A/N: This chapter and the next ended up getting split, so I'm posting this one now and will edit and post chapter 21 somewhere around the end of November of start of December. I hope to have the Winter Ball chapter (chapter 22) posted in a seasonally-fitting time, probably around Christmas. I had this fic outlined to be 25 chapter plus an epilogue, but with the last few chapters being split it's now looking to be 28 chapters (plus epilogue) across 4 parts.

Last episode: Ellyn gained two hellhounds and accidently looked into Rumple's memories with a new ability called the Netherworld Sight. Later on she had an emotional breakdown, and after Rumple comforted her, she took him to see the Venedotian teleportation circle she plans to take to Neverland. They had one of those are-we-about-to-kiss moments.

Chapter 20: The Autumn Council

Two days later, Rum and I appear in a secluded corner of the gardens of Pellinore Castle. Red and black were apparently once Corbin's house colors, so over my usual vest and long-sleeved shirt I wear a long, deep-maroon leather overcoat embossed with black geometric symbols around the cuffs and collar and across the shoulders. The coat is styled after that of the country's military officers, which angles back at the hips to better allow it to be worn with a sword. Dyrrnwyn fills the place on my hip where Durendal once sat, now in a pearlescent white sheath accented by gold to match the material of the handle. I've braided my hair back as is also the custom of Listenoise military officers, which, though not exactly a social faux pas, is undoubtedly still a statement.

Rum has donned what I'm starting to think of as his 'man disguise', a glamor that he's used before to hide his scales and slitted pupils, but keep his unruly hair and amber eyes. He wears an impressive black dragonskin coat, but I was pleased to note that the shirt just peeking through underneath is a matching red to my ensemble. As we begin to stroll arm-in-arm into the castle, I'm initially surprised by both the number of people walking the halls, and the relatively low number of weird looks we receive. There's nothing like hosting eight demanding lords to really make a castle come alive, I think, and momentarily feel sorry for the servants for having to deal with this four times a year.

"This is going to be a long three days." I grumble as we walk. I glance to Rum and add, "You don't have to stay the whole day, y'know. No use in us both being stuck here."

A slow, mischievous smile curls across his face. "Don't write it off so quickly, little wolf. I think it could be entertaining."

I shoot him a suspicious sidelong look. "You know something that I don't?"

"I know you, and I know what kind of people they are."

"Com'on, I'm not that unruly." I protest. With exaggerated thoughtfulness, I add, "But then again, Pelagios is expecting me to be, so maybe I should have some fun with it. For the ruse, of course."

The dynamic we have already presented to Pelagios and need to maintain to the court is one that plays into their assumptions about us, and about Rum especially. The king has no doubt heard of the Dark One as a vile demon and cold-hearted manipulator, and will not only easily believe that there is some kind of domineering, power-based hierarchy between us, but Pelagios- and by extension, his court- will no doubt see that as an opportunity, as a way to go over my head by talking to Rum. The moment they do, they will be revealing far more about their own motives and goals than they would ever let slip to my face. Pelagios has already fallen for it once.

"Of course. And I," Rum covers my hand on his arm with his own and leans in a little closer to flash a conspiratorial grin, "Will have to be there to reel you back in. For the ruse."

Which reminds me. "I've been thinking-"

"Never a good start."

I elbow him playfully, and he dances away, practically giggling. I use my grip on his arm to pull him back to me and continue, "I've been thinking that if Pelagios already assumes we're an item, we should lean into it. Makes the idea that you're in charge of me more believable. Everyone knows someone who's had a controlling lover."

"Lover?!" He pouts in mock-offensive. "I've put up with you for a year and all I am is a lover? I should at least be an official consort."

"'Consort' is just a mistress who has their own room," I point out, and then grin wickedly to add, "Not that you're not pretty enough for the job, Rum, but if I'm going to appoint an official mistress, I'd want them to share my bed more than once a year."

He sucks his teeth as though considering it. "Every eighteen months is as often as I can offer, I'm afraid. I'm a busy man."

I chuckle as we turn the corner to the Council Chamber hallway. My amusement fades with each step we take towards the door, and I sigh and tighten my grip on Rum's arm. "Here we go." At least I've got you. I glance over to him and add, "Don't go far from me, yeah?"

"And leave you on your own? Never, little wolf."

The guards outside of the council chambers eye Rum and I mistrustingly as we approach- Rum for his gold eyes, me for wearing a sword- but wisely say nothing in protest.

"Lady Corbin?" One asks, voice muffled within her helmet.

Unfortunately. "Aye."

They move to open the doors for us with a nod and the slightest bow, and my hand tightens in Rum's sleeve again as the doors swing open to reveal a small crowd of people, many of whom pause in their conversations to look at us with open interest. I resist the urge to rest a hand on my sword, and instead plaster a pleasant look on my face and stroll in with Rum at my side. At a glance I estimate alittle over a dozen nobles, and a plethora of attendants lining the walls of the chamber. On the far end of the room I just catch a jagged crown peaking over the crowd of faces, and I note that Pelagios's head turns for a brief glance before he pointedly turns back to continue his conversation. The staring only lasts for a few seconds before a pair breaks off from the group and walks over to us. The lady is in perhaps her mid-forties, and carries herself with an ease and self-confidence to match her regal features. The man on her arm is at least a decade younger and wears an unassumingly plain shortsword at his hip. She wears a friendly smile as she approaches us; he, on the other hand, eyes us with almost open distrust.

"You must be the Lady de Corbin." She greets cheerfully. "Welcome to the Council of Lords. I only wish we had a more exciting occasion to greet you with. I'm afraid these meetings can be quite… lengthy. I am Lady Adrienne de Isca. This is my companion, Captain Marius of the Iscan Guard."

She drops into a slight curtsey, and I flash her my most charming smile and offer a soldier's bow- fist over the heart, slight inclination at the waist- in return.

"Faolan. I'm sure the pleasure of meeting you will make up for the rest of the day." Her smile turns a fraction more genuine. "This is my companion, Rumplestiltskin."

I see her note the lack of title, and her eyes flicker over Rum appraisingly as he briefly unloops his arm from mine to dip into a bow that is far less dramatic than usual. "Charmed." He greets politely as he straightens, and expectantly holds his arm out for me to take again.

Marius nods to Dyrnwyn hanging at my hip. "That is an… extravagant piece." A thinly-veiled judgmental tone lurks under his politeness. "Is it ceremonial? Perhaps an heirloom of your family?" What he really wants to say is, It's dramatic and uncouth for a noblewoman to be so flashy about wearing a sword. Lady Adrienne's expression tightens minutely, eyes twitching just barely in her companion's direction.

I flash a wide, predatory grin, already planning where I will take this. "You could call it an heirloom, I suppose. The blade is enchanted. It's said to blaze with fire in the hand of the worthy, or burn the unworthy."

Lady Adrienne raises an eyebrow and takes the bait. "And what makes worthiness in the eyes of a sword?"

"Depends on who you ask, but I'm partial to the accounts that say bravery." In all actuality, the fact that it tried to burn Rum has made me believe the accounts that say noble breeding, but they don't need to know that. I unhook the sheath from my belt and hold it out to Marius, offering him Dyrnwnn's pearlescent handle. "Would you like to help me test the theory, Captain?"

His look of wide-eyed surprise as he leans away confirms that I've found my new favorite party trick. "I, uh, I don't believe this is the time-" He begins, but the flustered hesitance in his voice doesn't have nearly as much to say as the doubt and unease flickering behind his eyes. When a people's idea of masculinity is so closely tied to their willingness and ability towards violence, something that could publicly mark them as a coward preys on their personal insecurities and delicate egos, and threatens their oft-as-fragile reputation among the other aristocrats.

He is saved from having to produce a better answer by the approach of another nobleman. "And what is going on over here?" The newcomer interjects jovially, not bothering with his own introduction. His tone is friendly enough, but the interruption certainly goes against proper etiquette.

Adrianne shoots him a chastising look and says, "Lady Corbin, meet Lord Petyr of Lindinis."

I turn my charming smile onto him and repeat my spiel about the test of bravery. "Captain Marius doesn't want to make a scene, but by our introduction, I gather you care less about a little thing like propriety. Care to give it a try?"

He too shrinks back. "Another time, perhaps. It does appear a fine blade. Are you partial towards longswords?"

Rum hums and answers, "Bastard swords do suit her."

I let out a small snort of a laugh, and across the room, I see Pelagios's head snap around at the word bastard. I smile mockingly back at him for his paranoia- I'm sure our sharing a father isn't something he wants publicly known- and lean into Rum's side, swapping a wide, openly-conspiratorial grin with the Dark One. Petyr tries his best to chat companionably with me about armaments for several minutes, though his obvious zeal for battle only serves to gradually annoy me. It's just a game to these people, I gripe internally. Wonder how quick that'd change if nobles were killed instead of ransomed.

Finally, King Pelagios raises his voice to carry over the room. "It is now five past the time. Let us begin."

The other nobles, versed in the order of events, drift towards the table but do not sit. I take my cues from Adrianne and her man and hover near them, glancing around and resisting the urge to pull the Veil over my eyes and see what secrets the Netherworld Sight would show me in the eyes of these highborn men and women. A man in the gold-and-green armor of Pelagios's personal guard- Silas, I manage to recall- steps up next to the high-backed chair at the head of the table.

"His Majesty Pelagios de Pellinore, King of Listenoise." My half-brother steps up next to the chair, but doesn't sit. "Her Grace Princess Genevieve de Pellinore, representing Peleus de Pellinore, the Prince of Osrai. Accompanied by Sir Alric, First Steward of Osrai." The Princess, who I take to be Pelagios's daughter-in-law, steps up next to the chair on the king's right.

The names continue, and in a clockwise motion around the table, the nobles step up next to their seats as their name is called. As soon as I understand the ceremony, I wonder if Pelagios will take the opportunity to seat me at the foot of the table, as far away from him as I can be. The Lord and Lady of Eboracum and Lord Petyr are both called, bringing the next open seat to the one at foot of the table. To my surprise, instead of my name, Silas calls, "Lord Ricard of Astolat." There is a long beat of silence as no one moves, and annoyance slides over the king's features. His bodyguard continues, "Lady Faolan de Corbin and Rumplestiltskin of Mysthaven."

We step up behind our assigned seats, and now it's the rest of the room's turn to have curious looks for Rum and his lack of a title. Adrienne is sat next to me, and beyond her three more Lords- of Icinos, Oriel, and Avondael- and their companions or wives are named. When everyone has been announced, Pelagios says with an air of ceremony, "I welcome you, Lords and Ladies of Listenoise, to the Autumn Council." He settles into his throne-like chair at the head of the table, and then adds, "Be seated."

Though I expected movement to follow the command, I don't expect the servants that seemingly spring into being as we move to sit. Rum scoots his chair closer to mine till the arms are pressed together, something which interrupts the pattern of a circulating servant as he leans between each chair to pass out an itinerary and loose paper for notes. It only pauses the servant for a second, but Adrienne still shoots me an amused sideways glance. I wink at her and then lean sideways, resting my arm against Rum's on the shared chair-arm and leaning over to read the itinerary in his hand. Though I already know his reading speed is absolutely blistering- almost as supernatural as everything else about him- I've barely skimmed through the first item before his lips press into a thin line in my periphery. I look up at him, momentarily concerned, and he taps his thumbnail against something lower on the list. I glance back down and tense, realizing that his displeasure was on my behalf.

In contrast to all the other points on the itinerary, this one is only five words: Reports of the Bete Glatisant. Protective instinct and old pain make anger burst to life in my chest, and I grip the arm of the chair. Has he not learned his fucking lesson from the last gods-damned time they went after the Questing Beast? Was my brother and his father not a high enough price? Rum sets a hand on mine and taps the back of my index finger with his. I blink and look down, and realize that my white-knuckled grip on the chair arm has started to leave indents in the wood. I relax my grip and try to focus on the proceedings; my efforts are not helped by the fact that Rum's hand remains on mine. After a few minutes of trying to make myself care about harvests and taxes, I slip my hand out from under Rum's and slide a piece of paper within reach of both of us on the table.

In Zoso's shorthand, I write, Can you read this?, and set the quill down on Rum's side of the paper.

He glances down and picks up the quill to reply, Of course.

We're telling them that we'll take care of the Barking Beast.

I know, He replies. He hesitates, tapping the quill against the paper in indecision for a second before adding, We can't protect Tor if we don't have him.

I know. It's my turn to write. We'll have to catch him. And not just for his own sake, though we both know that is my first instinct. If someone actually manages to kill it, the curse is going to jump to the closest d'Corbin.

Rum shoots me a concerned look and simply writes, You?

Probably. I pause, considering for a second as I remember the way Phelan reacted first when we encountered the Barking Beast. Or maybe Phelan? He looks so much like him. If it fell on me, that's nothing another death won't fix, but then it would jump to someone else… I still don't have a cure.

What do you have?

We spend almost an hour writing notes back and forth about how to approach a cure. The primary problem is that we'll have only one subject to test on, and that that subject is so dear to me. To be able to repeatedly test and refine a solution would likely be akin to torturing my brother, and that leaves so little room for mistakes, and makes Tor to bear the consequences of them.

The nobles continue to bicker about taxes, trade routes, and border disputes both internal and external. Rum and I get a few amused or annoyed sidelong looks for our open note-passing, but Pelagios ignores it with nothing more than the occasional disdainful look. We are well over an hour into the meeting when a servant slips into the room and slides up next to Silas. The tall guardsman leans down as the servant begins to whisper something into his ear, and then he in turn slips up next to Pelagios to whisper to him. A few words pass between them, and the bodyguard slips from the room. A few minutes later, there's a loud knock on the chamber doors, and then Silas pushes through. Trailing behind him with a sour expression is a thirty-something nobleman with blond hair, blue eyes, and a muscle standing out on his square jaw.

"Presenting Lord Ricard of Astolat," Silas pauses briefly to announce; his voice is impressively neutral given the agitation that radiates off his every step as he stalks back to Pelagios's side. The nobleman behind him crosses to the empty chair at the foot of the table and briefly bows towards the king.

"Your Majesty. Lords and Ladies of the Council." Ricard greets. His eyes quickly scan the table, and the anger simmering on his face blazes fully to life when he locks eyes on me. There's an expectant beat of silence after the statement as Pelagios waits for an apology or explanation; when none comes, his expression twitches just briefly toward a snarl before falling cold and impassive.

"Be seated, Lord Ricard." He commands, only the smallest whisper of fury weaving through his words. Ricard either doesn't notice or doesn't care about his liege's anger; his eyes barely leave me, and Rum and I exchange a glance as he takes the seat at the end of the table, just on the other side of Rum.

Around us, the conversation resumes, and Rum picks up the quill and writes, From the distasteful look on his face, I take it he knows you.

Ricard is still spending most of his time glaring at us, eyes only occasionally darting away to keep up the barest appearance of following the discussion at hand. I stare openly back at him for several seconds before looking down to reply, Never met him. He would've been a toddler when I was here last. I pause, think a second, and add, They said Astolat, yeah? He owned Corbin this time last month.

Ah, one of his toys got taken away.

The meeting drags on. Ricard continues to spend an abnormal amount of time glaring daggers at me, and every time I feel his eyes on me, I pointedly prop my head on my hand and stare back. After the first few times, Rum catches on and mirrors my movements; the first time that we get the timing right and execute the motion in perfect unison, I flash a shit-eating grin at Ricard and have to hold down a childish giggle at his returning livid look. It's fascinating what becomes the height of comedy when you've been bored and vaguely on-edge for hours.

Just before midday intermission, Pelagios announces, "Before we break, we shall briefly discuss the issue of the Bete Glatisant. I have heard reports of sightings in the provinces of Eboracum and Astolat over the last year. And Corbin, of course." He adds that as an afterthought, as though he'd almost forgotten my newly-remade province. I fight not to scowl and dig my nails into the arm of the chair. As far as he knows, the Questing Beast is my primary project while I 'hide' here in Listenoise; doing this in front of the Council is either a power play, just to annoy me, or both. Rum shifts closer, his arm pressed against mine on our shared chair arm as he watches the proceedings with a vague, detached annoyance for Pelagios' antics.

Ricard immediately speaks up. "If you believe the reports to be true, Your Highness-" Pelagios's eyes glitter with agitation as that needling If, "I could initiate the hunt at the spring thaw. If you grant me command of a royal battalion and a writ of authorization into the other provinces-"

"I'll take care of it." I interrupt. There's something in Pelagios's expectant gaze that makes me think he planned for me to volunteer. Why bother, then? I glance to Ricard's fuming face and then back to the king to add, "With my own people, within my own lands, and well before spring."

"You can't possibly promise that," Ricard snarls with open venom.

It's the Lord of Eboracum who comes to my defense. He must like the idea of Ricard galivanting through his lands as little as I do. "Manners, Ricard." The old man chastises. To the rest of the council, he adds, "I believe we should give her the chance. If Lord Ricard would not start till spring, what the Lady does in her own lands this winter has no bearing on the rest of us."

"I wholeheartedly agree." Adrienne puts in, and there are a few scattered nods or words of assent around the table.

After a second, Pelagios says, "Very well. Lady de Corbin, you have until the end of the Spring Council to present evidence of the Beast's demise. If you cannot, the Lord de Astolat will take over the hunt." I nod respectfully, but anger burns through my chest as I realize what he's doing. Prick. Trying to pit Ricard against me without it looking like his idea. "We will reconvene in an hour."

My first thought is to flee the room and take an hour of peace and quiet to prepare for the afternoon ahead. Adrienne, however, immediately turns to me as we stand.

"I apologize that you have had to deal with Ricard's temper at your first meeting. He has always been hot-headed."

"I think the the Lord de Eboracum wasn't seem impressed by it either."

"Henri has been unhappy neighbors with the de Astolats for decades. Have you been introduced to the Eboracums? They're your neighbor as well now."

"Well, no, but-" I begin, trying to escape more idle chit-chat with this group of strangers, but Adrienne is already motioning them over. I stifle a sigh and slip my arm through Rum's. He pats my hand comfortingly, though I know he has to be hitting his own limit for social interaction as well.

Adrienne introduces me to Henri and his wife Odette, both at least a few years my senior. We've barely exchanged pleasantries before I see someone approaching from my periphery, and have to fight not to groan aloud when I realize it's Ricard.

"Lord Henri, Lady Odette. Always a pleasure." Ricard greets. "You as well, Adrienne." Over her shoulder, Marius's face twitches just slightly at the lack of the proper title. Ricard turns to me and says, voice all honeyed politeness, "We haven't been introduced, Lady de Corbin, but Petyr tells me that you have a bespelled sword?"

"It's called Dyrnwyn." I reply evenly, beginning to untie the scabbard from my belt, "And it's said to-"

He doesn't wait for me to free the scabbard and offer him the handle, nor for me to stop talking; he reaches forward into my personal space and wraps his hand around Dyrnwyn's pommel as though to draw it directly from my hip. Rum's hand closes around his with a snarl, and my fingers curl into Rum's upper arm at nearly the same time to keep him doing more. For one long, tense heartbeat, we all stare at each other.

"Let him draw it, Rum." I say without looking away from Ricard, my voice so blanketed with cold fury that in the corner of my eyes I see Henri pull his wife back a step. A man with half a brain, or at least any social awareness, might think twice about continuing on this path, but the second Rum releases his wrist, Ricard yanks the blade free.

Then he jerks back, yells a curse, and drops it, holding his burned hand. The first person to actually accept the challenge has failed to meet the sword's standards, and there is half a second of thick, awkward silence.

Rum lets out a high, smugly-amused Hmmmph and mutters, "Displaying his bravery and his intelligence at the same time."

I bark a laugh, and Ricard spins towards Rum, face beet-red with fury. His hand shoots out toward Rum, and I'm not sure exactly what he intends to do- shove him, grab him by the lapels?- but I move without thinking. I grab him by the wrist with one hand and the back of the collar with the other, pivot, and slam him face-down onto the table, wrenching his arm up behind his back. The man yelps, his free hand scrabbling against the table and trying to push himself upright.

"Faolan!" Pelagios roars from near the head of the table.

I look up at him, and then, remembering our faux dynamic, over at Rum. The Dark One has a devilish, delighted grin across his face.

"Let him up." He says, face and tone infinitely amused.

I scowl down at the man in my grasp and lean in to whisper, "Next time you try to touch him, I'll cut off your fucking hands."

Then I let go and step back, Rum's hand landing on my hip and pull me back until I hit his chest, and I automatically lean into him. His breath against my ear sends an involuntary shiver down my spine.

"I knew you'd make it interesting, little wolf." He murmurs, low enough that the shocked mutterings of those around us hides the words from outside ears. He glances up to the staring nobles and adds, "Make them think I'm scolding you."

I turn my head the slightest bit to the side to catch a glimpse of him in my periphery. "Hard sell," I whisper back, but press my lips into a thin, angry line as though I'm annoyed. "You looked too pleased."

He only hums contemplatively by way of genuine reply. For our audience, though, he places a quick kiss to the corner of my jaw- it's a testament to my acting that I'm able to redirect a full-body jolt into a twitch of the hands- and adds, just loud enough to be heard by others, "Now play nice."

He steps away after he says it, perhaps to escape my reach, because I turn my head to follow him, staring at him intently to communicate the what the hell sentiment that I can't put into expression in front of the council. Rum flashes a small, mischievous grin in return, and I'm beginning to understand why he thought this would be fun. A possible version of the next three days flashes before my eyes, one where he doles out those small yet potent moments of affection and gets to watch me struggle not to react. I can already hear him saying You told me to lean into it.

If that's the game, then two can play, I resolve. I've never lost a game of chicken in my life. He'll balk before I do.

A distant part of me knows that's a bad idea. I ignore it.

Pelagios stalks around the table towards us, sending nobles and attendants alike scattering out of his way. Silas follows on his heels, a silent and looming shadow. "Lord Ricard," He bites out, "A word." He turns to Rum, ignoring me to snarl, "We will speak later."

Rum drifts closer again as we watch them go, his hand settling on the small of my back when the uncomfortable weight of staring eyes returns to us. Unlike before, I don't know if the touch is entirely conscious, or which of us it's supposed to comfort. After a few seconds, Lord Henri and his wife and Adrienne rejoin us.

"He'll remember that." Adrienne warns immediately.

I grin wolfishly. "I hope so."

"I should as well." Henri agrees. "The boy needs to learn that he cannot treat other nobles as one would a peasant."

I tense at the so-casual mention of violence against peasants; I remember too vividly the mild beatings that Tor and then the both of us would catch from the guards for our habitual poaching. The comment is usefule, though, because it tells me as much about Ricard as Henri. No wonder he's got a chip on his shoulder. He's over thirty, but he's still the 'boy' of the group.

Marius watches me with a curious, reevaluating look. "Do you have military experience? I wasn't aware that the West Isles had been involved in any conflicts in recent times."

I'm surprised that he could place my slight accent, even more surprised that he knows our history, and most surprised that he doesn't mention the 'oddness' or 'unnaturalness' of some kingdoms of Mysthaven allowing female conscripts.

"I was quartermaster of a naval ship for several years." I offer, none of which is technically a lie.

Adrienne sweeps an impressed look over me. "Quartermaster. I could see it." She smiles to add, with long-suffering fondness, "But don't let Petyr find out. You'll never hear the end of his war stories. We once hosted an Agrabahan general…"

I lean into Rum and let her take the lead of the conversation. She is more tolerable than most of the nobles, but this much talking is exhausting. Rum's arm idly loops around my waist, reminding me of what else I have to look forward to during these meetings.

Two more days of this. I'm going to lose my mind.

I thought that I was up to this game of public-affection-chicken that Rum has initiated. By the end of the second day, I realize that I was sorely mistaken.

He's gotten bolder as the days went on, though I'll admit that he has paced it out masterfully, providing our audience with the illusion of a couple who are slowly growing more comfortable and less formal with this new group of people. In actuality, he's been winding me up like a spring with gentle, lingering touches that become delightfully possessive the handful of times that Ricard openly gives me a dirty look. Between Rum and my not-infrequent spikes of anger at the nobles, I go hours at a time without a resting heart rate.

The meetings adjourns an hour before sunset, and I take Rum's hand and beeline for the door with barely a sideways goodbye to Adrienne and Marius. After almost eight hours of having my nerves frayed raw, I'm not going to risk being roped in to staying for dinner. Given the country's general aversion to mages, we've been using the gardens as a secluded place to teleport in and out of, and I practically drag Rum in that direction, slowly leaving behind the servants and nobles that have infected the Council Chamber's area of the palace.

We walk the halls until a glance around shows that we're alone, and I round on Rum, grab him by the collar of the shirt, and shove him to the wall. I crowd into his space, keeping him pinned with one hand at the base of his neck. His heartbeat thrums under my hand, a mix of nervousness and eagerness flashing across his face.

"You are driving me insane." I snarl.

He cracks a grin. "I don't know what you mean."

I apply the smallest bit of pressure to the sides of his neck, and his breath catches. "Don't tell me you're not doing it on purpose."

His eyes flicker over my face, rest briefly on my lips, then come back to my eyes. His pupils are blown wide, but he asks, with genuine concern and some pain, "Do you want me to stop?"

I hesitate, but an almost youthful exhilaration overrides my better judgment. "I didn't say that." A heartbeat later, I add, "But if you don't, I'll have to retaliate."

He blinks once, processing, and then a slow smile spreads over his face. "Do your worst, little wolf." He pauses for a second, then glances down and raises an eyebrow to continue, "But you'll have to let go of me first."

I prop my free elbow on his shoulder and lean my head onto my hand, forcing him to turn his head to meet my eyes and putting our faces dangerously close. I smile charmingly and slide my other hand up his neck, and glance down as I run my thumb across the pulse-point at the corner of his jaw. His whole body twitches, and my blood sings in my veins. "I dunno," I muse. "I think I like being able to shut you up this easily."

"I see you're starting 'your worst' now." He finally replies, voice low and just slightly ragged in a way that is absolutely thrilling.

"You started yesterday. Turnabout's only fair, don't you think?"

A broad grin flashes across his face, eyes practically blazing. "What a marvelous idea." Sure hands land on my waist, and Rum spins, and my back hits the wall with just enough force to get a surprised grunt out of me. He puts his full weight into me to keep me pinned, leaning in until our foreheads are nearly touching. "You shouldn't play games with me, little wolf." He warns playfully, voice lower and smoother than normal. "I always win."

"But messing with you is so much fun." I return with a broad grin, and then I soften it to a genuine, warm smile and tap my forehead to his. I close my eyes and take one small, precious second to just relax into the warmth of his body, to let his presence in a quiet moment soothe me after such a long day. His hands slide around to encircle my back, holding me to him. After a long, long moment, I quietly say, "Thank you for staying. You make it tolerable."

And for a second, not even I am sure if I'm talking just about these meetings.

I wait expectantly for dread and guilt and Thanatos' mocking voice to assail me for that, but it never comes.

I hear the hounds' tails thump the ground from their place beside the fire, and look back to see that Rum has appeared behind me. I sit behind my desk in the library, pouring over Zoso' journal of research, some of my and Rum's notes, and a tome on Venedotian magic. He steps up behind my chair, leaning over to loop his arms around my neck and rest his chin on my head as he looks at what I'm working on. I smile fondly. "I get hugs outside of Council meetings now? There some nobles hiding in the stacks that I should know about?"

"I'm practicing." He mumbles dismissively, reading the materials across my desk. As he's done before, he adds, low and quiet into my ear, "Do you want me to stop?"

I distantly wish he'd quit asking that. It's so much easier to pretend I'm not so deep in this when I don't have to confirm it out loud.

I huff and shift back, untucking my head from under his chin so I can rest it against the curve of his neck. "You'd know if I did."

It comes out more testy than I intended, and I run my hands down his forearm soothingly and trace the outlines of the scales on the back of his hand, one of the 'idle' touches I got in the habit of during the Autumn Council. I suppose we should have predicted that our ruse with the nobles would bleed into the rest of our lives; we both went too long without a kind human touch to want to reel ourselves back in after we've tasted it again. We spend a few seconds in peaceful quiet, but eventually I glance at the last rays of post-sunset light coming in through the windows and sigh. "I should get ready. Give us a few minutes to get changed."

It's been a week since the Autumn Council ended, but ever since it first came up, I've been tracking the Questing Beast by night. Though I loathe the idea of keeping Tor- or at least, the creature he's become- locked in a dungeon for any length of time, I can't risk having him still on the loose when the Solstice Ball comes. The occasion will allow too many nobles to freely move through my province, and I don't trust Ricard or one of the Pellinores to not seize the opportunity to hunt him themselves.

With some reluctance I slip from Rum's grasp and begin my nightly routine. The hounds climb to their feet and follow silently at my sides as we descend into the depths of the castle. Unlike all the nights before, Tara, Phelan, and Bethanny wait outside the door to one half of the dungeons. My grand-niece insisted on being here, and I backed her up to her parents about it; I could handle far worse at her age. They nod to me, all of us wearing somber expressions. I open the thick wooden door and lead the way in. Zoso' past attempts with the Barking Beast are evidenced here by the lack of individual cells; instead, the twenty-by-ten foot chamber is dominated by one giant cell that begins a few feet into the room. I step through, take the key off the nail inside, and unlock the cell door. At the very back of the chamber, a tall but thin tunnel carves back into the stone, so narrow that the hounds have to drop back to walk behind me.

The tunnel ends in a locked metal grate, and when I unlock it and step through, I stand three-fourths of the way to the bottom of the castle hill on the side opposite of the town. It's a rocky area, which hides the grate well and makes the thin trail up to this point easy to miss and hard to navigate. I've often wondered if it was installed in the effort to capture the first Barking Beast, or if it predates even that, a place for the family to escape during an attack or when the full moon pulled them from their beds.

We disperse amongst the rocks as we get ready, and by the time the four of us reassemble- three huge brown-furred wolves, one smaller one, and two hellhounds- Rum is sitting on the rocks in front of the tunnel.

"No chasing squirrels." He instructs jokingly as I pad over to him, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "Remember that unattended children may look delicious, but they're too stringy." I butt my head against his chest, nearly sending him toppling off his seat. He smiles and shoves my head away. "Get on with it. I won't wait all night."

I tap him gently with my nose, and then turn to lead the way down the craggy trail and to the rolling fields below. We hit the grass and break into the easy loping run that a lupine body can sustain for miles, guided as much by our noses as the light of the full moon. I would've given the Beast more time in freedom, but our timeline is trapped by the moon phases. My research has also shown that the Beast is built for the chase; to hunt or be hunted is so apart of it's nature that it's health will decline if deprived of that adrenaline for too long, as Zoso found out. As far as I can tell- and I pray that I'm right- to herd him along as wolves will do far less harm than to drug him or catch him in a trap.

We follow his trail through d'Corbin family farmland and deeper into the countryside, where the river that sustains the town cuts a valley into the earth. I plunge through the trees at a run, and a few minutes later I burst onto the riverbank. And there the creature stands, bathed in moonlight and head just raising from drinking at the stream. It's head rears bank, fangs baring and fur bristling in preparation for a fight. Then three more Wolves and two hellhounds burst into it's view, and the Barking Beast turns and flees.

We retrace our path in record time, pelting across the fields and herding the Beast towards the castle. I sense when we hit Rum's spell, feel the blanket of magic press in on my mind. He's put the whole town and castle to sleep, assuring that witnesses and innocent bystanders alike are safely in their beds. The castle hill grows larger and larger in my vision as we push the Beast toward it at a dead sprint. My heart thunders in my ears as I bark orders to Tara and Phelan and Bethanny through the telepathic pack-bond.

We reach the base of the hill, and the Beast begins to bound up it with surprising agility for his size. Phelan and Tara weave along the trail in pursuit, but I'm more nimble, more at home in my second skin, and I leap from boulder to boulder up the hill and gain ground on him. We're three-fourths of the way to the tunnel, and I'm less than twenty yards away from the Beast, when it skids to a halt on the path and whirls to fight. The chase is officially over; it realizes it's been backed into a corner.

I advance, snarling and growling, slowly backing it up the trail. That horrible, cacophonous, many-voiced barking sounds from it's chest in reply as it reaches that long neck forward to snap at me. A hundred feet becomes twenty yards; over it's shoulder, I can see the black mouth of the tunnel. The Beast's head swings from side to side, seeking an escape route and finding none. It throws itself at me, and I take the hit rather than let it get past. It's bigger frame knocks me to the ground as we become a ball of snapping teeth and thrashing limbs. My hellhounds jump into the fray, keeping me from being fully overpowered. White-hot pain flashes across my chest and shoulders, and I yelp in pain even as I sink teeth into whatever I can get ahold of.

And then the weight is off me, and the Barking Beasts is yanked through the air and thrown into the tunnel, it's body bouncing audible down the narrow passage. A humanoid form slams the gate closed behind it and dashes towards me as I struggle to stand, and animal instinct has me flinching away for a second before I recognize Rum. I reach for my human form, and Rum throws my cloak over me as my body begins to shrink. He hesitates for one second, eyes locked on the wound across my shoulder, before turning around. I gather the cloak around me as I regain two legs, gritting my teeth through the pain and groaning as I sit up. The hounds crowd around me, whining and concerned.

"Ellyn." Rum says impatiently, body tensed and fidgety as he fights the urge to look back.

"I'm decent." I grind out, calling my magic and touching a hand to the blood soaking through the collar and shoulder of the cloak. A neat half-circle of punctures run from my collarbone and across my chest to the edge of the shoulder. Rum crouches at my side as the wounds begin to knit back together. "Tor?" I ask.

"We have him. It worked." He pulls the bloody edge of the cloak back, grimacing at the wounds as they slowly close and wiping some of the blood off my collarbone with his thumb. "I'd like to say you gave as good as you got, but even I am not that good of a liar."

The gentle touch takes my mind off the fading pain, just for a moment, and I let out a deep breath. "Yeah, well, it's not the first time. Probably won't be the last."

He raises an eyebrow. "Another bad habit of yours?'

"I wouldn't call it a habit. I usually win."

Rum helps me to my feet, and the others slowly filter over to us, having gotten hastily redressed themselves. Phelan puts a protective hand on his daughter's shoulder as he looks toward the gated tunnel.

"I can't believe we caught it." My nephew mutters. "After all the animals it's killed, all the people, I can't believe this was so… bloodless."

Rum makes a small disgruntled sound and grumbles, "Not entirely bloodless."

Phelan flushes. "Oh. Uh, right. He didn't get you too bad, did he, Auntie?"

"What's a few more scars?" I say with a shrug, and look at each of them in turn as I add, with genuine gratitude, "Thank you."

Tara gives me a tired but gentle smile. "I'd like to meet my uncle, Auntie. If anyone can help him, it's you. Both of you."

Phelan nods in agreement. I know they mean to be encouraging, but I feel the weight of their expectations starkly. I don't realize I've taken Rum's hand until I feel his thumb grazing along the back of mine. "If there's a way, I'll find it." I take a breath and add, "It's late. No training in the morning, just get some sleep."

I wait for them to vanish from sight back towards the entrance of the castle, and sag into Rum the second they're gone. He puts an arm around my shoulders, resting the side of his head against mine.

"We'll do everything we can, Ellie," He begins gently. He hesitates for a long, long moment, and adds in a voice barely above a whisper, "But some things can't be undone."

Weeks of dead-end research flashes through my mind, and I close my eyes. "I know, Rum. I know."