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We've had some Nezushi chapters lately, and it's time for at least one more before the Terrible Things come to pass! Will Nezumi find a way to get Shion out of the Unseelie Court and prevent the sacrifice?

We shall see!

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Shion watched mutely as Nezumi rifled through a heap of clothing bunched in the corner of his chamber. He tossed a few shirts aside, scowling at them, taking experimental sniffs to determine if they were clean enough for use, and hurling them into another corner when they didn't pass his tests.

Shion lay on his side, dizzy and ready to sleep. Exhaustion prickled through him, tiny tingles spreading across the bridge of his nose and dancing behind his eyes. The lids felt heavy, and Shion knew if he closed them now, he'd never open them again.

"Here." Nezumi pulled a white shirt from the pile of clothes, and then kicked the rest beneath his bed. He tossed the bit of fabric to Shion; it fluttered across his legs.

"What's this?" Shion eased himself onto his elbow. He traced his fingertips over the fabric; it was cool and soft, like cotton, but he suspected it must have been made of something arachne silk.

"You shouldn't sleep in that tunic." Nezumi bent over and unlaced his heavy black boots. He placed them in the corner of the room, and Shion was a bit surprised and oddly amused to see that he wore a plain pair of white socks beneath them. He'd known on some fundamental level that Nezumi must have worn something beneath his boots, but the thought of faeries wearing something as mundane as socks amused him far more than he expected it would.

Shion sat up and gripped Nezumi's shirt in his hands. The fabric felt warm, despite the light chill in the air. He squinted through the blue darkness and tried to figure out where the bottom hem of the shirt began and the sleeves ended.

He set the shirt down on the mattress and reached for the hem of his tunic. The sleeves hung over his wrists, and it was difficult for him to shift the hem back so he could try and remove it.

He poked his tongue out to the side and fiddled with the hem. The arachne had cinched it tight around his waist and loose around his shoulders. The sleeves were far too big, but the stomach and torso clenched to his skin so tightly he could barely breathe as he twisted to try and reached the laces that kept it shut.

Tana had redone the laces after an unknown faerie hooked them and yanked them loose, displaying Shion's shoulders and chest for the entirety of the Court to see. Shion's fingers grazed the knotted white lace, but he couldn't get a firm grip on it.

He exhaled hard and fiddled with the ball of lace. He'd thought perhaps she'd tied it into a bow or something, but he hadn't anticipated a knot. None of the Folk would have been able to undo it without Shion's knowledge, especially not with Nezumi guiding him around the dance floor.

Nezumi made a frustrated sound in the back of his throat. He marched over toward the bed and said, "Let me do it."

Shion looked over his shoulder and watched as Nezumi hovered behind him. He took hold of the tight laces and deftly undid them. Shion's neck ached as he tried to watch, but he could feel Nezumi's thin, pale fingers brushing gently across his spine, pulling the white laces loose and quickly releasing the tightness in Shion's chest and stomach.

The pain in his neck quickly became too much to handle, and Shion turned to stare at the slanted wall of Nezumi's bedchamber.

He exhaled slowly, his breath returning. The right sleeve slid down his shoulder, and Shion made no attempt to stop it. The faint chill from the room peppered his arms with goosebumps, and a dull ache formed in the pit of his stomach as Nezumi undid the last of the laces and let the ensemble fall open.

"Thank you," Shion said.

Nezumi yanked his hands back as if he'd been burned.

"Oh." Shion turned to look back over his shoulder. He could barely see Nezumi, who'd taken a few steps away from the mattress and now stood in the center of the dark blue bedchamber. "I'm sorry, I forgot. You… don't like it when humans say 'thank you', do you?"

"We don't," Nezumi mumbled.

"I'll try and do better."

Nezumi looked away. "Just put the shirt on."

Shion discarded the tunic in a heap on the ground. He wondered if Nezumi would kick it beneath the mattress, too. How long would it remain there, gathering dust? Would the arachne take the fabric back and unravel it, piecing the thread back onto the spools she'd pulled it from to start anew with another human sacrifice? He wondered how many humans had worn the same fabric he found himself in. How many had died in the Unseelie Courts in this exact same garment.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Shion knew the prospect of death should have terrified him. The Unseelie Court would become his grave, and after tomorrow night, Shion would disappear from this world.

And yet, as soon as the terror took hold, it fluttered away like a startled bird. A dull haze clung to his brain, dark gray clouds drifting in front of his vision as he reached out, plucked the shirt off the mattress, and yanked it over his head.

He pulled his head through the neck hole. As the fabric passed over his face, Shion gave a quick, experimental sniff.

For the most part, he couldn't smell anything out of the ordinary. It didn't smell like the cotton Shion had grown accustomed to, or even some of the more expensive fabrics Shion had imagined in his youth. But clinging to the shirt, faded with time but still present, was a lingering scent of jasmine petals and leather.

Shion breathed in the scent, holding it in his lungs and keeping his mouth closed until it became too painful to do so. He exhaled slowly, holding to the memory of it, storing it for a time in the future when he sought comfort and warmth.

He could still feel the phantom sensations of Nezumi's long hair beneath his fingers, the taste of his lips pressed firmly against his own. Nezumi's had lips tasted like snow and frozen apples,

Their kiss had lasted only a moment—far shorter than Shion had hoped—but even now he could feel Nezumi's mouth against his own, could feel the weight of his body pressing in close.

Shion brought his fingertip up and tapped it softly against his bottom lip. He poked at it with the tip of his tongue, unable to taste anything now except the light snap of spice from the wine.

Warmth trembled through him as the memory of the kiss shot through him. He'd never imagined that Nezumi would kiss him; now that it'd happened, Shion wanted to do it again. He wanted to pull Nezumi down onto the bed, reveling in the weight of his body against his own, and kiss him until he couldn't remember the taste of the spiced wine or the sinister gleam in the Unseelie King's cavernous black eyes.

"Are you still up?" Shion turned at the sound of Nezumi's voice. His silver eyes flashed in the light emanating from the torches, glinting like the edge of a knife. "Go to sleep."

Shion crawled to the corner of the mattress, shoved up against the rocky wall. He pulled the edge of the comforter back; the plush mattress beneath was covered by a thin, threadbare sheet. He crouched on his knees and stared down at it, and then turned to regard Nezumi, still hovering in the middle of the bedchamber.

"Lay with me," Shion said.

Nezumi reeled back as if he'd been slapped. His eyes darted to the floor, to the mattress, to the wall—anywhere but at Shion's face.

Shion hadn't seen Nezumi without his black jacket before. Without it, he seemed far less broad. More feminine. A white shirt clung to his waist and his torso, the sleeves pitch black and blending into the shadow. He looked oddly human, save for the unnatural color of his irises and the sharp tips of his ears. His posture seemed normal, too, as if he were anxious.

"That's not a good idea," Nezumi replied after a moment.

"Because you kissed me?"

Nezumi shut his eyes and inhaled, hard. Shion's eyes adjusted to the darkness, the edges of the wooden furniture steadily coming into view.

"I don't mind that you did," Shion said carefully. "I wanted to kiss you, too."

"Your head's a mess right now," Nezumi snapped. "You don't know what you want."

The conversation was silly. The night after they'd met in the woods, Shion dreamed of Nezumi running his fingers through his hair and pressing a kiss to his mouth. In his dream, their kissing had gone farther than just a quick press of the lips. Nezumi's tongue had mapped a path down Shion's throat, across his chest and down his stomach, as if he were following the trail of some imaginary line that'd sprouted on Shion's skin.

"That's not true at all." Shion folded his arms across his chest. "I wanted to kiss you even when my head wasn't a mess."

Nezumi flinched.

Shion pressed his lips together and tried to think. If he took Nezumi's bed, that meant Nezumi would have to sleep on the floor. It didn't look comfortable. The stones were jagged and warped, and though Nezumi might have rested his head on the bed, it would no doubt make his back ache the following day.

"Are you cold?" Shion asked suddenly.

"What?" Nezumi's eyes opened, confusion plain on his face. "No. I'm not."

Shion patted the mattress beside him. "I'm a bit chilly, so how about I sleep under the blankets, and you sleep on top?"

Nezumi looked like he was getting a headache. "Shion—"

He didn't give Nezumi the chance to reply. He yanked the blanket back, burrowing down into the comfortable warmth of the bed, and yanked the covers over his shoulders. He wrapped himself up in the sweet scents clinging to the fabric—Nezumi's scent—and sighed happily as he began to relax.

A few moments passed before the mattress creaked. Shion's heart swelled as Nezumi stretched out on the mattress beside him, mumbling, "This is stupid."

Shion smiled to himself and burrowed his face into the pillow. It smelled like Nezumi, too.

He let Nezumi get comfortable, and then, once he'd stopped shifting, Shion edged backward until his spine brushed against the side of Nezumi's thigh. He'd stretched out on his back, his arms folded across his stomach.

Nezumi twitched as Shion pressed in close. "What are you—"

Shion rolled over and nestled against him. He burrowed his face into Nezumi's shoulders, sighing happily at the warmth scent of leather that washed over him. Beneath the thin blanket, he was warm; curled at Nezumi's side, surrounded by darkness, Shion knew he'd never be cold again.

Sleep came upon him almost immediately. Shion's eyelids fluttered, the events of the day drifting away from him on a gentle wind. The shadows called to him, pulling him into a world of calm darkness and comfort.

He was drifting away from the nightmares, far away from the terror that'd gripped him before the King looked into his eyes and made it all go away.

"It's fine if you can't save me," Shion murmured sleepily against Nezumi's throat. "I'll forgive you."

Nezumi's chest hitched.

Shion sighed and closed his eyes. Purple shadows danced behind his eyelids. They almost looked like the sprites he'd seen outside his mother's bakery.

Raindrops landed on his cheek, dripping down to his lips. Oh, Shion thought sleepily, tasting just the faintest hint of salt. He felt a strange warmth radiating around him as another droplet landed on his cheek and rolled down to join the first, lulling him into a quiet slumber. It must be raining.

To Be Continued...