Maeve smelled of umbraria.

Keith was finally able to conclude that the flowery scent he had captured on her bed, on her skin, and on her hair, came from the dark flowers he was carefully attaching to the weaved twigs. She smelled of love finds a way, as she sweetly said. He felt his face grow a little warmer and instinctively looked up to where she stood in the water, spear in hand as she moved elegantly, skirt swaying smoothly around. He had helped Maeve filling the water buckets, but to try to catch the fish, she had asked him to wait at the riverbank. She wanted to concentrate on some spells to attract them, and Keith understood he would disturb her or the fish, naturally.

For as much as he enjoyed being in the Dark Forest with her, even without any luxuries, he knew he was a burden after all. And the way he held her in his arms this morning… it was unforgivable. He couldn't even fathom what he had done to her. It was hard to keep up when they didn't have their diary, but it didn't excuse him squeezing Maeve so tightly, especially when he was–

Involuntary or not, he couldn't even think about it without a headache. Keith shook his head in self-contempt, finally averting his eyes from her figure.

It wouldn't be any wonder if she really wanted him back in the royal court. Still, he wished to give her an apology gift; a token for the regret he was feeling for what he had done to her. And since he couldn't pick sweets, jewelry, dresses, or anything she could appreciate, he decided to lay his cloak at the riverbank, sit there and make her a flower crown with the twigs and umbraria he collected along the way.

It wasn't going great. His hands were too big for delicate handiwork like this, and he felt clumsy trying to create a composition without damaging the umbraria. And then there was the problem of it being too dark. Perhaps it wouldn't look good with Maeve's black hair. So he tried to add more flowers to increase the volume but again he wondered if it became just… too much. Keith bit his lower lip. He truly expected it to look better.

The sound of water announced her approach. Despite his insecurities, he decided to give her the flower crown anyway. He could buy a better gift later. Keith stood up, wincing at the reminder of his wound, and waited for her at the river's edge. Maeve smiled, a bit sheepish for some reason, carrying a spear in one hand and a bucket in the other. Her steps rippled the water that reflected the wall of trees behind her back. It was a beautiful bucolic scene that made him consider moving to Néart just to see it more often… if he could. The thought was silly, so he gave her an embarrassed smile.

She tilted the bucket a little bit, for him to see the few fishes she had caught. "Sorry, even with the spell the river only gave us four fishes, oh," Maeve halted when she realized he was holding the flower crown. Her eyes widened, and her tiny smile became a tad dismayed, an expected reaction to his poor work. "It's beautiful, Keith! You've managed to make the umbraria look so… regal, so gorgeous, really. I was afraid you would take the flowers to a lady who wouldn't fancy them for how unconventional they look, but you've made it impossible not to love them."

Her words didn't match the sad look in her eyes, and Keith wondered if Maeve was just saying it to make him feel better.

"I, ah…" he whispered, thumbs sliding ever so slightly on the crown, trying not to ruin it with his nervousness. "I actually did it for you, but I can–"

"You did it for me?" Maeve's face brightened suddenly, lips curling up shyly, as she was visibly trying not to grin.

"I did!" Keith felt some relief with the change in her mood. "I want to give you something better when I can, but for now… I hope you'll accept it as an apology gift. I'm sorry about this morning."

"Keith…" she nodded, cheeks highlighted by a rosy flush. "Of course I accept it!"

He gently placed the crown on her head, attentively running his fingers through her silky hair to fix it. Ultimately, he had to admit the flowers framed her face nicely, or it was her beauty that simply couldn't be tainted by a messy flower crown. He wished to touch her face, bring it closer to him and look for constellations in her freckles as if they were little stars. But as his hand raised again uncertainly, Maeve moved to put the spear and the bucket down.

"I want to see how it looks," she turned abruptly and leaned slightly forward, holding the crown to keep it firm to her head while she looked at her own reflection on the water's surface. "It's so beautiful, Keith! Now you can take me to a dance!" She giggled and he blinked in confusion.

"Do you want to… dance?"

Maeve looked at him again, gasping the way she usually did when she had spoken too much. "Sorry, forget I said that. It's just… folly," she lowered her eyes, shifting her weight from one foot to the other awkwardly. "There's a small festival in my village every June, where if a boy gives a flower crown to a girl and she accepts it, he can dance with her. It's nothing serious."

"What is celebrated in the festival?" Keith hoped she realized his honest interest. He appreciated it when she talked about Néart. As the region was formed mostly by tiny agrarian villages, it was hard gathering information about them. Usually what made it to the royal court was information from Caisteal na Sí.

"There's a garden everyone helps to grow, and in June it is in full bloom. So we celebrate it," Maeve's face softened with nostalgic longing. "I haven't been there for years. Ever since I came to live in Caisteal it has gotten harder and harder to visit, but I bet it's still a beautiful festival."

"I would like to see it with you…" she looked startled before his words, and Keith tried to explain, hands moving nervously. "I mean, if you agree to take me there in June, that is. It's my duty to know Néart better, isn't it? I can schedule some visits in June, so you can show me your village if it's ok–"

"June…" her smile was the widest, brightest he had ever seen on her face so far. It warmed his heart like the sun at its peak on a summer day. "June is perfect."

"June is perfect," he repeated without realizing he did it out loud. "June! June it is. I'll meet you there in June."

The gleam in Maeve's green eyes filled Keith with a sense of sweet promise, and for a moment, he forgot about the upcoming ceremony. All he could think about was June and the fields of Néart, alive with color and life, and the prospect of making Maeve a better flower crown to dance with her at the festival. But his reverie was cut short by Maeve's sudden shift in demeanor.

"Oh no," she muttered, looking past him with a quizzical and dark expression. "Keith, I need to do something. Will you trust me?" Maeve's urgency snapped him back to the present moment. Whatever it was, it sounded important.

"Of course," he said. Naturally, he probably wouldn't even be alive if it wasn't for her.

Still, Keith didn't know what to expect when Maeve quickly dipped her hand in the river before placing it on his forehead, letting the cold water trickle down his face. But as she whispered soft and repetitive words that he couldn't quite make out, he felt a strange sensation wash over him. It was as if the water was invading his mind, carrying away all his thoughts and worries in a wild, uncontrollable stream.

"I'm so sorry," Maeve said, her voice sounding far away.

Maeve had a split second to process what she had just seen when muttering "oh no" and decide what to do. Red serpents were crawling straight toward her, their scales shimmering in the gentle sunlight as their tongues flicked out in search of something. They appeared real, but Maeve knew they were only astral projections of someone's aura — someone with immense power. Master Fintan's aura.

He was somewhere in the Dark Forest, most likely searching for Keith despite the boundaries of her exile. As much as she admired and appreciated Fin, she also understood that it would not be a good experience to have her mind scanned by his aura. It would be even worse if he discovered Keith's presence there and in her thoughts and memories.

Since unlimited magic was reserved only for the Goddess and Fintan was likely using Earth magic to track her down, Maeve had decided that sending Keith's mind to the Water could prevent the druid from sensing his presence. She prayed the water spirits would protect him as she cast the spell and caught him as he fell towards her, struggling to support his tall and muscular body. She laid him down the best she could on the edge of the river, making sure his head was above the surface to prevent him from drowning.

Now she should empty her own mind. If the Lady of Néart discovered Keith was with her she would demand his immediate return to Caisteal na Sí — and Fintan was acting as his mother's representative. He understood her heart and would come and get the prince stag as soon as he caught a whiff of him. But Maeve knew he wasn't ready for traveling. Not yet. His wound still seemed too open and raw for the continuous physical exertion of walking or riding for too long.

It just… wasn't the right time.

Maeve took a deep breath, laid the flower crown — so precious to her — carefully on the ground, and concentrated on hiding her thoughts the best she could as she ran towards the serpents to avoid them getting nearer... She fell on her knees and bowed down, stretching her hands to let them sense her, to let them coil through her body like constrictors and entwine around her form until it became hard to breathe, and everything went dark. The oppressive sensation took over every inch of her body, almost merging with her skin in excruciating pressure. Maeve writhed and whimpered but kept her mind shut.

"Found you, my little black bird," Fintan's voice sounded as clear as if he was softly speaking in her ear.

Maeve remained silent.

"I apologize. I know this is quite unpleasant, and you should not talk to anyone from the coven. But it's been a while… and I missed you," his voice turned smoother as he spoke in her mind.

What? Was he there only because he missed her?

He chuckled at her slip. "You sound surprised. To speak the truth, I'm in the middle of a thankless job. I was just passing by when I decided to seize the opportunity to check on you… I really do miss you, Maeve. I wish we could talk like before while you braided my hair."

Maeve remembered those slow afternoons in Caisteal na Sí, between lessons. The colored crystals reflecting the sunlight, birds chanting, and fresh green grass beneath her knees. Fintan's hair cascading like fire in front of her, the smell of cinnamon, foreign spices, and pungent tea. His laughter, velvety and potent.

"Wasn't it nice?" he sounded content with the evoked imagery. "Everything turned so dull since you were gone, and that prince stag arrived," Fintan's voice was imbued with disdain. "Luckily, this problem will be solved sooner than we thought, and you'll be able to return."

Maeve tried to think of pleasant things to distract herself. Flowers of multiple colors and scents, a garden in bloom, music, blue skies, the smell of roasted sheep, vegetable soup, wine, and beer. Children laughing, her mother shouting at her not to run too far.

"Are you yearning to attend the garden festival this year?" Fintan sounded surprised and a tad disappointed. "It's a little too mundane for my taste, but perhaps you're homesick. If it's important to you, I can accompany you."

Maeve swallowed hard and almost choked. She struggled to silence her mind again.

"Keep it in mind, and soon I'll be here to bring you home," he was referring to Caisteal na Sí; his home. "Maybe it'll be during the Crescent Moon, so look forward to it. And don't worry, I won't tell anything to my mother about our little conversation."

Silence. She waited for seconds that dragged on like hours, but the serpents were still smothering her.

"I feel the Goddess stronger in you than before. You're doing a good job in your exile."

His aura vanished at once, and Maeve finally breathed freely, gasping and coughing in desperation for air. The whole ordeal did not last two minutes, yet she felt as if she spent hours with Fintan inside her mind, and with his serpents intertwined around her body. She turned to the river on her hands and knees, silence in her head until she felt safe enough to think again.

Slowly she remembered golden eyes, warm and cold, tame and feral. Olive colored hair, sliding smoothly between her fingers. The body heat engulfing her completely in a way that healed the serpent's impression. The scent of virgin woods, wilderness; something sacred and untouched, something as ruthless as nature. Sweet shy smile, attractive lips challenging her for a kiss. Mushrooms and honey cakes, kindness, gentleness, dominance, power. Happy harvest in green fields, blood dripping from an arrow. The Horned God; the feverish dream of riding the stag in the middle of the woods while caressing his antlers. Winter becoming Spring, a multitude of seeds sprouting in infinite forms.

Keith.

She finally could think of Keith.

Keith's body shivered from the cold and dampness as he jolted awake, finding himself in a small boat on the river where Maeve had been fishing. The eerie silence was only interrupted by the gentle sway of the boat on the water. He curled up with some difficulty because of the pain on his side, trying to keep the heat in his body.

Keith noticed he wasn't alone, as per usual. An equally wet albeit relaxed version of himself was sitting on the other side of the boat. He chuckled as if it was an ironic joke to see him there. They hardly ever met directly, so whatever Maeve had done, it forced them together that way.

"What happened?" Keith asked, his teeth chattering slightly.

"A little Néart's trick, most likely," he shrugged, his hand reaching the edge of the boat, fingers tapping the wood slowly. "Although it was convenient, I wanted to talk to you, and there's not a piece of parchment in that hut; only books so old they might as well crumble if you look at them for too long."

"Did you snoop into her belongings?" The tone was reproachful and shocked at the same time, making him drum the wood more vigorously.

"What do you think? It was boring anyway," he sighed and looked away, making his eyes wander too. Unlike the river of his memories, in this one the water seemed endless somehow. Oddly, it was still the same river, not an ocean. Keith continued: "This is not what I wanted to talk about."

Keith knew they had a lot to catch up; he still didn't know how they ended up in the Dark Forest, and he feared about what he might have done to Maeve while he was away. She seemed more relaxed now than she was in the morning, however. Or wasn't she really, considering she had sent them away in that strange boat? Maybe he knew something about it? Anxiety started to take over his mind, and he held his knees closer.

"Don't fret, just listen," Keith leaned forward, grimacing momentarily and then favoring his right side, propping his chin on the hand that rested on his knee. "You tend to see the best in people, and this tendency of yours is worse here in Néart. The fairy folk may appear harmless due to all their gentleness and peaceful manners, but they're still humans. And humans are easily corrupted."

"Sorry, where are you going with this?" Keith was feeling uncomfortable with his words, his attention was focused on them, nonetheless.

"There's something wrong with Caisteal na Sí and that Lady of Néart," his tone was remarkably sardonic, a wicked smirk on his face. "What does she have to gain from omitting details of the ceremony to us? Dear father doing it is the same old, same old. But the High Priestess who is supposed to conduct a ritual as important as it is for Néart and Jade, one which our failure could cause the rupture of the kingdom? It almost sounds like she wants us to fail, doesn't it?"

"What do you know?" Keith remembered that, in fact, Maeve seemed baffled he wasn't properly instructed yet, but he believed it could be just a matter of timing, and there wouldn't be anything more serious than what she had told him already. Embarrassing? Yes. But nothing that could risk a civil war.

"I know that if we refuse to take part in the ceremony as the prince stag, there'll be war. And I know that the ceremony isn't just about food, wine, and bedding a virgin priestess. It is about dueling tribal warriors, even Master Fintan with this kind of trickery," his raised finger turned around, indicating the situation they're in, "but worse. Then there is the stag hunting, by foot, only with the Arcadia in hand. There'll be multiple chances of ending up dead. Even for me. And being thrown into this unprepared seems like the perfect death sentence."

Keith paused, as if giving a moment for the information to sink in. The boat moved a little more violently, the water stream beneath it becoming more turbulent.

"Did she tell you this?" Keith asked, bewildered, and he casually nodded in return.

"Not the part about dying, but it's simple math."

"But Jade would still have a king, why would Néart rise against him if we die?" A bolt of lightning shone silently in the horizon, and Keith shuddered.

"What if we were sent here to restore the alliance precisely because his reign is coming to an end? If we die, there will be no heir because his royal lineage wasn't strong enough to follow tradition with Néart, weakening the Crown. Unless…" Keith laughed maliciously, the boat tossing and turning due to the tumultuous water and forcing them to grab the edge more firmly. "Unless father had left his blood here during his ceremony. Wouldn't it be the perfect reason for Néart to try and kill the weak, loser prince, and replace him for a more fitting one?"

Keith's stomach churned, the sky now in complete darkness and the water a chaotic mass of white-capped waves, crashing against the sides of the boat with ferocity.

"These are just theories, naturally," Keith tapped the wood again, nonchalantly. "But there's one thing that I can't even try to make sense of: Maeve." Their golden eyes crossed, so alike and yet different at the same time. "She told me she was the favorite to be chosen in the ceremony, and yet she was banished by the Lady to this place in order to avoid her even meeting us. Ironic, isn't it?"

"We're here despite the Lady's efforts..." Keith concluded in a confused whisper.

"And I'll claim her during the ritual anyway," he grinned, eyes shining with lust and greed.

"You can't do this," Keith tried to stand, but the motion of the waves knocked him on his knees. The wound ached more than before, and he touched it instinctively. For some reason, at the same time he heard her voice start calling his name in the distance. He tried to look around, but Maeve was nowhere to be seen. Keith stared with him mischiefly.

"Say you won't do anything with her," he pleaded, his hand getting wetter than before, but warmer.

It was blood. He was visibly bleeding too.

"Why not? You want it, too. Or will you wait until June? Pathetic…" Keith approached him, his cold eyes looking down at him made him feel belittled. "I'll promise you this, and only this: I won't deflower her before the ceremony. It'll be my prize for surviving the ritual."

"You–" Keith was interrupted by the howl of a wind that seemed to sweep everything around them. The horizon wasn't clear anymore, it was as if they were suddenly engulfed by a fog.

"Oh, one last thing: somehow she knows about me. She called you my other face, isn't she the sweetest?" He smiled, oddly glad. "And it goes without saying, but we have to go back to Caisteal as soon as possible to find out what they are planning. I will ask her what else can be done about this," he looked down at the blood pooling on his shirt.

"You won't," Keith finally was able to stand, facing him with a sudden new found strength. "I will."

And then there was nothing but a melodious voice still calling his name.