Blaine had never realised before that moment – parrying blows from a little girl's wooden sword and simultaneously trying to watch her father's long-fingered hands move – how difficult it was to do two things at once.

The night before he'd slept on a bed of furs beside Kurt's bed, and he'd barely been able to sleep, instead turned on his side and watching the rhythmic rise and fall of the witch's chest.

Kurt had said that he hadn't cast any spells before the obvious ones, to imprision and silence him. Which meant that what he'd assumed to be a spell wasn't, and instead he had to question why he was spending all night watching another man – his jailor – breathe.

He'd stroked soft circles on Blaine's back, and sat too close for comfort, and Blaine had felt his chest tighten and his breath quicken, his every nerve firing up. Fight or flight or... some third option. No one had ever made him react this way – he was completely and painfully aware of everything Kurt did, every elegant, soft movement the other man made.

And yet there was no was nothing doing this to him. And when he'd woken the next morning Kurt – and the scent of woods and cinnamon he carried with him – was gone, and he'd gone downstairs to find him already at his workbench making spells.

Avery had pounced on him as soon as he'd appeared, her small form delicate and soft as a bird as she'd pulled on his hand.

'Prince? Did you have sweet dreams?' She was even lovelier in the morning, reminding him of the children of the kitchen servants back home, whom he'd sat with for days and days after his return from war and when he couldn't bear to be at court. For the longest while, he'd needed to be away from all of the noise, demands and ceremony.

Avery looked so much like her father, with a thin heart-shaped face and huge eyes which this morning were a bright, unnatural violet.

'I did, Lady Avery.' He smiled at her, and she tugged his hand again.

'Papa's busy doing boring things, he said you might teach me to fight if I ask nicely. He's taught me everything he knows but he's useless.'

'Hey! I can hear you, little terror.' Blaine had looked over at Kurt, who had on a long apron and was braiding herb garlands with coloured ribbon and smooth stone sigils like the one he'd tied around Blaine's neck.

Which only made him think of the warmth of him, of the breath in his ear, of the cool skin of those fingers tracing patterns on his neck as he tied on the spell.

Bastard.

'You don't have to if you don't want to, this isn't a prison work camp,' Kurt had said, and before he knew what was happening, he was standing in the centre of the cleared living room brandishing a wooden sword at a little girl with what could only be described as a warrior's gleam in her eye.

'Appelez, cherie,' he commanded, and he could have sworn that Kurt's hands had stopped moving and he was listening. Avery stomped her foot obediently, and waited for the next command, 'et faisez l'attaque de fer.'

As she parried, defended and lunged, Blaine was astounded by how quickly she learnt. It was in her blood, but it was more than that, she was wickedly clever and moved with a grace that could only have come from her father.

She sent a particularly vicious, skillful blow, and as he turned to parry it he found Kurt watching him intently, arms crossed over his chest.

Blaine felt his heart thud unnaturally in his chest and stumbled, half-falling onto Avery, who squealed as he caught her at the last moment and swung her up into his arms as if she weighed nothing.

'You,' he said in her ear, 'are the greatest natural fighter I've ever known. Your mama would be so very proud of you, I know it.'

'I know it, too,' she said simply, and then threw her arms around his neck. 'Thank you, Prince. Are you staying forever and ever?'

'Just 'til the snow falls, little love,' Kurt said softly, moving so that she was sandwiched between the two of them. His gaze met Blaine's over his little girl's head, and Blaine wondered if he was supposed to be able to breathe, as Kurt's hands covered his to take her weight from him. 'Come, now, you've been working for hours. Lunch, and then study for the rest of the afternoon.'

'Want Prince to teach me,' she said, her eyes now the same gold as Blaine's again as her father tried to prise her off him. 'He's nice. Nicer than Uncle Fynn, he never knows how to talk to me.'

'He doesn't know your lesssons, Avery. Although you are good with her,' Kurt said softly as he put her down and pushed her gently towards the kitchen. 'You aren't what I expected, Shadow Prince.'

'There's a time, after you've seen enough hurt and death and sorrow,' Blaine said under his breath, 'that you start to think that there's nothing more precious or more worthy of time than love. And that little girl is like a star full of it, burning bright. She can't seem to help loving, or being loved. How many grownups do you know who can say that about themselves?'

They walked together into the dining area in the kitchen space of the room, where Avery was setting places for soup at a table made from a vast tree stump, surrounded by cushions to sit on.

'It's a scary thing, sometimes. You can't blame people for protecting their hearts, Blaine.'

'No, I can't. But I know that I've seen too much, and been too low, to avoid love just for fear of being hurt. I'm a lot of things, but I'm not a coward.'

'Spoken like someone who doesn't know what they're talking about,' Kurt said, but when Blaine looked at him, he found Kurt already watching him with a strangely gentle expression on his face.

They sat down, and ate a wildcarrot and fennel soup which Kurt had been stewing while he worked, after which he and Avery sat in her little alcove bedroom as she read out loud from a book of poetry Kurt held between them both, as Blaine sat in the window beside the cold misty glass pretending to read and really watching them both, wondering how it was possible for him to feel so riddled with uncertainty and want while everything around him was so peaceful.

The night came quickly, the winter days short, and as it grew colder he built and lit a fire in the hearth, before realising that both Avery and Kurt where laughing at him behind their hands.

'And what, prey tell, is so funny?' he asked, grinning at them.

Avery lifted her hand, her palm facing the ceiling, and her face was suddenly lit up by the bright fire she conjured there. A wicked smile on his face, Kurt did the same, except his fire flickered green and Avery was immediately distracted.

'Papa! How do you do the green?'

'I'll teach you once you manage the red before burning off your eyebrows,' he said, then snapped his palm shut and the fire disappeared. 'Sorry, Blaine, it's just sweet of you to light a fire when you're in a room with two sorcerers.'

'I'm still new to all this.' His fingers rose to stroke the charm at his neck, and he could sense Kurt following the movement. 'Tomorrow, Lady Avery, will you show your magick?'

'I'm not very good.' She jumped off of Kurt's lap and settled next to Blaine on the floor. 'It's locked away inside of me – I have to learn it, and then sometimes it breaks out of me, like when I'm sad or angry. It feels like there's something caged inside of me, like if you put Wilder into a box; he'd be safe, but he wouldn't be happy.'

'Are you unhappy?'

'No, but my magick is. It likes to be used, likes to make things brighter. Papa says out there in the world there are people who hate witches.' Her eyes turned a dark grey, stormy as the darkening sky outside the window. 'Maybe they wouldn't if they understood how much it hurts, how hard it is. All I want is for it to be good, is for it not to hurt anyone and to make them better the way Papa does.'

'Nothing good, nothing worth having, ever came easy,' Blaine told her, and it felt so strange and so natural when she crawled over and under his arm, resting her cheek against his chest. 'The important thing is that you never let anyone make you feel you're not worthy, or that who you are isn't good enough. They're not bad people, Avery, they're just scared of what's inside of you. Maybe someday, someone will show them that there's nothing to be afraid of. That your power isn't for hurting.'

'But then... there's my Mama. Sometimes, I think she'd want me to hurt people who hurt other people.' She frowned, and he felt it against him when her face crumpled with thought. 'I don't know if I can always be kind and good, Prince.'

'She would want you to protect yourself, and the people you love, and what you believe in. But I know, little one, that you're good. You can't hide goodness. As long as you do what you think is right, you'll never stop being good.'

It was then that he realised Kurt was standing over them, leaning against the mantle of the fireplace, his eyes flickering with reflected light.

'Sleep, now, Avery. Come on, sweetheart.' He bent low, his hair brushing Blaine's cheek as he picked up his daughter and pressed a hand to the back of her head, holding her close even as his gaze was still levelled at Blaine.

Kurt tucked her into her bed and was about to close the curtain over her alcove for the night, when she said in a sleep-heavy voice, 'Prince?'

'Here, sweet.' The endearment fell off of his tongue so easily as he kneeled beside her.

'Tuck me in?'

Kurt was standing close behind him, and he felt the other man tense with surprise. He leant forwards, smoothed her hair back from her forehead and pressed a kiss to her brow.

'Dream of gentle things, little one,' he said, then rose and let Kurt close the curtain behind him, leaving them alone.

'Upstairs,' Kurt said quietly, 'so we don't wake her. I need to talk to you.'

Blaine followed him, and as soon as they were in Kurt's room, the witch turned, arms crossed, and levelled a look at Blaine which made him feel about an inch tall.

'I don't understand you.'

'Why does that sound like an accusation?' Blaine walked to the window and started fiddling with the little wooden figurines there. In this room, away from Avery, he was more confident dealing with Kurt. 'I don't understand you either, but I've decided not to let it bother me.'

'It bothers you. I'm getting under your skin, and...' he sighed, and Blaine turned to find him flicking a smooth, flat stone over and under his fingers. 'I grew up knowing I was different. I never tried to be the person my father wanted me to be, because it made me miserable and I learnt quite young that if anyone tried to make me do something I hated, I could set their hair on fire. It never occurred to me, until this moment, that even out here with me, Avery knows that she's different and is struggling with it. She needs other people. She needed what you said to her down there.'

Blaine snorted. 'I can't imagine you Avery's age. You must have been a terror.'

'I had the worst of it beaten out of me.' Blaine tensed with anger at the idea of hitting a child, even as Kurt seemed to make a decision and stepped closer. 'You're bothering me.'

Blaine blinked at him. 'I'm... sorry? You're the one who's ensorcelled me to stay here.'

Kurt leant one hip against the window where Blaine was standing, half-turned towards him, his pale eyes bright and considering. 'It seems to me you've spent a really long time doing exactly what everyone expects of you. But then spending any time with you, it becomes immediately apparent that you're nothing anyone would expect from a prince or a decorated war hero.'

'What's your point, witchling?' Blaine was tired of feeling dominated, and he was reminded by Kurt's words that he, too, wasn't a creature to be fucked with. 'Is this the point where you try and teach me how to be wicked?'

Kurt watched him silently, just long enough for some of Blaine's bravado to disappear and the butterflies warring in his belly to rise. Then, as though some decision had been made in that ridiculous, bright mind, Kurt leant too close and spoke five words to the strong column of Blaine's throat, just over the place where his pulse beat too hard and too fast.

'Would you like me to?'

Blaine's mind went blank, and all of the thundering noise in his heart and his head were drowned out by the answer as clear as day on the tip of his tongue.

So he did what he'd wanted to do for two days, and threaded his fingers through Kurt's hair, pulling him close, and let his breath ghost over the witch's mouth.

When Kurt kissed him, it was searching and deep, his fingers digging into Blaine's hips and the warmth of his mouth intoxicating. He pulled them together, and Blaine's hand fisted in his hair in approval, not a single thought in his head or a voice telling him what was expected of him. There was nothing but the pressure of Kurt's soft lips and of his tongue, asking him to open, to let him in.

When Blaine moaned into his open mouth, unable to keep the sound inside when their hips pressed together, Kurt pulled away just enough to chuckle darkly and say,

'I'll take that as a yes, then, shall I?'

Earns the M in a big way in the next chapter – I did promise you smut, didn't I? ;) My particular love to an extraordinary damsel by the name of IamAnabelle, who is patient as the ages and does a better job than any beta ever could! As ever, reviewers are my favourite people.