Chapter 63 - Shadows

that is

A Short Tale of

an Awakening, an Admittance, Butchers, the Prince's Confession, Interruption, What Might Be Jealousy, and a Looming Threat

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She didn't know she was crying, didn't know she'd squeezed her eyes shut, until trembling fingertips brushed the wetness from her cheek and her eyes snapped open. A pair of eyes the color of weak lemonade met hers. There was that tender stroke of fingers against her cheek again. She clutched Nuada's hand. Made a soft sound.

Shhh, Nuada said silently, his mental voice so soft and exhausted she could barely hear it. Shhh. Do not... cry, Dylan. It's... all right.

"Oh," she breathed. The room suddenly felt too small, as if the air were pressing down on her. "Oh, Nuada. You're awake. You... you're awake." Then she was sobbing, pressing her cheek against his palm, and mumbling, "You jerk, you stupid jerk, you scared the heck outta me, I ought to smack you into next week, I thought you were going to die, I thought I'd never see you again, you're such a jerk, how could you do that to me, you stupid Elf, how could you leave me like- what are you doing?"

Because it looked a lot like he was trying to sit up. Trying, and failing. Putting weight on his injured arm made him wince. Despite that, he kept at it until, with Dylan's reluctant help, he'd managed to get partially upright, reclining on the pillows. The effort left him pathetically winded, in his opinion. At least he could see her better, though. And reach her much more easily.

Though his hand shook with the effort, he cupped her cheek. Felt the warm tears sliding against his palm and over the back of his hand. "Do not cry," he whispered. "Please do not cry. It's all right."

"I thought you were going to die," she whispered, nuzzling his palm and failing to fight back tears. She cradled his wrist with one hand, feeling his arm shake with the effort of holding it up, feeling the muscle straining under the slightly cool skin. Her other hand stroked up and down his lower arm, desperate to touch him. Desperate for tangible proof this was really happening. "You almost died. You almost... I'm sorry for yelling. I'm sorry for all the horrible things I said before, I'm so sorry, I don't know what I was thinking, I love you so much, I love you-"

"Shhh." His thumb stroked along her cheek, caressing one of her scars. His breath wheezed harshly in his chest, and his face was frightfully pale, but he managed to keep his hand against her face. "Shhh, Dylan. It is all right, mo duinne. You need not be sorry. Everything is all right. I'll not leave you again, I promise."

"You better not," she whispered. Closed her eyes. "You just better not."

"Mo cridh...." Nuada drew a breath that sent tingles of pain through his chest. Not quite healed, he realized. He would have to be careful. Ah, well. He was alive, at least. Alive, and his truelove was with him, and he let his gaze drift over her face like a caress. He'd heard her speaking to him in the darkness. Whispering to him. Calling for him. Pleading with him to come back to her. Even heard her singing ever so softly now and then. And he had heard Dylan praying for him, her voice thick with tears and fear and hope. Could not recall anyone ever doing that before. "Dylan," he murmured. Her sigh was warm against his wrist.

For long moments he merely sat with her, reveling in the satin softness of her cheek under his fingers and the way the winter morning sunlight gilded her skin, in the sheer fact that he had survived the strike that could have killed him.

Dylan opened her eyes and gifted him with a gentle look. "You said you had something to tell me. After the duel. What was it?"

A smile spread across his face. His eyes warmed to honeyed gold. "Do you not know, milady?"

An answering smile curved her mouth. "Whether I know or not isn't the point," she reminded him. "The point is that you had some words to say to me, and you promised you'd tell them to me after your battle. Well, the battle's over. So I want to hear what you have to say."

"Maybe I wish to keep it a secret," Nuada said. With every moment spent awake, a little more strength returned to him. His arm no longer trembled with the effort of keeping it raised, and his breathing was not so harsh. "Or perhaps you are recalling nothing more than the mad ravings of a man who feared death."

She arched a brow. "If you weren't injured, I'd smack you. What were you going to say? Tell me or else."

His smile morphed into a grin of little-boy mischief. "Kiss me and I shall tell you. I have not had a kiss from your sweet lips in too long."

"Okay, first of all, Your Highness, that is really cheesy. Second of all, it's only been three days since the last time we kissed." Not that Dylan hadn't missed kissing Nuada as well. "And third of all, tell me and I'll kiss you," she countered.

Fingers trailing slowly over her cheek to skim along the delicate line of her jaw, Nuada replied, "I do not know why I put up with your insults. And three days is too long; do you not agree?" He shifted his weight carefully to bring himself just a little closer. Did she know that she automatically shifted as well, mimicking him? "When a man courts Death so closely, he gains a new appreciation for more earthly pleasures. After Death's cold but fleeting kiss, I find myself craving something sweeter."

She tried - she really did - but she just couldn't help giggling. "I'm sorry," she murmured between giggles while Nuada leveled a fierce scowl at her. "I'm sorry, but... does stuff like that really work on the girls you know? Does it really?"

His scowl intensified. She thought her pinkie toe might have been quivering. "I was trying to be romantic," he growled.

Dylan offered him an apologetic smile. "It's not working."

"Woman-"

"Well, now," an overly-cheerful voice interrupted. Dylan turned to see Chief-Healer Somhairle sweep into the healing chamber in a flurry of dark green robes, followed by a hesitant Tsu's'di. When had the cougar boy left? "I see you are awake at last, Your Highness. Wonderful. His Majesty the king will be very pleased."

Because she was yet holding his hand, Dylan was the only one who heard Nuada's response: somehow, I very much doubt that. She pressed his fingers to her cheek and caught his eye. Dark lips quirked into a weary half-smile. He sighed, as if to say, Some things do not change. Dylan brushed her cheek against his palm. His smile became a little less weary, recapturing some of the lightheartedness from before Somhairle's arrival.

Somhairle swooped in like a moon-pale, blond vulture to examine the prince and make certain everything was healing according to the spells' schedule - and thus, Chief-Healer Somhairle's schedule. The Elven healer, Dylan learned during his babbling session to the prince, liked things to go according to schedule. Since he was the king's personal physician, she imagined his rank ensured his underlings paid attention to such things as well.

Nuada agreed to submit to being poked and prodded by the tall, wirey Tuatha de on the condition that Dylan left the room. Dylan informed her prince that any attempts to implement such a plan would result in her denting his head with a chair.

Somhairle watched in scandalized fascination as mortal and Elf bargained back and forth for a few minutes.

"It would hardly be proper for you to remain-"

"Oh, c'mon! It's not like I've never seen you naked before," the human argued. Somhairle and Tsu's'di both gaped at her in astonishment.

"That was different-"

"I'm a healer," she reminded him, folding her arms beneath her breasts and pursing her lips. "I've seen naked men before. You don't have anything I haven't seen. I am so not concerned. Stop being a baby and do what the nice Elf doctor tells you."

Almost against his will, the Elven warrior's mouth quirked. "Do you intend to henpeck me like some shrewish dwarf wife?"

Dylan laughed out of sheer relief. "Oh, you betcha. Get used to it, Your Royal Highness. Someone has to keep you in line when you're being stubborn."

"I am never stubborn."

She bit her lip to keep from laughing again. "Oh, Your Highness. You should be ashamed to tell such lies."

Nuada smiled and caught her hand to press it to his lips. Silently, he murmured, Dylan, I am asking you to step out for a few minutes. I know I do not look well. My injuries were quite serious, I know. I want to get a decent look at myself before I let you see the damage. And... and I have not the strength to stand on my own. It is... embarrassing for you to see me so weak. So helpless.

Nuada-

You asked me to start trusting you with what I consider my weaknesses. I am trying to do so. I do not wish for you to see me helpless, for more than one reason, and I know it is difficult for you to see me thus. Allow me some pride, milady.

She sighed. Okay. I'll leave. I'll be right outside the door, though. Don't ask me for anything more than that.

Attempting to bargain with the fae, mo duinne? His smile was weary but teasing. You'll have to try a bit harder. Perhaps if you were to attempt to bribe me, I might be more amenable to you staying so close by.

A bribe, Your Highness? Dylan asked with mock-outrage. I? I should never stoop so low.

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As requested, Dylan waited just outside, her back pressed to the edge of the doorframe with the dogs sitting at her feet. The two Butchers - they had introduced themselves that morning as Guardsman Uaithne and Guardsman Ailbho - made room for her. Tsu's'di remained in the room to help Chief-Healer Somhairle.

Dylan could hear the rustle of cloth and Nuada's breath drawn in a sharp hiss. Wished she dared turn around to look. But he'd asked her not to. It touched her, that he would humble himself enough to even explain that much. Most of their arguments and fights had been about her trying to help him when his pride refused to allow him to accept aid from someone else, and been fueled by his refusal to acknowledge that he needed any kind of help in the first place. That he would admit to her that he didn't want to appear weak... it was a step. An important one, as the psychiatrist in her knew. But it was hard not to be with him.

There was a muffled thump, like someone smacking their fist against a mattress. Nuada snarled under his breath. Hissed in pain. Dylan's arms slid around her body of their own volition, and she hugged herself as if cold.

Part of it was the doctor in her. The need to know how to heal and to use that knowledge was what had gotten her through medical school. Having people die under her hands when she could have saved them... And that need to heal others thrummed through her now. She bit the inside of her cheek and didn't move.

"Are you all right, milady?" Ailbho asked suddenly. Dylan glanced at the Butcher Guard and offered him a tight smile. He had a very young voice behind the helmet. She thought he might have only been, physically, a few years older than Tsu's'di. "Do you need a chair? Some water, perhaps?"

She shook her head. "No, thank you. I'm fine."

Uaithne, the other guard, noticed that the mortal's slender fingers tangled in the golden chain around her neck as she clutched the medallion he'd seen her wearing. Her free arm was pressed to her belly almost defensively. No, the prince's lady was not fine at all. Uaithne did not blame the girl. He had a wife and two children, a young son and infant daughter. His son, Tadgh, had broken his arm once climbing an apple tree. The look on the human's face reminded the guardsman of the pain on his wife's while the village healer had set his son's broken arm.

If she'd been another woman and not the prince's truelove, he'd have offered her some comfort. But what could a common guardsman say to the prince's mortal lady?

Nuada heard the guard speaking to Dylan, but said nothing. So long as the king's elite treated his lady with the proper respect, he didn't care if they spoke to her. Right now, actually, he didn't care about much besides the pain smoldering through his arm, leg, belly and chest.

Days of healing spells had knitted the flesh back together - but only loosely. The wounds were still being held together by very fragile spell-induced bonds. Unlike Zhenjin, Nuada had not severed anything, and the nicks to heart and lung were more strongly knitted than the other injuries, as they had been the ones that nearly proved fatal on their own, but everything else was still healing.

So Somhairle explained as he examined the tender pink line slicing across Nuada's right arm just above the elbow. If the prince were not careful over the next several days, the danger of reopening most - if not all - of these wounds was incredibly high.

He hated to admit it, but Nuada could tell that Somhairle was not merely being overly cautious. There was a tight burn when the Elven warrior flexed his arm and leg; an ache in his upper chest that throbbed dully in time with his heartbeat. Breathing too deeply made his chest feel more than a little tight. And the flesh across his belly was one giant mass of dark brown and sickly yellow where Zhenjin had tried to cut him and hit the Royal Seal instead. Everything beneath the surface of that bruise felt as if it had been methodically pounded by Wink's bronze fist.

The prince despised the fact that he needed to lean on Tsu's'di's arm in order to get up and get to the small bathing room attached to the healing chamber. Was grateful Dylan only heard him snarling, and didn't see how much limping exhausted him. He wanted a bath, but a quick wash was all he was going to get until he grew strong enough to stand on his own two feet for more than three minutes.

Cleaned up, dressed in loose linen trews and a very loose shirt, and more than a little refreshed, Nuada let the ewah youth help him back to bed. Once Somhairle was satisfied with the state of the king's heir, the Elven healer left. Nuada called Dylan back into the room.

He was more awake now, thanks to splashes of cold water on his face and some extra magic from the healer to help him shake of the ensorceled sleep. Now that he was awake, he saw things in Dylan he'd missed before, and he remembered what Nuala had said while he'd floated in that enchanted slumberous darkness. She withers like a summer flower in winter shadows.

She had lost weight. Had she lost it during the time he'd been unconscious? Or had it begun when their fighting had picked up? Or before that? She didn't look ill, exactly... but she did look thin. Nuada was sure he could shackle her wrist easily, merely with his thumb and forefinger. And she was so very pale. What worried him was that he was fairly certain Dylan wore makeup to mask her pallor. If so, how much color had she lost to begin with? Those fey-like eyes showed haggard exhaustion. Her dark hair hung limp and lifeless in a loose ponytail.

With a jolt, Nuada realized she reminded him of the photograph he'd seen of her at eighteen years old, when she'd gotten out of the torturous mental institution her parents had imprisoned her in. Not quite that bad, but... but....

Dylan, he thought, what have you been doing to yourself? And how have I not seen this? Anger and concern twined together until concern was just another flavor of the anger, and the anger only fueled the sharp-edged worry. You haven't been sleeping, mo duinne. Are the nightmares so bad? Was it because I was not with you? There is something weighing on your heart. What is it?

"I look pretty blech right now, don't I?" Dylan asked, sinking back into her chair. "I can tell by your face that's what you're thinking." She studied him with sleepy eyes. She hadn't slept well the night before - the same nightmare had come upon her, throttling her awake in an ice-cold sweat and forcing her to seek solace in a steaming hot bath and the companionship of her dogs. This dream was new, and so she had no defense against it - yet. It left her feeling nauseated and sick upon waking, even after the bath. So Dylan knew she looked bad. She wondered if she looked as bad as Nuada did.

He was pale from bloodloss and thin from three days with no food. The darkness around his eyes and at his mouth seemed heavier than she remembered. And his eyes were an unhealthy xanthous tint that worried her. But he was alive, he was awake and alive and she couldn't stop herself from reaching out and taking his hand.

"You always look lovely," the prince murmured. She smiled. "Although I think we both could use some fresh air and sunshine. Whenever Somhairle decides that I can get out of this blasted bed for more than five minutes," he added with a grimace. "Have you eaten this morning? I know you, and I know you tend to forget."

Dylan bit her lip and studied the plain black expanse of the blanket on the healing bed. "I haven't had much of an appetite the last couple days." He leveled a look at her. "Not because of... of this," she hastened to explain, gesturing around the chamber. "It's not that. I've been feeling kind of nauseous since the night before last."

"Are you ill?"

She shook her head. "No. I just... I had a nightmare," she confessed. "One I'd never had before. Not a memory - an actual nightmare. It scared me. Made me feel, just... sick. I've eaten, but it's hard to eat more than a few bites here or there because I've just felt so sickened by it. And I've been worried and I haven't slept well, which doesn't help. But I'm not actually sick."

"You will be," Nuada said sternly, "if you do not eat properly. You and I will have breakfast in a few moments."

The mortal healer propped her chin on her fist. "Are you allowed to eat yet?"

He shot her a quelling look. "Somhairle has cleared me to eat, yes. As you sometimes say, nice try." Dylan stuck her tongue out at him, and he smiled. She smiled back, but it was tired and pensive. "I will be all right, mo duinne," Nuada added. Shadows faded from her eyes at the words. "I'll not die from these wounds, I promise."

"You better not," she replied, mock-stern, "or I'll off myself just so I can hunt you down and kick your ectoplasmic butt in the afterlife."

Nuada could only laugh, even though it hurt. That was just like her.

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Breakfast was simple fare - soft white bread (Nuada insisted on butter and honey, though Dylan thought the bread was delicious enough by itself), sliced russet apples, and a flat pastry Nuada made her try called a bannock. Nuada's were buttered and sprinkled with just a bit of honey. Hers were dusted with what she realized was powdered sugar. For drink, she got cider. The prince was quite put out to find himself stuck with plain water.

"Give us a sip of that," he ordered, jerking his chin at her cup. She held it away from him. Firegold eyes narrowed in clear warning. "I want some; give it here." Dylan shook her head. "It seems we have forgotten just who weilds royal authority around here."

"Oh, I'm sorry, am I supposed to be intimidated?" She asked with a grin. He gave her a fond look before leaning back against the pillows, throwing his uninjured arm across his eyes, and sighing rather melodramatically. "I am so not in the least bit moved to sympathy by your pathetic poses."

He lifted his arm to regard her. "You are a cruel and heartless woman."

"Yeah, I know. I'm so stingy - I won't sleep with you, I won't give you my muffins or my cider. You must be a real masochist to be in love with someone like me."

Nuada rolled his eyes. "My thoughts, exactly," he said with a smile.

Saturday unfurled with Dylan remaining in the healing chamber with the prince. Eimh brought 'Sa'ti and A'du'la'di to visit their hero and see for themselves that he was all right. Their visit was short, however; Nuada was still tired. A'du had had the presence of mind to bring Once Upon a Winter's Night with him from where he'd seen it resting on the low table in his mistress's sitting room. So when the children left, Dylan read to Nuada until he fell asleep.

While Nuada slept, the mortal took the time to speak to Ailbho and Uaithne and try and get to know them. Unlike the Butchers she'd met before, these guardsmen were neither taciturn nor contemptuous of humans. In the late afternoon hours while her prince slumbered on, recovering his strength, Dylan learned some fairly interesting things about the two fae as well as the Butcher Guards themselves.

She hadn't realized the Butchers were a separate species - she'd thought they were Elven. The actual name of their race was so complicated Dylan couldn't pronounce it, but it translated into English as "Butcher." Apparently they were matriarchal, as their women were the ones that held political power among their villages. Men were expected to take service with the Bethmooran royal family or, if that wasn't an option, become mercenaries. It was considered an act of incredible trust for a servicing Butcher Guard to remove their helmet in the presence of someone other than the king or their fellow guards. That explained why she'd never seen what they looked like. Outsiders were discouraged from visiting Butcher villages.

And she learned the Ailbho was engaged to the daughter of a baker. They would be married in the spring. Her name was Clodagh, and according to Ailbho, the Butcher maid was the most beautiful faerie to ever walk the earth.

Uaithne had a wife named Ennis and two children, a baby daughter named Aodh and a son named Tadgh. Ennis was known as the best seamstress in their village, and Tadgh wanted to grow up to become a royal guard more than anything. Last time Uaithne had been home on leave, he'd discovered that little Aodh was beginning to "creep," as he put it, crawling her way around a room in an eyeblink and "getting into trouble, just like her brother."

Both Butcher Guards wrote to their families - and in Ailbho's case, his betrothed - every week; the Butcher village was only two days' ride from Findias. Clodagh, it seemed, wrote to Ailbho every day. He had an entire box of letters from his sweetheart back in his room in the guard barracks. The other Butchers in the young guard's company teased him about this, but Ailbho didn't care.

Dylan found she enjoyed talking to both the royal guards. They were just as friendly as Caspar and Nils had been during her first visit to Findias. And when Nuada awoke, they had another simple meal and she read aloud from Once Upon a Winter's Night again until he fell asleep once more.

She didn't want to leave him, but she and the children had church in the morning and she wanted to make sure they were on time, since it would be the cougar cubs' first time attending. She knew how nerve-wracking it could be to walk into a big meeting and have people stare at you - or at least, think people were staring at you - because you were late in arriving. So Dylan leaned down and kissed him lightly. Once again she noted there was something oddly vulnerable about Nuada when he slept like this, something she noticed when her lips touched the warm softness of his.

Then she left the room, escorted by Tsu's'di and the dogs and bidding good night to Uaithne and Ailbho.

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She woke dazed and disoriented around dawn Sunday morning. Rubbed her eyes in a vain attempt to shove aside the fragments of heartbreaking dream, traumatic memory, and sickening nightmare that had mingled together in the night.

Once washed and brushed, dressed and medicated, with her morning prayers and scripture reading taken care of, Dylan decided she'd go down and see if Nuada was awake. On the one hand, he usually woke around or just before dawn normally. On the other hand, he was still recovering from his injuries and might be asleep. If he was, she wouldn't wake him. She'd just go back up to her room and find something to do until it was time to wake the children.

Dylan took her hounds, both for safety and because she didn't know where she was going. The guards standing watch outside the door were not Ailbho and Uaithne, or the other pair Dylan vaguely remembered from before. The Butcher on the left, who seemed around the same age as Ailbho, introduced himself and his partner as Lorcc and Mahon before the senior Mahon turned to him. Though Dylan couldn't see, she was fairly certain the senior guard had shot the younger Butcher a dirty look that silenced Lorcc. For talking to her? Or for talking at all without permission? She wasn't sure.

Nuada was awake. This came as a bit of a surprise, because he seemed to have been awake for awhile, judging by how comfortable the three Dilong Elves seemed to have made themselves and judging by the number of empty bottles in the room. Nuada wasn't drunk. It was hard for her to tell if he was even tipsy. But the Dilong Elves certainly were.

"There she is!" Dylan recognized the speaker as Zhenjin. He saluted her with a bottle of something and said to his two companions with the carefully enunciated words of someone who was actually quite drunk and hoping no one would notice, "Brothers, this human is a jewel among women. Silverlance is a lucky bastard to have her. I don't mind losing the duel since he gets her. She is a true lady. She'll make a splendid princess."

The two strange Elves blinked at her for a moment, then rose unsteadily to their feet. "Prince Gaozu Ti-Lung, second prince of Dilong, at your service, milady," said the taller, broader of the two. The thinner Dilong Elf bowed and nearly fell over before introducing himself as "Prince Hou Junji Ti-Lung, third prince of Dilong."

"Now that my lady is here, I would beg the three of you to remove yourselves ere you embarrass me any further," Nuada said from where he half-reclined on the healing bed, attempting to hide a smile.

"We'll not embarrass you, Silverlance," Gaozu slurred. "On our honor."

"Yes," Hou Junji interjected. "We promise not to tell her about that time underneath Princess Kamaria's window with the jackal-shifters-"

"Or when we drank ourselves under the table with Rennan and then somehow managed to fall in the loch in the middle of summer," Zhenjin interrupted. "Gah, we stank like fish for days. Blasted loch-dwellers are vile beasts. You got waterweed in your hair, Nuada, remember? Moaned about that for weeks, the vainglorious peacock."

"And there was that night with Anterion before his coronation," Gaozu added.

Zhenjin frowned. "You mean that night when... when... something happened. What happened? With Silverlance and the maenads?" His brother nodded and opened his mouth to fill in the fuzzy details when Zhenjin suddenly smiled. "Ah, yes, I remember now. We were looking for maenads, but then he found a-"

"All three of you get out," Nuada growled. The three brothers laughed, but managed to haul themselves to their feet and make it past Dylan without tripping, falling, throwing up, or running into any walls. When they were gone, the Bethmooran prince fixed his lady with a baleful glare. "It is not amusing."

Dylan leaned back against the wall and folded her arms. "Maybe you should let me judge. I'm curious - what did you find instead of naked Greek dancing girls? And how did you get rid of the fish smell?" She'd ask about the identities of Anterion and Rennan later.

The prince's glare intensified. "None of your business."

She grinned. "Okay, fine. This is my business, though - are you drunk?" Just to be on the safe side.

Nuada snorted. "Even if I was, which I am not, I am in no shape to do anything while intoxicated that you might find objectionable. In fact, I am in no shape to do anything you wouldn't object to - more's the pity, as you look quite fetching this morning. Come a bit closer."

She did look quite fetching, in soft heather blue that made her eyes look silvered with mist and turned her hair to a cascade of shadow. He wanted her near, close enough to get the scent of her. Everything seemed so much clearer and sharper since he'd woken the previous morning. Nuada knew it to be a result of his brush with death; knew also that it would fade with time. Until it did, he wanted to enjoy it.

Which was why when she came close enough, he caught her hand and pressed a kiss to her palm. There was just the faintest whisper of perfume at her wrist - sweet pea and violets. He ghosted his lips over the inside of her delicate wrist. Heard her soft gasp. Let his mouth trail a few inches along the scar gracing the length of her forearm. She made a tiny, kitten-like sound that made him wish fervently that he could get out of this stars-cursed bed and kiss other parts of her currently out of reach.

"Are you... are you ever gonna tell me what you meant to say before the duel with Zhenjin?" Each word shivered a little as his mouth moved back down to her wrist, and then to her open palm. He brushed a kiss along the shallow groove of her heart-line. "Because I'm still... still... wondering."

Ivory eyes kissed with firegold slid to her face as dark lips whispered along the lines of her palm. It was suddenly very, very hard to breathe.

"Do you truly wish to know?"

After a long moment, she nodded. Felt his lips curve into a smile against her skin. "Kiss me and I shall tell you."

She scowled at him. Shook her head. "Tell me and I'll kiss you."

His laugh slid over her like velvet. "Well, it seems you shall never know, then - shall you?"

Dylan tried to fight the grin stealing over her face and failed. "Don't make me hit you, Your Highness." It was so good to have him back, to be able to joke with him, tease him, laugh with him. To see his smile.

"I am curious," the Elf prince murmured against her palm. "What do you think I was going to say? Perhaps you may guess right."

What did she think he'd been about to say that day sitting on the edge of his bed, his breath so soft and warm against her skin, his eyes so earnest? Dylan, you must know that I.... Love you. He'd been about to say he loved her. He had only said he loved her but once, to Eamonn. That hadn't been a true confession. Eamonn had forced him to say it. Something about "tell her what you told me." Whatever that meant; she was still a bit fuzzy on what had happened that night. But Nuada had never said the word "love" to her of his own volition.

That word, love... it caught in her throat now when she opened her mouth to tell him her theory. Because it was just a theory. She couldn't think of anything else he might have been about to say, but that didn't mean there wasn't anything. And for some reason she couldn't bring herself to admit she'd been thinking, hoping, praying that the Elven warrior caressing her hand had been about to confess his love for her.

"Dylan," Nuada said, gently snagging her attention. Sunlit gold eyes met moonlit blue. His voice was exquisitely soft when he whispered, "You know that I care for you, don't you? Deeply," he added, and kissed her palm again. "I might even say... desperately." Another fervent kiss. "It was your voice that called me back to this world."

Her breathing hitched slightly. She stepped closer, until she could feel the warmth of him. She was vaguely aware of Tsu's'di leaving the room. "I know."

"Dylan. My lady. Mo duinne, mo calman gheal, mo cridh." Something intense and vibrant and wonderful thrummed in every word. She felt her heart patter in her chest, felt something warm and soft fizz pleasantly in her stomach. "My Dylan. You must know... I must tell you... you who are worth everything, who are everything... I lo-"

"Am I interrupting?"

The voice was sweet, dulcet, with just the faintest touch of a Russian accent touching on the Irish. Dylan nearly jumped out of her skin. She turned to see a lovely Elven woman - an Elf of Zwezda, a Child of the Stars, jet curls tumbling around her shoulders, clad in a midnight blue velvet gown - standing in the doorway with a hesitant smile on her face.

Dylan wanted to say, "Yes, you are absolutely interrupting, go away," but that would have been indescribably rude. Although hadn't the silver-eyed Elven woman been able to tell that an important conversation was going on and that she ought to come back later?

Nuada's reaction locked the words in her throat.

"Naya," he said. The warmth in his voice had Dylan turning to blink down at him in surprise. He didn't look angry or even annoyed by the interruption. He looked... happy to see this woman. This... Naya.

In the next minute, Dylan found out why.

"My lady Dylan of Central Park, allow me to present a very old and dear friend, Ledi Polunochnaya iz Lysaya Gora."

Polunochnaya sank into a graceful curtsy with a rustle of velvet. "Your Highness. Lady Dylan."

Unsure whether to curtsy back or not - she'd curtsied to Zhenjin before, but the prince of Dilong didn't fill her with an icy anger that chilled her blood and left her half-bewildered and half-annoyed - Dylan compromised by sticking out her hand. "Please don't curtsy. At least not to me. I'm still trying to get used to the whole idea."

The Zwezdan Elf took the mortal's hand and shook it. The long, manicured nails whispered across Dylan's skin. Her lips, painted a pale silver that managed to touch on just this side of corpsely, curved into a smile that flirted between condescending and amused. "I know my name is hard for English-speakers to pronounce," the dark Elf said in that dulcet voice. "You may call me 'Lady Naya' if you prefer, Lady Dylan."

"Um... sure."

"Has my sister returned?" Nuada asked, settling back against the pillows again. Any thoughts of what he had been seconds away from revealing to Dylan seemed to have dissipated from his mind like night mist in the morning sun now that Polunochnaya had appeared. "That is why you are here in Findias, is it not?"

Polunochnaya inclined her head. The sunlight shone on her night-black hair. "Princess Nuala was exhausted from the journey to the Kingdom of Alaka - it was the furthest away the king could think to send us - but insisted on returning once the danger had passed, that she might be able to see for herself that you were unharmed." A beat of silence that seemed oddly calculated to Dylan. "She has been nearly frantic with worry for you, my prince."

Nuada's surprise was obvious, and made his mortal's heart thump once, hard. "Really?"

The Elven noblewoman nodded. "She sleeps now, exhausted still from our journey home, but she will want to see you when she awakens and has a moment to breathe, I'm sure." Amused silver eyes swept over the room. "In the meantime, I would wager you've not eaten yet, Nuada. Would you like me to send for some breakfast for the three of us?"

An unpleasant jolt hit Dylan somewhere in the pit of her stomach. Nuada. This woman was allowed to call him Nuada to his face? She supposed she should've expected it - he'd said they were friends, after all. Old friends. Dear friends. But for some reason, the way Polunochnaya said the Elf prince's name sent an odd frisson of nerves whispering down Dylan's spine.

Almost of its own volition, her hand sought out the sturdy support of Sétanta's head. The black dog pressed himself against her legs and regarded her with worried ice blue eyes, but seemed to understand not to make a sound. Eimh lifted her head from where she'd been lounged near the wall and flicked her honey-gold gaze between her Master, her Master's lady, and the star-Elf before getting to her feet and trotting to stand on Dylan's other side.

"Breakfast would be a blessing, if you can get Chief-Healer Somhairle to give me something other than simple peasant fare and water," the prince grumbled, but his eyes were warm when they met Naya's.

Dylan had often gone on dates with her more mundane "friends" in college and med school, more to act as chaperone (aka Law of Chastity Safety Net) for her friends from church who didn't want to be alone with their prospective romantic partners yet. Often on those dates, she'd gotten the feeling of being... not resented, or even purposefully ignored, but more that the two people she was with had forgotten she was there entirely. Francesca called it being the third wheel.

That was exactly how the human woman felt now. For the first time since meeting Nuada, she felt superfluous to his life. As if, had she disappeared in that moment, he wouldn't have even noticed, much less cared. Knowing she was being ridiculous didn't erase that feeling, either. And it did nothing for the feeling of suddenly being unable to draw a full breath.

Well, she had an excuse for escaping, at least.

"You two go ahead," Dylan said brightly, forcing suddenly cold lips into a cheery smile. "I have to make sure my retinue is up and running; we've got church this morning, and we really don't want to be late."

Startled, Nuada protested, "But Dylan, surely you can stay just for breakfast-"

"It's the first Sunday of the month," she reminded him. "Fast Sunday, remember? Don't worry, I promise I'll eat when it's all over. I'll be back later, okay?"

Without really waiting for a response, Dylan gave a casual wave to the room's two occupants and left, followed by her hounds. Tsu's'di waited just outside the door. He fell into step behind her without having to be told. He looked unhappy about something. Dylan wondered vaguely what it could possibly be.

Nuada watched Dylan vanish down the hall, escorted by a cougar youth and two hounds, and wondered if had mistepped somehow. Or had he been imagining the odd tightness in his truelove's silver-washed blue eyes?

"Oh, dear," Naya murmured, nibbling on the edge of her thumb pensively. "I hope I did not offend her in some way."

"Not at all," the prince replied, frowning. Something felt... off. Fates, his wits and instincts were still sluggish from the healing spells and the inherent exhaustion that came with them, or he'd have been able to tell just what had happened a moment ago. Something.... "Not at all," he repeated. "She takes her responsibilities, both to the Star Kindler and to her servants, very seriously." Forcing the matter from his mind - he could ask Dylan about it later - he added, "You were hoping for breakfast?"

.

Despite initial apprehensions on the part of the children when, after Sacrament, they were split up for a time, Dylan knew they'd had a good time when they came back chattering excitedly about the lessons they'd learned, the people they'd met, and the cupcakes they would be allowed to eat once they got back to their mistress's suite. Tsu's'di, by virtue of his position as her bodyguard, had stayed with Dylan for all three hours of church - even following her to the women's meeting in the third hour. No one had batted an eyelash, though. They had recognized the prince's almost-betrothed and known she would go nowhere without protection.

Back in the joint suites, 'Sa'ti and A'du ate their cupcakes (offering a fingerful of frosting each to Eimh and Sétanta) while Dylan went into the bathroom to splash water on her face and figure out where this uneasiness churning in her stomach was coming from.

Was it because of Polunochnaya? That was stupid. So the dark Elf was Nuada's friend. He was allowed to have friends. She certainly had friends; would she begrudge him his? No. So why did the thought of the silver-eyed Elven woman spending time with the prince send frissons of irritation sizzling up and down her spine? Why did it make her fingers clench painfully around the edge of the marble counter? Why did she want to dislike the other woman so much, when she'd been nothing but friendly?

Am I jealous? Dylan wondered. Is that my problem? Why should I be jealous? They're just friends. Nuada loves me. Why am I so worried? Why would I be jealous of her?

Or was it more than jealousy? Was it the way he'd looked at the silver-eyed Elf? With more warmth than she'd seen him regard anyone except Wink. Even with Nuala, there was pain in the Elven warrior's eyes. There was no pain in him when he looked at Polunochnaya. Did that warmth in his gaze make Dylan nervous?

Oh, whatever! This is stupid! I'm not doing this, she told herself firmly. Glacial cobalt eyes locked on her reflection in the mirror. Not a chance. I am not going to twist myself up in knots because Nuada didn't look miserable when he talked to someone. That's just dumb. I don't want him to be unhappy. I'm not going to get upset if he's glad to see someone. I'm being ridiculous.

Feeling a bit better after this mental lecture, she scooted out of the bathroom to talk to the children about how they'd liked going to church. Depending on what they said, she would confirm the meeting she'd set up with Nils for the three ewah to meet with the Elders attached to the castle.

.

The rest of Sunday passed with Dylan visiting with Nuada. They had dinner together, the two of them and the cougars, in the healing chamber. A'du and 'Sa'ti talked to him about their first time at church. Their mistress couldn't tell if the prince were really listening or not, though he made the proper responses at the proper times. Dylan was glad when, upon 'Sa'ti telling Nuada that they'd prayed for him to get better, the prince didn't ridicule or scoff at the idea. Instead, he thanked the ewah girl. 'Sa'ti beamed.

When Chief-Healer Somhairle swept into the room, Dylan had Tsu's'di escort his brother and sister back to her suite so they could get ready for bed. She'd follow not too long after, she said, to make sure the children actually got their bedtime story and lullaby. The cougar youth had mentioned that his siblings missed that little tradition, established at the cottage and lost during the madness preceeding their return to Findias.

Dylan hadn't seen Nuada's injuries clearly before: first, her view had been blocked by the bevy of healers as they worked on the prince, fighting to hold him to the world of the living; then, upon waking, the prince had asked her to leave so as not to see the true extent of the damage. But this time Nuada didn't ask her to leave.

Refusing help, the Elven warrior drew off the loose linen shirt he wore to allow Somhairle to inspect his healing injuries. Dylan drew in her breath with a sharp hiss. Nuada's head jerked up and he met her eyes. Canted his head. The mortal drew a bit closer to study the fresh marks on Nuada's body.

The still-healing stab wounds on his chest were the worst. The one from Zhenjin was malformed and thick - half from the Dilong prince's blade and half from the metal bite of Nuada's own armor when Zhenjin had punched through it with his sword. Without thinking, Dylan reached out to ghost her fingertips over the rigid pink mark; it wasn't quite a scar yet. An almost-electric current arced between her fingertips and Nuada's skin. Her heart jumped. His breath stuttered.

"Leave us, Somhairle," Nuada ordered abrupty. The Chief-Healer opened his mouth to protest, but one slashing look from feral golden eyes silenced his arguments and the Elven healer scurried from the room.

*We will wait outside,* Sétanta said as he and Eimh trotted out of the half-open door.

There was a very long silence, broken by nothing but the sound of Nuada's breathing as he drew Dylan close. She pressed her forehead to his jaw and leaned against him. Her fingers traced the healing mark on his chest over and over. Warmth shivered down her spine. Spread through her belly. Nuada's breath ruffled the curls that hung in her face.

"It looks worse than it is, mo cridh, my heart," he murmured. Her touch moved to the other scar, the one from the assassin; thinner, but more jagged than the one Zhenjin had given him. Dylan traced the ragged edge of it with trembling fingers. "I will be all right."

"You nearly died," she whispered. Let her eyes drift closed, the better to savor his nearness. Even with her eyes closed, however, her questing fingertips sought out the mark on his upper arm. "How many times will you court Death before it takes you, Nuada? Before it steals you away from me?"

He skimmed his knuckles along her cheek. "If Death tried to take me, I would fight with all I had to return to you again. I know that you need me," he added, lifting her chin to force her to meet his eyes. The words were heavy as stone and scorching as a promise when he said, "Just as I need you."

The breath caught in her chest. "You... you need me?"

"Much as it pains me to admit to needing anyone," the feral-eyed warrior confessed with a wry smile, "yes. You have made me need you when I have needed no one before. If I were forced to do without you, I could do it... but I would be nothing but a shadow of the man I once was. I need you, mo duinne."

Her smile was bright and glorious as a sunrise. Then Dylan leaned in and brushed her lips along the scar etched across his cheek. A soft, chaste whisper of a kiss. He caught the perfume of violets from her hair. Nuzzled her temple. Closed his eyes when her fingers threaded carefully through the long strands of his hair. Her touch was so light.

"We should probably let Somhairle come back in," the mortal suggested. "To make sure you're healing properly."

"When I am completely healed," Nuada said, "there is somewhere I wish to take you. Someone I want you to meet. Are you willing?" She nodded, and he smiled. Then he shot a scowl at the door. "Very well, then - bring Somhairle back."

.

Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday went by much as the previous Friday and Thursday had - with Dylan going to work early in the morning and returning via the gold-and-ruby ring in the early evenings. She had dinner with Nuada, who was still not allowed out of bed for more than up to thirty minutes at a time and still became winded by even that much simple exercise. Sometimes they would read Once Upon a Winter's Night. They talked, as well, as they had during those first visits Nuada had paid to Dylan's cottage.

But they never spoke of Polunochnaya, or Dylan's reaction to her. As the Zwezda Elf didn't make another appearance, Dylan was willing to just let it go. Jealousy was stupid, anyway, to her way of thinking. Nuada didn't broach the usbject of the dark Elf, either. And somehow, Dylan never found the right time to bring up the words Nuada had been so insistent on sharing with her before the duel. She wasn't sure if Nuada had forgotten or what, but she didn't press that issue, either.

When it was time for the cougar cubs to be in bed, Dylan would go to read to them. The bedtime story tradition had taken on another facet - a scripture story and prayers. One of the undercooks who attended the Star Kindler's worship and had children loaned Dylan a children's copy of the scriptures. So every night before bed, Dylan would read the ewah children a story from the illustrated book, they would have a group prayer (usually at 'Sa'ti's insistence), and then Dylan would sing them to sleep. Despite not being able to hold a tune in a bucket with the lid nailed down, A'du and 'Sa'ti didn't seem to mind. And after bidding the children goodnight, Dylan would return to visit with Nuada until it was time for her to go to bed as well.

The nightmare that had begun the night she'd slept alone in Nuada's bed persisted, mingling with her more common flashback-nightmares and the happy dream that still broke her heart whenever she woke from it. Just as in Nuada's underground sanctuary almost a year ago, Dylan found herself seeking solace in long, luxurious sessions in the bathtub.

The comfort of routine being established was suddenly shattered Thursday evening when Guardsman Uaithne and Guardsman Ailbho were joined outside the healing chamber by not one or two, but six more Butcher Guards. Since Nuada's injury, the "babysitting detail" had been disbanded until the prince healed. So why were they here now?

A Butcher that Dylan realized a moment later was the young Lorcc came into the room and bowed. His taciturn partner, Mahon, did the same. Somehow Dylan got the impression that while Lorcc was bowing to both her and the prince, Mahon kept that courtesy focused solely on the king's son.

"Forgive the intrusion, Prince Nuada, Lady Dylan, but there is ill news. The Téngshé that attacked the king and so grievously injured you has escaped, Your Highness. His Imperial Majesty Emperor Huizong believes that the Téngshé may make an attempt on the lives of King Balor, Princess Nuala, yourself or your lady. The king has tripled his, your, and Her Highness's guard detail until the coward is once again apprehended."

Nuada swore under his breath and turned to regard Tsu's'di, who stood by the window but had his eyes on Lorcc. The cougar youth's head jerked around to meet his prince's eyes. "Your Highness?"

The Elf prince narrowed his eyes at the boy, considering. Tsu's'di seemed to understand whatever Nuada was thinking, because he nodded once, sharply. Then, to Lorcc, the crown prince of Bethmoora said, "I want Guardswomen
Ailís, Gráinne, Onóra, and Fionnlagh brought here, as well as Guardsmen Ríagáin and Odhrán. They are to be assigned to my lady. Tell Captain Phelan to see to arranging a full guard detail for her. Now go and bring them at once."

Mahon and Lorcc bowed again and left, Lorcc to resume his post at the door and Mahon to obey Nuada's order. Dylan turned to Nuada.

"Is that necessary," she asked in a low voice, "or are you just being cautious?"

"Neither," the prince replied in an equally soft voice. "I do not know if the Téngshé means you any harm or not, but there is no such thing as being simply 'cautious' when someone that has tried to kill you and failed escapes their prison. Fortune favors the prepared. I'll not see you harmed by this guard merely for the sake of his mad national pride. And that is assuming Princess Yin-Mei's interrogation yielded accurate results and the coward was not simply lying to her. If he was lying... there is no telling who he may be working for."

Turning serious amber eyes on her, he added, "I want at least two of the female guards with you at all times. When you sleep, when you seek solitude, when you escape to say your prayers. Even when you're bathing, do you understand?" Dylan opened her mouth to protest and he ruthlessly cut her off. "The Téngshé are incredibly dangerous. They are not just guards, but assassins and spies as well. I will not lose you to this Elf and his vengeance, Dylan. I will not."

Taking her hand, he pressed a kiss to her knuckles. "I need this from you."

She nodded. "Okay. If that's what you need, then okay." Then she had a thought. "I don't suppose I could trade you those other guys you requested for Uaithne and Ailbho, could I?" Nuada blinked. "I like them," Dylan added. "They're nice."

A smile surprised the Elf prince by quirking the corner of his mouth. "Very well. I will take Ríagáin and Odhrán, and you may have Ailbho and Uaithne."

"Thank you."

Nuada inclined his head, but Dylan could tell his thoughts were already a thousand miles away. Thinking, planning for every possibility in dealing with this potential assassin, and trying to determine his target.

Dylan wondered if this had anything to do with the attacks that had precipitated their return to Findias. When ice skittered down her spine like insect legs, she knew for a fact that it most certainly did, and shivered.