Author's Note: Guess what? I'm updating early. I know, it's 2 days early, but I can't guarantee being able to get to the library anytime soon after this. So... yeah. And Jasper, Nightmare, Ecnelis, Serbia - where are you guys? *sob* I miss you sooooooo much! I haven't heard from you guys in forever! My heart is breaking into pieces! *more sobs* I love you guys. Enjoy the chapter!

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Chapter Seventy
Frightened by a Dream
that is
A Short Tale ofa Bargain, a Confession, Three Bloody Battles, Goodbye Kisses, a Warning, New Gowns, Princes, and Early Midwinter Gifts

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"What was it you were thinking of this morning, that you would not tell me about?"

Dylan's mouth dropped open. The chess piece she'd been in the process of moving slipped from her fingers. She met a fathomless gaze of feral gold. After a few heartbeats of panic, she managed to squeak, "Oh, crud." She yanked her hands away from the chessboard and hid them under the table. Pressed them flat to her thighs when she noticed they were shaking. "Um... I don't... really... um..."

Nuada watched her with that empty amber gaze and simply waited. When she didn't speak again, he raised an eyebrow. "Are you reneging on our bargain, my lady?"

She paled. "No." She drew a deep breath, and let it out slowly. "Okay, fine. I had a nightmare last night."

"So I gathered."

Dark brows furrowed. "You're not going to make this easy, are you?"

"You ask me to trust you with my weakness, my lady, but you won't trust me with yours. Getting a confession of any sort of weakness from you is like attempting to teach a rock to sing; successes vary."

Dylan blinked, bemused. "You've tried to teach a rock to sing and actually managed it?"

"Don't try to change the subject." Nuada's lips twitched. His mortal's nerves faded a little and she smiled. That smile slipped away when he murmured, "Tell me what you dreamed, Dylan."

"I can't." A flash of irritation in topaz eyes. She glared. "I mean I honestly can't - I don't know what I dreamed. I can't remember. I mean, I remember parts of it, but that's a different nightmare. It was... it was two nightmares jumbled together. I know that much. And I remember one part of the nightmare, but not the other."

"Tell me what you remember."

"No." She didn't flinch when he frowned at her. "I can't. This... it will hurt you."

"Tell me, as you swore you would." The human jumped to her feet and paced the length of the small nook-room. She folded her arms beneath her breasts. Shook her head. "You owe me the answer to a question, no matter what the question may be."

Dylan gritted from between clenched teeth, "Ask me something else."

"I'm asking you this."

Dread and something icy slid down her spine. She shook her head again. "And I'm asking you to choose a different question."

He wasn't sure what made him push her - instinct, maybe. Whatever it was, it told him that this needed to be addressed, and addressed now. Not just her reluctance to trust him with this, but the nightmare itself, both parts. He needed to know whatever it was she could tell him about the part she couldn't remember; it was of vital importance, though he couldn't have said why. And he needed to know what she could remember, because she didn't want to tell him. What could be so bad that she didn't want to tell him?

"I want the answer to this question, and I want it now." Nuada saw her waver. Saw the hesitation in her eyes, the uncertainty. That she wasn't certain of him pricked his temper like an iron needle. "Do not be a coward, Dylan. Just tell me."

Her head snapped up and she stared at him for a long moment. There was nothing she could glean from his empty eyes and emotionless face. Finally, she muttered, "Fine. You want the truth, fine. I had two nightmares, all jumbled together, bits and pieces flashing around in my head and scaring the living daylights out of me. I don't remember half of it, except for a few things. Silver in the dark, and laughter, and someone holding me down. Pain. Not being able to breathe, not being able to scream. That's all I remember about that. And I woke up scared to death and feeling like I was going to be sick, my skin crawling, but at the same time..." Dylan pressed a hand to her mouth. Leaned back against the bookcase. "At the same time you were right there and I wanted..."

Nuada slowly got to his feet and came toward her. "You wanted me to hold you. Comfort you." He stopped barely a foot away. She could feel the warmth coming off his body; she was suddenly freezing cold. "Why did you not ask? I would've held you."

Dylan shook her head. "That wasn't what I wanted. I wanted... I wanted you to touch me. To just... just forget my rules and... I wanted to let you... I woke up sick to my stomach, trying not to scream, everything too hot and too close and I couldn't breathe, and I was so scared and I didn't know why. I only knew I wanted you. Knew that if you touched me too much I'd give in and that giving in would be a mistake. That there was something wrong."

"Because how could you ever want me?"

Her eyes flashed. "Seriously? That is what you're getting from this? No. That's not it. Jeez. It felt wrong. Not the fact that I wanted you, but how I wanted you. It wasn't like normal. Sometimes - often - you meet my eyes or you take my hand, and suddenly I can't remember how to breathe and my heart feels like it's pounding in my throat, and I never want you to look away or let me go. I've never felt like that with anyone but that's not what I was feeling this morning.

"And I've never felt scared because I was attracted to you. I've never felt sick or scared like that. It was like... I wasn't scared or sick because of lust. It was on top of the lust. Or maybe the lust was on top of that. I don't know. It was... it was the same revulsion as after my attack in the subway. I felt... I don't know why, but separate from how I was feeling about you, I felt... violated. Degraded. Like someone had done something awful to me, and I couldn't remember who or what, but I knew it had happened."

Dylan hugged herself, shivering as if cold. "I keep waking up like that. It's not like my normal nightmares, although I have them, too. I can handle them. But this... I don't even know what I'm dreaming. I just keep waking up terrified and sick and every part of my body burning and it hurts and it's scary and I hate it! And that's all from the part I don't remember."

It took a supreme effort, but Nuada kept his hands at his sides. He wanted to take her in his arms and hold her until the echoes of old fear faded from her voice. Until she stopped shivering as if she would shake apart. Thank the stars she wasn't crying; he wouldn't have been able to take it.

"And the part you do remember? Tell me." The breath hitched in her throat. She shot him a stricken look. Shook her head. "Dylan-"

"No!" She clenched her fists. Shoved one hand hard against her mouth. White spots stood out where her knuckles pressed against her skin. "No. I don't want to. Please, Nuada, don't ask me."

"I'll not be angry, mo duinne, I promise you." Moving slowly, Nuada took the hand she pressed against her lips and drew it away, so he could see the way her mouth trembled. "There is nothing you could tell me about this nightmare that would anger me." She just shook her head again. "Tell me. It will be all right, Dylan. Please tell me. Do you not trust me?"

Softly, she whispered, "Of course I do. More than anyone. I trust you with my life."

"Do you trust me with your heart?"

"Yes."

"Then trust me with this, mo duinne. Tell me," Nuada whispered. She squeezed her eyes shut. "Tell me." Dylan drew an almost-sobbing breath and whispered words that, for a moment, held no meaning to him. He stared at her. "What did you say?" His voice was hollow.

"You attacked me. In the nightmare. You... you hurt me."

The words were like icy stones on his tongue when he whispered, "How? How did I hurt you?"

Dylan tried to pull back from him, but there was nowhere she could go. "Nuada-"

"How?" A whipcrack demand. She flinched. The Elven warrior set his hands against the bookcase at Dylan's back, on either side of her head. He leaned in. Pinned her with a feral gaze. She wasn't afraid of him; would never be afraid of him. So the closeness of him didn't frighten her at all. But she was afraid of what would happen if she dared to confess the part of her dream that she remembered. What would it do to him? Too softly, the warrior said, "Tell me."

She swallowed. "In my dream," she whispered, then had to clear her throat when the words barely managed to rasp out of her. "You... Nuada, it was just a dream. It doesn't matter."

Feral eyes narrowed. "Do not lie to me, Dylan. Not even to spare me grief or pain. If it doesn't matter, why will you not tell me?" His eyes searched her face. Why would she not tell him? What was so terrible that she wouldn't tell him? He could think of only one thing. "Tell me."

Topaz met sapphire. He held her gaze.

"You raped me," she whispered. He sucked in a sharp breath. That fey gaze demanded the whole of it. "I... you talked to me. You asked me to let you... and then you weren't asking anymore. You were demanding and I said no and you grabbed me and I couldn't... I didn't want to hurt you and I couldn't fight you, you were too strong, and then... then you..." Nuada pulled away from her; refused to meet her eyes. "Nuada, I'm sorry! I didn't want to say anything because I didn't want to upset you. I didn't want you to think-

"Think what?" He demanded, voice low. "Didn't wish me to think you feared me? Didn't wish me to think that perhaps, just perhaps, even you could think the worst of me? To think... to think you could ever believe me capable-"

"I don't!" Dylan went to him then. Slid her arms around him and cuddled against his chest. "I know you would never, ever hurt me. Not ever. I know that. That's why I didn't want to tell you. It was just a nightmare. It wasn't real. I know that. I know you. If I thought for a second that you could ever do anything like that to anyone, especially me, do you think I'd be here with you? I'm not afraid of you. I trust you."

He didn't put his arms around her. Didn't dare. His nightmare, the worst of his darkest dreams, reflected in Dylan's own. What did that mean? How many times had he succumbed to exhausted slumber in the hopes of outrunning those nightmares, only to find himself with her? Only to feel her hot salted blood on his hands, his skin? Taste the raw copper of it on his tongue as he broke her to pieces beneath him? He'd never told her. Was certain she hadn't known about any save that dream where'd he woken in a black, nearly insane rage with his hand on his knife and his knife at her throat. She hadn't known, yet now she dreamed of the same thing.

Nuada thought of Eamonn, of his curse. That curse should've only taken effect upon the Zwezdan Elf's death. Should've been thwarted by the royal magic coursing through the Elven prince's veins. If Dylan was right, then Eamonn was alive. Yet this nightmare of hers, coupled with his own dark dreams, had an undertaste of premonition.

Slender fingers twisted in the back of his shirt. "Nuada," Dylan whispered. "Please. This is why I didn't want to tell you. Talk to me. Please?"

"I would never harm you, Dylan," he murmured. His arms came up and enfolded her. The tension drained from her body. "You must know that. You must know I would never force you to-"

"I know," she said. "I know. That's why the dream upsets me so much. It makes me sick and it scares me when it's happening, but when I wake up I feel so guilty because I know you'd never do that to anyone. You would never hurt me. I'm sorry; maybe I should've told you before. There's... there's a lot I haven't talked to you about. I didn't want to worry you. Or hurt you." Dylan's sigh was warm against Nuada's throat. "I'm so used to relying on myself. I feel... I feel stupid when I need your help to deal with things that aren't as important as what you have to deal with. I mean, one woman's nightmares pale in comparison to the fate of a struggling fae village, wouldn't you say?"

A calloused hand cupped her cheek. "You do not wish to be a burden."

"I nearly got you killed once."

"And you have saved my life at least a dozen times over," Nuada replied.

"Your dad hates me."

"No, he doesn't. He merely finds you annoying at times." His mouth curved slightly when she huffed a laugh. "When you are sweet and charming, he finds you quite likeable. He's not a fool, mo duinne."

"The court thinks you're out of your mind for falling for me."

"They do not see your charms. It's no fault of mine that they're blind."

"You think I'm annoying."

Nuada let the half-smile spread across his face, though his eyes were shadowed. "Only sometimes." His thumb caressed the fragile edge of her cheekbone. She turned her face into his palm and sighed.

"But you think I'm frustrating."

He began to lead her back to her chair. "If I answer honestly, will you attempt to kick me?"

Her smile eased some of the choking emotion tightening his chest. "I make no promises one way or the other," she said in a sweet voice.

The prince held out the chair for her so she could sit. Once seated, he scooted her chair in and took his own seat across from her. "Well, it is lucky I don't owe you an answer to a question, then, is it not?" He settled back into his chair. "I'll make you a promise, if you make me one in turn."

"I tell you everything when you ask if you tell me everything when I ask?"

"In simple terms; have we a bargain?"

"Deal."

The Elven warrior moved his aurulent knight. "How long have you been having this dream?"

Dylan moved her own knight. Her hands still shook a little. "I feel like this is taking unfair advantage of our new deal, since the original stakes of the game were that for every piece lost, the loser would answer a question for the winner. However," she added when the prince raised his brows, "I'll answer you. I've been having this nightmare, mingled with my normal ones and the stupid one I can't remember, every night since the night I slept in your room."

Pale fingers hesitated over a spearman. "Since Samhain?"

"What? No. I... I slept in your room while... while you were unconscious after the duel with Zhenjin. I couldn't sleep because I was worried about you, so I went and slept in your room. On your bed. 'Cause it smelled like you." She frowned. "Put that way, it sounds a bit creepy, actually."

"No," he murmured, keeping his eyes on the board, "it does not. I... sometimes, I find myself longing for your cottage purely because I miss the scent of you on the air." Sun-kissed ivory eyes flicked to her, then away. "The night we slept beside each other, your scent and your warmth soothed away my dark dreams. I don't find it strange at all that you ventured to my bed because you could not sleep."

"Oh." She made her move, and promptly lost a piece. "Dang it. So not fair."

"I did not cheat."

"Your natural Elven superiority is cheating," she grumbled. Nuada smiled. "May I ask you a question, now?"

"That would break the bonds of our first bargain."

"So does our new one. Your point?" When the prince inclined his head, she asked, "Why don't you and your dad get along? Why does he think so poorly of you?"

For a long time there was silence. Pawns and bishops, knights and castles did battle and lost - or won, in Nuada's case. Dylan merely waited for him to speak. He'd promised that if she answered his questions, he would answer hers. So he would. Even if it was hard on him.

In the end, his answer sent fury racing like hot poison through her body. For just a moment, she actually hated King Balor.

"He blames me for my mother's death. Among other things."

"So, it's because..." Remembering what Nuada had said about speaking ill of the king in front of other people, she leaned forward and dropped her voice to a mere whisper. "Because he's an idiot. Got it."

Nuada huffed a laugh. It held an edge of bitterness. "How do you know I wasn't responsible?"

"How old were you?"

He looked up at the sudden change in her voice. Gone was the mortal woman who loved him without reserve. In her place was the woman Nuada imagined Dylan became when she was in her role as a healer of heart and mind. Her face was open and without expression, yet a gentle warmth was there, a warmth Nuada had never seen on the empty court faces of the Bethmooran nobles. Without taking her eyes off him, she moved a white diamond castle and actually took one of his spearmen.

"I was in my ninth century." He moved his hierophant.

"Where were her guards?"

"They were with us."

Her castle captured another pawn. "How many?"

Nuada forced himself to focus on the game and not her questions. "Two. My mother's habit when spending private time with my sister and I." He captured her remaining knight. "I was taking her to see something."

"Why?" A glittering tower of white diamond slid across the board. "What did you want her to see?"

"A Fomorian asphodel. My mother's favorite flower, second only to roses. I found it just at the edges of the woods around Renvyle, where we lived at the time. I wanted to show it to her. I thought... I thought it would make her happy." Nuada's hand rested on the yellow diamond queen, but he didn't move it. "I'd been there before. Humans saw me. They were waiting for us. For my mother and my sister."

"And you knew this how?"

He blinked. "I did not know."

"So like I said - the reason you and your dad don't get along is because he's an idiot." Like a switch had been thrown, gone was the mind-healer. Back was the woman who would brave anything to defend him, to stand by him. Her eyes were steady on his when she added, "You were a child. You were trying to do something good for your mother. Blaming you would be like blaming A'du'la'di for what happened on Sunday. I know you don't blame him. Your father shouldn't blame you. You definitely shouldn't blame yourself."

Nuada said, "I don't blame myself. I blame the humans who murdered her. Which is why I am very glad that they are thoroughly dead. Just as I'm very glad that the animals that attacked you the night we met are also thoroughly dead." He held her gaze for a long moment and did not allow her to look away.

Dylan inclined her head. "The law of God punishes rape with execution," she murmured. "Who am I to question Him?" She moved a piece, and promptly lost it. "Oh, fiddlesticks. I have another question. If your father is so suspicious of you, why didn't he threaten to punish you when you went into exile?"

"I think," Nuada said after a moment, "he was simply happy to be rid of me. So long as I was absent from court, I couldn't stir up anti-human sentiment among our nobles. There was... there was a war," he added. Firegold eyes contemplated a chess knight. "The last war between humans and fae. When it ended, I looked out on a battlefield soaked in the blood of both, and knew that nothing would ever be the same for me. For my people.

"My father did not see that. He thought the Kindly Ones could simply return to our lives, as if the war had never been. As if no innocent blood had been spilled. As if no families had been ripped asunder, no children slaughtered, no women raped, no villages and towns and cities razed to the ground. He thought the fae would forget. He thought the humans would forget. I knew no one would forget, not for a great long span of years."

He closed his eyes. Shifted the chess knight into place. "So I walked away from the luxury of being a prince, to think on all that my years had taught me thus far, and to learn what my people would need from me when I finally ascended the throne. My sister begged me to remain. So did Naya." A brief quirk of lips. "So did Jenny and Miyax and Caspar and Nils, all who'd had a hand in raising me. My family begged me not to go. Wink demanded I allow him to accompany me.

"Yet my father watched me leave without a word. He did not try to stop me. Did not embrace me. He did not even bid me farewell. And he has never, until that night just ere Samhain, ordered me to return."

"If he had... would you have obeyed?" Dylan asked. She moved her queen closer to the golden knight.

"I would have had to. He is my king. By his sufferance did my exile last. If and when his plans come to fruition, I can only hope I may leave the court once more, to return to my exile... and my freedom. I've scarce enough freedom as crown prince. I'll have none when I'm king. No freedom to be among my people, no freedom to aid them as I wish to do." He offered her a look as soft as a caress, and as bitter as a winter night. "No freedom to love as I yearn to love."

"But you'll be able to do things as king that you can't do now," she murmured. She didn't show him the way his words affected her; only added in a tranquil tone, "You'll be able to help them with royal authority, if not with your own hands. It's a good trade. And when you're king... I think you'll find someone who loves you even more than I do now. Someone who will always stand by you, who will be the wife you need and the queen Bethmoora needs. Someone you can love, too. And you'll be a wonderful king. I know that for a fact."

Nuada smiled. There was only a touch of melancholy to it now. "You humble me." Then his smile curved into a grin. He slid his queen into place. "Checkmate, mo duinne."

Dylan sputtered. "What? But... but... oh, come on! Seriously? I suck at this game."

"You merely need practice. Another game, then. Unless you're afraid to lose?" His brow quirked in challenge.

The mortal met his gaze and did not flinch. "Bring it, Elf boy."

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Dylan went to bed after the third game (she lost all three rounds, of course, but it took longer for Nuada to massacre her chess army each time). She woke from the same collage of nightmares that had plagued her the last several days and readied for work. The gold ring on her finger brought her to the sanctuary.

Just as she was reaching for the portal that would open to the rest of the subway, Nuada's voice stopped her. "You left without saying goodbye."

She turned. "I'm sorry. I thought you were asleep. I left a note."

"I saw that." He stood with arms folded across his bare chest, watching her. He was sleep-rumpled, a state she almost never saw him in: sleeping trews wrinkled; feet bare on the cold stone of the sanctuary floor; hair slightly mussed. He had been asleep. Had her departure woken him somehow? "But I would prefer a more personal goodbye."

A smile tugged at her mouth as she realized, "You didn't come here to lecture me. You came to kiss me goodbye."

He shrugged. "Can you blame me?"

She went to him and slid her arms around his neck. "Uh-uh." Popping up on tiptoe, she brushed her mouth against his. Felt his hot sigh against her lips. "I'll be back later. Probably around noon, unless there's an emergency or something. Then we'll go to the palace tailors or wherever you got that dress and then do banquet stuff and it'll be fun. Maybe."

As the human started to turn away, Nuada wrapped one arm around her waist and caught her chin between his thumb and forefinger. Dylan laid her hands on his chest and upper arm. Felt the hard strength of muscle toned by centuries of battle. His skin was warm under her hands. She could feel his heartbeat beneath her palm.

"You call that a goodbye kiss?"

"Well, I did learn how to kiss from you, Your Highness."

Releasing her chin, Nuada allowed his hand to slide around to her shoulder before smoothing down her back to the waistband of her jeans. He hooked his fingers in the belt-loops and pulled her close. "Well, mo duinne, it seems I've been remiss in my duty to you. I'll have to teach you better."

The warmth of his breath against her mouth had her eyes drifting closed. There was a brush of lips. A feather-soft caress. Golden heat spread through her body as his hands settled at her hips. Until Nuada, she'd never thought about how it would feel to be cradled by all of the strength of a warrior. His hands were gentle. Always gentle. But she could feel the strength of him in the hard muscle of his biceps under her fingers, in his hands holding her to him.

With studious concentration Nuada slid his lips over the silk of hers. It was a slow exploration of her mouth that merely touched the surface of what he would find if he allowed himself to deepen the kiss. He adored her mouth. The shape of it, the feel of it beneath his own. And he adored kissing her - the way her eyelashes fluttered as he nipped her bottom lip; how she sighed and pressed close to him; the way her fingers pressed against his arms when a low sound, almost a growl, escaped his control.

He broke the kiss when need threatened to overtake him. A single, closed-mouth kiss from her could break his control if he wasn't careful. Instead of focusing on that, on the way she was looking at him, he touched his forehead to hers and murmured, "I love kissing you."

"No arguments here," she whispered. "You're kinda good at this."

Nuada raised his eyebrows. "Kind of?"

She smiled. Mischief sparkled in her fey-like blue eyes. "In case you missed the hint, that was a challenge, Your Highness. Or are you backing down from the aforesaid challenge?"

The Elven warrior tangled his fingers in the cascade of dark curls tumbling down her back. "I never back down from a challenge. Though isn't your brother waiting for you in the tunnels?"

"John can wait a few minutes," she said, and kissed him again.

.

It took more than a few minutes, much to Dylan's chagrin. The kissing itself hadn't taken that long, though. No, it was Nuada's fault. Nuada being cute. Dylan dumped all the blame for her tardiness squarely in the prince's lap. If he hadn't been so cute, and been saying such charming and romantic (if sometimes cheesy) stuff in tenderly spoken Gaelic, she'd have left at the end of five minutes, instead of at the end of fifteen.

John didn't seem to mind, though. In fact, he'd been chatting up a girl with long black hair wearing a small silver gear around her neck on a silver chain. Her jade green eyes fixed on Dylan. The mortal inclined her head to the half-faerie. From the gear around her neck, she was probably a Gate Minder from the Faerie kingdom of Thorn. From the green eyes, Dylan knew she was probably the only female Gate Minder of a dual bloodline in all of the land of Thorn - Aoife Grayson. The only non-full-blooded faerie Dylan knew of, besides the half-human mechanic Dean Nails down at the Rustworks, who'd fought a shoggoth and lived. They hadn't killed the thing, but they'd escaped it. Dylan had heard the story from Ravus, who was friends - of a sort - with Dean.

Poor John, Dylan thought as she approached and the half-faerie girl made her excuses and disappeared into the tunnels. He doesn't know she's taken. Oh, well. There's like, zero chance he'll see her again anytime soon, so no worries. It was common knowledge along the Faerie grapevine that Dean Nails, half-human bastard son of the second queen of the kingdom of Windhaven, was in love with Aoife Grayson, the half-human bastard daughter of the mad Princess Nerissa of Thorn. Since neither the two queens of Thorn nor the king of Windhaven had done anything to either of them as far as Dylan knew, she figured they were allowed to be together.

Dylan didn't know Aoife at all, and had met Dean only twice while down at the Rustworks; she'd asked him for directions to get to the home of a pregnant nain rouge whose husband had sent for the mortal healer when his wife had gone into early labor. While Dean's mother was a queen, he wasn't a prince. His mother, Shard, was only queen because she'd married the Erlking of Windhaven.

Dylan was glad that neither the queens of Thorn nor the Erlking were sending envoys to Bethmoora. The Erlking, for the most part, hated every other type of fae other than Erlkin. Octavia and Sinéad, the twin queens of Thorn, were busy with something else, though rumors hadn't said what. Dylan didn't care. She'd never met any of the three rulers, only heard stories, and what she'd heard gave her the chills.

John teased her as they walked to the actual subway station, because her hair was messed up and he was fairly certain she'd been kissing somebody. Dylan didn't chide him for teasing her. The fact that he was teasing her, instead of getting angry that she'd kissed Nuada, was a good enough reason to put up with his jokes. She didn't bother him about Aoife. John was charming, and a flirt; sort of a much milder, less oversexed version of Francesca. Dylan didn't begrudge him.

Work was quick. She talked to one of her long-time patients, a seventeen-year-old named Gus. Gus had the Sight by virtue of having once been turned (albeit briefly) into a stone-troll as a little boy. His younger sister, Rosie, had possessed the Sight as a toddler - most toddlers did, before the Sight faded away during early childhood - and then been kissed by, as far as Dylan knew, the world's only flower troll. But the Sight wasn't why Gus had come to her four years ago, when he was about thirteen. It was because he'd ticked off a juvenile court judge so badly that it was either mandatory therapy, or being carted off to a detention center.

Dylan had done his initial evaluation. She'd taken one look at the sullen teenager, seen the odd grayish-purple bruise-like discoloration on his thumb, and blurted without thinking, "You have troll blood." Gus had given her a single look of absolute incredulity before grinning.

"You can see this?" He'd flicked his thumb. A spark of violet power had sizzled along his skin before dissipating. "Wicked. Are you a witch or something?"

"Or something," she'd said. And that was all it had taken for him to open up.

After she saw Gus and Rosie, she dealt with Varen again, at his father's insistence. He might've been in college, but his father paid full tuition, so Varen did what his father wanted - usually. Exceptions were dealing with Faerie and attending his cheerleading girlfriend Isobel's football games at NYU. After everything the cheerleader and "the king of all Goths," as Dylan's secretary called him, had been through, she didn't blame him. Her last session was more of a check-up with Mickey, who gave her a note on his way out.

The note was from his older brother Ceśar, leader of the Lobos, and it was simple and to the point. Things are going to be bad for a few months. The Park isn't safe. Watch your back. Right. Message received. She'd be careful. Especially if Ceśar thought she needed to be warned. So she'd watch her back.

.

Back in her room in Findias, she checked her phone. Right on time. She slipped out of her room, collecting her guards on the way to the prince's study. Nuada glanced up from the papers on his desk when Dylan poked her head in to smile at him. Dark lips curved at the corners.

"Hi," she murmured. "So... palace tailors? New dress?"

Nuada's smile widened. "New dresses."

Dylan blinked. "New... dresses? Plural?"

The prince slid the papers he'd been perusing back into his desk drawer and got to his feet. After slipping his spear into the sheath at his back and buckling on his sword, he met her at the door. "There will be little enough time over the coming days to see the tailors, and I doubt you'll want to wear the same gown every night. I wanted to get a head start. If you don't like them, we can have new ones made. But give me a chance - I know how to dress a woman."

"Really?" She arched an eyebrow. "I'm sensing some sort of innuendo hiding in there, but I don't know what it is." He chuckled. She poked him in the chest. "No laughing. I know what I'm talking about. You're thinking something wicked."

"Darling," he murmured, brushing his lips against her temple. "When I think about you and clothes, nearly all my thoughts are wicked."

She blew out a long, slow breath. His mouth against her skin was very warm. "Okay. Um... okay."

"You do wonders for my ego."

Dylan wiggled out of his arms and tried to cool the blush flaming her cheeks. "Like your ego needs any help from me. New clothes. Shopping. Sort of. Let's go."

The palace tailors lived close to the servants' quarters, in the wing just beneath the second-story guard barracks. Nuada led Dylan into the room on his arm in a formal escort's stance. He allowed a small smile to play about his lips while Dylan stared around them in wonder at the massive main room the tailors and seamstresses used to store fabrics, half-finished projects, and other such things.

He paid strict attention to the materials Dylan goggled over - rich sapphire brocade embroidered with gold; artfully dyed green and amber silks; moonbeam velvet with the sheen of an ivory freshwater pearl. She actually stopped in front of a Gevaudan-style gown on a dress-form, in pale gold crushed velvet and deep forest green and silver-embroidered white silk. Reached out, fingers trembling, but pulled them back before she actually touched the soft material.

"Oh, that's beautiful. Who's it for?"

"You think it beautiful?" Nuada asked softly. She nodded, staring up at the gown with wide eyes and parted lips. "That is well, then, as it's yours."

She whirled on him. "Mine?" He nodded. "It's really mine? You bought that for me?"

A brush of fingers at her cheek sent warmth curling around her heart. "I did," he murmured in her ear. "I saw the material and it reminded me of our time in the royal forest. The sunlight on the water and through the oak leaves, the way it lit up your eyes when you smiled. You like it?"

"I love it." She hugged him. "I love it. It's gorgeous. Can I... can I try it on?"

"Absolutely, my lady," a voice said from behind them.

Dylan turned to see an Elven man with skin so dark that the sunlight through the windows brought out purple highlights. His hair hung in a thousand braids to his waist. Each braid was tipped with copper beads that clicked when the Elf moved his head. Around his right wrist was a thin hemp rope that dangled more copper beads and tiny, black teeth. The pale gold of his tunic and trews emphasized the midnight pallor of his skin. He bowed to the prince and his lady.

"I am Themba, my lady, if it pleases you." His accent reminded Dylan of Aso the Weaver from the Troll Market. This, then, was another Child of the Spider, another Elf of Nyame. "I'm chief of the palace tailors. Would you like to try on the gown?"

She smiled. "Yes, please."

"Come along, then, and we shall see if I was correct in your measurements."

"How did you measure me?" Dylan asked as she and the prince followed the dark-skinned Elf. Another Elf, this one with uptilted eyes the color of dark garnets and a streak of blond through the midnight darkness of her short-cropped hair, carefully removed the dress from the form and followed after the trio.

Themba laughed; a rich, deep, rolling laugh that reminded Dylan of a lion purring. "I saw you at the prince's banquet, my lady, when Prince Zhenjin challenged him for the honor of the little dragon princess."

"Oh." Then what he was saying truly registered. "Wait, so all you had to do was look at me once?"

He nodded. "I am very, very good at my work, my lady. It's why I am chief of this little part of Findias. Now, if you will but step into this dressing room, and my young journeymaid, Hiyori, will help you." The little Asian-looking Elf girl ducked her head in respect.

The dressing room was rather spacious - more spacious than it had looked from the outside. She and Hiyori fit easily. At the Onibi Elf's insistence - it turned out the Elves of Onibi, the Children of the Phoenix, had dark red eyes that were nearly black and at least a bit of blond in their hair, giving credence to their legends that stated they were literal descendents of firebirds - Dylan stripped down to her underthings and Hiyori helped slide the gown over the mortal's head.

The velvet should've made the gown heavy, but it didn't. In fact, it felt lighter than a cloud. The material was cool and soft against Dylan's skin. Hiyori cinched the short bodice laces at front and the long ones in back. The entwined antique gold and hunter green of the laces stood out well against the white silk of the bodice and the pale gold of the rest of the gown. Hiyori also helped the mortal with the green silk sleeves so that the laces at the shoulders sat just right. Dylan only protested when Hiyori tugged the scrunchie out of her hair.

"But-"

"It will look better this way, milady," the journeymaid seamstress murmured. Her accent, strangely, was pure Irish. It held none of the sharp consonants of a Japanese accent, and she had no issue pronouncing the letter "L," which didn't exist in Japanese. Had she been raised in Bethmoora? "Trust me, milady. You'll see when the prince looks at you. Now come - let us show Master Themba and His Highness how beautiful you are."

She saw it the moment she stepped out of the dressing room and into the light. Themba laughed and clapped his hands, delighted. "I told you it would fit, my lady. I am very good at my work. Wonderful." Dylan heard him, but her entire attention was focused on Nuada.

Nuada had been in the middle of saying something to Zhenjin, who'd appeared while Dylan was in the dressing room. With Zhenjin and Nuada were three other men. Two, the mortal recognized as Gaôzu and Hôu Junjï, the Dilong crown prince's younger brothers.

The other was a tall, lean man with short, off-white hair so thick it almost looked like fur. His skin was black as a panther's, and unlike Themba's, seemed to absorb the sunlight rather than reflecting it. Unlike the Dilong and Bethmooran Elves, his ears were rounded as a human's. Undyed leather breaches trimmed in fur the same color as his hair flowed down long legs into black boots. A white silk shirt beneath an undyed leather vest, also trimmed in ivory fur, stood out stark against his pitch-black skin. When he turned his head to say something to Zhenjin, Dylan saw his features looked Inuit.

Whatever Zhenjin had been about to say dwindled away when Nuada stopped mid-sentence and stared at her. Heat flooded Dylan's face. She dropped her gaze to the ground. The toes of her buff-colored leather boots peeked out from beneath the velvet skirt of her gown. She stared at those and waited.

The conversation between the four fae men died away as Nuada stepped forward. When he stopped a scant few inches in front of her, she glanced up and met a gaze flickering between warm honeyed amber and gold-kissed ivory.

"Well?" Her voice was barely a whisper. "What do you think?"

He opened his mouth. Closed it again. What did he think? He thought he might've been mad to commission this dress from Themba. Mad, not to realize it would be absolute torture to see her looking so... so... "You're absolutely stunning, beloved."

Her cheeks grew hotter. "Thank you."

"The color suits you very well," he murmured. Wry chuckles from behind the Elven prince made him scowl. Nuada cleared his throat. Turning to the chief of the palace tailors, he added, "Does it not suit her, Themba?"

The Nyame Elf took pity on the prince and nodded. "That it does, Your Highness, as you said it would. Your Ladyship looks well in golds and greens; they suit you. Blues, too, methinks. We'll see when you come back for more clothes. You do mean to return for my services, do you not, milady?" The tailor asked when Dylan shot Nuada a startled glance. "You'll need more than a few gowns for the Midwinter festivities the king plans to host. And then there are those events that will take place after Midwinter, up until the Frost Moon, hosted by the nobles of the court. You'll no doubt be invited, my lady."

"Oh. I... hadn't thought that far ahead," Dylan confessed. From the corner of her eye, she saw Nuada give her a gentle look that conveyed everything she needed to know. "But I probably will. Especially if they're all as amazing as this one."

"It is the woman who makes the gown, my lady, not the gown that makes the woman," Themba rumbled in his deep voice. He smiled at the shy pleasure on the human's face. "Do you not agree, Your Highness?"

"I agree," Nuada said softly, taking Dylan's hand. He brushed a gentle kiss across the healing scrapes on her knuckles. "You always look beautiful, mo mhuire. And you look positively resplendent in this gown. I will be the envy of the entire court."

"You're not too bad looking yourself, Your Highness," Dylan replied, and slid her arms around his waist to hug him. "I love this dress," she added. "It's gorgeous. It really should be uncomfortable, but it's totally not. And it's gorgeous. I love it. Now, um... who's that?"

"Ah, yes. Allow me to make the introductions. My fairest lady, Dylan Myers of Central Park, allow me to introduce the Munaqsri of the White Bears of the North, the Great Nanook, Lord Mashkaupeu of Saami. His wife is Lady Cassandra; I spoke of her to you last night."

Dylan nodded. "I remember. A pleasure to meet you, Great Nanook." She sank into a curtsy.

"In private, my lady, I insist my friends call me simply Lord Bear. Great Nanook sounds so... stuffy. As you are Nuada's lady and he my friend, I hope to consider you a friend as well." He held out his hand. "My wife, Cassandra, says modern humans prefer to shake hands when they meet someone."

The human grinned and took the proffered hand. "True. Curtsying all the time takes some getting used to. And if I'm to call you Lord Bear, then you can call me Lady Dylan if you like." Lady Myers just sounded weird. "Or just Dylan."

"Lady Dylan, then." The munaqsri king smiled. His teeth were startlingly white against his black skin. "I have the feeling you and my daughter Abigail will get along. She's not fond of being called 'Princess' much, herself. And I've heard from Nuada that you're fond of children."

Blue eyes lit up. "I am, indeed. How old is your daughter?"

"Six years old, come the Summer Solstice. She-"

"Daddy!"

Mashkaupeu's sloe-black eyes lit up as he turned to see a little girl with flame-red hair and the brightest green eyes Dylan had ever seen dart into the room, followed by two massive ice trolls. The little girl raced up to the munaqsri king, who hoisted her into his arms. The trolls followed a few paces back. From the armor of ensorcelled black ice and the swords of glittering, seafoam-green ice at their sides, Dylan figured they were the little girl's bodyguards.

"Well, so you found me, eh? I thought you were napping with your mother."

Abigail shook her head so her ponytail bounced. "Nuh-uh. I tried to sleep, but I was too excited about the party. So I came to find you, instead. Ijirqang and Keelut said they would help me. And we found you! What are you doing?"

"Meeting Prince Nuada's lady. You should meet the prince yourself. Down you get." Mashkaupeu set his daughter on the ground and turned her in Nuada's direction. "Your Royal Highness, allow me to present my daughter, Princess Abigail of Saami. Abigail, this is Crown Prince Nuada Silverlance of Bethmoora and," turning his daughter a little to see Dylan, "Lady Dylan Myers of Central Park."

Abigail bobbed a curtsy. "It's nice to meet you. Are you a human?"

Dylan smiled. "Yes, I am."

"My mommy's a human, but I'm not. I'm a munaqsri like my daddy. That means I can carry lifespark. Oh. Your hand is hurt." She pointed at the scrapes on Dylan's knuckles and the fading bruises on her fingers. "I can fix it. Can I fix it?"

Dylan flicked a glance from the child to her father. The munaqsri king shrugged and gave a go-ahead gesture. Dylan held out her hand. Abigail took it gently in hers and peered at it. She blew a soft breath on the scrapes. As Dylan watched, they faded away completely. The bruises lightened from grayish-blue to a blue so soft it was almost non-existent, then faded as well.

"Gotcha. My daddy taught me how to do that. Are you gonna be at the party tonight?" Abigail asked, changing tack so rapidly that Nuada, Zhenjin, Gaôzu, and Hôu Junjï were surprised Dylan could keep up. "I don't get to go because it's too late at night and I have a bedtime. I don't think princesses should have a bedtime, do you? I mean, we're princesses. So... yeah, no bedtimes. That's what I think."

"Yes, I'll be at the banquet tonight. I'm sorry you can't go, but everybody needs a bedtime, even princes and princesses. When you're young, your body needs more sleep so it has enough energy to help you grow. You don't want to be little forever, do you?"

Abigail's eyes grew round. "No way! If I'm stuck being little, I won't be able to be a munaqsri anymore!"

"So bedtime's kind of important, then, huh?"

A heavy sigh. "I guess. You're really smart. Are you a scientist? My mommy used to be a scientist before she married my daddy. She knows all about polar bears. That's how they met; she thought he was a polar bear. Are you a scientist?"

"A doctor, actually."

"Wow. So you can heal people and stuff?"

Drawing back a ways from the mortal and the little girl, the four Elven princes and the munaqsri king were talking.

"How can she keep up with everything that child is saying?" Gaôzu wondered. "She's just like you, Zhen, with Ming. I've never been able to keep up with Ming's chatter very long. How is Lady Dylan doing it?"

Nuada smiled. "She has a way with children. She likes them."

Mashkaupeu watched his daughter reach out and stroke the plush, gold velvet of the mortal's gown with a careful hand under Themba's watchful eye. "Abigail certainly likes her. That's good. Cassie and I were worried because whenever Abigail settled down for a minute from being excited about this trip, she would get sad and a little scared, I think, about not knowing anyone and not having any friends here. Many of the nobles in Bethmoora dislike humans, and Cassie was worried they wouldn't allow their children to play with our daughter."

The prince of Bethmoora flicked his eyes to Mashkaupeu before settling his gaze on Dylan once more. "My lady has a handmaiden, physically the same age as your daughter. U'de'ho'sa'ti, a cougar-shifter from Elphame. And King Roiben Darktithe has brought his consort Lady Kaye's foster-sister, Lady Kate, here. I see no reason why the three girls cannot be playmates while they're in Bethmoora."

Sloe-black eyes shifted to meet eyes of Bethmooran gold. "Thank you, Prince Nuada. I know that for the longest time, you didn't approve of my choice of consort. Yet you extend this offer to me. I appreciate it."

Nuada inclined his head. "I do this as much for 'Sa'ti as for Princess Abigail." The prince smiled. "Although I think perhaps we should separate my lady from the princess before they start forming plans that will bring down the castle."

"I heard that," Dylan called without looking away from Abigail, who was busy explaining how the munaqsri of the boreal aspens in Canada was, according to Lady Cassandra, "out of her ever-loving mind." When Mashkaupeu came up, Abigail broke off mid-word and threw her arms around her father. The white-haired king hoisted her up again.

"Have you been telling tales, little cub?" The Polar Bear King asked, poking his daughter lightly in the stomach. Abigail giggled.

"Yep!"

"Well, it's time to say goodbye now. His Highness and Lady Dylan are more than likely quite busy preparing for tonight. And while you're not attending the banquet, you are being presented to the Bethmooran royal family tonight before the banquet begins, and we must get you ready, as well."

Abigail blew out a breath. "Okay. Bye, Dylan. Bye, Your Highness."

"Bye-bye, Abigail," Dylan said, amusement in her voice. Nuada merely inclined his head.

Mashkaupeu sent his daughter off with her two ice troll bodyguards. Then he added, "My lady, it truly was a pleasure. I had heard things, and... well, some of them were true, some not. I'm glad to see it is true that you've made the prince a happy man. I shall see you tonight, I hope, Silverlance."

Nuada canted his head. Opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by Zhenjin.

"Well, Lady Dylan, now that I can get a word in edgewise, I must say that Silverlance was absolutely right; that gown suits you very well." The Dilong prince held out his hand for hers, and kissed the back of it. "I agree with Nuada - you look lovely. As lovely as you are compassionate."

Jade reptilian eyes locked with eyes of silver-washed blue. Dylan smiled. "Thank you, Prince Zhenjin."

Gaôzu poked his brother in the ribs. "She belongs to Nuada, Brother," the second Dilong prince interjected in a stage-whisper. The munaqsri king snorted. Hôu Junjï rolled his eyes. "Stop mooning over her. Get your own human."

Zhenjin shot Gaôzu a sharp look. "Brother-"

"My sister's on the lookout for a boyfriend," Dylan said. Nuada made a noise like A'du'la'di about to cough up a furball. Mashkaupeu, Hôu Junjï, Gaôzu, and Zhenjin gave him a curious look. Nuada merely stared at his lady in something akin to horror. "Oh, don't look like that. She's not so bad once you get to know her."

"You're jesting, surely."

She laughed. "You know, my sister still wants a picture of you without a shirt. If I can get a charm for my phone that allows the camera to pick up your glamour, would you let me take-"

"No."

"But-"

Without batting an eyelash, he said, "No."

"You're a meanie."

"Those lovely eyes of yours can tear up all you like, you can bat your lashes all you wish, and you can pout at me if you're willing to sink that low." Dylan huffed a laugh, and Nuada smiled. "The answer, mo duinne, is still no. I'll not be swayed. Your sister is a lust-minded harpy. I cannot believe you'd sic her on me that way."

Dylan grinned. "Don't worry, Your Highness, I'll protect you."

Gaôzu turned his laugh into a cough. Zhenjin just snorted. Mashkaupeu cleared his throat several times until he stopped straining not to laugh. Hôu Junjï found the ceiling suddenly very interesting. Nuada merely raised his eyebrows at her. She laughed.

Zhenjin, Gaôzu, Hôu Junjï, and Mashkaupeu made their farewells, and the three princes and the munaqsri king went on their way. The Bethmooran prince turned to his lady. "Well, you've met the Polar Bear King and his daughter. What did you think of them?"

She smiled. "You know," she said so that only he could hear her. "I like him. He seems really nice. And Abigail's adorable. Are all your other friends like that?"

"Mashkaupeu and I are not friends. We're not enemies, but we've never been close. His sympathy for humans kept us distant from each other when we might have grown close. Now, though... I can see how he fell." He lightly touched Dylan's cheek. She smiled. "Dastan is charming; he has to be. His twin sister, Dinarzadi, used to hit him if he said something she didn't like. Kagiso and Günther will likely compliment you, but Kagiso is more restrained than Günther. Males are the subservient gender in Nyame. I know you'll like them, though. At any rate, there are four other gowns I would have you try."

Her eyes goggled. "You bought me five dresses?" She cocked her head. "You like buying me stuff. Why?"

Amber eyes were serious when he murmured, "There is much I wish to give you that I cannot, so I give you what I can. Does it bother you?"

"No," she said softly. "Whatever makes you happy."

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In the end, she was pretty happy, too. All the gowns fit. Themba really was good at his job. There was the gold, green, and white gown Nuada had intended for the final banquet of the Midwinter festivities, as well as four others: a beautiful gown of gold, silver, and a million shades of blue, similar to one Nuala owned but much darker, to complement Dylan's hair and her cream-pale skin; a gown of rich crimson and champagne gold, the colors of Bethmoora, for the banquet that very night; one in royal blue sprinkled with tiny white jewels like stars across the deepening twilight of the night sky, meant for a masquerade the king was planning at some point; and a silk gown of icy blue and cream in a style originating in the French-Faerie kingdom of Gevaudan, meant for the Midwinter Ball. Dylan loved all of them, but her favorites were the green and gold, and the gown meant for the Ball itself. Her third favorite was the one meant for the masquerade, though she didn't have a mask. Someone, Themba informed her, was taking care of that.

By the time she and Nuada got back to their suites and ate a light and rather late lunch, it was time for them to get ready for the banquet. They parted company after the Elven prince pressed a soft kiss against her mouth. Then Dylan raced into the bathroom, calling for Eimh and 'Sa'ti.

Eimh insisted on a bubblebath to relax her person because the hound claimed she could smell Dylan's anxiety all the way from the bathroom door. At Dylan's direction, 'Sa'ti laid out her mistress's makeup on the long marble counter. Then Dylan took as long as she dared to scrub, rinse, luxuriate in the scent of her favorite soap - summer roses and spring lilies - and wash and condition her hair. Even as she was getting out of the bathtub and drying off with a thick towel 'Sa'ti handed her, the mortal's heart was pounding hard against her ribs.

*Don't be nervous,* Eimh said, wagging her tail. *You will have fun. There will be food. And interesting people. Master will protect you and make sure no males try to be your mate. And there will be lots of food.* The dog gave a little bounce. *You bring food back for us?*

"Can't," Dylan replied, wrapping herself in the towel and sitting at the vanity. She called up Youtube on her phone and went looking for the perfect Michelle Phan tutorial. Was it sad that some adorable girl on the internet was better at putting on makeup than she was? Probably, but for this, Dylan wanted to look her absolute best. "I don't think that's allowed."

"I wish we could go," 'Sa'ti lamented. Out of Dylan's five "young" servants, only Tsu's'di and Sétanta were accompanying her to the banquet. Suddenly 'Sa'ti perked up. "But I get to see you in your dress!"

"If Themba's assistants get it here," Dylan mumbled. The tailor had said he didn't want to risk the gown getting ruined by being handled by careless guards or, horror of horrors, the prince. Nuada had merely made a sound somewhere between a duck quacking and a cat having a bath, and hadn't argued.

Halfway through doing her makeup, while 'Sa'ti watched with wide, fascinated eyes, Fionnlagh knocked on the bathroom door and poked her head inside.

"Some servants from the palace tailors have brought your gown, milady," the guard said. "And your shoes."

Shoes? She hadn't tried on any shoes. Dylan started to bite her lip, then remembered the elegant sheen of gold gloss on her lips and restrained herself. She'd be fine. The shoes would be fine. It would all be fine.

Somehow, despite the fact that her hands were shaking, she managed to finish her makeup. Slipping on the dress was made easy by the fact that Themba had been kind enough to send Hiyori to help Dylan once again. This gown was easier; it didn't have as many parts to lace up. Still, Dylan wasn't sure how she'd have managed without the Onibi Elf to help her. Hiyori even helped Dylan do her hair, tying it back in a loose and yet incredibly complex braid while crowning her head with two other, thinner braids that joined up with the thicker braid behind Dylan's head to flow down her back.

The shoes weren't shoes, thank goodness, but boots of exquisitely soft doeskin the color of russet winter apples. It matched the dark red of the body of her gown. Her bootlaces were a deep, antique gold, just a touch darker than her sleeves and the laces of her bodice. She slipped them on over the black, gold-sheened socks Nuada had bought her as an apology - it seemed like ages ago.

Finally she was ready. Dylan thanked Hiyori, 'Sa'ti, and Eimh. The little ewah girl gazed up at her and whispered, "Oh, A'ge'lv. You look so pretty." Eimh whuffed in agreement. Hiyori inclined her head. Dylan had learned during the clothing tryouts that Onibi Elves rarely smiled, but you could tell when they were pleased because their eyes did a sort of happy crinkling at the corners. Hiyori's eyes did that now.

Dylan stepped out of her room to find Nuada waiting for her. His deep scarlet shirt and champagne gold tunic and trews made him look strikingly handsome. He had a different sheath for his sword, as well, and new boots. Or at least, Dylan had never seen them. When he saw her, he smiled.

He held out his hand to her. "I want to show you something before we go."

"Okay," she murmured. "Sure."

He led her into his room, which - unlike hers - had a full-length mirror in one corner. She'd noticed it when he'd changed for his audience with the king two days before. He positioned her in front of it with gentle hands. "You look beautiful," he murmured. His arms slid around her from behind, and he held her against him. "A true lady of Bethmoora." He ducked his head so that his face was just touching the place where her neck met her shoulder. "And I love your perfume. It makes my head spin."

"Th-thank you," she whispered. His breath was warm on her skin. His lips weren't touching her neck, but she could feel them just a touch too close for her peace of mind. He was so warm and solid, and the way he held her close to him... she suddenly couldn't catch her breath. "Um... you're making me fluttery."

Nuada pulled back a little. He'd allowed himself to forget for just a moment that the woman in his arms wasn't his wife. "Forgive me. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. This is why I brought you here." He let her go to pick up a burgundy velvet box from the low table beside his bed. "I have something for you. For tonight. Consider it... an early Midwinter gift. Close your eyes."

Fighting back a smile - and losing - Dylan complied. Something cool and metallic touched the skin above her collarbones. Nuada's fingertips brushed against her throat and the sides of her neck. She shivered. Then the prince murmured, "Open your eyes."

It was a delicate web of rubies and gold, intricately crafted into a teardrop glittering at her throat. The slender chain was cool against her neck, the weight of the metal light on her skin. It was one of the most beautiful pieces of jewelry she'd ever seen. Simple, yet elegant.

"Wow."

"Do you like it?" He asked softly. She touched it with hesitant fingers. Nodded. "It looks lovely on you." He caressed her cheek. "And you look lovely, as well, Dylan. Truly. All the nobles of court will envy me."

Dylan smiled. "Thank you. It's beautiful. It... it's beautiful."

"I have one other thing for you," the prince said softly. "I want to make certain the royals and other nobles realize that while we're not betrothed, you are under my protection, you are my lady, and you are the woman I would marry... if I could." He picked up a second box, a bit larger than the first, and drew the top off.

Her eyes widened and she stared at the gleaming contents. It looked like another necklace, but this one was a trio of delicate golden chains glittering with tiny diamonds, and from which hung a ruby teardrop. "Wow. What's that for?"

"For your hair."

Dylan's eyes widened even more. "I can't wear that."

"Why not?"

"It's like... like a crown. I can't wear a crown. I'm not royal."

"It isn't a crown, mo duinne. It's a simple hairpiece, nothing more." He took out the golden chains with the gleaming jewel like a drop of mortal blood. "It means only that you are a noble."

"But I'm not a noble."

He chuckled. "Dylan, you're the fourth most powerful person in Bethmoora. You may not be of noble blood, but I call you 'lady' for a reason." Locking eyes with her, Prince Nuada murmured, "Please accept it, mo mhuire." At her reluctant nod, he carefully wove the golden chains through the twin braids crowning her head so the ruby hung at her brow.

She'd seen stuff like this in movies, but she'd never worn something so... crown-like. It sent flutters through her stomach. At the same time, it made her feel... different. Less like the human girl who loved the prince and more like the woman the prince loved in return. She smiled at him. "How did you know how to put that on?"

Nuada was quiet for a moment. Then he murmured, "When I was young, just before a banquet or other royal proceedings, sometimes my sister's hairpieces would come loose. Her maids would throw fits if she had to go to them and have it reset, so she would come to me. I learned very quickly how to fix it." He stepped back from her and let his eyes rove over her face. "You look like a princess."

"You know something? I feel like one," she whispered. "I really do. So... you ready?"

"I am. Are you?"

She took his arm when he offered it. "Totally. Let's do this."

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Author's Note:and the drama will pick up A LOT in chapters 71-73. Hehehe. I am so evil. But I wanted to have some not-quote-as-angsty/dramatic moments between our lovebirds before the drama kicked up again. Not that the first scene wasn't dramatic and angsty, but... anyway. Oh, and I updated my other Hellboy fanfic, "Snow White, Blood Red," as well. We're on chapter 4. Everyone go read it! Love you all!

And now to our happy, happy review prompt!

1) The first scene. I didn't want it to be too dark. I wanted to delve into the dark, and then go back to the light a little. How did I do? What do you think of Nuada and Dylan's interactions there?

2) Cute, flirty kissing scene! Have we ever had one of those before? I don't remember. What did you guys think?

3) Dresses! I love writing about clothes! And food. But clothes! To quote Nadia G, the lady on the Cooking Network, "Shoes!" But mostly clothes. What do you guys think of the clothes? And Hiyori? And Themba?

4) Ah, new royals. Mashkaupeu and Abigail. Thoughts?

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References Made in This Chapter:

- Aoife Grayson is the MC of The Iron Codex series by Caitlinn Kittredge.

- Gus and Rosie are from Don Bluth's film, A Troll in Central Park.

- Although Dylan actually wore the crimson and gold gown in this chapter, I gave precedence to the green, gold, and white gown, because it's one of my two favorites, but the gown she wears to the masquerade gets described later. Not a reference, just an author's note.