"And because it's all that we can see,
the ending becomes an end in itself
when directly ahead of us new beginnings
are being forged and fresh byways are being laid out
from the very ending that we're caught up in."
— Craig D. Lounsbrough

The castle is in an uproar. Servants hurry about, making last-minute preparations while the cook curses about having to create a feast with no notice, and an air of simmering rage lies heavily over everyone. Not only, they whisper to each other, out of earshot of their masters, do those goddesses make demands, they inconvenience us. In her quarters, Moth is busy following her mother's orders, dressing in an elegant gown — though not the one they had planned for — letting Anais braid her hair away from her face while Laina carefully traces the lines of runes that mark her as engaged along her throat. The Goddess Clan will not know what they mean, but her Clan will, and that will keep them from listening to whatever bile this envoy spews. All of her anxiety is gone, shoved to the side as the training of the Wolves and her grandmother settles in; we do not bow, Moth thinks, and she lifts her chin as Laina draws the brush away from her skin.

Estarossa meets her at the stairs, his grin quick and sharp, his hand firm where it settles against her back. He is not wearing the tunics and grand clothes of a prince, but the outfit she recognizes as the one from war: the dark brown coat with gold lining, open at the throat to reveal the white shirt beneath, the black trousers and golden greaves and gauntlets. They say nothing to each other as they walk towards the throne room, but there's no need for words. Moth feels him as keenly as she does herself, his power a slow caress along her skin, his mind simmering against hers. It is as though there is a pathway, marked by doors on either end, and those doors have been opened fully to allow them to meet. Is this the bond? she wonders, climbing the stairs to stand by her mother's side. Is this what is in store for us? Estarossa takes his place behind her, mimicking the role he will one day, should this not fall apart, play in the court.

Nemain watches as the doors open, her face pleasant but her eyes cold, and Moth thinks of the forest predators, the wolves with their fangs bared as they hunt elk. The goddesses have no allies here. Ludoshel leads the procession, his expression serene as his boots tap along the floor; instead of fear, which she had expected, there is merely a cold that numbs her. She is no longer a girl, weak and swayed by false promises. If Ludoshel expects her to grovel, she will be more than happy to crush his throat between her teeth. "Well met, Lord Ludoshel of the Goddess Clan," Nemain intones, her voice deceptively calm. "Or so I wish I could say, but I believe you bear no good will for my Clan."

"Your Majesty." He bows his head. "I am wounded to hear you say such. Have I ever acted against you?" He lifts his gaze, scanning the four of them, and there's a brief, sneering curl to his lips when his eyes land on Estarossa. "I was unaware that we would be joined by one of his today."

Estarossa chuckles, but it is Nemain who says, "Prince Estarossa has every right to be here, given that he is the betrothed of my daughter, Alessa. If you had waited until tomorrow, you would have been greeted by the announcement of their engagement." She inclines her head, and Moth steps forward. "They have been courting these past three years. Surely you were aware of it?"

"Unfortunately, Your Grace, I have heard quite differently," Ludoshel replies smoothly. "According to our sources, they have barely exchanged any pleasantries at all since her abduction from our lands, and he only arrived after my message regarding our visit today arrived."

"Check with them again. Estarossa delivered his courting gifts to me three years ago." His eyes cut to Moth, and she smiles thinly. "After that, I served with the Iron Wolves, and I've only just returned, which is why he's come to Cailleach."

Ludoshel's face remains a polite, if impassive, mask, but she can feel the disdain that radiates from him steadily. "Is that so? I'm sorry to hear it." He clears his throat, looking contrite. "I will admit that I hoped the rumors were simply that, if only for Mael's sake. He was rather heartbroken when he learned that you were terminating your engagement in favor of the one who, ah . . . Abducted you."

Estarossa scoffs. "Saved," he says sharply, and Ludoshel shakes his head.

"I can assure you that the Lady Alessa was never in any real danger. Had she been left in the Celestial Realm, her wounds would have been tended to and the traitorous witch who caused them delivered to Her Majesty in Cailleach. Your arrival nearly cost her life and enabled the traitor to escape." He tucks his wings neatly to his back, turning his head to once more address the queen. "Your Grace, I would ask you to reconsider allowing this. Lady Alessa has already promised herself to another. Surely that takes precedence over a . . . Well, I would hate to call it an affair, but given their conduct . . ."

"Enough." Nemain stands, folding her hands in front of her, her head held high. "My daughter's promise to Lord Mael nearly killed her. Whether or not you were complicit, I cannot say, but you enabled it by presuming to speak for me then, and you will not do so now. Her engagement to Prince Estarossa is legitimate, recognized by our god. Who am I to question it?"

Ludoshel hums. "I doubt the Supreme Deity would agree. After all, the prince trespassed onto our domain, interrupted a ceremony, stole Lady Alessa, hid her within his castle, and only returned her under threat of war. Then, if what I have heard is correct, he rebuffed every attempt made to contact him until his arrival several weeks ago, after which he apparently made no effort to show any concern or care for her unless they were under public scrutiny." He shakes his head, spreading his hands. "Your servants talk, Your Grace. And what they say is not pleasant."

Moth feels a sudden rush of irritation that does not belong to her. Then Estarossa is striding forward to draw her to his side, his eyes fixed on Ludoshel. "If I may, Your Grace?" Nemain studies him before giving a curt nod, and he squeezes Moth gently. "I've heard what happened at the ceremony from Alessa, how you tricked her into agreeing and refused to end it until it was nearly too late. In fact, if I hadn't arrived, I have no doubts you would have simply allowed her to die. As for my refusal to speak with her, she asked for time to recover from the trauma she endured at Mael's hands."

Ludoshel bristles. "That's not —"

"Also," Estarossa interrupts, "I don't give a fuck what you think, so you can go straight to hell for all I care."

Moth digs her nails into his arm in warning. As much as she'd like to laugh at what he just said, there is protocol, and they have to get Ludoshel out of there without starting a war. "While his tone could use some adjustment," she says pleasantly, "his words are true. I cannot prove conspiracy, but I know that you were responsible for arranging the ceremony that nearly cost my life. And he speaks the truth about our communication. I asked for distance, a request he was kind enough to respect after I accepted his courting gifts."

"This is ridiculous!" Ludoshel cries, his voice rising as the veneer begins to waver. "Just looking at you it is obvious there is no love there. This is not a true bonding, as it would have been with my brother." He glowers at the queen. "If they are not in love, then you must be allowing this match to ally with the Demon Clan. And do you expect the Supreme Deity to recognize this match, or your sovereignty, when you get into bed with our enemies?"

There is a low rumble in the air as the room cools considerably, shadows crawling from the edges. Nemain smiles at him, yet Moth's skin is crawling, the runes on her skin that mark her as the Nameless God's chosen feeling alive. "The Supreme Deity cannot deny my sovereignty, as it does not come from her. Nor can she dictate whom my daughter bonds with. We belong to the Nameless God and the Nameless God alone, and Prince Estarossa is aware of what will be expected of him due to his relationship with Alessa." The queen steps down, frost crackling in her wake, until she stands a mere foot from the Archangel. "Would Lord Mael have been willing to forsake his Clan and his duties to be with her?"

Ludoshel stares at the queen in surprise, and then he begins to laugh. The sound reverberates through the hall, making the hairs on Moth's neck stand up. "Prince Estarossa, aware of what is expected of him!" The goddess throws back his head and lets go another stream of laughter. "The son of the Demon King? The Commandment? He knows what is expected of him? What a joke."

Ludoshel's smile remains but his eyes show true coldness. "Estarossa the Love does not know the word. He is a murderer and a thief. He does not serve, he destroys. He will not submit to a queen, and especially not to a witch. He might have pulled your princess here into some fantasy but I assure you, it is nothing but a lie. At best you will hope the Witch Clan to be taken by the demons now that you've let one in the door. At worst, you'll find your next queen in a pool of blood."

Moth gasps, feeling Estarossa tighten his arm around her. "No one will recognize this union," Ludoshel proclaims. "Not the humans, or the giants, or fairies, and never the goddesses. Without the support of the other Clans, or the Supreme Deity, how do you hope to survive this world?"

Nemain opens her mouth, but before she can reply there is a sudden heaviness. Quiet steps echo through the room, and Moth freezes at the sensation of something standing behind her, unseen and ancient. "I have recognized this union," a voice like oil murmurs. "Your queen cannot deny it. Before you threaten what is mine, I would ask how your Clan would benefit from having my wrath unleashed upon it." A cold hand presses to her shoulder. "This is my chosen, the one who will rule the witches with my blessing. I have allowed you to overstep once. Next time, I will not be merciful."

Then it is over, warmth and sunlight filtering through the windows, the oppressive power gone. Nemain waits patiently, and when Ludoshel does not speak, she asks, "Have your concerns been addressed?"

Estarossa stirs next to Moth, exhaling quietly. "Holy fuck," he breathes, and she places her hand over his. He looks at her with a mixture of awe and fear, and they are completely blue, free of any darkness, even around the edges. In the corner of her eye she sees Ludoshel make a hasty retreat, his voice shouting something that she doesn't care to hear, while around them members of the court talk with trembling voices about what just happened. But all Moth can see is his eyes, and she presses against him with a grin on her face, feeling for the first time that she can breathe without fear.

Hours later, Moth lays in bed with him as his hand draws patterns along her back and shoulder. It's still against the rules for them to be together like this, but now that the threat of the goddesses seems to be gone, Laina had made herself conveniently scarce when he walked her back to her room after dinner. The day had still been a stressful one as the council had met for hours to determine the best thing to do moving forward, now that the Nameless God had made his wishes known. In the end, the queen requested to allow the engagement to continue as planned, and none dared to question it.

Moth had found comfort in his kiss and reprieve from the anxiety of the day in his arms. Estarossa is urgent in the way he undresses her, and by the time she is underneath him, all of the fear from not only Ludoshel's visit, but everything leading back to the ceremony, and maybe even before, had melted away as she comes apart from his touch.

He kisses her forehead and Moth smiles sleepily. "Still awake?"

"Mm." His arms draw her closer, until she is half-tucked beneath him, his thigh slotting between her legs. "I wasted enough time. Don't want to miss any more."

Estarossa chuckles. "You need your sleep. It was a long day." Moth grumbles and presses her face against his chest, and his hand squeezes her backside. "If you want, I can wear you out a bit more."

She lifts her head to peer up at him as she reaches down to trace the crease of his thigh with her thumb. "I bet you could," Moth teases. "Do you ever run out of stamina?" His body stirs against her hand, and she grins as she curls her hand around his length. "Guess not."

Estarossa growls and grabs her by the hips, jerking her over his body so she straddles his lap. Moth laughs and presses her hands on his chest, her hair cascading down as she looks at him. The lamp is off and there is a new moon giving very little light, but she can see the outline of his body in the darkness, smiling as her hands trace his muscles.

His own hands give her hips another squeeze before settling heavily on her thighs. "Are you all right?" he asks.

Moth licks her lips, tracing her fingers around his nipples. "Of course I am."

"I meant, from today. What happened."

"Seeing him wasn't as hard as I thought it would be," she admits, "and I'm not surprised he pulled his brother into it." Leaning down, she kisses his neck, parting her lips to taste him, eager to put the day behind them and focus on more pleasant matters.

Estarossa hums. "He seems like a bastard."

"He is," she chuckles.

He massages her thighs as she sucks along his neck, her palms pressed against his broad chest. He tastes like what heaven should be like, sugar and sin wrapped up together. Moth rocks her hips, grinding her body against his thigh and making him shiver.

She leans up to cover his mouth with her own, but just before she can he whispers, "He was lying, you know."

"Who was?" Moth frowns.

"Ludoshel. All those things he said about me." Estarossa's eyes gleam with a little sparkle of light as she studies him. "They aren't true."

Something soft tinges her lust, warm and gentle, and she cups his face in her palms, grazing his lips with a whisper-light touch. "Oh, Rossa. You didn't think I'd believe him, did you? Ludoshel lies as easily as he breathes."

"I had to be sure." He closes his eyes as he leans into her touch. "There was a time you would have, particularly if Mael was involved."

Moth sags a bit, her head bowing, because he is right. "I'm sorry," she whispers. "I was so wrong about you. And about Mael."

His fingers drag along her spine as his other hand sweeps back her hair. "I wonder how he ever gave you up. I would walk through Purgatory fire to be by your side." Moth swallows thickly as he sighs. "But I'm glad he did, and I'm never letting you go."

She thinks then of the letter, buried in her desk, the ones that contain years of grief and longing. Estarossa pulls her into a kiss that is slow and deep, and as she parts her lips for him she decides that it is best to leave ghosts alone; no good would come of displaying Mael's words now, not after she has made her choice, not when doing so would serve no purpose other than to cause tension. Estarossa presses into her, worshipping her with his body, his words, the ecstasy he brings her cresting gently again and again, and as she curls against him with his seed drying on her thighs, Moth promises that she will never allow anyone — particularly Mael — to come between them again.