He never considered the existence of a divine being too seriously. God, Goddess, energy, magic… He'd always rather focus on what he could attest to the existence of, even though his own existence was an unexplained mystery. It was for this reason that he wasn't exactly a nonbeliever, just someone who never thought about such things thoroughly. Now, if he had to, the Goddess in his mind would have big, glistening green eyes just like the ones before him. But maybe not on the verge of tears.

Maeve pulled her hands off of his as quickly as if they were touching fire. There was a hint of outrage in her flushed cheeks that seemed to be slowly taking over the sadness from before. For a virgin priestess of the southern tribes, she looked remarkably aware of his teasing.

She might be fun to play with.

"Ah! Sorry!" Keith pretended to just realize his own gesture, mortified. "It was rude of me to touch you like this, I apologize."

"You… are not," her voice a soft whisper, contrasting with the blunt affirmation and the way her usually sweet expression hardened. He showed up, Maeve closed down, as if she realized from the start she was dealing with a total stranger. Someone to whom she wouldn't show her watery eyes. It was interesting, but he lowered his gaze, feigning dismay.

She persisted, her tone more certain than before: "I feel you. You're the same one that I found outside my hut. And you're not very apologetic, are you?"

How did she…? Perhaps her priestess training made her more perceptive than normal. Perhaps it was the intimate contact with nature in its most primitive state — knowing how to look a beast in the eyes made it easier for her to recognize one. He was in awe. Maeve could see him that easily. And the small pout on her lush lips told him she wouldn't take his farce any longer; she wanted to talk to him, not him.

He wondered if she had ever been kissed, or if he would be the first one to taste those lips.

"Not about touching you, I'm not. Unless you didn't like it?" He relaxed in his seat and studied her with a light smirk on his lips, fingers tapping the wooden table slowly. Maeve looked away. Even the tip of her nose was red now.

"How did you end up here anyway? Your other face asked me, but I know nothing about it." She wasted no time with his teasing, cutting right to the chase. Your other face was an endearing way to call it. Keith wondered how she could be this casual about them. The beauty of her eyes graced him again hesitantly, "Do you know?"

"Is this why you've been looking at him so wistfully? Is it because we're here?" Keith leaned forward and gently lifted her chin with his fingers, making sure she wouldn't look away again. The movement caused a twinge of pain from his wound, but he didn't let it show on his face. He wanted to keep those emerald gems in his view. "Tell me your story, and I'll tell you mine."

Maeve sighed reluctantly and a hot, soft stream of air hit his hand. "Fine, but you go first."

He raised an eyebrow. "And risk you not telling me anything while I'm here? No, you go first."

Maeve stared at him defiantly. "I'll also be risking you not telling me anything while you're here, you know?"

Keith stared back, the tension between them palpable. Outside, a night bird sang ominously. But every night bird sang ominously when you had never heard its chant before.

"I have an idea that could help us move past this stalemate," he said, a playful smirk on his lips. He would make his own good omen. "Why don't you come closer?"

His hand left her chin, and he beckoned to her elegantly. Maeve squinted slightly, considering the invitation with suspicion. "Why should I?"

"Remember I'm vulnerable, and you know where to hit me if I go off-limits. But you can't do it standing over there, can you?" Her eyes showed a hint of surprise at his words. Maybe she didn't expect he would know what she told him.

Maeve bit her cheek and stood up, still second guessing her decision as she stood still for a moment, both hands squeezing the edge of the table before her. Keith waited patiently.

She would come.

"How will this benefit you?" Maeve continued to question, shifting her weight from one foot to the other.

"Just come and see," he replied smoothly. "It'll be nice."

Her subtle eye roll did not escape his notice as she relented and made her way around the table to stand beside him. With arms crossed and lips pursed, she leaned against the table and fixed him with a quizzical stare.

So lovely and innocent, trusting him this easily. It would be fun.

Keith only needed one hand on the small of her back to pull her onto his leg. The simple and boring black dress she used to wear left a lot to imagination, and he had been exercising it plenty the last couple days. The way her petite body weighed nicely and warmly on his thigh gave him more welcome information. The curve of her waist a perfect fit for his palm as he couldn't help but squeeze her chest lightly against his, so soft and full. Her scent engulfed him, earthy rosemary, perhaps sweet geranium… but not quite. Either way, Maeve really was a delicious prey to be devoured.

The best part, however, was that look on her face. The glimmer in her eyes revealed astonishment, anticipation, thrill. A visceral impulse to recoil like a frightened little animal. Still, something kept her in place, captive to his eyes. Something other than his physical force, for Keith released his grip quickly and, for a few moments, just observed her reaction when offered freedom.

Maeve didn't take it, so he took her wrist with a gentle touch and guided the dainty hand underneath his shirt, right above his wound. She flinched when she felt it against her fingertips, as if she could feel the hurt in her own skin, and finally she exhaled the air she had been holding this whole time. Keith grinned and kept her hand in place.

"Why don't we play like this? I'll answer you one thing in your turn, you'll answer me one thing in my turn. If I fail to provide you with an honest answer, you can punish me." His thumb caressed the inside of her wrist ever so slightly, a subtle sign of what he meant.

"And what if I fail to provide you with an honest answer?" Maeve inquired, the lovely pinkish color lingering on her face, indicating her heart was probably still beating fast for as much as she tried to conceal it.

"I'll kiss you."

That inviting little pout adorned her face again, and Keith had to restrain himself not to take it right away; not to taste it with his tongue and make way into the inside, into the warmth, the wetness, and the lingering flavor of honey.

Maeve closed her eyes and took a deep, exasperated breath.

"Can I start already?" She asked, glancing at him again. He silently nodded, a little smile on his lips. Maeve repeated her first question: "How did you end up here?"

"I was hunting and got lost. My turn," Keith enjoyed the way her mouth gaped when she realized this was his full answer. And she couldn't accuse him of not being honest. He would just keep her guessing a little longer. "Why have you been sad?" He asked.

Maeve bit her lower lip nervously before answering. "I've been sad because I can't attend the Communion." He hummed. It was a start. "Where were you hunting?"

"In Caisteal na Sí's woods," he said, and her eyes widened in shock.

"Caisteal na Sí is… at least half a day away from here. If you know the way, that is."

"It's my turn now," the information she had provided was, indeed, intriguing, but Keith wouldn't let her diverge from the game. "Besides being a virgin, is there another reason why you cannot attend the ceremony?"

"Yes, there is." Maeve seemed a little cocky about her brevity, and he chuckled at how adorable she looked. Her lips curled up awkwardly, as if she was trying to contain the involuntary smile he drew from her. She lowered her head with a little dismissive shake, almost hiding her face in his shoulder. Her tone was more serious for the next question: "Caisteal na Sí's woods are greatly safe, and I'm sure the guest prince wouldn't be there hunting alone. How did you get lost?"

"Chasing a stag," he stated matter-of-factly, and she raised her eyes again, her silence as thick and impenetrable as fog. "What is the other reason why you cannot attend the ceremony?"

"I'm temporarily banished from Caisteal na Sí," she pointed to the black crescent on her forehead. Keith remembered Maeve was the first priestess he had ever seen with a black crescent instead of a colored one. So that meant she had been exiled from Caisteal. "Did you catch the stag?"

"No…" he hesitated. Memories of what happened filled his mind, and he felt confused and bitter again. The stag was in his aim, there was no reason for the horse to recoil abruptly like that. There was no reason for him to be pierced by his own arrow. And the stag… The image of the black stream coming out of his nose made him shudder.

Keith felt Maeve's fingers tense up above his wound. Apparently, she was sensing his hesitancy and wondering if she should do something. "Honestly, it was a confusing situation, but objectively, no, I haven't caught the stag," he elaborated at last.

"Now, Maeve, I gather that if you were temporarily banished and couldn't attend the ceremony, it means your banishment happened to keep you away from Caisteal na Sí during the whole ordeal, including when me and him were there," as Keith shared his theory, Maeve started to slip away from him, her face downcast and her shoulders drooping. He jolted his thigh, making her hold on to his shoulders with the startle and stare at him inquiringly. He craved her full attention like this. "This is why you're sad. You weren't supposed to meet us, but now that we're here, we're a constant reminder of the reason you were banished. Now tell me honestly, what happened?"

"Yes! I was supposed to be a candidate as Virgin Huntress for the future King Stag, the favorite one according to the fairies, or so my sister told me. But…" words tumbled out of her mouth, almost too fast to make sense. Keith hadn't gotten the stag, but he had caught her on the spot. Maeve suddenly tried to stand up, however, he held her in place with firm hands. Then he realized she was on the verge of tears again.

"Don't walk away, or I'll have to kiss you," he coaxed her into staying, his voice oddly soothing, and his hand slowly caressing her face. They were close enough to kiss, breaths mingling warmly, and all Keith could see in front of him were her misty emerald orbs.

"Can't you see this is the problem?" Her voice was faltering. Maeve gripped his arm but didn't pull it away. "I see the Horned One in your eyes, and there was nothing that I wanted more than to be his chosen one. But there's a prophecy that says it would bring the ruin of Néart. The Lady told me this. I can't be selfish. I can't do this."

It dawned on him that things were much more complicated than he thought for her. At the same time, knowing Maeve was supposed to be his by design filled him with a sense of pride. She saved herself for him. She was probably trained as a virgin maiden for him. And she was… simply beautiful and so, so sweet. Keith didn't even need to see the other candidates to know for sure he wanted her. For a brief moment he forgot about him, but it didn't matter. He would take her in spite of him or that damned prophecy.

Why should he listen to a prophecy that he didn't even know the origins of anyway? Anyone could say anything and call it a prophecy. Even that strange Lady of Néart.

"The stag that brought me to you was not like any I've ever seen before," he said, fixing Maeve with an intense gaze to try and build his own fortune again. "It was shrouded in black mist, and its blood was as dark as night. But that's not even the strangest part. My arrow somehow turned on me and pierced my own flesh. I was left bleeding and confused, with no idea how I got here." Maeve listened to him with her full attention, the way he liked it.

"I've never felt so drawn to a place before…" Keith continued, showing every bit of how drawn he was to her through the grip on her waist, the heat in his breath, the need in his eyes. "And now that I'm here, I feel like the reason is bigger than ourselves and perhaps bigger than this prophecy."

Her nails were almost digging into his arm as she tried to hold on to him, looking so forlorn. "I don't know what to make of it, but… a prophecy shared by the Lady of Néart herself… isn't something we can ignore…"

Maeve's words faded away gradually, like a whisper lost to the wind, until all that remained was the stillness between them. Outside, the world seemed to hold its breath — even the birds and bugs were hushed into silence — and the fire illuminating the room burned quietly. Keith's thumb slid along the contour of her chin and touched her lower lip as one would touch something forbidden and adored at the same time. He felt her shuddering at the touch, and suddenly her arms were around his shoulders as she hid her face against the crook of his neck.

He wasn't expecting this, still he couldn't help but hug her in return. Maeve felt as defenseless as a little child, and his fingers naturally combed through her hair in a protective manner. His lips reached the top of her head and left there a kiss.

"What is this for?" She murmured against his skin, and a shiver ran down his spine with a throbbing sensation.

"I can't tell if you're being honest when I can't see your eyes," he whispered in return with a little smile.

Maeve sighed but showed no signs of wanting to go away. "I don't want to play anymore."

"It's ok," Keith replied, and it was ok, indeed, as long as she stayed in his arms. "Just… Can you tell me the whole story about the ceremony? I promise I won't fret like him."

It had been an odd day. Odder than usual.

Maeve was aware that she couldn't expect it to be any different after her encounter with Keith's other face and the way that she ended up sleeping in his lap and waking up in more gentle arms. His smell took her mind to the deepest, purest woods; something never touched, so sacred that not even the Lady of Néart would be able to reach. And yet there she was, a simple priestess still in the awe of somnolence, with both hands sinking into the forest of his soft hair as she filled her lungs with the warmth of his scent directly from his neck. He grasped her back in return, lazily emerging from slumber with slow but intense movements and hoarse little moans. She could feel his whole body against hers, the muscles she had already seen but never permitted herself to stroke; the hardness of his morning excitement pressing her lower belly. The sweet intimacy and natural sensuality they shared… for just a few seconds. Almost too little to even register.

And then there was guilt, confusion, desperate apologies that Maeve couldn't even pay attention to. Her heart was about to explode as she sat on the bed, as it had been countless times last night. It was so, so bad. What was she doing? Falling for those cold and cruel eyes that seemed ready to take the world on a whim. Falling for the infinite sweetness and warmth that seemed too good not to taste. Longing to run her hands through both his antlers and to give in to that powerful force compelling her to his arms.

How would she manage to keep her feelings to herself, staying by his side until his wound is fully healed and he is fit enough to travel back to Caisteal safely?

Either way they should move on, and this is what she told Keith when she got over her stupor.

Maeve and Keith had grown distant since then, with silence filling the air between them. Maeve kept herself busy with daily chores while Keith did everything he could to be helpful, though he avoided her gaze and kept his head hung low.

When the sun was at its peak, Maeve grabbed buckets and a spear to collect water and luckily catch some fish from the nearest river. Keith trailed behind her, getting distracted by the vegetation along the way. Maeve couldn't help but notice his curiosity for the different plants that could only be found in the Dark Forest, and she remembered his apothecary practice. She found his interest adorable but didn't dwell on it. She couldn't.

After long moments when only the muffled sounds of their boots against the damp forest floor could be heard, Keith broke the silence, his voice as faint and uncertain as a light breeze: "Say, Maeve…" he began, "I've never seen these black flowers before. What do you call them?"

Maeve gazed at the black flowers that clung to the trees like somber shrouds. The velvety texture of the petals seemed to absorb the light of the midday rather than reflect it. Their twisted roots snaked around the trunks and branches in a tangle of dark purple and deep red. Occasionally, a bulb would dangle from a thin stem, dripping a crimson and sticky sap. Though some found the blooms grotesque, Maeve was drawn to their unusual beauty and sweet fragrance, which carried notes of rose and lemon, though it was a touch overwhelming.

"We call them umbraria, or shadow flowers. They only grow here in the Dark Forest," she explained. "They drain the other trees dry, but the ones found here in the Dark Forest are robust enough to nourish them. We use them to treat poisonings, raise body temperature, and restore vitality."

Maeve walked over to a tree and stood on tiptoes to try to reach one of the flowers. Keith soon came to her aid, easily picking one and admiring it for a moment before handing it to her. "They're beautiful," he whispered, almost too low for her to understand.

"Do you think so?" She caught the flower carefully from his hand, avoiding his touch. She was still too self-conscious to let their fingers bump into each other casually. Maeve brought the flower next to her nose, smelling it gently and using it to cover any possible blush.

"I do… They're exquisite," he gesticulated awkwardly, lowering the gaze that, as she realized, had been fixed on her.

Maeve half-shrugged. "Alas, not everyone likes them. They say there was a witch who fell in love with the Sun and Moon, so much so that she wished she could live in the sky to be next to them. Since it can't be, she turned herself into these flowers so she could feed on their light."

"It sounds sad," Keith murmured.

"Yes, this is what people think, and together with their appearance they think umbraria bring bad luck. I disagree. While the Sun or the Moon is shining, she's always with the ones she loves," Maeve gave him a small smile, as if to soothe him. "To me it's a symbol that love finds a way."

She felt a silly pang in her heart and tried to dismiss it. Their story obviously had nothing to do with the umbraria's.

"Can I pick up some more?" He asked, hesitantly.

"Sure, just do it respectfully, and don't be greedy," she shared with him the basic rules of any woods in Néart. "Oh, and they take at least three moons to wither, so you might be able to take some with you to the royal court."

Maeve didn't look back anymore while distancing herself. She didn't see his pained expression before her last words, or the way his hand trembled when he took the first flower.

Some were surprised when meeting Master Fintan for the first time. He was always expected to be an elder man with a pointy hat and long, white beard given his title. To be considered a Master Druid in Néart one should have exceptional magical skills besides the gift the fairies had already bestowed on them. And Master Fintan was an excellent astrologer and alchemist, who conducted ceremonial rituals like no one else. He knew how to graciously pronounce every syllable of every ancient word used in a multitude of spells and held the keys to the mysterious knowledge of the Gods. All of that and he was still a young man, barely older than the Jadean prince, with vivid long red hair and an attractive smile.

Fintan knew his presence rendered the prince stag uncomfortable, and he had found petty amusement in talking to the royal heir solely to see him nervous. Now that he had gone missing, Fintan ended up seeing himself with the drab assignment of leading expeditions to try to find him.

Luckily, no one asked if he wanted to find Prince Keith. At best, Fintan's opinion had it that running away from the responsibilities he wasn't born to take would be the most honorable move the prince could make.

"Master Fintan?" That royal servant that had been tagging along every expedition rode closer to his white stallion and called him with his usual politeness. "May I suggest we look deeper into the woods ahead?"

They were reaching the borders of the Dark Forest, its trees, sinister in appearance, mostly gray and black, with parasitic, shadowy flowers in view. Even from a distance, it was clear to even an inexperienced rider the dangers that lay within the mysterious woods. Someone without knowledge of magic would likely be deterred by the forest's mysterious aura immediately. Perhaps Liam, the attendant, was just so loyal to the lost prince that he was unwilling to dismiss any possible location in the search for him.

Fintan would not lead them in, however, no matter how the attendant felt. The cause wasn't worth it, and the stag prince wouldn't have reached the Dark Forest on his own, no matter how disoriented he had been.

Still, it wouldn't hurt for the druid to stop by a little bit to check, not on Keith, but on who he knew was there.

"It's too dangerous to bring a whole party inside these woods, but I have my ways of searching the grounds, if you'll allow me," Fintan smiled brightly at Liam, and without waiting for an answer, he elegantly raised an arm and signaled the small troop to rest. "Give me half an hour."

Ignoring the quizzical stare of the attendant, Master Fintan rode ahead until he found a suitable entrance to the woods. By then, the party would no longer be seen if he turned his back. But he wasn't interested in such a thing at this moment. He took a deep breath and started concentrating as soon as his stallion set foot on the dark grounds, the sensible energies of the place crawling through his skin. He knew the Dark Forest was not to be feared to those who understood Mother Nature and respected Her as required. Even though it was a gloomy and overall displeasing place, it had its own kind of magic that he could put into use.

When he came to a little clearing still near the border but deep enough into the woods for his intent, Fintan dismounted and felt the humid leaves beneath his boots. It wouldn't be a difficult ritual; he would only need a few minutes of peace and quiet.

Standing in the middle of the clearing, he took off his glove and knelt gently on the ground. Ancient sibilant words flowed naturally from his lips, as he cleared a small spot with his hand and drew a knot on the earth before digging his fingers in the center of the symbol. Then he closed his eyes, feeling the aura flow from his body to the forest, expanding underneath the soil and skillfully weaving through the roots until finding the openings he was looking for. His energy molded into the shapes of serpents and crept between the trees around the little hut he knew so well. Fintan could sense her presence more than see it, but he felt confident he was getting closer and closer to her, until...

"Found you, my little black bird."