Chapter 99 - Looks Like a Lady

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Chapter Ninety-Nine

Looks Like a Lady

that is

A Short Tale of a Baby, Brooding, Sorrow, a Promise, a Love Letter, Breakfast with the Family, Special Flowers, a Very Important Chain, Sisters, Preparations, and the Coming Sunset

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Nuada watched Dylan playing with the halfling baby on the soft patterned rug before the hearth, obviously delighted with the child. Niamh seemed equally taken with Dylan. The baby burbled to her while the two of them built a small tower of brightly colored wooden blocks. When the tower fell, baby Niamh would squeal and laugh while Dylan would go, "Oops! It fell down. Oh, no. We gotta build another one." And then they would start all over. They had to have built and rebuilt that tower at least twenty times, but the child's enthusiasm never waned.

A'du and 'Sa'ti were just as taken with the baby as she was with them. A'du delighted in making faces at Niamh, who would giggle and clap—usually knocking the block-tower over in the process. 'Sa'ti and Niamh seemed to engage in the strangest game, however. 'Sa'ti, seated like a frog on the floor, would sort of bounce up and down while making the oddest noise. Niamh would try to imitate her, laughing almost hysterically.

The prince just sat in a chair and watched the supposed hilarity. They were in the servants' wing, in the relatively small playroom below stairs for the servant children (most of them were outside running rampant among the grounds, enjoying the snow and the holiday). Dylan had seemed so melancholy, so sad…he'd thought it would do her good to actually visit with Niamh. For the most part, both he and his lady had been staying away because of the rumors that Dylan was the baby's mother. Those rumors put Niamh in danger; despite it being quite obvious that they weren’t true, the night the assassins had attacked Dylan and Zhenjin during the Midwinter Ball, a faerie assassin had tried to slip into the servants' nursery and kill the halfling child, as well. Luckily Nuada had anticipated that, and sent someone to intercept the killer. For the most part, Dylan had limited herself to five-minute visits every so often and nothing more.

"Niamh, Niamh!" A'du said now, poking the baby in the stomach. Niamh waved her arms and laughed. "Look at this, Niamh." Sticking two fingers in his mouth, one on either side, A'du'la'di stretched his face wide and stuck out his tongue, crossing his eyes for added effect. Then he made a noise that sounded something like, "Nbleh-nbleh-nbleh!" Niamh shrieked and clapped at this brilliant performance. "Look, Your Highness! She likes me."

Nuada nodded to show he'd heard and focused on Dylan. She seemed happier now. Good. After their conversation in his study, he'd been…worried. He didn’t know how Dierdre's perfume could have gotten on his skin. Perhaps Dylan was imagining it? She had much on her mind the last several days: the ceremony tomorrow, the wedding, ferreting out information about the recent assassination attempts, the problems that would arise now that Nuada had sacrificed the plan to use the Golden Army, and especially Bres.

Yet Dylan was not one to imagine things…but Nuada had smelled nothing, though before going with Dylan and their retinue to visit the baby, he'd quickly washed away any potential traces of scent. It made no sense, though. He hadn’t even seen Dierdre that day. Hadn't spoken to her since the Midwinter Ball. Could it be that she and another woman of Nuada's acquaintance—Nuala perhaps, or Naya—wore the same scent? He had seen Naya on his way to confronting his father earlier that morning. She'd seemed upset about something; he'd taken a moment to wish her season's greetings and she had hugged him. Perhaps that was what Dylan had smelled? Because Naya hadn’t said anything about him smelling like he'd been with a woman.

Where had the scent come from? He thought of the gancanaugh poison someone had soaked his bedclothes with. The culprit had yet to be caught. No explanation for the break-in had been discovered. Perhaps they, too, were responsible for the scent…but why? And how?

The children had been playing in Dylan's sitting room with one of Dylan's guards and one of Dylan's hounds, so no one could have gotten into his bedroom that way. And his own guards had been in the front room of his suite, so how could the perpetrator have gotten past them? Butcher Guards, because of the ensorcelled iron in their blood—they were some of the only fae with iron-laced blood running through their veins—could only be fooled by a monarch's power. And what monarch currently visiting Bethmoora had a reason to spritz him with some woman's perfume?

Only one of the monarchs there had an obvious grudge against him—Anterion, king of Mytikas, one of the few actual monarchs (as opposed to heirs or lesser royals) who fully supported waging an aggressive war on the humans. Though a few of Nuada's compatriots were upset—Bres, for example; Zhenjin before learning what kind of woman Dylan was; Farai, eldest prince (though not the heir to the throne) of the Elven kingdom of Nyame, who'd made his displeasure with Nuada's association with a human very publically obvious—only one of them was a king. Only one, Anterion, had the ability to get past his guards.

But this wasn’t the Grecian king's style. Nuada knew him; if the other fae was that angry, he would have simply challenged Nuada to a duel, as Zhenjin had. If Nuada refused the challenge, Anterion was within his rights to gather a few other royals—Farai, for example, who'd always been hot-headed—and challenge him again, with the backing of other royals. It would be harder for Nuada to refuse then without looking like a coward or a man who refused to stand up for his own honor. And Anterion knew that if he challenged the Tuathan prince over Dylan's honor, Nuada wouldn't back down.

So why not issue the challenge instead of using such subterfuge? It simply made no sense.

Dastan or Kamaria would know, Nuada thought with a sigh. That was the problem with things being so crazed over the last two weeks. He'd been looking forward to spending time with old friends. Bres and Cíaran, his friends no longer; Dastan and his sister Dinarzadi, prince and princess of Shahbaz and part of the envoy of that kingdom; Zhenjin and his two brothers; Kamaria, crown princess of Nyame.

He hadn’t had a chance to speak to any of them but Bres and Zhenjin, and things were thorny there. Bres…Nuada mourned Bres, almost as if his friend had died. In a way, he had. Bres was not the man the crown prince had believed him to be. As for Zhenjin…

Zhenjin was in love with Dylan. He was also the better match for her, for so many reasons. He could make Dylan happy—that was almost guaranteed—whereas her life with Nuada was constantly in jeopardy. Zhenjin could make Dylan so happy. He could give her a child without putting his kingdom or her life at risk. He'd already said he would step down, give up his right to the Jade Dragon Throne for her. He had countless brothers who could step up and make the requisite connection to the kingdom of Dilong necessary for it to flourish.

And because of all of that, and because Nuada loved Zhenjin like a brother, things were very strained between them just now. Dylan hadn’t commented on that…but then, Nuada wasn’t entirely sure she'd noticed, what with everything going on. And if she did mention it, what was he supposed to say? That one of his oldest friends wanted her, loved her, just as fiercely as Nuada himself did?

Yes, because that would not be awkward at all, Nuada thought wryly. No, not at all.

And all of these thoughts didn’t help him solve the mystery of the strange perfume Dylan had smelled, that had made her—even if it was only briefly—doubt his fidelity. And if he hadn’t been able to convince her? What then? What would she have done?

He wished he could ask his father for advice…but tenuous, new understanding and closeness aside, Nuada didn’t dare reveal to Balor that he had been even briefly unfaithful to his lady. He had only just gotten his father back. He didn’t know how easily he could lose him. Every time it seemed they'd grown closer over the last several weeks, something had come up to drive them apart again. He couldn’t risk that. Not yet.

By the stars, there was so much still to concern him. Dylan's elevation to peerage was tomorrow; they still had to convince his father to break Nuala's engagement with Bres; Nuada and Dylan had to plan for their trip to the northern villages still being harassed by human bandits; they needed to speak to Prince Emīru and Princess Shāuddo of Onibi about what they might know concerning fae royals combing their powers or draining the power from other fae; Nuada still needed to convince Dierdre to tell someone that her brother had assaulted her; there was the fact that they needed to find a way to make Dylan immortal; and of course the wedding, which thrilled him and yet at the same time threatened to split his skull with a headache every time he thought too much about everything involved in the preparations. Every time he thought he'd gotten his head above water, a new wave threatened to drive him under again. How did his father han—

Something bumped into his right boot, jerking him from his thoughts. Baffled, he leaned forward, and frowned in bemusement as baby Niamh beamed up at him with cherubic happiness on her little face. Had she crawled all the way over to him? He noticed Dylan and the children watching with avid interest. Then Niamh grabbed his boot-top, distracting him again. He eyed the baby as she hauled herself to her feet and burbled at him.

"Hello, little maiden," he said softly. Setting his forearms on his knees, he leaned toward her, smiling.

He knew from his time in the army how to deal with babies. Many of his friends in the army had had young wives and young children among the army camp followers. Nuada couldn’t count the number of times those friends had presented their squirming offspring with fierce pride. And children seemed drawn to the Elven prince for some reason he couldn’t fathom; he blamed it on Nuala's influence coming through their psychic link too strongly. It had been a matter of self-preservation, to learn how to deal with children.

Baby Niamh gurgled happily and pressed her face against his knee. A flick of Nuada's magic prevented any baby-saliva from getting on his trousers. He nodded politely as the child babbled incomprehensibly at him.

"Truly? That is indeed most interesting," Nuada said with mock-gravity.

Niamh smiled, then dropped to the floor and began crawling back to the pile of blocks and her three more playful companions. Nuada started to lean back in his seat, but paused, arrested by the sorrow on Dylan's face. When she noticed his concerned expression, she quickly dropped her gaze, focusing on the child once more, forcing a smile to her lips as Niamh held up one of the blocks as if it were part of the Crown Jewels.

Nuada watched Dylan intently as she picked the baby up and dandled her, pretending to make her dance. Niamh squealed and giggled, and Dylan grinned…but Nuada could still see the sorrow like a shadow in her rainswept blue gaze.

When they left Niamh at last to the care of Siobhan Dubh, the faerie midwife and nursemaid for the servants, Nuada caught Dylan's hand in his as they strode down the hall. A'du and 'Sa'ti romped with the hounds—as well as Bat and the blue-eyed white kitten, whom Dylan had named Starbright ("Because she's bright like a star," his lady had explained)—up ahead. The combined retinue of guards walked behind. Nuada gently squeezed Dylan's fingers.

I meant to bring you joy, beloved, not upset you, he said in her mind. Dylan offered him a sad smile and laid her head against his shoulder as they walked.

I know, she said. And you did. I loved playing with Niamh. It's just…seeing the way you were with her…how you talked to her all serious…I wondered if you'd be like that with our baby if we ever had one.

Nuada turned his head just enough to brush his lips against Dylan's temple. He understood now where the pain in her eyes had come from. I promise you, my love, I will give you a child. We will have a family once we are wed. We will find a way to make you immortal, and we will wed, and nothing will ever part us after that. Believe in me, mo crídh. Have faith in the one who loves you more than his own life.

Cuddling against him, Dylan nodded. I do believe in you. Thank you, Nuada. This has been a great Christmas. Definitely better than last year.

Considering you spent last Christmas smacking me in the arm because you thought I was being an idiot, I must agree with you, my lady. He was gratified when she laughed aloud. I had bruises for weeks.

Oh, you did not, she replied. Big baby. Hey, guess what?

Hmmm?

Catching his eye, she smiled—a slow, tender smile that threatened to steal the very breath from him. I love you.

And I love you, mo duinne, mo crídh, mo ghrá. Always. And just think, beloved—perhaps, if we are very, very lucky, next year there might be a third to share Christmas with us.

The hope and light suddenly shining in her eyes was all that Nuada could have asked for.

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That night, Dylan flopped back on her bed and stretched, content with life. The day had been fabulous. Things were good between Balor and Nuada—or mostly good. Definitely better than they had been. Tsu's'di and the children had had a wonderful day, spending most of it playing with their new toys, meeting the horse and ponies Nuada had given them for Christmas, and spending what time they weren’t with the prince and their mistress with the young friends they'd made among the staff and during the hallway brawl a few days ago.

Dylan had just gotten off the phone with Francesca, who'd agreed not only to come early to do Dylan and Polunochnaya and Na'ko'ma's makeup for the ceremony, but was also bringing her twin sister Victoria. Everything had been cleared with Nuada and the king for Dylan's siblings coming to the ceremony where she would be made a lady of Bethmoora. Only Francesca, Victoria, and John were coming, of course, because it had taken all this time for Cesca to slowly ease Tori into being ready to accept that there was more to their world than her sister had originally believed…but that was three more members of her family than she'd expected to be able to be there.

And, to Dylan's absolute delight, she'd been allowed to invite a few of her friends to the ceremony as well. Specifically, she'd invited Roiben, Kaye and her changeling sister Kate, and Lady Peri and her young changeling son, Bean; Moundshroud and Pipkin; Caspar Kabouter, the Master of the Kitchens, and Nils Fjøsnisse, the Master of the Stables, who were particular friends of hers; Mr. Magorium; and Zhenjin.

At A'du and 'Sa'ti's request, she'd also invited young Princess Abigail, who apparently had told the cougar cubs that Dylan really ought to invite her because she considered Dylan one of her only friends in Bethmoora and "liked Lady Dylan a whole, whole lot." Dylan had also, as per the cubs' request, invited Rórdán Hob from the kitchens, who waited on her a great deal when she wanted something to eat and was A'du's best friend from church. Many of the servants, Nuada had told her, would be watching from the balconies above the King's Great Hall. She wasn’t sure how she felt about that, but having Nuada and some of her friends and family there would definitely help with the nerves.

She just wished her aunt and uncle could have been there…and her cousin Renee. She and Renee had been so very close as children. Like Dylan, Renee had the Sight. Unlike Dylan, Renee's parents hadn’t assumed she was nuts, because Dylan's Uncle Thaddeus and Aunt Niamh also had the Sight. The two women were still close, but adult life had gotten in the way of staying in constant contact as they'd always planned. She had no idea where Renee was at the moment, actually. She'd said something a few months back about spending the winter in England for something…

She wondered about Zhenjin, too. When she'd gone to ask him if he would come, he'd seemed enthusiastic…but that weird shadow had been in his eyes again. The same shadow she'd seen three days ago, when the crown prince of Dilong had made a comment about a wound that would take a long time to heal. She'd thought he meant the injuries inflicted on him by the assassins on Midwinter's Eve, but…but now she wasn’t so sure.

Something was up with him. When she'd mentioned it to Nuada, he'd said only that Zhenjin was a private man, and that trying to ferret out something like that would offend him, so Dylan had let it go. Nuada had assured her, though, that the Dragon Prince wanted to come to the ceremony, and that that was no issue.

So Dylan had to wonder what the issue was, then. Because there was something there. She just didn’t know what it was. But if Zhenjin didn’t want to tell her, she wouldn’t press him. It wasn’t like he was Nuada, where she had the right to make him spill his problems. He was her friend, not her fiancé.

But other than her worry for the Chinese Elf prince, the day had gone wonderfully. There had been the thing about that perfume on Nuada's skin…but he'd promised her his fidelity. He'd sworn he hadn’t spoken to or even seen Dierdre all that day, and she believed him. Whenever doubt tried to poke at her, she ruthlessly shoved it down. She wouldn’t doubt her prince. Not when he'd promised her.

Instead, she would spend the next few minutes before her medicine knocked her out rereading Nuada's beautiful letter, one of his gifts from that morning. Dylan had already read it twice—just as she'd read and reread Nuada's apology letter back in November—because no one she knew wrote letters like this. Maybe it was a bit sappy, but she didn’t care. She'd never had a letter like this before. It was the kind of thing girls talked about wanting, but almost never got. The kind of thing she'd read about in Jane Austen novels, but didn’t actually exist in the real world.

Except they did, because Nuada had written her not one, but two letters now that made her feel the exact same way she felt when he kissed her, held her, murmured such sweet things in her ear. Which was pretty impressive, considering it was basically just ink on paper.

She'd already said her prayers and read her scriptures, so she settled down, bundled beneath her thick velvet blankets, and started reading the letter. Unlike the last letter, this one was obviously a love letter.

"Mo duinne, mo crídh, mo calman gheal,

Tonight I put my pen to paper in what will no doubt be a vain
attempt to give you a Christmas gift that will outshine the
jewels and silks I have bestowed upon you thus far. For a long
while I sought a gift that would be worthy of you, but could
think of nothing but the myriad of trinkets and baubles I've
given ere now. Such things would not do. I wanted something
special for you, for our first real Christmas together. Then came
to my mind the memory of your joy in my letter a little more
than a moon ago, and at last I discovered something that might
lift your heart to the same height as then.

As a youth and a young man, I was taught to write eloquent
letters and give great speeches, yet as often occurs when I am
in your presence, I find that clever words fail me now. Foolish it
may be, but everything I seek to put on paper seems so trivial,
so unworthy of you. I have not felt such uncertainty since my
boyhood. I know if I told you of this in person, you would no
doubt laugh, that soft little laugh that somehow never offends
me, and you would smile, and tell me that anything I had to
say would be worth hearing (or reading, as the case may be).
Perhaps I shall throw caution to the winds, then, and simply
write whatever comes to mind, and hope for the best.

Have I ever told you, a chumman, of that day this past solstice
when I espied you at the Summer Faire in the Park, and the
depths of what I felt in that moment I laid eyes upon you? You
were so lovely in your ivory velvet and rose silk and gold, the
pale coral starflowers in your hair. I realized in a distant part of
myself that I had never seen anyone fairer than you, with your
hair like a cascade of shadow and the amber fire of the setting
sun on your sweet face. Perhaps I sound like a lovesick fool,
but your beauty moved me that day in a way I had never
known before.

You may well be surprised, my lady—you who know of my
prejudice against your race. But I know now that what lit up
your face like the summer sunlight was the beauty of your
smile. Never had I seen you smile like that before. You were
happy, happier than I'd ever seen you before. There was such
joy in you, mo crídh. And then…oh, and then…you turned your
head the barest fraction and looked at me. It felt as if I'd been
struck by a thunderbolt. The breath froze in my lungs, and for a
moment that seemed an eternity, my heart stilled in my chest.
I felt your glance as a physical touch, the lightest whispering
caress down my spine.

How a mortal came to have such power over me—how anyone
had come to bewitch me so—I knew not, but it could not be
denied. In that moment, I vowed I would seek you out once
more. In vain did I struggle to deceive myself that I merely
meant to ensure you kept your promise to look after the Kindly
Ones, but as you know, eventually I could no longer hide the
truth from either of us.

Perhaps it was merely your smile that drew me that day. The
simple joy of it. Then again, perhaps it was something more; I
know not. I must confess that one of my dearest pleasures is to
bring that smile to your lips when I can. Sometimes I see
shadows in your eyes, as gray clouds pass over the golden sun,
and wish I could erase those shadows forever. But we all have
our shades and specters, do we not? You know so many of
mine. You have seen the depths of my darkness. Yet in your
love and tender mercy, you shun me not, but step into that
Stygian void and turn it back, drive it away with your light. I
don't know what I would have done if the Fates, or the gods, or
most likely the Highest of all Gods, hadn't gifted you to me
when He did. If I never thank Him for anything else, my love, I
thank Him for your presence in my life.

You have been more of a comfort to me than I ever thought
possible, Dylan, or even realized I needed. For so long I
thought I could stand strong alone. Now I see the folly of such
belief. Once I knew you, once you came into my heart and
imprinted yourself therein forever, I could not stand without
you. I could only fall to my knees, head hung low, shoulders
bowed, my strength shattered, never to stand again…until you
showed me that I needn't stand alone ever again, because my
lady and my love would always remain at my side.

The day after tomorrow, my beloved, you become a true lady
of Bethmoora, but you have always been the lady of my heart.
Words fail to express the depths of my pride in you, Dylan. I know
I have asked a great deal of you, more than I had a right to ask, and
that you have been forced to sacrifice much for me and for my
people. Your willingness to stand for my people—our people—
and be the lady and the princess they require leaves me in awe
of you. I know that for some reason you often consider yourself
weak or in some way unworthy, but there is no one stronger,
braver, more honorable than you, my dear one. I am so very
proud of you, Dylan, and I am honored to know you and call
you my lady. I can scarcely bear the wait until we are wed, and
I can call you not only my lady, but my bride. You honor me
beyond measure with the choice you have made to be my wife.

Do you think of it often, Dylan? The day so near—though it
seems so far off—when we will become husband and wife? It
haunts my thoughts ceaselessly. I have imagined you so many
times, looking so very beautiful in your wedding gown, your
eyes never leaving mine as we exchange our vows at twilight
beneath the Eildon Tree. I will be the happiest of men when
that day finally comes, when I can finally declare before the
whole of my kingdom—the whole of the world—that you are
mine forever, as I am yours. Nothing will part us once we are
wed, mo crídh. I swear it. And I swear that I will do everything
in my power to make you happy. As for you…you need do
nothing, Dylan. Only be with me, and my joy will be complete.

Where shall we go after our wedding, my love? My father has
given us the gift of two moons' time to be together for our
honeymoon, to travel the kingdom together, to love each other
without the press of court and politics. I confess I have greatly
desired to take you to my provinces, to show you off to my
tenants and the country nobles who dwell there, and allow
them to envy me my fairest lady. Shall we go thence?

Will you come with me to Roan Inísh, my beloved? Will you
tread the rocky shores of the Island of the Selkies by my side,
the waves crashing silver and ivory against the beach, with the
song of the gulls all around us? Will you watch the sleek
darkness of the seals sunning themselves on their island rocks,
and the selkies cutting through the silvery waters of the ocean?

We can watch the sunrise wash the world in honeyed gold,
listen to the roar of the surf, and drink the salt-wind off the
sea. I can show you the merfolk in their grottos, the emerald
and aurulent light off the water shining on the stone of the sea
caves. What shall we do with our time, my dearest? Would you
ever like to ride on the back of a kelpie, knowing you were as
safe there as if you were held fast in my arms? We can do it,
Dylan. We can ride on the backs of the water-horses, black as
midnight pearls, ride them beneath the surface of the ocean,
and see the beauties of the underwater world, and not drown.
Would you like that? To see all the wonders of Faerie at last?

We can go to Fionntrá, the land of the white towers, whereof
you will soon be made mistress. In Fionntrá we will walk
through the ancient greenwoods, forests with trees nearly as
tall as mountains, listening to the laughter of the birches and
aspen poplars as the east wind tickles their leaves. The ghillie
dubh of the forests will welcome you by making their trees
dance like young maidens to sylvan piping. The forest streams
will chuckle beneath their shields of ice, the rivers will rush dark
and cold in their beds, and you will see the water-folk
swimming there, like ghosts and shadows beneath the water.

Have you ever seen the Wee Folk known as pagodas? Tiny
invisible creatures who shield themselves with bits of broken
pottery, they people the white shores of Fionntrá's waterways.
So long as we leave them an offering of fine porcelain, they will
welcome us to their small holdings. Their music is beyond
anything an Elf could make. When you hear it, it is so beautiful,
it is enough to bring tears even to the eyes of the hardiest
warrior. They say pagodas can play the songs of our hearts. If
that is so, I will ask them to play you the song that plays within
mine whenever you are with me.

Would you like to venture into the darkness of the limestone
caves I spoke of once? Pitch blackness will surround you for but
a moment before the clever drow light their tiny lanterns, and
captured moonbeams and starshine the same silver-blue as
your eyes will illumine the caves, set the dwarven gems
embedded in the stone to sparkling with celestial light. Rock
formations like liquid crystal and molten jewels frozen in time
will leave you breathless at their beauty. And it will be
beautiful, best beloved. When I have seen it, I have always felt
the faintest flickering of hope that the Star Kindler has not
completely forgotten the Fayre after all.

Or shall we venture elsewhere? We have all the time in the
world, and there is one place, a place that is so very dear to my
heart, that I would have you see. Where is it, you may wonder?
An island off the coast of Bethmoora, a beautiful and peaceful
place. Once it was torn by strife and bitter sorrow, but no
longer. Now if you go to the small stretch of coast in Éas Ruaíd,
and look to the east, toward the rising sun, you will see a
darkness against the distant horizon, and hear as if from quite
far away the singing of mermaids calling you to it.

That is the Island of Renvyle, in the Sea of Conmhaícne Mara,
the place of my birth. Will you go there with me, Dylan? Will
you come to my birthplace, and see my childhood home? Will
you walk the paths of my boyhood with me, and perhaps find
on that distant isle a place you could love enough to raise our
own children?

I find myself braver in writing than in person, mo duinne, for I
find it easy to confess that my hand shakes a little and my
heart quickens when I think of you with our children. I never
had a desire for children before I met you. I feared having
them, in fact, for I knew once my wife gave me heirs that they
would be more weaknesses my enemies might exploit. Yet once
my heart began to yearn for yours, I also found myself longing
for a family with you.

We are not yet wed, and there is much that stands in our way,
yet I find myself aching for a child with you nearly as much as I
long for you to become my wife. Often I close my eyes, and
visions of you fill my thoughts. Sometimes—albeit rarely—you
are not alone. Our children are with you. The sight of it,
imagined though it is, leaves my heart too full for words. Yet I
fear the thought of becoming a father. You were born to be a
mother—I have seen you with 'Sa'ti and A'du, with Niamh and
other children; your heart is so generous, mo mhuire, so
loving—but I…what sort of father would I be? I know not, and it
leaves a certain dread in my heart, that I may not be all I
ought to be for what children we will have. Shall I make my
own father's mistakes? I pray not. Perhaps with your guidance I
will be better than my example would lead me to believe.

Dylan, do you understand the changes you've wrought within
me? I am a new man since I met you. Where once my thoughts
dwelt only on battle and bloodshed and bitterness, now they
stray often to pleasant memories with my father and sister, to
the children in our employ who excel at amusing their prince
when I need it most, and most often toward you. You, my
dearest, my only, my own. You fill me with hope, mo crídh. You
give me joy. You love me yet. I will never be able to thank you
enough for any of those gifts, let alone the preciousness of you
loving the man I am without reserve and without fear. You love
me despite my darkness, despite my savagery, despite the
ugliness within me. I have confessed the deepest sins of my
heart to you, my love, yet you leave your own heart open to
me still. You do not condemn me for the scars on my heart, the
sins on my soul. You love me, and that is a miracle to me.

I will never be able to fully express just what you mean to me,
my love. I can only give you words, inadequate though they
are. I can only tell you that I love you more than my own life,
that you are dearer to me than the breath in my chest, the
blood in my body. Once I was but a shade of a man, torn and
ragged and half-lost in shadow, yet when I am with you, I am
made whole again. I am no longer lost in the darkness. You are
my light. Thank you for that, Dylan.

Best beloved, this letter is long enough, I think. I can only pray
it fills you with the same joy as my previous missive, and that it
proves an adequate gift for this winter holiday that is so dear to
you. The day after tomorrow you rise with the dawn to prepare.
The day after tomorrow you will make me proud, and honored,
by standing before my king and accepting the title of nobility.
The day after tomorrow I will watch my lady, my love, as she
proves her worth yet again to the Golden Court.

Until that day's dawning, or until I am once again in your presence,
my love, I faithfully remain,

Always and utterly your own,

Nuada"

"Reading it again?" A familiar voice asked. Dylan lifted her head to see her prince standing in the doorway between their bedrooms, arms folded across his chest, leaning against the doorframe. He smiled in the dim glow from the fairy lights. "If I had known that all I needed to do was pour out my heart to you on paper in order to win your love, I would have done it before I ever asked you to wed me."

Smiling sleepily, Dylan watched him come into the room and sit on the edge of her bed. A gentle hand caressed her hair. "I was already crazy about you before the first time you asked." She yawned. "I was just going to bed and wanted to look at your letter one more time. I love your letters."

He sighed, soft and contented. "I adore you," he murmured. "You know that?"

She nodded. "Yeah. I adore you, too."

"The letter you gave me this morning?" Nuada added. She raised her eyebrows in silent and sleepy inquiry. "It warmed my heart, Dylan. I will treasure it always. Thank you."

"Figured it was about time I wrote you a real love letter," she mumbled. "M'glad you liked it. We should do this more. Write love letters. Writing love letters is cool."

Nuada grinned. "Then by all means, beloved, let us be…'cool.'"

She laughed. "Oh, my gosh. You said 'cool.' That is…awesome. You are amazing."

"Well," he said with just a hint of smugness, "I am an Elven warrior, as well as a prince." He brushed his fingertips along the scar carved down the length of her cheek. "Now, you should sleep, my dearest. Tomorrow is going to be a long day."

Dylan fixed him with an exhausted but still potent healer's look. The one that brooked no nonsense. "If it's gonna be that long, you need to sleep, too."

His grin transformed into a slow, lazy smile. "Do you intend to henpeck me like some shrewish dwarf wife?"

She laughed again. "Oh, you betcha. Good night."

"Good night, a ghrá." Leaning down, he brushed a kiss across her lips—a chaste kiss, but with golden fire simmering just beneath the surface, a delicious heat that made her tremble a little, and made Nuada catch his breath. She saw the war in his gaze between desire and honor. Saw when honor won out, as she'd known it would. With a smile and a last caress along the scar on her cheek, he got up and left the room. Dylan let out the breath she'd been holding and closed her eyes. Within mere minutes, she was asleep.

.

Dylan woke the next morning early, just as the sun was creeping over the horizon. Up with the dawn? No kidding. But she felt rested. No nightmares, then. Awesome. And today she would go before King Balor, before the entire Golden Court of Bethmoora, and be made a noblewoman. The thought left her a little breathless, a little fluttery, as she got up, greeted her guards, took her morning medication, said her morning prayers, and dressed for the day in a simple green wool leine and boots. She'd have to change later, but after breakfast, Francesca and Victoria would arrive.

And when they arrived, Francesca's beauty treatment would begin. Dylan had no idea how long that would take. Hours. Since the ceremony was at sunset—which was around five in the evening—and it was already almost eight in the morning, that wasn't very much time, considering she had to (according to her sister) get her nails done, get a facial, get her hair washed with extra-special stuff, have her hair styled and then add in the jewels that were going with her hairstyle, get all made up…

Thinking about the whole process left her a little freaked out, so she stopped thinking about it and went into her sitting room. The children were up and eating breakfast around what was basically the coffee table. Tsu's'di rose to his feet and bowed to her, and A'du and 'Sa'ti scrambled up to give her hugs before the three went back to their oatmeal, scrambled eggs, and sausage. Dylan noticed a plate of cinnamon rolls on the table as well.

Seeing her looking at the steaming, frosted breakfast pastries, A'du said, "The prince said we could have breakfast up here with you guys. He said we could have the cinnamon rolls if we ate all our oatmeal."

"There's breakfast for you, too, A'ge'lv," Tsu's'di added, indicating a place set for her in front of the chair she liked to sit in during the evenings; it was near the fireplace, too, which would help warm the overnight stiffness from her bad leg. Dylan took her chair and set to breakfast with a will. There was honey, vanilla cream, and cinnamon for the oatmeal; her scrambled eggs had cheese and bits of ham in them (she was willing to bet Caspar Kabouter had set someone to cook them especially for her on her big day); there was a bowl of some of her favorite fruits, including tangelos and peeled kiwis; and she was pretty sure the sausage had been ever so lightly drizzled with maple syrup, just the way she liked it. Someone had gone to a lot of trouble over this. The question was, who? Nuada…or the kitchen staff?

"Oh, and this was on your tray," Tsu's'di said. "The prince said we should put them in water, so we did." He gestured to a small crystal vase, decorated with a pale green ribbon, and half-filled with fresh water. A small nosegay of flowers rested inside the little vase—daisies with sunny, golden faces and bright yellow petals, and the pale green flowers known as bells-of-Ireland. Daisies for faith and loyalty, bells-of-Ireland for luck. Definitely the kitchen staff. They'd done this for a couple of times before. Dylan smiled. "They were tied with that ribbon, but it would've gotten wet, so we tied it around the vase instead," the cougar youth added.

Dylan had just brought a sausage to her mouth and was just about to take a bite when Nuada entered the room from the corridor, carrying a box of crushed blue velvet. He paused in the doorway, eyes widening ever so slightly at the sight of his truelove. Realizing why he was staring at her like that, she hastily set her fork down and looked away, flushing. It might've been her imagination, but she was pretty sure she heard Tsu's'di snicker. When she glanced at him, though, his face was a mask of innocence.

"There's some breakfast left for you, Your Highness," 'Sa'ti piped up from the floor. She had cream dripping from her whiskers. Her oldest brother whisked it away with a quick swipe of a napkin.

A'du chimed in. "Yeah, and we didn't eat the cinnamon rolls yet."

Nuada cleared his throat and smiled at the children. "Thank you. I think I will join you all."

It was sort of a novel experience, eating breakfast with the three ewah and her prince, while Bat and Starbright munched from their bowls and the hounds nuzzled each other. They talked about nothing and everything, with occasional comments from Dylan's guards. It took Dylan a while to understand the strange warmth burgeoning in her chest, but once she did, she smiled.

They were a family. She wondered if Nuada realized that. Wondered if he understood just how much the cubs loved him, how much they looked up to him. If he understood how close she'd gotten to her bodyguards. Nuada's contingency of royal babysitters remained aloof from him, but not hers. She adored Uaithne and Ailbho, Fionnlagh and Gráinne, Onóra and Ailís, and they adored her. It was nice that, on a day that promised to be stressful as heck, she could just sit for a moment and enjoy breakfast with her crazy new family.

After the food had been devoured, Nuada presented her with the velvet jewelry box he'd been carrying when he came in. As the cubs watched in fascination and awe, he asked, "Will you wear this for the ceremony today?" and opened the box. Dylan gasped softly.

Inside, nestled against black velvet, lay a beautiful gold chain, slender as a strand from a spider's web, delicate as the gossamer wing of a demi-fey. Tiny alternating rubies, garnets, and yellow diamonds, none of them larger than the head of a pin, decorated the length of golden chain. Dylan gazed at the necklace for a long moment in stunned silence before looking up at her prince.

"It's beautiful," she whispered. Nuada reached up and laid gentle fingertips against the space between her collarbones, where her Young Women's medallion rested.

"It's a new chain for your medallion," he murmured, "to match the rest of your ensemble for the ceremony."

Her eyes widened. Not just simple jewelry, then. He'd actually remembered the fact that she always wore her medallion except for very dressy occasions because it didn’t look like something a future princess would wear. The chain was just so plain. She'd gotten so many condescending looks from so many courtiers the only time she'd worn it to a court function back in October. Yet now she could wear the medallion on this new chain, and defy anyone to make a comment. The chain matched the little gold medallion with its tiny red stone perfectly.

Dylan threw her arms around Nuada. "Thank you!" She kissed his cheek and he chuckled. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!" Pulling back, she bit her lip and grinned, giving a little bounce of excitement. "You're so thoughtful. Thank you! Mwah!" Dylan pressed a smacking kiss to his mouth. Nuada blinked, clearly a little stunned.

"So glad I could please you," he murmured, smiling a little…well, if he'd been anyone else, Dylan would've described that smile as goofy. "You like it, then?"

"I love it!" She kissed him again, ignoring A'du'la'di's disgusted comments. "Thank you."

"Interrupting?" A familiar voice asked. Dylan pulled back from her prince to see Francesca poking her head into the sitting room through the door to the hallway. She grinned at Dylan. "Hey, sweets! Big day today. I brought you a present." Francesca shoved a large black suitcase on wheels through the door. "All this junk is for you. So is this junk." Stepping into the room, she reached back through the doorway and yanked Victoria inside.

Dylan leapt to her feet. "Tori!" Rushing to Francesca's twin, she threw her arms around the thirty-one-year-old school teacher. "You came. You really came."

Tori hugged her baby sister hard. "Holy crap, Dylan, this place is crazy amazing." She looked around the room. "This is where you live now? This is…nuts. Francesca told me, but I had no idea…" Turning to her twin, Victoria added, "And I am not junk."

"Don't be so sensitive," Francesca replied. Focusing on Nuada, she added, "S'up, Your Royal Hotness? Thanks for letting us come. Hope we didn’t interrupt any little something-something. Probably not, with the kiddos in here. Speaking of which!"

A'du and 'Sa'ti were already crowding around her, crying, "Mistress Francesca!"

"Hey, midgets! A'du, gimme five." What commenced upon this directive was a handshake so complicated in made Dylan's head spin. There was something about tap-dancing, dynamite, explosions, a spaceship at warp drive, and Little Bunny Froo-Froo. At that point, the mortal gave up trying to follow whatever her sister was doing with her pageboy. "And the beautiful Miss U'de'ho'sa'ti!" Francesca did the handshake with 'Sa'ti, too.

"When did you even have time to teach them that?" Dylan asked.

Francesca shrugged. "Meh. Didn't take more than five or ten minutes. They're pretty sharp. Introductions! A'du, 'Sa'ti, this is my twin sister, Victoria. Tori, this is Dylan's pageboy, A'du'la'di Ewah, and his sister, 'Sa'ti. And that cutie over there is their older brother, Tsu's'di Ka'ta. And that smokin' hot stud-muffin is Dylan's cuddle bunny, Prince Nuada Silverlance."

Victoria swallowed when she looked at Nuada, who hadn’t moved so much as a muscle since the entrance of the two human women. When Victoria only stared at him, Nuada raised a single eyebrow in cool inquiry. Victoria cleared her throat.

"You're really an Elf prince," she mumbled.

Nuada's brow arched higher. "As you see," he said coolly. Francesca giggled and he pinned her with a flat look. She just smiled. He turned back to Victoria. "If you object—" He began, his voice positively frigid.

"What kind of idiot would object to her sister marrying an Elf prince?" Victoria demanded, flabbergasted. "Are you kidding? Dude, you're hot. And apparently rich. And you have a kingdom. That's…pretty cool. You don't care that Dylan's Mormon, though, right?"

Relaxing a little, Nuada shook his head. "I adore Dylan," he said simply.

Victoria smiled. "Well, then. Great." Turning to her little sister, she added in a voice made shrill with feminine excitement, "You're getting married! To an Elf prince!"

Never one to miss a girly freak-out party, Francesca cried, "I know, right? She's marrying a studly Elf prince! Who's a total sweetie, by the way. He's just nuts about her. It's so cute." She gave her sister a squeeze. "And today you're becoming a member of the fairy aristocracy. So cool. And hard to say twenty times fast. Fairy aristocracy, fairy aristocracy, fairy aristocracy, fairy…I just bit my tongue. Done now. Anyway, time for me to sic my little beauty ghoulies on you. Muahahaha. Oh, and Miss 'Sa'ti, I brought some cool stuff for you, too, to make sure you look abso-fab for your boss's big day. Relax, Dylan, it's totally organic and pet-safe, I swear. I made double-extra-sure it wouldn’t hurt her.

"So, who's ready for our girl-time?" Grabbing Dylan and taking the cougar girl's hand, Francesca added, "Sayonara, Your Royal Hotness. Gentlemen. We'll be done around three-thirty. When the two chicks Dylan mentioned show up, Lady Whatever-Her-Name-Is and Pocahontas or whatever, just send 'em on in, someone. Toodle-oo!" And she yanked her sister back into the bedroom as Dylan tried to wave goodbye to her prince.

.

Perhaps an hour later, Dylan had to admit that it felt absolutely lovely to have her hair washed by someone else. Francesca was a natural when it came to beauty anything, and after having gone through beauty school, and still drawing on the beauty-guru videos from Youtube to learn about new products and tricks and such, Dylan had every confidence that her sister would make her look fabulous.

Hair washed and wrapped in a towel, wearing a comfortable bathrobe over loose pajama pants and a sleeveless undershirt (Francesca had insisted Dylan change into something that wouldn’t be missed if she dripped anything on it that might stain) Dylan sat on her bed while Francesca shaped and buffed her fingernails. Victoria was busy setting things up for her twin for the next step. Dylan's female guards stood at easy attention around the room. 'Sa'ti was in the bathroom, looking between her reflection in the mirror and the magazine pictures Francesca had brought to help the little cougar girl pick a new hairstyle.

Suddenly Tori turned to Dylan and said, "So…all this time…you were telling the truth?"

Francesca paused over her little sister's hand and glanced at her twin. Tori didn’t acknowledge Cesca's look; she just kept her gaze fixed on Dylan, who suddenly looked pensive. After a long silence, Dylan nodded.

Victoria bit her lip. "So…so when Mom and Dad put you in the institution because you kept talking about fairies…that was all real," she said. Dylan nodded again, watching her sister warily. Tori ran a hand through her curly black hair. "Jeez. Why…when…you've always been able to see them?"

"As far back as I can remember," Dylan murmured as Francesca went back to doing her nails. "You get used to it after a while."

"And your fiancé…Nuada. He's really an Elf prince. You're marrying a prince." Victoria shook her head in mild amazement. "It's like…it's like Fairy Cinderella or something. So…okay. So this is the big thing—you're not crazy."

Dylan shook her head, smiling a little. "No, I'm not."

"Then…do any of the others know? Besides Cesca, John, and me?"

"No. We're working on a plan to ease them into it. I want you all at my wedding, so by then, everyone will have to know, right?"

Tori nodded a bit dazedly. "Yeah…I guess. Dylan." She met her sister's eyes and had to blink, hard, when tears welled up. "Dylan, honey…I am so sorry. About how mean I was when we were kids. You know, about the fairy thing. I'm sorry, sweetie. No wonder you got into drugs and stuff when you were young, with all that crap going on. And we were always so rough on you. I'm so sorry."

Dylan shook her head again. "It's okay, Tori. I forgive you. Of course I forgive you. You didn't know. You couldn't know."

"John knew."

"John has the Sight," Dylan reminded her gently. "Just like I do. The only reason you can see everyone here is because no one's using glamour. The Fair Folk are always glamoured in our world. Only people with the Sight can see through it."

Victoria opened her mouth, closed it again. Frowned. "So how do we get the Sight?"

"A fae's gotta spit in your eye," 'Sa'ti said as she came back in clutching one of Francesca's magazines. "Or if a hobgoblin or a fairy doggy pees on you. Or if a prince or princess kisses you under a hawthorn tree."

Without missing a beat, Francesca said, "I vote your hunk kisses me and Tori under a tree, Dylan. I don't really want to get spit or peed on."

"Eimh could lick your face," 'Sa'ti replied. The white she-hound pup picked up her head at being mentioned and slurped a doggy kiss on the cougar girl's ankle. Starbright, a tiny ball of white kitten fluff curled up against Eimh's stomach, began to purr and knead the hound pup's belly. "Doggies drool all the time. That could work."

Francesca and Victoria exchanged a look before turning in unison to eye the white hound—currently drool-free. Finally Cesca said, "Maybe later. When we don't have a royal ceremony thingy to get ready for. Okay, so I'm thinking we'll go with the Pink of Health polish on your nails. It'll look fairly natural, except better. More uniform. I doubt these guys have ever seen French tips before…"

In the hours that followed, with Victoria's help—and a little assistance in the realm of step-and-fetch from 'Sa'ti—Francesca worked her magic on her little sister. By the time Dylan was ready to put her dress and jewels on, Francesca had shampooed, conditioned, rinsed, dried, burnished, half-straightened, trimmed, and styled Dylan's hair; painted finger- and toenails; and spritzed her with a new perfume that smelled of wild Irish roses. The only thing she had left was Dylan's makeup.

While Francesca paused to give herself a moment to breathe, a knock sounded at Dylan's bedroom door. Journeymaid Hiyori, the Bethmooran-raised Onibi Elf from the palace tailors, poked her head inside when Dylan called, "Enter."

"Ah, my lady. I have your gown and your boots." She stepped into the room, beckoning to someone beyond the door. Four young seamstresses entered the room—a Bethmooran maiden carrying Dylan's dress in its protective bag, a Bethmooran Elf girl and a Fomorian girl carrying another bag, and a young female apprentice with the disproportionate limbs and bright red hair of the Elves of Eìrc holding a tall shoebox. Hiyori motioned them to stand along the wall while the crimson-eyed Elven journeymaid carefully hefted a jewel-box of crushed burgundy velvet about the size of a large dinner plate. "And your accoutrements, my lady. And His Highness insisted you eat something." Two young kitchen maids entered bearing a lunch tray for Dylan. Hiyori and the rest of the servants curtsied and left the room; Hiyori would return to help Dylan after she retrieved something from the tailors' - another of Nuada's "surprises," Dylan had no doubt.
 
After Dylan quickly scarfed lunched, Francesca started on her sister's eyes. Working swiftly, she swiped eye-shadow on on Dylan's lids. She worked in near-silence, only humming softly under her breath. Dylan kept her eyes shut until Francesca said to open them.

"Your eyes are your best feature," Francesca said as she swiped black mascara on her lashes. "You're beautiful all the way, but you always want your eyes to pop, sweets. They're so gorgeous. I am totally jealous of your eyeballs. I wish mine did that swishy-swooshy silver-to-gray-to-blue misty thing yours does. But since your outfit's all red, the blue's tricky to work with unless you do it right, close your eyes for a sec. I need to poke some stuff real fast. Yeah, gotta do stuff right, like giving your lashes that sort of goldy glitter effect they've got now. Aht-da-da! Keep the peepers closed. I'm not done looking at you yet. Gotta just touch that thing a little bit..." Francesca lightly dabbed Dylan's eyelid. "There. Okay, keep your eyes closed. Don't want you peeking. Done with your eyes, but keep 'em shut."

"Yes, Drill Sergeant."

At that point, Hiyori returned carrying three garment bags. Dylan knew that because Tori said, "Oooh, three baggies this time! It's like Christmas with the Miracle Credit Card." One of them was for Dylan, to change into after the ceremony, but what were the other two for?

"Can you imagine," Victoria asked as Dylan stood in shadowy blackness thanks to her closed eyes while Francesca patted powdered foundation on her cheeks and across her face, "what it's going to be like when you get married?"

"It will be a hundred times more elaborate, of course," Hiyori said briskly, and shook out something with a sharp snap! "But there will be more time, since the wedding ceremony occurs at moonrise. Lady Victoria, Lady Francesca—these gowns are yours. You will of course be participating in the ceremony."

Francesca's hand jerked just a touch as she did the final touches on her sister's lips, but since she didn’t swear or growl like a wet cat, Dylan figured nothing had actually gone wrong. Francesca demanded, "We're doing what, exactly?"

"You are part of Lady Dylan's retinue for the ceremony. Did His Highness not tell you? Your task is simple enough—you are in charge of Lady Dylan's train."

"Her dress doesn’t have a train," Victoria protested, confusion evident in her voice.

Dylan knew Hiyori wasn't smiling. Onibi Elves almost never smiled outside the company of those they were closest to. But there was a smile in her voice when she replied, "Her gown does not, no. Her cloak is quite long, however, and it would make the wrong impression if it dragged." There was the rustle of cloth and another snap! of something being shaken out. Hiyori added, "Do you see?"

Dylan wished she could open her eyes to see whatever Hiyori was talking about, but her sister hadn't given her permission and she didn't want Cesca to squawk. The mortal vaguely remembered Master Tailor Themba talking about a cape or cloak or something of velvet the color of old gold, and how it would match the embroidery on her gown, but that was all she knew about it.

At last, with a final dab at Dylan's lips with something cool that smelled vaguely of watermelon, Francesca backed away from her sister. "Open your eyes," she ordered. Dylan obeyed as her sister lifted a hand-mirror to show her the effect of what Cesca had done. "What do you think?"

Her mouth fell open.

Her eyes looked beautiful. The gold glitter along her eyelashes and the delicate, tasteful swirls of autumn-colored eye-shadows drew attention from the scars on her face to the perfect autumn blue of her eyes. The barest hints of silver in different places around her eyes had the umber shade of autumn teetering on the brink of the first frost, which brought out the silver in Dylan's gaze as well. Far from being costume-ish or campy, her eyes looked classic, dramatic. Fae.

Francesca held out her arms with a grin. "Come on. Admit it. I am a genius."

"You're a genius," Dylan freely admitted. "Is that me?"

"No," Tori replied with a smile. "That's the Easter Bunny. And I think it's dress time."
It didn’t take anywhere near as long as Dylan had expected for the young journeymaid seamstresse to help her into the beautiful gown. Maybe only an hour or two. First Dylan put on burgundy silk stockings Nuada had bought her for Christmas; then Hiyori helped her to carefully step into and slip on an under-gown of vibrant ruby silk in the typical leine style. 'Sa'ti, awed by the privilege of helping her mistress with readying for such an important event, solemnly tightened and tied the golden laces at the back of the gown and along the sides of the sleeves. The kirtle—a velvet overdress made of the softest claret-colored velvet Dylan had ever touched in her life, richly embroidered in antique gold silk thread—was easy to put on over the silk shift. 'Sa'ti laced it up, as well, while Francesca took the box of jewelry from Hiyori and opened it, carefully setting it on the nightstand next to Dylan's bed. Lifting out a trio of slender golden chains, she set to work weaving them into the twin braids that crowned her sister's head. Victoria helped her sister slip on the butter-soft doeskin boots the color of antique gold coins.

After Francesca had arranged the chains the way she wanted, she lifted a small case out of the larger jewel box and opened it. Inside, in three neat little rows, were tiny gold hairpins decorated with flawless rubies and garnets cut to a size no bigger than raindrops. Francesca carefully began to arrange the tiny pins in Dylan's hair. Hiyori had two of her seamstresses—the Fomorian and Bethmooran pair of young Elven girls—help to settle the embroidered and bejeweled, amber silk-brocade girdle around Dylan's hips. Tiny threads of actual gold—a rosy, coppery gold that showed well against the amber silk—glinted in the form of the Eildon Tree. Tiny crimson and burgundy jewels, more rubies and garnets, decorated the crest where the leaves would have been. Next came her gold medallion with its little red stone on the bejeweled gold chain Nuada had given her just this morning. Dylan's engagement ring, sapphires and white gold, didn't match the rest of the outfit, but Hiyori assured her that drawing attention to the ring was a good idea, so they left it alone.

Finally, Hiyori said, "And now for your cloak, milady."

Dylan glanced at Hiyori as the Onibi Elf approached holding an unfolded piece of velvet the color of pale honey lined in burgundy silk and trimmed in russet fur; the journeymaid Elf called it miniver—whatever that was. Hiyori settled the robe-like cloak—the Elf said it was a robe, but it looked like one long velvet cloak with a much shorter fur cape laid on top of it—over Dylan's shoulders, pinning it with two ruby-and-gold broaches that bore the crest Nuada had designed for her. Since she was not only being elevated to peerage, but being sworn in as a member of Balor's court and a citizen of his kingdom, she needed to wear both the crest of Bethmoora as well as her own crest. Though it should have been heavy, the cloak actually weighed very little and was quite comfortable. It did drag on the floor quite a bit, though. Hiyori explained that because of the rank being bestowed—she was to be a lady, with rank and power just beneath the royal family—the train of the cloak had been measured at two yards, as per tradition. Garnets like drops of crystallized blood had been sewn or magically stuck—Dylan wasn’t sure which—to the little, golden, fur mini-cape overtop, in six rows; also an indication of the rank being bestowed.

"How do I look?" Dylan asked when she was ready at last. Her sisters exchanged glances, then both hugged her from opposite sides, careful of hair and makeup.

"You look gorgeous, sweets," Francesca said.

Victoria nodded. "Absolutely beautiful. Like a…like a princess in a movie or something."

At that moment, Ledi Polunochnaya and A'ge'lv Na'ko'ma arrived, and it was time to do the whole makeup-and-hair song and dance number all over again. Luckily, this run-through wasn’t for the star of the show, so it didn’t take anywhere near as long. Then Francesca and Victoria got themselves and 'Sa'ti ready.

By the time they were done, it was only thirty minutes to sunset, which meant it was time for Dylan and her entourage to make their way down to the antechamber outside of the King's Great Hall.