Flowers

Part 2 of 4 wherein Sylf and Ephraim meet.

Tomlyn watched Ephraim inhale the scents from the bouquet and sigh dreamily for what seemed like the hundredth time. He then began sprucing up the flower petals, again, and Tomlyn couldn't contain himself any longer.

"You know what you look like when you bring flowers to a brothel?"

Ephraim turned to him with a ridiculous, but cute, smile. "A romantic and charming suitor?"

"Desperate."

Ephraim stared at him blankly for a moment before his giddy demeanor returned. "Nonsense! I'm positive Atrea will love them!" Finally, seemingly satisfied, Ephraim stood and set the bouquet gently on the chair. Then, he pulled the small table between them out a bit further and Tomlyn protested with a "Hey!" as his wine goblet moved out of arm's reach. Ephraim pushed the table back, so the goblet was just in arm's reach again. Tomlyn picked up his goblet and made a toasting gesture towards the prince and took a large sip. Ah, Sylf got the good stuff again.

As Ephraim rearranged the pitcher and other two goblets to find room for the bouquet, he suddenly froze and looked up at Tomlyn, frowning. "'Danna, am I allowed to call her by her name here? The room is safe, right?"

They were in the same brothel room they had all met the last time, though that was a few months ago now. "It's fine, as long as we're in here."

He nodded thoughtfully. "Is that why you refer to everyone by their first initials? To be safe?" he asked.

Tomlyn shrugged, "Not really, it's just a thing I do."

"I see." Ephraim looked at him curiously. "Atrea is not her real name, is it?"

"Nope." Tomlyn took another sip of wine.

"Do you know her real name?"

"Yep."

A pause. "Is McDanna your real name?"

"Nope."

Another pause. "Does she know your real name?"

"Yep."

Ephraim now seemed deep in thought as he picked up the bouquet and set it gently on the table. Tomlyn frowned as a disquieted look came over the prince's face. "'Danna, are you sure it's alright to-" Ephraim cut off mid-sentence, unsure of his words. He exhaled deeply and continued, "It seems like you and Atrea are close. I don't want to come between you."

Tomlyn smiled at him reassuringly. "There's nothing to come between."

"If you say so," Ephraim replied, but he didn't look convinced. Tomlyn stood and clapped a hand on his shoulder and looked the prince in the eye. "Trust me E., what A. and I have goes beyond romance."

"Okay," Ephraim nodded.

He still looked unsure, so Tomlyn added. "Yes, we're intimate but we're… complicated. And not committed. Like I said, what we have is beyond simple romance. Don't worry about it too much and just do what you want." He didn't bother to see Ephraim's reaction before looking down at the table. He felt uncomfortable explaining his relationship with Sylf to someone else. It was too personal.

"So, first thing about A.-" Tomlyn pushed the table back into its original position between the two chairs, ignoring Ephraim's protests, where the pitcher of wine and goblets were in easily reach. "Is she likes her wine."

"Oh." Ephraim sat back down and sighed. Tomlyn handed him a wine goblet and the prince took it, taking a generous sip. "What else?"

"Two. A.'s not really into flowers. She loves jewelry though—the real stuff, not the costume junk."

Ephraim puffed up indignantly. "I disagree. I think she will like the flowers. And she wasn't wearing jewelry either time I met her."

"That's because she was on a job trying to play a particular role. Reclusive, xenophobic elves aren't going to wear human jewelry. And she never wears jewels when she's working—it can make her a mark, a target," Tomlyn explained. "She usually wears jewelry at home when she's between work."

Ephraim frowned again, but before he could speak, the door opened and Sylf rushed in hurriedly.

"We have to make this quick, some of Raizen's goons spotted me and were on my tail. I lost them briefly, but they know the area I disappeared into."

"Ah, Atrea! Of course, please sit!" Ephraim looked at Tomlyn and gestured jerkily with his thumb for him to get up. Tomlyn couldn't help but grin at Ephraim's overzealous efforts to garner her attention. Sylf didn't bother glancing at Tomlyn as he stood. She sat in the chair, reached for Tomlyn's goblet, and downed the rest of the wine.

"There's another goblet, A.," he said, slightly annoyed.

She gave him a hard glare in response, but he was used to those by now. As she set the goblet back down on the table, she froze, noticing the bouquet.

Before she could say anything, Ephraim blurted, "I brought those for you! From my garden!"

Sylf stared at Ephraim blankly and then up to Tomlyn. It took every bone in Tomlyn's body not to bust out laughing. He crossed his arms, holding his sides, in an effort to keep his composure as he gave Sylf a light shrug. She turned her gaze back on Ephraim, who started rambling.

"It's a mix of pink and yellow peace roses, white spay roses, and purple hyacinths. I cut and arranged them myself!"

There was a long silence and Tomlyn had to turn away. Sylf's clear bewilderment, well clear to him anyway, and Ephraim's earnest face was just too much! Did it make him a bad friend if the inevitable hilarity of Ephraim trying to romance Sylf was entertaining? Probably.

Tomlyn looked back as Sylf broke the silence, ignoring the flowers and revealed her bag of holding from under her cloak. She opened the pouch and pulled out an old worn book. She turned it so they could see the numerous pages that were tabbed. "I would have ripped out the relevant pages, but there's too many."

Tomlyn stepped forward and made a show of pulling out the sack of gold. He leaned forward, as if to set the gold on the table but then noticeably paused, looking at the flowers. "Oh, since those are in the way, I guess I'll count on the bed." He winked at Ephraim and grinned at the prince's poor attempt to mask his frustration and embarrassment. Well, it was a little sad and cute to see the prince so down. He supposed he could give him more pointers on Sylf later.

"I have no time for games," Sylf spat. Her venomous glare got Tomlyn moving. She was coiled as tight as a viper, and he'd been bitten by her enough to know if he didn't keep things professional, he wouldn't get to see her for another week or so, at least. If he was lucky to see her in a week, it was a 50/50 split whether she'd throw him out on sight or actually let him in. If she let him in, it was highly unlikely he'd get to sleep with her, and it had been long enough as it was. He missed her touch, so he counted the coins quickly and waited for her approval.

"I'll take 75% now and collect the other 25% when I'm done with the job." Sylf turned to Ephraim and handed him the book.

Tomlyn sorted out the money and put 75% in the pouch. Then, he walked over behind Ephraim's seat and looked over his shoulder as the prince slowly flipped through the book. The pages contained odd symbols, but there was handwriting on the side. Maybe draconic?

"Looks like a ritual book," Tomlyn mused.

"I thought so too, but I don't know magic," Sylf said. "I know someone who can look at it. Give me three days."

Ah, she was probably going to go see the Widowmaker, otherwise known as Dispira Levwure. The tiefling sorceress was far past her widow-making days, but she was a damn good sorceress when drunk and a phenomenal one if you could get her sober. Sylf had her ways, though.

"Yes, of course. 'Danna?" Ephraim gestured for him to for the payment and Sylf stood as he handed her the gold, and both the gold and book disappeared back into her bag of holding. Ephraim stood as well, now more composed. Tomlyn did genuinely feel a little bad for him.

"A pleasure doing business, Little Princeling. I'll have more answers for you soon," Sylf said politely.

"Of course!" Ephraim tried sounding enthusiastic, but it was clear he was a little deflated after Sylf brushed him off. Well, Tomlyn did say she wasn't a flowers kind of dame.

Sylf turned to Tomlyn and pulled a letter from her pocket. "Read and burn," she instructed.

"Got it." He took the letter from her and nodded. "Watch your back going out, and see you soon, A.," he said.

She gave him a nod. "Until next time, McDanna." She stepped past Tomlyn and towards the bed, but then paused. Then, she turned, strode over to the table, grabbed the bouquet, marched past the both of them to the window, opened it, and slid out of the room.

A long silence stretched between them as Tomlyn turned to look back at Ephraim. His jaw was slack, gaping in shock at what just occurred. Then, suddenly,

"YES! WOO HOO!" Ephraim cried, thrusting his arms in the air in victory. Tomlyn shook his head, chuckling. Well, it was good to see the prince happy, even if Sylf was probably going to toss the bouquet in the trash the first moment she got.

Ephraim continued his celebration while Tomlyn opened Sylf's letter. 3 days. My place. Early evening. Come through the front. He committed it to memory quickly and then held the small paper to a candle stand in the corner, making sure the small parchment burned.

"Oh! What does it say, 'Danna?" Ephraim asked curiously.

"Can't tell you. It wasn't for you," Tomlyn replied.

Ephraim pouted cutely for a moment (though Tomlyn was sure that's not how the prince would describe it), but then brightened. "I was right!"

"That remains to be seen," Tomlyn said skeptically.

"You just don't like being wrong," Ephraim grinned. His golden eyes were full of mirth and Tomlyn couldn't help but smile.

"That's because most of the time, I am right."

Ephraim laughed and clapped him on the shoulder, "We'll see in the end, 'Danna!"

Tomlyn grinned and poured them more wine. He could let Ephraim have his moment.

~*0*~

Three days later, Tomlyn entered a rather nice neighborhood. He pulled the hood over his head as beings walking by with their children gave him skeptical looks. Drow elves weren't exactly well liked anywhere he went, but they were certainly liked far less in the nicer areas of the city. He walked through several row houses to a market square with vendor stands and lively music and dancing. It seemed like there was a small festival going on, and it looked fun. Maybe he could convince Sylf to come out and dance for a bit. It would be tricky—she wasn't particularly fond of dancing even though she was a good dancer. He would have to play his cards right with her tonight.

After another set of row houses, he found himself at his destination: the end unit of one of the row houses. The building was light blue with an overgrown garden, and the property was enclosed off with a low black iron-wrought fence. He started opening the gate when he heard someone call to him.

"Oh! Well, if it isn't Mister McDanna! It's been awhile!"

Suppressing a groan, turned to the woman who approached him at lightning speed. He lowered his hood and gave her a cordial smile. "Hello Miss Noren, how are you today?"

"Oh, please, call me Agnes!" Agnes Noren was a human woman with a round face and bright red hair who lived with her husband in the unit across from his intended destination. "It's been a long while since you've come around. I thought for sure Mister Dawnwood replaced you with a new caretaker who is," she paused looking him up and down. It was uncomfortable, but he kept the cordial smile plastered on his face as Agnes continued, "less appealing. Anyway, don't worry your secret is safe with me. Poor Alais told me how alone she feels with her husband away all the time. Sure, he makes good money but—"

"Hello Agnes!"

Tomlyn turned gratefully towards the house to see Sylf walking around the side yard to the front. She was wearing a course ivory shirt that had sweat stains, and tan trousers and leather boots all with dirt smudges on them. Tomlyn realized she must be working in the yard, considering she was also wearing dirty garden gloves. Her, long dark hair was tied together in a light blue ribbon, but strands of her hair looked out of place. In her long ears, she wore two sets of earrings: a set of pearl studs that were above a set of medium-sized round sapphire studs encased in a ring of small diamonds. Her cheeks were flushed and a sheen of sweat glistened on her forehead. Her visage broke into a small smile as she stopped on the other side of the gate, and he couldn't remember the last time she looked so beautiful.

"Hello, McDanna, you're late," she said cordially, but Tomlyn easily detected the notes of annoyance in her voice.

"Apologies, Miss Dawnwood," he grinned. He gave her a wink and despite her eye roll, she smiled a little.

"Oh, look at me keeping you held up. Anyway, Alais, dear, you must come by the town square later tonight! Eamon and I are both performing, and it's bound to be fun with dancing and good ale." She leaned in and winked at Tomlyn. "Always a good combination in my book."

Tomlyn said, "Sounds great!" the same time Sylf replied, "We'll see." They looked at each other, Sylf's smile now turning into her usual glare. Tomlyn grinned in response and Agnes laughed.

"I'll see you later, Agnes," Sylf said tightly. She opened the gate and motioned for Tomlyn to come through.

"Ma'am," he said to Agnes, dipping his head slightly.

"See you later tonight!" Agnes chimed before scurrying back to her home.

Tomlyn let out a sigh of relief as he followed Sylf around the house to the backyard. Once Agnes' home was fully out of sight, he said in a low voice, "Is she always like that? And what "secret" are we keeping?"

"Oh," Sylf grinned. She knelt back down to the garden patch she was weeding and continued her work as she spoke. "Well, she kept asking about you, so I told her we became lovers." She looked up at him dramatically. "I was just so lonely and McDanna is so sweet."

"Am I now?" he grinned. He was definitely okay with this cover story.

"Anyway, I like feeding Agnes salacious gossip. She repeats everything she hears to me anyway, so it gives me information and entertainment."

"Yeah, well, be careful. She could be a High-Hat."

Sylf hummed in response and he watched her yank out a large cluster of weed roots. "Finally!" she exclaimed and tossed the roots aside. She stood, pulled on her gloves, and turned to him. "Shall we conduct our business first?"

"Lead the way." He followed her inside through the back door, and it still amazed Tomlyn that she was able to purchase the house. Well, it made sense considering Ephraim paid very well and she blackmailed the previous owner to get a lower sale price. But to even go as far as open a bank account with her real name seemed so bizarre to Tomlyn. Sylf was setting roots for a future, a life beyond what she currently was doing, even if she didn't see it that way. Tomlyn supposed it was easy for her since she was so cautious about her identity; being a drow and his reputation considering, it was impossible for him to continuously set up new identities.

He followed her into the study and went over to the large window looking over the side garden. He drew the curtains closed, and Sylf went to the back corner of the room and lifted the rug to reveal a trapdoor. Pulling a knife with a jagged blade out of her boot, she inserted it into the key slot and turned. The door opened with a crack and they pushed the door open. She gestured for him to go first, and he went down into The Lair.

In the former icebox turned Lair, all of Sylf's disguise props lined the left wall: a rack of clothes, chests full of accessories and costume jewelry, and wig stands with high quality wigs of various colors and lengths. On the right wall was a large drafting table with parchment, various inks, and other tools for forging documents. Based on the half-written document on the table, it seemed like she picked up a few jobs. A smaller locked chest rested on the floor next to the table. Along the back wall was the real prize—a magically warded door that guarded a tunnel to the sewers. It was the perfect way to slip in and out undetected.

"I'm surprised you're working," Tomlyn said. He nodded to the drafting table as Sylf came into the Lair. "You usually don't work between jobs."

She walked over to the small chest next to the drafting table and began to unlock it. "The structural and warding work down here was really expensive. I was able to pay Dispira off with the bonus payment from your patron last time, but I still owe the Kili Brothers for carving out the tunnel." Opening the chest, she pulled out the book and began relocking the chest. "Honestly, forgeries are easy work with big pay."

"Why not do that full-time instead?" Tomlyn asked.

She stood and handed him the book. "It's too boring. Anyway, I had Dispira write notes on every tab." He started to open the book, but she slammed her hand on the cover. "Don't!" Before he could ask why, she continued, "If you read the notes you'll want to run off to your patron. Keep it in your bag down here and you can fetch it before you leave."

That bad, eh? Well, he certainly didn't mind waiting. Tomlyn grinned as he put the book in his bag. He pulled out the remainder of her payment and handed it to her. She set the small sack on the table, and, with the transaction complete, Tomlyn set his bag on the chair in front of the drafting table.

He turned to face her, but Sylf was frowning at him. Smiling, he moved closer to her and set his hands on her hips. He pulled her towards him, and her hips pressed lightly against his own. She didn't resist his advances, but she was still glaring at him.

"Aw, I missed you too, Sylf," he grinned. She wrapped her arms around his neck, still scowling. He couldn't help but laugh. Periti's Fire, she was feisty.

At his laughter she pushed him away. "I change my mind," she snipped, and she started to make her way back up. He didn't mind her stepping away from him. She was definitely in the mood; he just had to be patient.

"Come with me to the square then," he called up the stairs. She didn't respond as she pushed the trapdoor open and exited. He followed and helped her set the trapdoor in place, covered by the carpet.

"No. I don't like dancing," She replied shortly. He followed her as she walked into the open living room and kitchen. She moved into the kitchen, pulling out a glass from a cabinet while he lingered by the stairs that led to the second floor.

"Come on, Sylf," he said lazily. "What's the point of living in such a nice neighborhood if you don't go to any of the festivities?" He leaned against the stair railing, watching her.

She poured herself a glass of water and glared at him. "No."

"Alright, I think you still owe me a favor from that job you did a few years ago. The one when the mark you were tailing got killed, and you called me in to help salvage the job." He wagged his eyebrows at her. "Remember?"

Now her glare was venomous. "You're going to use a favor on a silly dance?" she spat.

"Yep."

She stared at him for a long moment, her face going still. Then, she sighed. "Fine. Let me go clean up." She finished her glass of water and then started up the stairs, but then stopped. "And I'm not going to let you use a favor to go dancing. I still owe you."

"If you say so," he grinned.

She rolled her eyes and disappeared up the stairs.

"Need a hand getting ready?" He called to her, and he laughed at the resounding "NO" that followed. Tomlyn glanced around the room. The stairs seemed to evenly divide the room. To his left was the kitchen, with cupboards and a sink along the back wall, but the real standout was the magic-starting oven. In the center of the kitchen was a small wood table with two chairs on either side. On the table was a golden candelabrum with five lit candles and a decanter full of a brown liquor and two glasses. He smiled to himself as he walked to the table and opened the decanter. Raising the bottle to his nose, the brandy's aroma beckoned to him, and he promptly poured himself a glass.

Taking a small sip and relishing the smooth flavors, he turned to head to the living room when something caught his eye. Inspecting the kitchen more closely, he could hardly believe his eyes. He walked over to a flower vase sitting on the counter. Tomlyn fingered a pink rose petal and stared at the colorful bouquet in disbelief.

"I'll be damned," he murmured. "She kept the flowers." Not only did she keep them, she was also attempting to keep them alive. He didn't know Sylf owned a flower vase to begin with, and it was full of water. The vase was also sitting in front of a window—clearly, she liked them. Clearly, Tomlyn was wrong.

That perplexed Tomlyn. He'd known Sylf for years and not once did she ever express any interest in flowers. She definitely liked jewelry, especially stolen jewelry. But flowers?

After one last glance at the bouquet, he made his way over to the living room, sipping on his brandy and musing over the discovery. The living room was a small space that contained a brick fireplace, cozy yellow couch, and a small bookcase in the corner that was only half full. He sat on the couch, fixated on the thoughts on his mind. After some consideration, he decided that Sylf never once voiced strong opinions on flowers, which is why he never got her any. He supposed that was fair. Sylf's hovel in the Undercity wasn't decorated, so why would he think to get her flowers? Plus, they were hard to maintain if you weren't home for days at a time.

Tomlyn knocked back the rest of his drink and decided to get another glass. As he was pouring, Sylf came back down the stairs. She looked every part the well-off merchant's wife: a navy silk blouse tucked into dress pants with spotless leather boots. Her hair was pulled up into a high ponytail, accentuating her earrings. She kept the pearls, but switched the sapphire studs for large, dangling teardrop shaped sapphires instead. She wore light makeup around her eyes and cheeks, and her thin lips were now coated in a light pink gloss. He'd been thinking about kissing those thin, pink lips all day.

"I see you found the brandy. Is it to your liking?" She walked to the hall and opened a closet door.

"It is." He paused, wondering if he should ask her. Of course, he should ask her. How could he not? "I didn't realize flowers were to your liking."

She returned from the hall with a navy linen cloak over her arm. "Are you talking about the flowers from your patron? I had to take them, he kept looking at me like a lovesick puppy."

Tomlyn snorted as he laughed, picturing Ephraim's awkward but hopeful face. That was a true assessment, he'd give her that.

"Besides," she continued, "they're nice."

That ended his laugh. Nice? She put the cloak on and went over to the vase, checking the water.

"What do you think of him?" Tomlyn asked, curious.

"He's a little naive. But sweet. Endearing, I suppose." She turned to him. "Why?"

"Just wondering. He's really into you."

Her response was the classic Sylf eye-roll. Tomlyn knocked back the rest of the brandy in his glass and set it down. He walked over to her and, though he wasn't touching her, his proximity pushed her back into the counter.

"He asked me about us. If he was coming between us."

She stared up at him with an expression he'd never seen before. Maybe confusion? Or was she lost, as though the idea unsettled her? Tomlyn wasn't sure.

"What did you say?" her voice was soft, but steady.

Tomlyn's arm encircled her back above the counter, and, with his free hand he ran his fingers along her jawline. "Of course, he can't come between us. No one can. You're my shadow, Sylf."

He leaned in and kissed her. He felt her lean into his body, her hand pressed against his chest. She was warm in his arms, and she tasted sweet and tangy from the lip gloss. The kiss, slow and deep, made his chest burn and he yearned for more. His fingers began to trail from her face down her neck and towards her chest.

Sylf broke the kiss, much to his chagrin. "I thought you wanted to go dancing."

"I did. But I also thought it was important for me to fully immerse myself in my new cover role as your lover," he said in a low voice. He leaned in again, but her fingers pressed to his mouth stopped him.

"There's plenty of time for that."

"But you didn't want to go."

She gave him a glare, and, resigned, he let her go and stepped back. "I did not get all dressed up like this to not go anywhere," she sniffed. Then, her left hand took his and she began to pull him towards the door. His heart swelled at the black diamond ring on her ring finger. He was particularly proud of that burglary, and even prouder when she let him place the ring on her finger all those years ago.

She began to open the door but paused to look back at him. "Besides, you like dancing."

He smiled at her and then they were off. They did get odd looks from other dancers in the square, but Tomlyn didn't care, and it seemed as though Sylf didn't either. He could have this one night of normalcy, of joy, of fun, and he did. They danced, and drank, and watched Agnes sing to her husband's lyre. Several hours later they stumbled back to her home hand in hand, and once they were through the threshold they were in each other's arms. That night, he worshiped Sylf's body as though she was Periti herself, and, satisfied and full of contentment, he wrapped her in his arms as they tranced.

~*0*~

Tomlyn stared at Ephraim as the prince slowly thumbed through the ritual book. They were in the back corner of the prince's large garden, near the greenhouse. Despite Tomlyn's attempts to explain to the prince that secret meetings between nobles and their muscle didn't warrant a tea party, Ephraim still made sure every meeting had a full spread of small cakes, cookies, and at least two kinds of tea. Tomlyn hoped the head gardener, a halfling named Rickin, got some of the food when Tomlyn left. After all, Rickin made sure they stayed undisturbed during their chats.

Tomlyn took a sip of a fragrant tea, examining the prince. He didn't think Ephraim was naive, although the prince seemed to give that impression. It was to his benefit, Tomlyn thought. It was easier for Ephraim to operate if his enemies underestimated him. But Tomlyn did agree with Sylf that the prince was sweet and endearing, though he didn't need her observation to know that. It was something he recognized in the prince a long time ago.

Ephraim sighed, tucking a strand of his golden hair behind his pointed ear. His small ponytail was a bit messy today, probably from the prince working in the greenhouse before Tomlyn arrived. Even with his brows furrowed and the concerned look on his face, Tomlyn had to admit the prince was still quite attractive.

Sighing, Ephraim closed the book, a somber expression on his visage. "This is bad. Ritual spells for draining life-force? I don't even know how this would be used or in what context. And why would Denalia's favored Baron have this information?"

"I don't know," Tomlyn replied.

Ephraim exhaled sharply before finishing the rest of his cookie. Finally, he said, "It's not enough to make a bold move yet, 'Danna. I need more information. More substantive links between Denalia's people and their plans."

"I agree. I can let you know when Atrea is available again. In the meantime, I can get in touch with some other people I know."

"Do you know when she'll be available?"

"It will be at least a month, if not more. Getting that book was a big job, and A. doesn't like taking major jobs back-to-back."

The prince nodded in response, but he still looked troubled. It was hard seeing him upset, so Tomlyn stated, "She kept the flowers, you know."

Ephraim turned to him slowly. Then, a smile crept onto his face. "Really? Atrea kept my flowers?"

"Yep. She has them in a vase on her kitchen counter."

The prince immediately brightened. "I know she took them, but after our meeting I realized she probably did so out of pity. But, she kept them!"

"She's also weeding a small garden. Not sure what she's going to plant there next."

"Oh! That's wonderful! It's far too late to plant any flower seeds for the summer, but, oh, perhaps some vegetable seeds? Yes! Every garden should have some vegetables." Ephraim all but jumped up from his seat. "And next time you come I'll be sure to have a new bouquet prepared that you can bring to her! By then the flowers she has now will have started to wilt. Yes, this is perfect!" He strode form the table calling for Rickin and disappeared into the greenhouse.

Tomlyn chuckled to himself as he stood to follow them into the greenhouse. He probably shouldn't encourage Ephraim, but Tomlyn meant what he said—Sylf was his shadow, inextricably tied to his being in all ways: she was his friend, his lover, his confidant, his family, and more. They shared an unbreakable bond.

Besides, if it made Ephraim happy to send Sylf some flowers and if it made her happy to receive them, who was he to interfere?

"'Danna! Come here, I need your opinion!" Ephraim called.

Grinning, Tomlyn went to meet his Prince.