Chapter 76 - There's No Comfort in the Truth

that is

A Short Tale of Wolves and a Child, Concerns, Spy Reports, Naya's Orders, a Good Memory, Watchers, Mag Mell, Stolen Scent, and Dylan's Confession

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Arrachd the nuckelavee stamped his hooves to shake off the snow before stepping into the Drunken Dwarf. He was to meet an informant here. Someone wise to the movements of a particular human child gifted with the Sight. For weeks, now, the Scottish bogle had been tracking the mortal girl-child he'd foolishly left alive the night he'd raided the Metropolitan Museum of Art. But he would rectify that mistake very soon now.

The place was crowded, since it was early Friday evening, but three pairs of eyes - two of ethereal silver, one pair of molten copper - caught the nuckelavee's Cyclopean, red-veined gaze. His toxic yellow eye fixed on three wolf-shifters tucked around a table far back in the corner of the bustling main tavern room. Arrachd approached slowly as he assessed the three shifters.

Two were the shaggy, dark-haired French-American wolves known as rougarou. Each had feral silver eyes. The shorter, stockier of the two had his hand wrapped tightly in a bandage, two fingers splinted. It looked as if someone had broken a few of delicate bones in his hand. The taller black-haired shifter's arm was bound tight to his chest by an amateur sling. His splinted fingers stuck out at strange angles. They introduced themselves as Cuan and Conri.

The third wolf was a copper-eyed fenris, who nodded to Arrachd before knocking back a shot glass brimming with a dark red liquid. The metallic sting on the air told the nuckelavee the fenris was drinking human blood mixed with vodka - a favorite of theirs. With blond hair cut in a deliberate shag and a goatee that might have looked a bit djinn-like and sinister if it had been black instead of golden, this wolf-shifter appeared nearly harmless... until he smiled. The wolf-shifters known as fenris possessed no glamour, so there was nothing to hide the crimson-stained, pointed teeth of a very large predator. The fenris introduced himself as Geri.

"Saw your little human kid about two weeks back," Geri said, sipping from his glass of blood and vodka. "Walkin' on the street with a woman. Human, but there was something weird about her. Thick dark hair, kinda wavy, dark eyes, Eastern European. The kid looked like a Bethmooran's human bastard. White-blond hair, golden-brown eyes, pale skin, walkin' around with a sign over her head that reads, 'Have Sight. Please eat.' That the kid you're lookin' for?"

Arrachd inclined his head and shrugged. The greasy, skinless black muscles of his shoulders rippled nauseatingly. Cuan and Conri barely fought back grimaces. "It could be her," the nuckelavee in Crown Prince Bres' employ replied. "I will have to find this child and have a look myself. Where is she?"

"New Jersey," Cuan said. "We tracked them all the way to this large building. Squeaky Clean Waste Management Services." A black brow quirked. "Obviously someone is hiding in plain sight. We are simply uncertain as to who it might be."

"That child is a favorite of Silverlance's lady," the nuckelavee murmured. "You got a whiff of the brat, and you've smelled the prince's harlot before. Is the child the spawn of Prince Nuada and his whore? Does she have royal blood?"

Hunting down and killing a human child was one thing. Killing the daughter of Nuada Silverlance, even a bastard daughter of the shameful mortal variety, was something else entirely. Just as killing Nuada's current plaything was one thing, but butchering the mother of his child was another. If the bratling was the prince's daughter, Arrachd would have to report back to Bres before making his next move.

Conri shrugged. "She smelled of magic, but we couldn't get close enough her to discern more than that. Someone," glaring at Geri, "kept nearly blowing our cover."

"If you'd gotten a whiff of that human woman, you'd have had trouble keeping your fangs in your mouth as well," the fenris replied with an air of indifference. "Did you see the legs on her? I could enjoy all sorts of things with a woman like that." Even as he spoke, more jagged teeth sprouted from his mottled gums. He quickly closed his mouth to hide the lapse in his shapeshifting control.

Arrachd waved the comments about the adult mortal away. "I care not what you do with the human guardian. Rape her, kill her, eat her for all I care. But find out if that child is the Silver Lance's brat or not. If she is, report back to me, but do nothing else until I tell you."

"What if she's not?" Geri demanded. "Then what?"

The Scottish faerie grinned, revealing his own jagged teeth. "Well then, by all means, have your fun. But bring me back her heart - so that I might present it as proof to my master that she is dead."

If the child was Nuada's, and Bres still ordered her death, Arrachd would still let the wolf-shifters have their fun. And when they were finished, he would cut what was left of the brat's corpse into pieces and send them to her treacherous father and whore of a mother in a box, so they would know the price of betraying the Fair Folk.

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Giggling alerted Prince Zhenjin to his sister's return from whatever childish event she'd attended in honor of Midwinter early that Friday afternoon. Balor, it was well known, longed to have his two children married and producing grandchildren. The old king of Bethmoora had a fondness for young children. It was one reason why so many younger royals were in attendance for this year's Yule festivities. Ming Xian's presence in Findias had been for an altogether different reason, of course, but now that all the unpleasantness about betrothals and who was to marry Nuada was out of the way, the Dilong princess had found playmates in some of the younger princesses, such as Princess Lily from Eathesbury.

It is good Ming has something to occupy her time, Zhenjin thought, glancing from his sleepily giggling sister back to the window. I have little enough to occupy my thoughts at the moment. And his thoughts currently revolved around one person.

Lady Dylan of Central Park.

When he'd arrived, Zhenjin had been certain Nuada was faking his attachment for political or militarial reasons, or being forced into the relationship by the One-Armed King. Seeing the Elven prince with the mortal woman had shattered that belief. All one had to do was watch the two of them to see how in love they were. Feeling bitter and betrayed, the Dilong prince had confronted his old friend. Confronted him, and been shown just how the Bethmooran prince had managed to fall in love with a member of a despised race.

Perhaps, the prince thought now, Nuada is reminded a little of Yukihime. Zhenjin briefly let his thoughts touch on the Onibi maiden that had saved Nuada's life decades ago. Saved his life, and lost her own. The ice fae whose death had convinced the Tuathan prince that the humans had to be exterminated in order to save the fae. Maybe because Lady Dylan saved him, just as Yukihime did, she reminds him of her a little. Perhaps that is how it began.

Then again, perhaps not. The mortal looked nothing like the young Onibi faerie. Acted nothing like her. So what was it that had turned Nuada's respect for Dylan into affection, before setting that affection afire and turning it into love? Was it her looks? The fact that she refused both to hide or to hide from the evidence of the attack that had brought Nuada and the human together?

While Nuada had been shoving all of the horror of the human woman's life into the Dilong prince's skull, Zhenjin had picked up several little tidbits from his old friend. That he loved the feel of the mortal's scars beneath his fingertips; adored the way silver mist softened the strange blue of her eyes when she looked at Nuada; relished the brilliant smile Dylan seemed to reserve solely for the crown prince of the Golden Court.

Was that it? Was it simply that for Dylan, there was no one else but the Tuathan prince? That could be a heady enticement for a man. Zhenjin wondered if he would have been able to resist such devotion at all, much less for the amount of time Nuada had. Dylan made loving her a sweetly-baited trap. What man would turn away from someone who would devote herself to him so completely and irrevocably?

I would not, he thought with a sudden pang of loneliness. To find a woman who would look at me as Dylan looks at Silverlance... I would never turn away from such a woman, human or not. No wonder Nuada fell so fast and so far. Will that woman make traitors of us all by the end?

Zhenjin glanced down at the sheathed knife he held. His thumb traced over the grooves of the dragon engraved into the jade hilt. I am the Azurefire Prince. I am the heir to the Jade Dragon Throne. I am son of Emperor Huizong Tilung, the Dragon Emperor. My course should be clear - to eradicate the threat of the children of Adam to protect the Jing-Ren from the predations of humankind. Yet I have accepted my comrade's choice of a human woman. Is this not a betrayal? Does this not cast shadows on everything we are attempting to accomplish with this final war? What is it about this woman that makes it so easy to forget these questions, these doubts?

Unprovoked, the memory of kissing Dylan's hand came back to him. The slim coolness of her fingers grasped ever so lightly in his. How Zhenjin had caught just a soft misting of perfume from her slender wrist when his lips brushed her knuckles. No chemical-laden mortal fragrance for Nuada's lady. Only the barest touch of plum blossoms and orchids mingling with the natural scent of her skin. Was that it? How she was so different from so many humans? Because she tried to fit in with the fae?

We have to figure out how to explain it, the prince thought. I have to find a way to make it make sense. Because if I cannot explain it, even to myself, when I already know how close their bond is and how loyal she is to Nuada, to the fae... how will we ever explain it to the others? And if we can't do that, what will happen to her then? To both of them?

The crown prince of Dilong had no answers. Only a quiet dread slipping down his spine like a spill of dragon venom and, strangely, the delicate fragrance of plum blossoms and orchids teasing his senses as he stared out into the creeping dusk.

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Nuada paced the length of the cottage living room, ignoring the little beastling that attempted to twine between his feet like a furry black ribbon. Feral bronze eyes slashed to the crystal-and-gold clock on the mantel. Nearly six in the evening already. Where was Dylan? He'd come to the cottage when she hadn't returned to the sanctuary as expected. He'd thought she might be here. Yet the cottage had been empty of anyone save brownie and cat upon his arrival. Nuada frowned and continued to pace.

Upon waking that morning, she'd seemed... off-balance. More subdued than she'd been the previous evening, although she'd still been much easier at heart than she had before going to see the Elven mind-healer the previous day. She'd taken her time getting dressed and completing the rest of her morning ritual. Her movements had lacked the brisk efficiency the prince was used to seeing. Yet every time he'd asked if she were all right, she'd responded that she was fine, and there had been truth in her voice and in her eyes. Nuada had wondered if perhaps she were simply thinking.

They'd gone to the sanctuary together that morning. Only Wink knew the prince intended to accompany the human woman to the mortal realm. Nuada didn't fear reprisals from the king; he was still obeying the very letter of the king's sentence of house-arrest, if not the spirit of it. Yet he knew if something were to happen in Bethmoora and Balor needed his son to return, someone would have to tell the king where the Elven warrior was in the first place.

Saying goodbye to Dylan that morning had been harder than the warrior had expected. Even now, Nuada could recall with perfect clarity how pale and uncertain the mortal had seemed as he'd brushed his lips against her forehead. He hadn't dared to take a more passionate kiss than that. Not with what she might have had to deal with the day before with Lóegaire, and especially not considering what she intended to do this day.

Yet she'd seemed firmly in the present as she'd walked out of the sanctuary to meet up with her secretary, Ariel, at the subway station ten minutes away. Unlike most humans, Dylan didn't own a car, and while she was willing to take the subway to work now, she'd confessed at breakfast that using the New York Underground alone, today of all days, had seemed like pushing her luck. So the secretary had been summoned. As it was Friday, the other human had still been "on call." Nuada was glad of that; this Ariel seemed to be someone Dylan cared for and trusted, which meant the mortal would be taken care of.

While his truelove had gone out into the true world of mortals - to speak to her mind-healer, a Brother Kenner, and then to see the woman who would decide which medicines to give her - the crown prince of Bethmoora had filled his hours with long-neglected work.

First, he'd sent out a call via will-o-the-wisp to his agents in the city. They'd sent back their written reports via wisp and jack-o-lantern. Only four of the aforementioned agents had been summoned to see him - not at the sanctuary, but in the abandoned tunnels nearby. Was that bending (or in truth, breaking) the terms of his house-arrest? Yes. But this was for the good of his people, and so he'd had no qualms about it. Rarely would he defy his king, but for his kingdom? Always.

Nuada stopped pacing and stared into the depths of the fire crackling in the cottage hearth. Many of the reports had been merely reports of failure: no, So-and-So had not seen a hint of anyone plotting against Bethmoora; no, there was no whisper of someone looking for an assassin to take down the mighty Silverlance; and worst of all, no, they had not found even a hint of the location of the third Golden Crown piece.

Except for four of his people. They had had more interesting news. The first of his agents had come within an hour of Dylan leaving....

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A slender, golden-haired korrigan woman glided along the concrete tunnel floor in white leather boots, coming to a halt less than six feet from the Elven warrior. She dipped a curtsy, using the folds of her white wool-silk dress to expertly hide the sixth and seventh fingers on each of her hands. Nuada supposed it was habit more than anything else. A korrigan could pose as an oddly-proportioned mortal midget if they wore contact lenses to cover the scarlet of their eyes and kept their extra fingers hidden. When she straightened, the flickering fluorescents made the mother-of-pearl comb in her hair gleam.

The diminutive fae, perhaps three-and-a-half feet tall, kept her gaze lowered as she whispered in a voice like crunching gravel, "There are rumors in Brooklyn, my prince, in Little Budapest in the Troll Market there. Rumors that an Elf - or something like an Elf - has been seen prowling Central Park of a night, yet only for perhaps half an hour before the fir and oak trees chase him out beyond the borders of the hamadryads. No one knows his name or from whence he comes. Only that his hands are as pale as the moon, like the Elves of your kingdom, and some others. He speaks with a strange accent - neither Zwezdan nor Bethmooran. I have heard conflicting reports, but most agree he sounds of Annwn. His face is covered by a hood. No one I have spoken to has ever seen what he looks like. Rumor has it, though, that he is badly scarred. I believe he may be at least partially blind, as well."

Nuada pursed his lips in thought, then inclined his head. "You have done well, Eglantine. Keep your eyes and ears open, and perhaps learn more of this Elf. He may be Eamonn, the Elf of Zwezda that attempted to kill myself and my family. Do not approach him yourself, however. Eamonn has a very strong gift for mind-touch, and he is a dangerous warrior."

The korrigan, Eglantine, curtsied again. "Yes, Your Highness. I will heed your warning, and do as you command, for it is my deepest honor to be your eyes and ears in the City."

"I am grateful for your service. You may go, Eglantine."

The Elf prince watched the korrigan leave, his thoughts already turning to his next meeting. His second informant came from a bit closer by, slipping up on the prince on feet as silent as a cat's paws, nearly taking Nuada by surprise. Only recognition at the last instant halted the Elven warrior's sword a mere breath from Ren's throat.

Eyes the burnt orange of autumn leaves widened slightly in surprise as the Elven silver touched a vulnerable throat. Whiskers twitched. A wry grin curved a thin-lipped mouth. The light glinted off of reddish-gold-tipped lashes. "My humblest apologies, Wángyé, if I startled you."

Nuada sheathed his sword. "Ren, I have told you countless times - never do that."

The prince studied the húli known as Ren Fei. Because Ren's job was to blend in with the humans and with the fae, he wore baggy black trousers and a slouchy black sweater. The trousers were roomy enough to allow the Dilong fox fae to plaster the thick russet brush of his tail against his thigh, where it would be out of his way in case of a fight. He carried a messenger bag and rode a goblin-made bicycle to sometimes pose as a mortal courier. Nuada knew the fox even dyed his hair with potions bought at the Troll Market, to hide the scarlet and orange markings in his otherwise uniformly-dark hair. His whiskers could blend into his skin, to appear as simple line tattoos against his cheeks. Only his eyes stood out. There was nothing the húli could do about them besides wear sunglasses.

Without another sarcastic word - which, for a fox fae, was extremely deferential - Ren went to his knees and bowed low until his nose was barely an inch from the concrete, in the common form of obeisance made in Dilong and Onibi known as kòu tóu. "I have news, Wángyé. I have been in the East Village and in China Town, and bring to you the whispers I have heard."

"Tell me what you have heard, Ren."

"There is talk of a shadow in my home country of Dilong. Whispers of a festering rot that strangles the roots of the imperial family. They say...." Ren paused, lifting his face to meet Nuada's eyes. "They say that from his prison in the Yue Mountains, Prince Shaohao of Dilong plots against his brother, the Azurefire Prince. That he means to remove any and all threats to his next attempt for the Jade Dragon Throne - including Prince Zhenjin's allies. Including you, Wángyé. There are rumors that he means to enlist any enemies his brother may have, as well, and I know that you and Azurefire have many common foes. I was informed that Dilong Elves have been seen in the Troll Market and in the subways, searching for something. A place, it seems. Not a person. I fear they seek your lairs."

The Elven warrior leaned back against the cool, damp concrete wall and stared off into the dimness of the tunnel. Shaohao? Zhenjin's older brother, who'd been placed under arrest and exiled to the White Jade Palace in the Yue Mountains for attempting to assassinate his father more than a half-dozen times. Could Shaohao have been behind the maverick Téngshé's attack on the king of Bethmoora after Nuada's duel with Zhenjin? For what purpose? A set-up, perhaps; an attempt to trick the One-Armed King of Elfland into killing the Dragon Emperor and his family for the death of the crown prince?

He would have to think about that. And he would have to speak to Zhenjin, as well. Even if the Dilong prince hadn't been Nuada's friend, he would still have volunteered such information. Shaohao was a madman, hungry for innocent blood and indifferent to the well-being of his people. His insane bloodlust and cruelty couldn't be allowed to infect Dilong, one of the most powerful fayre kingdoms in the Twilight Realm.

"Is there more to your news?"

"Know this, Wángyé - I am loyal to you. You saved my mate and our kits that day decades ago, when fire and the shaking of the earth would have robbed me of all I held dear. For that, I and my family followed you across the wide country to this City to pledge our service. If what I have told you this night is but a mere whisper, then what I tell you now is no more than a ghost of thought, yet I would have you heed my warning and be on your guard nonetheless."

Nuada inclined his head. "A fox's ears may catch the faintest whisper of warning before anyone else. I will hear you."

Because he, too, remembered that day a little more than a century ago in San Francisco. Remembered all too well the terrified cries of húli kits and their mother's frantic struggles to free them from an apartment crumbling to rubble during one of the worst earthquakes in American history. Nuada still remembered how the smoke in the air had choked him, dust and grit stinging his eyes and coating his throat. How the last and littlest of the kits - Yun, a tiny girl not yet old enough to walk - had slid her arms around his neck and clung for dear life as he'd forced his way through the fragmenting building and out into the cacophonous night.

"Shaohao has an agent within the walls of the palace of Findias. I know not who, only that it is not someone of the imperial family. I think - though I am not certain - this agent is not even of Dilong, but again, I can't be sure. However, someone is in your castle, and they are the tool of the Mad Dragon Prince."

Someone in Findias. Perhaps a Bethmooran. Not even a whisper of rumor, but a warning from one Nuada trusted never to betray him. Nuada inclined his head. "You have served me well, Ren. I thank you. Is there other news you would tell me?" The húli shook his head. "Then return to China Town and continue to listen to the whispers of the fae there."

Ren rose to his feet, placed his palms together and bowed lowed. "Wángyé, my daughter Yun wished me to offer you a gift. She is apprenticed to an instrument maker in China Town and her master says it is her best work, so she wished to gift it to you, the prince who saved her life that day in San Francisco." Ren withdrew from his messenger back a package wrapped in vibrant red silk embroidered with golden cranes. He held it out to Nuada, still slightly bowed. The prince took it and pushed back a fold of the crimson silk.

A smile quirked Nuada's mouth. Nestled within the silk was a well-made pái-xiāo, a set of Dilong vertical panpipes carved of bamboo that had been oiled and polished until the instrument shone almost like glass. The young húli he had saved decades ago, a young woman now, still remembered that her prince had a fondness for music from the countries he had most often frequented during his exile - including mortal China and fae Dilong. He was no expert at these pipes, certainly, but he could coax a tune or two from them. He draped the silk back over the pipes and canted his head in thanks.

"Please convey my gratitude to Mistress Yun Fei, Ren. I am honored by the gift."

Ren bowed and left. While waiting for his final two informants, Ke'ka'toh and Urraca, he tried his hand at the pái-xiāo, just to see if he was still in practice. Half an hour later, he'd managed a simple, halting tune. He'd been better at the Chinese panpipes a few centuries back. But his attempts were stalled by the arrival of his agents.

For a mishibijiw, Ke'ka'toh was considered small. The Great Water Lynx of the Algonquin, now nearly extinct except when hiding in plain sight on Indian reservations in northeastern America, had once been some of the largest shapeshifters amongst the Native Americans. Over the centuries they had grown smaller, yet Ke'ka'toh was considered diminutive even by their more modern standards. But his size was what often served Nuada best, for a small lynx could squeeze into a place to eavesdrop where a larger one couldn't. He left no fingerprints or other evidence behind, save an occasional tuft of fur. Because he was a mishibijiw, a water lynx, he gave off little body heat, and didn't trigger the humans' infrared sensors. And thanks to his mate, a Spanish water faerie named Urraca, Ke'ka'toh had extra protection against the iron and other human metals found in the places Nuada had taken to sending them lately.

Nuada waited as Ke'ka'toh prowled toward him in lynx-shape. The fluorescents blended the dappling of shadow-spots and banding of stripes along his rusty-gray fur. The wide tufts of fur along his face made the feral head seem much wider. His tufted ears swiveled at every sound. Yellow eyes with wide, black pupils fixed on Nuada as the lynx-shifter padded closer.

On Ke'ka'toh's back was a slender water faerie with thick wavy hair the color of burnished copper, held back by an insubstantial-looking silver butterfly clip. Impossibly long golden lashes framed midnight blue eyes. She rode the lynx "side-saddle," webbed toes and metallic-scaled legs emerging from the damp hems of pale blue capris spattered with golden paint like droplets of sun-splashed water and sprinkled with silver glitter like flecks of river mica. Water dripped from her silver-painted toes onto the cement. Her black windbreaker was decorated with a copper heart over the left breast. A tiny glass bottle filled with an iridescent powder, hanging from an electrum chain, settled at her scale-sprinkled throat. This was Urraca, the xanin, wife of Ke'ka'toh.

When they drew close to the prince, Urraca slipped from her husband's back and knelt. The lynx fae bowed, belly to the floor. Urraca murmured, "Prince Nuada, you honor us with this summons."

"Urraca. Ke'ka'toh. You have news for me?"

"Yes, Sire." The xanin's voice was as sweet and clear as water singing over crystal. Nuada knew that voice could turn deadly in an instant. "There are rumors of an exhibit coming to one of the human museums in the City. An exhibit of pre-Christian European artifacts. The human drones wonder why such things are to be put on display for the public when they are worth millions of mortal dollars. They speak of gold and silver relics that are thousands of years old. And there is a rumor that a human storyteller, an expert of Irish mythology, is coming to this exhibit's opening. A mortal who knows many myths and legends about the People of Danaan."

An electric current jolted through the Bethmooran prince at this. Forcing his face to remain expressionless, ignoring the sudden pounding of his heart, Nuada kept his tone even when he asked, "Have you dates? Times? Do you know which museum it will be?"

Urraca shook her head. "Not as yet, Sire. A thousand apologies. We will seek out this information for you, and anything else you desire to know."

*I do know this,* Ke'ka'toh rumbled. *The humans are concerned because these artifacts are worth much monetarily. Their security will be impressive, even by fae standards. There may even be supernatural protections placed around the exhibit, if this storyteller is more than what they seem. If what you seek is to be found there, my lord, I do not think Urraca and I are skilled enough to retrieve it.*

"Ke'ka'toh is right, Sire. My glamour is weak, and no siren fae am I. I can lure one mortal, perhaps two, but I can't force them to do my bidding, and I certainly can't control a whole room, much less an entire building."

Nuada nodded, stroking his chin thoughtfully. Who among his agents was skilled enough to retrieve the third Golden Crown piece if it was at this human exhibit? Or rather, who among them was both skilled enough and trustworthy enough? Many believed in the necessity of war against the humans, but few believed King Balor had been wrong to send the Golden Army to sleep. Even among those in his personal employ, such thoughts festered. He could not truly blame them. The Golden Army was capable of... much. Even he still had nightmares about it. About what the Army had done to the humans on his father's order. Sometimes he still wondered, How did Balor sleep at night when all that blood stained his hands?

Yet without the Golden Army, and other such instruments of war slumbering in the other fae kingdoms, put to sleep by order of their monarchs, the fae stood no chance in a war against the humans. Not with the weapons they currently employed. Chemical warfare. Incendiary devices. Biological weapons. Nuclear warheads....

A face flashed across Nuada's vision, dark slanted eyes and a waterfall of black hair, and his stomach twisted. The high, sweet giggling of a young girl taunted him. For a moment he tasted snowflakes on his tongue. Smelled the sharp crispness of ice. He shoved it away before the memory could do more than make his eyes burn with the sudden reminder of why the humans had to be exterminated. It was for the good of the fae. For the good of innocents like... no. He wouldn't think about her. Not right now.

"Bring me everything you can on this... exhibit. What is to be displayed, and when, and where. The name of this human storyteller. The details of their security, if it is to be had without risking yourselves. Bring me everything."

*By your command, my lord.*

Urraca pressed her fist to her chest. "We live to serve His Highness Prince Nuada."

Once returned to the sanctuary, he continued with the task he'd told Dylan of a few days prior - trying to find a way to send aid (that was, aid that the king wouldn't object to) to the desperate villages on Bethmoora's borders. He only paused when the cramped handwriting of the reports began swimming in front of his eyes. He tried his hand at the panpipes again, then went back to work until his skull threatened to split. Finally he stretched out on his bed and considered several matters, all of them relevant to his lady. And when he realized that it was nearly four-thirty in the afternoon, and Dylan had been gone since nine-thirty that morning, the Elven warrior decided he'd waited long enough. He wouldn't use the ring to find her - not yet. Instead, he would check to see if she'd retreated to the cottage to deal with her shadows. If she wasn't there... he would wait for her.

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In the present, in an attempt to focus on something other than Dylan's absence, Nuada sank into an armchair and propped his boots on a footstool. Bat mewed imperiously from the floor. When Nuada ignored him, the chubby black cat leapt onto the black leather boots and plunked himself down to wash a hindleg. Nuada continued to ignore him. Like with the problem of the struggling villages, his thoughts regarding his truelove had found no resolution, and now left him with an even longer list of things to give him a headache.

Dylan would, of course, have to be elevated to peerage. The ceremonies and bureaucracy revolving around that little adventure would be enough to give his lady even more nightmares. The ceremony, especially. He knew Dylan didn't like to be stared at. She handled it well, but it made her uneasy. She'd have to get over it if she wanted to be a princess. Especially as she would have to be introduced to not only every noble at court, but shown to the people of Bethmoora, as well - just as he had been as a young man before taking his formal oaths as crown prince. She would not like that.

Or perhaps, Nuada thought, an idea taking shape in his mind, she would... if presented to the right people in Bethmoora. If there was one group Dylan could be counted on every time to charm into adoring her, it was children. And once his people could see how she was with faerie children, perhaps they would then see that she was not like the humans who looked on the Shining Folk and saw only monsters to be feared, hunted, killed. Perhaps they would begin to accept her, be willing to learn more of her.

Or they will remember that a war is coming, said a cold and unrelenting voice in the recesses of Nuada's skull, a war with her people. A war that will end in the destruction of either the fae or the humans. A war that will soak the earth in blood and turn the sky to fire and ash. Will the Kindly Ones accept a princess, a potential future queen, who comes from that accursed race?

A war was coming. It had to come, stars curse it. The fae could not continue to dwindle away, fading into the twilight of the world, until their magic and their lives were lost. If the fae died, the world would be poorer for it. All those lives - countless millions - rested on his ability to find the third Crown piece. Rested on his willingness to sacrifice everything he had to protect his people.

His father had often called him a monster. It wasn't true - yet. He was not the soulless beast yet. But when it came time to don Órga Na Corónach, the Golden Crown, and command the Army... Nuada knew he would be the monster then. His father and sister would never look on him with any warmth ever again.

And Dylan... would she still care for him? Would she still love him as she did now? Would she still be able to?

There were others he would lose when the dust settled and blood fell from the sky like rain to wash the earth with so much death. Lorelei. Somehow, he was certain, she wouldn't stand by him for the slaughter. Not after what she'd experienced in Germany. Erik, who believed in leaving the humans alone. Aso, who had grown weary of war and left the Anansi. How many others would turn their backs on him for what he meant to do?

If another way existed, then by the gods, he would have taken it... but there was no other way. Not now. Perhaps long ago, before the fae had dwindled into myth for the children of Adam. Perhaps something could've been done then. Or would any such attempts simply have resulted in another war like all the others?

All he wanted was a simple life with Dylan. All he wanted was to be his father's pride once more. For his kingdom to be prosperous and his people to be well looked after. Why could things not be that easy?

Because of the humans. Because of their festering, gluttonous ways. Because greed had burned black holes in their hearts that could never be filled and so his people would never be safe, never be allowed simply to be, so long as the children of Adam plagued the mortal and faerie realms.

Unable to bear the weight of such dark thoughts, Nuada turned his attention back to what the next year and a day would hold for him. Dylan being endowed with the rank of princess. Being shown off by the royal family around the kingdom so that the people might get a good look at her and possibly get to know her a little. That alone could take a few months. Of course there would be state visits to certain closely-allied countries, such as Nyame and Shahbaz. "Princess lessons" for his lady, as well. And knowing Dylan, she would want to take part in truly being a princess, which meant sessions with the council.

Speaking of the council, Nuada thought with no little grimness, they might attempt to stop me from marrying her. While Bethmoora is ruled by monarchy, not council, the councilors do have a strong voice in the government. The king listens to them more often than to anyone but Nuala. Alienating the council would be unwise - they could make things very difficult for me, and for Dylan. While he was the crown prince, and technically need not fear the council, they possessed the power to hinder him in future endeavors if he angered them now. He would have to persuade them. I will need an ally in this.

Which meant only one thing: Lady Jocasta of Reedus.

Lady Jocasta was the most powerful human sympathizer in the Bethmooran court. Her estate was vast, her political influence subtle but cunningly networked, and her holdings prosperous - thus making her extremely wealthy. With a Bethmooran father and Alakan mother, she didn't look like a noblewoman of the Golden Court. Her exotic beauty helped draw some of the younger male courtiers to her side when she needed extra aid in council. Her wealth and influence drew the rest of the allies she needed. And she had already written to him to tell him that she desired to be a friend and ally to Dylan.

There was only one problem in all of that, really. He despised Lady Jocasta. She was a traitor to the kingdom. All human sympathizers were. But if she proved a true friend and ally to Dylan....

"Mreow!" Bat stood on Nuada's knee, glaring at him with narrowed amber eyes. He gave the prince's leg a smack with one paw. "Mew!"

Nuada quirked a brow, giving the cat a look that succinctly said, Do you want something?

Arching his back and fluffing out his tail, Bat kneaded Nuada's knee for a moment before scampering to the floor. He slipped and slid a little on the polished wooden floor and smacked smartly into a wall. After giving the offending wall a generous buffet with both paws, he turned back to the two-legger his human liked so much and bounced, arrowing for the Christmas tree. The prince simply watched this display with mild curiosity.

Bat whacked a large, blue-wrapped package beneath the tree and yowled. Whacked the package again. When Nuada didn't react, Bat grumbled under his breath and plopped down on his side. Time for a change of tactics. Stretching out completely, he rolled onto his back on top of the package and blinked at his human's two-legger. Mewed. The message was clear: I am cute, and my tummy is cute. Come over and pet it. Then the two-legger would see the package and open it!

Intrigued despite himself, Nuada propped an elbow on the arm of the chair and studied the cat. What was the little beast trying to accomplish?

The sound of the seven bolts on the door sliding back jerked Nuada's attention to the door. He straightened in the chair as the door opened and familiar laughter blew in along with a gust of icy winter air. Bat hopped to his feet and jogged to meet the humans coming into the cottage.

"D, I'm glad you're happy, but you're gonna crash in a few hours." A muscle flexed in Nuada's jaw. He recognized that voice. That irritating voice. It belonged to that feckless whelp. "Maybe you should stay at the cottage for tonight."

"No way! I want to see Nuada! Oh, hey, Bat!"

Nuada settled back in the armchair and raised two fingers from where they rested on the leather arm. Instantly Becan stood atop the side table, bowing to the prince. When the brownie straightened from the bow, the Elf prince jerked his chin toward the kitchen, where Dylan's voice echoed. The brownie skampered off the table and vanished from the warrior's sight. After a minute, Nuada heard the low murmur of Becan's voice. Dylan actually squealed. Bat yowled; Dylan had dropped him back onto the floor.

The Elven warrior was on his feet when Dylan rushed into the room. She paused to drop her leather coat on a chair, toss her white scarf and her black leather gloves after it, then practically flew to him. Throwing her arms around his neck, Nuada's truelove jumped up to press a fleeting kiss to his lips. Nuada wrapped his arms around her. His fingers tangled in the soft knit of her cream-colored sweater.

"Hi! What are you doing here? I thought I was going to meet you at the sanctuary." Then, as if she couldn't help herself, she pressed her face against where the muscles of his neck met his shoulder and breathed a sigh of contentment. The heat of her breath on his neck raised gooseflesh across Nuada's skin. "Oh, my gosh, you are so warm." She nuzzled him. Her lips brushed against where his pulse suddenly pounded at his throat. "And you smell so good. Is that new soap?"

"Just to warn you, Your Highness," John said from the doorway, mouth twitching, "she's high right now."

Dylan whirled on her twin. "I most certainly am not!"

John scoffed. "Right." To Nuada, he said, "They put her on Ambien - among other things. The first dose was just to keep her from freaking out about the meds and the rest is to help her fall asleep later tonight. Anyway, during 'the initial start of the treatment,' side-effects are more likely and of greater intensity than they will be once her body gets used to the drugs again. One of the side-effects is 'intense euphoria.' So she's really happy right now."

Seeming to ignore the mortal man, the Elf prince turned Dylan to face him. Cupping her chin, he tilted her head back to give him a better view of her eyes. Her pupils were dilated, black nearly swallowing the silver-washed blue. Nuada laid his palm against her cheek. Swept his thumb across the delicate edge of her cheekbone. She sighed and leaned into the caress.

"Are you all right?" Nuada asked softly. Dylan nodded. "You are certain?"

"It wasn't as bad as I'd expected," she told him. "Although Brother Kenner and Dr. Forno both wanted to strangle me. So I'm on the same meds. Ambien, Rohypnol, and Valium. But!" She held up a finger as if stumbling upon a great discovery. "Reduced doses. By like, a lot. I am so okay with that. However, because my reactions are a little... um..."

"Because she's high as a kite," John interjected, "she doesn't want to go back to Findias yet."

As if illustrating the point of Dylan not being quite her usual self, the mortal psychiatrist spun on her brother again and mock-hissed like a cat. "You shush. Or I'll sic Bat on you."

"Sis, how 'bout you go count Christmas presents or something while I talk to His Highness?"

Dylan gave her brother a narrow-eyed look. "Talk to him about what?"

"Secret masculine rituals to become more manly. Now scram."

"I can think of no 'secret masculine ritual' that could help you in your endeavors, whelp," Nuada said as Dylan kicked off her shoes and did a running slide down the hallway toward her room. "I am a prince, after all, not a miracle worker."

John rolled his eyes. "You're a chuckle a minute. Anyway, Your Highness, I wanted to give you a head's up. She's supposed to take her meds every twelve hours. Two of everything, and just two, except the Ambien - that's only before bed. Once she comes down off being ecstatic and in love with everything, she might give you a fight about it. Don't let Dylan tongue them; she got good at that when I lived with her. When she takes her pills, after she swallows, have her drink an entire glass of water, and then make her open her mouth to make sure she's not hiding them under her tongue or anything."

"She wouldn't attempt to deceive me that way," Nuada protested. John sighed.

"Better safe than sorry. You didn't know her back when she was... well, anyway. And if she starts acting weird - out of character, I mean - it's probably the drugs. She's going to come crashing down off the Ambien in about two to three hours, the Valium in about five hours or so. You'll know because she'll probably start crying and when the Valium wears off she may get a bit agitated. It won't last long. And once she's used to the drugs again, in a couple days, she won't have this problem."

The words were sour on his tongue and the need to ask sat uneasily in his belly, but because this was for Dylan, and because Nuada knew John loved her, the fae prince asked, "Will she be all right?"

A smile warmed the mortal's expression. "Sure she will. She's got you and me, right?"

"Are you guys done talking yet?" Dylan came trudging out of her bedroom, rubbing one eye with a loose fist. She'd exchanged her sweater for a baggy white t-shirt with vibrant red letters across the chest that read Flashdance. The shirt's hems were tattered enough that Nuada assumed this was a pajama shirt. With it she wore her favorite pair of black jeans and red socks patterned with little black starbursts. "Go away, John. You have to babysit the munchkins, remember?"

Something akin to extreme pain flashed across the human male's face. "You love reminding me of these things, don't you, Sis?"

"Oh, c'mon. Ari's not so bad," Dylan said. "Neither are David or Kevin. Just bank on playing Legend of the Undead Ninja King with your nephews and you'll be fine. You're almost at the Chocolate Zombie Squirrel Dungeon."

"Well, yeah, but...."

Nuada blinked, and stared from his truelove to her idiotic twin. Throbbing had taken up residence behind his right eye. "What 'munchkins' are you referring to?"

"My oldest sister Petra's three kids," Dylan explained. "My nephews David and Kevin - they're six and eight - and my niece, Arianna. She's thirteen. Petra's recently divorced, and she's been working late a lot, so she needs someone to watch the kids. They adore John."

"If Ari has her friends over, I'm going to be surrounded by squealing teenage girls," John lamented pitiably. "Who squeal. About everything."

"You mentioned the squealing twice," his twin pointed out with unholy glee. "Just focus on the boys unless Ari asks you a question about makeup. You'll be lots of help then! It's one reason Petra asks you to babysit the kids sometimes. You and Ari can talk about nail polish. Sparkly royal blue nail polish."

John slanted her a look. "You are cruel and unusual."

Dylan laughed. "Seriously, just show her Michelle Phan's latest tutorials. And show her the Lindsey Stirling video for 'Starships.' She'll like it."

"Yeah, and probably watch it twenty times. Then the boys will complain about the girly music."

"Then distract her and the boys with Lindsey Stirling's 'Legend of Zelda' and 'Skyrim' videos. Even Ari likes some video games. Now stop whining and go." She spun John around and began pushing him toward the door. "I love you," she said loudly, in order to be heard over John's laughing protests. "Now begone. Be careful. Don't hit on strange women. I love you. Have fun. Bye!"

Thanks to Becan's magic holding the door open, Dylan managed to shove her twin out the door. He couldn't prevent her; he was laughing too hard. She waved as the door swung shut. The bolts slid home. Dylan zipped back into the living room, sliding across the wooden floor in her sock feet to sail right into Nuada's arms.

"I'm good at that, huh?" She slid her arms around his neck. Pressed close. "Can I have a kiss?"

"If you answer a few questions. What is... Legend of the Undead Ninja King? And what is a Chocolate Zombie Squirrel Dungeon?"

Dylan giggled. "It's a video game my nephews are playing that John likes. And the dungeon is supposed to be, like, the hardest dungeon in the game or something. I don't know. I don't play video games. Less talking. More kissing."

"Greedy little thing, aren't you?" Nuada murmured, brushing his lips across hers. "So impatient, milady. Come sit with me in the den."

Once in the den, Dylan curled up on the loveseat and leaned against him, seemingly at ease, but he could feel a sort of thrumming tension in Dylan's body. Not unease or agitation. A restlessness. As if she were brimming with energy and it was all she could do to sit still. Her palm lay against his chest, over his heart, holding his heartbeat in her hand. Blue eyes captured him in their fey-like depths.

"Nuada?" A soft murmur in the firelit dimness of the den. Night was falling beyond the cottage walls. "Are you going to get in trouble for being here and not in the sanctuary?"

He shrugged. "It doesn't matter."

"Why did you come to the cottage? Shouldn't we go back to the sanctuary?"

Common sense would have dictated that to be the best course, but something in Nuada rebelled against the idea. He shook his head. "No, love. We'll stay here for now. And I came to the cottage because I was worried for you when you didn't return. I feared today would be... difficult for you."

Dylan shifted closer, turning to angle her body toward his. She slid her hand from his heart, up and over his chest, to lay against his shoulder. Her fingers twined in his hair. The soft weight of her head on his other shoulder settled him a little.

"You always worry about me, don't you?"

Feral eyes scanned her face: every long, elegant scar gracing cheek and brow; the soft shadows beneath her eyes, indicating how exhausted she was; the flat space at the bridge of her nose from being broken twice. What did she see when she looked at him?

Nuada knew. When those blue eyes gazed up at him, she saw an honorable warrior prince who lived for and loved the Fair Folk. Even though they were so different, Dylan saw him, when so few others that he allowed this close to him truly did. There was Zhenjin and Bres and his other comrades that would stand with him during the coming war against the humans, but that wasn't quite the same. He need not always be the hardened soldier with Dylan. He could also be the gentle lover, or the mournful prince when the shadows grew too dark for him to hide. Until Dylan, rarely had he possessed the freedom to show all sides of himself.

"I love you," he whispered, feeling as if the words were being torn from him. It was still so difficult to say those three simple words. She said them so easily, but he... he couldn't be so carefree with his heart, even now. "Of course I worry for you."

"I worry about you, too," Dylan said. She cuddled her cheek against his shoulder. "There's so much going on that just sucks. So much that hurts you. I don't ever want to hurt you. Not again." She lifted her head to look him in the eye. "I want to be what you need. Whatever that is. Just like you are for me. Okay?"

He brushed back a lock of her hair. "You are what I need." And that still managed to surprise him. "How are you, though? Truly?"

"I'm really fine. Or mostly fine. I'm a little... um...." She made an odd whistling noise and circled her temple with her finger to indicate the current state of her emotions. "Once I level out, I'll be fine. Another day should do it, I think. And I just did preliminary work with Brother Kenner today. I only had an hour with him. So I'm not flashing back or anything. I'm surprisingly good, actually." Suddenly Dylan bounced off the sofa and grabbed his hand. "I'm hyper, though. Without the -per. Let's do something."

Nuada raised a brow. "Hyper without the -per?"

She grinned. "You know. Think about it."

The Elven warrior considered. Hyper. Hy... high... He slanted Dylan a look. "That is truly terrible, mo duinne." The mortal giggled and hauled him off the couch. "Where are we going?"

"The kitchen. I'm gonna teach you something extremely useful!"

"And what is that?" He asked as she pulled him down the hall toward the kitchen.

"How to make pumpkin cookies. Come on!"

.

In far away Findias, in a corridor cloaked in shadows glamored by a powerful fae lord, the Elven healer crept down the hall. A few paces behind walked Ledi Polunochnaya, her heavy velvet skirts rustling along the icy stone floor of the hallway as she followed her compatriot. Their master had summoned them, and he had seemed in an ill humor. So many threads of their master's plan could have snarled. Naya had no idea what could be the problem just now. Neither did her companion. So the two Elves walked in silence to the room where they would receive the news - and a possible reprimand.

"Have you any notion what this is about?" Polunochnaya demanded in a whisper as she drew abreast of the other Elf.

A casual shrug of shoulders. "Only that it has something to do with a child."

"The one the Ladies of Bradley Woods poisoned? Is the child not dead by now?" Naya barely refrained from biting her lower lip at the thought of her master wishing to discuss a child. It couldn't be concerning those two cat-children in Nuada's service, could it?

She hadn't spoken of them to her master. Didn't want to risk losing the argument if he demanded their lives to keep his secrets. Of course, she would have to get the little cat-girl somewhere secluded and glamour her again to make sure the little one never remembered what she'd seen or told the Zwezdan noblewoman. After all, the younger a child was, the more difficult it became to glamour them effectively. And Naya did not want to kill two faerie children simply because they'd been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Not if she could help it.

The two Elves stole into the abandoned room in the Healers' Wing as quietly as possible, shutting the door behind them without so much a click. Their master was waiting in a chair on the other side of the room. His dark eyes glittered with irritation. Polunochnaya and the Elven healer made their obeisance to him and waited.

"The halfling child is not yet dead," their master hissed. "In fact, I've heard it from Jenny Hob that she improves daily. There have been no relapses since the prince's mortal toy went in and did whatever witchery she used on the babe. Which means our plan has stalled." Pinning them both with a frigid glare, he demanded, "Have either of you any excuse to offer me?"

Both Elves shook their heads.

"If I may, my lord," Naya murmured, "perhaps this is for the best. You know it didn't sit well with me, what you meant to do to that child, halfling or not. Perhaps this is merely Fate stepping in our way-"

In a voice dripping icicles, her master said, "When I require your opinion, Polunochnaya, I will tell you. Don't forget who it was who brought you out of Zwezda to Bethmoora and ensured you had a place here at Princess Nuala's side. Will you forget what you owe your benefactor so quickly?"

Naya lowered her head. "No, my lord. My apologies."

But she thought of Nuada. Not the man he was now, but the youth he'd been when she had come to him all those centuries ago, and he had held her in his arms while she wept into his shoulder at the thought of having to be parted from Nuala and Na'ko'ma, who were like sisters to her.

Those two - and Nuada himself, Jenny Hob and the other higher-up servants who cared for the royal twins and their little household, and even the distant but still kindly King Balor - had been the only family she'd known from before the death of the Bethmooran queen. But then Polunochnaya had been called back to Zwezda by her uncle, to be married to someone she'd never met, never to see her true family again.

Then the man who became her master had spoken on her behalf to the king, and somehow she'd been allowed to stay.

Everything had been as it was before the summons... except that she was now in her master's debt, and she never forgot the feel of weeping into Nuada's shoulder on what she'd thought to be her final night in the Golden City, his strong arms around her, the warm whisper of his lips against her ear as he'd comforted her. That memory hadn't faded, even to this day. It plagued her now as she plotted the slow and cruel demise of the man that youth had become. The man who was still her friend. Still someone who held a piece of her heart.

But my debt supercedes my feelings, she thought, twisting her fingers in her skirt until they ached. And it is better to lose the man who is my friend, and the youth I once loved, than allow him to become a monster, and to allow that monster to become my king. Nuada, forgive me. Torn between honor and your own heart, between a debt and your own wishes, you would do the same in my place, if your hatred hadn't poisoned and blinded you.

"I want that human dead," her master said, shattering her thoughts like a sheet of ice beneath the blow of a stone. "But it needs to suit our purposes. The prince has been trying to convince His Majesty to send aid to the northern villages. With Princess Nuala's help, we shall convince the king to acquiesce, and to send the prince himself. Nuada will bring his human. It would be so very sad, wouldn't it, if his mortal lady became the victim of the human rogues Balor seeks to protect? So very sad if the attempt to give aid ends in the prince slaughtering the humans for the death of his lady."

The Elven healer at Polunochnaya's side ventured, "The king will not be easily swayed to allow the prince to go to the northern villages in the first place. He's still under house-arrest."

"And," Naya added, a strange desperation winging through her stomach like insects, "I sincerely doubt Nuada would put his lady in danger by taking her on such a journey. He has no reason to do such a thing. And killing her any other way would be pointless."

Her master raised a brow and steepled his long, pale fingers. "The king listens to Princess Nuala. Princess Nuala, in turn, listens to you, Ledi Polunochnaya. Convince the princess of the wisdom of her brother's plan. Balor won't stand against both his children, not when our people on the council stand at their backs as well. As for Nuada taking his human pet... if he believes her safety to be compromised here without his presence, he will take her with him readily enough. I will merely arrange for an assassination attempt. Such things are easily done."

Naya's heart beat mercilessly against her breastbone as she thought of what would happen to Nuada when Dylan was killed. What if he didn't return to the half-mad prince full of rage and hatred for all humanity? What if he became a broken shell of a man, as Balor had in the wake of Cethlenn's death? She wasn't certain she could bear the sight of Nuada like that. Did she wish for him to embrace his fury and hate again, simply to spare herself that pain?

"Now, go along. I want you to speak to Nuala as soon as may be, Polunochnaya. As for you," and one long, thin finger pointed at the Elven healer. "Keep your eye on the mortal woman. If the prince gets her with child, I want to be told immediately. Do you understand?"

Golden eyes gleamed as the healer nodded. "I understand, my lord."

.

John had been right, of course. It took about three hours - the dough for the cookies had been made from scratch, molded into the appropriate shapes with a set of wooden cookie cutters Dylan had commissioned from an Amish woodworker a few years back, and baked by this time - for the medications to wear off enough that Dylan crashed from the chemical-induced euphoria. It was as she was pulling the last batch of cookies from the oven. As she set the cookie sheet atop the stove, the hot edge grazed her finger.

"Ow!" The mortal stared at the slight burn on the side of her index finger for a moment in stricken surprise. Nuada stepped away from the counter, toward Dylan, just as she burst into tears. "Ow."

"Let me see," he murmured, taking her hand. Dylan shook her head.

"It's not that bad," she wept. "Dang it. I'm just... I think the Ambien's wearing off a bit. I think I'm crashing. Sorry." She scrubbed at her eyes with the back of her wrist. "But dang it, that really hurt. I...." She trailed off as Nuada brought her fingers to his lips and kissed them gently, a kiss as soft as moonlight. Soothing magic chilled the stinging heat from the small burn. Dylan sniffled and a smile curved her mouth. "You're so romantic and incredible."

Nuada inclined his head. "I do try. Is there aught else I can do?"

Dylan pointed vaguely at a tray of cookies. "Eat a cookie."

"How will me eating a cookie make you feel better?" The prince asked. Dylan just looked at him. He sighed. "All right. Female logic," he muttered to himself. He picked up one of the cookies from the first batch, which Dylan had insisted on cutting into little heart-shapes. While Nuada had tasted Dylan's pumpkin cookies before... she'd made him help with these. And while he could cook serviceably well - how else was he supposed to survive in exile? - baking was not something he knew how to do. Which meant these might not be as delicious as his lady was expecting.

Or even edible, Nuada thought darkly.

His lady sniffled and swiped at her eyes again. Nuada bit back an oath. It was one thing if she had a reason to cry. Then he could fix whatever was wrong. But this was simply a side-effect of her medication. Which left him with no other choice. He took a bite of cookie.

"Well?" Dylan asked when he didn't speak. "How'd they turn out?"

The prince shrugged. Swallowed. "Not as well as yours normally do." Dylan made a soft keening sound. Tears welled up in her eyes and threatened to spill over. Nuada noticed Becan standing on the counter behind her, waving his arms frantically in a negating motion. "But they are good," Nuada hastened to add. The brownie offered him a thumbs' up.

"Really?"

He broke off a piece of the cookie and offered it to her. "Do you not trust me, milady? Open your mouth." He put it to her lips. The tip of her tongue just brushed the edge of his thumb as she took the proffered bite into her mouth. A lick of heat caressed the Elven warrior's spine. "See? Did I not tell you truly?" Dylan nodded, unable to look away from eyes of intense gold-kissed ivory. She licked her lips, remembering the feel of Nuada's fingertips against her bottom lip. The prince took a step toward her. "Mo duinne...."

Someone tiny clearing their throat with a high-pitched squeak snagged the Elf and mortal's attention. Dylan looked over her shoulder to see Becan studiously scrubbing at a spot of smeared cookie dough on one of the counters, his brown cheeks dark from blushing.

"Perhaps we should go into the living room," Nuada murmured. Despite feeling weepy, Dylan found herself smiling.

Settled in the living room, Dylan stretched out and sank back in her armchair. The heat of the fire felt wonderful against her legs. How long had Nuada been waiting for her? What had he been doing while he waited? Knowing him, he'd stared darkly into the crackling flames and brooded. Dylan wondered what he might have been brooding about. Her prince had lived a long time and had a lot of brood-worthy stuff to choose from.

She realized, suddenly, that Nuada rarely shared the darker moments of his life with her. He often asked about her own life, her own dark memories. In the hopes he could do something about them? Yet he almost never spoke of any darkness in his own life, save his memories of his mother's death - and even those were brought up rarely and spoken of sparingly. And yet Nuada had lived for such a long time, and seen so much in his forty centuries. Why had he never shared any of it with her? Because he didn't want? Or because she so rarely asked?

She peeked at Nuada from beneath her lashes and cocked her head when she caught him watching her. "What are you thinking?" The mortal asked on impulse.

"I was about to ask you the same," the Tuathan prince murmured.

Dylan smiled. "Just wondering."

"Oh? What was it you were wondering?"

"I was just wondering why you never really talk about yourself." Seeing his look, she shrugged. "I just mean... you know practically everything about me. Or all the imporant stuff, anyway. And I know you. What kind of person you are and all that. But what I don't know is how you got that way. You know, life experiences."

Nuada sat back and flicked his gaze to the fire. He always did that, she realized, when she asked him something that made him uncomfortable in some way. He would look somewhere else, instead of at her. Not that Dylan suspected Nuada of lying to her. No, it was just hard for him to look at her when he was uncomfortable. Why?

"What do you wish to know?"

Something about the tone of his voice gave her pause. She chose her next words carefully. "Well, anything you want to tell me, I suppose. I mean, you've lived so long. You must have experienced so much. You've been around for so many important historical events, for one thing. Like the discovery of America," she realized with a jolt. "Holy mackerel. And the invention of the printing press. Woodstock. Well, maybe not Woodstock," Dylan added when Nuada shot her a dirty look. "But you were around for the Renaissance! That must have been amazing. You've seen so many wonderful things."

"And many dark and terrible things," Nuada murmured. "Wars and massacres and holocausts, civilizations laid waste, so many crimes against so many innocents. That, I have seen, as well."

"There's gotta be something good you can think of," Dylan said softly. "Something nice. Maybe a memory of your parents or something? Or you could tell me about one of the dark things... if you wanted."

He studied her for a long moment before saying, "A good memory from my life?" Nuada's eyes slid closed. "Imagine one cold winter's night, with the moon shining like a luminous pearl upon the snow at your feet, the stars like diamonds glistening against the velvet blackness of a clear night sky. Though winter's bite can be felt through coat and cloak, it doesn't matter, because there is a warmth in your heart, as if embers from the home hearth still smolder there. Your breath curls like mist to mingle with the crisp air. You can smell the sharpness of ice and the spice of evergreen trees. A few snowflakes drift down to caress your cheek with a cool touch. You are following a set of footprints through the trees into a clearing. You're greeted by laughter like silver velvet and a smile as bright as sunlight. You look into eyes as familiar as your own heartbeat, and though all the world spreads before you beneath a blanket of winter, you know you are home."

Nuada opened his eyes to look into a fey-like blue gaze, a gaze as familiar as his own heartbeat, and remembered one cold winter's night in the Park at the faerie metal playground. Dylan's expression was one of mingled wonder and tenderness as understanding filled her eyes. She smiled, a smile as bright as sunlight.

"This is why I say you would've made a great bard."

He canted his head. "I thank you, milady, for the compliment."

"Nuada... you know you don't have to hide your past from me, don't you?" She asked suddenly. "If you ever want to talk about... about anything... about your past... you know I won't judge you for that, don't you? I already know you, but I want to know about you, too. If you ever want to tell me." Dylan tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. "It's only fair, you know, since you know so much about me."

The Elven prince smiled. "Darling, even if I were blessed with centuries to unlock your secrets, I would never know all there is to know about you."

She grinned. "Yeah, I'm a woman of mystery. I will find out all your secrets, though, Prince Charming. Someday."

"Perhaps, my lady," Nuada murmured. "Perhaps."

.

From beneath his hood, Iolo watched the Bethmooran prince escort his mortal lady along the garden path leading to the gate in front of the cottage. They were an incogruous picture - the prince in his customary sable and scarlet, a sword at his side, the starlit strands of his hair around his shoulders, every inch the Elven warrior; and the human in jeans and a leather coat, unarmed but for a dirk in a belt slung around her hips, her hair in a loose ponytail, clearly out of place beside the prince. But that was not Iolo's business. His business was to make sure the other fae in the woods that were allied with his master did nothing to ruin his master's plans.

Crown Prince Bres had come to his master a little more than a year ago with the news that Crown Prince Nuada Silverlance had taken a mortal lover and forsworn his oaths to eliminate the human threat against the fae. Iolo's master had taken this revelation... poorly. Nearly as poorly as Bres (but then, Elves were known to have more explosive tempers than the fae of Annwn).

The Welsh Huntsman wondered how his master would explain this ploy once the plan against Nuada came to fruition. How would it be explained to the young Annwn princes, that their hero had to die in order to save the Twilight Realm from the Fair Folk's greatest enemy?

"I have little time, Iolo," a voice murmured from behind him. He turned to see a cloaked figure standing beneath the snow-laden boughs of a hawthorn tree. A pale hand rested on the pommel of the sword at the figure's side. Despite the fact that merely three feet separated them, Iolo couldn't see into the depths of the dark hood. "Where are they going?"

"Do I look like a lapwing to you, that I can read the wind and taste the air?"

The hooded fae sighed. "You are a Huntsman, are you not? Can you not track them to wherever they're going?"

Iolo bit back a growl. "I am a Huntsman. I am the Senior Huntsman of Cwn Annwn, the Welsh Wild Hunt. I have more important things to do than follow Nuada Silverlance to whatever love-nest he plans on absconding with his tramp. Who knows what that deviant will do with her there?"

"More than likely, he'll plow her into the mattress."

The Huntsman grimaced. "Well, that is a lovely picture. Have one of your own trackers follow them."

"My trackers do not have your skills. I want to know where they're going. I have heard it said that the Silver Lance has a sanctuary somewhere in the abandoned tunnels of the New York Underground. A place of healing saturated with protective and recuperative magics. Even the Zwezdan Elf is convinced of its existence. No one, except the prince and Wink Ironfist - and, perhaps, the whore - knows where it is. If we can find this place and find a way to get in, we might be able simply to kill him without involving the princess."

Iolo hesitated. He knew that Bres' plan for executing Nuada involved the prince's twin in some way. That was all he knew, and even that little bit didn't sit well with him. Unlike the prince, Princess Nuala had never pledged her aid to the cause of eliminating the human threat. However, the Huntsman knew he also owed his master his allegience. If his master said Nuala's involvement was necessary, then it was. And yet...

"Attempting to follow Prince Nuada to a place he would guard as jealously as a sanctuary like what you describe without proper preparation would be suicidal," Iolo replied at length. "Allow me to put together a team of trackers instead of simply hunting Silverlance and his slut myself. The Gabriel Ratchets will make short work of any attempts at concealment, but I must prepare them first. Now make yourself scarce before the hamadryad's trees chase you out of the Park again."

Without another word, the cloaked fae faded into the darkness between the trees. Iolo turned back to the cottage in time to see the Elven prince walking side by side with the mortal, one hand at the small of her back in an intimate escort's gesture, as they went down the path that led out of the Park.

.

"How do you feel now?" Nuada asked as Dylan sank onto the bed in the healing sanctuary. She offered him a thumbs-up and bounced on the mattress, but it lacked the hyperactivity the mortal had exhibited hours before.

They'd finally returned to the underground haven after Dylan had polished off an entire batch of cookies. Apparently increased appetite was a potential side-effect of one of the drugs. Now Nuada debated whether to return to Findias, since all Dylan would likely do was go to sleep, or stay with her here in the sanctuary while her body adjusted to the medicines.

"I have to take my second doses soon, don't I?" She asked, idly kicking her feet in the air. The words were casual, but he saw the glitter of anxiety in her eyes. "The Ambien's gonna knock me out. I slept it off in Ariel's car earlier before she dropped me and John off, but... should we go back to Findias? I don't want you to get in trouble. We're sort of on a good note with your dad, so I don't want to mess it up by making him angry. And you sort of left Wink all by himself back there."

Nuada settled into the single chair. "Wink is likely still in the township, keeping his ear to the ground for more rumors. Gossip can be incredibly helpful when trying to ferret out an enemy." He paused to consider. "We could stay here for a bit if you prefer."

She flopped back on the bed. Kicking off her boots, she swung her legs up and curled up around the pillow, snuggling her face into the clean linen. Idly, one hand stroked a gold satin square of the quilt Nuada's mother had made for him just before her death. "I love being here. It's so peaceful."

"It is part of the magic of this place," he replied. "It heals the mind as well as the body."

There was silence for a while, as the prince merely watched Dylan rub her cheek against the soft pillow for a moment. Then his lady murmured, "I have to tell you something." Nuada fought the instinctive tension that whipped through him and raised his eyebrows. "So... remember I told you your father wanted me to see a healer? It wasn't because I was sick. He said that before we got engaged I had to make sure I wasn't bar-" A low snarl cut her off.

"It was not his place, to speak to you about such things. I told him-"

"He was only doing what he thinks is best. He's the king. His priority is the kingdom. And he's your father; do you really think he wanted to stick you with the job of interrogating me to make sure we could get married? What if I was barren? You'd have felt ten times worse if you'd been in charge of the whole interview thing."

Nuada quirked a brow. "You are defending my father?"

She gave him a narrow-eyed look, then smiled. "Only on a case-by-case basis. Don't get excited. Anyway, my point is, Táebfada checked me out. I'm fine. We're good to go. And...."

"And?"

Dylan drew a breath that seemed ready to crush her suddenly-tight chest. She found that for some reason she couldn't look at Nuada as she spoke. "Táebfada mentioned... I asked her whether she knew anything about a human becoming immortal. She mentioned a place we could go. An island. The island of-"

"Mag Mell," Nuada rasped. The undercurrent of fear in his voice surprised her. Fey-blue eyes flicked to the Elven warrior's face. Nuada shook his head. "No. No, Dylan. No. Not to the island of Mag Mell. That is madness. A fool's errand. Forlorn hope at best, suicide at worst. No. Do not tempt Fate. Do not tempt me with such things. You cannot go there. Táebfada should never have spoken of that place to you."

She pushed herself up, frowning. "Why? What's so dangerous about it? Would the kings there hurt us?"

The short laugh that ripped out of him was bitter and brittle. "Hurt you? Oh, no. Not you. Not unless I asked for them to bless you with immortality. If you asked, they would offer you no harm. Those kings are true monsters. Demons from the mists beyond the edge of the world. They wait like spiders in the center of their webs. Wait for the unwary to come and beg boons of them. They will grant the wishes of the desperate, but the price to be paid is beyond reckoning. Don't put your hope there, my love."

"But... but Nuada, there has to be some way we can bargain with them or-"

"No," he snapped. She flinched, and he gentled his tone. "No, beloved. Only fools seek to bargain with King Tethra and King Mannanan. They will make you pay such a price for what you seek that you'll find no joy there.

"My father sought their aid once upon a time," Nuada added, staring with topaz eyes at the table. "He begged them to bring my mother back from the dead, something that was easily within their power, but no other's." Catching a glimpse of her puzzled expression, the prince added, "Mag Mell itself grants vast power to the one who rules over it. More power even than the Keeper of the Samhain Tree and his ilk. The kings of Mag Mell had brought fae back from the dead before, my father knew, so why not now? They agreed to do it, for a price. Even between the fae, there need always be a price." The words festered on the air, bitter as wormwood.

Hesitantly, Dylan asked, "So what happened?"

"When my father left on his voyage to Mag Mell, my sister and I were overjoyed. We would have our beloved mother back. Our father would no longer wander the castle corridors like an old shade, a shell of his former glory and strength. We would be a family again. We would be happy again. The kingdom would prosper and the land would be renewed because my father's heart would no longer be encased in ice. That was what Nuala and I thought.

"Yet when he returned to my sister and I in Renvyle, our childhood home, our father was alone. Our mother was not with him. Athair told us that for our sake as well as our mother's, he couldn't pay the price Tethra and Mannanan had asked of him."

Only a last-minute mental reminder kept Dylan from biting her lip. She stared at Nuada for a long moment, trying to understand. It was clear from everything she'd seen and heard about Balor that he had loved his wife more than his own life, that losing her had broken something within him that had never healed. So what could've been so terrible a price for the old king? He was willing to barter his kingdom for the truce with the humans. What was he unwilling to give for his wife's life?

"What was the price?" She had to force the words. "Why didn't he pay it?"

Nuada's aurulent eyes were bleak when he replied, "The price was simple enough. If my father slew Nuala and I with his own blade, if he cut our throats and watered the Royal Eildon Tree with our blood, leaving our corpses for the carrion-crows, the kings of Mag Mell would bring my mother back to him.

"Do you see, Dylan? The price they ask will always be terrible. Will always be something you can't pay. Don't court heartache by hoping things will not be so in your case; Tethra and Mannanan enjoy playing such twisted games. Do not look to hope from that corner." He closed his eyes and rested his head on his hand, two fingers at his temple and his thumb touching the line of his jaw. "There must be another way."

Gentle hands smoothed over his shoulders. Deft fingers began to knead the tense muscles there. Nuada sighed and leaned back, giving himself up to the feel of the expert pressing against the sudden knots of tension. Dylan murmured, "It's okay, Nuada. It's fine. I'm not getting my hopes up. I know it's not likely I'll become immortal. It's okay. If there's another way, then we'll find it. If there isn't, then we still have right now, right?"

He reached up and covered one of her hands with his own. "From the moment I realized I loved you... I wondered if I dared to let myself. Wondered if I dared to tempt the Fates by loving you, because if I dared, what would become of me? Mortal, fragile as you are, I knew you would die one day and then where would I be? Heartbreak is love's cruel companion and loneliness its master. That's what I told myself. I wondered what new pain awaited me, foolish as I was to allow my heart to yearn for you, a human woman - mortal, ephemeral, as fleeting as a whisper in the dark, like motes of dust that fade into obscurity so quickly, it's a wonder they existed at all. I would walk the world over to find a way to keep you, Dylan. I dread the day when I wake up and the knowledge that you are no longer in this world pierces my heart like a knife. I don't want to lose you."

Her arms came around him and she hugged him. "You won't lose me, Nuada. We'll find a way to be together. We just have to keep trying. Keep looking. We've got time. Don't worry." She pressed her lips to his cheek, just where the royal scar ended. "We'll be okay. We're in this together, right?"

"Yes." He squeezed her hand. "Yes, we are." The Elf prince sighed, and forced away the melancholy. "If you feel you are up to it, my lady, we can go back to Findias whenever you are ready."

Dylan smiled and nodded. "I'm fine. Let's go."

.

Getting back to the palace was simple enough. After having to sneak back into Findias a few times, Nuada had arranged it so that when he and Dylan both ended up in the mortal world, they could still get back to their chambers without alerting the king to their absence. A small crimson stone, etched with the same symbol as the one on the backs of the stones in his and Dylan's rings, was nestled in a small box in the desk drawer in the prince's study. It allowed Nuada to use his own ring to bring himself and Dylan back to Findias without being detected.

In Nuada's study, Dylan sank into the visitor's chair. The day had left her more physically and emotionally drained than she'd thought. Still, she felt more solid than she had in a long time - which, considering the drugs still fading out of her system, was saying a lot.

The Valium was such a subtle influence, for one thing. It wasn't a smothering blanket sucking her down into unconsciousness. It was more a soothing whisper. She'd never been on a dosage this low before. Not since becoming an adult, anyway. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad. Although she had to take the second dosage of everything soon. She'd be down for the count in seconds, most likely.

Dylan yelped when Nuada snapped his fingers in front of her face. "What? What?"

"Are you listening, Dylan? You cannot afford to lose focus right now. I was saying something."

"Oh." Sheepish, she swept her hair out of her face and sighed. "Sorry about that. I'm a little...." Ready to make excuses, she thought suddenly. A realization crystallized in her mind as she stared at Nuada. There were tiny lines of strain and exhaustion around his mouth and the shadows around his eyes were dark. Yet he was still wide awake, and still focusing on their problems. Well, he's not drugged up and he's an Elven warrior. I'm just a mortal civilian. But, Dylan reminded herself, I need to be more than that now, if I'm going to be the princess of Bethmoora and help Nuada take care of his people. "Never mind. I'm listening."

Nuada cocked his head, studying her. He'd seen something flash in her eyes for a moment before she'd straightened up a little and finished speaking. Determination, maybe. But he shelved that observation for another time. "Will you be all right enough to deal with royal business by tomorrow?"

She blinked. "If I need to be. But I thought we were free until Monday."

"There are a few things that need to be dealt with, and I'd prefer we deal with them sooner rather than later."

"What things?"

The Elven warrior leaned his hip against his desk and folded his arms across his chest. "We need to discuss our engagement announcement with my father and his steward, and that will take a couple days."

Dylan raised her eyebrows. "Why a couple days?"

The crown prince offered her a wry smile. "Darling, I'm the crown prince of a great and noble fayre nation, and these things must be done with the proper pomp and circumstance. It isn't simply the announcement we must deal with. There is our engagement announcement and dance during the Midwinter Ball; our engagement banquet sometime after that; your elevation to peerage; an engagement... party, for lack of a better word, which is a ladies' social...." He waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. "All of which my father will insist happen within a few days of our betrothal being announced. Which gives the Lord Steward and Mistress Jenny until Monday to get their plans in order." Nuada took a moment to glance at his truelove. She looked a trifle pale. "Dylan?"

"I have to do some prissy princess party? Without you? Surrounded by... people I don't know? Without you? Why?"

"Nuala will be there," he assured her. "Do you truly think I would simply throw you to the wolves?"

She sighed. "Describing them as wolves doesn't reassure me," she said with a small smile. But I'm not a little kid. I don't need reassurance all the time. I'm an adult. I can do whatever needs to be done. "But I'll be fine. Don't worry. Although... why aren't you going to be there?"

"It is more of a female gathering. Surely you would not inflict that on me."

"I'm thinking about it," she replied with a more genuine smile. Then her smile slipped away. "Nuada, is everything all right?"

Nuada blinked. "What do you mean?"

"It's just... you've seemed preoccupied with something ever since I met up with you at the cottage. Worried about something. Is everything okay?" Dylan made a face and sighed. "Okay, lemme rephrase that. I know that pretty much nothing is okay right now. But is there anything you wanna talk about?"

There is a war coming, he thought, but didn't say. A war between your race and mine. Billions will die. Many of your people will die by my hand. Countless others will die by my order. All of that blood will be on my hands. All of those deaths will be on my conscience. Will you still look at me as if I am the center of your universe when I walk off the battlefield soaked in the blood of your people? Will there still be that gentle light in your eyes, and will you still hold me in your heart? Or will you look on me and see nothing but a monster out of the very worst of your nightmares?

Her fingertips against his cheek jolted him from his thoughts. "Hey," she murmured. Worry glimmered almost like tears in rainswept blue eyes. "Nuada? What's wrong? Are you still worried about me? I'm fine, really. I'm doing okay. What's the matter?"

He shook himself. Shoved his thoughts down and away where he wouldn't have to face them just yet. "I simply have much on my mind. That is all, Dylan. Now, you should get to bed. It is late."

"Oh, the kids! I missed bedtime-"

"They will understand," Nuada replied. "Yet if you are concerned, allow me to make your excuses to them if they are still awake. You have things that need doing before you sleep, do you not? And you are tired."

She touched her forehead to his shoulder. "Oh, my gosh. Prince Bossy." Then she sighed. "I am tired. I didn't think I would be. At least, not this tired. You'll check on the children?" Nuada murmured assent. "Then I'll go get ready for bed."

"Medicine first." So saying, the prince poured her a glass of water from the pitcher on his desk.

Dylan slumped in her chair. "Seriously? Fine." She picked up her purse and pulled out three small brown bottles with white caps. Shaking six pills into one hand, two from each bottle, she popped them in her mouth and then washed them down with the water. When the glass was empty, Nuada refilled it. Dylan gave him a look. "That's what you were talking to John about, wasn't it?" He inclined his head. She drained the glass of water with a grimace. "Oh, brain-freeze. That water is cold. And just to make your life easier, my prince," she added, and opened her mouth to show that she'd actually swallowed the medication. "Satisfied?"

Nuada nodded. "Did John do this for you when the two of you lived together?"

"Yeah. He'll make a great nanny one day," she said, and smiled fondly, thinking of her twin.

.

Dierdre smiled at the hob maid Lilé, her brother Cíaran's other favorite among the chambermaids, as the palace servant brough Dierdre the stoppered crystal bottle of scent. The disguised gancanaugh knew she would have to be quick. Lilé had to get the crystal bottle back to Ledi Polunochnaya's room as soon as possible, before it was discovered missing. So, barely pausing to savor the scent of the perfume, Dierdre unstoppered the glistening bottle and touched the scent-wand to her wrists, behind her ears, the hollow of her throat, and between her breasts. Then she returned the bottle and stopper to the maid.

"Is my sweet Lilé not a treasure?" Cíaran stroked the chambermaid's cheek with gentle fingers. The maid sent Dierdre's brother a fawning look of absolute adoration and leaned into the caress. "Thank you for running this errand for me, poppet. I shall make it up to you tonight." Cíaran's smile turned wolfish as Lilé giggled. "Now, run along with you before you get into trouble."

Lilé bobbed a curtsy to the disguised gancanaugh siblings and scurried from the room. Dierdre shook her head. "I do not understand why you must collect lovers the way little boys collect marbles, my brother."

"They're simply so... stimulating," Cíaran replied. "Each one is different, each a delectable new flavor to be savored. Fiona is like winter raspberries, sweet with just a hint of tartness to make things interesting. Lilé, on the other hand, is like a plum - lush, sweet, juicy. You know I like my women well-endowed, Sister."

Dierdre rolled her eyes. "And Nuada's whore? I know you mean to enjoy her before the end. What flavor is she?"

Cíaran folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the wall of his sister's dressing room while she fussed with her hair. "The whore? She is a peach - sweet but with the tart tang of all citrus fruit, a spirit in want of breaking. She's fragile, of course. I'll have to take care not to bruise her before I'm ready to show her the difference between being my leman and being my whore. Yes, she is a peach, nearly ripe for the picking. When she's ripe, I'll have her, and enjoy it, too. I dare say she may enjoy my attentions as well, considering my many talents."

His sister snickered. "I still think she'd enjoy it more if I got my hands on the Silver Lance first, and then we locked them in a room together. Do you think, when the final stages of Bres' plan are in place, he'll let us try that?"

The gancanaugh lord shrugged. "If it is feasible, I don't see why not."

"Good." Dierdre's grin was sharp as a blade. "Well, how do I look? Will the prince be intrigued, do you think? Will he like it?"

He gave her a slow once-over. "You look absolutely beautiful, sweet sister mine. Nuada will be unable to resist."

.

"The children are sleeping soundly," Nuada murmured as he stepped back into Dylan's bedroom. The mortal was stretched out on her bed, cuddled beneath the blankets, yawning. "Did you-"

"Yeah," she mumbled, "I took my sleeping potion. So sleepy. No more talking." She snuggled deeper into the blankets and yawned again. "I love this bed. It's so warm and comfy. And I love this room. It's beautiful. Who decorated it? They're a genius, whoever they are. I love the nook-room, too. Did you really make that chess set?"

Nuada sat on the edge of the bed beside her and brushed back her hair. He was beginning to like this more talkative Dylan. He had the feeling, however, that the stream of sleepy chatter would only be something he'd experience in the few minutes before she fell asleep each night. "Yes, I made the chess set. You like it?"

She nodded through another yawn. "S'pretty. They... dance."

Her cheek was soft as silk under his caressing fingertips. "Yes, they do." Nuada could tell she was drifting away now. Impulse and a sudden strange sense of desperate freedom forced his next words from his lips. "Dylan, I need to ask you something." No, his common sense raged. No, do not ask this. Not now. Not yet. She would never look on him with any warmth ever again. Yet he couldn't stop himself from asking, "If I did something terrible, Dylan... something unforgiveable... would you still love me?"

He wanted her to say yes. Longed for her to promise him that she would love him no matter what sins darkened his conscience, no matter how much blood stained his soul. Even though it was a hopeless dream, that was what he yearned for her to tell him. Instead, she looked up at him with a soft smile on her face and murmured, "You'd never do something like that, Nuada."

The Elf prince closed his eyes. Clenched his teeth. "But if... but if I did? What then? Would you love me even then? If I really was the monster my father believed me to be? Would you love me? Would you forgive me?"

Dylan blinked sleepily. "'Course I'd love you. You can't help who you love. An' of course I'd forgive you. I'll always forgive you, no matter what."

Elation, hope, shock - they crashed through and against him, drowning him for a moment in sheer utter relief. He could... he could tell her. He could tell her! About the Golden Army. About the war that was to come. Even his plans for the human race. He could tell her everything and-

"Even though we couldn't be together, even though I'd hafta... hafta walk away... I'd still love you."

The words lodged in Nuada's throat, burning like dragonfire. His heart stumbled in his chest. Only several hard swallows forced it to resume its proper rhythm. Where elation had sung through his veins only moments before, now a poisonous cold mingled with his blood, turning it to cruel and jagged ice. His chest tightened so that he could scarcely breathe. "W-walk away?" He whispered. "What do you mean?"

"I wouldn't be able... to stay with you... if you did somethin' real bad," she mumbled. Nuada's heart began to hammer in his throat until he thought he might choke on his own pulse. "Not somethin' like that. Somethin' unforgiveable. I'd hafta leave. Couldn't be with you anymore." She reached out and grasped his suddenly-icy fingers. "But you'd never do that." She offered a yawn and a sleepy little smile. Squeezed his fingers. "Love you. G'night, Nuada."

"Good night, Dylan," he managed to whisper as his truelove sank into slumber. Disentangling his fingers from her grip, he shoved to his feet and nearly staggered out of her room and into his own chamber. Only a last-minute whisper of warning reminded him to keep the joining door ajar, since her guards weren't in the room with her.

Sinking onto his bed, he stared through the half-open doorway at the woman sleeping so peacefully on the bed. His eyes roved over her recumbent form as if he sought to memorize the shape of her. Perhaps he did. She would walk away from him. Would walk away if he pursued his quest to find the third Crown piece and use it to raise the Golden Army against the humans. If Nuada fulfilled his oaths to his people, to the Shining Ones, to his comrades... Dylan would walk away from him.

Would she look back, even once, as she strode out of his life? Would she leave him forever, or only until the last drop of blood had been spilled and the world was quiet again? Would she allow him to protect her during the war? Protect her family? Nuada knew she would want that, but would she let him?

He choked on the ice in his chest and had to drop his head into his hands as dizziness overtook him when a stray and terrible thought slipped into his mind. Oh, gods... oh, gods. What if she... what if she tried to fight against him? Against the Golden Army? What if she deliberately put herself in the way in an attempt to stay his hand or belay his orders to his armies? Dylan was reckless enough to do it. Compassionate enough to try saving the humans. And she loved him enough, believed in him and trusted him enough, that she wouldn't balk at putting herself in the way of his blade, believing he would never hurt her - because he wouldn't. Not ever.

Yet... what would he do then? How could he win such a confrontation? His allies would insist he kill her, treat her as just another enemy. No, he couldn't do that, he could never. What else, though? Imprison her, to keep her safe? To protect her from his allies and from the fighting? Everything in him rebelled against the idea of locking Dylan up and keeping her in a cage.

But if not that, then how to keep her safe? How to protect her during the war? How to escape that brutal shadow looming on the horizon without losing one who meant the world to him?

How to keep her from breaking his heart into a thousand jagged pieces by slipping out of his life like lifeblood slipping from a fatal wound?

The questions circled and circled in his mind, yet no answer came.