Life slipped back into what it had once been, and marriage seemed a topic well and truly passed. Artemis thought he ought to be grateful that he'd been able to experience it at all, and with the only person he'd have wanted to marry too. What a great luxury it had been. But a week was gone, and then another, and by the time four had disappeared without an in-person visit from Holly, that luxury he had experienced felt more like a fantasy. He pulled out his little bottle of stolen magic, sometimes, just to assure himself of the bond's existence.

Now Artemis lay in bed, falling slowly into sleep when his phone lit up. The ringtone was Holly's and he had it in his hand not even a second later.

"Are you alright?" He asked as greeting.

"Fine, mudboy," she laughed. "Can't I call just to say hello?"

"Of course," Artemis said, even though she hadn't for weeks. And neither had he. They'd tried, at first, to talk every night, but somehow that made the ache worse. They couldn't see each other in a real way, couldn't touch, couldn't be together. And the imitation of what they'd so recently had had been a hard adjustment that they'd given up on adjusting to. But maybe now they were ready to try it, with the memory of marriage a little farther behind them than it had been last they'd attempted this.

"How's the moon tonight?" Holly asked, and Artemis smiled sadly for her.

"Shall I go ask it?"

"Yes. Someone needs to make sure she's doing alright."

Artemis shoved away his blankets and got to his feet, pushing open the balcony doors—which had, already, been left ajar out of habit and sentiment—he strode into the night air and looked up to the moon.

"She looks well," Artemis told Holly. "Beautiful and full tonight." I wish you were here to see it. But he didn't say it. Holly missed the moon and the stars and the sky terribly already. It was hard for her, Artemis knew, to be back to scarce visits to the surface.

"Wasn't Artemis a moon goddess?" Holly asked.

"Among other things, yes."

"That suits you."

"You think I'd make a good moon guardian?" Artemis wondered, amused.

"I think you and the moon are similar in a lot of ways."

"Oh?"

"Don't mock me," Holly told him, but he could hear the soft laughter in her voice. "You've both got one side you show to the world and one you hide. You're both associated with a darkness even though you bring light—,"

"Metaphors, really? You are going soft."

"Shut up, I could be a great poet and you know it."

"If you say so," Artemis said, but he was glad that this was a voice call, or else Holly would have called him on his blush.

"And I miss you both," Holly finished. "So, see, you're a lot like the moon."

"You're feeling sentimental this evening," Artemis observed. "Is there any reason?"

"Not really. Kind of. It's just—you can't understand what it's like down here right now, Arty. Everywhere I go and everywhere I look there's you and us. But I haven't really seen you since the trial." Artemis nodded, though, like his blush, Holly had no way of seeing it. Her situation in Haven made sense. She lived alone in the house he'd designed for her, slept alone in the bed they'd shared, woke up alone in that bed after nightmares. "The fairies of Haven are in somewhat of an uproar," she said, which Artemis had trouble connecting to her previous statement for a moment.

"The news of that wretched councilelf was leaked?"

"Not by me, if that's what you're asking." It was. "Foaly and I were brainstorming ways to tell our story without it being seen as mad ravings of a spiteful elf. But then the news broke itself. People started questioning the decision that was made as the coverage of the trial was broadcast a week or so ago. No matter how Iggy Noble tried to spin it, your arguments were good. And theirs was a stretch. A lot of things about it add up to underhanded plays, from the quick decision on the verdict to the way it wasn't questioned to the immediate breaking of our bond afterwards."

"And the people cared enough to add all of that up?" Artemis asked, surprised at the investment Haven had in his and Holly's relationship, though by now he should not be.

"Yes. They found that Iggy Noble has been rearranging his council since you and I went public with out marriage. And that every fairy at the trial was vehemently against us from the start. And there are rumors that the bond was broken in a crude and dangerous way without our knowledge or consent."

"I wonder where that rumor could have come from."

"You can't prove anything."

"I'm hardly the one you need to worry about."

"Iggy Noble can try his worst, I'm not worried."

"You never are."

"Anyway, I wouldn't be surprised if he gets kicked off the council for this."

"Really?" Artemis asked with interest. "Such drastic action would be taken over our trial?"

"Humans might let each other get away with corruption, but fairies like our governing bodies to be fair and just without secret agendas and a track record for foul play."

"How enlightened," Artemis said. "Perhaps we humans should take our cues from you."

"You really should. It would make the world a better place."

"I've no doubt."

"But the reason I called is because there's talk about reversing the decision on our trial." Silence hung over the line. Artemis didn't think he so much as breathed for a long moment.

"Is there?" He asked weakly.

"Or a retrial. I thought it was nonsense, since there are still a good number of those glad to see our marriage abolished. But today—," a deep breath in. "Today I found out that a law is being drafted that would make it illegal to break up marriages on grounds of species."

"I had wondered if the council's ability to break up our marriage would make others nervous for their rights," Artemis mused. "We weren't the only interspecies relationship in Haven, just the most conspicuous and controversial. And that trial set a precedent against all interspecies relations, not just human-fairy ones."

"And Iggy Noble's behind the times on those relationships too, it would seem. But, Artemis, if they make this law—what does that mean for us?"

"I'm not sure," Artemis admitted.

"Right," Holly said, and she sounded a little cross. But Artemis had no time to inquire why. "How're things going with you? Did your family take the news well?"

"They were glad to hear that they needn't worry for my death anytime soon," Artemis answered, bewildered at the change in tone and topic.

"I imagine your father was glad to be rid of me."

"My—? I told you, Holly, he's over whatever issues he may have had with you. He got over all that months ago. Father was no happier to hear of the council's decision than anyone. Except, perhaps, my mother. She took it hardest." After Artemis, that was.

"She had put a lot of work into that wedding," Holly said, and her tone was less chilly than it had been. Artemis breathed a sigh of relief, thinking himself out of whatever trouble he'd gotten into with her. "But she can save it and use it all on your real wedding."

"My real wedding?" Artemis repeated, incredulous.

"Go call up Daphne or Minerva now that you're a free man again. Charm one of them into marrying you."

"Why would I—? Holly, I'm sure I've said it before but I have no intention of ever getting married again. To anyone." But Holly had already hung up. What had he said wrong? Why was she so mad? They'd started out well enough. Artemis sighed and looked up again at the moon.

I miss you both, she'd said. But then she'd gone glacial and hung up on him. He could scream with frustration. But he didn't. He wasn't an emotional creature. So he just walked back into his room and shut the doors tight behind him. And then every window too, for good measure. And, finally, he crawled back into bed and fell asleep, the bad mood following him into his dreams.