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.

66. Don't Walk Away

At the Bottom of This Chapter:

Author's Note
Concerning the Chapter Title
References Made in This Chapter

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VERY IMPORTANT: so apparently the Createspace website is really frustrating/annoying/confusing. And apparently you can't order both my books together? Which is dumb. So I've decided, if you guys would rather just get them on Amazon, totally go for it. At least they're being bought, right? You should be able to just type in the titles or my author's name into the search bar. Hopefully that makes your lives easier. Sorry for the hullaballoo - cripes. Why do things have to be so complicated? I hate complicated. My life's complicated enough. Blergh. But yeah, we're strapped for rent AGAIN, so for those who haven't bought my books because the website was being a pain in the butt, try Amazon and I will love you forever. Shipping is cheaper, too. I think it's like, $3.99 or something.

So just type in "Glass LA Knight" or "Their Forever Family LA Knight" into the Amazon search bar and it should be fine. My mom already did it. =D

Sandra/Lylabeth: I keep meaning to ask you, because I forgot - what is The Thirteenth Rider a fanfic for? And who is it by again? So I can find it.

Author's Note: So here we are, with the latest chapter in Once Upon a Time. Danger looms. A few things get explained. Some sneaky kitties prove their worth, lol. And we meet a new friend! Well, not so new. He was mentioned in "A Hero Comes Home," one of the Once Upon a Time separate one-shots. But still - new friend. Yay.

And ow, I hurt myself. Cripes. July is my anti-happy month, I think. All kinds of crud is going on. I hate life. Well, no, I love life. And fanfiction. And you guys. Hearing from you makes me very happy when I would otherwise want to be squished by a bus. I hate everything else. Like corn. Do you know how boring it is to eat corn out of a can? And it's sweet corn. Ew. I hate sweet corn. Sweet corn is a misnomer - that stuff tastes like starchy water. It should be called... um... watery corn. Corny H2O? I don't know. Something. Misnomer! For real. And the sound fork-tines make when they scrape on tin... eeek. It's like nails on a chalkboard. Or the inside of a washing machine. Anyone ever done that? Bleh. Painful.

Sorry, I am so done ranting now. Enjoy this chapter. There is funny stuff, sweet stuff, scary stuff, sad stuff, and "oh my gosh I can't believe that" stuff, so I hope you all like it. I love all of you.

Huggles,

LA

PS - Guest... you are an anonymous person. Are you the same Anonymous from chapter 60? Or are you a different anonymous person? I can't tell. I'm just curious so I know kinda who you are. =)

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Chapter Sixty-Six

Don't Walk Away

that is

A Short Tale of an Explanation from an Unexpected Source, a Missing Page, Lambs to the Slaughter, Playing False, a Bribe and a Boon, a Walk, and a Ride

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Nuada was in no mood to put up with childish admonishments when A'du'la'di poked his head into the study later that morning. "Get out," the prince growled.

"Maybe you could send her flowers," the boy began.

"Out." The word was a low snarl. A'du'la'di swallowed hard, but came all the way into the room and closed the door. Nuada felt a headache beginning just behind his left eye. "Boy, if you do not get out of this study by the time I am on my feet, I will thrash-"

"You said it was better to break your own heart than to break your honor," the cougar boy interrupted hurriedly. "So... so it's prob'ly better to break your own bones than break your honor, too. So I don't care if you thrash me. I mean, I do care, 'cause it'll hurt, but you said fear can't stand in the way of what you owe to a vassal, and it wouldn't be fair if a lord or lady owed stuff to a vassal but the vassal didn't owe stuff back. So I owe the a'ge'lv and I have to help her with... um... you. I guess. 'Cause boy, you guys need it."

Hearing his own words turned back on him should have infuriated him, but the cub looked so earnest and nervous and it was clear to the prince the child was perilously close to tears. Yet here he stood, in defiance of Nuada's orders. A little impressed and more than a little mollified despite himself, the crown prince settled back in his chair and regarded A'du'la'di with cool appraisal.

"When a vassal wishes to speak to a noble on behalf of his master or mistress, and he does not wish to give offense, protocol dictates he knock first."

Whiskers pricked forward. Cat-like ears swiveled. "If I leave, you're gonna lock the door and then I won't know how to get back in."

"Knowing you, you would raise such a ruckus that I would not dare," the prince replied dryly. "Step out, and knock." Unsure, the boy still complied. "Enter." A'du'la'di came back in and bowed. "Very good. Now, what is it you wished to speak to me about? Be brief."

"Um... so, okay. Um. I think, Your Highness, that we should have a man-talk."

Nuada fought not to choke on a sudden tickle in his throat. It felt an awful lot like laughter. As this was the first time he'd felt like laughing since proposing to Dylan, the Elven warrior decided to let the interview unfold. "Oh?"

"Yeah. So I kinda know a secret, because 'Sa'ti told me, and I can't tell you, because it's a secret, but if I tell you something else, then it'll help A'ge'lv Dylan, and it'll be a good idea, and then everything will be better with you guys. And 'Sa'ti said I should explain about the temple 'cause you don't know about it, and maybe then you won't be so mad." Folding his arms, Nuada raised his eyebrows and watched the little boy without saying a word. A'du swallowed. "Was that brief?"

"You know a secret," Nuada said. "One of Lady Dylan's secrets." The child nodded. "And you cannot tell me the secret."

A'du shook his head. "If I told you, it wouldn't be a secret."

"I see. Yet you can give me another piece of information separate from this secret, and if you do, it will help the current situation." The boy nodded again. "And I take it part of this comes with advice of some sort, that I would be remiss in ignoring."

"What's 'amiss' mean?"

"Remiss," Nuada corrected. "It would be a bad idea if I ignored this advice."

The ewah child nodded vehemently. "Uh-huh. Bad idea. Really bad idea."

"I see." The tickle in his throat threatened to expand as he murmured, "And this is what will comprise our... man-talk?" He honestly felt a bit foolish even using the somewhat silly child's phrase.

"Uh-huh."

Leaning forward to prop his elbows on his desk, the prince steepled his fingers. "Have a seat, A'du'la'di." There was one chair, situated at a bit of a cockeyed angle to the desk. The cougar pushed it into the proper place and hopped into it. His bright gray eyes barely peeped above the desk. The corner of Nuada's mouth twitched. "You may sit on those books, if it will help."

He gestured to a thick atlas and an even thicker book with no title on spine or cover, resting on their sides on a low bookshelf. Both were bound in sturdy leather. A'du poked at the bigger book with a ginger fingertip. Opened it. Inside were words in a language that he didn't know, but the letters were in English. He flipped a couple pages, intrigued. On the third page were two lists. He didn't know those words, either.

Acacia - A ghrá mo chroí... Aloe - Sosanna... Arbutus - Chailleann tú mé... Asphodel - Gráin agat dom, nach tú?

"What's this?"

"A compendium," the prince murmured. "Of various flora and their meanings and uses, both as a language and for other things." The child blinked, clearly confused. "It is a list of the meanings of various flowers and other plants," Nuada clarified. "Now close it and bring it here." They were so heavy that A'du had to carry them separately from the shelf to the chair. Once situated on top of the massive books, A'du's shoulders and head were easier to see.

"All right. Let us commence with our man-talk."

"Okay. So here's the deal, Your Highness. So A'ge'lv Dylan is doing something right now, but I can't tell you what, because it's a secret. But it's for you. And once she's done, you need to be really, really nice to her because she's sad and she knows you're mad and she's trying to make you not mad anymore. And maybe you should get her flowers. And give her a hug."

One brow quirked. "A hug?"

A'du made a face. "I guess you guys could kiss. You've had your cootie shots, right?"

Nuada closed his eyes. "Let us say that I have," the legendary Elven warrior replied. "Pray tell, what sort of flowers do you suggest?"

The cougar child scrunched up his face in thought. Absently flexed his claws. Nuada eyed the sharp little crescents, making sure they stayed far away from his polished ebony desk.

"Um... I dunno. Roses, maybe. Girls like roses, right? They're romantic and stuff, right? Oh, but I forgot, I have to tell you about the temple, and why it's so important to the a'ge'lv. Then you won't be mad at her anymore."

Sighing, Nuada said, "I am not angry with her, A'du'la'di."

"Um... well... you kinda sounded like it before, at the dance lesson. But I'm on your side about that Lord Cíaran guy. I think you should've chopped his ugly head off. After thrashing him, 'cause you're good at that kind of thing. He called A'ge'lv Dylan a whore." A'du paused. "Your Highness... what's a whore?"

Amusement at the question and irritation at the reminder twined together in Nuada's belly. "A whore is a woman who has sex with someone for money."

Righteous indignation flashed across the child's face. "A'ge'lv Dylan wouldn't do that!" Another pause. "Um... what's sex?"

Nuada bit his tongue and wished fiercely for Dylan to come to his rescue. "Sex is how children are made."

"Oh. People pay girls to make babies? That's kinda weird. What do they want the babies for? Why don't they just make babies on their own?"

"Ask your mistress." When A'du'la'di opened his mouth to protest, Nuada added, "Healers are always best to ask about that sort of thing." After a moment's thought, the boy nodded. The prince prompted, "You wished to speak to me about the Star Kindler's temple."

A'du smiled. "Yeah. Um, hang on, I gotta thingy..." The child pulled a small illustrated card out of his trouser pocket. "Got it. Oh, it bent. Oops." He gently unfolded the bent corner and put it on Nuada's desk. "So at church last week, someone mentioned the temple, and me and 'Sa'ti-"

"'Sa'ti and I," the prince corrected automatically. He scanned the picture on the card. It looked more like a palace than a temple. Then again, the Star Kindler was also called the High King of the World.

"Yeah, 'Sa'ti and I, we asked A'ge'lv Dylan all about it, and why it's so important, and she told us all kinds of stuff. But the important thing for you guys is that she really wants to get married in the temple, but she can't if she marries you, because you can't get in."

The prince's brows shot upward. "Oh? Can I not? I am crown prince of Bethmoora."

Shaking his head, A'du explained, "Nuh-uh. No one can get in the High King's temple without His permission, which you get by following His rules. You can go into the... the... the thingy-place. Um... the visitor's center! But not in the temple. Even if you follow the Star Kindler, sometimes you can't even get into the temple then. There's all kinds of things you have to do, like make sure you go to church all the time and follow the Word of Wisdom - I don't know what that is, I forgot to ask - and lotsa stuff. But she really wants to get married there. 'Specially if she marries you, Your Highness."

Nuada blinked. "Why especially if she marries me?"

The child's excitement dimmed. "'Cause she's a human, and you're one of the People. So you'll live a really, really long time, but she won't. We're all gonna live a lot longer than she will. And so if you guys don't get married in the temple, it's just until one of you dies, right? Uaithne talked to me about it when I asked. He said the words you say if you guys get married are... um... mé a thabhairt... um..."

"'Mé a thabhairt duit mo chroi beidh ár saol a dhéanamh.' I give you my heart till our life shall be done," Nuada murmured in English, staring off into the distance. That was not the whole of the vow, not by a long road, but... but it would be the part that caught Dylan's attention. The disparity in their lifespans. The fact that she would grow old and die, while he... until she died, he would remain as she saw him now, but she... but Dylan would...

"What has that to do with marrying in the temple?" Nuada demanded to chase away his morbid thoughts. "It would still be until one of us-"

"No it wouldn't," A'du'la'di contradicted. "That's what the temple's for. That's why she wants it so much. Er, part of why. She wants to be married to you for always and always. Tsu's'di explained it to me after I talked to you yesterday. If you get married in the temple, then when she... when she dies, she'll still be your wife. And when you die, you can find her in Heaven and be married to her still. See?"

Stunned, Nuada sat back. Wedded beyond death? His not just until mortality snatched her away, but his for all eternity. The two of them together until the end of all things. Until the stars fell to earth and the sun turned to dust. He would have to say goodbye to her, yes, but only for a little space. Only for a single lifetime. And once that lifetime was over, he could... he could see her again. Be with her again. Always. For a thousand lifetimes. For a hundred-thousand. For forever. No wonder she wanted it so badly for herself; never mind every other unselfish reason she had for wanting it.

But that was a dream obtainable - if the Star Kindler's people could be believed - if one followed that royal God. And Nuada did not. Could not. Not after thousands of years of bloodshed and darkness and death. Not after thousands of years of despair and futile prayers to any god that would listen to save his people from the slow death at the hands of the humans. How could he follow any god, much less a God that had ignored his pleas all that time?

"Um... Your Highness?" The Elven prince wrenched himself from his thoughts and focused on the child watching him with nervousness in every line of his body. "Um... am I... am I in trouble? Your face looks kinda funny. Not funny-haha. Funny-weird. Am I in trouble?"

He shook his head. "No, A'du'la'di. It is simply... simply that you have given me much to think over. I thank you for this talk. It has been most informative."

"Is that good?"

A small smile surprised Nuada by tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Yes, A'du. It is. Off with you, now. I need to think."

"Real quick, I got something else for you, too." The boy pulled a small, leather-bound book out of his shirt pocket. "You gotta take real good care of it, 'cause it's A'ge'lv Dylan's, but it's important. I dunno why, exactly, but I just felt I oughtta show it to you. You should read it. It's her favorite story ever. You should read it before you talk to her or anything. Just... just 'cause."

Feral eyes glanced at the cover. Beauty and the Beast glinted in delicate gold plate across the green leather above a gold-embossed rose. Nuada carefully opened the book. Tiny detailed watercolor illustrations graced every other page. The dark script danced elegantly across the fragile paper. The book was small, perhaps a hundred pages in total. Dylan's favorite story?

The cougar cub scootched off the chair and went to the door. He stopped before opening it. Bowed. With his hand on the doorknob, the child tossed back over his shoulder, "Don't forget, Your Highness - roses are romantic. Girls love 'em." A'du practically skipped out of the room, beaming.

Nuada sighed. The boy had forgotten to close the door.

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Lunch was brought to Dylan sometime later by Fiona, one of the hob-maids. Someone had thought to tell the kitchen staff to include a meal on the tray for 'Sa'ti. Dylan wondered absently who might have thought of that. She ate absently as she pored over the letter-in-progress. It had to be... well, she doubted she could make it perfect. Nuada had had centuries of practice to write such a perfect apology as the one he'd given her after their first big fight. But it had to be as good as Dylan could get it.

The day passed. She kept working. 'Sa'ti left the room a couple times to replace a picture book with another story to study. Her little whiskers and ears were pricked forward in concentration. Sometimes her tail would lash back and forth. Other times she would smile and purr to herself, pleased with something.

Dylan sat back and studied the rought draft of her letter to Nuada. It was full of cross-outs and word-inserts. It was clumsy and it sounded a lot like she was making excuses to him. She wished she had the prince's skill with words. He'd come up with that beautiful letter so easily. Dylan blamed that incredibly useful talent on the prince lessons he must've had as a kid.

Dinner came and went; with it came a formal missive from the king's secretary informing her that Wednesday night was the formal dinner reception for the Midwinter guests. She could only be grateful it wasn't sooner. Wednesday was her last real day of work before her two-week vacation. Since she dealt with teenagers and school kids, who often took winter break to go traveling, she didn't work much during the winter holidays, except with her juvie kids and the kids at Saint Vincent's. Her workload would be cut down almost to a third of what it had been. She'd have more time for Nuala and her "princess lessons."

Hopefully she and Nuada would be back together, but without this pain between them, by then.

As a psychiatrist, Dylan knew that the prince had taken a huge risk in asking her to marry him. Not so much politically, since the king had been encouraging their union, but a great emotional risk. Had Nuada ever asked someone else to marry him before? He'd been in love before, yes, but... but marriage was a whole step farther. And for a king's heir, it was an even bigger step.

It was an act of trust, in a way. Nuada had offered her his heart on a silver plate and she'd had to throw it away. At least, that must have been how it seemed to him. He'd willingly surrendered control to her - the next chapter of his life, dictated by her answer - and then it had gone in a way he'd not only failed to anticipate, but in a direction that hurt. It must have hurt so much...

She was still thinking about that, and the letter, and the fact that despite his pain he'd come to save her from Cíaran, when Dylan went to bed that night and fell into fitful sleep. Confused and sleep-jumbled thoughts chased her through flickering nightmares of silver, ebony, and bruising hands.

She woke groggy just as the sun peeped in through her bedroom window. Stifling a yawn, she got up to get ready for the Sabbath.

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Taking what Eimh called "a happy bath" - a bath with jonquil-scented oil and Elven bubblebath that carried the fragrance of morning glory - Dylan drew a deep breath and sank under the wondrously hot water. She'd smell like flowers when she got out. That would be nice. The scent of flowers always cheered her up.

When she surfaced, it was to see Eimh carefully carrying a crystal bottle tucked under her chin. The contents were a transparent, jewel-like cerise. The white hound set the bottle onto the tiled floor with a small tink beside two other containers she must've brought while her person was beneath the water. Golden-brown eyes met Dylan's and the dog gave her a puppy grin.

*You will smell pretty. Master likes it when you smell pretty. And I made sure these were pretty flowers. I read the labels.*

Dylan started in surprise and nearly inhaled some of the pale blue bubbles foaming atop the bath water. "You can read?"

*A little bit. Not as much as Mother. Only all the letters and some words. There are pictures on the labels, so it was not hard.*

Eimh touched the tip of her nose to the top of the red-filled bottle. Sure enough, etched into the thick crystal stopper was a picture of a sprig of long, slender, bell-like flowers and the word aloe underneath. Dylan stared at it, then at the other two bottles. Their contents glittered violet and lilac behind the crystal. On the tops were the symbols of two flowers. Beneath the flowers were the words Mallow and Bellflower.

The mortal blinked. Glanced at the hound. Frowned. Eimh seemed to be trying to give her person a very innocent puppy look. Now why, Dylan wondered, would her dog be trying to give her the innocent "I'm not plotting anything" look?

"Why these?" Dylan asked casually.

Eimh flopped down beside the bathtub and lolled onto her back. *Because I love them a lot, and I get to go with you to your worship today. So I will always be able to smell you easy.*

Faeries - except royal faeries, and some shapeshifters - couldn't lie. So Dylan knew Eimh was telling the truth. And she didn't think the hound was old enough to have the skill to manipulate the truth to her advantage, the way a lot of fae could. So that had to be the reason. But for some reason, Dylan wasn't entirely convinced. But the hound was now eyeing her with such pleading in those big, honey-gold eyes that Dylan sighed and took the aloe-scented soap in hand. Why not? Using the wildwood soap only depressed her, anyway.

An ice-blue eye peeked out from a black, furry face to meet Eimh's gaze from beside the bathtub. Sétanta grinned a doggy grin. Eimh grinned back. Step one of their mission: success. Perhaps their mistress's little cat-boy-puppy knew what he was doing after all.

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Once out of the bath and dressed, Dylan went to go wake up the children. A frisson of panic swept down her spine when she found A'du'la'di's bed empty. The panic faded when she found him sprawled on one of the sitting room sofas with a very large book under his body, snoring away. Uaithne, who sat in a chair by the sofa, got to his feet and bowed to the mortal when she came into the room.

"My apologies, my lady," the Butcher murmured, head still bowed. "The young page came out of his room early this morning and said he'd had an ill dream. I told him he might stay out here with Ailbho and me for a little while, and we lost track of time." The guard straightened. Glanced at the sleeping child. "He looks to be the same age as Tadgh," Uaithne said softly.

It took her a moment to remember that Tadgh was Uaithne's young son, whom the royal guard rarely had the opportunity to see. She smiled at the guard. "No problem. Were you worried about waking the others?"

Uaithne inclined his head. "Butcher armor is not exactly the stealthiest thing to wear. It is why we are not assassins or spies like other royal guards from some other kingdoms. And my wife keeps cats, to deal with the village mice; I know felines are easy to wake and hard to get to sleep on a good night. I did not wish to wake your little maid."

"Understood. Thanks. Well, time for the little munchkin to wake up, anyway," she said, and went to rouse her page.

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"I cannot believe you made me get on my knees and apologize to that... that... human," Cíaran snarled. His sister sank down beside him on the settee in Bres's rooms and placed a cold washcloth to the bruise swiftly darkening over his left eye, courtesy of the crown prince. The disguised gancanaugh hissed at the pain. "And then you attacked me-"

"You did make a move without his permission," Dierdre murmured to her brother. "Oh, hold still. You're bleeding again." With her free hand, she plucked a handkerchief from where she kept a few hidden in her sleeves and touched it ever so gently to the cut dripping amber blood from Cíaran's split eyebrow. "There. Now, Brother, you should know better than to move without our prince's leave-"

"You have done it, Sister," Cíaran replied. "Why does he allow you such freedom? Merely because he enjoys sporting with you?"

Stung, she drew back from him. "Brother... His Highness punished me for acting without his leave." She let the glamour slip just a little, to reveal the scar gracing her cheekbone where the Fomorian prince had backhanded her while wearing his signet ring. "As he punished you. Now be still. I must make sure your ribs are not broken."

Bres lounged in an armchair, watching the two gancanaugh. Every so often, Dierdre would shoot him a nervous glance. Good. She, at least, had learned her lesson about respecting her prince and master. But it seemed Cíaran had not figured it out quite yet. Not even after the very thorough beating he had received at the hands - or rather, hooves - of Arrachd on Bres's order.

The Fomorian prince glanced at the skinless, centaur-like nuckelavee, who grinned at Dierdre while the female gancanaugh tended to her brother's fresh injuries. Dierdre bared her teeth in a silent hiss at the one-eyed bogle. Arrachd rolled his eye and went into his own room after bowing to his prince.

Cíaran had spent the majority of the previous day lying in bed after his punishment, his sister hovering over him and murmuring soothing nonsense while his superior fae healing knitted most of the broken bones back together. Only at midnight, when Bres had summoned Dierdre to see to his needs instead of the Fomorian lord's injuries, had the disguised gancanaugh been left alone. When Dierdre had been allowed to leave the prince's bed, she'd gone straight back to her brother.

Upon rising Sunday morning, Bres had inquired as to Cíaran's recovery. The faerie lord had replied he was recovering quite well. Bres had informed his friend that that was good. Wonderful, in fact. Then the Fomorian crown prince had proceeded to deliver his own beating to his old friend.

Dierdre's good morning kiss that morning had been a little cold, Bres reflected, thinking of that well-earned trouncing. It wasn't as if he'd done even half as much damage as Arrachd. Cíaran hadn't needed to be carried to bed after the prince was through him. And the gancanaugh had only blacked out once from the pain.

"You nearly ruined everything," Bres said into the tense silence between the gancanaugh siblings. "If you had succeeded in goading Silverlance into attacking you, what do you think would have happened?" The prince had to give his friend credit; Cíaran actually had the grace to look sheepish. "He would have tried to kill you and I would have been obliged to kill the princess in order to protect you. All the work you and I and Bírog have put into fogging Nuala's mind and powers, wasted. And then we would've had a bloodbath on our hands, because we would have had to silence all the guards, as well as those cat children and the human, and then figure out a way to escape not only the castle, but the bloody country."

Cíaran hissed at the mention of the mortal. "I apologize, Your Highness. I overreacted. It is hard not to, when you forbid me from... indulging, and then dangle live bait right in front of my face."

"Brother, she's not even pretty."

The gancanaugh snorted, then winced when pain lanced his side. "Beggars cannot be choosers, my sister. She is female. I am a gancanaugh male, and I have had no one to play with, to feed on, since we left home." He slanted a look at Bres from the corner of his eye. Allowed the glamour masking him as Fomorian to drop, revealing his crimson-slitted, sclera-less black eyes. "I am hungry."

Dierdre sighed. Slumped against her brother's side, dropping her head to his shoulder. Cíaran grunted, but didn't tell her to get off. "As am I, Brother. As am I. I feel your suffering. Bres will not even let us play with the servants," she added as if lamenting to herself, but she surreptitiously eyed the prince. Bres seemed utterly indifferent. "Everything is moving so slowly," Dierdre sighed. "When will I have my turn with the prince? At least then I will have something to do."

Bres smiled. That brought both Dierdre and Cíaran to attention in an instant. Malevolence dripped like sweet venom from his voice when the Fomorian crown prince said, "I mean to ask for Princess Nuala's hand at the Midwinter Ball. Bírog's spells and your help, Cíaran, should ensure a positive answer. Dierdre," and there was a fond look in his blue eyes when he glanced at her. "As my apology gift to you, my sweet, since I know it will vex you to see me with her, you may move on the prince then. After the ball. As for you, Cíaran... Nuada will want you gone for what you did yesterday. That is why I gave you some very impressive bruises. He will see that I have dealt with the problem. More importantly, the king will see. So if Nuada does not accept what punishment I haved meted out, King Balor will be less likely to insist on you leaving. But be very careful, my friend. If either Silverlance or the king demand an oath of you, you will have to word it very carefully."

Cíaran snorted again. Winced. Snarled when his little sister smacked him on the arm. "All I must say is that I do not intend any harm to the human."

Dierdre arched one delicate, garnet brow. "Would that not be lying, my brother?"

"I do not mean her any true harm," Cíaran replied. "I mean to watch, and enjoy myself, while you take her apart, Sister. I will not be doing anything. Merely sitting back and enjoying my sister having fun. I know you've been quite bored. I'll not begrudge you your sport. You can even have all of her internal organs."

"How very generous. Thank you, Brother."

"In the meantime," Prince Bres interrupted, still smiling, "I have a surprise for you, Cíaran. An apology, as it were, for keeping you on such a short leash thus far. Perhaps it will make things easier for you. It should be arriving right... now." A hesitant knock sounded at the door to the prince's suite. Bres's smile turned thin and feral. Cíaran's eyes widened as he caught the scent of hob maiden. Bres called, "Enter."

They were both skinny, Cíaran thought a little critically. That was the problem with hobs - they never developed real curves. Not like Elves or wood sprites or river faeries. Nowhere near as curvaceous and lush as human females. But they were young, just stepping into full adulthood, and pretty. And nervous. Now why, he wondered with a cruel smile, would the poor little things be nervous?

"Beggin' Yer Highness's pardon, sir," the taller of the two hob maids murmured, bobbing a curtsy, "but ye sent fer one of the maids, didn' ye?" Cíaran noted with delight that her seven-fingered hands were shaking as they tangled in her dark skirts. And she had very long, curly hair. Cíaran liked curly hair.

The other maid curtsied as well. She kept her eyes on the floor and said nothing. A shy little thing. Her hair fell to her shoulders; unlike most hobs, who had black hair, hers was a lovely chestnut brown. It, too, was curly. Points in their favor.

"Yes," the prince replied in a voice as smooth as poisoned honey. "Lord Cíaran's room is not quite to his liking, is that not correct, Cíaran?" The gancanaugh, all of his masks back in place, inclined his head. Putting a little ice into the words, Bres added, "Fix it."

"Yes, Yer Highness. O-of course. W-what is it yer wantin' us to do, exactly?"

With liquid grace, Cíaran rose to his feet. Tilted his head just a little. A lock of dark hair fell across one eye. "Come with me and I will show you."

The hobs paled. Swallowed. Glanced at each other. "V-very good, m'lord." They trailed behind the Fomorian lord as he made his way toward the door that led to his own bedroom. Hesitated just on the threshold of the bedchamber. But they were together. That was why maids always went to a lord's room in pairs - to protect them in case the noble tried to interfere with them. That way at least one of them could run for help if needed. They would be all right.

"What are your names?" Cíaran asked suddenly, fixing them with his dark jade stare.

"Lilé," said the black-haired hob, ducking her head shyly. A jet curl fell across her cheek. Cíaran's fingers twitched. He could feel the slickness of Branwen's Tears seeping from his skin. "Lilé Hob, if it pleases ye, m'lord."

"F-F-Fiona," stammered the other. "Fiona Hob. If it p-pleases you, m-my lord."

A smile sharply edged with cruelty bloomed across Cíaran's mouth. He lifted both hands and pressed them against the hob maids' cheeks. Their mouths dropped open. Their eyes went wide, then glassy. He drew his fingers down over their cheeks, alongside their necks, before tangling both hands in the soft thickness of black and chestnut curls.

"It pleases me very much, Lilé and Fiona," Cíaran murmured, and kicked his bedroom door closed.

Still in the front room, Bres settled back in his chair and smiled benevolently. Dierdre sighed. "And what about me, my love? Where shall I go to indulge myself?" Affecting a pout, she lamented, "You are so busy with Her Highness, you have almost no time for me anymore. And I must wait nearly two weeks before I can have the prince all to myself? You are too cruel, my prince. Too cruel by half."

Bres rose to his feet and offered a hand to the gancanaugh woman. "But dearest, I am not busy now. I'll not be needed until Cíaran finishes with his toys, since someone of royal blood will have to glamour their memories. I have time now to indulge you."

Dierdre smiled and took the prince's hand.

.

Nuada bit back a growl as the door to the king's study opened and the chamberlain ushered him inside. He had been summoned by his father and then been left waiting on the doorstep like a wayward child interrupting the adults' business with playtime. Nuada forced his eyes to remain a blank and emotionless topaz instead of simmering hot molten copper as he approached his father's desk and bowed.

"You have played me false, Crown Prince," the king said without preamble.

The Elven prince stiffened. Thought of the brief message from Wink, delivered by a young and quite clever jack-o-lantern from the East Village. Had someone seen the swift and silent faerie messenger? Did Nuada's father know he'd had word from Wink? That message, and all that it contained... could the king attempt to use it against him? He thought of sneak attacks by dipsa serpents, child-murdering dullahan, the corpsely shandymen hungering for human lives, and violet-winged nocs.

His voice was toneless when he said, "Sire?"

"Our bargain was that I would allow you to spare Crown Prince Zhenjin Azurefire and that my healers would rectify whatever damage done to him if you asked the Lady Dylan to be your wife. You have not done so. You have broken the terms of our agreement... Nuada?"

Balor straightened in his chair as his son's face went pale and the topaz eyes turned a xanthous-tinted gray, like dingy gold. He had only seen that color in his son's eyes a few times before: during the first weeks and months after Cethlenn's death, during the beginning of the first war with the humans, and more often during the tail-end of the final war with the children of Adam. Though then, the sickly gray-gold of despair and sorrow had often shifted as swift as quicksilver to the sanguine, molten bronze of nearly-insane rage.

Not so now. There was only pain in the prince's gaze. Balor wondered if Nuada were even bothering to try and hide the depths of his sorrow even as the king got to his feet and went to his son, guiding him gently to the visitor's chair beside the large hawthorn desk.

"What is it, my son? What has happened?"

"She refused me," Nuada whispered. Bit his tongue until the sweetness of his own blood flooded his mouth. He had not said the words aloud until now. Had not given voice to the fact that one of only two people who had never rejected him had finally done so. Not in so many words.

"I kept my word," the prince managed from between clenched teeth. "I asked her. I took her to where the hawthorn tree sleeps. I asked her to be my wife. She refused me." Nuada met his father's worried gaze. "Did you know she would?"

Bewildered and concerned for the hollowness in Nuada's voice, for the color of his son's eyes, Balor murmured, "No, my son. I had not thought... I would not have had you ask her if I thought she would refuse you. Why should I?"

"To teach me a lesson," the prince said without inflection. Balor reached out on impulse to lay a hand on Nuada's shoulder, but drew it back at the last moment. "To break my spirit. What better way to do it, than to show me that even the woman I love thinks me nothing but a soulless monster?"

"My son-"

"It does not matter," the crown prince said suddenly. His voice was empty, his eyes now a glittering topaz without even a spark of life. No sadness, no anger, no hurt. There was nothing but a court mask. He got to his feet. "Forgive me, Majesty. I do not know what came over me. Was that all you wished to speak to me about?"

A choice stood before the king in that moment - to allow his son to put up the walls of court and rank between them, to refuse to pursue the undercurrent of grief in his son's voice... or refuse to let Nuada walk away once more. Balor still remembered that first night's meeting. The sentence of house-arrest. Taking the Silver Lance. Trying to show, with a less formal goodnight, that while the king was unhappy, the father was glad of his son's return. He remembered Nuada refusing to acknowledge his father. Refusing to acknowledge Balor as anyone but king.

Balor cleared his throat. "It has been a long time since I could catch you in a lie," he murmured. Saw the way his son tensed, but did not remark on it. "Not since you were a little boy, I think. Before you came into your full power. But I have caught you in one now." Nuada opened his mouth. Balor beat him to the mark. "This does matter to you, my son. I can see it plainly. You wear your court masks nearly every moment, yet I can see your hurt now."

Nuada flicked his gaze to a spot somewhere over Balor's shoulder. "It is nothing to concern yourself over, Majesty. This... distraction will not interfere with my duties as crown prince, I can assure you. There is no need for you to be concerned."

"My son-"

"At all," the prince added sharply. "If that is all, Sire?"

"What happened when you asked Lady Dylan to wed you?" Balor insisted. "Perhaps you said or did something that-"

"Of course," Nuada spat. "Of course it was I who drove her away. It could not possibly be that she is the one at fault. She must be the angel, the Star Kindler's pet, and incapable of any sins. She must be the innocent maiden who, out of the goodness of her heart, deigns to bestow her love upon the heartless beast! Of course I was mad to hope that someone as good and kind and beautiful and gentle and..."

With a visible effort, he reigned in his fury and hurt. Cast a cold glance on the king. "Very clever, Majesty, but I'll not bare my soul for your amusement or your vindication. Monster I may be, but she does not know it. If you want to know why she rejected my suit," Nuada snarled, "ask the lady yourself."

After a moment, the king murmured, "I could command you to tell me, Nuada. By the power of your name."

Feral eyes widened. Nuada stepped back. "You swore to Mathair that you would never command Nuala or I that way. Not ever. You swore on the Darkness that you would never reveal my true name, or use it against me in any way. You swore, Father! On the Darkness, and on your throne! On your crown! On Mother's life!"

"Yes, well, your mother is dead, isn't she?" Balor snapped. Nuada flinched. "And you seek to take my throne and my crown."

"I took a sword for you! What more do you want of me? What other way can I prove my loyalty to you?"

To Nuada's shock, his father merely waved the words away and said in a cold and regal voice, "If you did anything to that innocent girl to turn her devotion to you into something that allowed her to refuse-"

"I did nothing to her! She..." Nuada drew a sharp, hissing breath between clenched teeth. Fought for calm. "As an oath on the Darkness does not seem to satisfy you where I am concerned, Father, I then swear on Mother's grave that I have not harmed Lady Dylan, nor even so much as frightened her. If you seek enemies of hers, look to Prince Bres and Lord Cíaran, not to me. I suggest you send them home ere long."

Aged amber eyes regarded the prince for a long moment, as if weighing something. "Prince Bres has asked permission to wed your sister. I have no reason to believe her answer would be unfavorable. I cannot exactly send him packing."

Nuada felt the jolt of shock and betrayal low in his stomach. Nuala had said nothing of this to him. No one had. Not Nuala, not his father, not Bres. The prince struggled to wrap his mind around this news while the king watched him with a merciless gaze. "Nuala... and Bres?" Nuada shook his head as if to clear it of confusion. "Send Cíaran home, then. He is a greater threat to Dylan than I. He-"

"Prince Bres himself informed me as to what Lord macAengus said and did yesterday morning. He also informed me that Lord macAengus had been suitably punished. Judging by the bruises I saw and Healer Conn's report, I would agree. Your request is denied, Crown Prince. Was there anything else?"

"No, Majesty," the prince said icily. "Nothing else. If I am dismissed?"

Balor watched his son walk out and sighed, sinking back into his chair. How did their conversations always end up going this way? And why? For the first time it occurred to the king to ask why it was so difficult to even have a simple conversation with his son anymore.

If only he knew the answer.

.

When his retinue of guards moved to approach him to fall into formation, Nuada sent them such a look of vicious loathing that they actually paused for a moment. Only two small shadows detaching from a wall softened the look by even the tiniest increment.

The Elven warrior folded his arms and glared at the two ewah cubs that approached him with something hidden behind their backs. Unlike the guards, this didn't phase the children at all. They stopped a couple feet from their prince.

"I thought the pair of you had church," Nuada said.

'Sa'ti nodded. "We already went. It was fun." She offered him the thing she'd been keeping behind her back - a blue-frosted pastry. "Brought you a cupcake."

A'du'la'di held up a similar treat. "Me, too. Rórdán from the kitchens had a birthday so we had cupcakes in Share Time, but me and 'Sa'ti... I mean, 'Sa'ti and I thought maybe we should give them to you instead as a bribe."

A golden brow arched. Despite himself, the childish chatter - and the sentiment behind the pastries - soothed some of the raw ache in Nuada's chest from the meeting with his father. "Oh? A bribe? I regret disappointing you, but princes do not take bribes."

The cubs exchanged glances. A'du grinned. "Okay, not a bribe. It's an act of service."

"I beg your pardon?"

A'du's grin grew even wider. "When a vassal does a service for their lord or lady, they can ask a boon, right? That's what it said in A'ge'lv Dylan's etiquette book that Tsu's'di was reading before we left for church. And since the a'ge'lv is our lady, but you're her lord, it counts when we do stuff for you, too."

"And what boon would you ask of the crown prince of Bethmoora?" Nuada wondered with no little incredulity.

Each child clasped one of his hands. "Will you play with us?"

"I... what?"

"Play a game with us," 'Sa'ti pleaded, tugging on his hand. "Please, Your Highness? Please? We know you're sad, but maybe if you play with us, you'll have fun, and maybe then you'll be happy."

"Or at least, happier than right now," A'du added. "So will you? Please? We'll even let you pick the game. Since you're a prince and all. Or maybe you could show us something."

"Show you something," Nuada echoed. "Such as?"

A'du scrunched up his face in studious concentration. "Um... well... you could teach us how to dance. Or how to beat up bad guys who want to hurt A'ge'lv Dylan. Or you could take us to the stables. I was talking to Rórdán before, during Primary, and he said you're the best rider in the whole kingdom. Maybe you could show us?"

"After you eat the cupcakes," 'Sa'ti said. "They'll make you happy, too."

Nuada looked down at them, conscious of the Butcher Guards' eyes on him and the two children. 'Sa'ti and A'du'la'di gazed up at him beseechingly, hopeful smiles on their earnest little faces.

Take them to the stables. And what else would he do this day if not that? Get drunk in his study? Practice alone with his sword in the salle? Finish making the arrangements he'd begun for Dylan's birthday, which was the day before the Solstice? Sit in on a council meeting that would be sure to send his blood boiling because none of the councilors truly cared about the people and so nothing of any use was ever done? Attack the paperwork that comprised much of the royal business attended to by the crown prince? Did not even the crown prince deserve a rest at some point?

And if he did take them to the stables, they would not be able to run around and screech and act like rabid cats the way they had at Dylan's cottage. The horses and other mounts would not abide them. Nor would the Master of the Stables. And Nuada could take them to meet Lóman, which would give him an excuse to visit with his old friend. He'd missed the arion stallion who'd been his companion and shield-brother during the wars. The prince's exile had given him little opportunity over the centuries to counsel as often as he wished with Lóman.

The Elven prince sighed and gave both cubs a stern look. "Very well. The stables it is. I expect you both to be on your very best behavior. Am I understood?"

'Sa'ti squealed and bounced on the balls of her feet. "Oh, yes, yes, yes! We will, we promise!"

"Yeah, we promise!" A'du'la'di agreed, nodding so fast his hair flew all around his head. "We'll be really good, we swear. Thanks, Your Highness!"

Nuada ignored the guards as he extracted his hands from the children's grasps. Escorting them to the stables was one thing. Holding their hands as if he were their father was something else entirely. And he did not accept the so-called "bribe" of cupcakes. Perhaps if his lady had been there, she might have coaxed the prince into sharing one with her.

Just the thought made something hot burn in his already-tight chest. Nuada knew himself well enough to know it was not anger; with the memory of Dylan's sorrow fresh in his mind, and after hearing what A'du'la'di had scented on her, the prince could not find it in himself to be angry.

As the Butchers followed the prince, both to guard him and to prevent him from possibly slipping the bonds of house-arrest, the young Guardsman Lorcc leaned over and whispered to his partner, "Those children are either incredibly brave, or utterly mad."

Mahon growled, "They're cat-folk. Like as not, they're both."

.

A knock at Dylan's sitting room door roused her from where she sat on the sofa working on the letter to Nuada. She nodded to Fionnlagh, who answered the door with one hand hovering near her claymore. Sharp blue eyes noticed immediately when the guard stiffened, then backed up while bowing to whoever waited outside the door.

"His Majesty King Balor One-Arm to see you, milady," Fionnlagh said, and Dylan's blood turned to ice.

She jumped to her feet as the king entered the sitting room. Sank into the most graceful curtsy she could manage while nerves skittered up and down her spine like insect legs and a very inconsiderate flock of butterflies threw a party in her stomach. Was she allowed to straighten up before the king spoke? Or did she have to stay like this? Tremors already shivered through her bad leg; no way could she stay this way any longer.

Dylan straightened and said, "Your Majesty... what can I do for you?"

The king smiled. Perhaps it was meant to be reassuring. But the king was here. In her sitting room. And Nuada was nowhere to be found. What if Balor wanted something from her? She had some training in dealing with the fae, from Roiben and a few others, but monarchs were in a league of their own. What did Balor want?

To her surprise, the old king offered his arm. "Would you care to take a walk with an old man, Lady Dylan? I find the winter air quite invigorating in the afternoons."

She probably didn't have a choice.

Excusing herself, she went to change out of her long church dress in anticipation of the snow and possible slush. Tsu's'di brought Dylan her leather coat and her gloves, and with some reluctance she took the king's proffered arm of flesh.

The king led her out into the corridor. Her guards followed them, mingling with the king's retinue of protectors. Tsu's'di and the hounds brought up the rear. The cougar youth wondered with more than a touch of panic if Prince Nuada was going to wring his neck for allowing A'ge'lv Dylan to go with Balor.

With the guards far enough away to offer at least a semblance of privacy, Balor studied the mortal on his arm from the corner of his eye. He had not had a chance to truly study the mortal up close until now. Average height for a human woman, but thin. A little too thin. And oddly pale. An almost unhealthy pallor. Her shadowed sapphire eyes and the slashing scars marring her features were the only real color to her face. Even her mouth appeared rather bloodless, save where a small cut touched her bottom lip with a bit of darkness.

Philosophically, Balor gave her a surreptitious once-over. Crooked nose, Balor noted, broken at least twice. One eye pulled at by a thin scar running from the corner of it to just underneath the human's ear. Good hips, but rather bony because she was so thin. Small breasts compared to an Elven woman, although that too might have been because she was thin. It looked as if she'd dropped the weight rather quickly. He did not remember her being so thin when he had seen her in Findias over a month ago.

But there was really nothing in the way of physical beauty to show just what had captured Nuada's attention at first. Where was the attraction, the king wondered? His son could have any woman he wanted, and more than likely had, in four-thousand years. So why this girl?

"My son proposed to you," Balor said into the silence. Felt the girl instinctively begin to pull away from him before remembering just who he was. He saw, from the corner of his eye, her teeth sink into her bottom lip. That explained the small cut. A nervous habit? For some reason, the king got the impression it was more than that. A defensive tactic of some sort, perhaps. "My lady?"

Dylan drew in several short breaths through clenched teeth and barely-parted lips before she could be sure of answering without stammering. "Yes, he did."

"You refused him."

She tried to make her voice glacial. "With all due respect, Your Majesty, I fail to see what business it is of yours."

"I thought you loved him."

"I do."

Balor raised an eyebrow. "And yet you turned down his offer of marriage. What is the matter, little mortal? Is my son good enough for you to bed, but not good enough for you to wed, as the saying goes? Or were you frightened away by the political responsibilities of becoming a princess?"

"Neither."

When the mortal said nothing further, the king laid his wooden hand on hers where it rested in the crook of his elbow. "Is that all you have to say, Lady Dylan?"

"Yes, Your Majesty."

They were approaching the doors that would take them to the path to the stables. Good. The king wanted to take the human to see something out by the smallish riding paddock nestled against one side of the stables. Wanted to gauge both her opinion of what she saw, and her reaction to the prince.

"Lady Dylan, forgive me, but that is not good enough. Will you not indulge an old man his curiosity regarding his son and heir?"

"What do you want to know?"

"Why did you refuse Nuada's suit? Did you take offense at how he worded his proposal?"

"I'm not that shallow, Your Majesty."

The king wondered if "shallow" was human slang describing someone with, as Nuala had once said, the emotional depth of a teaspoon. But he only asked, "Then why would a common-born woman refuse an offer of marriage from a prince? One she claims to love, who is clearly besotted with her?"

"You wouldn't understand."

In a voice with just the faintest bite of winter, Nuada's father replied, "Try me."

She swallowed. Sighed. "What I told you that first night before the court holds true. The Star Kindler commands His followers to wed only those who follow Him. Nuada doesn't. That's what I told him when he proposed." Dylan shivered as they stepped out into the open air. The sun still shone high in the pale blue sky, but the light was brittle and held little warmth. She hunched her shoulders against the chill. Wondered if the king would be all right in his thick velvet cloak. "Why am I here, Majesty?"

The king glanced at her before scanning the path ahead of them. Winding between a couple public gardens and past the smithy, it would lead directly to the stables - and the snow-blanketed riding paddock. "On this walk with me? Because I wanted to better acquaint myself with the woman who has ensnared my son's heart and yet handles it so casually, taking so little care with it."

"Oh, don't even start with that," Dylan snapped, yanking her hand away from Balor. When the Butchers shifted restlessly, she whipped away from the king and kept walking down the path, stuffing her hands in her coat pockets. Balor easily kept pace with her.

"Explain, Lady Dylan," Balor commanded. The mortal merely shook her head and stared resolutely at the ice and snow on the ground. "You may speak freely to me in this moment, my lady. I am not King Balor here and now. I am only Nuada's father. Speak from your heart. Explain what you meant, telling me 'not to start.'"

"Fine. You have the gall to challenge my supposed handling of Nuada's heart when you rip it out and stomp on it every time you talk to him without even batting an eyelash? With all due respect, King Balor, you can just bite me."

"I handle my son as I must," he replied, drawing his cloak more tightly about him. They would have to hurry with this. His old bones did not do well in such frigid weather. "I am a king, and a king must deal with his subjects before a father may deal with his children." The mortal made a sound of derision. "And what is your excuse for ripping out my son's heart?"

She whirled on him. "You think I wanted to turn him down? You think I wanted to do what you and Nuala and everyone else have done to him - reject him? You think I wanted that? You idiot! I hate myself! I hate that now he sees me the same way he sees you - as someone who hurt him, nothing more."

The Butcher Guards started forward, an odd hissing sound echoing from inside their helmets. That this commoner, this mortal, dared to speak so to their king! But Balor held up a hand and gestured them back. He had promised the human lady she could speak freely. He would allow it.

For now.

Nuada's father inclined his head and gestured for the human to continue.

"I haven't even seen Nuada all day," the mortal snapped. "Haven't seen him since yesterday morning, and that was for all of ten minutes. You think I want him out of my life? I'm not like you! I didn't just use him and then throw him away when I got bored! You talk about ripping out his heart; I ripped out my own at the exact same time. With Wink gone, I am the only one he has, and I had to... I had to..." She stopped and closed her eyes. Passed her gloved hands over her face. Drew a deep breath. "Forgive me, Your Majesty. I'm... unwell. I think I should go back inside."

More than a little stunned, Balor still managed to recover quickly. "I think not, Lady Dylan. Come - I still want to finish our walk."

The human stared at him. "Seriously?"

"Consider it recompense for calling me an idiot."

Dylan scowled, but had to admit that he could've done a lot worse for an insult like that. "Fine. I'm grateful for your mercy." She started walking once the king resumed his stride. For a while there was silence. Then Balor pointed at something.

"Do you know what those are?"

She glanced at where he pointed. Tiny white flowers in a small patch of green, glistening with a coat of frost, stood bright against the lee of a garden stone, where the snow had not been able to blanket the grass. Dylan swallowed. The flowers seemed so small and fragile against the bone-white snow all around. "They're snowdrops. They're one of my favorite flowers. I thought they only bloomed in February."

"That is usually true. Do you know what snowdrops represent in the language of flowers?" Balor asked.

The mortal nodded. "Sorrow."

"They also mean consolation, my dear," Nuada's father said gently. She stiffened. "And they represent hope." He paused for effect before adding, "The Star Kindler's teachings counsel against despair. Yet it seems as if you've given up hope of being able to be with my son as you both wish. Perhaps things are not as bleak as you believe."

She shook her head. "You and I both know that's highly unlikely. Did you bring me out here just to torture me emotionally or did you have a point to this?"

"Watch your tongue, young lady," the king said mildly. "I am feeling generous today. Do not abuse that generosity." After a moment, he asked, "Does my son know how much this has hurt you, as well?"

She sighed. "I don't know, Majesty, I haven't talked to him. Maybe. I told him. Or tried. You'll notice I get a little emotional sometimes."

Balor actually chuckled. "I did notice it."

Dylan wanted to hit him for laughing. Instead she curled her hands, which ached with the cold despite her gloves, into fists in her pockets. "Can we just cut through all the faerie games and political stuff and you just tell me why I'm out here with you freezing my cute little toes off? I mean, I know from Nuada that your ears are probably really cold."

They were near enough to the paddock by now that he could gesture to it with one hand. "I wanted to show you something. Look there."

Dylan turned to look and her mouth dropped open.

An Elf, tall and proud, galloped across the snow on a beautiful black stallion. The midnight viridian mane and tail streamed out behind the racing horse like malachite silk banners, the mane mingling with the Elf's star-blond hair as the rider leaned against the stallion's neck. From the color of the mane and tail, Dylan thought the animal might have been an arion - one of the faerie horses native to Shahbaz and Mytikas, said to be able to outrace the wind and possessing the power of human speech.

The horse's breath steamed in the cold air as he galloped across the white ground, sending snow flying with every thundering step. Even without the black and red clothes, Dylan would have recognized Nuada in an instant. And she watched, unable to shut her mouth, as he galloped toward something hopping up and down near the far end of the paddock fence. She didn't even notice when the king and his guards left.

She couldn't get a syllable out of her mouth in the split-second between realizing the hopping thing was A'du'la'di and the moment the prince scooped up the ewah child and settled A'du in the saddle in front of him. The cougar boy whooped in utter exhilaration as he and Nuada thundered across the vast expanse of white snow. Dylan covered her mouth with both hands to keep in the squeak that threatened to wiggle out of her.

"I want another turn next," a high voice called from the far end of the paddock. 'Sa'ti perched on the fence, balancing artfully as she traversed the topmost rail of the wooden fence with her arms stretched out on either side of her little body. "Pretty please, Your Highness? Me next again, me next again!" Then the child caught sight of Dylan. "A'ge'lv!"

Dylan blinked. Turned to look behind her. Had 'Sa'ti not seen the king? But no, the king was now far off and away, along the path down which he and the mortal had come. He'd merely brought her here to see Nuada with the children. Why?

Prickles suddenly tingled along the back of Dylan's neck. She glanced back at the horse with its double burden. Met Nuada's eyes. Closed her own, unable to meet his gaze. All thoughts of the king fled her mind.

The prince rode up to where his lady waited, almost seeming to race 'Sa'ti as she scampered along the fence to reach the same destination. Prince, cougar boy, and cougar girl arrived nearly at the same time, with the young handmaiden sliding to a halt only a few breathless seconds after Nuada's horse had come to a full stop.

Nuada dismounted before helping A'du'la'di down from the saddle. The ewah boy ran up to Dylan, scrambling up onto the fence as he cried, "A'ge'lv, it was amazing, we went so fast, it was so awesome, and Lòman can talk, it was so cool, and the prince is the best rider ever and he said maybe if I'm really good I can start lessons and it'll be so great!"

"Me too, me too!" 'Sa'ti cried. "Can we, A'ge'lv? Can we? It was really fun! Please? I wanna learn to ride a horse! I wanna..." The little girl trailed off when she got a good look at her mistress's face. "A'ge'lv?"

A'du blinked. Glanced at Prince Nuada before looking back at his mistress. Uh-oh. The prince and the a'ge'lv were looking at each other again. And they both looked sad. He had to do something, quick.

"Um... oh, know what?" He tugged on Dylan's coat sleeve. "You should get a ride, too, A'ge'lv." That got the mortal's attention. She stared at the little boy in bewildered shock. "It'll be fun. And you can see how good a rider the prince is."

"Yeah," 'Sa'ti chimed in. "He's so neat! You should get a ride, too. It's only scary for a little teensy bit, and then it's so much fun!"

"I... I don't think... I don't think that's such a good idea, guys," Dylan protested. Thoughts of Nuada, of being pressed up against him, his arm around her, his chest against her back, made heat flush her cheeks and a shiver traipse down her spine. "I just... I don't think it's a good idea. And it's the Sabbath, anyway."

Something flickered in feral topaz eyes. Nuada opened his mouth.

"But we're spending time with family," 'Sa'ti said softly, taking the prince's hand. "Right? We're a family, like you said. We're a team."

"Yeah." A'du draped an arm around Dylan's neck and rubbed his cheek against her shoulder. "And we're s'posed to spend time with family on the Sabbath. So get a ride with the prince. C'mon, c'mon! Please? You'll like it. It's fun."

"It's so fun, A'ge'lv. You'll like it."

Flustered, surprised at the sudden warmth blossoming in her chest, Dylan mumbled, "I dunno, you guys. I just don't think it's the best idea." The warmth dimmed.

"What's the matter, my lady?" Nuada asked suddenly. Rainswept blue eyes met glittering topaz. Nuada folded his arms across his chest. His breath curled like white smoke on the winter air. "Do you not trust me?"

Is this some kind of test? She wondered. The warmth in her chest intensified. Is he testing me on purpose? Or is it subconscious? I think it's subconscious. Why would he... stupid question. I need to do this, don't I? Or it will damage something between us, even more than everything else already has. Her chest was almost hot now. Okay. And aloud, Dylan replied with a forced smile, "Okay. Sure. I'd love a ride."

Getting on the horse was easy. Because of the cold and the snow, she'd worn leggings and a knee-length skirt for the walk with the king instead of a dress. That made sitting in a saddle much easier than her normal ankle-length skirts. The horse's sides were almost hot against her legs. It shifted under the sudden weight of her, then settled.

Then Nuada leapt with feral grace into the saddle behind her. His arm slid carefully around her waist, as if giving her time to protest, before pulling her tight against him. He leaned forward a little, forcing her to lean, too. His cheek touched her temple. She could feel the warmth of his breath ruffling her hair. Without conscious thought, Dylan covered the strong arm holding her against the prince with her own. Covered his hand with hers. With the hand that wore the gold-and-ruby ring, which could be felt even through her glove. She thought it might have been her imagination, but when her fingers laid along the back of Nuada's hand, she thought his breathing hitched.

"Are you ready?" He whispered in her ear. She shivered. Nodded. "Hold on tight to me and do not let go." There was just enough time to comply with the "hold tight" part before Nuada kicked the stallion into a gallop and they took off like a shot.

Dylan would happily admit - she squealed like a girl.

Nuada wondered idly if he'd gone mad as he allowed Lòman to gallop across the paddock. Dylan, for all she was tense with equal parts fear and exhilaration, was still so soft against him. If he closed his eyes, he could smell her perfume, her shampoo. Delicate jonquil, mallow, bellflower, heady morning glory, aloe. A mixture of floral scents that all carried the same message - come back to me. Had she done that on purpose? Did she mean to torture him? And beneath it all, there was the scent of her skin and the faintest touch of sorrow. He tightened his grip, and she gasped. The wind whipping by tore the sound from her mouth.

The prince didn't bother to stop Lòman as the stallion made his way toward the paddock fence. Dylan had her eyes tightly shut, so she didn't know the faerie stallion meant to leap the fence until they were already mid-jump. All the mortal managed was a terrified squeak. Nuada found the corner of his mouth quirking in amusement as they landed easily on the snow and took off towards the gardens. No doubt Lòman had a destination in mind.

"Where are we going?" Dylan yelped. "I did not sign up for this! Where are we going?"

Catching sight of the castle's small apple orchard coming up on their left, the russet fruit glittering with a coat of ice in the sun, Nuada said, "Somewhere that affords some privacy."

"Are you gonna get in trouble for this?"

"Perhaps." Then, closing his eyes and pressing his face against the warmth of her neck, feeling her shiver in his arms, he allowed Lòman to take them where the arion stallion wanted to go.

Which turned out to be one of the orchards.

The stallion slowed to a canter, then to a walk as they entered the plum orchard that was furthest away from the castle, on the outermost edges of the gardens. Finally Lòman stopped and sighed. Then he looked over his shoulder at his rider. *Get off,* the stallion said. Flicked his long midnight green tail. *You're heavy.*

Nuada actually found himself smiling as he dismounted.

It took him a moment to convince Dylan to relax her grip on the pommel of the saddle so that he could guide her hands to his shoulders, giving her something to brace against as she dismounted. She nearly fell when her feet touched the snow. Only his arms around her held her upright. She pressed her forehead against his shoulder. Drew a shuddering breath. Let it out slowly. And then, to his shock, she slid her arms up to curve around his neck and simply clung to him.

Too much. This was too much. He had not expected to feel this jolt in his belly, as if he'd been struck. Had not expected this tightness in his throat when he tried to speak, this sudden clutching ache in his chest. Despised the desperate need for her arms to stay twined around his neck that nearly drove the Elven warrior to his knees.

He must have made some sound, tensed a little, because she sucked in a sharp breath. "Don't," she whispered. "Don't go away. Please don't go away." She pressed close. Slender fingers tangled in his shirt. "I can't do this anymore. I can't... I... just don't... please, please don't go away anymore."

It was madness that had his arms slipping around her to hold her tightly. Madness that compelled him to kiss her temple and whisper against the soft wealth of her dark hair, "I am here, beloved. I am right here."

"I'm sorry, Nuada, I'm so sorry, I didn't want to, I don't want to hurt you, I'm so sorry," and she was struggling not to cry now, he could hear it in the quaver of her voice, but somehow she managed to hold onto her control, "please, just stop, just don't shut me out anymore. Please. I know I'm so pathetic, but this is just too much, I can't... I need you. It's... I can't take it, you being so close but so far away. Not after everything. I hate it. I just want you back, please. I miss you, I miss you so much."

"Shhh, beloved. There, now." He stroked her hair, hating himself for hurting her, hating that something - anything - stood between them. "There, now. Shhh. You think I do not miss you, my love? Gods, Dylan, I miss you the way I would miss my own heartbeat." But her refusal still spread icy poison through his veins when he thought of it. "I simply... it hurts to be with you," he confessed in a rough whisper. She went very, very still. She seemed even to stop breathing. "Hurts, knowing you do not want me as much as I-"

"But I do," the mortal protested. She pulled back to pin him with those lovely blue eyes. "Nuada, I do. I do, I want to be with you so much. I can't... I feel... everything's so hard now with you gone. I can barely eat or sleep or think." And he realized with a jolt that she looked pale, paler than she had before, and she was thinner still. "My nightmares are worse and I wake up exhausted and then I remember... I remember your face, your eyes, when I said... and I hate myself. I think of everyone who's hurt you, and how now I have, too, and I can't stand it knowing I've hurt you."

The madness grabbed him then with merciless claws. Forced the words from his throat, though they cut like jagged glass. "Then marry me, Dylan. Be my wife." He framed her face between his hands. Hated the pain he saw in her eyes. "Marry me. Would it be such a terrible thing, to be wedded to me?"

Dylan shook her head. Laid her cheek against his chest where the Elven heart pounded like a drum. "It would be wonderful. It would be so wonderful." The breath she drew threatened to strangle her. "But I can't, Nuada. I can't."

"Why? Why is it so important that I follow your God? The fact that I did not has not stopped you from loving me. Or at least claiming to love me. Is it because of your mortality?" When she blinked up at him, he lightly touched her cheek. "A'du'la'di spoke to me of how one is married in the Star Kindler's temple. Is that why this matters so much to you? Because you are mortal?"

"No, I... well, partly. A little. Okay, a lot, actually. But it's not just that. I... how do I explain?" She ran her hands through her hair and sighed. "You fought in the army, right? During the war against the humans ages and ages ago? Right?" Puzzled, he nodded. "When you joined up, when you first joined the army, you worked hard, right? You did your very best to be an honor and a credit to your company and your kingdom, didn't you?" The prince frowned, but nodded. "Why try so hard? Why give your best?"

Nuada frowned more fiercely. "Because to give less than your best once you have committed to a cause is dishonorable."

Her smile was melancholy. "That's what I have to do. Think of it like this: if your king was waiting for you somewhere, and you had sworn an oath that you would make your way back to your king, wouldn't you do everything you had to in order to keep that promise? I committed to the High King. I swore I would go back to Him when this life is over. I can't do that if I do what you ask. We are to marry in the High King's temple. That is His edict. I can't knowingly disobey with the idea that I can just ask for forgiveness later. It doesn't work like that.

"Marrying you... being your wife... would be like... it would be like a beautiful, perfect dream. But eventually reality would come knocking, and I'd wake up from that dream, and I'd have consequences to deal with."

She sighed. Shoved at her hair again. He saw that her hands trembled. "You remember how you once told me that your life isn't your own? That what you want and what you must do are rarely the same thing?"

It took a supreme effort on his part, but Nuada managed a short nod.

"I didn't really understand that when you told me, but I think I do now. Your honor compels you to do things sometimes that you don't want to do. Mine prevents me from doing things I do want to do. I made a promise. I swore an oath. I can't go back on that. Does that make sense? Or do you still hate me?"

"I do not hate you." Nuada closed his eyes. Fought with himself. Opened them again. "I could never hate you, mo duinne." Sharp amber eyes noticed the way her composure threatened to break beneath the gentle onslaught of the tenderly spoken endearment. "I think... I think that I finally understand a little."

He had focused on that which he had sacrificed for the greater good of others - his soul and his honor, for the Golden Army's protection of his people and for her. But now, suddenly, he was reminded of the one thing that she'd said the night he'd proposed that had hurt too much to truly contemplate. In my dream, we even had children. The one thing she wanted most. The one thing he could not give her. And she knew, and she'd accepted, without anger or malice or resentment toward him. Dylan's promise to marry him if the king commanded would rob her of that fondest dream, but she would still abandon that hope for him. For Nuada, for her prince. She carried that pain, that despair, without ever having said a word to him. He had forgotten that.

Could he give her less than she was willing to give him? Even though it hurt to be near her, to be with her, knowing that she was beyond his reach without the king's merciless command... his honor, if nothing else, forbade him from meeting Dylan less than halfway. It was not the weakness of her heart that separated them. It was the strength of her honor. Hadn't he always admired that strength and that honor? Could he truly, honorably, hold it against her now?

"Come here," Nuada murmured. Sudden exhaustion dragged at him. He opened his arms to Dylan, and she slipped into them like a slender shadow, pressing close, her own arms wrapped tight around him. "It is all right," he whispered, nuzzling his cheek against her soft hair. "It is all right. We are all right."

"I love you," she said, the words muffled against his shoulder. "Don't ever doubt that, okay? No matter what happens, no matter what anyone says, don't ever doubt that I love you, Nuada. Okay? Never doubt it."

"I would be a fool to doubt you, mo cridh." He tilted her chin up. Feral eyes caressed her face. There was pain in his gaze, but no anger. "I will never doubt you. I would be foolish to do so when you have proven yourself so many times." Her mouth was soft and warm when he brushed his thumb across the fullness of her bottom lip. "I love you, Dylan." Delicate tendrils of white mist curled between them from the heat of their mingling breath as Nuada leaned in to touch that sweet mouth with his.

Something snapped behind them; a sound like someone stepping on a branch. It shattered the icy stillness and broke the kiss before it could even begin. Dylan jumped. Nuada yanked her behind him and laid a hand on the hilt of his sword. He scanned the empty, snowbound orchard with feral eyes. Cast out with his senses in an attempt to detect anyone but the two of them and Lòman, who was around somewhere. Nuada's mind raced through the possibilities of who might be there.

Not Butchers; they would make themselves known from the outset. Not dipsa, or any sort of reptilian fae; it was too cold for them. Corpse-drinkers of any kind - dullahan, shandymen, nightjars - all carried the stench of rot. He would have been able to smell them. Yet someone, he was almost certain, was here. Who? The children? They knew better than to try and sneak up on him this way.

A shadow darted between two trees, just at the edge of the Elven warrior's vision. Sunlight gleamed on silver as he drew his sword from its sheath.

"Draw your dirk," he said in a low voice, "and stay behind me, but close. Not a sound." She didn't speak. Merely obeyed. The Elf could feel Dylan's unease, the tension in her, but there was no fear. Because he was with her?

Only the gleam of light on silver warned him. He had just enough time to shove Dylan back, and twist aside. Something flashed by him. A sharp pain slashed across his upper arm.

Probably not an arrow, he thought with deadly calm, not daring to glance at whatever had cut him. He kept his eyes on his surroundings. No place for an archer to hide. Only something skilled in subterfuge would be able to hide here. Something like... Something like a Téngshé. I should not have brought her here without guards, he berated himself, and swore silently. His fingers twitched when Dylan lightly touched his palm.

Behind us, she whispered through their link. I don't know who or what, but they're behind us and off to our left a ways. Can you find them? Or do we run?

You cannot run with all the snow; your leg cannot manage it.

Without warning, Nuada put two fingers to his lips and whistled. From a ways off, Lòman called back. Nuada listened for any telltale rustling, another snapping branch, anything. Someone had taken that shot. Warm blood soaking his sleeve proved it hadn't been his imagination.

A hot copper gaze raked across the too-quiet orchard. Psychic senses touched on more than a handful of oddly blank spots scattered through the plum trees. The blank spots steadily approached the prince and his lady. Six potential enemies. Could he handle six, still somewhat weak from his wounds, half-preoccupied with Dylan's safety? Where in hellfire was Lòman?

Something flickered several feet away. Shadows, there and gone. glamour. Tension wound tight through Nuada's body. Adrenaline burned through his veins. He almost wanted to laugh. As if a simple "don't look at me" glamour would fool a crown prince of Faerie. He tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword. Narrowed his eyes. Waited.

The glamour dropped when the approaching faerie was perhaps a dozen paces away. A Téngshé, as he'd thought, though this one did not move as if he'd taken a sword through the gut less than a moon ago. The black-clad Dilong Elf eyed the prince warily. Smirked.

"No guards, Your Royal Highness?" The Elf asked in Chinese. "A bit dangerous to wander alone." Then his eyes alighted on the mortal at Nuada's side. In Gaelic, he added, "And with such a precious treasure at your side."

Dylan barely managed to swallow the sharp retort of "bite me." She flexed her fingers around the hilt of her dirk and tried to remember everything Nuada had taught her about fighting that day in the royal forest. Nuada remained tense and still, a living shield between the mortal and the Dilong Elf. Dylan kept her eyes on the dark-clad Elf. Time hung suspended. She could feel her heart beating against her ribs. Swallowed.

A spill of ice down her back was the only warning. She jerked around to see a flickering shadow lunge for them both.

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Author's Note: of course I ended it there. Of course. Hehehehe. Have you noticed a lot of my chapters are cliffies? I love to keep you guys hanging. I hope it draws out and enhances the experience for all of you. If not, feel free to pelt me with cyber-veggies. *cringes in anticipation* But I do love all of you!

And now for our review prompt! Yay!

1) Who loves A'du'la'di? I love A'du'la'di. How he hero-worships Nuada, and thus has everything he's ever said memorized. He's so cute. I wanna cuddle him. What do we think of his conversation with Nuada?

2) Eimh and Setanta's plan. Well, their plan which has apparently been orchestrated by A'du'la'di. What do we think is going on there?

3) Ciaran and the rest of Team Bres. Thoughts?

4) So I tried to show Balor as more sympathetic in this chapter. My beta says that basically whenever Nuada or Balor tries to be nice, the other rebuffs them, thus causing the reverse-rebuffing the next time they run into each other. So... what do you guys think?

5) A'du and 'Sa'ti with Nuada - thoughts? I personally think they're clever little fluffballs, but I might be biased. So... yeah?

6) Balor and Dylan. Sigh. Think any sort of progress was made with either of them? Thoughts on Balor's thoughts?

7) Dylan and Nuada... no, the situation isn't resolved quite yet. But they are taking steps. Who wants those steps to stumble? Who wants them to come to some kind of agreement? Who thinks they're doing okay right now?

8) And of course, favorite things, pwease?

I love you all!

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Concerning the Chapter Title: "Don't Walk Away" is one of my FAVORITE songs, and it's from the movie Xanadu, set during the animated part (the entire movie is live-action except for that one part). The animated portion was done by Don Bluth, master of such films as Once Upon a Forest, A Troll in Central Park, The Pebble and the Penguin, Rock-a-Doodle, The Secret of Nimh, and The Land Before Time (the original and maybe the second one).

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References Made in This Chapter:

- Everything A'du'la'di says about the temple and eternal marriage is true.

- The card A'du has is what's called a pass-along card. Some of them have pictures of the Salt Lake City Temple on them.

- I do in fact have the Bethmooran wedding vows written out in Gaelic and English. =)

- A'du gave Nuada Beauty and the Beast because in the original story, Beast would ask Beauty to marry him every day for the entire time she was at his castle, and she always said no, but he never gave up until she finally said yes.

- Yes, Ciaran and Dierdre actually do love each other. In a purely brother-sister way.

- Fiona is the hob maid who escorted the kids to their room that first night in Findias and is the one who brought Dylan her meals while Nuada was unconscious in the Healers' Wing. Lilé is from chapter 28, I think.

- Despite the colourful legends, the term jack-o'-lantern originally meant a night watchman, or man with a lantern, with the earliest known use in the 1660s in East Anglia; and later, meaning an ignis fatuus or will-o'-the-wisp. In Newfoundland and Labrador, both names "Jacky Lantern" and "Jack the Lantern" refer to the will-o'-the-wisp. Among European rural people, especially in Gaelic and Slavic folk cultures, the will-o'-the-wisps are held to be mischievous spirits of the dead or other supernatural beings attempting to lead travellers astray.

- Commanding a fae by the power of their name means they cannot refuse to do what you order. This is a big plot point in Tithe by Holly Black and in parts of Ironside, where the male MC, Roiben, has to do horrible things - or almost does horrible things - to people he cares about because someone commands him by the power of his name.

- So Arion is actually a famous stallion from Greek myth, apparently, who had a green mane and tail and possessed the power of human speech and was super-super fast. In this fanfic, an arion is a faerie horse of similar coloring, that can talk, and are super fast. They're bred in Mytikas, the fae-equivalent of Greece, and in Shahbaz, the fae-equivalent of Persia.

- "The emotional depth of a teaspoon" is a quote from Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix.

- The prince giving the children rides might have been inspired by Entwined by Heather Dixon (the MC's dad gives her and her 11 sisters rides on his horse, Dickens) but I'm not sure. I've also seen that in Kate and Leopold, and it's in Lothiriel by JunoMagic. So... yeah.