Chapter 82 - Moonlight Shadow

Chapter Eighty-Two

Moonlight Shadow

that is

A Short Tale of a Warning, a Father's Words, Revelations, a Pledge, an Unusual but Helpful Situation, a Midwinter Gift, and a Shadow in the Moonlight

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The next morning Dylan went to work with a smile on her face and a bit of a bounce in her step. Last night, aside from the fight with her sisters, had been brilliant. In fact, the entire day had pretty much been brilliant. Except for Lord Santelmo trying to drop on her. But he always did that, so she ignored that little incident in favor of remembering her birthday date with Nuada. She couldn't decide which part had been the best... maybe the dancing. Being held close to him, his hand so warm at her back, his cheek lightly touching her temple, and the feeling of being safe and sheltered that always came from being in Nuada's arms. That was probably it.

At work, she chatted easily with her secretary, Ariel, as well as the three security guards who worked in her office building. She saw Gus again - a quick check-in before his family went on vacation. The same thirty-minute check-ups were scheduled for the Grace twins, Varen Nethers, Isabelle Lightwood, Mickey, and a few other patients.

One benefit of working with kids, Dylan thought as her half-day actually wrapped up on time. Except for summer time, I get pretty decent vacations when they do. I love that.

Filing the last of her paperwork took minutes. Just as Dylan was about to breeze out of her office to go back to Findias, her phone chimed with a text. She checked the readout. It was from Peabody.

"Lisa Ramirez's court date - January 14 2:30PM. U going?"

She hastily texted back an affirmative. A few minutes later, her smartphone dinged with another text, this one from Sergeant Donovan.

"Watch ur back. Matlock sniffing around Westenra's murder."

Dylan's expression tightened as tension whipped through her body. Matlock. She hated Matlock. Well, perhaps hate was too strong a word. He wasn't a monster like Westenra had been. Or like Eamonn. She shivered. Just thinking about the Elf of Zwezda who might have somehow survived all that she and Nuada had done to him that cold winter night gave her the chills.

Focusing once more on Peabody's second text, Dylan bit back a sigh. Matlock had been the one to report her for her so-called "unprofessional behavior" the day she'd gotten Lisa down off the roof. He didn't like the way Dylan operated. She didn't like his work ethic, either, but she had enough respect for his record that for the most part she didn't fight him. Sergeant Matlock didn't have the same respect for her.

Whatever, I'll deal with him when he becomes a problem, she grumbled silently, and texted Peabody a quick thanks before heading to her cottage. She needed to grab some stuff before going back to Findias. There was a Midwinter Ball to prepare for, and a betrothal announcement coming up. She could worry about police matters later.

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Nuada stood and bowed when Balor entered his study. "Father," the prince said. "You honor me with this visit. Is anything amiss?"

The old king smiled. "Can a father not visit his only son on occasion?"

Unsure how to respond, Nuada simply offered his father a chair. A servant brought sparkling Elven wine for king and crown prince before retreating silently from the room once more. Balor and Nuada drank in silence for a few moments. Then the king leaned forward.

"I received your message this morning. You mean to accept my bargain, then?"

The prince nodded. "Dylan and I will wed on the Frost Moon." After a moment's hesitation, Nuada asked, "Father, if I may... why February?"

Balor steepled his fingers. "It is the earliest you can wed without inciting a great deal of gossip. I know you don't care about rumors for your own sake, but I also know you would shield your lady from such things when possible. Also, this leaves your sister able to wed Bres that much sooner. He has already proposed to her, and she has accepted gladly. I would not have my daughter forced to wait overlong." Aged amber eyes studied the prince for a minute. "You haven't spoken to Nuala about her betrothal, have you?"

"No," he replied. There was a wealth of things unspoken in that simple negation. "We have not spoken of it."

"Do you disapprove of Bres?"

Nuada shook his head. "Of course not. He is an old friend, a good leader. A brave and skilled warrior and an honorable man."

"But?"

"You know Nuala sympathizes with the humans," Nuada said. "Can she be happy as wife to a man who despises them as Bres does?"

Balor smiled gently. "Can your human lady be happy with a man who loathes her race as you do?"

"I make Dylan happy," Nuada said, loathing the defensive tone of his voice but unable to suppress it. His father simply shrugged and spread his hands as if to say, Well, then, you see? The prince looked away. "Was there any other reason you chose February?"

"The snowdrops will bloom in February," Balor said softly. "They are one of Dylan's favorite flowers."

Nuada blinked. "How do you know that?"

"She told me of it once. And are white blossoms, blossoms that represent hope, not fitting for a young bride?" The king paused for a moment, then asked in a voice as gentle as he could make it, "Nuada... what do you mean to tell her about your plans for the Golden Army?" In truth, the king didn't know his son's plans himself, except that the prince meant to track down the third piece of the Golden Crown. What did Nuada intend to do with that piece once he had it? Balor was fairly certain his son would be satisfied with nothing less than the genocide of the entire human race. How would he justify such heinous bloodshed to the mortal he meant to make his wife?

The blood drained from Nuada's face. Was this a threat? Was his father implying that he would tell Dylan about the Golden Army if Nuada didn't do it himself? He couldn't be sure. And if that was what Balor intended? What would he do?

Deciding honesty was the best policy - for now - Nuada confessed, "I don't know." The expression of concern and sympathy on his father's face dragged his next words from his lips. "Athair, I don't know what to do." When Balor opened his mouth, Nuada added quickly, "I know what counsel you would offer me, but I cannot abandon my people to this slow, creeping decay. That is not the man you raised me to be. And Dylan... she would not have me do such a thing. She has lived nearly her entire life in service to the Fair Folk. It would be a betrayal not only of my people, but of what she has sacrificed so much to achieve."

"My son, this war you seek with the humans is not the way to save our people. To condemn an entire race to destruction... you cannot truly wish such a thing. Surely your honor forbids you from spilling so much innocent blood."

"There is no other way, Father," he murmured. "I have considered every alternative and this is the only way to save our people. The humans cannot be reasoned with. They cannot be trusted. They can only be exterminated. I do not want to wash the world in blood, innocent or guilty, but if I must make a choice between trillions and trillions of fae or a few billion humans, my course is clear." Nuada bit his tongue to keep back the plea he desperately wished to make, begging his father not to tell Dylan. If Balor chose to reveal Nuada's plan to the mortal, nothing the prince said would dissuade him.

"And will your lady, the Star Kindler's child, remain by your side through the bloodshed and the carnage?" Balor asked gently.

Nuada closed his eyes. There was no point in hiding the truth. "No, she won't."

"You will wed with this secret between you?"

Golden eyes flicked open to regard the old king. The question seemed innocent enough. There was none of Balor's cool disdain or frigid anger in the conversation thus far. Perhaps his father was merely curious. Perhaps... "I have made no decision as yet."

Balor nodded. "I see." There was a moment's silence, then the old Elf said, "My son, I don't seek your unhappiness. I do not wish to be your enemy. I know you love Dylan. She's a good woman. Can you not be satisfied with her love and let the rest go? Wed the woman you love so dearly. Raise your children together. Forget the humans and this anticipated war. Be happy."

The prince looked away. "I beg you not to tempt me, Father. I could never be happy with Dylan, knowing I was no longer the honorable prince she believed me to be. How would I face her day after day? How would I face my subjects? How could I teach my sons about honor and duty after abandoning both? What would I tell them? That honor and duty are what real men must live by unless such things become an inconvenience? I can't do that."

"You know I must work against you in whatever you mean to do, Nuada. The truce stands."

"No, Athair," the crown prince said sadly. "No, it doesn't. Your desperate hope for peace between the realms and their various peoples has blinded you to that fact for centuries now. The truce broke long ago."

"We still uphold it."

"At what cost?" Desperation lent the words a sharp vehemence. "When do we say, 'Enough?' When do we draw the line and refuse to sacrifice another innocent life to whom we owe our protection? When do the fae stop dying at the hands of the humans?"

The old king sighed and rose to his feet. Nuada rose, as well. Balor said, "Our time in the realms is done, Nuada. We will fade like the stars at dawn. That is as it should be." He sighed again. "Your betrothal will be announced tonight. You will wed on the Frost Moon and have your time with your lady. You can be happy with her if you let yourself. Don't throw it away for vengeance."

The two men walked to the door of Nuada's study. Just before the king left, he turned back to his son and laid a hand on his shoulder. There was a wealth of sorrow and regret in Balor's eyes. "I am not your enemy. I will not allow you to break the truce, and I will not allow you to declare war on the humans. Not while I live. But I do not consider you to be my enemy, Nuada." Firm but gentle pressure on the prince's shoulder reminded Nuada of easier times between himself and Balor. "You're my son. You must never doubt that you are dearer to me than my own life, and have been since before you drew your first breath. Please let yourself be happy."

With that startling sentiment, Nuada's father left the study, leaving the Elven prince speechless. After a moment of stunned silence, he returned to his desk on legs that trembled and sank into his chair. Dearer to me than my own life... And Nuada suddenly remembered when he'd been in the healing sleep after his duel with Zhenjin, the feel of a calloused hand smoothing back his hair and his father's voice murmuring, You are my son, and you are a fighter. Had not Dylan told him less than a week ago that his father truly loved him? I am not your enemy.

I'm sorry, Athair, Nuada thought, lifting his nearly-empty glass of wine to his lips. I only wish to make you proud, to protect our kingdom and its people, and to be with Dylan. I'm sorry that I must choose a path you abhor. I would abandon that path if I only could.

He drained the dregs from his glass and wondered when Dylan would return.

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Dylan took eight wrapped presents from beneath her Christmas tree and set them on a side-table. She gave the tree trunk an affectionate pat and the spicy evergeen branches rustled a little in pleasure. Becan, house sprite extraordinaire, brought Dylan two satchels to carry the gifts. It wasn't Christmas yet, but Nuada celebrated the solstice, and might expect a gift from her tonight. Not all of the packages were for her prince, however - only three of them. Another three were for the children and Tsu's'di. The other two were for Balor and Nuala. Dylan felt a little strange having presents for them, but it was more of a just-in-case thing. Luckily she knew a very talented - and telepathic - artist in Little Italy who'd been willing to help her out in a pinch.

Just as she was about to slip the golden travel ring, which she now wore on a chain around her neck, onto her finger, there was a knock at the cottage door. She glanced at Becan, who peered at the door for a moment. His little brow furrowed.

"My lady, it is Miss Francesca," he said, obviously bewildered. "Were you expecting her?"

She frowned. "No. What's she doing here?" Getting to her feet, Dylan went to the door and answered it while Becan glamoured himself to invisibility.

Francesca stood on Dylan's doorstep in her favorite black peacoat and gloves, twisting her hands together, fidgeting from foot to foot. Dylan blinked at her older sister. "Hey, Cesca. What're you doing here?"

"I need to talk to you," Francesca blurted, pushing past Dylan into the entryway. Dylan expected her to hang her coat on the rack by the door and drop her gloves on the side-table, but instead the thirty-one-year-old waitress strode into the living room. She paced in front of the fireplace for a few minutes, stopped. Opened her mouth as if to speak. Closed it again. Then she started pacing anew.

Finally, Dylan said, "Cesca, honey... what's the matter?"

"I, um... I have a question to ask you. But before I do you have to promise not to tell any of our sisters. Not even Petra or Tori. You promise?"

A gentle warmth bloomed in Dylan's chest. She nodded. "I promise. What's going on?"

"Okay. Okay, this is going to sound totally crazy. Well, maybe it won't, since it's you. You're like, the expert on crazy. You're a shrink. And stuff. So... so all right, then. Question. That guy. Your fiancé. Is he... is he a fairy?"

Dylan's mouth dropped open and the blood drained from her face. "What?" The word was more a nearly-silent gasp than a question.

Francesca looked her dead in the eye and asked, "Is he a fairy?"

"I... I, um, I don't... what? Why would you ask me that?"

The older Myers sister reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a Polaroid photo that Dylan couldn't see. She swallowed hard, then stuffed the photo back in her pocket before looking at her sister beseechingly. "So I met this guy. He's great. I mean, he's really great. But he's different. Really different."

Unsure where this was going, Dylan replied, "All right..."

"He told me... he told me some stories. Like the ones you used to tell when we were kids. I hadn't told him about you. About then, I mean. So I knew it wasn't because he was making fun of me or anything. And the way he looks, I know there are people out there who... who might be different. I just never considered that maybe... but then I saw him today. We had a date. And he said he'd gotten a call from a friend of his and wanted it confirmed that you were engaged to someone."

Dylan swallowed hard. "Just any someone? Or someone in particular?"

"Someone in particular. Prince Nuada Silverlance of Bethmoora."

Dylan's mouth fell open again. Her legs began to shake as she made her way unsteadily toward a chair and fell into it. She covered her mouth with a trembling hand. Stared at her sister. How had she found out? Who was this boyfriend, that he knew someone who would know about her engagement? Who, even in Faerie, was privy to the fact that she and Nuada were definitely engaged? The formal announcement wasn't until later that night!

Then she suddenly remembered a late-night phonecall with a certain rhinemaiden. A friend of mine... He is human, but... unique. They seem to have taken a liking to each other... She doesn't know you're a faerie, though... right?... No, she does not. As for what she thinks of Davio... Lemme guess. He's weird looking by human standards, but it only took her all of five seconds to realize that underneath of that, he was a guy, and therefore worth chasing... Something like that. Dylan frowned at her sister. Shoved at the loose curls tickling her cheek.

"Cesca... this guy. Is his name Davio?"

Francesca went nearly as white as Dylan. "How'd you know that?"

"I got a call from a friend of his a few days ago. Lorelei? You know her?"

When Francesca nodded, the tension eased from Dylan's body. This was Lorelei's friend that the river faerie had mentioned, the weird-looking human. Which meant the phone call Davio had received about Dylan and Nuada's engagement was probably from Lorelei as well. Well, Dylan decided, better to double-check on that instead of assuming.

"Was Lorelei the friend who called about me being engaged?"

Cesca nodded, then bit her lip. "Dylan... Dylan, what is going on?"

The mortal psychiatrist folded her hands in her lap and drew a deep breath, then blew it out. Drew another. "You remember when we were kids, and I used to tell stories about fairies and stuff? How I said there were magical people living in our backyard? And Mom and Dad thought I was crazy?"

After a strained silence, Francesca nodded. "Yeah."

Taking one more deep breath that strained against the tightness in her chest, Dylan met her sister's eyes and said, "I wasn't crazy. I was telling the truth. And that guy you met last night? That's Prince Nuada."

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Nuada hadn't expected a response from Rennan before the Midwinter Ball, yet in the early afternoon hours while waiting for Dylan, a page knocked on the door of the prince's study. When Nuada answered, the young Elf page held up a rectangular parcel wrapped in worn leather.

"This arrived for Your Highness just now," the pageboy murmured. "The messenger said it was from His Royal Majesty King Rennan mac Dela of Eirc."

Startled, the prince took the wrapped bundle and dismissed the servant boy. Taking the package back to his desk, he sat down and quickly unwrapped the folds of leather to reveal a small, rectangular box of goldenwood that had been polished until it shone as bright as a tiger's eye jewel. The box lid was held fast by two golden clasps in the shape of leaping stags. Nuada thumbed the clasps and loosed the lid of the box. Nestled inside on a cushion of emerald velvet was a many-faceted viridian moonstone, marred only by a spot of dull amber at its center.

Knowing exactly what Rennan had sent him and understanding why there was only this box and no written message, Nuada drew his pen-knife from its place in a desk drawer and pricked his index finger. A drop of golden blood welled up. Nuada allowed the droplet to fall on the center of the moonstone.

A low humming filled the room as power charged the air like electricity. A dull ache throbbed in Nuada's teeth. Magic swirled through the room, a king's power mingling with that of a crown prince. The spell unfolded like a flower and sent lightning pulsing through Nuada's blood. The prick at the tip of his finger burned hot as a coal, then flashed ice-cold before the wound sealed itself and faded. The Elven prince closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he stood not in his study, but in Rennan's.

It wasn't teleportation, of course. Nuada didn't dare use such a thing while waiting for Dylan to return, especially if Balor sought him out again. This was more of a communication spell. He could see and hear the Fir Bholg king, and the Fir Bholg king could hear and see him. They couldn't touch, however - that would've required more magic than either of them were willing to waste on this conversation.

Nuada studied his old friend. Rennan was an Elf of Eirc, taller than the Bethmooran prince by a good two feet and broader by several inches. His shaggy mane of copper-red hair hung past the broad shoulders and matched his bushy red brows. Several scars carved deep into his face. His loose, undyed canvas tunic and leather trews told Nuada that this was not only an informal audience between friends, but that Rennan had no other plans than to speak to his old shield-brother and then enjoy a quiet evening with his family. The actual night of the winter solstice was not a court event in Eirc, but a time to spend with close friends and loved ones. Rennan's family - a very pretty young wife and two new children - were giving up some of their time with him so that Nuada might speak to the older man who'd been friend and comrade to him during the wars with the humans.

"I appreciate you agreeing to speak with me, Rennan," Nuada said softly. The Fir Bholg king straightened in his chair.

"I've yet to decide whether to congratulate you on finding a woman you love enough to wed, or whether to beat you senseless for being a fool, old friend," Rennan said with a sigh. "A human, Nuada? What are you thinking?"

"She's a good woman," the prince replied.

Rennan raked his fingers through his bushy red beard. "I've no doubt of that if she could woo you. That's not my point! She is mortal. What will happen to you when her years are spent and she dies, leaving you to wander the world and live out your centuries without her?"

"But that is why I have contacted you."

The king sighed again. "Aye, I know that well enough. You wish my aid in reaching Mag Mell, if desperation drives you there. As your friend, I should refuse. I should shake you until your brains rattle for even thinking of such a reckless venture."

Nuada smirked. "You may be older and larger, but it has been quite some time since anyone could shake me that hard, old friend." His mirth dissipated. "You don't understand, Rennan. I love her. I cannot bear the thought of losing her to mortality's grasp when I could so easily prevent it."

"Easily? You think Tethra and Mannanan are the easy method to save your lady?"

"Easier than watching her waste away as old age and death lay claim to her!"

"And what of your plans for war, my friend? I am not privy to all you intend to do, I'll admit, but I have heard some rumors. Disturbing ones." Rennan's brilliant emerald eyes locked with Nuada's golden ones. "There is talk that when certain heirs are given their thrones, a new war with the humans will come, one to decide everything. I've heard this rumor for decades. Yet there is another one now, growing steadily stronger with every turn of the seasons - that when the war begins, it will be fought not just with soldiers and swords, but with the sorcerous weapons we Kindly Folk have long laid to rest. Clockwork armies, and not just the Golden Army of Bethmoora! Other dark powers long laid to rest by the kings and queens of Faerie."

The crown prince of Bethmoora gazed upon the king of Eirc for a long moment in silence. "Why do you say this?"

"If war comes, so be it. I have long known that eventually something must be done about the humans in Faerie, if nowhere else. My kingdom will not turn to such desperate tactics, but I have little control over the actions of my fellow monarchs. That is not my point. My point is, what will your lady do if you raise the Golden Army and declare war on her people?"

Stiffly, Nuada asked, "Does it matter to you so much?"

Rennan heaved a sigh. "My old friend... I am more glad than you can ever know, that you have found someone to whom you might give your heart, someone who brings you the sweet joy found with love. What I fear is that, with your love saved from mortal death, she will yet break your heart when she learns of what you mean to do to her race. I know your honor prohibits you from marrying her without telling her of your plans simply out of cowardice."

"You think she'll refuse me if she knows the truth." Rennan nodded gravely. "You're right that I cannot take her as my wife without telling her the truth. My honor forbids such cowardice. I cannot hide the truth from her out of fear that I'll lose her affection. What sort of man would that make me?"

There was a long silence between them. Finally, the king of Eirc said, "You are going to have to tell her something Nuada. And 'I intend to slaughter your race down to the last child, including your family,' is not what I would recommend."

Nuada gritted his teeth. "I planned to..." Nearly everything in him rebelled at the words on the tip of his tongue, but he forced them past his lips nonetheless. "To spare her family." Even the whelp. Even the harpy-shrews and their spawn. Despite their ill use of Dylan, it would break her heart to lose them, and Nuada knew that.

Rennan's eyes widened. "You did? You did? You intended to spare... they must be something special amongst their race, then."

"They are not," Nuada said coolly. "I loathe her family with everything I am. They are everything that I despise in the children of Adam. But I will spill no blood of hers... and that includes the blood she shares with her kin."

The king sighed. "Noble as that is, I doubt it will impress her overmuch. Her race will still cease to exist... unless you intend for her family, the last of the humans, to interbreed." Rennan shuddered with disgust. "Somehow I doubt that is your plan. You'll have to tell her something, old friend. What will you offer her as to your reasons for this coming slaughter?"

"The truth."

Rennan raised an eyebrow. "The truth?"

"Yes," Nuada said. Grief etched fine lines across his face and roughened his voice. "The truth - that Faerie is dying. That the mortal realm is dying. That the people who live in the mortal realm, human and fae alike, are slowly being poisoned by the filth and waste that is smothering that world. That the Fair Folk... that my people are dying because of the humans. Countless races are choking to death beneath the cruel yoke of what the humans have done. What they are still doing."

The prince of Bethmoora met his friend's eyes. "She knows me, Rennan. She knows me better than any other. She knows I do not seek the death of women and children out of some twisted thirst for revenge or some insane bloodlust. I don't want this. I do not want this war... but it is coming. I cannot stop it. I can only ensure that my people win. That they survive. That is what I will tell her. Perhaps... just perhaps... it will be enough."

The king leaned back in his chair and folded his hands. His face and voice were both expressionless when next he spoke. "I will give you my support in this quest for Mag Mell - whatever aid you need, whatever you ask of me, I will provide it." He pinned Nuada with his emerald gaze and said, "I pray she does not break your heart, my friend. I pray you're right about her."

"As do I."

"And if you are not?" Rennan asked. "How will you protect her?"

Nuada didn't know, but he would figure that out. He had to, because while part of him hoped Dylan would continue to love him, would remain at his side through the war... he knew in his heart that she wouldn't.

.

After telling Francesca everything (everything pertinent, anyway), Dylan knew the best way to cement her sister's hesitant belief was to show her a real, living, breathing faerie. With that in mind, she asked Becan if he might please come out of hiding and show himself.

The moment the brownie appeared, completely unglamoured, on the coffee table, Francesca squeaked and clapped both hands to her mouth. Becan bowed low to the two mortal women.

"Milady," he murmured to his human mistress. To his mistress's sister, he added, "Miss Francesca."

"This is Becan," Dylan explained to her sister, who stared at the diminutive fae with wide eyes. "He's the brownie who lives in this cottage. He helps keep it clean - rather, I help; he does most of the work - and he makes most of my meals. He even does my laundry. Except my underthings, he's not comfortable doing those. And he feeds the cat."

Francesca processed that while slowly forcing her hands away from her mouth and into her lap. "So... so he's like a house-elf? Like in Harry Potter?"

Dylan didn't roll her eyes, but it was a trial. "Sort of. I don't pay Becan. That would offend him and he'd have to leave. I can't thank him, either; same thing, he'd have to leave the cottage, and he doesn't want to. We just take care of each other."

Becan seated himself tailor-fashion on the coffee table. "My lady takes very good care of me, in fact. Fresh porridge with butter and cream every day, my own nest in the attic with my own copper washtub-"

"Brownies like being clean," Dylan whispered to her sister.

"My own clothes, and she doesn't pay me wages - that'd be improper - but I am allowed my own things when I go to market for her."

"Well," Dylan said airily, as if Becan buying stuff for himself was in no way out of the ordinary for a house sprite of his social class, "you make prettier Christmas ornaments than I ever could. You're far more talented with cooking and arts-and-crafts than I am. Besides, I adore you. Of course you're allowed your own stuff."

Francesca, eyes still wide, held out her index finger to Becan. "Um... hi. How d'you do?"

Becan laid his tiny brown hand on the tip of her finger and they sort of, almost, shook hands. "Very well, indeed, Miss. And you?"

"Um... not quite sure about that right now."

At a nod from Dylan, Becan excused himself to finish with his housework while Dylan studied her older sister with cautious hope. After Francesca had chewed her grass-green French manicure to bits, the waitress finally turned to her little sister. Opened her mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. "And I thought Davio was weird. At least he's normal-sized. So... so your fiancé really is a prince? And you're gonna be a princess."

Dylan nodded. It felt absolutely bizarre to confirm that she was soon to be royalty, but she didn't show that to Francesca.

"And Mom and Dad... they... jeez, Dylan. They sent you to that place and the whole time you were telling the truth." Her sister's eyes filled with tears. "And we were all so horrible to you about it. I'm so sorry, honey. I didn't know-"

"Cesca, it's okay," Dylan murmured, but her sister shook her head.

"No. No, it's not okay. If you hadn't been sent to that horrible place, the Blackwoods wouldn't have been able to hurt you, and-"

"Francesca," Dylan said firmly. The older Myers sister fell silent. A tear spilled down Francesca's cheek. Dylan gently wiped it away. "What happened to me at the institution is not your fault. It's not Petra or Pauline or Mary's fault. It's not Simone or Gardenia's fault. It's not your fault, or Tori's fault. It's not Mom and Dad's fault. The people who hurt me, the Blackwoods and their father and the rest - it's their fault. No one else's. Okay?"

Francesca swiped at her eyes, smearing her mascara. "We didn't believe you. We should've believed you. We should've known you weren't crazy. How can you not be furious at us for not believing you?"

Dylan put her arms around the other woman and hugged her. "You're my family. I love you guys."

Her sister laughed a little through her tears. "You're so forgiving. You're such a good Mormon."

A smile quirked Dylan's mouth. "Only in some ways," she replied, thinking of how she'd felt the morning prior upon waking up cuddled against Nuada. "But thanks. You okay?" Francesca nodded. "Still in shock?" Another nod. "Well, I really hate to cut this short, I know I've dumped a lot on you, but I have to go. I'm sorry. I know this is a lot to take in, but I've got a... a thing."

"A future-princess thing?"

"Yeah," she said with a sheepish smile. "Royal ball. Our engagement's being announced to the court tonight."

"You nervous?" Francesca laughed when Dylan nodded vehemently. "Poor thing. I know how much you hate all that attention. You must really love this guy if you're putting up with Paparazzi Tinkerbell. So who's doing your hair and makeup?"

The mortal healer fought not to roll her eyes. Trust Francesca to focus on the most important thing - in her book, at least. "I'm probably gonna do it myself. Hiyori might help me, but her forte is clothes, not makeup and stuff."

"Well, that's no good. Let me do it for you."

While Dylan could admit Francesca did runway-quality hair and makeup, the younger woman had to point out, "The ball's not until sunset tonight. I'd have to take you to Faerie with me for that. I don't think that'll work, hon."

To her utter shock, Cesca pursed her lips for a moment before asking, "Well, why not?" Dylan's mouth opened and closed soundlessly for a minute. "You probably need permission, right?" Francesca added. "So go back to Faerie and ask... whoever. The prince or the king or whoever. If they say no, well, oh well, then. But if they say yes, come back and get me and we'll go there and I'll fix up your hair and stuff."

"I... um..."

"If you don't ask," Francesca said primly, "you'll never know."

.

Which must have been, Dylan concluded, how she ended up back in Findias, dazed and more than a little confused as to how she'd ended up outside Nuada's study door. She rapped on the door without really thinking out what she was going to say to her prince. His muffled acknowledgment had her opening the door just wide enough to slip inside and close it behind her.

She stopped short when she got a good look at Nuada's face. "Nuada? Cad atá cearr?" Upon arriving back at the castle, Dylan hadn't even taken the time to shed her coat or drop her purse. Now she tossed her purse to the floor as she rushed to where Nuada stood leaning against his desk and reached up to frame his face with her hands. "What is it?" She repeated in English. He lifted his eyes to her face and a chill went through her to her very bones. "What's the matter? Did something happen?"

Nuada covered her hands with his before drawing her slender hands down to grip them at chest-level. Golden eyes filled with what might have been regret studied Dylan's face for a long moment. Then he leaned in and pressed his mouth to hers. She tasted sorrow in the kiss, and longing. Resignation. Hope, as well as a sort of far-off dread. Nuada whispered against her lips, "I love you. I love you so much, Dylan. I never thought I would ever... I love you."

Dylan pulled back to stare at him. Why did he sound so desperate? And his hands were so cold. "Nuada..."

"Mo duinne, there will no doubt come a time when my responsibilities as the crown prince and the future king of Bethmoora dictate actions that... that will cause you pain. I am sorry for that. Sorry for the heartache being my princess will bring you. I would not hurt you for the world if I could help it, but there are some things I cannot change and I fear that... that you... that we..."

"Nuada, you're kind of scaring me right now," Dylan murmured. He was never at a loss for words. Not like this. Never tongue-tied, never this uncertain. "Are you... are you saying you think we shouldn't get married?"

"No," he said quickly. "No, no. It is only... I never want you to regret becoming my wife. I never want you to look upon me and see a monster where once you saw only the man you loved."

Loved, she thought. Past-tense. Why? Aloud, she only said, "Never. Why would you think I could ever... Nuada, what's going on?" An icy chill swept down her spine as a thought pierced her. "Something happened with Dierdre. You... Nuada, you promised me-"

"No!" He rejected that immediately. "No, Dylan, no. Nothing happened with Dierdre, I swear to you. I have kept my promise."

"But...then...what's going on?"

He locked eyes with her and said softly, "I never want to hurt you."

Worried silver-swept eyes caressed his face as Dylan studied him, the earnest expression and shadowed eyes. She cupped his cheek. "I know. It's okay. Whatever's going on, it's okay. What happened? Did your father say something? Did-"

"We have a king at our backs willing to aid us in getting to Mag Mell," Nuada murmured. Dylan's eyes widened. He touched his forehead to hers. "I know it was dangerous, but it was all I could think to do."

"But... but you said that was a crazy thing to do. A fool's errand-"

He framed her face between his hands. "Then I am a madman and a fool. Losing you... losing you forever would take the very heart from me. Do you understand? Do you understand that I've had these thoughts circling in my mind like sharks ever since I lost my heart to you? That I've feared what your mortality will do to us when time finally passes and you slip through my fingers? So I have spoken to King Rennan mac Dela; he is an old friend. He is willing to help us get to Mag Mell if we have no other choice... and I fear we have no other option. I would do nearly anything to keep you, Dylan."

Stunned, she stroked his cheek with the backs of her fingers. "Nuada... why didn't you tell me how much this has been bothering you?"

"I am telling you now. I have had my heart shatter from love and loss before, Dylan, and it nearly destroyed me. I cannot do it again. Not now."

He fell silent and Dylan simply slid her arms around him. After a long, strained moment, where she could feel the tension thrumming through his body, Nuada enfolded her in his arms and laid his cheek against the soft wealth of her hair. "It's okay," Dylan murmured. "You won't lose me. I love you."

Nuada gazed down at her, and she could see she'd moved him more deeply than she understood. "Dylan..." He cradled her face between his hands and leaned in. "I know I don't deserve you, yet I thank all the gods beyond the stars that you are with me."

He kissed her again, a warm press of lips that sent golden light dancing through her chest. Tangling his fingers in her hair, he sighed against her mouth, closed his eyes. She felt it the moment he simply gave himself up to kissing her. She could still taste his sorrow and regret, and he held her as if he thought she might vanish in an instant, but that almost panicked tension she'd first sensed in him had eased.

When the kiss finally ended, Nuada stroked his thumb along Dylan's cheek. She looked up at him. It was impossible, she thought, for him to not see the worry in her eyes. "Are you going to be okay?"

Nuada inclined his head. "I am well enough."

"Okay." She stroked his cheek with gentle fingertips. "It's okay." Now Dylan forced herself to grin. "Jeez, don't scare me like that, okay? You almost gave me a heart attack."

"My apologies, mo mhuire." He brushed his lips against hers in a feather-soft kiss. "Now... I think you had something to tell me. Before this."

Recollection struck Dylan like a baseball bat right between the eyes. "Oh! Right! Um, I have to tell you something. It's important. And maybe bad. I'm not sure. Depends on how you feel about it."

Clearly she'd caught him off-guard. "All right."

Dylan bit her lip, then forced herself to stop. "It's about Francesca."

"Has she been attacked again?"

Surprised that he'd actually remembered the fact that her sister had been attacked - though she hadn't told him by whom - the night Dylan and her prince had had their first real fight, resulting in Nuada leaving the cottage for almost three weeks, it took Dylan a moment to remember to shake her head. "No, she's okay. It's not that. She... she knows."

Nuada frowned. "Knows what?"

"About us. About you. That you're fae."

Feral eyes widened. "What? How... how do you know?"

"She told me." Quickly Dylan explained everything that had happened at her cottage once her sister had shown up on the doorstep. She ended with, "It may not seem like it, but she can keep a secret. We don't have to worry about that, not with her. But now she wants to come to Findias to help me with my hair and makeup for the Ball." After a moment's hesitation, Dylan added, "Can I bring her here?"

"Can you bring... I..." Completely thunderstruck at the sheer improbability of Dylan's sex-obsessed older sister coming to the castle, tonight of all nights, left him momentarily speechless. The tension of the earlier conversation vanished. Nuada could only think with growing horror of Francesca. Here. In his home. He grasped at the first argument that presented himself. "She'll make you look like a... a sporting woman."

Dylan's mouth quirked at the corners. "You can say 'prostitute,' you know. And no, she won't. She's actually really good at this kind of thing. She went to beauty school, but then couldn't actually get a job as a beautician - cusses too much - so she became a waitress. Apparently you can cuss more in that profession. But she knows what she's doing. She'll make me look pretty."

Without missing a beat, Nuada replied, "You always look lovely, Dylan. 'Pretty' is a pitiful descriptor of your beauty."

The mortal's half-smile bloomed into a full one, sweet and indulgent. "You're biased. Our engagement's being announced tonight. I wanna look nice."

"Dylan, she has a mouth as foul as a New York sewer."

She raised an eyebrow. "You know, you almost never swear in front of me, but does that mean you never swear?"

"I don't use profanity with the same seeming delight that your sister does."

A small sigh should've made it obvious to the prince that his mortal truelove wasn't giving in just yet. "Nuada, I just don't feel up to the task of making myself look the way I want to look for tonight."

"Borrow my sister's maids."

"Ledi Polunochnaya and A'ge'lv Na'ko'ma?" Dylan asked. "You really want them in my bathroom with me? While I'm practically naked, wearing only a towel? I don't think..." She trailed off when Nuada's eyes unfocused. She poked him in the chest. "You're thinking about me in nothing but a towel."

The prince's brow quirked. "I? Darling, I appreciate the compliment to my... ardor, but attempting to imagine your exquisite loveliness in any state of undress while faced with a choice between being invaded by A'ge'lv Na'ko'ma or your sister is almost impossible. I am being distracted by visions of my own personal Hell."

Dylan grinned. "At least you don't hate Francesca."

"Yes, I do."

Her grin slipped away. "At least she's not actively trying to be a total witch to you, though."

Reluctantly, Nuada admitted, "Yes, there is that." He sighed. "Very well. You may bring Francesca here. She is not to stray beyond your bedroom door."

"Really?" She threw her arms around his neck. "Thank you! I feel better about tonight already!" She pressed her lips to his cheek and gave him a loud and quite enthusiastic kiss. "I'll keep her in my bedroom, I promise. Or, actually, she'll probably be in the bathroom with me. But whatever, don't worry!" She kissed his cheek again before cuddling into his chest. "Thank you, mo airgeadach."

Slipping away from him, Dylan twisted the ring on her finger that would take her to the subterranean sanctuary. Francesca would be waiting at the subway station, which was safe enough on a Monday afternoon. Dylan would find her and then they'd get back to the castle and start prepping.

"Oh," Dylan added right before speaking the words that would active the spell, "you have to meet her. Unglamoured." Before he could respond to that, the spell came to life, taking her where she couldn't hear his protests.

All Nuada could think as he watched his truelove disappear was that her pleasure at seeing her sister hopefully outweighed whatever nausea would threaten when the harpy actually arrived. But if Francesca did anything to distress Dylan, the Elven warrior would happily wring the harpy's neck.

.

The squealing was what dragged him out of his study nearly forty-five minutes later. Nuada wasn't actually alarmed by the shrill cries of feminine rapture - he recognized Francesca's voice and Dylan's indulgent laughter. He knocked on the door joining his suite to hers. The squealing and squeaking abruptly ceased. Dylan called for him to come in. When he stepped into his lady's bedchamber, it was to the sight of Dylan covering Francesca's eyes.

"Okay, he looks different," Dylan cautioned her sister. "Like, really different."

"I got it, Dylan. Jeez. Lemme see him!"

"All right. Do not squeal."

"I won't!"

Dylan withdrew her hands from in front of her sister's face. Francesca opened her eyes and took in the sight of the crown prince of Bethmoora without glamour. Nuada had yet to begin readying for the Midwinter Ball, so he only wore some of his everyday winter attire of wool-silk and velvet in soft shades of gray and green. The mortal waitress bit her lip and let her eyes drift over the prince from crown to toes and back up again. Dylan held her breath.

Nuada waited for the squealing and hoped - in a very quiet, dark part of his soul - that the filthy-minded human shrew that was somehow kin to his lady would give him a valid reason to forcibly eject her from the palace grounds.

Francesca pursed her lips and whistled. "Lookin' good, Your Highness."

Dylan breathed a sigh of relief.

Nuada narrowed his eyes. "Your approval is noted," he said coolly, thinking silently, And unwanted. The woman who currently drew his ire smiled. The prince wanted to do something, anything, to terrify the smile off her face. It was one thing for Dylan to smile at him. He cherished her smiles. But this... woman... the idea of her finding amusement or enjoyment from anything he did or said sickened him. Forcing his voice to remain icily polite, he inclined his head and said, "I will leave you ladies to your task."

As Francesca offered a jaunty wave and turned toward the bathroom door, Nuada saw Dylan mouth thank you to him. His expression thawed for a moment and he nodded to her before leaving the room.

The two mortals set up the large silver case of makeup the older woman had brought with her from the human realm. The makeup case had been a gift from Dylan for her sister's birthday only a few months before. Dylan had suggested Francesca bring it because the case and its contents came from Faerie, and so none of the makeup would cause any sort of problem at the Ball. The hair products and accessories were all Dylan's, either brought with her upon moving into the joint suite or having been discovered in the suite upon Dylan's perusal of the bathroom.

At the tail end of the set-up, a knock sounded at the door. Dylan looked over to see Fionnlagh at the door. Francesca jumped and squeaked at the sight of the scarred female Butcher Guard in her beaked iron helmet. Dylan's guard detail had been in the sitting room when she and her sister had arrived in the bedroom. Since the door had been half-open, they'd been left to their own devices.

"Cesca, this is one of my bodyguards. Guardswoman Fionnlagh, this is my sister, Francesca."

Fionnlagh offered her charge's sister the typical fist-to-chest salute. Francesca offered a hesitant wave and a mumbled, "Hello."

"My lady," Fionnlagh murmured in Gaelic. "Journeymaid Hiyori is here with your gown. Shall I fetch 'Sa'ti and Eimh to help you prepare?"

"Yes, please, Fionnlagh," Dylan replied in the same language, then translated the brief exchange into English for her sister.

"Wow, that Irish stuff really paid off for you, huh?" Cesca asked with a laugh, then gasped in delight when a sleek, milk-white shape trotted into the bathing chamber. "Oh, my gosh! What a beautiful dog! Is she yours?" Dylan nodded. "Hey, there, pretty girl." Eimh approached this new human and sniffed Francesca's outstretched hand before giving it a swift lick. "Aren't you friendly? And so pretty."

*Thank you. My mother says I am pretty, too.*

The mortal yelped in shock and jerked back from the dog. "Holy crap, you talk!"

"That's Eimh," Dylan said, trying not to laugh at her sister's astonishment. "She's one of my guard dogs. Yes, she talks. And that's 'Sa'ti," Dylan added as the cougar girl came in. "She's my handmaiden. Eimh, 'Sa'ti, this is my sister, Francesca."

Eimh whuffed a greeting and the ewah girl bobbed a quick curtsy.

"Are you a lady, too?" The cougar child asked.

"Um... like, a noble lady?" Francesca clarified. The little girl nodded. "No. I'm just me. You can call me Miss Francesca if you want. Um, what are you, exactly?"

"Oh, we're ewah!" From the doorway, A'du poked his head in and grinned charmingly at the new person. "We're the Children of the Cougar. We can shapeshift into wampus cats."

"Do what into what, now?"

Dylan laughed. "They can transform into wampus cats - really, really big faerie cougars. A'du'la'di Ewah, this is my sister, Francesca. Francesca, this daring and enterprising young man is my pageboy. A'du, are you supposed to be in here?"

"Well, the door's open," the cub offered by way of excuse.

A slim fae teenager came up behind him, carrying something over her head. She nudged him with her foot. "Out of my way, young cub. I have your mistress's gown and if I drop it, I'll be making her a new one out of your hide. Understand?" A'du'la'di shuffled out of the way as Hiyori, one of the palace's journeymaid seamstresses directly under the Master Tailor of Findias, slipped into the room carrying the blue ball gown Nuada had bought for Dylan a few weeks prior. Following behind Hiyori came a young apprentice seamstress carrying a tall, navy blue box. A'du popped in for a moment with something in his hands.

"And what is that?" Hiyori sniffed at the child.

He just grinned and held it out to her. "From the prince for the a'ge'lv," A'du said primly, holding the medium-sized, blue velvet jewelry box aloft like a holy relic. A silver satin bow gleamed in the bathroom's faerie lights. "A Midwinter gift." Dylan took the box from him and set it on the white marble counter. "Oh, that 'minds me, A'ge'lv. What're those presents in your closet for?"

"A'du'la'di Ewah, you stay away from those presents," Dylan said without batting an eyelash. "You and your brother and sister can wait to open them until His Highness and I get back from the Ball."

Bright gray eyes widened in rapturous disbelief. "Those are for us?" He demanded breathlessly. "What for?"

"For Midwinter," Dylan replied. "But not until the prince and I get back. There are a couple for him, too, so you'll have to wait. Now shoo! No boys allowed in here right now."

"Okay. Bye, A'ge'lv! I'm gonna go arm-wrestle Guardsman Mahon, and this time, I'm gonna beat him."

Dylan just smiled. Unlike his partner, Guardsman Lorcc, Mahon didn't let A'du "win." Instead of being discouraged, the cougar boy took that as a challenge. "Good luck!" His human mistress called after him.

"All right," Francesca said when only Hiyori, 'Sa'ti, Eimh, and two of Dylan's guards remained. "I take it they're helping, too?" Dylan nodded. "Okay, fine, but I'm the boss, right?" Her younger sister nodded again. "Awesome. Okay, into that bathtub. Do you do scented... anything?"

"Yep. Eimh, a 'happy bath,' please," Dylan asked her hound, and things got underway.

.

"You're nervous, aren't you, Hátign Þína?" Erik folded his arms across his broad chest and shared a conspiratory grin with Wink as, a couple hours later, Nuada paced back and forth in the front room of his suite. "I'd not have believed it - you're actually nervous."

"I have to propose to her," Nuada muttered. "A public proposal, this time. In front of the entire Golden Court. If they do anything to distress her, I'll show no mercy-"

A chuckle rumbled in Wink's massive chest. "Don't worry about the lassling, my prince," the cave troll said. "She'll do just fine against any of those stuffed-shirt nobles who can't see her worth. She has a stout heart for such a little thing."

Nuada didn't confess the other source of the dread gnawing like a wolf at his belly - his father. What would Balor do when the prince knelt before Dylan in front of the Court and asked for her hand in the required public proposal? Would he let things proceed as it seemed he desired? Or was the king using this whole event as a means to shatter Nuada's spirit and will?

I am not your enemy... Please let yourself be happy. The king had seemed sincere then, but... but could the Elven warrior truly trust Balor after everything the One-Armed King had done to sabotage Nuada's plans, both for his kingdom and for his truelove?

Before Nuada could snarl anything else or turn over anymore possible facets of his father's potential plots against him, he sensed her. Dylan. She hovered like a shy butterfly at the very edges of his awareness, but she was steadily drawing closer. A soft knock at the door joining the front room of his suite to the sitting room of hers drew Nuada's eyes to the door. He felt his pulse jump despite his resolve to appear at ease. Tonight their engagement was made public. Tonight the date for their wedding was set. Forty-seven days from now.

Forty-six days, Nuada realized with a jolt of warm pleasure. Soon to be only forty-five. But aloud, he only called, "Enter."

She stepped in slowly, shyly, and he could not understand why. Didn't she know, couldn't she tell, how truly breathtaking she looked? He absolutely hated to admit it, but the harpy-shrew had done well by Dylan. Those dark curls were twisted and coiled effortlessly so they fell in a gentle cascade around her shoulders. The hair-piece he'd sent by A'du'la'di, filigreed white-gold and elegant Bethmooran diamonds like enchanted ice, glittered against the shadows of her hair in the lamp- and firelight. Her makeup was understated and lovely, except at her eyes. Her eyes were... striking.

With the style of Dylan's hair and the effect from the makeup, Francesca had done the best thing she could to make her younger sister beautiful - brought a viewer's attention away from Dylan's scars to the so very fey color of Dylan's eyes. She'd done something to those eyes that brought out silver and stardust and shades of twilight amidst the moonwashed blue. Once Nuada looked into his truelove's eyes, he could not look away.

"Your mouth's open, puppy," Wink murmured with a chuckle.

Nuada hastily closed it. Then, to his pleased surprise, Dylan swept into a perfect curtsy. She never took her eyes from his face, either.

"Your Highness," she murmured.

At last he found his voice. "My lady," he replied, and offered her a courtly bow. He held out his hand to her. "My fairest lady." She didn't ask him if she looked all right. She could see the truth in his gaze of warm, honeyed amber flecked with glints of carnelian and sunfire. A color she rarely saw, and only when he looked at her.

Dylan slid her hand into his. His fingers curled around hers, and he brought her hand to the heat of his mouth. Dark lips brushed a slow kiss across her knuckles.

"Ew!" An adolescent voice cried from behind Dylan. "Jeez, do you guys have to keep doing that stuff? It's gross!" A'du'la'di came in holding something behind his back. He rocked back on his heels and smiled at his mistress. "You look like a babe, A'ge'lv. And you look really nice, Your Highness," the boy added to his hero. "I like your sword. And your boots are cool, too. I wish I had boots like that."

The adults under critique exchanged amused glances. Of course A'du would focus first and foremost on the sword at Nuada's side, then on the boots. Nuada briefly considered reprimanding the boy for interrupting, but his interference had saved the prince from making an even greater fool out of himself in front of Wink and Erik. And it was Midwinter.

Instead, Nuada focused on A'du. The boy wore a brand new lambswool tunic and trews, finished just in time for Midwinter, in rich blue trimmed in silver - the nicest things the boy had ever worn. Dylan's crest was sewn into the left shoulder. 'Sa'ti was in the room she shared with her brothers, changing into a velvet dress in the same colors. "You and 'Sa'ti are allowed to go with your friend from the kitchens to the servants' party below stairs," Nuada said, "but only for a little while. You know when bedtime is; I expect you back then. You may stay up once you're back in the suite, but you must be back here by bedtime. I need you to do this, A'du - 'Sa'ti is too young to be out so late unescorted. As her brother, and as a warrior, I expect you to be respectful of her and do your duty by her. Do you understand?"

A'du lost his childlike demeanor as his prince spoke. When Nuada had finished, A'du nodded solemnly. "Yes, Your Highness. I understand. I'll look after 'Sa'ti, I promise. You can count on me."

The prince inclined his head. "Good lad. And make sure you compliment your sister on her new dress."

A'du made a face. "Do I hafta?" He wiped the reluctance from his expression when Nuada raised an eyebrow at him. "It's a chivalry thing, isn't it?" Nuada nodded. "Got it. I'll remember to do that. Thank you for letting us go to the party, Your Highness."

Nuada bestowed a rare smile on the boy. "You have both certainly earned it."

"And... and you'll look after A'ge'lv Dylan at the Ball, right?"

Erik and Wink blinked in astonishment at the child who'd dared to question the legendary Silverlance, but Nuada merely inclined his head. "You can rely upon me to look after Lady Dylan until we return if you look after your sister. Have we a bargain?"

A'du'la'di grinned. "Yes, sir. Oh, A'ge'lv, this is for you. A birthday present. Sorry it's late; it took a long time to get it perfect. Me and 'Sa'ti and Rórdán and Colum from the stables and Uilleag from the kitchens and Abigail and a bunch of us made it for you."

He pulled what he'd been hiding behind his back out into the open and held up what looked like a mason jar with a thick cork stopper sealed with wax or parafin and tied with a white ribbon. When Dylan peered at it, though, she realized it was a handmade waterglobe. Inside were tiny blue, white, and pink rosebuds touched with a sheen of gold glitter floating around a small statue of a woman who seemed to be caught frozen in the middle of spinning amidst the shower of roses. At first Dylan thought the statue was made of glass or crystal, but upon further inspection she realized it was sculpted ice in a thousand shades of blue and green. Bits of silvery glitter shimmered in the water as well.

"Rórdán found the perfect jar and Column paid for the parafin himself 'cause he gets more wages than us," 'Sa'ti said as she came into the room. "And Abigail used magic so the ice will never melt. And Uilleag's brother is engaged to one of the hamadryads in the orchards and so he went and talked to her and she talked to Master Colin who's in charge of the gardens so now the roses won't ever die or wilt or anything."

"And Colum's sister Eilla had some gold dust that she uses to make paints, so we asked her if we could have some and she said yes so the flowers would be super pretty. And the prince's friend, Lorelei - she helped, too. She gave us some... some... what was that stuff?" A'du asked his sister.

"River mica," she said promptly.

"Yeah," A'du said. "That. Gave us some of that to put in the water so it would be sparkly 'cause I 'membered your snowglobes and stuff had sparkly stuff in the water and Wink gave us this thing called a quartz and he crushed it up so it would be shiny and sparkly so we could put that in, too. Then 'Sa'ti and I put it all together with some help from Fionnlagh and them while you were at work and we carved your name in the bottom, see?"

Sure enough, the cork read Happy Birthday, Lady Dylan.

"Ailbho helped us spell everything right and... A'ge'lv?" The little boy blinked up at her in confusion. "What's the matter? You look like you're gonna cry."

'Sa'ti took Dylan's hand. "What's the matter? Don't you like it?"

Unable to speak for a moment, Dylan blinked back the tears stinging her eyes and smiled at both children. She nodded. Swallowed hard. "I love it. I absolutely love it. I'm sorry," she added with a little laugh, blinking harder. "Sometimes grown-ups cry when they're really happy about something. We're silly like that. This is just... so great, you guys. Thank you. This is the prettiest waterglobe I've ever had." Overcome, she pulled them both into a tight hug. "Oh, I love you both." She kissed their foreheads.

"Awww, A'ge'lv," A'du protested, swiping at his forehead. "Not in front of the prince."

Dylan inclined her head. "I'm sorry. I'll be more circumspect next time and make sure no one's watching. Now I'm gonna go put this in my room with the rest of my collection, right in front where I can see it whenever I want to. Okay?"

"Okay." Both children watched as she excused herself and went to do exactly as she'd said. Then A'du noticed the prince watching him intently. The cougar boy hunched his shoulders. "Um... she really did like it, right? She wasn't faking so we wouldn't feel bad or nothing, right?"

"Anything," Nuada corrected. He knelt and beckoned the cubs over. Placing one hand on A'du's shoulder and his other on 'Sa'ti's, Nuada smiled at them. "She truly liked it. That was very well done. I am very pleased with both of you." The prince cast a glance at Wink, who studied the ceiling with intense concentration. The troll had said nothing to him of helping the children with such a venture. Neither had Lorelei or Dylan's guards. What a brilliant little conspiracy. "Well done," Nuada repeated.

The cubs turned and high-fived each other.

.

"It happens tonight," Naya's master hissed. "Do your part and everything should work out well. Understand?"

Tonight. Tonight, if things produced the optimal result, Nuada's heart and spirit would be broken because his lady would be dead. He would renew his hatred of humanity and attempt to wipe them out. The king would finally execute him. All of that would be set in motion tonight.

"Understand, Polunochnaya?"

The Zwezda Elf bowed her head. "Yes, milord," she murmured. What would happen to Nuada tonight? If Dylan died... what would happen? Would he react as his father had reacted to Cethlenn's death? Naya and her sister had already been Nuala's ladies-in-waiting at the time, and she remembered the savage madness of King Balor's grief. His servants and those closest to him had even feared he'd do himself harm. By common consensus, everyone had kept the royal twins away from the king, for fear he hurt them, as well.

Nuada, the Elven woman thought. Nuada, I'm sorry. You've left me no choice. You can't be allowed to do what you plan to do to the humans. I'm so sorry. Please forgive me.

Tonight, during the Midwinter Ball, the assassins would come. If they did their job, the mortal woman who held the prince's heart would die... and Nuada would break.

I'm sorry.