Allen had already realized the red-clad woman wouldn't say 'no' to some company, no matter how late it was or how bad he looked. At least he didn't look pathetic like last time, just corpse-white, fingers blue, lip split making ruby drops drip to the ground.

On second thought, she had given him a blanket this time…

"I thought I gave that to you yesterday. However did you manage to ruin it?"

"Went from Marlon to Lucifenia on foot," he sullenly muttered as his trembling lessened. "The snow and the thorns didn't agree with it. Thanks for the blanket, by the way."

The tailor stopped her inspection of the red cloth to look at Allen incredulously. "On foot? Why would you do something like that?"

He shrugged, bone-deep exhaustion finally setting in. "Riliane wanted to play a game,"

Kayo scoffed, somewhat distracted by the glowing dress she was making. "I assume she won?"

Allen nodded. "She arrived here before me, and she didn't even look tired, she can't have walked all that way…" he just knew she had done something to win the race, and given how Kayo was looking at him, the answer was close. "It was strange, really, her eyes had this… this weird glow… And that's all I'll tell you, because that's all I know."

"What did she want in return?"

"A kiss," he looked at the ground, gingerly touching his bleeding lip. "She has big teeth, you see."

He was gobsmacked when he entered his room and was met, yet again, with fancy clothing. Surely she didn't expect him to go. However, he still put on the drier garments, going to Riliane's room when he was done.

His lip would take a while to heal, but he couldn't help licking it, his mouth filling with the tangy-sour-sweet taste of blood.

"We have a special guest for tonight's ball," Riliane said, and Allen would later swear he almost caught her rolling her eyes.

Tonight's ball? Was this some kind of joke?

The princess was raising her eyebrows expectantly, which Allen took as a cue to ask, "Who is that?"

"Kyle Marlon, the Prince of the Seelie Court himself, and my betrothed," she said with no small amount of smugness.

"Does…does your betrothed minds you doing what you did?"

"Doing what?" Riliane asked.

"Kissing someone else, let alone a mortal. I mean, he will be your husband."

"So what? He's not my husband yet."

"But what if—"

"He doesn't tell me what to do." Her glare could make apples peel. "No one tells me what to do."

He took a step back.

"You needn't look so frightened," Riliane smiled. "I'll protect you, you know that. He won't lay a hand on what's mine."

Even as he steeled himself, a shudder ran up Allen's sweat-soaked back. Was he Riliane's?

"I…" he cleared his throat. "I can't go to the ball. I'm a mortal."

Riliane waved her hand dismissively. "No one will care that you're a mortal. And if they do, they'll have to answer to me."

"That's true, but I… I don't want to go to the ball."

Riliane's smile dropped, her face darkening. Allen fought back a shudder. "Are you questioning me?"

"No." Allen stood straight. "I'm not questioning you. I'm telling you that I don't want to go to tonight's ball. I'll kill time somehow." He turned his head to the mirror. "Tell Kayo that her work is marvelous, but I'll sit this one out if it's no issue."

He shuddered again, more violently.

"You can't address me like that."

He could almost smell her. Cinnamon and roses. Allen bit at his lower lip, refusing to turn to her. "I'll sit this one out if it's no issue… my Lady."

Something white hot seared his insides. He didn't want to be there, didn't want to make idle chatter with her, didn't want to play dress-up and dance. He was tired.

The second he saw her face appearing behind him in the mirror, he closed his eyes to shut her out. "Your ingratitude is most unbecoming." Her voice was a glacier.

Before he really knew what was happening, she'd pinned him against the wall.

Her strength was inhuman-fitting, for she was fae, of course-and her hands were like ice. She held one of his hands in her own, stroking the back of it in an almost gentle manner, and then-and then-

She pushed one of his sleeves up in a frighteningly fast move, exposing his arm. He tried to pull his hand away, he tried, he tried, but her grip on his wrist was like steel, and it hurt to try any more-

And then she put her hand on his upper arm, bent her fingers so that her fingernails dug lightly into his flesh-

And then she dug her nails into his flesh and pulled.

It took him a moment to realize that the shrieking was coming from him.

He pulled as hard as he could, trying to get away, trying to dislodge the sharp nails from his skin, from the bloody wounds they'd created, but she was stronger, she was too strong, too strong and he couldn't get away even as he screamed and screamed and screamed why couldn't he get away why couldn't he get her to stop why wasn't she stopping?

He thought she liked him. He thought she cared about him. He thought he thought he thought but he was wrong, wasn't he, because he had hot tears streaming down his cheeks and his eyes couldn't focus through the pain and confusion and fear and she still wasn't stopping-

And then she drew her hand back, blood staining her fingernails, and smiled at him.

"I want you to attend the ball," she said, calmly, sweetly, as if nothing had happened, and only the bloody scratch marks and the fire still coursing up and down his arm told him that anything had happened at all.

She'd gone from calm to furious and back to calm in the span of hardly a minute, and from the look on her face, she didn't seem to think it mattered at all.

He wanted to run away, but where was there to run? He wanted someone to protect him. But who was going to get between the two of them?

Was this going to be his life now? Keeping his head down and his mouth shut, doing whatever she told him to do and trying not to make her angry?

It wouldn't stay like that, right? It was only one time. Only one. It wouldn't happen again. Surely, she wouldn't do something like that again-

Would she?

Of course, he ended up going to the ball. He didn't have a choice. He was scared, remembering Kayo's words, it would be suicide to go against the Princess. He was tired of waiting, he had to get away from there, somehow.

The party was already in full swing, the number of guests easily doubling since the last ball Allen had attended. The music was quieter, allowing for conversations here and there.

Allen felt exposed as he and Riliane descended from the staircase. He wasn't in good shape, limbs moving stiffly, patches of red on his lip and beneath one of his sleeves. He turned his gaze to the ground, so he couldn't see if they were staring.

They passed the table laden with food. "Hungry?"

Allen blinked. Very. He shook his head no. Memories—more specifically, lack of memories—from the last ball made him.

It was obvious where they were headed, Riliane's steps quick with purpose. There stood one of the few male faeries Allen had seen.

The boy was immediately confused by the colors of his attire. He associated winter with paleness and summer with vivid hues, but why did the Princess wear orange and the Prince wore blue?

Blue was certainly a word to describe the man. Easily a head taller than him, blue clothes, blue hair, blue eyes. What Allen could feel from this distance, however, was the heat he emanated.

Allen started to panic as they drew near. How did one greet a fae prince? A handshake? A bow?

Riliane solved the problem for him by approaching the man. Allen couldn't believe her expression. If it was anyone else, he would say she was love-struck.

The man's lips were shaping into a smile at the sight of the Princess, then it vanished when he caught sight of Allen. He regarded him with glowing eyes.

"It's nice to see you again, Riliane. I don't recall you bringing any mortals in your castle…" he frowned. "Kyle Marlon, Prince of the Seelie Court."

"A pleasure, my lord," Allen bowed slightly. "I am Allen Avadonia."

Kyle looked unimpressed. "He has manners at least."

"Um…" The unformed word just hung out of Allen's mouth.

"You know mortals," Riliane chuckled. "Clumsy and foolish."

Allen's cheeks burned. Somehow, Riliane's laugh cut deeper than the scratches had.

He wanted to pull away, but then the man addressed the Princess, 'I want to talk to you alone', and she released her grip on the boy's arm.

And he was alone.

He looked back to where the music came from, and his heart stuttered. The musicians were in terrible shape. The poor harp player had bloody fingers from playing so much, drenching the instrument crimson. The flute player's instrument had taken root and grown, a tree, the lower half of her face, and an eternally playing person. The piano player- Allen turned away. He was shivering, and that had nothing to do with the cold. Those were mortals, like him, spending eternity in the faerie realm, subjected to neverending punishment.

A lump of ice was forming inside him, slowly but surely. It made breathing a difficult task. It made him want to run and never return. That couldn't be… That couldn't be his eventual fate.

He kept looking around, but something had changed in the air, there was no more wonder. Something like that remained, the partygoers, not all, some of them, he could see they had cruel smiles and crueler eyes and – someone was screaming.

Allen stood utterly still. He had to… he had to get out and escape. What had seemed fun before was just monstrous and sinister.

He had to leave. It just wasn't safe.

He risked a glance at the Prince, at the Princess. They were dancing. They orbited each other, careful not to touch. Still, Allen was certain they could feel one another, the burn, the chill. They were talking, and judging by how white-lipped Riliane was, Allen was willing to bet it wasn't a pleasant conversation. He had no desire of being the target of her anger again.

The castle still was the most amazing place Allen had ever seen. A part of him wanted to keep looking, and never wanting to leave the magnificence of it all.

He walked on, aimlessly purposeful. His eyes darted around. He passed the door. Close, closer, even closer-

He opened it, and sprinted out of the room, passing icy walls and dripping ceilings, mingling easily with a few stray faes.

As he left the castle, he immediately noticed something was wrong. His body was hoarfrost. His throat felt like a desert, his entire body absolutely drained, faint and light-headed, an ever-growing void inside him. Famished, he was so famished.

He hadn't been eating food. He had been drinking wine made from starlight, had been eating pastries spun from rainbows, sweet fruits that grew from the trees of that realm. Now, away from the magic, away from her influence, he needed mortal meals made of meat, and of fat, and of grain, and he needed to be filled soon, or he would starve.

He hit the ground. And then, he fell. And he kept going.

Allen carried on, sprinting with no real sense of direction until he felt somebody grab hold of his arm. He rounded on them, ready to attack, only to come face-to-face with a white-haired girl. Skin as pale as snow, hair even more so. What made his breathing stop was her ears. They were rounded. A mortal.

He knew this girl. He had seen her with Michaela, briefly.

"Come with me. You still have a chance."

"What's happening?" Allen asked breathlessly. "Who are you?"

"I'm Clarith. I was cursed to dance to death – or madness. Well, until Michaela took pity on me. It depends which faerie takes you." she said hollowly.

The forest of the Faerie Realm was nothing like his own forest back home. In his forest, there was green, and life, and it was his safe space. In this world, it was white and still and there was death in the form of snow.

And wolves.

He hadn't even taken a few steps when he was swarmed. It took him a second to realize those were the same things that had made him arrive to the Faerie Realm. Will'o-the-wisps. A big one appeared in his arms, a few pairs of wisps on his shoulders. Dozens of small, pin-headed to coin-sized little lights nested in his hair, others in his clothes.

He watched as the formed a line in front of him. A path. Follow me.

"Come with me!" he said. He wasn't going to let her languid in this world!

She shook her head, red eyes smiling. "I have been here for far too long. Michaela is nice to me. It depends what faerie takes you," she repeated. "Who was yours?"

"Riliane," he said, tensing. He heard something. The song he heard somewhere, when he was transported into this world. Lu li la.

He had to leave right now. He was going to say goodbye, but Clarith abruptly stopped, staring at him, before recoiling as if scalded.

"The Unseelie Princess."

Allen really didn't like that tone. Ice began forming inside him, a very bad feeling.

"I'm guessing that's bad?"

She was shaking, having gotten impossibly pale.

"She has a room of mirrors. She sees everything that goes on. She already knows I'm helping you – she must. And she knows exactly where we are – I'm sorry," she cried. "She's playing with you."

"Seeing doesn't mean touching," Allen tried. "She's far away, with her mirrors…"

She shook her head, backing away, looking at him with horrible pity. Then her eyes slid behind him. There was a hush, a complete absence of sound.

The frost inside him threatened to drown him.

His lip and arm throbbed.

Allen ran.