Chapter 77 - Just a Kiss

that is

A Short Tale of Questions, a Trap, Bruises, Spells, a Kiss, a Confession, Wandering, Words with a King, a Choice, What Nuada Saw, and What Dylan Did

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How to keep Dylan safe? How to protect her during the war? How to escape that brutal shadow looming on the horizon without losing one who meant the world to him? How to keep her from breaking his heart into a thousand jagged pieces by slipping out of his life like lifeblood slipping from a fatal wound?

The questions circled and circled in Nuada's mind, yet no answer came.

Suddenly, Nuada lunged to his feet and strode back into his lady's bedchamber. He stopped only long enough to gaze down at her face, empty of any distress, and brush back that one rebellious curl that always insisted on putting itself where it would. Then he went into the sitting room, where the Butchers waited in order to give the prince and the mortal a bit of privacy.

"Lady Dylan is asleep. I'm going out, so she will require your services," he informed Uaithne in a short, clipped tone. It was all Nuada could do to prevent his hands from shaking with the cruelty of the thoughts circling in his mind. "My own guards may accompany me if they must, but you will maintain your distance."

Siothrún inclined his head to the prince. His voice held hints of a knowing and disdainful smirk when he replied, "As you wish, Your Highness."

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Siothrún was to be sorely disappointed, Nuada thought savagely as the prince prowled the nearly-abandoned castle corridors. From the Butcher's tone of voice, the Elven warrior imagined the guard had thought the prince meant to tryst with a chambermaid or other woman due to frustrations with the prince's lady. Instead, all Nuada had done was walk.

Just as he'd done during those weeks apart from Dylan in the aftermath of their fight and Nuada's abandonment of her. Walking had done nothing in those weeks to clear his head or give clarity to his troubled thoughts, but it'd been better than stewing in frustration in his lair.

And what would he be doing now if not walking? Fuzzing the edges of his thoughts with whiskey, and that was a dangerous trap to fall into. Balor had often found solace in a bottle in the first years after Cethlenn's death. Nuada refused to be that way. Refused to give into such weakness. Even if his thoughts kept ricocheting off the confines of his skull until his head began to throb and the blood pounded through his temples in time with his heart. The pain only served to sharpen his already lethal temper to a razor's edge. Thank the stars his guards were maintaining a respectful distance. So long as they could be certain the prince didn't escape their watch, they would leave him well-enough alone.

Which was why, when Nuada strode down an oddly empty corridor and heard the soft sound of a woman weeping, he motioned for his guards to halt in their advance. The quiet sobs would've been inaudible to anyone lacking an Elf's superior hearing. Those pointed ears weren't for nothing, after all.

Nuada gestured for his retinue of Butchers to remain where they were as he approached one of the curtained alcoves that littered the castle walkways. His sharp ears picked up nothing beyond the muffled weeping. Whoever it was, they were alone in the secluded alcove. Honor - and the prickling feeling that Nuada should have known the owner of that voice - had him approaching on silent feet. With a careful hand he pushed the velvet curtain aside just enough to see who was beyond it.

Auriferous eyes widened in shock. It took him a moment to find his voice. "Lady Dierdre," he whispered. There was a soft gasp and the Fomorian noblewoman's head, currently cradled in her hands, shot up. Nuada's entire body stiffened in outrage. Bruises marred the moon-pale features. A healing cut graced Dierdre's left eyebrow, another her right cheek. A dark bruise surrounded her left eye. Her velvet gown bared pale shoulders also marred with bruises. Nuada saw a few bruises on her arms, illuminated by two candles in a double-candlestick on the bench beside her.

"I... Your Highness, I... I...." Her chin quivered. Tears spilled down her cheeks like drops of liquid crystal. Nuada slipped past the curtain, allowing it to fall closed behind him as he approached the Elven woman with his hands spread in the universal gesture of "no-harm."

"I mean you no ill this night, my lady. May I sit with you?" He kept his voice gentle and unpressing, using the tone he often employed with Dylan when she seemed near tears. Dierdre bowed her head. Nodded once. Nuada carefully perched on the velvet-cushioned bench in the alcove and braced his forearms on his knees. "My lady. Who did this?"

Dierdre covered her mouth with a hand that trembled and shook her head. "I cannot... I... please don't ask me, Your Highness."

She laced her fingers together, twisting them so hard Nuada bit back a wince of sympathy. The delicate hands continued to quiver. On an impulse, Nuada reached out and took hold of Dierdre's hands. They were slim and cool in his grip, the skin damp with her tears. Emerald eyes locked with a golden gaze. The noblewoman sniffled. After a moment, her hands stopped shaking.

"Who did this, Lady Dierdre? I swear to you, on my honor as prince of Bethmoora, that I'll punish whoever dared to lay hands on you this way. You have my protection from whoever it was. Even if it was another royal. Tell me who harmed you and I shall see them suffer for it, I promise you."

"No, Your Highess! Please, don't concern yourself. The man who struck me, he... I love him very much. He had to do it, you see." She pulled one hand away to wipe at the diamond tears on her cheeks. Nuada saw she wore no makeup. It made her look vulnerable and young. The candlelight turned her tears to drops of liquid gold and accented the shadow of the bruise around her eye. Dierdre stared at her lap. "It was for my own good. He had to do it."

Something had Nuada bringing up his hand to cup Dierdre's chin. He lifted the bowed head until he could look into jewel-like green eyes glimmering with tears of pain and sorrow. "No," the Elven prince murmured, shaking his head. "No, milady. A real man does not strike a woman, especially like this." Thoughts of the swanmane from the Troll Market invaded his mind. Memories of what Nuada had done to her exquisitely lovely face. He shoved them away. "A man who would hurt you this way isn't worthy of your love."

"I must love him, my prince," she whispered. "As you must love Princess Nuala, though many know there are shadows between the two of you." Nuada frowned, but didn't speak. "I cannot turn my back on the man who struck me, Your Highness. He's all I have in this world. My only family."

Nuada's eyes widened. She meant Cíaran. Her own brother had done this? The Bethmooran prince would never, ever strike his sister. Even as children, when they'd been prone to fights and little spats, he had never hurt her like that. Never left bruises. How could Cíaran do this? In a way, the Tuathan prince understood why the Fomorian lord had gone after Dylan. She was human, and in the eyes of everyone who fought for the fae cause except for Nuada himself, Wink, and Zhenjin, she was the enemy. But why would Cíaran do this to his own sister?

"Promise me you will not speak of this to anyone, Your Highness," Dierdre whispered. Like a striking serpent, one trembling hand snaked out to grasp Nuada's shirtsleeve. "Please. My brother is under so much strain. So much weighs on his mind. He didn't want to hurt me like this, I swear to you. I know he didn't. Please do not seek to punish him."

"My lady-"

"Please," she begged, grasping his tunic with both hands. Fresh tears welled up and overflowed. "Please, Your Highness. Do not seek to harm Cíaran, I beg you. He's so ashamed of what he did to me, and he wouldn't have done it if it hadn't been needful. I couldn't bear to see him shamed further. Please." As if all the life had gone out of her, her slender shoulders drooped and her head dropped against Nuada's shoulder. Warm tears wet his shirt. "Please, Your Highness. Nuada. Please." Then she broke, and wept into his shirt, those frail shoulders shaking with the force of her silent sobs.

The Elven prince thought back to every time Dylan had cried in his arms. Carefully, so as not to frighten the Fomorian woman, he put his arms around Dierdre. What else was he to do? Allow her to simply cry, as if he were some churlish youth afraid of a few female tears? Unlike with Dylan, he had to think about where to put his hands - one arm around her waist with his hand at her back, the other hand resting on her shoulder. It was a little awkward but it seemed to comfort her.

After a time, her sobs eased.

"Thank you, Your Highness," Dierdre murmured, affecting a sniffle as she pulled back ever so slightly from the crown prince. Now, she thought, barely suppressing a smile. Now to trigger the third spell.

The first spell had been to clear the corridor of maids and errant pageboys and other such servants. The second had been a delicate little piece of magic to snare Nuada's protective instincts and stoke the affection brought on whenever he was around the disguised gancanaugh, but only enough that he wouldn't find her behavior strange or questionable, not so much that he'd fly into a rage and go after Cíaran. And the third spell Bírog had given her to unleash was a very subtle enchantment, fed by the tiniest brush of Branwen's Tears when the prince had taken Dierdre's hands.

"Forgive me," the gancanaugh whispered. With one trembling hand she brushed at a tendril of garnet-dark hair. Satisfaction bloomed in her chest when she caught the Elven prince's eyes following the path of that one curl against her throat. "I'm not usually so emotional. I... my control was overcome by the moment, it seems." She sighed, deliberately aiming a soft rush of warm breath toward the exposed flesh above Nuada's collar. Feral emerald eyes caught the sharp movement of his throat when he swallowed reflexively.

Not the fourth spell, she reminded herself. Not yet. I have to be careful this time. It has to be subtle. Very subtle. And it cannot be anything that will make him go to the king about it. Move too quickly and he may suspect. I must take my time.

It helped that on top of the myriad of spells Bres and the sorceress Bírog had set up for this moment, there was still the three very subtle glamour spells twining around Dierdre herself - one to make her look like a scarlet Fomori, one to induce a deep fondness and affection for the disguised gancanaugh, and one to make the Elf prince feel just the tiniest sizzle of male appreciation. Not attraction, no. That would surely alert the prince that magic was at work. The enchantment only drew Nuada's eyes and attention to Dierdre's more alluring features. He did the appreciating all on his own - with attraction fueled by Dierdre's innate poison, of course, a magic more passive than overt.

"You have nothing to apologize for, my lady," Nuada said softly. A sudden impulse had him reaching up to brush the hair back from the cut over her eye, to see it better in the dim candlelight. The flesh around it was bruised green and yellow. It looked as if the cut had been made by a strike with a ring. He gently probed the bruise. Dierdre's hair whispered against his fingers. "Only a fool would fault you for your distress." His fingertips moved to the bruised cut on her cheek. She winced. "My apologies. I... should summon you a healer, my lady."

Dierdre shook her head. The candlelight caught on the glossy threads of her spun-garnet hair. "No, please. I do not want Cíaran to be... I would have no trouble come to him for this. He was angry, you see. About... about our dance together."

Nuada stared at her. "Our dance? It was but one dance. Nothing happened to warrant such a reaction."

"You don't understand how it is for him. He sees you dancing with me, Your Highness, and perhaps he fears what others of your court will think to see their prince dancing so intimately with a woman of the fae when he is courting a mortal. I only know that this... punishment was due to how I behaved with you at the banquet." She flicked her eyes to him, then gazed at the floor. In a tremulous voice she murmured, "It was clear to my brother that I had angered you-"

The Elven warrior turned her face back to him with a touch as gentle as he could make it. Her skin was fragile as porcelain and soft as satin beneath his fingertips. "My lady, if my displeasure somehow brought this harm upon you, you have my deepest apologies. Yet whatever anger I might have felt is still no cause for Cíaran to wrong you this way - his own kin. If you won't allow me to speak to my king, I might speak to Bres. He will most certainly-"

"No, you mustn't. His Highness Prince Bres is Cíaran's dearest and oldest friend. It is likely to break both their hearts for honor to compel them to contend with each other as they would have to if you spoke of this to His Highness. Please, my prince. I would do nearly anything you would ask of me if you will but keep my secret."

Desperation shone in her eyes like the gloss of tears in the candlelight. Another tear spilled over. Nuada brushed it away with his thumb without thinking. "I can't do that, my lady. If nothing else, my honor forbids such cowardice."

She wiped at her eyes before clasping his hands again. He could feel the warm wetness of tears on her skin. Dierdre gazed up at him beseechingly, the candlelight sending vibrant flecks of silver and glimmers of crystalline green dancing in her eyes. She looked away briefly, and slender threads of dark ruby brushed against the bruised ivory of her cheek and throat. A sudden whisper of heat bloomed in the pit of Nuada's belly. When those silver and green eyes slid back to him, the plea in them had the Elven warrior leaning in a little, protectively, as if in an attempt to shelter the teary-eyed woman beside him.

"Please, Your Highness. I beg you to say nothing." Dierdre's shoulders slumped, and her forehead dropped to Nuada's shoulder again. "I beg you not to hurt my brother, nor to shame him. Please say nothing to Prince Bres about this, either. He will be furious with Cíaran if Cíaran makes another mistake. Bres may even harm him. I couldn't bear that."

She reached up and her fingers twisted in the shoulder of his silk tunic. She lifted her head to lock eyes with him. Scarcely a few inches separated them now. Her gaze was so desperate, like that of a trapped bird frantic in the face of a predator, Nuada couldn't have forced himself to look away if he'd tried.

"I will do nearly anything, my prince," Dierdre whispered.

Her breath came in short, shallow bursts in the wake of her tears. Warm breath caressed Nuada's mouth. The thought entered his mind that he should put some distance between them, but she was so shaken, it would be cruel to do that. Besides, it wasn't as if anyone was here to see him. He merely meant to comfort her. He paid no mind to the way the soft golden light played along her lips like a lover's teasing caress. None at all.

"Please, my prince." Silently, the disguised gancanaugh thought, And now the fourth spell. Look at my mouth, Silverlance. She'd already caught him glancing at her mouth once already. That was how she'd known to use the spell in the first place. Only one more after that and he would be hers. Look at my lips, and wonder. Do I taste sweet? As sweet as your whore? Sweeter? Wonder, Silverlance, and let the thoughts drive you to distraction. Aloud she only pleaded, "My prince," in a voice like crimson silk, the words a caressing whisper, "my prince, I beg you. Please."

"My lady... Dierdre." Nuada didn't mean for her name to pass his lips like an endearment, spoken with tenderness. She didn't seem to notice, however. And he only spoke gently to her to reassure her that no ill would befall her for giving him permission to share her secret.

Technically, revealing such a thing without her consent would be a violation of faerie law - as it had been when he'd been called to give an accounting of himself regarding the execution of Dylan's attackers. His honor forbade him from keeping silent, yet in turn forbade him from moving against Cíaran without Dierdre's leave. So he said gently, softly, "Dierdre. I will let no harm befall you. Trust in me. Let me help you. You're safe here with me, you have my word."

There was something... strange about the way he looked at her, the Love Talker thought suddenly, an odd flutter in her stomach. There was a protectiveness in his gaze that she'd never seen in Bres'. She'd seen it in her brother, but never in the prince who was her lover. Yet she saw it here with the Silver Lance.

"Say it again," Dierdre whispered, forcing a tremor into her voice and a quiver into her bottom lip. "Promise me again."

"You are safe with me," Nuada murmured. "Let me help you, Dierdre. I will ensure that you're safe from any who might seek to hurt you, Cíaran included." When she ducked her head as if to escape the very idea of confronting her brother, Nuada brushed the hair from her face to force her to look at him and raised her chin again. For some reason, he couldn't seem to draw his hand completely away once she'd met his eyes. He let his fingertips linger just beneath the bruise on her cheek, though he couldn't understand why. Only continued with, "And while your brother must be punished for hurting you, I promise it will not be beyond the bounds of justice. Trust me, Dierdre. I will take care of you."

The Fomorian noblewoman closed her eyes for a moment, her lashes making wine-dark crescents against her cheeks. She wet her lips with the very tip of her tongue so that they glistened in the candlelight. Those wine-red lashes fluttered. Emerald eyes met topaz. "I trust you, Nuada." And she closed the scant inches between them and touched her lips to his as she triggered the fifth spell.

Nuada's first response was shock, followed swiftly but briefly by the impulse to push her away. Yet as suddenly as that impulse flared to life, it faded, seemingly smothered beneath his body's response to the silken touch of Dierdre's lips against his own. The hand he'd been unable to draw away from her face slid around to cup the back of her head, his fingers tangling in thick auburn hair. Something hot and sharp lanced his chest, an exquisite pain. His lips tingled faintly as Dierdre pressed close and opened her mouth to him. As a wave of something delicious and golden and hot as summer sunlight washed over him, Nuada's tongue delved into her mouth. Dierdre moaned softly. All rational thought fled Nuada's mind. There was only the sweet taste of the woman in his arms. The feel of her fingers tangling in his hair. The heat of passion burning through a kiss. Yet something was missing. Something....

A single feather-soft fingertip whispered over the very tip of Nuada's ear. The sharp spear of desire that ripped through him had him pulling away from her, more to catch his breath than anything. Then he was on his feet, stepping back from temptation. The heat and sweetness of those full, lush lips lingered against Nuada's mouth in opposition to the frigid stone wall so cold against his back. He could still taste her on his tongue, sweet as blackberries.

"My lady, I... forgive me, I... I don't know what came over me. Forgive me. I am ashamed to have taken advantage of you in your time of-"

"Your Highness, no, forgive me. I didn't mean... I should not have... you're not to blame, my prince." She pushed at her hair, a gesture that reminded the Elven prince sharply and strongly of Dylan.

Oh, gods, he thought, still with the taste of Dierdre's mouth kissing his lips and tongue. Oh, gods, Dylan. Forgive me, mo duinne.

"We need never speak of this," the Fomorian woman hastened to say. "I'll not tell a soul, Your Highness, if that's what you demand of me. I meant no disrespect. I only wanted... you see, I... I thought that you wanted... forgive me." Dierdre bowed her head. In that instant, she released her hold on the five spells upon the Bethmooran prince. They would fade quickly enough, but not too quickly. "I should go."

She got to her feet. Dipped him a curtsy. Cast the sixth and final spell, the one that would make the kiss linger in Nuada's thoughts and make him dream of her. Such subtle magic worked wonders. "You'll keep my secret, Your Highness, won't you? For me, if not for Cíaran. Please. It's all I ask." Because everything else, I will simply take.

And slipping into a simple "don't-look-at-me" glamour, grabbing the double-candlestick, she practically fled the alcove.

Nuada sank onto the bench and touched icy fingers to his mouth. Shades, what was the matter with him? How could he have done that? Kissing a woman in obvious distress. Yes, she'd kissed him first, but... but of course she had. He'd been offering her safety and protection during a very emotional time and allowed her to get far too close, been far too intimate while attempting to comfort her. No wonder she had misconstrued his intentions.

Nuada was fond of her, of course, though he knew her scarcely at all. She reminded him of Cethlenn, and in many ways, of Naya. They even wore the same perfume. He'd treated Dierdre as if she were Naya, instead of a member of the envoy from Cíocal.

Fool, he berated himself. Such a fool.

What would he tell Dylan? What could he say, to excuse his actions? To justify them? There was no justification for this. Kissing another woman. Kissing her so intimately. He would have to tell Dylan something. Have to confess. He was no coward, to hide such transgression from his lady because he feared her ire. Even though telling her of it, when he knew it would never happen again, could break her heart....

Dylan had already expressed insecurities about Naya and Lorelei. Now she would worry over Dierdre, as well. And they couldn't afford to alienate another member of the Cíocal envoy. If both Cíaran and Dierdre took offense to Dylan, what would Bres do? The Fomorian prince wielded more power than most people knew, and he held Nuala's heart in his hands.

How was Nuada supposed to handle such a situation? On the one hand, potential political problems with Bres should Dierdre take offense in some way. On the other, there was the personal dilemma between himself and Dylan, and the added complication of Nuada's beloved twin being halfway in love with Bres.

And he could still taste Dierdre's kiss.

I, Nuada thought with no little amount of irritation and self-loathing, am an idiot.

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When he finally retired for the night, sliding into bed beside Dylan, he still hadn't made a decision.

By telling Dylan, he risked hurting his sister's heart, possibly endangering his truelove, or at the very least endangering any hope of enlisting Bres' help in championing her to the other royals; never mind if desperation finally did drive Nuada to seek out the island of Mag Mell, for which he would need the support of King Rennan and King Elatha (and thus Elatha's son, Bres). Though the feral-eyed Elven warrior didn't see himself risking the mist-shrouded island, long centuries had taught him never to discount anything.

But by not telling Dylan, he placed falsehood and lies of ommission between them. Yet did he not do the same by not revealing to her his plans for the Golden Army and the human race in the coming war? Golden eyes fixed on the canopy of the bed and Nuada sighed. What to tell her?

Perhaps I'm a coward after all, he thought with no little disgust. No. I cannot accept that. I shall tell her in the morning. If she turns away from me for it, it's no more than I deserve. Nuada's mind dredged up memories of Dierdre's lips parting for him, the way she'd moaned as he'd deepened the kiss, suddenly so hungry for the taste of her. He shoved the memories away. I will tell Dylan in the morning.

Dread settled like a stone in the pit of his belly. Nerves replaced them when Dylan rolled over in her sleep and scootched against him, sliding her arm across his chest. Nuada nearly choked on his tongue as his truelove nestled her face against his shoulder. Her breath was warm against his neck. Slender fingers twisted in his tunic, just as Dierdre's had done. When Nuada tried to detach Dylan from him, remembering her words about being unable to hold each other while in bed, her grip tightened and she made a small sound of distress, burrowing closer. The prince sighed and desisted.

"I'm sorry," Nuada whispered, brushing a kiss across Dylan's forehead. "For everything."

For the Golden Army. For the coming war, and the extermination of the human race. For all the blood that would stain his hands then; for not knowing what to do with her and her brother and the rest of their family; for the danger being his truelove had set upon her and the danger being his princess would bring into her life. Because he couldn't simply snap his fingers and give her immortality. Because she was giving up so much to marry him. And because of Dierdre.

"I'm sorry, a ghrá mo chroí. I hope you can forgive me." He pressed his lips to her hair and closed his eyes, seeking sleep. Eventually, late in the night, it finally came to him, and he dreamed.

He dreamed of bloodshed and war, of desire and death. He dreamed of Naya, of when they'd been young together before the first war against the humans. Dreamed of Dylan, and all that could be and all that never could. Dreamed of Yukihime, the Onibi girl that had saved him, only to die in his arms. And for the first time, he dreamed of Lady Dierdre, and a kiss that burned him still, burned him with lust and with shame. When he woke just before dawn, it was with her name on his lips. He swallowed it back and found that Dylan had moved her head to his chest. Nuada wrapped an arm about her and forced himself back to sleep again. This time, he only dreamed of Dylan.

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When morning came, and Nuada had dressed for the day, he waited in his study for Dylan. Words flitted through his mind, to be considered and then discarded. How to explain himself? Was there any way to do so without making excuses? But these thoughts fled when a soft tapping at the door heralded Dylan's presence. He bade her enter and offered her a seat. She sank into it, smoothing down the skirt of her black dress. A puzzled frown turned down the corner of her mouth and furrowed her brow.

"Good morning, Lady Dylan," the prince said softly.

Dylan blinked in surprise. So formal so early in the morning? Her mind skittered back to when she'd woken alone, her face cuddled into the pillow Nuada had slept upon. Beneath the scent of wild forests, she'd caught an unfamiliar fragrance. Delicate and subtle. Not a smell she usually associated with Nuada. But she hadn't had time to think more about it before being told he wanted to see her.

Now she sat tense and still across from him, wondering what had happened to put those lines of tension and worry around his mouth. "Good morning, Your Highness. Is... is everything all right?"

"I have a confession to make," Nuada began, and told her of what had occurred between him and Dierdre the previous night. He refused to be a coward and look away from her face, even as shock and hurt flashed through those rainswept blue eyes.

When he'd finished, he waited for a long time for her to speak. Instead, she folded her hands in her lap and gazed down at the toes of her boots peeking out from beneath the hem of her skirt. The tip of her tongue darted out to wet her bottom lip. She said nothing. Her face was unreadable.

"Dylan?" Nuada ventured. "Say something." When there was only silence, he broke enough to add, "Please."

She licked her lips. Drew a long breath before letting it out slowly. "You... how... why would you do something like that? How could you do that? To me? To us?"

He struggled for words, and finally settled on, "I don't know. I have no excuse."

Twisting her fingers together, Dylan stared at the smooth polished expanse of Nuada's desk. No excuse? That was all he had to say? He had no excuse? He'd kissed another woman. Allowed her to kiss him and instead of rebuffing her, he'd made out with her! Barely two days after asking her to marry him for the second time! Unable to process that, the enormity of it, she said the first thing that popped into her mind. "Why are you telling me this?"

Nuada hesitated, then said, "I have wronged you."

"But why actually tell me?" Eyes like cobalt ice flew to his face. She scanned his expression, as if searching for the answer to some riddle. "Why not just hide it?" Dylan demanded. Her voice trembled a little. "You could've kept it a secret; why didn't you?"

"Do you truly think I would do that? Lie to you in such a way, regarding something such as this?"

It was harder than she'd have imagined to force the words out past the thickness in her throat, but Dylan managed it anyway. "No, but I never thought you'd shove your tongue in another woman's mouth while you were engaged to me, either. If it were an engagement because of the king, that'd be one thing. I wouldn't expect you to stay trapped in a loveless marriage without some kind of... outlet. But you asked me to marry you because you loved me. Or so you said. So... what do you want me to think?"

"It was a mistake, Dylan. It has nothing to do with how I feel for you."

"Really?" Such disbelief in that one word.

"Should I have kept it to myself, then?" The prince demanded. "Should I have hidden it from you? Pretended I'd committed no betrayal? Is that what you'd prefer, for me to lie to you?"

She glared at him. "The fact that you would do this shows that lying to me isn't exactly anathema to you, so it's a valid question as to why you'd 'fess up, since you could've just kept quiet and enjoyed screwing around with your new bedroom bunny without having to worry about your stupid mortal betrothed. What, did you have a sudden attack of conscience?"

Affronted, Nuada demanded, "My bedroom what? Dylan, how could you think I would lie to you about this? Do you think I make a habit of this? Of 'screwing around,' as you put it, with other women? You think I'd do that to you?"

"You kissed another woman. An Elven woman. What does that say about us, Nuada? Because from here, what it seems like, is that I'm too human for you. That you were getting tired of sporting with the mortal and wanted a 'real' woman. One of your own kind. You expect me to be okay with that?"

"Of course not!" He snapped. "Not with any of it! But that is not what it means. It had nothing to do with you, Dylan, or how I feel for you, I swear it. It was a mistake. One I regret with every part of me. I only told you about it so I could... so I could begin making reparations. So I could learn what you wish me to do to atone for this." Nuada sighed and passed a hand over his face. "I didn't ask you to come in here so that I might argue my innocence. I wish only to make amends."

Dylan folded her arms and tilted her head back against the chair, closing her eyes. He'd kissed another woman. After all of his promises, he had gone and kissed someone else. I will never play you false, Dylan. She couldn't even fathom it. He'd lied to her. And now he wanted to know how he could make it up to her? As if it was something simple, something insignificant, like forgetting her birthday or some other trivial nothing. Dylan fought the automatic urge to chew her bottom lip. Nuada wanted to fix it. Just fix it and be done. But it didn't work like that. Out of all the things he could do that she'd expected might hurt her, this hadn't been one of them. She knew she was supposed to forgive all trespasses, but... but he'd lied to her. And he'd kissed someone else.

She opened her eyes. "You lied to me. I trusted you. More than I've ever trusted anyone, I trusted you, and you...." Feeling her composure threatening to crack, Dylan surged to her feet and headed for the door. She couldn't talk to him right now. She couldn't deal with him first thing in the morning, couldn't deal with this.

Nuada clasped her hand before she could get to the door. "Dylan, wait. Please-"

"Don't touch me!" She wrenched away from him. Dashed her fist against her cheek to wipe away even a hint of tears. "What else happened last night? What aren't you telling me? Did you just kiss her, or did you sleep with her, too?"

"What? No! Dylan, I would never-"

"Would never what?" The mortal demanded. "Would never make out with someone else? Would never come back to my bed, to our bed, smelling of another woman's perfume?" Because that, she'd realized, was what that delicate scent on the sheets had been. "You... what? Wouldn't ever get fed up dealing with my stupid rules and go find some gorgeous perfect Elf girl to screw because you're tired of waiting for me to put out?"

"No! You are the one I want. You are! There's no other-"

"Then why did you kiss her?" Dylan demanded, and a few more tears spilled over. Tears of pain, yes, but also tears of anger. She forced them back. "You talk about how you love me. How I'm everything to you. Then you shove your tongue down some slut's throat behind my back?"

"Dammit, I'm sorry!"

"Liar!" The moment the word snapped out of her, she could see it hurt him. Could see the flicker of pain in his eyes. She pressed on anyway. "Liar. You promised me. 'I'll never play you false, Dylan.' That's what you said, and you lied. What else have you lied to me about?"

Nuada hesitated a fraction of a second too long before murmuring, "Nothing." Thoughts of the Golden Army taunted him.

She stepped back, wrapping her arms around herself as if trying to ward off a chill. Her face was pale but her eyes were dry of tears now. "I don't believe you." Images flashed through her brain, too quick and too sharp to ward off without inflicting more pain. She saw Dierdre in Nuada's arms, saw her kissing the dark lips and scarred cheek and pale throat while Nuada's eyes slid closed in pleasure. Saw Nuada in her mind's eye, his hands all over the Elven woman, murmuring sweet Gaelic nothings in her ear as he brushed slow kisses over the alabaster skin. Tears threatened to clog Dylan's throat. She swallowed them down. "You know what? Fine. Whatever. It doesn't matter. Go play with your new girlfriend. Screw her blind. I don't care."

"She is not my girlfriend."

"I... it doesn't matter." She backed up toward the door. "You don't owe me anything. You're the crown prince, right? You can do what you want."

"That is not true and you know it." He pursued her, relentless as a prowling wolf, but his eyes were bleak. "Tell me what you would have me do. Tell me how to fix this. I would do nearly anything for you, Dylan. You must know that. I'm sorry. It was a stupid mistake. Tell me what you want me to do. You have but to command me and it is done."

"You want to know how to fix this? Give me some time to think about whether it's even fixable or not. I don't want to see you for the rest of today." Because she couldn't think rationally when he kept looking at her as if it actually hurt to see her. Because it hurt her to look at him and see an auburn-haired Elven noblewoman draped all over him. "I know we've got stuff to deal with, but can it wait?"

Nuada didn't move or speak or even so much as blink for a long moment. I don't want to see you for the rest of today. He managed to nod. "It can wait."

"Fine, then." She started to turn away. Firelight sent brilliant blue glints cascading across her vision when the light caught on the stones in her ring. She paused. Stared at the band of white gold with its three Iaran sapphires. Held up her left hand. "Do you want this back?"

Her words slid between his ribs like a poisoned knife blade. Nuada swallowed back the cry of instant denial and forced his expression to remain neutral. "Is it your wish to return it?" He asked tonelessly. "I will take it back if you so desire."

The fingers of Dylan's right hand flexed toward the ring on her left heart-finger. She curled both hands into loose fists. Was she really going to reject Nuada completely, was she really going to break both their hearts to countless jagged pieces, over kissing? Intimate kissing, but kissing nonetheless? After all they had done for each other, after all they had come to mean to each other? She looked at her prince, who looked braced as if for a fatal blow.

"No," she murmured. "No, I don't want to return it." She hesitated, then glanced away and added, "I love you, Nuada. Maybe more than I should, but I love you. But right now... I kind of hate you." Dylan didn't see the way his eyes widened, the way a shudder went through him. Weakness flooded his limbs, though his lady didn't know it. Cold claws raked his chest as the words throbbed inside him with a dull ache. I hate you. "And I need some time to myself. I'm not going to leave Findias, but I wanna be alone. Because I just can't be around you right now. All right?"

The prince swallowed. Inclined his head almost imperceptibly. Then he watched her leave without another word, closed his eyes, and cursed himself for a fool.

.

She didn't break down and bawl like a baby. Dylan was very proud of herself for that. Instead, she retreated to the bathtub. Once out of the bath, Dylan realized that if she didn't get out of the suite she'd go crazy because she could sense Nuada in his study and knew if she didn't get away from him to give herself some time to think, she'd end up going back into that suite and either kick him in the shins or break down crying - which the psychiatrist absolutely refused to do. Instead, she mumbled something to Uaithne about giving her some space and left her suite, followed by her guards. The children had already gone down to breakfast with the other servants, so the mortal didn't worry about them.

It seemed like she wandered the castle corridors for hours. She must've looked imposing somehow - or the guards glared at the other people passing in the hallways - because while servants bowed or curtsied to her, none of the nobles who passed said anything to her, though they bowed and curtsied as well. Vaguely Dylan recalled what Nuada had said about her outranking everyone in Findias except the king, the crown prince and princess, and the chamberlain, simply because the heir to the throne said so. She wondered if she'd continue to outrank them when Nuada finally ditched her for the scarlet Fomori.

Don't think like that, she admonished herself. It was a mistake. He didn't mean to do it. He loves me. He said so. People make mistakes. It happens. But Nuada had said a lot of things, hadn't he? I'll never play you false, Dylan. Lie. The thought seemed so impossible. Nuada had never lied to her before. Or so she'd thought. Yet barely a week after promising he would be hers and hers alone until they had to be parted, after asking her to marry him twice... after all of that, he'd kissed another woman. Maybe she was focusing too much on a little kiss, but... but it wasn't just a little kiss.

Only once had she and Nuada kissed as passionately and intimately as he'd kissed Dierdre, and they'd been under a spell. Nuada had confessed to willingly kissing someone else after pledging himself to her. Didn't that mean something? Every touch, every embrace, every kiss: that is your gift to me. So he'd told her only a few nights ago. Was that a lie, too?

He'd said he regretted it with every part of himself, but did he really? Or had he liked it? What had he felt when he'd touched Dierdre's lips with his own? Was kissing an Elf different from kissing a human? Dylan had only willingly kissed one person before other than Nuada, and that had been a drunk teenage boy, so she had no real basis for comparison.

Did Nuada think about the kiss? Did he wish it had been more than just a kiss? Unless it had been more. Had her prince spent the night doing more than enjoying Dierdre's lips? The images that thought conjured made her stomach twist and knot until she thought she might be sick. What if he had slept with her? She'd caught a whiff of a strange woman's perfume on the sheets where Nuada slept. If they'd had sex... had it only been sex? Or had Nuada spent at least part of the night making love to Dierdre? She wasn't sure which would be worse. Was he falling for her? Had he already fallen?

I'm being an idiot, Dylan growled silently. Am I really this insecure? It was just kissing.

Except it wasn't. She knew it, and so did he. There were so many ways that that those kisses were a betrayal. Because in Faerie kisses had power. In some ways, they had even more power than sex - though sex had power in Faerie as well. Because it was just stupid to do, politically. Because Nuada knew how much value Dylan herself put on any physical affection between the two of them. And just because you didn't go around kissing people when you were engaged, dang it!

Her stomach rumbled, distracting her from all the hurt and anger churning there. Dylan went to one of the corridor alcoves and sank in a plush red sofa. The burgundy velvet curtains blocking off the alcove from the rest of the hallway draped the little antechamber in shadow. She settled against the arm of the loveseat and closed her eyes, resting her head on her folded arms. Her guards were a reassuring presence just beyond the curtains.

The question is, what will I stand for? Dylan thought to herself. Am I going to say, "Well, he's a crown prince, and he's used to having girls falling at his feet - and falling into his bed - so I should just let him do what he wants," or will I protest? Will I do more than protest? What are the political ramifications if anyone finds out about this? I can't just complain about Nuada to the king; who knows what Balor will do to him? But can I really go back to my suite tonight and share a bed with Nuada after what he told me? And the questions she did not want to ask herself: what if he doesn't stop? He says he regrets it, but what if he goes back to her?

Medicinal sleepiness whispered beneath all of her thoughts. Sleep had often been a retreat for her, and now Dylan found herself drifting into a light doze. When Fionnlagh peeked behind the curtain, she saw that her charge was stretched out on a sofa, head pillowed on her arms.

"She's sleeping," the female Butcher murmured to Uaithne. "I think she and His Highness had a fight."

Uaithne nodded thoughtfully. "Guardsman Mahon mentioned the prince was distracted last night after going for a walk through the corridors. Something might have happened. It might not even be a quarrel. They'll work it out, though. They're very devoted to each other."

Fionnlagh shrugged. "As long as they don't anger the king, they should be fine. I'm not concerned about either of them regarding their little spat. They'll work it out or they won't. It is nothing to me." Despite her words, the Butcher glanced back over her shoulder as if she could see the recumbent mortal behind the velvet curtain, and she thought, If the prince breaks her heart, he's a bigger idiot than I thought.

.

"Naya, the truce expressly forbids such a thing," Nuala reminded her lady-in-waiting as the two Elven women began to dress for dinner. Due to some request Dylan had made of the king - Nuala wasn't quite clear on what it was - the formal banquets scheduled for the nights between the opening banquet and the Midwinter Ball had been made into informal dinners for anyone who wished to attend, but attendance wasn't mandatory and nothing special or structured was going to occur. Still, Nuala knew she would see Bres, so she wanted to look her best.

Naya picked up a silver-backed brush and began running it through Nuala's spidersilk hair. "No, it doesn't. Nuala, Nuada only wishes to give aid to the northern villages. Have you read the reports?"

"Have you?" The princess asked. "My father does not share such things with me. It's a wonder Nuada shares them with you."

The Zwezda Elf chose her next words with care. "Nuada believes that if one possesses power and authority, it should be used to help those in need. That's all he seeks to do. He wants to defend his people. Surely a single company of Butcher Guards, or simply a company of the army, wouldn't break the treaty with the humans. Especially if they go with orders merely to fend off the enemy, not to attack or to kill them outright."

"My brother would not be satisfied with such a thing."

"He's dissatisfied now," Polunochnaya replied, setting the brush aside and beginning one of the intricate braids she intended for her friend to wear tonight. "If the king gives in a little, perhaps the prince would be less likely to strain against the king's orders next time."

Nuala sighed and gazed into the mirror as her friend worked on her hair. After a long moment, Nuala murmured, "I'll speak to my brother and see what he says of such a plan. A single army company is not too much, surely. Only twenty men. If they go with explicit orders... perhaps my father will agree." Glancing at Naya, the princess added, "You truly think it necessary?"

A memory of long ago flitted through Polunochnaya's mind like a deer fleeing through the forest. A memory of people dying in the streets from hunger. Children begging for a bit of bread or a single scrap of meat from more prosperous tables. Blizzards that destroyed all the people had, leaving them to starve. So it had been in Zwezda when Naya had been a small child. The terrible winter that had struck long ago had been one reason her uncle had sent her to Bethmoora.

"People are starving, Nuala," the Zwezdan Elf murmured, tying off one slender braid and pinning it in place. "Children and the elderly are no doubt falling ill from the cold and lack of food. Predators, those that walk on four legs and two, are preying on the helpless. How can you ask if it's necessary?"

The princess bowed her head. "My brother has always concerned himself with such matters. Yet if Nuada persists in what he means to do... if he means to attempt war on the mortal realm... perhaps it's time to take on the duties of heir to the throne. I will think on your words, my sister, and speak to Nuada."

.

Dylan jerked awake to the knowledge that she'd been dreaming about something horrible, something she couldn't quite remember. When she strained to grasp for the memory, all that flickered through her mind were lightning-swift glimpses and flashes of muted sound. Moon-pale skin in the darkness. Low firelight on dark red hair like spun garnets. Nuada's soft laugh, the one he used only when he was alone with Dylan. Light reflecting off silvery eyeshine. Someone whispering Nuada's name. Though she couldn't remember it all clearly, she was pretty sure she knew what she'd been dreaming. Just thinking about it sent fresh anger churning in her stomach again.

A quick glance at her phone - which had been tucked into a pocket of her black dress - told her it was a little after one o'clock. She got to her feet, smoothed the wrinkles out of her wool-silk leine, and stepped out of the alcove.

"Sorry about that, you guys," she mumbled.

"You were tired," Uaithne replied with a shrug. "Mortals don't have fae stamina. We've managed to keep ourselves occupied, milady, never fear."

Fionnlagh thrust something at her. "Here, milady. Thought you might be hungry." Dylan took what turned out to be a pair of rolls stuffed with bacon, sausage, and egg and wrapped in a cloth napkin. "I had a page bring them a bit ago. They're cold, but the stable lads say they taste just as good even so."

A tired smile curved Dylan's mouth. "Thank you for thinking of me, Fionnlagh. Everyone."

"It is our duty," said Ailbho. "Besides, we like you well enough, milady." Dylan could tell the young guardsman was smiling at her just by the tone of his voice. "Do you wish to walk some more, or would you rather return to your chambers? The prince might be free. Perhaps he could...." Ailbho trailed off when Dylan's smile slipped away like a wisp of fog. "Never mind."

"I'd like to walk around a bit more," she said, half-apologizing. She didn't want to go back to the suite yet, especially if Nuada was there. Especially after her dream. Dylan curled her hands into fists for a moment as she briefly contemplated going back to her room after all just so she could give her prince a good sock in the arm. Except she didn't want to hurt him. Well, maybe a little bit. Kicking him might have possibly made her feel better. But it wouldn't solve anything. She relaxed her fists and started walking.

The few brief bits of the dream she could actually remember kept playing out in her mind as she prowled. Her eyes kept flicking to the different curtained alcoves that littered the halls. Every time velvet rustled, something sharp and bitter hit her low in the belly. Dylan realized suddenly that she was actually looking for the place where Nuada had kissed Dierdre. She wanted to smack herself. Instead, she whirled around and strode purposefully to the servants' portion of the castle. There was only one door to the gardens that the mortal knew of off the top of her head, and it was there. She'd go outside, get some fresh air, and clear her head. Maybe the cold winter air would help.

It wasn't until she got to the doors that she realized - there was snow on the ground outside and she didn't have a coat. Her leather coat and mink-lined cloak were both hung up in her closet in her bedroom on the third floor. In order to get them, she'd have to go through Nuada. Possibly. Probably. Which she did not want to do. Not until she could sort out exactly how she felt about the whole thing. But she didn't want to freeze, either.

"You look a bit unhappy, Lady Dylan," said a familiar voice, and Dylan felt her heart thump hard against her breastbone. She turned slowly toward the speaker. Her eyes stung as she took in the kind eyes and understanding smile. The mortal nodded. "Anything I can do?"

"Well," she mumbled, "I... I don't know."

Moundshroud smiled, showing yellowed teeth. "What's troubling you, my dear?"

"I left my jacket in my room and I wanna go outside," she said before she could censor the words.

"And you don't want to go back up to your room to get your jacket because...." The elderly eldritch fae eyed her speculatively. Glanced at her guards, who were a few paces away for privacy's sake. Turning back to her, the king of Weir grumbled, "That buffoon of a prince did something to hurt your feelings, didn't he? Shall I go up and box his ears?" When the mortal didn't laugh, his sharp brows rose. "As bad as all that? Come walk with me, Dylan my dear. You needn't fear the cold when you're with me."

The old fae king offered her his bony arm. She took it, and despite the graveyard chill that always seemed to cling to him, the velvet of his black tunic sleeve was warm under her hand. As Moundshroud led her out into the gardens, warmth seemed to envelop her the way it had the morning after her first date with Nuada - when it had begun to snow on their walk back to the cottage from the apartment rooftop and he'd used his magic to keep her warm. The beauty of the snow and the winter afternoon were lost on her as she walked with Moundshroud along a garden path.

"Now, my dear," he murmured once they'd walked a ways away from the castle. "Why don't you tell me why I'm going to be digging a very deep and lonely grave for a Bethmooran prince tonight?"

And because it was Moundshroud, because she had always trusted him and knew he would never use this information against her or Nuada, would never really harm Nuada, she told him. She told him everything - about what had happened in the Queen's Garden because of the spells, about Balor's commands, about her goals for trying to fix her mental state. Finally, Dylan told him what felt like the worst thing: that Nuada had kissed another woman (though she didn't say who).

"I don't even know why I'm so upset about it," Dylan confessed as they passed beneath a fir tree. "It's not like he slept with her. At least... I don't think he did. I mean, why tell me about kissing her if he was going to lie about only kissing her? You know? And it's a jerky thing to do, kissing someone else, but like I said - it's not like he's been screwing around behind my back. I don't get why this hurts so much."

Moundshroud was quiet for a long while. Finally, he said, "Because you love him. It is as you were saying about your jealousy of Ledi Polunochnaya. Even though you had no reason to be jealous, you were, and the prince was not very understanding at first, and teased you. You placed value on something, and he demeaned the value you'd placed. Do you understand what I mean? Your feelings of jealousy, irrational though they may have been, deserved respect because they were your feelings and he claimed to value them.

"In the same way, you place value on a kiss. For you, kisses are important. They mean something - more than what they may mean to some others. Prince Nuada knew that, yet he chose to demean the value you'd placed on the bestowing of a kiss by kissing someone else. It isn't the act that's so hurtful, my dear - it is what the act implies regarding whether the prince values your feelings. Especially considering your conversation about Ledi Polunochnaya and Lady Lorelei beforehand."

He paused to consider. "Do you want me to speak to King Balor about this forced engagement?"

"I thought you'd get in trouble if you interfered with another fae kingdom."

The old faerie shrugged. "Most likely. That doesn't answer my question. Do you want me to speak to him about it?"

Dylan shook her head. "No. I don't want you to get in trouble or anything. Or for Nuada to get in trouble with the king. It's fine."

"Do you want me to castrate the prince for you?"

Uncertain if the Keeper of the Samhain Tree was joking or not, she replied with wide eyes, "No!"

"Are you certain?"

"Yes!"

He nodded. "Very well, then." Thin, wrinkled lips pursed in thought. "It doesn't have to be castration, you know. I am sure I could get it across to him that your heart is not one to be trifled with using some other method. I could-"

"No!" Dylan said sternly. "Thank you, but no. I don't want you to hurt him." Softly now, she added, "I don't want anyone to hurt him. Ever."

"Even when he has hurt you?" Moundshroud asked. Dylan shook her head, and the old fae snorted. "The boy's a blind fool to even look at another woman. Young idiot. And what about this noblewoman, this Lady Mystery? What shall I do about her?" The black eyes slanted in Dylan's direction. "Shall I kill her for you?"

The mortal sighed in exasperation. "Moundshroud - no. You can't go around killing people who hurt my feelings. I know you're a crazy-powerful fae monarch and stuff, but seriously. No. Although I would laugh if you magicked a frog into her bed or something. That would be pretty great."

He cackled, a sound like autumn leaves scraping over mausoleum stone. "I shall see what I can do, my dear." Those dark eyes whipped to a curve in the path. "Will you do something for me, child?" Puzzled, Dylan nodded. "I'm going to leave you now. I have business to attend to. I want you to keep walking. Turn right at that fork in the path up ahead. Will you do that for me?"

"Sure, but... why? And after that, can I go inside? Or will the warming magic still work on me?"

"By all means, you may go back inside afterward. Thank you for humoring an old man." He turned to her and pressed a grandfatherly kiss to her forehead. It left a chilled spot on her brow. "Goodbye for now, my dear."

"Thank you for listening, Mr. Moundshroud."

"It was my pleasure. You know you have a friend in me if you need one, Dylan. Never forget that."

She watched him walk back the way they'd come, and sighed. Talking to Moundshroud was a bit like talking to a crotchey uncle or grandfather - it made her feel a lot better, but at the same time, he was a very powerful and very dangerous faerie king. If she wasn't careful, someone could get hurt. But Dylan knew the Keeper of the Samhain Tree wouldn't hurt Nuada. She wasn't so sure about Dierdre, which was why she hadn't given out the Fomorian woman's name. The mortal wouldn't have wished an infuriated Moundshroud on anyone - not even the woman who had made a move on her prince.

Shaking away her thoughts, Dylan started down the path as Moundshroud had asked. She'd have to make this quick. The warmth from Moundshroud's spell was already fading.

.

For lack of anything better to do, Zhenjin wandered the public gardens of Findias, absently admiring the dark winter blooms. He'd just leaned down to examine a frosted winter rose, tiny ice crystals making it glitter in the afternoon sun as if it were studded with diamonds, when he heard a familiar voice yell, "Ow!"

Reptilian jade eyes glanced up in time to see Lady Dylan leaning against one of the garden walls, holding her foot in one hand. She grimaced and glared down at a displaced flagstone from the garden path. Clearly she'd tripped over the protruding edge. With a scowl, she lowered the offended foot and lightly kicked the flagstone. Winced.

"Are you all right, Lady Dylan?" Zhenjin asked, straightening.

The mortal cried, "Oh," lost her balance, and stumbled over the flagstone's edge again. Dylan growled, "Really?" Making certain to give the tricky stone a wide berth, she trudged through the snow toward the Dilong prince. She offered a curtsy. "Good afternoon, Prince Zhenjin. I'm fine, thank you."

Except that the only reason she wasn't frozen solid was due to the fact that her wool leine had long sleeves and she'd only been outside without magical protection for a few minutes. Stubborn pride - and the fear that Nuada was waiting for her in their joint suites, or somewhere else in the castle - kept her from going back to get coat or cloak.

Which, Dylan acknowledged, was stupid... but she didn't care enough to go back inside. She wanted to feel the biting cold while it numbed the tips of her fingers and her nose. It gave her something to feel miserable about besides knowing Nuada had kissed someone. Was Nuada thinking about her? Wondering when she would come back up to their rooms? Was Nuada watching from her bedroom window? The royal suites were too far away to be able to tell with simple mortal sight or Sight. But why would he be watching for her, after how she'd left him?

Her words to Nuada just before leaving him came back to her with all the force of a slap. I kind of hate you, she'd told him. The memory of the words burned her throat. Why had she said that?

Suddenly Dylan realized Prince Zhenjin had been talking to her and she hadn't heard a word he'd said. She blinked and shook herself, trying to focus on the present, and the prince in front of her. "I beg your pardon, Your Highness. Did you say something?"

"Are you certain you are all right, milady? Where is your cloak? You look half-frozen."

"Oh, I... hadn't thought about it before coming out here. I was preoccupied. I..." She trailed off when Zhenjin shrugged out of his beizi and draped it around her shoulders. The pine-green Dilong cloak settled around Dylan as lightly as a cloud. The silk brocade was surprisingly warm. Dylan folded her hands in the lapels and pulled it tight around her. "Thank you. But won't you be cold?"

Zhenjin offered a negligent shrug that reminded Dylan painfully of Nuada. "I am an Elf. I'll be fine."

He paused, considered. Nuada's mortal looked pale, lost to her own thoughts. She also looked sad. Missing the mortal realm, perhaps? The Dilong Elf could understand being homesick. His own home country had very little in common with Bethmoora, and though he and Nuada were good friends, the heir to the Jade Dragon Throne had been gone from Dilong for a while now, and missed his home.

"My lady, where are your guards? It's dangerous to be unescorted. Where is Silverlance?"

The prince knew he'd misstepped the moment he spoke Nuada's epithet. The light in Lady Dylan's gaze dimmed and she looked away. Fighting to keep the exasperation from his voice, he asked, "Did Nuada do something foolish? He can be a bit of an idiot sometimes-"

"Don't talk about him that way," the mortal snapped, then flushed. "Forgive me, Your Highness, but... he's not an idiot." Usually, she added silently.

Zhenjin canted his head. "I have offended you. Forgive me."

She shook her head. "No, you didn't. It's fine. I just... I'm having a bad day. I don't know where Nu- His Highness is right now. Somewhere in the castle, I think. And my guards are keeping a respectful distance since I told them I wanted alone time."

"Then I'm disturbing you. My apologies. I will take my leave-"

"Oh, no," Dylan said. Suddenly she didn't want Zhenjin to go. He reminded her so much of Nuada. Especially the fact that they used the excuse of being Elves as justification for being pretty much "perfect." Dylan pasted on a smile. "You don't have to go. I've been having alone time pretty much all day, so I wouldn't mind some company. It's not considered inappropriate or anything for you to escort me around the grounds or anything, is it? I mean, we're in plain sight. Nothing hinky going on."

A smile quirked the Elf prince's mouth. "'Hinky?' This is a mortal term?"

Dylan grinned. "More like a 'Dylan' term. What I mean is, obviously there's nothing... untoward going on, as we're in view of anyone who wants to look. My guards are right there." She gestured to the Butchers standing perhaps ten yards away. "So you could walk with me or something if you wanted. I'd like to talk to you."

"And you don't wish to give my cloak back just yet, I should think," the Dilong prince added with a conspiratory smile and a wink, "seeing as the silk is ensorcelled for warmth and it's quite cold." Color painted the mortal's cheeks in a blush. Zhenjin thought she looked much better when her face wasn't quite so pale.

"Caught me."

It was a small thing, to be sure, but Nuada would no doubt appreciate his friend looking out for the human in rather unfamiliar territory while the Bethmooran prince was busy doing... whatever he was doing. So Zhenjin offered Lady Dylan the proper Dilong bow of a prince to a noblewoman and, gesturing with one arm, asked, "Then shall we?"

.

Nuada bowed to his father as the door to the king's study closed behind him with a soft thump. The king had summoned him shortly after Nuada had returned from the stables. While Dylan was having her time alone out in the gardens - he had seen her walking past one of the garden gates earlier in the afternoon - the prince had taken time to deal with things that required his attention.

After reviewing reports from the stewards of his private estates and going over new reports from the northern villages, he'd spent part of the morning training in the salle before going to see his dogs. He'd spent a few hours putting the newly-trained pups through their paces. Nils had come to him during a break in the training to inform him that one of his rarer, more exotic horses had foaled in the night. The mare had died, but the newborn lóng mâ colt was doing well under the care of one of the senior stablehands. Nuada had taken a look at the little thing and liked what he saw. If it survived, it would do very well, indeed. He'd taken Lóman out for a ride, as well. All of it had been a feeble attempt to drown out Dylan's last words to him. I hate you.

Now the king wanted to see him. Why? Had Dylan asked for their engagement to be broken? Or had the king's spies somehow found about his kiss with Dierdre from some other source? But Nuada let none of these thoughts show on his face.

"Have a seat, my son."

Surprised, Nuada sat. Remembering what Dylan had said about his father possibly being ill, he took a moment to study the old king. Had his father's face been so lined when he'd seen Balor back in October? Did the king seem worn? Nuada couldn't be certain if he did, and if it was because Balor was aging or because there was something amiss. When had his father gotten so old?

"Are you all right, Nuada?" The king asked, and Nuada was brought back to the present. "Is everything well with you?"

The prince blinked, clearly taken aback. "I... Father?"

"Your lady seemed concerned for you. For your health. Are you well?"

Warmth seemed to settle over the Elven warrior. His father was concerned for him? "I'm well enough, Athair. Thank you. And... are you well? I know much has happened these past weeks. Are you all right?"

Balor smiled. "I am fine, my son. I'm not so old as all that." Leaning back, the old king steepled his fingers. "Now, I am afraid we've some business to attend to. First... congratulations on your engagement, Nuada. I know you would have preferred less interference from my end, but I also know you are happy to be betrothed to Lady Dylan. I can tell by that sentimental look on your face." Nuada quickly neutralized his expression. Balor's eyes twinkled. "However, this seems a bit too easy, all things considered. Is there anything I should know?"

At first Nuada wasn't sure what the king meant. Then he remembered the conditions Dylan had laid out. He quickly listed them for the king: Dylan's dress being white, and modest by Latter-Day Saint standards; her sisters being in attendance at the wedding; her twin brother being elevated to peerage to protect him with a title; wanting as much control as possible over the wedding plans; and finally, the location of their wedding night, although all Nuada said on that subject was that she wanted it somewhere other than Findias.

Much to the prince's surprise, the king agreed to every stipulation except the last. Nuada had expected more of a fight. However, it seemed Balor was saving up all his stubbornness for the last condition.

"My son, it isn't safe for the two of you to be somewhere so insecure. Everyone will know you to be distracted - not to mention exhausted - because of your wedding. You'll need guards, and bringing Butchers to the mortal world-"

"We're not going to the mortal realm, Father," Nuada said quietly. "We're going somewhere in Faerie. It is quite secure. No one will be able to so much as find us, much less harm us. Only Dylan, Wink, and I know its location. I have promised her this, Sire," the prince added firmly. "I'll not renege on my word to her. This, more than nearly anything else, is important to her. She will have her way in this. What price must I pay for such a thing?"

Balor sighed. "Nuada... sometimes your stubbornness reminds me so much of your mother." Seeing the look on his son's face, Balor forced himself to smile. "You remind me of her sometimes. More often than not, actually, save when you're angry. Your sister is a lot like me, but you... you're like Cethlenn. I see much of her in you."

"You do?" The words were barely a whisper Nuada managed to force past numb lips.

His father nodded. "Now, I will grant this last stipulation on three conditions. One, that you ask for your lady's hand publicly at the Midwinter Ball. We can put off Nuala's betrothal for a while; I doubt she'll mind. She seems to enjoy having Prince Bres courting her. Two, Dylan is to be given her rank and title before the Frost Moon. It will afford her more protection, and will show the rest of Faerie you're in earnest about her. And three, both of you shall attend council meetings."

"But Dylan has her job. Her Sight children need her in the mortal realm."

The king of Bethmoora raised his eyebrows. "She'll have to make time for her new responsibilities, Nuada, if she truly desires to wed you and become a princess. If she is not capable of committing to the kingdom, then you cannot marry her. The kingdom comes first; you know that."

Sparks of irritation sizzled beneath the prince's skin at the reminder. Of course he knew that. Hadn't he always put the kingdom and people first, even when doing so nearly broke him? Yet he wouldn't argue with Balor. Not when his father seemed willing to actually listen to him. "I know, Father. I'll speak to her." Nuada hesitated, then pressed on. "Father? You spoke to Dylan the day before yesterday. You told her you could... make her immortal?"

"Did I?" Balor raised his eyebrows. "What of it?"

The air seemed too thick and heavy in Nuada's chest. He could barely breathe past the taloned hand squeezing his heart. "You can make her immortal?" He demanded, straightening in his chair. "Truly?"

"Perhaps." Now it was the king, not Nuada's father, looking at him from across the hawthorn desk. "The question is, what are you willing to sacrifice to preserve your lady's life?"

"What would you have of me?"

Deliberately spacing the words, Balor said, "Forfeit your claim to the Golden Army. Swear you'll never attempt to awaken it. Abandon your quest to wage war on the mortal realm and the human race."

Shock stole the breath from him. Pain, sharp as winter's claws and cold as the north wind, raked him. "You would demand this of me? You would ask me to choose between the woman I love and my people?"

"War is not the way to help the fae, Nuada. You must choose a different path. It is our time to fade into the twilight of the world."

"I... Father, I..." He pressed two fingers to his temples. Closed his eyes. "You cannot ask me this. You cannot ask me to abandon my people for my own happiness."

"My son-"

"You would not do it!" Nuada snapped, piercing his father with betrayed eyes. "You wouldn't choose one over many! When you had a choice between Mother's life and the lives of your children, you chose us. How can I make the choice you want? One woman for all of my people, for all the fae? I cannot do it."

Gently, Balor asked, "Then you would steal from her all her dreams of family? Of motherhood? You would condemn your love to a mortal life?"

"Stop it," Nuada whispered.

The king continued, merciless, though his voice was still gentle and filled with compassion. "You would condemn her to grow old while you remain as you are, condemn her to suffer as she ages until Death comes to steal her away from you-"

"Stop it!" Nuada was on his feet, backing away. "You know my choice, Father. My kingdom and my people come first." He looked down at the crimson and gold patterned rug. "Will that be all, Sire?"

Balor bit back a sigh. He'd hoped that, with the right incentive, his son would make the correct choice. It seemed not, however. "You may go, my son. But Nuada? Think over all your options before you discard them. Truly think about it."

"There's nothing to think about," the prince whispered, and left the room.

Nuada moved through the castle corridors as silently as a phantom, trying to ignore the memory of his father's words. You would condemn your love to a mortal life. Condemn her.... The Elven warrior gritted his teeth and tried to shove the words away. He'd known what it would mean to fall in love with a mortal, stars curse it. He'd known he would have to say goodbye one day. He'd been resigned to it. Yet his father's words of hope, and Táebfada's talk of Mag Mell to Dylan, had allowed hope to slither into his heart and now... now the thought of losing her was like a knife in his chest.

"Oh! Your Highness!" That familiar - and right now, most unwelcome - voice wrenched him back to reality. Nuada glanced up from scowling at the floor to see Lady Dierdre seated at one of the castle windows overlooking the gardens.

In her gown of russet velvet, she was like an autumn faerie looking out at the world through a window of ice. She'd glamoured the bruises away. If he'd chosen, he could have seen through the glamour, but he didn't choose to do so. He didn't even want to look at her. When he did, Nuada tasted the sweetness of blackberries on his tongue. Remembered the satin smoothness of Dierdre's skin under his fingers.

He offered a stilted, truncated bow. "Lady macAengus," he muttered. "Excuse me."

"Wait, Your Highness," she murmured. "Please." Peering around him to see that his guards had maintained a careful distance, she added, "We're in plain view of anyone who might come down the corridor. Nothing will happen. I've apologized for last night. If I've offended you, I can only ask your forgiveness."

"Lady macAengus, if you will-"

"Dierdre," she said softly. "Please, Your Highness. You said I could trust you. Does that not make us friends?"

Forcing his face to remain stony and his voice like ice, he replied, "No. It doesn't. Excuse me."

As he walked past, she asked, "Did Lady Dylan find out? Is that why she's in the gardens being charmed by Prince Zhenjin? To punish you for a simple mistake?"

Nuada stopped. Anger at Dierdre's words and surprise that she'd mention Dylan and concern for Dierdre's injuries mingled together until there was no distinguishing between the different flavors of emotion. Nuada turned to her, expressionless. There was no malice in the Elven woman's face. No anger. Only a quiet sadness and what might have been regret in her emerald eyes.

"What did you say?"

Dierdre gestured to the wide window out of which she'd been looking. "Down there. I like looking at the gardens. Some of them are like the gardens back home. I noticed them some time ago. Prince Zhenjin is a most attentive escort. I am not sure if Lady Dylan is merely enjoying his company, or if she seeks to punish you for what I have done. I would not have such a thing happen."

"My lady does not play such games," Nuada replied, stepping to the window. He caught a brief whiff of Dierdre's perfume, poppy and snowdrop - identical to Naya's. He put it from his mind and looked out the window. Sure enough, he saw Dylan seated on a bench wrapped in a green cloak the Bethmooran prince recognized as belonging to Zhenjin. The Dilong prince sat beside her, talking animatedly. The mortal laughed at something he said. Zhenjin grasped Dylan's hand and kissed it. She grinned. The Elven warrior clasped her hand in both of his and said something else. She laughed again and leaned toward him. What were they talking about? What was going on down there?

"Your Highness?" Dierdre murmured, touching his wrist with the tips of her fingers. Nuada felt that delicate touch all the way down to his bones. It took everything he had not to jerk away from her. "Are you all right?"

The prince tore his eyes away from the scene beyond the window. "Well enough," he said. "Excuse me, Dierdre." He turned away from her and continued down the corridor, missing the satisfied smile curving her lips. He'd called her Dierdre.

And he didn't even notice. I doubt he noticed the dream spell I put on him last night, either, or that it latched onto his little human toy. How interesting. He's more distracted by our kiss than I thought. Which, to Dierdre's way of thinking, was perfect. Maybe I should try for another one soon. I'll have to speak to Bres.

.

Dylan couldn't seem to stop laughing. For the last two hours, Zhenjin had regaled her with stories of his youthful adventures - and misadventures - with Nuada. Including just what the three eldest Dilong princes and the crown prince of Bethmoora really had found the night before King Anterion's coronation instead of naked Greek dancing girls. Now the mortal and the Dragon Prince sat on a bench in a patch of late-afternoon sunshine while Zhenjin told Dylan about the last time he'd ever seen Nuada rip-roaring drunk.

"So then he kissed the barmaid's hand before clasping to his chest," Zhenjin said, grasping Dylan's hand and brushing a swift kiss across the back of it. She had such small hands compared to Elven women, the prince reflected. Amazing to think these mortal hands had tended Nuada's wounds for three months. The Elf brought the mortal's captive hand to his heart. "Just like this. Never mind that her hand was nearly twice as large as both of his. And he proceeded to inform the barmaid that she was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen, that he'd been struck by love's cruel arrow, and that she was now the sun and moon to him, the very stars themselves, and without her he would forever dwell in darkness."

The human woman had already laughed until her sides hurt, and they'd yet to recover, so when she laughed now, she leaned over a little to relieve some of the strain on her aching ribs. "Oh, my gosh, really? What was the barmaid, again? A cave troll or something?"

Zhenjin shook his head, grinning. "A likho," he replied. "A one-eyed goblin hag. They've hair like swamp weed, doughy skin the color of moldy bread, black-rotted stumps for teeth, a snake's tongue, and sixteen fingers with nails like gnarled tree roots. And she was likely old enough to be Nuada's grandmother. I do not think Silverlance has ever been that drunk since."

"He didn't... I mean..." Blushing, Dylan ventured, "He didn't... sleep with her. Did he?"

"I don't know if I should answer that. He might hurt me."

She laughed. Zhenjin was surprised that her laugh didn't irritate him at all. In fact, he'd enjoyed hearing it during the last few hours he'd spent in the human's company. Most women of the Dilong court were taught that men preferred quiet wives, and so rarely laughed as freely and openly as Dylan did. And the way the scars on her face moved when she changed expression was interesting.

"Don't worry, Your Highness. I'll protect you from him. He thinks I'm scary and fierce."

The prince choked on his own laughter. "And are you?"

"I can be." Her grin was infectious and self-deprecating. "When I want." She sighed then and glanced up at the sky. "Wow. It's almost sunset. It must be late. Thank you for staying out here with me, Your Highness."

On impulse, he said, "Zhenjin, please."

Dylan inclined her head. "All right, then. Thank you, Zhenjin. It's been wonderful. I was having... a really bad day, but you've made it a lot better. Thank you."

"It is my pleasure, milady. If I may," he added, speaking hesitantly to give her time to protest, "I would imagine you and Silverlance quarreled, and that's the source of your sorrow. Am I wrong?" After a moment, she mumbled that no, he wasn't wrong. Zhenjin nodded and leaned back against the stone wall of the Fomorian garden they'd stopped to admire. "Forgive me if I am too forward, milady, but... you are angry with him? He's caused you some grief." She nodded. Zhenjin sighed. "I know Silverlance, and I know he would never purposely hurt the people he loves. Whatever it is, whatever he has done, I know he didn't do it with the intention to hurt you. One need only look at him to see how very much he loves you, milady."

She hunched in the warm, silken confines of the beizi and sighed. "People hurt the people they love all the time. Love doesn't change the hurt."

"The hurt does not change how he feels for you, either," Zhenjin murmured. "Though, as I've proven to you several times already today, Silverlance can be a bit of a blockhead sometimes. Has your heart changed toward him?" Dylan shook her head. "Then that which matters most remains unchanged. Everything else will fall into place eventually. There is an old Dilong proverb. 'Even the dragon must follow where the heart commands.'"

Dylan looked up at the tall Elven warrior prince. His dark hair was tied back by a green band to keep it out of his eyes. Strange, that such a reptilian gaze could seem so comforting and friendly. He bore but one scar on his cheek, pale against the copper of his skin. He looked younger than Nuada, but not by much. The late afternoon sun made the tracery of emerald scales along his brows and neck gleam. Yet for all he was so alien, he seemed suddenly very human to her.

"Do you... approve of mine and Nuada's relationship, Zhenjin? I know it's this big scandal to some people."

He considered for a long moment before answering.

"I believe... I know that Silverlance has lost many people he cared for. Lost many that he loved. He bears a heavy burden, what with the responsibilities of the crown prince and the weight of all the lives he carries on his shoulders. Yet when he's with you, that burden is lifted somewhat. I've never seen him as he is with you. At the banquet mere days ago, he laughed over something you'd said. I had not heard him laugh like that in a long time. You make him happier than I've seen in many years.

"I have seen what Nuada has seen of you. I have felt what he's felt. If anyone is worthy of his regard, it is you, Dylan. So yes, I approve of you being together. I am happy for my friend, that he has at last found someone to love him as he deserves. And all those stuffed-shirt nobles who take issue can go hang for all I care."

Dylan smiled. "Thank you, Zhenjin. I'd like us to be friends."

The prince inclined his head. "Then friends we are, my lady. It would be my honor. Are you going to forgive Nuada?"

Her smile slipped away. "You're a good friend to him, but... it isn't that simple. Forgiveness takes time. I'm working on it, though. I do love him. Don't think I don't."

"I would never dream of accusing you of not loving him, after all you've done for him," the prince replied. "I would be a fool to doubt you. I am merely concerned for him. He has shouldered many burdens and suffered many losses over the years. I don't want to see him hurt."

"Neither do I." She sighed. Glanced toward the castle. "I should go talk to him. Will you walk me back?"

"You just want to keep my cloak a little longer."

Knowing he was trying to make her smile, trying to ease her sudden melancholy, made Dylan like Zhenjin even more. It wasn't like he had a reason to be nice to her. She was more than grateful. So she obliged him by smiling and lightening her tone. "Well, yeah. It's all nice and toasty."

Zhenjin laughed and got to his feet. "Very well, my lady. If you insist, I can do no other than oblige you. Let us return to Findias' stone walls, so that I might have my cloak back before I turn into an icicle."