Here's the next chapter! Sorry it took so long. I'd written it a while ago, but I couldn't seem to figure out how to end it. So it needed tweaking. Anywho, here it is! Please REVIEW!

Niall awoke in a luxurious feathered bed beside a hearth. His eyes were still bleary and his lids still heavy, but he was fairly certain that he was safe. Now, at least. Flashes of what happened scraped at his mind, leaving him feeling raw and vulnerable and afraid. He chose not to dwell on what they would have done to him had they not been stopped by… by whom? Niall could barely remember his savior's face. All he remembered where two glowing green eyes-

"Niall? Niall, are you awake?" Niall turned his head in the direction of the shaky-albeit velvety- baritone voice. Irial was sitting on a duvet to the left of his bed, staring at him with pure concern and… something else Niall couldn't quite name.

In the reddened glow from the hearth, the faery looked just as beautiful as he'd been a night ago, when he'd lit the candle in the small pantry. His dark hair fell about his shoulders in an almost surreal way, shimmering like his eyes.

With bruised lips, Niall croaked, "Yes. For now."

Irial nodded once, exhaling. "Good. That is good." He clasped Niall's resting hand and intertwined their fingers. Then he brought the hand to his lips.

His mouth tingled Niall's skin. Niall cleared his throat and attempted to sit up.

Irial tsk-tsked him. In a gentle voice, he said, "You shouldn't move overmuch, love. You need time to heal."

Niall met his dark eyes. "You summoned healers?" Gods, his injuries must be worse than he thought.

Irial looked aghast. "Of course. You are rather injured when Gabriel found you; I would never risk your wellbeing."

"Gabriel?"

Irial looked a bit sad, but a smile played on his lips, as if for Niall's sake. "He is my fondest, most loyal friend. And protector", he added obliquely.

Niall tried not to look disappointed that this Gabriel was closer to Irial's heart than Niall was. It was an inappropriate feeling, especially if the man in question had indeed saved Niall from those… monsters. He should be feeling gratitude; not jealousy.

Instead of speaking this aloud, Niall said, "I am forever in his debt."

Irial just clasped his hand more firmly around Niall's, holding it as if for guidance. Niall let him. Some time passed until Niall finally whispered, "The fey… they called you their "King". What do they mean, Irial?"

An odd look passed over Irial's face, one that seemed introverted and unlike the faery Niall thought he knew. "Pay their words no heed. You need not worry about them ever again."

Niall looked like he wanted to broach the subject, but Irial's haggard expression stopped him. Instead, he held on tighter to the warm hand in his grasp and tried to ease into the pillows. "I was on my way to see you", he admitted quietly, his voice sounding raw to his ears. "I feared I'd never see you again after that night."

Irial did not speak this time. But Niall felt those piercing eyes on his all the same. Then with even quieter words, Niall said, "While they… attacked me, they called me your whore." Niall paused, suddenly. Against his better judgment, he felt a sudden spring of tears to his eyes. Stop. He did not want to appear weak in front of Irial. "Is that what I am to you, Irial?"

He knew it was a terrible, terrible question. But the dreaded need to know was far too strong. Irial was stunning and powerful and everything Niall was not and never could be. It made the faery question why this magnificent creature fancied him in the slightest.

Of all of the reactions Niall could have predicted, however, he did not expect this one. Irial's brows lowered and he looked absolutely livid. A vein leapt in his jaw. "Do not heed them. They know nothing", he spat, looking Niall directly in the eyes. "They are a troubled lot, and will be dealt with soon enough. I promise you."

Then, stroking his knuckles along Niall's mouth, Irial said in a more tender voice, "There is nothing that matters to me more", Irial admitted. "You are more than I could have ever imagined."

Niall swallowed at Irial's declaration, his eyes wide. When a stupid tear escaped, Irial brushed it away with his thumb. Then the faery stood up and pressed a kiss to Niall's forehead, the warmth in his eyes astounding. "I shall return soon, love."

As he watched Irial go, Niall fought the urge to cry, his throat working oddly. Instead, he bit his lip and leaned back into the pillows, staring off at the cathedral-like celling.

No one had ever said he mattered, save for his mother.

When Irial left Niall in the healing room, he could barely think straight. His eyes were afire with rage and hostility, embers that stoked his veins and frazzled his mind until he was left breathing harshly. The idea that they had hurt what was his (what was going to be mine, his mind hastily amended) that they had served in further tarnishing Niall's innocence was enough to make Irial want to find them all and torture them one-by-one. The Court would enjoy that, he thought darkly. And it has been a long while since I engaged in a good torture.

Turning down the dimly lit corridor, Irial ran a hand through his hair and made a grimace that barely exceeded a scowl. He stopped suddenly when he spotted Gabriel leaning against one of the marble columns of the foyer, his eyes focused intently on outside's downpour.

The massive hound gave a slight tilt of the head upon hearing Irial's approach, his ears visibly alert.

"Two are in captivity. The others have escaped", he rumbled in a low baritone.

Irial cleared his throat, coming to stand beside Gabriel. "Of this, I am aware."

For a time, the two men stared at the rain, an untestable silence between them. The larger man titled his head in an acutely canine way. Irial strummed his fingers along his folded arms. Then Gabriel uttered, "He said your name."

Irial cut his gaze sharply to the hound, his eyes hard. "What?"

"The boy. He said your name before he fell unconscious."

Irial's jaw grew taut as an image of Niall bleeding and helpless flooded his thoughts. He remembered those overlarge honey eyes lazily meeting his in the bedroom, brimming with tears. In a voice that didn't sound like his own, he said, "For truth?"

"Of course."

Irial became increasingly aware of the rain beating the window. Of Gabriel's steady breathing. His throat was dry and his heartbeat quickened. The shadow from the stone column seemed far too dark. "Does he know…" he began unsurely, pausing once to look at Gabriel. "Does he know what I am? What we are?"

Gabriel shook his head slowly. "Not that I am aware."

Irial closed his eyes, unwilling to let Gabriel see just how relieved he was at that admission. Irial didn't want Niall to find out the truth about him- at least, not yet. Not when his Gancanagh was not yet his to behold. Not when Niall was so… fragile still. Not when the truth was so very, very messy. More messy than Irial cared to admit- especially to Niall. Dark Court matters were always messy in nature, and Irial would hate for Niall to discover that he not only knew the monsters who'd maimed him, but that he ruled them. As Dark King. As the King of Nightmares.

Clearing his throat, Irial said, "He cannot know. Not now. Not so soon."

Gabriel merely nodded, his eyes his focused on the grayed sky and the miles of land that stretched beyond the Dark Court. Withered trees and black leaves. Then in his low, grumbled voice he mused, almost to himself, "Sentiment, Irial."

Irial could hear the smile in his voice- and he did not like it. The Dark King narrowed his eyes. "What are you talking about, Gabriel?"

The hound remained unbristled by Irial's tone. "I see the way you look at this one… Differently than all the others. I fear what it means."

He gave Irial a pointed look, surprising the Dark King with its candidness. "Sentiment can be a derailment, Irial. You of all people know that."

Irial swallowed, his mouth a hard line. "I know that well enough", he muttered, unable to meet Gabriel's eyes. "I am not infatuated with the boy like some young pup, Gabriel. I am the Dark King." Irial spat the word "infatuated" as if it were mercury on his tongue.

When Irial looked over, Gabriel's green eyes were visibly judging him, but- as if for Irial's sake- the hound didn't speak his judgments aloud. Instead he made a scornful noise in that rumbly chest of his and resumed looking at the cold glass window.

Irial grimaced, feeling oddly like a child who'd been scolded. "What would you have me do, Gabriel? Treat him coldly?" He hated how desperate and frustrated his voice sounded.

Gabriel's somber gaze remained on Irial, but he shrugged noncommittally. "In all of the time I've known you, Irial, you have never looked kindly upon another. Not truly. You have at times shown glimpses of fondness, you have sometimes spoken sweet words, but your perception of sentiment and its weakness has remained unchanged… until now. Your attachment to the boy outweighs your fondness for all others and you scarcely know him. It is odd, Irial. Very odd." For a Dark King, was left unsaid, but was heavily implied.

After the hound had spoken all there was to say, he turned to the glass and tapped it gently. "But…I cannot tell you how to be, My King. That is not a warrior' duty to his liege." Then the hound smiled once at Irial and walked down the long corridor.

Irial stood, staring at the paling sky and the pouring rain. Shadows danced along his face. And at that moment, he wanted nothing more than to see to Niall, to heal his wounds with his body, to ease his tears with a kiss. But that would further prove Gabriel's point, would it not?

Irial shut his eyes suddenly, overwhelmed by his thoughts. I am an idiot. A bumbling fool. I should have never allowed this sentiment: He is not mine to keep…

Irial turned away sharply from the glass, overcome with a strange emotion, feeling vulnerable and unlike himself. Gabriel was right. Irial knew this. He'd never once doubted the veracity of his advisor's observations. The Hound may be a fighter, but he was loyal and excruciatingly perceptive of all things.

Irial did not want to accept these truths, however. He did not want this sentiment. This feeling. He'd wanted Niall, yes. Since he'd first laid eyes on him many moons ago. He'd desired him, desired his profound innocence and precious spark of danger, and undeniable strength. But Irial's possessive- and rather unexplainable- concern for the boy was taking him entirely by surprise. And for once in a long, long while, Irial knew no remedy to his current debacle. Even though he despised it for its weakness. Sentiment, Gabriel had called it.

Damn me, he thought, pressing a hand to his forehead. Damn me indeed.