The morning was filled with the cheerful songs of birds.

Keith snapped awake, his body suffused with warmth. As his eyes adjusted to the daylight streaming through the window, he noticed that his hand lay outside the blankets, tightly cradled in the delicate hand of the priestess. The warmth from her touch seemed to radiate through his skin, making his hand feel even warmer. Keith wondered how his hand had come to be entwined with the priestess' and why it felt so comforting.

The tide of confusing thoughts invaded Keith's mind again as he looked at her. She was sleeping with her upper body on the bed beside him, her face so close to their hands that he could feel her slow and paced breathing on his fingers. However, she was awkwardly sitting on a chair at the side of the bed, and Keith felt overwhelmed with guilt. He could sense the discomfort the priestess was enduring because of him, and it made him desperately want to get up and tuck her under the blankets where she was supposed to be, not him. But if he moved, she would wake up. Keith remembered the state of his body from the previous night and wondered if he was even capable of getting up at all.

He was such a failure.

And still, Keith felt an almost irresistible desire to move his hand and touch her flushed face. Her soft and warm skin seemed to beckon to him, but he knew he didn't deserve it, nor the comfort of her hand, or the trouble she had gone through to care for his wounds. Instead of reaching for her, his hand retracted, carefully sliding out of her grip. He silently prayed that the priestess wouldn't wake up from this motion.

The smooth tilt of his body to the side was a signal of his usual failure. The priestess slowly lifted her head, her heavy eyelashes fluttering as she blinked multiple times before finally opening her puffy eyes wide with a start. She was obviously tired, and it was his fault. In silence, she scanned Keith's face attentively before stretching and yawning casually.

His heart raced in his chest watching that intimate gesture, and to make matters worse, she smiled kindly at him.

"Good morning! Sorry I had to hold your hand. You were trying to pick at your stitches while sleeping, and I didn't want you to accidentally hurt yourself." She said nonchalantly, her voice hoarse from the slumber.

"Good morning, ah…" Keith said, trying to sit up. "I… I'm sorry I've been putting you in so much trouble."

The priestess promptly got on her feet to help, supporting his wounded left side. Her touch was like a half-hug, and he felt himself flushing all the way up to his ears.

"It's so embarrassing," Keith continued, ignoring the ache in his body. "Even when apologizing about causing you trouble, I just cause more trouble."

"Don't worry so much," she said, and their glances crossed quickly. He thought he saw her getting flustered too, but she turned her back and started moving around the hut. "I was trained for things like this. How are you feeling this morning?"

Keith slipped off the blankets and let his feet touch the floor. On closer inspection, he seemed like a mess. His white trousers were smeared with dirt and blood, ripped near his knees where lacerations on his skin were visible through the fabric. His arms were covered in bruises and scratches, and his wrist was wrapped in cloth from the sprain. The wound on his side looked worse than he had imagined, and he shuddered at the sight. Then he finally realized he wasn't wearing his shirt and felt embarrassed to be exposed in front of her now that it was no longer necessary. How rude… He quickly got up, feeling a little dizzy, but tried to hide it so as not to worry her.

"I'm… feeling better, thanks to your efforts…" he reached for his shirt, numbly dragging it on despite the lingering soreness. "I don't know how to repay you. You… you saved my life." It wasn't an exaggeration; Keith didn't know how he ended up in the hut, but given how isolated it seemed, he figured he could have bled to death in the woods. "Oh, you saved my life and I don't even know your name…"

The dizziness washed over his mind along with the shame, and Keith almost stumbled back to the bed. The sudden smell of food made his stomach groan, and he felt somewhat relieved, concluding that the dizziness was probably just due to hunger.

"It's Maeve," she said, as if it wasn't something of importance. He opened his mouth, but no words came out when he realized she wasn't looking at him. Instead, she was focused on stoking the fire of the fireplace, where a pot was placed to heat up. She continued, "You don't have to repay me, Your Highness. I'm… fulfilling my duty as a sworn priestess of Jade."

Her voice faltered at the last words, being drowned out by the chanting of the birds outside.

"Please, just call me Keith, but…" He wished to see her face. He longed to see her expression, but he wasn't going to ask her to turn around. So he looked down at the floor between his feet. "How could you tell I'm a prince?"

"You carry the Arcadia," she answered matter-of-factly.

The… Arcadia?

"I'm sorry, what is 'the Arcadia'?"

Maeve jumped straight and looked at him in shock, as if he had just uttered blasphemy. Keith wished he could draw his knees up and hide his face in them but he knew the cut on his side would make it difficult for him to curl into a ball. Maybe he could take the spirits she gave him last night and disappear again.

"You don't know the name of your own sword?" She squeezed her black skirt with both hands, then crossed the hut to the chest where his sword lay atop. With the utmost respect, she lifted it, her dainty hands handling it with softness and elegance that reminded him of her priestess training. The thought of her conducting magical ceremonies with such grace sent a shiver down his spine, giving him goosebumps.

Maeve presented the sword to him. It was the first time he truly saw it, with its richly ornamented hilt of golden filigrees and green gemstones. She swiftly unsheathed just the top of it, revealing the shoulder of the blade, which was adorned with many engraved lines and knots.

"The Arcadia, a gift from the fairies to the royal heir of Jade. It is said to have been forged in the sacred fires of the Goddess on the top of Ardmagh Eterna's mountain, together with the Elysium, the King's sword. The engraving is in ancient ceremonial language, meant to be a blessing for you. This is a link between Néart and the Royal lineage."

His trembling fingers reached for the sword and slowly took it from Maeve's hands. Keith laid it on his lap and admired the weapon for a moment, his thumbs caressing the hilt and scabbard absently. It saddened him that he hadn't known about it until now. Perhaps it was wishful thinking, but he wondered if having this knowledge would have made him a better prince, one who didn't need a sword to be recognized.

"His Majesty never told you that?" She sat on the bed beside him, but he didn't look her way. He just felt her soothing presence close.

"My father and I... We don't really talk much."

Maeve's voice carried a warm passion as she responded, "Why, this is no idle talk. It is his duty as the King to prepare his heir to rule Jade with strength, kindness, fairness, and respect for the soul of the kingdom. That is, if he's still loyal to Néart."

She gasped suddenly and covered her mouth with both hands, capturing his curiosity immediately. They stared at each other in silence for a moment before she hung her head.

"I didn't mean to question His Majesty's loyalty. Oh, I'm so very sorry. Please, forget I ever said that."

Her spontaneity was so endearing that his lips curled up in a small smile without him even noticing it.

"If anyone asks, I'll assume your words as mine." Keith said, and when she sighed in relief he felt nice. Whatever she had been cooking started boiling inside the pot, and the comfortable smell had now taken over the entire hut.

"Thank you so much, Your High–" she stopped and corrected herself. "Keith. It's not much, but I'm heating up a rabbit stew I cooked last night. I'll serve it with a loaf of bread and some fruit. I hope it's enough for you to recover your energy."

"This is more than I deserve, thank you," he said as she readily got up to her feet and turned to the fireplace. But before she could start moving, his hand caught hers on a whim, and she froze in place. Realizing what he had done, Keith released her and covered his flustered face. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have touched you. I… I just wanted to know…" he said, the words stumbling awkwardly out of his mouth as she looked at him again.

"Maeve, is there anything else about Néart I should know?"

The woods were the liveliest of the forest surrounding Caisteal na Sí. It was a small area of perennial greenery; no matter the season, nature was always verdant and fertile, offering colorful flowers and juicy fruits. The place also held a strong connection to the fairies; their voices could be heard louder and clearer than in any other place — to those who could hear them, that is — earning it the name Shrine of Whispers.

The gift of Foresight wasn't bestowed upon the Lady of Néart. As she cautiously walked between the vivid woods, wearing a dress as green as the surrounding foliage and covered by an ornamented cloak, she heard nothing but the spring birds singing and the sound of her own steps on the crackling falling leaves.

She wasn't there to hear the fairies with her own ears, but rather through the words of Innes.

The young silver-haired girl with a blue crescent on her forehead was peacefully sitting on a rock, appearing lost in her own thoughts with unfocused eyes. The Lady of Néart knew she was working hard on her request, however, so she approached her without rushing and simply waited. Talking to the oracle when they were busy could risk them losing the entire connection to the fairies, and restoring it could be tricky.

But Innes turned her head to the redhead woman quicker than she thought she would.

"The fairies refused to say anything about the prince," she said.

The Lady of Néart sighed with frustration. She had tried everything with her oracles — calculating the stars, reading tea leaves, interpreting cards and Ogham pieces — and now even the fairies themselves were silent on the whereabouts of the stag prince.

"Do you think he could be dead?" It was a straightforward question, but the Lady had no time for embellishments.

"I don't think so, the fairies were giggling. They just avoided the topic."

The Lady rolled her eyes slightly. The fairies were rarely that frivolous and she didn't know what to make of it.

"Thank you, Innes," she turned to leave when she noticed a small black bird landing on a branch in front of her. The small creature chirped innocently, unaware of the thoughts inside the Lady's mind.

It would be almost impossible. The Dark Forest was miles away from Caisteal na Sí, and the magic protecting it would make it hard for someone without magical knowledge to find it. Only the ones who knew its tortuous and treacherous path would find it… or the ones lost beyond salvation and willing to throw away their own lives. Still, a prince raised in the comfort of the royal court wouldn't endure the walk in the wilderness without succumbing midway.

Unless he had someone to guide him.

Her heart raced at the idea, and she glanced back at Innes, trying not to look too disturbed.

"Innes, can you check on Maeve? I've been missing her."

The girl's violet eyes gleamed, and she nodded. Soon her body relaxed again, eyes growing unfocused and empty. But in a matter of seconds, she returned.

"Sorry, Milady. They won't talk while you're here."

A strong wind blew through the trees, making the small bird take flight. The fairies seemed to be sending the Lady away. They were being way too frivolous, as if they were hiding something amusing.

But there was no way to argue, so she left silently.

A few hours later, the Lady received a note written in Innes's handwriting. It read, "You will hear of Maeve in the Crescent Moon."

Maeve had asked Keith if he was aware of the Sacred Communion between the future King and his Land, testing the waters before taking the risk of throwing him into a lake so deep he would drown — hurt, starved, and confused. Since Keith looked as bewildered about it as he did about the Arcadia, she gave him a gentle smile, a bowl of food, and the promise she would explain it all to him later.

Now that she stood in silence, hands busy grinding dry chamomile, comfrey, and lavender into a fine powder with mortar and pestle, she wondered if it was even her place to explain such a thing for him. Not only was it something Keith was supposed to have known for a while now — the very basics of it at least, and it was frighteningly odd that he didn't — the subject also burdened her heart. How could she tell the whole story without letting him know she was supposed to be part of it?

And it was getting more painful by the second that she wasn't.

But she promised him, and at some point, she would have to leave behind the amenities of the first couple days. They couldn't go on with just the light and easy talks or the tiny sweet arguments about him having to worry more about recovering from his still deep flesh wound than helping her out, or about how she wouldn't let him sleep on a chair while she'd take the bed. She would also have to tell him everything the King and the Lady of Néart didn't.

Maeve glanced his way. His face was illuminated by the flickering small fire he was using to melt the beeswax. That evening she had announced she was going to make more of the ointment she was using for his cut, and Keith readily offered help — as an undemanding task, she agreed. He said he had some apothecary practice, and she could see it in the certainty of his hands measuring, pouring, mixing. His eyes reflected the light in front of him beautifully. They shone like the eyes of the Horned God himself but with unparalleled sweetness. She was yet to see that hubris and beastly life in them again, but somehow she felt she would. The Goddess had multiple faces, it wouldn't be any wonder if her consort also had different sides of himself.

His Goddess, whoever she was, waiting for him in Caisteal na Sí.

She grasped the stone pestle more tightly than necessary and held it still for a moment before letting it go. Maeve laid the mortar on the table next to his seat, a faint smile on her lips when he looked up at her.

"It is ready to be mixed," she said and he nodded, adding the ground herbs to the pot of beeswax and stirring the mixture with the wooden spoon until it was smooth and creamy. Maeve took a jar of honey and carefully poured the slow, heavy, and sweet fluid into the mix. Out of sheer habit, she slid her finger along the edge of the honey jar to collect the drippings and lick it clean. For an awkward instant, their eyes met as she was still holding the finger between her lips, and they both muttered "sorry" in unison before quickly looking away.

"It's good honey, you should taste it," Maeve offered, holding out the jar to him. She had two choices: feel embarrassed and turn her back, or be casual and move on from the situation.

"Can I? Thank you!" Keith's face lit up as he captured a glob of honey from the edge, mimicking Maeve's earlier action.

She sat at the chair across him, checking the consistency of the ointment before transferring it to a smaller container. His enthusiasm with the honey didn't go unnoticed, and it was hard for her not to smile to herself. Maybe he liked sweets, which was… cute, but the offer of such luxuries was almost nonexistent in the Dark Forest. Had she eggs and butter, she would cook him a honey cake like the ones she used to have at Caisteal na Sí.

Speaking of…

"Néart's honey is the best of all Jade, isn't it? There'll be all sorts of honey delicacies and other sweets for the Communion," it was a good way to introduce the subject. "In order to have abundance during the whole year, we feast in abundance at the Equinox."

"It makes sense," Keith propped his chin on his hand, looking at her with gentle interest while she closed the ointment pot, her fingers casually running circles on it. "Have you ever been to one of those ceremonies?"

"Not this one," Maeve answered candidly, and then her mouth gaped a little bit as she realized, startled, she might have to explain why.

"I thought priestesses always took part in ceremonies. Is there a level to be there or something?"

"You can say so…" she felt her body almost involuntarily tense up. Maeve had been taught this wasn't a subject you should be ashamed of. It was a natural part of life, and the Goddess herself impelled humans, as well as animals, to it as a means to assure the eternal cycle of life and death. And as a priestess, she understood the energy it involved, being it a form of magical practice as normal as any other, to be used without need for modesty. For the Equinox, it was a practice used to assure a fertile year for the land.

Still, she felt bashful telling it to the prince stag himself. She was prepared to do it with him during the ceremony — it wouldn't be her after all, it would be the Goddess acting through her — but talking about it to him? Her face was burning.

"Only the ones initiated in the pleasures of flesh are to take place in the ceremony… or the ones who ought to be initiated in the ceremony."

And Maeve was… neither.

"Oh…" she could precise the exact moment the information sunk in, and Keith let out an interjection, becoming instantly as red as an apple. He used the hand that was supporting his chin to hide his face, and she looked down at the scattered little dry leaves and flowers on the table looking like little crumbs. "Ah, I'm sorry… I didn't mean to pry, I…" he stuttered nervously. "B-but… does it mean people will… do… it…"

"Abundance can't come without fertility," she said gently. Maeve leaned forward, picking up the scattered herbs in front of him and idly putting them together, forming a circular shape. She didn't know why, but she felt that seeing her hands would be comforting for him. And, as something he should understand, maybe comfort would help. "We do it every year in Caisteal na Sí and other villages in Néart to feed the earth with energy so that our harvests are plenty, our herds can multiply and the forests can keep the balance of our land. This year the ceremony will be special, because… It's not every year we have the blood of the stag among us."

"So… am I expected to… to…"

"The Horned God Cernunnos will act through you. He will be offered… options. The one you– he chooses will be the Virgin Huntress. This is actually a great honor, honestly I…" I envy her. Her fingers trembled. No! She couldn't feel such feelings. A priestess should accept the Goddess' decisions, and never be greedy. "I know whoever is chosen will be glad to let the Goddess act through her as well so that the Sacred Communion can be done. And it'll bring a lot of respect to the future King Stag: you. It'll show you accept Néart as the soul of Jade."

Maeve let her hands fall beside the herbs she collected. The silence between them was so heavy she could hear beetles chirping outside. It was getting hard for her to breathe, and she let her gaze fall to the empty space between her arms without really seeing it.

She could feel his pain. She honestly never considered before it would be this painful for Keith. Not this part of the ceremony, at least. It was supposed to be such a cheerful celebration… but maybe her own pain was making everything confusing, even for him. She closed her eyes and shook her head in an attempt to make that feeling dissipate.

"Listen, a fertility ritual is beau–"

"Maeve…" Keith suddenly reached out and took her hands, interrupting her. He covered them completely with his own and squeezed them inside a warm embrace, messing with the perfect circle she had created. Maeve caught her breath in her throat, surprised by his sudden touch. "Can't you be there for me? I want you… to…"

He let his voice die out, leaving a double entendre in the air that made her open her eyes wide and look back at him instantly.

That hubris… Even behind a confused and lost expression, she could see it burning in his eyes.