Chapter 83 - Shot Through the Heart

Chapter Eighty-Three

Shot Through the Heart

that is

A Short Tale of aCreeping Shadow, Music, a Dance, an Accusation, a Proposal, Applause, Fireworks and Conversation, Glamoured Darkness, and Arrows

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Polunochnaya pasted a smile on her face as she swept through the castle corridors beside Na'ko'ma and behind Nuala, surrounded by royal guards. Tonight was the night. Tonight the first steps of her master's plan would come to fruition and perhaps, just perhaps, Lady Dylan would die. The Star Elf forced thoughts of what her death would do to Nuada from her mind. It was the only way. The only way. Nuada had to be stopped. The king was letting him do whatever he wished so far, and while Balor supposedly put limits on the prince, there were few consequences put into place for when the Elven warrior disobeyed his sovereign. That couldn't continue. The One-Armed King of Elfland had to see that Nuada had to be stopped, for the good of humans and fae alike, and in order to show how unsalvageable the prince was, something had to push him over the edge.

And if this didn't work... there were always the northern villages. The bandits were vicious mortals who'd lived in Faerie for the gods knew how long. Even though they were the invaders to the Twilight Realm, they viewed the fae as an infestation that needed to be exterminated. Balor's treaty shouldn't have applied to them... but the king didn't agree. Thanks to Nuala, Nuada seemed willing to work within his father's restrictions to aid the villages under attack without killing the bandits. But if Dylan were given to them and they killed her...

Naya knew what most humans were like. They cared for nothing but raping, burning, pillaging - destroying for the sake of reveling in the destruction and nothing more. Mindless beasts who only knew how to copulate and kill. What would they do to Nuada's truelove? Simply kill her? Or worse?

Her master might attempt to convince them to do worse, Polunochnaya realized as she and her foster-sisters approached the doors to the king's banquet hall. Everyone knew the circumstances of Queen Cethlenn's death - that she'd been gang-raped to death by humans in front of her young children. Nuada and Nuala had nearly been killed, as well. And many knew that because of the atrocities he'd witnessed against his mother, Crown Prince Nuada abhorred rape against a woman of any species. The vile act sickened him. The dark Elf's master knew that. Would her master arrange for a similar fate to befall the mortal loved by the Silverlance, simply to goad him into madness fueled by rage and grief all the more quickly?

I hope not, Naya thought as the looming doors of hand-carved rowan wood were thrust open by the heralds on either side of the entryway. She doesn't deserve that. And he doesn't deserve to lose someone else he loves to that fate. Master, if we are going to kill her, please do not let it be that way. That is the one thing that will break him beyond what he can endure. Please be merciful, my lord. As merciful as you can be to them both and still protect our people.

Just before she stepped across the threshold into the banquet hall, she caught a whiff of a strange odor. Like garbage that had been left to sit for too long in the sun and grown ripe with its own stench. But even as she identified the stink, it faded. From the corner of her eye she caught sight of the fae lord whom she called master. He inclined his head to her in a nod of subtle acknowledgment. Was he responsible for that smell, whatever it was?

Remembering his orders, she pushed the thought from her mind and followed her princess into the grand hall.

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Are you all right, mo duinne? Nuada asked through the link of their hands, which were clasped beneath the king's table in the banquet hall.

After bidding the cubs goodbye, the Elven prince had escorted his lady - with their retinue of guards, as well as both of Dylan's hounds, Wink, Erik, Tsu's'di, and Lorelei in attendance - to the banqueting hall where the Midwinter Ball was to be held.

The Butchers assigned to protect both crown prince and mortal lady were arrayed in a line against the wall at their backs. Wink sat in a place of honor at the king's table three seats down from Nuada, a guest of the royal family as well as Nuada's valet and guard. Dylan sat beside Nuada. Lorelei sat between Dylan and the troll; she was there as Dylan's guard as well as Wink's lady, and they'd all acknowledged that Nuada could most likely handle himself long enough for Wink to get around the women to get to him if necessary. Erik stood at Nuada's back, in formal black, red, and gold livery with Nuada's personal crest on his shoulder and belt.

Tsu's'di stood in his customary place behind his human mistress, looking resplendent in his best formal livery of dove-gray silk shirt, royal blue velvet tunic, and black leather trews. His black boots and white belt had been tooled in silver, as well, and Dylan's crest was embroidered at his shoulder in shining silver thread. The youth had even gotten a haircut.

Curled up beneath the table at Dylan and Nuada's feet, like mirroring pools of pearlescent moonlight and inky darkness, lay Eimh and Sétanta.

I'm fine, Dylan replied as they finished up the third course of the feasting portion of the Midwinter Ball. Just... I feel almost naked without your ring on my finger. They'd taken it off just for the night, as part of the formalities regarding the "official" marriage proposal. And I'm a bit nervous, I guess.

The public proposal? He guessed shrewdly. Don't be. All will be well.

What if someone causes a scene? It took everything she had not to chew on her lip out of worry. But if she did that, not only would she get lipstick on her teeth and irritate Nuada, who'd been trying to get her to break the lip-biting habit, but she'd also ruin all the work Francesca had put into making her mouth look almost normal. I don't want to embarrass you.

His fingers pressed hers. You won't. As the humans say, you are a lady, Dylan. You will handle yourself like one. Do not worry so much about me. I am content with what I have - the chance to show the entire Golden Court what you truly mean to me. If they don't like it, it is only because they're jealous.

She smiled, which had been his intention. You're sweet. A terrible liar, but sweet. Oooh! She perked up in her chair when the servants brought out the fourth course - a familiar looking stew. Is that muscaliet stew?

Nuada smiled. It is.

Unlike the other court dinners she'd been to since arriving in Findias, even the receiving banquet to welcome the visiting nobles, this ball hosted entertainers for the feasting. A group of musicians stood arrayed on an impromptu, raised dais. Two Elves strummed elegant, long-necked giterns while a nymph of some kind breathed into a set of panpipes. Hollow, echoing woodwind whispers of sound spread across the banquet hall, even over the low buzz of conversation. A rusalka stood with the Elves and nymph, playing some sort of flute that made shivers traipse down Dylan's spine. While the Golden Court and the visiting royals and dignitaries dined on Bethmoora's finest delicacies, Dylan listened with half an ear to the various conversations while also enjoying the beauty of the court minstrels.

The feasting ended after a rich, creamy dessert of some sort of russet custard drizzled with a golden syrup that tasted faintly of winter apples. While the servants cleared the tables, all but one of the minstrels stepped down and went to their seats and more musicians ascended the dais to set up their instruments.

A slim glaistig woman, her delicate goat hooves peeking from beneath the hem of her crimson velvet gown, settled beside a large golden-wood harp whose strings glittered like polished silver in the candle-, torch-, and fairy-light. The glaistig's dove-gray goat ears flicked back and forth as she gently plucked out a few notes on argent strings to make sure her instrument was in tune.

Next to her, two youths in gold-embroidered burgundy trews and vests that displayed their open ribcages - the rib bones woven through with aurulent and crimson ribbons - carefully tuned a pair of black-strung violins carved of what looked like polished, white bone. The rusalka flutist remained on the dais; she tucked her greenish-gold hair behind her ears and switched out her current instrument for another, this one of polished redwood, forked like a faun's twin-pipes.

Towering over the slender water faerie by a good three feet stood a massive beast of a man with thick, reddish hair as long as a Shetland pony's all over his muscular body. The great bush of his ruddy beard hung to his knees in thick, dwarven-like braids. Each ropey braid was tied off at the end by thick, engraved golden rings. Dylan could just make out the faerie man's twinkling eyes, as brightly golden as ripe wheat, from within the forest of ginger mustache and bushy brows. He wore a long, crimson leather tunic tooled in gold with a broad brown belt. Across his lap in an elegantly complex Celtic knotwork braid of Bethmooran golden-wood rested two dozen silver bells and a dozen twinkling bell-like crystals. Two small sticks in the shape of shepherd's crooks stuck out of the creature's belt.

What in the world is that? I've never seen anything like him before, Dylan said silently to Nuada, eyes on the big fayre man.

Nuada squeezed her fingers. Have you never heard of the basajaunak? The lords of the woods? When Dylan shook her head, the prince smiled. That is a basajaun. It is said that his race, the basajaunak, were the ones to first teach the children of men how to farm the land and smith metal. In ancient days they guarded human flocks from night predators and it is said that though they often remain invisible, you will know they are near because you hear the crystal chiming of bells. He is one of my father's favorite musicians; his name is Ansó.

Dylan asked, What about the other musicians? Are they favorites of your father's?

The Boys of Bones Hill that you see are named Rahdus and Phadel. This is their first performance before the Court. My sister heard them playing their violins when she was walking through Central Park some decades ago and was struck by their playing. The rusalka girl is named Katya; she is a friend of Lorelei's, also commissioned by my sister. The glaistig woman is Hayley. She is another of my father's favorites. Ah, they're starting.

Which means we're up to bat, Dylan said softly. Because this was going to be the night of their betrothal announcement, the first dance of the evening was to be between herself and Nuada, by request of the king. That would also give Nuada a chance, after the dance, to make his public proposal. Just the thought had sweat dampening her palms.

Are you nervous? He asked just before releasing her hand. The prince rose to his feet. Offering his truelove his hand where all could see, he asked in a voice that would carry through the room, "My lady, would you honor me with the first dance of the evening?"

She slipped her hand into his and inclined her head, hoping she looked as regal as Nuada did whenever he made that gesture. "It would be my honor, Your Highness," the mortal said with a smile. Silently, she added, Are you nervous?

Do I look nervous? He asked as he escorted her past the whisper-shrouded tables toward the currently empty dance floor. Dylan couldn't help the way her smile spread across her face like sunlight across a pool of water at Nuada's smug tone. Always the proud Elven prince, she thought to herself.

Nuada brought Dylan around to face him and raised her hand to his lips. Brushing a courtly kiss across her knuckles, he asked silently, Heart's Ease?

How about Twilight's Dawn? She asked. The Old World dance was a bit harder than the one Nuada had suggested, but it was also worth it. The quiet, heady intimacy of the dance was perfect for this moment between them. So Nuada inclined his head and made some signal to the musicians.

Hayley, the glaistig harpist, began to strum the glistening silver strings. Their music thrummed through the hushed banquet hall, shivering along the air like silk and shadow.

Nuada bowed at the waist to his lady. Dylan sank into a graceful curtsy that she'd been practicing off and on since coming to Findias. She pulled it off without so much as a wobble. The golden glow of the hall's lights set the silver embroidery of her gown glistening like frost on a pane of glass. Nuada's cloth-of-silver tunic gleamed like real Elven metal, complimenting Dylan's gown - a subtle declaration. Straightening, Nuada held up his right hand, palm facing the human woman. Dylan laid her left palm against Nuada's hand. His hand was warm and calloused beneath her touch.

Rahdus and Phadel tucked their bone-fiddles under their chins and set the bows to the black strings. Shivering harmony sighed from the instruments. Both youths closed their eyes and felt the music reverberate through the violins, along their hands and arms, even into their chests and through the exposed whiteness of their ribs. The violin bows caressed the taut, ebony strings. Their music twined with Hayley's, harpsong and faerie strings mingling.

The rusalka girl, Katya, brought her twin-pipes to her lips and blew. A hollow, achingly soft note seemed to shimmer through the air. The song of the pipes danced around the weeping of the violins and the melody of the harp, twining like ephemeral ribbons through the haunting notes.

Ansó lifted his massive hands and his delicate striking-sticks and tapped one of the silver bells. A crisp, clear jingling echoed off the stone walls and vaulted ceiling of the king's banquet hall. He tapped one of the crystals. Sweet chiming filled the air. The basajaun smiled behind his bushy red beard and began to tap out a delicate percussion.

Dance with me, Nuada whispered through the link of their touching hands. His eyes were all warm honey and brilliant amber lit with tiny flecks of bright sunfire and carnelian. Dark lips curved into a smile. Dance with me, beloved.

And with all the eyes of Bethmoora's Court upon them, the crown prince danced with his mortal lady.

They moved together like light and shadow, the soft rhythm of the song breathing through them like their own united heartbeat. As they circled each other, stepping close enough that the silk of their sleeves touched with nearly every step and glide and turn, Dylan's pulse kicked up. Nuada never took his eyes off her. She couldn't bear to take her eyes off of him. Not when he was looking at her as if she were the center of his entire world.

His free hand slid to her waist when the dance called for him to pull her close. The silk of her gown was cool beneath his hand. His fingers lightly traced the silver embroidery as he ever so slowly spun her out, twirled her back in. They came together, drifted apart, but always there was the connection of their hands, the rough velvet of a warrior's calloused palm against the silk of Dylan's skin. She could feel his pulse through that touch. Feel how his heart pounded.

Nuada stepped close. She felt his breath shushing warmly against her cheek. Her eyes drifted shut at his nearness. The heat of him seeped through his pale mazarine shirt and silver tunic to warm her skin. She could feel how much of a struggle it was for him to follow the dance steps and move back instead of staying by her side.

My gift looks lovely on you, Nuada murmured, his eyes sliding to the neckline of her gown. A'du had brought her a hair piece from the prince, but he'd also presented her with a broach of silvery leaves and diamond-and-pearl flowers. In the attached note, Nuada had confessed that Nuala had helped him pick out the broach, but Dylan hadn't cared. It had still been one of the most beautiful pieces of jewelry she'd ever seen. It glinted like ice and white fire against the icy blue of her ball gown.

Thank you, she murmured. She knew Nuada only mentioned it now to help take her mind off any negative possibilities for what was going to happen once the dance finished. Or perhaps he was trying to take his own mind off the way she kept brushing against him, whispers of silk and flesh against his arm as they turned.

I wish this was our wedding banquet, the prince confessed suddenly. Though his face remained fixed in that expression of adoration, Dylan heard the wistful yearning in his voice. I have always considered myself to be a patient man, but now it seems as if the Frost Moon cannot come fast enough.

She smiled for him. Only forty-six more days. Then you'll be my husband.

And you will be my beautiful wife.

Dylan's smile widened, but she sent him a mental eye-roll. You're such a romantic. I love that about you.

If you insist I am such a thing, I will get nowhere by arguing with you, but remember - it is our little secret.

Her smile took on an edge of mischief. I wouldn't dream of telling a soul.

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Zhenjin Azurefire watched Nuada, one of his most trusted friends, dancing with the woman the other prince loved, and wondered what was wrong with him, that the image left the Dilong prince so unsettled. He was happy for his old friend. Nuada deserved someone to love him the way Dylan obviously did. Deserved to have someone believe in him the way King Balor and Princess Nuala obviously didn't. And while Dylan was human, she was unlike any other human Zhenjin had ever met. Prince Nuada had shown him that upon Zhenjin's first meeting with the mortal woman.

So why did the sight of them dancing together, smiling at one another in that special way that made them seem as if they were the only two people in the world, leave him edgy and restless?

Perhaps it was because of the Golden Army. Did Nuada intend to tell Dylan his plans for the human race when the upcoming war finally arrived? Did she already know that her truelove meant to raise a vast and terrible army of golden clockwork soldiers to wipe mankind from the face of the earth? Zhenjin couldn't be sure. One thing he did know - Nuada wouldn't make any promises to Dylan without revealing his plans. He was too honorable to wed her with that secret between them.

He is lucky she loves him, Zhenjin thought, still watching the pair. She is... quite special.

"You seem ill at ease tonight, Azurefire," a familiar voice said jovially. Prince Bres sank into an empty chair beside the Dilong prince, and Zhenjin wondered where Goazu and Hou Junji had gone, leaving him seated at the Bethmooran king's table with empty seats all around him. "What troubles you, old friend?"

Zhenjin shrugged. "I am ill company tonight, Bres," he replied. "It is nothing in particular. You need not concern yourself."

Lowering his voice to a near-whisper, the Fomorian prince asked, "It isn't... Silverlance's human lady... is it? That isn't what concerns you, surely."

The other prince shook his head. "I have no concerns when it comes to Lady Dylan and Prince Nuada," he said. "I wish them all the best in this world. She'll make him happy, there is no doubt."

"Do you know if it's true that they intend to wed?"

"I do not know," Zhenjin replied. "Much would have to happen if they intended such a thing. After all, Silverlance needs heirs, of course."

Bres eyed him in a way that made Zhenjin's hackles rise. The Dilong prince tasted venom on his tongue as Bres asked in an incredulous whisper, "Surely you don't support the idea of him weakening the royal house with mortal blood. Any children they had would be mongrels-"

"Watch your tongue, Bres," the Dilong prince said in a whisper as cold as serpent's blood. "Shame for such words against our friend, and shame for such vile words against Lady Dylan. She is worthy of Nuada's love and worthy to be princess in Bethmoora if they wed. More worthy than Nuala, old friend."

The Fomorian raised one golden brow. "I would thank you not to insult the lady I'm paying court to. And what is this newfound love for the humans?"

"Not the humans," Zhenjin said with a swift shake of his head. "Lady Dylan. I do not consider her to be human. Neither does Nuada."

For several long moments, Bres merely stared at him. The scales at the sides and back of Zhenjin's neck began to prickle the longer the silence between them stretched on, until finally the older prince said, "By the gods, Zhenjin, not you, too."

Irritated, Zhenjin demanded, "What?"

"You're in love with her."

Zhenjin's head whipped around. "How dare you? You think, human or fae, that I would ever poach on Nuada's-"

"I said you were in love with her," Bres replied softly. "I didn't say you were trying to woo her. Of course you would never do such a thing to our old friend. You are far too honorable to allow such feelings to cloud your judgment and injure old friendships."

The Dilong prince scoffed. "You're mad, Bres. I am not in love with Nuada's lady."

"For your sake, I hope you speak the truth," the other prince replied softly. "Rumor has it she already carries his child."

Zhenjin didn't so much as bat an eyelash, even though a strange, sick sort of surprise twisted in the pit of his stomach. Dylan, pregnant with Nuada's child? They weren't wed yet. He wouldn't dishonor her so. The prince of Dilong knew how Dylan's faith worked and knew she would never forsake her religious vows in such a way.

"They'll wed shortly," Bres added, "mark my words. You are my friend, and I would hate to see you hurt because of her, Zhenjin."

With that, the prince of Cíocal rose to his feet and strode back to his rightful place at Balor's table, leaving Zhenjin to watch as the music faded and Nuada knelt before his mortal truelove in front of the entire Bethmooran court. Zhenjin swallowed the sharp bitterness that had lodged in his throat at Bres' accusation. You're in love with her. As if he would ever allow himself to feel any such emotion for the truelove of his friend and shield-brother! Dylan belonged to Nuada, and he to her. That was the end of it.

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Dylan barely heard the words Nuada spoke as he knelt before her. They weren't the sincere sentiments he'd murmured to her that night in his study, nor the heartfelt words burning with intensity that he'd uttered in the royal garden beneath the Eildon Tree. The words he used now didn't matter. What mattered was the look on his face, one of utter pride and pleasure as he asked her, before the entire court, to be his wife and princess.

When it was her turn to speak, she didn't even hesitate. Somehow her voice managed to carry across the room as she said, "Yes, Your Highness. Yes, I will marry you."

Nuada's quick grin made her own smile widen. Her heart gave a little lurch in her chest when he slid the white-gold ring with its trio of glittering sapphires back into place on her left heart-finger. Something that had felt out of place inside her finally settled. That ring, and all that it meant, belonged with her.

Her prince rose to his feet and lifted both her hands to his lips so that he could press a kiss to each.

You have made me happier than you could ever know, he murmured through the link.

But you knew I was going to say yes, Dylan replied, baffled.

As much as it pains me to confess to such a weakness, I'm still waiting for the day you realize you've made a mistake, and realize you could do better, he said softly. I was not... entirely sure that you would agree again. After everything I've done, and with the Golden Court watching.

Of course I would, she said. I love you. And aloud, in a mere breath of a whisper, "I love you."

The look in his eyes told her everything she might've needed to know.

Nuada turned to where the king sat with his daughter at the king's table. Balor watched with a small smile on his weathered face. Nuala beamed beside him. Bowing slightly to his father, the crown prince called, "Your Royal Majesty, I have asked the Lady Dylan to be my wife, and she has freely consented. Will you give us your blessing?"

The old king rose to his feet. Resplendent in rich burgundy and champagne velvet robes, his leather and gold belt gleaming at his waist and the polished ebony prongs of his antlers jutting overhead, he looked more like a king in that moment than he had since Dylan had arrived in Findias. Balor waited for the sudden soft roar of whispering to die down before he finally spoke in a voice that rang with pride and royal authority.

"It gives me the greatest pleasure to grant my blessing to this union, Prince Nuada," Balor said. Beside her, Dylan felt tension she hadn't even noticed until then drain from Nuada's body. "When do you seek to take Lady Dylan as your wife?"

Nuada gripped her hand. "The night of the coming Frost Moon," the prince said firmly. He and his lady ignored the sudden flurry of whispering that followed his declaration. Let the court wonder about the cause of their haste. Better that than to reveal that the king had ordered the truncating of their betrothal.

Balor nodded regally. "You have my blessing, Prince Nuada, Lady Dylan." To the Golden Court of Bethmoora, he added, "Let it be heard and witnessed by all who are present this night - Crown Prince Nuada Silverlance is betrothed to Lady Dylan of Central Park. She is to become a princess of the realm, and they are to be wed on the night of the Frost Moon. I, King Balor One-Arm, have decreed it so."

A deafening silence fell for perhaps two heartbeats. Dylan thought the hot blood rushing through her cheeks would set her skin on fire. And then from the silence came the singular sound of applause. The mortal glanced toward the sound and saw that its source was a trio of fae - King Roiben, Lady Kaye, and Prince Zhenjin, who all leaned against a wall near the king's table, clapping. When Zhenjin caught her eye, he winked. Roiben inclined his head to her. She smiled as more fae began to applaud: first Prince Günther of Álfheim and his wife, Eir; then King Arawn Death-Lord and his wife and two eldest children; Lord Mashkaupau and a red-haired woman Dylan was pretty sure was Lady Cassandra; even, to Dylan's surprise, Princess Bramble of Eathesbury and her escort, Lord Haftenravenscher, the Elf who'd told Dylan to call him Lord Teddie.

You see? Nuada said, caressed the back of her hand with his thumb. Both of them noticed that many nobles of the court applauded reluctantly, but many others were quite enthusiastic. Dylan supposed the moments of silence had been more out of shocked surprise than protest. I told you not to worry. Those who truly know you already like you. A'du'la'di's gift should've told you that. And when I present you to my people, they too will love you. Now, and he turned to her, laying one hand against the satin of her cheek. Due to the present circumstances, at last I am allowed to do something I have been longing for all evening.

He brushed the pad of his thumb just beneath the fullness of her bottom lip. A slight tingle swept through her mouth and across her cheeks and chin. Her eyes widened slightly. What was that?

A spell I learned in my youth, Nuada murmured. I would hate to ruin your makeup.

Ruin my-

Then, in front of everyone, he kissed her. A chaste kiss, soft as falling snow, but warm as summer sunlight. His lips pressed into hers, so soft and yet firm. He slowly slid his fingers into her dark hair, careful not to knock the artfully styled curls askew. Dylan couldn't stop her fingers from curling in the plush silver velvet of Nuada's tunic as his free arm slipped around her waist and drew her close.

Nuada kept the kiss slow and controlled, but she could feel the way his hand trembled in her hair, feel the tension in his fingers pressed against her back. She understood. Everything they wanted was so close, it was difficult not to give into the urge to reach out and try to snatch it up.

Only with the greatest self-discipline did they manage to part at last. Dylan realized to her blush-inducing horror that several of the noblemen present were cheering and whistling. Her cheeks flushed. Nuada chuckled.

"Lift your head high, mo calman gheal, and show Bethmoora its new princess," he murmured.

So Lady Dylan of Central Park lifted her chin a fraction and smiled at the Golden Court as another dance began and the Midwinter Ball began to truly get underway. But when her eyes caught a glimpse of a figure watching the proceedings from the wall, her chest tightened. Zhenjin noticed her watching him, and quickly smiled, but even after so short a time, she knew that particular expression of the Dilong prince. His smiles were usually bright and swift and carefree.

Not this one.

She tried to convey inquiry and concern with her expression. The Elven prince shrugged one shoulder and, turning away, walked toward a group of fae standing near one of the fir trees currently residing in the hall. The tightness in her chest twisted around her heart. Something was wrong with the Chinese Elf. She just wasn't sure what.

.

The night wore on, and Dylan eventually found herself standing with Nuada on a balcony overlooking one of the royal gardens shrouded with a glistening blanket of snow. Their guards stood arrayed around the doorway, and the hounds sat near their master and his lady, alert for danger. Some of the revelers from the ball had gone out onto the castle grounds, which had contests and games the later it got; Dylan had come up to the balcony to avoid those - most of them involved drunken noblemen. After dealing with an intoxicated Lord Galen, the mortal didn't want to risk another run-in with a drunkard.

The balcony had been decorated for Midwinter by the palace servants. Now Dylan and Nuada stood side by side, the prince's arm around her, gazing up at the beautifully full pearl of moon in the star-sprinkled night sky. She sighed in contentment.

"Are you happy, mo duinne?" The prince asked softly against her hair. His breath turned to white mist on the air, as did hers, but thanks to his magic, neither of them were actually cold.

"Yes," she said. "I'm happy. Are you?"

Nuada nuzzled his cheek against her hair. "Beyond words. Only one of two things could possibly make this better."

Amused, she pulled away enough to look up at him. There was a wistfulness in his face that had her gently stroking the backs of her fingers against his cheek. "What would that be?" Dylan asked. "What would make this night better?"

He caught her hand and kissed the tips of her fingers. "If you were already my wife," he murmured, "this night would be perfect."

"Nuada... if you're happy, then why do you look so sad?"

"I was merely thinking of... of the second thing that would make this night perfect for us." He turned his gaze to the gardens below, and the nobles watching entertainments and sipping hot mulled cider while they admired the decorations. "I had a dream last night."

Dylan slipped her arms around his and laid her head against his shoulder. "A good dream?"

"A beautiful dream," he said softly. "We were married... and... we had a child."

She closed her eyes against the dual sting of pain and hope that pricked behind her heart. "Girl or boy?"

He drew a slow breath. "Girl. We called her Boann."

"That's a lovely name," she murmured. "Boann. We'll have to remember that one." When Nuada turned to stare at her, she smiled. "I haven't given up on hoping the whole immortality thing is going to work out, Nuada. And if that works, there's no reason we can't have a family together. I haven't given up. You shouldn't, either."

His lips were warm when he pressed them gently to her temple. "You are so brave, at times it humbles me."

"It's not about being brave. It's about having faith - in you, and in us. We'll be all right. Cheer up," she said brightly, nudging him with her elbow. "We're engaged. Officially, this time. And look." She held up her left hand, and the sapphires glittered in the moon's silvery glow. "I think your mother would've been happy that you could give her ring to someone you were truly happy with. I think she would've approved of the choices you've made."

He sighed. "Not all of them. Not all the things I've done have been wise or benevolent or... but you're right about one thing," he said. "She would have approved of you. She would've liked you very much."

"I'm glad. I wish I could've met her. But about the whole 'not always wise or benevolent' thing, everyone makes mistakes," Dylan replied. "Even you." With a smile, she added, "And believe it or not, even I have made the occasional mistake in my life."

"You?" He echoed, arching a brow. "I would never have believed it."

"Oh, hush."

Night crept in around them, dark as shadows, with the stars as white and clear as diamonds. Dylan laced her fingers with Nuada's and leaned into him, his strength and his warmth, and closed her eyes. The scent of him, all ancient wildwoods and forests and greensward, filled her senses. Only a soft, dull ache in Dylan's knee alerted her to the passage of time. Eventually, she opened her eyes and sighed.

"My leg is protesting," the mortal murmured. "Is there a place we can sit down?"

With a little-boy tilt to his smile, Nuada brushed the snow from the edge of the balcony and then laid his hand against the smooth, gold-flecked stone and murmured softly in Gaelic. He drew his hand away. Dylan grazed the space with her fingertips. A cushion of warm, half-hardened air turned the balcony's edge into a seat.

Nuada's hands almost burned through the layered silk of her gown when he settled them at her waist. "Trí do shaoire, mo mhuire?"

By your leave, my lady?

She nodded. With all the casual ease of a trained warrior, Nuada lifted her up and set her carefully on the warm cushion of air half an inch above the icy stone. Once his lady was truly settled, he withdrew his hands. His fingers whispered over the silk gown and Dylan shivered.

"Nuada, can I talk to you about something?"

"Of course, my love." He saw the quick, pleased smile and flush of pleasure the pet name gave her, but almost immediately after, a pensive expression crossed Dylan's features. Nuada frowned. "What is it?"

Dylan folded her arms and settled them on her knees, hunching forward while she tried to figure out how to explain the odd nagging feeling in the pit of her stomach. Finally, the mortal said, "I'm worried about Zhenjin."

Nuada raised a brow. "Zhenjin."

She nodded. "He had this weird look on his face after you kissed me in the banquet hall. Is he... I don't know, angry about you being engaged to me? He said he supported us and our relationship, but if I'm alienating one of your friends and there's something I can do to fix it, then I want to. I don't know, I've just got a weird feeling. Not a warning-feeling," she added hastily. "More like... more like just this feeling that he's upset about something. That he's got something on his chest." The prince cocked his head, studying her. Dylan explained, "It's a human phrase. Means he needs to talk to someone about something that's bothering him."

Turning to lean back against the stone railing, Nuada pondered that. "What do you think it could be?"

The mortal shrugged. "How should I know? He's your friend. I mean, he's my friend, too, but I've only known him for a few weeks, really. You've known him for centuries; of course you'd understand him way better than I ever would or could."

"Perhaps he's lonely."

"Lonely?"

Nuada opened his mouth to speak when a soft, high whistling pierced the air. He glanced over his shoulder just as a brilliant explosion of emerald and silver burst in the sky. He smiled. "I'd forgotten that Father intended to have a fireworks display tonight. You'll want to watch this." He turned toward the falling streams of jade and pearl that spilled from the sky just as another firework blossomed like a flower of electric blue and diamond stars against the backdrop of the night. Gold and crimson bloomed against midnight, silver rained down like glittering rose petals, roseate starbursts dazzled the air and painted the crystalline snow with vibrant shades of orchid and magenta.

"Yes," the Elven prince said at last as Dylan watched with open-mouthed joy. She immediately turned to him. "Zhenjin may be lonely. Think of it. King Anterion, our contemporary, is married to his queen, Hedone. Bres courts my sister. Günther has his wife, Eir. Kamaria has no man in her heart, but she isn't looking, and she is younger than Zhenjin. Rennan is wed. And of course I have you. Perhaps Zhenjin is feeling his centuries and longs for someone to love him as you love me."

Dylan nodded thoughtfully. "Maybe he is lonely. Did you ever get lonely when your friends were with their spouses?"

"No." The Elven prince shrugged. "But then, I had someone I loved. And I could have female companionship if and when I wanted it. The only times I felt lonely were after..." Abruptly he closed his mouth with an audible click of teeth. Dylan saw his fingers were clamped around the edge of the rail. He gazed down at the snow below them with eyes of xanthous gray.

"Nuada?" She asked, laying a hand on his shoulder. "Hey."

He laid his hand atop hers. "Forgive me. I was thinking of someone I knew long ago." He sighed. "Zhenjin is perhaps lucky in his loneliness. Better to be lonely and ache for the warmth which others have than to have your own and lose it. I have walked both paths ere now."

"Well, I'm not going anywhere," Dylan said. "I'm here. With you," and she squeezed his shoulder. "For you. Always."

"Mo calman gheal," he said. He touched her cheek with cool, gentle fingertips. "My white dove. You mean more to me than you know."

"Same goes," she replied with a smile. "Now let's get off this balcony and go see if there's new desserts being served."

With a chuckle, Nuada helped her down from the rail and escorted her inside.

.

Perhaps an hour later, Dylan stepped into a hallway and froze. The corridor was strangely empty as Dylan tried to make her way from the bathroom back to the banquet hall. Oh, no. No, no, no. Somehow she'd lost track of which hallway she was supposed to use. Uneasy and bordering on frightened, a strange chill slithering up and down her spine like a warning, Dylan looked around and realized that not only had she lost her way, she'd also lost all of her guards and both her dogs. A fizzle of panic bubbled in her stomach. The torches that lit this corridor were low and flickering - not quite threatening to give out, but not illuminating the hall as much as she would've liked.

"Lady Dylan?" A familiar voice called, and every part of her body turned to frigid black ice. Dylan whirled to see Cíaran macAengus watching her with his head cocked, dark jade eyes fixed on her with an almost predatory gleam. She fought the automatic instinct to back up. If you ran from a predator, they chased you. She did not want to give Cíaran a reason to try and chase her. And she didn't want to step out of the pool of light offered by the torch over her head.

Forcing her voice to remain firm, she said, "Lord macAengus. I seem to have lost my way."

"And your guards, it seems," the darkly handsome Fomorian lord said with a strange purr beneath the words. Dylan let her hand fall almost absently against where she'd hidden her dirk. If Cíaran tried to do anything, she'd gut him and deal with the political fallout later. "Now how could Silverlance be so careless?"

"Prince Nuada has warned you already about being too familiar with me," Dylan said coolly. "I would keep his warnings in mind if I were you, Lord macAengus."

Cíaran smiled. "I appreciate the concern, my lady. I-"

"Cíaran!" A sharp voice growled from the dimness of the corridor. The tension drained from Dylan's body as Zhenjin stepped into the light. The torchlight made the jade and bronze silk and velvet of his Bethmooran-cut clothing gleam. The mortal absently wondered why the Dilong prince wore Irish clothes as Zhenjin came to stand next to Dylan. "Be on your way."

The Fomorian sighed. "I know my place, Azurefire. I'll not forget it anytime soon." With a truncated bow, the Elven lord stalked off. Dylan breathed a sigh of relief and allowed her hand to slip away from the secret place that hid her courtship knife.

Zhenjin turned to her and raised an eyebrow. "No guards?"

Dylan shrugged. "Lost them. Somehow. I went to... freshen up, and when I walked out into the corridor, I'd lost track of my guards somehow." She frowned. "I doubt they'd just walk off, but... but that's what seemed to have happened. I was trying to get back to Nuada to tell him when I got lost."

"Ah. It's easy enough to get lost in this rabbit warren of a castle," the Elven prince muttered. "Come, I'll escort you back."

He offered his arm. With relief, Dylan took it, and they started to walk. She hated being lost, and the shadows of the corridors made her even more nervous than she was already. And somehow she'd lost her guards. That sent fear spiraling down her throat to twist in her stomach. Only sheer strength of will kept her from panicking.

"Uaithne and the others wouldn't just leave me," the mortal said. "Neither would Tsu's'di. My dogs certainly wouldn't. I need to get to Nuada and tell him what happened. People don't just disappear," she added. A frisson of unease shivered down her spine. "Not even in Faerie." To the Elven prince, she asked, "What were you doing out here, anyway?"

Zhenjin shrugged. "Nature called. I was on my way back when I heard your voice. You sounded frightened. I remembered that pompous little whelp, Lord Galen, and thought perhaps he'd come after you, so I came to see if you needed help. What were you reaching for?"

"My knife," Dylan replied tartly. "Nuada taught me how to use it before we came back to Findias. If Cíaran had tried for me, he'd have gotten quite a shock."

The Dilong prince laughed. "Well done. Now, about your guards. Did you notice anything unusual before you left them?"

Dylan shook her head. "Everything was normal as far as I could tell. And two of my guards went into the bathroom with me - Fionnlagh and Grainne. When I stepped out and the others were gone, I turned back to tell them and they were gone, too. Just poof! Vanished."

He frowned. "Unless someone used a travel spell, they couldn't have simply disappeared like that. Unless..." He trailed off, brow furrowing. Dylan wished she could understand what was going on behind those reptilian emerald eyes. Just when she thought she'd go crazy waiting for him to finish his thought, Zhenjin said, "They didn't disappear. Someone glamoured you from each other."

"What? You mean, used glamour to hide me from them and them from me?"

Zhenjin nodded. "It would have to be very powerful glamour, most likely a king's glamour, in order to fool your fear-darrig's blessing. Especially because of the iron helmets and swords of the Butcher Guards." He slanted a look at her. "Angered any kings lately?"

She hastily shook her head. "No!" Except Balor, she thought, but didn't say. Aloud she asked, "And why cast a glamour like that and then not try to kill me? Or kidnap me or something?"

The prince frowned. "I don't know. But once your guards lost track of you, they would go straight to Prince Nuada and alert him that you were missing and possibly in danger. I..." His eyes widened and he slowly straightened. His free hand came up to cover hers where it lay on his opposite arm, but Dylan noticed his hand brushed his hip and sword belt on its way to her hand. "This is not good," he murmured in a voice so low she barely heard him. Tension twisted through his body.

"What is it?" Dylan breathed.

"My guards should be following us," he murmured. "They're not."

Dylan swallowed. "Glamoured?"

Zhenjin drew a sharp breath and then shook his head. "No. Do you smell that? That sweet scent on the air?" Now that he mentioned it, she smelled something like stagnant water, fruit syrup, meat, and lilies. She nodded. "Elven blood. I think we're being followed."

Even as he spoke, the chill down her spine increased until it felt like shards of ice were biting deep into the flesh on either side of her backbone. Dylan asked softly, "Should I draw my dirk?"

"Not yet," he whispered. "We don't want to alert whoever it is. Walk slowly, stay calm, and breathe. If they went after your guards first, then they're after you, not me. It cannot be coincidence that you and Silverlance became betrothed the same night this happened. More than likely, they mean to kill you."

She let her breath out slowly. "Yeah, probably."

He glanced at her. "You are awfully calm about this."

"I'm not new to the whole people-trying-to-kill-me-for-loving-Nuada thing. We were attacked by dipsa in the royal forest a couple days before our return here."

"Well, stay calm. Do not be afraid, Dylan." Zhenjin's thumb rubbed a slow, soothing, back-and-forth caress across her knuckles. "I'll let no harm come to you. Whoever they are, they'll have to go through me to get to you, and that is not going to happen without a fight."

After a moment, she asked, "Shouldn't we have gotten to the end of this corridor by now? Or at least a door leading somewhere?"

The Elven prince growled, "More glamour. We may not have walked anywhere at all." He swore viciously in Chinese as he released her arm and drew the sword at his side. "Draw your dirk and cut the lower half of your skirt, get it out of your way. Don't run, whatever happens. You could run right into a trap. If they attack, fight back and scream. Do not stop screaming. There are enough monarchs in this castle that at least one of them should hear you."

Torchlight turned the silver blade of Dylan's dirk scarlet and orange. "What about you?" She quickly did as Zhenjin ordered, slicing through the silk until the once-floor-length gown hung to her knees in shredded layers of blue, white, and silver.

"My task is to buy you time and the chance to scream," the Dilong prince growled. Lifting his chin and drawing a second, shorter sword from a sheath built into the scabbard of his chokutō, Zhenjin yelled, "Come out, cowards! What sort of warriors hide in the shadows and try to frighten a woman like mischievous children?" Baring his teeth so his pearly fangs gleamed in the light, he shouted, "Come out! Come out and face a prince of Elves if you dare!"

Ice spilled down Dylan's spine as a sharp twang hit her ears. A quick, shrill whistling sound chilled her blood. Something shot out of the dark straight toward her. Dylan threw herself backward, even knowing there was no way she could avoid the arrow zipping swiftly toward her unprotected heart.

A shadow lunged between her and the arrow. It hit flesh with a sick sound that made Dylan cry out. Zhenjin staggered back with a harsh grunt of pain. The dark shaft and fletching of an arrow protruded from his right shoulder. His short sword dropped from his fingers as his arm went limp. He swore. Bowed his head against the agony searing through his arm and chest.

"Zhenjin!"

"Get against the wall," he ground out from between clenched teeth. She quickly obeyed. Zhenjin moved to shield her with his body. "Don't move," he growled. "Just... don't move." He reached up to the arrow shaft and squeezed his eyes shut. With a sharp snarl of pain, he ripped the arrow out of his shoulder. Blood spilled, hot and dark, onto the stone floor. "Gah. Damn."

"We have to get out of here," Dylan whispered. He shook his head.

"There's nowhere to go," he muttered, one hand pressed to his bleeding shoulder. "We could walk right into their swords if we try to run."

"If we stay here, they'll kill us both!"

He turned to look at her over his shoulder. They locked eyes, and he saw the fear and determination in the depths of her gaze. She wasn't afraid for herself, the Dilong prince realized. She feared only for him. He swallowed against the pain ripping through him and tried to think. Which was better? To stay or go?

"I..." The familiar twang of a bowstring had him turning toward the sound automatically. A warrior's instinct helped him make a snap-decision. "Go, Dylan!" He yelled as the arrow bounced off the stone wall beside his hip. He turned and shoved her down the hall. She staggered forward, scooped up the ripped silk rags that had once been the skirt of her gown, and began to run. Zhenjin fell into step behind the mortal, ignoring the throbbing in his shoulder with every step.

From behind them came the twanging snap of an arrow being loosed. Stiff fletching sliced the edge of his pointed ear, sending heat blazing through the side of his head, as the arrow skimmed past him and just barely missed Dylan.

"Run, Dylan! Faster!" He wondered how long she could run with her knee so damaged. "You must run!"

Another arrow was coming. The Elven prince knew it as surely as he knew his own name. What he hadn't expected was for the assault to come from in front of them, instead of from behind. Dylan only survived the shot because she tripped and dropped to the floor. The arrow ricocheted off the stones beside her thigh. She yelped in frightened surprise.

Zhenjin was at her side in an instant. Hot blood soaked his shirt and ran down his arm as he hoisted her to her feet. He opened his mouth to snap out a command at the mortal when he saw the glint of torchlight on a small piece of metal. Arrow, his brain said. Without thinking, he shoved Dylan back and out of danger.

The arrow bit deep into his chest. Zhenjin cried out. Staggered back and fell to his knees, blood spilling down his front.

Behind him, Dylan screamed.