Chapter 59 - These Foolish Games

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A Short Tale of Talk of War, a Royal Spy, New Guardians, Words Between Princes, a Banquet, a Challenge, and Rash Words

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Nuada came awake slowly, langorously, coaxed reluctantly from sleep by the caress of mid-afternoon sunlight on his cheek and the gentle tug of fingers curling in his tunic. He blinked, allowing his eyes to adjust to the wintry light filtering through the boughs of the Fomorian rose tree. Realized that Dylan had, sometime during their time asleep, cuddled up against him. Now her head lay on his shoulder, her fingers gently hooked into the collar of his tunic. Her breath was soft against his throat.

He was grateful to see that her expression was clear of any sorrow or grief. No nightmares, then. Perhaps his presence was all that was needed to drive such cruel phantoms away from her. If only he could lay beside her this way each night to banish such dark dreams. Mayhap then she would not be so pale and tired-looking all the time.

I had a dream, too. So she had told him two nights past. That's why I was awake, why I heard you. Not exactly a nightmare. It... hurt, I guess is the word I'm looking for, but it was a good dream. While it lasted. But then I woke up.

Or was that why she was not sleeping well of late? Because of that dream? Nuada was fairly certain Dylan had not looked so broken down and exhausted during the first week he'd stayed at her cottage, when she had been woken nightly by the horror of her own screams. Was this "good dream" having such a detrimental effect on her where the brutal nightmares that had plagued her for so long did not?

His thoughts chased themselves in lazy circles while sleep, not having been pushed quite far enough away, slowly pulled him down into slumber once more. He was so tired that when the door to the Queen's Garden clicked open, he did not even stir.

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Balor bit back a sigh as the door to his formal receiving room opened and Emperor Huizong, proceeded by a Dilong herald and followed by four Dilong royal guards, swept into the room. The herald bowed low to the king and announced in a tremulous voice, "Your Majesty King Balor, may I present His Imperial Majesty, the Celestial Dragon of Dilong, the August Jade Emperor Huizong."

A flick of Huizong's wrist had the herald scurrying out of the room again. The Dilong royal guards - the Téngshé, named for one of the deadliest breeds of dragon in all of the eastern fae kingdoms - settled themselves against the wall on either side of the receiving room door. The six Butchers also in the room did not move from their places arrayed protectively about their aged king. They kept their eyes, glittering through the slitted visors of their helmets, focused on the black-clad Téngshé.

"Dilong," Balor said, rising from his seat by the hearth. This room was formal, yes, though not as formal as the Great Hall, but relaxed enough that Balor could enjoy an old man's comforts - a warm fire, a comfortable chair. Huizong was old, too - only a few centuries the Bethmooran king's junior - and also appreciated this room.

The emperor inclined his head. "Bethmoora."

"Pray, have a seat."

Huizong sank into the proffered chair with a fluid grace the older monarch envied. Once, long ago, he had been not only the Jade Emperor's equal, but his superior in battle. But not so now, Balor thought more than a little ruefully. Not with these old bones and this blasted thing, casting a brief and disdainful glance at his false arm.

The Dragon of Dilong leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees and steepling his fingers. Jade eyes smoldered. "I believe I have waited long enough for your explanations, King Balor. Where is your son, Prince Nuada? Why is he sporting with a base-born mortal harlot when he is betrothed to my daughter? And why do I hear rumors that you are encouraging him to turn his back on this union in favor of marrying that human whore?"

Balor reclined in his chair. "I am not sure what 'human whore' you are referring to, Emperor Huizong. The mortal my son is courting is a lady of high standing, a healer among her people. Lady Dylan has saved Prince Nuada's life on more than one occasion."

Huizong scoffed. "Oh, I see. 'Lady' Dylan, is it? An empty title to make this dishonor easier to swallow, I suppose?"

"Not at all. Common-born the human may be, but what she lacks in breeding she makes up for easily with courage, resourcefulness, a cool head, and the uncanny ability to bring my son to heel when nothing else can curb him. You of all people know what a useful tool it is to have someone who can be the leash to hold one's wayward offspring in their proper place."

The emperor did not flinch at the reminder that Zhenjin, the crown prince, was not his eldest son. The eldest prince of Dilong, Prince Shaohao, had long ago been removed from the line of succession and exiled to the Yue Mountains for repeated attempts to overthrow the emperor. As far as Balor knew, Shaohao was still rotting away in his palatial prison in the mountains, guarded by the elite of the Téngshé.

Huizong also knew - who, in fact, did not? - that Crown Prince Nuada Silverlance despised the human race with every fiber of his being and would most likely upon becoming king break the treaty with the children of Adam and declare war on them once more. It was also no secret that Faerie itself was divided as Bethmoora; that half the fae were willing to sacrifice their lives and livelihood to maintain the so-called "peace" and the other half wanted to eliminate the threat of mankind forever. Both King Balor and Emperor Huizong were of the former party. Both of their heirs were of the latter.

So Huizong could understand what Balor was saying. That did not negate the fact that by courting this human commoner, the Silver Lance had dishonored Princess Ming Xian, the apple of the Dragon Emperor's eye. Which the Dragon of Dilong politely explained in words carved from jagged ice.

In a voice as equally glacial, Balor replied, "When We discussed this match before, Your Imperial Majesty, We informed you that Our heir would not be forced into this match if he was truly opposed to it. That still holds true. If Prince Nuada does not wish to marry Her Highness Princess Ming Xian, We shall not force him. The betrothal was never set in stone. We have broken no vows, nor foresworn any oaths. You will not hold Us to an agreement We did not make. Is that understood, Your Imperial Majesty?"

Jade eyes narrowed. Balor did not flinch. "You would risk war with Us, King Balor? Over the whim of a boy who is thinking with his loins instead of his brain? Over a mortal slut who is no better than she ought to be and will, in less than a century, be nothing but dust and fading memory to him?"

"You would go to war, Emperor Huizong, over this trifle? As We have said, We have made no set agreement. You are angry because your daughter is the jewel of your court and your dearest pride. All of Faerie knows this. We will then ask you this, Emperor Huizong - does Princess Ming Xian even want to marry Prince Nuada? She is little more than a baby. He is a man grown. Surely she would not be happy with so old a husband, and unlike most of your children, We know that her wishes are at least a small factor in your decision here. If she was opposed to this match, would you force her into it?"

"We would counsel with her. Young the princess may be, but she is still a princess, and she has no real reason not to want this match when it benefits her kingdom, her family, and herself. She accepts this union as inevitable."

"Does she feel the sting of this 'dishonor' that you claim We have visited upon you?"

"Of course not," Huizong retorted, not even bothering to hide his disdain for such an idea. "She is a little girl. But whether she feels it is not the point; the rest of my kingdom knows that she was promised to Prince Nuada-"

"We are going in circles," Balor said wearily. "This is my final word on the subject, Huizong - I'll not force my grown son to marry a child barely into her third century. At any rate, the match is pointless due to the discrepancy in their ages. You can hardly expect your daughter, once old enough to actually consummate such a union, to wish to do so with a man nearly four-thousand years her senior. If you believe we have dishonored you, challenge Prince Nuada. He and Prince Zhenjin will fight for the honor of the princess. The victor will determinate whether you pursue this talk of war."

The Jade Emperor stood, and just barely inclined his head. "Very well. Crown Prince Zhenjin Azurefire will challenge Crown Prince Nuada Silverlance this night before the Court of Bethmoora - if Prince Nuada can be coaxed into appearing," he added with an edge to his voice. "Where is the prince, anyway?"

"I don't know," Balor muttered.

Huizong snorted. "Do not insult my intelligence, Balor. I know Nuada has returned to Findias. Where is he?"

"He's in Findias," the king replied. "That is all I know. He's been absent from his rooms and from the castle-proper since nearly dawn this morning. I do not know where he is. Somewhere in the palace gardens, perhaps. He is under house arrest and cannot leave Findias without going through my Butcher Guards."

"Perhaps you should send Her Highness Princess Nuala to find her wayward twin," the Dilong Elf said with cool civility. "So that I may speak with him."

"Her Highness is currently out doing exactly that-"

Just then, someone rapped smartly on the receiving room door. Before Balor could even call out, the door slid open to reveal the Elven princess in question, windblown and with flushed cheeks and the oddest expression on her moon-pale face. "Athair, you must come see this! You will scarcely believe your eyes..." She trailed off when she caught sight of the emperor. Sinking into a graceful curtsy, Princess Nuala murmured, "Our deepest apologies, Your Majesty, Your Imperial Majesty. We did not mean to interrupt."

"Not at all, Your Highness," the Jade Emperor replied. "Your arrival was in fact quite timely. Pray, what is this thing His Majesty need see? We Ourselves are quite curious as to what could cause such an uproar."

Without missing a beat, the princess said, "Please excuse Us, Your Imperial Majesty. We mean no offense, but the thing We wish Our father to see to is a private matter between Us as father and daughter, not king and princess. It would be most inappropriate to show such a thing to one who is not family. Our apologies."

Huizong arched a sardonic eyebrow. "Quite a diplomatic answer, Princess. If you and His Majesty will excuse me, then."

Nuala waited a few moments after the emperor's departure to ensure that he was well and truly gone, and his Téngshé with him, before she went to her father and grasped his hand in both of hers. "Athair, you must come with me! You must see this!"

"My daughter," he replied, baffled as she tugged him towards the door, "what is your hurry? Is something amiss? Where are your guards?"

"They are just beyond the door, do not worry," Nuala replied with no little impatience. "Athair, hurry! If we take too long, it may be over before you see it for yourself!"

"Can you not at least tell me where we are going or what it is we are going to see?"

She shook her head. "You would not believe me if I told you. Just hurry!"

Nuala led him down the hall to the king's entrance to the gardens, and out into the cold winter afternoon. The sun was perhaps a quarter of an hour from setting. Dark amber sunlight silhouetted the winter-bare trees and glinted on the snowy ground. Through the gardens they went, past the kitchen gardens, down a short pathway lined with polished rocks. Past the fountain sculpted in the shape of splashing naiads. All the way to a hawthorne gate set in a stone wall overgrown with rich green ivy. A dozen Butcher Guards had all taken seats on stools that, Nuala informed him quietly, had been provided by some of the young under-gardeners out of sympathy for the royal guards' aching feet. The guards leapt to those feet the moment Balor and Nuala swept into view.

Balor froze when he caught sight of the hawthorne gate. A vicious agony pierced him straight through his chest for a brief eternity before subsiding into a throbbing ache. Not here. His daughter could not ask him to come here. Why had she brought him to Cethlenn's garden?

His daughter took his hand of flesh in hers and said softly, I am sorry, Athair, that this is where I must bring you, but you must see what lies within its walls. I believe it will bring joy to your heart to see it. But you must glamor us so that no one can see or hear us, or my brother will be alerted to our presence.

Your brother? Balor echoed. Nuada is within? Why must I-

Please, Athair, you won't believe it unless you see it, but I am certain it will make you happy. Please?

After an inner struggle that left hope warring feebly with bitterness, he glamored himself and his daughter and touched the garden door. "Oscailte," he whispered. Open. And the hawthorne gate swung inward, revealing the garden beyond. Balor stepped inside, followed swiftly by Nuala, though the guards remained on the path at the princess's insistence. The door shut behind them without a sound thanks to the royal faerie glamor. Balor stared in absolute shock at the sight before him.

Is he truly asleep? The king demanded after a moment. He still held his daughter's hand, so she could still hear his thoughts.

Yes, Nuala whispered. He has no idea we are here. That anyone but the two of them are here. And he is fast asleep. They both are; I can feel her thoughts through their contact. Look. She pointed, and Balor took a moment to truly take in what he was seeing.

Nuada lay on his side on the grass, his body curled protectively around Dylan, who lay with her back to him and her head pillowed on his outstretched arm. His other arm was draped over her, his hand resting lightly on her belly. One of the human's hands covered his. The other was stretched out so that her fingers twined with the fingers of Nuada's outstretched hand.

Even as Balor watched, Nuada tightened his grip fractionally and nuzzled the mortal's hair. She sighed in contentment. Murmured his name in her sleep. What shocked the king even further was when the prince mumbled, "Dylan, mo duinne," before nuzzling her again.

How... how can this be? He would never... he cannot... I do not understand this, Balor confessed.

He loves her, Nuala replied. Her voice was a mere thread of sound, for fear of waking her twin with her mental presence. He truly loves her. I have not seen him so relaxed in centuries, even with a woman or with friends. And look, she added, soft wonder in her voice. He is smiling. My brother is smiling. And it was true - a soft smile curved the prince's mouth. I have not seen him smile in slumber - or, in truth, known him to sleep so peacefully - in many years. Athair... you did it. You truly did it; he is in love with her.

Balor wanted to believe that. Wanted to believe that all the scheming, all the plotting, had come to fruition and there was nothing more he need do to prevent his son from slaughtering the children of men. But he couldn't afford to believe. Not yet.

I want to observe them for a while, the king said softly. Nuala looked at him askance. If they begin anything I should not see, I will leave. But I want to know if your brother was telling the truth about everything he said regarding this mortal. I want you to return to the palace, my daughter. Tonight there is a banquet to honor Nuada's return. And tonight Prince Zhenjin will challenge him on behalf of Ming Xian. I want you to be ready.

Yes, Athair, she replied, and left as silently as she'd come, leaving the king to take a seat and study his son and the human with the impunity granted by fae glamor.

Sometime later, Nuada's eyes flickered open and he stared up at the sunset-painted sky for a moment, disoriented. Then he glanced down at the human cuddled up to him. Balor expected the prince to pull away from the girl or reject her in some other way. Instead, Nuada leaned down and kissed the top of the mortal's head. Brushed his lips along the thick scar that marred her cheek. Then he gently extricated himself from the human and sat up, stretching the kinks out his spine with several audible pops. Then he shook out the arm that the mortal had been sleeping on and began, Balor imagined, to work the feeling back into his fingers.

"It is much later than I thought," Nuada mumbled, gazing up at the sky. "I was supposed to wake her in time for church. Blast it." He reached out and gently shook her by the shoulder. "Dylan. Sweetheart. We overslept; time to wake up now."

"Mmmm." The mortal blinked awake and sat up very slowly. She looked around as if dazed. Her eyes met Nuada's, and she smiled, then frowned. She looked around again, brows furrowed. "Wait. Where... wait." Her eyes went wide with something like realization. She glanced down at herself and squeezed her eyes shut. A single tear leaked out to roll down her cheek.

"Dylan?" Nuada laid a hand on her shoulder. "What is it?"

"I... I thought that... darn it," she whispered, and pressed a hand to her mouth. She drew a sharp breath that was almost a sob. "Darn it. Why did you wake me up?" And then she began to cry. Bitterly. Wretchedly. As if someone had stripped all hope from her.

The king did not expect his son to pull the girl into his arms and begin stroking her hair. Did not expect him to murmur soft things in Gaelic while he held her, rocking her slightly while she wept into his shoulder. The helpless anguish in Nuada's eyes shocked Balor as well. Nuala was right. His daughter was absolutely right - this scarred, ugly human girl had somehow managed to win Nuada's heart.

"Shhh," Nuada whispered while Dylan sobbed. "Shhh, mo duinne. It's all right. You are safe now. I'm here, you are safe. It was only a nightmare, sweetheart. Please do not cry. You are safe now, it's over. It was only a bad dream. Do not cry, I am here. Shhh."

Dylan shook her head without taking her face away from Nuada's shoulder. "It wasn't a bad dream. It was... it... I didn't want to wake up. Not ever. Why did you wake me up? I wanted it to be real. I wanted so badly for it to be real but it wasn't. Why did you wake me up?"

"Forgive me," he said, laying his cheek atop her head. "I did not know. Forgive me."

After a tense moment, she mumbled, "S'not your fault. I k-keep having this st-stupid dream and it hurts so m-m-much to wake up."

"The dream you mentioned before?" He words were soft and did not press her. Balor was startled once again by the gentleness in his son's voice. Where had it come from? "It is the same dream?" She nodded. Her tears were beginning to exhaust themselves. "Tell me?" It was not a command, or even a request, but an offer to unburden herself. Dylan shook her head. "Is there nothing I can do?"

At this, she finally lifted her head and sniffled, swiping at her eyes with a trembling hand. "You just did it." The mortal offered the prince a tremulous smile. "Jeez. What would I do without you?"

He quirked a brow. "We already know the answer to that, darling - you would be very, very boring." But the king could see that the smile Nuada offered her was edged with concern and his eyes were shadowed.

Dylan laughed. Brushed at her eyes again. "Thank you, Nuada."

"For what?"

She kissed the tips of her fingers, then pressed them to his cheek. "For being you."

He cupped her face in his hands and leaned in to lightly kiss her lips. "I could say the same to you, mo mhuire." He kissed her again, still soft as a sigh. "Dylan... won't you tell me your dream? If it pains you so, perhaps I can help you. Or perhaps you would allow me to enter your dreams and I could suppress it-"

"No," she protested, shaking her head with surprising vehemence. "No, I don't want you to get rid of it! I... it's so... it's wonderful. You don't understand. It's so wonderful, but... but it isn't real, you see, and so when I wake up and I realize it's a dream, I... it just crashes down on me for a minute. Reality. That's all."

His thumb stroked along her cheek. "Sweetheart... won't you tell me what you've been dreaming? I... I am worried for you." At her puzzled frown, the prince added gently, "You do not look well. You're so pale, and you seem so tired. I have to wonder if it's because of this dream."

"It's because of your dad, the jerk," she muttered. Balor blinked. "The whole situation with him and the stupid treason thing and all is just... really stressful. I'm fine."

"You do not look fine."

Dylan smiled at the prince. "You worry too much, my love. I'm all right. I'm just a little tired, that's all. As for my dream... we can talk about it later, okay?" She let her head fall to his shoulder. Sighed. "Please let's talk about it later."

He pressed a kiss to her temple. They touched so easily, Balor realized. As if it were second-nature, as natural as drawing breath. Nuada was not one for casual contact. Was not, as far as Balor recalled, one for much physical contact at all outside of the practice ring, dallying with women, and interactions with his twin. Yet the prince seemed almost to need to touch the mortal. To touch, and be touched by her in these small gestures - her head on his shoulder, his hand running up and down her arm in a soothing motion. How had the king not seen this? And what did it mean regarding Nuada's plans for the Golden Army and Balor's plans for Nuada?

"As you wish, my lady," Nuada murmured. "As you wish. But I would ask something of you." When she looked up, he trailed a fingertip down her cheek. "I would ask you to allow me a chance to bring a smile to your lips once more. I have a surprise for you, if you will permit me."

The mortal gave him a fond look. "Really? Another one? You're going to spoil me for regular guys, you know."

Nuada scowled. "Which is exactly as it should be; you are too good for those lowly mortals, anyway." She opened her mouth to reply, and he added, "And you are far beyond the reach of those feckless court buffoons as well. None of those imbecilic louts are worthy of you."

Dylan reached up and lightly caressed Nuada's mouth. Even now, Balor waited for the prince to reject the touch of mortal fingertips ghosting over dark lips to rest at the corner of the prince's mouth. Instead, the human said softly, "Smile, Nuada. You don't smile enough."

"Nor do you. We shall just have to fix that. Come on; on your feet."

Balor watched his son gently pluck a few blades of grass and a handful of golden leaves from Dylan's dark curls. Then he collected an empty basket and the cloak that he and the mortal had been half-curled up on together. Watched him drape that same cloak around slender mortal shoulders in preparation of the winter cold waiting beyond the walls of the ensorcelled garden. Watched them walk out together. Nuada did not even protest when the dozen Butchers assigned to keep him in line gathered into formation around him and the human woman. The prince merely offered the human his arm in a formal escort's gesture, and he and Lady Dylan walked away.

After a long moment, Balor settled onto the wooden bench beneath the Fomorian rose tree. This garden had always been reserved for the queen of Bethmoora. Before Cethlenn, Balor's own mother had called it her own. Cethlenn's contribution to its beauty had been some of the roses and especially the great rose tree that now loomed above the king's head. They had spent hours beneath this tree over the centuries. It was beneath this tree, in fact, that the queen had told him she carried their children, their twins, Nuada and Nuala.

He had not set foot in this garden in a very long time. But he had managed to remain within its walls for nearly two hours now, studying the softness, the tenderness so newly awakened in his son. And it was easier to be within the garden even now that Nuada was gone. Balor wondered if he ought to credit the mortal with both the prince's transformation and the odd, subtle peace that had come over the king in the last hour.

Cethlenn, he thought then, and for the first time the agony was not as deep and crushing. Cethlenn... I do not know what is to be done about our son. I do not know if he can ever be salvaged. If there is anything left of the boy you knew. But if there is aught that can be done, this girl might just be the one to do it.

Balor closed his eyes and laid his palm against the rose tree, unconsciously mimicking Nuada's gesture from earlier that day. The king decided he might stay in the rose garden, just for a while.

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Nuada was surprised when the leader of the Butchers assigned to his babysitting detail agreed to keep the royal guard near the entrance to the kennels instead of insisting on following him inside.

Once he thought about it, however, he understood. It was warm in the antechamber just outside the kennels' main entrance, with comfortable wooden benches, and so long as he stayed in the main room and didn't venture into the back rooms, the guards would be able to see him and know where he was. And he suspected it was beneath the dignity of the royal elite to be pounced on by happy hound pups, anyway.

"Miyax," the Elf prince called. He knew the Mistress of the Kennels, by virtue of her agloolik senses, would hear him. So he merely leaned back against one of the countless stacked wooden crates that were supposed to go to various somewheres and waited.

The kennels had always filled him with a sense of peace - the sweet smell of fresh straw and rushes that carpeted the dog pens as well as the corridors and the floors of pretty much every other room in the building except sleeping quarters; the warmth from the lamps, kitchen and bedchamber hearths, and the hounds themselves; the sounds of kennel-workers caring for the animals, the yips of puppies at play, the comforting noise of the dogs sleeping or wrestling with each other or working with their handlers. This had been one of the places he had come with his father often as a boy. The kennels, the stables. They had always been a safe place. A happy place.

In a few moments, a woman stepped out from the back rooms and approached the prince. The wintry sunlight and the light from the lamps sent the thin sheet of ice on her dusky skin and midnight-black hair glittering like tiny diamonds. The only thing that kept her from looking completely fey and unreal to Dylan was the bits of straw clinging to her dark leather breeches, her white linen shirt, and her frosted hair. White fur trimming her long brown boots also had bits of straw chaff stuck to it.

A massive white wolf with sloe black eyes paced along at her side. Its thick, snowy fur glistened like hoarfrost. It left no footprints and did not stir the rushes and straw on the floor with its steps. No straw or other debris stuck to its body. Dylan noticed with a start that it cast no shadow.

Only a few paces away, the woman bowed. The wolf lowered its head in a strangely human gesture of respect. When the woman straightened, a smile curved her blue-tinged lips and crinkled the corners of her almond-shaped eyes. Dylan thought she caught a brief glimpse of cerulean and pale green flashing in the dark eyes.

"You honor the Royal Kennels with your presence, Your Highness," she said in a voice that held undercurrents of the creak and groan of ancient glaciers and the roar of northern winds. "Your return is always much looked for."

Nuada inclined his head. A fond smile played about his mouth. "It is good to be here. Miyax, I present my fair lady, Dylan of Central Park. Lady Dylan, this is Miyax Agloolik of Saami, Mistress of the Royal Kennels and one of my oldest friends."

Saami, the mortal thought with no little surprise. How did a native Inuit fae find such a high-ranking position in an Irish faerie kingdom? Saami, Dylan knew from study, was the fae kingdom farthest to the north, covering the whole of the Arctic Circle, a huge part of Canada, a little bit of Russia, Alaska, and the Aleutian Islands. She had heard - though she didn't know this for a fact - that the king of Saami was a giant shapeshifting polar bear, and that his queen was a fire sprite or something.

Miyax offered Dylan a short bow. "My lady, it is a pleasure to meet the one who has lightened my prince's heart. You have my deepest thanks. I take it, then, Your Highness, that you are here for that which we discussed when last you came to the kennels?" At Nuada's nod, the agloolik smiled. Her teeth were sharp as a wolf's. "I shall fetch Flannán for you, then, Sire."

"No need," Nuada said. "Bring the other two if they are ready."

As the wintry fae woman left the main room, Nuada raised two fingers to his lips and gave a sharp, short whistle. Dylan smiled. "I didn't know you could do that."

He arched a brow. "Can you not whistle?"

Dylan sighed in mock-despair. "Well, kinda-not-really, and not like that. I..."

She trailed off as the biggest dog she had ever seen slowly padded into the room.

Dark eyes regarded her steadily for a moment. Then the dog approached Nuada and sat at his feet, offering him a look of absolute adoration. The Elf laid a hand on the dog's head and scratched behind its ears. The dog's shoulder stood higher than Nuada's waist; the top of its head nearly reached his sternum. Its paws were as big as Dylan's hands. The slightly curly, bronze-colored fur was thick and silky-looking under the light.

"Dylan," Nuada said, and there was a wealth of pride in his voice. "This is Flannán."

*Hello, my lady,* the dog said. Dylan's jaw dropped. *Yes, I speak. I am a Sidhe Cú Faoil. We can speak. You are Master's lady. He has told me about you.* Flannán took a step towards Dylan, who tensed. That dog was nearly as tall as she was. *Do not be afraid. You are a friend. I do not bite friends.* Another step.

"She likes her ears scratched." Nuada made it a suggestion, paired with an encouraging smile. Hesitantly, mouth suddenly dry, Dylan reached out and touched the top of the faerie hound's head. The fur was as soft and silky as it looked. When she managed to give a tentative scratch, the dog sighed happily. Encouraged, Dylan carefully went to work on what was obviously a very itchy spot.

*Thank you,* Flannán sighed a moment later. *That is nice. Yes. Thank you very much. You give good scratches.* She gave Dylan's hand an affectionate bump with her head and then shook herself. *That is enough scratching. It was very nice. Master, Eimh is ready.* Nuada nodded his approval. *You will take Sétanta?*

Nuada pursed his lips. Sétanta was the second hound he had requisitioned to guard Dylan when he'd been making the arrangements for their return the day before. He had written a brief missive to Miyax telling her that a second beast would be needed as protector for his lady, and to speak to Flannán about finding the best one for the job. One who could work with Eimh, one who was steady and trustworthy and had good sense.

Flannán had chosen Sétanta. Nuada would not have considered the puppy a good choice in the least, but Flannán had insisted that this particular son was the best choice. She had been so insistent, in fact, that Nuada had been forced to agree. The Elven warrior still wasn't sure what to think about it all.

"Is he ready?" Nuada asked. Flannán whuffed, the hound equivalent of a nod. "Very well. Miyax went to fetch them-"

*Is it our turn to see Master yet?*

Dylan started a little at the voice that seemed to come from inside her own head. It hadn't been quite so strange with the adult Flannán, whose voice was mature and female, but this voice was young and impatient and clearly boyish. In fact, it reminded her very much of A'du'la'di. A reflexive smile spread across her face. Nuada saw it, saw that it lacked hardly any shadows, and felt some of the tension that had been tightening his shoulders ease back a little.

*Sétanta,* a second voice cried in dismay from somewhere beyond the main room. *Shut up! We are working!*

*We're not working yet, Eimh,* the first voice said. *When it is time to work, we will be serious then. Do not be such a hissy-cat.* Dylan's smile was slowly morphing into a grin. *What do you think Master's lady will be like?*

*I don't know! Shut up, before they hear us! Master's lady will not like us if we cannot work!*

*We are allowed to play until it is time to work,* the first voice insisted. *Master and Miyax both say so. And Mother says Master's lady needs a friend, not just a guard. We will be her friends and her guards. We will play games with her. We will love her. She will be our person. She will like us.*

*We are going to be sacked,* the second voice lamented, every word smothered in misery. *Master will not love us anymore. Mother will spank us. We will be disgraced. I will lose my squeaky ball. I will lose my special meatbone.* Then, with horrified conviction, *I will lose my comfy chair!*

Oh, the horror, Dylan thought, trying not to giggle. She glanced at Nuada, who was staring with fierce concentration at the ceiling. A muscle in his jaw twitched twice. He swallowed hard. When she made an inquiring noise, he flicked his gaze to her and she saw barely-suppressed mirth sparkling in the amber of his eyes.

*You will not lose your comfy chair.*

"If you two are quite finished," Nuada called, voice a lazy drawl. Dylan choked on a laugh. There were two high chorusing yips, almost like yelps of surprise. Then, a pair of hounds crept into the room on either side of Miyax. They kept their heads lowered but peeked up at Nuada from beneath their lashes, looking for all the world like a pair of children caught red-handed at being naughty. The hounds - Dylan supposed they were puppies, but they were easily the size of small deer and the tops of their heads reached her waist - came to a halt just behind Flannán.

*Master,* said one of the pups, a pure white beauty with honey-gold eyes and gargantuan paws. The other pup, whose coat shone like velvet midnight, bowed its head and echoed the other hound's address.

Miyax slid her hands into her breeches pockets and rocked back on her heels. "My lady, if I may present the hound-pups Eimh Ionsaí and Sétanta." With a quirked brow that sparkled with a dusting of hoarfrost, she added, "I could give you their pedigrees - they're thoroughbreds - but I doubt you would appreciate them. Simply put, they are Flannán's pups by His Highness's best war-hound. For all they can be silly at times, they will make wonderful guard dogs."

Dylan glanced at Nuada, who suddenly looked, to her trained eye, almost nervous. When the puppies had been talking to each other and mentioned her being "their person," she'd thought it simply excitement. Puppies often bounced between various people with the attitude that this newest friend was their new "person" - until they met another new person. But if she was getting this right, then Eimh and Sétanta were...

"They're for me?" She asked softly. Nuada canted his head. We will be her friends and her guards, Sentanta had said. "Extra protection?" She wanted to be certain she knew exactly what she was getting into.

"Protection," the prince acknowledged. "And companionship."

Translation, Dylan thought. I want to make sure you're safe... and I want to make sure you're happy here, if I can ensure it. She couldn't help it - she smiled. Something warm and soft fizzed pleasantly in her stomach at the thought. Nuada had arranged this for her. To protect her, and to make her happy.

*You are smiling,* the black pup - Sétanta - said diffidently. His ice-blue eyes were wide and hopeful. *Does this mean you like us?*

Miyax laughed. The gargantuan white wolf at her side made a whuffling sound - it sounded like wolfy laughter. "Let Lady Dylan get a look at you first."

Dylan would have knelt to really get a good look, but Sétanta made a small whining sound and very carefully touched her right knee with his nose before she could kneel. *You are hurt. Who hurt you? I will bite them. I have sharp teeth. See?* He bared his teeth briefly. *Who hurt you?*

She realized he'd somehow sensed her knee was busted. "It was a long time ago. The prince took care of the ones who hurt me."

Sétanta's long slender tail gave two little tick-tock motions. *Good. Master has sharp teeth, too. And a spear. Do not come down; we will come up.* And the puppy gave a graceful little leap onto more of the stacked wooden crates, landing without so much as a wobble or a scrabbling of claws. The white-furred pup followed quickly after her brother. Both dogs sat, looking for all the world as if, had they been human, they'd have been standing at military attention.

*I am Eimh Ionsaí,* the white hound said, and lowered her head the same way Flannán had done to Nuada. *It means 'swift attack.' But I like Eimh. I will guard you.*

*I'm Sétanta Cian. It means 'legendary protector.'* The black hound bowed his head. *I will guard you, too.* Then he gave Dylan what could only be called a puppy smile. *And we will be friends and play games so you will not be lonely. But we will be gentle because you are injured.*

Dylan laid her hands on both hounds' heads. They bestowed looks of absolute adoration on her. She looked at Nuada, grinned, and mouthed, Best gift ever. He flashed her that familiar smirk of smug male pride and inclined his head.

.

*We will love you forever, because you are our person,* Eimh said, trotting along beside Dylan as she, the puppies, Nuada, and the Butchers began the journey back to the main part of the castle. *And we will protect you-*

*And play with you-* Sétanta added, keeping pace in front of Dylan. For all his talk of playing, however, once they had left the kennels the little hound - "little" being a relative term - had become quite serious in keeping eyes, ears, and nose open for possible danger. Nuada watched him with approval. Dylan watched him with delight, finding him utterly adorable, which Sétanta was more than pleased by.

*And make you happy when you are sad,* Eimh continued as they went through the entrance, out of the deepening cold of the approaching winter night.

*We will sleep on your bed with you to keep you warm,* Sétanta said.

*Do not worry - we do not have fleas.*

*And I will not look when you are dressing," the black hound added. Dylan would've been embarrassed if anyone but she and Nuada had heard the puppy, but according to Nuada, the strange mental-speech ability the fey hounds possessed allowed them to be highly selective about who heard them when necessary. *Master and Miyax both say two-legger females do not like that.*

*And we will not jump in your bathtub, either. Or chew on your shoes. We have been trained.*

*Yes, we have been...* Sétanta trailed off for a moment, then suddenly dropped back a ways to put himself between Dylan and whatever he'd sensed or seen. Eimh moved forward to stand next to him. *He smells angry,* the black hound muttered. *He does not like Master's lady.*

Nuada and the Butchers had shifted to battle-readiness the moment the dog had reacted to whatever threat he'd sensed. "Who?" The Elven warrior demanded in a low voice. His hand rested lightly on the hilt of his sword. "Who doesn't like my lady?"

Eimh stretched out her neck and pointed down the corridor with the tip of her long muzzle. *The dragon Elf.*

Feral amber eyes zeroed in on a figure leaning against the wall, partially hidden by deepening shadows. The reclining figure straightened and turned, stepping more fully into the lamplight. Amber light shone on raven black hair that just barely brushed shoulders clad in dark green silk. Slanted eyes of midnight viridian with slitted golden pupils glared from beneath slender black brows. Nuada bit back an oath when he recognized the eastern-style sword known as a chokutō at the figure's side.

"Hail and well-met, Crown Prince Nuada Silverlance of Bethmoora, Heir to the Golden Throne of the Tuatha Dé Danann."

The voice was regal, and so cold it burned. When the figure came within an appropriate distance, Dylan realized it was a male Elf. An Elf, but unlike any she'd seen before. The slitted pupils didn't faze her after seeing Eammon, though these eyes of smoldering jade were more reptilian than cat-like. It was the scales.

There weren't many - in fact, there were hardly any, which was what made them so noticeable. Traceries of emerald and gold graced just beneath the Elf's brows and along the sides of his neck before disappearing beneath the collar of his biànfú, a formal Chinese silk tunic. The scales accented the upper ridge of eye-socket as well as the shallow depressions between the lines of muscle from just beneath the pointed ear down the side of the neck. When he straightened from the perfunctory bow he offered the Bethmooran prince, Dylan saw that scales glinted at his wrists and vanished under the hems of his sleeves.

Nuada offered the same short bow to the man before them, but his voice was warmer when he said, "Hail and well-met, Crown Prince Zhenjin Azurefire of Dilong, Heir to the Jade Throne of the Lóng De Chuán Rén."

Dylan went very still. This was Prince Zhenjin, older brother of Princess Ming Xian and crown prince of the Chinese Elf kingdom? The guy who was, last she'd heard, potentially planning on challenging Nuada to a fight to the death over the honor of his sister?

"We would have words with you, Crown Prince Nuada," Zhenjin said. "In private."

"By order of Our royal father, His Majesty King Balor, We go nowhere without an escort." Nuada gestured to the assembled Butchers. "May We not speak here, Crown Prince Zhenjin? We will order Our guards to fall back to afford Us a little privacy. Our lady," the prince added in a voice suddenly edged with shards of frost, "of course remains at Our side."

Zhenjin's jaw went tight. Dylan saw the fingers of his left hand twitch. Wanting a weapon? I thought Nuada said he and Zhenjin were friends, she mused as the Dilong prince canted his head in reluctant acquiescence. So why are they both being so formal? What's going on?

"Fall back a space," Nuada ordered the guards. Since they were not letting the prince out of their sight by doing so, they obeyed. Dylan and the hounds stayed where they were. "Sétanta and Eimh - you will both be on your best behavior." Both hounds glanced at the prince. Shifted a little. They did not release the tension humming through their bodies, but they no longer looked as if they meant to pounce on Prince Zhenjin.

The Dilong Elf stopped a pace away from Nuada. When he looked at the prince, Zhenjin's face betrayed a ripple of bewilderment and... was that just a touch of hurt? But when he looked at Dylan, there was nothing on that feral countenance or in those snake-slit jade eyes but contempt.

"This is the woman?" Zhenjin demanded softly.

Nuada shifted his weight. Tension coiled in Dylan's stomach when she saw the first glints of icy topaz in his gaze. "What woman would that be?"

"The whore you dishonor my sister by rutting with," the other prince hissed. "That woman. The human tramp."

"Be very careful, old friend," Nuada said too softly. Menace glittered in his jewel eyes. "I will stand for much from you that I will stand for from few others, but be very careful when you speak to or regarding my lady."

Zhenjin stared at him. Dylan almost felt sorry for the prince - he looked almost as if Nuada had hit him. "You are joking, surely."

Nuada's gaze remained cool and level. "Do I appear to be joking?"

The prince's mouth opened and closed soundlessly for a long moment. Then he managed to sputter, "Nuada, you cannot be serious. I... you... look at her!"

Ouch, Dylan thought, surprised the remark nettled as much as it did. But then, why not? Hadn't she told Nuada this would happen? That her scars, and her just-above-average looks beneath them, would be yet another mark against her and their relationship? Dylan tried to shrug off the sting of Zhenjin's remark. Managed it when she became distracted by the sudden chill emanating from Nuada. She glanced at her prince and saw the familiar muscle tic in his jaw.

I really hope he doesn't punch this guy, she thought. Dismissed the idea almost immediately. Nuada had grown up at court; he knew better than to give way to his temper. Although giving way to one's temper was a lot easier when the person you wanted to sock in the face was "an old friend."

"Perhaps We should rectify an oversight," Crown Prince Nuada Silverlance said in a voice like a rumble of thunder for all its softness. "Your Imperial Highness, Crown Prince Zhenjin Azurefire of Dilong, noble son of Huizong Tilung the Jade Dragon Emperor and Yeh-Shen Fenghuang the Serpent Empress, Heir to the Jade Porcelain Throne of the Lóng De Chuán Rén, it is with deepest pride and greatest pleasure that We present to you Our fairest and most esteemed lady, the savior of Our life and the recipient of Our highest regard, the jewel of Our Golden Court and the light of Our royal heart, Lady Dylan of Central Park."

Whoa, was all Dylan could think. In a blink, it seemed, the Elf at her side had gone from being her Nuada - albeit her Nuada in a really, really bad mood - to this proud and regal warrior prince who refused to take any disrespect from anyone. She'd never seen him quite like this before. This was not quite Nuada. This was Prince Nuada Silverlance, ice in his eyes and a razor's edge to his tongue despite the carefully enunciated courtly words. Dylan saw that Zhenjin had noticed the difference, too.

"Nuada," he said, and Dylan blinked in surprise at the undercurrent of betrayal in his voice. "I... she is a human. How can you have fallen in love with one of them? How could you do this? What were you thinking? Have you lost your mind?"

Nuada sighed, and the court mask dropped away again. "Zhenjin, you do not understand-"

"My father is demanding I challenge you for my sister's honor. Tonight. In front of the entire court of Bethmoora. We'll have to fight each other, Nuada. Do you think I want to step into the dueling ring knowing that I will die if I do not kill one of my dearest friends? Is she worth that? Is your human whore worth taking my life?"

Sétanta bristled, more at the Elven prince's tone than his words. Dylan instinctively laid a restraining hand on his back. He didn't lower his hackles, and he practically quivered under her touch, but he did not growl or snarl at Zhenjin. He only fixed his ice-blue eyes on the two-legger and glared. Eimh did the same. Both dogs kept themselves between their Master's lady and this new threat. Dylan, satisfied that her new dogs weren't going to attack the other prince, glanced at Nuada.

Each word was sharp enough to draw blood when Nuada said, "I will say it once more, and once more only - be very careful in how you speak of my lady."

Zhenjin swore. "You're right - I do not understand this. I do not believe this. For a few tumbles with a mortal, you would do this. Because you think yourself in love, you would fight me. Me? We rode to war together. We saved each other's lives. We fought against the humans together; against her kind. Have you forgotten what the sons of Adam have done to our peoples?"

The Bethmooran prince looked away. His fingers knotted into fists at his sides. "No," Nuada murmured. "I have not forgotten."

"Yes, you have," the Dilong prince said softly. "I can see it. Elsewise, how could you look on one of them with anything but disgust? They're monsters. They rape the world of everything it has, destroy all that is pure and good in it, and for what? You were the one to tell me, Nuada, that the humans will never have enough. That their greed would bring all to ruin. That they had to be stopped before they burned the world to ash. And now you're in love with one of them?"

"Zhenjin-"

"When I came to Bethmoora I thought it was rumor only. I thought there was no possible chance you had betrayed the fae with a human. Perhaps your father had forced you into an injudicious position. Perhaps there was something else I didn't know about. I was going to help you somehow. But I saw you with her as you came down this hall. It was plain enough that she'd bewitched you somehow. You've sold your honor, and for what? The lowly pleasure of sporting with a mortal-"

"Okay, that's enough," Dylan snapped, wrenching both men's attention towards her. Eimh and Sétanta tensed. Nuada glared at her, the warning to back off evident on his face, but Dylan only stared into Zhenjin's glittering snake eyes and continued, "You have no idea what you're talking about. You said Nuada's your friend, or he was. If you were so close, if you liked him so much, I imagine you trusted him, right? So why don't you trust him now? You saw us together - so what? Maybe there's something going on you don't know about. Maybe you're missing a few details. You thought about it before you got all ticked off, but would you deign to consider it now? Maybe I'm different than other humans. Maybe I did something that made Nuada think I'm different. Ever think of that?"

The other prince scoffed. "What could you possibly have done? You, with your human weakness and your mortal stupidity?" Dylan's expression went flat, but she said nothing. "What could you have done to warrant this softness he feels for you? There is nothing. Humans are incapable of compassion, of mercy, of love, of any true sentiment or kindness. And he's become such a fool, he's so enamored with you, he does not realize you don't even love him-"

"Don't ever say that I don't love Nuada." Dylan refused to look away from that jewel-like stare. "Don't you dare. You have no idea what he and I have been through together. You have no idea what we have suffered for each other."

"Suffered? What would a creature like you know about true suffering? You have lived for what - two decades? Maybe three? What would you know-"

"Show him," Dylan bit out from between clenched teeth. Nuada stared at her. She wrenched her eyes away from Zhenjin to glare up at Nuada. "He really wants to know? Show him. You've projected memories and stuff into my head before. Can you do it to him?" When Nuada nodded warily, Dylan folded her arms and repeated, "Then show Prince Zhenjin just what I know of suffering. What we know. Show him the truth, and let our actions defend us since talking seems to be pointless."

More than a little stunned by this sudden flash of reckless temper, the Elf prince murmured, "Mo mhuire, I do not think-"

Dylan scowled. "I'm sick of people insulting you because you're dating me. I'm sick of people insulting you period. And His Imperial Highness called me stupid. I get to take offense at that. He wants to insult either of us, he needs to know what he's talking about first. Let's see if he can stomach the truth."

The truth, the mortal thought with just a touch of hysteria, was that her heart thundered in her chest hard enough to bruise her ribcage and she could feel the sweat trickling down her spine like ice water. Because what she was telling Nuada to do was... the idea had simply popped into her head as a flash of heat had warmed her uncomfortably tight chest. Her first instinct had been denial. No way was she going to show her darkest, most brutal memories to this creep. The very idea made her sick. But the flare of golden warmth in her chest had persisted.

"I can stomach whatever you care to show me, human," Zhenjin spat. Turning to glare at Nuada, the Dilong prince extended his hand, palm up. "Show me, then, Nuada. Show me what prompted you to betray us and become a pet of the humans like our fathers."

Molten bronze eyes narrowed. Slashed to Dylan's expressionless face. "Everything?" The Silver Lance demanded.

She lifted on shoulder in an elegant half-shrug. "You may show him everything that's mine. If there's something of yours you don't want him to see, I'm not going to try and make you show it to him."

Nuada laid his hand upon Zhenjin's, palm to palm. He flicked a glance at his friend. "Brace yourself, then. I will make this quick."

Dylan knew the moment the Dilong prince saw the first memory, whatever it was - his face paled and revulsion twisted his features. What did he see, she wondered? Where had Nuada begun? With her attack in the subway? Finding a helpless woman so battered and broken that she didn't even possess the will to scream anymore, trapped beneath human wolves? If she tried, she could picture how she must have looked to him in those first moments, in her scarlet dress with her blood smeared across her face and streaking her thighs, filling her mouth, pooling on the concrete, soaking the scraps of her clothes. So much blood. Was that what Zhenjin saw?

It lasted less than five minutes. By the end of it, the prince was nearly gray with something too brutal to be shock and too pitying to be horror. Sweat dampened his dark hair. The hand he raked through his hair trembled a little. Dylan wondered if Nuada had shown him what Eamonn had done to them both. Wondered if he now knew about her parents, and Saint Vincent's, and Westenra and the Blackwood brothers. She wondered, and felt more than a little sick at the thought of him knowing.

Zhenjin croaked something in what sounded to Dylan like Mandarin Chinese and pulled his other hand away from Nuada's. He gazed up at the somewhat taller Bethmooran prince with slightly glassy eyes. Then, slowly, like a man waking from a dream, he turned to Dylan and stared at her as if he'd never seen anything like her before.

"Tell me again," Zhenjin murmured. Somehow, Dylan knew exactly what he meant. She locked eyes with the Elf prince.

"I love Nuada more than my own life," she said. "I would do almost anything for him."

The crown prince of Dilong nodded slowly. "I believe you. For insulting you both earlier... I apologize." He swallowed. Dylan wondered absently if he might be feeling a little sick. What exactly had Nuada shown him? "Nuada... my father has ordered that I challenge you for Ming's honor tonight at a banquet. You know I must obey."

The Bethmooran prince canted his head. "I know it. We are both bound by the dictates of our honor. Yours demands your obedience to your emperor. I do not hold that against you, old friend."

"You know that I cannot hold back in a battle."

A beat of silence. "That I know as well."

Zhenjin sighed, then bowed. "I take my leave, Prince Nuada. Milady."

Watching the Dilong prince stride away, to be met near the end of the hall by a trio of silent, black-clad Elves that she guessed were the prince's bodyguards, Dylan suddenly thought that maybe Nuada's life wasn't the only one that probably had to really, really suck. Looking into her prince's face, the mortal was sure of it. Even though it might have been considered inappropriate, she laced her fingers with Nuada's and gave his hand a reassuring squeeze.

It'll be okay, she said through their link. With the added mental contact, she could feel more than just the tension thrumming through Nuada's body. Through their joined hands Dylan sensed anger - not at her, and not at Zhenjin, but at the emperor and the situation - as well as worry and a sharp sadness. It'll be okay, she repeated.

I do not want to fight him, Dylan. The confession was so soft she barely heard it. They began to walk again, acting outwardly as if nothing at all had happened. I do not want to fight and kill one of my friends. I do not want to do battle for a stupid old man's pride. I do not want to hurt Zhenjin. I do not want to kill him.

Well... he has to fight you to the death, she said slowly, trying to think of something, anything that could help. Right? By order of the Dilong Emperor. But that guy's not your emperor. You don't have to do what he says. This is your kingdom. You're prince here. So... you don't have to fight to the death, do you? You could incapacitate Zhenjin and win that way, couldn't you?

Perhaps. But I do not now know for certain. I had thought he would help me in this fight; that we would make a show of it, and then I would defeat him without too much bloodshed. But he has just warned me that such a thing is not possible. Zhenjin is - or was, last we saw each other - my equal in battle. It would take all I have to defeat him without holding back. If I try to beat him without killing him, when he is truly in the battle for my blood, I do not know for certain if I will win or not. What say you to that, my lady?

By this time, they were at the door to Nuada's suite. Uncaring of the eyes of the guards, uncaring that anyone might walk by and see them, Dylan turned to Nuada and framed his lean face between her hands. "Then all I can say is that I'm sorry."

He tucked a lock of hair behind one ear. "You always say that. 'I'm sorry.' But you don't mean it. Your true meaning is, 'I sorrow for your grief. I lament your pain. I mourn for your sadness.' Is it not?"

Dylan nodded. In that moment, Nuada's gaze hurt her heart. Made her want to cry. She had rarely seen him look so sad.

But she didn't cry. If she did, he would feel compelled to comfort her when he was the one who needed comforting. She only mouthed the words, I love you. It eased some of the tightness in his expression. He turned his head to press a kiss to her palm.

"Come," he said briskly after stepping back from her. "We have a banquet, and a challenge, to prepare for."

Oh, fun, Dylan thought with no little sarcasm, and followed him through the door.

.

In a reversal of the gender roles Dylan had often taken for granted, she was ready well in advance of Nuada. In fact, all she'd done was get her hair wet to give it back its curl without so much of the frizz; changed into a different and more formal gown; and added makeup.

The makeup had been mostly to do something about the odd paleness she couldn't seem to get rid of - soft bronzer at her temples, cheekbones and jawline and gentle blush just beneath the cheekbones kept her from looking like a corpse. A bit of cheating with lipstick made her mouth less pale as well. She kept it all subtle, so the effect only made her look healthier instead of dolled-up. Nuada's words about her looks from earlier that afternoon still echoed in her head.

Am I getting sick again? Dylan wondered while 'Sa'ti fetched a pair of soft suede boots from the wardrobe and Dylan dabbed just a tiny spot of perfume at her throat. Is that why I'm so tired all the time lately? Why I look so pale? Or is it just the stress of everything?

She'd been worried about making Nuada late to this banquet thing. As it turned out, when the prince finally deigned to appear, the mortal had worn a metaphorical hole in the carpet of her sitting room with all of her pacing. So many thoughts zipped through her brain. He doesn't know if he can win but he has to accept. What will he do when it's time to fight Zhenjin? How do I help him?

"You look lovely," Nuada said from the door connecting his suite to hers. Dylan jumped. She hadn't even noticed him. "Almost fey."

Dylan flushed with pleasure. "Thank you." Suddenly feeling oddly shy, she smoothed her hands over the wine-red velvet of her kirtle and murmured, "You look wonderful." And he did, in burgundy silk tunic and trews with touches of sable and rich gold embroidery. Bethmoora's crest gleamed against a black sash in the lamplight. His sword rested at his side. He needed no crown or symbol of office. In that moment he looked more like a prince than ever before. "You really do," she added.

Nuada studied her. Did she know her face practically glowed with pride in him? And did she know how truly beautiful she looked, dressed as a lady of the court in champagne silk and claret velvet, with her medallion glittering gold at her throat and the ring he had made for her gracing her finger? But he could also see she was nervous.

"Take a breath, mo duinne," Nuada murmured as he reached up and brushed back a lock of Dylan's hair. "It will be all right."

"I'm breathing," she replied brightly. "I'm totally breathing. We'll be fine. It'll be great. Never mind that everyone will be staring at me." She bit her lip. "I hate being stared at. Cripes. But it's okay," she added. "Because we'll be together. It will be just fine. Except for your dad being there. And the challenge-to-the-death thing."

He could see the nerves beginning to buzz in her voice and through her mind, worry over what was to come. Adoping his most pragmatic tone, he said, "Well, when put that way... we are quite clearly doomed. Whatever shall we do?"

Dylan shot him a look. "We mortals have a saying, Your Highness - it's not over 'til the fat lady sings." At his puzzled frown, she shrugged. "Opera reference. Anywho, and as for what should we do, in my family we have another saying. When life gives you lemons-"

"Make lemonade?" Nuada suggested as they moved to the door. Dylan scoffed.

"Heck, no. When life gives you lemons, attack life and pour lemon juice in its eyes. See how life likes it. Throw the lemons back. Demand to see life's manager. Make life rue the day it dared to give you lemons." She grinned as Nuada's mouth twitched. "Then make lemonade."

"I shall keep that in mind."

A'du'la'di and 'Sa'ti lamented their great misfortune in being too young - and, though neither adult mentioned this, too superfluous - to attend the banquet. Tsu's'di, on the other hand, looking quite handsome in formal livery with Dylan's new and official personal crest as a badge on his shoulder, was allowed to come by virtue of being Dylan's official bodyguard, and bore his long-knife on one hip and a shorter dagger on the other. If things were so dangerous that neither weapon proved effective, the ewah youth would simply shift and slash his way through his enemies with cougar claws and fangs.

Eimh whined low in her throat when Nuada told her that she, too, was not coming to the banquet. One hound would not raise eyebrows (many fae lords and ladies brought dogs and, in some cases, cats wherever they went - even to formal dining halls. It helped that many of the non-Elven members of Balor's court were bestial in some way. For example, Princess Nuala's lady-in-waiting, Lady Na'ko'ma, had feathers). Two, however, was one too many. Sétanta would be allowed to accompany Dylan and help Tsu's'di in guarding her.

*Why is Sétanta allowed to come but I'm not?* Eimh asked meekly. Her words held a definite canine whine to them. *Am I in trouble?*

Sétanta himself nudged his sister with his nose and engaged her in a private mental conversation that seemed to make her feel better. Her tail gave a few hesitant tick-tock motions before Eimh whuffed quietly, licked the black hound's muzzle, and curled up in front of the sitting room fireplace and closed her eyes.

What did he tell her? Dylan asked Nuada while the prince, his lady, and her two guardians stepped into the corridor. Dylan kept her fingers laced with Nuada's; until they reached the corridor outside the formal dining hall, she wanted as much physical contact as possible. The warmth of Nuada's skin against hers was always soothing.

No doubt exactly what I told him, the prince replied. They spoke in silence to keep their conversation private from the Butcher Guards accompanying them. That you would be nervous about this banquet, and that you would need someone to keep your spirits up. Eimh is very straight-laced, and prides herself on taking her role seriously. Sétanta, on the other hand, will be able to protect you and make you smile if it's needed.

You think of everything, don't you? You're a genius.

Hardly a genius, mo duinne. But, he added with the ghost of that familiar smug male smirk, I am an Elven prince.

So I've heard, she said, and they exchanged a brief smile. The shared smile slipped away when they reached the banquet hall. Nuada muttered something deprecating under his breath. What's the matter?

We're late. And I know you do not like being stared at.

Dylan began to sweat. Being late meant everyone was probably already seated. Or standing, waiting to be seated. Were they supposed to wait for the royal family to all take their seats first? Were they going to get death glares when they walked in? They were all going to be staring at her. The entire court. They would see her in her rather non-Irish dress, with her slashed and scarred face and her crooked nose, standing next to Nuada and... and what? She couldn't even think that far ahead.

With a faint creak, the doors to the formal dining hall began to swing inward. Nuada shifted his grip on Dylan's hand so that instead of the intimate entwined fingers, she was on his arm in a formal escort's gesture. She immediately missed the solid strength of his hand gripping hers. The herald announcing them seemed to be speaking from a long ways off. Dylan felt lightheaded. Was she hyperventilating already?

Relax, Dylan. Nuada's voice was a soft encouragement. It pushed back the dizziness and allowed her to draw a real breath. You can do this easily. I am right beside you. Mo dathúil calman gheal, my lovely white dove, be brave for me. You can do this.

Thank you, Nuada. For being with me. Not just at her side, but truly with her. He understood, and in front of the entire court of Bethmoora, he smiled at her and mouthed the words, Let's do this.

Dylan grinned.

.

Dinner went surprisingly swiftly once she and Nuada took their seats. Balor had not waited for them, even though the dinner was (officially, at least) supposed to be in honor of Nuada's return. The court did stare, whisper, and in some cases point at the pair of them. No one batted an eye at Sétanta's presence. Tsu's'di, however, drew quite a lot of attention - from a few nobles, but mostly from younger court ladies and several serving maids. The young guard seemed to remain quite oblivious. Sétanta took up residence at Dylan's feet beneath her chair.

Dylan was intensely if unwillingly grateful to Balor for the seating arrangements - he'd put her between Nuala and Nuada. She was glad to be so close to her prince, and without a stranger seated near her, but Nuada seemed oddly tense. Possibly because he was sitting beside his father? Or because Zhenjin and four other Dilong Elves were seated at the king's table? She wasn't sure. She saw nothing of Ming Xian, but wasn't surprised since the princess was supposed to be a little girl. Dylan presumed she was in bed already.

The king's table was on a dais near the front of the dining hall, with other tables set before it so that everyone could see the king and the king could, if he chose to look, see everyone. When Dylan took quick peeks at the rest of the hall, the inhabitants of the other tables were always watching. It made eating rather awkward.

She tried to get good looks at everyone seated at the king's table as well without drawing anymore attention to herself. A subtle brush of Nuada's fingertips against her palm beneath the table allowed the prince to tell her just who their seatmates were: Prince Hou Junji, Prince Goazu, Princess Yin-Mei, Crown Prince Zhenjin, and Emperor Huizong of Dilong to the king's right. Between the emperor and King Balor stood an empty seat that Nuada explained silently was in honor of Queen Cethlenn, Nuada's mother. Then there was Balor, then Nuada and Dylan, then Nuala. On Nuala's other side sat a tall, broad Elf with summer-blue eyes and shoulder-length golden hair in clothes just as finely cut as Nuada's and Zhenjin's, who kept casting fond glances at the Bethmooran princess, though he also had a warm smile and greeting for the Silver Lance as well. Nuada explained that this was Crown Prince Bres of Cíocal, and that the darkly handsome Fomorian Elf on his other side was Ciaran MacAengus of Caer Ibormeth in Cíocal, the Fomorian crown prince's oldest and dearest friend.

Both Fomorian Elves sent rivulets of ice water trickling down Dylan's back, though they both offered her pleasant smiles and greetings. She wondered if her uneasiness in their presence was due to the horror stories she'd heard about the Fomorians and tried to push the nerves away. She made sure not to look too often at Ciaran, however - for some reason, whenever she glanced his way she got a mild headache.

Dylan found that Nuala, despite the cool civility of her relationship with the princess, made a very comforting dinner companion. The Bethmooran princess made sure to include the human in her conversation with Prince Bres and somehow managed to smooth the raw edges of Dylan's nervousness with soft comments or witty remarks. She didn't make fun of Dylan or insult Nuada, which helped.

Bres was all charm, paying compliments to Nuala's beauty and Dylan's "conquest" of Nuada. Although the guests at the royal table who overheard seemed to think it funny, Dylan noticed Nuada's jaw clench and the tension in the Dilong emperor's eyes. And whenever Bres made veiled inquiries about Dylan's face, Nuala steered them to a different topic.

And when Dylan's stomach flutters threatened to get the best of her, Sétanta was always there with a joke or a comment to ease the nerves. Nuada had been right; the hound pup had a superb sense of timing when it came to irony and humor in general.

The food, for the most part, was wonderful. Unlike during the Samhain feast the last time she had been in Findias, Dylan was not so distracted and uneasy that she couldn't eat. And either Nuada or Becan had spoken to the kitchen staff, or Caspar had remembered himself, but while everyone else drank beer or wine - or in the case of the Dilong Elves, tea - Dylan's glass held nothing but sweetened cider.

She was surprised that Nuala, who seemed like such a dainty thing, ate nearly as much as Nuada. The mortal couldn't blame her, though. She'd never even heard of half of the stuff the servers brought - coddle stew, for instance, made with deliciously seasoned pork and potatoes; colcannon, a potato and kale dish Nuada encouraged her to try, which turned out to be divine; and crubeens, which Nuala informed her firmly that she didn't have to eat if she didn't want to, since only barbarian males let such vile things touch their tongues. Dylan was grateful for that, since the stuff looked grotesquely similar to boiled pigs' feet - but between the stuff she ventured to try and the stuff she already knew she liked, she was hard-pressed not to stuff her face like a teenage boy.

She wondered how anyone could eat all of this and still have room for dessert. Princess Nuala seemed to sympathize.

"After the banquet, when things have quieted down, if my brother will allow it we can sneak off to the kitchens and see what of the desserts is left," Nuala whispered in Dylan's ear. "He and I used to do so all the time as children, but he may think it beneath his dignity to play such children's games now."

Dylan arched a brow. "Don't worry about that, Your Highness. We'll be there."

Nuala smiled, and Dylan was surprised to find herself smiling back without any effort at all. "Oh, good. I would like us to be friends, Dylan," the princess added softly. "If that is all right with you."

The mortal hesitated a moment, then said, "I'd like that." It was neither a yes or a no. Simply a statement. Perhaps Nuala could be a friend. Perhaps. She was certainly being nice enough right now. Dylan would have to discuss it with Nuada to make sure there wasn't some trap she was too inexperienced to see.

Talking with Nuala allowed Dylan to eat without really thinking about it, and so Dylan often found herself finished when she'd been certain she was too nervous to eat a thing. And to Dylan's surprise, talking with both of the royal twins helped her to forget what she knew was coming at the end of the banquet. It wasn't until the end of the very last course - a marvelous lemon custard that, Nuala informed her in a whisper, was Nuada's favorite - that she remembered, because Zhenjin stood up.

"Your Majesty King Balor, if I may speak?"

Balor flicked a glance at Huizong, who returned the look with a level gaze. He did not so much as glance at his son. Beside Dylan, Nuada had gone very still. Dylan could feel the tension radiating off of him. He didn't look at the Dilong prince, but at a point somewhere beyond him. The Bethmooran court hissed and murmured.

"Speak, Crown Prince Zhenjin."

"Your Majesty, the royal family of Dilong was under the impression that Crown Prince Nuada Silverlance was promised to our princess, Her Highness Princess Ming Xian. That promise has fallen through and dishonored our princess, my sister. I would challenge Prince Nuada to single combat for the honor of my sister."

For a brief moment Dylan thought Balor would refuse. There was just a flicker, there and gone, in the aged amber eyes. A flicker of what, she didn't know, but she saw it. Instead, the king turned to Nuada and said, "What say you, Prince Nuada? Will you accept this challenge, or back down?"

Nuada slowly rose to his feet. The murmuring courtiers fell silent. There was a cruel weight pressing and pressing on Dylan's chest until she could scarcely breathe.

Glacial topaz eyes met a gaze of reptilian emerald. Something passed between Nuada and Zhenjin, so swift no one could catch it. Nuada almost imperceptibly inclined his head. Zhenjin did the same. Then Nuada said, in a voice completely devoid of emotion, "I accept your challenge, Prince Zhenjin. We will fight for the honor of your sister in three days' time. Is that acceptible to you?"

"It is acceptible."

Both princes took their seats again as if nothing had happened. But Dylan felt the tension rolling off Nuada in waves, and Nuala cast surreptitious glances at her twin from the corner of her eye. Nuada acted as if neither woman existed and focused on eating. After a while, the rest of the dining hall went back to their meal as well.

.

The banquet over, back in Nuada's room, Dylan expected the prince to start pacing. Or at least swearing. Instead he merely went to the window again and stared out at the snow-swept winter night. She recognized the taut set of his shoulders from the night before. Well, she wasn't going to let him wallow in misery again.

"You wanna talk about it?" She asked, moving to the windowseat. The window glass chilled her skin through the back of her dress. "Or are you just going to brood some more?" Nuada slashed her with a look. She didn't flinch. "Don't look at me like that. Last night we were farther apart than we have been since the first days in your sanctuary, despite there only being a door between us. You ordered me to leave, but you didn't really want me to, did you? You sent me away - why? Because you think I can't handle it? Because you think relying on me makes you weak?"

His eyes were glacial when they pinned her in place. "Relying on you does make me weak, Dylan. You're not a warrior. You're fragile, vulnerable. Human. You're a weakness, one I can scarcely afford. Letting you become a bigger weakness would be foolish."

"So you don't want my help?" She demanded, folding her arms and laying them on her updrawn knees. "After promising that we would look out for each other, protect each other. After everything we've been through together, all you can say to me is that I'm a weakness? That I'm a liability? Useless?"

He turned away from her. "How could a human ever protect one of the fae?"

"In case you've forgotten, Your Highness," Dylan snapped, jerking upright, "I've saved your life at least twice! You would've died the night we met if not for me. And the night your father had you flogged, the shock and the poison would have killed you if I hadn't shown up when I did. Don't tell me I can't protect you just because I'm human. And who was it who was sobbing in my arms over a nightmare not three nights ago? You didn't seem to think me so useless then!"

"And what help are you going to be in this?" He demanded. His eyes blazed molten bronze. "I have to kill one of my oldest friends, and for what? So that we might be together. So that I might be with you! Because of you, because of what you have made me feel, I am forced to fight Zhenjin, who has been my ally and my friend for thousands of years, and kill him! And you think you can help me?"

She just looked at him for a moment. He was uncertain if she even breathed. Then she got up and went to the door connecting their rooms. "I have work tomorrow. Early. I don't know when I'll be back. Excuse me, Your Highness."

"Dylan, wait-"

The door clicked shut behind her. After a few seconds, Nuada heard the snick of the lock engaging, echoing like a gunshot. He sank down onto the windowseat and dropped his head into his hands. Why? Why was it becoming so easy to turn on her, to hurt her? Why did his anger seem to bubble up, thick and noxious and dark in his veins, at the slightest provocation?

He thought of her expression, so curiously blank before she'd gotten up and left. He'd never seen her look that way. Never heard that strange tonelessness in her voice before. It made him uneasy... and guilty. I am sorry, mo duinne. I'm sorry. I did not mean to hurt you. Did not mean to say those things.

But the door was locked. Dylan had made it very clear, with that and with her empty words, that she did not want to speak to him just then.

Nuada sighed and turned to stare out the window into the frigid darkness, wondering if he would be able to sleep tonight. Somehow, he doubted it.

.

"Well?" Bres asked, approaching the scarlet-cloaked Dierdre. The gancanaugh gazed up from one of the public palace gardens at a lit window. The amber glow from inside was marred by the silhouette of a person. "Is that Nuada brooding up there?"

"Indeed," Dierdre murmured. A smile curved her lips. She had been watching the drama unfolding beyond the glass. Hadn't heard anything, but she was a mistress of reading body language. Nuada had been enraged, the human bitter and hurt. Then she'd left the prince's room altogether. "And the mortal tramp is in her room as well. Things seem to be going ill with the little lovebirds. I think your spell is working quite well, my prince. It's left them both depressed, anxious, paranoid. It's all coming together quite nicely."

"I am glad you're pleased."

Pleased? She was vastly more than pleased. Yet another night when the filthy tramp was unavailable to warm the prince's bed. Eventually the wedge driving between them would be enough to send him running to her, to Dierdre. Which was where he belonged - until she tired of him and let Bres kill him as he planned.

The gancanaugh cuddled against the Fomorian prince, her smile morphing into a grin. "And I have a request."

A golden brow winged upwards. "A request, my sweet? Haven't we done enough to them for now?"

Dierdre shook her head so that her glamored titian curls bounced. "Not at all. Until the spell takes full effect, I'm going to be so bored, Bres. Please, I have an idea for a little prank I can play on the mortal. But I know better than to do anything without your permission, my prince. Please, might I play my prank? It's nothing dangerous and nothing that will draw attention to our plans. But it will tear the very heart out of the little human slut. Please?"

"Give it a bit more time, my love. Then you can have your little joke. Until then, be patient. Try to be satisfied with watching the mighty Silverlance and his whore self-destruct while their world goes to hell all around them." He pressed a kiss to her temple. "Come along, sweeting."

"As you wish, my prince."

But Dierdre cast one last look of longing back at Nuada's window. Bres bit back a snarl and merely offered her his arm. It wouldn't do to let Dierdre know she could make him just a little jealous of Silverlance. Besides, it was only fair, he supposed, since he had such delicious plans for Princess Nuala.