The balmy caress of a late summer breeze brushed across Gandriel's cheek as he sat perched on the high, plastered wall of his family's estate, overlooking the lush vineyard bursting with clusters of juicy grapes used to make his family's renowned vintages. The sweet tinge of earth and ripe fruit filled his lungs as he gave a sleepy yawn, nearly tasting the late-summer wines just from the scent alone.

He'd snuck a bottle out of the cellar and was now sipping on it as his family prepared to depart for their formal meeting with foreign dignitaries, some aristocrats from Prythian if he recalled correctly.

"Negotiations," as they liked to call them.

"Cocks and fowl pecking at grain is more like it," he heard his aunt Sofia grouse from where she leaned against the post of the flower-bedecked patio, her usual sweet disposition abandoned for the tell-tale Aella scowl, her preferred riding gear swapped out for a soft pink gown that cleverly hid the swordswoman's body beneath.

The sight nearly had him chuckling.

Sweet, patient Sofia as so many knew her.

The pinnacle of feminine grace.

Not the hellion with an iron fist who'd thrown him to the ground sparring more times than he would have liked to admit. Still, that iron fist had protected him more times that he cared to know about, her knife always finding itself buried in the back of anyone who dared to betray them.

"They've always had a penchant for gluttoning themselves on the fruits of others labor," Maria replied, inspecting her immaculate nails as she adjusted the blue velvet of her sleeve, the gears in that crafty mind turning. "Perhaps we should raise tariffs on exports; tighten the noose a bit."

Wisdom from the eldest and wisest daughter, her tactical mind as sharp as her wit.

Gandriel's hands still ached from the memory of the arithmetic lessons she'd given him, the pang of a headache beginning to bloom at his temple at even the thought. In addition to his numbers, Maria had taught him how to lie and barter his way out of any situation, how to thrive and survive, to turn any enemy into fodder with words.

"Oh, perhaps show them the error of their ways through more inventive means," Carmen cooed, her thick lashes fluttering as her scarlet lips, the same color as her gown, parted in amusement from where she lounged across a low-lying couch. She flicked her sun-kissed curls over a shoulder. "A little flattery and suggestion goes a long way for silencing invalids into submission."

The temptress of Monteserre.

There wasn't a male or female within the borders of their country that hadn't heard of her beauty and charm, that hadn't pursued it in some fashion.

Perhaps they would be less likely to pant after her if they knew she looked something akin to a frog in the mornings and yowled like a soaked alley cat if woken before noon, especially by grubby little male children with too much time on their hands. It didn't hinder her expertise in history and the arts though; Gandriel had learned those from her.

And how to party.

Religiously.

Indeed, if the crinkle of her eyes and the slight sloppiness of her makeup was any indication-she was still suffering from her "festivities" the night before, and very likely in a sour mood.

Mother help whoever was seated next to her at dinner.

The clicking of heels had Gandriel abandoning his perch, wine bottle in hand. His shoulders instinctively straightened as he watched his grandmother Isadora emerge through the archway, her stark white gown fluttering in the breeze, its high collar accenting the sharp features of her face.

The face of the Aella family.

Stern as she was ruthless.

He unconsciously dipped his head in respect.

"It is better to pay the price of peace than to sow the seeds of war," Isadora reminded, even as her dark eyes twinkled in amusement, "you all would do well to learn that."

She'd always been the hardest on him, holding the highest expectations and giving the harshest critiques. Still, that had never stopped her from chasing him through the gardens till he'd cried from laughter as a boy, and once he'd grown he still always found an extra bottle of wine and plate of chocolates conveniently left out after dinner.

"Learning to not stab, manipulate, or seduce our way out of every issue we come into contact with you mean?" That voice immediately eased Gandriel, the playful, lilting tone his most prized possession. "Mother, surely you ask too much of us."

He watched as his mother emerged behind his grandmother, dressed in a deep emerald gown and smirking as always.

Brave and fearless Marianna.

The outspoken and courageous daughter who never took no for an answer, who questioned every ounce of authority and never backed down from a challenge.

And his mother, the dearest female of his entire existence. Catching his gaze, she offered him a bright smile and devilish wink, one that immediately had a smile blooming on his own face, even as he immediately dropped it as he felt his grandmother's gaze brush over him.

"Rich coming from the cow that decided to copulate with the worst of them," Carmen teased, winking at her sister. "I wouldn't count you as the voice of reason here, dear sister, especially seeing as our sweet Gandriel cannot join us on this particular outing."

Or on any of them, really, Gandriel thought mildly, knowing full well that hiding his parentage and keeping him safe out of a certain High Lord's clutches had always been their greatest priority. His sheltered life cloistered on the estate had been their only way of ensuring his identity was kept a secret.

Even if a part of him had always longed to serve a role in his family.

On the bright side, his lack of involvement guaranteed him several days of uninterrupted revelry without any supervision.

"Carmen, darling, I'm surprised you're here! I heard you'd taken up a position at the local whorehouse given your recent activities." The tone that left his mother's mouth had him inching away. "Forgive my mistake, I wasn't sure you'd have the time to get off your back long enough to join us."

Those were certainly fighting words, if the spark of electricity in the air was any indication.

Gandriel calculated just how far he'd have to dive to get behind one of the pomegranate trees in the courtyard before bolts of lightning started to fly.

To no one's surprise his grandmother merely cocked her head, observing. She had always allowed them to settle their issues amongst themselves.

Their long, never-ending list of issues.

"Impossible, Marianna," Sofia interjected, her soft voice dry as she sent an amused glance between her sisters. "That would imply that Carmen actually works and desires to contribute something. I would hope you would know better; dead weight will always remain as such."

"Sofia." Carmen hissed, eyes narrowing.

"¿Sí hermana?" Sofia replied with poisoned sweetness.

"You look so pretty in your dress today, I'm surprised you stopped playing pretend with your toy swords long enough to don it. Perhaps you should leave the soldiering to the soldiers."

"And spend my days in a lustful cloud of ignorance and gluttony? I think I'll pass, Carmen."

"You speak as though I can't fight," Carmen's eyes sparked as the scent of rain suddenly flooded the estate, thunderheads rolling in. "You shouldn't forget who bested you in the last fencing match."

It'd been a lucky strike at best, Gandriel thought, remembering the look of utter shock as Sofia had gone headfirst into the mud.

He didn't bother to voice that fact, however.

"Draw your blade and we shall see who ends up on the ground this time, Carmen," Sofia challenged, pushing off the post.

"Temper, temper sister," Carmen cooed, straightening. "I wouldn't want to ruin Abuela's new saplings beating you senseless."

"Perhaps I shall pull one from the ground and beat you with it."

The thought of even looking wrong at the matriarch's new saplings sent a pulse of world-ending terror through Gandriel.

"Touch those saplings and you will lose far more than your pride," Maria tutted. "Stop your fighting and leave Marianna and Gandriel alone. It is no one's fault but your own that you chose to revel until the early morning hours, Carmen."

"Then perhaps Marianna should not mock our proposed methods of negotiation," Carmen huffed. "It is for that precise reason that I was up til the early hours gathering information about their personal guard."

That bit of information rumbled through Gandriel, his mind spooling to guess exactly which dignitaries they would be meeting.

The withering look his mother sent her sister told him that this was something he was not supposed to be privy to.

No doubt it was another convoy from Spring Court, making this the third in the last six months.

"It has to do with my father, doesn't it?" he voiced, his stomach twisting as they each sent him guilty glances, Carmen looking the slightest bit remorseful at her outburst.

Marianna sighed. "Yes and no," she replied, wringing her hands before her. "Not Tam—," she stopped herself, unable to say his name, the sorrowful shift in her scent making Gandriel's blood boil, "-but a faction of his lords who have voiced interest in trade."

"Do they have no vineyards of their own?" Or had his boorish father ripped them all from the ground in one of his infamous fits of rage.

His mother met his eyes, looking a bit defeated at his inquiries. "I suspect they are trying to gather information, Gandriel."

Of course they were.

His father's lapdog, Lucien Vanserra, had been snooping like a hound on the hunt since his mother had left Spring a little over two decades ago.

And now his aunts were to intercept the envoy before they could siphon any information from unsuspecting citizens and servants.

Not that they hadn't all been sworn to secrecy about his existence.

He let out a sigh.

Another problem for his family because of his parentage. If he'd only been born a girl-

Carmen swung her attention towards him as though she sensed his thoughts. Swiftly, she rose from her position and made toward him, her hand coming to rest in his painfully golden locks as she playfully rustled them.

"Don't look so sad, cabrito, it's not your fault you reek of dogwoods and the patriarchy." She pulled his face into her hands before kissing him gently on the forehead. "We can't have the dignitaries under the impression we're harboring one of their own."

"Gandriel is far too intelligent to be mistaken as one of those pigs," Maria quipped, rising from her seat. "However, that blonde hair and jewel eyes are not of the Aella line."

"And so I am to remain here," he grumbled in resignation.

"Afraid so," his mother finished, smiling sadly at him. "We'll be home soon, try not to burn the estate down or pester your great grandmother."

A shudder raced through him. As though he were remotely brave enough to even consider doing that.

No, rather, he planned to spend his time with the lovely maid Lenara, the thought of her twining golden hair and rosy flush enough to already have him purring. They'd been sneaking off for evening "naps" before she'd departed to see her family in the mountains.

She was due back soon, that evening if he remembered correctly. Pulling the wine bottle to his lips he took a deep drink, looking forward to the feel of her luscious mouth against his own, the tug of her teeth on his bottom lip—

An odd sensation formed on his mouth, suctioning the bottle to his lips.

Alarmed, he tugged at the bottle and found it would not budge, and that it was moving against him, exploring, prodding—

The bottle was kissing him.

The same teeth and lips he'd been fantasizing about had now sprouted on the end of the opening, sucking voraciously on his lips. Yelping, he pulled at the bottle, trying to dislodge it to no avail, the kiss becoming wetter and more insistent, tinged with the scent of moss—


Gandriel woke with a start, terror coursing through his system as his mind and body struggled to reorient themselves, the stench of decaying foliage and mildew overwhelming.

What had happened? Where the hell was he?

A dull ache laced through his shoulder that had him letting out a groan, which came out oddly muffled. Confusion filled him at the dampened sound, an odd sensation tickling his lips.

It'd been a wine bottle that had been kissing him before, some bizarre dream whose sensation had carried through upon waking.

He peeled a single eye open.

Or not.

A pulsating green blob came into focus, sitting delicately below his nose, smelling oddly like an apricot and making the most heinous sucking sound he'd ever heard.

He felt a sensation roll over his lip, a slight tinge of sweetness as something wet dripped into his mouth and onto his tongue.

This was far, far worse.

SO much worse.

A muffled scream tore from him as he bolted upright.

An evil green blob was trying to steal his soul, was trying to suck it clean from his body—

If there had ever been a time he'd wished his mother were present–

Flailing, he batted at his assailant, racing to dislodge the oozing green blob from his face. Slapping and tugging at it, it came free with a little pop as he flung it away from him, watching as it flew across the dimly-lit room and rolled onto the damp floor, landing with a sickening squelch.

Accursed hell, where in the Mother's name was he-

His assailant caught his eye, where it had apparently recovered from its sudden flight, its chubby green body sluggishly beginning to slink across the floor.

Towards him.

With a high squeal, he backpedaled away from the accursed thing and immediately rammed the back of his head into a wooden wall that gave an alarming creek and groan. Hissing, he grabbed at his throbbing skull, cursing as he willed his mind to remember what was going on—

A hazy memory filtered in, of winnowing through the darkness as he'd nearly been swept away into the gaping maw of a monster, the sting of pain as he'd landed on razor-sharp grasses, his shoulder taking the brunt of the fall, cradling a small body close to his own-

His eyes flew open.

Celeste.

Where was Celeste?

Panic seized his heart in his chest, fear saturating him at her absence. She hadn't been injured, at least not to his knowledge, and had half-carried the bulk of his weight as they'd trudged through the swamp, ice nipping at their heels.

Ice from something that was trying to eat them, something horrible and misshapen like every other damned thing in this shadowed place, something he'd barely registered in his pain, the poison dazing him beyond coherency—

A knot formed in his throat.

If something had happened to her while she'd been dragging him through darkness, if she'd been hurt because he hadn't been able to protect her –

He needed to find her.

Now.

Grappling at his shoulder, he expected searing pain and was surprised when he found smooth skin, the wound covered over and coated in a strange brown goop.

Someone had tended to it.

And he was willing to bet his last gold piece that it hadn't been his captain.

Rapidly scanning his surroundings, he found them painfully empty of said female, nothing visible that would have indicated her presence. Someone or something must have taken Celeste, held her for ransom in exchange for patching him up—

Images of wicked faces and scaled beasts flitted to his mind and had him scrambling to his feet, wobbling as he righted himself.

He only hoped he could track her down in time.

Rummaging through the shack, he found it miserably empty of anything that could be used as a weapon save for a metal skillet coated in a mysterious gunk that implied it had not been washed in a great while and a gnarled, crooked thing that smelled to the high heavens, which he eventually determined to be an attempt at a mop.

A fine array of weapons to choose from to combat the fiends occupying this armpit of the world, he thought a bit sourly, annoyance leaching through him that their assailants couldn't even be bothered to carry proper weapons.

He paused, considering.

The matriarch had beaten him soundly with a mop once and he recalled it hurting something fierce.

The mop it was then.

He swiped up the gnarled thing and inched towards the door, his ears straining to detect any sound from behind the warped wood, calculating just how hard he might have to swing his makeshift staff to injure whatever lay beyond.

Especially if the emptiness of his magic reservoir was any indication.

No, he would have to rely entirely on his physical abilities.

Alone.

Suddenly, he wished he'd spent more time listening to Sofia's lectures instead of scampering off into the pantry to hide from her and eat cookies.

Something splashed outside that immediately had him jumping, brandishing the mop at the closed door.

He looked over his shoulder towards the pallet he'd woken up on—maybe Celeste would come find him, surely she was doing just fine on her own, had likely come up with a solution and was begrudgingly on her way to come and retrieve him-

She could absolutely do this on her own.

Nope, she didn't need an ounce of his help, in fact he was probably just going to get in her way-

The image of her soaked face as they'd spiraled down that river bloomed in his mind, accompanied by the stench of her blood from where she'd sliced herself on one of the razor-sharp thorns, the memory of the monster that had appeared from the depths when it had scented his own blood-

"Damn it," he whispered, biting his knuckle as he squished the fear rising in his gut.

She needed him.

Gandriel let out a whine and rubbed at his face.

He had to do this for Celeste, even if he was only going to get both of them killed.

Beyond the moldy door, he could barely make out the sound of the sloshing water, now louder and more consistent, and what sounded suspiciously like the whickering of horses.

He quirked his brow. A bright side then perhaps.

If some of the slavers had brought a few of the creatures with them, it meant he could likely borrow one, stash it away until he found Celeste, and then ride off into the night beyond their detection—

Something suspiciously sticky and sweet-smelling dropped onto his shoulder in a gelatinous mess. Furrowing his brow he swiped at the goop, gagging as he pulled his hand away from his shirt.

Another splotch fell on him, then another and another before he slowly turned his head towards the ceiling.

He wished he hadn't looked up.

Above him, clinging to the ceiling, was an entire array of little green monstrous blobs, the same that had been stuck to his face, seemingly peering down at him and leaking oozing goop.

"Hey there, little buddies," Gandriel started, eyes wide as he watched them ripple above him, their sharp spines unnervingly shiny in the faint glow of the firelight. "Now, now, no hard feelings—"

As though sensing his gaze they let out tiny, piercing screams in unison, a horrifying cacophony that had a shriek of his own bubbling out of his throat.

Barreling through the door, Gandriel fled as the little blobs began dropping from the ceiling, the sound of their landing echoing behind him as he scrambled down the short array of crooked steps. Whatever lay outside couldn't be worse than that. He refused to let his death be remembered as "eaten alive by tiny green caterpillar abominations."

Slavers be damned, they were leaving this hellscape even if he had to carry Celeste out of the swamp over a shoulder screaming.

The little beasties could kill the slavers for them.

He'd never been so grateful to have left Anelisse behind, becoming more and more fearful that this place might host monsters almost scarier than Ithaca.

Almost.

All he wanted was a nice warm bed, clean, dry socks, a bottle of wine-

Losing his balance, he let out a yelp of surprise as he went tumbling end over end, rolling painfully through the muck. He came to a resounding halt at the edge of what appeared to be a dark pond, the water lapping softly at the banks, his mop wedged between him and the ground.

Groaning, he risked opening an eye and found himself beneath an array of looming crooked trees, moss and mud padding the ground beneath him and not a living person in sight. No, he only registered the fluttering of birds in the trees, the croaking of frogs, and pale, slender legs half-submerged in the pond beside him, clearly belonging to some kind of equine.

Whoever or whatever their captors were, they weren't here.

He nearly let out a cry of relief.

"Oh thank the Mother," he nearly sobbed as he peeled himself up, reaching out a tentative hand to pat the whickering horse above him, his heart aching for such lovely creatures also being stranded in such a hellish place. "I cannot tell you how happy I am to see you—"

Gandriel stopped as his fingers brushed over the horse's gleaming coat, surprised at what felt suspiciously like dense water. Pulling his hand away, he looked at his fingers in confusion, concern filtering through him at how soaked the poor thing was.

A sodden mane brushed across his shoulder as the horse lowered its face towards him, bumping him with its muzzle to demand further attention.

Turning his gaze toward the creature he felt his heart skip in his chest.

No.

Absolutely not.

He swallowed hard as he met the deadened eyes of something that looked suspiciously like a horse, but was very much definitely not a horse.

It quirked its head at him, the movement smoother than any predator he'd ever faced.

His mouth went dry.

Maybe he could go back inside with the green blobs, they suddenly didn't seem so bad.

Gandriel watched in mute horror as the not-horse huffed at him, watching him with blank white eyes before rushing at him and dissolving into a shower of mist.

The piercing shriek that escaped him reverberated throughout the entire swamp.


Celeste said little as they made their way back down the winding trails, the kelpies beneath them moving at a far quicker pace than when they'd set up out that morning.

She hadn't elected to comment on it, knowing full well that they'd sensed the presence of the lurker at the raided camp too.

The steeds had as little interest in dealing with the monster as she or her guide.

Best to leave the beast alone, Icarius had muttered to her in the longest string of words he'd said all day as she swung onto the back of her mount, tucking the papers the male had handed her safely beneath her arm. The quicker we leave its territory the better.

So she'd tightened her legs around the kelpie beneath her and leaned into the beast's canter, allowing the water spirit to skillfully race across the brambles and ferns as they carved a path back to Icarius' home.

Only her silent savior and the dying light of the evening were her company.

A savior who seemed to harbor more secrets and knowledge of this place than she imagined any other living being did.

He'd known exactly what she'd spoken of at the mention of the caoin, his frame freezing at the utterance of the creature's name when she'd broached the subject from atop her mare.

Who? had been his only reply, voice whispering deep and raspy with disuse as always.

She'd watched him carefully, his gloved hands lingering at his sides but form tightening as he'd listened to her recount exactly what had befallen her sister.

And her assurance that she'd do anything, anything, to save her.

He'd only shaken his head in response, rubbing at his jaw beneath his deep cowl.

Can you help? she'd breathlessly asked him after minutes of silence, fear coursing through her as she counted the dragging seconds waiting on his reply.

Yes.

The breath had caught in her chest at his answer, relief and gratitude saturating her as the word spooled free of his lips.

At a price.

The last statement had left a shiver skittering up her spine, something unnerving settling along her skin. Sensing her unease, he'd awkwardly nodded at her before making for his own mount.

It'd been the last he'd spoken on the subject before he'd ushered her out of the decimated camp, his focus tuned entirely into getting them back to his hut safely. Knowing it wasn't the time to press the matter, she'd allowed him to guide her.

Celeste hadn't bothered to voice it, but the cost of saving her sister—it didn't matter, she'd pay it, would do whatever it took to remove the mark that would undoubtedly take her sister from her.

She suspected that Icarius knew as much.

Such an odd male.

This fact was especially blatant as she rode behind him now, surreptitiously watching the way he sat perched on his kelpie's back, the way his weight and massive form shifted as the mare beneath him rose and fell. He rode with a skill that spoke of far more than the occasional leisurely ride.

He'd trained with these creatures, knew their tells and weakness, their gifts and strengths.

Just how long had he been here?

The appearance of his shack certainly spoke of age, though she wasn't certain she should attribute its run-down state to the passage of time alone. Existing in such a hellish place had likely done the rickety structure no favors.

Still . . . it made her wonder.

What had driven such a soldier, one clearly gifted, to such a place of darkness?

She assumed the answer likely lay somewhere beneath his cowl and cloak, where the massive hunch of his disfigured form was hidden away from prying eyes.

He'd been mutilated in some capacity.

She half-wondered what scars he bore, if any resembled the damning marks that trailed down her own back, a swirling mesh of angry scar tissue and haunted memories, wondered what the face beneath the cowl looked like out of the shadow, if the curvature of his nose and line of his jaw was nearly as aesthetic as it seemed in the brief glimpses she'd managed in fleeting moments.

Sensing her trailing eyes, Icarius turned a curious eye toward her, making her jump, the slight quirk of his head making her lips purse sheepishly.

Question? he seemed to ask, his hand absentmindedly dancing across the shoulder of his mare even as his focus was wholly on the environment around them, no doubt sensing and listening for anything tracking them.

Shamefully, she quickly shook her head and averted her gaze, embarrassment filling her for having stared so blatantly at a male who clearly did not want his secrets voiced.

Even if his penchant for all things dark and terrifying had piqued her morbid interest.

Celeste nearly sighed in relief as he shrugged and turned back in his seat, his attention once again focused forward.

Foolish of her to linger on such thoughts of intrigue when the world was literally falling to pieces around her, the lives of innocents hanging in the balance. The life of her sister.

Still . . . his relationship with the kelpies had caught her attention, and the way he'd mindfully picked his way through the camp as though tracking the beasts of nightmares was a typical evening stroll. The things he could likely show her, the skills she had never been able to learn on her own-

She chastised herself.

Snooping had always been her downfall.

Against her better judgment, Celeste found herself nearly voicing one of her daunting questions as they came upon a familiar pond, the same one that Icarius had originally found them trapped on the banks of, when a shout and shrieking curse echoed in the distance.

She barely contained the eye roll as a flock of birds took to the sky in response.

So much for Gandriel remaining asleep.

And from the shrillness of his voice . . . he'd likely found the herd.

She pondered if one of them had nipped him in warning or if the poor creatures had merely stood there in amusement as the useless male had flailed and fled.

Another screech rose in the evening air, this one followed by a bellow of disbelief so loud that Celeste flinched.

Subtly had never been Gandriel's strong suit.

Catching her companion's gaze, Celeste watched as Icarius sent her an amused look over his shoulder, the tilt of his lips beneath his cowl betraying his silence, the most outright emotion the male had ever shown.

Well, she was glad someone found her first mate's antics humorous.

Digging her heels into her kelpie's side she urged the beast forward, following the shrieks into the dense foliage.


Birds weren't supposed to talk, birds weren't supposed to talk—

At least that's what Gandriel had been telling himself over and over after he'd fled the herd of monstrous horses and ran face first into the most beautifully colorful bird he'd ever seen, its golden eyes watching him with intrigue.

He likely would have reached out and patted the creature if it hadn't promptly grinned at him with a sentience greater than his own, flashing a beak sharper than any dagger.

"Hello pretty fae–'' it had cooed at him in a wicked voice, hopping from limb to limb towards him, its slit pupils fixed on him as though he were its next meal. "Come here, pretty fae—".

He'd nearly swatted the damned thing with his mop but had been beaten to it when an unassuming toad near his boot, a fraction a size of the bird, had suddenly wrapped its tongue around the beasts neck, cutting off its uncanny voice in a gurgled yelp as it snapped its neck.

Gandriel had watched in mute horror as the delightful little toad yanked the bird's dying body into its gargantuan, unhinged jaws, happily munching as feathers stuck out of the corners of its mouth.

That'd been the fifth time he'd screamed.

There had still been no sign of Celeste, not even a hint of clue where his captain had gone.

He was trapped in this wasteland alone with nothing more than his wits and a mop handle to keep him safe.

Which led him to where he stood now, interrogating what appeared to be some sort of armadillo, holding the creature at arm's length, its long armored body swaying.

He'd already demanded an answer from the creature to no avail, the little bastard playing the fool.

Gandriel's temper and fear were beginning to get the better of him.

"Where is Celeste? Do you understand? Celeste—" he shook the creature for emphasis. "Black hair, violet eyes, the most recognizable scowl this side of Prythian? Her glare is equal parts arousing and terrifying—"

The creature watched him with wide, bewildered eyes, its head lolling to and fro.

Stopping his shaking Gandriel let out a sigh and locked gazes with the creature. It blinked at him in confusion.

He knew the little tyrant was surely hiding its ability to talk, was no doubt in league with the talking bird who'd eyed him like dinner or the humming toadstools he'd stumbled through, their spores clinging to his soaked pant leg, gyrating their spongy bodies as they yelped in delight at the contact.

Lewd, foul creatures.

Gandriel snarled, his patience wearing thin.

"I swear on my life, you fiend, if you don't tell me where she is this second," he snapped, shaking the poor armored creature to and fro, demanding it manifest the one person he had to protect, "you will—you will—I don't know quite yet but SOMETHING will happen—"

"What the hell are you doing?"

Gandriel froze at the familiar voice on his left, watching as a familiar dark head materialized from the ferns, the particular glare he'd mentioned to his armored friend in full swing.

Relief fell over him in such a tidal wave that he promptly dropped the poor creature in his grasp, its little legs wobbling as it stumbled then sauntered away from him into the bushes.

So maybe it had been a little less sentient than the bird.

He was being rational . . . mostly.

"Oh, by the Mother, you're all right!" Gandriel couldn't help the sob of relief that slipped his lips, the warm tears that swelled in the corner of his eyes. "I thought you were dead! Strung up and emptied of your entrails." A gag rose in his throat at even the thought, his voice coming on in a frenzied, garbled mess. "I woke up in some moldy hut with a green monster trying to suck out my soul and then was attacked by its entire family—they tasted like apricots, what kind of monster tastes like a damned apricot? Then there was a killer horse that turned into a puddle of water and—"

Gandriel's voice guttered as a hulking figure materialized behind Celeste, the tattered edges of its night-black cloak little more than a phantom drifting in the wind.

Another non-corporeal monster.

Fabulous.

"Be. Quiet," the figure ordered in a faded voice, one that was clearly male and very much alive, if a bit gruff from misuse.

A corporeal monster, then.

As the figure stepped forward, Gandriel noted just how much the phantom-not phantom towered over Celeste, double her width and nearly a foot taller.

Bigger than even he was.

Oh, this was much scarier than the petrifying pond pony.

He took an inching step back even though his rebuttal was anything but subtle.

"And who the hell are you?" he demanded, his voice coming out far more shrill than he intended.

He brandished his mop handle.

"Put that away, you'll take someone's eye out," Celeste snapped, grabbing the end of the handle and yanking it away from him.

Disarmed, he immediately judged the distance between himself and Celeste, wondering if he could manage a single winnow jump to get them out of there—

"Don't even think it," Celeste ordered, no doubt sensing where his thoughts had wandered. He tried not to flinch as she advanced on him with his makeshift weapon in hand, hissing. "And stop screaming, you're calling unwanted attention."

"You mean like the big, scary, fae, monster, ghost—" he cringed as he struggled for the proper descriptor, "thing behind you?"

The look that Celeste gave him instantly had the yelp in his throat dying, a single flash of her eyes telling him that the monsters wouldn't have a chance to kill him if he didn't cease his blabbering that second.

His captain gave a long-suffering sigh as he sent her a putrid look, hoping to convey how not-okay and very upset he was with this whole fiasco.

"Meet the male who saved us," she explained, gesturing over a shoulder towards the looming figure watching him from beneath his shadowed cowl. Gandriel swore he saw the flash of predatory eyes. "Icarius."

Oh he had a name. How lovely.

"He's also the one who healed your shoulder," Celeste added dryly, her brow quirked at him, "so I'd show a little more gratitude."

Gandriel felt heat rush up his cheeks, a bit of shame taking the place of fear. That explained the strange brown goop that he found upon waking. Swallowing around the lump in his throat, he sheepishly ran his hand through his tangled hair, his mind lacking the proper greeting for the menacing hermit.

'Thanks for saving us from guaranteed doom and instead delivering us into the hands of a plethora of creatures and beasts that could easily kill and eat us'?

At least the little armadillo he'd found had been harmless.

Sighing, Gandriel settled for an apology.

Before he could open his mouth to voice it however, the little armadillo he'd accosted wandered back from beneath the dense foliage, its hard little shell covered in muck. Gandriel reached for it but was intercepted by Icarius who swiped the creature up with ease.

Watching the male handle the creature something softened in Gandriel, his fear beginning to ease as he watched Icarius rotate it in his grip and gently poke at its front paw pads.

That was, until the male slipped his hands around the creature's neck and promptly snapped it with a horrifying crunch.

Gandriel felt the world wobble beneath him as a little yelp slipped past his lips, horror leaching in his gut as he stared at the figure in absolute disbelief.

Or not.

Dead, they were as good as dead-

Celeste sent a questioning look over her shoulder at the male, looking only the tiniest bit perturbed at his impromptu choice of murder.

The gargantuan male merely shrugged. "Venomous."

Gandriel watched as Icarius pulled the lip of the creature's mouth back, revealing rows upon rows of sharp teeth coated in an oily sheen that smelt to the high heaven. The liquid dripped sluggishly to the ground, instantly wilting the plants that it fell upon.

The dizziness got worse.

He'd just been shaking that little terror for the better part of half an hour.

Nothing was sacred.

"Oh," Celeste huffed next to him, her eyes widening marginally as she too realized he'd been a hair's breadth from death mere moments before.

Like he'd been the entire time he'd been wandering around this sticky, soupy mess.

Gandriel needed to leave this place.

Now.

With an expertise that did nothing for Gandriel's nausea, the hooded male palmed free a rusted knife from beneath his shadowed wrapping and pried the creature's jaw open, swiftly and efficiently cutting out two pieces of tissue that looked suspiciously like venom glands without once touching their oily surface.

Carefully, he plopped them both into the boggy mess behind him and quietly whistled. Two pale heads immediately emerged, more of the putrid pond ponies, and slurped the discarded tissues up, gleefully chewing on their little evening snack of death.

Gandriel was certain he was going to hurl his guts into the nearest little patch of bog.

He half wondered if it was too late to winnow, if he could conjure just enough magic to get them out-

The figure gently patted each of the creatures on the head, tending to them as though Gandriel and Celeste had simply ceased to exist.

An awkward pause ensued.

Celeste cleared her throat, the rapid blinking of her eyes the only tell of her own disbelief at what they'd witnessed.

The shadowed male nearly jumped at the sound, as though he had completely forgotten their presence. He straightened, holding the body of the little venomous armadillo out to them in some semblance of what Gandriel could have only called a peace offering.

"Dinner."


Though he had cleverly hidden it beneath chaste kisses and whispered sweet nothings in her ear, Elain knew that Azriel was still livid from the confrontation between her sister and their nephew. The slightest slump of his wings and subdued demeanor had served as telltale signs of his disappointment, even as he'd watched them both leave the ballroom like a hawk.

He'd even gone so far as to have sent a pointed look at Cassian, hinting at him to trail after them to make sure they didn't wreck any of the decorations in the garden.

To her surprise, her newly minted brother-in-law had said nothing and quickly obliged, still a bit wide-eyed from the news that Cenric had known where Valka had been the entire time and had been bedding her.

Honestly, Elain had found the information more amusing than upsetting, even if the lack of propriety of it had made her blush ever so slightly.

Somehow the rest of the wedding party had said nothing of the incident, nothing more than a few shared glances and Mor drinking a bit more heavily from her wine glass. Though, Feyre had sent a few pointed glances over her shoulder towards the garden and a curious Helion had innocently sauntered up to snoop.

Bless Mor for having quickly risen and escorted him away, a pretty smile painted on her face as they'd wandered off towards one of the towering refreshment tables, Amren snorting her amusement as they'd trailed off into the distance.

Still, it had soured the evening and when Elain had returned from freshening her makeup in the bathing room her beautiful groom had disappeared without a trace.

She'd looked around briefly to no avail before deciding she'd known exactly where he'd wandered off too, no doubt brooding over the mistaken idea that everything he'd been working tirelessly to give her had been spoiled by such a small quarrel.

As though such a little squabble could ruin what was proving to be the most lovely and cherished night of her life.

No, in fact, it had barely registered to her—too far gone in the swirling music and sweet kiss of wine as she'd sat contented, blessed and close to her husband—now and forevermore her own.

Yet with his disappearance and the nearly imperceptible strain that had overcome him—she would need to voice that fact much sooner rather than later.

A small wound that she felt she might have the perfect remedy for, something so small but precious she wished for nothing but to share it—

Mindlessly, she patted the small pocket sewn into the waist of her dress, the tiny space barely large enough to hide the gift she'd retrieved from her sister that morning, the minute thing hidden there, so much greater than its petite size.

At least she hoped it would be.

A promise of all that lay before them, the blessed and the cursed, the cherished and the hated.

A promise of their future.

So she offered her brightest smile to the milling guests as she wove between them and exited the ballroom into the dimly lit foyer, sprinkled with golden fae lights, before easing her way up the stairs towards the library, the tug as her trailing dress dragged across the floor an odd comfort as she savored each step.

She had found her home, the place where she wished to dwell forever. A place to wander through time with the one who had become her eternity, the light that had pulled her from the shadows of an unending darkness.

Such silly little spats would not define what lay before them.

And for him—there would never be too much, too great of a trial or task that she would not complete for him willingly and selflessly. She would never balk from coaxing him from his own darkness, willing him back into the light where he belonged.

With practiced ease she pushed the heavy door open and heard the slight shuffling of wings nearest the balcony at the library's edge, the sound no doubt intentional to let her know he was there.

She quietly eased the door shut behind her and made for the beams of moonlight trickling in through the large arched windows, the hint of the floral breeze and bubbling water wafting from the garden and Sidra below.

It took her only moments before she found him where she had expected him to be, his arms crossed over his chest and eyes lingering on an array of paintings lining the walls beside the balcony entrance, carefully arranged above a shelf filled to the brim with tomes, the painted faces of their loved ones staring down at them.

She didn't need to look to know whose portrait his eyes lingered on, to know the place where his heart fled when he felt he had failed. The sparkle of mischief in those small violet eyes stared down at them as she neared him, her hand coming to rest on his bicep as she joined him in his vigil.

Such a lovely male, whose penchant for self-loathing and brooding was unrivaled.

"You know," Elain began gently as she stepped beneath Azriel's arm and allowed him to pull her tightly into his side, his cedar scent an overwhelming comfort. "She likely would have started a fight before Nesta. Probably over something silly just so she could have had an excuse to have walloped her brother from one side of the ballroom to the next."

The mental image of her niece doing just that brought a small smile to her lips.

How her heart ached for Celeste's absence, and for the absence of her father who had been taken so long ago.

A deep rumble reverberated through her side as Azriel let out a deep, soft laugh, his eyes never leaving the portrait, something both beautiful and sad on his features. "No. She would have figured it out well before the wedding and would have revealed the truth months ago."

"Even before you?" Elain teased, leaning her head against her love's shoulder.

"Yes," he breathed, something so painstakingly raw in his tone that Elain tugged him as close to her as she could manage, willing the pain to leave him. "Even before me."

"She was something, wasn't she?" Elain toyed with the ring on her left index finger, admiring the stone, the beautiful setting.

A piece of her niece she would never lose.

"She was the best of us."

"Yes." And none of them would ever forget that.

They stood in the silent moonlight for a moment, gazing at the portrait.

"She loved you more than anyone," Elain reminded Azriel, thinking of the violet-eyed girl whose absence had bred such sorrow, "and she never would have blamed you, not once."

No one had.

"I do." Elain's stomach clenched at his tone, the utter defeat, the emotion he would only share with her in the darkest of his moments. "If I'd been faster, smarter . . ." his jaw feathered, "less merciful."

He'd never forgiven himself for the kindness he had shown Silbah, the Illyrian boy he'd taken such a liking to, who he'd believed was so different from those he'd called family—the one he'd seen so much of himself in.

Her love had often spoken of the young male and his quiet demeanor-the way his own family had ostracized him.

The same male whose betrayal had led to Celeste's death.

"She still would have died," Elain turned towards him, her hand lifting to trail across his beautiful face. "There is nothing more any of us could have done." She paused on his cheekbone, his vibrant golden gaze finally turning to rest on her. "Least of all you."

She watched as his eyes closed, some internal struggle taking him before he finally leaned his face into her palm, a deep sigh slipping past his lips.

She would carry his pain, any and all that he would allow her to.

"It changes nothing," he muttered, his own pristine golden palm coming to rest atop her own, the skin immaculate in the rays of moonlight. "It is already done, but tonight . . ." His voice trailed off, his eyes opening once more and enrapturing her. "I am sorry, Elain."

His gaze nearly stole the breath from her.

Offering a small breath, she reached up her other hand and took his face in her palms, savoring every curve and detail, every line and mark that she loved beyond reason. "For our family squabbling? I would think a hundred years of this happening nearly daily would have been enough to desensitize you. I certainly am."

"Could they not behave for one night?" he growled, irritation marring his lovely features. Elain rose on her toes and placed a soft kiss on his nose, willing those lines away. "This was for you, everything so carefully planned—"

"And it was perfect." She placed another small kiss on the corner of his mouth, this one eliciting a quiet groan that had her toes curling in her shoes. "Argument and all."

"I'm requesting Rhys send them both to scout the outer ridges," Azriel grumbled, his arms snaking around her waist as he pulled her close. "They can fight it out in the wilderness."

She barely contained the breathy moan that slipped past her lips as his arms tugged her close, their strength an eternal comfort.

And distraction.

"Azriel," Elain reminded, leaning close and letting her lips trail the skin of her lover's, her husband's, neck, "Cenric camping on the outer edges is what led to this entire situation in the first place."

"Not my problem," he replied, the width of pupils telling her that his focus was rapidly leaving the conversation and honing in on something else entirely.

Something they had both been looking forward to for quite some time.

Knowing where things were headed, Elain gently halted Azriel's hands from where they had trailed to the lacings of her dress, locking her gaze with his own.

"What's wrong, Elain?"

Just the sound of her name on his lips had goosebumps flecking across her skin, willing her to save this for later, to do this another time-

"I have something for you." She reached for the small pocket in her dress, suddenly feeling quite embarrassed for the gift she had so carefully planned out. "It's ah . . . it's something I've been saving for a while. It's a bit silly, but I thought perhaps you would like it—"

His hand came to rest atop her own, a soft smile curving his lips, assuring her that nothing she could ever give him would be silly. "Show me."

She closed her palm around the object, so small and delicate—

"All right."

Unsure why she was so nervous, Elain took a breath and gently tugged the tiny package loose and gently laid it in Azriel's open palm. She held her breath as she watched him gently tug open the gossamer bag, revealing the treasure that lay within. His head quirked to the side as he ran his fingers delicately over her gift's soft surface, the vibrant color shining in the moonlight—

His eyes snapped to her own.

"Elain, is this—"

"Truly what I want? Yes." She leaned close to him, trailing her hand up the length of his arm, the image of the future unfolding before her. "More than anything . . ." Her voice trailed. "That is, if you want it too."

They could never undo the past, could never right the wrongs that had already come to pass.

But they could begin anew, could forge their own path, create their own future.

Their own family.

For what lay in his palm was the tiniest set of baby slippers, knitted in the softest silk thread. She'd found them so very long ago in the market, their vibrant blue color reminiscent of the siphons that her love wore. The moment she'd seen them—a vision of a hazel-eyed child with dark hair had formed and she'd instantly known.

Knew truly in the deepest parts of her soul what she truly wanted most.

Knew who she wanted that future with most.

His silence was deafening, his gaze transfixed on the small objects in his hand, his breathing so shallow. She bit at her lip nervously, wondering if perhaps it had been the wrong thing to say, the wrong time to bring this up . . . perhaps she should have waited . . .

All of the emotion had drained from his face, only something nearly unreadable remained.

She watched as his gaze flicked once more to the portraits, unnamed emotions dancing through his gaze.

There had been no children since Celeste.

No babes for any of them to tend to. They had all been too lost in their grief to have even considered, to have made choices of their own families, especially as Feyre and Rhys' could grow no more—

"I don't mean to replace or to forget," Elain quickly amended, suddenly feeling foolish for her decision to propose such a thing, feeling inconsiderate of his feelings and what he was still working through, what he might not be ready to face. "I just thought perhaps we could move forward, create a new and better world while honoring all that we've lost-"

Her voice trailed off when he suddenly captured her in his grasp and kissed her soundly and deeply, her feet nearly flying out from under her in his sudden show of affection as he pulled her close.

"Yes."

Her heart fluttered in her chest at the response, her mind reeling with such joy as she wasn't certain she had heard correctly. ". . . Yes?"

"Yes, Elain." He kissed her not once but thrice more, the brush of his lips making her skin tingle. Catching a glimpse of his face, the breath froze in Elain's chest at the happiness, the utter joy shining there, in a way she wasn't sure she had ever seen before.

It had been the right decision.

And with that the darkness began to fall away, bits of light bleeding into shadow as she leaned forward and kissed him once more, a promise of the future to come and of the world they would create.