Once Upon a Time

by LA Knight

Wolves in human skin. A Beast and a lost maiden. A sanctuary in a storm. A prince of Elven blood. Sacrifices, debts, honor, & oaths. Ten long, beautiful years, and all the stories that fall within. A collected fic series; currently on book 13. Updates when I can because hey it's a pandemic. Early access available on Patreon.

64. Long Have I Loved You

Author's Note: omg you guys, I can't wait for you to read this one! I'm sooooo excited, I can't wait! Hey, Chymera, are you still there? Just curious. Anyway, I cannot wait, I'm hyperventilating over here. You guys are gonna LOVE this one, I am almost positive. Of course I could be on mental-acid and not know what I'm talking about but we'll just have to see, won't we? So…yeah. Let's get on with the show, yeah? Love ya!

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Chapter Sixty-Four

Long Have I Loved You

that is

A Short Tale of an Impressive Cat, Hurt, a Sister's Love, Inexplicable Fear, a Vow, a Confrontation, the Power of the Heir, and a Painful Question

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I do not believe this, Guardswoman Fionnlagh McTadgh grumbled silently as she and the other thirteen guards attempted to fit themselves in the hallway just beyond the healing chamber that currently housed the crown prince and his mortal. Babysitting a human. What would the Téngshé want with her, anyway? It's not as if she would make a viable hostage. The Silverlance is merely playing with her; he'll replace her eventually. So why bother?

Looking around, she studied the other members of the king's elite that had been summoned to guard either the prince or his lady. She, Ailís, Gráinne, and Onóra were the only women. Not surprising. Female Butchers, rare as they were in the palace, weren't usually given tasks as menial as guarding anyone less than the king himself—and, in certain instances, Her Highness the princess when propriety dictated male guards were inappropriate.

Yet all four of them were here, by request of Prince Nuada and by backing order of the king and Captain Phelan and Captain Sáruit, to protect his mortal toy. Why? Why bother protecting the girl at all? Why not simply allow her to fend for herself?

Besides, she had that…boy. The cat-boy, whatever he was. Fionnlagh had never seen his kind before, but he seemed capable enough of handling whatever might attack a lone human. So why attach six Butch Guards to the woman? And why were the king's elite to answer to that cat-boy?

Granted, that wasn't precisely what Captain Phelan had said. He'd merely said that the youth had more experience with the human, and would know best how to handle her without giving offense to either her or the prince; any questions about the prince's lady should be addressed to her young guard unless otherwise directed.

Fionnlagh wanted to spit. The cub looked to be barely halfway through his seventh century, by Butcher standards. Fionnlagh herself was a warrior in her prime—a few decades past her fifteenth century, she was comparable to the human woman in physical age. She wasn't a Butcher captain, or even a lieutenant, but she had served under Captain Oísin mac Conan's female counterpart, Co-Captain Sáruit ingen Chuinn, for nearly a thousand years. Surely she had more experience than this still-wet-behind-the-ears cat-boy.

Gráinne, Fionnlagh's partner, nudged the other guard in the ribs, a silent reminder to keep calm and not lose her temper. Where Fionnlagh was often all internal flash and temper, swift to form prejudices that were then incredibly difficult to knock aside, Gráinne was as calm and serene as a star-gazing pool. She kept her opinions to herself unless asked, kept a sharp eye on everything and everyone around her, and had a good head on her shoulders despite being a few centuries Fionnlagh's junior. Gráinne was quite interested in meeting this faerie boy that had chosen to ally himself with not only the legendary Silverlance, but the mortal woman everyone was talking about.

The door to the healing chamber opened and the youth in question stepped out, followed by a massive black hound with eyes of piercing, glacial blue. Every guard recognized the fey beast as belonging to the prince. They'd heard—and some had even seen—the ivory and night-black pair of hounds that guarded the prince's mortal plaything, though Fionnlagh had not. Was this one of them?

*Who is to guard Master's lady?* The hound demanded. From its—his—voice, and the fact that it only reached the cat-boy's waist, the Butchers knew the beast was young. But young or not, it still had sharp teeth and a warrior instinct bred through the centuries and honed by training. *Step forward.*

Fionnlagh led Ailís, Gráinne and Onóra from their place against the wall to stand before the hound and the cat youth. Guardsman Ailbho and Guardsman Uaithne did the same. When the youth locked eyes with Fionnlagh, she was momentarily nonplussed to see his smoky turquoise eyes were coolly assessing. There was no hint of insecurity or indecision in his gaze or on his leonine face.

"His Highness and my lady have said I should come out and speak to you; introduce myself. I have one question and one question only, and then you may do whatever you like. I know you're more experienced than I am. I'm not going to presume to give out orders to veterans when I'm fairly new at this.

"But you should know—I am Tsu's'di Ka'ta Ewah, of the Children of the Cougar, and I am loyal first and foremost to Lady Dylan of Central Park and secondly to His Royal Highness Prince Nuada Silverlance, heir to the Golden Throne of Bethmoora. My question is this: are you also loyal? Will you actually protect Lady Dylan, or will you merely feign sincerity because she is human, or because you don't like the prince? If it's the latter, then get lost. We don't need you. If it's the former, then thanks for the help because I need it. Anyone who has a problem with my lady or her lord, leave. And be sure to send a replacement."

Sétanta could hear the cougar youth's heart pounding hard in his chest. Smell his nervousness. His fur bristled slightly, but the youth managed to keep his ears erect and his whiskers did not quiver. No yowl or snarl rumbled beneath the coolly spoken words. Sétanta knew his mistress's two-legger guard had been thinking up what to say ever since Master had told him that new guards would be coming to help and that Tsu's'di was to "introduce himself" to the king's elite. And Master had known the ewah youth would say something like this. Technically, Tsu's'di was to follow the Butchers' orders, but he was also to be considered their equal.

Sétanta wasn't quite sure how two-leggers managed that sort of thing—among hounds, pack-leader was pack-leader, and what they ordered was obeyed, and no one was the equal of a pack-leader but the pack-leader's mate—but Master understood things about two-leggers that Sétanta did not. As long as it kept Master's lady safe, the hound pup didn't care.

"With all Due Respect, young guardsman," Uaithne, the oldest of the six Butchers assigned to the Lady Dylan, said into the silence, "you are rather…bold to make such demands of your superiors. What gives you the right, a boy of your tender years, to speak to us this way?"

The youth squared his shoulders. Fionnlagh found herself admiring the cat-boy's refusal to be intimidated by the much larger Uaithne.

"I am young—a couple years shy of my eighth decade. At that time, I shall be considered a man grown by the laws and customs of the ewah. However, I have fought to provide for and protect my family for over thirty years. I understand duty and loyalty.

"And I am Lady Dylan's guardian, hand-chosen by His Royal Highness Prince Nuada Silverlance. While you do not answer to me, I do not answer to you, either. I answer to His Highness. As I value my neck—and my lady's—I want to be certain that I'm trusting my mistress to warriors who will actually protect her. I know about the prejudice many fae have against humans. If it's a problem, I don't want you here, and neither does the prince. And I have the prince's ear. That's what gives me the right."

All right, Fionnlagh decided. She could admit it—the cat-boy had guts, for all he was as green as grass and wetter than water behind the ears. And at least he had some experience. Thirty years protecting his family, eh? That explained the cool, hard look in those cat-slitted smoky turquoise eyes when he scanned the assembled Butchers. And he'd admitted the king's elite were more experienced; not an arrogant twit, then. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad.

Uaithne looked down at the cat-faced youth in royal blue and dove gray livery, a blade at each hip and claws half-unsheathed to catch the torchlight. Not even eighty years old. The lad was younger than his son Tadgh. But he'd been fighting for almost half his life. Evidence of that glinted like steel in the depths of his smoky eyes. And his loyalty to his mortal mistress was both surprising and gratifying. Uaithne had grown inexplicably fond of the prince's human lady in the days since Silverlance had been injured. It was good that her guardian obviously loved her.

"Well said, lad," the Butcher replied, clapping Tsu's'di on the shoulder. "I have no problem serving Lady Dylan; I would wager the rest of my company feel the same as I. What say you, Fionnlagh? Ailbho?"

Guardsman Ailbho nodded to the ewah youth. So did Guardswomen Ailís, Gráinne, and Onóra. Fionnlagh folded her arms across her armored chest and leveled her glittering black eyes on the cat-boy. Tsu's'di stared right back, unintimidated.

"If she means what they say to the crown prince, then my loyalty to my king dictates I guard her as dearly as I would His Majesty. And so I shall. But," the guardswoman added, "if the prince and his lady spend most of their time gazing adoringly into each others' eyes, no one blame me for retching."

Tsu's'di grinned. "They do that sometimes. It's terrible. Just sic my little brother on them to make them stop; he's Lady Dylan's page."

Fionnlagh cocked her head. "A little cat-boy? What could he do?"

"Yell 'ew, gross' at the top of his lungs," the ewah replied. "Little brothers make excellent mood-killers."

Fionnlagh laughed. Thinking of her younger brother Loén, who'd been the bane of her love life during her years as a maiden, she said, "Very true." The Butcher clapped the young guard on his other shoulder. "I think you and I will get along, Tsu's'di Ka'ta."

Offering a sardonic smile and a thumbs-up, Tsu's'di said, "Cool."

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"I think they're getting along," Dylan said, eyeing the partially-open door. Concern and amusement had warred within her when Tsu's'di had squared his shoulders, raked his claws through the ragged mane that served him for hair, and marched out into the hall with Sétanta to "introduce himself" to the newly-acquired royal guards. "I heard laughing. Am I supposed to hear laughing?"

"The question you should ask is, do you hear anyone leaving? The answer is no. That means Tsu's'di's little speech had the proper effect."

Dylan slanted her eyes at Nuada. "What speech? What exactly is going on? Lorcc left not even ten minutes ago, and you haven't said a word to Tsu's'di this entire time, other than, 'Go introduce yourself.' What are you two planning?" Suspicious, she narrowed her eyes. "Is there something going on I need to know about?"

Dark lips quirked into an amused smile. "If there was, do you not think I would have told you?"

"Maybe." Moonlit blue met sunlit gold eyes. "Okay, yes, you would. But what speech are you talking about?"

"Your boy informed my father's guards that if they had any issues with your mortality, they could enjoy an extended holiday in Hell. More or less." Nuada grinned when Dylan clapped a hand over her mouth. "They were quite impressed. Butchers respect that sort of brash young arrogance. If his life had been an easier one, they would have been less impressed by him, but the harshness of his world is reflected in his eyes. The king's elite saw that. He's earned their respect."

"So…everything is fine now?" She relaxed when the Elf prince nodded. "Good. Um…I know Uaithne and Ailbho, but who are the other four guards you requested for me? Are they…I feel dumb asking this, but are they nice?"

"They're efficient," Nuada replied. "Guardswoman Ailís has been with the Butcher Guards since I was young. Her mother, Sorcha, was part of the Queen's Guard when I was a boy. Sorcha was the reason…" He paused. Something flickered in his eyes. "Sorcha was the reason my sister and I survived long enough for Wink to save us the day my mother was killed. The day Ailís was accepted into the Butcher Guards, she said her mother was the reason she wanted to protect the king; to make up for her mother's supposed failure in protecting the queen.

"Onóra is young, but I heard good things of her from my father during my exile." Unspoken were the words, When I would hear from my father at all. "She was the youngest of her people to make it into the Butcher Guards, and the youngest to be assigned as a royal guard. Apparently she joined to be part of the Prince's Guard."

"I thought everyone knew you'd gone into exile, though."

"Every member of the royal family has the right to a retinue of Butcher Guards. Except when under house-arrest," Nuada added with no little bitterness, "you also have the right to refuse having a plague of royal babysitters." Dylan smiled. The Elf prince sighed and forced the tension out of his body. "Onóra specifically joined the Guard to protect me."

"Ohhh, I see," Dylan said, grinning. Nuada narrowed his eyes. "So she, what? Had a crush on you? You're like…a celebrity to her. That is so cute."

His eyes slashed at her like topaz daggers—ineffectual topaz daggers. "Dylan—"

"I'll trade you," she said. "You can have Onóra and I'll take one of the guys you've already got. That way she can guard you like she's always wanted."

"Absolutely not." Nuada folded his arms across his chest. Winced when the half-healed slice across his upper arm twinged. "If I take Onóra, I also have to take Ailís. I want at least four female guards with you at all times." Leaning back against his pillows, he muttered, "And I'd rather you had to deal with Ailís."

Dylan cocked her head. "What's wrong with Ailís?" Nuada mumbled something. "Huh?" He rolled his eyes and growled under his breath. "Why do I get the feeling that if you were anyone else, you'd be blushing? Just tell me." The Elf prince said five words that made Dylan's jaw drop. "Are you serious? That's your problem?"

Nuada growled, "Woman—"

"Okay, okay. I'll keep Ailís and Onóra, jeez. Wouldn't want you to be tempted, after all."

"Woman—"

"All right! Yikes. Don't be embarrassed. It's cute," she said, smiling. Thank the stars she wasn't laughing at him. His pride could only take so much. "And kind of stupid," Dylan added. "But cute."

Nuada scowled at her. "It is not the only reason, as I've said. And though it was a long time ago, she has never forgiven me. She was always one for holding grudges." Noticing the way the corners of Dylan's mouth twitched, he added, "And besides, mo duinne, I would hate for you to be jealous of a mere guard."

"I don't get jealous," she told him with a smirk.

A blond brow winged upward. "Oh? That is not quite how I recall your reaction to Naya when you met her."

The good humor sparkling in her eyes faded and her smile slipped away. She slid her gaze to the toes of her sneakers peeking out from under the hems of the jeans she'd worn to work that morning. There it was again—Naya. Not Polunochnaya or even Lady Naya, but just Naya. It was close, intimate, the way Nuada said her name. Her nickname, rather. He didn't even speak of Lorelei like that. Didn't call her Lori or Lei-Lei or some other saccharine pet name. But he called the Zwezdan noblewoman "Naya."

Am I jealous? Dylan wondered, not for the first time. Jealousy was a natural reaction, she supposed. Until this point, she'd only had to share Nuada's regard with one other woman—Nuala. And there was no room in Dylan to be jealous of the Elf princess when most of her attention was taken up with just how thoroughly the mortal disliked Nuada's twin sister for being a stuck-up, unfeeling witch to the prince. So it would make sense for Dylan to resent Nuada's…feelings for Polunochnaya.

It didn't really matter if she was jealous, though. What mattered was that Nuada was making fun of her about it. Maybe he thought it amusing that seeing him and the lady-in-waiting together tied Dylan up in knots of anxiety, nerves, hurt, irritation, and uncertainty…but it wasn't funny. She opened her mouth to say so. Tasted hot anger in the back of her throat. Closed her mouth again.

She didn't want to fight with him. She wouldn't fight with him. Not over something so stupid. Either she didn't have a reason to be jealous, and Polunochnaya wasn't trying to make a move on the prince, and so Dylan would be in the wrong for getting this upset—or the Zwezdan Elf was trying to stir up trouble between Dylan and Nuada, and getting angry and fighting with the Elven warrior would play right into Polunochnaya's hands.

"Dylan?" Nuada frowned, studying her suddenly solemn expression and downcast eyes. Why had she gone so quiet? He had only been teasing…"Dylan, are you well?"

The mortal shook her head as if to bring herself back to reality. Focused on the amber-eyed prince. "Yeah, I'm fine." She forced her mouth into a smile that felt as if it would crack her face in half. "Sorry, I zoned out for a minute. Anyway, what were we talking about? Oh, right. Jealousy. I don't get jealous, Your Highness, unless I have a reason to be. Anyway, it's late, so I'm going to bed, okay? Good night."

Before he could even rally his thoughts to respond, she'd bounced out of the chair and slipped from the room. Slightly stunned, Nuada sat back and tried to figure out what just happened. She hadn't even kissed him goodnight. In fact, he realized he had not kissed her since before the duel. What was going on with her?

I don't get jealous unless I have a reason to be.

A reason? What in the world did that mean? And why had there been such hurt in her eyes?

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Tsu's'di made the introductions as Dylan moved down the hall, surrounded by six Butchers, two faerie hounds, and a cougar youth. Though the Butchers all wore their beaked iron helmets, Dylan found she could tell them apart by certain little details.

Uaithne and Ailbho, whom Dylan had already gotten to know over the last few days, had more masculine shoulders. Ailbho was the more slender of the two, having not quite finished filling out just yet. Guardswoman Ailís was tall and wore her long, dark hair in a thick braid that fell nearly to her waist from beneath her helmet. Guardswoman Onóra wore her hair in a braid as well, but it only reached the middle of her back; a black scar cut across the left side of her neck and down over her collarbone. Gráinne, whom Tsu's'di said was the one of the youngest female Butchers, was missing the little finger of her left hand, made visible by the fingerless leather gloves she wore. And Fionnlagh, her senior partner, wore her hair in seven long warrior's braids and bore burn scars all along the exposed portions of her arms.

All six guards gave Dylan the fist-to-chest salute, the same one she'd received every time she'd walked into Nuada's healing chamber over the last week, before falling into formation around her. After introducing them all, Tsu's'di fell into step beside her. He wanted to ask his mistress if everything was all right—saying she looked "upset" would have been an understatement—but he knew intuitively that she wouldn't answer with strangers around.

Once in her suite, Ailbho and Uaithne took up position in the sitting room. If anything was going to attempt to get in through the front door of Lady Dylan's suite, it would have to go through them first. Tsu's'di went to bed. Dylan had already put A'du and 'Sa'ti to bed, so she told Eimh and Sétanta she was going to have a bath. Then she remembered the four Butcher women who were supposed to guard her.

"Um…if it's all right with you four," she said in Gaelic. "Or are you tired? I can wait for a bath, I guess. Until tomorrow. If you'd rather sleep. Or…" She puffed a lock of hair out of her face. "I don't really know how this whole guard thing works. I don't want to be an inconvenience."

One of the guards—from the long single braid, Dylan recognized Ailís—said, "If my lady pleases, we will take shifts. Two of us will watch over you while two of us rest. That way we will be at our best. Onóra and I will take the first shift, if it pleases you. Gráinne and Fionnlagh will take the second. So it will be our duty to stand watch while you have your bath. You need not worry about us, milady."

Comforting words, if they hadn't been spoken so…tonelessly. There was no malice or disdain in Ailís's voice, but neither was there any warmth or kindness. The Butcher didn't dislike Dylan, but she didn't like her, either.

"Thank you," Dylan murmured, and went to see if Eimh had managed to draw yet another miraculously perfect bath for her.

Having Ailís and Onóra actually in the bathroom with her while she soaked in the tub made the experience less than satisfying. At least they didn't look. Instead, they kept their backs turned, watching Sétanta chasing his tail just beyond the bathroom door. Eimh lounged by the edge of the tub while Dylan tried to enjoy the deliciously hot water and the fragrant steam misting off the water's surface. But the presence of the two Butchers was impossible to ignore.

With a surreptitious glance their way, Dylan took a breath and ducked beneath the surface. Floating weightless, suspended in the water, she forced herself to relax. To just calm down. It was all right that she had bodyguards. Invasive bodyguards. It wasn't their fault, and she certainly didn't hold it against them. It was just…awkward. It was okay, though. Nuada needed to know she was safe. Hurt as he was, he couldn't ensure her safety himself, so he was doing the next best thing. It was a small price to pay to ensure harmony between them.

Dylan blew the air in her lungs out with a whoosh that surrounded her with bubbles. She almost smiled. This was almost like being back at the sanctuary. While she and Nuada hadn't exactly gotten along back in those days, she had never felt safer than in the enchanted underground haven—except when Nuada held her in his arms.

Unbidden came the question, Does Naya feel safe when he holds her in his arms? Dylan nearly choked. Breaking the surface, she drew a deep breath and ducked under again. No. No, she was not going to do this to herself. She was not going to freak out about "the other woman." Whatever the Zwezdan Elf had had with Nuada was ancient history and there was no reason for Dylan to be twisting herself up into knots over it.

It's just the Adversary screwing with me, she told herself firmly. A flare of heat warmed her chest, but ice trickled down her spine. Great. And I'm so tired and worn out from everything, I'm getting my spiritual wires crossed. I think it's the Adversary, and then get both a confirmation and a negation at the same time. Whatever that means. I'll figure it out after I get out of the bathtub and say my prayers.

Once out of the tub, dried off and dressed in another pair of pajama pants and one of Nuada's shirts—he'd said she could have her pick—Dylan found herself nodding off over her nightly scripture study. Realizing she would soon be passed out sprawled across her scriptures, she slipped a bookmark into place and went to her knees at her bedside to say her prayers.

And ran face-first into a mental wall in the form of Ailís, Onóra, Gráinne and Fionnlagh. To her surprise, Dylan found it nearly impossible to concentrate properly while silently saying her prayers. Forming the words wasn't an issue, but the warmth and peace Dylan normally managed to find during this time eluded her. Prayer wasn't just a one-sided conversation; it was supposed to be a two-way path of communication between a person and God. She'd never had trouble establishing that pathway…until now. She was just too distracted by the presence of other people watching her while she tried to pray.

All right, they weren't exactly staring at her. But she knew that Ailís and Onóra were well aware that their new "mistress" was on her knees with her head bowed, and she had no doubt they knew she was praying.

For some reason, that silent awareness made the spot between Dylan's shoulderblades itch. She just wasn't sure why. It was different from the nerves that coiled in her stomach when she saw Polunochnaya, or that Fomorian prince and his friend, or the chamberlain; not as urgent, but still distracting.

Excuse me for a moment, Gracious Heavenly Father, Dylan murmured silently, and quickly closed her prayer. Getting to her feet, she brushed herself off and scanned the room for a place she could briefly escape the scrutiny of her bodyguards. Her eyes alighted on the door of her walk-in closet.

"Um…excuse me a second, everyone. I need to go in my closet."

She couldn't tell if the Butcher Guards were staring at her or not, but she would've imagined they were. Fionnlagh ventured, "You…need to go into…your closet?"

"Yeah, I'll be back in a few minutes. Hang on."

Feeling their eyes on her back, she darted into the massive walk-in closet and closed the door so she could kneel and finish her prayer.

Dear Heavenly Father, I'm sorry about the interruption. I was having a hard time focusing. Please excuse me. And please help me to concentrate more readily in the future, Heavenly Father, Dylan prayed, trying to ignore the knowledge that the Butchers were waiting for her just beyond the doors. And please bless me with a softer, more forgiving heart. I need to stop snapping at Nuada and getting angry with him when he doesn't do anything. I can tell he's trying to keep his temper. When he's yelling at me, that's one thing—although I know I'm not supposed to let that get to me, either. But it's worse if he's not even yelling or being mean. If he can keep his temper, I should be able to as well. Please help me to do that. And please help me to not be jealous of Polunochnaya. I know Nuada loves me. At least…I think he does. And help me to have a more open heart and mind so that I might feel Thy Spirit more easily. I thank Thee for listening. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Usually reading scriptures and praying helped Dylan to fall asleep, but not tonight. After she went back into the room and laid in bed, sleepiness stealing over her, she was still intensely aware of the watchful presence of Ailís and Onóra at her bedroom door, and Gráinne and Fionnlagh dozing ever so lightly at her window. Ailbho and Uaithne were shadows at the edges of Dylan's awareness even though they remained in her sitting room.

And even though she was exhausted, it took her a very long time to fall into troubled sleep.

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It wasn't hard to convince Nuada she didn't need guards in the mortal world. For one thing, her ring enabled her to disappear almost in the blink of an eye. For another, no one outside of King Balor, Prince Nuada, and Dylan herself knew just where the ensorcelled ring was taking her.

And there was no way anyone could hop from Findias, which was in the part of Faerie that corresponded to mortal Ireland, all the way to Elphame, the part of Faerie that corresponded to mortal America—where Nuada's sanctuary happened to be. Not in the same time she could. Never mind hopping from Bethmoora to Elphame to New York in the space of a few heartbeats and then back again.

Nuada didn't like it, but he conceded during the next morning's conversation that she had a point. So Dylan managed to get to work without having to cart along six glamored royal guards, two glamored dogs, and a glamored teenage cougar. Even glamored to invisibility, such a large entourage would've been a problem in her rather small office.

Dylan found herself luxuriating in the solitude her office afforded during the snatched moments between therapy sessions. Checking her calendar, she found that Jared and Simon Grace were scheduled to see her after her lunch hour. Excellent. Instead of eating, she reveled in an hour of sleeping all by herself. True, it was on a dinky little sofa, but she was alone. Blessedly alone. No Butchers, no Tsu's'di, no dogs, no one. Just her and the sofa and a pillow.

Ariel woke her up when the Graces arrived. Jared and Simon would let her snack during their session; they always did.

.

Tsu's'di glanced up from his bowl of porridge when Fionnlagh plopped down across the table. After a moment of uncertain silence, the cougar youth offered an insolent two-fingered salute. "Yo. S'up." A'du'la'di and 'Sa'ti waved before lifting bowls of cream-doused porridge to their mouths and slurping it down.

"Why did she go into her closet last night?" The Butcher Guard asked. "And this morning? Is it a human thing?"

The ewah blinked. "A'ge'lv Dylan? She…went into her closet?"

"Yes, for about five or ten minutes both times. Each time, she emerged looking as if some great weight had been lifted from her shoulders. What was she doing?"

Tsu's'di's whiskers quivered. "Um…I don't…know?"

"Bleh vush zing her pears," A'du'la'di garbled from behind his porridge bowl. 'Sa'ti nodded, licking cream off her whiskers.

"Don't talk with your mouth full," his brother admonished. The cougar cub pulled his head out of the porridge bowl long enough to stick his tongue out at his brother and lick his lips before snaking his furry head forward again to continue where he'd left off with breakfast. Tsu's'di snagged him by the back of the neck. "Hold up; what was it you said?"

The boy shrugged. "A'ge'lv Dylan was saying her prayers. You're supposed to say them by yourself if you can. Remember? She told us when she taught us about praying. That way you can really com…com…com-ni-cat with the Star Kindler."

"Communicate," his brother corrected automatically. "Why her closet, though?"

"She's by herself," A'du replied. "No diss-tack-shuns."

"Distractions," Tsu's'di said. The cub always struggled with words of more than two syllables. Especially if he'd only heard them a few times. His little brother sighed and mumbled under his breath, "Sorry, yeah. Distractions."

"And it's really huge," 'Sa'ti added. "So her feet won't fall asleep."

Fionnlagh stared at the three cougar-shifters. "Let me see if I understand this," she said, while the cubs went back to their breakfast. "The prince's lady went into her closet to pray?"

Tsu's'di shrugged. "Apparently. I just kick these two out when I take a crack at this praying stuff. It's nice to feel that connection to Someone like the High King of the World. And it's done these guys a world of good. When the a'ge'lv prays, it helps her deal with whatever crazy stuff is going on. The rule is, you say your wake-up and before-bed prayers by yourself. She probably just couldn't concentrate in her room with you guys there. You can't leave her alone in a place with windows, but the only way in and out of her closet is the door, so she can go in there by herself if she needs to. No big deal."

The Butcher Guard shook her head. "Humans make no sense."

Tsu's'di merely shrugged, then sighed and commanded, "A'du'la'di, use a spoon. You're not a barbarian."

"Can I be a barbarian?" 'Sa'ti piped up.

"Sure you can."

"What?" A'du yelped. He stared up at Tsu's'di with a look of utter betrayal on his face. "No fair!"

Excited, 'Sa'ti asked, "Really?"

Completely straight-faced, their older brother replied, "No."

.

After work but before going back to Findias, Dylan met up with Francesca to go to the local used bookstore. She needed more picture books for A'du'la'di and 'Sa'ti, and apparently Cesca needed a new source for her crack addiction—cheap, trashy romance novels.

"What is that?" The thirty-one-year-old waitress demanded, eyeing the book in her younger sister's hands. It had some curly-haired girl in bright orange and magenta on the cover holding some kind of dessert. "Who is that?"

"What, this?" Dylan smiled fondly at the book. "It's one of the Strawberry Shortcake books. That's Raspberry Tart."

Dylan placed it in her basket. This store, Threads-N-Things, was the only thrift store in New York that sold children's books for less than five dollars. Most of them were in reasonable condition, too. She plucked another book off the packed shelf. Inhaled the pleasant scent of well-dusted and well-loved old books.

"Oh, a Masters of the Universe book." A'du'la'di would like that one. Although he'd probably wonder why the hero wore nothing but leather straps, boots, and furry underpants. Well, whatever. She'd figure out a way to explain eighties' hero fashion somehow. Dylan snagged a different book. Grinned. "And The Pirates Who Don't Do Anything. Perfect. And do not start singing the theme song—"

"We are the pirates who don't do anything," Francesca sang cheerily. She even did a little hip-wiggle dance in the aisle that had Dylan laughing. "We just stay at home and lie around! And if you ask us to do anything, we'll just tell you—"

"We don't do anything," Dylan finished, giving in and smiling. Shaking her head, she said, "You're ridiculous, Cesca."

Her sister shrugged. One black-gloved hand snaked out and tugged a slim little book with a purple spine off the shelf she perused. "You know you love me that way. Oooh, I don't have this one." She flashed Dylan the cover—a spectacularly well-built guy with long black hair, fangs, and snake-slitted golden eyes gazing down adoringly at a dreamy-eyed woman in a skimpy, diaphanous dress. "Yay, I found it!"

Dylan shook her head. "Another vampire romance novel, Francesca? How many different ways can some guy with fangs bite a girl's neck before it gets boring?"

"That's why they alternate between necks, thighs, and other romantic body parts," the older woman replied with a haughty toss of her curly black hair. "And besides, he's not a vampire. He's an Egyptian crocodile shapeshifter or something, cursed to guard the tomb of an evil pharaoh, and she's an anthropologist who wants to study the tomb. You can tell by the title it's not about vampires—Rivers of Desire in the Desert Night."

"Right," Dylan replied with a straight face. "That totally clears it up for me. How could I have been so silly? The word 'night' doesn't scream 'vampires' at all." Watching her sister grab ten more of the little romance novels, Dylan asked, "Why do you read that stuff, anyway? There's so much…" She trailed off, realizing she'd been about to say "sex," one of Francesca's buzz words.

Francesca shrugged again. "The guys in these books are nice. Most of the time. I don't read the books with the douchey heroes or the stupid heroines. But these books remind me of the stories you used to tell when we were kids." Seeing Dylan's shock, she hastened to add, "You know, the ones about handsome princes and stuff. The nice stories. Not the ones Mom and Dad would get mad about. You always talked about falling in love like it was this great…great thing. Like finding El Dorado or Shambala or something. Like it was this super wonderful thing that everyone should strive for. I've wanted that for a long time." Now she scowled at nothing. "I just haven't had much luck finding Prince Charming, that's all. So I settle for reading about him until I find him." Then Cesca smiled. "Speaking of true love, how are you and your smexy, smexy hunk of burnin' man-stuff?"

Grabbing the last two books she wanted—The Star-Bellied Sneeches by Dr. Seuss for the children and an illustrated copy of the original Beauty and the Beast for herself—Dylan quirked a brow at her big sister while they ambled toward the store counter. "I don't know who you're talking about, hon."

"Oh, yes you do!" Francesca poked her in the arm with an elbow. "You tell me about this boyfriend right now. I've been dying of curiosity. Tell me, tell me, tell me! Is he good?"

The psychiatrist sighed. "Yes, he's good to me." Most of the time, she added silently. "But he's not my boy—"

"No, no, no. I meant, is he good in bed, you lucky duck? I mean, he must be phenomenal if you guys are dancing the horizontal monster-mash, you're such a prude about that kind of thing, but I could be wrong about that. So—is he?"

Dylan glared at her. "We're not having sex."

Francesca pouted. "You are seriously no fun. Don't be such a stingy bit—" She cut herself off when she caught sight of a pair of toddlers in a double-stroller near the entrance to the store with their mom. "Don't be stingy. Come on, Dylan! I promise I won't tell Petra and the others. Not even Tori. I promise."

"Shush."

Another haughty toss of jet-black curls. "Fine. I'm not taking you out for dessert at Coldstone's, then. You can just forget it."

"Such a hardship; no ice cream that will make me horrendously fat if I keep eating it." Dylan smiled at her sister's crestfallen expression. "John took me to Coldstone not even a week ago, Cesca. Sorry. But," she added, feeling generous, "I'll work on trying to get a picture of him for you. I make no promises," she reminded her sister when Francesca perked up, "but I will try."

Maybe she could talk to Dean Nails, the Erlkin Kaye and Val had mentioned who'd made the charm for her phone to work inside of Faerie. If he could do that, he could probably make a charm that allowed her phone to pick up projected glamour in a photo.

"Shirtless?" Francesca chirped.

Sigh. "I'll try for shirtless— geh!" Dylan nearly choked on her own saliva when Francesca threw her arms around her younger sister and squeezed her breathless.

.

Once back in Findias, Dylan had Tsu's'di take the newly-bought books to her suite for 'Sa'ti and A'du to look over while she and her six guards went to see Nuada. It was later than she'd intended to be back—after sundown—and she wanted him to know she was all right. But just as she made it to the main corridor of the Healers' Wing, she was intercepted by none other than the bane of her existence.

"Lady Dylan!" Polunochnaya beamed and offered a truncated curtsy. Dylan pasted a smile onto her face. "I am sorry to interrupt—you must be going to see Nuada—but the princess requests your presence in her sitting room to discuss something of great importance. If you'll please follow me?"

Somehow I doubt I have a choice, the mortal thought, and nodded to the Elf of Zwezda to lead the way.

Nuala's suite was actually in the same wing of the palace as Nuada's; Dylan hadn't known that. The Elf princess was seated on a little white sofa in what Dylan realized was the princess's formal sitting room. Nuala smiled when her lady-in-waiting arrived with the mortal in tow. At Nuala's insistence, Dylan took a seat in a chair at an angle from the sofa. Polunochnaya sat beside the princess. Dylan's guards arrayed themselves along the sitting room wall. Princess Nuala, the mortal saw, also had six Butcher Guards in attendance.

"Dylan, thank you for coming to see me," Nuada's twin said. Her eyes were warm amber and her smile was genuinely happy. When Nuala wasn't around her brother, sometimes Dylan had a hard time remembering why she didn't like the princess.

I'm supposed to love everyone, she reminded herself. I can start with Nuala. And when I finally manage to like Polunochnaya, the Catholic Church will canonize me for sainthood. A smile quirked the corner of her mouth. Yeah, okay, that was mean of me. I need to be nicer.

"It's not a problem, Your Highness."

"Are you hungry, Dylan? Or thirsty? I was just about to sit down to tea."

Pasting on her blandest smile, Dylan said, "No, thank you, Your Highness. Latter-Day Saints aren't allowed to drink tea."

"Cider, then?"

The mortal shook her head. "But thank you for thinking of me. What can I do for you?"

Nuala took a dainty sip from a delicate porcelain cup. "Is my brother expecting you back soon?"

Dylan inclined her head. "He worries when I don't arrive back from work on time." Acting on a sudden impulse, she added, "Have you been to see him since your return from…Alaka, was it?"

Alaka was the fae kingdom that corresponded to mortal India and a few surrounding countries. She'd never learned much about it, other than it was a non-Elven kingdom ruled by a sovereign called a padishah. She also knew it was a long distance away. Dylan could understand Nuala being tired from a trip like that—did Elves suffer from jet-lag?—but the princess had been back since Sunday at least. Five days later and as far as Dylan knew, the princess hadn't been to see her twin once.

The twin, Dylan thought with a smattering of irritation slowly morphing into icy anger, who had nearly died defending the father that Nuada said hadn't been to see him even once, either. What was wrong with this family?

The princess had the grace to look ashamed. "No, I haven't. Is he much recovered?"

Merciless, the mortal said with false cheer and an empty smile, "You could always visit him and find out yourself. I'm sure it would make him really happy to see you."

Amber eyes locked with blue. "I shall endeavor to return you to my brother before he begins to miss your company, Lady Dylan, have no fear. I'm sure he would much rather spend time in your presence than in mine."

Gee, I wonder why? Dylan thought, but didn't dare say.

"Do you think my brother loves you?" Nuala asked suddenly. "Look me in the eye, Lady Dylan, and tell me my brother loves you."

"Um…okay. Nuada loves me."

"Liar," Nuala said gently, and fury iced Dylan's blood. "Oh, I do not doubt his feelings for you. Not at all. It is quite clear he cares for you more than even our father thought possible. Nuada loves you very much. No, it is your faith in his love that I doubt. You do not believe he loves you as he says he does. For some reason, you have lost faith in him. What has he done to make you doubt him?"

"What? Nothing."

Nuala's smile was gentle, and held all the bite of a whip. "Come now; there must have been something. Or is it simply human doubt? It is hard for mortals to believe in things without constant proof. Do you doubt yourself? Your worthiness of him? Is that where the shadows in your eyes come from? Or is it that you fear my brother doubts your affections? He refuses to trust so many others; why should he trust in you, a human, a member of the race he despises with his entire being?"

"He doesn't doubt me and I don't doubt him," Dylan snapped. In the furthest corner of her mind, Dylan had the feeling the princess was actually trying to be…helpful. Maybe nice, even, after her own fey fashion. But the mortal was so Sick and Tired of Nuada's pain in the face of his sister's doubts; she wasn't going to let Nuala cast aspersions on the prince without at least some token resistance. "Okay? I'm not you. I'm not blind to what makes him so special and wonderful like you are. Now is this actually going anywhere? Or can I leave? I'm going to be late for my date with the prince."

"The Midwinter Ball will be held on the night of the winter solstice," the princess said coolly after a moment. Reeling from mental whiplash, Dylan merely blinked at her. "Your presence is required by my father; both yours and Nuada's. You will be expected to grace his arm and be charming and ladylike. I know you can be both, so that is no concern. However, you will also be expected to dance. Do you know how?"

Dylan gaped at her, previous ire forgotten in the face of this new horror. "What? No! No, I do not know how to dance! And what does that even have to do with what we were talking about?"

"Well, you have a little less than two weeks to learn. Your first lesson is tomorrow."

"What? Says who?" And with who? She'd thought Nuada would be teaching her when the time came, but he was in no shape to do much of anything right now. He probably couldn't dance his way out of a wet paper bag. And how was Dylan supposed to hide her busted leg in a dance lesson without Nuada present?

"My father the king, of course," Nuala replied with aggravating calm. "And I know you will do your best to learn quickly; after all, you do not want to embarrass my brother, do you?"

The mortal stared at her for a long Moment of Silence. Finally she said, "I do not know why Nuada loves you so dearly, but the fact that he does and the fact that I'm a Latter-Day Saint are the only reasons I don't loathe you entirely. Now are you done talking? Because I have something to say. So can I have a couple minutes without interruptions, Your Highness?"

Cool amber eyes blinked at her over the rim of the teacup. "As you wish."

"Okay. I don't know what your problem with me and Nuada is, but—"

"I have no problem with—"

"Shut up," Dylan snapped. Nuala's mouth fell open. "You said you wouldn't interrupt. Anyway, I don't know what your problem is, and I don't care. I don't know what kind of political games you're playing, either, and again, I don't care. Here's how this is going to go. You are going to stop screwing with me and just spit out whatever it is you want to say in plain freaking English.

"You said at that stupid welcome-home banquet that you wanted to be friends. Well you're not exactly acting like we're friends. You're acting like we're enemies, and right now, I'm actually kind of okay with you being my enemy because I don't trust you as far as I can spit. So if you really do want to be friends, you'd better start acting like it. Now what the heck was all that crud about me doubting Nuada supposed to accomplish besides making me really, really mad?"

Nuala stared at the clearly infuriated mortal for a long, tense moment. The princess realized she'd miscalculated. She sipped her tea to buy herself a little time to marshal her thoughts. Finally, she set the cup on the table and leaned back. Met Dylan's eyes.

"First, as you do not trust me, I will make this oath—I swear on the Darkness That Eats All Things that what I am about to tell you is the truth. I very much want us to be friends, Dylan. What I have seen of you is admirable. You may be a little reckless at times, but I suppose that to someone who has lived as long as I have, most of the shorter-lived races seem so. I think you are good for my brother. When he is with you, for a time he forgets his anger and his hatred for humanity. He is happier with you than I have seen him in a very long time. For that, you have my gratitude."

The princess closed her eyes and drew a breath. Let it out slowly. "I love my brother. Very much." Amber eyes opened to pin Dylan with the Elven woman's stare. "But he is not a good man…except, sometimes, when he is with you. Nuada is poisoned by his hatred and his need for revenge against the humans. You know he wants your people dead; we have spoken of this before. That hate has made him cold. He cares for few, and trusts even fewer. For the most part he trusts you. I know that you trust in him. But something has brought doubt into your heart."

Dylan opened her mouth to protest. Nuala held up a hand.

"Please believe me, I am saying this as a friend would. I am not trying to hurt you or Nuada. Dylan, if I can see this doubt, so can others. It can be used against you. Against him. You cannot afford to doubt each other. You cannot afford to doubt him, and you cannot afford to give him a reason to doubt you. The two of you must stand strong before the court or risk losing everything—including each other.

"I know you are inexperienced when it comes to politics. I am trying to help you prevent others from exploiting this weakness. I want you to trust me, Dylan. I want to help you. To help Nuada." The princess studied the human. "Do you believe me?"

After an interminable silence, Dylan nodded. "Okay. Okay, I'll give this friendship thing a shot. And I'll take you up on that offer of cider if it's still on the table." The mortal sipped meditatively from her cup of cool, sweet cider for a moment before saying, "Can I ask you a question?" Nuala canted her head. "Why haven't you been to see him? It really would make him happy."

"It…would be best if I did not," Nuala murmured. "He is happier in your presence than he is in mine, as I said."

"Your Highness…he misses you."

A smile trembled on Nuala's mouth, and she looked away. "I miss him. But it is for the best if I do not see him just yet. I know he is alive, and I know he is as well as can be expected. That is enough. At any rate," the princess added with false cheer, "I am glad we had this talk, Dylan. Thank you for agreeing to meet with me. And please, when we are in private, I would like it if you called me Nuala."

Well, that was a clear—if polite—dismissal if she'd ever heard one. After the proper farewells, Dylan and her guards vacated the room and made their way to the Healers' Wing. She had a lot to think about, and a lot to discuss with Nuada.

Dylan froze in the doorway to the healing chamber, an ice-cold dread trailing fingers down her neck and back and frosting her blood. In the room talking to Nuada was the golden-haired Fomorian prince, Bres, and his friend—the darkly handsome Lord Ciaran macAengus. The moment she appeared in the doorway, all three Elves looked up.

Crown Prince Bres flashed a charming smile that revealed he had a dimple in one cheek. The sight of his smile sent something frigid coiling like a poisonous snake in the pit of her stomach. His sky-blue eyes gleamed.

Cíaran didn't smile. He merely pinned her with his nearly-emotionless green gaze, trapping her like a butterfly pinned with a long needle to a board. There was something terrifying about his eyes. They were empty of almost everything except a detached sort of curiosity. She'd seen that look before, in very dangerous fae who thought of humans as nothing but playthings. But that curiosity sharpened to a lethal razor's edge when Cíaran looked her in the eye. His gaze found hers, somehow a subtle threat, before sliding down her body and back up again. Dylan found she was intensely grateful she wore mostly mundane clothes instead of a dress. She had a feeling the sensation of being undressed by Cíaran's coldly detached eyes would've been a hundred times worse if she hadn't been in jeans. And looking at him sent wicked pain spiking through her temples.

It was Nuada's welcoming smile that shoved down the fear enough for her to think. The brief pause of shock and fear had taken perhaps five seconds. Dylan hastily covered it by pretending she'd been trying to remember the names of the two Fomori in the room. She got the feeling that if they knew how uncomfortable their presence made her, things would get very dangerous very quickly. She just wasn't sure why.

"Prince Bres? And Lord Cíaran?" The two Fomorians inclined their heads in courtly acknowledgment. Dylan offered a short curtsy. Thanks to an extra dose of painkillers earlier that day, she didn't wobble at all. She forced herself to smile. "Plotting the hostile takeover of the human world, Prince Nuada?"

Bres laughed aloud. Cíaran smiled. So did Nuada, but there was something tight in his expression. Something that tightened further when Bres, still laughing, replied, "Something like that, my lady. Something like that." He offered her a charming smile. "I suppose you'll want Silverlance to yourself for an hour or two, milady?" Dylan's cheeks flamed; she wasn't sure why. "I'll not begrudge you," the Fomorian prince added. "Come on, Cíaran—let's leave the young lovers alone."

Only when the door was shut and Dylan and Nuada were alone did amber eyes meet Dylan's. "Are you all right?" Nuada asked softly. Gentle fingers brushed back a lock of her hair. Touched her temple. Cool soothing magic eased the dull throbbing pain. "When you came in, for a moment you looked as if you had seen your own death. Or mine. Are you all right? Did something happen at work?"

"I…" She tugged on the medallion at her throat. Drew a breath into lungs suddenly gone impossibly tight. "Okay, you have to promise not to get mad, all right? Or at least to try not to get mad." Dylan waited for his nod before continuing. "Those two…Bres and Cíaran? They…well, they…"

"Did they hurt you?" The icy words were so at odds with the molten bronze suddenly firing Nuada's gaze. He grabbed the hand playing with Dylan's medallion, shackling her wrist with firm but careful fingers. "If either of them have hurt you, tell me now. I swear by the Darkness That Eats All Things that I will—"

"Whoa, whoa. Relax." Raking a trembling hand through her hair, she let out a shaky laugh. "You can't even get out of bed for more than an hour yet without damaging something or getting winded. Calm down. And they didn't hurt me, though it's nice to know you'll defend me if they do."

He scowled. "You doubted this?"

Dylan shrugged, not looking at him. "There's a saying in the mortal world—'bro's before ho's.'" Nuada frowned. Made a questioning noise. "It means brothers—or guy friends—before whores."

"You are not my whore," Nuada snapped. Didn't see her flinch at the fury smoldering in his voice. "Do not ever think that. And I do not care who does it; if anyone hurts you I will hunt them down, as I did Westenra, and kill them. Slowly. Now, what is it about Bres and Cíaran?"

"They just…they scare me. A lot. I don't know why, but they scare me to death. I know Bres is your friend, but I just…" She found herself tearing up. Started in surprise. Sighing in exasperation at herself, she swiped at her eyes. "They really, really scare me. The way Westenra scared me. The way Eamonn scared me. And I know they would never…well, I don't know, but obviously you know, because you would've warned me otherwise, so I know they would never do something like that." At this point, the Elf prince wondered how women followed such circumlocutious logic pathways. "So I know I'm not in any real danger from them—not that they're not dangerous, but you know what I mean—but the Spirit and my instincts are both saying to stay far away from them, and they just really scare—"

A callused hand cupped her cheek. She realized she'd been staring at her knees for the last however many minutes it had taken to explain all of this, and looked up to meet Nuada's gaze. His thumb smoothed over her skin in a soft caress. "I will never let anything happen to you, mo duinne. I promise you that."

Dylan felt compelled to point out, "In the state you're in, there really isn't much you could do."

"I would crawl on hands and knees over broken glass and iron if I had to," Nuada said. "I would walk barefoot through Hell if that was what was necessary. Do you believe that?" She nodded, unsure if she could speak around the emotion thick in her throat. "No matter where you are, no matter what stands between us, if you need me, I will always find you. Always. I…I swear it."

He'd been about to say words better left unsaid, he thought. Words that should not be said until he had her answer to the king's second condition for saving Zhenjin. No matter how those thrice-cursed words weighed on his heart, scorching his tongue with the need to be spoken, he would swallow them back as often as necessary, even though doing so was like swallowing glass. Saying them before he could fulfill the king's condition, Nuada had realized only a few days past, would be unfair of him. He did not want to pressure her...

Nuada skimmed his knuckles along the slashing scar gracing her cheek. "Since we are on the subject, was there anything else bothering you? You seem…uneasy, the last several days. Is there anything I can do?"

"Well…" She would not feel stupid for talking to him about this. Would not feel embarrassed or immature for bringing this up. Whether the feelings had a valid cause or not, they needed to be addressed. All her training as a psychiatrist told her that communication was key in any relationship. And every time they fought, it was because the lines of communication had broken down somehow. "It's about…about Polunochnaya."

The Elf prince forced himself to stay relaxed. He'd been expecting something of the sort, after the conversation the night before and the initial introduction to the lady-in-waiting. "All right."

"Actually, it's kind of about Lorelei, too."

He blinked. "All right. What about her?"

Just ask, Dylan commanded herself. You're being stupid and juvenile; just ask. Aloud, she managed to say, "You two…you two used to date, right?" Nuada blinked again and made a noise somewhere between a cough and a cat with its tail in an electrical socket. "Well, you did, didn't you?"

"No." Now it was Dylan's turn to blink. "What on earth gave you that idea?" The prince asked. Dylan's mouth opened, closed. She shrugged. "I will admit, Lorelei is very beautiful—as are all rhinemaidens. It is part of what they are, to be so alluring. Speaking of such," eyeing his mortal lady speculatively, "you would not happen to be part rhinemaiden…would you?"

Dylan laughed. "Oh, you're very good. Very smooth. But I am so onto you. So you and Lorelei never dated?"

"No. I have known her since she was barely old enough to walk; that is why we are so close. And she is also friends with my sister. While I will admit there was some…casual interest on my part some decades ago, it was never serious, and I am…how do humans say it? Not her type."

The mortal stared at him. "How could you ever not be someone's type?"

His smile warmed some of the ice that had crept into her bones when she'd walked in to see him with Bres and Cíaran. "You do wonders for my ego, a chumann. And to elaborate, Lorelei's type has always been a bit…exotic." Dylan cocked her head. "There is a reason she was with Wink at Midnight Fest." Nuada grinned when Dylan's jaw dropped. "Exactly so."

"Oh." She tried to wrap her mind around logistics and gave up after her brain started throbbing. "But…you and Naya used to date." Tension strung tight as wire between them. Nuada nodded. Dylan bit her lip. "How serious was it?" He hesitated, and her heart gave an odd lurch in her chest. "I see. Did you break up with her? Or did she do the stupid thing and break up with you?"

"It was…mutual. We were not what the other wanted. And it would not have worked out between us even if we had not been growing apart for awhile. She is my sister's lady-in-waiting. I am the crown prince. Friendship is one thing, but love…" He shrugged. "It was nothing truly serious, Dylan, I promise you. A 'fling,' as humans say." Nuada took her hand. Brushed his thumb across her knuckles. "I was merely teasing yesterday when I said you were jealous. You have no need to be concerned about Naya."

"Why didn't you ever tell me about her?"

Nuada shrugged again. "It did not seem relevant. Why do you rarely speak of your past relationships?"

"Because I've only had one," she said sharply, "and he was a creep. We never even made it to consensual kissing. I don't actually consider him a boyfriend, but Cesca says that if you go on more than five dates, just you and another person, it counts, so…" She shrugged. "But as far as I'm concerned, you're my first real boyfriend."

Such a tender heart, he thought. This explains much; how she sometimes seems to flounder, unsure of how to proceed. Her skills as a mind-healer give her what surety she does possess when it comes to such matters. Nuada thought of how, as a youth first entering the world of courtship and romance, he'd made an idiot of himself regularly. Only Wink's guidance—and the rare bit of advice from Nuala—had prevented utter failure. She is so uncertain of herself now. Is that why she is concerned about Naya?

He pressed her fingers, a silent reassurance. "You need not worry over Naya, Dylan. I have no regrets about that relationship, or about ours. I am happiest as I am—with you." The Elf prince raised her hand to his lips and brushed a light kiss across her knuckles. "I will never play you false, Dylan. I will never play games with you. Surely you know this."

She nodded. "I know; I just…maybe I was a little jealous. Which makes me feel like an idiot, so don't rub it in."

Nuada kissed her hand again. "I would never so much as dream of it. Now, I actually have Somhairle's gracious permission to get out of bed—thank the gods—and go where I've been meaning to take you these past few days. Will you come with me?"

Dylan grinned. "An adventure with His Royal Highness? Absolutely. Do I need to change, though? Like, into a dress?" He shook his head. "Okay, then. Where are we going?"

"Oh! Are you two going somewhere?"

Dislike, burning cold and toxic as poison, bubbled up in Dylan's stomach as her eyes slashed to where Ledi Polunochnaya iz Lysaya Gora herself stood in the doorway with another fae woman, her smile bright and cheerful.

Nuada bit back a vicious oath. Naya was a dear friend, but her timing left much to be desired. He opened his mouth to politely but firmly tell his old friend to go away—far away—when the prince noticed the woman standing with her. Blistering invectives scorched his throat. The prince just barely managed to hold them back. Not her. Why was she here?

Because Nuala wants something, Nuada thought. Irritation simmered just beneath his skin. Sister, you are making an error in sending her here.

Fighting down the malicious anger that suddenly swamped her, Dylan pasted a smile on her face and focused on the other woman standing with her rival. What? She's not my rival. Oh, for pity's sake, I'm too old for this. Focus on the other woman.

The humanoid fae woman standing beside Polunochnaya was shorter than the Zwezdan Elf, barely reaching her shoulders. Coppery skin told the mortal this fae was probably of Native American or Inuit origin. Instead of hair, the faerie woman sported long glossy onyx, ivory, and golden feathers. Two curled, white horns peeped out from the feathers at the top of her head. Instead of nails, wicked black talons glinted at the ends of her fingers. Intricate snakelike tattoos spiraled from the tips of her fingers over her hands to disappear beneath her sleeves. A beaded, knee-length leather vest covered a loose blue linen shirt and tailored trousers. Her feet were bare. Electric yellow eyes fixed on Dylan with raptor-like intensity. The woman cocked her head and studied the mortal with obvious curiosity.

"Unfortunately," the feathered woman said, "your plans, whatever they are, will have to be put on hold. Her Royal Highness the Princess Nuala requests Lady Dylan's presence in her suite this night." She smiled, and Dylan saw her teeth were numerous and jagged. "I would hate to report back to the princess that her brother was so unobliging as to refuse such a simple request."

Nuada opened his mouth, but Polunochnaya beat him to it. "Oh, 'Ko, do not be so formal. Lady Dylan will be happy to see the princess again, I'm sure, won't you, Dylan? Oh, and allow me to make the introductions. Lady Dylan Myers of Central Park, this is A'ge'lv Na'ko'ma Wakį́yą of Kw'Uhnx'Wa, Princess Nuala's second lady-in-waiting."

"You are wondering what I am," Na'ko'ma said.

"Actually, I was wondering that and why Nuala wants to see me again. I just talked to her."

"That is the princess's business. As for me, I am a wakį́yą—what the Native Americans call a thunderbird." She smiled again, flashing those jagged teeth, when Dylan's mouth fell open. "You are impressed, as you should be."

"Well, I've…never seen anyone like you before."

"I have," Nuada interjected. His face was deliberately blank. Only his eyes glittered topaz with dislike. "And I am not impressed. My sister can wait. My business with Lady Dylan cannot."

Na'ko'ma and Polunochnaya exchanged a glance. The Elven woman shook her head vehemently, but the thunderbird said, "I am sure you can keep your loins in check for the time it takes your lady to speak to Nuala, brother. Besides, you have barely recovered from your bout with Prince Zhenjin; you should not be sporting with pretty maidens anyway."

Dylan blushed and fought to keep her mouth from falling open. Nuada ground out from between clenched teeth, "You may have been fostered here, Na'ko'ma, but you are no more my sister than Naya is. Remember your place."

"And you still lose your temper whenever someone interrupts your attempts at charming one of your…ladies," the thunderbird replied, unruffled. "Really, Your Highness, one would think you'd learn to control your temper eventually. Not to mention, your time in exile should have taught you to appreciate what consideration you are capable of offering your sister, as your selfishness distresses her—"

"Na'ko'ma!" Polunochnaya snapped. "Enough. We are not here to insult Nuada; think shame to yourself for such words. We are here to invite Dylan to—"

"No," Nuada growled.

Dylan glanced at her prince, whose eyes constantly shifted between hot copper and topaz as he glared at the thunderbird. Leave with Nuala's two ladies-in-waiting and keep this Na'ko'ma from insulting him and upsetting him further…but have to deal with Nuala again, when she was still trying to sort out their previous meeting. Did she really want to deal with the princess right then? Especially when Polunochnaya was also going to be there? Except she'd have to do it eventually anyway...

She shifted her grip on Nuada's hand to touch her fingertips to his palm.

Will you be mad if I go with them? Dylan asked. I might as well get this out of the way now, although I don't really want to. Since it's Friday, I don't have work tomorrow, so we can do…whatever you were planning when I come back from talking to your sister. Does that sound okay?

I will be furious, the prince informed her succinctly. Blue eyes widened. I would not give up this time with you for Nuala anyway; I need to speak with you about a matter of some importance. But I certainly will not give you up to my sister if she dares to send that woman here to fetch you. My sister knows I despise Na'ko'ma.

Oh. Okay...

"Your Highness," Na'ko'ma began in a deliberately casual voice, "whatever you deem so 'important' can surely wait—"

"In case you have forgotten who wields power here," the crown prince of Bethmoora said, every word crackling with ice, "allow me to remind you. I am crown prince in Bethmoora. Much as it may displease you, Na'ko'ma, I outrank Princess Nuala. If I say my business cannot wait, then it cannot wait. And I will not stand for your disrespect." In a voice sharp enough to make air bleed, he added, "Now get out."

The thunderbird's eyes widened and she hissed, "The princess demands—"

"Guards," the prince said with exaggerated calm. The wakį́yą stiffened. Polunochnaya, to Dylan's eye, looked as if she wanted to smack herself in the forehead. Silver eyes glared at Na'ko'ma, who ignored the Elven lady in favor of glaring at Nuada. Behind the two faerie nobles, the chamber door opened and a Butcher Dylan recognized as Mahon poked his head inside. "Please escort A'ge'lv Na'ko'ma and Ledi Polunochnaya back to my sister's suite and inform the princess that the crown prince forbid their presence in this chamber—and in my presence—for the foreseeable future."

"But, Nuada—" the Zwezdan Elf began.

"You and I will speak later, Ledi Polunochnaya, when I summon you. Until then, go with A'ge'lv Na'ko'ma." Unspoken were the words, Before I do something the three of us may regret. Silver eyes widened, and the Elven woman nodded before gripping the thunderbird's arm and pulling her out of the room. The guard nodded to the prince and shut the door.

"That was kind of…I don't know…harsh," Dylan ventured into the sudden silence. Nuada slashed her with a look. "What?"

"I am the crown prince," Nuada said in deliberately spaced words. "I am the king's heir. Yet that…vulture often chooses to treat me as if I am nothing but a boy with delusions of grandeur. I despise her. She is one of my sister's dearest friends, and she loves Nuala. That is the only reason I bear her presence in this castle. But I will not sit by and allow her to insult me, to my face or to yours. And I will not allow her to imply insult to you, either."

Dylan took his hand in hers. "Okay. Thank you—for explaining, and for getting rid of them both. I really do want to go…wherever you're going to take me. So I'm glad I don't have to go see Nuala right now. Thanks. Can I have fifteen minutes?" Thinking about travel-time from this room to her suite and back, she added, "Actually, more like twenty minutes."

He scowled. "I just said—"

"It's important," she interrupted. "I…I have a thing I need to do first. Before we go out. Just real quick. I mean, I know twenty minutes isn't real quick, but my leg kinda hurts and there's three flights of stairs between here and my room. So it'll take me a bit to get up there and back down again. But I'll make it as quick as I can."

Intrigued despite himself, Nuada asked, "What do you need to do?"

She smiled. "It's a surprise. So I'll be right back. Okay?" Receiving his grumbled acquiescence, Dylan darted forward and brushed her lips over the royal scar on his cheek. "Thank you. Back in a bit."

She didn't race to her suite, but only because her knee was a bit stiff from the long day. Snagging her phone out of her purse, she darted into the bathroom. Eimh, Fionnlagh, and Gráinne followed her. Her phone beeped as Dylan tried to access the internet. Kaye had said her phone would work in Faerie with the lapis lazuli charm. Could she get internet?

Dylan grinned when Youtube popped up on her phone screen. Now to find that Michelle Phan tutorial. She just wanted to add a little bit of makeup. Maybe brush her hair or add a dab of perfume. Okay, so Nuada had said jeans would be all right for whatever he had planned. Makeup and jeans went together. Although she was changing out of her plain cotton button-down work shirt. But she'd keep the changes simple. Just in case.

.

"Forgive me for disturbing you, Silverlance, but I have someone who desperately wished to meet you."

Nuada had been up and dressed for the last ten minutes, and now sat in the chair recently vacated by his mortal lady to preserve his strength. The strange unease in his belly at the thought of what he meant to do when Dylan returned, and the odd mixture of irritation and remorse coming through his link with Nuala, made him want to growl at Bres for returning uninvited so late, but the prince bit it back and forced himself to nod in courtly acknowledgment of the crown prince of Cíocal and the figure behind him.

"Of course." Hopefully the use of his bland court voice would hasten this meeting a little and the Fomorian would be gone when Dylan came back. The Elf prince didn't fault her for being afraid of Bres. The other prince despised humans with the same fire Nuada did. Bres had been polite enough to Dylan the couple times they'd met, but Nuada didn't fool himself into thinking that the Fomorian prince would be as accepting as Zhenjin had been after that initial confrontation. "I am at your disposal."

Stepping to one side, Bres bowed and said in the regal voice of a prince, "Your Royal Highness Prince Nuada Silverlance, it is my deepest pleasure to introduce a dear friend, Lady Dierdre macAengus of Caer Ibormeith."

Shock stole the breath from Nuada's lungs. Bittersweet pain was a taloned hand squeezing his heart. Naya had warned him about Lady Dierdre, and he'd thought he'd been prepared for the sight of a scarlet Fomori in the halls of Findias once again.

He'd been a fool.

Nuada rose to his feet and offered the Elven noblewoman a formal bow from the waist. She sank into a graceful curtsy with a rustle of skirts that formed an emerald pool of velvet around her. Lamplight gilded the feral arch of pale brow and cheekbone as Dierdre lifted her head to meet Nuada's gaze. Eyes of rich green pierced him to the marrow. He swallowed hard. Drew a breath that seared his throat.

"It is my deepest pleasure and privilege to meet such an honorable warrior as the legendary Nuada Silverlance," Dierdre murmured, dropping her gaze demurely to the floor and folding her hands in front of her. Nuada noticed her garnet-spun hair fell in graceful waves to her shoulders. Just like…just like...

"I…the pleasure is mine, mo mhuire," the Elf prince replied. He extended his hand. His fingers curled around Dierdre's slim fingers almost convulsively when she placed her hand in his. Intangible sparks tingled up the length of his arm. Nuada raised her hand to his lips and brushed a whisper of a courtly kiss across those delicate fingers. A flicker of odd heat licked down his spine.

"You honor me, Your Highness," she said. Coral lips curled into a shy smile. Nuada closed his eyes to hide the shifting torrent of emotions they would reveal. Inclined his head a fraction. Dierdre added, "I wanted to meet you before your court duties made you too busy once you'd recovered from your injuries. Prince Bres has told me so much about you. And your mortal lady—I had hoped to meet her as well. Is she here in Findias?"

There was an odd sensation ghosting up and down Nuada's spine, almost like being touched by feather-light fingertips. A strange, intense awareness of the woman in front of him. It wasn't Dierdre; Fomorians had no such power.

Yet Nuada found his eyes drawn to the curve of her lips as she smiled for him, to the arch of slender brow and the way her rich auburn hair framed a face as pale as alabaster before cascading down to caress bare ivory shoulders. She looked so much like Cethlenn, and yet different enough that Nuada found an odd heat—that same heat that had first traced the length of his spine—blooming in his belly. Was it…lust?

"She is here, but is unfortunately unavailable. I do beg your pardon, Lady Dierdre. Perhaps you may meet her some other time."

"Yes," Dierdre said, a wistful note in her voice. "Perhaps. How strange that she is not always at your side. If I were lucky enough to receive the consideration and affections of a prince, I would do all in my power to secure them. She must be very sure of you."

Thinking of Dylan, her bright smiles and fond glances, Nuada nodded. "She has every reason to be sure of me, as I am sure of her. I am lucky to have her."

Dierdre sighed. "That is dreadfully romantic," she said with a dreamy smile. "Prince Bres was right, then—you love her. How wonderful. It is rare for the fae to find real love among mortals. Rare for a human to be able to love as deeply and fully as the Fair Folk do. I know it cannot be easy for the two of you, when so many of the Kindly Ones loathe mortals as they do. I am glad for your happiness, Your Highness."

Nuada smiled. "Thank you, my lady. I appreciate your kind words very much."

She dipped a curtsy. "We will take our leave now, Sire. It is late, and no doubt you wish rest and solitude. Thank you for agreeing to meet with me. Until next time."

The Elf prince bestowed another courtly kiss to the back of the Fomorian woman's hand. Felt that odd frisson of awareness down his spine. He shoved it away and nodded to Bres, who inclined his head before escorting Dierdre out of the healing chamber. The door swung shut behind them.

Nuada sank back into the chair and sighed. The ache of old sorrows mingled in the pit of his belly with anticipation, dread, nerves, and now an odd desire to see Lady Dierdre again. It was so strange—when Nuada looked at her, and saw the phantom of his mother in Dierdre's shadow, there was a dull pain in his chest that was his grief for Cethlenn. At the same time, the sight of the scarlet Fomori eased that pain a little as well.

But there was that odd tingle of awareness when the prince touched her. That was problematic. A mere glimmer of physical attraction, easily dismissed, but even that small weakness could be exploited by anyone dangerous who might become aware of it. And if Dylan found out…he did not want to give her another reason to doubt him. Did not want her to look at another noblewoman and see someone who might steal him away.

The very idea was laughable. A sizzle of lust was nothing compared to the burning that had taken root inside him some time ago and flared to life whenever he saw his truelove. No one had ever fired his blood as Dylan did, with nothing but a brush of fingers or the velvet of her laugh.

Yet somehow she doubted him still. Doubted the depths of his need for her in his life, the strength of his love. Perhaps because he still had not said the actual words. It would not have been fair of him to say them. Not yet, when he needed to ask her something equally vital. His father had made it clear that this was the price of sparing Zhenjin's life. Nuada didn't want to make Dylan feel as if she had to say yes simply because he'd confessed to loving her. He wanted her to agree for no other reason than because it was what she wanted. Because he was what she wanted.

And he was what she wanted. She had made that clear to him every day, every moment they were together. Dierdre was right in that it was hard for a fae to find the same love among humans that was to be found among the Kindly Folk. Until Dylan, Nuada would have declared it impossible for anyone but a faerie to feel so strongly. Yet Dylan's heart loved as deeply as any fae. And she had gifted her heart to him. That knowledge helped ease the nerves over the question he meant to ask her.

Really, it was a small price to pay for the life and livelihood of his friend. The king could have driven a sterner bargain. Demanded that Nuada and Dylan marry in exchange for the Dilong prince's life. Nuada was nothing if not grateful that his father had not demanded such a thing of him. Being forced into such a union…what would that do to Dylan? To her spirit, her heart?

"Hey," a familiar voice called as the door cracked open. "Knock, knock."

Looking into Dylan's eyes, Nuada found himself smiling more openly than he had in a long while. "What kept you?"

She lifted a shoulder in that elegant half-shrug he adored. "Oh, this and that." She grimaced. Leaned against the doorframe. "Oh, I forgot to tell you before I left—apparently I have a dancing lesson tomorrow. Shoot me now. It's going to really suck without you there."

"Send one of your guards to me tomorrow at the start of the lesson, and I will be there," he said.

"But you…you need to rest."

"Nearly a week of bed-rest is not something I've enjoyed, mo duinne. I want to be out of this blasted chamber. Dancing is simple enough. It will not hurt me. As you are a beginner, it will have to be something simple anyway. Do not worry so much." When she still looked pensive, he added, "I will clear it with Somhairle first. You have my word."

Dylan nodded. "Okay. That's all I ask. So are you sure jeans are okay for whatever you're planning? Because you look all spiffy."

He arched a brow. "Spiffy?"

"You know," she said. His brow winged higher. Dylan sighed. "Spiffy. It's human slang. It's like…you look nice. Handsome. Sharp. Dressed-up." Blushing, she added, "Hot. I mean, you always look hot. Well, almost always. But you look extra hot." She gestured to the white silk shirt, royal blue tunic and black trews; some of his best "informal" attire. He'd even had one of the hob-maids polish his black boots earlier that day. "Are you sure I'm not underdressed for…whatever this is?"

Gold-kissed ivory eyes swept over her from toe to crown, taking in everything that had changed since last he'd seen her: the subtle blush of soft color to her cheeks, just a touch of something to her mouth to make it fuller and even more enticing, something that made her eyes seem dreamy and starlit. She'd grabbed her leather coat, but beneath it he saw a pearl-white silk blouse; she hadn't been wearing that before. And a different pair of jeans, slim and black and touched with glitter. They did wonderful things to her hips. To her lovely, incredibly long legs.

Nuada's fingers twitched. He curled them into a fist behind his back. Forced his mind to more innocent matters, like the fact that his lady had dressed up for him. The thought sent warmth curling around his heart and a sudden skitter of nerves shivering down his spine.

"You look lovely, Dylan—as you always do…" Then her words fully registered. "Wait a minute. What do you mean, I almost always look hot? When have I ever not looked hot?"

She laughed. "Okay, my life is complete. I never thought I would hear you ask that question. Now that I have, I can die happy. So c'mon, let's go." She took his hand and tugged him to his feet. "I don't know where we're going, but this should be exciting, so let's hop to it."

"You have not answered my question, Dylan."

Grinning, she quipped, "And I'm not gonna. The mystery of it will drive you mad. Now let's go! The night's not getting any younger."

"Insolent chit," he mock-grumbled, but smiled and offered his arm to his lady.

.

The garden Nuada brought her to slept beneath a glittering blanket of winter snow that glistened like diamonds in the moonlight. Dylan had thought he would take her to his mother's garden again, but this one was just as beautiful in its own way. A hawthorn tree stood in the center of the garden, autumnal leaves still clinging like a cloak of russet and gold edged with frost. Even beneath their dusting of powdery snow Dylan recognized slender arbutus trees and mallow bushes, lilacs and primroses and forget-me-nots. In spring, this garden would be a riot of blue and violet and white and pale pink blossoms. She could imagine it if she closed her eyes.

Nuada had somehow convinced the Butcher Guards to wait at a distance, near the entrance. Unlike the Queen's Garden, this one was ringed by low snow-dusted hedges to mark its boundaries. So the guards could see them and rush to their defense if anything happened. And Nuada still had his sword. Dylan and Nuada had a little privacy as well. She didn't know what he'd said to get the king's elite to grant them that privacy, but she was grateful nonetheless.

Dylan kept her gloved hands in the pockets of her leather coat to protect them from the nocturnal chill. As she and Nuada walked toward the hawthorn tree, the snow crunched pleasantly under their boots. Her breath curled into steam in the winter air. Moonlight shone down on the snow and on Nuada, who came to rest beneath the boughs of the hawthorn tree and stood like a guardian shadow, watching her traverse the last few steps.

"Where are we, exactly?" Dylan asked. There was a hushed sort of expectancy all around them, as if the very world held its breath. Despite the bite of winter, the air just beside the tree felt warmer. Not summer warm, but not winter cold, either. Magic seemed to hum beneath the surface of everything. "What is this place? It's amazing."

The Elf prince drew a breath. Hesitated. Blew it out again. "One of the royal gardens. One of the few closed to the public."

She cocked her head and studied him. The moon shone nearly as bright as candlelight on the wintry world below. She could read Nuada's expression when he turned his head just right; he was nervous. "So…it's special, then." He inclined his head a fraction. "It's beautiful."

"It sleeps," the prince murmured, reaching out to touch his fingers to the hawthorn tree. "It has slept since…since…" He closed his eyes. Swallowed. "Since my mother died and my father's heart turned cold." Silvery light caressed his face when he turned to her. "You know the royal line is tied to the land and to the people. Nothing reflects that more strongly than this garden. When the monarch's heart beats for the kingdom, the garden lives and sometimes even thrives. When the monarch's heart grows cold…it sleeps until another heart can awaken it."

Nuada pulled his fingertips away from the trunk of the tree. Dylan saw that some of the ice that had coated the trunk had melted beneath the warmth of Nuada's touch. With wide eyes, she watched cracks appear in the thick shield of ice. Shards of winter crystal broke off with a sound like tinkling wind-chimes and fell to the snow. Beneath the ice curled thin, leafless vines that appeared to be dead and brown. As she watched, however, the vines flushed with green life and a few leaf-buds appeared.

"Oh. My. Gosh." Dylan stared at a single tiny bud that swelled, darkened to nearly black in the moonlight, and burst into tiny fragile bloom. A miniature wild Irish rose. "How did you…I didn't know you could…Nuada, that's amazing. Can you do that because you're the heir?"

He canted his head. "Because I am the heir…and for one other reason." He paused. Dylan could almost feel his nervousness. Wondered what could be the cause. "Do you remember the night we first went before the court? It was more than a moon ago. Do you remember what my sister said before we entered the King's Hall?"

Baffled, she frowned. "Um…she said a lot of stuff. There was stuff about politics and you two were snarling at each other in Gaelic. What else? Um…I vaguely recall something about you getting in trouble if we tried to pass me off as your slave and me getting in trouble if we tried to pass me off as your lover. Jeez, that was a long time ago. I mean, not chronologically, but it feels like forever ago. She said something about how we could either go in pretending to be courting or as if we were engaged, I remember that."

"Do you remember anything else?"

She racked her brains, trying to think. Something about Bethmoora rejoicing…Oh! "And all in Bethmoora know that the prince is not married. If any of the royal family marries—at least, if they wed for love and not for politics—Bethmoora itself rejoices." Triumphant, she repeated the words for Nuada, who smiled fondly.

"They say that when my father first became king, this garden did well, but it did not thrive. Not really. But when my parents met, it was as if someone had cast a spell upon it. And when they married, it flourished as it had not done in centuries. So I have heard it said."

"But when your mother died…the garden died, too."

"Yes. My father…my father has not the strength or the heart to keep the land strong. This is proof of it. And for the longest time, nothing here responded to my touch or my power, despite the fact that I was the king's heir and bore a strong connection to the kingdom and the people. Yet the garden awakens for me now."

Dylan found herself suddenly trapped by Nuada's gaze, a rich amber with glints of carnelian and bits of sunfire glimmering in their depths, warming her despite the chill winter night. His fingertips came up to caress her cheek. Her breath hitched in her chest. It was suddenly very hard to breathe evenly. There was something so…intense in his gaze. Something that stole her very breath. "Why…why now? Do you know?"

He had never looked at her quite this way before.

"Because of you." Nuada swallowed back the sudden nerves that threatened to take him. He did not let his voice shake or his hands tremble. He only looked into those moonlit blue eyes of hers and tried to remember his courage. "Dylan…do I make you happy?"

"Of course. I mean," she added, scrupulously honest, "not when we're growling at each other. Then I just want us to kiss and make up. But other than that, yeah. You make me happier than I've ever been in my life." She smiled, feeling suddenly oddly shy. "You're always there for me. I mean, we fight and stuff, but…when I need you, when I really need you, you're always there. I've never had that before. You make me feel safe and beautiful and happy. You're so good to me. That's why I love you so much." A brief moment of hesitation. "Do I make you happy?"

Nuada leaned in until his forehead touched hers. He cupped her cheek, savoring the warmth of her skin against his palm. "Yes, mo duinne." His voice was a mere breath, soft as a kiss against her mouth. "Oh, yes. You make me very happy. Happier than I ever thought possible. I…"

The words were on the tip of his tongue. They burned within him, aching to be said. He couldn't, he realized, not say them. His other hand came up so he could frame her face. Leaning in, he brushed his lips across hers. Tasted her sigh. Her arms twined about his neck and she pressed close as his mouth settled over hers. Her lips were hot silk and fire as he kissed her. This kiss was different—a slow, feather-light exploration that left her trembling in his arms. Nuada let his mouth linger against hers, a whisper of promise soft as early morning sunlight. Dylan made a sound as Nuada ever so gently nipped her bottom lip. Shivers raced down her spine. Her knees went weak.

"Nuada," she whispered. He barely managed to bite back a groan at the way she said his name. "Nuada…"

Say it now, he commanded himself. Say it now. Take your courage in hand and just say it.

In a breath against her mouth, that exquisitely soft mouth, the crown prince of Bethmoora whispered, "I love you." It was soft when he confessed it. So soft he was not sure she heard him. But soft as the words were, they held all the weight of iron chains and centuries of grief and everything inside him that yearned for her.

Louder, pulling back, he murmured, "I love you, Dylan." Her eyes widened. "I do not know where it began," he confessed. "Only that, when I saw you that summer day at the faire, the world grew still beneath my feet and all was quiet but for the thunder of my heart. I had thought since you left my sanctuary that I could escape you, escape thoughts of you. Then I saw you, and you looked so lovely and so much a part of my world in a way no one else ever had. I think I wanted even then to make you a true part of that world, to be with you in some way outside the poison of mortality. I knew I had to see you again.

"Even now I cannot explain it. I only know that I needed to see you again. Mo chroí glaoch amach duit. Mo leat a líonadh gach nóiméad airdeallach. Shiúlann tú mo aisling gach oíche. Ba mhaith liom tú. Is gá dom duit. Le do thoil nach cas dom ar shiúl. Tabhair dom síochána."

My heart cried out for you. You filled my every waking moment. You walked my dreams each night. I want you. I need you. Please do not turn me away. Give me peace.

Dylan gazed up at him in shock, into eyes of brilliant honeyed amber. She'd never thought she would hear such a confession. Never thought that Nuada would unwrap his heart enough to show her so much. She was startled to realize that for all his bravado and his strength, for all his years and all his warrior's courage, he was just as scared and uncertain of what was between them as she was. And despite what she'd told him, he was just as unsure of her as she was of him.

Perhaps even more so. She thought of Ethine and the half-Elf's cruel words. Thought of Nuala and Balor, who saw nothing but a monster when they looked at the honorable prince holding her now. How many others had hurt Nuada that way in the Elven warrior's four-thousand-odd years? How many others had rejected him? Put scars on his heart? Of course he would be unsure of Dylan. Had there ever been anyone—besides Wink and, it seemed, Polunochnaya—that he cared deeply for who had not hurt him in some way?

Nuada cradled her face between his hands and said in a voice of soft longing, "Dylan, I love you. I never thought it possible, never thought I would find…and I know I have said and done cruel things and that I do not deserve you after all the ways I have hurt you, but you must know that I love you. So much. I cannot resist this. It never stops—the longing simply to be near you, to see your face. You captured me long ago, mo duinne." He closed his eyes for a brief moment and let his forehead touch hers once more. "It seems I have fallen completely under your spell."

A tear spilled down her cheek. A half-incredulous smile spread across her face. "Grá agat dom?"

You love me? Oh, he had hinted at it often in the last few days. Talked about how he cared for her, how he needed her. But this was different. This was…this was something so much more…she didn't even know. All she knew was that she had never seen Nuada so vulnerable, so open, so uncertain. So utterly sincere.

"You love me."

"Tá," he murmured in Gaelic. "Tá grá agam duit, Dylan."

Yes. I love you, Dylan.

After a breathless moment, she managed to whisper, "I am really, really happy right now. Like, ecstatic. I just…I…I love you, too." She pressed her face into his chest and clung to him, murmuring over and over, "I love you, too, Nuada. I love you, too. I love you so much." He loved her. Nuada loved her.

"Dylan. Mo duinne," Nuada murmured. Stroked a hand along her dark hair and felt her breath warm as a lover's sigh against his throat. "I need to ask you something."

Dread traipsed cold fingers down her spine and she suddenly couldn't catch her breath. The happiness faded away. Whatever Nuada was going to ask her, her instincts were telling her she didn't want to hear it. She didn't know why, but it was going to be bad, whatever it was. But he looked so earnest. Nervous again. Almost…shy all of a sudden. She couldn't say no.

"Okay."

The feral-eyed Elven warrior drew a breath that shuddered out of him. Where had his courage gone? It was just a simple question. And she would say yes. After everything they had been through, everything they had talked about…after nearly losing each other…surely she would say yes. So why was it so hard for him to find the right words? Why did this sudden doubt assail him?

The Elf prince took her hands in his. Wished he could feel the softness of her skin and the delicate press of her fingers without her gloves in the way. Feel the cool, slim band of the ring he'd made for her gracing her finger. Nuada closed his eyes. Drew a long breath. Mingling with the bite of snow and winter chill came the sweet fragrance of Dylan's perfume—the richness of passion fruit and the sweet scent of primroses. Desire and love. It steadied him.

He could do this. He had already told her he loved her. This next step would not be so difficult, surely. This was what he wanted. Never mind that his father had forced him into asking. Nuada wanted this more than nearly anything, and surely Dylan wanted it just as much if not more.

So he drew another steadying breath and let it out slowly. Met her eyes. Those lovely, fey-like eyes of beautiful, impossible blue.

"Dylan. My Dylan. A ghrá mo chroí…will you do me the great honor of becoming my wife?"

End of Book 7: The Twilight Realm

Our story continues in Book 8: The Moon over Bethmoora

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Author's Note: omg right? What will she SAY? That is question one of the review prompt. But omg! Who saw that coming? Who's excited? Who squee-ed? Anyone? Anyone? And he confessed his love! With the word "love" actually IN the confession! About time, huh? Woot, woot! Everyone do a happy dance. Come on, I promise I won't take any pictures, lol.

1) So…the proposal. *evil laughter of devious glee* What will Dylan say?

2) We have new friends! Yay! Initial impressions of Dylan's new bodyguards? We'll see more of them as we go along through the fic.

3) Ah, the children. Useful literary tools as always. Good for levity, yes? And Francesca reappears! Good to see Dylan getting along with her sisters, yeah? It has been known to happen. Odds Dylan can actually get a picture of Nuada shirtless? Place your bets here! Not that I'm condoning gambling, because I'm totally not.

4) Nuala and Dylan's meeting. Thoughts? Questions? Comments?

5) Speaking of meetings—what on earth could Nuada, Bres, and Ciaran possibly have been talking about? Hrm?

6) Sigh. Na'ko'ma. What do we think of her? And gack! Dierdre and Nuada have met! Dun-dun-DUN! Double-witch alert! We've got two witches! Eeek! What do we do now, boss?

7) The confession and proposal—what did you guys think? I am so very curious. Did you guys like it? Was it romantic? Who liked it? Or was it hokey? Tell me it wasn't hokey! I can't live with hokey! I know this sort of ties in with question 1, but it's more about the confession/proposal itself, not what Dylan will say.

8) And of course, 17 favorites. =)

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Concerning the Chapter Title: "Lady, long have I loved you" is a line from the beautiful faerie romance ballad by Heather Dale, "The Maiden and the Selkie." I was racking my brains for a title for this chapter that wouldn't give too much away and then this song played on my Media Player. I was like, "Oooh."

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References Made in This Chapter:

- Butcher Guards age one year of maturity for every 50 calendrical years.

- Sáruit ingen Chuinn, in mythology, is the sister of Sadb ingen Chuinn, and a daughter of Conn of the Hundred Battles, a High King of Ireland. Her brother was Art mac Cuinn, also a High King of Ireland. Sáruit married Conaire Cóem of the Érainn, who was High King before Art mac Cuinn. Her sister Sadb married Macnia mac Lugdach, prince of the Dáirine or Corcu Loígde, and was mother of Lugaid Mac Con, High King of Ireland; upon the death of Macnia, she married secondly Ailill Aulom, king of southern Ireland, and was mother of Éogan Mór, ancestor of the Eóganachta.

- Yes, actually, it does say to go into your closet to pray in the scriptures. Now, I seem to recall that actually means your bedroom, but it's true that in the Church, if you're in a busy house and can't find a quiet, alone place to say your prayers, you can go in your closet. I actually know a girl who's mom does that because she's got, like, 6 kids or something.

- Yes, I love Strawberry Shortcake, too. That book Dylan buys with Raspberry Tart on the cover—I used to have it. And it's one of the OLD ones from like, the 80s or something. It was old and out of print when I had it in the early 90s, so…yeah.

- Threads-N-Things is a real store somewhere, but the one here is based on an actual thriftstore by a different name in my city. I get most of my kids' books (or got, before I went broke, blurgh) from there. Kids' books for 50 cents, yo. Good prices.

- My brother owned a series of books about He-Man and the Masters of the Universe when I was very little, and then he gave them to me, and like an IDIOT I sold them over a decade ago. But they were awesome. I've never seen a children's book written and illustrated the way they were. Sigh. I miss them.

- Seriously, go look up The Pirates Who Don't Do Anything on Youtube. They appear in the Jonah movie from Veggie Tales, as well as their own movie, and there's a song done by the Veggie Tales vegetables, as well as a rock version of the song done by Relient K. =D Serious happy-hilarious awesome right there.

- The Star-Bellied Sneeches by Dr. Seuss is a book that my 8th grade teacher read to us when we did our unit on the Holocaust. I was told (though I've never verified this myself) that the book is supposed to be commentary on the Holocaust and how it started and about discrimination. I can see it, but I don't know if Dr. Seuss did that on purpose or what.

- Across many North America indigenous cultures, the Thunderbird carries many of the same characteristics. It is described as a large bird, capable of creating storms and thundering while it flies. Clouds are pulled together by its wingbeats, the sound of thunder made by its wings clapping, sheet lightning is the light flashing from its eyes when it blinks, and individual lightning bolts are made by the glowing snakes that it carries around with it. In masks, it is depicted as many-colored, with two curling horns, and, often, teeth within its beak. The Native Americans believed that the giant Thunderbird could shoot lightning from its eyes.

Depending on the people telling the story, the Thunderbird is either a singular entity or a species. In both cases, it is intelligent, powerful, and wrathful. All agree one should go out of one's way to keep from getting thunderbirds angry. The singular Thunderbird (as the Nuu-chah-nulth thought of him) was said to reside on the top of a mountain, and was the servant of the Great Spirit. The Thunderbird only flew about to carry messages from one spirit to another. It was also told that the thunderbird controlled rainfall.

The plural thunderbirds (as the Kwakwaka'wakw and Cowichan tribes believed) could shapeshift into human form by tilting back their beaks like a mask, and by removing their feathers as if it were a feather-covered blanket. There are stories of thunderbirds in human form marrying into human families; some families may trace their lineage to such an event. Families of thunderbirds who kept to themselves but wore human form were said to have lived along the northern tip of Vancouver Island. The story goes that other tribes soon forgot the nature of one of these thunderbird families, and when one tribe tried to take them as slaves the thunderbirds put on their feather blankets and transformed to take vengeance upon their foolish captors. The Sioux believed that in "old times" the Thunderbirds destroyed dangerous reptilian monsters called the Unktehila.

- Na'ko'ma is named after the best friend of Pocahontas in the Disney film (the one in the two-piece dress and the shorter hair).

- Michelle Phan is awesome. Seriously. Google her. Watch her tutorials. Subscribe to her network. I don't even LIKE makeup, but she's just crazy amazing. Her and her sister-in-law do transformation tutorials, too, that are crazy awesome. Seriously, go check her out on Youtube.

- The flowers in the garden all have a meaning to do with love. Arbutus flowers (which grow on arbutus trees) mean "You're the only one I love." Mallow blossoms mean "consumed by love." Lilacs represent the first blushes of love (like, "I'm beginning to fall for you" kind of thing). Primroses are for eternal love, and forget-me-nots stand for true love.