Chapter 68 - Don't Wanna Miss a Second

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A Short Tale of Thanks, Explaining Emo Bears, a Child's Confession, the Nature of Courage, Boons from Royalty, Lectures, a Letter, a Promise, and Voices

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Nuada waited for what seemed an eternity, just in case. Waited for the pain to return. Waited for her to awaken once more. When she did not, he got to his knees and ever so carefully lifted her into his arms. Slowly. So slowly. Careful not to wake her.

When he was sure being held had not roused her, Nuada slowly climbed to his feet. Dylan didn't stir. Holding his breath, the prince laid her on the healing bed and drew the dark green knit coverlet over her. Still she did not rouse.

Thank You, the prince thought. He ever so lightly caressed Dylan's cheek. Laid a finger against her poor, bloodied mouth and cooled the hurt there with a touch of magic. Thank You for this. For giving her some peace. He took the single chair beside the bed and sank into it with a near-silent sigh of gratitude. Let this be the end of it. Nuada leaned his head back. Closed his eyes. Let this be the end.

When dawn broke through the chamber window, soft and golden, the king and Healer Táebfada found the prince and the mortal asleep, joined by their linked hands.

"This night has been hard on your son, Majesty," Táebfada whispered. "He has not left her side. She holds a place deep in his heart, and I both envy and pity him for it. Love can be a cruel master at times."

"Yes," murmured the king. Only a blind man or a fool would have missed the haggard exhaustion on Nuada's face. And King Balor might have been many things, but he hoped he was not a blind fool. "Yes, it can be, at that.

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Sunlight on her face woke Dylan from sleep. She blinked the blurriness from her eyes and tried to remember where she was.

The Healers' Wing in Findias. One of the healing chambers. Because several Téngshé, the royal guards of Dilong, had attacked her and Nuada.

She remembered the shoggoth. Had the Butcher Guards managed to kill it? All the Téngshé were dead, weren't they? She'd killed one. Equal parts luck and knowledge, that. A good groin shot and a lucky slash severing the femoral artery. Nuada and Prince Zhenjin had killed the others.

Nuada would have made sure they were dead because-

A knife at her throat. Silver cutting through flesh to draw blood and catch on bone. Hot breath against her face. Rough hands gripping her throat. Choking her. Hands on her body, hands bruising and grabbing. They would force her down, force her on the ground, and the knife at her face flashing pain-bright and blood. Blood, so much blood. The sweet-sour metallic stench of it. Salt in her mouth. They'd cut her face and the wolves, howling in the dark, and Eamonn, and Patrick and Xander and their father and they would catch her and then they would-

"Dylan!" Hands on her wrists, gentle. So gentle. "Dylan, it is all right. It is all right. Easy, my love. Be easy." That voice. The lullaby timbre of it, low and soothing. Nuada's voice. "Easy, now. You are safe. I am here and you are safe."

She realized she'd been whimpering. Realized her eyes were squeezed shut and there was blood in her mouth. She'd bitten her knuckles to keep from screaming, the way she often had as a little girl.

With effort, she withdrew her teeth from her fingers. She hadn't really bitten herself. Her knuckles had been scraped up to begin with from last night.

Last night....

Dylan swallowed back salt and forced herself to be calm before she met Nuada's eyes.

He looked awful. He was pale, his eyes exhausted, the shadows around them deeper than ever before. There was a faint bruise along his jaw. He'd tied his hair back in a horsetail sometime between when she'd miraculously fallen asleep and now. The knuckles of his right hand were bloodied and bruised. Dylan touched his hand.

"Are you all right?" She murmured, stroking the back of his hand with her fingertips. Nuada caught her hand in his and brought it to his lips.

"I am well enough," the Elven warrior said. He wanted to shake her. Was he all right? After the night she had spent, after something had triggered the flashback that had forced those terrified sounds from her, she wanted to know if he was all right? He swallowed back the anger born from worry and asked, "How do you feel?"

She considered. "Sore. And I have a headache. My hands hurt." Dylan flexed her fingers. Studied the bruised, scraped flesh. "Jeez. My hands haven't looked like this since I was in rehab."

Then she bit her lip, realizing what she'd said. But the prince said nothing. Merely brushed his fingertips along the abrasions, sending cool magic to soothe the hurt there, before he did the same with a light touch at her temples.

"Thank you."

"Forgive me," he said. She blinked at him. "This pain, your injuries - they are my doing. I was reckless with your safety and I-"

"Oh, shut up," Dylan begged in a voice that was almost a whine. "You are such a... what's that phrase my patients use? Oh, right. Emo-bear. You're such an emo-bear! We're not doing this! So we shouldn't have run off like a couple of lovesick, overly emotional teenagers. We'll know better next time. The end.

"I could have told you to take me back," she added more seriously. "The moment we stopped, I could have. But I didn't. I'm just as much at fault as you are. Which means neither of us is at fault, so there's no harm done."

The Elf opened his mouth, and the mortal hastened to say, "Just accept it and move on, Your Highness. It's a fact of life, just like you have cute ears and are hopelessly smitten with me."

Dylan waited with bated breath for the smile that finally spread across Nuada's face. She smiled back. Grinned when he replied, "I will admit to the second one, but my ears are not cute, whatever you may say on the subject, my lady."

"I hate to disappoint you and shatter this fragile bubble of denial you live in, but yeah they are. They're so adorable. I love them."

"What is an 'emo-bear?'"

She choked. Swallowed the laugh threatening to strangle her. "I beg your pardon?"

"You just called me an 'emo-bear.' I want to know what that means." While she tried to muffle her laughter by covering her mouth with both hands, Nuada growled, "Call me names if you must, Dylan, but I'll not allow you to call me things I cannot answer. Now what does it mean?"

The mortal shook her head. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry." She thumped herself on the chest and managed to choke back the last of the giggles. "I do beg your pardon, Your Highness. I just never thought I'd hear you use that phrase. Okay, an emo-bear is... well, it's just another word for someone who's emo. Usually a guy."

The prince raised both eyebrows. "And what is... emo?"

She tried - she really tried - but she couldn't hold back the next batch of giggles. Part of it was exhaustion. Part of it was hearing modern teenybopper slang coming out of Nuada's mouth.

"Ahem. Sorry. Had something stuck in my throat." She coughed. Managed to stop laughing. "Emo is short for emotional. Overly emotional. It's a word to describe teenagers and preteens who are overly melodramatic. You know, 'My girlfriend broke up with me so now I'm gonna go drown myself in a bucket and let my rotting heart sing the swan song of our love.' I had a patient write that in a freewrite exercise once, I didn't come up with that. Anyway, so yeah. Emo."

"And this describes me?"

The words were coolly spoken. Dylan blinked. Squirmed a little. "Um... kinda. I was just kidding. Because you were all, 'Oh, it's all my fault, blah-blah.' Not everything's your fault, you know. Sometimes it's my fault."

"It is not always your fault, either."

"Hence the use of the word 'sometimes.' And most of the time, it's your dad's fault." She grinned when Nuada choked on a laugh. "A man needs a woman who can make him laugh."

He took her hand. Brushed his thumb over her knuckles in a whisper-light caress. "All jesting aside," the prince said quietly, "are you all right? Truly?"

"Yes. I'm sore because I was so tense and because I was pacing so much. That's all. I'm mentally and physically exhausted, but I'm not... I'm not hurt or anything. I'm really okay. Or I will be fairly quickly. I promise. And if you keep blaming yourself for any of this, I will jump out of this bed and kick you."

A ghost of a smile, there and gone. "I do believe I am shaking."

She smiled. "Darn right." Then her eyes widened. "Oh, my gosh, I just realized, what time is it? Oh, cripes." She threw back the coverlet and swung her legs over the side of the bed. "I'm gonna be late for work, I'm gonna miss my appointments, Gus and Rosie's parents are gonna kill me." Her attempt to pop out of bed was foiled by gentle but firm hands pushing her back down again. "Nuada-"

"I contacted your brother early this morning," the prince informed her. In truth, he'd woken from a fitful doze merely an hour after falling asleep and realized with no little irritation that Dylan's mundane life needed to be dealt with now that the weekend was over. "He, in turn, contacted your secretary."

"Oh." A pale hand shoved tangles of dark hair from her face. She grasped a long strand of hair and held it in front of her eyes, grimacing. "Well, that's good, then, because I've got stuff to do today, it looks like. My hair got wet from the snow and I didn't detangle it. Now it's all icky-ful."

He snagged the curl from her grasp. "Your hair is lovely." He rubbed the dark lock of her hair between his fingers to feel the silk of it slide along his skin. "I adore your hair. The softness of it. The scent of it. The way it looks tumbling around your shoulders and flowing down your back. It is beautiful. It is certainly not... what was the word you used?"

Dylan quirked an eyebrow. "Icky-ful?"

"Yes, 'icky-ful.'" He frowned when she burst out laughing. "What is so amusing?"

She swallowed a giggle. "I'm sorry, but I can't get over you using words like 'cooties' and 'spiffy' and 'icky-ful.' It just does not fit with the image I have of the mighty Silverlance. I mean... you're an Elven warrior prince. You can't say 'icky-ful.' That's just weird."

He fixed her with a narrow-eyed look. "Clearly you need more sleep, my lady. Lie back down."

"Yes, Your Highness." She obeyed, and although she was perfectly capable of doing it herself, she let him draw the green knit coverlet over her again. "Nuada," she murmured. "Are we... are we really okay? You and I, I mean. Are you... are you okay?"

Dark lips curved into a tired smile. "I am as I have always been, mo duinne."

The mortal surprised him by growling and thumping her head back against the pillow. She reminded him so much of Nuala as a maiden that a laugh surprised its way out of him.

"Oh. My. Gosh! Ugh! You are so fey sometimes!" An accusing finger poked him in the chest. "That is not an answer and you know it. Don't make me torture it out of you. You know I will."

Feeling lighter and more relaxed than he had in days, Nuada spread his arms wide to leave himself open to her threatened assault. He raised a sardonic brow. "I am not afraid you."

"That's just 'cause you don't know any better." She propped herself up on one elbow. Grinned. "I'm scary and fierce, remember?"

Her smile was radiant, despite the exhaustion still lingering in her eyes. Nuada felt something in his chest loosen a little. She was all right. She would not be able to jest with him this way if she were not all right.

With gentle fingers the Elf prince reached out and adjusted her sleeve, which had been tugged down a little to reveal the dark strap of an undergarment.

She blushed. "Thank you, that always happens when I sleep in my clo-"

"Well, it seems both of you are completely recovered."

The familiar, aged voice ripped Nuada's smile away. Dylan yelped and yanked the coverlet up to her chin.

"Criminy, don't you knock? I mean, I know you're the king and everything, but I'm not exactly decent here." She tugged at her other sleeve underneath the blanket to make sure it was where it was supposed to be.

"I promise I saw nothing of consequence, Lady Dylan," the king assured her. "I am here merely to remind His Highness that we have things to discuss this day, once his business with you is finished."

Something cold coiled in the pit of Dylan's stomach. Before she could stop herself, she demanded, her voice shaking, "W-what are you going to do to him?"

The king blinked, clearly startled. "I... nothing, my dear. No harm will come to him."

A light touch on her arm brought her eyes to Nuada's. His smile was forced, but his eyes were warm honeyed amber. "I will be all right, mo cridh. You need not concern yourself. The king is nothing if not a man of his word. Do not be afraid for me."

"Nuada." She clasped his hand. Fought against the sudden frisson of dread shivering down her spine. "Don't go. Stay with me."

Balor watched the tender way his son stroked back the mortal's sleep-mussed hair from her face. The way his thumb swept over the delicate cheekbone and his fingers curled possessively around the back of her neck. Noticed how the human seemed to melt into the caress.

The king narrowed his eyes. She'd refused Nuada's proposal. Both of them had appeared almost devastated by this. Yet now they were acting as if it had never happened. As if everything was fine between them.

Suspicion slithered down the king's spine. Had his son been lying about the girl's refusal? If so, both he and the human had missed their calling as actors.

A knock on the doorframe of the healing chamber pulled all three occupants' attention to Healer Táebfada.

"My deepest apologies for interrupting, Your Majesty, Your Highness, my lady, but... the young pageboy wishes to see Lady Dylan. He is most insistent. And his sister wishes to see the prince. She seems concerned, but she will not say why."

Dylan and Nuada exchanged a puzzled glance. Balor eyed them both before saying, "Well, as it happens, I need to speak with this brave young page of yours as well, Lady Dylan."

He didn't miss the way her eyes widened, then narrowed. A silent yet obvious warning flashed in their depths.

"I mean the child no harm. Let us all pay him a visit."

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A'du'la'di appeared to be staring at the ceiling of his healing chamber, but Tsu's'di wondered if he were in fact contemplating his feet, which currently stuck straight up in the air.

By human and probably Elven standards, the cougar youth knew ewah feet were pretty unusual. Only four toes, for one thing. And ewah feet, like the hind paws of a mundane cougar, were much larger than what would be considered standard for similar-sized creatures.

Still, Tsu's'di couldn't see what was so freaking interesting about his little brother's feet to someone who'd had the same appendages for the last forty-one years. So why was A'du staring at his feet? Or the incredibly boring, smooth stone ceiling of the healing room?

"Dude," Tsu's'di finally muttered. "What are you doing?"

"Waiting," the little boy replied. "Táebfada said she'd bring the a'ge'lv and the prince. So I'm waiting."

"Uh-huh." The youth absently nudged 'Sa'ti with his foot. The sleepy little girl yawned and flopped over on the floor like a marionette with its strings cut, stretching full-out before closing her eyes and settling down for a nap. She'd been up late the night before with A'du'la'di. Tsu's'di couldn't blame his sister for being tired. "And your feet are in the air because?"

"Bored," A'du muttered. His feet dropped down onto the mattress with a thump. "What time is it?"

His older brother flattened his ears. "Time for you to stop asking every five minutes."

One of 'Sa'ti's bright blue eyes peeked open. "Somebody's coming."

She darted to the bed and scrambled onto it, curling up atop the green velvet blanket like a sleeping kitten. She tucked her head under her arms and closed her eyes again. The door opened.

A'du'la'di bolted upright. "A'ge'lv! A'ge'lv!"

He threw his legs over the side of the bed and tried to stand. His brother's claws hooked into the collar of the loose, pale green tunic the healers had given him to wear to bed and yanked him back down onto the mattress.

"Are you okay?" A'du ignored the restraining claws and tried to bounce up again. Tsu's'di pulled him down once more. "That bad man, he was hurting you, I saw him, and there was a monster! Are you okay?"

Dylan stepped into the room and sat down on the edge of A'du'la'di's bed. The child stopped straining to get up.

"I'm fine, honey. Are you all right? How do you feel? You took some pretty good knocks." She gestured to the bandages swathing his arm. He had similar wrappings around his middle, hidden by the sleep-tunic. An ugly bruise mottled the flesh just beneath one feline ear. "You okay?"

"Yeah," he said. He looked down at his knees. "M'okay." He flexed his claws. Dylan saw his tail lash back and forth before the little boy stuffed it beneath the blankets.

"A'du'la'di?" Dylan tilted his chin up. He didn't meet her eyes. "What's the matter, sweetie? What's wrong?"

He swallowed hard. "Um... well... um... I think... I mean...." His fur bristled and his ears flattened. "I need to talk to the prince."

"All right." The mortal started to turn towards where Balor and Nuada waited just beyond the doorway to call the Elven warrior inside, but A'du'la'di's next words stopped her.

"By myself," the boy said in a small voice. He'd gone back to staring at his knees.

Dylan frowned. "All right. Is everything okay?" Swift, sharp headshake. "Okay. You wanna maybe tell me what's wrong? Maybe I can help." Another headshake. Acting on instinct, the human leaned over to get a brief look into A'du's gray eyes. The misery in their depths surprised her. "Sweetie... what's the matter? You can tell me."

"I just... I just really need to talk to the prince by myself," he said in a rush. "Please can I talk to him?"

"I am at your disposal, A'du'la'di," Nuada murmured, stepping into the room. "If you will excuse us, Tsu's'di, 'Sa'ti. My lady."

Taking her cue from Nuada, Dylan inclined her head and ushered 'Sa'ti and a very confused Tsu's'di outside into the corridor where Balor waited. Dylan shut the door behind them to give the prince and the pageboy some privacy.

The king asked, "What is the matter with your servant boy?"

Dylan sighed. "No idea. Nuada will fix it." At Balor's skeptical expression, she shot him a flat look and added, "With all due respect, Your Majesty, you don't know Prince Nuada as well as you seem to think you do. He's very good with A'du'la'di, and A'du adores Nuada. He really looks up to him."

"You may want to curb that sort of thing before it becomes a problem."

The mortal opened her mouth to bite off a scathing retort, but Tsu's'di's quiet interjection silenced her.

"Prince Nuada saved my little brother and sister's lives. He and Lady Dylan took us into their home. Fed us. Clothed us. Gave us jobs and a warm, safe place to sleep at night. They gave us a home. Of course A'du looks up to the prince. So do I. If I could be half the warrior and half the man Prince Nuada is, that would be pretty cool."

Balor raised an eyebrow at the youth, but did not chastize him for speaking out or accidentally (possibly on purpose) dropping the honorific of "Majesty." Only said, "I see. Your loyalty does you credit, young guardsman. And you, little maiden? Are you not afraid of the prince?"

'Sa'ti, who stood behind her brother's legs and hid her face with the edge of his royal blue tunic, blinked up at the king with suspicious turquoise eyes and shook her head with surprising vehemence.

Balor blinked. "Oh?"

"The prince is nice," the ewah girl mumbled. "He gave me a ride on Lòman and he brought A'du'la'di back after he broke the snowglobe when it was dark and sometimes he sits with us during storytime and he let us have the cupcakes." The little girl fidgeted before blurting, "And you shouldn't say mean things about him. It's not nice."

Dylan started to speak. The king interrupted the single syllable she managed to utter with, "You are quite correct, little maiden. It is impolite to say unkind things of others. I see your mistress has taught you well. Perhaps you would indulge me, little one, and allow me to speak to Lady Dylan alone for a moment?"

At the mortal's nod, the two cougars went to stand with the royal guards arrayed along the short corridor in the Healers' Wing. Balor regarded Dylan with something akin to amusement.

"The legendary Silverlance sits with them for storytime?"

"Sometimes," she replied stiffly. "I read them stories before bed. Sometimes His Highness will sit and listen. It makes the children feel safe, knowing he's there. Does that surprise Your Majesty?"

"And you," the king said, ignoring her question. "You feel safe with my son. I find this strange, all things considered." She didn't rise to the bait. "And now I must ask you a question, Lady Dylan. A painful one. Do not lie to me, not even to protect the prince, or things will not go well with you."

"I don't lie."

The king inclined his head. "As you say. My question is this - did Prince Nuada force himself on you yesterday? Or at any time?"

Dylan bit back a profane word that threatened to scorch the inside of her mouth. "Permission to speak freely, Majesty?"

At his nod, she hissed, "I swear by all that's good on this earth that if you ask me a question like that again, or imply anything like that about Nuada ever again, to me or to my servants or to Nuada himself, I will write to the Samhain Keeper and inform him that you have offended me grievously and will request he do something about it at once.

"And believe me, Master Moundshroud does not like it when his fortunate favorites are grievously offended."

And this, the mortal thought with a frisson of near-hysterical nerves, is where all of Roiben and Niall and Pipkin's lessons about dealing with the fae come in handy. Because she hadn't said Moundshroud would do anything to the One-Armed King of Elfland. After the warning the old fae had given her, Dylan wasn't even sure he could.

But Balor didn't know how tight the bond between human psychiatrist and ancient faerie king actually was. Didn't know what Moundshroud would and would not be willing to risk for this "fortunate favorite." All Dylan had promised was what she would do - which was nothing more than inform the Keeper of the Samhain Tree that Balor was seriously starting to tick her off.

She just hoped the old king didn't call her bluff.

"It is unwise to threaten a king in his own demesne, my lady. And can you blame me for being concerned?" Balor asked softly. "After all that Nuada has done-"

"You mean, how he supposedly butchered a bunch of humans who turned out to be rapists and murderers and it happened that he was actually saving my life, then supposedly used glamor and magic to trick me into bed, thereby constituting rape according to faerie law, even though Nuada and I have never had sex? The crime he was accused of committing, the crime we proved he hadn't committed, and yet he still hasn't been officially pardoned or apologized to even though you whipped the flesh from his back and he nearly died?"

Balor had the grace to look ashamed. "Lady Dylan-"

"Or the crime Nuala accused him of - raping me yet again - when all he'd done was come to see me in my room at my request and comfort me because I'd had a nightmare and was feeling scared?

"You later accused him of murdering me to get out of our almost-engagement. Is that what you meant? And you insinuated that he'd tried to rape me again while he was staying in my cottage. That what we're talking about?

"And that's on top of this latest rape attempt."

Balor studied the mortal. The glacial sapphire eyes glittering like ice. The pulse flickering at the base of her throat, framed by four parallel scratches. A mortal who was exhausted, bruised, and clearly infuriated. "Why do my suspicions make you so angry, little mortal?"

Dylan's fingers curled into fists at her sides. Her nails fitted into the crescents she'd dug into her palms the night before.

"Let me tell you something that you may not have figured out about your son, King Balor. He loved his mother."

She noted the king's flinch. Pressed on.

"What happened to her... no child should ever have to see something like that, much less see it happen to a parent. To someone they love. He saw what happened. It scarred him. Those scars and his honor, which you still refuse to believe exists, prevent him from doing the things you've accused him of. Nuada would never force himself on a woman. Ever.

"And I'll tell you this, too. The knife that cut me yesterday was poisoned with Branwen's Tears."

She saw Balor jolt.

"It would have been the easiest thing in the world for him to seduce me last night. A kiss, a touch. Cripes, if he'd breathed on me, I'd have been helpless to say no to him, and he knew it.

"And do you know what he did? Even though it hurt him, even though it was agony for him to see me in so much pain, he stayed with me, comforted me, and didn't touch me. The only thing he did was hold my hand."

Tears thickened her voice when she whispered, "All he did was hold my hand and sing to me to try and help me sleep. He just held my hand. Because I asked him to. He didn't hurt me. He would never hurt me. Why can't you see that? He's a good person. Why can't you see what a good person he is?"

For a long moment, the king did not speak. Only watched the human struggle for and finally regain her composure. Then he laid a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"Lady Dylan... Dylan. I know you love Nuada. I do not doubt that. But one's love for someone else can blind you to their faults-"

She twitched out of his hold. "You are just like my dad. You don't listen to anything you don't want to hear."

"You compare me to your father and expect me to feel insulted? What you've just said is a common complaint among many children regarding their parents."

Her eyes were like shards of ice, her voice brittle and cold as frost when she said, "My parents locked me in a dark hole for eleven years and left me there to rot because I told them I believed in faeries. I only got out because I turned eighteen and they couldn't legally keep me there anymore. Eleven years of being drugged, beaten, starved, tortured, and raped.

"So yes - when I compare you to my parents, I expect you to be insulted." She started to turn towards where the ewah were speaking with the Butchers, then turned back.

"I know he's killed humans," Dylan murmured. "I know he fought them in the wars. I've seen his hatred. I've seen his disgust. I've seen his darkness, and how it can consume him when he lets it. You've seen it, too.

"But that's all you've seen. You haven't seen the rest. His kindness. His compassion. His courage. His grief. Nuada is a good man, Your Majesty. An honorable man. Believe it. And you owe him an apology, as his father and as his king, for the accusations you make."

The mortal went to stand by her handmaiden and her young guard, and the king let her go. He had much to think about.

.

Nuada looked down at the cougar boy seated on the healing bed, wondering what could have been so important that the child needed to see him and only him, right that instant. Had he heard something? Seen something that might indicate a danger to his mistress? And 'Sa'ti had wanted to speak to him as well. Why?

A'du'la'di carefully slid off the bed, gritting his teeth against the pain in his side. The healers had taken his livery to be laundered, but they'd left the prince's knife, which he wore on his belt at all times except when going to sleep. Now the child picked up the knife. Went to where Nuada stood in front of the closed door and knelt before the prince. He held up the knife.

In a voice thick with misery, A'du mumbled, "You should take this back, Your Highness."

One silver-blond brow quirked. "You refuse my trust, and my token thereof?"

The boy shook his head. "No, sir. But... but I have to give it back. I... I don't deserve it. You should take it back."

Nuada folded his arms. Bit back a sigh. Children and their love of theatrics. "Why do you feel you are unworthy to bear my blade?"

The Elf prince blinked in surprise when the boy lifted his head and fixed teary eyes on Nuada's face.

"It's my fault A'ge'lv Dylan got hurt. When you were talking to Nils in the stables yesterday, I talked to Lòman and told him he should take you and the a'ge'lv somewhere you could talk so you guys could make up and you wouldn't be sad anymore. But then he did and you got attacked because you were by yourselves and A'ge'lv Dylan got hurt. That Elf guy hurt her.

"She... she was crying. She didn't even cry when Conri clawed up her arm. And... and... and she was bleeding and he made her cry and it's all my fault she got hurt and now you're not going to like me anymore and I don't have your trust anymore so you should take the knife back."

A'du didn't burst into sobs, but tears rolled silently down his cheeks. He clutched the knife in white-knuckled hands and held it up to Nuada again.

Firegold eyes stared at the sheathed blade. Why was it so hard to breathe? Something about the boy, weeping quiet tears of guilt, struck a chord in him. There was something about this....

He remembered. Centuries upon centuries ago, in the weeks after his mother's death, after a young Elven princeling had recovered enough from the savage, nearly fatal beating he'd received to get out of bed. Nuada remembered going in search of Balor. He'd needed to explain, needed to know if his father blamed him for not protecting his mother and sister. Nuada was a warrior. Nuada was crown prince. Nuada was going to be king one day. It had been his job to keep his mathair and his twin safe. That was what warriors did.

Yet he had failed. He had failed, and Nuala had nearly been killed.

And Cethlenn... his mother... the Elven princeling's nightmares of amber blood and agonized screams, Nuala's sobs and the cruel laughter of human wolves, had not given him a single night of peace in the time since he and his twin had been rescued by a passing troll warrior.

Yet when he woke with tears soaking his pillow, and he'd gone to find his father, Balor's study door had always been locked.

Finally, he'd found his father in the Royal Garden beneath the hawthorn tree. The tree beneath which King Balor had married his Fomorian bride centuries past. Found the garden and the vine-wrapped hawthorn tree, once so vibrant and alive, slumbering beneath snow and ice despite the fact that the spring equinox had passed mere weeks ago. Found his father with bowed shoulders, tears coursing silently down his face.

Nuada had laid a hand on his father's arm. Whispered, "Ata?" Not Athair, but Ata. Something he had not called Balor in many, many years.

He'd yearned for his father to put his arms around him. To tell him that though it was not all right yet, it would be. Eventually. That Nuada had done all he could, and more than even the royal guards had anticipated. That one day the nightmares would stop. That he would not awaken in the dark to hear his other half sobbing into her pillows while hot tears burned his own eyes. That his mother was somewhere safe now, where pain could not touch her, and that she did not blame Nuada for being unable to keep her safe. Just to confirm that Balor did not blame his son for surviving when Cethlenn had not.

And instead, Balor had...

Nuada wrenched himself out of the past. Bit the inside of his cheek until sweet faerie blood touched his tongue. The stab of pain helped force him to focus on the here and now, instead of that long ago day when his father had taken the first step away from him.

Balor had blamed him for Cethlenn's death. Not with words, but with his silence, with his retreat from the young prince.

And why shouldn't he? It had been Nuada's idea to go on that walk with the queen and princess. Nuada's fault that Cethlenn had only taken a few guards - her habit when spending precious private time with her children. And it had been Nuada's fault that the humans had found his mother in the first place, because he'd wanted to show her the Fomorian asphodel plant he'd found, and the humans had seen him there before and been waiting when he arrived with an excited Nuala and a laughing Cethlenn in tow.

His father had blamed him for Cethlenn's death. Nuada knew better than to blame A'du'la'di for what had happened to Dylan. It may have been the boy's idea, for Lòman to gallop off somewhere private so that the prince and the mortal could discuss things, but A'du'la'di was a child. Lòman and Nuada were both adults. Lòman could have refused to go along with the child's plan. Nuada could have refused to go along with Lòman's sudden desire to jump the paddock fence. Either were their mistakes, not A'du'la'di's.

"Sit down, A'du'la'di," the prince murmured.

The child looked up, confusion clear in his bright gray eyes, but obeyed by getting to his feet and sitting back down on the bed.

Nuada snagged the chair Tsu's'di had been sitting in and pulled it close to the bed. Took a seat. Propping his elbows on his knees, lacing his fingers together, he caught and held the little boy's teary gaze.

"Now listen to me, and listen well. Do not interrupt. Do not argue. Understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"What happened yesterday was not your fault. You were in no way responsible. You were only trying to help. Look at me," the prince commanded when the boy dropped his gaze to his knees again.

After a moment, A'du obeyed.

"I know you would never hurt Lady Dylan. You were simply trying to do something to make her happy. There is no shame in that. Any who say there is," Nuada added with a flash of hot fury in his eyes, "are fools who know nothing of what they speak. Do you understand?"

After a moment's hesitation, the child nodded. "But... but the a'ge'lv got hurt."

Nuada bit back a sigh. "I am going to tell you a story, A'du'la'di. Once, Lady Dylan and I quarreled, and I said things that made her very sad. I left her cottage and did not see her for some time, because I was very angry about our quarrel. When I finally returned, it was to find that she had been hurt by one of our enemies in my absence."

"But that's not your fault!" The boy protested. "You didn't know she'd get hurt, or you wouldn't've left her alone...." A'du'la'di trailed off as realization dawned in his eyes. "Oh. I get it. So... so, I didn't know either, that there were bad guys, and that monster. So it's not my fault, either. 'Cause I didn't do it on purpose. Right?"

"Exactly so."

The boy nodded, but the misery did not fade completely from his eyes. "Your Highness? I did something else. Or didn't, I guess. I'm not sure."

Nuada blinked. Sometimes the boy seemed almost to be speaking another language. "Explain."

"When I fought the Elf who was hurting A'ge'lv Dylan, I... I got scared. I tried not to, but I did. Warriors aren't s'posed to get scared. They're s'posed to be brave. But I wasn't. If I'd been braver, maybe the a'ge'lv wouldn't've got sick from that poisoned knife."

A sick jolt hit Nuada in the belly. "Who told you about that?"

Gray eyes widened. "I heard some of the healers talking about it. That the knife had poison on it and the poison got inside A'ge'lv Dylan and was making her sick, but the healers said you'd take care of her. They said that's why you were with her last night - to give her what she needed. That's what they said. 'The prince will give her what she needs.' Medicine, I guess. Or magic or something. You're a prince, so your magic's really strong.

"But if I hadn't gotten scared, I could've stopped that guy from poisoning her."

Centuries of self-control kept Nuada from clenching his fists or swearing. Medicine or magic, indeed. The healers had meant he would take Dylan to bed, using the excuse of the poison of Branwen's Tears. They'd meant he would take advantage of his lady and use her like a common whore off the street, regardless of what it would do to her mental or emotional state.

The prince shoved down his fury and the thoughts circling in his skull like sharks intent on blood. Focused on the child in front of him. He would deal with the healers and their wagging tongues later.

"A'du'la'di, who told you warriors do not feel fear? Every true warrior knows what fear is. Yes, warriors are supposed to be brave. They are supposed to fight with honor, and with courage. Yet that does not mean they do not know fear. Courage is not the absence of fear. It is the drive to fight, to defend and protect those you love, in spite of your fear. That is true bravery. Something you have in abundance."

"Yeah?" A'du swiped at his whiskers while mulling this over. "Do... do you get scared, Your Highness?"

Gritting his teeth, Nuada said tonelessly, "Yes. Especially when Lady Dylan is in danger."

"Why?"

"Because she is my lady, and it is my duty to protect her. I do not want to fail in that duty. I do not wish to fail her, and I certainly do not wish her to be hurt."

The short whiskers twitched. The flattened ears slowly perked up again. "'Cause you love her. Right?" Nuada canted his head to the child. "Me, too. I love her, too. I don't want her to get hurt. So... so it's okay to get scared in a fight? It doesn't mean I'm a chicken?"

"No, it does not. If I thought you a coward, I would never have given you that blade. I would never have chosen you as my lady's page."

Nuada reached out and gripped the shoulder of the boy's uninjured arm.

"Now no more of this. Never doubt your own courage, or your own honor. There will be those in the world who doubt it. Who doubt you. You cannot afford to doubt yourself. Be strong. Be noble. Be honorable. In effect, be as I already know you to be, and you will do well. Remember the vows you have made, the oaths of loyalty you have sworn. Remember your love for your mistress. That is all anyone can ask of you. That is all I or Lady Dylan will ever ask of you. Understand?"

The boy smiled. "Yes, Your Highness." Then A'du cleared his throat. "Um... can I ask one more question? Not about this. Something else." Receiving Nuada's acquiescence, the ewah asked diffidently, "How come A'ge'lv Dylan doesn't like your dad?"

Nuada frowned. "Did she tell you that?"

A'du shook his head. "I heard Táebfada mention it to... what's his name? Um... Conn. Healer Conn. When they came in to check on me last night. Táebfada said the a'ge'lv didn't... didn't...."

He screwed up his face in concentration, trying to remember the exact words.

"That A'ge'lv Dylan 'didn't care much for the king, and didn't like Prince Nuada's father much, either.' I thought the king was your dad, though. So that didn't make any sense.

"But then Conn said that it didn't matter if she liked the king or not, because when the king got fed up with reb... rebel... rebellion, or when you stopped... um... shoot. What did he say? Um... when you stopped thinking with your loins and started caring about Bethmoora again, she'd be gone. That everyone in the king's household was saying so.

"What did that mean? Why would they say that? And what are lo- Your Highness?"

The cub's ears flattened and he hunched his shoulders at the look of dark rage on the prince's face. Nuada's left hand slowly clenched, then relaxed. He let out a long breath. Forced his eyes to shift from infuriated bronze to empty topaz. Then he gripped A'du's shoulder again.

"Thank you for telling me this, A'du'la'di. Such information may prove important. Can I trust you to keep it to yourself for now? Do not tell 'Sa'ti, or Lady Dylan, or anyone. It is between you and I alone. Can I trust you?"

"Yes, Your Highness. You can trust me. I won't tell nobody."

"Anybody," the prince corrected.

"Yeah. I won't tell anybody." Serious gray eyes locked with Nuada's topaz gaze. "It was bad, wasn't it? What Healer Conn said."

Nuada pursed his lips. His hands itched to hold his lance. "Perhaps. I will look into it. For now, your task is to continue to get better. You have done a great service to me and to your lady. You deserve a rest, and a reward, I think."

A'du cocked his head. "A reward? How come?"

"You yourself told me that when a vassal does an act of service for their lord or lady, they are sometimes allowed to request a boon. For your service in guarding Lady Dylan, you may ask me for such, and if it is in my power to grant it, I will." Seeing the gleam in the child's bright gray eyes, Nuada added, "Within reason."

The child bit his lip. Stared down at his knees again, thinking. Finally he peeked up at the prince from beneath his lashes. In a quiet voice, he asked, "Will you come back for storytime? And for family prayer and the lullaby and everything?"

Taken aback, Nuada blinked down at the boy.

A'du added softly, "We miss you. 'Sa'ti and me. Tsu's'di, too. And the a'ge'lv. Will you start being there for our bedtime story and stuff again? Please?"

He'd been expecting something trivial. A toy, perhaps. A request to play some game, or for another horseback ride. An outing, maybe.

Not this quietly desperate plea for Nuada to take up a role he'd filled for perhaps a handful of days a few weeks previous before everything had spiraled out of control. We miss you. He hadn't thought the children would miss him that way. He'd only sat in on the stories because he'd overheard A'du'la'di say that very first night that stories were for babies, and he'd recognized a child's attempt at appearing older and more mature than he actually was.

The prince had never said anything. Never actually taken part in the storytelling. Yet A'du wanted him there more than anything else he could've asked for.

I am not the boy's father, Nuada thought with some weariness. I am not even his liege lord. Dylan is the one who tells stories and gives kisses and hugs to small children, not I. Why does he want me there? Perhaps to make Dylan happy, but that is not the only reason. He could have requested I attend church with them if that had been his main goal. So why ask for this?

"Please, Your Highness? Please?"

Nuada sighed. "Very well, A'du'la'di. As you request, so shall it be." The boy beamed at him. Nuada bit back another sigh. "Now, your lady is no doubt worried about your sudden melancholy, and wishes to see you. My father wishes to speak with you as well."

The child's smile slipped away like a ghost.

"There is no need to be afraid. Be respectful, and remember to call him 'Your Majesty.' Be honest if he asks you a question, and remember your honor and your oaths."

Panic flashed across the ewah's face and his fur stood on end. "Are you gonna stay in here with me?"

"Lady Dylan and I will both be here."

Dylan actually sat on the bed beside the ewah child, positioned between A'du seated on the bed and Nuada seated in the bedside chair. The king took a much more comfortable armchair that was brought by a servant.

Only Dylan and the prince were allowed in the room with the pageboy and the king. 'Sa'ti and Tsu's'di had been left outside in the hall.

Aged amber eyes studied the little boy who kept sneaking peeks at the king from beneath his lashes. His bandaged left hand clutched a sheathed twin-dagger.

Balor recognized the blade from the gold-embossed engravings on the black hilt as Nuada's own weapon. Why did the boy have that? The child's other hand clutched at the mortal woman's black skirt. Dylan kept her arm draped lightly around the child's shoulders.

"Forgive my lady's pageboy, Your Majesty," Nuada said into the silence. "He is wounded yet, and cannot rise or kneel. Bow your head to His Majesty, A'du'la'di."

The boy automatically ducked his head.

"Your Royal Majesty, allow me to present Lady Dylan's pageboy, A'du'la'di Ewah of the Children of the Cougar. A'du'la'di, this is His Royal Majesty King Balor One-Arm of Bethmoora."

"Good morning, A'du'la'di."

"G-good m-m-morning, sir. Um, Your Majesty."

Balor smiled, trying to put the obviously nervous child at ease. "Prince Nuada tells me you were instrumental yesterday in saving his life and the life of Lady Dylan. That was very brave of you, taking on a full-grown warrior the way you did. Has he offered you some reward for your service?"

The boy nodded. "He said he won't miss the bedtime story anymore. And he'll do family prayer with us. He said I could have anything I wanted, but I asked for that because me and 'Sa'ti - she's my baby sister - think it should be all of us for family time, so the prince said he'd be there."

The king raised an eyebrow at his son. The message was clear. That's all? The child saves your life and the life of the woman you claim to love, and that is all you offer him in return?

But aloud, Balor only said, "Well, I am most grateful to you, A'du'la'di, for saving my son's life. I would have been grieved had he come to any harm."

For some reason, the little boy opened his mouth, shot a glance at the prince, and closed it again. Balor suddenly had the distinct impression that the cat-boy had been about to contradict the king. Why?

"In exchange for defending my son's life," the king added, watching the boy through narrowed eyes, "I offer you a boon. Whatever you ask of me, if it is within my power, I will grant."

A'du's eyes widened. "But... but Prince Nuada already gave me a boon, Your Majesty."

"And now I am offering you one. There is no shame in accepting. There must be something you wish."

"I... um... I don't know." He looked to Dylan for guidance. She offered him a smile and nodded, encouraging him to ask for whatever it was he might want.

But he didn't know what he wanted! He had a lot of stuff already. A great job as A'ge'lv Dylan's page; clean clothes without any stains or patches or holes in them; a great place to sleep; new friends, like Ailbho and Rórdán and even Guardswoman Onóra, who was really nice and told funny jokes when the other lady guards weren't looking. There wasn't anything he really wanted.

At least, nothing the king would give him. A'du didn't think the prince's dad would take him out for ice cream or anything like that, the way A'ge'lv Dylan would. And he didn't want to ask the king to make the prince do it, either.

Asking for a new toy as a boon was something a stupid little kid would do. Boons were supposed to be important things. The only reason A'du and 'Sa'ti had asked Nuada to play with them as a boon was because they'd been hoping it would cheer the prince up. That wasn't the same thing.

"I... I don't know," the cougar boy repeated a little helplessly. "Um... wait."

The idea bloomed in his mind, quick as a lightning strike, and just as brilliant. At least, A'du'la'di thought so. It would be the bestest idea ever! And the king had said "anything." So he couldn't get in trouble. And it would definitely make the prince happy. Definitely.

"Um, Your Majesty? Would it be okay if, for my boon, if His Highness could have the Silver Lance back?"

Nuada nearly choked on his tongue. Dylan's mouth dropped open. The king's eyebrows shot toward his hairline as he stared first at the little boy, then shifted his gaze to the prince seated near the child.

The accusation in those ancient topaz eyes was clear. You put him up to this. Nuada smoothed his features to blankness and merely raised his eyebrows.

"Is that truly what you wish for yourself, young page?" The king asked in voice devoid of all emotion. A'du'la'di's grip on the sheathed blade of the prince's knife tightened. "This boon is meant to fulfill your own desires and reward your courage. Is this truly what you wish to ask me for?"

A'du nodded. "Yes, sir. Your Majesty, I mean. Please?"

The ewah had overheard some people at church whispering about it during the walk from the chapel to the Primary room. He'd asked Rórdán about it before the lesson had started.

Yes, Rórdán had admitted, he'd heard the grownups in the kitchen talking about how the prince's lance had been taken away and he'd gotten in trouble with the king for being gone in the mortal world for so long. No, Rórdán didn't know when the prince would get the Silver Lance back. The kitchen boy had only known that the prince was really upset, and losing the lance was a sign of great dishonor. To A'du's way of thinking, that was just dumb. No one was as honorable as the prince.

Balor fixed his son and heir with an icy look. Nuada stiffened. Met that look with a bland expression and empty topaz eyes.

The king wasn't fooled. This, out of everything the crown prince had done, was simply pathetic. Using a little boy as a tool in the war between monarch and prince? Pathetic. Balor let that sentiment show clearly in his eyes.

Still, he inclined his head to the child and said, "I will acquiesce to your request, A'du'la'di Ewah. The prince's lance was taken as punishment for disobedience to his king in not returning when called. For this crime, he is forgiven, and his punishment revoked. The Silver Lance will be returned to Prince Nuada this very day."

So saying, the king rose to his feet. Dylan and Nuada did the same, the prince bowing and the mortal dipping a truncated curtsy as the king left the room. The chamberlain met him just outside, and walked with the king to wherever the old monarch wished to go. Dylan was glad to see the back of him.

"Is he always like that?" A'du ventured into the sudden silence.

Stone-faced, Nuada turned to the child. "Like what?"

"Grumpy. Maybe he needs a time-out. Or a nap. 'Sa'ti gets grumpy when she misses her naps."

Nuada's lips twitched. "You think a nap would improve my father's mood?"

"Or a chocolate chunk cookie. Becan told me he always make chocolate chunk cookies when the a'ge'lv's in a bad mood."

Dylan sniffed. "I don't have bad moods."

The prince gave her a fond look. "Darling, you should be ashamed to tell such lies. You should set a better example for our boy."

Dylan rolled her eyes, but smiled. At least her prince was in a better frame of mind now. She glanced at A'du when Nuada wasn't looking. Winked. The little boy winked back.

No one remembered that 'Sa'ti had wanted to speak to Nuada.

.

The rest of Monday passed without further incident involving either cougar-shifters or the human woman. Dylan agreed to rest in her bedroom, guarded by Onóra and the other female Butchers. More exhausted by the previous night than she cared to admit, she napped throughout the day while her guards chatted amiably amongst themselves.

The dogs kept their person company on her bed. The furry warmth of them helped with some of Dylan's residual soreness.

Other than dozing, the only two things she did were to finish and then deliver the letter she'd written to Nuada.

Well, deliver was a relative term. She'd left it on his desk while he was out of the suite, somewhere in the castle, and scurried back to bed before he could catch her. She wasn't a hundred percent sure how he'd react to the letter, and could admit she was a bit of a chicken about seeing his reactions firsthand.

A'du had to remain in the Healers' Wing for observation because of a concussion. Because the boy was so young, it was a more delicate process to heal something as tricky as a concussion with magic. The healers worked on it systematically, over the course of the day, combining their power with the child's natural resilience and his innate faerie healing abilities.

'Sa'ti insisted on staying with him. Tsu's'di was excused from guard duty for the same reason. The cougar youth kept his younger siblings entertained by reading them some of the picture books A'ge'lv Dylan had bought them, telling stories, and making silly faces that made A'du laugh until the wound in his side forced him to stop.

Nuada was the busiest.

First, he pulled Healer Conn in for a private meeting and demanded to know if what A'du'la'di had reported was true. Of course the prince kept the child's name out of it. The Elven healer was forced to admit that it was true. The healer's sins were compounded when he was forced to admit that Jenny Hob's reports about the Elf's attitude toward the sick halfling baby were also true.

The heir to the throne of Bethmoora delivered a blistering lecture about honor, chivalry, duty, and keeping a civil tongue in one's head (or risking losing it). The Elven healer walked away pale with fury and humiliation.

Bethmoora's crown prince was in turn lectured by an infuriated king later that day. How dare the prince abuse his authority and the regard of an innocent child by using the ewah boy as a pawn to gain back a bit of lost power?

If not for the fact that Balor had promised the child the lance would be returned, the king would have done more than lecture his son. As it was, he informed the prince in icy tones that he was still forbidden to bear Claiomh Solais or Sleá Bua. Two of the three sacred Tuathan weapons were still forbidden him.

Nuada did not bother attempting to correct the king. Never mind that he had not known the child would be offered a boon, and so could not have arranged for the boy to ask for the Silver Lance back in response to that offer. His father was determined to think the worst of him.

It mattered little in the long run. Some things changed, and some things stayed the same. Balor believing him a dishonorable bully was one of the things that would never change.

He could admit he felt exponentially better the moment he'd slipped his beloved spear into its sheath on his back. The familiar weight soothed some of the edginess that had plagued him since the first night of their return to Findias.

Back in his rooms, Nuada ordered his guards to remain in the front room while he retreated to his study once more and sank down into the comfortable desk-chair with a sigh.

He wondered how long his father would insist he play the court game. How long the king would allow him to draw out the courtship charade before coming to some kind of decision.

The Elf prince could admit he was torn now. Part of him yearned for the charade to end so that he could be free of Dylan, so that he would not be forced day after day to be so torturously close to her. But he could also admit that another part of him would force him to her side no matter if political games demanded it or not.

He'd become weak, the fae warrior thought with another sigh. Weak, to need her so much. To become so dependant on someone he could never truly have. Only if his father ordered them to marry could he have her until Time and her mortality stole her away again.

And what good was that, truly? To have her, to be with her, to allow her to entwine herself with his life until she was inextricably bound to him in all ways, only to lose her in the end? Why do that to himself?

A slim, ivory envelope bearing familiar handwriting caught his attention. Nuada frowned. Picked up the envelope and studied his name penned in elegant, navy blue ink. Not his title, not a full formal addressage. Simply "Nuada."

He flipped it over to study the seal in pale blue wax. Two roses with braided stems, intertwined with the symbol etched into the blade of the Silver Lance. Dylan's crest.

Nuada gently broke the seal and pulled the three-page letter, written on soft white paper with a gold monogram at the top, from the envelope.

This wasn't like her last letter, the little note she'd left him in Roiben's sithen to lift his spirits in the wake of a nightmare. This was a true letter, even longer than his own to her had been. Painstakingly scripted, without even so much as a stray spatter of ink anywhere on the paper. She'd put a lot of effort into this.

He settled back in his chair and began to read.

"Nuada,

I'm not very good at writing letters. I'm not very good at writing
anything, actually. My journal has a lot of scratch-outs and inserted
words, and it reads a lot like how I sound when I start to babble. I am
going to try very, very hard not to sound like that in this letter.

You wrote me a letter once, to apologize for harsh words between us.
It was the most beautiful thing I'd ever read. Maybe you're used to
that sort of thing - romantic letters and such - and don't really get how
much it meant to me to have something like that. I'm not used to that
sort of thing. Not used to chivalry of that sort. It's the little things you
do, things you might not realize are a big deal to someone who's never
had them before, that make me feel so special around you. The letter
was just one of them. That's why it's one of my most prized
possessions.

You're probably wondering where I'm going with this. What your letter
did for me, I'm hoping this letter will do for you. It explained a lot, and
it helped to heal the heart-wounds from that fight. It reassured me
that even though we'd fought, even though things were so messed up
between us, you still cared about me. That's what I want to do. I want
to make sure you understand how I feel about everything that's
happened between us. But whenever I think about trying to explain it
to you, I get kind of weepy and I know you hate that, so I thought a
letter would work better.

I know you're hurt by my refusal. I hate that I've hurt you. I don't
know if I have the words to explain how much I hate that. You asked
me once how I could know you so well when I'm so young and mortal.
I see you, Nuada, and I know you, and I know you've been hurt so
much by the people who claimed to love you. I never wanted to be one
of those who hurt you. Never wanted to betray your trust or wound
you that way. I've said I'm sorry, but I know that's not enough. I don't
know how to make it up to you, or ease the pain I've caused. All I can
say is that I never meant to hurt you. Not in any way. I wanted to be
the one you could come to when you'd been hurt to feel all right again,
just like you are for me. I don't know if I've lost that now - the ability
to offer you comfort. I hope not.

Please believe me when I say that my refusal has nothing to do with
how I feel for you. It has nothing to do with the strength of my
feelings, or a lack of strength. In fact, how much I feel only made it
that much harder to turn you down. Saying no to you was the hardest
thing I have ever done. Forcing myself not to give up after my attack a
year ago, forcing myself to confront Eamonn and your father that first
night in Findias... nothing has ever been as hard for me as having to
say no to the person I love more than anyone else in this world.

I don't know if this is helping. I hope it isn't making things worse. But I
just want to tell you what I'm feeling. I want you to understand. I hope
that helps you.

The words "I love you" are said so often by so many, I know.
Sometimes they're used without any real thought. I remember the
night you took me to Fafner's Cave, and the waitress brought me rote
grütze with cream. I told you I loved you then. I meant it - I did love
you, even then - but the reason I said it was because I was grateful for
something, not because I honestly wanted to convey how I felt about
you. This time, I'm choosing my words more carefully. I'm using them
with purpose.

I love you, Nuada. If you never believe anything I say, if you decided
every word out of my mouth is a lie, I beg you to believe at least that.
Believe that I love you with my whole heart. I don't know when it
started. I don't know how. I only know that it's true, that how I feel
fills me up and when I'm with you it's as if I was never hurt, never
broken, never scarred. It hurts so much and its so impossibly
wonderful all at the same time.

You know what my life has been like. You know I haven't done well in
the relationship department. Even though I held out hope of someday
marrying and having a family, I was pretty sure I would never find
anyone I could really be with. Never thought I'd find someone I could
love and respect and feel safe with.

Then I found you. My honor-bound protector. You scared me to death
when I first met you, the warrior prince out of legend. Then I got to
know you. I learned who you were. The honorable Elven warrior
shunned by so many, welcomed by so few. You became so much more
than just the warrior that had saved my life and sanity. You became
everything to me. My white knight, my Prince Charming out of a faerie
tale. A night of blood and pain and near-death experiences brought us
together. Your honor kept us connected. A king's cruelty bound us
closer. Somewhere in all of that, I fell in love with you so completely I
knew that no matter what happened, it would never stop.

During the first weeks and months after the attack in the subway, I
used to think that if I could, I would erase that night from my life.
Then I realized I would never have met you if not for that night. I
would never have found the strength and peace and hope I found that
night when you rescued me and taught me how to live again. No
matter what pain followed, I knew it had been worth it, to know you.
You gave me courage. You made me want to be a better person. To
live up to your expectations. You made me hope that maybe I could
have the happily ever after.

I don't think we're going to get our happily ever after, Nuada. I'm
sorry. Too much stands in the way. My mortality, your responsibilities,
just everything. But maybe we can have a happy now. I know it will be
hard when we finally have to go our separate ways, whenever that day
comes. I honestly don't know if I'll survive it. You're such an integral
part of my life now. It will really, really suck... but that time won't
come for a while. We have hours, days, weeks until then. Months.
Even, if we're lucky, years. And we shouldn't waste what time we
might have together.

I've never been happier than when I've been with you. When we went
to Fafner's Cave. When we watched the Night Parade from the
apartment roof. Those days in my cottage, just you and me. Our time
in the royal forest and in your mother's garden. Those have been some
of the happiest moments in my entire life. I think they were happy
times for you, too. Every moment we have together is precious to me.
And I'm hoping and praying that we can have more of those moments.

I'm so sorry I hurt you. I'm sorry that honor and vows stand between
us. I'm sorry about so much. Please forgive me for hurting you like I
did. Please don't take yourself away from me. Please let things be, if
not exactly how they were, at least different from how they are now.
You said it hurts to be with me. I know that, I understand that,
because it hurts to be with you, knowing that there's so much we can't
have. It's like a fist around my heart, but you know what? I decided I
didn't care anymore about when it's all going to come crashing down
on me. Eventually it will end, I know, but in the meantime we can at
least be with each other. Comfort and protect each other like we've
been doing. That's all I want. I just want to be with you in any way my
vows and your honor allow. We're in this already, and there's no one
I'd rather be in this with than you. We're a team. Or we were. I want
us to keep being a team. Since we're in this, I want us to be in it
together. I want to stand by you and support you in any way I can.
Please believe that. Please believe that I want us to be together,
even if it's not possible. Impossible or not, you're the one I want.

I miss you so much. Being apart from you because you were angry
when we were fighting before was so hard. Being apart from you
because I've hurt you is so much worse. If I can, let me make it up to
you. Let me still be your lady, even if I can't be your wife. You're still
my prince. I still love you. I will always love you, with all my heart and
soul. You will always be my world. Nothing will ever change that.

I probably sound really pathetic and lovesick right now, so I'm going to
end here. I love you, Prince Nuada Silverlance. More than anything.
Please come back to me. Please don't walk away from me again. I
don't know if I can take that.

If you can find it in yourself to forgive me and to let me back in your life,
or even if you never do, I remain,

I gcónaí do mhuire agus a ghrá,

Dylan"

He stared at the letter for a long time in silence, the three pages spread out across his desk so he could study each word, each turn of phrase. It was a good letter, the clinical portion of his brain thought. Especially for a mortal.

The emotion in it... no wonder she had not wanted to speak such sentiments aloud. Fear of his anger, fear of ridicule - I probably sound really pathetic and lovesick right now.... - or fear of breaking down, weeping. She would loathe the idea of crying, loathe even the possibility of using tears to persuade him in this.

By the stars, beloved....

He had known she loved him. Known her love was true, not the flimsy insubstantial thing most mortals professed to. But he had not thought a human, not even this human, could feel so strongly.

And the last words of the letter. I remain always your lady and your love.... Firegold eyes stared at the letter. Then Nuada was on his feet, striding around the desk and through the study door.

The Butchers assigned to protect him - and keep him in line - glanced up, surprised, as the prince strode from the study door into his bedroom. There was a sharp knock. The sound of a door opening and closing. Then nothing.

The king's elite all exchanged a glance. Shrugged. Let the prince do as he would, so long as he did not try to slip their leash again.

.

She was asleep. He hadn't thought it would be so, but there Dylan lay, sprawled atop the blue velvet coverlet, sleeping peacefully.

Firegold eyes faded to intense, honey-kissed ivory as Nuada studied her with the same concentration he'd studied her letter. Her hair spread out around her like a dark halo. A few stray tendrils curled enticingly against the paleness of her throat.

She wore mundane clothing again - a skirt over thin, dark leggings. No socks, he noted with some concern. Lamplight caught on faint silver threads in the blue tunic she wore. His tunic. In her arms she clutched a ragdoll.

"Leave us," the prince commanded the four female Butcher Guards without tearing his eyes from the woman on the bed. Uncertain, nevertheless the royal guards got to their feet and went into Dylan's sitting room, shutting the door behind them.

Nuada sat on the edge of the bed. With trembling fingers, he reached out and brushed back one of those dark, silky curls. She stirred, making a small "mmm" sound as she nuzzled her cheek against his hand in sleep. His heart stumbled in his chest. His wife; why couldn't she be his wife? He had never wanted another so much, not in four-thousand years.

I just want to be with you in any way that my vows and your honor allow. All right. Danu's mercy, all right. He would grit his teeth and bear it. He would stop thinking, for once, of the future. He would simply let himself love her, and beshrew the consequences of it all.

"Wake up, mo duinne." Gentle stroke of his fingertip down the length of the scar on her cheek, along the delicate edge of her jaw. She shifted. Stirred again. "Wake up now."

Sleepy blue eyes slowly focused on his face. Scarred lips curved into a dreamy smile. Warmth curled around Nuada's heart.

"Hey," the mortal murmured. "What are you doing in here?"

"I came to apologize," he said softly. Her puzzled frown prompted him to add, "For pushing you away when I knew it would hurt you. Pain is not an excuse to inflict pain on others, especially those I care about. For breaking your heart yet again. For-"

She touched a finger to his lips, silencing him. "I adore you beyond all logic or reason, but shush now, Prince Emo-Bear."

Nuada shot her a mock-scowl. "I am not an emo-bear."

Tired though she was, Dylan caught the twinkle of amusement in his ivory eyes. "Okay, have it your way. Not an emo-bear. Got it. In that case, shush now with the apologies for things you have no need to apologize for, Prince Angsty Panda."

He gave her a look of absolute incredulity. "Angsty panda? What in the realm of fire and rain is an angsty panda?"

"I'm not telling you," she said, giggling. "Just to drive you crazy."

She noticed dark lips quirking at the corners, the tension easing out of Nuada's body. The eyebrow arching in silent demand that the mortal explain the new human phrase.

"Eyebrow-me all you want, Your Highness. I'm not in the least bit intimidated. You will never know, because I will never ever tell you. So there."

There was just a hint of danger in Nuada's smile. "You should know better than to challenge an Elf, my lady. Especially an Elven warrior."

Without warning, he scooped her up and dragged her close, trapping her against his torso with one arm. Dylan squeaked and squirmed, but couldn't escape. Nuada grinned, surprised he was capable of it.

"I seem to recall you once confessing to some weakness. What was it, again?" The prince affected a ponderous tone. "Chocolate... no. Books? That was not it. Ah, I remember now. I do believe you confessed to being ticklish."

Autumn-blue eyes widened. "That is so totally cheat- eek!"

The rest of her protest was swallowed by laughter as the prince made good on his implied threat. No matter how she squirmed, Dylan couldn't escape Nuada's one-armed grip.

"Wait, wait, wait!" She cried breathlessly. "I deserve a chance to counterattack!"

Nuada paused in his assault. "I am not ticklish."

"I wasn't planning on tickling you," she informed him. "C'mere." She beckoned with a crook of her finger. Nuada leaned in, curious despite himself. "Closer." He gave her an exasperated look. Obeyed. "Just a little bit closer," Dylan laughed. The prince obliged her.

Sliding her hand around the back of his neck, Dylan leaned up and pressed her mouth to Nuada's. Mirth faded away, leaving behind only embers of desire and a soft uncertainty between them both.

The Elf prince broke the kiss first.

"I think this may break one of your rules, milady," he murmured. "Or if not, it may still be unwise. Last time we were both seated on a bed and you kissed me, we nearly forgot ourselves."

"Right." Did she sound just a little out of breath? "Um... we should move."

With that, she slid off the bed. Grabbed his hand and tugged him to his feet. She took both his hands in hers and met his eyes.

"Before we... maybe get distracted, I need to know... are we all right? Are we really all right? I'd hoped, you know, my letter. You read my letter?" He nodded. "So are we okay?"

Nuada framed her face between both hands.

"I will stay with you, in whatever ways your vows and my honor allow, for as long as I may," he whispered, and captured her mouth with his.

Her arms went around him, her fingers twisting in his shirt; his arms went around her, one about her waist and the other pressing her to him. He tangled his fingers in her thick, silky hair. His lips ghosted over hers, feather-light caresses that sent shivers down her spine and heated his blood.

The room faded away. Everything faded under the soft press of Nuada's mouth, the heat of his body against hers. Everything about the kiss was so very gentle. No demand, no pressure, no force. Only softness. Only sweetness. Only the warrior's strength that sheltered and protected, but never dominated or frightened. Only heat like phantom fire under her skin as his lips moved over hers, caressing, exploring, memorizing.

When the kiss broke to allow them to breathe, Dylan laid her forehead against Nuada's chest. Clung to him, trembling. He kept his palm against the back of her neck. Cradled her head to his chest. His other hand smoothed up and down her back. His fingertips whispered along the delicate column of her spine.

"Don't let go," Dylan whispered. Slender fingers scrunched in the silk of his black tunic. Nuada's embrace tightened. "Don't ever let go again."

"Never," he replied. He pressed a fervent kiss to the top of her head. "Never. For as long as I may, I am with you. Until the stars themselves fall to earth and the world turns to dust. Until chains of loyalty and honor drag me from your side, or you from mine. For as long as you will have me, my lady, I am yours, as you are mine."

He'd made his decision. He would not regret it. They would be together until Fate dragged them apart. He could not make her his wife; he would not force her to be his lover. But she was his lady, his truelove, and that was enough. He would make it be enough.

"Tá grá agam duit, Dylan," Nuada murmured. "I gcónaí."

I love you. Always.

"I love you, too. We're screwed, aren't we?" Dylan asked, and inexplicably smiled. "We're totally screwed."

Nuada offered her a lazy, arrogant smile. He knew what she meant, but he also understood the various human colloquialisms of the word. "Was that an invitation?"

Dylan just rolled her eyes and laughed.

.

'Sa'ti curled up in cougar form on A'du'la'di's bed and shut her eyes, pretending to be asleep. Tsu's'di dozed in a chair. A'du was lying on the bed under the covers on his uninjured side, eyes shut, breathing deeply. 'Sa'ti knew he wasn't asleep. He was waiting, just like she was. Waiting for the voices to come back.

She'd tried to get to the prince to tell him about the voices, but then she'd seen them in the hallway while the ewah girl had been standing with Tsu's'di and Fionnlagh and everyone. She'd seen them, the two people she'd heard talking the night before, and everything inside her had gone cold. She couldn't do anything. Couldn't talk or move. Couldn't even get big and bristly to scare them away.

Then one of them, the one with the black eyes, had turned and looked at her. Smiled. It wasn't a mean smile. It was actually nice. And from where she'd been standing, he hadn't smelled scary or bad. But she'd known he was bad, because of what he'd said to the Elf standing with him.

A'du had believed her when she'd told him about the bad men while Tsu's'di was in the bathroom. Tsu's'di wouldn't believe her; he was a really big kid, almost a grownup, and he always said she hadn't grown into her power yet and so didn't take her seriously when she told him stuff she learned with her power. But A'du believed her, because of his power.

All ewah - in fact, most predatory shapeshifters - were born with some sort of talent. The most common was tracking, though sometimes fighting. Tsu's'di, 'Sa'ti knew, had a talent for fighting. He picked up moves quicker than anything, and he could smell weakness from a bajillion miles away. A'du'la'di's talent was his sense of smell. Almost all shifters had superior senses, but A'du's was talented. He didn't just smell things; he could taste them, and his smell-tasting was better even than Tsu's'di's. Tsu's'di had said that when their daddy and mama were alive, both adult ewah had said A'du's sense of smell and taste would be "something to reckon with" (whatever "reckon" meant).

'Sa'ti didn't have a fighting or smelling talent, but she had really good ears. Maybe that was a talent. She thought so. Tsu's'di said it was just because she was so little. An ewah's sense of hearing was at its peak in the first fifteen to twenty years after birth, because for at least the first ten years, ewah cubs were only blind kitten-cubs. The heightened sense of hearing didn't fade until an ewah was in their late twenties or early thirties - like 'Sa'ti.

So maybe she could hear good because she had a powerful talent, and maybe she could hear good because she was still little. Didn't matter. She'd heard the bad people talking last night, and she'd told A'du and he'd said they should stay up and find out more about the bad guys so they could tell the prince.

The bad guys were back now. She could hear them in the other room, even through the wall. Her tail twitched. She grabbed it and curled around it so no one would see and know she wasn't asleep.

"The Téngshé were supposed to abduct the human." That voice belonged to the man with black eyes. "That's what the prince paid them for, isn't it? To abduct the girl and give her to one of the human tribes somewhere in Bethmoora. To make sure they knew she was the Silver Lance's whore. They'd have made a slave of her just for that so-called 'betrayal.' Then Silverlance would go back to focusing on his plan to raise the Golden Army, out of a desire for revenge if nothing else."

'Sa'ti frowned and scrunched up tighter. The Golden Army? What was that? And there were humans in Bethmoora? Besides A'ge'lv Dylan? Bad humans, it sounded like. Scary humans who wanted to hurt the a'ge'lv. Did the prince know?

"I am sorry, m'lord," the second voice simpered. 'Sa'ti recognized that voice, too. It was an Elf. "They did not know she could fight. Did not know Prince Zhenjin would be out there with them. If he had not been there, the plan might have succeeded. I do not know why the Téngshé refused to harm Prince Zhenjin."

Contemplative silence. Then, "The Téngshé may not be loyal to the crown, but they are loyal to their employer."

"I... see. Well, m'lord, at least your plan regarding the child is working. She'll not last more than a handful of days. I've made sure of that. No one cares about a halfling child dying of some trifling illness because of the iron in its blood. Your Bethmooran lady and her handmaidens were quite sly to think of the human whore's brat as a potential weakness against the prince."

"Yes. Even if the mother cares nothing for the brat, Nuada does. Jenny has made that very clear. And if nothing else, the child's death might make Silverlance think twice about weakening the royal line by siring his heir with that trollop. Halfling children are so very fragile, after all. It would be a shame if the prince's child were to suffer an illness like the one afflicting that whore's spawn. It is such a tragic thing, to lose a child."

"Yes," the second voice agreed, and there was a razor's edge of hate to it. "Truly tragic. An even greater tragedy would be if the human were carrying Silverlance's child when we finally get her into the hands of one of the human bands scattered throughout the kingdom. Silverlance will be heartbroken to lose his whore and his child all in one blow."

"And in his moment of weakness, when his grief becomes all-consuming, I have just the lady for the task of convincing him to return his feet to the path he has chosen regarding the Golden Army. His grief and rage will drive him mad, and he will embrace the slaughter as he once did. Then the king will see the truth."

There wasn't anymore talking after that. When the ewah children were absolutely positive that no one was around, they opened their eyes. A'du sat up in bed and stared at 'Sa'ti. His baby sister crawled from the foot of the bed to curl up next to him, shaking. He put his undamaged arm around. In the morning, they had to tell Prince Nuada.