Despite the excitement of the day and his exhaustion from almost drowning and then carrying a woman on his shoulder for a several-mile hike, sleep escaped Warren. After cleaning himself up from the adventure, he went to bed but found himself tossing and turning for what felt like hours. The thought of potentially bringing about the extinction of a magical creature did not sit well with him. But it was the fact that he had not eaten anything for dinner that at last drove him from his bed and to seek repast, back in the kitchens below.

The castle was pitch-black, but Warren knew his way around well enough. It helped that he always requested a room close to the kitchen. But when he turned into the final corridor, he saw that the side door to the kitchens was ajar, and from inside he could hear sobbing.

There was no light on, which was odd. So he entered the kitchen and flipped a switch, startling the occupant. Gràinne was sitting in the chair he had vacated hours ago, and as she saw him standing in the doorway she screeched and knocked her tea into her lap. Warren did not hesitate, rummaging through cupboards until he found a clean towel. She dabbed it awkwardly against the thick dressing gown she was wearing, her cheeks bright red against the eerie paleness of her skin. He watched for a moment, feeling guilty for more reason than the spill, and sat across from her.

"How are you?" Warren asked, perhaps overly-kindly. He saw the tear tracks on her cheeks, and knew she had been the one he heard crying.

Gràinne was slow to speak, her eyes lowered. "Maev is very hospitable," she said. "And McKay is thoughtful."

"Both of those things are true," he agreed. "And what else? If the castle is too damp or the tea too weak, you can confide in me! I won't tell."

She glanced up at him, her golden eyes glowing. He noticed the sleek black of her hair, brushed smoothly down her back. Maev had cleaned her up very well indeed, and Warren felt an odd sensation in his chest as he continued to stare, and her lips turned upwards. "The sensation of being out of the river is...strange," she told him. "I feel tired, as I think is normal for a human, and I want food." She was quiet for a moment. "I have never been hungry before. It was always just a rumor of mortality."

"Hungry! Now that is something I can fix. I was going to search out a snack myself. What would you like? Toast? Eggs?"

"I...I don't know."

"Fair enough." Warren began to pull out the necessary. "I must warn you—I am one of the greatest cooks you will ever meet. All other food you try after tonight will be a disappointment." It was a slight exaggeration, but Warren figured that her first eating experience would make his offerings taste better than normal. Gràinne was hiding her lips behind her hand, but he knew she was smiling, and so he grinned in return.

"So," he continued, cracking eggs into a skillet. "McKay says you can predict true love."

"Yes."

"And?"

Gràinne stared. "And—what?"

"Who is my true love?" He meant it jokingly, and so was unprepared for the expression of illness on her face. The blue veins underneath her skin stood out strangely as she paled.

"I can't tell you," she whispered. "I vowed never to use my gift."

Warren stirred the eggs. Convenient. "Ok," he said, deciding not to press it. "And I have to ask—are you clairvoyant as well?"

"Clairvoy—no! Not at all!" Gràinne's brows furrowed as she shook her head.

"Then tell me," he said casually, leaning against the cooktop. "Why do I dream about you?"

She tilted her head at him, a perfect picture of bafflement. "You—you dream of me?"

"Yup," Warren said. "I have for years, since the first time I saw you."

Gràinne was biting her lip, clearly struggling with how to respond. Warren busied himself while she thought, buttering bread and and filling two cups full of cold milk. When at last he sat the meal in front of her, she seemed ready to speak, but then the smell of the food reached her. She sniffed deeply, nearly going cross-eyed.

"It's good," he encouraged her. "The best you'll ever have." He did not hesitate to dive into his own eggs. Gràinne was more hesitant, but after a few bites she began to dig in with relish, her eyes wide. Several moments followed with no conversation. Warren began to feel uncomfortable. Though she had answered all the questions that had nagged him for years, he was no closer to an answer. Who could help him then, if not Gràinne? Trask? Bracken?

At last Gràinne set down her fork with trembling fingers, her golden gaze on Warren. He nearly choked on his toast, and then cleared his throat. "I could have let you die," she said frankly. "I have allowed many men to drown, all of whom came to capture me. But...but I—" She swallowed. "I couldn't. I saw your future."

"Really!" Warren said with interest. "Go on! What can I expect? Trophies? Titles? Great acclaim?"

"Not that future." Her lips were compressed, and her shoulders were tense. "I can only see true love."

Warren sighed, disappointed. "Right. Because there's only one right person for another. Leaving little hope for the rest of us, whose true love is probably dead or incarcerated."

"Only one?" Gràinne frowned. "But that is not true."

"How comforting."

She was fidgeting. "How can I explain this? There is no 'one' person for another. But there are some who get along better with others, and certain temperaments suit...the ability of my kind is to tell you whom will bring you the greatest happiness and love. There may be many, but we can direct people to one. Only one."

"That would be where the rumor started, then," Warren said.

"I suppose so."

"Fine. So tell me my one true love, or one of ten true loves, or whatever."

Gràinne bit her lip. "I saved you," she said. "I might have lived forever, but I left the river. For you. It's not fair!" Her voice broke on the final word. "The last of my sisters...perhaps the last in the world. Not the first to love a mortal, but I know now I will be the last."

Warren, in the process of sipping his milk, choked again. "You don't mean me!" he said loudly.

She blinked slowly, and then, "Yes."

"But—but—"

Gràinne raised her eyebrows, and he thought he sensed lurking shame in the golden glow of her eyes.

"You're saying you're my true love?" Warren asked. "You—an immortal—and...and...me? I don't believe it!"

She covered her face with her hands, and with embarrassment he saw tears leaking again. "It wasn't supposed to happen this way," she moaned. "I knew you would react badly! I—I only wanted…" Gràinne lifted her eyes to his again, pleading. "You came back. It gave me hope. I thought that maybe...many men have fallen in love with nymphs. I hoped you could, too. Otherwise I could disappear, and you find another…"

Warren didn't know what to say. He felt blindsided by all this information; a little angry, and a little awkward. Could she really be his true love? He couldn't deny his attraction for her. But that was hardly love.

"You dreamt of me," Gràinne said. "That is far beyond my powers. That was you, Warren." This marked the first time she had said his name, and the sound send a tingling warmth through him.

"Fine, then," he grumbled. "I'll admit it. You fascinate me. But I know better than to get involved with a nymph. It's happened in my family before."

"Oh?"

"An ancestor of mine married a dryad. Broke her heart. She became a demon, yadda yadda. You know how it goes," he affected an air of leisure, as if it wasn't important.

"Do you mean Ephira?"

"Do I mean—wait, you know Ephira?"

Gràinne shrugged. "Word travels through water fast. Even though I have always been isolated, I hear enough."

"I'll say," Warren grumbled.

Her eyes brightened, as if she hadn't heard him. "If your ancestor was Marshal Burgess—then you are related to Patton as well!"

"Yup," Warren said. "Great-great uncle of mine. Swell guy. Helped me save the world."

"He visited me once," Gràinne said, a smile broadening on her face. "Long ago. He was the first man I met who didn't ask for any favors. Until you, that is."

Warren could not help returning her smile.

"And if you are Patton's nephew—then you certainly know of him and Lena. A relationship that didn't doom itself." Her eyes were sparkling.

"Fair enough," Warren conceded. "Apparently my family is cursed to love immortals. I have a distant cousin who's keen to date a unicorn, you know."

"A much rarer match." Gràinne did not elaborate, and Warren found himself utterly lost for words for the first (and probably last) time in his life. He did not know what to think. He hardly knew what to feel—somehow, Gràinne's words were ringing true with him. But it felt ridiculous that a hydriad had fallen in love with him. Did she really expect him to love her in return? With so little to go on?

But then again…

"I don't know what to say," Warren admitted. "Let's sleep on it. Maybe tomorrow we can call an expert."

To his surprise, one of her brows tilted in amusement. "I am the expert," Gràinne deadpanned. "Good luck in your search, though."

Warren was laughing, deciding to leave the washing up for someone else, and escorted Gràinne to the doorway. "Good night," he said. "Enjoy your first night of sleep."

She opened her mouth as if she wanted to say something, but held back. "Good night, Warren Burgess," she said, and stood on her tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek. His skin tingled where her lips had touched.

A whirl of thoughts accompanied him to his room, and it continued with a gale force while he tried to get comfortable. Again, no luck. He kept thinking of Gràinne. And true love. And what his friends would say. And Gràinne. And the laughable Burgess curse. And Gràinne. Gràinne, Gràinne, Gràinne…

The door to his room squeaked, and he nearly jumped out of his skin before a whisper said, "It's only me."

Warren let out a low hiss, sitting straight up in his bed. "What are you doing here?"

The former-hydriad shuffled into the room and shut the door behind her. "I can't sleep," Gràinne admitted.

"Well, neither can I. And I certainly won't now!"

"Can—can I try to sleep with you? I feel...I don't like feeling a stranger."

"I am a stranger to you," Warren pointed out.

Gràinne paused, wringing her hands together. "You're...less of a stranger. Please, Warren."

Her intentions could only be innocent, that much was obvious. He sighed, and pulled back the covers. "Of course."

The feeling of her slight, and slightly chilled, form next to his own as they settled in was far more disorienting than Warren had expected. She was trembling, and suspecting cold, he allowed her to snuggle close for warmth.

"I've never been cold before," Gràinne murmured in his ear, her breath tickling. "Thank you."

He muttered something incomprehensible in return. Her scent was so close to him, woven into her dark hair, and now he wondered how he could not have smelled her before. Clean moss, fresh water, and the dappled sun through trees. That doesn't even make sense, Warren told himself sternly. The sun doesn't smell! But it was the best description he could think of.

The comfort of Gràinne's eventual even breathing brought Warren unexpected peace, and at last he was able to doze off himself. Near to the end of his consciousness, he knew that he was already decided. He couldn't leave Gràinne behind; nor did he want to. He would take her everywhere, if she was willing. And if the warm feeling in his chest was any indication, her affection was not unrequited.

His final thought was that his friends would never stop teasing him about this.