arrest.

"He is most furious about A'du'la'di, however. 'Pathetic' is the word he used for me, I believe. And I seem to recall he insinuated my mother would be ashamed of me."

Eyes sparking, Dylan opened her mouth. Hesitated. Closed it again. Took a deep breath. "Do you think His Majesty was behind the attacks before we came?" An icy chill spread through her spine and wrapped her chest at the idea. She shivered.

Her prince dropped his head into his hands. "I do not know anymore, Dylan. I do not know where to turn or who to fear or trust."

"You can trust me," she murmured, and held out a hand, palm-up. Nuada didn't hesitate. Merely laid his hand over hers. She curled her fingers around his. "And for what it's worth, I think your mother would be very pleased with how you turned out, Nuada. She would think you're wonderful. An honorable warrior, a courageous prince, and a good man. Just like I do."

Nuada brought her fingers to his lips. "You always know what to say."

"Well, our track record with fights would indicate otherwise," she replied, scrupulously honest. "But thank you. So I've got a couple morning appointments tomorrow, a trip to juvenile hall on Thursday, a trip to Saint Vincent's on Friday, and I'm done for the week.

"So other than the banquet thingy Wednesday, and the Midwinter Ball next Monday, do we have any other issues or events looming in the wings that I need to be concerned about?"

His smile was tired, but at least it was there, and it held just a touch of mischief. "Well, Midwinter festivities are not limited to the ball, mo duinne. That would be rather a waste of a trip for most of the visiting dignitaries, would you not agree?

"There will be banquets for the next fortnight at least. Games and contests in the township and here among the courtiers during the day. You will be expected to attend as many as you are able, standing at my side. For the games, you and my sister will most likely be the ones to give out the prizes."

"What prizes?" She squeaked. "Why do I have to give out prizes? No one's gonna want a prize from me. What prizes?"

"Nothing too despicable, Dylan, I promise you. A kiss for the winner of each contest."

The mortal relaxed. "Oh. Is that all? Well, then, that's not a problem, since no one is going to want a kiss from 'the human.'

"Except you," she added, catching the heat suddenly smoldering in his gaze. "So everyone will lose on purpose and there won't be any problems. No offense to your sister, but she's not pretty enough to tempt someone to accept kisses from her and from me."

"You underestimate your appeal, beloved, and I intend to win all those contests."

"Why? You could just kiss me whenever and wherever you wanted."

His smile lost its edge of exhaustion. "Not quite whenever, mo duinne. Certainly not wherever. Much to my sorrow," he added, eyes gleaming with wicked humor. She just rolled her eyes and pretended she wasn't blushing. "And you may be surprised how much competition I will end up vying with for a kiss from your soft lips. A kiss from you is sweet enough to tempt the hardiest men. Even me."

She grinned. Her heart fluttered against her ribs like bird wings. "Sweet, huh?"

"Oh, yes." Pale fingers reached out and brushed against her lips, tracing the lush contours of her mouth. Her breath caught in her throat as the pad of Nuada's finger slid like rough velvet along her bottom lip. "Sweet as bee pollen in spring. Sweet as strawberry wine or summer apples." His thumb brushed across her mouth, back and forth. Back and forth. "Sweet as starlight on my tongue."

Dylan just barely managed to swallow. "You know, sometimes you say stuff and it is just really cheesy. Other times you say stuff, and it totally should be cheesy, but it's not. How do you do that?"

Nuada shrugged, a casual ripple of muscle that made Dylan's heart jump. "I am an Elven prince, my lady." He pulled his hand away. Her mouth felt cold with the absence of his touch.

She cleared her throat. "Comes with the territory?"

"Indeed."

Against his will, firegold eyes slid to the paper still sitting on his desk. The crabbed handwriting of the report made his eyes ache. The report itself, from the village headman, was bleak. Very bleak. Something would have to be done, at least about the poor take from the autumn harvest, and soon.

Nuada sighed as he slipped the report off his desk and tucked it into a drawer. He would study it out later and see if there was anymore that could be done about the problem.

"You'll figure something out," Dylan murmured.

He glanced at her, then away. There was much he could do, but there was more the crown prince could do with the backing of the king, if he could get it. If only his father would deal with the root of the problem, instead of simply trimming back the thorny growth of poisonous weeds whose taproots had burrowed too deep.

Gentle fingertips touched his arm. Dylan offered him an encouraging smile. "You will, Nuada. I believe in you. You're a good prince. You'll think of something."

I pray it is so, he thought, but did not say. I truly pray it is so, mo duinne.

"There is something else, though nothing too serious," Nuada added, pulling his thoughts away from dark matters once more. "About the banquet tomorrow. I-" A knock at the door cut him off. Dark-shadowed lips twisted into a scowl. "Enter."

A young boy entered the room and bowed low to the prince. From his golden shirt and sleeveless crimson tunic, embroidered with a golden Eildon tree, Dylan figured he was a royal page of some sort. The hem of his tunic was edged with gold ribbon. Antlers peeked through his green-streaked bronze curls.

A Hunter child, the mortal thought. One of the anthropomorphic faerie stags, like the one Dylan herself had ridden to Findias the night of Nuada's so-called trial.

"Please excuse me, Your Royal Highness, milady," the boy said in a soft, lisping voice.

Dylan saw he was missing one of his top front teeth. That, and the fact that his slender antlers only possessed six prongs, told her the page couldn't have been more than seven years old.

"His Majesty the king requests Your Highness's presence in his study. His Majesty said that it is most important." The boy bowed again.

Nuada did not sigh, but he wanted to. What did his father want now? "Tell His Majesty that I will be but a few moments."

"Very good, Your Highness." With a final bow, the child left the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

The Elf prince got to his feet and lifted his sheathed sword and swordbelt from where it had rested on a display rack behind the desk and strapped it on. He wasn't wearing his crest, Dylan realized belatedly even as the prince moved to walk out of the study. Just one of his red silk shirts and a tunic of antique gold.

Dylan followed the prince at his gesture. They walked into the prince's bedroom, where he immediately went to an elegantly carved ebony chest and flipped back the lid. Nuada withdrew a crimson sash and something carefully wrapped in black velvet. Unwrapping the velvet revealed the golden Eildon crest.

Noting Dylan's surprise, Nuada smiled. "Did you think I wore this crest every day? It can be quite uncomfortable when one is bent over a desk for hours upon hours, day after day. And when I train with weapons, I generally train without a shirt."

Deft hands slid the crimson sash through the notches at the back of the crest before tying the sash around the prince's waist in such a way that he could still easily get to his sword.

"Well? How do I look?"

Despite the sudden nerves dancing in her stomach, Dylan reached up and straightened the collar of Nuada's tunic before smoothing back a stray lock of silvery blond hair.

"You look like exactly what you are - an Elven warrior prince." She started to bite her lip, but stopped herself. "Why are you getting all spiffy for this? Are you in trouble?"

"I do not know," he said. "If my father says this is important, I do not doubt it is. I simply do not know if this is a court or a family matter. If he wishes to speak with the crown prince or he wishes to speak to his son. And I do not know what could be so important. So I go before him as the crown prince. It is easier to dress the part of the prince and play the son, than to dress the son and play the prince."

"Will you be all right?"

Soft brush of fingertips along her cheek. It sent warmth whispering down her spine. "Do not worry, mo duinne." Nuada leaned in and touched his lips to hers, briefly. "Tell A'du'la'di I will be there for the bedtime story. I know it is not for at least an hour yet, but I do not want our boy to fret over my absence."

"Okay. See you in a bit. I'll actually be with A'du in the Healers' Wing when you're done. I need to talk to Healer Táebfada, make sure he's good to come back up here and his wounds are all better and stuff. So meet me down there, okay?"

Nuada inclined his head, and the two of them parted ways.

.

In his father's study, Nuada went to military attention and focused his eyes on a point somewhere to the right of his father's shoulder. If the grip of his left hand on his right wrist was tighter than normal, neither Elf mentioned it. "What can I do for Your Majesty?"

The king sighed and sank into his chair. For once, he did not have a lecture in mind for his son. Balor strove to speak gently when he said, "Have a seat, my son."

"I would prefer to stand, with all due respect, Sire."

Balor sighed. "Sit down, Nuada." When the prince frowned, he added softly, "Please. I have ill news."

"Is it... is it Wink?" Sudden dread chilled the fae warrior to the marrow. "Or the humans - have some of the human bands in Bethmoora attacked another faerie settlement?"

His father frowned at this second question, but shook his head.

"Is it about the shoggoth? The attack in the orchard?"

The king shook his head again. There was something in eyes of aged amber that crystallized the dread into icy fear. Nuada recognized that something as pity.

"Father... you are not... tell me you are not sending Dylan away. You are not separating us for what I did on Sunday."

The king, momentarily distracted, raised his brows. Cool curiosity deepened the lines of his weathered face. "And if I was?"

Nuada jerked as if he'd been struck. "No. No, Athair... please. You cannot do that. Please, I beg you. She is not safe without me. My enemies know that she is my greatest weakness, they will turn their sights on her the moment she is no longer under my protection. Athair, you can't. It is a death sentence to her if-"

"Calm yourself, my son. That is not what I wish to speak with you about. It is about the halfling child you brought to Findias this past summer."

Golden brows furrowed in puzzlement. "The halfling child? What of her?"

Balor hesitated. "There have been some... rumors. That you are the child's father." Before Nuada could do more than scoff at the idea, the king raised a hand. "Only a fool would believe such talk. One only need look at the child to see she has no Elven blood.

"But there has been other talk about the girl. How for the daughter of a greenman, her eyes sometimes look oddly... almost blue. How intriguing it is that the babe has brown curls... like your lady."

Firegold eyes widened. "They think Dylan is the child's mother?"

A pang struck him squarely behind his heart at the thought of the compassionate mortal with a child of her own. He dismissed the thought immediately. It would do him no good to dwell on impossibilities now.

"Ridiculous."

A quirk of the king's brow indicated how Balor felt about that. Nuada narrowed his eyes.

"Under normal circumstances, I would simply suggest that you question my lady under oath about the matter, but doing so would distress her. I respectfully request that you not bring this to her attention."

"I am certain one of my councilors could ferret out the information for me without undue stress to Lady Dylan," the king replied. "It is a simple question, really - is the child of her blood or isn't it? Perhaps Lord Finbar. He is softspoken and is adept at getting those reluctant to speak to open up."

Finbar was also one of Nuada's two - potentially former - anti-human supporters that had publicly snubbed him after that very first night before the court with Dylan on his arm. Nuada settled back in his chair and idly studied the crack he'd put in the king's desk.

"If Lord Finbar speaks to my lady regarding this matter, I will start at his neck and work my way down to his ankles, breaking every bone in between."

Balor's brows shot toward his hairline. Nuada merely offered his father a bland court smile.

"If one were to inquire... what is it about this child that you do not want your lady knowing?"

The prince glowered, more at the implications than the question itself. "Nothing. What I do not want is for some feckless moron to rip out her heart by asking her...." He trailed off, realizing he had revealed too much. Sighed. "Children and motherhood are... delicate subjects with Dylan."

The king propped his elbow on his desk and laid a finger over his lips, thinking. Finally, he said, "She is barren."

"No," Nuada snapped. A little too quick to defend, the king thought. And why not? If the mortal were barren, it would bar her completely from ever being able to become the prince's spouse. "She is not. Now was this foolishness all you wished to speak to me about? Or was there something more pressing?"

"The child is dying."

It took the Elven warrior a moment to process what his father had said. "What?" He lurched to his feet and paced the length of the study. "How? I saw her only a few days past. She was thin and unwell, but not... have healers been to see her? Not that buffoon, Healer Conn. I mean Somhairle or Táebfada. Someone of their caliber."

"Yes."

"Then how... she is only a babe," he muttered. "Fate would not be so cruel, to take a child so young. A mere infant."

But Nuada thought of the wars. Of the countless, faceless dead. Young men only just old enough to bear arms. Young mothers, their children as yet unborn. Little ones who should have had no cares but dolls and toys and silly games. Mere babes in arms. And he was reminded that Fate could indeed be that cruel.

Then he remembered Jenny, and what he had told her. His eyes widened. "I need to see Dylan."

The king blinked. Frowned. "What for? Unless she is the child's mother-"

"She is not," Nuada growled, sudden anger fueled by a hollow stinging pain in his chest that mingled with distant regret. "But she can do something about this, I am certain. She might know a way to save the child."

Balor shook his head. "My son, what can a mortal with no magic do for this child that our healers cannot?"

Nuada hesitated. "I do not know... but she has surprised me often enough that I will discount nothing now until it has at least been tested. If that is all, my king?"

The king inclined his head, dismissing his heir. Nuada left the study, leaving his father to wonder just what sort of woman his son had allied himself with.

.

Dylan had spoken to Healer Táebfada already, and A'du was nearly finished dressing in clean livery behind a screen when someone knocked on the door to the healing chamber. The knock was too timid to be Nuada. Besides, it came from halfway down the wooden slab of the door and not at Nuada's height.

"Come in," the mortal called.

The door swung open and Dylan blinked in surprise. Standing in the entryway was a hob boy, maybe three or four feet tall, his curly black hair tousled and damp and his dark eyes wide in sudden surprise. He wore a plain wool shirt and sleeping-trews. He was barefoot. Dylan could see his fourteen toes peeking out from beneath the hems of his pant legs.

"Oh! 'Scuse me, m'lady!" The boy bowed low. "I didn' know you was here. I jus' came to see A'du. M'sorry, my 'pologies, I-"

"Rórdán!" A'du popped out from behind the dressing screen and ran to his friend. "Oh, awesome! What's up? What are you doing here? I thought you had chores or something. Oh! A'ge'lv," to Dylan, "this is my friend Rórdán Hob. He works in the kitchens. Rórdán, this is A'ge'lv Dylan. She's amazing."

The hob boy bowed again. "I know," he said to A'du'la'di. "I seen her at church before. You looked real pretty, m'lady, if it's okay to say so. Um, could I mebbe visit with A'du for a bit?"

"Yeah, A'ge'lv! Can he, please? Please?"

"A'du'la'di," the mortal said, forcing herself to sound stern. "It's nearly your bedtime. And I'd imagine it's nearly your bedtime, too, Rórdán."

Rórdán started to bow again, but A'du'la'di grabbed the back of his shirt and forced him upright.

"She doesn't like all the bowing stuff. As long as the king's not here, one time is okay. And I know it's almost my bedtime but couldn't he stay just for a little bit? We'll be quiet. Just 'til the prince gets back. Please? I haven't seen him since Sunday. That's two whole days!"

'Sa'ti chimed in with, "And his birthday was on Sunday, A'ge'lv!"

The cougar girl came over to her brother and the hob boy. Dylan was surprised when the little girl wrapped her arms around the slender hob and the hob dropped an arm on top of the girl's head, using it as an armrest.

"It could be like a birthday present. Please?"

A smile tugged at Dylan's lips. "Oh, it was his birthday, was it?" Both boys nodded earnestly. "Well, I suppose you guys can hang out until His Highness comes back. But only until then. And only if Rórdán won't get into trouble."

"Thank you, m'lady," the hob cried, starting to bow. A'du yanked him upright. "Sorry, m'lady. I won' get in trouble, m'lady. Thank you-"

"She got it, midget," Tsu's'di drawled from where he stood leaning against the wall. "Now go do midget stuff with my brother and sister. Sheesh."

All three children piled onto the healing bed and began to chatter away. Dylan merely smiled while Tsu's'di rolled his eyes in good-natured brotherly annoyance.

Thus Nuada found them. The moment he walked in, the three children fell silent. The prince ignored them and went straight to Dylan. Quickly, he explained what the king had told him, as well as what he had been told by Jenny a few days past. Dylan's face grew solemn, but not grave.

"Is there aught you can do, Dylan? You have cared for the fae and half-fae before and-"

She held up a hand, frowning. Closed her eyes. Her face was tense, as if she were listening hard for something barely audible, or concentrating fiercely. Then she opened her eyes.

"Send someone to fetch Nils Fjøsnisse," Dylan said softly, surprising him. What could a tomte do? "There's nothing I can do myself, but tell Nils to go and see the baby. Tell him I asked him to help. And tell him to bring another priesthood-holder with him to give a Blessing of Healing. He'll take care of everything. It might not work, but then again, it might. We won't know unless we try."

A'du'la'di shot his hand in the air. "I can go get Nils. Me and Rórdán. Um... what do we need him for, exactly?"

A hastily penned note was sent via cougar and hob boy. Dylan took a moment to make sure her dirk was snug in its sheath at her hip. Then she said, "Okay, let's go."

"You wish to come?"

"I should've checked on the baby long before now. I mean, I brought her to you. I should've remembered... should've thought to look in on her. So I'm going to go with you. Because of course you're going. Don't even try to look innocent or anything because I know you. You want to check on her, too."

The Elf prince inclined his head. "As you wish, mo mhuire."

They met Nils, A'du'la'di and Rórdán just at the door of the sickroom in the servants' quarters. Nils bowed to Nuada and offered a smile to Dylan. The Elf prince was surprised to see the Stable Master dressed in a fine black tunic instead of his normal rough work attire, but Dylan only smiled back at the tomte.

"I sent for Lieutenant Jarlath, milady," Nils said softly. "He is my home-teaching companion and will be here shortly."

"Wonderful," she replied. "Thank you, Nils."

"It is no trouble. Come, let us see to this child."

The moment a gray-haired Elven woman in a black homespun dress let them in, Nils went immediately to the glaistig woman holding a squalling baby.

Dylan paused to study the towering glaistig. Her dove-gray skin held a pearlescent celadon sheen to it that somehow fit with her goat-like eyes of seafoam green and her gunmetal gray lips. Slender goat hooves peeked from beneath the long, moss green dress she wore. Dylan glimpsed delicate ear-points peeping through the tumbling locks of ash blond hair falling to her waist. Sparse ash-gold fur covered the tips of her ears and the backs of the three-fingered hands that cradled the crying baby.

The glaistig was absolutely stunning, in the way of nearly all faerie women, even though her hair was plastered by sweat to her flushed face and she looked as if she'd been up half the night with the sick child in her arms.

With the gray-haired Elven woman and the glaistig was Jenny Hob, head housekeeper of Findias. The moment she laid eyes on Nuada, a mixture of relief and concern flashed across her face. "Your Highness! Begging your pardon, but what are you doing here?"

"Hopefully saving a very sick bairn," Nils murmured. With a grateful look, the glaistig handed the baby over to the tomte. "Come to Nils now, little kakushka, there now. No more tears. We will set you to rights, never you fear." The baby wailed pitifully. "Lady Dylan, if you would come here to me. Your Highness, make yourself comfortable. It may take a bit for Lieutenant Jarlath to arrive."

As Dylan made her way to the tomte and the halfling baby, and Nuada sank into a hastily proferred chair, Jenny introduced the two women with her.

The older Elven woman was Siobhan Dubh, the nursemaid and midwife to the orphaned servant children in Findias.

The fey goat-woman was Goodwife Cabhán Glaistig, from Findias-township.

Both women had been nursing the half-fae bairn whenever she fell ill, and now both women were nearly dead on their feet from fatigue. Jenny ushered them to chairs as well while Nils set the infant in Dylan's arms so the mortal healer could get a better look at the babe.

The moment the baby was secure in the human woman's arms, its cries quieted. The three fae women stared in no little surprise. Nothing but sheer exhaustion had silenced those wails before this.

Yet they watched - Jenny and Siobhan with a simmer of suspicion - as Dylan shushed to the baby and very, very gently bounced and rocked her. The baby grumbled a little, but didn't scream again. One tiny hand reached up and touched the glimmering gold medallion resting between Dylan's collarbones.

"Well, sweetie, you've got a fever, don't you?" Dylan murmured to the child, who made a fussing sound and squirmed a little. "Uh-uh, no wiggling. I need to check you out, make sure everything else is okay."

She bent her head and listened to the baby's breathing. "Hmmm. All that fussing and yelling didn't help that rasp you've got, either, I bet."

A slender fingertip tapped lightly on the baby's cheek, half an inch beneath its eye. The baby gurgled and waved its arms.

"Reflexes are good, at least. Your color's not so good, though. And you're too skinny. Has she been eating properly?" This last was directed at the three fae women.

"No, milady," Cabhán replied. "She'll not eat when the fever comes. That is why she is so terribly thin."

Dylan frowned. Nibbled on her bottom lip while studying the child in her arms. "Hmmm," she mumbled, more to herself than anyone in the room. "Apples might work. Carrots, maybe. Lots of milk.

"I bet right now you just hate everything, huh?" She smoothed down a wispy brown baby curl. "That's why you won't eat. You're just mad because you feel icky. I've so been there.

"Now open your mouth and say, 'Ahhh.' And no biting. Baby teeth hurt."

With a gentle fingertip, Dylan popped the baby's mouth open and studied the slightly greenish gums and the scattering of little white teeth.

"Green gums. Half-woodman, you ought to have green gums. So there's nothing wrong with you except fever and a rasp in your chest."

The mortal bounce-rocked the child a little more. The baby actually gurgled and smiled up at her. "Oh, you like that, huh? I should hope so. It's my best trick."

She looked up from the baby to Nils, who was watching with a half-amused, half-impressed look on his face.

"Well, I know what it's not. It's not influenza, diptheria, cholera, anything like that. It's not croup or colic. It's not pneumonia. In fact, except for what Prince Nuada's told me - that she keeps getting sick, and magic's not doing spit for it - I'd say it was a really bad cold. But I don't think so."

"Have you a theory?" The prince asked.

It was the first time he'd spoken in the nearly ten minutes Dylan had had the child in her arms. Watching her with the baby sent a pang echoing through his chest. The absolute focus and adoration on his truelove's face... this was what she loved. Being with children. Helping them. He could see her dream of motherhood in every move she made, every gentle word she cooed to the babe.

Nuada swallowed back the sudden whisper of longing that flooded him as Dylan stroked the baby's cheek with a fingertip before tapping the tiny nose ever so lightly. The baby actually laughed.

"I have a theory," she murmured, never taking her eyes off the baby. "But you're not going to like it, and it doesn't make a lot of sense regarding motive. But it's the only thing I can think of." She slid her eyes to Nuada's face. "I'm thinking poison."

Jenny started violently in her chair. "Who would poison a mere baby?"

Haunted blue eyes met the hob woman's. "Where I come from, people kill lots of different kinds of people for lots of reasons. I don't know why anyone would go after this baby specifically, but it might not be specific. I mean, it might not be target-specific. It might be type-specific. Or non-specific, period."

Seeing Nuada's frown, she sighed. "Sorry. What I mean is, it might not be because of who the baby is, but maybe what she is.

"A good example would be a serial killer we had in New York about ten years back. I had to study him in college. He was killing children, but only children who fit a specific demographic. He didn't know the kids personally, didn't know their parents or families or anyone in their lives, but they fit his victim profile, so he would go after them.

"It could be something like that - she fits the profile of someone's preferred victim. Do the Fair Folk not have serial killers?"

"Oh, they do," Nuada said too softly. She could see he was thinking, turning over and discarding various possibilities. "You have heard King Roiben speak of the glaistig known as Mabry, have you not? The one your friend Val fought for the beating heart of Ravus the Apothecary. She would have fit the label of serial killer - murdering those who fit her 'profile,' as you call it, and stringing her harp with their hair to force them to sing even in death.

"But if you are right, who would we be looking for? And who would be the next victim? None of the other children are ill."

"None of the other children are half-human," Cabhán interjected. "Perhaps that is why she has been targeted."

Dylan made an odd burbling sound at the baby to make her laugh before shaking her head. "No. I don't think it's that. Or at least, that's not the whole reason. I don't know. I'm worn out and not thinking as straight as I'd like to be. Nils, what do you think?"

The tomte studied the bairn with his arms folded. "I think... it is both who she is and what she is. Her human blood is part of the reason, I think, but not the whole reason. I think another part is the prince's consideration. The rumors, you know."

"What rumors?"

Jenny said softly, "The rumors that the child is His Highness's bastard daughter."

Dylan rolled her eyes. "Right. Well, last time I checked, Bethmooran Elves weren't green. Last time I checked, humans weren't green, either. So I'd say we can safely rule out His Highness being the daddy.

"Also last time I checked, your enemies weren't stupid, Your Highness. They were annoying and incredibly dangerous, but they weren't stupid. So surely they realized you weren't the father, either."

"It does not need to be an enemy of the prince's for the poisoner to have cause to eliminate this child," Nils said. "Perhaps someone with a daughter eligible for marriage.

"Bastard or not, regardless of gender, the prince's firstborn is the one who will receive the title of heir unless the connection between the royal line and the land is not strong enough in their blood. A problem for someone who views themselves as a potential future queen.

"And while many enemies of the royal family are in fact shrewd and intelligent, many of the scheming nobles of the Bethmooran court are not."

"Be that as it may," said a voice from the doorway, and the assembled group turned to see Fionnlagh standing with a taller, well-built Butcher Guard in the silver-embossed black leather ceremonial uniform of a Butcher lieutenant, "politics can wait, I should think. This child cannot."

The Butcher offered Nuada the fist-to-chest salute and bow, then gave the same to Dylan. "My lady, forgive the delay. I am Butcher Lieutenant Jarlath mac Rón, under Captain Phelan mac Mannix of the King's Guard."

With a self-deprecating tilt of his head, Jarlath added, "And Nils' home-teaching companion as well as the Elders' Quorum Leader, as it happens." Nuada did not know what the extra title meant, but judging by Dylan's relieved grin, it was something good.

The lieutenant turned to the prince once more. "Your Highness, if I might request that everyone but yourself, Lady Dylan, and Master Fjøsnisse leave the room, I would appreciate it."

Nuada glanced at Dylan. She offered a shrug as if to say, Sure, whatever; can't hurt. A curt nod from the prince sent the rest of the guards, Jenny, Siobhan, and Cabhán from the room. When the door was closed, Jarlath sighed and slowly took off the iron helmet that hid his face.

The mortal realized she should have expected it. He couldn't give a blessing wearing the thing, for one. For another, the iron being so close to the sick child would have made her so much worse. But all coherent thought fled her mind when she finally saw just what the Butcher's were hiding behind their helmets.

Long, jet-black hair hung in warrior braids nearly to Jarlath's waist. Now she could see the ragged locks that hung nearly - but not quite - in his eyes. His four eyes. Two where human eyes normally were, one centered between the two and slightly above, and one centered and slightly below, so that the eyes formed a sort of diamond in the middle of his face. They were a strangely human brown color. Instead of a nose, the Butcher had three long horizontal slits, reminiscent of gills, bisecting his face. A strange black, chitinous stripe slashed down each cheek. His mouth was easily twice the size of a human mouth, lipless as a snake-shifter's, and filled nearly to overflowing with razor-thin black needle teeth.

Jarlath stood watching his prince's human lady, obviously expecting condemnation for his appearance. Dylan merely let out a low whistle.

"You guys," she said, affecting a mock-stern tone, "have been holding out on me. How come no one told me how epically fierce and just plain cool you look?"

The four brown eyes blinked in obvious surprise. The eyelids closed from side to side instead of from up and down. "M-milady?"

"What? Did you think I was going to run screaming or something? Please. I've seen things way less human-looking than you before."

Like the flesh-wearing springheeled jacks; the slime-covered, fanged, six-limbed orang minyaks; the sea-dwelling Innsmouth folk; or the two-headed, hyena-faced kishi fae. At least she knew the Butchers weren't going to rape and/or eat her.

"If I was going to let every little thing bother me, I'd've had a mental breakdown years ago. By the way, is that what you wear to church?"

"It is. It is my best uniform."

"Huh. Cool. So, shall we get to it?"

"Of course, milady," Lieutenant Jarlath replied as soon as he'd recovered from the shock. A human that did not run screaming from his true face? That had never happened before. "As you say, let us 'get to it.' Nils, would you have me give the blessing?"

"Yes," said the tomte. "I shall handle the anointing."

Nuada watched with narrowed eyes as Dylan handed the babe to Jarlath. The moment the infant realized she was being separated from the mortal, the pitiable weeping began afresh. Dylan made a sympathetic face and cooed at the child.

"I know, I know. You don't want the lieutenant right now, but don't worry. He's going to hopefully make you feel all better, okay? Just be patient. I know, poor baby."

Dylan watched Nils pull a small bottle from the pocket of his breeches. "What is the child's name?"

"She has no name," Nuada murmured. "According to Jenny." When Dylan gave him a puzzled look, he added, "It is considered by some to be... unwise to give a faery child a name not its own by birthright. There is power in names in Faerie."

"Well, you can't give her a blessing without a name," Dylan said. "I mean, you can do the anointing without a name, but you can't actually bless her, can you?"

"No," Jarlath murmured. "No, we cannot. According to the traditions of the greenmen, the child's mother names the babe. But her mother is dead, correct?"

Dylan nodded, trying not to remember that night in the Park and the headlong rush through the subway to find an Elven warrior.

"Jenny could do it, as the surrogate mother, but she will not, because she is fae."

"My lady, you should name the child," Nils said softly. Dylan blinked at him. "You saved her life, did you not? In Faerie, that makes you responsible for her, in a way. You have the right to name her if no other will step forward."

Dylan stared at him. "But I can't... but a name is a very sacred thing. It's a powerful thing, especially for a fae. What if I mess up somehow?"

"It is your right, by virtue of the life-debt between you," the tomte replied. "And this is not a baby-blessing. This is not necessarily the name that will be recorded in Heaven. You have a little leeway. But the child must have a name to receive the second part of the blessing. It is your decision, milady."

Blue eyes flicked to Nuada, who stood still as a statue, offering no hint as to what she should do. Name her? But I can't... I shouldn't do that. She's not my child. She probably had a name before this. There has to be a way of finding out what it is. Except that would take too long and we don't have that kind of time, Dylan reminded herself. But a name... what name, for a daughter of the forest?

Daughter of the forest.... A fierce warmth, surprising and comforting all at once, filled her chest. The unease she'd felt faded away. She met Nils' eyes.

"Niamh," Dylan murmured. "Her name is Niamh, daughter of a greenman." Jarlath and Nils inclined their heads to the mortal. Dylan blew out a breath. "You two know what to do, right?"

Jarlath and Nils both nodded. Dylan settled back against the wall and folded her arms, bowing her head. Somehow feeling as if he should follow suit, Nuada bowed his as well.

Nils laid a drop of the oil in the bottle to the top of the child's head. Almost immediately, her fussing dwindled to soft grumbles. Laying his small hands beside Jarlath's large ones beneath the baby's back, he closed his eyes.

"Niamh Greenman, by the power of the Holy Melchezidek Priesthood which I hold, I anoint you with this oil which has been consecrated and set apart for the healing of the sick and afflicted, and do so in the name of Jesus Christ, amen."

Then Jarlath began to speak, in a voice rather different from the one he'd used until now. This was richer, more regal, with the same quiet authority Nils' voice had possessed while anointing the baby. As he spoke, the baby's soft weeping faded away completely.

"Niamh Greenman, by the power of the Holy Melchezidek Priesthood which we hold, we seal this anointing which has heretofore been performed and give you a blessing. Niamh, you are a choice daughter of the High King. You are blessed with friends and those who love you, who seek to protect you. You have suffered much in your short life, but your Heavenly Father is with you in all your trials and afflictions. He watches over you and He will protect you. He has blessed you that one day you will have a new family, one that will watch over and love you as their own. He has blessed you to have His priesthood in your life. The Star Kindler has blessed you with a mission in this life, and He will not call you back to Him until that mission is fulfilled. You are blessed to be a comfort and a strength to those who need and love you. Remember your mission, little one, and remember the love of your Heavenly Father. We seal this blessing upon you and do so in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ, amen."

Nuada opened his eyes to see Jarlath lay the child in Dylan's arms once more. He opened his mouth to ask if that was all that was to be done, but closed it again. There was an odd feeling in the room. Similar, the Elven warrior thought, to the comforting feeling that often dwelt within the walls of Dylan's cottage. Similar, but richer and stronger in a way. And he was reminded of that long ago first night in Findias, when he had walked through Dylan's mind for the very first time and sensed that strange presence that was separate from but a part of her, that had seemed to shine like a star.

Instead of speaking, the prince rose to his feet and went where his heart called him - to the mortal and the halfling child.

Dylan's fingertips lightly stroked the soft, round cheek. She looked up at Nuada with a smile curving her lips. "Her fever's broken," Dylan said. To the other fae she murmured, "Thank you. Both of you."

Jarlath and Nils bowed to the prince's lady. "It was our privilege," the Butcher lieutenant replied. "Thank you for calling us."

"I'll tell Jenny to keep an eye on her," the mortal murmured to the prince. "Just in case. But I think she'll be all right. Her breathing is already much better."

Sharp Elven ears caught the rasp in the babe's respiration; where once it had been harsh and clearly painful, now it was already fading. The child's color was slowly returning as well. Her eyes, the color of beryls, were bright, and there was a smile on her cherub mouth.

"Do you feel better, peata?" Dylan asked the babe. Tiny hands reached for a lock of Dylan's hair. She tickled the baby's cheek with it.

"This is the power of the Star Kindler?" Nuada asked softly. "That you can do this?"

"When Heavenly Father wills it, anything is possible," she replied. "This is one of His gifts to us - the power of His priesthood to give blessings of healing and comfort in accordance with His will. A blessing can do miruclous things when faith is strong enough and when our wills are in accordance with God's." She smiled at the prince. "My King is pretty amazing, isn't He?"

.

When Jenny and the other two faerie women came back into the room, Dylan returned the child to the glaistig, told Jenny to keep an eye on the baby for the next few days, and then left with Nuada.

Tsu's'di, A'du, 'Sa'ti and the requisite attachment of bodyguards waited in the hallway. Rórdán had had to go back to the servants' quarters due to the late hour. A'du raced over and grabbed his mistress's hand.

"Did it work?" The boy cried, nearly skipping to keep pace between his lady and her prince as they moved down the hall. "Is the baby okay?"

Dylan smiled down at her boy. "Pretty sure it did. Thanks for going to get Nils, A'du'la'di. You were a really big help." The child grinned and purred, rubbing his cheek against his mistress's hand. "Here, switch sides, please."

A'du darted to Dylan's other side and grasped that hand. Now with her hand free, Dylan reached out and laced her fingers with Nuada's. The prince glanced down in surprise.

Thank you, she murmured through their link. Thank you for trusting me in this.

I would be a fool to doubt you, mo cridh, when you have proved yourself to me over and over again. And as you have said before, I do not doubt the Star Kindler's existence. If anyone could get your Christian God to save that child, it would be you. You have a way about you.

Thank you.

They made their way through the castle corridors, surrounded by guards. Sometime in the last few days Dylan had learned, not quite to ignore the presence of the Butchers, but more how to accept it. Perhaps because her own retinue of protectors had gone out of their way to be kind to her in the last few days.

Uaithne and Ailbho were wonderful, and A'du'la'di adored them both. Fionnlagh seemed to have taken Tsu's'di under her wing, which made Dylan happy. The cougar youth seemed to get along well with the guardswoman. Friendship of a sort had begun blooming between the mortal and Guardswoman Ailís during the chess matches two days prior. Gráinne and Onóra were both cheerful compared to the reticent Ailís, and lacked Fionnlagh's biting sarcasm. And A'du seemed to be fond of Onóra. All in all, Dylan thought, she was actually pretty happy with her guards. It was like having a slumber party every night.

And once she'd discovered that she was allowed to be alone in the nook-room, she could go there whenever she needed to be alone (such as when she needed to say her prayers, instead of retreating to her closet).

But she would think about that later. For now, she needed to gauge how Nuada felt about what had just happened in the sickroom. Was he all right? He had seemed... impressed, from what she'd been able to gather from the few words he'd spoken. He certainly hadn't seemed hostile, though he hadn't answered her question about the High King being pretty amazing.

Dylan wasn't sure where the prince stood now regarding the Star Kindler. His issue had always been that the God sometimes known as the Lamplighter of the Moon didn't take an active enough role in the lifes of those on earth. Did this change his opinion at all?

Dylan wondered if she was actually hoping Nuada would convert. It didn't seem likely. She didn't want him to choose to follow her God by action but not by faith just so he could be with her. Her prince would never have done such a thing anyway; he held his honor to dear for that kind of deceit.

Was she really going to hold out hope that after more than two-thousand yeards of believing that God had turned His back on the fae, Nuada would choose Him anyway? Dylan was an optimist, but even she had to admit that that seemed a little too impossible.

Nuada was oblivious to her jumbled thoughts. His own held most of his concentration. Something that Jarlath had said during the blessing had caught the prince's attention. A possibility. He kept turning it over and over in his mind, until every facet of the idea had been discovered and explored.

He has blessed you that one day you will have a new family, one that will watch over and love you as their own. And Nuada remembered what he had only recently said to his father. Children and motherhood are delicate subjects with Dylan.

What if... what if...

The child had no family. She could stay below stairs, an orphaned servant... or he could speak to his father. Speak to Dylan. Speak to Jenny, as well, as the household servants were all within her purview as head housekeeper. Speak to the three of them, and see if he might not be able to give his lady a child after all.

It would not be his child, which was what they both wanted. At least, he thought it was a shared dream between them. They had never spoken of whether Dylan merely wanted children and to be with him, or specifically wanted to bear his child. Wanted to be mother to his - to their - children. But for himself...

Nuada could admit he'd entertained brief daydreams. Very brief. Thinking about the impossible only led to grief, after all. But the thought of his child growing within her, the thought of laying his hand against the swell of her belly and feeling a gentle kick... the prince could admit he had envisioned such a thing. Yearned for it more than a little.

The rumors abounding about the halfling babe were a dilemma. Until his father had told him of it, he'd had no notion that anyone, even a fool, believed he'd sired the little one. Never mind the idea Dylan was the child's mother.

Yet that rumor was the most problematic. If he arranged for his lady to adopt the child... oh, the whispers would certainly fly then. They would be virulent, vicious. They would be flying already, as Dylan had given the babe a name.

And was it fair to Dylan or the baby to put either of them in such a dangerous position?

The Elven warrior was no coward; he could admit that focusing on the matter of the child allowed his thoughts to remain far from memories of a few nights prior, when he'd escorted his lady to the sleeping garden with the hawthorn tree and showed her the depth of the transformation she had wrought within him.

He could not honorably condemn her for refusing him. He would not. But anger often followed swift and hot on the heels of sorrow. So Nuada refused to let himself truly think about what had happened that night.

Dylan had been forced to refuse him because of her honor. Well enough. He would accept it, and things would return to the way they had been before he'd made a complete fool of himself.

A gentle press of fingers against his drew his attention to the mortal at his side. She watched him from the corner of her eye, concern and uncertainty in every line of her body.

Um... Nuada? His acknowledgment came through their linked hands. Are you okay?

I am well enough, Dylan. Do not concern yourself. When he caught a flicker of doubt and shadow in her eyes, he added, Truly, my love, I am well. My thoughts were merely elsewhere, that is all. Problems pending, nothing more.

You'll figure it all out. You're just that incredible, she told him, squeezing his hand. Seriously. I am so blessed to have you in my life.

Yes, well, you can repay me by obliging me with a game of chess.

Dylan shot him a wide-eyed look of pseudo-terror. But... but you'll slaughter me. I'll die a horrible, bloody chess death.

The Elf prince smirked. Well, then. You shall simply have to improve quickly, will you not? And just so you understand just what is at stake during our game-

I am not playing strip-chess with you, Dylan informed him. I don't think that's what you were going to say, but just in case it was, I thought I'd throw that out there just so we're on the same page. I am not wagering a single piece of my clothing on this game, since you'd only kick my butt and then I'd end up naked.

He bit his tongue and forced his mind not to picture his enticing and oh so beautiful lady in any state of undress. He would not imagine her so much as missing a sock.

Although socks were innocent enough, and it would be chaste enough if he gently slipped off the slim, green silk footwear his lady currently wore in order to get a better look at the slimness of her ankles. He would allow his hands no higher than the well-toned length of her calf, of course. Or perhaps no further than that ticklish spot behind her knee. Or perhaps....

Nuada's fingers twitched. I had intended to say that for each game, the winner will receive an unnamed act of service.

Our typical stakes, apparently.

Well, mo mhuire, if it is not broken, why fix it?

She smiled as they reached the door to her sitting room. I have a better idea, Dylan said as Uaithne and Ailbho preceded them, making sure her suite was safe. After the bedtime story. It's late; the kids need to go to sleep.

They waited for Fionnlagh and Gráinne to check Dylan's bedroom and the cubs' room while Tsu's'di and Lorcc, one of Nuada's guards, checked the nook-room. Once the suite was deemed secure, Nuada and Dylan ordered the children to get ready for bed. Once dressed in nightclothes and comfortably settled, the prince and his lady went into the children's room, leaving the guards outside.

Nuada wasn't sure what he'd expected as he settled back against the wall beside the children's bedroom door. What he found was 'Sa'ti and A'du in their pajamas, sitting up in the larger bed meant for Tsu's'di with their legs thrown over the side, practically bouncing with excitement.

When Nuada came in, A'du beamed at him. Nudged his younger sister.

"Told you he'd be here tonight," the cougar boy said.

"Oh?" Dylan said, perching on the bed that was probably meant for A'du. "You doubted the prince?"

Both cubs hastily swore up and down that they would never ever, ever, ever, ever doubt Prince Nuada about anything ever. What, was the a'ge'lv crazy?

"You're right; what could I have been thinking? Anyway, so I know you guys have been waiting and waiting, and now that His Highness is back, we can actually read it."

She lifted the book that she'd been holding. The title read The Christmas Mouseling.

"All right! Finally!"

"Yay!"

The prince raised an eyebrow, but didn't comment. Just forced the tension from his shoulders and listened to his lady read a rather sentimental children's story about a mother mouse and her baby trying to find a place to escape the cruel winter wind.

After that, Dylan had Tsu's'di pull another book from the wall-shelf above the youth's bed. The cover was soft blue leather. Written across it were three words in Gaelic in silver plate. In English, it read Old Testament Stories.

"Will you read to us about Esther?" 'Sa'ti asked. "Miss Miyax talked about her in church. Please?"

"But I wanna hear about David and Goliath," A'du'la'di protested. "That's way cooler, because David was little and stuff. Rórdán told me about him."

Dylan smiled. "We can read both. They're really about the same thing, in a way." Both children cocked their heads. "Both of those stories are about doing what's right, even when it's really scary.

"I read about that in a book once, that bravery is a sort of magic. The magic of good against evil, of right against wrong. The magic that is made when you do what you know to be right, even when no one else can or will help you. And that's sort of what these stories are about - courage, and relying on Heavenly Father to help you fight your fears." And with that, she opened the book and flipped to the appropriate page.

"Now in the realm of Persia and Media there lived a king called Ahasuerus, who was in search of a new queen, because the previous queen, Queen Vashti, had rebelled against the king's commands. A man of the king's household, Mordecai, presented his young cousin. She was called Esther, and she found favor with King Ahaseurus..."

Nuada found himself relaxing into the familiar cadence of Dylan's voice once again as she read the story of a young queen who defended an innocent people from a king's edict and a corrupt official, and then the story of a boy who fought a giant to protect his home.

When the second story was over, the children got out of bed and knelt with their arms folded and their heads bowed. Tsu's'di, who'd been standing, folded his arms and bowed his head as well.

"It's 'Sa'ti's turn," A'du said.

"That's because you missed your turn last night," Dylan reminded the little boy. "Or do you not want to?"

A'du lifted his head. "Oh, I want to. I just forgot I missed my turn. Okay. Gimme a sec." The child bowed his head again. Took a deep breath before letting it out slowly. Then he began to speak.

"Dear Heavenly Father, we thank Thee for this day, and for all the good stuff that's happened today. Rórdán coming to see me, and the a'ge'lv coming back safe from work, and His Highness being here for the bedtime stories and for family prayer. We thank Thee...."

Listening to A'du'la'di quietly pray, thanking the Star Kindler for things Nuada could admit he himself never would have thought of, he once against felt that odd quiet stillness that he'd felt earlier, during the blessing for the child. That warmth and that soft presence that he'd felt in Dylan's cottage and in the back of her mind.

He wondered how the child had learned to think this way - giving thanks for simple things, like Nuada's own presence in the room. Had Dylan taught him that?

"So we ask, if Thou would, to bless A'ge'lv Dylan and His Highness, because they're really amazing and we love them a lot. Please help the prince with stuff if he needs it. And help the a'ge'lv, too. Please keep Tsu's'di safe while he guards her. And bless the other guards while they're working, too. They're really nice. And bless the king so he won't be so grumpy and sad. Oh, and please help me to remember the thing I forgot. I can't remember what it is. And we say these things in the name of the Annointed One, amen."

After the prayer, both A'du and 'Sa'ti clambered into bed and cuddled beneath the blankets. "Will you sing that song the hob maids were singing in the hallway at church on Sunday, A'ge'lv? About falling and trying. I don't remember how it went."

She smiled. "Of course. Tsu's'di, Nuada, you guys can make your escape now." But Tsu's'di just grinned. "Let's see if I can keep in tune...."

"Somewhere deep inside you
Wonders if you'll be enough.
You try, and you fall,
And you fail to measure up.
It hurts more than you show.
But you have to know
You're never alone.

"He is there,
Always in your heart,
Even when you wonder
If He knows you are.
He believes
You will make it through,
And He knows all the things
You're going to do.
No matter what
You're going through,
He will remain
True to you...."

By the end of the song, the kittens were nearly asleep. As Dylan got up from her perch on Tsu's'di's bed, A'du mumbled, "G'night, A'ge'lv. G'night, Your Highness."

Dylan brushed a kiss across each of the cougars' foreheads. "Good night, you two. Good night, Tsu's'di."

"Good night, A'ge'lv. You were mostly in tune that time."

The mortal laughed. Nuada inclined his head to the children and followed Dylan out of the room. She quietly shut the door behind her.

.

In the nook-room, Dylan and Nuada sat on opposite ends of the chessboard. Dylan noticed the shadows around Nuada's eyes and at his mouth had lessened, and the tension had mostly left him. She smiled. There was still worry in his eyes, yes, but it was tempered by a sort of peace that she recognized from their time in her cottage.

The prince caught her watching him. "That song... where did you learn it?"

Dylan's smile turned self-deprecating. "From a CD. It's one of the reasons I can sing it sort-of okay. John bought it for my birthday ages ago. I've got a CD player made of adamas. It was a gift from Clary Fray one Christmas."

Nuada blinked. "Adamas? The stuff of Heaven?"

She snorted. "Hardly. It's powerful stuff, but it's not divine. If it was, the Shadowhunters certainly wouldn't have access to it, much less unlimited access. No, it's just one of those mysterious substances, like faerie metal or goblin crystal. No one knows where it comes from, only what it can do."

"If you do not know where it comes from, how do you know it is not divine?"

"Because I am a child of the Star Kindler," she said simply. "Because I retain the privilege and the right of the companionship of His Spirit.

"When that 'innate sixth sense' you talk about fails, maybe I'll be less likely to stick to my guns. Until then, I go by what God and the Spirit say. And They say adamas is awesome, but it's not the stuff heavenly palaces and weapons are made of."

She shrugged. "Not that this bothers me. It's pretty, it's almost unbreakable, and in hands other than mine, it becomes a weapon. That's pretty cool. Anyway, did you want that chess game?"

"I did. What was the 'better idea' you had concerning the stakes?"

Dylan's better idea turned out to be that for every piece one of them lost, they had to answer a question from the other, no matter what it was. She could see the idea and the risk appealed to the prince's faerie nature. She smiled and, since she sat on the side of white diamonds, moved a pawn forward.

"Be gentle with me," she murmured.

Nuada's smile was feral. "Oh, I will, darling. No need to be afraid." His eyes slid to gold-brushed ivory when she blushed and ducked her head.

"By the way, mo duinne, I forgot to mention something else that will happen tomorrow." He moved one of his own pawns of yellow diamond. "Must have slipped my mind. I do apologize."

She arched a brow. "Well, as slippery as your fey mind is, care to tell me what it is you forgot?" Another white diamond pawn slid forward.

"Nothing of great import. Simply that tomorrow," he moved his left-hand knight, "you will have to try on the formal gown I commissioned for you for the banquet."

The glittering piece Dylan had been about to move suddenly tipped over. "What? You bought me a dress? A formal dress?"

Seeing her panic, Nuada couldn't help but start laughing.

"Oh... you hush." But she was smiling. "Just for that, I'll kick your butt at this game." Pale fingers reached out and carefully righted her piece. She shoved it into place.

"In that case, milady, you may want to watch your flank." And he captured her pawn with his knight. "I believe you owe me an answer to a question."

"Oh, phooey." Dylan sighed. "Ask away."

"What was it you were thinking of this morning, that you would not tell me about?"

Her mouth dropped open. After a few heartbeats of panic, she managed to squeak out, "Oh, crud."