Chapter 74 - See Me Through Different Eyes

that is

A Short Tale of Punishment, Sneaking, Nuala's Help, Words with a King, Bargains, a Taste of Hope, Good News and Bad, a Surprise, and Battle Plans

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Tears slipped down her pale cheeks as the cold, implacable backhand cracked her across the face, knocking her to the floor. Blood leaked from a cut on her lip. Thanks to the ring the prince wore, blood seeped from a gash across her cheek. Another blow slapped against her face. White lights exploded in front of her eyes.

"Bres!" Dierdre cried, cringing away from the coldly furious face looming above her. There was blood in her mouth from a bitten tongue, a split lip, cuts in her mouth. Blood dripped into her eyes from a cut through one eyebrow. The Fomorian prince hit her again. "Bres, please! I'm sorry! Please!"

He ignored her desperate pleas. He'd glamored the bedroom before starting Dierdre's punishment to keep anyone from potentially seeing or hearing what he was doing to her. Arrachd knew, of course. So did Cíaran. The gancanaugh waited just beyond the door. When the warding spell faded, Bres knew his old friend would be in the room and at his sister's side in an instant. Bres would be finished by then.

"I warned you," the prince snarled. When Dierdre, clad only in a thin sleeping shift, tried to get to her hands and knees, the prince delivered a savage kick to her ribs. She cried out and fell onto her belly upon the floor. "I warned you! Not to make a move without my permission. Not to make a move on him without my order. Midwinter, I said. The ball, I said." Another vicious kick. "How dare you? How dare you? You might have ruined everything!" Bres went to the floor, straddling her narrow waist to prevent her from attempting to crawl away again, and hit her twice more. "Did I not tell you to follow my orders?"

"I'm sorry," she whimpered, struggling to shield her face with shaking arms. "I'm sorry. Please, Bres, I'm sorry."

The blows stopped. Dierdre peeked between her arms. Blinked the blood from her eyes. The Fomorian prince was looking down at her, his expression one of abject disappointment. He shook his head slowly back and forth. A lock of golden hair fell across one eye.

"I know you are sorry," he murmured. His fingers touched her cheek. She flinched. Whimpered. But he merely stroked her face with surprising gentleness. "Why do you do this? Why do you constantly betray me this way, my sweet? Do you think I enjoy punishing you like this?" She trembled beneath him, unable to speak now that the onslaught of pain had abated, to be replaced by the tender caress along an unbruised, undamaged portion of her cheek. "Dierdre. How often must I do this?"

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm sorry, Bres. I know I was supposed to wait, but I couldn't bear seeing that whore with him, when he's supposed to be mine. You promised the Silver Lance would be mine. He's supposed to be my toy, my plaything, and there she was, strutting around on his arm... I wish you and Cíaran would do something about her." In a tremulous voice, she added, "That human tramp makes me miserable. I hate her!"

Bres shushed her, still stroking her cheek. "I know, sweetness. I also despise her. She stole Nuada from our side, the filthy whore. Turned his heart against us. Against the fae. And she'll pay for it. Even more than he will for his treachery, she'll pay for making him betray our cause. But that does not excuse your disobedience."

Her voice trembled when she whispered, "F-forgive me, my prince. Please... forgive me."

"You will never disobey me again," the prince said softly. His fingers drifted from her cheek down to her throat. "Never again, Dierdre. Or I will beat you to within an inch of your life. I will break that lovely face to pieces, and forbid you a healer." Those fingers tightened around her throat. She choked. "Now, I can use this little misstep of yours with the proper finesse," Bres added, pressing against the paleness of her neck with his hand. "We can use your punishment as bait for a trap for Silverlance. But be that as it may, you will never," with another squeeze around her throat that had her gasping desperately for air, "ever disobey me again."

He didn't let her go, so she couldn't speak. Only nod. Just when she started to struggle mindlessly, frantic for even a single breath, did he release her. He stood up. A wave of his hand dispelled the warding enchantment at the door. Cíaran was in the room in an instant, on his knees beside his sister, cradling her to his chest. He gently brushed a lock of hair back from her face.

Eyes of dark malachite pinned the Fomorian prince. "Did you have to be so merciless?" Cíaran demanded. "She did not expose us, nor did she actually interfere with plans already laid. Was this really necessary?" He watched with gritted teeth as his prince and friend licked Dierdre's blood from his knuckles. "She'll have to glamor the bruises away. You'll have to help her, or they'll be seen." When Bres said nothing, Cíaran hissed before bending his head toward his sister. "Anything broken?"

"No," she whispered, pressing against the gancanaugh lord. "No, I am well enough. Nothing broken. No permanent damage, I think." Dierdre couldn't stop the shivers racking her body. Only cuddled her brother and laid her cheek against his black linen shirt. "He was careful."

"Of course I was careful," Bres said. "I happen to like Dierdre's face. I would never permanently damage my beautiful Dierdre. Surely you know that, my love."

Cíaran helped his sister to her feet and half-carried her to the silk-shrouded bed. Dierdre sank down onto it and curled up, shaking. Her brother pulled out a handkerchief and with a gentle hand blotted the blood seeping from the cuts on her face.

"Do not get too comfortable, Cíaran," Bres said after a moment. The gancanaugh froze. "I have a task for you before you tend to my lovely Dierdre."

"What task?"

"Hit her."

The gancanaugh's eyes widened, and for a moment his glamor slipped. Sclera-less black eyes with crimson-slitted pupils stared at the prince. "Your Highness-"

"Hit her," the Fomorian crown prince commanded. "Strike her hard enough to leave a bruise. I suggest a black eye." When the gancanaugh only continued to stare at him in uncomprehending shock, Bres added, "Do it, Cíaran. Hit her now. That is an order from your prince."

Cíaran turned his gaze to his sister. Tried to speak, but found the words silenced in his throat. Dierdre gave him a long look, and then nodded once before closing her eyes and bracing herself. Cíaran glanced at Bres. The Fomorian watched with an impassive expression. The gancanaugh turned back to Dierdre. Clenched his fist. Then, gritting his teeth until his jaw ached, he struck his sister at the behest of his prince.

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A'du'la'di wandered through the apple orchard with 'Sa'ti, wondering when the prince and the a'ge'lv were going to get up. To keep from getting bored, they'd gone down to the kitchens to see if they could help Rórdán with his chores, and one of the undercooks, Mistress Fitzgibbons, had told them they might go to the winter apple orchard to check if the apples were ripe yet. Rórdán had told them that they were allowed to pick and eat any of the apples on the trees whose trunks were marked with a special symbol.

"The prince an' princess used to pick apples all the time when they were little like us," Rórdán said as he walked with them through the trees. "Whenever they came to Findias. That's what Caspar said, anyways. But sometimes they'd get in trouble for pickin' too many, so the queen said they could have apples only off some of the trees. When they grew up, and the prince went away, no one picked the apples anymore. Master Collin, he's Head Gardener here, in charge of the dryads, said the servant children could pick 'em if we wanted."

"What happened to the queen?" A'du asked softly as they crunched across the snow. "I haven't seen her. Have I?"

"She died," Rórdán murmured. "Long time ago. Humans killed her."

"The poor prince," 'Sa'ti whispered. "That's so sad. Why'd they kill her?"

Rórdán shrugged. "Don' know. But they say that's when the king went mad for a while, and the prince changed."

"Changed how?" A'du asked.

"He used to laugh a lot, an' play, an' have fun. Then the queen died, an' he became sad an' quiet all the time. He's different now, though. Since he came back. Everyone's talking 'bout how he's changed again. He's more like how he used to be 'fore Her Majesty died. That's what Caspar says. Master Caspar likes Her Ladyship a lot, jus' 'cause of that."

"The prince loves her," A'du said decisively. "That's why he's different. He's happy now. When nobody's messing with 'em, anyway. But people keep trying to hurt them. It makes me mad."

"Yeah," said 'Sa'ti. "People like...." She trailed off, whiskers twitching. "People like... gosh, I don't remember what I was gonna say." She sighed. "Whatever. I... d'you guys hear that?"

The three children stopped walking and talking, and listened. Someone, somewhere, was jumping against something before falling back into the snow with a muffled crunching sound. As the three servants approached, they heard a girl's voice muttering, "Stupid trees. If you were pack ice, I'd climb you just like that. So there! Stupid trees! Oof!" A'du and the others rounded a thick apple tree in time to see a girl with fiery red hair wearing white fur bounce off the iced trunk of another tree and flop back onto the snow. "Oh! You stupid tree! Let me climb you!"

"Hey, do you need help?" A'du called. The girl turned from yelling at the apple tree to eye him with obvious wariness. She got up and dusted the snow off her fur-trimmed leather breeches. Maybe she works in the kennels, the ewah thought, remembering how Miyax, the Mistress of the Royal Kennels, usually dressed. Aloud, all he said was, "I can get an apple down for you if you want one."

"Who are you?" The girl demanded.

"I'm A'du," he said. "This is my friend Rórdán, and my little sister 'Sa'ti. Here, lemme climb up there and I'll get you an apple."

Shifting on the fly, A'du'la'di loped up to the ice-coated tree. Muscles coiling and bunching in his massive hind-legs, he sprang at the trunk. His dagger-like claws punched through the ice and wood. With only a bit of scrabbling to keep from sliding down the ice-slicked tree trunk, the cougar cub managed to clamber onto a thick branch. He sniffed an apple. Ripe. Cupping the apple in his paw, he used a careful flick of his dew-claw to sever the stem. He dropped it into 'Sa'ti's waiting hands.

The ewah boy cut down two apples each for all four of the children. Now came the hard part - getting down from the tree. Hooking his back claws into the ice and wood, he stretched out his body as far as he could, keeping himself from sliding by inching along with his front claws taking a lot of the weight. He could feel the strain in his nail-beds. When he was as stretched-out and scootched-down as he could get, he gauged the distance between his head and the ground, and sheathed his claws, which sent him tumbling towards the snow.

A'du landed on a snowdrift with a muffled thump-crunch. Shook himself to rid his fur of any snow. Shook out his paws. Then he shifted back into two-legger form and held out a hand to Rórdán for one of the apples meant for him.

"Thank you," the girl murmured, nibbling on the apple. Her bright green eyes peered at him from between her fiery red hair. "You're a shapeshifter?"

He nodded. "Me an' my sister are ewah, cougar shifters."

"I'm Abigail. I'm a munaqsri. I can shapeshift into a polar bear." Tucking the apple into her mouth, she shifted into a white bear cub the size of a large dog. A'du and the other children gaped in astonishment. She looked like a normal white bear in every way except size and eye-color. A'du was pretty sure bear cubs weren't normally that big. And he knew for a fact that bears didn't have eyes that shifted colors between vibrant teal, electric green, celadon, and silvery blue.

Abigail shifted back to human form and grinned. "So... wanna be friends?"

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Dylan woke slowly, consciousness sliding into her mind along with the odd sensation of something like warm, rough velvet caressing her knuckles. She didn't want to wake. Not yet. She was having such a lovely dream. There was the scent of water lilies and honeysuckle on the air. The warmth of the spring sun. A familiar smile. One that actually reached eyes of vibrant, molten gold like honeyed amber. In the dream, Dylan dabbled her feet in the waters of a crystalline lake and laughed as silvery minnows darted around her ankles. But that caress across her knuckles insisted she wake up. She opened her eyes. Blinked. Memory came rushing back, and she smiled. The darkness of the previous night had gifted her with something wonderful.

Nuada lay sprawled on his stomach on the opposite side of the bed. Sunlight shone in through the window, dappling across his back and his long hair. His eyes were closed. His breathing was deep and even. Dylan's smile widened. Her prince was fast asleep. And between them, spanning the handful of feet separating them, was Nuada's outstretched arm, and her own. They'd fallen asleep clasping hands the night before, and still held onto each other now. Even in sleep, Nuada's thumb brushed across her knuckles.

The mortal's smile slipped away as she studied the Elven warrior, however. He slept, yes, and yet he still looked exhausted. Almost haggard. Faint lines creased his brow. The darkness around his eyes and on his mouth was darker than ever. And though he slumbered peacefully, sadness shadowed his features.

She carefully slipped free of Nuada's grasp. Just as carefully slid out of bed and tiptoed to the door to her sitting room. She had no idea what time it was. At least noon, by the sun. The king was no doubt awake. And if not... well, she wouldn't know until she tried. So Dylan crept out of the room and snagged Uaithne's attention. A finger to her lips and a gesture of her chin toward the bedroom door told him the prince still slept.

"How do I request an audience with the king?" The mortal asked the guard in a whisper. "I need to talk to him." She'd woken up with this idea tickling at the back of her mind. In the ten minutes it had taken her to creep out of bed without waking Nuada, the wisp of idea had fermented into a plan. She actually felt fairly stupid for not thinking of it before.

Uaithne eyed the prince's mortal lady in her rumpled pajamas. "You wish to go like that?"

"I can't change my clothes without waking His Highness. If I wake him up, I won't be able to go. He'll have a litter of kittens and claim I'll get us both killed and refuse to let me out of the suite."

The Butcher hesitated. "And are you about to do something that will get you both killed?"

Dylan cocked her head to one side. "Are you allowed to ask me that? Every time Prince Nuada gives an order, you guys just do it. How come no one asks him if he's about to do something suicidally reckless?"

"Because if he gets himself killed, we may survive. If you are hurt on our watch, he will hunt us down one by one and slay us all without mercy."

She scoffed. "No, he won't." The mortal missed the flat look the Butcher Guard sent her way. "And no, I'm not about to do anything that'll get either of us killed. So can we please go? Before he wakes up and tries to stop me." The guard hesitated once more, studying the human. She sighed and held up her left hand. The light winked blue from the sapphire ring on her finger. "Does this get me any points?"

"You and His Highness are betrothed?" Uaithne demanded. Dylan smiled a little shyly and nodded. He sighed. "Very well, milady. Congratulations, if it is warranted. And I will take you to the king. Although I am not certain you'll be able to get past the chamberlain in those clothes."

Dylan folded her arms and smiled wider. "Leave that to me."

They left after she took the time to say her morning prayers. Her only concession to wearing "real clothes" was that she slipped on her everyday leather boots, which some enterprising faerie hound had deposited beside one of the sitting room sofas. Dylan rubbed behind Eimh's ears. The dog offered a puppy-grin and went limp as a baked noodle on the floor, writhing in doggy ecstasy. The sight of the hound pup's happiness made the mortal miss her cat more than a little.

Despite knowing she looked a bit ridiculous in her Hello Kitty pajama pants, at least to the other faeries, Dylan kept her head high and a calm expression pasted on her face as she followed Uaithne and all of her other guards - except Fionnlagh, who'd agreed to stay behind in case the prince woke up - to the king's study.

As predicted, she didn't make it very far, and as predicted, the chamberlain tried to stop her.

"You cannot possibly think that I will allow you to come before His Majesty in that... that... human peasant garb."

Dylan glanced down at her pajamas. "You know, the princess of Genovia and the princess of Japan wear Hello Kitty trousers, Lord Chamberlain. Not exactly peasant garb." She actually didn't know for a fact that the young princess of Japan actually wore Hello Kitty, but it would stand to reason that she did, all things considered. And the human woman knew the (fictional) princess of Genovia certainly did. "Besides, I can assure you that His Majesty will want to see me now, before things gets crazy."

The chamberlain made a hmmm sound, as if he didn't believe her, but didn't quite dare to say so. She still couldn't believe the king's guards lining the corridor had called him to stop her. "My lady, surely you can understand that in the Golden Court, we have rules of etiquette. A way of doing things that has been preserved for thousands upon thousands of years. Appearing before His Majesty... like that, is hardly in keeping with our customs. Surely you respect that."

"I do. However, I can't change my clothes right now. And I promise you, Lord Chamberlain, the king will be very unhappy if you don't let me by and then let me in - right now."

Lord Box-Head opened his mouth to refute her when Nuala swept down the hall behind the king's servant, humming to herself, a smile on her face. Upon seeing Dylan, she froze. Dylan raised both eyebrows and tried to smile, remembering that she and Nuala were trying to be friends.

"Is there a problem, Chamberlain?" The Elven princess asked.

The chamberlain's gesture practically dripped with disdain as he made a motion with his hand that included Dylan's pajamas. "She wishes to come before His Royal Majesty dressed like that."

Nuala's aurulent eyes went wide. "I... see. Lady Dylan, perhaps you should change?"

Uaithne made a series of soft sounds that sounded an awful lot like, "Told you so, milady."

Dylan shot her guard a dirty look while biting back a sigh. "I can't."

"Why ever not? Surely if you cannot choose what to wear, my brother...." Seeing the look on the mortal's face, Nuala sent a very delicate psychic tendril along the link binding the Elven princess to her twin, and found him fast asleep. Understanding flashed through the Elf's mind. "Ah. I see. Come with me, then, Lady Dylan. I am certain I have something I might loan you that is fit for an audience with the king."

"Oh. Um...." Well, she didn't have a good reason not to go with the princess. Except one - and it was tall, paler than the moon, with silver eyes and tumbling black curls. But that was just because she was being ridiculous. Naya was simply Nuada's friend. Dylan had nothing to worry about concerning the Zwezdan noblewoman. Nothing at all. "Sure. Thank you, Your Highness."

"My pleasure," Nuala said warmly. Then her eyes caught on the ring on Dylan's left ring-finger and widened again. "I... it is absolutely my pleasure. Besides, I think we have a few things we need to discuss, don't you?"

"I-" But Nuala had already taken her hand and yanked her back the way she'd come, towards the prince and princess's suites. Uaithne and the others trailed behind.

The moment they were in the princess's suite, Nuada's twin dragged Dylan into her dressing room. Only Dylan's three female guards were allowed to accompany the princess and future princess. Once inside the dressing room, Nuala whirled on the human woman and grabbed her hands. The Elven woman beamed.

"You accepted him! He proposed again and you accepted! Didn't you? I felt such an intense whirlwind of emotion from Nuada late last night, I could not make sense of it. But he asked you to marry him again, didn't he? And you accepted!"

Dylan nodded. "Yeah, I did. Your father ordered it."

The other woman's smile slipped. "My fath- oh. I... you are unhappy, then. You do not blame my brother, surely?"

"What? No. Nuada actually refused, that idiot. Nearly gave me a heart attack. I convinced him to marry me, though, on the condition that I set some conditions for marrying him. Which makes no sense, but-"

"But he is male," Nuala muttered, "and when do males ever make sense?" The princess sighed. "So you are not angry. That is well, then. It would grieve my brother if you were unhappy with him. He will make you a good husband, I think. He loves you very much, you know."

She rolled her eyes. "I know. Why do people think I don't know this? We're crazy-stupid in love with each other." Then she bit her lip. "And we're engaged. Jeez. If I indulge in a bit of childishness, you won't tell anyone, will you?"

Nuala gave her an understanding smile. "I'll not tell a soul. You are excited, aren't you?"

"Yes!" Dylan allowed herself a happy bounce. "Yes, I am totally excited, I get to marry him! I never thought it would be possible but I get to marry him! I'm so happy!" She sighed it out again. "I'm so happy."

"I, too, have good news!" Nuala said, letting go of Dylan's hands to go to the heavy goldenwood wardrobe standing against one wall of the dressing room. She flung the carved doors wide and stepped back to scan the contents of the wardrobe. "Bres means to go before my father today or tomorrow for permission to publicly ask for my hand." The princess blushed and smiled. Dylan thought that if Nuala didn't love the Fomorian prince, she'd unfortunately be falling for him soon. "Is that not wonderful?"

"That's... great." She thought she might choke on the fib. "As long as you're happy. Wait. Publicly ask for your hand?"

"Oh, it is a bit complicated when both parties are ranking royalty. First Bres had to go before my father and ask for permission to court me. Then he had to receive my permission. Once we'd been courting a suitable amount of time, he would go to my father and ask if he might propose to me. Of course, being royal, there must be both a private and public proposal, if I agreed. So Bres proposed to me, and now he must do so before the court. Nuada will have to propose to you before the court as well. No doubt at the Midwinter Ball or some other event."

Nuala pulled out a beautiful silk-linen leine of exquisite blue the color of an autumn sky. She didn't notice the fact that Dylan had gone a bit pale. "This will do nicely, I think. I'll not call my maids," the princess added when Dylan glanced at the floor. "Naya spoke to me about you a few days ago. She said she seemed to make you a bit... uncomfortable. You need not be jealous of her, Dylan. Whatever was between her and my brother is long past."

"I know," Dylan replied too quickly. She didn't want to think about public proposals right now. If Nuada asked her in front of so many people... what would they do? She suddenly imagined hundreds of faerie nobles booing and hissing at her. Shook the image away. "But thanks for not calling her. I just... think it would be better if she and I avoided each other for a little while. Just until things smooth over a bit. And I'm not really fond of Na'ko'ma. Seeing as how she hates your brother. I don't think she likes me much, either. Which is fine. I'm okay with that."

The princess smiled as she laid the long, simple Irish gown over a bench covered in pearlescent blue velvet. "She does not see the way my brother looks at you. She will get over it eventually, do not fear. And now that you and Nuada are betrothed! I will admit, I have always wanted another sister."

"Another?" Dylan echoed as she shrugged out of her Lord of the Rings shirt.

"Na'ko'ma and Polunochnaya were fostered in Bethmoora," Nuala said. She pulled open a drawer of her vanity table and withdrew a silver-backed brush. "While we share no blood, I have always considered them to be my sisters. They... they were my only comfort in the months after my mother's death."

"What about Nuada?" Realizing that might have sounded differently than she'd intended, Dylan hastened to add, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"

"It is all right," the princess replied. "Nuada... he took our mother's death very hard. Nearly as hard as my father, I think. He became a very somber boy. He would not share things with me, as he once did. Only Wink seemed to be able to coax him into sharing his thoughts. So I turned to Naya and Ko. We became very much like sisters." Nuala turned around just as Dylan was tugging the satin-soft leine into place. "And now I shall gain another sister. You look very well, indeed, Dylan."

"I'm surprised your clothes fit me," the mortal said, smoothing a hand over the cool blue silk.

Nuala smiled. "That is not mine. It belongs to Naya. She will not mind if you borrow it."

A pang hit Dylan behind her heart. "Oh. Um... what's it doing in your closet?" The princess shrugged.

"I have no notion. The maids might have put it back in the wrong place. But you certainly look lovely. Now come here and let me see what can be done with your hair."

Dylan couldn't suppress her smile. "You liked playing with dolls when you were little, didn't you?"

Nuala grinned. "Indeed."

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With the autumn blue leine and matching slippers (a little big, but Dylan's penguin socks took care of that, as the slippers were meant to be worn with thin silk stockings), and Nuala having tamed Dylan's once-sleep-mussed curls and braiding them with blue ribbons, the mortal went before the chamberlain once more. This time, he had no choice but to admit her.

Nerves kicked in as the door closed behind Dylan, leaving her alone with King Balor and the four guards that stood at attention against the far wall. She swallowed. Curtsied to him. Anything to win brownie points for what she needed to do in the next ten to twenty minutes.

"Your Majesty honors me with this audience."

Balor raised an eyebrow. After the previous night, he'd expected the same snarling shrewish behavior from Nuada's lady. This polite woman before him was a far cry from the angry mortal of last night. He gestured to a chair. "Have a seat, Lady Dylan."

"Thank you, Majesty." Dylan forced herself to keep calm and relaxed as she sank into the chair in front of the desk. Balor couldn't see her toes, which scrunched in her borrowed slippers. All of her other tells were easily masked now that she'd had some sleep and anchored herself. Folding her hands in her lap, she did her best to look prim.

"Now I am all curiosity. What could you possibly have to tell me that would force you to brave the lion's den?"

Dylan plastered a cheery smile on her face. "I wanted to speak with you about something of great importance to me, Your Majesty." She let the smile slip away like a shadow. "I propose a bargain, King Balor. I have some questions. I doubt you would answer them strictly out of the kindness of your heart. You are fey, after all," she added with a half-smile quirking the corner of her mouth. Balor inclined his head. "I also know you have questions for me. So I would propose that for every one of my questions you answer, I will answer one of yours."

The king's brows rose. "You assume I have questions for you in the first place."

"All things considered, Your Majesty, it's a safe assumption to make."

He canted his head. "Very well. I accept your proposal. As sovereign, I shall go first." He leaned back in his chair and studied her long enough that only sheer iron will kept her from squirming. "Do you know that my son desires the extermination of the human race?"

Fey-like blue eyes locked with his. "Yes. Did you send, or were you in any way responsible for sending, assassins to the royal forest to harm Nuada and/or myself?"

Surprised that this was her first question, the king replied, "No."

Warmth blossomed in Dylan's chest. A knot of icy tension loosened in her stomach. She should have done this ages ago. Days ago, weeks. Should have asked the Spirit, asked Heavenly Father, to help her discern the truth of Balor's intentions. But everything had been so hectic and crazy and she hadn't had a moment to think straight at all... until now.

And now she knew - Balor wasn't responsible for the dipsa serpents trying to kill them. Would Nuada be relieved? Would he even believe her?

"How can you ally yourself with someone who seeks the death of your entire species?" The king asked quietly.

"Because if I give him a chance, if I show him that humans aren't all bad, he'll stop wanting that. Stop thinking it's necessary. He doesn't want to kill the humans because he hates them. I know he does hate them, but his hatred wouldn't push him for genocide. He thinks he must kill off the children of Adam to save the fae. Death for one species to save thousands, if not millions of others."

Dylan swallowed. She could only hope that she would succeed in showing Nuada that not all mortals were as evil as most of the ones he'd dealt with in his life. And if she didn't... if she couldn't... she didn't know what would happen. "Did you send the Butcher Guards to attack Wink?"

He raised a brow. "No, I did not." The mortal closed her eyes. Relaxed a fraction. Balor asked, "Did Nuada order Wink to attack my guards?"

"As far as I know," the mortal replied, "he did not. The last time Nuada had contact with Wink was when he came to help Nuada take care of me when I was sick." Seeing the king's raised eyebrow, Dylan sighed. "I got sick with the flu about two weeks before we came back to Findias. It's one of the reasons we took so long returning. I couldn't get out of bed for several days. Wink made some kind of faerie medicine for me. That was the last time we saw him."

Balor tapped his finger against his chin. According to reports, the Butchers had been attacked at an event in the mortal city of New York called Midnight Fest. A sort of impromptu festival put on by the fayre and other Hidden Folk in the city. There was no conceivable way the prince could have known the Butchers would be at the festival that far in advance. And he knew the human was not lying. Yet she might be wrong about when Nuada had last seen the silver cave troll.

"Did you try to have my brother killed or harmed in any way?"

Startled, the king wrenched himself back to the present conversation. "I did not." Dylan felt another wash of warmth. "I actually know very little about you or your family. I assume you have one. I know that your relationship with your parents is...."

"Fine," she replied, her tone clipped. "We reconciled before they died."

"How did they die?"

"Bus accident," Dylan said. "Right after I graduated medical school. Did you try to have my servants harmed in any way?"

"I did not," the Elven king said. Another flood of gentle warmth spread through Dylan's chest. He asked, "How exactly did you meet my son?"

Dylan swallowed. Closed her eyes. "I... had been attacked by a group of men in the subway on my way home one night. They... they, um... they forced themselves on me. Cut up my face; that's where I got these." She indicated her scarred countenance with one finger. "Nuada came to my rescue. He told them to leave me alone. Instead, they attacked him. He was shot several times. I knew he wouldn't make it if I didn't help him, and he'd saved me, so I helped him get to safety."

"I see." And that, Balor knew, was the absolute truth. "You couldn't leave him, could you? He was too badly hurt." He remembered that night, a year ago, when Nuala had collapsed, bleeding from strange wounds without obvious source. The king had tried to suppress the dark fear that his son would not survive whatever had happened to him that had hurt his sister. "You saved his life."

"I had to. He'd saved me. He was willing to die for me, someone he didn't even know. I couldn't just leave him to die. We saved each other. May I ask my question now?" Balor inclined his head. "Are you planning... are you going to... were you responsible for the compulsion spells or any of the other craziness last night?" Seeing the molten eyes blaze with hot bronze color, she held up her hands. "Please, Your Majesty! I mean no disrespect at all. I am only trying... I'm only trying to protect Nuada. I'm not accusing you. I'm sorry about last night. I was tired and shaken and it's no excuse and I beg your pardon, but I only want him to be safe! Please answer my question."

The king of Bethmoora fixed his gaze on her and said icily, "I am in no way responsible for the spells that were laid on either of you. Now I ask you this, Lady Dylan, and then we will end this interview. Have you completed the order I gave you and His Highness last night? Have you plighted your troth?"

Dylan held up her left hand. The three sapphires glinted upon her heart-finger in the golden light coming in from the study window. The Butchers lined up against the wall shifted restlessly. Balor sucked in a sharp breath.

"Where did you get that?"

"Prince Nuada slipped it upon my finger when I agreed to be his wife last night."

The king half-rose from his chair. Something too broken to be anger and too vicious to be grief flashed across his weathered face. "How dare you? Both of you? That was not his to give. How dare he bestow such a treasure upon you? You are not worthy of such a gift. How dare you? Give it back! Now!"

She shrank back from him. "He told me his mother intended it for him to give to the woman he would take as his wife," she whispered.

Balor flinched. "His mother... intended... I see." He sank back into his chair on suddenly weak legs. Closed his eyes. "I see."

Dylan was suddenly reminded of what her hound had said the night before, about Balor being sick. He certainly looked unwell. She'd been right the previous evening - he was a bit gray. He did not sit up as straight as he had only two months before. And he looked very, very tired. "Your Majesty," Dylan murmured, uncertain if she dared to say what was sitting on the tip of her tongue. "Your Majesty... are you all right? If I may, sir... you don't look well. Should I call someone? Or perhaps one of your guards should-"

"No, Lady Dylan. Thank you, but no. I am well enough. Merely a bit tired. I am an old man as well as a king, after all. So... you and my son are... are betrothed, then." It wasn't a question, but she nodded anyway. "That is... that is good. I know that my son loves you. As much as he can love anyone."

"Why do you say that?" Dylan ventured. The king opened suddenly weary eyes. "Why do you say, 'As much as he can love?' Nuada loves the way everyone else does. There's nothing diminished or deficient about him. He loves just as fiercely as any other fae."

He did not have the strength to argue with her. Instead, he merely sighed. "Are you happy that you can say yes to him without fear of reprisal?"

"It wasn't reprisals that kept me from saying yes before. My loyalty was divided. I told Nuada long ago that I was his, in all things and in all ways, but he would come second to my God in all things and in all ways. It wasn't fear of punishment that made me refuse him. It was that I love my Heavenly Father, and I did not wish to disappoint him. Just as Nuada does not wish to disappoint you... if he can help it." The king gave her a sharp look. She bowed her head. "Yes, I'm happy we're betrothed."

"You wished to ask me for a boon, didn't you?" Balor asked. "That is why you have come here. That is why you wished to test my intentions toward my son. You did not dare ask me for something that may expose one of Nuada's weaknesses. What did you want?"

Dylan bit back a sigh. And here she thought she'd been being so clever. "Can we have a couple days off?"

Despite himself, his eyebrow winged upward. "I beg your pardon?"

"Can we have a few days off?" Only the warmth of the Holy Ghost and her own instincts prompted her to say what she did next. "He's exhausted, Your Majesty. He's had no real time to recover, either physically or mentally. Please let him have just a few days to get his strength back. To rest his mind. He's... he's so tired. Please, can we have a few days before we have to do anything else?"

"What is wrong with him?" Balor demanded, concerned. "Is he ill?"

"No. Not... not ill. Just... he's tired. Can you understand that? Him being tired? He tries so hard, and he doesn't sleep, and he's just... I'm worried about him. He needs a few days. Please? Just until Midwinter. That's Monday. It's only Thursday. A few days. Please?"

The king sighed. "Lady Dylan, we have several events lined up over the next few days-"

"But you're the king, aren't you? Can't you just... postpone them? I'm really concerned for him." She started to bite her lip, but stopped herself. She could still remember the bleak look on Nuada's face when he'd asked her, How much more? How much more can we take? She offered the king a beseeching look. "I'm really... it's not just me as his betrothed. As a healer, I'm concerned."

"Why are you so concerned?"

She sighed. "I can't tell you, Your Majesty. I'm sorry. It's called doctor - or healer, rather - healer-patient confidentiality. Anything Nuada tells me or that I notice that affects or relates to his health, either physical or mental, is confidential. I can't tell you, or I'd be violating the oaths I took when I became a healer. But he needs a break."

Balor studied her intently for a long moment. There was real concern in her eyes, in her face. In her professional opinion - which Balor was beginning to respect, as she had managed to save Nuada's life without the use of modern medicines or magic after the prince had been shot - the prince needed a rest from the politicking.

"Well, my lady," Balor murmured, sighing, "your request will no doubt give my housekeeper an apoplexy, never mind what it may do to my steward or my poor chamberlain, but the health of the crown prince is a great deal more important to me, both as his king and as his father. So I will see what can be done."

The relief and gratitude in the girl's eyes surprised him. "Thank you, Your Majesty. Thank you so much."

"Nuada doesn't sleep?" The king queried. Dylan winced and looked away. "You did not mean to say that, did you?" She shook her head. "I see. Well, my dear girl, in exchange for acquiescing to your request for the prince to receive 'a break,' you will oblige me by remaining a guest in his bed for the foreseeable future." Her eyes widened and she opened her mouth. Bethmoora's king added, "Before you try to refuse, that was not a request or a bargain in the making. That was an order. Perhaps my son will sleep better with something to divert him."

Dylan clenched her fists in the skirt of the borrowed leine. "Why are you doing this? Why do things that you know upset us? Why force us into things we don't want? What are you trying to accomplish?"

"I have many reasons for the things I do," he replied wearily. "This specifically? To remind you that nothing comes from the fae for free. Everything costs, Lady Dylan, no matter how small or insignificant. Have you any more questions?"

"I have one," she spat, then visibly forced herself to be calm. "But if I ask it, it may offend you. I desperately wish to know the answer. However, as you may become angry by my inquiry, I will offer you this - for whatever level of insult you take from what I have to ask, you may ask me a question that is equally insulting."

Intrigued, the king nodded. "Ask your question."

"Do you even love him at all?" She saw the bronze eyes flash. Saw the way the old lips thinned with displeasure. The king's nostrils flared.

"I love my son," Balor whispered. "You were not there to see the day I first held him in my arms. I thought I could feel no greater love for him than I did in that moment, yet it only grew stronger with every day. I have never stopped loving my son. And that is why I do what I must." He pinned her with eyes of iced copper, as if furious molten bronze seethed beneath a layer of glacial, deadly calm. "And now it is my turn. If I ordered you to my son's bed, would you go? And would you go to him a martyr, lying back and thinking only of duty? Or would you surrender your chastity to him as you have surrendered everything else, including your soul?"

She lifted her head. Her stare was cool and haughty. The old king wondered absently where this regal woman had come from. A moment ago she had been merely an irate mortal girl with eyes as blue as the heart of a flame.

"If you ordered me to Nuada's bed as his lover, Your Majesty, I would be given permission by my God to do what was necessary to keep him safe from your not-so-tender mercies. And permission extends to all things, including pleasure. I would not be surrendering anything. I would go to him, and we would be together, and it would be as Nuada wants it to be - pleasurable for us both. And every night when I kneel down to say my prayers, I would offer up a petition of mercy for your soul."

He blinked. "My soul? Why?"

"Because by ordering me to anyone's bed, holding the threat of physical harm to them over my head - that is rape. And it is not perpetrated by those you threaten and force to have sex with me, Majesty. It is rape by your order, if not your hand. The sin would fall on your head. And the law of God punishes rape with execution. Yet a person can - usually - only die once. For every time Nuada and I would come together, it would be an act of rape on your part, as I would not be willing, and death would be demanded of you. If it could not be exacted from your mortal form, it would be taken out of your spiritual one. And I would pray for you because to give such an order would make you my enemy, and we are commanded to pray for our enemies. Besides, no one does vengeance like the Holy One of the Lost Tribes."

More than a little shaken by the strangely regal fire that suddenly burned just beneath her voice, surprised by the cold light in her eyes, the king merely inclined his head and did not respond to her subtle accusations, nor her warnings. But he would think about them carefully. All he said aloud, however, was, "You may go, Lady Dylan."

She rose to her feet. Offered a short curtsy. "Majesty." The word was spat like poison on her tongue. Just at the door, however, he called her name. She turned back to him, her eyes flat and cold. "Majesty?"

He sighed. "Sit down, Lady Dylan."

"I'd rather not," she said softly, coolly, "if all you're going to do is threaten me."

The king raised his eyebrows. "I really could not care less what you would rather do, my dear. Sit down." When Dylan had taken her seat again, Balor sighed. "This always happens, doesn't it? Why is it that whenever I try to have a conversation with either you or my son, it ends up becoming an argument?" She didn't speak. Just raised one eyebrow at him in subtle challenge. "I have come to a decison, Lady Dylan. I am tired of allowing my son to escape when we quarrel so that nothing gets resolved. I am tired of letting you slip away when you anger me. So I am going to finish this conversation, and I am going to hear everything you have to say, and you will hear what I will say, and then we shall see what comes next."

Surprised, Dylan frowned and cocked her head. "You're actually going to listen to me? You really will?"

"You have my word. I expect complete honesty and disclosure from you. In exchange, I will consider what you have to say very carefully. And you will listen to what I have to say. You may speak your mind here, Lady Dylan. My first question is this: you do not like me, do you? Be honest."

Dylan sighed. "No."

"Why?"

She stared at him. "Seriously? You had one of the two people I love most in the world flogged and you want to know why I don't like you? He nearly died. Why does no one seem to care about that? He almost died and you didn't even care!"

"Of course I cared," the king snapped. Irritation flashed across his face at her incredulous expression. He gestured to the four Butchers, who offered him the standard fist-to-chest salute before leaving the room. The door closed behind them with a soft thump, leaving Dylan alone with the king. "Of course I cared that I had to watch my only son suffer that way. I am not without a soul, whatever you may think. It was agony for me. I couldn't even look at him! What sort of monster do you take me for, that you think I could see my son take punishment like that and not feel anything?"

The mortal blinked, clearly taken aback. She opened her mouth. Closed it again. Struggled to find words. For a long while, none would come. She could only stare at Balor in shock. Finally, she whispered, "I... I'm sorry. I didn't... I'm sorry. I made an assumption, and I shouldn't have. You have my apology for that."

"You think I care nothing for him, don't you?" The genuine shock in Balor's voice made her feel just a little sorry for him. "You think I feel nothing for my own child."

She swallowed. "I did. I'm... I'm not really sure now, though." She eyed him warily. He was being awfully candid suddenly. "You flip-flop a lot, begging your pardon, Your Majesty. One minute you're putting Nuada under house-arrest and making him miserable. The next minute, you're the good guy and being all forthcoming and stuff. I don't know what to think. Maybe you're trying to confuse me on purpose." Dylan shrugged. "I have no idea."

"Is that what he thinks? That I care nothing for him?"

Dylan closed her eyes. Drew a breath. Opened her eyes again. "You could always ask him, Your Majesty."

"And would he tell me the truth, Lady Dylan? You seem to know my son better than anyone, including his twin sister. How is that? How did you manage to get the mighty Silverlance to confide in you so readily? Why does he tell you what is in his heart, yet he hides it from his family?"

"Because," she said without rancor, letting each word shape in her mouth until they held the proper weight, "I rarely judge him for what he tells me. And he knows it."

For a long while, there was silence between them. Balor watched her with fathomless topaz eyes. Dylan did her best not to fidget or scrunch her toes in her boots under the weight of his gaze. Finally, the king sighed and looked away. "I am not Nuada's enemy." She said nothing. Simply waited. The old king added, "I do only what is best for my people. As honor demands. What I do to or about Nuada is either because I absolutely must, for the good of the kingdom, or for his own good."

"That's what he told me," she confessed. Balor's eyes widened. "He says you are only doing what you feel is right. I'm sorry, King Balor, but I'm not a princess or a queen. I'm not royal. I wasn't raised to put strangers ahead of those I love. It's not natural to me. And I don't know anything, really, about politics. So maybe you are doing what's best. I don't know. I only know that my priority is Nuada's health and happiness, insofar as it doesn't negatively impact any innocent people. But I don't understand how putting him under house-arrest or making me sleep with him - even chastely - is what's best. I don't get it."

"I have many reasons for everything I do as king, Lady Dylan. Nuada does not question me. Neither does Nuala. Nor do my other subjects. Why do you?"

She offered him an almost-apologetic smile. "I'm American, Your Majesty. And I'm a Latter-Day Saint. It's kind of in both my cultural and spiritual makeup to ask questions about everything." Her expression cooled just a little. "And it's my job to look out for Nuada's best interests."

"At the expense of millions of others?"

"Don't twist my words," the mortal said, exasperated. "Oh, my gosh, you are just like him! He used to do that to me all the time. Cripes. That's not what I said and that's certainly not what I meant. But in my admittedly limited understanding, what I'm doing isn't hurting anyone, and it's protecting him. The only negative impact, it seems like, is ticking you off. Which I'm sorry for - I don't like making people angry if I can help it - but if that's the only fallout, then...." She shrugged.

"And angering a king of Faerie does not worry you?"

Blue eyes sparked. "Honor dictates I can't allow fear for my personal safety to influence my actions when it comes to doing what's right. Nuada taught me that."

One thin golden brow quirked. "Did he? Interesting." After a moment, Balor commanded softly, "Tell me what you know about my son."

Dylan frowned. "What do you mean?"

"When you think of Nuada, what comes to mind? How would you describe him?"

"Honorable," she said automatically. "Noble." Dylan paused, nibbling on her bottom lip as she considered the safety of confessing the next few words. "Lonely." She saw Balor jolt a little. He tried to hide it, but she was a trained observer. Catching little "tells" like that was what she did for a living. "Hurting. Angry. Desperate. Safe." Wondering if she were pushing the king too far, the human added softly, "In other words, Your Majesty, to me he's a lot like the way he describes you." Except the "safe" part, she added silently.

The king scoffed. "We are nothing alike."

"Yeah, okay." Her indulgent sarcasm was not lost on him. Balor shot her an irate look. "Well, you're both male Elves of royal blood from the same kingdom, bearing the same scars on your faces, and you share at least thirteen chromosomes. Right there, you're alike in six different ways. Just saying."

"Semantics."

"Whatever makes you feel better," she replied with a small smile. "Majesty, have you considered what I do for a living? I'm a mind-healer. I know how the brain works. I went to eight years of advanced schooling to make sure of that. If Nuada was as bad as you seem to think, I would've picked up on it by now. I've known him for over a year. Maybe if you gave him a chance, you'd see he's not as bad as you think. He might surprise you."

"Give him a chance," the king echoed. Dylan nodded. "In exchange for what?"

"Really?" She tried and failed to keep exasperation out of her tone and off her face. "Is everything a bargain to you?"

"I am fey."

Her self-deprecating smiling was half a wince. "Good point. Silly question."

"So I asked you again, my lady - in exchange for what?"

"For crying out loud, what more do you want? I'm already agreeing to marry him! We're sleeping in the same bed. This isn't important enough to warrant me sleeping with him. What else do you want from me? I don't have anything you'd be willing to accept in a trade."

"You could, perhaps, give me a chance."

Dylan blinked. Stared at him. "I beg your pardon?"

"I will, as you say, give Prince Nuada another chance to prove himself if you give me the same."

Taken aback by the simple and uncostly bargain, she stuttered, "I, um, I... well, I... uh... I guess I could do that. Your Majesty. You might try fixing our issues, then."

"Our... issues."

"Yeah. Like how you threaten me every time I say something you don't like." She winced. "Sorry, that came out a little more snarky than I intended. But the threats are... um... well, you're a king. Supreme power in the nation, could have my head cut off just like that," she snapped her fingers. "All that stuff. So it's a bit scary when someone with your kind of power threatens me. Or Nuada. More than a bit scary, actually. Kind of a lot scary."

"Perhaps you should watch your tone."

The mortal bit back a growl and said in a carefully toneless voice, "Or maybe I could do that while you watch what you say. Thus we could compromise. Compromise is good. Nuada and I do it all the time."

"I am the king."

"You're still a human being. Erm, well... a faerie being. I mean, it's like you're provoking me on purpose. You could, I dunno, stop that. Might help forge a better relationship. King or not, you can't ask me to just stand back and let you break Nuada's heart day after day."

Balor scoffed. "His heart?" The king shook his head.

Dylan snapped her fingers and pointed a finger at him. "See? That. Right there. That is what I'm talking about. Why is that funny to you? He has a heart. You have a piece of it. You asked me a week or so ago how I could be so casual in how I handled Nuada's heart. What about you? At least he knows I care about him. Can you say the same? And every time you laugh like that, that just reinforces the idea that you don't care. You say you do, but you don't act like it!"

"Watch your tongue, mortal," the king snapped. "Who are you to say these things to me?"

"You said I could speak freely, Majesty. And I'm someone who wants what's best for your son. I'm not trying to insult you. I'm trying to show you that you have to stop doing this if you want to salvage any kind of relationship with him. I do parent-child counseling all the time, Your Majesty. It's my job. I know what I'm talking about. You're worried I think you don't care about him? What about what he thinks?"

Coolly, he asked, "And just what do you suggest?"

"Family therapy," she said promptly. "I mean it. Talk to him. Listen to him. Or... something. What is it that made you think he was beyond reach?"

"That is none of your concern," Balor said.

Dylan made a sound somewhere between a kettle whistling and a cat with its tail caught in a mouse-trap. "See? You two are just the same! Except now he can't do that to me because he promised he wouldn't. But still! He used to say that all the time. I'd ask a question, and he'd say, 'Let it be, Dylan.' Or 'it's none of your concern.' Drove me nuts." She huffed an exasperated laugh. "Now I know where he gets it. Is Nuala like that?"

A smile surprised Balor by tugging at his mouth. "No. She shares your frustration with that little habit of Nuada's. And mine. How did you get him to make such a promise? That he would never give you such an answer again?"

"I'm an expert haggler. I make good deals." She grinned. "Something he didn't learn until recently. Although he's good at bargaining, too."

"Well, he is fey. Very well, then. I will tell you, since you wish to know so badly. There was a war long ago, between the humans and the Kindly Ones. We-"

"Lost," Dylan supplied. "Yeah, I know, Nuada told me. Said that a lot of fae and humans died. The fae kings forged a truce with the humans to end the fighting. Nuada said the truce wouldn't work. He tried to convince you not to sign a treaty with the children of Adam, but you guys did anyway."

Balor stared at her, non-plussed. "He... told you all of that?"

She shrugged. "Yeah. So far I haven't seen or heard anything about that little incident that would make you think so poorly of him."

"He did not want the truce."

"Yeah; why not? He wasn't the only one, was he? Prince Zhenjin didn't want the truce, either."

"Zhenjin was not crown prince of his kingdom at the time. And Nuada believed the humans would betray the truce. He said their word could not be trusted."

Dylan made an "ooh" face and nodded. "Okay... but he was right, wasn't he? I mean, we did break the treaty, didn't we? And instead of reminding us of what we'd sworn, the fae allowed the humans to forget, so we just kept breaking it over and over again. The truce, as it stands, has done more harm than good, I'd say. Maybe you could try reforging a different truce.

"Well... actually, the UN kind of sucks. So maybe just allying with a world power. Like America. I mean, we've got enough crazies and Sight-gifted people in our country that if it came down to a vote, I'm almost positive you guys would be fine. Especially if you had the backing of the LDS Church - which you would, as I know for a fact our leaders know about the fae - since you guys have church wards and branches and church authorities here. That right there is at least fourteen million people world-wide. Why not let the world know you exist? Stop the humans from continuing to break the treaty? It's a lot harder to get away with that sort of deceit now, anyway. Nuada might be satisfied with that."

"He would be satisfied with nothing less than the extermination of all humans in both worlds."

She shook her head. "Nope. I don't believe that. I'm sorry, Your Majesty - I don't think you're lying. I just think you're mistaken. Nothing you could say would make me believe that. And that is not what he's told me. He doesn't want us dead. He just wants us to stop bothering you guys. It's a fair request. It doesn't make him dishonorable or a monster or a coward. In fact, it makes him a darn good prince."

When the fae king only stared at her, she sighed. "Okay, I'll take you up on your bargain. I give you another shot if you give him another shot. You raised a good kid who became a great man, Your Majesty. Get to know him. Really know him. You might be surprised. And maybe spend some time with him in the next few days."

Balor sighed. "And if I do this, you think things will change between us?"

"If both of you stop being stubborn and try? Who knows? Maybe. That's all I'm asking for, Your Majesty. I'm just asking you to try."

The king regarded her for a long moment. "Very well, my dear. I will try, as you ask."

"Thank you. I really do appreciate it."

"Do you know why I had to punish Nuada at his trial?" The king asked suddenly. Dylan pursed her lips and shook her head. "He would not defend himself. I had testimony of his guilt and he would not speak one word in his own defense."

Dylan made that strangled tea-kettle sound again. "I know! Gah, I wanted to strangle him for that! That arrogant little... ugh. I asked him about that, actually. You know what he said?" Balor shook his head. "He said his pride wouldn't allow it. Can you believe that? Gah. He knows better than to try that again, though, I can promise you. He knows the consequences if he gets hurt because of his stupid, stubborn pride again."

Balor's lips twitched. "Oh? What punishment will you deliver?"

"I already warned him I'd never make him hot chocolate again. Ever."

"And that is such a hardship?"

The human smiled. "You haven't had my hot chocolate, Your Majesty. Although," she added, smiling slipping to be replaced by a grumpy look, "he had the gall to laugh at me when I told him about that."

His lips twitched again. "How very rude of him."

Her own smile widened a bit. "I know. The nerve of some people. He's always laughing at me, though. Like when he kicked my butt at snowball fighting." Seeing Balor's intrigued expression, Dylan sighed. "Yeah. Pitiful, I know. He's got that Elven speed thing going on, whereas I'm pitiful mortal me. No contest between one mortal woman and an Elven warrior." Then she grinned. "Though I get the last laugh. He still doesn't know my cat's been sleeping on his face."

Balor didn't quite manage to swallow a laugh. "Indeed. I cannot quite picture that."

"Just imagine a black fuzzy tumor growing out of the side of his face. That breathes and purrs."

He choked on a second laugh. "I see. Any other fascinating anecdotes regarding my son you wish to share, my lady?"

Dylan studied the king from beneath her lashes. There was humor sparkling in his amber eyes now, and a smile quirked the corner of his mouth. Good. Maybe sharing stories about some of her good times with Nuada was just the boost he needed to see his son in a new light. "Um... did you know he can juggle?"

The king blinked. "You are jesting, surely."

She shook her head. "No. He showed me when he took me to the Troll Market. And he can catch a fish bare-handed. He did that when we were in the royal forest. Even taught me how to do it. Sort of. I caught one fish. He caught, like... five. Elven speed and all that stuff. Said he learned it in the army."

"I imagine he did. I suppose it is now my turn to tell you a story about Nuada."

A surprised smile flashed across her mouth. "Well, we have been doing the quid-pro-quo thing, Majesty. It would only be fair. I actually have a question. When I get nervous, I always tell him, 'I feel awkward. Do you feel awkward?' And he always says he's never awkward. But everyone goes through that awkward stage growing up. I refuse to believe he's the exception to the rule. Do you have a story illustrating this denied awkwardness? He has to have been clumsy at some point."

Balor chuckled. "Oh, several. Such as the time when, attempting to impress Ledi Polunochnaya, he jumped onto the railing of one of the bridges spanning one of the garden streams and attempted to traverse it with his eyes closed." The king smiled. "And then he promptly tripped because he was not looking where he was going and fell in the stream."

A hand flew to her mouth. "Oh, no. She didn't laugh, did she?"

"No. Bruised his ego just the same, though. And his backside - he landed on riverstones."

She winced. "Ooh, ouch." Then she smiled. "Another one, another one. Please? I can totally use these as blackmail later."

The old king was suddenly reminded of his wife when Cethlenn had met Balor's own parents and begged them for stories of the old king's childhood. A smile curved Balor's lips as he recalled another fond memory of his son. "There was the time he stole my horse. He must have been... oh, no more than seven-hundred-fifty or so. Trying to impress his mother and sister. Thought he could ride a fully-grown phooka stallion by the name of Donas."

Her eyes widened. Donas, in Gaelic, meant demon. "Oh, dear. What happened?"

"He fell off. Donas wasn't careful about where he dumped Nuada, either. He landed in mud. Broke his arm." Seeing the mortal's horrified face, he added, "We took him to a healer right off. His punishment for stealing the king's prize stallion and frightening the queen was most severe, however."

Suddenly uncertain again, she murmured, "What was it?"

"Being sent to bed right after supper." Balor smiled when Dylan did. "It would have been without supper, but the healing magic required we feed him - to something other than the wolves." At that, Dylan laughed outright. "He was not allowed to play with his toy soldiers or his stuffed warhorse for two weeks. We let him keep his stuffed bear, however. Couldn't sleep without it."

She grinned. "Nuada slept with a teddy bear? That is so cute."

"Do not tell him I told you that," the king said solemnly, "or he shall never forgive me."

Dylan mimed zipping her mouth shut. Smiled. "My lips are sealed." This was okay. This was working. She was learning a little about the child Nuada had been, and Balor was remembering his son before whatever shadows from the war had transpired to drive a wedge between them. Maybe the king simply needed to be reminded. "Although I have to know... where did he get the idea to steal your horse in the first place?"

Balor sighed. "His mother made a comment about how when he was older, he would look very handsome riding on an equally handsome horse, just as I did. When he asked his mother what made Donas so handsome, she of course mentioned the look of him. My young son thought about this for a while, then went off on his way. The next time we saw him was astride my stallion. Upon falling off, he informed his mother that Donas was 'all right enough to look at,' but that what made him so handsome was the way he jumped."

A laugh caught in her throat. She coughed it out, imagining a young Elven boy clutching his arm, tears rolling unheeded down his face, informing his mother the queen that the horse was wonderful because he could jump over stuff. "That sounds like him."

"Indeed. Donas informed me that what was best about my son was that it was easy to buck him off." At this, the mortal couldn't help giggling. "And the way Nuada squeaked when Donas tried to bite him."

"Oh, no," she laughed. "That's terrible. And hilarious."

The king indulged in a chuckle himself before remembering that he still had business with this mortal woman his son loved so much. With a sigh of reluctance, the king murmured, "This has been... surprisingly pleasant, Lady Dylan. I had forgotten some of those memories ere now. But there are three more things we need to speak of before I send you back to my son."

Now it was Dylan's turn to heave a sigh. "This isn't going to be another 'did he do this heinous crime to you' question, is it, Majesty?" He gave her a look. She sighed again. "I'm sorry. That was rude. Forgive me, Your Majesty. What are your questions?"

"Would you have truly accepted the other thousand lashes of Nuada's punishment that night in October?"

She paled, but nodded. "I was fairly certain I wouldn't have to, since I was telling the truth and I knew it, but I would have accepted his punishment if I'd had to, yes. This surprises you?" The king canted his head. "I think... I know I was in love with him even then. I didn't know I was,  but I was. And I couldn't just let him suffer that way without trying to stop it. Not when he was suffering for me. For protecting me. Not when the only reason he'd been accused in the first place was because he just wanted to visit me, make sure I was all right after everything that had happened."

"He came to visit you?"

Dylan blinked. "Yeah. He took me to a hospital about three months after we met, once he was healed, because my wounds returned once I set foot on mortal soil. Er, mortal concrete, rather. That was this past February. I didn't see him again for a few months. I never expected to see him again, actually. But then one night a fae tricked her way into my cottage and was going to kill me. And my cat," the human added with a scowl. "Nuada had come to see how I was doing after... I think four months? Whether I'd healed all right and everything. He saved me then, too. Every night after that, he would come back. I think he was checking up on me. We'd talk and stuff. Then the thing with Eamonn happened and I didn't see him again until I came to Bethmoora that night."

"I see. My second question is this - do you have an explanation for your behavior last night?"

Thrown by the abrupt change in topic, Dylan blinked and stammered, "I... um... Majesty?"

The king steepled his fingers and regarded her with blank topaz eyes. "You were nearly hysterical last night. You thought I meant to harm Nuada; even, possibly, to kill him. Yet you also told me that Nuada did not warn you against me in such a way as to make you fear me so greatly. Do you have an explanation?"

Dylan swallowed. Looked down at her lap. "Do you know what Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder is?" Balor shook his head. "Nuada says that the fae sometimes call it... suffering from battle-haunts? Dark memories and such from a time of extreme emotional turmoil. Things like war. Torture. That's what I have. Sometimes... sometimes, if it's triggered, I lose the ability to tell where I am, or when. I don't always recognize the people I'm with. A lot of the time, things get confused in my head. I won't remember... well, a lot of things. Like last night. It had a hard time remembering even who I was. I was... shifting, I guess you could say, between the adult-me and myself as the child I was during the memories that kept taking me."

Balor settled back in his chair. Considered several responses before finally settling on, "My dear... what you're talking about sounds very similar to madness."

Her eyes flashed. "I am not crazy." Silently, she ordered herself, Don't let it get to you. It's okay. Nuada knows I'm not crazy. "A better example might be defensive reflexes. Have you ever tried to shake Nuada awake since he joined the army and started fighting in the war?"

"Of course not. One does not shake a warrior out of a sound sleep unless you want to risk life and limb."

"Why not?"

"A warrior will lash out, will attack what he perceives as a threat before he has a moment to tell the difference between friend and foe. Living in an environment of kill-or-be-killed hones one's survival instincts until that sort of defense mechanism becomes-"

"An ingrained part of them?" Dylan supplied. She met Balor's eyes. There was, the king reflected, an odd sort of hollowness in her gaze. "Exactly. Do you remember, Your Majesty, what I told you about my parents? That they locked me away in a dark hole for eleven years, where I was beaten, starved, isolated, drugged, raped, and tortured. Eleven years, from the time I was seven until I was eighteen. When something too similar to that time occurs, my instincts tell me that I'm in serious danger. Suddenly, even though I'm physically here, in the present, in the physical world, I'm taken back to whatever memory has been triggered. Just like a lot of soldiers who come back from war. Are they considered mad?"

The king canted his head in acknowledgment of her point. There was sympathy and compassion in his voice when he asked, "Why did your parents send you to such a place? Did they know what was being done to you?"

Dylan shook her head. "Of course not. My parents loved me. They had no idea. I didn't believe that for the longest time, and then I figured out they didn't know, but they wouldn't believe me when I told them. It would've been too hard on them to realize they'd sent me to a place like that. And they sent me away because I kept doing things that put my brother and myself in danger."

"Why did you not simply stop?"

She blinked. "Didn't Princess Nuala tell you? I was helping the fae. My parents didn't have the Sight. No one in my family did but my twin brother and myself. So when the local fae needed help, I couldn't convince anyone but John to help me." She shrugged. "It's in the past. It doesn't matter - at least, not in relation to the current situation. Was there anything else, Your Majesty? I do want to try and get back before Nuada starts to worry about me. I left him asleep. If he wakes up and I'm gone... well, he'll probably yell at Guardswoman Fionnlagh."

"Well, we cannot have that. There is one final thing. It might be painful, but I need you to be honest with me - for Nuada's sake. Are you barren, Lady Dylan?" Her mouth dropped open. Outrage filled her eyes like sparks of blue fire. Underneath the anger, however, was a grief as deep as any a fae might feel. "It is a valid question, as my son is heir to the throne. If you are unable to conceive a child then you cannot be his wife. If I were to die in your lifetime, he would be forced to abdicate the throne or divorce you in order to take up the mantle of kingship. My son says motherhood is a delicate subject with you. Is it because you-"

"I don't know," she said in a tight, low voice. She cast her eyes down. Her hands were folded in her lap so that her knuckles were bleached white. "I don't know if I can have children or not. I've never been to a healer to find out."

"My son seems certain you are not."

She could feel tears burning the backs of her eyes. Blinking hard to force them down, she met the king's gaze. Was surprised by the compassion in it. "We've never talked about it. I've never... never been able to bring myself to talk about it with him. He hopes for my sake, probably. He knows I want to have children. I also know that if I marry him, I can't, whether I'm capable or not."

Balor fought to make his voice gentle when he replied, "You will have to see a healer before your engagement to the prince becomes official, my dear. I do not say these things to cause you pain. It is-"

"Necessary, I know. I'll speak to a healer before... is before Monday acceptible?" The king inclined his head. "May I go now? Please? I don't mean to seem rude, but I... I, um...."

But the last note of the conversation had hurt her more than she was willing to admit, Balor thought. He hadn't meant for that to happen. The king was beginning to like this human woman - when she wasn't being uppity and disrespectful, she could be charming, and her compassion for others was plain to see.

"You may go," he said gently. Dylan stood before the door once again when the king called her name. She didn't turn back this time. Merely waited at the door, her hand on the knob. "Lady Dylan... in Faerie, all things are said to be possible. A mortal becoming fae, for instance, or losing the coil of their mortality in some other way... and thus being able to bear a royal faerie child - should she prove capable. A faerie king's power is very great, and a wise king helps his allies."

Dylan whirled on Balor. Her heart leapt into her throat and tried to strangle her as she fought for words. "Wh-what? What do you-"

"You may go now, Lady Dylan."

And she knew that no matter how she pleaded, he would tell her nothing more. He'd given her a brief glimpse of hope. Now he would wait, and see what she would do - and what, perhaps, Nuada would do - to learn more of whatever he was talking about. So Dylan curtsied and fled the king's study on trembling legs, feeling Balor's eyes at her back until the door swung shut behind her.

.

Somehow, Dylan managed to keep her face composed and her shoulders straight until she was out of the king's study, well down the hall, and halfway up the stairs leading back to the floor of the royal suites. Then she suddenly stopped dead on a step. Turned sharply to the wall. Gritting her teeth, she clenched her fists and pressed her forehead hard against the icy stone wall.

"Milady?" Uaithne ventured. "Are... are you all right? Did things not go according to plan? Milady?"

"I'm fine." She wouldn't cry. "Everything went fine, actually." The conversation had gone wonderfully well. Much better than she'd ever had reason to hope. Balor wasn't as much of a jerk as she'd thought. He'd forgotten, that was all. Forgotten the child Nuada had been within the man he was now. Forgotten just how much he loved his son. She'd reminded him.

Even more surprising, they'd actually gotten along for more than five minutes. She'd been able to see Nuada's father beneath the mask of kingship. They'd struck a few bargains that would benefit both sides. The sleeping-in-Nuada's-bed thing wasn't ideal, but what she got out of it more than made up for any discomfort she might feel later. And last night hadn't been so bad. She'd been asleep before any kind of inappropriate thoughts had entered her mind. Not that she could guarantee that later, but that wasn't a worry right now.

"Are you certain? You seem... distressed."

Dylan offered the Butcher Guard a wobbly smile. "Talking to royalty is a bit... um... intimidating. That's all."

"But... you speak to the prince all the time."

Her smile was real this time, and didn't wobble. "Well, that's Prince Nuada. His Highness isn't intimidating. At least not to me. He's a big teddy bear."

"The strange thing," young Guardsman Ailbho muttered to his senior partner, "is that she actually means that."

The mortal swallowed. It had been Balor's very last comments that now left her cold with quiet dread. She would have to see a healer. She would finally have to answer the question she'd managed to avoid her entire adult life. Dylan drew a breath. Táebfada. She would see Táebfada. The female healer put her at ease.

If... if she found out that she couldn't... that her dream of bearing children - and thus, her dream of being Nuada's wife - were unreachable... she would be able to handle it if Táebfada were the one to tell her.

And if she wasn't barren, if all the trauma and all the internal scarring didn't make it impossible for her to conceive....

Dylan bit her lip. She didn't dare hope. She couldn't let herself hope for that. Balor had said all things were said to be possible in Faerie. Not that they actually were. To allow herself to dream for that - a life with Nuada, a child or children with Nuada, only to lose that dream to reality... she didn't know how she would handle that. So she wouldn't let herself hope that maybe, one day, she would be able to carry Nuada's child inside her. It was too much to pin her hopes on. Too flimsy a possibility. She wouldn't close her eyes and dream of Nuada laying his hand against her pregnant belly, feeling their baby kick inside her while he whispered softly to her in Gaelic.

But nothing helped the spike of hope that still lanced her breast. Nuada... their child... a family, just like in her dreams. Maybe they could....

Her fists clenched as she forced the daydreams away. She growled at herself under her breath before managing to relax them again. She sighed. Stepped back from the wall. Worry about it later, Dylan told herself. He's being... really decent right now, actually. Don't mess with it. Time to get back before Nuada wakes up.

.

Sunlight pressed against Nuada's eyelids, attempting to rouse him. He did not wish to wake. Not when he was surrounded by the scent of lilies and roses, a familiar perfume that teased his senses. Not when he had been dreaming of slender arms around his neck, soft lips beneath his. A silver ring gleaming with three sapphires. White- and gold-petaled lilies crowning dark curls. A dream, once denied. An answer, once thought impossible, finally given. He'd dreamed of ice melting away from a hawthorn tree in a garden that had once slept under a blanket of wintry enchantment. Dreamed of silver-swept blue eyes meeting his, brimming with happiness. A kiss that sealed a life-long promise.

No, Nuada did not want to wake. Not ever. Not from this dream.

Now a shadow passed in front of the sunshine dancing across his face, blocking the intrusive light. The mattress on which he lay dipped a little under a new weight. He had to open his eyes now. Part of him knew what he would see if he did. It was not the dream that teased him, but it was better, because it was real.

He opened his eyes to see Dylan seated on the edge of the bed. She still wore her pajamas, though her hair had been brushed and she looked wide awake. A soft smile curved her mouth. An answering smile spread across dark lips without Nuada having to think about it.

Dylan leaned down and touched her lips to his. She tasted of cinnamon from the toothpaste she used. He sighed. His hand came up to cup the back of her head, to hold her to him so he could relish the press of that soft mouth against his. Oh, to wake up every day to this. To this, and more. Nuada's free hand sought Dylan's left hand, braced against the mattress to keep her from lying on his chest. His fingertips whispered over her slender fingers until he found the ring on her heart-finger.

When the kiss broke, Dylan was more than a little breathless. Nuada's smile took on a hint of smug male pride. "Good morning, mo duinne."

"Good afternoon, Your Highness," she replied. Suddenly shy, she ducked her head and brushed a lock of hair behind her ear.

He reached up and laid his fingertips against her wrist, just a swift whisper of contact. "Dylan, are you well?"

She studied his face for a moment. Translation: are you still as fragile as you were last night? Or are you back to normal? Do you need me to stay with you as I did last night, or is the crisis past now? Do I need to fear sparking one of your memories with a touch or a look? Dylan offered him a brighter smile. "I'm all right. Everything's fine. Mostly. See, I've got good news and bad news. Which do you want first?"

He arched a brow. "Bad."

"I talked to your father."

Nuada got to his feet and paced to the window without speaking. Dylan simply waited. Finally, her prince spoke. "You went to see him before I woke." It wasn't a question, but she nodded. "Dressed like that?"

Dylan scowled at him. "Nuala loaned me a dress, actually. I changed back into my pajamas after the meeting when I gave the dress back. Not that there's anything wrong with my Hello Kitty pajamas, thank you. And if I'd changed my clothes in here, you might have woken up."

"You went to see my father behind my back?" The words were coolly spoken and left her shivering. "You knew I did not want you to do this, yet you did it anyway?"

"I needed to speak to him."

"Why?" The prince demanded, whirling on her. "What possessed you?"

She sighed. Getting to her feet, Dylan stepped a bit closer to the prince. Stopped about halfway between him and the bed when he gave her a look. "Okay... okay, look. Like I said, I have good news and bad news, okay? Which do you want first? You'll get an explanation," she added when he opened his mouth, eyes flashing, "after you answer my question. Good news first, or bad?"

With stiff dignity, the prince replied, "Bad, as I said."

"All right. Bad news, then: I went to talk to your dad to make a bargain with him and- do not interrupt!" Nuada's mouth shut with an audible click of teeth. His molten bronze glare threatened to scorch her. "I went to make a deal with him and ended up making him kind of angry."

"Kind of?"

She'd slowly been inching toward him again, but stopped at the grumbled words. "You want the rest of the bad news or not?"

A knife-thin blond brow quirked. "There is more?"

"Second piece of bad news - in exchange for the good news I have to give you, I am now sentenced to sleep in the same bed with you, to quote your dad, 'for the foreseeable future.' Which probably makes you happy, since I know you like having me in bed with you, but I have no idea how I'm going to keep my hands off you, you're so hot, I don't know what I'm gonna do, because if you turn on the charm, even by accident, I'm probably gonna toss my common sense out the window and ask you to-"

"Do not try to turn my head with compliments, mo cridh," Nuada said, laughter just beneath the words. If that was all the bad news she had, then things were not as bleak as he'd anticipated. He allowed himself to relax a little. Gently he drew her the rest of the way to him. "And you must know that if you desire anything of me, all you need do is ask nicely."

She swatted him on the shoulder. "You are not helping, Mr. Elven Casanova! Besides, there would be no asking. If anything," she added in a mutter under her breath, "there would probably be shameless begging."

Nuada caught her hand and brought it to his lips. A soft kiss against her knuckles had her eyes going soft and dreamy. "I do not think I would mind overmuch if there were begging involved," he murmured in a voice like black velvet against her skin.

Dylan yanked her hand out of his grip and smacked his arm again, trying to force down her laughter. "Not! Helping!" She folded her arms across her chest and tried to look as asexual as possible in her gargantuan Lord of the Rings t-shirt and Hello Kitty pajamas. "You are absolutely shameless. Bad Nuada! Behave."

"But you make it so difficult to remember my manners, my lady." He snagged her hand again. Dark lips pressed to her knuckles. She laughed.

"Oh, my gosh, you think you're so cute. You're a real Prince Charming, you know that?" Nuada's smug smile and raised eyebrow made her laugh again. "Do you want the good news now? I've got good news and great news."

"Great news? Save that for last. What is the good news?"

"Good news is, we're free to do whatever we want - so long as you stay in Findias - until Monday. No banquets, no balls, no fetes, nothing. I cleared it with your dad. He's postponing everything until the Midwinter Ball on Monday. Of course, he's probably going to announce our engagement that night, and that will cause crazy problems, but we're free until then. No stressful craziness, no royal politicking, nothing but what you and I want to do."

The relief that swept through him in a staggering wave surprised the Elven warrior. "Was that why you went to see him? To ask for such a thing?"

"Um... no. That was just a bonus. I went to see him for the great news." Dylan hesitated. "Maybe you should sit down."

He blinked. "Why?" She gave him a look, a perfect imitation of the flat expectant look he sometimes gave her. The prince inclined his head to her and sank onto the windowseat. "All right. What is this great news?"

"Okay." She ran a hand through her hair absently, unsure how to proceed. "Do you remember in the Troll Market, the day we got the kids? When you were talking to Tsu's'di and that wolf-shifter, and I knew the wolf-shifter was lying?" Nuada nodded. "If it's important, and I ask for guidance, and I actually listen, sometimes the Holy Ghost will let me discern the truth from lies. Everyone who follows the Star Kindler can do that, actually, if they meet those three criteria. Anyway, I realized I should've done this ages and ages ago, but it never occurred to me. I have no idea why. Nuada, I went to ask your father if he's responsible for the attacks."

The Elven warrior went very still. He considered several different responses, and discarded them all. Finally, all he said was, "And?" Compassionate blue eyes found and held his gaze. He swallowed hard. Here it was. Proof of his father's cruelty and duplicity. He trusted that innate sixth sense of Dylan's. Trusted it completely. It had never led them wrong before. So Nuada waited with bated breath for her pronouncement that would tear nearly everything he loved from his grasp.

"He didn't do it," Dylan said, once again feeling the warmth of the Spirit's confirmation deep within as she spoke. Nuada's eyes widened, but otherwise he remained perfectly still. "It wasn't him. He didn't try to kill us. He didn't try to hurt Wink or John or the children. He didn't put the spells on us last night, either. He can be a jerk sometimes, but he isn't responsible for any of that."

Nuada's eyes slid closed. He drew a shuddering breath that seared his throat. Let it out in a rush. Slowly, he nodded. "You are certain. I know that you are; you would not torment me with hope that might prove false. You are certain."

Gentle hands pressed lightly against his face and Dylan raised his head so that he had to look at her. "If I wasn't one-hundred-percent sure, I wouldn't have said anything. I am sure. I'm sure that your father didn't try to kill you. He didn't try to kill Wink, or me, or my brother, or the children. He didn't try to hurt us. And I'm sure of something else." Her thumbs brushed against the royal scar etched across his face. "He may not act like it sometimes, but your father loves you."

Her words were like thorns in his heart. He tried to turn away. "Enough, Dylan-"

"Nuada, I swear to you, he loves you. I asked him. He told me the truth. He loves you. You're his son. He'll always love you." She caressed his cheek with the backs of her fingers. "No matter what happens, he'll always love you. Just like I will. Okay?"

It was too much. He couldn't... couldn't think right now. Couldn't process any of it. So he shoved it down, and away, to think about later. For now, he would focus on something else. Something simple.

"All right," Nuada murmured. "All right. Well," strength returning to his voice now, "what shall we do with ourselves, since we have no engagements today?"

She smiled. "I don't know. Whatever you want, I guess."

"In that case...." He grinned. "You'll want to change into rough clothes, I think. Kennels first, then stables, then gardens."

Her eyes widened. "Why?"

"You will see when we get there, won't you?"

"What about breakfast? Or lunch? Whatever, I haven't eaten yet; it's breakfast. What about breakfast?"

He sighed. "After the kennels, then, before the stables. I have a surprise for you for breakfast, anyway." But no matter how she pleaded with him, he would not tell her what the surprise was. The prince would only say, "You will have to wait and see."

.

"Okay, why are we going to the kennels, again?" Dylan asked as Nuada led her toward the entrance. "I don't think I can handle more than two dogs sleeping on my bed, Your Highness. Especially, you know, with you there."

A smug smile curved Nuada's mouth. "You may want to lower your voice, mo duinne. What might people think?"

She shot him a mock-scowl as they stepped out of the frigid winter cold and into the warmth of the antechamber at the kennel entrance. "Shush and answer my question, you." Dylan shook the snow out of her hair before tying it back in a loose ponytail with a scrunchie. "You're not giving me another dog, are you?"

"No. However, I had promised to introduce you to some very important people some time ago, and I realized I had not done so yet. So here we are."

Dylan eyed the prince warily. His smile held just a touch too much little-boy mischief. "Am I going to like these people?"

"Knowing you, I would imagine so." And putting thumb and forefinger to his lips, he whistled sharply.

There came a thundering rumbling sound, like a stampeding herd of small cattle. A roiling mass of white, rust, black, brown, gray, and copper turned the corner and raced forward. It turned out to be a pack of large puppies - the smallest reached the middle of the Elf prince's shin at the dog's shoulder, and the biggest stood a touch shorter than mid-thigh - hurtling toward him.

Dylan squeaked and stepped back from the charging animals. The Elven warrior folded his arms and simply waited. As expected, the pack of fey Irish wolfhound pups skidded to a halt about a foot from the toes of Nuada's boots, the puppies all wagging their tails hard enough to half-knock themselves over. These pups were much younger than the two youngsters Nuada had picked to be Dylan's guards. In fact, nearly all of them still had their milk teeth, though they were all trained enough to be around people. But after Flannán had told the other she-hounds about Nuada's lady, and they in turn had told their offspring, the demand to see their master's lady had been impossible to ignore. And Nuada was certain that Dylan, lover of all things infantile and cuddly, would enjoy being swarmed by small puppies.

*It's the prince! It's the prince!* One of the lead puppies, a bundle of brindled fur, bounced up and down. *It's the prince!*

*It's the lady!" Another puppy, with warm brown eyes and chocolate brown fur, sprung up on her hind legs for a couple seconds to get a better look at the new female two-legger their mother had told them so much about. She smelled really nice. Happy. The puppy popped back down to the ground. *She has good smells!*

*Me smell next!* Another hound pup cried, squirming over his brothers and sisters to get close. *Me smell next!*

*No cutting in line!* The brindled puppy exclaimed indignantly. *Me first!*

*Why are you first?* Demanded a gray pup. *I'm cuter!* She turned her little face to Dylan. *I am, huh? I'm cuter. You should pet me. My fur is soft.*

"Ahem," Nuada said loudly. The puppies immediately stopped vibrating, gyrating, squirming, wriggling, dancing, and bouncing. They fixed their eyes on their master. "Is this any way to behave in front of a new person? Especially my lady?" The pups' heads and tails drooped. "What would Miyax say? And what would your mother say?"

*I know exactly what I would say,* said a coolly regal voice. Dylan looked up from the puppies to see the massive, long-muzzled head of a dog with long, slightly curly fur the color of pale ash propped up on two ginormous paws of the same color. One pale green eye flicked open to regard the hound pups. *I would say, "Master should be ashamed of you." That is what I would say.*

The puppies whined and sank down onto their bellies. Dylan snagged Nuada's hand and asked, Who's that? Their mother, I assume.

Yes. My second-best she-hound, Iúile Lachtna.

Do all of your dogs have two names?

Of course, the prince replied. Is that not how breeders do it in the mortal world?

Dylan frowned. You know, I have no idea. I don't know much about dogs, other than they've got four legs and teeth, and they wag their tails when they're happy. And that they're carnivores.

Dogs are omnivores, mo duinne.

She huffed. See? What did I tell you?

*I would say, "No more squeaky balls after dinner,"* Iúile added without pity. *"No more tug-of-war with the horses. No more chasing and playing with the palace cats. Straight to bed with all of you." That is what I would say.*

The whining intensified. Nuada's mouth twitched.

The she-hound's voice only grew more stern as she added, *I would say, "No more chasing rabbits through the snow until summer comes. No more playing with sheep in the town. No more running with servant puppies until spring. No more splashing in fountains."*

There were tiny squeaks and yips of horror. Nuada focused on the ceiling to avoid having to look Dylan in the eye. Dylan swallowed a laugh at the adolescent canine grief in several pairs of puppy eyes.

*And I would say....* The hound trailed off, then closed her eye. Yawned, showing miles of long pink tongue. In a gentler voice, she concluded, *And I would say, "Even though you sometimes do bad things, I still love you, and so does Master." That is what I would say.*

Nine tiny puppy tails gave hesitant tick-tock motions through the straw. Nine pairs of heartbroken eyes fixed on Nuada's face. *You still love us, Master?* Catching Dylan's eye, Nuada gave a short nod. The puppies bounced off their bellies back onto their paws, wagging their tails. *Master still loves us!*

One of the puppies, the "cute" gray one, ventured a bit nearer and rolled onto her back, showing a soft white belly. *I love you, Master.*

*Us, too! Us, too!* The rest of the puppies yipped. *We love you, too!*

"They're very young, aren't they?" Dylan asked her prince. He rolled his eyes and gave an aggrieved sigh. Dylan grinned. "They're like... three or four, aren't they?" He gave her a piteous look. A look of masculine suffering that informed her that while he loved his hounds, dealing with them at this stage when they were this excited was a task he only undertook for her benefit. "Oh, poor Nuada."

*You are Master's lady,* yipped a puppy, sniffing around Dylan's boots. *You smell like Flannán's puppies. They are lucky. You are Master's lady. You are his mate. Are you going to have Elf puppies? When will you have Elf puppies?*

Dylan's mouth fell open and she glanced at Nuada, who had the grace to look abashed.

"I...." The prince began. "That is...." He closed his mouth. Opened it again. Shrugged and gave up. "Never mind."

*You must have Elf puppies soon so we can play with them and love them like we love Master,* said another hound pup. *Or perhaps you are a playful female. Master, you should chase her. Maybe nip. She will like that.* Dylan had to cover her mouth to muffle her snort. Iúile made a soft growling sound. The puppies hunched down for a moment at the reprimand.

*That's not what you do.* The brindled puppy from before nosed over to smell Dylan's boots, too. She knelt down, and the puppy began sniffing her knees. *You bring her something nice. Presents always make people happy.*

*Like a rat!* Cried another. Dylan laughed.

*No, like a wabbit!* The other pup cried. *Everybody loves wabbits.*

*Or you could play chase,* said the brown puppy who'd declared Dylan to be in possession of good smells. *Then you could wrestle after you catch her, Master.*

Dylan gave their master a look. In a carefully controlled voice, Nuada said, "My wolfhounds are a type of dog called a sighthound. Sighthounds specialize in pursuing prey by keeping it in sight and overpowering it with speed and agility. Pups practice by play-coursing - chasing and then wrestling their 'prey' to the ground. It does not mean anything, mo mhuire, I promise you."

"Oh. Okay. That's actually kind of neat."

*Two-legger females do not like to wrestle with their clothes on,* the brindled pup informed his siblings. Nuada nearly choked on his tongue. Dylan bit her lip to keep from laughing at his expression. The other puppies paused in their sniffing to stare at their brother in absolute and bewildered shock.

*They don't? Why not?*

Nuada opened his mouth, more than likely to tell the pups to be quiet, but Dylan put a finger to her lips so she could listen to the brindled puppy explain to his siblings in a lofty voice that two-legger females only liked to wrestle without clothes because females were strange like that. Even two-legger males did not wrestle wearing all their clothes. Nuada glanced at Dylan, who was smiling. His lady was enjoying this far too much. He grasped her hand. Why do you want to listen to this drivel?

Hey, they're your dogs. Besides, I'm just listening to this riveting explanation of two-legger behavior. Children come up with the weirdest explanations for things. It's fascinating. I'm a child psychiatrist, remember? And I'm waiting to see if you'll blush.

He gave her a flat look. Never.

The gray puppy who'd insisted she was cute studied Dylan and Nuada for a moment. *Well... why not take off the clothes and then play chase?*

Dylan got one look at Nuada's face and burst out laughing. "Okay, guys," the child psychiatrist said once she'd calmed down, before the prince could growl something. "First of all, two-legger females do like to wrestle with their clothes on. Second of all, you guys shouldn't say stuff like that to people."

*Why not?*

"It's... inappropriate. You might make someone uncomfortable. If you've got a question about something regarding two-leggers, you should ask your mother. Or your father?" She flicked her eyes up at Nuada, who nodded. "Or your father. Okay? You don't talk about stuff like... like mates, unless you have permission from your parents and from the person or people you're talking to. That way you don't upset someone or make them uncomfortable. All right? You understand?"

*All right. We understand.*

The brindled puppy gave her a pitiful look from honey-gold eyes. *Can I ask you a question not about mates?*

"Um... sure."

*Have you seen the kitchen dragons yet? The babies will be hatching soon! You will like it! Trust me. You should show her the kitchen dragons, Master.*

Dylan shot Nuada a startled look. "The what, now?"

.

After being nearly nuzzled and licked to death by a pack of faerie puppies intent on giving Nuada advice about taking his mate to see the kitchen dragons, whatever those were (Nuada had only said he'd explain later) while they investigated nearly every aspect of Dylan they could get their noses near, the prince and his lady escaped to their joint suites once more. In the front room of Nuada's suite, the prince asked in his most formal voice if his lady would be willing to join him for a (very) late breakfast in his study. Sensing an interesting surprise looming on the horizon, Dylan acquiesced. Her eyes went wide when she stepped into Nuada's suite.

"Oh. My. Gosh," she murmured, staring at the repast laid out on his massive desk. There were two trays, each laden with identical fare: a bowl of rote grütze, the red berry dessert doused with vanilla-cream; a plate of still-warm chocolate chunk cookies; a slice of hot apple pie on a saucer, topped with whipped cream; a plate of sliced winter apples, sweet raspberries, strawberries, and blackberries; fresh, soft white bread; and a large bowl of lemon custard crowned with more whipped cream. Two cups - one filled with sweet cider, the other with milk - graced each tray, as well. Little bowls of jam, butter, and honey for the bread sat off to one side.

She turned to Nuada, heart in her mouth. "You remembered. You actually remembered."

He inclined his head. "Of course I did. I-"

Dylan throwing her arms around his neck and hugging him cut off the words. "You're amazing," she whispered against his neck. "You are so amazing. I love you so much. I can't believe you actually remembered! With everything going on, you actually remembered."

A smile tugged at the corner of Nuada's mouth. "Of course I remembered." He enfolded her in his arms. Pressed his cheek against her hair. "You are my betrothed. My very heartbeat. Why wouldn't I remember something that was important to you?" He drew her toward the desk. "Come on. You need to eat."

Not only had Nuada remembered what she'd said about cookies, pie, and custard - he'd also asked for rote grütze, the fruit dish that had first prompted her to tell him she loved him. And apples, which always reminded her of those two months of storytelling in her cottage. Dylan couldn't suppress her smile. Instead of trying, she set to on the cream-doused berry dessert, devouring it as if she'd been starving. After that, she pounced on the apple pie.

Halfway through the custard, she glanced up at her prince, who looked far away even as he ate. "I need to do something nice for you," Dylan decided. Nuada raised a brow. "I don't know what it'll be yet, but something. I'll figure it out."

"You have already done something very important for me, Dylan," the prince said softly. "You have given me back my father. You have eased the fear that I would have to challenge him. And you have agreed to be my wife. What more can I ask of you?"

"I'm sure you'll think of something at some point," she replied, taking a hefty bite of apple-cinnamon goodness with a heaping forkful of deliciously flaky crust mixed in with it. "John says that all the time, but he always comes up with something later on to inflict on me."

Nuada frowned. "Dylan... what happened to your brother?"

She blinked. "How do you mean?"

"When he disappeared, when you were twelve. What happened to him? You've made mention of it, but never actually explained it."

Her fork tinked against the pie plate. She stared down at the swirls of golden filling and crumbles of pie crust. Sighed. "I don't... actually know. Not exactly. He was walking home from school one day, a couple weeks before our birthday. The ground just... opened up beneath his feet. He fell through this darkness. There was no light, no scents or anything. Nothing but the sound of his own voice. And he stayed in the dark until suddenly there was light, and then he landed on our driveway."

Now it was the Elven warrior's turn to blink. "That is all?"

Dylan shrugged. "Pretty much. For him it was... maybe a couple hours. For me, it was six years. Everyone thought he was dead but me. I'd seen him... the day I gave myself this." She tapped her chest, right above the scar over her heart. "John was yelling for me to stop. He told me later he saw a few glimpses of me during the first year he was gone. That was the worst of it for him - seeing me in trouble and not being able to help. He showed up three days after our eighteenth birthday, still twelve years old. My parents didn't - couldn't - believe it was John, and my sisters couldn't afford to take care of him. I suppose I couldn't either, but... he was my twin. My Uncle Thaddeus and his wife helped us out the first couple years. Insisted John go to doctors and see therapists and stuff for everything that had happened. It seemed to help. He used to have horrible nightmares about being locked in the darkness, I think I told you?"

He nodded, remembering words in a dimly lit kitchen in the wake of his own brutal nightmare. I used to make it for John when he had nightmares about... we call it the Soul-Sucking Hell Dimension... my hot chocolate always helped him fall back asleep. She'd said this while preparing hot chocolate for a shaken Elf prince who'd found comfort in the sweet drink and in the companionship Dylan offered.

"Well, for the most part, he doesn't have them anymore. Maybe once a week or so. He doesn't think I know, but I do. I'm his twin. He's not so scared of them anymore, though. I mean, it's not like anything actually happened to him while he was trapped there. He just sort of floated and saw stuff. His nightmares aren't flashbacks so much as what-if dreams - what if he got trapped there forever? He's not so worried about that anymore, now that he's the government's golden boy." She smiled with obvious pride. "Apparently he forced a rift between dimensions or something with his psychic ability. The feds were impressed."

Now was his opportunity to speak to her about resolving the issues they had discussed last night. But he would go carefully, for he knew he was missing at least some information. Why was Dylan so fragile now, when she had not been two months ago?

The slow breaking of Nuala's spell was one reason, Nuada knew. And of course, the spells that had hit them both last night. The Elven warrior had no doubt her mental state had been exacerbated by magic. Two spells working against her... but there were other reasons, as well. Lack of sleep. Mental strain from political games; had he been too quick to assume she could handle such things? The emotional distress of relying on her medicines to allow her to keep up. Was there more? All of these things had to be addressed, and taken care of swiftly, for her safety as well as his.

"Why did you not go to therapy?" He asked, giving nothing of his thoughts away. "For your own memories?"

The mortal popped a bite of apple pie in her mouth. Chewed. Swallowed.

"Couldn't afford it. Therapy costs. The feds kept us fed and clothed. Everything else came out of my pocket or my Uncle Thad's. None of my sisters were doing well enough that they could afford to help out. And I wanted John to have a normal life. Or as normal as he could have. So instead of therapy for me I made sure he got into football and stuff. I still saw a psychiatrist every six months, but that was for my medication. Not so much therapy."

"Your time in the institution, the three months - did that cost?"

"Yeah - my Uncle Thaddeus and his wife. They took John for me, made sure he came to visit. They visited, too. I could tell it was hard on them, though. To see me like that. They spent most of their savings to keep me in that place until I was okay enough to go to rehab. Then they paid for rehab with what was left."

"Rehab?"

She nibbled on a slice of apple from the plate of fruit. "Rehabilitation. For my drug addiction. And the alcohol."

After a moment, Nuada asked, "How did someone like you get into such things?"

"Actually, it was my prescription meds. They all have the potential for dependency. I'm more likely to become addicted to things anyway for several reasons. My mother smoked when she was pregnant with John and I, for one thing. Actually, she smoked while pregnant with all of us." Nuada gave her a look of sheer outrage. She huffed a laugh. "And she wondered why some of my sisters took up smoking later.

"Shock therapy, too; stimulates some interesting parts of the brain." Dylan saw the Elf's eyes flash copper. "Nuada, I know it seems barbaric to you - and it is. I'm not going to argue that. Ever. But it was standard practice up until the late eighties. It wasn't done out of malice. A lot of the people at Saint Vincent's really were honestly trying to help us. It could've been worse. If I'd been in there in the fifties or sixties...."

She shivered, suddenly cold. Popped a raspberry in her mouth. The burst of sweetness washed away the sour taste left in the wake of such thoughts. "Anyway... then there was my drinking when I was twelve, and of course I was on anti-psychotics for eleven years. There's just no way, back in the seventies, you could be on those kinds of drugs for that long and not get hooked. Dependency-awareness wasn't such a big thing back then. It didn't actually start picking up until about five or six years ago.

"Too late," she added with a rueful smile and a shrug. "The more things you've been addicted to in your life, the more likely it is that you'll pick up another addiction, even if you drop the others. That's what happened to me. I even fell off the wagon about the alcohol thing around the time I started college. That's what they call it," she explained, seeing his look, "when you've shaken an addiction and then get back into it again. So I was taking six addictive drugs and drinking. It wasn't even a lot to drink. But I couldn't get through a day without my glass of whiskey-and-coke. That's one reason I quit drinking soda; it made me want alcohol."

The prince pursed his lips in thought. Lacing his fingers and pressing them to his lips, he stared off over Dylan's left shoulder, eyes distant and glittering topaz. She simply kept going with the fruit. She'd never liked raspberries in the mortal realm, but the ones in Faerie were really good. Nuada's vacant gaze didn't bother her. Before last night, it would have, but not anymore. He knew... pretty much every dark secret she had, and he hadn't turned her away. So Dylan simply waited.

"When you fall into a memory... are you still yourself?" He asked suddenly. Dylan cocked her head. "What I mean is, are you an adult re-experiencing these memories, or are you a child again? It seems as if you are a child once more, but I hesitate to presume-"

"It depends," she replied. "Sometimes I'm myself as I am now. It's easier to handle then. But when things are really bad, my life now is... it's almost washed away. As if it hasn't happened yet. There will be bits and pieces sometimes, but it all gets jumbled together. I'll still be a kid. Or at least, my mind thinks I'm a kid. Sometimes I'm seven. Sometimes I'm twelve or whatever. It just depends." The human sighed. "That is one aspect of my PTSD that I tried to keep a sharp eye on at all times, this blurring of myself, because it has the potential to turn into something much worse. I was getting intense therapy to make sure I didn't just fall into the memory without at least trying to get out of it again. I haven't been keeping up with it, though."

Nuada said nothing for a long moment. A faint line creased between his brows as he considered everything she'd said. Finally, the prince asked, "Dylan, do you trust me? If I command something of you, so long as that sixth sense of yours does not warn you against it, will you obey? Will you trust that I would never ask something of you that you cannot do?"

She blinked. "Of course."

"I want you to speak to Healer Lóegaire today," he said softly. She frowned. "She is a mind-healer here in Findias. I want you to tell her everything. You may see your own mortal mind-healer as well, if you wish it, but I would very much like for you to speak to Lóegaire today. Will you do that for me, beloved?"

Her mouth fell open. She tried to speak. Failed to make a sound. She could only stare at him until finally she managed to croak, "I... I... okay." She knew she couldn't stay like this - so open and fragile. She was a huge liability to Nuada. If anyone found out she was so unstable, Dylan had no idea what would happen. And if she was going to marry Nuada, actually marry him and be a princess... she couldn't use the coping methods she'd established over the last ten-odd years to handle this kind of stress. It wouldn't work, and whatever she did do would have to work. So she would have to do this. "All right. As you wish. Was there anything else?"

"I believe...." He trailed off for a moment. Frowned. "I suspect that there is magic at work in you." Her eyes widened. "Do you remember when we fought, before my battle against Zhenjin? How it seemed like the littlest things would set off a quarrel between the pair of us?" Dylan nodded slowly. "You asked me if I thought there might be magic at work, and I brushed your worries aside. But I have been reconsidering. I think perhaps there may be a spell upon us both. One too subtle to detect if one is not looking for it. We both felt it, however."

"We did? When?"

"When we left your cottage to go the royal forest. Do you remember?"

Dylan's eyes blew wide. "Oh, my gosh. That... that dark magic. That malevolence when we crossed Becan's wards at the front gate." She paused. Frowned. "Ever since that night... we've been having fights. Over stupid things, I mean. I mean, everyone argues. It's normal. But..."

"But we are usually much better at keeping our tempers, are we not?" Nuada asked. "I believe that spell is a subtle form of emotional manipulation. It leaves us more open to anger-"

"And fear," Dylan muttered. "Which would explain why my flashbacks were so bad. They've never been that bad before, but... if there was magic involved...." He saw a muscle flex in her jaw as she clenched her teeth. "One thing I hate is people screwing with my mind. It's messed up enough. Someone's gonna get their butt kicked."

Nuada allowed himself a small smile. "I have missed your spark, mo cridh." Dylan flushed with pleasure and ducked her head. "I also think that perhaps part of the spells laid on me last night were of a similar type. Subtle emotional manipulation. I have never been good at detecting small magics such as those. Nor has my father. They are Nuala's specialty. Yet that would explain much of our mindsets last night."

Now something flared hot in Dylan's eyes. "Why I freaked out so badly. Why you... why you felt so guilty. When your father broke the spells on you, most of that fear and guilt faded. Whoever this is was totally playing us. And I was so open to it because my mind is so messed up. And someone was messing with you... oh, I am going to hurt somebody. You just let me get my hands on them and I will...." She trailed off when Nuada chuckled. "What? I'm scary and fierce, remember?"

Something that might have been relief brightened his eyes to honeyed gold. "Oh, I remember, mo duinne. When you see Lóegaire today, she will be able to detect any traces of such magic in you. Even if it was laid by a monarch. Such spells are small and weak by their nature, and so once detected, are easily broken."

Dylan nodded. "It makes sense now. I've wondered why my flashbacks were so bad. I thought... I don't know, that I was going crazy or... something. But if you combine my fragility with two freaking mind-bending spells, no wonder I was so screwed up last night! No wonder I couldn't shake it. Cripes."

"And Nuala's spell is breaking." He hadn't intended to tell her, but once the words were out of his mouth, he realized he did not regret saying them.

She sighed. "Oh, great. As if I don't have enough to deal with. As if we don't have enough to deal with." Then she blinked. Her eyes widened with yet another realization. "Oh, my gosh. I feel like an idiot." Nuada frowned. "My nightmares. The ones I can't remember. They're of Eamonn. That's why I wake up so freaked out all the time. The spell that protected me from the emotional fallout and dulled the memories is breaking. But Nuala said that would only happen when my mind could handle it all."

"Then it seems that you can," he said. "However, all of these things are only aggravating a condition you already have, Dylan. You do know that?" With another sigh, she nodded, and snagged another slice of apple from the fruit plate. "You must do whatever it takes to treat that. You understand?"

"Yes. I understand. And I will. I'll see Lóegaire today. I promise. Nuada?"

"Yes?"

"What about your father?"

He raised a brow. "What of him?"

"Well... it just seems like... seems like he changes tack a lot. Like, first he hated me, then he was sort-of trying to be nice sort of while convinced you were a homicidal serial rapist, then he's all great, and then he's a jerk again. I mean... what if he's under the same kind of emotional spell we are? Sétanta said he smelled as if he were sick."

Aurulent eyes flashed. "What?"

"Yeah. With everything that kept happening last night, I forgot, but he said he thought the king was sick. And when I talked to your father, he seemed... changed. Different from when I was here in October. And he keeps being nice one minute and horrible the next. What if someone's put the same kind of spell on him?"

Nuada sat back in his chair and tried to process what his lady was saying. Ill? His father was ill? That could not be right. Nuada would have noticed. Nuala would have noticed. Or someone would have. And the king hadn't said anything. Balor could not be ill. Tired, yes. His father was very tired, actually. He knew that. But ill? No. As for a spell.... "Last night... well, we had proof of our claims, did we not? The spells upon me were proof enough. So my father would have had no reason to punish me, as he believed me innocent of any crimes. As for how he handled you...." Nuada gave her a look. "You have a talent for provoking him."

She narrowed her eyes. "He's a jerk." Then she remembered the smiling man from earlier and amended, "Sometimes. I'm only giving back what he's dishing out. He's nice to me, I'm nice to him. Just because he's king doesn't mean he can treat me like-"

"Dylan," Prince Nuada said in a tone of warning. "We have talked about this."

"I know. Sorry. So you think he was just reacting to my irritating self?"

Nuada's mouth twitched. "Do I think he was acting on a misapprehension regarding my splendid and quite beautiful betrothed? Yes."

"Ohhhh," Dylan muttered, trying not to smile. "You. You are slick. You know that, don't you?"

He inclined his head. Then the half-smile curving his mouth faded away and the prince drew a breath. "There is something else I require of you, Dylan. I can understand why you would not wish to take medications, no matter their intention, after all that you have experienced, but I have a very great and grave favor to ask of you, my lady. I ask this only because I am concerned for you."

Knowing where this was going, she shook her head. "No. No, Nuada, no. I can't. I can't. You can't ask me...." Seeing the look in his auriferous eyes, she whispered, "Please. Please don't ask me."

"I ask only because I worry for you. Dylan, this cannot continue. You know that. Simply try it. A trial period. If it affects you so adversely, you can stop, and we will find another way."

It took a lot to refrain from sinking her teeth into her lip. Every time she did lately, she tasted the salt of blood. She closed her eyes. Drew a slow, calming breath. "If... if it messes me up, you won't make me take anymore?"

"My word on it."

"And... and you'll help me if I can't just...." If she couldn't just knock back the plastic-coated poisoned pills that would turn her into a mindless doll.

"I will help you, beloved." He would have to help her. If they did not at least find a way to treat this - he knew they could not remedy it; only time, more time than a mortal likely had, would ever cure such an ailment - Nuada knew he would not be able to marry Dylan, for her sake as well as the sake of the kingdom. Her sanity would not be up to the strain. He would have to find any way possible to help his truelove through this. And by the stars, he would.

Slowly, Dylan nodded. "Okay. All right. For you, I'll do it. Starting tomorrow?" Nuada inclined his head. "Okay. Oh, um... I made an appointment with my therapist while you were asleep. Before I woke you up. I have to go see him tomorrow, too."

"So quickly?"

She half-smiled. "They had a couple cancellations. I got lucky; called at just the right time." She hesitated. "I don't know.... with the meds in my system, and everything, the therapy, I don't know... what kind of shape I'll be in tomorrow. Should I stay in the mortal realm, do you think? I was thinking the sanctuary if I'm not up to coming back here, but if that interferes with royal business or whatever-"

"I will meet you at the sanctuary tomorrow, mo duinne. If you are not well enough to return to Findias, we will stay the night there. I told you - whatever you need, it is yours. I will help you in this." Her relief was so obvious it hurt him. "Did I not promise you that I would?"

Dylan smiled. "Yeah, you did. Thank you. How come you're not fed up with me by now?"

Nuada cocked his head. "How do you mean?"

"Well, you did the soul-purging and you took care of Westenra for me and helped me with my flashbacks that first night in Findias and I'm still messed up and still relying on you to help me. Aren't you... I don't know... tired of having to worry about me?"

The Elven warrior took a moment to consider his reply before he said, "Dylan... what happened with Eamonn back then may seem like a long time ago, but it has not even been two months. Sweetheart, he mind-raped you. He broke down the barriers you'd erected between yourself and your other dark memories. Do you really think I would expect you to get over that in less than two moons?"

Dylan blinked, stunned. "Two months? It hasn't even been two months?" She shook her head as if dazed. "It feels like longer. So much has happened...."

"And the soul-purging left you even more vulnerable, and that was less than a moon ago. Such healing takes time. Sometimes even years. Even for the fae. I expect no miracles from you, my lady. Now that you have agreed to start taking proper care of yourself," and though his voice was still gentle, there was a hint of steel and just a smolder of suppressed anger beneath his words, "things will get better.

"And there is one other thing. I know that some of the medicines that you've taken in your life have left remnants in your blood. That this bothers you a great deal. The healers here... I cannot be certain, for I myself know very little of such magic, but they may be able to cleanse the poison from your body over time."

Silver-swept blue eyes widened. "They... okay. I'll talk to Táebfada about it later on today. After I see Healer Lóegaire." She smiled. "I'll try not to get my hopes up, just in case, though. But that reminds me," she murmured. "Your father said something just before I left, and refused to elaborate on it. He... implied that... that he could make me immortal." Nuada, who'd been taking a sip of cider, choked. She waited for him to get his breath back before continuing. "And he hinted that if I did become immortal, we... we could have children. I know I'm not mentally... but... do you know what he was talking about?"

He shook his head. "If I did, I would have told you. I... I will speak to him. I have no idea what he's referring to, Dylan, I swear to you."

"Okay. I believe you. I just wanted to tell you."

Nuada pursed his lips. "I have heard tales of humans becoming fae, but usually it's through something specific to the faerie race. A human getting a seal-coat, for example, to become a selkie. That option is out as it concerns us, I'm afraid." Seeing her puzzled look, he added, "Bethmoora is mostly landlocked. Ciocal and Eirc take up the majority of the coastline. A selkie deprived of the sea would go mad, or pine themselves to death. I would not sentence you to that."

She huffed a breath. "Well, that sucks. Okay. And there's another thing. Your father wants me to see a healer before he announces our engagement, which he probably will do on Monday at the ball."

"A healer? Why? Are you ill?"

Dylan shook her head. "No, he wants me to-" A rapid knock at the door cut her off. "Who's that?"

At Nuada's command of "enter," the door opened and a scarlet-and-gold-clad pageboy, hunched over with his hands braced on his thin knees as if he'd been running, managed to gasp out, "Your Highness! Your presence... is requested... in the Lesser... Receiving Hall... by the king. Lady Dylan... can come, too. You have... a visitor."

Sudden tension whipped through the Elven warrior. "What visitor?"

"It's Master Wink, Your Highness. He's back."