I wake up in a lush nest of silk and fur. A fitful light overhead shows me a room carved from rock, bare except for a trunk and my apparently borrowed bed. Without thinking, I sit up and stretch . . . only to curl up with a gasp as my back suddenly burns. "Easy, easy," a soft, familiar voice says as a cool, callused hand brushes my hair back. "Breathe, slow and deep, lille prinsesse. The pain will pass."

Memory comes back; Sven, what he was, what he did to me. . . "Hurts," I gasp. "What's happening?"

He moves to where I can see him. "Your body is changing, Romelle. Shedding its humanity, healing from the damage done to it. I can help with the pain, if you just breathe and trust me. Can you do that?"

Trust . . . he asks much. But what choice do I have? I force a deep, ragged, breath, then another. "Tell me . . . what to do."

Sven takes my hands in his. "Just look into my eyes, lille. And do not look away. I will do the rest." The pain flares into agony before I can question him; I clutch at his hands and meet that midnight blue gaze, getting lost in its depths, leaving the pain far behind me. "That's it, relax . . . I have you, sleep now."

The next thing I know, the light above me is gone, but the room seems to glow as though I'm seeing it through night vision goggles. I push the too-warm furs away and sit up slowly, conscious of an odd weight on my back and the most intoxicating smell.. . .I'm so hungry, it smells like Cook's best prime rib, oh, where IS IT?

"She rises at last," Sven's voice chuckles from the doorway, impossibly darker and richer than it had been. "And ravenous, too, I expect. Good thing I secured . . . dinner." He comes into the room carrying a goblet and pitcher, wings cloaking his shoulders like when I first saw him, and perches on the side of the bed with boneless grace. The glorious smell is coming from the pitcher and goblet, and it takes all my Court training not to snatch them from his hands. "Here, lille. Drink all you like, there is plenty. But slowly, ja?" He hands me the goblet slowly, eyes never leaving mine.

I take a slow sip, a small part of my mind protesting that it's blood, human blood, and I can't possibly drink it . . . can I? Then the liquid hits my tongue, and the protest is silenced for all time. Warm, rich, sweet and coppery; the best thing I've ever tasted in my life. I drain the goblet, heedless of Sven's direction to go slow; he fills it again, expressionless, then again until I finally sit back against the pillows, sighing in contentment.

He sets the containers aside and draws his legs up to sit opposite me, wrapped in his wings. "So . . . now that you are fed, I suspect you have questions, ja?"

He has NO idea. Hundreds, thousands of questions swarm my thoughts; I don't know what to ask first! A voice fills the room; to my horror, it's MINE. "What happened to your accent?" Blessed Ancients, Romelle! All the things to ask and you come up with THAT?

Sven stares at me for a minute, then laughs as I blush furiously. "A good question, if . . . completely unexpected. The answer is that it is a part of my disguise, not real. I have spoken English and Norse for centuries and have long since lost any accent to my speech. But feigning the accent adds to the appearance of humanity." He grins. "People are less likely to question de von dey tink does not quite understand, ja?"

I giggle in spite of myself, which is probably what he intended, then sober. "So . . . what happens now? What do I need to know?"

He sobers as well, drawing his knees up and wrapping arms and wings around them. "You know you are no longer human. You still breathe, but you no longer need to consume food. Your main nourishment will come from blood, as you can guess." A graceful hand indicates the discarded pitcher and goblet. "Eventually, you will drink directly from the source; it is much better for you that way. But I thought this would be easier for your first time." I nod my gratitude, and he continues. "You are far stronger than a human woman now; you will come close to my own strength." He glances at me with a shy smile. "And, lille prinsesse, you can fly. You have wings."

Wings? Oh! Of course, that's what's weighing my back! As I think of them, one sweeps over my shoulder, the tip landing in my lap. So beautiful! I reach to stroke the feathers hesitantly, sucking in a breath at their beauty. Deep red, tipped in black, with a gold shimmer to them. . .and softer than my finest velvet gowns. They feel so good under my stroking fingers, I can't stop touching them . . . until I hear myself moan in pleasure, and snatch my hand away as though burned. Blushing furiously, I peek at Sven through the curtain of my hair. His expression is fleetingly strange, but settles into amusement. "So, what now?" I squeak.

He's doing his very best not to outright laugh at me, I can tell. "Now? Now I teach you, lille prinsesse. I gave to you my knowledge with my blood; you just have to be taught to access it, and your body trained to actually use it."

I nod as regally as I can with my dignity still in tatters. "And then. . . then we deal with Lotor. And make this world our own." I lock eyes with him. "Let's get started."