A/N: ITS HERE, so early Happy Valentine's Day! Its a beast of a chapter, narrowly winning the longest we've had, but I've been planning this one almost since the beginning.

Thank you to recurring commenters Alex0127, Baretta Jennifer, and the ever-elusive Guest for keeping me inspired these last few chapters.

An even bigger thank-you to Kanubunu of AO3 for beta-reading this chapter for me.

Chapter title named for the Dostoevsky quote, "Love in action is a harsh and dreadful thing compared to love in dreams."

Chapter 22: Love in Dreams

The last day before the ball passes in such a rush that I don't have time to think about uncomfortable things like relationships or feelings or my vague sense of impending doom. By the time I turn in for the night, for once resolving to get as much sleep as I can, I've almost convinced myself that I was being overdramatic, that I was caught up in the moment and mistook the relief and closeness of having a safe, vulnerable moment with a dear friend for some kind of deeper romantic connection.

After an hour or two of tossing and turning in my bed, I find myself back in the library with little memory of having moved here. I stand in front of the fire for a moment, puzzling over what brought me here, when the corner of my eye catches the shadows shifting in an increasingly familiar way. A small tendril of fear curls through my mind, a kind of instinct after how his last visit went, and Skriker and Padfoot appear in response. Their forms appear not-quite-corporeal here, the edges shifting and curling like smoke, but some part of me intrinsically knows that they are real, even if nothing else here is, and it gives me a small level of comfort.

I put a hand on Skriker's shoulder and look up at the reflective onyx eyes glowing from the darkness at the edge of the firelight.

"Do all Olympians appear in dreams, or are you just especially invasive?" I grouse.

"I am not an Olympian." Thanatos reminds me. "They must influence the dreams of their chosen from the material planes. Dreams are a Netherworld, where the children of Nyx rule."

The phrase their chosen makes my skin crawl, but I swallow my discomfort. "A Netherworld. Not one of yours?"

"My brother is gracious, to allow me to so freely walk his realms."

Brother? I raise an eyebrow and search his sharp features, wondering if that's a subject I can press. I clamp my curiosity down and glance down to the hounds to instead ask, "Did you know they would bond to me like this?"

Thanatos flashes one of those cold, cold smiles that comes nowhere near reaching his eyes. "That was the point."

"Why? What do my hellhounds get you?"

"They are useful, are they not?" He says innocently, a bold-faced lie by omission. "They will ensure that your target does not escape you."

Padfoot growls, an expression of my frustration and of the tensions that my vague anxiety causes in my familiars. I set a silencing hand on his head.

"What else do they get you?"

He considered it for a second, but eventually does answer. "They are creatures of Netherworlds and Underworlds. To be bound to them is to be bound to their realm. I thought it a necessary precaution. If the Promethean Curse were to be broken, they would still tie you to my domain."

That throws me as much as it unnerves me. "What? Why would you think it's going to break? I've kept it going this long."

He gives a sharp bark of a laugh, his smile reaching his eyes for a moment. Then he says, his eyes still smiling "You are incurably dense, aren't you?" I scowl, but he continues before I can reply, "No matter. You are still passably useful. I have come to warn you that your target draws near."

"Sisyphus?"

"Yes, though he may swallow his pride long enough to go by another name. You will know him if you look with Veiled eyes. His soul bears the touch of Death, like yours, and the stench of Tartarus."

"Tarturus? Just what the hells did this guy do?"

Anxiety has shot through my veins at the idea of having a man like that in any kind of proximity to my family's home, but logic swiftly reminds me that when it comes to the Olympic gods, crimes deserving of eternal torment could range from cannibalizing your guests to winking at a goddess. The amusement leaves Thanatos's eyes at my question, swept away by cold rage and venomous disgust.

"You will see for yourself." He says cryptically, then adds, "You will not fail me, Davey Jones."

"I won't." I agree cooly. "When I succeed, are you going to stay out of my fucking dreams?"

The cold, cold smile returns. "Oh, Davey. You will never be entirely free of me, not even if you pass into Hades' custody. I will be here to greet you every time your heart stops beating. I will walk any dream I wish."

My hand curls into the short fur of Skriker's neck, anger and unease coursing through me in equal measure, but I cock my head, eyes flickering over him as I evaluate the wording of his soft-voiced threats.

"You can't reach the material plane, can you?" I challenge. "'Netherworlds and Underworlds', aye, but nothing on my side of the Veil."

There's a flash of bright anger on his face, but then it retreats behind his cold, hard eyes.

"Are you willing to gamble on that theory?" He returns with cool contempt and steadfast surety, and I consider his reaction. I haven't gotten it quite right, but I've hit close to something.

"Gamble against my gracious host in the Netherworlds? Never."

I keep the sarcasm from my voice, but we both know it's there. He glares at me for a long, uncomfortable moment, anger simmering just below the surface.

"Give my warmest regards to the Dark One." He snarls sarcastically, and hurls me back to consciousness.

I sit bolt-upright in my bed, Skriker and Padfoot materializing to either side of me. I rub my eyes and glance around the room, assuring myself that we're alone.

"Prick." I mutter.

Dawn breaks on the day of the ball, and I spend almost every hour of daylight with Alastar. With his help, I put a twenty-four hour alteration on the barrier that secures the front doors of the castle, allowing anyone with an invitation to enter and leave none the wiser of the magic that blankets my family's home. Next I install new blood-magic wards to make the library, the crypts, and the dungeons inaccessible to anyone outside the family. Remembering the warning provided by Zoso's memory crystal, I also place impassable walls of force to block off the door to the Barking Beast's cell and in front of the hidden door to the Vault, and weave alarms into them to alert me to tampering. They're not as secure as a blood-magic barrier; a magician of equal or greater strength, or with exceptional expertise, could dismantle them, but they'll hold off any Pellinores with ease.

In the afternoon the kids are sequestered into the residential wing where my family have their rooms, and I spend another half-hour weaving the most powerful blood-magic barrier over it that I can manage, unreasonably paranoid of any of our guests finding their way here. I also leave Padfoot and Skriker under Bethanny and Mum's command for the evening, and part from them with a telepathic order to savage and subdue anyone that somehow manages to get past the barrier.

An hour before sunset, Aisling, Tara, Elaine and I gather in Tara's room to get dressed for the occasion, and I sip on two fingers' worth of rum as I try to enjoy their excited chatter and wistful memories. I so rarely have the time or a good reason to be able to prioritize how I look, and under any other circumstance, it would be a rare and wonderful treat to be able to slip into a new dress and go dancing with a charming man on my arm. Instead I'm wearing Thanatos's soul-containing ring and worrying about everything the gods-damned Pellinores could get up to in my castle.

"I met your father at the Spring Festival dance, you know." Elaine reminisces fondly- ostensibly to Tara, but my niece has a far-off look in her eyes and seems to barely hear her. I watch her carefully. "He looked so strapping in that blue doublet. He's always been such a good dancer."

"It's not hereditary, then." Aisling jokes. "Phelan has two left feet."

A ghost of a smile crosses Tara's face at her brother being teased, and she glances down to her lap, where her hands are idly fiddling with a necklace. I heave myself to my feet, set my glass of rum on the vanity, and step up next to her.

"Here, I'll help you with that." I offer, and she blinks once in surprise and looks up with a tight, too-polite smile.

"Thank you, Auntie." She murmurs, and I glance up to Aisling and Elaine as they chat on the other side of the room.

As I clasp the necklace around her neck, I ask in a whisper, "You okay, lass?"

She takes a small, sharp breath in and gives the smallest of nods. "I will be. It's my first dance without Darry to escort me."

I am ashamed by the fact that it takes a half-second for me to realize that 'Darry' is Darrach, the late husband her baby is named for. I set a hand on her shoulder.

"You don't have to come if you're not ready."

She shakes her head. "It's our first ball, Auntie, and there are only so many firsts in one life." She flashes a mischievous grin, more herself than I've yet seen when she looks back and asks teasingly, "Is this going to be your first dance with Rumple?"

"...Technically, yeah." I move to swipe my glass off the vanity and lean against it while I take a sip.

She raises an eyebrow. "You don't sound like you're looking forward to it."

"I think it's gonna be more business than pleasure for us." A small part of me is looking forward to it, but the knowledge that we won't be able to disappear into a crowd and enjoy ourselves, and will instead have to entertain a gaggle of highborn pricks, ruins most of the fun.

My niece sweeps an evaluating gaze over me and leans in, dropping her voice to a whisper as well. "You two have been… cozy, lately. Have you given more thought to what I said?"

I vaguely remember her words from weeks- no, months - ago about the time she could have had with her husband if she'd acted on her feelings sooner. I grimace and look down into my drink.

"I try not to." I mutter, and look up to add, "I'll hurt him either way, Tara. I can't avoid that, but I can avoid making it worse."

"If you know it will happen, you can avoid it." Tara points out, in that gentle-but-insistent tone that mothers seem able to master. I frown into my cup, black thoughts swirling in my head. She sees my expression and sighs. "At least tell him what you're thinking, Auntie. He can make his own decision. Don't make it for him."

My chest tightens at the thought, half for the possibility that he would pull away given the chance, and half for my certainty that he wouldn't, that he's too masochistic and self-loathing to do something like protect himself. But I nod slowly, because short of telling him about Ian, a warning is the best I can do.

As we leave the room a few minutes later, I pull Tara aside.

"I have to warn you, a lot of men are gonna be interested in you tonight, especially the lower nobles. You're the only one of us going in without an escort, and they're going to see that as an opportunity."

She raises an eyebrow and flashes a devilish smile. "Well, I wouldn't say no to a little interest. Anyone in particular we could use?"

"We don't need any of them, Tara. You only have to worry about your own opinion." I hope my expression drills that into her, and I hesitate before adding, "But if you really want to spend your time making allies instead of making friends, focus on minor nobility from Eboracum and Astolat. Avoid Ricard de Astolat like you owe him money."

She thumps a loose fist against her chest in sarcastic mock-salute, and I smile and roll my eyes. We follow the other women into the hallway and all silently split off, Aisling and Elaine to collect their husbands, Tara to check in on her children. I stop outside of Aedan's room for just a second and listen for Graham's voice, letting the sound of them playing inside loosen the knot of worry in my chest. Then I walk the halls, rechecking my wards on the family's wing and the crypts as I make my way towards the library to meet Rum. I'm just reaching for the doors when they open from the other side.

Rum steps into the hallway, a vision of black and gold. The centerpiece of the ensemble is an impressive high-collared coat of black silk velvet that comes nearly to his knees, accented by a thin strip of gold along the edges; underneath it is a black vest elaborately embroidered with swirls of gold. Half of his hair has been braided back in the popular fashion of the Listenoise military officers, and this combined with the high collar of the jacket make his cheekbones appear even sharper. He is undeniably, wolfishly handsome, and for a second I'm practically gawking.

He wears a similar expression, lips parting just slightly as he sweeps his gaze across me. Like the preferred dresses of the Listenoise nobility, mine is floor-length and sleeved, but there the similarities end. My dress is a deep, dark maroon, the sleeves a sheer lace patterned in vaguely geometric designs. The dress is skin-tight until the hips, loosening just slightly after that to allow for a full range of motion. The neckline rides the border of tastefully suggestive, plunging in a narrowing V that extends halfway to the naval and just reveals the muscle of my upper abdomen, doing its best to accent what little curves I have.

Rum takes a deep breath and then smiles, handsome and hungry in a way that sends a thrill up my spine, and without much thought I step up to him and grasp the edge of his fancy coat between thumb and forefinger, sweeping an openly appreciative gaze over him.

"You clean up well, Rum." I say, playful but genuine, and his smile is nearly coy.

"But not as good as you." He returns immediately, and offers his arm like a proper court gentleman.

I try to use the walk to the Great Hall to brace myself before hours of socializing, but too many thoughts are cycling through my head. There are so many more important things to be doing than wasting hours on a gods-damned party with a gods-damned pack of highborn pricks-

Rum puts his hand on mine and leans in. "Focus, Ellyn."

"On these fucking vultures?" I ask with disgust.

He flashes a playful grin. "Or on a far more interesting subject: me."

That gets a small smile out of me. "Infinitely more interesting." I agree.

We meet the others in the Great Hall, now cleared of its table and replaced by plush deep-red carpets that mark a T-shaped path from the doorway and to the throne and ballroom. We exchange a few last words of encouragement with my family; Tara sweeps an appreciative gaze over Rum- now in his man-disguise of human pupils and unscaled skin- and gives me a pointed wink and smile.

Alastar appears beside me, ignoring Rum's presence to simply say, "Your guests are arriving."

He's gone again in an instant, and I take up my position in front of the lord's dais, Rum on my arm. As is custom, the lower nobility begin arriving first, mostly baronets and knights and what the natives call monsieurs- the notably rich who may or may not be landed, but hold no official title. Though many of the country's minor aristocrats have been invited, most of the ones who have come are from the nearby provinces. They each stop to pay their respect to me as their host, and mingle briefly in the Great Hall with my family before making their way into the ballroom.

When Alastar warns me that the higher lords have begun reaching the front door, I nod to my family and wait for them to proceed into the ballroom; I'll spare them from dealing with the real threats as much as I can.

The gathered minor nobles look up as the herald announces, "Elaine and Arran d'Corbin." My sister flashes a brilliant smile as she sweeps into the room, but Arran's smile becomes tight and fixed in place as he realizes that he's being referred to with his wife's surname. Tara is announced next, and then Phelan and Aisling. The band picks up a soft meandering tune for ambience as people begin to mingle, and servants begin to roam the edges of the room with trays of food and the local mulled wine, but the dancing will not begin until the highest-ranking guest has arrived; the Listenese apparently live and die by the phrase "A king is never late, everyone else is early".

In the course of the next half-hour, every face I saw at the Autumn Council- and more than a few of their relatives- filter through the hall and into the ballroom. I'm still expecting a handful more guests, including Pelagios's two foreign diplomats, when Prince Peleus de Pellinore and his wife Genevieve step into the room. I'd recognize him even without her or the accompanying pair of guards in green-and-gold armor; he's in his late twenties and looks like a carbon-copy of his father at this age, from the tanned skin and straight black hair to the stoic grey eyes. When he and his wife approach us, I bend into a soldier's bow and Rum into a nobleman's. Peleus nods and smiles charmingly.

"Lady de Corbin, it's a pleasure to finally meet you." He greets. It strikes me that this stranger is, by blood, my nephew, and it's an inexplicably odd feeling. "You made quite the impression on my wife. I can't remember the last time she had interesting news about a Council meeting. Perhaps I should accompany her to the Winter Council?"

I flash my most charming smile. "I'm always happy to be of entertainment, your Highness," I begin, and it feels odd to not be saying your Highness sarcastically, "But I don't think your father would approve of a repeat performance."

A certain glint enters his eyes, one that is mischievous on the surface, but which I sense holds genuine animosity. "Even a king should be vexed on occasion. Keeps the wits sharp." He replies lightly, and though I keep the charming smile in place, I dig through my memories on what information I have on him.

I've gathered, both over the years and over these last few months, that Pelagios once had three children. His eldest son and original heir died of a sudden illness some years ago, one that seems to have been preceded by several heated arguments with his father. Pelagios's first queen followed soon after in a similar fashion, and his daughter died in childbirth. Only Peleus, his youngest son, remains, and I had assumed that the prince must be unambitious and easily manipulated to still be alive; my half-brother already has a handful of grandchildren to guarantee his line, and so has no strict need for a son.

Rum gives Peleus a broad smile for his comment. "If that's true, his wits will draw blood by the time Ellyn is done with him."

"Then the country should thank you for your service to the realm." Genevieve returns immediately, giving me a dazzling smile. She looks to her husband to add, "Shall we begin the night, dear?"

"Of course." Peleus gives us an encouraging smile before turning to lead the way towards the ballroom. The herald dips into a bow at their approach and then blows his trumpet for the first and only time in the night to ensure complete silence as he announces them. Rum and I stand arm-in-arm behind them, watching as the crowd parts for them and they begin the walk to the center of the dance floor.

"Cover me." I whisper to Rum. He gives me a sideways look and raises an eyebrow, but his fingers twitch by his side, and the hairs on my arm stand up as magic wraps around us. I give Rum's arm a grateful squeeze and pull the Veil over my eyes, ignoring the now-familiar stab of pain and scanning the crowd while they're as universally distracted as they're likely to get tonight. Emotions jump out at me, pure-white or pitch-black memories swirling in peoples' eyes and tempting my curiosity. I have to put conscious effort into quickly skimming over each person, still unsure of exactly how much focus it takes to pry into memories like I first did to Rum.

I can find no 'touch of Death' like Thanatos warned me of, so I let the Sight drop and pat Rum's arm. "Thanks, mate."

The illusion he had put in place fizzles out around us, and he leans down to ask, "Something I should know about?"

The prince and princess have nearly reached the center of the room, and the herald looks at us expectantly. To Rum, I say, "I'll tell you in a second."

We step into the room, and the herald calls, "Lady Faolan de Corbin and Rumplestiltskin of Mysthaven."

We walk the same path through the crowd, the sea of eyes a physical weight on me. I grip Rum's arm, keep a pleasant look locked in place on my face, and smile at our guests as we pass. We reach the edge of the dance floor and watch as the prince and princess bow to each other. The band starts up when Peleus takes his wife's hand and pulls her in, and they begin to move through the first few steps with practiced ease and grace. I sweep my eyes over the crowd one last time, picking out my family and assuring myself of their safety. Peleus spins Genevieve out to the end of their joined hands, and when he pulls her back in, Rum and I step onto the floor with them.

Despite the circumstances, my stomach flutters when Rum takes my right hand in his and rests the other on my waist. My heartbeat begins to thrum in my chest, as much from his touch as from the eyes on us, and anticipation sparks across the back of my mind for the moment when I can pull him closer than the proper distance. For now I only place my other hand on Rum's shoulder and let him lead us through the steps.

I give Rum one of my first genuine smiles of the night, and he returns it, eyes gentle and warm. Affection and a possessive kind of pride floods my chest for the knowledge that not a single other person in this room will ever get to see this expression on him. For as much as I try to remind myself that this night is business, not pleasure, I can't help but feel a small twinge of regret that Rum has to wear glamor; I would have preferred him to look like himself the first time we danced.

"Your second is up, Ellyn." Rum prompts, leaning in to be heard under the music.

"Thanatos paid me another visit last night," I begin. His hand immediately tightens around mine, and I squeeze his shoulder reassuringly as I add, "He was more polite this time."

"Polite? And I doubted you when you said he wasn't an Olympian." It's a joke, but said with such stark annoyance that I wouldn't know it without seeing the teasing glint in his eyes. "What does he want?"

"That wayward king I'm supposed to grab for him. Sisyphus. He should be crossing our path soon, but he's not here."

"He's not here yet." Rum corrects, eyes calculating. "Your brother was sending two diplomats, and we've yet to see either."

"Thanatos said this guy escaped Tartarus. You really think Pelagios would associate with someone like that?" Rum gives me a patient look. "You're right. Stupid question."

We must be around halfway through the first song now, because a few of the other high nobles join us on the dance floor. Rum and I lapse into silence as we wait for everyone to settle into the rhythm of the steps and establish the correct distance from each other.

"What was he in Tartarus for?" Rum asks.

"No clue, but I get the feeling I'll be finding out in more detail than I want. I'm not great with these eyes yet."

"Oh, I'm well aware." He returns dryly.

I sigh overdramatically. "How many times do I have to say I'm sorry?"

He flashes that mischievous smile I know so well. "We can start with 'until I tire of hearing it'."

"I could really make you regret saying that, y'know." I return, but a small pang goes through my chest. When he finds out who my brother is, will I ever get the chance to apologize?

Rum's expression softens to something more gentle; my grim thoughts must have shown on my face. "What are you thinking, little wolf?"

"That I'm sure I have a whole lot more I should be apologizing for." It's as close to the truth as I can get. Jokingly, I add, "Like this night, for a start."

"Nonsense. This night is the least of your transgressions." He teases. He sweeps a quick glance around to confirm that our guests' eyes are no longer glued to us, and then his hand slides around to the small of my back, pulling me closer. "But if you want to make it up to me…"

I flash a small but wolfish smile, tilt my head, and slide my hand along his shoulder until I can trace my thumb across the side of his neck. "What did you have in mind?"

He tilts his head in to match me, forehead nearly brushing mine, breath ghosting against my skin. "Dance with me. Talk with me. Pretend that I'm the only man you see."

"Pretend? You're already the only one worth talking to." We both blush. Rum glances down, and I brush my thumb against the corner of his jaw and add, "Or dancing with."

He meets my eyes again, and I see that increasingly-familiar look of infinite affection and respect and warmth. Guilt and joy squeeze my heart in equal measure, but then he smiles, and for one second as we spin he pulls me flush against him and taps his forehead to mine, and any guilt is washed away. He steps back in the next second, just far enough to not be outright scandalous, and I instantly miss the warmth of his body.

Fuck it, I think. Fuck these people and fuck maintaining appearances. I'm allowed to enjoy this.

As I let myself relax fully into the familiarity of his teasing smile, of his hand in mine, I begin to acknowledge that despite how for as much I dislike large groups, the dancing is at least actually enjoyable. The constant movement raises my heart rate just enough to bring a pleasant flush to my skin, just enough to let me feel alive, but the swell of music around us and the warmth in Rum's eyes keeps me calm and grounded. The way we fall into rhythm with each other feels so natural that, as I slip into the kind of focus-flow that I've only ever known in battle, it creates the illusion that we're extensions of each other, able to feel and predict and meet every move. It's a heady, exhilarating feeling, to have this kind of trust and partnership and connection.

In Listenoise, it's considered rude for the unmarried to dance with the same partner more than three times in a row. Every minor and major noble in the room has had that rule carved into their bones since the day they could walk. I know it. Rum knows it.

We spend the first four dances together.

I lead the second one. In the third, Rum lets me spin him out to the end of our hands, which he executes surprisingly smoothly and with a flamboyant but not unskillful flourish of the hand. We're both grinning and giggling like children when I pull him back in. In the fourth dance we change who's leading on a dime; I watch over Rum's shoulder as Lord Petyr sweeps past with Tara, gives our antics a baffled look, and nearly stumbles when he misses a step. I snicker at him and lean in to whisper in Rum's ear.

I would gladly keep this up all night, but when the fourth song ends Rum pulls me off the dance floor, neatly tucks my hand into the crook of his elbow, and plucks a glass off the tray of a servant to hand to me. I give his arm a grateful squeeze and set my shoulders back as people begin to approach us. A handful of the lower nobles filter up to us; some only make idle chat, but a handful want something- though they say it in subtler terms, leaving me with the tedious task of parsing out the true intentions behind every sentence. A mix of late-comers also come by to extend the customary gratitude to their host, which make for a series of quick and painless interactions that each buy me a few minutes' reprieve from the circling vultures.

Then Petyr invites me to dance, and though I agree, my skin still crawls to have a strange man's hands on me. I can't tell if he notices, but either way he is the picture of politeness, and leads with practiced confidence. I search for Rum on instinct whenever the turns and spins of the dance allow, and am grateful to find him standing with Tara and keeping one eye on me.

Agreeing to dance with Petyr apparently opens the floodgates, because I've barely rejoined Rum before Henri de Oberacum is offering his hand. His wife talks with Rum as we dance, and unlike Petyr, Henri does notice my discomfort, and instantly loosens his grip on my hand and lifts his hand from my waist, instead letting it hover just close enough to maintain appearances without maintaining contact. The cycle repeats twice more after Henri, and I'm stuck dancing with a baronet and then a knight. After the knight, I march off the dance floor, take Rum's hand as I pass, and drag him towards the far corner of the room. I swipe a glass of wine as we pass a servant, slug it back, and set it on another's tray without stopping.

"Get your toes stepped on, little wolf?" Rum asks lightly when he sees that, but there's concern lurking underneath the words. We reach the corner, and I briefly consider taking the nearby door out to the back garden. I settle for turning my back to the wall and leaning on Rum, and he loops an arm around my waist, thumb tracing a soothing motion against my side.

"I'm fine. Just needed a break from strange men touching me." The motion of Rum's thumb pauses, and he slowly begins to lift his hand away. I trap it back against my side with my own and huff, "Strange men, Rum. Not you."

A slow smile spreads across his face, and his hand slides down to tighten possessively on my hip. "You can turn them down, Ellie."

"It'll cause a scene, and it won't make us any friends."

"It won't make us any enemies worth fearing, either. There's not a sssingle person in this room that's a threat to you or I."

"It's not our safety I'm worried about." I shoot back. I flash him a teasing smile as I add, "You just want to watch me say no to everyone but you."

He puts a hand on his chest in a dramatic gesture. "I'm wounded that you would even suggest that. Your comfort is always my first concern." Then he smiles, tilts his head down till his breath tickles my ear, and breathes, "Being the only man with his hands on you… well, that's just a delightful coincidence."

Exhilaration sings through my veins, setting every nerve alight. "Hmm. You're starting to tempt me."

"The thing about temptation, little wolf, is that you have to want it."

His eyes are so bright and intense and hungry when he says it, and I have to fight down the urge to leave, to slip out to the garden or the library with him and pretend every other person on the planet doesn't exist. Too early in the night, I tell myself. People will notice we're gone. Despite my better judgment, I consider it for one long, imaginative second.

Eventually, I smile and concede, "I'll take a long break. You tell them when they ask, it'll feed into what they think of us." And he'll get a kick out of it.

As expected, his eyes light up. "Now you spoil me."

"Yeah? Hold on to that thought."

Almost an hour and a half passes before I have to leave his side again. Rum and I mingle with our guests, and he keeps conversation bearable for me and in turn delights in turning away the steady stream of noblemen looking for a dance. That comes to an end when the prince offers his hand; to turn down the highest-ranking person at the party, and for no discernable reason, may be an even larger faux pas than putting one's hands on another lord at a Council meeting.

Peleus looks so much like his father that when he first takes my hand, perfectly formal and polite, I still have to fight down the urge to bend his fingers back for the offense. He must notice me tense, because he, like Henri, lifts his hand from my waist.

"I wanted to speak with you, Lady d'Corbin." The prince begins. "I apologize that this is the only way to do so discreetly."

That catches my attention. "What kind of things does a prince need to be discreet about?"

His face is locked in a polite expression, but his eyes are searching, evaluating. "My father has toyed with the idea of appointing new High Lords for years. He wished to break up the bigger provinces and spread the aristocracy's power amongst more hands, so that no one province would have the power to stand against him."

And suddenly here I am, the ruler of a newly remade province. The prince must think I'm the herald of his father's expansionist dreams.

"Pelagios and I came to an agreement that benefited us both." Him more than me. "I don't know or care what his wider intentions are."

"Ah, but I do." Peleus returns. "And yet instead of splitting a larger province like Isca, or a population center like Lindinis, he carves off pieces of Eboracum and Astolat to give you a province barely bigger than some counties."

"I wanted this castle." I explain. "It used to belong to my family."

He cocks his head. "You did not strike me as sentimental. And my father certainly is not. You see, I couldn't work out why he would elevate you to Lady, and yet not take the opportunity to weaken the other lords. It is almost as if he doesn't trust you."

His eyes are keen and his tone pointed on the last sentence. I fight down a sigh. I could care less about whatever political maneuvering he's trying to dig his way to the center of.

"If you want to know what's going on in Pelagios's head, you should ask him." I suggest lightly, letting only the barest edge of annoyance into my voice.

"You see, that is another thing. You call a king by his first name." Peleus continues. I let the annoyance show on my face now. The lad can't take a hint, can he? He searches my face openly as he asks, "What are you to him?"

I have to bite my tongue from saying An inconvenience with pride. Instead I consider him for a long moment. "Does it really matter what I am to your father?" I challenge. "Or is it about what I might be to you?"

His face shutters, but poking through the serious mask is a certain nervousness, almost paranoia. "If you are friend or foe to the king, then you are the same to me."

I reevaluate him. He certainly doesn't like his father, but if this is how he reacts to just an implication of them being at odds, perhaps he lacks the backbone to actually do anything about it. Well, that's a disappointment. A coup by the prince would've been a convenient way to get rid of Pelagios.

"Rest assured, then, that I'm nothing to either of you. What goes on outside the borders of Corbin is none of my concern."

There's the briefest flicker of disappointment on his face. "That is a relief to hear."

We lapse into silence, and the song comes to a close about a minute later. Peleus bows politely as he steps away, and I put a fist over my chest and incline my head in an abbreviated soldier's bow. Then I beeline for Rum, but I don't make it off the dance floor. I'm a few steps from the safety of my partner and the crowd when an unfamiliar man steps into my path.

He's a few inches taller than me, broad-shouldered and solid, muscular through the chest and shoulders but softer through the stomach. He has honey-colored eyes set in a square, handsome face, and shoulder-length auburn-brown hair. I'd put him somewhere in his early to mid forties, and he moves with the smooth, predatory grace of a big cat. Something about the gleam in his eyes sets me on edge, has years of hard-won instinct warning me of danger.

"May I have the next dance?" He asks, offering his hand. His voice is deep and rich, but with a heavy accent that I've never heard in all my expansive travels. I find Rum's face in the crowd and shoot him a reassuring look.

I flash the man a charming smile. "I don't think we've been introduced." I begin, taking his hand. A small spark of energy passes between our hands like static electricity, and I jump slightly and glance down before meeting his eyes again. That was intentional. A mage?

"Master Envoy Gwydion fab Dón." He introduces, bowing to kiss the back of my hand. I can't quite place the culture that uses the naming convention of fab, but it's insistently familiar. Gwydion begins to pull me back toward the center of the floor as he continues, "The King d'Pellinore graciously invited me to attend in his place."

One of the diplomats. That explains some of him.

A new song starts, and I once again swallow my discomfort to set a hand on the envoy's shoulder; he puts one just-slightly-low on my waist, flirting with the line of overfamiliarity. I tamp down my annoyance, smile charmingly, and step closer to him as we begin to move.

"Does the King d'Pellinore know that he spoke to a magician?" I ask innocently, and add with lighthearted mischievousness, "They're illegal here, you know."

He smiles. It's a handsome smile, a convincing one, but it doesn't warm his eyes like it should. "I would have never known from coming here. The heat of blood-magic in the very stones-" He sighs fondly. "It reminds me of home."

"Oh? Where is home for you?"

"The kingdom of Venedotia, in the realm of Annwn." Ice floods through my veins, and true amusement enters Gwydion's smile for the first time. He chuckles and adds, "Don't stiffen up now, my dear. You were dancing so beautifully."

I fight the urge to crush his hand in mine and keep a pleasant look on my face. "Ah, that's why it sounded familiar. I've heard of a king named Math fab Mathonwy." He created the Curse of the Questing Beast; Zoso eventually strong-armed him into helping alter it.

"My uncle." Gwydion says, though this time the fondness in his words is performative. My eyebrows shoot up; Math was king almost two hundred years ago. "I'm sure your grandfather regaled you with stories of their conflict, just as my uncle did me."

"Actually, Zoso never mentioned him. I read about it." The way his face immediately falls into a scowl at my dismissive tone brings me a modicum of satisfaction. "Uncle, huh? You must look very good for your age. Just how old are you?" I sweep an appreciative gaze over him as I say it, taking an educated guess that a little flirting will work on him.

He smiles again. "Younger than Zoso, but older than you, my dear."

He spins me out to the end of our joined hands in time with every other couple, and I use the opportunity to search for Rum in the crowd. He's standing next to Tara and watching me like a hawk, his glowering seemingly keeping her suitors at bay for the moment. Gwydion pulls me back in, and I reattach the polite mask as I face him.

"And what brings you to Listenoise, after all this time? I was under the impression that your people don't often travel here anymore."

Gwydion's smile turns catlike, almost smug. He glances up and around us as though admiring our surroundings. Looking for something. "I admit, I was fascinated to see who Zoso had finally named as his heir."

This isn't an answer to my question; it's a deflection, though the words themselves are not dishonest. I realize what he was looking for when his eyes flicker over to lock on Rum as we sweep past. "Imagine my surprise to find not one heir, but two." His eyes never leave the Dark One, gaze challenging as he leans in and tilts his head down to murmur in my ear, "And my unadulterated shock to find you so enamored with each other. If another man had taken half of my inheritance, I would have torn him apart."

In the next instant the path of the dance demands Gwydion turn his back to Rum, forcing him to finally break eye contact, and I sneak a glance at my partner over his shoulder. Rum looks ready to gut the man already. His presence, and, to some extent, his displeasure, helps to keep me calm.

I cock my head at Gwydion. "So many assumptions in that statement, Master Envoy. Who says he took something from me?"

"Perhaps you are right. Zoso may have never intended to leave anything to you." He grins as he digs the insult in with such a sweet voice, and I fight down the urge to punch him right in his smug face. He looks to our joined hands and shifts his grip, turning my palm to face us and running his thumb across the joints where finger meets palm. "Swordsman's calluses are rare on a mage. Was that his idea?"

The sheer presumptive overfamiliarity of the touch brings anger roaring to life in my veins, as does the pointed question that he's presenting as proof. "Mine." I grind out. My mask of the polite, charming host is slipping; I'm barely managing to keep from all-out snarling at him.

Gwydion hums contemplatively as one who doesn't quite believe the statement. His hand slides around to the small of my back and pulls me closer; I imagine that I hear Rum's head exploding from across the room, and it helps me fight down the urge to claw my way out of his grip.

"And inviting that kind of demon into your ancestral home? Was that your idea as well?"

I flash him a thin, cold smile. "Are you under the impression that someone could get in here without an invitation?"

His smile is finally reaching his eyes, but it sharpens them instead of softening them. "I am under the impression that you must make very poor decisions, to allow him not only into your home, but into your bed." I bristle but don't correct him. Pelagios must like him or be using him, to give him this much information on me. "Though I admit that I am not unsympathetic to your affliction." He tilts his head down again, forehead nearly brushing mine, gaze intense and predatory. "Power is so intoxicating, isn't it?"

The way he breathes it and the intensity of his gaze leaves me unsure which of the three of us he's talking about; power-lust and actual lust can look so similar, especially on an unfamiliar mage. I don't pull away, only snarl at him from our nearly nose-to-nose position.

"If you came for an up-close experience, you're going to be disappointed."

"You should hope not, Lady d'Corbin." Gwydion returns instantly, drawing back to a more appropriate distance. His tone is light, but a sharp, dangerous glint passes through his eyes. "I am so very rarely disappointed. I wouldn't know how to conduct myself."

We're close to the edge of the dance floor now, and the song is nearing its end; I don't have to look to know that Rum is making his way towards us.

"If you had a point somewhere in this, you're running out of time to make it."

"No second dance? Ah, I suppose your demon is impatient to have you back." His eyes flicker over my shoulder as he says it, confirming for me that Rum is waiting at the edge of the floor. "Very well, I will leave you with a message. My king has become… disturbed, by the idea of a d'Corbin mage experimenting with our curses and our interplanar infrastructure. We wish to remain isolated, but your actions threaten our security. Continue, and he may treat it as an act of espionage, or of war."

Interplanar infrastructure? The Standing Stones? My mind races, flashing through possibilities of just what the teleportation arrays must have once been capable of, to have the Venedotians so terrified of someone using them. I store my questions away and pick my next words.

"Your king seems to think that I consider you an enemy, or a target. He's wrong. I don't consider you at all." His face twitches at that, the first hint of genuine anger I've seen. "I'll use anything at my disposal to get what I want, but what I want has nothing to do with you. Tell him to wait for my projects to conclude, and he'll never hear about me again." I smile a cold, apathetic smile and add, "And given who my grandfather was, and who my 'demon' is, I think that's best for everyone. Don't you?"

Gwydion returns the smile. "Your diplomacy is refreshing, Lady d'Corbin. I am given to understand that Zoso was more… inelegant. I admit that I was sent to acquire a different answer, but I expected this one."

I can't help but taunt, "Oh, have I disappointed you, Master Envoy?"

The music swells and then falls silent, and there's a brief pause as couples begin to separate around us. Gwydion's hand falls from my waist, but the other remains locked around mine. Rum appears beside me, hand resting on my back, anger rolling off him in waves.

"Not in the slightest, my dear." Gwydion returns, eyes flickering to Rum and a sharp, predatory delight lighting in his eyes. He gives my partner a dark, smug smile, and, as he did at the start of the dance, bows to kiss my hand. Rum's face twitches towards a snarl. "It has been a pleasure."

"A singular one, I'm sure." Rum bites out, and I smother a smile.

Singular, because it won't happen again. I shouldn't find his anger and jealousy as endearing as I do, and yet it burrows into my chest and warms something there. When was the last time I was valued enough to defend? Probably not since my apprenticeship; my brothers stopped worrying about protecting my safety or good name around the time I learned to immolate a man. I could immolate this man, but that hasn't stopped Rum from looking like he wants to tear him limb from limb.

Gwydion only gives us a charming, ingenuine smile and a respectful nod of the head, and finally drops my hand. Rum turns us away the moment he does, putting his body between Gwydion's and mine and guiding me away with the hand on my back. I wait until we're solidly within the crowd, then pull Rum to a stop and turn back to track the diplomat's movements through the room. I already expect what I'll find, but for thoroughness' sake I pull the Veil over my eyes for one blink as I look at Gwydion's retreating form. Though I sense a wealth of dark memories and a certain pension for cruelty, I see nothing that would mark him as being Sisyphus.

Rum holds me to his chest with an arm around my waist as glares after the diplomat. "Is it him?" He asks quietly into my ear.

"No."

"A shame." He mutters darkly. "I would have liked to remove his hands before I watched you drag him screaming into Tartarus."

The timbre of his voice as it slides over the threats makes the back of my neck tingle, every hair standing on end. I lean into his chest, smile up at him, and say only half-teasingly, "You always have the most romantic things to say, Rum." He flashes me a dark, dashing smile that makes my heart flutter, and I fight to refocus and add, "And you may get the chance. He says his name is Gwydion…"

I relay our conversation, and watch his initial distrust of the Venedotians flash to outright hostility when he hears that I've been told to abandon our involvement with the teleportation stones and the Barking Beast.

"He placed the ward on the Stones." Rum growls with certainty.

"The thought crossed my mind." I agree. "I wonder if he knows we already set it off. You'd think they'd have waited until they issued their warning before they actually made any moves against us."

"That is a generous read of the situation."

"Yeah? What do you think?"

His hands curl into the fabric of my dress, rage sliding across his face. "They expected that ward to kill you, but it didn't. So now they come with threats of war."

"They can threaten all they like, but they can't touch this castle without an invitation. If they get within five miles of it, they'll be dealing with us head-on. They won't call that bluff." They might not have risked it even if it were just me and the mountain of magical artifacts in my basement; they're certainly not facing down a Dark One with the entire d"Corbin arsenal at his disposal. They've played that game before, and lost badly.

"Head-on?" Rum scoffs. "They won't deal with us head-on, dearest, because they know they'll lose. They'll plot and scheme and scurry in the shadow like rats. They'll wait till they get you alone-"

Venom and fury blanket his words and his eyes, start to raise his voice, and I turn in his arms to set a hand on his chest. He pauses, breath coming fast.

"Then you better not leave me alone, yeah?" I say. I slide my hand up to the back of his neck and pull his forehead to mine. His arm tightens around me, but his body relaxes into mine, and he lets out a long breath. I wait a second for his breathing to calm, then pull away and continue, "We can talk out a strategy tomorrow. Let's make it to the end of the night first."

He sighs overdramatically, linking his hands around my back. He mulls it over for a long second before asking, "Will you do something for me, Ellie?"

"Anything."

"Don't leave my sight until that man is out of this castle." The words are low and heated, his eyes burning with a smoldering jealous anger and the slightest hint of worry, of paranoia. Gwydion might not be a threat to the two of us together, but we both know he is far from harmless.

I give him a reassuring smile. "Deal."

The next two hours drag by, the ever-more-tedious small talk occasionally punctuated by a handful more dances with the high lords and, as people get drunk on wine and the crowd slowly thins, a few of the high ladies; the Listenese don't frown on that as some areas of Mysthaven do, though the Listenese men are prone to getting pissy if they feel ignored. Each dance with a stranger is followed by one with Rum, a fairly effective method of scrubbing the discomfort from my skin.

My tolerance for other people reaches its end when Ricard de Astolat, half-drunk, starts to loudly and ineloquently come on to Tara. She only looks on with one eyebrow raised, unimpressed. Lord Petyr is already descending on him when I hear something about "being a high lord's consort is more than the lowborn could hope for", and Rum wraps both his hands around my waist with lightning quickness before I've even started moving.

"Get her some air." Phelan snaps to Rum as he power-walks past us.

Petyr is already shooing Ricard away, and Tara glances over at me and rolls her eyes at the outburst, so I allow Rum to walk me out into the garden. Once the cold night air cools my blood, I have to admit that I'm grateful for the excuse to escape. The moment we're far enough along the path to be out of sight of the ballroom, Rum drops the glamor that hides his scaled skin, and I put one hand on his shoulder for balance and pull off my shoes. The side of my pinky toes and backs of my heels are a bright, angry red, rubbed raw from hours of dancing.

"These things are bloody torture." I gripe, shaking the offending shoes pointedly. Rum giggles at the sheer ridiculousness of a grown, fairly muscular woman waving her heels around like a fussy toddler. I point them at him. "Don't you laugh at me. You try dancing in these things. For hours."

"I very well could." He returns, trying not to laugh even as he says it. I grin devilishly at him.

"I'll believe it when I see it." I say as I meander down the path, in no rush to be anywhere but with him. And in private, my mind adds.

"Challenge accepted, little wolf." He puts an arm around my shoulders and pulls me into his side like it's the most natural thing in the world. "But you'll have to take me dancing again."

"I'm taking you dancing right now. It's your turn next time."

"We'll see."

I huff a laugh and loop my arm around him. "You are a good dancer though. You been to a lot of these?"

He cracks a mischievous grin. "Never as a guest."

I return the smile. "Yeah, I've crashed a few parties in my day too."

The path we're on branches, part of it winding downward to a natural plateau in the hillside, where the newly-expanded pond stretches a hundred yards in either direction. The waning moon reflects off the water, and I pause to watch the gentle wind-stirred waves ripple its surface; out of the corner of my eye I notice Rum watching me, infinite affection on his face. After a second of companionable silence the cold breeze makes me shiver, and Rum's arms wrap around my shoulders and pull me into a full hug. I take the opportunity to snake my arms into the warmth of his coat and relink my hands behind his back, resting my head into the curve of his neck. We sway slightly to the rhythm of the distant, barely-audible music, the night so peaceful and quiet that I can hear Rum's heartbeat when I focus, soft but comforting in its steadiness.

I don't know what possesses me to say what I do next, but the words I murmur against his neck, the affection and earnestness in my voice, are some of the most honest and vulnerable of my life.

"It's been a long time since I valued someone like I do you, Rum." I pause when I realize what I said and how much I meant it, but I continue a second later, "There's no one I would've rather spent the night with."

He smiles into my hair. "I know." He says smugly, and I give a small snort of a laugh. He smiles wider and then presses a kiss to my forehead. He's silent for so long that I don't expect him to say anything else, but eventually he continues softly, "I've never had this. You're…"

He trails off, and I listen intently. "Why did your heartbeat just speed up?" I tease with a smile.

It jumps again when I say that, and he lets out an awkward, breathy, shaking laugh. He takes a deep breath and leans down to answer lowly in my ear, "Because I have an extraordinary woman in my arms."

That's when I know where this will end, where I want it to end, and my heart hammers against my ribs. I draw back to look at him, stupidly, painfully in love. I bring one hand up to rest on his chest; he drops his hands to my hips, splaying his fingers to touch as much as possible. My stomach flutters nervously in a way it hasn't since I was a teenager, and one thought begins to circle my head, round and round: This is a bad idea, this is a bad idea, this is a bad…

I slide my hand up his chest to his neck, enjoying the way his breath catches when I run my thumb across the pulsepoint below his jaw. He tilts his head down and lifts a hand, fingertips brushing a feather-light touch across my cheek. I slip my other hand into his vest and press my palm into his chest, feeling his heart hammering through the expensive fabric of his shirt. He lets out a shuddering breath and starts to lean in, to finally close the last little bit of distance between us, but I hold him back with the hand on his chest. Hurt and surprise and uncertainty flash across his face, and I run my thumb along his jaw soothingly.

"Rum…" I begin, but immediately trail off, throat tightening. I need to say it, need him to know he can back out without losing his only real friend, but gods, I don't want him to. I take a deep breath and pull back slightly to say, "Rum, this doesn't have to be anything you don't want it to be."

His face is hungry and hopeful and so, so scared when he asks, "And if I want it to be?"

I kiss him, and aching joy and bittersweet pain burst in my chest when he kisses me back, when his hand slides into my hair and around my back to pull me closer. My hands curl into his vest, his hair, as I melt into his body. For a second I'm both exploding and imploding, both floating and being crushed.

We part just enough to pant for breath, his forehead still resting against mine, a self-satisfied smile slowly spreading across his face and his thumb tracing along my jaw with aching tenderness. For a second I'm grinning like an idiot, but as the initial rush passes, guilt creeps up in its place, and my smile slowly falls.

"Ellie?" He asks nervously, so heart-wrenchingly concerned, so afraid that he's done something wrong. I cover his hand with my own and cradle his forehead to mine, closing my eyes for one second. He can make his own choice, Tara said, and yet it feels heinously selfish to let him walk into this kind of pain, even willingly.

"I'm going to hurt you." I tell him roughly, my grief so thick that it nearly chokes me. I open my eyes again to see his brow furrowed in concern and confusion. "I don't want to, gods know I don't, but I will. You deserve to know that so you can…" My lungs constrict so harshly at the thought of him pulling away that I have to pause and take a breath. "Can make a choice. I'm sorry. If I were a better person, I would've told you before I kissed you."

He's quiet for a long moment, face somber and thoughtful as studies me. One hand traces up and down my side in a slow, soothing motion. He doesn't refute the idea that I'll hurt him, though I saw that instinct pass his face for a moment before he fell into this more contemplative expression.

"Does this-" He taps my bottom lip with his thumb, then rests it on my cheek again, "Change that? Will staying apart spare either of us?"

His voice is gentle, sad, and I can't tell if the question is rhetorical or not. I look down, fighting to find the right words, fighting to actually say any of them through the weight on my chest.

"I don't think anything can avoid it."

I could, though. I could. If I gave up on Ian and never shared that detail of my life with Rum, then I wouldn't have to lose him. All it would take is ripping out half of my heart and throwing it away, but I'm not capable of making that decision. The guilt of it nearly drowns me.

"Then I will take any shred of happiness I can, for as long I can." Rum vows.

"This will make it worse. You know that. The more you let someone in, the more of your heart they take."

He scoffs softly, a frustrated but not derisive sound. "Do you really think that one kiss is what determines that? You're already in, Ellie."

I shake my head, but the resolve to argue drains out of me. As selfish as it is, I want to enjoy this, with him, for whatever small amount of time we have. I trace the outlines of the scales on his neck and flash a brittle smile."You thought I was going to stop at one kiss?"

That handsome, hungry smile crosses his face again. I could see that look every day for a lifetime and it would still thrill me. "I had my hopes, but I would never assume."

I'm grinning like an idiot again. "Let's get out of here."

"Your guests?" He already knows the answer to that. I daresay he's enjoying the fact that I'll blow off a house full of people for him.

"Fuck 'em."

My clever partner opens his mouth for a not-so-clever joke, so I kiss him again. This one is almost immediately rougher, more desperate. His hand fists in my hair, lips moving against mine and lighting up every nerve in my body. I somehow manage to summon enough concentration to reach for magic, and red-black smoke envelops us.

He either knows exactly where I've brought us, or doesn't care one bit. We're moving before the smoke even dissipates, because as soon as there's a wall behind me he pushes me against it. His free hand skates down my thigh and then pulls it over his hip, every inch of his body pressed against mine. I deepen the kiss and roll my hips, and he groans against my lips.

Confidence floods my veins. I could take this man apart. I have never been more sure of anything in my life. If there's one thing my twenties gained me, it's a level of experience that I'm certain Rum hasn't matched. Hell, I've probably slept with more women than he has, and men are so much easier. I could spin his head around like an owl.

Alright, calm down. You're going to scare him. I tell myself.

I shift my weight and push off the wall, walking him back until his legs hit my bed and then pushing him to sit. He pulls me onto his lap, and I straddle his thighs and take his face in my hands, running my thumbs along his cheekbones. I desperately want to continue exploring his kisses, to see what his clever tongue might get up to, but the introduction of a bed- and all its implications- necessitates a pause.

"We can stop anytime you want, Rum." I remind him, out of breath.

"I don't want to." He assures me, but then he hesitates. "But-" My heart squeezes, and his eyes dart away nervously, almost bashful. "I haven't done this since…" He swallows hard. "Since my wife."

I'd rather he told me he was a virgin. I jerk back and just barely manage to stop myself from jumping completely from his lap. I wait for the sudden wave of nervousness to wash over me and subside, but then I start to do the math and stop when I hit three decades. The nervousness hangs on, a small but insistent fluttering in my chest.

"Okay." I begin slowly. "That's okay. I can work with that. We'll take things slow."

He lets out a small, strained huff of a laugh. "That may be counterproductive."

I bite off a laugh. "You'll do great, Rum." I place a gentle, lingering kiss to his lips and slide my hands down to curl in the collar of his coat, waiting for him to relax into it and using the moment to mentally flip through plans. Every one of them momentarily disappears from my mind when I break away and see the half-drunk look on his face, eyes hooded and lips parted just slightly as he pants. I take a deep breath to refocus and sweep a hungry, eager gaze over him. "Take your coat off."

A/N: To quote Kanubunu, "You bitch, where's the smut?" The answer is that if it ever gets done, it'll be posted in "For the Sake of Family: Extras" so I don't have to move the entire fic to M rating and subject it to being filtered out (thanks, Fanfiction Net, for have the filter automatically set for K-Teen only).