Once 105 ending scene revamped

Bitter wintry wind tried and failed to cut through Dylan's fur-lined cloak as she and Nuada stepped into the main palace courtyard. The supply-wagons were already laden and had begun the slow process of heading out of the Elven stronghold through the tall, elegantly sculpted, faerie-metal gates. Three carriages—of golden wood and faerie metal, draped with crimson, and the Bethmooran crest of the Eildon Tree carved and inlaid with gold on the doors—waited for Dylan, her siblings, her hounds, and the cubs to go inside them. Everyone else would be on horseback.

The prince, Dylan, and their retinue approached the horses the stable-hands held in readiness in the middle of the courtyard, several paces from the carriages. While the Butcher Guards and the small company of Elven guards mounted the tall, shaggy, coal-black phookas that looked like Clydesdales (more phookas pulled the carriages), Wink helped Lorelei mount a horse with a sleek, ivory coat…and two horns protruding from its disproportionately wide head—horns as black as ebony, as long Dylan's arm, and as sharp as spears. Dylan's jaw went slack when she saw the rhinemaiden's mount. Her mouth fell open even wider when she saw the huge thing Wink was going to ride.

It looked like a bull, its hide shifting in shades of black, crimson, and amber like coals. Its horns and the fangs it bared seemed to glow like molten bronze. It stood taller than Dylan at the shoulder, with a body wider than the breadth of Nuada's shoulders, and a cow-tail that ended in a small, sullen flame. It bore a saddle of soot-stained leather and a bronze-chain bridle. Wink hoisted himself atop its back with ease. The creature pawed the steaming slush under its bronze hoof; its impatient snort made the air shimmer with impossible heat.

"Lorelei rides an indrik," Nuada said in Dylan's ear. His breath warmed her cold ears. "His name is Sergei."

"What's an indrik?"

"A beast from Zwezda, a sort of horse-bull hybrid in human terms. Notice the hooves." He pointed at the cloven ebony hooves of Lorelei's steed. "They're razor sharp. You do not want an indrik to kick you."

"What's that?" Dylan pointed to Wink's beast. Even at a dozen paces away, it gave off an odd sort of heat. The snow around it had melted to slush, but the grooms in charge of the creature seemed to be able to touch it without harm.

"A bonnacon," Nuada replied. "From the wild forests of Eathesbury. Another horse-bull hybrid. They're wonderfully warm—pleasant mounts in cold weather. They can be a bit wild, but I hand-raised that stallion from a foal. He's as gentle as a lamb with those he's fond of. He'll like you, never fear. Bonnacons have the intelligence of small children, and they understand speech, though they cannot speak themselves. I've already told him who you are. And this," he added with a wealth of pride in his voice, "is Maeve."

A white mare stepped away from the group of fae horses and approached Dylan and Nuada shyly. Her eyes gleamed like emeralds, and the firelight caught in the silky banners of her pearlescent celadon mane and tail. Lòman, Nuada's black stallion, came to stand beside the mare. The stallion nuzzled her shoulder before bowing his head. Maeve bowed her own head.

*My lady, I am Maeve,* the mare said in the voice of a woman close to Dylan's age. *I am an arion mare, and I am honored to bear you for part of this journey.*

Dylan's mouth started to fall open again, but then she remembered that arions—fae horses with green manes and tails, native to Mytikas and Shahbaz—could speak the same way Nuada's wolfhounds could. She smiled at the mare. "It's nice to meet you. I'm not a great rider, but I'll try to sit up straight and pretend I know what I'm doing when it's time to hop in the saddle." For safety reasons, Nuada wanted her mostly in a carriage, but she'd be on horseback when it was time to approach the first of the villages, so the people wouldn’t automatically think she was some pampered, cosseted gold-digger.

Maeve whickered, the horse-version of a laugh. *Thank you, milady.* The mare gently touched her nose to Dylan's shoulder. *We will be friends, I think.*

"I'd like that."

"A'ge'lv! A'ge'lv! Look at the ponies!" The enraptured shout dragged Dylan's gaze over to 'Sa'ti standing beside a sable pony, its mane and tail such a dark black they carried blue and green tints, like midnight water. The ends of both mane and tail dripped water on the snow. Jet-black eyes gleamed and the pony tossed its head. A'du stroked the neck of an identical pony, standing next to his sister. Tsu's'di rode a horse with the same coloring.

Glashtyn, Dylan thought, Eathesburian water-horses and water-ponies malevolent to humans but friendly to the Fair Folk. She knew Nuada had dozens upon dozens in his stables. He loved horses of any kind. And she knew Nuada would've made certain everyone's mounts were safe before arranging for them to accompany them on this trip. Dylan waved her servants over and said goodbye to Maeve before allowing Nuada to help her into the carriage.

Unlike the replicas of medieval human carriages Dylan had seen, this one was actually quite roomy. The inside was golden wood paneling, the benches padded with scarlet velvet cushions. Four amber fairy-lights glowed in each corner of the ceiling. Shelves on the front and back walls above the seats held blankets and a few packs that Dylan knew concealed a few books—mostly for the children— and snacks for the trip; Nuada no doubt planned to stop and make a small camp for lunch so that everyone could stretch their legs and relieve themselves around midday.

A'du and 'Sa'ti sat on the bench opposite Dylan and peered expectantly out the window while everyone else got ready. Dylan's siblings all climbed into the second of the three carriages. The third was a decoy; they were headed into what basically amounted to a warzone. Erik Ashkeson, the dökkálfar who would accompany them as part of Nuada's guard—just as Lorelei had agreed to come in order to protect Dylan and, to a lesser degree, Francesca, since the rhinemaiden and the mortal waitress had a friend in common—Erik mounted a wülfsvað, a shaggy black horse from Álfheim, with a wolf's head and sharp, stone hooves. Packs and saddlebags had been stowed where they belonged.

Everyone was ready.

Nuada turned toward the main doors of the castle and saw his father, bundled up in velvets and furs against the bitter cold and the dark, coming down the steps with Nuala and Naya behind him…and Bres. The Fomorian prince escorted the princess down the icy stone steps, and continued to hold Nuala's hand and gazed at her with obvious tenderness when they reached the ground. Another pang sliced through Nuada's heart when he saw his sister gaze back with equal adoration. Nuala would never forgive him for breaking her engagement.

But he put that out of his mind as his father, sister, and friend approached. Bres strode beside them, and when they reached the crown prince, Balor nodded to the Fomorian. Nuada frowned, tension singing through his shoulders, but said nothing. Bres cleared his throat.

"Luck be with you on your journey, my friend," he said, and he sounded as if he meant it. But then, Bres loved the Fair Folk. He was loyal to them and no doubt considered what Nuada intended to do to be a less shameful thing than what Bres assumed Nuada currently occupied his time with—enjoying the dubious pleasure of a mortal in his bed. Nuada inclined his head in taciturn acknowledgment. Bres added, "I would like to speak with your lady for a moment, if I may."

The Tuathan prince opened his mouth to snap no when Dylan's voice broke through the cold night. "I would like to speak to Prince Bres, if it pleases you, Your Highness."

He shot her a sharp look. Leaning out the carriage window, she met his look with cool equanimity, a silent plea to please trust her. After a moment, he inclined his head to her, then looked back at Bres. He felt his eyes shift to icy topaz tinged with the faintest hint of copper fury. "As my lady wishes."

Bres nodded to him and moved past, toward Dylan. Immediately everything in Nuada's body tightened in protest. Unease churned in his belly, but he forced it down. Dylan wouldn’t have asked to speak to Bres if it wasn’t safe. And what could he do, with her guards so close? In front of Balor, whom the Fomorian heir wished to impress? Nuada tried to force himself to relax as he turned back to his father and sister.

Nuala threw her arms around him. He stiffened in surprise, then relaxed into the embrace. She kissed his cheek. Whispered through their link, May the gods watch over you, Brother. Be careful. Come home to us.

Have no fear, little sister. I will be all right, and I will make our father proud.

Áthair is already proud of you, Nuada.

It seemed, as the prince turned to his father, that his sister was right. Balor set both hands on Nuada's shoulders and smiled. His father yet looked tired. Nuada pushed aside the worry slithering through his skull. Balor seemed to grow wearier and wearier as time went on; he looked almost ill. Dylan had said she thought he might be unwell.

The Elven warrior wished he could stay to look after the king, but his people needed him. He simply couldn't. So he forced a smile to his lips for his father's sake and nodded to him. "Áthair."

"My son, be well on your journey." A wry twist came into Balor's smile. "I trust I needn't tell you to look after your lady; I know that you will. And she is one who can take care of herself…for the most part. When you return, we will speak further about many things. You will of course be back in time for the Frost Moon."

Nuada grinned. "Of course, Father. It would be poor form indeed for me to miss my own wedding. We should be back well before then. And if not, Arawn has promised to send the Chariot of Annwn to fetch us home again in time for everything."

Balor nodded and clapped his son on the shoulder. "Good. It will do the people good to see and hear of your lady before your wedding. You have my blessing to travel through the royal forest, using the army roads."

The prince blinked. The army roads were enchanted, and could only be walked with the king's permission. It would take a day, perhaps two, to get nearly anywhere in the kingdom, even if the trip would've normally taken a week or more. The spells laid into the royal forest and the army roads had saturated trees and earth, brush and stone since before Balor's grandfather's grandfather's time. None knew who had laid them; the unicorns, perhaps—dozens of unicorn glories had made their homes in the royal forest since time out of mind, and gave aid to the kings of Bethmoora in exchange for royal protection from hunters, human and fae. It was a sickening and heinous crime, worthy of execution-by-slow-torture, to kill a unicorn in any fae kingdom. Travel through the royal forest was permitted rarely, and usually only in times of crisis. If the king was giving it to him now…

"Thank you, Áthair," Nuada murmured.

The sound of a door opening briefly distracted him, and he turned to see a few of the kitchen staff coming out with food wrapped in cloths to keep the heat in. They moved toward the mounted group, dispersing breakfast. Nuada noticed a kitchen maid with a gaze reflecting the moonlight like eyeshine and hair like deer's hide go directly to a grinning Tsu's'di—Isibéal ingen Cabhán. Tsu's'di leaned down and began murmuring to her. Nuada smiled and turned back to his father.

"We must go now."

"Fare thee well, Prince of Bethmoora," Balor said softly, squeezing his son's shoulder one last time.

"Fare thee well, Majesty," Nuada murmured, bowing his head. He hesitated for the briefest instant, then embraced his father. Balor hugged him tightly, as he had only done once in the last twenty centuries, two days past on Christmas morning.

His father's voice sounded old and worn when he whispered, "Please be careful, my son. Stay safe."

"I shall do my best."

Before Nuada could go back to the mounted group, Polunochnaya stepped forward and hugged him as his sister had. "Be safe, my friend," she whispered. "Come home soon. The castle is dull without you here to stir up trouble."

Nuada chuckled, but he eyed the Zwezdan noblewoman with some concern. She sounded…forlorn. Her cat-slit silver eyes seemed shadowed. Why? He frowned, catching her gaze. She bit her lip, opened her mouth as if she would speak. Closed it again. Shook her head, dropping her gaze. Nuada murmured, "Naya?"

"It's nothing," she murmured, swiping at her hair. "Just…please. Take care. Will you promise me?"

Brows furrowing, Nuada asked sotto voce, "What's wrong, Naya?"

She shook her head again. "Nothing, as I said. Just be careful."

"Of course," the prince replied, and Polunochnaya offered him a tremulous smile. "I shall see you and my sister very soon. You've nothing to worry over. Be well, milady."

And then it was time for him to step away, to go to Lòman and mount up. Bres had already stepped back from Dylan and was now eyeing her as if he couldn’t quite understand what he was looking at. To his surprise, Dylan offered the Fomorian prince a tight smile and inclined her head. What surprised Nuada even more was when Bres canted his head back before returning to Nuala's side. Nuada shot Dylan a look that plainly asked, What was that about?

Dylan smiled and shook her head, as if to say, I'll tell you later.

Urging Lòman to ride beside Dylan's carriage, once side by side the arion stallion and the royal carriage moved to the head of the group. The last of the wagons had just left the castle grounds. Now it was their turn. Once they cleared the outer walls of the palace, they'd head up to the front of the supply-train. Nuada caught Dylan's eye and nodded his head, asking silently if she was ready. She nodded.

"Look for us in the week ere the Frost Moon," Nuada called over his shoulder.

A click of his tongue urged Lòman into a slow trot. The coachman followed suit, coaxing the phookas to match the prince's pace. The others fell in line behind them: Dylan's siblings' carriage behind the prince and the carriage carrying his lady; Tsu's'di as close to Dylan's carriage as possible; Wink, Lorelei, and Erik near them; and the Butcher Guards, minus young Guardsman Loén, behind them. Loén rode next to Tsu's'di; having lost his partner Siothrún to the dungeons because of Siothrún's treason, Loén was now partnered with Tsu's'di at Dylan's request, as the two were relatively close in age and got along well.

The prince glanced back only once, to ensure everyone was in place. He noticed Tsu's'di, A'du', and 'Sa'ti looking back as well. He frowned, then noticed a sleepy-looking kitchen boy waving and calling goodbye to the children. The ewah cubs leaned out the carriage window and waved, calling, "Bye, Rórdán! Bye!"

And Tsu's'di looked back at Isibéal, who stood with her arms folded beside Rórdán, one loose fist held to her heart. Tsu's'di raised a hand in a wave of farewell. Taking a single step, Isibéal blew him a kiss. The cougar youth pretended to catch it, holding it to his chest. Nuada bit back a grin and faced forward again. Dylan caught his eye above the cubs' head and smiled before blowing him a kiss of her own. Nuada let his grin show through when he caught it and pressed it to his heart.

"After the township, we make for the royal forest," he commanded. They were on their way at last.

"Unicorns," Dylan murmured, smiling in fond memory of their single night in the forest when he had brought her to see the glory. Nuada winked. She bit her lip and grinned.

Yes. If he could manage it, if they would come near with her kin and the Butcher Guards with them, he would take her to see the unicorns again.