Disclaimer: Gawd, if Nuada was mine….but sadly he is not, therefore, I cannot claim ownership over him or anything else from the Hellboy verse.

{A/N}: Thanks tooo Cara-D, JustKateKCK, Ozhika, Psycho Angel, StarReader2009, The-Dark-Love-Writer, Tiryn, camsam17, mccallisterhelen, Hellspanda, and NightStalkerblade for following and/or adding this to their favorites. Chu all ish lovelehs. /tosses sparkles. Hmm. I don't really like this one either, my brain was just like …ffuu. The plot bunny kept hopping away. Oh, and a little note; the reason I put 'AU-ish' in the description is because, ugh, Nuada is hard for me to write, so he might be OOC and whatnot at times. But I try hard to not make him be, and a friend of mine often helps me out with this story and him…but we both believe we suck orz. So I hope Ozhika,-mentions because of their nice comment-found him somewhat IC in the other chapters too.

Anti-Carly- Yay, you reviewed again! I'm glad you think it's cute and I just love writing Fjóla; naïve is just the right label for her. Pfft, is it…good that he seems terrifying? XD And ze romance shall come…soon…soooon.

/Shall rush off to check out canarycup's story right after uploading this chapter.

To end my good sized author's note, I just would like to say reviews are really appreciated, so don't be afraid to drop one for me! Alright, I'm done….I think…so, erm…

/awkwardly shuffles away, whilst hoping you all enjoy the chapter.

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4- Fascination -

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He didn't know what to think of her reaction.

It was far from what he was expecting, and for a moment he thought she was just putting up a neutral façade. But as Nuada shifted in the brown armchair across from Fjóla, watching as her light violet eyes flecked with amber ran over his face once again, he realized she was simply and deeply fascinated.

He was beginning to read her easier...

It was quiet fascination, he noted. That mouth of hers wasn't running on and on nervously about matters that had nothing to do with their original conversation, though they hadn't held one yet. She was stiff and still, only twiddling her thumbs every minute or so. And her strange eyes never left his for too long; when they did, they were studying the markings and scars etched over his face. As they did before he approached her, they sent unfamiliar sensations through him; making him feel scrutinized and oddly admired at the same time. Suddenly feeling uncomfortable, he moved in his seat again, and her eyes instantly flicked back up to his, her lips parting in the slightest as she tilted her head. He thought she was going to speak, but the silence continued to drag on.

In the two days that he made her acquaintance-which he was still debating he liked or not…- she had been a fidgeting, blabbering mess and barely held his gaze. It was extremely annoying to the prince, yet he returned anyway because it was, just in the slightest of ways, endearing. It was a different response from what he was used to getting for centuries. Now…well, as said before, he just didn't know what to make of her behavior.

Did finding out what, and more importantly, whom he was really cause such a change in the bizarre little human? He might have felt a bit smug, proud even, in eliciting such a reaction from her without even really doing anything, had he not been somewhat disturbed by it. But he didn't let it show, and kept a look of indifference under her intensive stare.

Finally, the quiet was beginning to become overbearing, so Nuada spoke up.

"You're strangely quiet…" He began slowly, breaking the silence they held since he arrived some twenty minutes ago. And to his slight relief, she blinked and jolted in surprise. "Have you lost your muse?"

"O-Oh…No." Fjóla murmured, blinking several times as if shaking off a daze. She even moved as such, slowly and languidly grabbing her art materials, which she paid no attention to after dumping them next to her on the couch. Her gaze dropped down to her lap. "I was just thinking…about…"

She said something else, but all Nuada picked up was nonsensical mutterings as her voice lowered with each word, despite his acute hearing. Slightly curious now, he unconsciously leaned closer to the her-she smelled lightly of daffodils-, and prompted her to speak up.

"Were your previous actions and bold behavior before just a front?," He inquired with a tone that suggested he was jesting with her. He even allowed a small smirk to pull at his lips when she glanced up at him.

In response, she puffed her cheeks a bit and furrowed her brows. His smirk widened.

"N-No. I was just thinking on...a-about…what I should call you." Fjóla muttered, confliction and confusion flashing in her eyes, though she held his gaze evenly again.

Nuada's smirk dropped, and he nearly deadpanned. "From the book, I thought it would've been quite clear on what you should call me."

"Well, ye-no! No, I meant….geez…uh…I know to call you by your name, yeah. Because I know what it is now. But exactly how should, o-or, more so on how you want me to, ya know? What I mean is. . .-"

There it was. Her 'normal' behavior was resurfacing, which pleased the prince to an extent. Yes, soon it would irritate him, but it was better than her silent and unwavering observation; the sensations were becoming more intense as the minutes pasted. In a sense, he was glad she was acting like herself again. He was beginning to find it rather amusing how quickly her mood had began to change up when she whispered his name.

His inner musings halted abruptly and his attention was focused solely on the way her lips moved when she whispered it carefully again. He didn't notice that she added 'Prince' before it that time, nor the way she stated it as a question. Only on the way her mouth pursed and how the accent she, poorly, hid made itself fully known again.

And her voice. It was high and delicate, like that time she was singing. It was always that way, but her constant talking made it hard to appreciate and a mildly annoying soprano. But now he could, and the way she said his name was almost melodic; like a breeze brushing over treetops and leaves.

Why did she have to say it like that?

Nuada stiffened as his focus and proper thinking returned. What she had been asking began to register as did the fact he was leaning even closer to her. With more force than necessary, he pressed himself back into the armchair and turned his head from her questioning look, absently staring at the edge of the coffee table between them.

"Nuada is fine. But if calling me 'Your Highness' or some other respective term quells your uneasiness with using my name on such familiar terms, then refer to me as such."

He saw her fidget in the peripheral of his vision. "So…you don't mind me calling you just Nuada?"

She didn't whisper it that time, but her tone softened. Nuada felt his face tense up, his brows knitting together.

Had she not said his name moments ago the way she did, he would have prefer her to address him with the alternatives he stated. She was still human; an exceptional-annoying- one, but one nonetheless, and he a being of royal blood; living in self imposed exile had not changed his few views on his status and how he should be seen by others. If he and she were to continue on with this agreement of meetings, of sorts, he wanted to be sure their levels were understood-even if he basically was there by her request and needs, simple as they were.

That's why he decided to give her his name after all.

But the gentleness and shyness she voiced in saying his name threw him off. It had him remembering his sister. During the times where mankind started to become restless, persistent in obtaining more and more as greed festered in their hearts. He'd return from small skirmishes along his people's borders, tired and worn, frustrated from the relentlessness of the attacks. Nuala would be awaiting him with the offerings of comfort; voicing reassurances, passing her gentle calm into him with light touches and through their bond. He always looked forward to being in her light presence.

The fact that Fjóla, a human woman had made such memories rise, of his sister no less, disturbed him much more than her being so silent.

He could have corrected her, tell her to call him by a respective title instead. He should have.

But…

"No." He looked back to her, willing his facial muscle to relax and even attempted something akin to a smile. "I do not. Is that why you were just sitting there, ogling at me while wasting your allotted time?"

He couldn't help huffing out a brief chuckle at the panic look she gave the grandfather clock across the room. She had about two hours and thirty minutes of his time left now. She finally gave her art supplies her full attention and pulled out pencils, paper, and a few pastels.

"Uh, yeah. And…-" She paused, shifting about as a blush crept across her cheeks. At her suddenly growing smile, he arched a brow. Something past in her eyes that made him feel…unsettled…

"Because I was shocked. I just can't-…"

It was oddly familiar. His eye twitched.

"-Seriously believe…t-that-"

Her eyes took on the color of lilacs and warm amber and she inhaled deeply; then he remembered. A groan built in his throat as he braced himself for-

"-You're actually a PRINCE! And an elf, but I already sort of figured that from your pointy ears, but I digress. You are freakin' Prince Nuada," Her voice faltered at his name, her hands covering her cheeks which were red now. Nuada could only sink in his seat and bear through it all. But was surprised to find his lips upturned.

This was one of the ways he had figured she'd originally react upon his return.

"I've never met a prince in my entire life! And now I have one sitting in my house….in my chair!" Fjóla had rambled on, bouncing excitedly on the couch, her dark hair slipping from the messy bun that held it up.

"Fjóla."

She gasped. "And I never, ever thought I'd ever draw one in person either! Though it never crossed my mind to, but now I want to and be like one of those painters ya' see in movie backdrops painting the antagonist, looking like-" She mimicked a male's voice and scowled, twisting her face up in way that had Nuada dangerously close to laughter. "-'Hunh, look at him...mid-monologue. Who the heck is he talking to anyway? Is…Is he talking t-?'"

He couldn't take it anymore, and stretched the distance between them. Half standing now, Nuada cupped a hand over her mouth while the other rested on her small shoulder for support. She quieted immediately.

"Fjóla, you have completely lost me." He said after a moment with amusement, and he felt her lips quirk against his palm. Though he didn't laugh, it clearly shone in his eyes how close he had been, so it was difficult to give her a warning glare that said 'You're rambling nonsense again.'

He managed to though, and slowly removed his hand when an understanding look came from her. He leaned against her gently, patting her shoulder in gratitude, and moved to stand. She grabbed his arm though, and kept him from doing so. His brows furrowed, eyes reflecting slight distaste at her hand before he gave her a confused look.

"You're golden….well, golden-yellow." Fjóla murmured, and suddenly raised a hand to boldly brush it against his left cheek in wonderment, just over the extension of his scar there. She leaned closer. Too close. He could count the honey speckled in her purple irises if he wanted to.

She gasped, as if realizing something. "Is that how you blush?"

Before he could process a coherent thought and reaction, she was ranting again excitedly and gently nudging him to sit back down. He numbly complied and watched as she rushed to find colors that matched his skin before the heat left them; holding them up to his face before coloring squares onto paper; for referencing, she said. Then drew him for the remainder of the two hours left.

Now it was his turn to quietly stare with fascination. And when the time came, she had to remind him this time that it was time for him to go.

Only when he was far from her sight in the forest surrounding her home did he ghost a hand over his cheek. He couldn't bring himself to be put off by the memory of the her touch.

So instead, he focused on what he would tell Wink when he got back to the Troll Market.