A/N: A nice, slow chapter for our pair to start to settle into their new dynamic. Mostly vibes, only some plot.

There's also a fun little deleted scene from this chapter that should be up in "For the Sake of Family: Extras" about the same time as this update. Title is "Late Night Visitor".

Chapter title named after the quote:

"Love so potent, so whole and true, that it hurts, because even when you convince yourself that it will last forever, you know enough of the world to see how things break and fade, but somehow, some way, you believe this love will be the exception. That it alone will last." -Iron Gold, Pierce Brown

Part 4: A Brief Flicker of Light

Chapter 23: It Alone Will Last

Something wakes me in the dead of night, and I immediately reach for Rum only to find the other side of the bed empty. Anxiety starts to cut through the fog of sleep, addled by confusion, and Skriker and Padfoot materialize next to the bed in a swirl of embers in response. I stumble from the bed and start to pull on an old pair of pants and a three-quarters lace-up shirt that I tighten but don't bother tying.

I'm awake enough now to recognize that my ward over the crypts is setting off a magical alarm in my head. I look at the hounds and command, "Sweep the family wing and make sure everyone's alright. Join me when you're done."

They don't understand the words themselves, but the words help me focus my intentions and share them down the familiar-bond. The hounds disappear again, and I yank my boots on and follow in my own swirl of smoke a second later.

I appear just at the bottom of the stairs into the crypt, and lycanthrope hearing picks up on distant hushed voices and footsteps deeper in, where I set the blood-magic barrier to block off the entrance to the Vault; if I squint I can just make out the soft glow of a torch from around the corner. Alastar appears next to me, his form flickering angrily like a silver flame in the dark.

"You allowed a Venedotian warlock into my castle?" He seethes. Gwydion. Of course.

I shoot Alastar a black look. "He got in on a loophole. Invitation wasn't meant for him."

"That brings me infinite comfort."

"Why the fuck didn't you wake me, huh? Or activate the stonemen to stop them?"

"I have only just arrived, the same as you." He shoots back defensively.

I take a deep breath to calm myself. "Who's down there?"

"The Venedotian, the prince, and three men in armor."

"The prince? Shit."

I had hoped that Peleus could be an ally. Does this mean that he's already a willing enemy, or has the king ordered him here to ensure that we're at odds? If the prince is here, which of them is the ringleader of this little heist, Gwydion or Peleus or my jackass half-brother? And, more immediately, how severely can I deal with them? Accosting the prince would be an insult that Pelagios can't ignore, but I have no idea how much he would react to a diplomat being harmed in his country.

I refocus with difficulty. "They're trying to break into the Vault, yeah?"

"Right now they are only trying to get past your barrier. I cannot speak to their intentions." I give him another annoyed look. "But if I were to make an assumption, that would be it."

"Alright, we'll deal with it. Stay out of sight."

"We?" He asks testily as he realizes I mean Rum and not him.

"Out of sight, Alastar. That's an order." I wait for his form to fade from view, then mutter, "Rumplestiltskin."

My partner appears on my other side when I say his name. He's put the black pants and undershirt he wore at the ball back on, but the shirt is untucked, the sleeves rolled up and the top few buttons undone. I stare for half a second; I don't think that I've ever seen him in such a casual, borderline-disheveled state of dress, and I'm caught off guard by how much I like the look. Rum blinks once in surprise and looks around.

"We've got company." I explain. "I think they're going for the Vault."

He pauses for a second, listening. "Gwydion?" He snarls with certainty, angry for one second before a slow, devilish smile curls across his face. "It's only fair to remove a thief's hands, don't you think?"

"You're still on the hands, huh?" I ask with a grin, lacing my fingers through his and starting to walk.

"I could settle for eyes." He offers thoughtfully.

The soft torchlight glows brighter as we approach, and I do nothing to soften my footsteps. My hounds appear on either side of us, materializing out of the shadows and adding the soft clacking of claws against the stone to the sound. The voices and footsteps from deeper in abruptly fall silent at the noise. We turn a corner, and there they stand in the light of a torch, the barrier far enough down the hallway behind them that they must have been walking back from it. Gwydion is in the front, one man in green-and-gold at his side, and Peleus and the other two guards practically hiding behind them. From the way Peleus's eyes are darting back and forth across the corridor, they can't pick us out of the darkness yet; Gwydion, by contrast, stares straight at us.

This close I feel something off in the air, an energy coming from Gwydion's general direction that raises the hairs on my neck. Is this what Venedotian magic feels like? It's fucking foul. The Stones didn't put off anything like this. I almost imagine that I can smell sulfur, but it's less an ability to actually smell it than it is the sensation of a strong, horrid smell coating my nose and throat as I breathe.

I exchange a look with Rum, but he only raises an eyebrow, apparently unaware of or unconcerned by the off-putting miasma that hangs over them. I continue forward and send a silent command to Skriker and Padfoot to hang back, and their forms dissolve into the more incorporeal shadow-forms I first met them in and melt into the darkness. Just before Rum and I break into the ring of torchlight I pause, hold out my free hand, and summon Dyrnwyn; the blade blazes to life, and Peleus and the two men at his sides flinch back as we seemingly appear from shadow and hellfire in front of them. The blaze dies down to an ember-like smolder, and I rest the blade casually against my shoulder and sweep a darkly-amused look over the group of men.

"You boys seem lost." I begin conversationally. "What are you looking for down here?"

"Would you believe that we took some wrong turns?" Gwydion asks sweetly, but his eyes dart between Rum and I, his fingers twitching at his side. I've seen the look a thousand times in the second before a bar fight breaks out: even though he's nervous about the outcome, even if he would rather avoid it, some part of him still revels in the challenge.

I smile at him, a flash of white canines in the dim light. "Despite all evidence to the contrary, Master Envoy, I don't believe you're that stupid."

Gwydion returns the expression. "What level of stupidity would you believe, my lady?"

"Gwydion." Peleus snaps. I zero in on him.

"I had higher hopes for you, Peleus." I pull the Veil over my eyes to catch his innermost reaction as I ask, "Did your father order you to be here?"

He flinches when my eyes go black, and in the split second before my attention is pulled away, I See and feel Peleus's fear of me, his resentment of his father, his distrust of Gwydion. Then my eyes immediately skip to the guard at Gwydion's side, because now I do smell sulfur, and a black aurora wraps around him.

"Sisyphus of Ephyra." I drawl, and Rum looks from me to him, a wide, vicious smile breaking across his face. "Thanatos has been looking for you."

"Then he should have come himself." He replies coldly. He has a smooth tenor voice and an accent I recognize from the archipelago kingdoms northwest of Agrabah.

I focus on the glimpses of his soul I can see in his eyes. And I thought Gwydion had a penchant for cruelty. I'm especially struck by one woman that I see over and over, looking at him with affection one second and terror the next, and the thrill he gets from being able to induce her fear with the slightest change in tone, the slightest twitch of the hand. He thinks that he loves her, but as someone only a few hours removed from love's first kiss, the feeling is so starkly lacking, a blunted, shallow feeling compared to the real thing. The fact that this is what he thinks love is, that this is how he treats the thing he values most, makes my skin crawl.

I let out a slow, controlled breath and crack my neck to either side. "Y'know, I think I'm going to enjoy this."

Rum lets out a delighted giggle and claps his hands twice, and Peleus actually flinches at the sudden loud noise and the sharp contrast in demeanor. Rum slides up behind me and wraps both arms around my waist, his body warm against my back, his chin resting on my shoulder.

"It's been so long since I've seen you work, little wolf." He purrs against my ear, and I lean the side of my head against his and take one second to enjoy the heat of his voice and body.

"If Gwydion tries to interfere, I'll get to see you work." I murmur back, amused at the idea of watching my partner wipe that smug confidence right off his face.

"We can only hope." He presses a kiss behind my ear that leaves my whole head buzzing.

Gwydion's expression is slowly bleeding into jealousy as we talk; Sisyphus only watches us with cold, calculating eyes. Peleus looks downright disturbed and progressively more alarmed with every word Rum and I exchange.

"He is a guest in your home!" Peleus cries. "You cannot harm him-"

"Is that what you think?" I interrupt without looking at him, instead delving into the memories that have just surfaced in Sisyphus' mind in response to those words. I see flashes of people, one after another, the same shock and betrayal written on their faces, the same rush at seeing them bleed. "I don't think Sisyphus agrees. He killed so many of his guests. Just for the thrill. Just to feel like a god for a minute."

"All men want to feel like gods." Sisyphus replies evenly. "Is that not why you revel in violence?"

My eyebrows shoot up. "Revel? I don't revel in violence, do I, darling?"

It's so tempting to call Rum love, like I did anyone I had even vaguely positive feelings for when I was young. After the Promethean Curse, and the ever-looming possibility of exchanging immortality for one I love you, I became too paranoid to use it. Rum doesn't seem to mind; I feel him smile against my neck when I call him darling.

"I wouldn't say revel. Indulge occasionally, perhaps."

"Lady Corbin," Peleus interjects, "To harm your guests violates one of the oldest laws in our history-"

"And stealing from your host doesn't?"

He winces, but argues, "Objects can be returned. The loss of a human life is irreversible."

Rum lets out another sharp laugh, and I flash an equally-sharp smile.

"Not as irreversible as you'd hope. Right, Sisyphus?" All of them glance over to the former king when I say that. "Oh, he didn't tell any of you? I bet Pelagios knows. Say, Peleus, do you think guests' rights apply to the dead?"

"I am not dead." Sisyphus snaps. "My heart beats the same as yours."

"You've died and been to the Underworld."

"And I do not intend to return. If Death wants me, he can face me. I am a king. I do not deal with lap dogs."

I flash him a cold smile and reach for the familiar-bond. "How about these ones?"

The growling starts first, echoing around us almost supernaturally loudly in the tight space. Then Skriker and Padfoot stalk past us, lupine shapes of swirling shadows with fire-red eyes. Peleus's two guards immediately push him back and draw their swords; Gwydion's hands come up defensively, but his eyes follow the hounds' intent gazes to Sisyphus, and he takes one, two steps to the side. Sisyphus tries to back up, but Peleus's two guards are behind him, and they push him away and follow Gwydion's lead, crowding the prince to the side. The wayward king's eyes dart after them in a panic, then to the hounds, and then up to me and Rum.

"Yield to Thanatos once, and he will own you forever." Sisphyus warns, desperation shaking his voice. "I have trapped him before. With your help, I could do it again."

I almost laugh. "Fat chance. Better the devil you know and all that."

I take one, two steps towards him; he looks back to the barrier and men blocking his escape, then to me. Like most animals backed into a corner, he decides to fight. He throws a right hook, and I duck under it and spin to the side. He turns the punch into a reach for his sword, and it's halfway from it's sheath when I tuck Dyrwyn's blade under my arm and slam the handle into his hand, forcing the blade back down. In my periphery I see Gwydion lunge for me, but I ignore him and punch Sisyphus with my free hand. As I expected, Gwydion is slammed back into the opposite wall. He grunts at the initial impact, and in the next instance he's gasping for breath. I mentally stop keeping track of him and leave Rum to his fun.

Maybe I do revel in violence to some degree, because there's something viscerally satisfying about hitting a man who has done everything to earn it. I punch him twice more, spraying blood across the floor as his lip splits and knocking him to the ground. I release Dyrnwyn to hang in midair, kick him back against the wall, and bend down to yank his sword free and toss it away. For one half-second he only stares, dazed and bloodied. I step back, and my hounds step up to my side on a silent cue, ears pinned, snarling.

"I've never actually done this before. I hear you never forget your first."

I pull magic from the visceral glee of violence, hold out my hand, and touch the ring with it. It comes alive, almost humming on my finger, and I sink into the flow of energy and let its enchantment guide me. My Veiled eyes watch with fascination as a fathomless black energy, glowing like light off obsidian glass, coils around Sisyphus's body. He gasps, eyes widening with recognition and fear.

"Wait, wait-!" He begins to plead.

"Tell Thanatos to consider you a parting gift."

The king's expression is desperate, imploring. "He'll never let you go. You'd do better to risk his wrath."

I ignore him, again sink my focus into the guidance of the ring's magic, and push. He starts to scream as the obsidian magic around him suddenly compresses into a small ball in his chest, trapping and shrinking the grey-black energy of his soul inside it. The hounds' instincts press in on my mind through the familiar-bond; they know what to do, and I nod and step back.

"Pay attention, Gwydion." Rum snarls harshly behind me; his tone switches completely in the next instant, all predatory delight as he adds, "It's a vision into your future."

The hounds stalk up to Sisyphus till they're eye-to-eye, and then suddenly lunge forward. I don't know what everyone else sees in the next instant, but my Veiled sight watches their shadow-forms separate from their bodies for a few brief seconds, their incorporeal heads shoving into his chest and biting down on the ball of energy. Sisyphus screams, and their paws scrabbling against his chest as they yank and pull, fighting to tear the soul free. The screaming cuts off abruptly, and his body goes limp. Padfoot relinquishes his hold on the ball of energy and looks back to me for approval, tail wagging. Skriker spins his hulking form to pad up to me and sit primly at my feet. I rest my hand- and Thanatos's ring- onto his broad head, and the ring nearly buzzes as the soul flows naturally into it like iron drawn by a magnet.

"Good lads." I praise absent-mindedly, looking at the ring with a newfound curiosity. Then I glance over to Sisyphus's body, and nearly jump when I see the chest rise and fall shallowly. Its grey and dull to Veiled sight like any other inanimate object, a sharp contrast to the shifting mosaic of energy and memories that I see in the eyes of living things. I step forward and prod the body with my boot experimentally, but nothing happens. Huh. Interesting.

The hall around me is deathly quiet for a long moment. I drop the Veiled Sight, the backs of my eyes already aching. I turn back to face the others, and finally get to see what Rum has been up to. Gwydion is being held to the wall by an invisible force, feet a solid six inches off the ground and arms pinned out to the side. There's a vein popping in his forehead that tells me he was furious and fighting a second ago, but at this moment he's only staring in wide-eyed disbelief at Sisyphus's unmoving body.

I bite down a laugh at Gwydion's stunned startled-deer expression and undignified position as I step up next to Rum and loop an arm around his waist; he automatically wraps an arm my shoulders in return.

"Not the worst wall art I've ever seen, but it's a little loud."

Rum grins. "If we stuff and mount the head, it'll be more subdued. And I think an apple in the mouth would really just-" He makes a vague motion with his hand "-tie the whole thing together."

I give a good-natured huff of a laugh and glance over to Gwydion. "I didn't know he could shut up for this long. Cat got his tongue, or do you?"

"You know me so well, dearest."

I'm more pleased by the statement than I should be, and for a second the smile I give Rum is more soft and genuine than I expected to show in front of strangers. I glance briefly up to Gwydion, and then over to Peleus and his two guards.

"Peleus," I prompt, and my nephew drags his eyes up from the body against the wall, "When you tell your father what happened here, make it clear that the attempted theft isn't what earned your diplomat his fate. I'll be quite forgiving on that account, but I want you and yours out of my castle at first light." I lean more of my weight into Rum and shift my gaze, colder and flatter now, onto Gwydion. "You, Master Envoy, have ten seconds to get off my land. If I ever catch you on it again, I'll let Rum have you."

He's dropped to the ground as I say that, and he catches himself, straightens to his full height, and takes a threatening half-step forward, eyes ablaze.

Rum's arm tightens around me, and he flashes a wide, predatory, manic smile. "Tick-tock, Gwydion. Nine seconds now."

The envoy's eyes flicker between us. "Until next time." He growls with a mocking bow, and disappears in a swirl of silvery smoke.

When he's gone, I look back to Peleus. "You lads should head to bed. You'll have an early morning tomorrow."

The prince glances nervously to Sisyphus's body. "Gladly."

They edge around us and trot down the hallway. I glance to the hounds and send a thought down the familiar-bond, and they dissolve into shadow to assure that our guests actually return to their rooms. As soon as I hear them leave earshot, I sigh heavily and rub my eyes.

Rum gives me a brief concerned look, and I explain in a grumble, "That shit still hurts my eyes." He gives my body a comforting squeeze, and I turn to give him a quick kiss on the cheek and then pull away, crossing to crouch over Sisyphus's body. Rum hovers behind me, looking over my shoulder with curiosity, so I explain, "The body's still breathing. I want to run some tests on that eventually."

I hold a hand over it's chest, reach for magic, and spend several seconds reciting an incantation I learned from my minimal healing training. Energy ripples over the body and gives it a red sheen for one second, and the breathing slows and shallows until it's nearly non-existent. The spell induces a kind of stasis, lowering the metabolic demands of a body to almost nothing. I make a mental note to have the stonemen move it to the Vault for safekeeping. I pluck Dyrnwyn from where it still hovers in the air, the only source of dim firelight in the hallway, then find Rum's hand in the dark and start to walk.

It's chilly in the bedroom when we get back, the fire in the hearth having long since sputtered out. I quickly replace Dyrnwyn in it's sheath by nightstand, kick off my boots, and jump under the covers. Rum smiles as he slips in after me and waves vaguely in the direction of the hearth, and the fire jumps back to life. I briefly consider telling him that he doesn't have to stay with me until I fall asleep every night, but then he's pulling me to sit between his legs, hugging my back to his chest as he reclines against the headboard. I've gone enough of my life without this kind of intimate, peaceful touch that I can't bear to leave it, so I keep my mouth shut and trace idle patterns up and down his forearm.

I lay against Rum's chest and stare into the fire as I think, wanting to ask a question but trying to word it in a way that doesn't sound as accusatory or as pathetically needy as you weren't here when I woke up.

"Where do you go at night?" I eventually settle on.

I never thought much on it until I woke up without him. I had always assumed that he kept odd hours as I do, but then he mentioned a few weeks ago that he doesn't need to sleep at all. Looking back, he often disappeared for at least a few hours a night- or morning, if we've worked through the night- and I realize now that I have no idea what he's doing with that time if he doesn't sleep.

He hums a contemplative sound. "Dark Ones don't sleep, but we still need time to… to forget, I suppose. Something quiet and repetitive. I spin."

I close my eyes and huff a small, disbelieving breath. "Translations."

"Hmm?"

"Zoso used to translate books into different languages. He said something along the same lines. Called it meditative."

I still remember Zoso in an armchair next to the hearth, one book in a foreign language on his lap and an empty one balanced on the arm. He would write without even looking up; hells, the look in his eyes was so distant that I wondered how he could read without really seeing the words. Those moments were as close to peaceful as I ever saw him.

I set my head back against Rum's shoulder. "What do you think about keeping a wheel here, or in the library? Just so you don't have to leave every night." His body doesn't exactly tense, per say, but I sense the surprise go through him nonetheless, and quickly add, "But I understand if you like having time away-"

He tilts my chin up and to the side to kiss me. It's sudden, rougher than I expected in this quiet moment, and I snake a hand up his neck to fist in his hair with equal roughness. He makes a sound between a groan and a growl, hand gripping my thigh, fingernails digging into skin and lighting up my nerves.

I press back into the kiss and roll to my knees, breaking it for one heartbeat as I shift to straddle him, then swooping back in for another one when my weight is settled over my knees. The hand on my chin slides to the back of my neck, thumb resting on the corner of my jaw; the other hand slides up my thigh and slips under my shirt, rough-skinned fingertips skating up my ribs and bringing goosebumps to my skin.

"Is that a yes?" I mumble against his lips with a grin.

He lets out a small, breathy laugh. "Yes."

The next day passes in the blink of an eye. Rum is finally hitting his limit for social interaction, so he gives me a quick goodbye kiss in the morning before excusing himself from breakfast with the nobles. I expect and endure the anxiety that occasionally slips into my mind over that, wondering if part of the reason he wants time to himself is to reconsider whatever path our relationship is on now; I know I'm plagued by that question. When there's still a swarm of people in my drawing room two hours after breakfast, though, I start to think I should've followed his lead.

In the afternoon Alastar and I walk the aisles of the Vault. I don't have Alastar's knowledge of everything that's supposed to be here, but I'm still pacing the room like a caged tiger, scanning for anything out of place and stewing in my own thoughts.

"The hell were they even looking for in here?" I mutter to myself.

"That might have been a question for the prince." His old-time upbringing had chafed at the idea of throwing a prince out at dawn on the morning after a ball. "Even if we only knew whether they sought wealth, foresight, a weapon-"

"It was a rhetorical question, Alastar." I grumble. I look over at him and ask, "Whose idea do you think it was, Gwydion or the king?"

"Is that rhetorical as well, or-" I shoot him an annoyed look. "The Venedotian royals have coveted our collection since Math and Balthazar first quarreled. Your half-brother may believe it was his idea, but there is much I would gamble much to say it was theirs. The ball was the first opportunity they have had in centuries."

I nod along. I knew that the ball would be a weak point in our defense, an opportunity for potential enemies to slip in; it's why I was so paranoid that I placed new barriers inside the castle. Not for the first time I try to think through the plan from Gwydion's point of view, and hit the same sticking point: if it was his idea, Gwydion should have done it alone, not with a prince and the king's pet diplomat trailing at his heels. The only reason to bring a Pellinore would be to circumvent our blood magic.

"How did he know that Peleus's blood could get him through my ward?" I wonder aloud. "Did you even know that?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"The first Pellinore was Zoso's kid. They can get through our barriers."

Alastar is quiet for a long moment. "I did not know for sure, but I wondered." Bullshit. This information isn't new to him; there's not an ounce of surprise on his face. "It never mattered at the time. Balthazar would have loved any child of Perivida's as his own."

"Well it matters now, doesn't it?" I grouse. Possibilities flash through my mind, and I mumble them out loud. "Would Math have known? Zoso made him alter the curse on Perivida. He's the only reason Pellinore didn't end up a Barking Beast like the first kid."

"The Venedotians appreciate blood-magic as much as our family. If Math had suspicions, all he needed to confirm them was a drop of blood from any of Pellinore's many descendants."

So if Gwydion does know, did he tell Pelagios, or did he contrive a reason for needing Peleus' help? If he did, would Pelagios really send his heir to test the theory? Surely a father would rather risk a cousin or some other distant relative on this kind of mission- but then again, he could have liked the possibility that this hair-brained heist might end badly enough for Peleus to be removed as a threat.

My mind shifts towards counter-measures. If there's a possibility that the king knows about the weakness in our magical defenses, it would be wise to compensate with physical ones. The thought sends anxiety crawling down my spine. Great, now I get to decide who I trust less: Pelagios, or the kind of violent bullies that want to be guards for a living.

I run a hand through my hair. "Hells, I really should have asked Peleus more questions."

Alastar is too proper to say I told you so, but I see the impulse cross his face. Instead he says, "The Winter Council is in two weeks, is it not? You should ask him then."

Part of me instantly rebels at the idea. I have the Horseman's ring, a Dark One to activate the Standing Stones, a way to remove their defensive wards, and until a few hours ago there were no dire threats to the d'Corbins. I have everything I could possibly need to get to Neverland and bring Ian back. I should be going now, petty nobles' commitments be damned.

But right on the heels of my initial discomfort comes relief, so stark it's like a physical weight has been lifted from my shoulders. Two more weeks with Rum. Two weeks to enjoy this moment in our relationship before I drop a bomb into the middle of all our lives. For one second the sheer force of the emotion surprises me, and then shame and guilt wash through me with equal strength. What kind of person puts some man above the boy they raised? I judged Milah for doing the same.

"Yeah." I mumble, the guilt heavy in my chest even as I say, "Maybe I will."

Alastar notices something off in my tone, but he only nods and changes the subject. "Now that your family has had their official introduction to the aristocracy, I would like to discuss the naming of your Heir…"

When I walk into the library that evening there's a spinning wheel next to the armchairs by the hearth. I smile as I walk to my desk, and the hounds walk towards it and then stop several yards short, craning their heads forward to sniff the air, unwilling to approach the strange, large new object in their space. I grin wider at the ridiculousness of what hellhounds decide to be nervous around, and begin to dig through some of the papers and books on my desk.

The smell of pine gives me a half-second of warning before Rum's arms slide around my waist and hug me to his chest, his chin resting on my shoulder. I give a contented hum and lean back into him, taking a long, quiet moment to just enjoy his presence and the comfort it brings. Then I turn, wind my arms around his neck, and kiss him.

"Miss me?" He asks with a smile when we part.

"You have no idea. Most of those highborn gits didn't clear out till the afternoon. I think you had the right idea by sneaking out early."

"I would say I'm sorry for that, but I'm afraid it's every man for himself when it comes to bad houseguests."

"And they say romance is dead." My sarcasm is playful and good-natured.

"Romance? This is about carnal lust only, I assure you." He returns with a sharp, teasing grin. "Every good scoundrel knows a little courting goes a long way."

"Sure, but that begs the question of how you know it."

He gives a little huff of a laugh. "Now, I may not be as big a scoundrel as you-" I grin proudly at that, "But I have lived a life."

"Eh, debatable." I give him another quick kiss. "Good thing you're a quick learner."

His smile turns rakish as he runs his hands up and down my sides. "Dearest, anyone would be if you were the incentive."

I feel my face getting hot, and flash a suggestive smile of my own. "Any woman is worth learning for. I know they're the best teachers I've had."

He shakes his head and pulls me tighter against him. "Any woman isn't you." He presses, gentle but insistent. I give him a soft smile and let the compliment stand, and rest my forehead against his.

How, why did we ever hold back from this? Even if we hadn't started till after the Autumn Council, when our hunger for even innocent forms of affection came alive, we could have had weeks already. Though the imperiously logical part of me knows that it's just the influence of infatuation, I still feel a small kind of grief for the lost time, especially in the face of how little we might have. Rum pulls back, frowning slightly, and cups my face in his hand so his thumb can trace across my cheekbone.

"Where did you just go?"

I give him a tense, wry smile. "The future."

He returns the strained smile, a touch of nervousness in his. "It can be a terrifying place." He agrees.

I pull his hand from my face, but keep hold of it as I shift back to sit against the edge of the desk. He sits next me- or rather, against me, his hip and shoulder pressed into mine.

"I don't know how any of this is going to work." But I know exactly how long it's going to last. "I don't think we should tell Graham, at least not yet. The rest of the family-"

"Have been taking bets on when this would happen for months."

My mouth drops open. "You're kidding."

He grins. "You really should warn Phelan that his voice carries."

"Gods, just kill me now." I groan as I drag my free hand down my face.

"It would only buy you a few days." Rum reminds me jovially.

I sigh deeply and lean more of my weight into his shoulder. "Please tell me that this isn't going to be a huge mess."

His eyes dart to mine and then away for a moment as a startled, stung expression crosses his face. He shifts to face me more fully, squaring his shoulders, trying- and failing miserably- to look calm and collected instead of hurt. Guilt stabs through me.

"Ellie, if you're having regrets-"

"I'm not." I say firmly. I slide off the desk and step over to stand between his legs, and take his face in both hands. "Rum, I need you to listen to me right now. No matter what happens, I don't regret any of this. Every second I've had with you is worth any price."

I stare intently into his eyes, trying to drill that through his thick skull, trying to make him remember it when this turns painful. His brow furrows slightly as he takes in my words and expression, and there's a flicker of something heavy on his face. Doubt? Guilt? I have to stop saying shit like this, I realize. It's not fair to make him share in my misery.

A second later, I remember, None of this is fair to him.

"You're scared." He observes quietly.

"Aren't you?"

"Terrified." He flashes a strained smile, hands coming up to rest on my forearms even as his expression falters. "Even happiness has a price, and I expect it to be steep for us."

"I think you're out of practice with the whole 'comforting' thing, darling." I grumble good-naturedly.

"But," He continues, eyes softening, "I agree that some prices are worth paying."

Depthless guilt and infinite affection, the pair quickly becoming twinned emotions in my mind, immediately flood my chest with a warmth that turns so harsh it burns. I embrace the feeling, let myself find comfort in it the way one might from pressing on a bruise or sensitive scar. I rest my forehead against his again, and he relaxes into me and adds in a mumble, "And what's more romantic than mutually assured destruction?"

I smile and kiss him, and there's only warmth and happiness in my mind when I think, We're so screwed.

The ceremony to name my heir is three afternoons later as Alastar has planned. The entire family has agreed to be in attendance, though Arran has been in a black mood all day about it. Everyone did, at the very least, agree that it would be good practice for the kids in attending formal events, and have dressed up for the occasion. I'm back in my long black-and-maroon coat and loiter at the doors to the Great Hall as I wait for the ceremony to begin. The dining table has been moved out, and stonemen- ones with unique faces, which is a rarity here- line a plush carpet that leads from the door to the other end of the room, where Phelan and Bethanny and, a little to either side of them, the rest of the family waits. Rum and Graham stand with my mother, looking adorable in nearly-matching black doublets with maroon embroidery, the hounds sitting primly on either side of them.

Alastar said that these are the statues that guard the coffins of the former lords and ladies of the castle, and I stare at one of them as I wait. He looks like Zoso, I think, for a moment drifting into memory. I'm snapped out of it by Alastar's voice beside me.

"Our father." Alastar explains simply, sadly.

"Zo- Balthazar looked alot like him."

"He did."

I cock my head suddenly, thinking of something. "If there's a ceremony to be named Heir, how did he name me?"

"The ceremony is tradition, but not required. The naming and the drop of blood are all that the Castle needs to recognize it's Heir. Come, let us begin."

I push off the door frame as Alastar steps into the room. When he does, all the torches on the walls light with one audible whoosh, more to signal our start than to add any needed light. He floats down the center of the carpet at a measured pace, and when he is halfway down, I follow. Every one of the animated statues kneels as I pass them, a surreal and uncomfortable experience. Alastar turns to face me, Phelan and Bethanny stepping up to one side of him. I stop in front of them and briefly turn back to the statues to command, "Rise."

Their heavy in-unison footsteps echo around the room. When the sound fades, Alastar begins, "In the sight of the Lords and Ladies of Corbin, we gather to greet a new Heir. By what right do you bestow this title?"

"I am Faolan daughter of Elizabeth, the Heir of Balthazar and the Lady of Corbin Castle."

"Who do you name as your heir?"

"Phelan son of Elaine."

Alastar nods to Phelan and says, "Kneel."

Phelan kneels next to me. Arran steps up next to him and hands me a onyx dagger with a red gem in the handle, and steps back again as I take it. Elaine steps up in his place with a small gold bowl. Phelan extends a hand up to me, and I prick his thumb with the dagger.

As a drop of blood hangs suspended on his thumb, Alastar says, "You kneel unburdened. When you rise, you must be the guardian of this land, of it's people, and of it's magic. You kneel a man. When you rise, you must be demon or saint to protect it. Do you so swear?"

"I swear."

Elaine hands him the bowl, and Phelan smears the drop of blood on the bottom and holds it up to me as if in offering. I say the words Alastar taught me, and a small flash of light and a thin line of smoke rises from the bowl. Over Alastar's shoulder, the eyes of the statues glow red for one second.

"Rise, Phelan, Heir of Faolan."

When he does, I and the statues drop to one knee. We're barely down before Phelan calls, "Rise."

I stand and flash him an encouraging smile, clap him briefly on the shoulder, and then move over to the side as the ceremony resets. Bethanny steps up to stand in front of Phelan and Alastar, and my many-greats-uncle repeats his lines. Aisling hands Phelan the onyx dagger this time, and Tara hands Bethanny the bowl after she takes her oath.

"Rise, Bethanny, Heir of Phelan."

Both Phelan and I kneel with the stonemen this time. Beth gives us a more appropriate beat of time before she says, "Rise."

We all look at each other for a moment, and then Alastar flashes a small, rare smile. "Congratulations." He says, and the air of formality is broken. I clap Phelan and Bethanny on the back as their family swarm us to chatter excitedly and give out hugs or proud words; some of the younger kids tip down the gold bowl, still in Beth's hand, so they can see inside, and murmur excitedly to see it completely empty and unstained. Even Arran gives them proud smiles and sets a fatherly hand on each of their arms in turn, but it seems to me that the expression is fixed in place and ever-so-slightly tense, an admiral mask that is nonetheless hiding displeasure.

I fight to keep the frown from my face, stepping back next to Rum and taking his hand in the middle of the chaos. He squeezes my hand, then gives a subtle nod towards Graham. My ward is standing slightly back from the others, one of his hands gripping Padfoot's shoulder like a security blanket. He smiles politely, but the expression wavers when he thinks no one's looking. He looks exactly how I often feel around the d'Corbin family: out of place, set apart. Starkly new to a group that has had decades with each other.

"Alright, lunch time!" Aisling calls cheerily, looking to Phelan to start ushering the group towards the kitchen to wash up. I keep ahold of Rum and drift to the back of the crowd, and touch Graham's shoulder to get his attention.

"Com'on, Graham. I've got something to show you."

We walk toward the library together, Graham between Rum and I; he occasionally grabs our hands and tucks his legs, leaving us to swing him between us for a few steps. Rum makes dramatic grunts of effort or complains that he's just so heavy each time, which cracks through Graham's somber mood to make him laugh and only encourages him to do it more. He probably really is getting too big to do this, but I can't bring myself to ruin his fun.

When we reach the library I motion Graham over to my desk, and he waits patiently as I kneel to unlock one of the bottom drawers. Rum sits against the corner of the desk, watching with curiosity over Graham's shoulder as I pull out a rolled piece of parchment and hold it open for the boy to see.

His brow furrows in concentration as he starts to read aloud, "The last will and test… testament of Ellyn Davina, hair-"

"Heir."

"Heir of Zoso." He looks up, confused and almost startled. Rum wears a look of more somber concern over his shoulder, and holds out his hand for the paper; Graham passes it over absentmindedly as he asks, "Why do you have a will? Isn't that for old people, or people who are sick, or-"

"I'm not sick. I am technically old. Anyway, I made one because I have things that are mine because I'm Lady d'Corbin, and things that are just mine." In the corner of my eye, I watch Rum's brows knit in concern as he reads the will. It names Graham my heir, and Rum as my estate executor in the unlikely event that I die before Graham is of age.

I refocus on Graham and continue, "This castle belongs to the d'Corbins, so Phelan and Beth are my heirs here. But most everything else, like our house and my money, that's stuff I want you to have." I set a hand on either of his shoulders and give him my most reassuring smile. "You're as much family to me as they are, Graham. Probably more, but don't tell them that. You'll always be welcome here, and have a home with me, for as long as you want it."

The boy looks startled in a completely new way now. Rum gives us a soft, warm smile that only stretches wider when Graham launches himself into my chest and wraps me in a hug.

"Thank you." He mumbles into my shoulder, and I beam.

"You're welcome, lad." I look over his head to Rum and hold out an arm. He glances down at the paper in his hands, a bone-deep worry stark on his face. I give him a soft, patient look, and he relents, setting the scroll aside and joining the family hug.

For one quiet, too-short moment, I'm holding everything that I could ever want in my arms.