Chapter 78 - Shed One Bitter Tear

that is

A Short Tale of a Visit, a Babe in the Woods, More Confessions, Orders, Poison, Slipping and Falling, Sticks and Stones, a Conversation, and a Scent

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Nuada felt the frigid chill right before a knock sounded at his study door. He glanced up from the glass of Elven wine he'd just poured for himself in an attempt to cleanse the taste of blackberries and Fomorian woman from his mouth. Even as the Elf watched, frost crept across the full glass. Crystals of ice swept across the surface of the dark red wine. The fire in the hearth crackled once before going eerily dim. The lamps flickered. Wisps of smoke like tiny ghosts were all that remained of the suddenly-extinguished candleflames. When Nuada laid his palms flat against his desk, the polished wood burned his skin with cold. The mildewy stink of moist graveyard earth assaulted his nose.

The door to his study creaked open with all the ominous weight of a mausoleum opening to release some dessicated, undead thing. Although Nuada knew his guards were in the front room, although he'd heard no sounds to indicate a fight had taken place, the only thing he saw beyond the entryway was impenetrable shadow. The Elven warrior stood and unsheathed his sword.

"If I chose to kill you, you stupid boy, that puny weapon would avail you nothing," said a voice as sere as October wind. Something began to emerge from the darkness beyond the doorway. Two pinpricks of unearthly green burned from the depths of the shadows. "But I am not as rude as some of our kind. I would not accept an invitation and then turn around and murder my host - or my host's feckless dunce of an heir."

From the dark stepped a tall, skeletally thin fae with a beaked nose and a bald head marked with age-spots. The withered mouth sported stained teeth that had taken on a sharpness like a wolf's. Long yellow nails sprouted from the worm-like fingers. And when those burning green eyes fixed on Nuada's face, the prince tasted cold damp stone and rot and the crisp bitterness of autumn wind.

"My lord Moundshroud," Nuada murmured when he'd found his voice.

"Prince Nuada Silverlance," the old fae growled. "I have one question and then I shall decide how to proceed. Are you trifling with my girl?"

"Your-" He cut himself off the moment he realized who the Keeper of the Samhain Tree meant. "I am not trifling with Dylan, my lord. On my honor."

The elderly fae king nodded, seemingly satisfied. "Good. I would hate to have to kill you. Getting blood out of velvet is such a chore for my servants, and my wife complains." Moundshroud stepped into the study and strode to a chair. Without waiting for permission he sat. The study door slammed shut behind him. "Your guards are still alive, if it matters."

"I thank you for sparing them," the prince replied, sheathing his sword. He took his own seat, moving slowly, keeping a wary eye on the faerie in front of him. "What can I do for you, my lord?"

"What are the odds that I can have the name of the trollop you kissed last night, Your Highness?"

Nuada stiffened. "My lady told you, then."

Moundshroud scoffed. "I pried it out of the dear girl eventually. As if she could hide anything from me. Now, the name of the trollop, if you please, so that I may rid Dylan of the nuisance?"

"I can't do that," the Elven warrior said. "Since you clearly mean to kill her."

A cruel smile tugged at Moundshroud's thin, wrinkled lips. "Kill her? Your little tart? No. I need not kill her to punish her for poaching on my girl's territory. I'm a bit more creative than that, young prince. Besides, if I kill her, I'll have to deal with Elatha, and that would be a nuisance to me. Dealing with the other kings is a bit of bother. Hence why you are still walking around and can yet count yourself a man. Well, you have the bother to thank, and your lady pleading your case. She asked me not to hurt you, so I won't." Voice deepening to an almost savage growl, Moundshroud added, "Although I ought to."

"What happens between my lady and I is none of your concern," Nuada said coolly.

One of the fae king's knife-thin eyebrows winged upward. He steepled those long, wormy fingers. The thick talons clicked together. Moundshroud leaned forward. The taste of rot and mold on Nuada's tongue doubled. He smelled ice and wet earth. The faintest prickle of pure, raw power washed over him.

"I have known that girl for nearly ten years. Much longer than you, you arrogant brat. You hurt my girl. Do you think just because you're the crown prince of this little dung-hill of a kingdom, I'll stand by and allow you to hurt her again? I don't care about the other fae kingdoms. I don't care about politics and treaties and alliances. I have my interests. Dylan is one of them. A fortunate favorite. Anyone who hurts one of my favorites will live just long enough to regret it."

In a carefully controlled voice, the crown prince of Bethmoora demanded, "How dare you threaten the king's heir?"

Moundshroud smiled. His teeth gleamed. That odd green light burned in his dark eyes. "Oh, I'm not threatening you, boy. I am merely informing you. When I offer someone my protection, I expect the other monarchs and their spawn to respect that and leave well enough alone. Yet you have the audacity to toy with her. I am not to blame for your suicidal tendencies."

"I am not toying with her!" Nuada snapped. "And if you care so much about her, why are you speaking to me? Why not speak to my father about how he treats Lady Dylan?"

"Because you are the one who can reduce her to tears, you selfish Elven whelp, and you are the one she loves. How dare you dally with some whore after asking my girl to marry you?"

"I don't have to listen to this."

Those dark eyes, gleaming with that otherworldly light like St. Elmo's fire, narrowed dangerously. "Will you roust me from your sanctuary, little prince? With what power? Have you forgotten that I outrank even the once-legendary King Balor? You will shut up, you will listen, and you will heed me. If you hurt Dylan again, if you tryst with that slut again, I will kill your tart. I don't like the fae to interfere with my people. Remember that. I do not care if you have to paste on a smile and pretend to be madly in love with Dylan, you will-"

"I do not need to pretend," Nuada informed the old fae sharply. "I love her."

"If you really loved her, you wouldn't hurt her." Moundshroud shoved to his feet. Nuada rose to his. "I have warned you. Touch that bitch again, and I will kill her, and it will be a long, slow, brutal death. Keep that in mind." He started to turn away. Paused. "Does Dylan know you plan to wage war on the human race?"

After a moment of silence, the prince replied, "No."

Moundshroud raised an eyebrow. "A coward as well as a philandering cad. Interesting." And without another word the door to the study flew open and the king of Weir swept out of Nuada's study. The door slammed shut behind him. Nuada sank into his chair on legs suddenly gone weak.

I will kill your tart. Dierdre. The Keeper of the Samhain Tree would kill Dierdre if... if what? Nuada didn't know, and that was a problem. The Elven prince couldn't avoid her forever. There were events coming up in the next several weeks that would keep the two of them near each other. Honor dictated he seek to protect the scarlet Fomori. It wasn't her fault that Nuada had given her the impression he wanted anything more than to comfort her in her distress. It was his own fault for allowing the Elven woman so close. He couldn't let her be harmed because of Moundshroud.

What did Moundshroud consider "trysting?" If Nuada kissed Dierdre again? Not that such a thing would happen; Nuada had already sworn to himself that it never would. But what if the old fae's definition were broader? A touch, a glance? What would put Dierdre in danger? Touch that bitch again, and I will kill her, and it will be a long, slow, brutal death. Shades of Annwn, what was he supposed to do? Ask Dylan to speak to the old king? And how would such a conversation go?

Badly, Nuada thought with no little bitterness. What would I say? "Forgive me, darling, but can you please plead my case to one of the most dangerous kings in Faerie regarding the woman I betrayed you with, even though you refuse to speak to me?" Yes, I see that going over very well.

Topaz eyes landed on the wineglass on his desk. Slivers of ice still floated in the burgundy liquid. He touched the glass. The chill was just as icy as the one shivering down his spine at the thought of what a fae like Moundshroud could do to a helpless Elven woman. Anger simmered in Nuada's blood. A kiss - even several kisses - was not a crime punishable by death.

There was no help for it. For Dierdre's sake, he would have to speak to Dylan when she returned.

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"Tiana! Tiana, where are you? Tiana!"

In the mortal realm, in the state of New Jersey, Anya looked around the park for a familiar head of blond hair. Where was Tiana? Dylan was going to kill her, the BPRD agent thought with no little trepidation.

Of course Anya had no real experience with children. Only what she remembered of her own childhood and the things she and Dylan had talked about over the years. So naturally, not knowing what she was doing after only a month with the young survivor of the attack on the Met, Anya had managed to lose track of the little girl for a minute.

One minute, the BPRD operative thought, sudden unease prickling along the back of her neck, was all it took sometimes.

In another part of the park, just out of earshot, Tiana trembled as she scrunched against a bench. The man standing over her wasn't really a man. She could tell. She could See the way his eyes glinted copper in the wintry light of the late afternoon sun. The way fangs protruded from his gums in rows. Fur had begun sprouting in ragged mangy patches along his arms. His bones ground together, crackling and crunching, as his jaw elongated into a stunted muzzle. Claws had replaced his fingernails.

Oh, help, Tiana thought, but fear had evaporated the scream in her throat. She could only stare wide-eyed at the wolf-man looming above her, his shoulders hunching as the change continued. Suddenly, he stopped shifting. Half-wolf, half-man, he glared at her. Leaned down until his shaggy blond fur brushed her face. Help!

A breathless squeak shuddered out of her mouth.

"Quiet," the wolf-man growled, and took a deep sniff at Tiana's neck. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to get enough air in her lungs to scream. The wolf-man sniffed her again. His slimy tongue slid like a warm slug along her cheek. She whimpered and curled up into a tight ball on the bench. "Ah, crap," the monster growled. "Gonna have to report back to that pony bastard. Great."

And with that, the wolf-man ripped through the change so that a mangy-looking, emaciated wolf-like creature snarled at her before loping off into the trees of the park just as Anya called Tiana's name. Tiana could see her coming up one of the paths.

Terror galvanized the little girl. Scrambled off the bench, nearly tripping over her Brave sneakers, she ran for the BPRD agent as fast as her legs could carry her.

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Nuada sat in Dylan's sitting room, watching the fire smolder, wondering many things: whether his father had meant to rip his heart out; whether there was something going on between Dylan and Zhenjin, though his suspicion made him feel petty and hypocritical; and whether he'd lost his truelove because of a single moment of foolish passion with another woman. He wondered until pain throbbed behind his eyes. Then the door of Dylan's sitting room pushed open and Dylan poked her head into the room.

The moment he saw her, words snapped out of him. "Leave us," he commanded his guards, who made their escape. Nuada rose to his feet and watched his lady come into the room. After an interminable silence, he murmured, "I've been waiting."

"I've been with Zhenjin in the gardens."

"Yes, I know."

She hesitated. Met his eyes. "Is that a problem?"

He opened his mouth. Found he had no words. She'd broken no rules, yet in his mind's eye he saw the way her face had lit up with her laughter at whatever Zhenjin had been telling her. He imagined the way color must've crept into her cheeks when the Dilong prince kissed her hand. Nuada cleared his throat. "No, it isn't. I saw you from one of the palace windows. You seemed to be enjoying yourself."

Dylan nodded. "Yeah, he... he tells good stories." She smoothed her hands over the skirt of her dark dress. Shifted her weight. Dylan wanted to run to him and give him a good solid kick in the shins. Punch him in the shoulder until her knuckles ached. Slap him across the face, maybe. She wanted to throw her arms around him and ask him if he still loved her for real, or if he was only lying for some ulterior motive. Instead she stood there and watched him.

Finally Nuada could bear the silence no longer. "Have you come to a decision?"

She frowned. "A decision? About what?"

"Are you going to leave?"

The surprise in her gaze morphed quickly into hurt and suspicion. "Is that what you want? For me to leave? So you can say I broke my word and abandoned you after agreeing to marry you? Which I guess you should've expected since I'm human."

"What? Of course not." Nuada hesitated. "You are never going to forgive me for this, are you?"

"I... I don't know." Dylan leaned back against the wall and folded her arms. "I want to. I don't want to fight with you. I don't want to be at odds with you. We're supposed to be a team. Did you tell Wink?" She asked abruptly.

No. No, he hadn't told Wink. For one thing, Wink and Lorelei had been in the township most of the day. For another, he wasn't certain he could bear to see the same disappointment and anger in his vassal's eyes that he saw in Dylan's now. And though Wink would never forsake him for such a spectacular piece of idiocy, that didn't mean the troll wouldn't hold it against him - which was no less than the Elven prince deserved. Nuada shook his head in answer to Dylan's question.

"Did you like it?" She asked suddenly.

The words were a slap. Nuada swallowed. What to say to such a question? The truth? It would devastate her. Should he lie, then? Not if he was ever to regain her broken trust. "Dylan... why does it mat-"

"Just answer the question."

"Dylan-"

"Did you like kissing her?"

After a long silence, he forced himself to meet her eyes. "Yes."

Her eyes widened fractionally before she managed to school her pale face to blankness. She nodded as if having an awful truth confirmed. "If I... didn't put limitations on our physical relationship, would you still have kissed her?"

"Your rules have nothing to do with it. Is that what you think? That I'm punishing you for denying me? You truly think I would do that?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. I don't know anymore." She bit her lip before remembering she was trying to break that habit. A sigh escaped her as she dragged her gaze from the floor to Nuada's face. "Why did you do it, then? Why did you kiss her?"

"She kissed me first." It was a paltry excuse and he knew it.

The words were tormented when Dylan replied, "You kissed her back. Why?"

"I... I don't know. But Dylan, I swear, it had nothing to do with you."

Her eyes flashed. "So, what, you thought I wouldn't care? Or you just forgot we were engaged? You didn't think about me at all?"

"No, I did, but-"

"But what? You just decided I didn't matter?"

"No, dammit!" Nuada slammed the side of his fist against the stone mantel. Pain throbbed up his arm. "No. The moment I realized what I had done, my first thought was of you. Of how I'd betrayed you. I could not believe I had betrayed you that way." Reluctantly, he met her eyes. "Dylan, I may be many things, and I have wronged you in many ways, but you must know this - what happened between Dierdre and I does not mean I don't love you. You must believe that."

The breath she drew threatened to choke her. It shuddered as she released it. "Are you falling for her?"

"No," he murmured. "No. You are the one I love."

Dylan hugged herself. "I... I am so angry with you," she confessed. "I've never been this angry with you before. It's like I'm choking on it." She squeezed herself tighter. "Did you sleep with her?"

He shook his head. "I swear to you, Dylan, I have not."

"Did you want to?" She asked, her voice choked. Nuada flinched. It was barely perceptible, but Dylan knew him, and she saw it. Her eyes widened and she stared at him in utter betrayed shock. "You wanted to. You... you wanted to sleep with her. Oh, my God. Gosh," she corrected herself automatically. However, Nuada knew his lady was devastated to have even said it in the first place. Dylan's eyes were accusing when he met her gaze. "You... you bastard."

Nuada raked a hand through his hair. "I did not bed her."

"You wanted to. Deny it if it isn't true. Tell me it's not true, that you didn't want to." When he said nothing, she felt the first tear slip down her cheek. "What is it? Am I... am I not enough for you? Am I so inadequate that you have to go to some whore for-"

"Dierdre is not a whore." It was the wrong thing to say, and he knew it the moment her eyes widened and her face went pale.

"You're defending her?" Dylan demanded. "To me? You're defending... you...." She covered her face with both hands for a moment, and a chill whispered down Nuada's spine. But then she lowered her hands and stared at him with suddenly exhausted, lifeless eyes. "You know what I was thinking today? Just before I made it back here, I thought, 'Why does stuff keep happening to try and force us apart?' It's like Fate's trying to screw with us or something. I'm just kidding myself, aren't I? There's no way that we're going to end up together, is there? Have you been lying to me all this time about how you felt?"

"No! Gods, Dylan, no. Never think that."

"What am I supposed to think, Nuada?" She ran her hands through her hair. Sighed. "Nothing's working out for us. Everything stands against us. Maybe we should just accept it and... and go our separate ways before it all blows up in our faces."

The look on Nuada's face was as if she'd decked him. It was only there for an instant, but it was long enough for her to see it and recognize it for what it was before it vanished. He fixed his gaze on a point somewhere past her left shoulder. "You mean give up? You, who never gives up on anything, who fights for everything and everyone she holds dear - you want to give up on us? Truly?"

"I don't know, Nuada," she muttered. "Okay? But everything seems to go wrong for us. What if it's destiny or something?"

"Then to Hell with destiny!" The Elven warrior snapped. "I am master of my own fate. I make my own choices. If you want to be with me, if I want to be with you, and the Fates want to keep us apart, then I'll fight them. I will fight Fate, and the gods. I'll change the stars in their courses if they set themselves against me in this."

Her voice quavered when she asked, "So you would fight for me? To keep me?"

"Until my dying breath. How could you doubt that?"

She squeezed her eyes shut. Forced her bottom lip to stop quivering. "You ask me how I could doubt you after what you've told me?"

"Dylan... I cannot change the past. I would if it were possible, if only to spare you this grief, but I can't."

The mortal woman drew a long, slow breath. "Do you think I'm being stupid about all of this? Do you think I'm being unreasonable?"

"No," he murmured. "I don't. In fact, I was surprised you did not throw my ring back in my face and return to the mortal realm this morning. I was grateful. You must believe me - I would not hurt you for the world, mo duinne."

She flinched. "Don't call me that."

Surprise and pain twisted into icy knots in his belly. I love it when you call me "mo duinne," she'd said less than two months before. And now.... "Dylan... beloved-"

"Don't call me that!" She yelled, turned her face away from him. "Don't ever...."

Everything he'd told her was crashing around inside her head, battering down her defenses. He'd enjoyed kissing Dierdre. Wanted to do more than just kiss her. Had defended Dierdre. After everything they'd been through together, he.... Dierdre is not a whore. Wasn't she enough for him, Dylan wondered? Why would he fight for her if she wasn't enough? But if she was, why go to someone else? It was all too much. She couldn't think.

"I hate you," she whispered.

Nuada jolted as if he'd been struck. He tried to speak, but he had no breath, no voice. He swallowed hard. It felt like swallowing glass.

"I... I don't... I can't see you right now," Dylan whispered, the words agonized. "I need to get away from you."

She couldn't cry in front of him. If she didn't get away, she'd break down in front of him, and if he tried to hold her, she didn't know what would happen. Would she forgive him? Tell him he could do what he wanted, so long as he promised to always be with her? No. She refused to give in that way. To be that weak. And if she did give in... nothing would ever be right between them. This had to be hashed out but she still didn't have the strength to do it yet.

"I have to go."

"Go where?" The prince demanded, struggling not to sound stricken. "Where are you going?"

"I don't know," she mumbled. "I don't know. Just... stay away from me."

He reached for her. He couldn't help himself. "Dylan... Dylan, my love, please-"

Dylan wrenched away from him, just as she had that morning. My love. The words made her chest ache. Made the anger and hurt and betrayal twist into thorny tangles inside her. She'd thought she was ready to talk to him rationally and calmly but there was just no way. Not right now.

"Go play with your whore," she snapped, perilously close to tears, "and leave me alone!" Without another word she swept back into the hallway where her guards waited, leaving him standing in her sitting room, staring after her, his heart bleeding.

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"It'll have to be soon," the Elven healer murmured to Naya. They were whispering in one of the rooms in the Healers' Wing, using a bit of shielding magic to ensure they weren't overheard. "Our master is concerned by what he saw in the gardens earlier this afternoon."

Polunochnaya blinked in surprise. "What he saw in the gardens? What did he see?"

"The prince's tramp flirting with the heir to the Dilong throne," the healer muttered, a snarl under the words. "Filthy slut. Rutting with the crown prince one day, trying to get with his child, then spreading her legs for another prince the next. Flirting with him under our prince's very nose. Silverlance may be a monster and a traitor to the Crown, but he is still our prince. How dare that little trollop shame him that way?"

Naya shook her head. That didn't sound like Lady Dylan at all. Her devotion to Nuada was obvious even to the blind. "Perhaps our master is mistaken."

"No. His spy among the prince's guards said Silverlance saw it as well. The prince was most upset. And that's not all." The Bethmooran Elf looked around to ensure they were alone before leaning in and whispering, "The prince has taken a mistress from the Fomorian envoy. Lady Dierdre macAengus."

Cat-slit silver eyes widened in disbelief. Nuada unfaithful to one he'd pledged himself to? She shook her head. "Now I know this information cannot be correct. Nuada would never do such a thing. He's far too honorable in that regard. He would not take a lover when he already pays court to his lady. They're to be married. I had that from Nuala herself. She saw the queen's ring on the mortal's finger. Nuada would never gift his mother's ring to a woman he didn't love, and he would never betray a woman he loved."

"Be that as it may, our master says that with these developments, the assassination attempt must happen soon, no later than the Midwinter Ball. You must be on your guard. The right words must be planted in Silverlance's head before that time comes. He trusts you. He'll listen to you. Also, our master bids you keep an eye on the prince's cat-girl. He's caught her looking at both our master and me in a strange way. She may know something. You have the ability to get close to Lady Dylan through the princess. Find out if the child has said anything."

Forcing the words from a suddenly dry throat, Naya asked, "And... if she has? If she's seen anything? Knows anything?"

"Kill her."

"But she's a child," Polunochnaya protested. "Surely-"

"The fate of the kingdom is at stake," the Elven healer snapped. "Don't allow your soft heart to blind you to what is necessary. For the good of the kingdom, for the good of the fae, all must go according to our master's plans. There's no room for failure. Understand?"

"Yes," she replied with numb lips. "I understand. As our master wishes."

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With the help of Wink's large but careful hands, Lorelei slid down from the horse to the ground. Even as her feet touched the stable floor, something sharp and frigid pierced through the shields around her empathic senses. Pain. Pain deep as bone, a festering wound of the heart. She frowned and glanced quickly around the stables. The horses seemed well enough. The stable-hands were all off-duty save the overnight staff, and they were allowed to sleep on cots in a back room. The shivering cold of grief wasn't coming from that far back in the massive royal stables, anyway. Perhaps in one of the empty stalls?

"Lorelei?" Wink rumbled softly. "What is it?"

"I'm not certain," the rhinemaiden murmured. "Someone is upset. Heartbroken. They feel vaguely familiar, but I don't recognize them." But the river fae recognized one thing. Whoever it was, they wanted nothing more in that moment than to be left alone. "Never mind. What will we do now? Return to our rooms, or check in with His Highness?"

Wink frowned. Something had been weighing heavily on Nuada's mind that morning when he'd asked the cave troll to take Lorelei into the township to scout out the rumor mill. Something to do with the prince's mortal lady. The silver troll wanted to know if whatever it was had been resolved. Nuada couldn't afford to be distracted right now - especially with what he'd told Wink regarding the possible arrival of the Golden Crown piece in New York City sometime in the future.

"I will walk you to our rooms," the grizzled warrior told his companion. "Then I will speak to the prince."

The cave troll was as good as his word. After seeing Lorelei safely to the double-room they shared and giving her snow-white cheek a brief caress with the very tip of one finger, Wink took himself to the prince's suite. He found A'du'la'di and 'Sa'ti hunched on either side of the prince's study door, each of them clutching a picture book to their chests. When Wink entered the room, they looked up with a brief flare of hope in their eyes before it dimmed again.

"He won't come out," 'Sa'ti mumbled, licking her hand and swiping at the fur on her cheeks. "He just keeps telling us to go away."

"He locked the door," A'du muttered. His tail was a bottle-brush, lashing back and forth on the floor. "He's not s'posed to lock us out. What if we're in trouble? What if there's monsters?"

Cocking his head to one side, the troll rumbled curiously.

Taking a guess, A'du said, "We heard him and A'ge'lv Dylan yelling at each other. Then she left, and he went in there and won't come out. Guardsman Siothrún said the prince is sulking." The little boy's whiskers pricked a little bit. He smiled wanly. "Guardsman Lorcc said Guardsman Siothrún should go soak his head in a bucket, so Siothrún left. Said he had to go make his report." The smile vanished as if it had never been. Troubled gray eyes met Wink's cyclopean gaze. "What's wrong with the prince? Why won't he come out?"

Wink had no idea, but he was going to find out. Striding to the door, he rapped on it with his metal fist.

"I told you to cease pestering me," Nuada said from the other side of the door.

Wink raised an eyebrow, drew a deep breath, and roared. The sound made 'Sa'ti squeak. A'du yelped. Both cubs flattened their ears and covered them with their hands. Nuada's retinue of royal babysitters jumped a mile high. The door actually rattled a little.

When silence finally descended, A'du'la'di gazed up at Wink with absolute awe and breathed, "Awesome."

There was the click of a lock disengaging. Wink turned the doorknob and strode in, pushing the door shut behind him with one hoof-like foot.

Nuada slouched in his desk chair, the firelight casting shadows across his face and in his eyes. He didn't even glance at his vassal as Wink came in and settled into the reinforced chair meant specifically for someone of his enormous size. Only asked, "Was the roaring truly necessary?"

The prince's voice was strangely flat. The troll asked, "Are you all right, Your Highness?"

Nuada scoffed. "Oh, I am absolutely splendid," he muttered bitterly.

"Have you been drinking?"

"No." A little. "Not really. I don't dare. Dylan is out there," he gestured vaguely toward the door, "somewhere. If she gets into trouble, I must be able to get her out of it." Topaz eyes glittered in the dim firelight. "She is doing this to punish me. She must be. And I deserve it. Or else she truly does hate me."

"You're not making much sense, my prince," Wink said softly. Something wasn't right here. "The lassling? Hate you? Never." Unless... had Nuada told her of the Golden Army? Was that what this was about? "Why do you say this?"

"Because she told me she hated me," the prince replied tonelessly, with no expression on his face. "She told me she hated me, that she couldn't bear to look at me, and ordered me to stay away from her." Without looking away from the crackling fire, Nuada added, "I've lost her, Wink. She will never forgive me."

After a moment, the troll ventured into the pressing silence, "You told her about the Golden Army?"

Nuada's laugh was short, bitter, and brittle. "As if I dared. It would be easier, I think, if I had lost her because of that. If I had lost her because honor prevented me from choosing her happiness over the lives of my people. Instead I lost her because I was a selfish, philandering idiot who could not keep his loins in check when presented with an attractive woman. And now I don't even know where Dylan is. I should go and find her, but she told me to stay away from her."

"You bedded another woman?" Wink demanded, shocked. That did not sound like the prince at all. "You cannot possibly have been that stupid."

"I did not bed her. I kissed her. It is still a betrayal." Quickly, emotionlessly, the prince explained it all to his vassal.

"Why did you let her get so close to you?" The troll demanded. The words you idiot hung at the edge of the question like a tripwire.

Nuada glared at him. "What was I supposed to do? Leave her to weep uncomforted in the shadows?"

"And you didn't push her away when she kissed you because?"

Knowing he had no valid reason, Nuada snapped, "She caught me by surprise and then-"

"And then you let your loins take over instead of thinking with your brain," the troll growled. "A beautiful woman has her charms, but that you would throw away what you have with Lady Dylan for one night's pleasure-"

"You think I don't know that?" The Elven warrior demanded. "I know I am an idiot, Wink. I know. I do not need you to tell me." As if the sudden spurt of anger had drained him, Nuada slumped back in his chair. "I know the depths of my transgressions."

"You must go to her," the troll said immediately, "and apologize."

"I have," Nuada said. "She does not want my apologies." A flicker of fury in the prince's eyes now. "And the Keeper of the Samhain Tree had quite a bit to say about that." The fingers of Nuada's right hand curled into a tight fist, so tight his knuckles ached. "He threatened Dierdre. I meant to ask Dylan to speak to him, but...." He shook his head.

Wink merely stared at him for a moment. Then he demanded, "Dierdre? Lord Moundshroud threatened Dierdre."

Nuada growled, "Yes."

"The woman you betrayed your lady with."

Wary now of Wink's tone, the prince replied, "Yes."

"Don't defend her."

"But it was my-"

"Your fault, yes, and you're an idiot. I am certain it has been recorded in the Royal Chronicles. But do not defend her, my prince. Especially to the lassling. That would make you a bigger idiot. Now, what can be done to make your lady forget how much of a jackass you've been?"

He passed a hand over his face. "Wink, honor demands I protect Lady Dierdre from Moundshroud. A few kisses are not a crime punishable by death. I would be a coward to allow her to be punished for my betrayal-"

"If you defend her, Lady Dylan might perceive that as incentive to take a quick shot at your manhood. And if she does that, you're on your own. Focus on fixing your current problem." Wink folded his massive arms across his broad chest. "Go to Lady Dylan and apologize again. On your knees if you must."

"I don't know where she is," Nuada replied wearily.

"Then wait for her. She has to return eventually." Watching his prince, Wink sighed. "We will figure something out in the morning - after you apologize. Get some rest so you're fresh to deal with whatever will come when the lassling returns. It is better than staring into the fire. You'll end up going blind doing that in this light; it's bad for your eyes."

Nuada gratified him with a brief laugh. "Yes, Father."

Wink gave him a very gentle whap across the back of the head. "You'll oblige me by remembering I'm bigger than you."

"And older," the prince murmured. "I suppose I should be ashamed, sassing my elders."

"Do you want to get your lady back or don't you?"

The prince got to his feet and headed toward the door. Wink fell into step beside him. Just before they reached the study entrance, Wink suddenly turned, balled up his hand of flesh into a fist, and plowed it into Nuada's shoulder. The Elf staggered beneath the force of the blow.

"Gah!" He could already feel a bruise beginning to thicken over the spot Wink had struck. "And what, pray tell, was that for?"

"For being a blockhead," Wink replied. "I taught you better than that."

"It was a mistake, Wink."

The troll whapped him across the back of the head - and not gently, this time. "Yes. A stupid one. Brash idiot. If the lassling tries to unman you, I will stand back and simply watch, not lifting a finger to help you."

Nuada raised a brow. "You would abandon me to her? You would simply watch her attack me? Some vassal you are."

"Your Highness, if she's angry enough, I might even sell tickets."

The Elven prince actually laughed.

.

In the prince's bedchamber, Nuada stretched out on his bed and sighed. His bed was smaller than Dylan's - it was "expected" that a prince visit his consort's bed, which was sized appropriately, but it was often considered unusual in a society of loveless political unions for a prince to invite his consort to his own bed. Despite the fact that his bed was less roomy than his truelove's, he found the amount of free space depressing after spending three nights in Dylan's bed beside her. The previous night she'd cuddled him in her sleep, and he'd been surrounded by the scent of her. Relished the warmth of her breath on his skin, her arms around him, her head on his chest. Now he was alone. Would she even come back to sleep in their chambers tonight? She hadn't gone to the sanctuary - the warding spells would've alerted him to her presence within the walls of the underground haven. Dylan was still in Findias. Where? Was she all right?

He turned on his side and pressed his cheek against the soft linen of his pillow. It was so strange, how sleeping in Dylan's bed soothed him but attempting to sleep in his own left him restless. Sleeping beside Dylan left him feeling languid and content. Yet for some reason the touch of his own silk sheets and velvet blankets left his skin prickling and sent his blood pulsing through his temples. Left him... wanting. Wanting what, he didn't know. Even now, there was a strange whispering tingle across his skin as he attempted to get comfortable, almost like being touched by feather-light fingertips.

Nuada gritted his teeth when he remembered the last time he'd been caressed by such a whisper-soft touch. Dierdre, in the alcove. Her fingertip sliding along the edge of his ear to the delicate Elven point. Her touch had sent desire burning in his blood. Just the memory of that soft stroking caress did the same thing. The fact that he could still feel any sort of attraction or desire for the Elven noblewoman disgusted him, especially after his conversation with Dylan earlier that evening.

Restless, unable to get comfortable, Nuada muttered something deprecating under his breath and turned onto his other side. Why couldn't he find a comfortable position? He wanted a mere hour of sleep before Dylan arrived, in order to be up to whatever she would demand of him. Yet the longer he lay there with his eyes closed, the more impossible sleep seemed to become. Though he tried to drive the thoughts out of his mind, he couldn't stop thinking about Dierdre... and Dylan.

Did you sleep with her? Did you want to? Hell's teeth, yes, he had. There was just something about the scarlet Fomori that made him burn. Yet even so, that desire was nothing compared to what Dylan made him feel.

With passionate kisses, Dierdre had made him want her. But with Dylan, all it took was a single chaste kiss. Her fingers brushing against his. A lingering glance, warm with golden promise. Just one look from those blue eyes like autumn lakes seared him like the touch of Branwen's Tears on his bare skin - not quite enough to drive him mad, but enough to send his blood humming, his heart pounding; it set every nerve aflame until his skin practically tingled, almost as if she were touching him with but one glance.

His instincts pricked and a sudden awareness flooded Nuada's body. As if she were touching him... until his skin tingled... blood humming... heart pounding... like the touch of Branwen's Tears on his bare skin... Could it be?

Nuada was out of bed and on his feet in an instant. Cautiously, he pulled a pillow from its case and lifted the linen pillowcase to his nose. Inhaled. There it was. An odd, whispery scent underneath the fragrance of laundry soap and clean linen. Gancanaugh poison.

The lust-inducing venom smelled different for everyone; it carried the scents that reminded a person of someone they loved, past or present. Nuada caught the faintest whiff now of lilies and roses and mortality, snowdrops and poppies and starlit ice, Canterbury bells and delicate jonquil and the glittering perfume of magic. It was very faint. He only recognized it because he was looking for it. Even then, it had proved elusive and taken him several long minutes to be certain.

Someone had tried to poison him. Again. Only this time, they'd gotten into his bedchamber somehow. When? How? The very thought infuriated him. Then a thought struck him. Was that why sleeping in his bed had given Dylan nightmares? Because of the Tears? Who in Findias could have gotten into his room and poisoned his bedding? A paid mercernary or a spy? And how long had the prince been sleeping on poisonous sheets?

Without another moment's hesitation Nuada summoned two maids to strip the bed completely and take the bedding to the laundry. He called a page and sent him to the king with a hastily scrawled message informing Balor of what his son had discovered and a suggestion that perhaps this was related to the incident in the Queen's Garden. While the maids were dealing with the bed, Nuada showered, desperate to ensure that none of the gancanaugh venom remained on his skin. After he'd dried off and the two chambermaids had been dismissed, he went into Dylan's room and stretched out on her bed to wait for her, and to think.

In order for the scent of the poison to have been on his blankets still, it had to be relatively fresh. Which meant there was a gancanaugh somewhere in the castle. Yet how had they gotten into his rooms? Glamour, perhaps. Magic to make themselves into a palace maid. How had the gancanaugh gotten into Findias? With one of the envoys?

Nuada frowned. Dylan's nightmares about the Elven prince assaulting her had begun while he was in the healing sleep after his duel with Zhenjin. The only two envoys that had been in residence at that time had been from Dilong and Cíocal. Zhenjin and Bres were his allies, his friends. They would not have used such a trick against him. Even Bres, who despised humans and so had reason to take grievance against Nuada for his relationship with Dylan, had been nothing but (surprisingly) supportive. He'd even defended Dylan against Cíaran. And anyway, what purpose would Bres have had for such a ploy? There was none Nuada could think of. So who could have been behind this poisoning attempt? Cíaran? One of Huizong's royal guard that, if Nuada's agents could be believed, might be in the pay of the mad Prince Shaohao?

His life, the prince reflected, had gotten inconceivably more complicated once he'd met Dylan. The sweet had become sweeter, the bitter more poisonous, the pain deeper somehow. What if his lady was right? What if the Fates were working against them? What would he do then?

I would fight for her, Nuada vowed, as I promised her I would. Unless Dylan herself bade me to depart from her life, never to speak to her again, I would fight the gods and the stars and the Fates to be with her. I would fight my father, my sister. I will fight if that is what I must do. I'll not give her up, nor give up on her, so easily.

Where are you, mo duinne? Come back to me. Give me another chance. Grant me your forgiveness once more, and I shall strive with all I am never to break your heart again. He glanced over at the banked fire in the bedroom hearth and wondered, Where are you, Dylan?

.

Dylan curled up in a soft bed of fresh, sweet-smelling straw in the stable loft. She didn't know why she'd come out to the stables. Had one of her guards suggested it? She realized she couldn't remember. All she remembered - albeit vaguely - was Uaithne speaking to Nils, the Master of the Royal Stables, and one of the stable lads saying that a good place to have a nice, long, quiet thinking session was in one of the stable's massive haylofts. So there Dylan was.

In books, she'd always read about soft, comfortable beds of straw, but on those rare occasions in real life where she'd sat on straw, it hadn't been comfortable at all. Not so with what was in her loft now. Maybe it was faerie straw. Maybe there was something magical in it that made it as soft as a featherbed and kept insects away. Dylan didn't know and didn't care. It was just nice to have a quiet place to lie down and close her eyes, a place that smelled nice - unlike mortal stables, the royal stables didn't stink at all - and was pleasantly warm against the bitter cold of the winter night. One of the undergrooms had even brought her a thin blanket in case she fell asleep up there. Apparently haylofts had been some of Nuada and Nuala's favorite hiding places when they were young, and the royal twins had often fallen asleep up there.

She was probably supposed to be thinking up in the loft, so far away from distractions, but she didn't want to think. Except for when she'd been with Zhenjin, she'd been thinking all day. Her head hurt. Her eyes hurt from holding back the tears until she could get somewhere private. Her chest hurt, as if someone were pressing and pressing on it with a heavy stone. Alone at last, Dylan closed her eyes, breathed in the sweet smell of fresh hay, and let the tears come, free and silent and unencumbered.

Maybe it was pathetic to be so upset. Maybe she was too old to be crying over a guy. It didn't matter. No one had ever made her feel the way Nuada had. The way he still did. She didn't want to lose that. Yet it seemed like it was slipping through her fingers now, because of some redheaded fae bimbo getting too intimate with Nuada's mouth. Dylan just couldn't figure out what she was supposed to do. How did someone deal with an adulterous fiancé who wanted to sleep with another woman? Ugh, why had she asked him that?

Because she was scared out of her mind, that was why. Because what if Nuada didn't love her anymore? How was she supposed to deal with someone she'd invested so much of herself into suddenly deciding he didn't feel the same way, especially since they had to get married? It had been one thing when she'd been certain there was no hope of him loving her, but now...

And if Nuada was willing to lie to her, willing to cheat on her, how was she supposed to know he didn't care anymore?

Why does love have to be so complicated? Dylan wondered, sniffling. In theory, it should be so simple. I should tell Nuada never to do it again. He should agree. We should make up. All should be forgiven. And then we move on with our lives. So why can't it be that simple?

This, Dylan thought, was the danger of falling so fast and so hard for someone. They gained the ability to shatter you so easily. For the first time, Dylan wished she'd fallen for someone a little more laid-back, a little less high-maintenance. Yet wasn't she a bit uptight and high-maintenance too? It wasn't fair of her to hold that against her prince. Besides, she'd pledged herself to him even knowing all of his flaws. Or most of them, anyway. After everything he'd done right for and by her, was she really going to turn on him for the one thing he'd done wrong?

I hate you, she had said. He'd looked so broken when she'd cut him with those words. How could she hate him? How could she wound him that way? They each owed the other an apology now. And hadn't Nuada already given his? Dylan sighed and swiped at her eyes. They would talk about it. She would be calm. She wouldn't get angry with him again. Wouldn't let her feelings make her say anything stupid. They'd talk, and if Nuada promised it wouldn't happen again, she'd believe him.

Dylan stayed in the hayloft a bit longer to make sure she had her emotions under control. Then she folded up the blanket and started down the loft ladder. Her bad knee twinged in protest. After all the walking she'd done and climbing up the ladder in the first place, especially with the weather threatening snow nearly every night, her leg wasn't happy to have to deal with the ladder again, even with a full dose of Vicodin in her system.

She slipped with about six feet left to descend. The ladder rung skidded out from beneath her foot. Her grip on another rung wavered and her fingers slipped off. There was the sick sensation of falling. A startled half-squeak, half-cry escaped her. The world rushed by. Then she landed in strong arms. Gasping in surprise, Dylan looked up into a pair of bemused jade eyes.

"Prince Zhenjin!"

"Good evening, milady," the Dilong prince replied evenly, as if he hadn't just saved her from possibly breaking her neck. He carefully set her on the ground and glanced over his shoulder at her guards, who'd been in the process of rushing to her rescue. "Lucky for you, my horse is stalled just there." He nodded to a stall whose door was barely half a dozen feet from the hayloft ladder. "I was a bit closer than your retinue, it seems. Are you all right?"

Seemingly still a little dazed, she nodded. Zhenjin kept an arm around her shoulders in case she decided to lose her balance or faint or something. The mortal still looked a bit pale. He was reminded all of a sudden that this woman was human, and humans were quite fragile. When she looked a little steadier, he released her.

"Why are you... out here, though?" Dylan asked, unable to think of a more pertinent question. She was still trying to cope with the sudden dizziness she'd felt as Zhenjin had set her on her feet. "Are you leaving?"

The Elven prince smiled. "Not at all. I came out to make sure my horse wasn't lonely. She gets a bit, erm... frisky if I leave her alone too long." He gestured back to the stall, and Dylan actually got a good look at the mount who currently called it home.

It was a horse, but... but not like she'd ever seen. Though the body was equine in shape, it was covered in gleaming bronze scales instead of soft horse hair. It had a mane and tail of hair, however, which should've looked ridiculous and impossible coming out of that scaly body - but didn't. The mane and tail started as a brilliant ruby red at the base before melting into vibrant red-gold. It almost didn't look like hair at all, but like metallic or jeweled wire. A very unhorselike sinewy neck loomed over the top of the stall door, topped by a bronze-scaled reptilian head with webbed ruby fringe. Long crimson whiskers, like on a catfish, hung from the creature's broad nose. Carnelian eyes like jeweled sunfire blinked at Dylan curiously. The "horse," Dylan realized, had the somewhat slimmed-down head of a Chinese dragon.

"What in the world is that?" She asked in an awed voice.

"You like her?" Zhenjin asked, grinning.

Dylan nodded. "She's beautiful. I've never seen anything like her. What is she? Can she talk?"

Zhenjin shook his head. "She can't talk, no. She's a smart little thing, though - as smart as Silverlance's hounds. She is a lóng mâ. Humans would describe her as a dragon-horse hybrid. Her name is Qín. You can touch her if you wish," the prince added. He reached into his pocket and pulled out something wrinkled and purple that might've been a piece of fruit. "She likes dried plums. Give her one and she'll be your bosom companion for life."

With dried plum in hand, Dylan reached for the lóng mâ. Her nostrils flared a little and Qín's head snaked forward. She didn't bite the human, however, but waited patiently for Dylan to uncurl her fingers from around the treat before nipping it daintily from the mortal's hand and giving the open palm a brief nuzzle.

Dylan saw the mount's teeth were flat. "She doesn't have any fangs," the human marveled. "And her eyes aren't slitted like yours. Why's that?"

The Dilong warrior prince reached up and scratched behind Qín's ruby fringe. The faerie mount's eyes slid closed as her rider discovered a particularly itchy spot behind one of the bronze ribbings. "She is not venomous. Only venomous reptiles have slitted eyes and fangs." Zhenjin closed his eyes for a minute. Dylan felt a sudden itching sensation against the back of her neck. Then he opened his eyes and flashed her a smile. She jumped, startled to see a flash of pearly fang. Her mouth dropped open. "Surprised you, I see," the prince said with a laugh. "Do not worry, my lady - I do not bite uninvited."

A laugh bubbled up in Dylan's throat - the first one since the last time she'd seen the Dilong prince. "Oh, my gosh, you sound just like Nuada." Thinking of her prince, her laughter faded and her smile slipped away. She gently touched Qín's nose. A forked tongue flicked out and brushed her wrist. It was surprisingly warm.

"I take it the two of you have not made up yet," Zhenjin said gently. "Qín likes having her nose stroked, by the way."

Dylan followed the prince's suggestion. The moment her palm began stroking down the length of Qín's scaly muzzle, the lóng mâ's eyes slid closed and she began to make an odd, hollow sort of humming sound that reminded Dylan of a muted bamboo flute.

"No," the mortal confessed. "No, we haven't."

"Shall I go trounce him for you?" Zhenjin offered. Dylan laughed, which had been his aim. He liked to hear her laugh. "In all seriousness, though, Lady Dylan... if I may be so bold as to ask... what did he do? I swear to you, you have my silence. I'll repeat nothing of what you tell me to anyone else. You may tell me."

After a long hesitation, Dylan shook her head. "I can't. It's private, and it would embarrass him, I think, if I told you. But thank you, Your Highness."

"Zhenjin, please," he reminded her. "We are friends, are we not?"

She smiled. "Thank you, Zhenjin." Dylan gave Qín's nose one last little pet before saying, "I should probably get back."

"Shall I wait for you here in case Silverlance's dunce-hood forces you to return?"

Dylan laughed again. "No, I'm sticking it out this time. He's not that big of a dunce, and he's worth it." She sighed. "It'll be hard, though."

Deliberately shading his voice with sarcasm, Zhenjin said, "Trying to talk sense to Nuada? Difficult? Surely you jest." They shared a smile. "Allow me to at least escort you back to your rooms, Lady Dylan," he added in a more serious voice. "It's late, and it would be dishonorable of me to allow you to walk back alone."

"Well, my guards will be with me."

For some reason, Zhenjin did not like the thought of this mortal woman walking the dim halls of Findias with only a few Butchers to keep her safe from anyone that might take exception to her presence. There were plenty of fae in the castle who could cause trouble for one lone human. If those fae had had a bit too much to drink - it was nearing Midwinter, after all - the sight of a few royal guards might not be enough to keep them away from her.

"Please," Zhenjin murmured, looking into Dylan's blue eyes. Strange, he thought to himself. In certain light they almost look silver. Like a mist-veiled spring. But aloud all he said was, "Allow me to escort you, milady. For my own peace of mind."

Surprised, Dylan nodded. A tiny piece of straw chaff fell out of her curly hair. "All right. Thank you."

Zhenjin hesitated. "You have... a bit of...." He reached up and gently plucked a bit of straw from where it had tangled in a dark curl. "Got it. Anyway, let's go, shall we?"

.

It was as they were walking toward the castle stairs that would eventually take Dylan to the third floor and the royal wing that a cool unease slipped down her spine. She stopped. Zhenjin paused and glanced at her quizzically. Her guards scanned the first-floor corridor and glanced at the opening to the stairwell. The Dilong prince frowned.

"What is it?"

"I've got a weird feeling," Dylan murmured. And it was weird. It wasn't the chill whisper of warning she sometimes got when serious danger loomed, but it was a warning of some kind. She couldn't quite figure out what it was warning her about, though. It almost felt like, Take care, or Handle with caution. But she'd never felt this sort of warning before, so she couldn't be certain. "I don't know, I-"

"Well, what d'ya know?" A slurred, drunken voice mumbled from the stairwell. A tall Bethmooran Elf stumbled down the steps, followed by two others. They were all male, and all young - less than twenty-five centuries, Dylan guessed. All of them, including the speaker, were clearly snockered. The speaker sloshed at the mortal, "The prince's human pet. What're you doin' off yer leash?"

Zhenjin's eyes went flat and cold as a snake's and he bared his teeth in a smile. "That is certainly no way to speak to a lady. You would do well to watch your tongue."

Instead of being intimidated, the drunken Elf somehow managed to spit on the floor near Zhenjin's feet. Dylan's guards bristled, but she held up a hand to hold them back. The Elf looked to be about John's age, twenty or twenty-one. Too young to be beaten up for being drunk-stupid. Zhenjin glanced at the mortal. She shook her head. The Dilong Elf raised an eyebrow, then turned back to the drunkard.

"Luckily for you, Lady Dylan is as merciful as she is beautiful, and she's asked me not to thrash you from Bethmoora to Eirc for your disrespect. Get out of the way."

"M'not scared of some Dilong ambass'dor," one of the drunkard's intoxicated friends spluttered. He managed to only stumble over his own feet twice as he came to stand abreast of the original speaker. "D'you know who we are? I'm Lord Galen of Óic Bethra! My father's a member o' the council. He's got the king's ear. I don' have to listen to the likesh of you. An' that human tramp's nothin' to be shcared of. Silverlance'd be grateful if we taught it its proper place."

Its place, Dylan thought with a smattering of pique. Not her, but it. Jerk. Still, it's not fair, getting the crud beat out of you for being a jerk when you're drunk and you don't know what you're doing.

The crown prince of Dilong glanced at Dylan. "Can I hit them yet?"

"No," she hissed. "They're young and stupid. Leave them alone. Besides, you're the crown prince. You have better things to do than brawl with foreign noblemen's sons. Look," she said to the three Bethmooran Elves crowding the hallway. "I don't have a quarrel with any of you. Please move. His Highness Prince Nuada is expecting me."

A third Bethmooran Elf, several inches taller than his fellows, snorted. The reek of whiskey on his breath made Dylan's stomach roll even from a distance. "Eshpectin' you? Like we said, don' think Silverlance'd mind if we borrowed you fer a bit. Wanna know what all the fuss's about. Wha' makes you sho shpecial. C'mere."

In retrospect, Dylan would admit that she hadn't seen the Bethmooran Elf move. She hadn't seen Zhenjin move, either, but between one blink and the next, the Dilong prince had the other Elf on his knees on the floor with his arm twisted behind his back. Dylan knew that if Zhenjin exerted anymore pressure on the joint-lock, it would dislocate the Elven lord's arm. Possibly even break it. She swallowed and hoped this didn't turn into an international incident or something.

"Now listen to me, you foul-mouthed dog," the Dragon Prince snarled into the other Elf's ear. "I gave you two chances to walk away and you ignored them. You insulted an honorable lady, your prince's truelove. I have every right to break your arm in so many places it would cripple you for life. Now you have two choices. You can either walk away now, and take your idiot friends with you, or I can ignore my lady's protests and paint the floor with your blood." Dropping his voice to a deadly hiss, the prince added, "Make. Your. Choice."

"All right," Lord Galen mumbled. "All right. Release me."

When Zhenjin bared his teeth in that feral smile again, Dylan saw the gleam of venom-slicked fangs. "Say 'please.'" The Bethmooran lord said nothing. Only sneered. Zhenjin wrenched his arm. Galen yelped. "Say 'please,'" the Dilong prince reiterated. "And apologize to the lady."

"That's no lady," Galen hissed. "She's nothing but a jumped-up human trull- gah!"

"Zhenjin, stop it!" Dylan cried. "Let him go, please."

Cold jade eyes focused on her face. "This cur insulted you. Silverlance would have my hide if I allowed such a thing to go unchallenged."

"Please let him go." Unsure why the words came to her tongue, still she murmured, "Please. For me."

The Dilong prince went very still, as still as a cobra waiting to strike. Then he shoved the Bethmooran Elf to the floor and stepped back, canting his head to Dylan. "As you wish. Begone with you," he commanded the drunkard in a coldly regal voice. "Or I shall speak to King Balor about your treatment of Lady Dylan and Prince Zhenjin Azurefire of Dilong."

The three Elves scrabbled back from the enraged prince. The original speaker cried, "You didn' tell us you were-"

"I should not have needed to," Zhenjin hissed. "Now get going."

"I would do as he says, gentlemen," said a laughing voice from behind the trio of intoxicated Elves. "He already has... let's see, one, two, three, four, five... eight witnesses against you, including King Balor's elite guards. You might as well run for the hills while your legs remain unbroken." The speaker, a copper-skinned Elven woman with wheat-blond hair and the golden eyes of Bethmoora, skirted around the three men and offered a curtsy to Zhenjin and Dylan. "Lady Jocasta, at your service, Lady Dylan." Seeing that the trio of Elves hadn't moved, the strange-looking Elven noblewoman glared at them. "Go away."

Dylan's mouth fell open, watching the Elven nobles scurry down the hall. Those drunkards had been willing to risk the wrath of Nuada Silverlance and Zhenjin Azurefire, but ran from this slender woman? Dylan of course knew a little about Lady Jocasta Indira of Reedus. Her father was Bethmooran, her mother a fae from the eastern kingdom of Alaka - which would explain her coloring. Nuada had said she was one of the most politically influential people in the entire kingdom. Was that why the nobles had run? Or was it something else, something Nuada hadn't told Dylan for whatever reason?

After all, she thought a little bitterly, there are probably a lot of things he hasn't told me. Out loud, however, all she said was, "Thank you, Lady Jocasta."

"If I may offer some advice, Lady Dylan - do not wander the castle corridors without the prince at your side until Midwinter is long past. The younger courtiers tend to over-indulge and it makes them-"

"Fair game," Zhenjin supplied with a smirk. Dylan rolled her eyes.

Lady Jocasta inclined her head. "I was going to say 'foolish.' It was a pleasure meeting you at last, Lady Dylan. I trust I shall see you at my masquerade on the Frost Moon?"

"I..." What? Dylan wondered. "Probably. I'll speak to His Highness."

Another nod that made Lady Jocasta's pale blond hair shimmer in the torchlight. "I hope to see you there. If you'll excuse me, my lady. Your Highness." She curtsied to them again with a rustle of red velvet skirts and slipped past them. Dylan watched her go. Then the mortal turned to her guards.

"Okay, Uaithne. I like you. A lot. And I don't want you to get into trouble or anything. But why the heck didn't you stop Zhenjin from hurting Lord Galen?"

"They are not allowed to lay hands on me except by order of the king," the Dilong prince informed her before the Butcher could reply. "Or unless I attempt to harm you or a member of the royal family in some way. And since you told them not to deal with those buffoons, it fell to me to handle the idiocy that suddenly abounded in this corridor. Why did you try to stop me?"

"What were you going to do to Lord Galen?"

"Break his arm," Zhenjin replied flatly. "In several places." Seeing her expression, he added, "Lady Dylan, I am the heir to an empire. I demand the respect of those inferior to me in rank, even in a foreign country. You are a prince's lady. If Nuada marries you, you will be a princess. You must learn to demand that respect as well. Royals have an image to maintain. We cannot afford for that image to be shaken because some feckless moron had a little too much to drink."

"But... they were drunk. They weren't in complete control of themselves. People do stupid things when they're drunk. They shouldn't be-"

"If a man cannot hold his liquor, he shouldn't drink," Zhenjin said flatly. "Even at my most intoxicated, I never picked a fight against someone I shouldn't have, and I never insulted a lady. Neither has Silverlance. I have also never so rudely propositioned a woman. Nuada will probably hunt that idiot down and beat him bloody when he finds out."

Wide-eyed, Dylan grabbed Zhenjin's sleeve. "Don't tell him! You can't tell him, he'll be furious!"

"Not with you," the prince protested.

"I know, not with me. That's not the point. You already hurt the kid; I'm pretty sure he's learned his lesson. Nuada will make paste out of him."

A smirk curved Zhenjin's mouth. "You have an interesting way with words. I confess, I'd love to see Silverlance 'make paste' out of that lout. He spat at me."

"Which was stupid and juvenile and not worth being made into paste over... will you stop laughing every time I say the word 'paste?'"

"Forgive me," the prince replied, forcing down his smile. "I am all attention."

She mock-scowled at the Elven warrior. "Yeah, okay." She poked him in the chest - gently. "Your word that you won't mention this to Nuada. I'll tell him... later. When he's less likely to beat the kid up. Promise?"

Zhenjin sighed. "Do you bully Nuada this way?" The prince chuckled when Dylan's scarred lips curved into a bright smile. "That answers that question. My word, then."

"Thank you, Your Highness." She offered her hand so they could shake on it. Zhenjin grasped her hand and turned it so he could brush a courtly kiss across the back of it. For some reason the gesture made her blush. Maybe because she still wasn't used to it, even after all the times Nuada had done it to her.

"It is my pleasure to grant such a kind request, my lady." Releasing her hand abruptly, the warrior prince said, "Now, let's get you back to Nuada."

.

I despise wearing mittens, Urraca thought with no little irritation as she flexed her hands inside the knit hand-coverings. Mittens were the only things the Spanish water fae could use to hide her webbed fingers. Adjusting the glamour that made her look like a ten-year-old mortal girl, the xanin skipped along the road called Central Park West until she reached the intersection of West and 79th Street. Right across from the entrance to the Park was her destination. She wiggled through the crowded night streets as slippery as a fish and jogged up the steps to the American Museum of Natural History. This was where Ke'ka'toh had told her to meet him - right in front of the Harry Frank Guggenheim Hall of Gems and Minerals inside the museum. Why her husband wanted to meet her there, she had no idea, but the water lynx had said he'd procurred the information the prince had requested - so here she was.

Just as she was starting to wonder whether something had happened to Ke'ka'toh, she caught sight of a slender Native American man prowling through the thinning crowd of humans, his tawny eyes fixed on her. Even though they were meeting up for business and Ke'ka'toh was probably only thinking about how much he didn't want to be inside this mortal building, meeting the lynx-shifter's gaze never failed to make Urraca's heart race. It was one of the reasons she'd married him. That, and because he made her laugh. Most of their friends and fellow agents for the prince found that unbelievable, as they'd never seen the Algonquin shifter even crack a smile, but that was because her lynx reserved his smiles for her.

Although they were technically still on the job - they were only off the job once they went back to their den in Flushing Meadows Park, in Queens - the xanin cuddled against her husband. "What did you find?" Urraca murmured against his shoulder.

"His Highness will be both pleased and frustrated," said the lynx. "The exhibit is coming to the Metropolitan Museum of Art in January, the night of the Frost Moon. Apparently a great many ancient Celtic artifacts have been unearthed on the banks of the River Boyne. It seems that someone - a human someone - is looking for something belonging to the Tuatha de. There was an exhibit displaying various artifacts from Ireland and Scotland at the museum in November. One of the artifacts was stolen. The culprit has not been caught. There is an expert in pre-Christian Celtic artifacts and Irish lore coming to New York, a woman named Brigit O'Donnel. And apparently everything about this exhibit, and the one that was in November, has been arranged and paid for by a private benefactor."

Urraca leaned back to look up into the feral face with the tawny eyes. "A private... benefactor?"

Ke'ka'toh nodded. "Someone has paid out a great deal of money to ensure these exhibits are coming to New York City. The question is who, and why."

"Do you think it might be a trap for the prince?" The water faerie flexed her webbed fingers inside her mittens. "Could there be someone, an enemy or someone, who knows he's searching for the Golden Crown piece? Someone who means to lure him in and trap him?"

The lynx shook his head. "I don't know. We'll have to find out. But the Frost Moon is less than thirty days away; we'll have to be fast, and get the information to His Highness with enough time for him to decide what he's going to do."

Troubled, Urraca nodded absently and started for the exit, thinking. As she and Ke'ka'toh passed the Gem and Mineral Hall's front desk, a flash of light on glossy paper caught her eye. She turned to see a spread of brochures laid out across the top of the desk. One of them was for an upcoming exhibit, set to arrive in May, of rare and priceless stones. She would've dismissed it, but two pictures caught her eye.

"Ke'ka'toh," the water sprite murmured. The shapeshifter came to stand beside her. She lifted the brochure and showed it to him, indicating the two miniature images that had attracted her attention. One was of a very large, uncut green stone; the other was a blue stone with a white star in its heart. "Do you recognize these?"

"Oh, yes," he muttered. He glanced at the information on the brochure and frowned as he read through the list of precious gems that would be included in the exhibit.

The humans were fools. Just as Prince Nuada searched for the final piece of the Crown to raise his Golden Army and wage war against the human race, other fae royals searched for other artifacts that would awaken powerful magical weapons that had slept since the last war. Some of the artifacts had been lost to time. Others, like the third Crown piece, had been given to the humans as a sign of good faith. Still others had been stolen and never recovered.

And the humans - those stupid, ignorant vermin - were bringing together four of those items in one exhibit, in one city, and advertising the fact. Ke'ka'toh studied the list again. The Patricia Emerald, the Star of India sapphire, the Heart of the Flame topaz, and the Golden Lotus sapphire. If those who worked for the legendary Silverlance and his allies rescued these stones, the kingdoms of Cíocal, Alaka, Zwezda, and Shahbaz would have some of the necessary pieces to win the war that was to come. And if the Golden Crown piece was at this upcoming exhibit in January at the Met...

Ke'ka'toh grinned. It seemed they had some good news for the prince. Pocketing the brochure, he slipped an arm around his mate and allowed himself a smug smile. They had good news for Silverlance, indeed.

.

Nuada's guards informed Dylan that he had retired to her room. Was he already asleep? They didn't know. Only Lady Dylan's bodyguards were required to stay in her bedchamber with her for protection, and that was only if the prince was not in the room with her. Otherwise, the prince and his lady were allowed their privacy. Dylan acknowledged silently that on any other day, in any other situation, she'd have been fine with this arrangement, but right now she kinda wished someone could've told her if Nuada was awake and waiting for her. Whether he was angry with her.

Not that he really has a right to be, Dylan reminded herself. I wasn't the one going around behind his back making out with some hot mortal guy. Or some hot Elven guy. Or anyone, dang it.

She wondered vaguely, as she reached for the bedroom doorknob, if one of the reasons she was so upset about Nuada kissing Dierdre was because the Fomorian woman was so gorgeous. Well, of course she was gorgeous. She was Elven. As far as Dylan had experienced, there was no such thing as an ugly Elf. There were disfigured Elves, but not ugly ones.

The door opened without a sound to reveal Nuada sitting tailor-fashion on her bed, hands loose and resting on his knees, eyes closed. He was meditating, she realized. The moment she walked in and shut the door, his eyes flashed open. Dylan hung back. What was supposed to happen now? Her anger had dimmed again, but the hurt remained untarnished. Entwined with that pain was uncertainty and fear. Fear that one of the best things in her life was about to go down the toilet. Fear that there was no way to fix this.

What do I do now? Dylan wondered, gazing back at her prince. Where do we start?

And then it came to her.

"I'm sorry," she murmured. Nuada had been expressionless up until that point, but now he frowned. Cocked his head slightly, studying her. "What?" Dylan demanded.

"What are you sorry for?"

She swallowed. "For saying I hated you." Nuada's eyes slid closed and he looked away. "I didn't mean it. I'm sorry. I could never mean that. Even if our whole relationship went to heck in a handbasket, I could never hate you." He didn't reply. Forcing herself not to bite her lip, she murmured, "Please look at me, Nuada."

He opened his eyes but didn't turn back to her. "I would rather not watch you walk out of my life, if it's all the same to you, Lady Dylan."

"I'm not going anywhere," she said. "Not yet." Because she was a trained observer, she noticed the little things Nuada tried to hide from her. The way his fingers half-convulsed against his knees before going still. How his shoulders tightened with sudden tension. "Nuada... we need to talk."

"I thought we already had. You made yourself quite clear."

Dylan shook her head. "I'm not running away this time." With her heart trying to beat its way into her throat, she approached the bed and perched on the edge of it. Her fingers smoothed over the blue velvet coverlet. "Will you talk to me?"

Dull topaz eyes met hers. "If you wish it."

"Do you really not know why you kissed Dierdre? Or do you think I won't be able to handle the reason?"

One brow rose slowly. She imagined it was because she sounded so calm. She hoped she could keep that up for the entirety of the conversation. Nuada replied, "The reasons why are paltry."

"Tell me anyway."

He sighed. "She's an attractive woman. I was tired and distracted. My body responded before my mind had fully realized what was happening. And..." The fae warrior looked away before adding softly, "And I wanted her."

"Okay." She would be calm about this. She would be calm. "Do you still want her?"

Nuada met her eyes again. "I still find her attractive, yes."

"Okay." It hurt to breathe. Dylan forced herself to work past it. "Do you still want to sleep with her?"

Blackberry sweetness was a phantom taste on Nuada's tongue, but he ignored it. "No. You are the one I want, Dylan, in all ways."

"All right. Am I... is... is this going to be a regular thing? You and her?"

"No."

Pressing her fingers to her temples - she was starting to get a tension headache - Dylan said, "All right. Do you wish it were her and not m-"

The swiftness with which Nuada shook his head had relief flooding through her. "No, mo duinne. I regret nothing about my choice to be with you, save only that it may bring you unhappiness. I will always regret causing you pain." She could see the way his fingers twitched, and she knew he wanted to brush back her hair, but also knew he wouldn't. Not until the conversation was finished.

"You said it had nothing to do with how you felt for me. What did you mean? Because the way that sounds, is that when you kissed her, you didn't care at all how it would affect me, but I know that's not what you meant."

"I meant that while I may have given in to a moment of reckless physical attraction, that does not mean I love you any less. It doesn't mean I am in love with Dierdre, and it does not mean I'm not in love with you. I am. I am entirely yours, Dylan." When his truelove looked down at her knees and said nothing, he dared to lay a hand on hers. Her hand was cold as ice. "What are you thinking?"

She swallowed hard. "I'm thinking... I'm thinking that I'm not angry anymore, but I still feel... I still feel betrayed. I'm still scared."

"Scared? Of what, beloved?"

"That you'll look at her and then look at me and regret what we have."

The hand he'd laid against hers came up to cup her cheek. "Never, Dylan. Never."

Dylan closed her eyes. "If... if you promise me... promise this will never happen again, I'll believe you."

"Look at me, Dylan." She opened her eyes, met a gaze of warm honeyed amber. "I swear to you, it will not happen again. My word as an Elven warrior and as the prince of Bethmoora. My word as the man who loves you more than life."

"Okay," she whispered. "Okay. I believe you." Then, as the tension suddenly drained out of her and the day's events finally caught up to her, fresh tears streamed down her cheeks. She bowed her head and began to cry. Nuada shifted closer, pulling her into his arms. Her head rested on his shoulder and she wept into his shirt.

"Shhh," he murmured, stroking her hair. "Shhh, Dylan. I'm sorry. I never meant to hurt you, sweetheart. I am so very sorry. Please do not cry."

"Today really sucked," she said through her tears. "I mean, it really sucked."

"For me, as well," said the prince. "I thought... I feared you would never forgive me."

Dylan shook her head. "I forgive you. I forgive you, I just... I didn't know what to do." She pulled back and wiped at her eyes. After the crying jag in the hayloft, she was pretty much cried out. "In my psych classes in college, it was all so straightforward, but it's not when it's your problem, instead of someone else's. I knew what I was supposed to do to try and fix this but I wasn't sure I could." When she scrubbed at her cheeks with the back of her wrist, Nuada reached up and dried the last of her tears with the edge of his tunic sleeve. "Thank you."

He offered a negligent shrug. "It is my duty to ease your sorrows and dry your tears." He stroked her cheek with the backs of his fingers. "I would give nearly anything to erase this pain you feel."

She gave him a wobbly smile. "You're doing fine already," she said. "Jeez. Our life is so full of drama, isn't it?"

Nuada canted his head. "So it seems." The Elven warrior hesitated, then added, "I know we are not yet back to where we were before all of this, but I need to speak with you about Dierdre."

"What about her?" Dylan asked, sudden tension sharpening her voice with a razor's edge of wariness.

"I don't want you to think she was at fault, Dylan." When the mortal opened her mouth to protest, he held up a hand. "Wait. Allow me to explain. Dierdre thought I was inviting her to make advances. She was not in the wrong to respond as she did."

"You're engaged!"

"The court does not know that," Nuada reminded her. "Only you and I, our guards, my father, my sister, and Wink know of our betrothal. The formal announcement has not been made."

"Okay, she didn't know you were engaged, but she did know that you had a girlfriend."

"I am also a noble and dalliances outside of established relationships are commonplace and considered acceptable among courtiers so long as all three parties are aware and don't object to such an arrangement. Dierdre had no way of knowing that you would object. I'm not saying that there is no blame to be placed," he hastened to add. "I am saying the blame falls solely to me. When I made it clear that I had made a mistake, that you would be hurt by it, she withdrew."

Dylan opened her mouth. Closed it again. Frowned. "If you were anyone else, I'd be totally suspicious of this, but I know you wouldn't lie about this. Why would you? So... okay. I'm sorry I called her a 'whore.'"

The prince offered her a look of quiet gratitude. "Thank you. I tell you this because I need to speak to Lady Dierdre again."

Her eyes flew wide. "What?"

"She's in trouble," Nuada said, and Dylan's incredulity and ire dimmed.

"What sort of trouble? Like, financial trouble? Political trouble? Life-and-death trouble?"

He said, "I can't tell you. Just as I could not reveal to the court what those human wolves had done to you without your permission, I cannot reveal her weakness without her leave. That is why I need to speak to her - to obtain her permission to go before either my father or someone else who can help her."

"Which implies serious trouble. Why won't she tell anyone?"

After a moment's hesitation, Nuada said, "She fears repercussions."

"Repercussions?" Trying to think, Dylan nibbled on the edge of her thumb. "Should I talk to her? This is the kind of thing I do, you know - getting people to open up about trauma and other issues like that."

Nuada shook his head. "It is too dangerous to involve you."

Her brows rose toward her hairline. "Dangerous, huh?" She could think of a billion scenarios where that would be true, but.... "Look me in the eye and promise me that this isn't an excuse to see her."

Without looking away from her searching gaze, Nuada said, "I swear it."

Dylan sighed. "Okay, then. I won't fight you on this. I'm going to trust you, all right?"

The Elven warrior caught Dylan's hand in his and brought it to his lips. He brushed a soft kiss across her knuckles. "I'll not betray that trust, mo mhuire, I swear to you." He kissed her hand again. "There is one other thing."

"Oh, my gosh - what?" She demanded, exasperated.

"Moundshroud." Nuada's brow quirked when Dylan grimaced. "Did you send him to-"

"No!" She yelped. "I told him to leave you alone. I wouldn't have even said anything to him at all but he caught me at a weak moment." Scowling a little, she added, "He's really good at that. Rawr. Anyway, what about him? What did he say? He didn't hurt you, did he? I told him not to!"

Did she have any idea, the prince wondered, how strange it was that she could issue orders to the Keeper of the Samhain Tree and actually expect them to be obeyed? "He implied that your mercy was the only reason he allowed me to remain a man."

She winced. "Yeah, he asked if I wanted him to castrate you. I wasn't sure if he was joking or not, so I said, 'no.'"

"My thanks," he said dryly, and was grateful when she laughed softly. Then, in a serious voice, he added, "He threatened to kill Dierdre if I 'trysted' with her again."

There was a moment of silence. Then, "Since you're not planning on it, why does it matter?"

"His definition of trysting is a bit different than mine, I think. I'm concerned that if he so much as sees me speaking to Dierdre, he will hurt her."

Dylan stared at him. "No way. Not Moundshroud."

"Have you ever seen him angry?"

"Um..." Come to think of it... "No, not really."

"I did. Today."

She winced again. "Oh. Um... okay. Um... I'll talk to him. Tell him that I'm okay with you talking to her and stuff. That way he won't go all protective grandpa on me." A beat of silence. "Did he scare you?"

Nuada gave her a flat look. "I am an Elven warrior, mo duinne."

Dylan rolled her eyes. "Right. Jeez. You and Zhenjin, you're just like each other."

"About Zhenjin," Nuada said suddenly. There was an odd, strained quality to his voice that made Dylan glance at him sharply. "Were you with him all day?"

She blinked. "No. Just for a while this afternoon and then earlier this evening. He's nice. He makes me laugh. Why?"

"What were you two talking about?"

Puzzled, the mortal replied, "About you, for the most part. Stories from when the two of you were young. And he talked about his lóng mâ, Qín. I'd never seen a lóng mâ before. Never even heard of one, actually. If they all look like that, they're beautiful animals. Why?"

The prince offered her a smile and a shrug. "Merely curious, milady. Now, if I may... it is late, and I think you are tired." His smile widened a bit when a yawn forced its way out of Dylan's mouth. "Perhaps we should go to bed?" Nuada's lady sighed, but agreed. Feral eyes flicked from Dylan's face to the fire burning in the hearth for a moment before Nuada spoke again. "I must ask... I do not expect anything, and I would not blame you if you refused me, but I... I need to ask. Am I welcome in this bed... our bed... tonight?"

Dylan hesitated. She knew why he was asking. Could she really sleep in the same bed as Nuada, even if it was just to sleep? After everything that had happened today? I forgave him, she reminded herself sharply. Of course I can. And she'd probably have trouble sleeping if he wasn't there. She knew that already.

Our bed, he'd called it. Something about that made her heart ache and her stomach twist a little.

"Of course you are," Dylan murmured, though her smile was strained. Too many emotions tumbled through her. She needed a little space to process everything. A little time to get herself back together. "Now, I'm going to go change into my pajamas and brush my hair, and then I'll be out to take my meds. Okay?"

"All right."

Nuada watched her slip into her closet to change clothes and bit back a sigh. She had forgiven him, and she was not going to forsake him for his transgression... but things were not as they had been. Only time would heal the rift that now existed between them. He had hurt her. She had hurt him. I hate you. Those words echoed still in his skull. Time would mend those wounds, or nothing would. Sometimes such healing took days, weaks, months. Sometimes it took years. A lifetime.

Please, he thought, or perhaps he prayed. Please do not let it take a lifetime for us to find again what we once had. We don't have that long. When I awaken the Golden Army, I will lose her forever. Let me have her with me for as long as I may. Please.

.

"Brother... are you all right?" Gaozu glanced at his elder brother from the corner of his eye when Zhenjin didn't answer. When the crown prince of Dilong hadn't returned from visiting Qín, the second Dilong prince had gone looking for his brother, and found him at last wandering between the ice-crusted trunks of the barren trees in the plum orchard. Every so often, Zhenjin brushed his fingers across the thick coating of ice on the tree trunks, leaving melted depressions in the ice from the heat of his power. The crown prince said nothing, however. "Zhenjin?"

Zhenjin bit back a sigh and tried to suppress the wish that his younger brother was back in the castle where Gaozu couldn't pester him. He needed to think, and think hard. Or to not think at all. He couldn't decide.

His fingers twitched as he remembered the feel of a slender hand in his. The scent of orchids and lilies when he'd kissed her hand. What was it about that woman, the prince wondered? Zhenjin knew, of course. Or knew what had started his preoccupation with the mortal. Nuada's thoughts, Nuada's feelings. The mind-merging that had ended their initial confrontation over the human woman's presence.

I was an idiot, Zhenjin acknowledged. An idiot not to trust him. An idiot to force that on myself. He sighed and glanced up at the moon glowing soft and silver against the midnight blueness of the sky. And now look where it's gotten me.

Preoccupied and distracted, he thought with no little disgust. Thinking, as Nuada had so often thought, about an impossible mortal woman who could not possibly be human and yet undeniably was. It was good that Nuada had her at his side, and yet... something in the back of Zhenjin's mind wondered if that were really true. If it really was a good thing. What if it wasn't? He didn't know why, but something made him doubt.

He thought of all the things he'd learned from that merging with Nuada - that his friend adored Dylan's silver-washed blue eyes, her velvet laugh like a faerie's, the way her hair cascaded down her back in a waterfall of shadow and curl. Things he didn't really want to know but couldn't help learning. Now he found himself noticing those same things and wishing he didn't know how they affected his old friend. It felt... odd, to look at Dylan and see both the woman Nuada loved and a person Zhenjin inexplicably counted as a friend.

Shaking away those thoughts, he suddenly turned to Gaozu. "Enough meandering, eh, Brother? Let us go back inside where it's warm. Dragon-blood and magic only do so much for such bitter cold."

Seeing the flicker of relief in his younger brother's eyes made Zhenjin wonder just how long he'd been out here, and how long Gaozu had been shadowing him. Instead of asking, he clapped his brother on the shoulder and turned back toward Findias.

As they were approaching the edges of the palace gardens, something drew Zhenjin's eyes inexorably upward to the castle windows. Most were dark, or at least curtained. But there was one on the third floor that he noticed. It had the curtains pulled wide and the warm glow of fire- and candlelight shone through the glass. Silhouetted against the amber light was a woman brushing her hair, one slow stroke at a time. Somehow, the Dilong prince knew it was Dylan.

He remembered plucking that bit of straw from her hair in the stables. The way she'd smiled and thanked him. He tried and failed to shake the memory away. She was so different from other humans. Mortals were greedy, ungrateful, heartless vermin, yet she....

"Zhenjin." A sharpness in Gaozu's voice jerked the crown prince from his thoughts. He glanced at his younger brother, whose reptilian blue eyes were scanning the snowy landscape. "Do you smell that?"

Zhenjin frowned. Sniffed the air. There was... something. At least, he thought there was. He opened his mouth just a little to taste the wind. As if from a long ways away, the prince caught the stench-taste of swamps and rot. It was so far off, it must've come from the township. He shook his head. "I smell something... but I do not think it's aught to worry over."

"It isn't... what was that thing you fought? A shoggoth? It is not one of them, is it?"

The crown prince bit back a grimace and opened his mouth a bit wider, just to be certain. The shoggoth had reeked of rotting filth, swamp gases, garbage, and corpses. The stink had been so strong it had burned his nostrils and soured on his tongue like poison. But this scent was nowhere near that powerful. Nowhere near that revolting.

Still... "We will speak to the head of the current watch rotation," Zhenjin said. "Let's go in now."

"All right," Goazu muttered, glancing over his shoulder. The unease was plain on his face. "As you say, Brother."