VIRGO: THE WARRIOR PRINCE

by

PEPPER ESPINOZA

Amber Quill Press, LLC

http://www.amberquill.com

Virgo: The Warrior Prince

An Amber Quill Press Book

This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are
products of the author's imagination, or have been used fictitiously.
Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely
coincidental.

Amber Quill Press, LLC

http://www.AmberQuill.com

http://www.AmberHeat.com

http://www.AmberAllure.com

All rights reserved.

No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means,
without permission in writing from the publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts
used for the purposes of review.

Copyright © 2010 by Pepper Espinoza

ISBN 978-1-60272-740-3

Cover Art © 2010 Trace Edward Zaber

Layout and Formatting

Provided by: Elemental Alchemy

Published in the United States of America

Also by Pepper Espinoza

...And To Hold

Bus Stop

A Busted Afternoon

The Devil Went Down To Georgia

Elected

A Farewell To Angels

Forward Progress

Four O'Clock

Fumble Recovery

(Just Like) Starting Over

The Major And The Minor

Making Waves

Maybe I'm Amazed

My Only Home

The Obsolete Man

Peanut Butter Kisses

The Prince Who Never Smiled

Quarterback Sneak

The Streets Of Florence

Surrender's Edge

To Bend

You And Me And The Moon

Boys Of The Zodiac

Gemini: The Wicked Things

Dedication

This book is dedicated to Vivien, Carrie,

and Lindy for the constant encouragement.

Virgo: Intelligent, honorable, and driven to each perfection. They may

seem cold or distant, ut their emotions always run deep.

Chapter 1

Banbha was dead. Her body, once terrible in its beauty and power,

lay gutted and lifeless on the bloody battlefield, the prince who had slain

her standing triumphantly over her remains. He was speaking, but

Reghan barely heard him. Magic still crackled around him, off the tips of

his fingers and the ends of his hair. The fey were tattered, broken, their

magic meaningless without their queen, their goddess, their leader.

Reghan alone remained standing, untouched by mortal steel or iron,

uninjured. He had a clear shot to the prince, but his life would be forfeit

if he tried. The human army was too great, and their fury would only be

heightened if he stole their prince.

Twelve other fey formed a circle around Banbha, each burdened

with iron chains. Handfuls of salt had been thrown over them, burning

their mortal forms, and heaps of it circled their feet. Salt and iron wasn't

enough to stop him, but Reghan didn't want to reveal that particular

fact. Not until he understood more fully what was happening. They had

fought for five days, both sides ceding ground only to regain it the next

day. Every inch counted in the struggle, and Reghan had never believed

the fey would lose their toehold on the mortal realm. On the final day,

the sun had refused to show itself at all.

Until the prince cut down the mighty Banbha.

"Anybody who yields will not be killed," the prince announced.

"Quarter will be offered to anybody who swears fealty to the crown and

agrees to abide by its laws."

"Human laws," Sibley hissed. "The fey will never bow to a human."

The prince wasn't perturbed by the outburst.

"Anybody who refuses to swear an oath to me will be executed." He

leveled his sword, pointing it at Sibley. She stood straighter, her chin

held high, no hint of defeat on her proud features. Once, the starlight

itself streamed from her eyes to light the world. Once, the prince would

have been cowering in front of her, nothing more than vermin in the face

of her power. "Do you yield?"

The question itself was a grave insult, made worse by the way the

prince stood with one foot on Banbha's desecrated body. Iron chains had

been laid out over her legs and shoulders, unnecessarily. Her hair had

been the pure color of dawn, but now it was matted with dark, almost

black, blood. The prince glowed above her, his golden hair kissed by the

sun, his armor gleaming and mostly undamaged. How had he survived

the battle unscathed? He must have had his own magic. Perhaps a witch

or a sorcerer stood on his side. Perhaps more than one. Of course, the

prince had superior numbers. How had he convinced so many to follow

him into battle against the fey? What new secret had he used? So many

had lived in fear for so many generations that they often refused to take

up arms against the fey, choosing instead to offer fearful sacrifices.

Sibley took a step forward, and only Reghan could see the way her

long legs trembled. "I do not."

"Do you yield?" the prince asked in a perfectly imperial voice. "I will

not ask again."

"Ask me until the end of time. My answer will not change."

"Then I am sorry."

The knight behind her acted quickly, driving his sword through her

back until the point came through her chest, blood dripping from the

end. Sibley didn't cry out. She didn't make a sound, and Reghan did not

look away until she dropped to her knees and slumped forward. For a

brief, shimmering second, it looked as though she was offering the prince

the supplication he'd demanded. Then she fell to her face and the earth

shook beneath her. The field remained silent for a beat, and then the

prince directed his attention to Banehorse.

"Do you yield?"

"You have slaughtered our queen. What more would you ask of

us?"

"Your loyalty. I want nothing else from you."

"It's not mine to give." Banehorse gestured at Banbha. "I have

sworn it to her for eternity."

"She's dead now."

"I will never swear an oath to another."

The knight behind Banehorse cleaved his head from his body with

a smooth swing of his arm. Blue light erupted from Banehorse's neck,

and the humans shouted, moving back. All but the prince, who loomed

over Banbha's body without wavering. The blue light created a tower to

the sky, stretching into the heavens as Banehorse's power returned to

the elements. He had been old. Older than Reghan. Maybe even as old as

Banbha, and he'd been good. A tree sprout sprung up each place a drop

of his blood touched the earth.

The prince did not look pleased with this development. Had he

truly believed the fey would ever honor a mortal? He must have, else why

would he have even give them a chance to surrender? Banbha had been

making war against the mortal realm since before time was recorded,

amused by the way they cowered before her, offering everything they had

to appease her for one more year. She had happily stolen the last drops

of milk from a child's cup, and then done far worse, serving only her

capricious whims. A mortal lifespan was so short, and she saw no harm

in making it yet shorter. How could her followers ever respect the vermin

she destroyed without thought?

Movement on the other side of the field caught Reghan's attention.

A pair of blue eyes peered at him from a tiny, round face, and the fear on

the child's face was genuine and oddly brave. He wasn't supposed to be

there. He wasn't supposed to be anywhere near there. Reghan's gaze slid

sideways to Banbha. She'd brought them both there, and now they were

condemned by her death. He thought he could send Aldred away before

any of the knights made their move, but where would he send the boy to?

Who would look after him?

"Do you all seek death? Do you all wish to die by the sword?" He

held his arms out and spun in a slow circle as he spoke, addressing all

the remaining fey. "You are supposed to be great and wise. We have

feared you for a millennium. Yet you don't have the wisdom to know

when you are beaten?"

A bird chattered in response, and on the edge of the great circle

that formed around the two rival leaders, a horse stamped its hoof.

Reghan still felt the magic swirling around him, growing stronger now

that he had a chance to rest. He was certain he could cut the prince

down and allow the blood of such a great man to mingle with Banbha's.

Perhaps that would be enough to call her power back from the elements.

But the victory would be meaningless now, since the war was already

lost. Something stirred inside of him at the thought of the prince's blood

gushing freely, baptizing the goddess at his feet, but Reghan ignored it.

"Very well. Since you refuse to be reasonable, I will make it easy for

you." He made a brief gesture with his hand, and every knight lining the

circle stepped forward. Reghan felt the pressure of the sharp tip between

his shoulder blades. "Anybody who wishes to live may step forward now

to swear your oath. Otherwise, you'll be left on the field with your fallen

brothers."

Reghan's gaze darted from face to face. Nobody moved. Nobody

even looked frightened. They all wore the same stubborn, prideful

expression. The one that had been on Sibley's face the instant before she

died. Each one was a favorite of Banbha's. Each one a ruler in the fey

realm. The loss of those lives would be incalculable. Yet, none of them

raised their hand in defense. Perhaps they had reached the same

conclusion Reghan had. Or perhaps they had nothing left to offer. Magic

wasn't infinite, even for the very old and the very powerful. Except for

Banbha. And her son. But that powerful magic hadn't been enough to

save her life in the mortal realm, where the rules were different and their

bodies were forced to take on the limitations of flesh and blood.

"Then it is settled. Knights..."

"I'll swear my loyalty," Reghan said, stepping forward and kicking

through the salt. "My lord."

The prince spun around, the full power of his gaze slamming into

Reghan. He'd never seen eyes so green, and the glow he'd noticed earlier

seemed to be emanating from their depths. Did this one have magic in

him? Is that how such great and horrible deeds were possible? Reghan

hated that he had more questions than answers, but the situation was

strangely intriguing. He could not remember the last time he'd been

genuinely curious, genuinely perplexed, by anything.

"What's your name, old one?"

"Reghan, sire."

"Why do you swear an oath when your brothers remain silent?"

"They have already pledged their fealty to Banbha, sire. They

cannot pledge it to you."

"But her death breaks those bonds."

"No, sire. Those bonds are eternal."

"But they aren't eternal for you?" The prince demanded. Do you

have no sense of loyalty?

"No, sire. I swore no oath to Banbha." Their connection ran far

deeper than any oath. "I may yield to you."

"Yet you fought beside her, old one. How do you explain that?"

Reghan was sure the explanation would do nothing to protect his

life. But he could offer something close to the truth. "She compelled me

to fight, sire."

"How?"

Reghan took a deep breath and gestured at a small child one of the

knights held by the shoulders. "She threatened my son, sire."

The prince's eyes widened. "That boy is your child?"

"Yes."

"But he's human." The prince frowned. "He's your prisoner."

"His mother is human. But he is my son, and it's for his sake that I

pledge my existence to you."

Reghan tensed as the prince stalked over to the boy, his sword still

gripped tightly in his hand. He would have moved the earth itself to put

himself between the human and his child, but if this was a test, he dared

not fail.

"What is your name, child?"

"Aldred."

"Aldred, is your father on this battlefield?"

"Yes."

The prince nodded at his man, who instantly released the young

boy. "Go to him."

Aldred began running before the prince finished speaking,

sprinting like a young deer past the bloody bodies. He threw himself into

Reghan's arms, holding him like he never intended to let him go. Reghan

closed his eyes and inhaled the scent of the boy's hair and skin, which

was a sweet combination of clover and the wind. But now there was a

darker undercurrent. Blood and death. He would never be washed clean.

He would always carry the taint of having been on that battlefield, of

having watched the death of a legend.

When Reghan looked up, the prince was standing over him,

blocking the sun. He wasn't a child, but he wasn't quite a full grown

man. How had this slight thing, this boy just on the cusp of his true

power, accomplished so much? How? Reghan longed to discover the

answer.

"It appears you were not lying, old one."

"No, sire."

His thoughtful frown deepened. Reghan could barely stand to look

at him. "I didn't know the fey were capable of such...emotion."

Reghan merely bowed his head, his hands running over the boy's

shoulders and back, searching for any injuries. He'd been under

Banbha's protection until the moment she fell. He could have been hurt

while the battle still waged around him.

"For your loyalty and your love, you will be rewarded. Take them

away."

Reghan stood and scooped Aldred into his arms. Strong hands

curled around his arms as two knights flanked him and dragged him

from the bloody field. It was an end of an era, and Reghan could feel the

world, feel time itself, shaping into something new. Humans held

dominion now. They would flourish, they would bend the realm to their

wills. Without Banbha, who would stop them from taking their rightful

place?

"I am Castan, crown prince of Somerset. I order by authority of the

crown that all who will not bow their heads shall lose them."

Reghan cupped the back of Aldred's head and held his face against

his shoulder as the old ones fell, one by one. Castan's last words echoed

over the bodies, in his mind, through time. "Burn the bodies and salt the

land."

* * * *

The guards took them to a small tent well behind the ground

force's lines and shoved them inside. As soon as the flap closed behind

them, Reghan began his examination of Aldred in earnest. Aldred

withstood the attention without speaking, patiently waiting for his father

to be satisfied of his health. Aldred was remarkably patient with Reghan,

considering he had never met his father before Banbha summoned him.

"Why did you yield?" he asked, once Reghan sat back on his heels.

The question was full of curiosity and childish petulance. Reghan had no

doubt that it was meant to be accusatory.

"To keep you safe."

"I'm a child. The prince wouldn't have killed me."

Reghan believed that. He could not imagine the golden prince

cutting down a child in cold blood. Especially not one who was so willing

to offer his enemy quarter. "I didn't say I was keeping you safe from him."

Aldred touched his cheek, and Reghan closed his eyes, allowing

the magic to pass through him and be absorbed by Aldred's fingers.

Something deep inside of Aldred flared in response, magic calling to

magic. "I'm sorry for your great loss."

Under other circumstance, Reghan might have smiled at such a

solemn voice coming from such a small boy. Aldred had only seen six

summers, but he had an old soul. "Thank you. I'm sorry you were forced

to witness that."

Reghan sat flat and pulled Aldred to his lap, wrapping his arms

protectively around the boy. He watched the entrance, knowing that the

prince would be joining them sooner rather than later. He didn't doubt

Castan's word, and he didn't fear for his life. But he was no longer a free

man, and neither was his son. Their fates rested on the mercy of the

mortal prince who had no obligation to show them any at all.

"Will you be a servant?" Aldred asked.

"Yes." There was no point in lying, since the truth would be

revealed soon enough.

"Who will take care of me?"

"I will. I will always take care of you. That's not going to change."

Aldred lifted his head, looking at Reghan with inhuman eyes.

Something hot twisted in his chest, choking his breath at the sight. He

was human, like his mother, but he was undeniably fey, too. The only

thing not clear was the extent of his abilities. "You are not a servant."

Reghan swallowed. "I am now."

"At least you know your place, old one," Castan said, ducking into

the tent.

Reghan jumped to his feet and bowed his head, Aldred still clinging

to his neck. "Yes, sire, I do."

A servant followed Castan inside, bearing a goblet and bowl of

fruit. Castan sat in front of him, cross-legged, the goblet and bowl in

front of him. Reghan wasn't hungry, but he couldn't say when Aldred ate

last. He itched to call the bowl to him so he could offer it to his son, but

Castan wouldn't forgive such insubordination. He had no choice but to

watch as Castan bit a strawberry in half.

"None of the fey chose to live."

Reghan nodded.

"Which means you are the last of your kind in Somerset. Well, not

counting the boy."

"He's human," Reghan said softly.

"Of course. As you may know, magic has been outlawed among

humans by royal decree for the past three generations. If you're going to

serve in the court, you must agree to abide by its rules. If you are ever

caught using magic, the penalty is death. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sire."

"Now then, what can you do?" Castan asked pleasantly.

"Do, sire?"

"Yes, do." Castan gestured toward himself. "What can you do to

serve me?"

The question startled Reghan. What had he ever done to serve

anybody? Even Banbha had not been so impertinent. He'd once served

Devona, after a fashion, but he doubted that was what Castan meant.

"I...I don't know."

Castan rolled his eyes. "Well, you must be good at something.

Speak up, Reghan. Not many servants get the opportunity to select their

placement. Can you cook? Are you good with horses? Do you know how

to clean armor?"

"I...I could serve you."

"I already have plenty of personal servants. I don't need another

one."

"I could protect you."

"You're no knight, Reghan. And I have no use for magic."

Reghan supposed that meant court sorcerer was right out as an

option. "I do not have any specific training for...court."

Castan narrowed his eyes. "Have you ever lived among mortals? I

assumed so, due to the child."

"No, sire. I have only spent brief periods in the mortal realm."

The prince studied him thoughtfully for several long moments.

Reghan finally averted his eyes, feeling very much like he'd already been

condemned to the executioner, despite his oath offered in good faith.

"I have no desire to humiliate you," Castan finally said. "I'll speak

to the castellan personally when we return to court to find an

appropriate place for you."

"What of Aldred?"

"Perhaps the court physician needs a servant. Would that be

agreeable?"

Given the alternative, it was more than agreeable. Aldred would

never have an easy life in the Somerset castle, but he could have a safe

one. "Yes, sire."

Castan continued to eat without offering to share. Reghan's

attention kept drifting to the full goblet, and it took an amazing act of

willpower to stop himself from licking his dry lips. Did he just not know

any better? It was difficult to believe that somebody with Castan's high

birth would be so lacking in manners. You're a servant now. He has no

reason to be polite to you. Right on the heels of that thought was dark,

familiar voice. He must pay for his insolence. How dare he insult you in

front of your son?

Reghan shook that thought away. Castan had defeated Banbha's

infamous army. He had killed a goddess. But more than that, Reghan

had given his oath, had pledged his existence to Castan's. The time to kill

him had passed and it would never return. No matter how many insults

Reghan was forced to endure.

"We have irons," Castan continued conversationally.

"You will have no need for them, sire."

"We'll be breaking camp in three days time. The men need a

chance to rest. There will be two men guarding your tent at all times. If

you need anything, speak to them."

"Am I not allowed to move freely?" Reghan asked with a trace of

alarm. "I thought you said I would not be a prisoner."

"You can leave the tent as you please. But I would suggest that you

don't unless necessary. The men...will be celebrating their victory." Over

the death of your queen and your brothers.

"I understand." Reghan adjusted Aldred's weight, his fingers

absently smoothing over the boy's hair. "Why are you doing this?"

"Doing what?" Castan asked, his mouth full of apple.

"Why did you give the fey a chance to yield? Surely you were aware

of the dangers." Or maybe he wasn't. Maybe Reghan was giving this

golden human more credit than he deserved.

"The battle was over. Your queen was dead. I have no desire to kill

those who wish to give up the fight. Even if they are the folk."

Reghan frowned. There was a certain logic to it, of course, but it

didn't seem very wise. Why would he want powerful, angry, murderous

fey in his kingdom? Without realizing it, he gave voice to his question.

"Because a fairy's word, once given, cannot be broken. I didn't

realize that they were still bound even beyond death, though."

"Yes."

"That's good to know. It means you will never be a threat to

Somerset."

Reghan hadn't even thought about that, but he had no choice but

to nod.

"You will also be obligated to fight in Somerset's defense."

"As long as I live, sire, no harm will come to this land by my hand,

and I will fight anybody who moves against the crown."

"As long as your children and their children live, too."

Reghan dutifully recited the words back to him, binding his life to

Castan's kingdom.

Castan nodded, clearly satisfied by Reghan's oath. Perhaps he just

needed to clarify Reghan's promise for his own peace of mind, because he

stood and pulled back the tent's opening. "I'll see that a proper dinner is

sent to you. You can help yourself to..." He nodded at the untouched

goblet.

Then he was gone with a swirl of his cape.

"I hate him," Aldred whispered fiercely.

"No, you don't. He is your prince and one day he will be your king."

"But he doesn't know who you are."

Reghan swallowed. "That's because I am nobody. Do you

understand, Aldred? I'm nobody now."

Aldred lifted his head and his eyes flashed with more emotion than

should be possible in such a small child. Then they cleared, and he was

just a human again. He nodded, tears shimmering and then falling down

his red cheeks. Reghan held him as he cried, but he felt no desire to join

him. Now the thought of Banbha's death left him cold, and no emotion

stirred when he remembered how Sibley and Banehorse fell.

Chapter 2

Castan had not expected any of the fey to yield. If he'd even

thought it a possibility, he probably wouldn't have offered the chance. He

knew full well that the fey would never shift allegiance from their goddess

queen, even if she had been gutted at their feet. Besides that, the old

ones hated mortals and would happily go to their deaths to avoid bowing

to one. Castan didn't even know what he was supposed to do with a fairy

in his court. His father wasn't going to be pleased. The fey had given

mortals every reason to hate and distrust them. Reghan would likely be a

bone of great contention, not to mention his peculiar son who very

clearly was not completely human. Castan wasn't exactly looking forward

to the fight, which would no doubt last for days and be punctuated by

stony glares and icy silences, but Castan was a man of his word, and

now he couldn't go back on his promise.

Despite his general misgivings about bringing a fairy back to the

castle, he had to admit his interest in Reghan was piqued. He first

battled the fey when he was thirteen. His father would have never sent a

boy so young to fight beings so powerful, but they had been ambushed

while on a hunt. His men had been furiously fighting for their lives, and

the fey had been amused. They were on their own hunt it seemed, and

Castan resolved after that day to defeat the fey in the mortal realm and

drive them back to the fairy mounds. He'd made it his personal mission

to rid the world of the old ones, and he'd almost succeeded. But for

Reghan, who Castan was honor bound to protect as he would protect any

of his subjects.

Why had a fey a mortal son? Why had he been fighting in honor of

a queen he'd sworn no oath to? And why did he look at Castan with

honest, knowing eyes? Could Reghan divine the future? Did he know

something Castan did not?

Well, it was likely he knew many things Castan did not. His father

would fly into a spit-speckled fury at the very idea of it, but Castan was

already considering the possibility of turning Reghan into one of his

advisors. Who better to aid in the war against the fey? Castan may have

been victorious in that battle, but he knew that the fey were not the sort

to forgive and forget. How long until they rallied and made a move to get

their revenge? Castan had to continue to be aggressive against the

threat. Given the choice, Castan would rather be on the offensive. Now

that he thought about it, it seemed plainly obvious to him that having an

advisor like Reghan would be a boon to his cause.

The fact that Reghan had an attractive visage shouldn't have

entered Castan's thoughts at all, but it did, elbowing its way between the

various questions until Castan was forced to acknowledge it was true.

Reghan was quite beautiful, as were all his kind. He looked like he could

be no older than Castan himself, but the power that emanated from him

revealed the fiction of his countenance. He was not a boy, and it would

behoove Castan to remember that and not be caught by his beauty. That

was how they baited the trap, and the prime reason they shouldn't be

trusted. Nothing was stronger than a fairy's word--it truly did bond them

for eternity. But they rarely promised anything, and they took great

delight in torturing mortals. He wanted to believe that Reghan's

submission to the crown was some sort of trap, but how could it be? He

extracted a promise from Reghan to honor the kingdom and protect it

until the end of time, if that was what it took. So if the fairy did have any

dastardly plans, they should be thwarted now.

Castan stood patiently while the servants stripped him of his heavy

armor, and then his shift. Fresh clothes were waiting for him--an

unbelievably luxury on the battlefield, but he was still the crown prince

and he felt that meant he should be allowed some luxuries--and he

sighed with relief to be rid of the garments that were stiff with sweat and

blood. His stomach growled, and he would have bellowed for another

plate of food, but he knew the feast was already being prepared. It would

only be the first of many to commemorate this glorious day. His glorious

victory.

A sudden wave of emotion washed through him, overwhelming him

until his knees shook. He sat down heavily, struggling to catch his

breath as he continued to be battered with everything from relief to fear,

from joy to terror. Castan closed his eyes, knowing if he looked down at

himself, he would see his hands and legs trembling. When they'd

launched their final campaign early that morning, Castan knew they had

to be victorious or the whole kingdom would be lost. Banbha never

battled for something as simple as conquest, but Somerset could not

withstand another defeat. If they did, it would be an invitation for all

neighboring kingdoms to descend like birds to carrion.

Castan had willed a victory because the thought of losing his

kingdom could not be borne. At least, that's how it felt on the battlefield.

Banbha survived all of her campaigns against the mortal realm because

no mortal in his right mind would ever approach a fairy queen, a goddess

of war and love. Surely any mortal who tried would never stop paying for

his insolence, but would suffer for eternity, until even the offended

goddess forgot what he had done to insult her. But Castan hadn't been

in his right mind. He'd been mad with pain and fear, like a wounded

boar, and when he saw his opportunity to strike, he took it. His father

and the rest of the court would demand a full retelling of the event. They

would want every detail of the entire battle, but they would listen most

attentively when Castan explained how he finally ridded the realm of its

nemesis. Castan would have to make up something good, because he

couldn't remember a single detail. He remembered spotting his opening,

and he remembered standing over Banbha's fallen body, but how he got

there, how it happened, was unknown to him.

Not that the specifics mattered. He was the crown prince, his

kingdom's champion, and he had been trained to fight and to win since

his birth. The court and his people would accept his victory as inevitable,

and celebrate him as the greatest hero in the land. Castan couldn't deny

he liked the sound of that. He liked it so much that he wished they didn't

have to wait three days to break camp. He wanted to deliver the news to

Bressal himself, instead of allowing his father to hear it from a

messenger. But his place was with his men, and his men deserved to rest

and celebrate.

He had specifically told the messenger not to mention Reghan or

Aldred, on pain of death. The threat might have been a little harsh, but

Castan needed to ensure he wasn't going to be walking into an ambush.

More than that, he needed to be sure Reghan wasn't walking into an

ambush. He didn't want the fairy treated like a prisoner and thrown into

the stocks or the dungeon. Either option would be a death sentence.

Bressal would need to hear that from Castan's own lips, and even then

he might not fully understand or accept Castan's decision. He might even

argue that Castan was not bound to his promise, though it would be a

weak argument from a desperate man. Even so, Castan knew it would be

most politic to report the situation himself.

Reghan. It was interesting to Castan that Reghan simply looked as

though he didn't belong with the rest of the old ones. They had all been

resplendent in their magic and their armor, haughty and foreboding and

almost achingly beautiful. Reghan wore the clothes of a commoner, and

he fought without a weapon, defended himself without a shield. Despite

the fact that he seemed to be the least prepared to fight, Reghan had not

been defeated. Yet he had bowed his head and accepted Castan as his

prince. Why? And why had he not taken the opportunity to kill Castan

when he had the chance?

Why did he have a mortal son?

Castan didn't want to obsess over the obvious conclusion that if he

had a mortal son, then he'd had sexual congress with a mortal woman.

But it was unusual. He'd never heard anything like it in his life.

Everything about Reghan was unusual. Castan liked to solve problems.

His mind constantly worked and strategized, which was convenient in

battle, but could be maddening in his quiet, lonely moments. He always

felt a curious let down after a battle--whether they had been victorious or

not--because for a short time he simply didn't have anything to do. Now

the battle was barely over and he already had a new conundrum to chew

on. He wished he had an excuse to return to Reghan's tent. He was the

prince, he didn't need an excuse. He didn't need to justify himself to

anybody. But he would no more bother Reghan without reason than he

would invade the king's private space without an invitation. It was

strange but, Castan recognized, true.

A knight entered the tent and immediately dropped to his knee and

bowed his head. "Sire."

"Rise, Sir Daegal. What is it?"

"The fairy, sire."

"Reghan?" He made sure his tone was casual, almost uninterested.

"Yes."

"What about him?"

"He has emerged from his tent."

Castan blinked. "And?"

"I thought you would like to be updated on his movements, sire."

"Is he turning anybody into toads or wreaking havoc in the camp?"

"No, sire."

Then why are you bothering me? "Thank you, Sir Knight."

"Sire?"

"Yes?"

"He is frightening the servants." And probably the men, too, but

Daegal would never say as much.

"I thought you said he wasn't wreaking havoc?" It wouldn't do to

indulge their fears. They needed to become accustomed to Reghan's

presence.

"He's not, sire. But he is very powerful and you haven't put the

irons on him."

"Do you know what iron does to a fairy? It burns through flesh like

fire. Why would I do that to somebody who has already sworn his oath to

me?" Castan demanded, his voice still even though he was more than a

little annoyed he had to ask the question in the first place. "Return only

if he has done something wrong."

The knight nodded and departed, but Castan knew that wasn't

going to be the end of it. He was certain the next three days would be a

steady stream of knights and servants, rushing to tell their prince exactly

what the strange fairy in their midst was up to. And it would probably be

worse in the castle, when everybody's eyes would be on Reghan. The

thought left him vaguely upset, as though his people were already guilty

of ignoring his orders.

The next time Daegal stepped into his tent, it was to tell him that

all of the bodies on the battlefield had been sorted. Castan's men had

been given a proper burial, while the fey were stacked, awaiting the

torch. The knight suggested they start the fire immediately, even though

night had already fallen. "It shouldn't wait until the morning, sire."

His first thought was of Reghan. How it would hurt him to not only

hear the men celebrate, but to smell the thick smoke of burning flesh

and see the fire glowing in the darkness. Castan shook the thought away.

He couldn't make all of his decisions based solely on the comfort of one

servant.

"Burn them. And then send a scout out to find the fairy mound. I

want it destroyed before we leave here."

"Yes, sire. But..."

"What?"

"How does one destroy a fairy mound?"

Castan's lips thinned. He didn't know the answer to that question.

He wasn't even sure it was possible to fully destroy one. But he couldn't

leave it, either. Who knew how many fey lurked on the other side, ready

to go to battle to avenge their queen? If Castan didn't do something to

stop it from happening, they could have another war on their hands

before they had a chance to recover from this one.

"I suppose the best way to answer that is to ask the fairy." At

Daegal's stricken expression, Castan smiled. "I'll speak to him. Inform

the guard outside his tent to bring him to me."

Daegal didn't exactly look relieved, but he nodded and hurried to

do Castan's bidding. Only a handful of minutes passed before Daegal

returned, with Reghan in tow. Reghan immediately dropped to one knee

and bowed his head, showing the right and proper deference. A part of

Castan--the princely part--took a great deal of satisfaction at the sight.

But the rest of him felt strangely cold at the display.

"You wished to see me, sire?"

How much did it cost the fairy to utter those words? Or had he

made his peace with his new place in the world? Castan didn't even

know why the question was on his mind. It shouldn't have mattered to

him either way.

"Yes. Please sit down." Castan waited until Reghan was settled on

the stool before asking, "Was your dinner acceptable?"

Reghan blinked with surprise, and to be honest, Castan was more

than a little surprised himself. "Yes, sire, it was more than acceptable.

Thank you for your generosity."

"I find I'm already in need of your services, old one."

"I am here to serve, sire."

The correct words said in absolutely the right tone, but Castan

received even less satisfaction from them than he did seeing Reghan bow

before him. "I want to destroy all the fairy mounds in Somerset. Can this

be done?"

"No, sire."

Castan nearly gasped. That was not the answer he'd been

expecting. Anything that existed could be destroyed. Didn't the burning

pile of fey corpses prove that much? "Explain yourself."

"There is not much to explain, sire. It is not possible for mortal

men to destroy the doorways. However, it is possible to seal them."

"Do you know how to do that?"

"Yes."

"Do you know where the nearest one is?"

Reghan nodded. "Yes, sire. It is perhaps a half a day's ride from

here."

"How many fairy mounds are in Somerset?"

Reghan's brow knitted together. "Since I do not know the borders

of your kingdom, I cannot answer the question. Perhaps six. Perhaps

more."

"You are capable of locating the fairy mounds, I'm sure."

"Yes, sire."

Castan nodded. "Very well. Tomorrow we'll ride out to close the one

in this area. That is all."

"Sire?"

"What?"

"May Aldred accompany us?"

Castan hadn't considered the boy, but he supposed it was better to

let Reghan watch over him rather than leave him with the knights.

Especially since his knights probably found the strange child alarming.

"Yes. We'll leave camp at dawn. Daegal will escort you back to your

tent."

An assignment Daegal didn't exactly seem pleased about. Hopefully

his discomfort around the fairy would fade in time, as would everybody

else's. Castan didn't want to think of the consequences otherwise.

Chapter 3

One of the guards presented Reghan with a chestnut gelding as he

emerged from his tent, and he realized with a slight jolt that he was

expected to ride it. He could no longer simply magic himself to his

destination. He couldn't summon a puka. He couldn't change his mind

and announce he wanted to sleep for another few hours. As Reghan

stared at the horse and the horse stared at him, he felt the last of his

freedom slip from his fingers. His eyes stung, and regret, as sharp as

Castan's sword, pierced his chest. He hadn't slept at all the night before,

his sharp ears listening to the fire burning on the battlefield, his sharper

nose assaulted by the thick, sweet-smelling smoke. Aldred had been

curled into his side, his hand resting over his mouth and nose, his eyes

tightly closed though Reghan could tell sleep eluded him as well.

More than once, Reghan had thought of sticking his head out of

the tent. He wanted to see if the stars had realigned themselves with

Banbha's death. He wanted to see if the moon had cloaked its face with

mourning, and if the sparks from the fires danced in time to ancient

rhythms. But the men had been raucous in their celebration, and

Reghan had no desire to attract attention to himself. He'd heard them

shouting for irons and salt, arguing amongst themselves over the wisdom

of questioning Castan's orders. Reghan had tensed as he listened to

them, feeling as though he was already held down by chains, prepared to

do whatever necessary to protect Aldred from them. But it hadn't come to

that.

Reghan tried to pull himself together before Castan arrived, having

no desire to explain why the sight of a horse was enough to reduce him

to tears. Especially since the horse was a perfectly acceptable beast.

Reghan smoothed his fingers down the center of his face until he reached

his muzzle. The horse whinnied and lipped his fingers curiously, its

brown eyes mild, its tail swishing sedately against the back of its legs.

Aldred stood off to the side, watching the horse with a guarded

expression.

"Come here," Reghan said softly, holding out his hand. Aldred

obeyed, his fingers cool and small against Reghan's palm. He gently

guided Aldred's hand to the beast's neck and Aldred almost smiled as he

felt the horse's warm, soft fur.

"I trust you're ready to ride," Castan said, startling them both.

Aldred jerked his hand away, and the horse stomped its foot and

neighed.

"Yes, sire. We're ready."

"Then mount up. If it's a half day's ride, we don't have time to

waste."

Reghan lifted himself into the saddle, then pulled Aldred up behind

him. The boy wrapped trembling arms around his waist, and Reghan just

hoped that Aldred had the good sense not to complain.

"Has the boy never been on a horse?" Castan asked.

Reghan didn't know how he could have possibly sensed Aldred's

fear. "He comes from a poor village."

"And they had no horses?"

"No, sire."

"I see. He won't slow us down, will he?"

"No. He knows how to hold on."

"See that he doesn't fall," Castan warned. Reghan quickly nodded,

murmuring another promise that Aldred wouldn't be a problem. He

didn't dare reveal his own ignorance when it came to riding, certain that

Castan would just be exasperated and confused at the confession.

"Which direction?"

Reghan took a deep breath, only briefly considering a lie. He could

take Castan on a wild chase through the countryside. He could lure him

miles and miles from his camp, away from the men who would kill and

die for him. He could take Castan to a land where he was not a crown

prince, not a champion, not anything special. He could strip him of his

power and his armor, leave him vulnerable and begging, tears flowing

down his face in the moment before Reghan finally delivered the killing

blow.

"It's west of here, sire."

Castan studied him for a moment, and Reghan had the uneasy

feeling that the mortal was privy to his treacherous thoughts. He stared

back, unblinking, until Castan nodded. "Daegal, lead the way. Morton,

you're at the rear."

The two knights nodded and kicked their horses into position.

Castan moved beside Reghan and took the reins from his hands, looping

it around his saddle horn. Reghan raised his brow questioningly, but

Castan ignored him and gave the order to move out. A few knights

whooped and hollered their farewells, their goblets still full of ale. Castan

ignored them, Daegal nodded in their direction.

The battlefield was east of them, and Reghan was just relieved they

wouldn't have to ride past the smoldering bodies. The sun was just

beginning to touch the horizon behind them, and Reghan couldn't stop

himself from sneaking glances at Castan as they rode in silence. He

wasn't glowing today, and he seemed smaller, as though he was a

different person when not engaged in mortal combat. If he had a sorcerer

on his side, he might very well have been a different man than the one

Reghan had met the day before. But based on the conversation they'd

had in the tent, Reghan was confident they fought the fey without any

magical advantages at all.

Reghan didn't know how that could be.

"You're not going to try anything funny when we reach the mound,

are you?" Castan asked.

"Funny, sire?"

"Yes, funny. Like try to escape into the fairy realm or call on

another army."

"Oh. No."

"How can I be certain you're not lying?"

"I guess you can't be, sire. But I have no wish to return to the fairy

realm now, and there is no army waiting to be unleashed. There is

nobody left to lead one."

"There's you," Castan pointed out.

"No fey army would follow me," Reghan said mildly. "I am already a

traitor to them."

"Because you swore an oath to me?"

Among other things. "Yes."

"Where is the child's mother?"

The child in question stiffened at the question, but was already

wise enough to hold his tongue. "She is dead, sire."

"My condolences, Aldred. My mother also died when I was quite

young."

"Thank you, my lord." Aldred's words were small but sincere.

Reghan quietly sighed with relief.

"Is the tragedy recent?" Castan asked, his tone softer and more

respectful. His eyes widened and he quickly added, "She was not on the

battlefield yesterday, was she?"

Reghan frowned, surprised by the question. A quick glance at

Castan's stricken face confirmed that the prince genuinely cared about

the answer, and genuinely feared what it might be. Reghan wondered

what he would say if Reghan revealed that Banbha had been his mother,

and decided not to mention it. "No, my lord. She died of an illness last

winter."

Castan nodded. "It was a difficult winter for many. Sometimes I

wish I could bend the elements to my will."

Reghan's fingers tingled, and he looked away, staring resolutely at

the space between the horse's ears. Aldred's arms tightened around him,

and Reghan sought his mind for something, anything, to say in response.

When Aldred finally began to relax, Reghan dared a glance in Castan's

direction. He was scanning the hills in the distance, and if he had

realized what he'd said, he gave no signs of it. What would his reaction

be if Reghan gently reminded him that he did have that power now?

How long would it be before Castan realized it on his own?

Reghan didn't want to linger on that question for too long. It led to

a briar patch of difficult answers and consequences. Castan was his

master now. What if he demanded something of Reghan that Reghan

didn't want to give? Reghan could feel a bitter laugh bubbling in his

throat. He had been able to withstand Banbha's demands, but a human

prince may be capable of bending him to mortal whims from the

mundane to the evil.

"North, sire," Reghan said after an hour of silence.

"Daegal," Castan said, and they all shifted direction in a smooth

motion.

For the rest of the morning, Reghan only spoke when he needed to

announce a new direction. Aldred's breathing evened until Reghan knew

he had fallen asleep. Reghan found his attention drifting to Castan more

and more, and locking there for longer periods of time. Reghan wasn't

sure what it was about the young mortal he found so fascinating, but his

interest only grew as the hours wore on. Occasionally, Castan's gaze

would slide sideways, and their eyes would clash. When that happened,

Reghan inevitably looked away first, but only because he had no

intention of challenging Castan, not because he cared if Castan noticed

him staring.

Once they were within an hour of the fairy mound, Reghan was

distracted by the pull of magic. His blood sang from the energy, and

there was a distinct buzz in his ears. It called to him, assured him he

would be home soon. If he betrayed Castan and went through the door,

the prince could not follow. There was nobody left to know or care if he

violated his word. And he believed Castan would look after Aldred, not

because he promised, but because he was a man who would not stand

by to watch a child suffer. But if that were true--and he believed it to be--

then why wouldn't he wish to serve such a man?

"I should go on ahead," Reghan finally said.

Castan reined in his horse. "Alone?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"It would be best if..."

"No."

Reghan wasn't exactly surprised by the reaction, but he wasn't

quite prepared to back down either. "What you're asking me to do will

not be easy. I cannot risk being distracted."

"Very well. Daegal, Morton, you stay here with the boy. Reghan and

I will ride ahead."

Reghan awkwardly turned to shake Aldred awake. He blinked up

at Reghan with confusion in his clear eyes, and Reghan stifled the urge

to gasp. The magic was clearly having an effect on Aldred, too.

"Aldred, I need you to sit under that tree over there and not move.

We'll be back before you know it. The two knights are going to keep an

eye on you."

Aldred nodded and allowed Reghan to lower him to the ground. He

immediately ran over to the tree, curling up beside it like a wild animal,

resting his head against the rough bark. Daegal and Morton dismounted,

and Castan tossed the reins back to Reghan.

"Lead on."

Reghan considered commenting on how brave it was for Castan to

ride with him to the mound, but changed his mind after he realized it

could be interpreted as a threat rather than a compliment. As they

neared the hallowed spot, silence descended on them like a fog. It was

the glamour put in place to obscure the entrance to the fairy realm--it

not only repelled mortals but all common creatures. There were no birds,

no bees or flies humming, and no deer grazing through the lush grass.

Judging by the look on Castan's face, he immediately noticed the

difference.

"We're close, aren't we?"

"Yes, sire."

"I've never been here," Castan said with obvious confusion. "This

area isn't familiar to me at all, but I've spent most of my life riding

through this land."

"It's the glamour. It is meant to repel you from the area. It repels

all living things."

"Why am I not repelled now?"

"Because you're with me."

The answer seemed to be enough for Castan, and they continued

on in silence until they reached the small mound of earth. Reghan

immediately dismounted and approached it, forgetting that he should be

following Castan's lead. Behind him, he heard the armor clatter as

Castan followed him. Reghan's heart beat faster and he felt the magic

swirling at his fingertips, the magic that leaked from the locked door

immediately rushing to gather around him.

"Is this it, then?"

"Yes."

Castan walked right up to the mound, unmindful of how

dangerous it was. Perhaps he expected everything in his kingdom to bow

to his will, regardless of whether or not it was under his domain.

"It's so small."

"It's only an entrance, sire."

"But Banbha led an entire army. I thought it would be more of a

castle."

Reghan arched his brow. "Even though it's called a fairy mound?

Besides, there are castles inside."

"Big ones?"

"Palaces beyond your imagination, sire."

Castan touched the door with the toe of his boot, and a jolt of

alarm shot down Reghan's spine. "Can I go in?"

"You can open the door," Reghan admitted, hoping Castan

wouldn't take it as an invitation. "But you'll see nothing except a hole in

the ground. Mortal eyes are incapable of seeing the fairy realm."

"But if I did open the door, they would see me."

"Correct, sire."

"So I guess I shouldn't open the door then."

Reghan almost smiled. "That would be most wise, sire. Can you

step away, please?"

Castan complied, moving away from the door to stand by his

horse, holding the stallion's head in an absent, comforting way. Reghan

dragged his attention from him, and he could feel the fey on the other

side of the barrier, pulsing, waiting. They could sense him, too. The

prince has returned. The prince has returned to us.

Reghan held his hand out toward the door and spoke two

incantations in the old tongue. The first was an apology. Each syllable

was imbued with magic that would carry it over the barrier and into the

waiting ears of the fey. The second incantation formed an unbreakable

lock over the entrance. It shattered the glamour around them and sealed

the door shut for eternity. The mound was not defenseless, and it tried to

block Reghan's magic, pushing back until Reghan's legs were quivering

and his muscles ached. The pressure beneath his skin increased until he

thought his muscles would simply snap, the tendons too brittle,

stretched too thin, to remain strong. Reghan kept himself standing

through will alone, refusing to show such weakness in front of Castan.

Refusing to fail him.

Gathering what strength he had left, he muttered another

incantation in the old tongue. "I am your prince and I command you."

There was a loud boom, like thunder right overhead, and then the

resistance snapped. Reghan's legs bent suddenly and he would have

collapsed to the ground if a strong arm hadn't caught him from behind.

Castan dragged him back against his chest, holding him tightly. Reghan

allowed himself to go lax for a moment, happy not to support his own

weight.

"I didn't know it was going to be like that."

"It's powerful magic, sire."

"And...it's permanent? What you did?"

Reghan licked his lips. "It should be."

"But there are others."

"Yes."

"I want my kingdom rid of them. We'll go back to the camp to let

my men know, and then we'll ride out again."

"We, sire?" Castan was still holding him and Reghan was still

allowing it, though he probably had strength enough to stand. The armor

was hard against his back, warm from the sun and Castan's own body.

"Yes, we. You, me, Aldred, and my men. With only five of us, we

can travel light and fast. We won't be delayed for more than a fortnight."

Reghan tried to imagine spending the next fortnight doing this, and

he sagged at the thought. Castan's arms tightened around him, pulling

him upright again. "Are you going to be all right? Do you need to rest?"

Reghan nodded, and found himself gently lowered to the grass

beneath him. Castan collapsed beside him in a surprisingly graceless

display, and plucked a leaf from the ground next to Reghan's hand. He

twirled it between his fingers, gazing at it with a fixed expression. Reghan

watched him for a moment, but there wasn't anything particularly

special about that piece of grass.

They were both silent for a long time. It wasn't tense. It wasn't the

silence of two enemies who were forced to be allies. Reghan trusted the

man beside him not to cut off his head while he was too weak to defend

himself. He sensed a certain curiosity radiating off Castan, could almost

hear the hundred questions dancing on his tongue. And there would be a

hundred more after that. Castan had a quick, curious mind, one more

than capable of generating an infinite number of inquiries.

When Castan did speak, he led off with a question that Reghan

had not anticipated.

"Why did you give me your oath?" Castan tilted his head, studying

him. "You could have killed me where I stood. The power you have. You

could kill me right now."

"Why did you show me clemency?"

The question seemed to catch Castan off guard, like he never

expected anybody to wonder at the decision, let alone question it. Of

course, he was a prince. Questioning him at all might have been

punishable by death. "That is, sire, I gave you my oath because you're a

great..."

Castan held up his hand in a singularly imperial gesture, cutting

Reghan off. "I didn't ask because I wanted to hear you flatter me. I

just...wanted to know."

Reghan believed him. But he didn't know how to answer him. It

was all very complicated and very simple, and the magic he would never

use against his new master still coursed through him. "To protect my son

and other innocents who have no business dying in these endless wars.

Killing you would have done nobody any good."

"You would have avenged your queen," Castan pointed out.

"Spilling your blood wouldn't have brought her back." Not

necessarily. "Besides, Banbha had no honor to avenge. She was a

murderer and she reached a just end."

"You...really feel that way?"

Reghan eyes locked with Castan's. "Yes. Don't you?"

"Of course. But I didn't know if you only felt that way because

that's what you thought I wanted to hear."

"Isn't it?"

"Well, yes. But you're being intentionally difficult."

Reghan grinned. "Maybe a little. But that is my true feeling on the

matter. Besides..." He took a deep breath and looked away, knowing his

confession could reflect very, very poorly on him as a loyal subject. "I

tried to kill her so many times it would be a bit hypocritical to...take your

life."

Reghan risked a quick glance to see that Castan was staring at

him, eyes wide, mouth opened. "You tried to kill Banbha?"

"Yes. The cost of her wars was great for both the human and the

fey."

"Oh. I never thought...I mean, I thought all the fey were evil."

"Yet you offered to spare their lives."

Something dark passed over Castan's expression. "Since you're

being honest with me, I shall extend the same courtesy to you. I did not

believe anybody would accept. That is why I offered clemency."

"Oh."

"That is not to say I wish you had refused. It's just--"

"Mercy is easily extended when there's no thought of it being

accepted," Reghan said softly.

"It wasn't like that."

"Sire." Reghan took a breath and lifted his chin. "You have no need

to explain yourself to me. It's my place to follow you now, not question

you."

Castan looked like he wanted to argue, though how or why he

could even consider such a thing, Reghan didn't understand. He

apparently reached the same conclusion, because he closed his mouth

with a snap and nodded. They returned to their companionable silence,

and Reghan thought about the fact that they could have been

contemporaries. Two royal born sons, waiting for their crown and...

Reghan caught his breath. And he was no longer a prince. That

was why the mound had obeyed him. He was no longer a prince, but a

king. If Castan had any desire to destroy the whole of the fey realm, he

had the means sitting beside him. Reghan tucked that secret away,

burying it as deeply as he could to ensure it would never escape him.

Chapter 4

Castan had always liked sleeping outdoors. He liked sleeping on a

bed of soft grass, enjoyed the blanket of fresh, sweet air, and loved to

gaze up at the stars. Since he'd started leading the king's men into

battle, sleeping outside had been a rare treat. The knights liked to keep

him secure in a tent. It was easier to guard his life if he was in a single,

confined space, but just because Castan understood the necessity of it

didn't mean he liked it. But now there were no tents, no battlefield, and

the night wasn't thick with the smell of fresh blood. There was only the

crackle of the fire and the soft, steady breathing of two sleeping knights

and a little boy.

"Is it near here?" Castan asked, staring at the fire instead of at the

fairy seated on the other side of the flames. He looked...wild. His dark

eyes reflected the orange light and his face was partially obscured by

dancing shadows. He reminded Castan of a chained animal, except he

could actually break the chains binding him. What would he do then?

Was it in him to murder a prince? Or would he simply run into the night

until he was completely swallowed up?

"It is." He didn't sound any different, for all he looked like a wild

animal.

"Can we..." Castan stopped himself, and he could see his own

surprise mirrored on Reghan's face. A piece of wood popped in the

awkward silence that followed, and sparks fluttered in the air between

them. Reghan exhaled and the sparks shifted direction, dancing on the

gentle currents of Reghan's breath.

"May I show you the mound, sire?"

Castan stood and moved to kick Daegal's arm to waken him, but

Reghan's fingers were suddenly on his arm, stilling him. "You don't need

to do that, sire."

"Somebody needs to keep watch while we're gone."

"They will be safe." Reghan looked over to Aldred and added softly,

"I assure you, sire."

Castan wanted to argue with him, but that was only because he

felt contrary. His near slip of the tongue still bothered him, poking at the

back of his mind. Were you really going to ask a servant if you could do

something? Were you really going to ask his permission?

"We could walk, sire, if you don't wish to bother with the horses."

Castan nodded and turned to follow Reghan away from the

comforting orange glow of the fire. There was no moon and the starlight

barely lit their path. He had no choice but to follow Reghan, who slid

through the night like a slippery shadow, so silently that Castan couldn't

hear him though he was close enough to touch. His earlier unease

returned, this time with the smallest hint of fear. He wasn't a regular

man. Castan could never forget that, even if Reghan slept and ate and

bowed his head like any man in Castan's kingdom.

Castan lost track of the time as they moved through the woodland.

He'd hunted in this forest before, but not in many years. He wasn't quite

a stranger to the area, but due to the magic surrounding the fairy

mound, he might as well have been. He was vulnerable, without the

protection of his knights, in the dark, with only a wild fey to guide him.

Had he taken leave of his senses? If his father ever heard word of this, he

would be punished for his obvious stupidity.

Long, warm fingers closed around his wrist and Castan resisted

the impulse to yank away from them and snap that nobody was ever to

touch him without permission. "Sire. Wait here."

"Stop. First, I would like to know why you think you can order me

to do anything. Second, where are you going?"

He expected Reghan to apologize for forgetting his place and then

offer a reasonable explanation in his even, soft voice. He did not expect

Reghan's eyes to glow blue, casting a low light over his features. Castan

blinked, hot fear crawling at the back of his throat. He didn't know how

or why, but Reghan had been transformed. His hair was a bit more wild,

his mouth pulled into a strange little smile that Castan had never seen

before, and his skin was a gleaming white.

"There's something here," Reghan said.

Castan spun around, eyes scanning the darkness. "Where? I

thought you said we'd be safe."

"I said they would be safe." His hold on Castan's wrist tightened,

and Castan realized with new horror that he wasn't strong enough to

escape. Even if he managed to free his sword and cut Reghan down

where he stood, those fingers would remain locked around his wrist for

eternity.

"What is it?"

"Something you don't want to meet in the dark, sire."

"I'm not a coward," Castan said stiffly.

"You're very brave," Reghan assured him. "But you'll also be very

dead if you don't do exactly what I say. Walk silently. Don't speak. And

don't take your eyes off me."

"Why?" Castan whispered, torn between fear and anger and not

liking either one.

"I'll explain if...when we return to camp. Please, Castan."

Castan looked up, surprised to see that the stars were gone. Not

obscured or hidden by clouds, but gone. Castan felt like he was staring

into infinity, and if he looked long enough, he would see Reghan's

glowing blue eyes. He dragged his attention away and nodded his

consent, allowing Reghan to drag him forward into a darkness as

complete as the one above their heads.

Branches scraped across his face and hooked around his arms and

legs as they hurried through the woods. Castan's sense of direction was

entirely confused, but he had the sense they were running away from

the camp. Which was exactly the opposite direction Castan wanted to go,

but he remembered Reghan's low plea with him to be quiet. Castan was a

veteran of too many battles and too many ambushes to knowingly attract

attention to himself when an enemy was nearby, even if he knew nothing

of the enemy. They moved at a quick pace that wasn't quite a run, and

Castan's heart thudded heavily in his ears, and the metallic taste of fear

coated the back of his tongue.

Reghan stopped suddenly, his thin shoulders rising and falling

rapidly. Castan watched him, waiting for some sort of explanation or

apology. Neither was forthcoming. Reghan closed his eyes, holding up his

free hand, palm outward. He neither spoke nor moved, his frame

completely still. He could have been a tree, and Castan had no option but

to stand there, staring stupidly and wishing Reghan wasn't holding his

sword hand.

"Stop," Reghan demanded in a voice that didn't, couldn't, belong to

him. There was no question of disobeying this order, and the very earth

seemed to tremble beneath the command. "Now."

"What--"

"Who are you to order me, child?" The voice came from nowhere

and everywhere. It radiated from every leaf on every tree, and from the

stones at their feet, and the air itself.

Reghan answered in the old tongue. His voice trembled but the raw

authority underscoring each word still came through loud and clear.

Castan stared at him with a fresh wash of fear. He might have been the

crown prince, but this was Reghan's dominion. He knew it as surely as

he knew his own name. Could he cut down a prince in his own land? The

very trees would rise up in anger if he did, and the voice, the thing, in the

dark would turn on him as well.

"You have been lost. I was sent to find you."

"Return to your home. You are not needed here."

"But the doors--"

"I said return." The final word boomed like thunder and the

darkness quaked around them in fear. And then that oppressive

presence was gone, and the night returned to its normal shades of silver

and blue, light pulling away from shadows.

Reghan released his wrist.

Neither one of them moved or made a sound. Castan didn't know

quite what to say, and he guessed Reghan faced the same problem.

"You're not a servant," Castan finally said.

"I'm your servant."

"You're dangerous."

"I just saved your kingdom."

"What was that thing?"

"It...it was like a guardian. It sensed me closing the doors. Well, it

sensed something closing the doors, and it came to protect this one."

"Where was it?" Castan asked.

"Everywhere. Nowhere. In the earth and the wind, but without a

body."

"How did you sense it?"

Reghan looked at him with inhuman eyes. "Didn't you sense it the

moment it arrived?"

"I...I sensed something," Castan admitted. "If it's everywhere, why

did we run?"

Reghan gestured with his arm, and new light fell on them with no

obvious source. A tiny door shimmered in the light just ten feet ahead of

them. It looked like all the other fairy mounds he'd seen at Reghan's side

in the past several days. There was nothing remarkable about it at all,

once you came to terms with the fact that it opened into a new, unseen

realm. But the night felt different, and when Castan gazed upon the

door, it was with fear and anticipation and curiosity. He wanted to ask

again if he could ever enter the fairy realm, but Reghan had already told

him the answer. Several times.

"We must close it," Castan murmured.

"Yes, sire, that's why we're here."

"But...I don't want to."

"Castan?" A light touch on his arm finally pulled the prince's

attention from the door. "I'm sure it's the last one. If you want to protect

your kingdom, then I need to seal it."

"But what if we need it?"

Reghan blinked, and he looked more than a little confused. Castan

wondered how he ever saw some sort of wild creature when he looked at

this man--especially since in his confusion he didn't look much older

than a child.

"Why would we need it?"

"I...I don't know." Castan rubbed the back of his neck and looked

away. "I just felt like...it's permanent. And you...you are not a servant."

Reghan's lips twitched. "Didn't we just have this discussion? I

know you're a little...apprehensive."

Frightened, Castan thought bitterly. He was going to say

frightened. Castan couldn't remember the last time he'd been afraid of

anything, and nobody in Somerset would call their prince a coward. He

led his men into every battle, and he had slain a goddess of war, the

queen of the fairies. If he never fought in another battle, his legacy would

still be secure, and the bards would tell the story of his legend well after

his death. Maybe even for hundreds of years after his death. When they

marched back to Somerset, they would be honored as heroes, and all the

people would demand retelling after retelling of his most triumphant

moment. And Reghan had almost accused him of being scared.

The worst thing was that Reghan was right. Castan was scared, of

a power he didn't understand and certainly couldn't control. He had

believed he could. When he took Reghan's oath, he was confident that

the power the fey harbored would fall easily under Castan's domain.

Even when he had been given his first practical demonstration, he had

believed himself to still have the upper-hand on the situation. But

Reghan could control the very darkness that surrounded them.

"You don't trust me," Reghan finally said softly, unhappily.

"I don't know what to make of you."

"Ask me anything, sire."

"Why did you swear your oath to me?"

Reghan took a deep breath. "Because I had no wish to die in a war

that was not mine. Because I don't make war against mortals. Because I

loved a mortal once. Because Banbha kidnapped my son and held him

where I couldn't reach him, forcing me to fight at her side. Because

you're a good man and one day you may be a great king. I know you are

frightened of what I can do, but you have my word that I would never act

against you. Think about what we could accomplish together."

"What are you suggesting?" Castan asked with an edge of

suspicion.

"Nothing, my lord. Nothing beyond the obvious, at any rate. My

power is yours to command. I could do nothing with it. Or I could make

the winters mild, the summer heat bearable. I can make sure nobody in

your kingdom ever goes hungry. I can make your kingdom prosperous

beyond your hopes. And if you have no desire for any of that, I can tend

to your horses and keep to myself with Aldred."

There was a calmness in Reghan's voice. A certain authority. His

earlier certainty that Reghan was no servant came rushing back to him.

He spoke as though he were a king. Castan hadn't considered the true

ramifications of his decision until that moment, and the force of it drove

him to his knees. He put a hand down to the dirt to steady himself and

he realized he was kneeling, actually kneeling, at Reghan's feet. Castan

had bowed to no man, save his father, in his entire life, but there he was

like a common peasant.

Reghan immediately dropped to one knee, ducking until they were

eye-level again. "Sire?"

"Tell me the truth."

"Anything."

"You are not a servant."

"No, I was once a prince. But now I'm your servant, as I said. And I

will remain your servant until you cease to take breath. You have offered

me the choice, and I took this one."

"But you could..." Castan let his voice fall away, allowing

everything they both knew Reghan coulddo to hang between them.

"You could have killed my son," Reghan said softly.

Castan jerked back, his face twisting in disgust. "I would never kill

an innocent child. Never."

"I believe you to be as innocent as Aldred. You didn't seek a war

with the fey. That was all Banbha's doing. You were like ants are to her.

She crushed you for the pleasure of it, and you fought back. You,

Castan, had the strength and the courage to stop the bloodshed. And

now you'll have the opportunity to put your kingdom back together

again."

"With you by my side."

"Yes."

Castan grasped Reghan's forearm, and Reghan took Castan's. They

knelt in front of each other in mutual respect, arms locked together, in a

promise that held more than a little magic. Before Castan had only

Reghan's oath of allegiance, but now there was something much stronger

bonding them. Because Castan made a promise as well, and he intended

to honor it.

Chapter 5

The king's guards were waiting for them at the castle gates, and

Castan knew that word of his newest servant had beat him back to the

court. Castan dropped back from the head of the procession, allowing his

knights to slowly pass him as he moved into position beside Reghan and

Aldred. Reghan acknowledged him with a small, almost shy smile, and

Castan felt like a real ass for what he was about to say.

"The king's men are going to place you under arrest."

Reghan looked at him with confusion, his smile slowly morphing

into a frown. "Why?"

"Because he...he doesn't trust you."

"He doesn't know me."

"He knows you're a fey," Castan answered softly. "I gave explicit

instructions to the messengers not to mention you or your son, but I saw

the guards waiting for us outside the castle gates. Normally, they

wouldn't be waiting to meet us, unless we had prisoners."

"And we're the only prisoners."

"Yes."

"What happens after that? He'll send me to the dungeons and

then?"

"I don't know. He will probably sentence you to execution, but I'm

sure I can convince him to grant you a pardon." Castan looked down at

his fingers, curled tightly around the reins. The stallion was already

prancing beneath him, reacting to his tension. Castan just hoped Reghan

didn't realize how much the entire situation upset him. "It's not illegal to

be a fey."

"It is illegal to make war on the kingdom."

"Well, yes. But you weren't making war on the kingdom," Castan

pointed out.

"I doubt he'll appreciate the distinction you're drawing."

"You could leave. Right now. I know you can just...disappear."

"I could," Reghan agreed. "But I won't."

"I said I only think I could convince him to pardon you. I can't

guarantee it."

"I made a promise to you, Castan," Reghan said with finality.

Castan had heard that tone before. It was the same one his father used

when making announcements to the kingdom. It meant there would be

no further argument or discussion. "What will happen to Aldred?"

"He's human. They won't arrest him. I'll take care of him."

Reghan blinked. "You don't have to do that, sire."

"I do. He'll live in my quarters and I'll assign a maid to see after his

needs. It's the only way I can guarantee his safety."

"Can I ask for one thing?"

"Yes."

"Don't let them chain me. I don't want Aldred to see me being

hauled away like that. It'll only upset him."

"Of course," Castan said. "I'll ride ahead."

Castan put himself far ahead of the column of marching knights,

his mind working furiously as he approached the guards. First, he was

going to find out who reported Reghan's capture to the king. He had

spent the past three days carefully working over scenario after scenario,

rehearsing dozens of different speeches with dozens of small variations,

carefully selecting each word and stringing them together in the perfect

order. It was a very delicate matter. Probably more delicate than even

Castan could handle with his rather coarse diplomatic skills, but he was

definitely the best man for the job. And he had made it absolutely clear

that he didn't want any of the men speaking out of turn. He hadn't

instructed the messengers to lie to his father, of course, but he made it

clear that he was the only one who should be providing a full report.

When he found out who had disobeyed him, he was going to string

the cur up by his toes in the middle of the courtyard. He would make a

fine example of Castan's wrath. He punished servants very, very rarely--a

trait that his father deplored--but when one moved him to rage, he or she

was punished to the full extent of Castan's power and anger. Putting

Reghan in danger called for that sort of response, though Castan

couldn't explain how or why. It just did. Perhaps because he understood

on a basic level how helpful Reghan could be for the kingdom. Not just

for wars, not just for gaining more land, but for protection and food and

water. The servant who had reported to Bressal, and Bressal himself,

should have trusted Castan's judgment on the matter. He was entrusted

to know who to kill, they should also trust him to decide who lived.

As he approached the castle gates, he realized that the riders were

not merely guards dispatched to meet Castan. They were the king's

personal guard. And King Bressal was at the head of the party, his back

straight, his bearing regal astride the finest stallion in all of Somerset.

How Castan hadn't recognized him before, he didn't know. Perhaps his

rage over Reghan had affected his vision.

"Sire," Castan said, dismounting from his horse to drop to one

knee. "You honor me with your presence."

"When I heard of your triumph, I was eager to see what you had

conquered in the name of Somerset."

That was Castan's signal to stand, and his squire was already on

hand to help him back on his horse. "We have many fine spoils."

"Including a prisoner, I hear."

By his toes, Castan vowed, though he did his best to smile. "Yes.

His name is Reghan."

"He is a fey?" Bressal demanded.

"Yes. Though he has sworn his oath to me."

"Fey can't swear allegiance to anybody besides their queen."

I was a prince once. Reghan's calm words echoed through his

mind. He had made his announcement so casually, as though there was

nothing to fear from Castan learning the truth. Did he think Castan

would be unable to draw the next logical conclusion? "This one can."

"And you believe him?"

"Of course. Fey do not lie."

"They withhold the truth and twist emotions to their own end,"

Bressal said bitterly.

"Yes, but they don't lie. Reghan has repeatedly refused to break his

oath to me." Castan took a deep breath. "He even agreed to seal the fairy

mounds in Somerset, ensuring the kingdom's safety."

"But Banbha can return through any door."

Castan tilted his head, looking at his father curiously. He had just

assumed that the big-mouthed idiot who had revealed Reghan would

have surely told of Banbha's demise in the process. "Banbha is dead,

sire. I slew her myself."

Bressal regarded him with wide eyes that softened and turned

watery without warning. Castan caught his breath, surprised by the

glimpse of the man who lurked beneath the king's impassive exterior.

"You...you truly have killed her then?"

"Yes."

"I feared it was perhaps a mistake."

"Is that why you decided to meet me here?" Castan asked.

"I tried to prepare myself for the possibility that..." Bressal faded,

his eyes darkening, and Castan nearly reached out to take his arm.

"Sire? Father?"

Bressal roused himself with a visible shake, his eyes hardening

once again. "We will have a magnificent feast tonight in your honor.

Please bring the fey to my private council room as soon as possible."

"Yes, sire."

Bressal nodded and turned his horse around. The silent, watchful

guards fell into step behind him, one by one, until they were riding back

to the castle keep in a dignified, single-file line. Castan's relief was sharp

as his blade, and he twisted his horse around, eager to tell Reghan the

good news. He had no idea how to explain this sudden change in

attitude, but Castan didn't trouble himself with that. Perhaps Bressal

was simply relieved now that he knew Banbha was no longer a threat to

them and that Castan was safe. Perhaps his hatred for the fey had been

primarily motivated by his specific loathing of Banbha, and now that she

was gone, Reghan could be assured of safety.

Castan felt lighter at that thought. Keeping Reghan out of the

dungeon would be nearly impossible without a change of heart from

Bressal. The speech he'd planned so carefully had been designed to

soften his father's stony heart, but perhaps that was no longer necessary

at all. Perhaps he and Reghan would be able to work together without

Bressal's interference, and the possibilities spiraling from that particular

thought were almost enough to make him dizzy.

Castan hoped his smile would be reassuring, but if anything,

Reghan looked more worried. "What's going on?"

"King Bressal was waiting for me at the gates."

"Oh."

"He didn't give orders for you to be arrested. In fact, he wants to

have a private audience with you."

"Why?"

Castan blinked at the question. "What do you mean why? Because

there's no other like you in Somerset. I'm sure he's eager to meet you."

"But he considers me an enemy of the kingdom," Reghan pointed

out.

"Not anymore. I explained that you have sworn your allegiance to

him and Somerset. He knows what a fairy's word means."

It all seemed very simple to Castan, but Reghan still didn't look

reassured. Perhaps once he actually spoke to Bressal, he would feel

better. And then Castan would install him in the castle near his own

quarters, and their real work could begin. It never occurred to him that

Reghan should live anywhere except near him. Since the night Reghan

had banished the guardian, Castan felt it was his duty to keep Reghan

close by at all times. It was not a feeling that Castan wanted to think

about too deeply. Because then he might be forced to question it, and

Castan didn't know what was worse--learning the answer or learning

there was no explanation for it at all.

"If my father does not wish to put you in chains now, then I can

assure you, you're safe from the dungeon."

"What if he questions me and he doesn't like my answers?"

Castan waved his hand dismissively. "I've questioned you many

times. I've always liked your answers."

Reghan's lips twitched at that, and Castan caught his breath,

wondering if he would actually smile. Reghan's smiles were rare things,

Castan had realized at some point. He wasn't sure when or how he

noticed, but then he had automatically started keeping track of Reghan's

smiles. It just seemed like the logical thing to do. That was another thing

that Castan didn't spend a lot of time thinking about.

"Be that as it may, my lord, he might have a different set of

criteria."

"Trust me." Castan tilted his head. "You do trust me, don't you?"

"With my life."

Castan knew the answer to that, of course. There really was only

one answer Reghan could give, considering the nature of their

relationship. But Castan still liked to hear it, because he knew Reghan

meant it. And it was important that Reghan understand that Castan

truly intended to protect him.

"Does the king know about Aldred?"

"He didn't mention him."

"So he didn't request Aldred's presence?"

"No."

"May I...that is, you mentioned your chambers earlier and I..."

Castan frowned. "If you would like something from me, Reghan,

you must request it."

"I would feel better if Aldred was allowed to wait for me in your

chambers, sire. But I understand that I have probably asked too much

and..."

"Asked too much? How could that be when I made the offer? Of

course Aldred is welcome to stay there until more suitable

accommodations can be made."

Instead of thanking him, as was appropriate, Reghan gave him a

long, searching look. Like Castan had said something completely

unexpected and he was trying to figure out who this man before him

was. Castan shifted uncomfortably in his saddle, not accustomed to the

weight of Reghan's gaze. Nobody had ever dared to study the prince like

that. Castan was just about to protest when one of those rare smiles

fluttered across Reghan's face.

"You're a very kind man, Castan."

If anything, Castan's confusion deepened. "Thank you."

Reghan looked away from Castan, his attention landing on the

castle's turrets. Whenever Castan looked at his home, his heart swelled

with pride and love. And maybe a little bit of longing. It wasn't his. Not

yet. Not quite. But he still felt as though he was solely responsible for the

kingdom's safety. Ever since his father had installed him as head of the

army, entrusting Castan with the kingdom's defense, he had taken his

position very seriously. There was nothing as exhilarating as returning

home victorious.

Castan was forced to leave Reghan's side and return to his place at

the head of the column once they were within sight of the gates. The

commoners would be lining the street to welcome him home, and it

wouldn't do if he was riding at the back of the line with the prisoners.

Even if he hated to think of Reghan and Aldred as prisoners, since they

emphatically were not. But he couldn't very well explain the nuances of

the situation to his people. If Reghan was aware of the significance of his

placement in the column, he never let on.

Castan rode into Somerset with banners flying, feeling every inch

the hero they heralded him as. It wasn't until he saw their excited,

adoring, and awed faces that it really hit him. The monster that had

terrified them, and their parents and grandparents and their

grandparents was finally defeated. They weren't just welcoming their

prince back. They were welcoming the dawning of a new age, free of

random skirmishes and bloody battles. Somerset could finally thrive as it

always should have. He, Prince Castan, had succeeded where everybody

before him had failed. Including his own father.

Battle hardened knights did not cry. But Castan didn't bother to

wipe away the curious moisture streaming from his eyes. His people

cried their relief, and Castan joined them.

* * * *

Banbha's court had been, in a word, glorious. Nothing but white

marble and gold and glorious lights. It had always been full of her

courtiers, and each one had been exceptionally beautiful. So beautiful in

their queen's court that a mortal man would have fallen dead at the sight

of them. There was always music--a low, sweet hum that emanated from

everything and nothing all at once. The jewels that lined Banbha's crown

had once been stars. Banbha had plucked them out of the night sky

when she claimed her place as queen of the fey, and she added one to

her crown with each successive battle. Everybody had existed in their

natural state, creamy skin exposed to be honored and in honor of

Banbha. Mortals would have called it paradise, and Banbha would have

laughed in rich amusement at something so ignorant. As lower being,

mortals weren't even capable of imagining paradise.

King Bressal's court did not even bear a passing resemblance to

the splendor that Reghan had once known. They passed through the

throne room and Reghan felt something like anger twist inside of him.

Castan would rule from this throne? He deserved better than that. He

deserved so much more and Reghan did wish to give it to him. But he

kept his comments to himself, mutely following the guards that led him

through a heavy door into a smaller, well-lit chamber.

Reghan had met King Bressal once before, many years before

Castan was born. Bressal had been a young nobleman then, eager to

fight and prove himself worthy on the battlefield. Reghan had been in the

midst of his own private war and had no interest in killing Bressal, even

though Bressal had seemed intent on ending Reghan's life. The fight had

been long and bloody, Reghan finally putting an end to it when he

realized Bressal was never going to stop pressing his attack. He was

injured and pale, eyes exhausted, feet dragging. His reaction time was so

slow, anybody could have sliced into his vulnerable left side. Reghan had

simply stopped time, put himself a safe distance from Bressal's wrath,

and waved his hand again. Bressal had been mid-lunge, and when time

began moving again, he fell flat on his face. Reghan had laughed--it

hadn't been very nice but it was better than killing him.

Now Reghan was strangely glad he'd chosen not to drive his sword

through Bressal's throat that day.

Reghan hadn't mentioned that to Castan. He would have

reconsidered that decision if he'd known that Bressal remembered him as

clearly as Reghan remembered the former knight and present king.

Reghan realized he'd been recognized as soon as Bressal looked at him

with narrow, thoughtful eyes. This was not going to be as easy as Castan

had assumed. Bressal wouldn't remember him as the fairy who let him

live, he would remember Reghan as the fairy who got away. Reghan

promptly dropped to one knee and bowed his head, not even risking a

glimpse through his lashes until Bressal acknowledged him. Castan

stood to the right and slightly behind Bressal's throne, but Reghan

barely caught a glance of him before he was looking at the floor.

"What is your name, fairy?"

Reghan addressed the floor. "Reghan, your majesty."

"Reghan, did you make war against Somerset?"

"No, your majesty."

"And yet Castan has brought you back from one of the bloodiest

battles in the history of Somerset."

"It was not my war, sire. I was compelled to fight, but I never had

any desire to make war with humans." Reghan didn't know how much

more plainly he could state that fact, but nobody ever seemed to believe

him. Except Castan. Reghan fervently hoped the prince kept his faith in

him, because he was certain Bressal was going to do everything in his

power to harden Castan's heart.

"How am I supposed to believe that?" Bressal asked, his words

brittle. He heard Castan take a sharp breath to speak in protest, but

Reghan answered quickly.

"I have offered my oath to your crown and kingdom, sire. I will

never do anything to harm you, your family, or your subjects. Not for as

long as I live."

"Rise, fairy."

Reghan pushed himself to his feet, resisting the urge to glance at

Castan's face. He had been in enough courts to know that it was best to

keep his eyes downcast, submission written in every line of his body.

Even when he was actively scheming against Banbha, he always gave her

the proper respect when she addressed him as the queen and not as his

mother.

"It has been said that a fey's oath cannot be broken. Even by

death."

"That is true." Bressal didn't need Reghan's confirmation, but it

was the clear the king expected a response.

"You offer your oath now, and yet, you claim you were compelled to

fight for Banbha. Which is true?"

"Both are true, sire. Banbha possessed something dear to me, and

I could not retrieve it unless I participated in her siege." Reghan had

chosen his words carefully, and he silently begged Castan not to mention

Aldred. Whatever the king had planned for him--and it was clear he had

something in mind--Reghan wanted to ensure Aldred would have no part

in it. The only person he trusted with his child was Castan himself. He

had no reason to expect Bressal would treat the young boy with

kindness, much less respect.

"How do I know that you won't be compelled to act against

Somerset? Banbha must have had something precious indeed if she

could make you fight against your conscience. There's no telling how

many of my men you killed."

Reghan could tell him exactly how many human lives he'd taken. It

was never something Reghan did lightly, and the guilt of each death

lingered with him. Bressal need only ask, and Reghan would give him all

the details. But Bressal never would ask, and even if Reghan volunteered

the information, Bressal wouldn't believe him. Besides that, the only

thing that mattered was the two lives he didn't take.

"I can only offer my solemn vow."

Bressal nodded, looking as wise and solemn as any good king. But

Reghan could tell it was just an act. His eyes had a hint of excitement,

like this was a particularly exciting contest or sport. "If only there were a

way to prove your loyalty."

Reghan swallowed. This was it then. He was sure that Castan had

no idea what was about to happen. He had been optimistic when he

informed Reghan that Bressal wanted to see him, and that optimism had

been entirely genuine. Castan was, at heart, a good man. He had a

strong sense of honor and integrity, and he expected others to conform to

the same high standards he set for himself--especially the king. But men

were often petty, vindictive creatures. Castan could not conceive of

bringing Reghan low, of humiliating him now that the war was over.

Bressal, however, could conceive of nothing else. In fact, Reghan was

almost sure that Bressal believed this was why Castan had brought him

back. To satisfy that base hunger for revenge, for humiliation dealt back

one-hundred-fold.

"I will gladly do anything you command of me, sire."

"The fey are a proud race. There are no prouder creatures in this

realm or any realm. Isn't that true?"

Even if it weren't, Reghan had no choice but to nod. "It is indeed,

sire."

"But it is common wisdom that no race so proud could ever bow to

a mortal man."

I just did, you clot. "It is as you say, sire."

"Then in that case, it's best that your back become accustomed to

the weight of servitude. Your spine needs to learn how to bend. I think a

week in the stocks should do it."

Reghan showed no outward reaction to that announcement, but

Castan exploded in outrage. "Father!"

Don't cross the king, Castan. Not right now. This is not a battle

worth fighting. You are a warrior, you must recognize that. Reghan wished

he could at least meet the prince's eyes and convey his message, but he

was rendered mute. It did chafe to bow to a mortal king, especially when

Reghan could feel the ghost of his own crown on his head. But in the

long run, it was nothing more than a minor inconvenience. If this was

necessary to win his place in Somerset and at Castan's side, then that

was what he would do.

"There is no need to test his loyalty," Castan continued.

"Are you questioning my wisdom?" Bressal snapped.

"No...no, sire. That's not what I meant."

"Good. Guards, take our new prisoner to the stocks."

"Wait!"

Bressal looked at his son with more than a hint of exasperation.

"What is it?"

"You're taking him now? He's only just arrived after a long

journey."

Bressal did not look moved. "Would you have me install him in the

royal chambers and feed him sweets by hand before he's sent to the

stocks?"

"No, but it wouldn't be remiss to give him something for his

stomach."

"They'll be throwing rotten food at him. Perhaps if he keeps his

mouth open, he'll get something to eat."

Reghan had expected exactly that response, but Castan looked

positively horrified at such disregard for Reghan's health and needs.

Bressal gestured at the guards who brought Reghan in, and strong

hands closed around his shoulders and forearms. He didn't resist as they

dragged him backward, but he didn't look away from Castan, either. I'm

fine. This is fine. There's no need to be upset. Just do as you normally

would.

Reghan had no way of knowing if Castan got the message, but he

didn't strike his father or chase down the guards, so he must have

understood on some level. A week in the stocks would not be pleasant,

but it was far from the worst thing that could happen to him. The

thought of Bressal's shocked face when he realized that the stocks had

not bothered Reghan at all sustained him as the guards dragged him to

the courtyard. Reghan began mentally counting the seconds until his

release as soon as the chains were locked into place.

Chapter 6

Castan was furious. Reghan could see it in the slant of his mouth

and the way he held his shoulders. Every tense gesture, every stiff

motion, betrayed his rage, and Reghan was just relieved that the anger

wasn't directed toward him. Castan was strong enough to kill Banbha,

after all. No matter how fond Reghan grew of him, it was important to

remember just what he was capable of. Reghan tried to offer

reassurances, but it was difficult from his position and angle. Every time

he attracted Castan's attention, something dark would move across his

face and the anger would take hold again.

Reghan wasn't the least upset--a fact which only seemed to make

things worse for Castan. Instead of being reassured by Reghan's

sanguine approach, he seemed offended by it. Clearly, Castan seemed to

say with each angry gesture, this is an insult that cannot be borne. How

dare you be so calm?

Reghan let Castan pace and run his hands through his blond hair

and rant about dottering old kings. He was inching dangerously close to

treason, but Castan had dismissed all the guards from the courtyard,

and despite being in the center of the castle, they were alone. It would

have been a nice, private moment, if Reghan wasn't bent over and

chained.

"Are you in pain?" Castan asked every ten minutes or so, as if

expecting a different answer.

"No, Castan. I assure you I'm quite well."

"How can you be? Do you want me to go get more food?"

"No, I'm not hungry."

"But you only had bread."

"Bread you were generous with. I found it to be very satisfying."

Reghan waited until Castan was looking at him again before he slid his

gaze sideways. "Have a seat. You're making me nervous."

"I can't believe he's done this. I can't believe you're putting up with

it."

"What other choice do I have? If I escape, I'll have to leave

Somerset, and I have no desire to do that. Besides, Bressal's pettiness

doesn't hurt me."

"Being stuck in the stocks for a week will hurt you."

"Banbha's punishments were much more severe. This is almost

pleasant in comparison. Sit down, please."

Castan sighed with frustration, but complied, dropping to the

ground and leaning against the stock. Reghan sighed with relief--he

hadn't been kidding when he said Castan was making him nervous. The

last thing he wanted was the prince working up a good head of steam

and then marching off to confront his father for his abysmal treatment of

a being that enjoyed Castan's protection. The moonlight bounced off his

hair and the sharp lines of his face, softening him despite his very real

anger. He looked like he was too young to bear the weight of a kingdom.

He looked like he was blessed.

"I just can't believe he..." Castan looked up before Reghan had a

chance to look away. Their eyes clashed, and Reghan had no plausible

deniability. He couldn't really claim he hadn't been staring at Castan

when he very clearly had been doing exactly that. "Wait a second."

He pushed himself into a kneeling position and took a kerchief

from his belt. Reghan frowned up at him in silent inquiry, and Castan

answered by wiping some of the rotten apple from his face. "This is

beneath you."

"But that's the point, isn't it?" Reghan's mouth felt dry as Castan

continued to clean his face. He couldn't remember the last time anybody

had been so gentle with him. "To learn how to bend."

"You kneel for me. I never had to go to these extremes."

"But you're not your father, Castan."

"Are you saying you wouldn't kneel for him?"

"No, I'm saying that he doesn't have your wisdom."

Castan's frown deepened. "You shouldn't talk like that. My father

is a very wise king."

"He's a good king," Reghan agreed. "Despite Banbha's best

attempts, Somerset has flourished in the past twenty years. It seems like

his people are healthy and cared for. But he's not wise like you are,

Castan."

Castan continued cleaning Reghan's face with the corner of his

kerchief, delicate over the bruises forming on his cheeks and brow.

Rotten or not, getting hit in the face with fruit hurt. "This is stupid. You

can't survive a whole week of this."

"I can. I promise you."

"I wish I could stay out here with you and keep you company."

Reghan could tell that Castan was completely sincere with that

wish. Did Castan realize how strange that was? Did he even know how

weird it was for him to be there at all? While Reghan was locked in the

stocks, he was supposed to be below Castan's notice. If Bressal caught

him kneeling in front of Reghan--kneeling like a commoner--and wiping

mushy apple from his face, he would have a royal fit.

"Thank you, but there's no need. I'm not alone out here."

Castan arched his brow. "The guards don't count. They're not

allowed to talk to you."

Reghan chuckled. "That's not what I meant. I can't be lonely when

I have the wind singing to me and the stars chattering away."

"The stars?" Castan tilted his head back, exposing his throat as he

stared up at the glittering sky. "What do they chatter about? Anything

interesting?"

"Yes. All kinds of things."

"Like what?"

"The stars know everything. Past, present, and future. They like to

tease me with what they know. They think it's funny."

"You're talking about them like they're your mates," Castan said,

sitting back on his heels. It would be nice to touch him. Reghan wasn't

sure where the thought came from, but he knew it was true. It would be

very nice to touch Castan.

"They are. In a way. Though they're horrible gossips."

"Do they talk about me?"

"They talk about a great prince."

Castan smiled at that. "What do they say?"

"I'm not a fortune teller, Castan."

"Well, I didn't ask you to read my fortune. You're the one who said

the stars were talking about me. Why did you bring it up if you didn't

want to tell me?"

Reghan could have pointed out that Castan was the one who asked

if the stars ever spoke of him, but he decided he didn't want to annoy

Castan further. "What stars were you born under?"

"The sign of the virgin."

"So you're chaste and fair?" Reghan teased, hoping to draw the

conversation away from Castan's fate. The stars couldn't stop themselves

from sharing, but Reghan knew it wasn't his place to tell Castan his

destiny.

He expected Castan to protest that--at least the chaste part since

he was fair of face. But Castan merely averted his eyes, and his silence

told Reghan more than any words could.

"Really?" Reghan finally said.

"Yes. I did go to a fortune teller once. She told me that if I waited

and spilled my seed in the proper container..." Castan's face twisted.

"Those were her words, not mine. Anyway, if I waited, then my kingdom

would be guaranteed and I would be rewarded for eternity."

Reghan blinked. "That is...quite the promise."

"I know. It seems too good to be true, and I was young at the time.

For all I know, Father paid her to tell me exactly that so I didn't muddle

the royal bloodline with a bunch of bastards. But..." He folded the

kerchief and tucked it into his belt again. "There seemed to be something

to it. Besides, I don't really have the time."

Reghan offered an understanding nod, but knew that if Castan

really wanted to give some girl a tumble, he could have made time for it.

That was the one thing mortals always seemed to make time for.

"So..." Castan glanced up, drawing Reghan's attention heavenward.

"I was wondering what they had to say about that."

"The fortune teller was right," Reghan said softly, hoping Castan

had the good sense not to press for details.

"How will I know who the proper...person is?"

"You'll know when the time is right."

Castan considered that for a moment and then nodded, like he

hadn't expected anything else. Reghan hated to be so cryptic with him,

but it really wasn't his place to explain destinies and reveal the future.

Besides, the answer might very well frighten Castan and that was the

last thing he wanted. And sometimes, some very few times, the stars

were wrong. They certainly hadn't foreseen Banbha's death.

"Yeah, I guess I will. Do you need anything?"

"No. Thank you for...everything."

"I wish you were thanking me for talking sense into my father."

"I don't even want you to try. He needs this, Castan. He...needs to

remind everybody of their place now. Everything in his world has

changed quite suddenly."

"What do you mean?"

As soon as Castan uttered the question, Reghan realized that he

really didn't understand. Of course he was angry. From where he was

standing, Bressal was behaving like a mad man without any rhyme or

reason. How could he accept Reghan's entirely unjust punishment when

he didn't even understand what prompted Bressal to hand it down.

"I mean," Reghan said slowly, "the power has shifted in Somerset.

You have accomplished something that no man before you ever could.

You have, by virtue of saving your father's kingdom, proven yourself to

be stronger than he is. You're a..." Threat. "Rival now."

Reghan had thought he explained it gently, but Castan's flushed

cheeks and narrowed eyes indicated otherwise. "That is the most

ridiculous thing I have ever heard."

"I'm sorry, Castan, but--"

"I'll have my squire fetch dinner for you tomorrow," Castan said,

pushing himself to his feet.

"Castan, wait..."

But the prince was already gone, marching away with all the anger

he'd brought with him to the courtyard.

Reghan didn't see Castan again for three days. By the second day,

the peasants had lost interest in pelting him with rotten food, and they

seemed far more inclined to talk to him. Reghan didn't mind. He learned

a lot about Somerset that way, including the fact that most of the

commoners believed the king's taxes would ruin them for the winter. A

common complaint regardless of the kingdom, but Reghan heard true

fear in their voices when they spoke of it. At night, when he was left

alone, he entertained himself with the wind and the earth and the

animals that snuck out of their hiding places to sniff at the stranger in

their midst. He could have opened the locks and stretched his back, but

he was determined to be as stubborn about this as Bressal had been.

On the fourth night of his incarceration, Castan returned bearing

gifts. He offered honey cake and candied fruit in apology, and Reghan

accepted it graciously even though an apology wasn't necessary. He knew

he would get under Castan's skin with the comment about his father.

That was why he had said it.

"How is Aldred?" Reghan asked, once Castan was seated beside

him.

"Good. As I promised you, he's been living in my chambers. The

only person who knows he's there is Amelia, and she's loyal to me."

"What did you tell him?"

"That you had to go on a short journey for the king, but you would

be back soon. Amelia has been keeping him entertained with my old

books and toys."

"Thank you."

"I think it's the least I can do, given the situation. I've been busy,

you know."

"Yes, I assumed you must have been."

"I mean...that's why I haven't been around. In case you thought it

was something else."

"I know you have many duties and responsibilities. I'm honestly

surprised that you took the time to visit me at all."

"I'm a little surprised by that myself. It's not as though I make a

practice of visiting prisoners. But--"

"You wanted to have me read your fortune?" Reghan asked lightly.

Castan shook his head. "I feel like I've been all...confused since the

moment we first spoke. You surprised me when you agreed to my

conditions of surrender, and you surprised me again when you claimed

Aldred as your son. You haven't stopped surprising me since. Even when

you're nowhere near me, I find myself thinking about you and--"

"That's just because I'm fey," Reghan said airily. "It's natural to be

interested in new things."

Castan seemed to consider that, chin resting in his palm and

elbow resting on his knee. After several long seconds he said, "No, I don't

think it's that."

"What do you think it is?"

Castan tilted his head up. He looked so young. Like a boy. Reghan

had become accustomed to thinking of Castan as an equal, his match in

some ways. It was almost painful to remember that Castan's entire

lifespan was just a small measure of what Reghan could expect--of what

he'd already lived. Castan had probably forgotten that, too. Perhaps it

would be easier for both of them if Reghan wore an older face. One that

was more in line with his true age and experience. But he dismissed that

notion when Castan grinned at him.

"When I figure it out, I'll let you know."

* * * *

Castan felt more than a hint of pride when Reghan stood in front of

Bressal with his spine straight and his shoulders back. He still looked

properly respectful, and he still cast his eyes to the floor in perfect

deference, but Bressal had not managed to break Reghan. Castan knew

it was illogical, but he was pleased by that. He liked having a man of

such obvious strength and spirit on his side. Even if the being in

question wasn't really a man at all.

The week had dragged by until Castan had been angry at time

itself. He hadn't voiced a single complaint, though. If the week was so

awful for him, it must have been one hundred times worse for Reghan. It

seemed terribly disrespectful to whine about how slow the days were

when Reghan was stuck in the stocks with no promise of relief or break

from the monotony. But he had withstood it all with a smile. Like he

knew he just needed to survive the bad bits and he would be amply

rewarded. Castan truly hoped that would be the case. Not that he could

explain why Reghan deserved a great reward.

"On your knees," Bressal ordered.

There was the briefest hint of defiance. So brief that Castan

thought it might have just been a trick of the early morning light.

Especially since Reghan gracefully sank to the ground, his hands held

behind his back as he waited for further instruction. Unfortunately,

Bressal seemed to have noticed it as well.

"You don't want to kneel in front of your new sovereign?" Bressal

asked.

"I'm happy to kneel in front of you, my lord."

"Come here." Bressal pointed to the ground at his feet. "Do not

stand."

Castan bit his tongue to keep himself from protesting. His father

was not a patient man at the best of times. He would not tolerate another

outburst from Castan, even if it meant Castan choked on his own

unspoken words. Reghan gamely followed his order, approaching the

king on his knees. Slowly.

"Is this difficult for you?" Bressal asked, his tone almost friendly.

"No, sire. It is never difficult to do your bidding."

"Don't lie, Reghan. I can see that it's difficult for you. But I require

all of my servants to walk on their knees from time to time. You shall

practice."

Castan's hands curled into fists. He had seen Bressal make some

pretty surprising decisions and ruthless demands. His father was

capable of both cruelty and almost boundless compassion. He was often

unpredictable, his temper getting the better of his common sense. He did

act rashly on occasion, though Castan had noticed that his tendency to

behave that way had decreased as Castan got older. But in all the years

he'd held court with his father, he had never seen the king take such

great pleasure out of humiliating somebody.

That he was taking pleasure from the sight of Reghan on his knees

was not in doubt. Castan could see it in his smile and the bright, almost

crazy light in his green eyes. If Castan could see it, then surely Reghan

could. Which only made the humiliation worse. Castan didn't want to be

watching this, but he knew Bressal would turn on him next if he dared to

look away.

"Yes, my lord."

"You shall spend the day crossing the courtyard on your knees.

The guards will see that you don't stop for any reason and that nobody

will molest you during your travels."

And Reghan simply bowed his head again, like Bressal had

bestowed something great on him. "Yes, your majesty."

Castan could feel his mouth twisting into a grimace. What Bressal

demanded could destroy Reghan's knees. He may not be able to walk

again for days. Not to mention how humiliating that would be for him.

The same people who gathered around to chuck fruit at his head would

circle him again, this time laughing and jeering. Castan's chest tightened

at the thought, and his temples throbbed with fresh anger. He had never

felt so utterly powerless. Reghan had sworn an oath to Castan, pledged

his life to Castan, and Castan couldn't even protect his body from

Bressal's vindictiveness. He couldn't even speak in Reghan's defense. In

all his life, he'd never been at odds with his father. But as the guards

dragged Reghan away, Castan couldn't help but feel that irreparable

damage was being done.

When Castan was finally excused from the throne room, he went

directly to the courtyard, prepared for the worst. What he saw there

stopped him short, and his shocked brain desperately looked around for

some sort of explanation. Instead of jeering and laughter, the crowd had

formed two respectful lines across the width of the yard. Reghan passed

between them, his path open and clear. The guards stood on either end,

but they didn't touch him or hit at him with their staffs to keep him

moving. At one point, a child emerged from the crowd to walk with

Reghan on his long journey to the end of the line. Once there, the girl

gently squeezed his shoulder and smiled. Reghan smiled back.

The child wasn't the only one who showed him kindness. The

commoners pressed skins of water in his hand, and as Castan watched,

somebody actually gave him an apple. Reghan never stopped moving,

clearly determined to follow the king's orders to the letter, but he did

smile at each gift and thank the giver with clear sincerity.

The people loved him. Far from humiliating Reghan, Bressal had

found a way to endear him to all of his people. Castan was a prince bred

from a long line of kings and he didn't need an explanation of what that

meant. Right now, he only had the people's love. But what about their

loyalty? Would they be willing to stand behind Reghan against their

king?

Castan shook his head. Of course it wouldn't come to that. Reghan

wasn't in Somerset to raise an army, after all. But the thought was more

than a little disquieting. Especially given his own current rage at Bressal.

What would he be willing to do in defense of Reghan? How far was

Bressal going to push this? Did he even have any idea of what was

happening under his very nose? Castan would guess that he didn't.

He took his place at the end of the line, positioning himself so

Reghan would see him as soon as he lifted his head. When their eyes

met, Reghan smiled. Something inside Castan shifted, and though he

was still angry, it no longer felt like an impossible weight on his

shoulders. This won't last forever, Reghan's smile said. You just need to

be patient, sire.

Castan nodded, accepting the message. He just needed to figure

out what, exactly, he was waiting for.

At the end of the long day, Reghan could barely move. Castan's

impulse was to lift the other man in his arms and carry him up to his

chambers, but there were many reasons why that would not be

appropriate. So he did the next best thing and ordered the guards who

had monitored Reghan's progress to carry him up to the chambers next

to Castan's. They obeyed without question, their faces carefully blank,

not even hinting at what they might think of Castan's strange request.

Reghan muttered something, possibly an order to put him down, but the

order was roundly ignored.

Servants were dispatched in all directions, carrying orders for a

tub with fresh water, dinner and wine from the kitchen, bandages and

salve, and clean clothes. Reghan watched them bustle around him with a

slightly bemused expression, like he couldn't believe so many people

were going to so much trouble for him. When Reghan's eyes met his, he

smiled, and Castan knew he was supposed to smile back. But he wasn't

in the proper mood for that. Even knowing that Reghan would have the

chance to eat and rest didn't completely dampen his foul mood.

Reghan allowed the servants to undress him once the tub was

filled with heated water, and he didn't protest when they helped him

bend his long limbs into the small space. Castan knew he should go and

give Reghan his privacy--he certainly wasn't needed there since he wasn't

going to bathe Reghan, or tend to his battered knees. And his knees were

terrible. There were bruises from the hard stones all the way down his

shins, and the skin had been shredded until it was nothing but a

bleeding pulp. The water turned a murky shade of pink as Reghan

straightened his legs, but if he was in pain, his face didn't show it.

He didn't protest until one of the servants tried to wash his back.

"Wait. Please stop."

The servant froze, looking from Reghan to Castan, her eyes wide

with fear. Her fear of displeasing Reghan warred with her obvious fear

over disobeying Castan, and Castan finally had no choice but to give a

curt nod. "You all may go."

The sound of Castan's voice prompted them to move before they

even had a chance to process his words. Within seconds, every single

servant was gone, leaving Castan and Reghan alone with plates of

untouched food, pinkish water, and the crackle of the fireplace.

"I doubt this is what your father had in mind when he said I

needed to learn how to kneel," Reghan finally said, softly amused.

"Thank you. Once again, you've proven yourself to be generous."

"Are you going to be all right?" Castan asked, not moving away

from the door.

"Yes. It'll take a little bit of time, but I heal faster than humans."

Reghan tilted his head, his blue eyes pinning Castan in place. Why did

he have to look at Castan like that? It made him feel like the whole shape

of the world had changed. "Why are you so angry?"

"I can't believe you even need to ask."

"I already told you that you don't need to be angry on my behalf.

Didn't I?"

"We should be focused on the fact that Banbha is dead, and

instead he's playing ridiculous games with you. I shouldn't even be

saying these sorts of things about him. I shouldn't even be thinking

about questioning him."

"Then don't. Don't question him. Don't be angry. He has a childish

desire to show me how powerful he is, and I don't mind."

"Don't you have any pride?"

Castan had meant the question sincerely, but Reghan just

laughed. "Bressal hasn't even come close to bruising my pride.

He's...insignificant to me."

Castan drew himself up, his shoulders tensing as he automatically

took offense to the words. "He is your king."

"You are," Reghan said mildly. "If you wished to hurt me, I'm sure

you would succeed. But all of this is pointless posturing. Banbha once

imprisoned me in a tree for fifty years in a fit of rage. That was far worse

than staying in the stocks for a week."

"A tree?"

"She was very cross with me. She intended to keep me there

forever, but I managed to escape," Reghan said absently, his attention

focused on his oozing knees.

"Do you need any help with that?"

"You sent the servants away."

"I meant..." Castan stopped himself. The castle walls themselves

might crumble if the prince lowered himself to bathing a servant. But it

had been so natural to offer his assistance. The words had just flown out

of his mouth without a second of hesitation. "I could call them back in."

"Thank you, but that won't be necessary."

Castan knew he needed to leave, but he still lingered near the

door, unable to pull himself away from the sight of Reghan in the tub

and firelight. Beads of water rolled down his shoulders and the side of

his arm, and Castan was close enough to see the goose bumps spreading

over his skin. He felt another bizarre urge to offer his assistance--this

time he wanted to build up the fire and chase the chill from the room.

"Is there anything else you would like from me, sire?" Reghan

asked evenly. It might have been Castan's imagination, but he thought

heard the lightest stress on sire.

"No. I was just going to say that Aldred has already been put to

bed. If you would like me to wake him..." Yet another request instead of

an order, but at least Castan could comfort himself with the reminder

that Aldred was Reghan's concern and as the boy's father he should have

final say on where Aldred slept.

"If he's asleep, please don't disturb him. May I check on him in the

morning?" The question was oddly stilted, as though Castan wasn't the

only one having a hard time remembering his proper place.

"Of course. As soon as you're ready to see him."

"Thank you."

There was nothing left to say after that. No more excuses to keep

Castan rooted to the spot. He was the prince, he didn't need an excuse.

He could stand in any room he wanted for as long as he liked, and

Bressal was the only one who could demand an explanation--and truth

be told, Bressal probably wouldn't care to. But Castan still felt like he

was encroaching and couldn't really justify his presence. So he bid

Reghan a good night and ducked out of the room, his mind racing,

confusion warring with anger and something else. Something much more

startling.

When Castan finally fell asleep that night, he was still thinking of

Reghan's golden wet skin.

Chapter 7

Bressal continued his game for another month. Reghan accepted

each new order with calm grace, while Castan stood to the side,

becoming more, rather than less, enraged. It was almost worse that

Reghan didn't seem to care. Perhaps Castan wouldn't have to be so angry

on Reghan's behalf if he would show even a flash of his own irritation.

But he never did. He would merely nod his head and bow low at the

waist, seemingly impervious to any humiliation designed by a lowly

mortal. Castan's thoughts often turned back to Reghan's casual mention

of the fifty years he spent imprisoned in a tree. It was practically a mortal

lifetime. Bressal was like a petulant child beating his fists against a brick

wall--the wall didn't care and it only resulted in bruised and battered

knuckles.

Reghan spent a week sleeping in the stables. Bressal had sneered

at him, bidding him good luck with the fleas. The fleas, of course, never

touched Reghan. He bedded down in hay that was made sweeter by his

presence, and Castan had sneaked down on more than one night to

check on the fey, only to hear Reghan talking pleasantly with the horses,

the dogs, the stable boys. He spent another week in the dungeons and

may or may not have befriended every rat that scurried across the floor

and stole food from the prisoner's plates. For an entire week, the kitchen

was ordered to feed Reghan nothing but slop, and even in the privacy of

his own room he'd refused Castan's offer for better fare. If the king

wanted him to eat slop and refuse, then he would. That week had nearly

driven Castan mad.

But that was nothing compared to the impotent fury that washed

through him at Bressal's final order. Lord Mannix and his daughter, the

Lady Áine, would be arriving to court that night. A fact that would have

been driving Castan to distraction any other time, but had barely

registered in his mind until the actual day they were due to arrive.

Bressal had summoned Reghan early in the afternoon, while the castle

servants rushed back and forth in a general uproar of excitement. This

was to be no routine visit from a noble. This was going to be very

different, and even though nobody discussed it, everybody knew it.

Including Castan.

"Sir Mannix is one of my most trusted friends. He hails from

Devonshire. He owns a substantial manor and runs it very successfully.

It is a cause for celebration whenever he visits my court."

Reghan didn't respond. No response was necessary.

"Now he comes to feast with us and celebrate the death of Banbha.

I'm going to make a gift of you to Lord Mannix."

Reghan and Castan tensed at the same time, but Bressal held up a

hand, staving off any potential protest.

"I am well aware that Castan intends for you to serve him. But it

occurs to me that you truly have no concept of what it takes to be a

proper servant. Lord Mannix is a very exacting man. He will know how to

train you so that you're finally suitable to be in the Crown Prince's

service. You will be presented to him tonight at the banquet."

Castan was still trying to sort out all of the very many reasons he

hated this idea when Reghan bowed and murmured, "Your majesty."

Bressal gestured, indicating Reghan was dismissed. He turned

smartly and marched out of the room with a regal bearing. Perhaps that

was why Bressal couldn't resist devising new humiliations. He wanted to

see Reghan's spirit broken. Castan could have told him that was never

going to happen, even if Bressal dedicated the rest of his life to the quest.

Castan didn't wait for Bressal to dismiss him or request his leave. He

caught Reghan in the antechamber, and this time he saw a flash of anger

in Reghan's dark blue eyes. The sight of it almost cheered Castan.

"Tell me about this Lord Mannix," Reghan demanded in a tone that

would have gotten anybody else flogged within an inch of his life.

"He and my father are great friends," Castan began slowly, casting

around for the right details to reveal and the ones he needed to hide. "He

is known for being quite firm with the servants."

"What else is he known for?" Reghan pressed.

"There are rumors--"

"If he and the king are indeed great friends then I'm not interested

in rumors. What more do you know of him?"

Castan had never heard that tone in Reghan's voice before, and he

was fascinated by it. He didn't dare hold the answer back to provoke

another sharp retort, but that just contributed to his fascination. This

Reghan was accustomed to having every question answered, every

demand met, and it was impossible to imagine him sharing a bed of

straw with the fleas and rats.

"He...indulges in certain...appetites with his servants," Castan

finally said, a flush traveling from his cheeks to the tips of his ears.

"He's a pederast," Reghan said flatly.

"Yes."

"And am I to guess that he doesn't particularly care whether his

target is receptive or not?"

Castan could only nod miserably. This was worse than anything

Bressal had done. Ever. In Castan's entire life. This was going to keep

him awake and restless and angry for the duration of Mannix's stay in

the castle. Reghan began walking, giving Castan no choice but to hurry

and catch up with him. If the guards thought it strange to see their

prince chase after a servant, their faces didn't betray them.

"Just because there are rumors doesn't mean that--" Castan

started.

"You know exactly what it means."

Yes, Castan did. And when he thought of Mannix touching

Reghan's smooth skin--the skin that Castan was beginning to think of

quite possessively and obsessively--something hot and slippery twisted in

his stomach. He couldn't even touch Reghan casually. There were no

friendly touches or claps on the shoulders, and Mannix would be able to

reach for Reghan, to order Reghan, anytime he wanted.

"You don't have to do this," Castan said instead.

"Yes, I do."

"No, you can..."

Reghan's lips thinned. "What, Castan? What do you think Bressal

will do in the face of blatant disobedience? From a fey, no less? Do you

think he'll send me out for another night in the stables or do you think

he'll kill me? And I can't do anything to him. You've made sure of that."

It was no less than the truth, but the easily flung words found

their marks right in his chest. He couldn't have done anything else. Of

course he couldn't have. But Castan still felt more than a twinge of regret

when he remembered how carefully he had extracted Reghan's promise.

Not just to him, but to the crown. Not just to Somerset, but to all their

future generations. And Reghan had given that promise so easily. Why

had he agreed? But then, what else could he have done?

"How long will Sir Mannix and his daughter be staying here?"

Reghan asked.

Castan swallowed. "Until after the wedding."

That brought Reghan up short. "You're getting married? To the

Lady Áine?"

"Yes."

"Why didn't you say anything?"

What business of it is yours? You're a servant, Reghan. I don't have

to explain anything to you. Which was absolutely true. The words

positively burned into his mind with their righteousness. But Castan

could no more say that than he could order Reghan to be flogged. He

didn't understand why, and he didn't have the energy to sort it out. It

was easier to just tell Reghan the truth.

"I've been betrothed to Áine for so long that I don't even think

about it anymore. My marriage has been an inevitability since I was a

child." Castan shrugged. "It didn't occur to me to mention it."

"When?"

"In three months. On my twenty-fifth birthday."

Reghan sucked his breath in sharply, balled his fists at his side,

and began walking again. Castan watched him for a moment, wondering

which upset Reghan more. Of course, it would have to be his ordered

service to Sir Mannix. Castan shook his head at himself. Why would

Reghan be upset that he was betrothed? He was getting stupid. And now

Mannix and Áine would be arriving within hours, he didn't even have the

chance to go for a good hunt or practice with his knights.

"I'm sorry, Reghan. I'm going to figure out a way to fix this. I

promise you."

"Castan--"

"I am. This isn't right."

"Castan, I appreciate that. But I don't want you to cross the king

on my behalf."

"I know you don't. And I didn't mind biting my tongue when it was

just a week in the stables but--"

"Yes, you did." Reghan stopped again and reached out to take

Castan's shoulder. Castan stiffened at the contact, but didn't push

Reghan's hand away. "You've been angry over every minute of this."

"He has been behaving most--"

"I know," Reghan said softly, cutting Castan off before he could say

anything he truly regretted. "And I appreciate that you've wanted to fight

for me, even if you were unable to. But I am just a servant, sire."

"No, you're not. You've never been just a servant to me.

We're...we...that night..."

Reghan continued to gaze at him, offering absolutely no help. Not

even a glint of recognition in his eyes. "What night?"

"The night in the woods. With the guardian. Something happened

that night, Reghan. I felt it. Don't try to tell me you didn't."

Reghan sighed and finally broke eye contact, looking down to his

scuffed boots. "Of course I did. Of course I felt it."

"I know what your place in my service is going to be," Castan said.

"What?"

"My advisor."

"Castan--"

"Are you going to question me?" The question sounded hollow,

given the liberties Castan had already allowed.

"Bressal will not like that."

"I don't care."

And he really didn't. In Bressal's mad attempts to humiliate

Reghan, he'd demonstrated to Castan that Reghan really wasn't a

servant. He had no business bowing and scraping and kissing hems. It

was wrong. And good God, if he ever dared to utter those words in his

father's presence, he would be executed for treason. Bressal would hand

down the order and have him on the chopping block before the sun set.

Not just because Bressal didn't like anybody questioning his judgment--

though he didn't--but because of the implication that it was wrong for a

fey to bow to a mortal. As though Reghan's servitude had truly upset the

natural order of things.

"Sometimes, Castan, I don't know if you're making things better or

worse."

Castan blinked. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means...it means I want to hate you for putting me in this

position. I want to blame you for every uncomfortable second, every

insult, every ache and pain. But then you're so defiant, so righteous and

sure. And I remember that there's nothing Bressal could ask of me that I

wouldn't gladly give."

Castan opened his mouth, but he was too stunned to speak. He

didn't even know what he could say to that. Reghan apparently didn't

need to hear anything in response, because he gave Castan's shoulder a

light squeeze and then turned to keep walking, his fists no longer white-

knuckled with fury.

* * * *

Sir Mannix and Lady Áine arrived with great pomp and

circumstance. Áine was clearly a favorite with the commoners, and they

lined the streets to greet their future queen. She rode a chestnut horse

and wore a beautiful green dress that set off her eyes. Her blonde hair

fell in long curls down her back, the sides braided away from her face

and the rest allowed to hang loosely. Her features were as fine as

Reghan's, her eyes as sure and knowing, and she didn't resemble her

father in the slightest. Reghan stood on the battlements with Castan,

watching the long, slow approach as the huge party wound through the

valley toward the castle.

They were both silent. Castan was probably distracted by thoughts

of his impending matrimony, but the purpose of Mannix's visit to the

court wasn't even on Reghan's mind. He was too distracted by the king

they were traveling to visit. Castan hadn't realized the implications of

Bressal's latest order, and Reghan was actually glad for that. Or maybe

he did. Maybe that's what fueled his decision to make Reghan an

advisor, elevating him above almost everybody else in the court. Maybe

he realized it meant that Bressal knew he could trust Reghan but that

trust meant nothing to him. If he couldn't trust Reghan, he would never

be foolish enough to trust Mannix's care to Reghan's hands.

"She's very beautiful," Reghan said softly.

"Yes. She always has been."

"Forgive me, sire, but you don't exactly sound like you're happy

about that."

"It's not that I'm not happy," Castan said. "Of course I'm happy

Father didn't have me betrothed to a troll or something. But sometimes I

wish he'd given me a choice."

"Who would you choose?"

"I don't know. I've never given it any thought. I don't even know

what it feels like to want to be with somebody."

Reghan tilted his head. "You've never desired anybody?"

"Not really."

"I suppose that's why you've managed to keep your vow of

chastity."

"I would be able to keep any vow I made, regardless of the

situation," Castan informed him.

"Yes, I believe you would try. But most mortals I've met, not to

mention the fey, have a hard time remembering promises they've made

when it comes to desire."

"What's it like?" Castan asked lightly, as though he was asking

about dinner the night before.

"Do you mean desire or love? Because they aren't the same."

"Both. Either."

"Desire is..." Reghan stopped, thinking of Vivienne's strange smile

and calm strength. Then he thought of Castan's eyes and the way his

hair shone like gold in the sun. "It's like a punch in the gut. It hurts, but

not in a bad way. You can't think of anything except possessing the

person you want. It distracts you and drives you mad until you're

convinced you'll never be sane again if you don't get what you want."

"I have a hard time imagining you being like that," Castan said.

"You don't seem like you'd get that worked up over anything."

"And yet I have a mortal son."

"So that's how it happened? You saw a fair maiden wandering

through the woods and you felt that punch in the gut? Nine months

later, there was Aldred?"

"More or less."

"I thought the story would be more interesting than that."

"Why?"

"Because Aldred is so...unique. I thought the story would be more

like something a bard would sing about."

"How do you know bards don't sing about me and Vivienne?"

"Usually their stories are slightly more interesting."

Reghan smiled thinly. "Aldred isn't unique."

"He's half-fey. I'd say that counts as unique."

"Most of the children in your kingdom are half or partly fey."

Castan blinked. "What are you talking about?"

"Humans are fascinated by fey. It is not difficult to seduce a mortal

to coupling, and that coupling results in a child more often than not.

Sometimes, the fey will steal their children back from their mothers.

Surely you knew this."

"I knew women were frightened of the fey and there are stories of

changelings once or twice a year, but I had no idea that...I mean, nobody

ever told me the fey were taking their own children."

"Who would admit to it? Most mortals hate the folk and with good

reason. Nobody would admit to having sex with one. Or, even worse,

loving one."

"Did...were you and Vivienne...did you love her?"

Reghan almost smiled at how shy Castan sounded. He was often

surprised by the fact that Castan had bested Banbha, but never more

than at times like these. He was a fearsome warrior, but he was still so

innocent in other ways. But then, he didn't doubt most people would be

more successful without the distraction of relationships and all that

chaos that came with one.

"I did. We were very happy in the time we had together. Which is

always too limited when you love a mortal."

"Then why bother with it?"

"Sometimes you don't have a choice."

Castan sighed at that and looked out at the approaching party.

Reghan wondered if he should mention that Áine was one of those not-

quite-so-rare half-fey children, but decided it wasn't his place to say.

Especially given the court's distrust and hatred toward the fey. The

revelation might save Castan from a marriage he didn't necessarily want,

but at what cost? What revenge would Bressal extract? What sort of

punishment would he mete out? It wasn't a stretch to say this sort of

thing could lead to a war. Castan was a good prince. Reghan doubted

he'd want his subjects to die in a war that was sparked because twenty

years earlier, Sir Mannix fell in love with a fairy.

"This will probably be the last time we can talk like this," Castan

finally said. "Mannix will want you to sleep... in his chambers. We can't

speak freely at court. I can't even acknowledge you."

"It's only three months," Reghan said, automatically trying to

soothe Castan.

But Castan didn't take it that way. Reghan was beginning to learn

Castan's little tells. The most obvious was when something upset him.

He pulled back and tensed, as if that extra inch of space he cleared made

all the difference to his well-being. Reghan could almost see the wall that

went up around him reflected in the hardness of his eyes.

"I'll leave you to prepare for the evening," Castan said stiffly. "The

king will expect you in the banquet hall before the start of dinner."

Reghan wanted to call him back, but it was better to let him walk

away. If he was angry at Reghan, then maybe three months wouldn't

seem like such a burden. And maybe he'd be more concerned with his

future bride and less concerned over Reghan. Which was how it should

be. But he still kept his attention locked on Castan's back, watching him

walk away until he was out of sight. Castan never once faltered in his

stride and didn't look back either. Reghan couldn't sort through the

tangle of emotions in his chest, but one did stand out sharper than all

the rest. He was strangely, inexplicably proud of him.

Once Castan disappeared from sight, Reghan looked down and

realized Mannix's party was right below him. His sharp eyes were able to

distinguish more details at this distance, and he realized Áine didn't just

look like a fairy. She looked like her mother, Sibley. Reghan remembered

her well from Banbha's court, though he couldn't say that he

remembered seeing Áine before. Perhaps her father had claimed her as a

baby and bound her to the mortal realm.

They passed the gate into the courtyard, disappearing from

Reghan's sight. Finding himself completely alone, he looked out over the

lower town, and then to the villages beyond the castle walls, and beyond

the valley and the mountains. He looked as far as he could over the land,

and no matter where he turned his attention, he found peace. There were

no battles brewing, and the villages that'd been hit again and again by

the wars were finally beginning to recover. Because of Castan.

Reghan kept that in mind as he descended to the keep. He went to

his chambers first and changed his clothes--Castan had provided him

with a rather rich wardrobe. Perhaps to gall Bressal. He'd been in the

habit of wearing the most modest of his options, but not that night. For

the banquet, he would choose something suitable for a prince. A wave of

his hand made it suitable for a king. He risked Bressal's wrath by

wearing something so obviously above his station, but he risked Bressal's

wrath simply by existing.

* * * *

Reghan attracted attention. Reghan attracted a great deal of

attention as he entered the great hall. First, it was the servants, jumping

at the sight of him, rushing to his side in fear that he was a member of

Mannix's party that they had overlooked somehow. The knights at the

lower table noticed the commotion first, and their attention was drawn to

the strange looking man in the fine clothes, asking themselves whether

he was the one who Bressal sent to the stocks for a week. Gradually, the

diners at the middle tables turned their heads, casually glancing over to

see what the ruckus was about, but not looking away again. Finally, the

king, his son, and their honored guests were forced to find out what had

captured everybody's rapt attention.

He felt Castan's gaze land on him first, and it was all he could do

to stop himself from meeting it. He wasn't breaking any rules of protocol

with his clothes--not technically, though everybody heard the statement

loud and clear--and he wanted to keep it that way. So he ignored the

prince in favor of bowing to Bressal, bending so low at the waist that his

hat almost fell off. He knew Áine was staring at him, too. Even if she'd

never been to Banbha's court, she would still know him. Like called to

like, and he could feel her seeping into his skin.

"Who is this handsome young man?" Mannix asked.

Reghan kept his eyes averted, waiting for Bressal to choke out an

answer. Now he hoped Castan understood why it was so important to

play by Bressal's rules. The entire court would now witness Bressal with

his wrists tightly bound, unable to control a servant in his own court, in

front of his dear friend and guest.

"This is Reghan. One of the prizes Prince Castan brought back

from his battle with Banbha."

"He's a fey?" Mannix asked.

Reghan risked looking up at that point, and the sight of Castan

and Áine was almost enough to steal his breath. They were sitting at

opposite ends of the table, but they were still stunning together. Reghan

had the sudden vision of the two of them sitting side by side, hands

clasped, heads proudly bearing crowns, shoulders and throats shining

with jewels. They were both fair and they were both wise and they were

both in the fairy court.

Reghan gasped and closed his eyes, doing his best to forget the

vision. But it couldn't be erased. It only seemed brighter behind his shut

eyes, all of the colors standing out starkly, Castan wrapped in gold, Áine

wrapped in silver.

"Yes. The only one who would swear his oath to Prince Castan.

Now he serves the court."

"He is your servant?" Áine asked, sounding as breathless as

Reghan felt.

"Yes, he is," Bressal said before Castan could answer. "I've been

endeavoring to break him in and prepare him for the life of servitude."

"How, pray tell, have you done that?" Mannix asked gruffly.

"A week in the stocks taught him how to bow, and a week of

walking on his knees taught him to kneel. A week in the stables taught

him humility, and a week in the dungeons reminded him of his new

place in this court. And now, my dear Mannix, I would like to ask you to

complete his lessons."

Áine's eyes widened, Castan's frown deepened, and Mannix didn't

look half as pleased as Bressal had clearly expected him to. Reghan took

advantage of everybody's temporary shock to bow deeply. "I look forward

to serving you, my lord."

"Aren't you scared?" Áine whispered, and the rest of the hall might

not have heard her, but Reghan did.

Bressal laughed openly. "What's there to be afraid of? He's

completely beaten."

"But..."

Mannix held up his hand, stopping his daughter's protest. She fell

silent, but Reghan could see she wasn't happy about it. "Your trust in an

honor to me, your majesty. I'm grateful for the gift you've bestowed and I

promise I will train him to the best of my ability." He looked over to

Reghan, his stare pointed, and Reghan realized that Mannix wasn't

ignorant of Reghan's lineage either. "Go to my chambers and wait to

attend me."

Castan was staring at him. Reghan could feel it, like a thousand

ants crawling over his bare skin. He wished he could offer Castan some

reassurance. Perhaps Mannix or Áine would give him permission later to

speak to the prince. No, no, Reghan's earlier plan to distance Castan

from him was still a good one. For more than one reason. The fact that

he hated it so much was a pretty good sign that it was for the best. If it

wasn't painful, it wouldn't be necessary.

Reghan turned smartly on his heel and marched out of the

banquet like the great hall was his domain. He didn't stop walking until

he reached the chambers used for the most honored guests. He let

himself into the room, settled in the chair closest to the fireplace, and

arranged his cape around him. He set his mouth in an austere line, and

for the first time in a very, very long time, Reghan prepared himself to

hold court.

Chapter 8

Castan rarely enjoyed the responsibilities and obligations that

accompanied large banquets like this, but he usually managed to smile

and speak politely, to laugh and joke at the appropriate times, to be

suitably solemn if the conversation turned to politics or kingdom

matters. But after watching Reghan walk away, he couldn't put up that

sort of effort. He wasn't even interested in trying. He responded only

when somebody spoke to him directly, and then he was surly and bit out

only the most necessary words. Bressal noticed, of course, and sent him

pointed looks throughout the night, expressing his disappointment and

annoyance without ever changing the tenor of his voice. Castan didn't

care if Bressal was displeased.

His thoughts never left Reghan.

He was certain everybody in the hall was thinking of Reghan. The

servant who looked more like a king. The servant who couldn't have been

more humble, more respectful, or better behaved. Bressal had expected

everybody to be impressed with not only his gift, but his litany of abuse.

He'd expected all in the hall to take great satisfaction out of seeing

Reghan subjugated and humiliated. But the tension in the air was

enough to tell Castan that Bressal had gravely miscalculated. Until

recently, the fey had been Somerset's most hated enemy, and that

included Reghan. So why had everybody in the hall--nobleman, knights,

and servants--ignored Bressal in favor of gazing on Reghan?

Castan knew why he did. Perhaps it was possible everybody had

been stopped cold, flummoxed by the man's great beauty, his bearing.

Áine had been afraid of him. Or maybe that wasn't quite right. Maybe she

had been awed by him and his power. But why?

Why had she watched Reghan like she knew him? Castan wanted

to ask, but it didn't seem wise to do so. What if he didn't like the answer?

The evening dragged, each hour marked by a new dish. Bressal

had spared no expense, and hunting parties had been sent in all four

directions with instructions to bring back the biggest, the best game they

could find. It was more of a wedding feast than a welcoming feast, but

Bressal couldn't be blamed for throwing a feast with such excess. If

Somerset and the court had reason to celebrate, it was now. Now there

was peace and soon the crown prince would be married to a beautiful

lady who was already popular with her future subjects. Castan didn't

begrudge the celebration. He just wished Reghan was seated on the other

side of him.

Castan spent most of his time thinking about Reghan. And he

spent the rest of his time thinking about his fixation on the fey. In the

past month, he'd spent every free moment he had with Reghan. He

sought the fairy out and he told himself it was because there were so

many things Reghan could teach him. It was best to know his enemy and

even with Banbha dead, the fey were still his enemy.

Reghan wasn't his enemy.

Sometimes he and Reghan didn't even speak. Sometimes they sat

in silence, Reghan alone with his thoughts, Castan with his. But just

being in Reghan's presence brought a certain peace that Castan had

never experienced before. His life was frenetic, his mind often chaotic, his

feelings too big, too strong, too often at ends with the figure he was

supposed to cut and the men he was supposed to be. But when he sat

with Reghan, everything was calm. Possibly because nothing about

Reghan was frenetic.

It stung when Reghan implied he didn't mind the three months

that stretched ahead of them. Castan wasn't sure why, but he felt it in

his chest and in the back of his mind. As though Reghan had wanted to

hurt him. Well, Castan didn't know what that meant or what Reghan was

playing at, but he did know that he didn't intend to wait three full

months before speaking to Reghan again. He was the crown prince and

Reghan had sworn his fealty to him and he was not going to be deprived

of this new pleasure before he even had the chance to understand what it

was. Or why it was.

His mind remained on Reghan, though he did occasionally glance

down the table to study his future bride. Áine was more beautiful now

than he remembered from their previous meetings. She had a very

pleasing countenance and her laugh was light and easily prompted. He

liked the shape of her eyes and her nose and even the way her lips

curved. There was something sharply glorious about her. Some rare

quality he couldn't quite begin to describe. She reminded him of

somebody, though he couldn't quite say who. He could grudgingly admit

that he didn't mind the thought of spending more time with her, though

he still wasn't quite sure what he was supposed to do with her.

Castan wasn't a complete innocent. He understood what men and

women were supposed to do together, even if he'd never had the chance

to experiment himself. The problem was that the whole concept was

completely alien to him. He had an easier time understanding the brief

glimpses he'd caught of Reghan's magic than he did women and love and

romance. There had been servants over the years who'd made their

interest known--and probably several more who had tried but simply

weren't blunt or forward enough for him to notice. After he turned

fourteen, there had been wives and daughters of noblemen, and Castan

had always felt particularly uncomfortable with them. For a short time he

wondered if he was expected to lie with them. If his avoidance, and even

outright refusal, could be construed as some sort of slight or insult. He

knew what the knights did with bar wenches and the groups of women

that followed them to war. But what he didn't know was how all of that--

or any of that--applied to his betrothal to Áine.

The thought of the wedding night in particular held such a number

of terrors that Castan could barely stand to entertain it for more than a

few seconds at a time. Hearing Reghan's explanation of love and desire

had just further confused the issue. Was he supposed to feel that way for

Áine? Did his feelings matter at all? He could already hear Bressal's

response to that question. You are the crown prince and you will do your

duty for the crown and for Somerset.

Perhaps if he spent enough time with Áine, those feelings would

come. Castan wasn't sure how he was supposed to do his duty for

anybody when looking at her inspired the same sort of feelings as looking

at a particularly vivid sunset--interest and appreciation, but nothing

more than that. It wasn't like looking at Reghan.

The thought seemed to strike from nowhere, and Castan very

nearly deprived Bressal of his heir by choking on a piece of chicken. He

coughed, trying to discreetly clear his throat, but the chicken refused to

budge and he was growing light-headed within seconds. He turned away

from the table, doubled-over, struggling to force the chicken from his air

passage. It seemed as though the harder he struggled, the more secure it

became. This was not how he wanted to die. If he had to go down, he

wanted it to be in battle. Not at a dinner he didn't want to attend with a

throat full of partially chewed chicken and his head full of very confusing

thoughts.

Bressal slammed his fist down on Castan's back, finally forcing the

food from where it had lodged itself. It flew out of Castan's mouth, and all

he could do was weakly gasp for breath as the word blurred around him.

"Castan! Castan, can you hear me?"

"I can hear you," Castan wheezed. "I nearly choked. I'm not deaf."

Then Áine was at his side, her fine features creased with concern,

her blue eyes surprisingly dark. She was touching the side of his face

and making comforting sounds and with her face so close to his, he

could make out all the little details that he never took the time to notice

before. Three thoughts followed in quick order.

Áine looked like Reghan.

Áine was half-fey.

Áine only seemed beautiful to him now.

"Are you quite well, my lord?" Áine asked. "Castan? Are you well?"

"I..."

"Would you like a drink? Perhaps some sweet wine?"

"I...I just..."

"Castan?" Now Bressal was leaning over and invading Castan's

space. He felt trapped and surrounded. He wanted to run as far as he

could. Run right out of the castle walls and into the welcoming night. He

wanted to run until only Reghan would be able to find him, and that

realization made him hot and cold all at once. This wasn't like getting hit

in the gut. This was like getting brained with an axe.

"I need some air," he finally managed.

Servants rushed forward to help him out of his chair, but he waved

them away. Áine straightened, her frown settling even deeper. Castan

had the uncomfortable sense that she could read his mind. She could

see all his thoughts about Reghan, and sense his surprise and fear and

every other conflicting emotion Castan couldn't name. Perhaps the entire

hall could. Perhaps they were all nodding their heads knowingly and

commenting on how that fey had enchanted their brave prince.

"Air," Castan said again. "Alone."

He stood and made his stilted way across the room. He knew they

were all watching him. He could feel their surprise and their questions.

Bressal would have words with him later, no doubt. But that was later.

That wasn't now. Now nothing mattered except finding a place to clear

his head. His feet took him out to the courtyard and he half-expected to

see Reghan there. No, he wanted to see Reghan there. Even though

Reghan was currently the source of great confusion and not a little bit of

fear.

When Castan was ten, he had a pet dog that was just his. The dog

had been his ever-present companion, following after him from his

training to his lessons to the council room with Bressal to his chambers.

He had been a good dog. Extremely loyal and dedicated, and he always

knew when to lick Castan's hand to cheer him out of his darker moods.

He had loved that dog more than just about anything in his life. He still

missed him. The first time the dog had encountered a harmless snake,

he had been completely confused. He kept darting forward, sniffing it,

and jerking back. He barked and growled and whined. He looked to

Castan for help. He circled it and lunged at it, but no matter how he

tried, he didn't know what to make of it. Castan had laughed and

laughed at the time.

He didn't find it half so amusing now. In fact, he was beginning to

realize that the dog was a kindred spirit.

Ultimately, the dog had abandoned the snake, choosing to follow

Castan rather than stay and investigate the mystery. Castan understood

on some level he was facing the same choice. He could keep sniffing at

this new development and try to figure out what it meant and why it was

happening now. Or he could go where he belonged. No matter what he

thought or felt, he would be marrying Áine. That had been settled since

the moment of her birth.

Castan paced around the courtyard, shoulders hunched and brow

furrowed and chest aching. Reghan's face in the front of his mind, Áine's

hovering on the periphery, waiting for him to shift his attention to her.

When he tried, it was only to realize that as pleasing as he found her

face, it was nothing compared to the wild beauty Reghan possessed. But

those thoughts would make him sick in the heart and sick in the head.

They needed to be abandoned, as his old dog had abandoned the snake.

Maybe the three months Reghan spent in Mannix's service

wouldn't be so bad? While Reghan served Mannix, Castan would focus

his attention on Áine. It would be good for both of them to remember

Reghan's true place in the castle and Castan's true responsibilities and

obligations.

* * * *

When Áine entered the room and saw Reghan, she curtsied almost

to the ground. Mannix bowed smartly and both of them allowed their

faces to reflect their true feelings at the sight of him. Reghan was glad

they'd shielded their thoughts from Bressal, because if he had seen the

awe and reverence in their eyes, he would have surely had Reghan

executed just out of spite. Reghan didn't have to be told that Bressal

didn't want anybody but himself to be on the receiving end of awe and

reverence.

"My lord," Áine murmured. "Forgive me. I did not know you were

here."

"Of course you didn't. Please, both of you, have a seat."

They jumped to obey him, Mannix pulling up two chairs so they

could sit a respectful distance from the fey. Once they were settled,

Mannix leaned forward and asked urgently, "Why are you in Somerset,

my lord?"

Reghan tilted his head. "Why are you referring to me as such?

You're mortal, are you not?"

"I am, sire. But when I married my wife, I took on all her oaths and

vows."

Reghan blinked. "You married Sibley?"

"Of course. I love her. That's why certain rumors about me persist.

I've stayed true to her and people assume that if I'm not interested in

bedding women, then it must be boys."

"All of her vows? Are you loyal to Banbha?"

"I am, as always, loyal to Devonshire," Mannix said. "But Áine is

loyal to the fairy court."

Áine looked at Reghan hopefully, and Reghan suddenly wished

he'd changed his face. He should have as soon as he realized who Áine

was. He should have made himself look old and small and human. Like

somebody who had been born into service and didn't know the first thing

about ruling. But his pride had gotten in the way. He'd been obsessed

with making Bressal look foolish, and he'd never realized the possible

consequences of his actions. He supposed he deserved what was about to

happen.

"Why is Sibley not with you?" Reghan asked carefully. "Surely

she'd wish to see her only daughter married."

"Banbha called her," Mannix said, as though he couldn't believe

he'd have to tell Reghan that.

"Banbha is dead." He looked to Áine. "Did you not feel that?"

"I...I felt something, my lord."

"Don't call me that," Reghan said sharply, ripping the hat off his

head. "That's not who I am here. Here, I am...just Reghan. I'm the

prince's servant, and now I serve you. You must remember that."

Mannix frowned. "How could Banbha be dead? I know that Bressal

has of course announced his victory but...she is a goddess. She is more

powerful than the most powerful fey. Surely Bressal is mistaken."

Reghan shook his head slowly. "I saw her body. I was there when

Castan killed her. Banbha was not the only one to die. Her entire army

fell."

They had identical questioning looks and he saw the moment

understanding dawn. Mannix's mouth opened like he wanted to shout

and Áine's face crumbled, her eyes filling with tears. Reghan looked

away, giving them a chance to process the news more privately. He hated

to be the one to reveal this news, but they must have known on some

level. They surely spent the whole evening listening to Bressal brag about

his son and his unstoppable knights, the finest in all the land.

"Castan killed her?" Áine finally whispered.

"He ordered her death."

"I hate him," Áine said, not quite whispering anymore.

"No," Reghan said quickly. "I know this hurts. I know...I know.

Believe me. But Castan didn't start this war. That was Banbha's doing.

He's not the culpable one here."

"How can I marry him?" Áine turned shining eyes to her father.

"Please don't make me marry the man who killed my mother."

"You must marry him," Reghan said, keeping his voice even though

his alarm was mounting. "If you refuse the betrothal now because he

defeated the fey--and that's all Bressal will hear--then you will surely

start a war." He looked over to Mannix. "You can't afford that, can you?"

"Perhaps she is not dead." Mannix looked hopeful. "No mortal

would cut her down."

"Castan captured me and twelve others after Banbha fell. He

offered each one of us the chance to yield and swear our fealty to him.

Sibley was the first to refuse him. It wasn't Castan's fault that she could

not swear allegiance to anybody but Banbha."

Áine covered her face and her body began to shake. She slid off the

chair, sinking to the floor in her grief. Her blonde hair fell around her

face and shoulders, shielding her from view, but Reghan could still feel

her sadness flowing through him. Every tear sent another sharp pang to

his heart. Mannix joined his daughter on the floor, gathering her up in

his arms and holding her as she continued to cry for her mother.

"I'm sorry," Reghan said, though he knew they probably weren't

listening to him. "I didn't know she had a husband and a daughter. I

didn't know..."

The fire was warm against his back, and he concentrated on that

heat as Áine and Mannix cried. Sibley had been beautiful and proud and

deadly, and she always led the charge against Banbha's mortal victims.

How had she been married to a human? How had she allowed him to

keep her daughter? Why had she not raised Áine in Banbha's court to be

fully fey? Reghan couldn't begin to understand. He'd been willing to

marry Vivienne, but he no longer hated mortals the way Banbha and her

closest circle did. Had the queen known of Sibley's family? No, he would

guess Sibley somehow managed to keep them a secret; otherwise,

Banbha would have killed them just out of spite.

Reghan waited several minutes before he bid them to rise and

return to their seats. They did so immediately, and Reghan realized he

would have to be very, very careful what he said to them in public. They

would obey him without a second thought. He couldn't be seen ordering

the great Lord Mannix around Somerset.

"Listen to me very carefully. You must not behave any differently.

You must continue to be loyal to Bressal. You must marry Castan."

Reghan leaned forward and lowered his voice. "If Bressal suspects your

first loyalty does not lie with him, he will have you executed."

"Why didn't Castan kill you?" Mannix asked.

"I told you. He demanded an oath. I was the only one who could

give him one."

"You did not swear an oath to Banbha?" Áine asked.

"She was my mother. It was not necessary."

"That means you are king of the fey now. How can you tolerate the

way Bressal treats you? You can destroy him with a word," Mannix said.

"Don't say things like that, either. Even if we are alone, don't say

anything like that. I have sworn my life to Castan, his family, and his

kingdom. I could no more kill Bressal than Sibley could have killed

Banbha. It was necessary to do this."

"This seems a far worse alternative to death," Mannix observed.

"Making my child an orphan is a far worse alternative to anything,"

Reghan said.

"You have a child?"

"Yes. His name is Aldred and he's six. His mother died last winter

and I would not allow myself to be killed in front of him."

Mannix's eyes widened. "He was there?"

"Yes. Banbha knew of my devotion to him and so she stole him

from me. She enchanted him so any disobedience from me would

immediately result in his death. And then she made me fight, though I

have spent most of my life resisting her and her efforts to destroy the

mortal realm. The enchantment broke with her death. I felt no loyalty to

her and I was happy to serve Castan if it meant I could stay with Aldred."

"Why do you call him Castan?" Mannix asked.

"What do you mean?"

"It's very familiar, is it not?"

"Castan and I have...a complicated relationship. One that Bressal

facilitated with his pettiness. I believe Castan would have been quite

happy to treat me like a servant if Bressal hadn't been so intent on

proving his point."

"I don't desire you to serve me," Mannix said.

"We don't have a choice in the matter."

"I would like to meet Aldred," Áine said.

"Of course, my lady. If it pleases you, I'll bring him to your

chambers tomorrow."

"Where is he now?"

"He has been staying in Castan's quarters and Castan's old

governess is seeing to Aldred's care."

"That is quite...generous of the prince," Mannix said.

"Yes. Castan is quite generous. He's a good man. Please don't hold

him responsible for what happened. He was fighting a defensive war."

"But...how did he do it?" Mannix asked. "How did he defeat them?

He's so...young."

That is perhaps not what Mannix meant to say, but Reghan

understood. "I don't know. I didn't see it when he killed her. Perhaps she

grossly underestimated him. She had no respect for any mortal. Or

perhaps he was just lucky. Somebody was bound to be."

"You hold no ill-feelings toward him?" Áine asked.

"Of course not. He is a good man. He's going to be a good king one

day. You should be proud to rule by his side."

Áine shook her head. "You might be able to forgive him for killing

your mother, but I cannot forgive him for killing mine."

"He had no choice."

"I understand that," Áine said softly, her fingers twisting in her

dress. "But when I look at him...that's all I'll be able to see."

"Does Castan know Áine is fey?" Mannix asked.

"Of course not. And I have no intention of telling him. Unless you

have some desire to explain to Bressal why his greatest friend was

married to a fairy." Reghan stood. "I'll be happy to escort you to your

chambers, my lady."

Áine's face twisted for a moment, but then she nodded and stood.

"Thank you, my...Reghan."

Mannix jumped to his feet. "You're excused for the night, Reghan."

"Thank you, my lord. Would you and the Lady Áine like to break

your fast in your chambers tomorrow?"

"Yes, thank you."

Reghan smiled, nodded, and opened the door for Áine, the perfect

picture of a well-trained servant. He could see that Áine and Mannix

were both uncomfortable with that, but the discussion was over. They

would go along with it because they had no choice.

Áine was quiet as they walked through the corridor to her room.

There were still tears on her cheeks, and her eyes were red. Reghan

wished he could do something to help her. Despite his attempts to make

her forgive Castan, he knew she wasn't going to listen to him. Regardless

of how or why it happened, the result was the same. Áine was never

going to see her mother again. Though Reghan had a hard time

imagining Sibley being a proper mother. She was too much of a warrior.

He wondered if she had been capable of loving Áine at all. Both Mannix

and Áine were clearly devoted to her, but they must have seemed so very

small to her.

"Do you really believe Castan is a good man?" Áine asked, once

they reached her door.

"Yes. I do."

"How can you know for sure?"

"I...I believe I've seen his heart. He was built to fight, to lead men

into war. But he's kind. He understands the importance of mercy. And

one day, he'll be wise. He's still so young. He needs somebody like you,

Áine."

"Somebody like me?"

"You're not as young as he is."

"He is two years my senior."

"As I said, he was raised to lead men into battle. He still has a

great deal to learn about people, about life, about living and suffering

and the wisdom that comes with that."

"I don't know if I can help him," Áine said, looking away from

Reghan.

"Then perhaps you have a great deal to learn as well."

"You really are loyal to him, aren't you? It's not just for Aldred's

sake."

"He was loyal to me." Reghan opened Áine's door and bowed.

"Sleep well, my lady."

"Thank you...Reghan."

He waited until she shut herself in her room before turning away.

A part of him wanted to go to Castan's chambers, but he knew Aldred

would already be put to bed for the night. And it really wouldn't be

appropriate for him to seek out Castan--even if he wanted to speak to

Castan about what happened that night. He wanted to know Castan's

reaction, and he wanted to explain to him that Bressal's plan had

backfired once again.

He went to the servant's quarters instead. He found an empty bed

and he ignored the questioning stares he received. It was better than

sleeping in the stables, though not as nice as sleeping in Castan's

antechamber. Reghan didn't even bother to change out of his finery. He

collapsed onto the cot and closed his eyes and it wasn't Castan's face he

saw. It wasn't Áine's or Bressal's or Aldred's. It was Sibley's.

She would have known Áine was betrothed to Castan.

She would have known.

She must have known. Why had she agreed to that? Why would

she allow her only daughter to be betrothed to Bressal's son instead of

taking her directly to the fairy court? Had she been a traitor? Had Sibley

been the key to Banbha's defeat? The true scope of such treachery was

almost too large for Reghan to fully comprehend. But then, it was no

different from what Reghan was willing to do. What Reghan had already

done. He didn't dare mention his suspicions without some sort of

evidence. He would never undermine Castan's victory and

accomplishment. But Reghan had always known that Castan must have

had help.

Reghan just hoped that Sibley's betrayal--if that was the ultimate

explanation to this mystery--wasn't in vain. And if Áine couldn't look

past her own anger and sadness at the loss of her mother, then the

sacrifice she made would have been for naught.

Chapter 9

Áine had known Castan her entire life, but she couldn't say she

understood him. She spent a number of months at court every year, sent

there by her father to become acquainted with the royal house, the ways

of Bressal's court, and the subjects she would one day be ruling. Castan

had barely acknowledged her. At first, she had tried to befriend him.

After her twelfth year, she tried to coax attention and affection from him.

She could ride as well as any man, and her father had shown her how to

use a sword. But when she tried to reach him through non-traditional

means, he seemed even more confused and put off by her. By the time

she was fifteen, she'd given up her attempts. Whatever affection she'd

had for him had withered from his neglect, and now it was difficult to

believe she was the same girl who used to follow him around like a

heartsick puppy.

Áine didn't feel anything now. Not for Castan, not for anybody.

She'd spent the entire night crying over her mother, until there was

nothing left inside of her. She cried out her pain at the loss, her anger,

her frustration. She cried into her pillow until the material was damp,

until her face was hot and her eyes hurt and her throat was raw. At some

point, she realized that she wasn't just crying for her mother. In three

months, she would be bound to her mother's killer for the rest of her life.

But somehow, that wasn't even the worst of it.

Reghan was the worst of it.

Reghan vibrated with power. He glowed. When he first stepped into

the great hall, it was all Áine could do not to turn away from him and

shield her eyes. She'd thought her father had seen the same thing at

first, but now she wasn't so sure. It was clear Bressal did not, or else he

wouldn't be so keen to make Reghan angry. He was bound by his word to

protect the kingdom, but Reghan was powerful. The most powerful being

in either the fairy or the mortal realm. Surely he could retaliate without

breaking his oath. His free will hadn't been stripped from him.

She wanted to talk to Reghan when he brought her meal to her

chambers, but he refused to engage with her. He treated her like he was

any other servant, keeping his eyes lowered and his responses short and

to the point. Then she realized that he truly meant to behave as though

this was completely normal, as though they weren't caught in some

bizarre pretense. If Reghan truly intended to serve Castan for the rest of

Castan's life, Áine knew she would have to get used to Reghan's

continued presence. She didn't think she could.

After breakfast, she made her escape to the stables. She couldn't

stay caught in the castle walls for the rest of the day. She didn't want to

risk running into either Bressal or Castan or her father. She wasn't in

the mood to speak to any of them. She wasn't in the mood to speak to

anybody. Every time she uttered a word, it hurt her throat. It hurt her

head. And the words she didn't dare utter hurt most of all. They were the

ones locked in her throat, tearing at the tender flesh, choking her. Words

she would speak of her mother. Words of accusation and anger. Words of

mourning. They were like poison. It might have been better for her if she

did speak them. If she shouted them from the top of the battlements and

forced the royal house and the subjects and the whole kingdom to hear

them.

But she could never do that, so she went to the stables. Her horse,

Blancheflor, had been a gift from Sibley on Áine's fifth birthday. Though

the mare had now been in the mortal realm for fifteen years, she hadn't

aged a single day. Like other creatures from the fey realm, she was

immortal. She couldn't speak, and she didn't have any extraordinary

abilities, but she'd always been Áine's closest friend. Áine wrapped her

arms around Blancheflor's neck and buried her face against the thick

coat. She thought she was done crying, but something about the heat of

the mare's body drew the tears from her eyes. Soon, she was crying like

she hadn't stopped at all.

The horse stood patiently, allowing Áine to muffle her sobs against

her neck. She hadn't known her mother particularly well. She didn't have

memories accumulated over years and years. She had moments. She had

days. She had brief images of a woman who seemed to wear the night

like a cloak, letting the stars shine from her hair. Sibley didn't visit often,

but when she did, Áine's world stopped, time stopped, and her mother

was the only thing that mattered. She had treasured every second of

every visit, and some part of her had believed that one day, when she

was old enough, Sibley would take Áine with her. Mannix had missed

Sibley with the same intensity. She knew he never touched another

woman, even when Sibley's absence had stretched for years.

"My lady?"

Áine stiffened and turned slowly, prepared to send the servant

away with a sharp word. But when she finally looked at him, she forgot

to be annoyed with him. He was handsome, with dark hair and deeply

tanned skin, but it was his eyes that stopped her breath. They were as

dark as his hair, and they were full of concern. As though the sound of

her tears had pierced his heart.

"I'm sorry," Áine said. "I didn't mean to disturb you. I didn't know

anybody else was here."

"Are you hurt?"

"No. No, I'm fine."

"Are you sure, my lady?" He took a hesitant step forward and

smiled gently. "With all due respect, you don't sound like you're fine."

Áine straightened, her tears forgotten as they dried on her face. "I

don't believe you have given me all due respect."

The friendly smile faltered and he stepped back again. "I apologize.

I did not mean to overstep my bounds."

"No," Áine said quickly. "No, I'm sorry. That's not what I meant.

You didn't overstep anything. What's your name?"

"Bertram. I've been caring for your fine horse."

"Blancheflor."

"Blancheflor," Bertram repeated, smiling again. "May I?"

Bertram took a brush from a nearby bucket and approached as

though he was walking toward a skittish animal. But she got the sense

that was just how he moved. He was careful--gentle. He began running

the brush down Blanchflor's neck, as though he was trying to wash away

the damp tear stains left on her fur.

"She's a fine horse," Bertram said softly. "How old is she?"

"Fifteen."

Bertram blinked. "Are you sure, my lady?"

"Can you keep a secret?"

"Of course."

"This is a very special horse. She's from the fey realm."

"Oh," Bertram breathed. "I should have guessed. She's the finest

horse in the stable. Finer even than the king's prized stallion. Perhaps I

shouldn't say that, but I hope you can keep my secret, too."

Áine felt herself smiling. "Don't worry. Your secret is quite safe with

me."

"May I ask what's distressed you this morning?"

Áine studied his face, searching for any hints that she shouldn't

trust him. But he was gazing at her with open concern, and she trusted

Blancheflor's instincts. The mare seemed to like and trust the man

brushing her coat. Áine felt comfortable doing the same.

"I recently learned that my mother has died while on a trip.

Blancheflor is the only friend I have here at Castle Somerset. I...I didn't

have anywhere else to go."

"Any friend of Blancheflor's is a friend of mine, my lady. I, too, lost

my mother, so I know a bit of the pain you feel." He stepped closer, lifted

his hand, and then hesitated. "I don't wish to take any liberties."

She shook her head and assured him it was fine. Then one strong

arm wrapped around her shoulder and gently pulled her toward his solid

chest. He wasn't as soft as Blancheflor's fur, and he didn't smell as

sweet. In fact, his skin was a bit sour from the various odors of the

stables clung to his clothes. But his arms were secure around her, and

when the tears started to fall again, he rubbed her back and whispered

assuring words.

* * * *

Castan's first attempt to be more attentive was to invite Áine to join

him for lunch. She arrived with her maidservant, Gwen, to act as a

chaperone, and she seemed to be even more beautiful than Castan

remembered. Her hair was braided away from her face, and her eyes

were a little darker than before, her cheeks a little redder. But when she

smiled at him, Castan thought it looked strained. Almost like she was in

pain, though she didn't appear to have any injuries.

"Good afternoon, my lady." Castan took her hand and bowed,

trying to smile his most charming smile. Having never done anything like

this before, he didn't know if it worked or if he just looked like he was

grimacing. "I hope you are well."

"I am, my lord, thank you. And thank you for inviting me to join

you."

"It's always my pleasure to share your company." Said in the right

tone and with another smile. Castan felt this was all going rather well.

"Please, have a seat."

Gwen remained at the door, holding her hands behind her back,

watching intently as Castan held the chair out for Áine and then gently

slid it forward. He didn't know why she watched him like that. He had no

intention of despoiling Áine. And even if he did, what difference did it

make? He was the crown prince, he could despoil anybody he wanted to.

Plus she was going to be his wife, so who would ever know the

difference? Not that he had any real desire to despoil anybody.

He was not going to let himself think about Reghan. Or the fact

that he'd dreamed of Reghan all night. Looking at Áine didn't help with

his resolve to push Reghan away from his thoughts. Now that he noticed

the resemblance, he couldn't stop seeing it. Which meant despite all of

his best attempts, Reghan was still front and center on his mind, still

demanding his attention. He knew he needed to speak to her, but he

found himself at a loss for what to say.

"Has Reghan been satisfactory?" Castan finally asked.

Áine's eyes widened and the flush on her cheeks deepened. "Yes. I

thought he would be ignorant, but he has proven himself to be very

capable and...compliant."

What's that supposed to mean? Castan's temples began to throb.

Thinking about Reghan was a bad idea. Talking about him was an even

worse idea. Of course, if he were sharing this meal with Reghan, he

wouldn't have been struggling to find something--anything--to talk

about. Reghan was endlessly fascinating to him, so he had endless

questions. Questions Reghan never seemed to mind answering.

"That's good. My father will be pleased to hear it. And how are your

chambers? I trust they are comfortable?"

"They're the same ones I've stayed in every year of my life, my lord.

I've never had any cause to complain."

There might have been a hint of reproach in her voice. Of course,

Castan had never asked about her comfort before. He had never really

cared to and it wasn't his problem. If there was anything causing her

discomfort, there were servants to deal with that. But the question about

her chambers exhausted the short list of topics he had in mind when he

invited her to join him. Castan was saved from trying to think of a

completely new question by the arrival of their lunch.

Castan always preferred a simple lunch. His daily request

consisted of cold meat, a few hunks of cheese, and bread. It hadn't

occurred to him to make any changes to his daily routine until his

servant set the plate in front of Áine and she looked at with an

unreadable expression.

"I hope you find lunch satisfactory," Castan said quickly. "I

normally don't have a heavy lunch because I spend the afternoon drilling

my knights."

"This is more than satisfactory, my lord. In fact, it looks quite

delicious."

"What are your plans for this afternoon?"

"I still have a great deal of work to do on my tapestry."

Castan grimaced, unable to think of a more boring pastime. "Why

are you doing that?"

"So it'll be finished in time for our wedding, my lord."

"Oh." That tapestry. The one that would hang in their chambers

once she moved in as his wife. "I look forward to seeing it."

"Thank you."

Castan took a long swallow from his goblet and wished it was

something stronger than water. He would remember that for the next day

and instruct the servants to bring a carafe of ale. Perhaps she would

appreciate it as well.

* * * *

Áine rose with the sun and eagerly kicked the bedclothes away

from her legs. She called for Gwen and dressed quickly, instructing her

servant not to worry about fetching breakfast. She wasn't hungry. She

couldn't even think about food. She'd spent the entire evening before

thinking about Bertram and the entire night dreaming about him. Áine

knew it was not wise to show so much interested in a mere stable boy. If

Castan, or her father, or Bressal ever learned of these meetings, there

could be serious consequences. But the lunch hour spent with Castan,

and the afternoon spent in isolation, just increased her desire to see

Bertram. Beautiful, kind Bertram.

She left Gwen in her chambers and sneaked down to the stables.

She tried to look like she wasn't sneaking anywhere. It wasn't as though

she needed anybody's permission to go to the stables and spend time

with her mare. She couldn't even be sure she would see Bertram again.

Despite that, there was a certain lightness in her step. Even if she only

had a few moments with him, it would be enough to help her get through

the rest of the day. There was more warmth in a single glance from

Bertram than Castan could muster in an afternoon of conversation.

Áine didn't know what prompted Castan to pretend he was

interested in her, or that he cared for her, but she hoped it wasn't an

impulse he would experience a second day in a row. She couldn't even

remember enjoying his company. It seemed like the girl who used to

follow him around and wait patiently for a single word from him was a

completely different person. Áine didn't even know that girl. She was glad

she knew the truth, but a part of her knew that it would have been best

for her if Reghan had never mentioned Sibley at all.

She hadn't even seen Reghan since he escorted to her room the

night of the banquet. She thought she caught a glimpse of him the day

before, hurrying back to her father's chambers. Áine was just glad that

she didn't have to tolerate Reghan serving her. It was different for

Mannix. He might have been willing to swear an oath to Reghan as king

of the fey, but he couldn't sense Reghan's magic. It wasn't pulsing

around him, distracting him, forcing him to his knees.

Blancheflor neighed at her in greeting as she ducked into the

stable. It was cool and dim inside, since the sun wasn't shining directly

on it, and Áine sighed with relief, feeling as though she was stepping into

a new world. She glanced around, searching for any sign of Bertram, but

found herself to be completely alone. Áine was only mildly disappointed

by that. She longed to see Bertram again but she was quite content to

keep her own company.

This time, she didn't fling herself at the patient horse and cry like

her heart was breaking. She stroked the mare's face, pressed her cheek

to the soft fur on its nose, inhaled her familiar horsey smell. She wished

Blancheflor could talk and tell her what to do. She doubted she could

tolerate another week in Castan's company. How could she marry him?

Even if the alternative to their wedding was war, Áine could almost

believe it was worth it. Shame pierced her at the thought--what would

her father say if he knew she was willing to risk the lives of his men just

to avoid being married to the future king of Somerset? He would be

disappointed in her, to say the least.

"Are you sad again, my lady? If that's the case, I must ask who has

made you so, for surely they've committed a grievous sin."

Áine spun around, her breath catching in her throat as she saw

his face. Somehow, he was more handsome than she even remembered,

and he looked just as kind and tenderhearted as before. "I am not as sad

today as I was yesterday."

"I am quite pleased to hear that, my lady. But I believe you

shouldn't be sad at all. I would prefer to see you smiling."

"I have very little to smile over these days," Áine admitted.

"Perhaps a ride would cheer you up?" Bertram suggested.

"It might, but I left my maid in my chambers, and I couldn't go

without her."

"Ah. Of course. I was just going to brush Blancheflor down."

"I'll help you."

"That is very kind of you, my lady."

"Nonsense. I'm happy to help. Especially since soon I will be

unable to."

"Why is that, my lady?"

"Because in three months I will be married to the crown prince. I'm

quite certain that princesses and queens are not allowed to groom their

own horses."

Bertram picked up another brush and moved to stand beside her.

She focused on the mare's neck while he ran his brush over Blancheflor's

haunches. They weren't touching, but she thought she could still feel the

heat from his body. She should have been embarrassed by her behavior

the day before, but she just found herself wishing for another reason for

Bertram to hold her.

"If you are the princess, or the queen, shouldn't you be able to do

as you please?" Bertram asked.

"I'm sure Prince Castan would prefer his wife to behave

appropriately for a princess."

"If he loves you, he'd want you to do what made you happy."

The words pierced her chest. Prince Castan did not love her and

she did not love him and it mattered not at all. Perhaps he would have no

care at all for how she behaved as long as she provided him with an heir.

She was of no use to him otherwise.

"I do not believe my happiness is one of Castan's concerns."

"That is a great shame. If you were my betrothed, I would have no

greater purpose than to make you smile."

"Bertram--"

"I'm sorry. I spoke out of turn."

"No, not at all. You may speak freely when it's just the two of us."

"You're as kind as you are beautiful."

Áine ducked under Blancheflor's head and moved to the other side

of her body. She ducked her face so Bertram couldn't see her blush, but

she was sure her pleasure at the compliment was evident in her voice.

"Have you worked in the stables your entire life?"

"No, my lady. I have only recently arrived in Somerset. I hope to

prove myself worthy and become one of Prince Castan's knights."

"Why? If you don't mind me asking."

"Not at all, my lady. There was a raid in my village when I was a

boy. Nearly everybody was lost, including my family. I was left an

orphan, and so I vowed to avenge my home one day. But I knew I could

not face the fey on my own. And so I traveled to Somerset."

Áine froze. "The fey?"

"Yes. It wasn't bandits who attacked my village. It was the folk."

"Do you still wish to join Castan's knights now that Banbha has

been killed?" And the fey king is Castan's captive and servant?

"The folk were not the only threats against the kingdom. And now

that I have met you I have even more reason to wish to join the knights

of Somerset."

She swallowed. "You do?"

Bertram walked around the horse, his hand resting on the mare's

rump. She saw true devotion in his eyes, and felt it in his smile. Áine had

no idea what she'd done to prompt such a look from Bertram, but she

felt light-headed and her stomach fluttered. She remembered feeling like

this before, when she thought the sun rose only for Castan.

"I cannot think of a greater calling than pledging my life to

protecting yours," Bertram said, as though he was making some sort of

vow. As though he was actually pledging his life to hers in that moment.

"Thank you, Sir Knight."

She thought Bertram would smile, but to her surprise, he blushed

a deep scarlet. "I hope one day you will truly be able to say that."

"Perhaps that will be the day I make you my champion."

Bertram looked shy and pleased and happy and solemn all at once.

In all her life, nobody had ever looked at Áine like that. It was close to

what she'd once hoped to receive from Castan. If Bertram could be her

champion, perhaps being bound to Castan would not be so bad.

* * * *

Castan's second attempt to woo his future bride happened three

days after their awkward midday meal. He'd been tempted to give up

entirely on his plan, not at all eager for another painful hour in Áine's

presence. But after three days of meetings with the king's council and

drilling the knights, Castan was exhausted and lonely. He missed

Reghan. It was a physical ache in his chest, and he found himself

walking past Mannix's room when he had no need to, hoping for just a

sight of the fairy.

When he couldn't take another second of it, he sent a message to

Áine, asking if she would like to accompany him on a ride through the

fields surrounding the castle. She accepted his invitation, and the party

that set out consisted of her maid, his manservant, two knights, and a

stable hand. If Castan was trying to get time and space to be alone with

Áine, he would have been disappointed by the large party. He was still a

little annoyed by the fact that he couldn't be alone with his future wife,

but it was a vague, general sort of annoyance. Not the sharp pang of

irritation he felt whenever he remembered he couldn't be alone with

Reghan.

Castan was determined to make this work. As they rode out of the

south gate, he took the time to study Áine. He forced himself to find three

things he truly enjoyed about her and then focused on those, waiting for

something--anything--to happen. But the most he could muster was an

appreciation for the shape of her eyes, which was of course, the same

shape as Reghan's eyes. Though they weren't the same color. Reghan's

eyes were a truly beautiful shade of blue. A shade that reminded Castan

of the sky in the late afternoon--deep and dark with a hint of the evening

to come.

"You're an excellent horseman, my lady," Castan finally said, when

the silence between them had stretched for what seemed like an eternity.

He hated silence.

"Thank you. My father began to teach me before I could walk."

"I've never seen a steed like yours before. Where did you get it?"

"It was a gift, my lord."

"That is quite a generous gift."

"Yes."

Castan blinked, waiting for more, but Áine apparently had no

intention of adding anything else to her response. She also refused to

look at him. Her attention darted from the road ahead of them to the

fields to her maid and even to the stable hand, but he never felt her

looking at him. He began to wonder if that meant she didn't like him. She

had liked him before. He remembered the way she always seemed to be

underfoot. He'd mostly ignored her then because he didn't have any

reason not to. She was a girl, and so she couldn't do anything truly fun.

They rode at an easy pace. The sort of pace one took when there

was no real purpose to the ride, no real destination or goal. Castan felt

antsy, and he knew his horse was picking up on that. If Reghan were

with him...but Reghan wasn't with him. He couldn't let his mind drift

that way. He couldn't imagine the conversations he would rather be

having. He couldn't think about the way Reghan always made him feel

calm and comfortable. Áine made his skin itch. She made him unsure of

himself. He could slay the fey's great warrior queen, but he couldn't

speak to his future bride.

The silence continued unabated, except for Castan's occasional

efforts to start a conversation. No matter what he did, Áine would not

meet him halfway with a response. And when she did respond with more

than a simple yes or no, she never asked him a question or indicated she

understood how proper conversations were conducted. If Castan hadn't

known better, he would think she had no formal training or

understanding of social etiquette at all. But of course, she'd been raised

in the court, and probably knew more about the customs and mores

than Castan himself did.

Which meant he was probably doing something wrong. There had

been no lessons on the proper way to charm a woman, future bride or

not. And Castan had no practical practice whatsoever. He felt like a

bumbling fool. The longer they rode together in awkward silence, the

worse he felt. When Reghan spoke of love and desire, he had made it

sound like it was overwhelming, like it was a wild, irresistible force.

Whatever he felt for Áine wasn't close to that. And it was clear that

Castan didn't overwhelm her.

The afternoon ride wasn't Castan's last attempt to gain the

attention of his betrothed. He brought her gifts that he thought she

would like, but she never seemed interested in his tokens. She was never

rude to him, but the harder he tried, the more she removed herself from

their interactions. Conversations petered out to nothing and were never

revived. Meals were taken in tense silence, and Castan found it tolerable

only when he began to compare her face to Reghan's. He was more

pleased by the differences than the similarities, finding Reghan's features

superior to Áine's in every way.

A month passed in this way. A month where Castan didn't see

Reghan except once, in passing. Those few seconds when their paths

intersected were relived again and again in Castan's memory, until he

knew he was going to drive himself mad if he didn't force his mind

elsewhere. That's when he pushed himself the hardest, finding any

excuse for physical labor and working until his body wouldn't remain

upright. Only then would sweet, dark oblivion extend, and he could

manage sleep without spending hours twisting and turning in his bed,

arguing with himself over whether or not to summon Reghan. He needed

to put space between himself and Reghan. And he just couldn't do it. The

space between them seemed to be shrinking as the space between he and

Áine grew ever wider.

Chapter 10

Reghan didn't perceive the passage of time the same way as

mortals. For him, thirty days was no more of a bother than thirty

seconds. But now he was beginning to learn that a month could pass as

slowly as an eon, and the glimpses he caught of Castan around the

castle did little to break up the monotony of his life. He insisted on

performing all his duties as a servant simply because it kept him busy. If

he was constantly running from one end of the castle to the next, he

didn't have to stop himself from running after Castan. Mannix had

graciously turned one of his room's over to Reghan for his use, and he'd

moved Aldred there immediately. He'd hoped that would prompt Castan

to visit or at least send a message, but there was no response at all.

He stuck close to Mannix's side, which meant he rarely saw

Castan. Normally, he would have spent a great deal of time with the

prince, but he was busy wooing his lady. Both Mannix and Bressal

laughed over his absences over lunch and in the afternoon, pleased that

their children were so clearly besotted with each other. Or at least, that's

what Mannix wanted Bressal to think. It was difficult to tell if Mannix

bore any grudge against Castan over the death of his wife. Mostly, he just

seemed very detached. As though very little that happened in Somerset

mattered to him or could ever matter to him. Reghan understood. It was

difficult to accept the death of a loved one, especially if that loved one

was supposed to live forever.

Reghan might have only seen Castan once or twice a day--and then

he usually had Áine on his arm--but his thoughts constantly dwelled

with the prince. Reghan couldn't say why except that he was lonely.

Aldred's presence helped a great deal, but Aldred was only a child.

Mannix and Áine were potential allies, but Mannix could barely follow a

conversation most of the time and Áine, of course, was busy. He never

thought he would miss the other fey, or the other realm, but he found he

did. Or at least he missed knowing they were there.

He missed Vivienne most of all. He missed talking to her. She'd

always understood him. He'd never felt the burden of his centuries when

he was with her. It was simplistic to say that she made him feel young

because he never felt that way. Even when he had been young, he hadn't

feel that way. But he felt understood. Even though there was no fey in

her lineage and as far as he could tell she was a normal mortal in every

way, she still understood him. There had never been anybody else like

that in Reghan's life, and when he'd lost her, he was sure he'd lost

everything. If he had been there instead of summoned to Banbha's side,

he could have saved her. There was plenty of time for regret in the span

of an almost immortal life, and Reghan felt like he had more than his fair

share.

Why did the sight of Castan always make Reghan mull over those

regrets? It never failed. He would see green eyes and golden hair, and

suddenly he felt the same sharp yearning that Reghan had quickly

associated with thoughts of Vivienne. Over the course of the month, it

became more and more apparent to Reghan that he couldn't continue

this way, yet he would never be free of Castan. Not that he wanted to be

free of Castan. It'd only been ten weeks since Banbha had fallen, but it

felt like a hundred years.

Reghan was musing on the strange paradox his life had become

when he literally ran into Castan. The tray he was carrying to Mannix's

room fell to the ground with a terrible crash, and Reghan went careening

backward, his foot sliding over the slick soup that now coated the

smooth stone beneath him. Reghan put his hand out without thought

but before he had the chance to use magic, Castan grabbed his arm and

kept him upright.

"Thank you."

Castan smiled crookedly. "You should watch where you're going."

"I usually do. I guess I was distracted. Did I get any soup on you?"

"No. Were you on your way to Mannix's chambers?"

"Yes."

"Has he been treating you well?"

"He's been very kind. Castan." Reghan waited until Castan's gaze

shifted back to him. "There's no need to worry. It seems that Bressal has

miscalculated his friend as he has miscalculated everything else."

"Good."

Reghan knew he should clean up the mess and continue on his

way, but he couldn't bring himself to step away from Castan. Not now

that he was close enough to see the tired lines around Castan's eyes.

"Were you calling on the Lady Áine?"

"No, actually, I just escorted her back to her chambers. We spent

the afternoon riding."

"That sounds nice," Reghan said, for lack of anything else to say.

"Yes."

"So you and the Lady Áine are getting along?"

"Yes, of course. She's a very beautiful and intelligent woman. She'll

make a fine queen."

"I've no doubt of that, sire," Reghan agreed quickly, though

Castan's voice was flat and strangely hollow. He could have been talking

about any woman in Somerset, including a woman he'd never met before.

That was hardly the tone he'd expect from a man who was besotted with

his betrothed. But it wasn't any of his business. Who the prince married

and other state matters were not his concern.

But Castan was his concern. He couldn't stop the wedding, but

Castan needed friends right now. And Reghan was beginning to suspect

Castan didn't have any.

"You should get back to your duties. I'm sure Lord Mannix is

hungry."

"Yes, I'm sure he is. Castan, wait."

"What?"

"Mannix won't mind if I'm a little late," Reghan said, deliberately

dropping the title before Mannix's name.

"What about this mess?"

Reghan half-smiled, waved his hand, and the tray immediately

righted itself, as did the tureen of soup and the goblet of ale. "Good as

new."

"You're not supposed to do that here."

"Are you going to tell the king?"

Castan shook his head. "Are you sure that Mannix won't mind?"

"I'll simply tell him that the crown prince needed my services for

the afternoon. How could he argue with that?"

The corners of Castan's eyes lifted, almost like he wanted to smile.

Reghan would take what he could get. "I was surprised that you sent for

Aldred."

"I didn't want him to get underfoot."

"He wasn't. I kind of miss him."

Reghan arched his brow. "Really? Perhaps Aldred could serve as a

squire? The steward has not yet assigned him a position."

"I know, I told him not to." Castan began walking again, and

Reghan eagerly fell into step beside him. It felt good to match Castan's

long strides. He always walked with a sense of purpose, even if he was

only going back to his own chambers.

"My lord?"

"He seems rather taken with Amelia. Has she been continuing his

lessons?"

"Yes. Mannix told me she has called on Aldred every morning. I

was not aware that she was acting under your orders. I appreciate the

concern you have for him."

"I know you do."

They finished the walk to Castan's chambers in companionable

silence. Reghan noticed that Castan's mouth seemed more relaxed, and

he didn't hold his shoulders as rigidly. Walking beside him felt right, like

his place was at Castan's side, and anybody who took his place was

nothing but a usurper. Considering that Castan was going be married

within two months, Reghan supposed he needed to get over that feeling.

His place wasn't at Castan's side. If anything, it was behind and slightly

to the left of the prince.

"I don't know what I'm going to do," Castan said, once they were in

his chambers with the door closed and locked behind them.

"About what, sire?"

"Don't call me that here, Reghan. I don't...I don't want to hear that

from you."

Reghan inclined his head. "Very well. What's going on, Castan?"

"I've been trying to do the right thing by Áine. I know that my

parents were very happy together before my mother's death, and I'm sure

Father meant for this to be a happy union."

"You don't believe it will be?"

Castan collapsed in the nearest chair and shook his head. He

looked young and miserable again. He looked tired, but it wasn't a

physical exhaustion. Whatever was depleting him came from inside.

"Time stops when I am with her and not in a good way."

"Haven't you spent time with her before? It was my understanding

that she visited Somerset often."

"Yes, of course she did. But I...I don't remember a great deal about

her previous visits."

"You don't remember speaking to her before?"

"No, not really. I was often training or hunting or patrolling.

Sometimes I was preparing for battle. Other times I was actually in the

middle of a battle. Speaking to Áine was never truly a priority."

"I see." Reghan settled in the chair beside him.

"I keep thinking about what you said."

"What was that?"

"About desire. About how it hurts and how it distracts you and

drives you crazy."

Reghan smiled a little. "Maybe it's not that way for mortals."

"No, I think it's exactly like that for mortals."

"You said you never desired anybody before?"

"I never have."

"And you don't desire Lady Áine?"

"No. I don't even desire to be in the same room with Lady Áine."

"Then how do you know how mortals feel desire?"

Castan looked up and pinned Reghan with his bold gaze. Reghan

wished he'd never asked. He wished neither of them had mentioned

desire. He wished he hadn't followed Castan to his chambers because

that single decision undid all the good work of the past month.

"I know," Castan said softly, purposefully, giving Reghan no

recourse for response.

"Oh. Castan--"

"Why do I feel this way?" Castan asked, his voice harsh. "Why do I

have these thoughts? Did you do something to me?"

Reghan shook his head, and now Castan's eyes weren't quite so

bold. He held Reghan's gaze for another beat and then looked down. His

cheeks were flushed, but Reghan didn't know if that was from shame or

rage. Perhaps it was a combination, as so often happened in matters

such as these.

"When I'm with her, I just want to be with you. She looks like you.

Here." Castan gestured at his own eyes. "The coloring isn't right, but I

stare at her just because she looks like you. She's one of those half-fey

children you mentioned before, isn't she?"

"Yes," Reghan said, because there was no point in lying to him.

Plus, he welcomed any change in the conversation. "But rest assured she

means you and Somerset no harm. I'm quite certain of that. I would

never let her near you if I thought otherwise."

"Mannix fell in love with a fey?"

"Indeed. He married one named Sibley. She...Castan, none of this

truly matters. Mannix is still loyal to the crown."

"He hates the fey."

"He hates what the fey have done to his lands and his people. He

hates the cost of battle. But I believe he loved Sibley. He certainly loves

his daughter."

"That explains why she looks like you. I wish it wasn't so. It would

be easier..." Castan closed his eyes and the red on his cheeks only

deepened. "I'm not like this, Reghan."

Reghan bit his lip. It seemed to him very likely that Castan was

like that. He'd admitted himself that he had no interest in women, and

even if Áine were a poor conversationalist, she had many other wonderful

attributes to excite Castan's interest. Nearly any other man in the court

would happily give up prized possessions and body parts to have a

moment of her attention. But Reghan was certain that if he told Castan

as much, Castan wouldn't understand. The situation could still be

salvaged. Reghan was sure of it. Castan hadn't indicated any curiosity or

interest in any other men, which meant that Reghan could nip this in the

bud before it got out of hand. Castan was the champion of Somerset, a

hero among the people, but he would be seriously undermined if

anybody believed him to be...effeminate.

"I believe the solution to your problem is simple," Reghan said

slowly. "You must focus more of your energies--all of your energies--on

the Lady Áine."

Castan didn't look pleased with that suggestion. "I'm already doing

the best I can."

"Have you tried to kiss her?"

"No."

"It's perfectly acceptable to do so," Reghan said. "She has probably

been waiting for you to try. You must...show your interest."

"My interest," Castan repeated dully.

"Yes. You may quite enjoy it if you kiss her."

"Reghan--"

"Castan, you must try. If not for your own sake, then for the sake

of the kingdom. If you cannot even stand to kiss her, then you will not be

able to provide an heir later." It was best to frame the argument in that

way. Best to remove himself from the conversation completely. Castan

needed to focus on his obligations rather than his desires, and Reghan

needed to be very careful about how he spoke to Castan in the future.

"Do you think she's who the fortune teller meant?" Castan asked.

Reghan felt the heat of the lie from his throat to his stomach. But

it was necessary to keep Castan on the proper path. "Yes."

"Sometimes I'm sorry I killed Banbha."

Reghan frowned. "Why would you ever be sorry about that?"

"Because when she was alive and the fairy mounds weren't sealed,

I had a purpose. Nobody expected me to be anything except a warrior.

But now, I'm...a prince. And it feels like everybody expects something

from me, and I don't know what it is."

"It's this, Castan. For now, they expect you to secure the future of

the kingdom, since you already secured the peace. When you ascend to

the throne, everything will change again."

"What if I can't do what they want me to do?"

"You can. You can do anything you want to do. Nothing can stop

you. Not even a goddess."

"Do you know what Father told me last week? He said I'm not to

ride out on any more patrols. If there are reports of bandits on the road

or raids on the outlying villages, I'm to send out my knights and remain

here."

"I heard about that meeting. Mannix was quite...surprised, to say

the least."

"I feel like I'm going mad."

"You're not. You won't."

"Reghan, do you--"

"Castan, don't. Don't ask it. Don't think it." Reghan swallowed

hard, bracing himself for the inevitable response. Castan would rebuild

the walls around himself that he destroyed for Reghan's sake, and

Reghan would find himself on the outside of Castan's life once again. He

hated that. It hurt. "That's the way it has to be."

Reghan caught a glimpse of the man inside the prince before

Castan's eyes hardened and his mouth set in a thin line. "You should

return to your master now."

"Castan--"

"You're a good and loyal servant to Somerset, Reghan. I won't

forget that."

The words were civil, but it still felt like Castan had slapped him in

the face. A good and loyal servant to Somerset. Not to Castan, though.

And what did he care for Somerset? His true loyalty lied solely with

Castan. He hoped Castan understood that.

Reghan stood, bowed, and murmured, "Sire" before crossing to the

door. He wondered if Castan would call him back. He wondered what he

would do if Castan tried. He would have to be the strong one until

Castan could provide his own strength. And he could do that. He'd done

far harder in the course of his life, and he would probably live to see

challenges that would put this small affair to shame.

He secretly knew there would never be a challenge in his life like

Castan.

Reghan pulled the door open and slipped into the corridor. He

walked too slowly down the hall until he reached the tray, waiting for

him exactly where he left it. A mumbled word, and the soup was fresh

and hot once again. He wished he could use that magic to solve all his

problems. He supposed he could. It was technically possible to use the

magic on Castan and change all his thoughts and desires, but that was a

violation Reghan would not commit.

Castan would be fine. The road he was on wouldn't be an easy one.

But Reghan never promised Castan he'd make his life easy. Of course,

he'd never counted on this. He'd never thought he would be obsessed

with a prince who wasn't quite a man and certainly not a boy. He'd never

thought he would long for another mortal. He'd never thought he would

tell anybody as beautiful as Castan that he wasn't interested. But then,

he never actually said that. He hadn't let Castan back him into saying

anything like that. Because the one thing he couldn't do was lie quite so

baldly. Not to Castan's face.

He just hoped that Castan didn't press the issue. He didn't think

the prince would. He had too much pride to risk it. The memory of

Reghan's rejection would sting him for a long time. Hopefully, when that

sting finally faded away, Castan would be more comfortable with his

duties. He would be more forgiving of Reghan's duties. One day he hoped

to serve Castan as his advisor, and he hoped to serve the king well, but

he couldn't do that if he was weak now.

* * * *

Castan thought he might throw up. He hadn't eaten anything that

morning, so he wasn't sure why his stomach was churning quite so

dramatically, but it felt like it was trying to push its way up through his

chest and out of his mouth. The last time Castan had thrown up, he was

eight. He was learning how to use the quarterstaff and got hit directly in

the stomach. The knight who'd delivered the blow, Bersules, immediately

dropped down to Castan's level and asked him if he was all right. Castan

remembered opening his mouth to inform Bersules that he was perfectly

fine, and then the contents of his stomach suddenly sprayed everywhere.

Reliving that memory didn't help the pain in his abdomen. Neither

did looking Áine, who was riding with her spine straight and her

attention locked straight ahead. Castan had tried three times since they

left the stables to draw Áine into conversation, but she was more

withdrawn than usual. She answered him politely, but with the fewest

words possible. The sun was shining and the air was heavy with summer

heat, but Castan felt a chill between them. It made the hair on the back

of his neck stand on end. A distinctly unpleasant sensation when paired

with the relentless agitation in his midsection.

Castan, don't ask. Don't ask it. Don't think it.

Reghan's words never left his head. He fell into a fitful sleep the

night before with the words on the front of his mind. He woke up that

morning with the same three, short sentences. He'd dreamed them all

night. He heard the words with each beat of his heart. They might have

been the source of his illness. Castan wasn't sure. He would absolutely

love to blame this all on Reghan, but that didn't seem entirely fair. He

was sure all of his problems didn't start and end with Reghan.

On the other hand, he was pretty sure they did. Hadn't he been

happy before he met Reghan? Hadn't he been resigned to his life, even if

he wasn't particularly looking forward to his marriage? As the years had

gone by with his betrothal hanging over his head like a sword, Castan

had always been certain that he would be able to do what he needed to

do, when he needed to do it. Now he was preparing to kiss Áine's sweet

mouth and he would rather take that blow from the quarterstaff directly

to his gut.

Castan had a mind for strategy, and this day was no exception. If

he was going to do this, he wanted to do it right. He thought they should

be away from the castle, and he knew the perfect clearing just an hour's

ride east. It was small and quiet, and while Castan didn't normally have

an eye for beauty, he was sure this spot was perfect for what he had

planned. He hoped being far away from the distractions of the castle

would put Áine at ease.

When they finally did reach the clearing, Castan's stomach twisted

more painfully than before. It must have been nerves, but it was nerves

unlike anything Castan had experienced before. Even when he led his

knights into that last battle, knowing Banbha was waiting for him,

knowing he was going to die, he hadn't felt like this. His own death was

easier to face, and he could not understand why. It had to be Reghan's

fault. It had to be.

Áine barely looked at the peaceful spot. She seemed intent on

riding through it and into the dark trees on the other side. How long

would she ride if Castan didn't stop her? Would she try to go all the way

back to her home that wasn't really her home at all anymore? Would she

try to go farther?

"Let's take a rest here," Castan said, surprised that his voice

sounded so normal. If he found a reflection of himself in a still pond, he

was certain it would look calm--he would look normal.

"Yes, my lord."

It didn't matter what Castan suggested, Áine always responded the

same way. Yes, my lord she would say, and then she would quietly do his

bidding. Her obedience should have pleased him. It would please any

man to know that his betrothed was docile and prepared to do whatever

she was told. But the listless way she responded to him did nothing to

warm his heart or sooth his stomach.

He dismounted first and then held her down from her mare. The

white horse was as docile as Áine. It wasn't even necessary to hobble her

in place. She would not leave her mistress's side. Castan appreciated

that sort of loyalty. Sometimes, he felt like he had more fondness for

Blancheflor than he did for Áine.

"This has always been a favorite spot of mine," Castan said as he

untied the blanket from the back of his saddle. He unrolled it beneath a

tall tree and took Áine's hand while she quietly settled on the soft

material. Gwen and the knights had stopped a respectable distance

away, giving the two of them privacy. Did they ever notice the lack of

intimacy between the prince and his lady? Did they ever comment on it

between themselves? Were they already the subjects of castle gossip?

Castan wouldn't doubt it, but he hadn't heard so much as a whisper.

"It's very beautiful," Áine agreed dutifully.

"As are you, my lady," Castan said in a rush.

She returned his compliment with a small, gracious smile. He

thought Reghan would appreciate this place. He imagined Reghan seated

peacefully on the blanket, absorbing the scents and sounds of the world

around him. He imagined Reghan's sweet, patient smile as he calmly

explained that the trees were whispering to him. Castan didn't know if

the trees actually whispered to Reghan, but he wouldn't have been

surprised. How could he be after Reghan revealed the stars were horrible

gossips?

"Have you enjoyed your stay in Somerset, my lady? If you want for

anything, please tell me, and I will see that you receive it."

"Everything has been lovely, my lord. Everybody has been very

kind to me, following the model that you have set yourself."

"I only wish for your happiness." The words were stilted, but Áine

still smiled at him. Of course she did. She rarely had any other response

handy. It was so much easier to talk to Reghan. Even when he was

revealing how weak he felt, it was easier to speak to Reghan. Castan

wished he could kill something to demonstrate his devotion to Somerset.

But he already had killed something, and apparently that was not

enough.

The long silences between them were never comfortable. Castan

always wanted to fidget, and this time, he plucked a flower from the

ground and rubbed it between his thumb and forefinger, the petals

catching the light as they twirled back and forth.

"Áine, you're very beautiful."

"Thank you."

"Any man would be quite pleased to have you as a wife."

"You're too kind, my lord."

"Including myself," Castan said with a bit too much force.

"I would not question that, my lord."

"Áine, what I'm trying to say is..." He leaned closer and reached up

to touch her cheek. He wore gloves, so he couldn't feel the texture of her

skin, but the contact was still shockingly intimate. She froze like a baby

deer, holding perfectly still, eyeing him warily. He wanted to tell her that

looking at him like he was some sort of predator didn't help the situation.

He wasn't a predator, he was her prince, her betrothed, and one day he

would be her king. She was supposed to trust him. She was supposed to

want him to touch her this way.

Castan didn't hear anything except the pounding of his own heart

as he closed the distance between them and pressed his lips to hers.

Once they touched, Castan realized he didn't know what to do next. He

thought there would be some sort of instinct, some natural prompt that

would guide him through the entire gesture. But he felt nothing as he

finally kissed her--no surge of desire or pleasure, no satisfaction, no hint

of what he was supposed to do next. And Áine was as still as ever, as

though the touch of his lips had turned her into a marble statue.

The kiss was short-lived. He tentatively touched the tip of his

tongue to her mouth, and that was when she responded. Áine yanked

away from him like he disgusted her, and the flash in her eyes might

have been rage. It was difficult to tell because she composed herself so

quickly. Castan did not think she would appreciate a second attempt,

and that was fine, because he didn't want to make one.

"My lord--"

"I'm sorry. I thought you would like it."

"It's not that," Áine said quickly, but she was leaning away from

him, like she was frightened he really would try again. "But I...vowed to

remain perfectly chaste until my wedding night. My mother asked it of

me."

"Oh. My apologies."

"No, please, that is not necessary, my lord. And I hope I didn't

cause you any offense."

"It is I who should be worried about causing offense," Castan

assured her. "Would you like to return to the castle now?"

"If you don't mind, sire."

Castan stood and went through his previous actions in reverse,

helping Áine to her feet, rolling the blanket up and securing it to the

back of his saddle, helping her onto Blancheflor. The ride back was

worse, though. The tension was thicker, and the pain in his stomach had

migrated until it settled in his head. He felt it in his throat and his

temples and his ears. He felt it behind his eyes. He wanted to escape to a

silent, dark room and think of Reghan until he didn't feel quite so awful.

A good plan, except thinking of Reghan almost always made him feel

worse.

They parted ways once they returned to the stables, as they always

did, though this time it was without a farewell. Castan saw to his own

horse, making sure it had a good rubdown, checking its hooves, joking

half-heartedly with the stable hands who watched from the corners. It

always made them anxious when Castan insisted on seeing to his own

horse, as though they suspected it could only lead to their eventual

dismissals. Castan was always pleased with their work, but if he couldn't

get it right with Áine, and he couldn't be with Reghan, and he didn't want

to be alone, he simply didn't have any other option.

Castan spent a good hour with his horse before he peeled his

gloves off. He nearly reached the door before whispered voices caught his

attention. He couldn't make out what was being said, or who was

speaking, but he recognized intensity behind the voices. Curious, he

ducked around the corner, expecting to see one of the stable boys and a

servant girl in the sort of passionate embrace he was beginning to

suspect he would never participate in.

He did see a passionate embrace, and it did involve one of the

stable hands, but the woman he held was no servant. Neither one of

them noticed him, but only because they were kissing each other with

real hunger. Áine clung to the man's broad shoulders, like a drowning

woman might cling to her savior. He had one hand buried in her long,

white hair, and the other arm wrapped around her waist. They were

pressed so closely together that nothing could come between them. Not

even a speck of light.

Castan stared for a long time. He thought they would notice him,

but they were too wrapped up in each other. He was angry, but he felt

the rage in a distant, cold way. A new weight settled in his stomach,

holding him in place as they moaned into each other's mouth. Áine had

been so cold with him that he thought she must have been made of ice,

but now he realized she had fire inside of her. It was him. She had no fire

for him. No matter how he tried, she couldn't even pretend to be

interested in kissing him. She had no affection left for him.

Castan backed behind the corner, realizing that he didn't want

them to notice him. If they did, he would be forced to challenge the boy

in a battle to the death, or he would be forced to throw Áine from the

castle, utterly disgraced and ruined. Simply because she didn't love

Castan. Perhaps he would have sought his revenge if he loved her, but he

didn't. He didn't even like her. Castan knew one thing for certain--he

wasn't going to waste another second with her. He didn't even plan to

speak to her until the day of their wedding. Then he would lie with her

until she was with child, and that would be the end of their relationship.

A certain weight fell from Castan's shoulders as soon as he made

his decision. The sick feeling left him, and his headache improved.

Reghan would probably present an obstacle. He would argue that Castan

needed to try harder with Áine, or drive the stable boy from Somerset, or

some other quick, unambiguous act of violence. He would argue that it

was Castan's duty as prince and future king. He would very likely have

many strong arguments and speak very eloquently and try to sway

Castan from the path he'd chosen. But it wouldn't work. It was time for

Castan to make his own decisions, in his own way.

Chapter 11

Áine's lips were swollen, her cheeks were flushed, and a single

piece of straw clung to the back of her hair. She rushed down the

corridor, not quite running, but not quite walking, either. She shot the

occasional glance over her shoulder, like she thought somebody must be

following her. She looked like a guilty woman. Maybe one that hadn't

been caught yet, but would be caught soon. Reghan watched her duck

into her room and heard the unmistakable snap of the lock bar falling

into place. He considered knocking on her door, knowing that she would

feel compelled to admit him into her chambers. But it wasn't necessary

to speak to her. He had eyes. He could see what she spent the afternoon

doing.

With Castan.

It was nothing more than what Reghan had ordered Castan to do,

but it still made Reghan's head feel curiously heavy. He felt angry, too.

He didn't want to think of the pleasures she discovered in Castan's arms,

but once the image wormed its way into his brain, he couldn't ignore it.

There was no benefit in Castan being perfectly chaste, but now that he

was no longer the ignorant innocent, Reghan couldn't shake the sense

that something had been lost. An opportunity. Castan had so much to

learn--why couldn't Reghan be his teacher?

A pointless question. Reghan knew the answer. The many, many

answers. Reghan could be a guide for Castan and an advisor. He could

help Castan make Somerset a great kingdom. But he couldn't teach

Castan every lesson he would ever need to learn.

"Reghan!"

Reghan barely had the chance to step out of the way, but Castan's

squire, Allan, still almost managed to plow right into him. Reghan

grabbed the boy's shoulders and held him straight as he gasped for

breath. "What is it?"

"Prince Castan..."

"What about Castan? Is something wrong with him?"

"He demands your presence. Immediately. He's in his chambers."

"Is that all he said?"

Allan nodded. "You can let go of me now."

"Right. Of course." Reghan released him and hurried down the

corridor. He wished Castan had another friend he could brag to. It wasn't

that Reghan didn't want to be there for Castan, but he needed a bit more

time to prepare himself for what he was about to hear. For one thing, he

needed to figure out exactly why he thought he should be the one to take

Castan's virginity. And that was exactly what he wanted. Once he worked

out that conundrum, he could begin preparing himself to hear all about

the person who did.

Reghan nearly barged through Castan's door, but he forced himself

to stop and knock. Boundaries. It was important to remember that they

had boundaries. Boundaries that had to be respected now. Why had he

ever pushed Castan into Áine's arms? Reghan forced himself to smile

because he didn't want Castan to think him upset or unhappy or jealous.

Had Castan enjoyed it? Was he going to be smiling and chipper? It was

difficult to imagine Castan chipper. Reghan reminded himself that he'd

been through much worse in his life and knocked lightly on the door.

Castan must have been waiting for him because the door flew

open. A large hand closed around his upper arm and then Reghan was

being pulled forward. He barely had the chance to register the door

slamming shut behind him before Castan was pressing him against the

solid oak. Castan had never once tried to overpower him, and though

Reghan understood the other man was strong, this was the first time he

truly felt it. Castan's hands seemed to be large enough to snap a mere

mortal into two, and Reghan was close enough to see the way his

muscles flexed beneath his shirt and the darker flecks of gold in his eyes.

"Castan?"

Castan's mouth pressed to his was not the response he was

expecting, but at the same time, he hadn't truly expected anything else.

Reghan closed his eyes and parted his lips, knowing he should push

Castan away, but so curious. Curious about the texture and heat of his

mouth. Curious about what Castan would give him and what Castan

would let him take. Curious about what Castan had learned and what

was still left to teach him.

The kiss was clumsy and hard with a hint of defiance. Reghan

braced himself with his hands against Castan's chest, but he didn't try to

push Castan away. He had no intention of that. He let Castan plunder

his mouth, his blood singing as Castan's tongue slid against his. He

didn't taste Áine in Castan's mouth. He didn't taste anything except

Castan, and it was more wonderful than Reghan could have imagined.

After several long seconds, Reghan began to take more control of

the caress. He did so gradually, slowing the kiss by increments until it

was something sweeter. Castan moaned softly, his fingers tightening on

Reghan's arm as he braced himself against the wall with his other hand.

Reghan was trapped, and he couldn't do anything about that except

clench his fists, twisting the material of Castan's shirt between his

fingers. He licked at the curves of Castan's cheeks, teased his tongue, let

his teeth catch for a moment against Castan's bottom lip. He felt

something nudge against his thigh, and his cock stiffened completely.

This was not what Reghan had intended. He told himself that

again and again. They broke apart for air, but Reghan barely had a

chance to gasp before their mouths crashed together again. When was

this desire born? Where had it come from? Did it begin when he saw

Castan fighting so valiantly on the battlefield? Or did it develop later

when he had the chance to see the true nature of Castan's heart? Or had

it always existed? Had Castan been made for him to find? They fit

together so well that Reghan could believe it, could believe that they had

both been born for this moment and these long, desperate kisses.

Reghan's hands slid away from Castan's chest, one traveling over

the smooth skin on his throat to the back of his neck. The other went

down to where his shirt met the waistband of his pants, and he pulled at

the linen until it was free and Reghan could let his palm dance over the

newly revealed strip of skin. Castan jerked at that contact, hissing softly

against Reghan's mouth before he deepened the kiss again.

This wasn't the first time Reghan had tasted the sweet heat of a

mortal's mouth, or felt the gentle urgency of a mortal's passion. But it

might as well have been. Reghan was intoxicated with it. He was

intoxicated with the smell of Castan's skin and how Castan yielded to

him and resisted him and claimed him with the same small gesture of

his lips. All of the desire and affection--not to mention the true moments

of love he had felt for Castan--merged together into something hard and

pulsing deep in his abdomen.

"I tried," Castan said against his mouth. "I tried. I did what you

told me to do."

"I know."

"But it didn't work."

"It didn't?"

"She wouldn't let me do this." Castan's kiss was hard and short.

"Or this." He moved his mouth to Reghan's throat, and his lips were

damp and his tongue was hot and Reghan thought his legs were going to

melt. "Couldn't even touch her."

"But I saw her..."

"She has somebody else."

Reghan forgot all about melting. He stiffened and slightly pulled

away from Castan's mouth. "What?"

"I don't care. She can lie down with every stable hand if she

wants."

"But Castan..."

Castan caught Reghan's chin with his thumb and forefinger. Once

again, Reghan was reminded that this man was strong. And his eyes

were like twin green flames when he looked up. "I don't care. I don't want

her."

"So you're still...you're..."

"A virgin?" Castan supplied, his mouth slanting. "Did you think I

wouldn't be? You just told me to kiss her."

"You're mine," Reghan said, and there wasn't anything else left to

say. Reghan felt the truth of that has deeply as he felt any truth. It didn't

matter what Castan thought of that declaration or how he felt about

Reghan, it was just a simple fact. Castan, the warrior prince, the slayer

of Banbha, belonged to him. Nobody else had any claim over him, and

Reghan would kill anybody who argued otherwise.

"Yes," Castan said, as though Reghan was stating the plainly

obvious.

Reghan held the back of Castan's head and took his mouth in a

hard kiss. The certainty of his claim over Castan only increased as

Castan moaned in encouragement, and nothing was going to stop

Reghan from claiming every inch of Castan in the same way. Without

breaking the kiss, he transported them across the wide room, putting

them at the foot of Castan's bed within a second. Castan didn't seem to

notice. Or if he noticed his sudden transference from the door to the bed,

he didn't care. There were more important things demanding his

attention.

Hunger gnawed at Reghan. It gnawed at his bones and his heart. It

tore into his body with sharp teeth, and Reghan knew that Castan was

the only thing that would sate it. His need to possess Castan was nearly

animalistic--or maybe it was completely animalistic. He had no point for

comparison, because he'd never wanted anybody the way he wanted

Castan. Vivienne had been the center of his world for years, but even in

the beginning when everything was fresh and new and she was beautiful

in her desire, it hadn't been like this.

The fey weren't known for their stormy passion. Even their anger

had a reserved quality to it, almost as if they were truly above such

emotions but couldn't quite resist the temptation to indulge. Banbha had

been an exception to that. All of her emotions ran deep, fed by a molten

core of seething love and rage and obsession. Reghan had spent most of

his existence denying that the same sort of fire existed within him,

struggling to emulate the other fey, or even the more even-headed

mortals. But with Castan, he felt that control slipping.

He felt Castan's control slipping, too.

They tore at each other's clothes, struggling with the layers and the

laces. Castan was wearing his riding breeches, and the leather was soft

and supple but stretched tight over his thick thighs. They felt like a

second skin, and it was much easier to remove Reghan's pants first. The

tip of his cock dragged across the leather, and Reghan shifted, grinding

himself against Castan's leg. Castan bent his knee slightly so his thigh

pressed harder into Reghan's crotch. No matter what Reghan did, Castan

responded, keeping up with him like he had no intention of losing an

inch of ground to Reghan.

Reghan couldn't wait to bury himself in Castan's virgin ass.

When the breeches became too much for Reghan to tolerate for

another second, he used magic to dispose of them. Each time he used his

magic, the air sharpened around him, and there was a high, bittersweet

smell. It was so familiar and had been so absent from Reghan's life that

he longed for more. He wanted it to be as thick as a fog in Castan's room.

He wanted to inhale that magic and taste it and roll around in it. Later.

He would show Castan everything he was capable of, all the wonders and

mysteries of the mortal realm. In the meantime, the scent of his skin and

the taste of his mouth and sweat and arousal would be more than

enough for Reghan.

Once he got Castan undressed, Reghan had to take a step back,

though it cost him a great deal to break the physical contact. But he

wanted to see Castan's body. He wanted to know the scars and the

dimples and the birthmarks. He wanted to know the landscape of his

body the way he knew the landscape of Castan's land. Fingers moved

over raised skin, and his mouth followed the curve of his collarbone.

Castan was the closest thing to physical perfection that Reghan would

ever hope to see, and yet he had flaws. The years of war had not been

kind to his flesh, and there were countless stories carved into his skin by

sharp blades and blunt rocks. Reghan could read each one as though he

had witnessed them all.

"Reghan...your eyes. They're black."

Reghan blinked and forced his concentration back to the moment

instead of all the years before. "Does it bother you?"

"It...surprised me."

"Just surprise?" Reghan asked as he dragged his tongue over a

jagged wound on Castan's right shoulder. He knew where that wound

came from, knew exactly who had sliced into Castan's skin. Knew that

fairy was dead and knew he might have killed the culprit himself if she

still lived.

"It was...oh...disconcerting."

Reghan had already lost interest in the conversation. He wanted to

tell Castan he need never fear him, but Castan already knew that. He

was more interested in the texture of the scar, and he ran his tongue

over it again and again and again until Castan fisted his hair. His large

fingers tangled in Reghan's hair, pulling it until Reghan felt the sting

from the top of his scalp to his neck. Reghan palmed Castan's erection,

running the heel of his hand over the top before wrapping his fingers

around the shaft and dragging his hand back down the length.

Castan gasped, his fingers suddenly going lax, and Reghan surged

against his body to claim his mouth again. Lips twisted in a harsh kiss,

but Reghan kept each stroke slow and sweet. Castan made the sweetest

sounds in the back of his throat, and he kept shuffling his feet and

swaying, like he wanted to be closer to Reghan. Reghan's other arm

sneaked around Castan's waist to steady him. His cock was slick,

growing slicker by the second. The clear liquid covered Reghan's hand

and made it easier for him to stroke faster, increase the friction and the

speed until the sweet sounds turned into small, pleading mews.

"I'm going to take you," Reghan said, licking Castan's lips. "You

understand?"

Castan nodded.

"Do you want that?"

Castan nodded again.

Reghan rewarded him with a twist of his wrist, and Castan's

scream was almost instantaneous. His knees buckled and he was

swaying again, his cock jerking, covering Reghan's fingers with long,

sticky strings. Reghan felt the liquid drip along his wrist, hot against his

skin, tickling over his pulse point. His mouth watered for a taste of

Castan's spending, and he knew that desire came from the same place as

his earlier animalistic needs. It was pure instinct to capture the scent

and taste of Castan's body, of his life and his skin and the salty liquid

that nobody else had ever sampled.

Reghan scraped his teeth across Castan's mouth in a playful bite

before dropping to his knees. He attacked Castan's semi-erect length

with his mouth, seeking out every drop and thick band across his skin.

He wiped his hand over the wiry hair at his base and then followed that

with his tongue, mouth tingling from the texture of his hair, the taste of

salt and sweat and come. Reghan gripped Castan's thighs, fingers

digging into the flesh hard enough to leave bruises, and wished he could

roll around in that scent. Wished he could cover himself in it.

"Reghan...what...oh gods..."

Reghan focused on Castan's skin and thighs, and when he was

clean, he shifted his attention to Castan's cock. It had been a very long

time since Reghan had done this with anybody--a very long time since

Reghan had wanted to--but he wrapped his lips around Castan's crown

like it was the most natural action in the world. Would Castan do this for

him? It didn't matter either way. It didn't even particularly matter if

Castan wanted to touch him at all. All that really mattered was that

Castan would let Reghan do this, do anything, do everything.

Reghan pushed his tongue against the slit, coaxing out the last

drops of his come before he began laving the silky skin with his tongue.

By the time his head was clean of the salty taste, Castan was fully erect

again. He stood perfectly still, like he was afraid if he moved, Reghan

would simply stop. Reghan took him by the hips and yanked him forward

roughly, feeling Castan's hot muscle slide against his tongue and reach

the back of his throat. Castan shuddered and Reghan yanked him

forward again. Castan moaned and stood still, his cock down Reghan's

throat, the wiry hair tickling against Reghan's lip.

Reghan guided the rhythm at first, showing Castan what he

needed to do until Castan didn't need Reghan's help anymore. He found

the pace he liked, and it was hard and a little rough, and Reghan

moaned in encouragement. He wanted Castan to lose himself in that

moment, to be caught up in driving his cock as deeply into Reghan's

throat as he could, because if he was caught up in that, he wouldn't

notice what else Reghan had planned.

He cupped Castan's balls, squeezing and pulling, knowing that it

would hurt a bit. He also knew Castan would like it to hurt. Castan had

never known true pleasure. The purest sensation he'd ever experienced

in his life was pain, and Reghan understood instinctively that Castan

would be more comfortable if he hurt a bit. He squeezed until Castan

made a sound like a growl, then unfurled his fingers to reach behind his

heavy sac, where the skin was soft and untouched.

Castan had been beyond words, but now he found the energy to

form some. And they were all pleas for Reghan to do more, to give him

more, to do something to finally satisfy that need he couldn't name.

Reghan would have smiled if Castan wasn't using his mouth with so

much force. His fingers continued their exploration until he finally

reached Castan's tight hole.

This would be the tricky part, even though he'd already told

Castan exactly what he was going to do. If Castan didn't want to submit

to him, Reghan would understand. He wouldn't press the issue though

he felt like he was about to burst and would probably go a little crazy if

Castan pushed him away. He just needed to feel Castan's heat once. One

time. Just one time. Reghan wasn't greedy. If Castan let him have that,

he would never make that sort of demand again.

Reghan slowly worked his finger past the ring of muscle, twisting

and pushing gently until he was buried to the first knuckle. Castan's

rhythm slowed for just a second--just until Reghan had his finger

completely inside of him. He didn't do anything for a long time so Castan

could get used to the pressure. When Castan pushed his hips back, like

he was more concerned with what was going on behind him than in front

of him, Reghan slowly worked in a second finger.

There was a twinge in the back of his mind, concern, fear that he

shouldn't be doing this. Maybe he was wrong and Castan didn't belong to

him at all. But it didn't amount to anything more than a slight diversion.

Because the fortuneteller had been right when she read Castan's stars.

His fate was written across the sky in brilliant colors, and you didn't

have to have any particular powers to see it. His throne, his kingdom,

would be secure because Reghan would lay it at his feet. He would give

Castan the world if Castan asked it of him. He would give him the fey

realm. He would give him all the treasures in the heavens. But first,

Castan needed to give Reghan one thing.

How could it be wrong to take it when Castan had been saving it

for him?

"Reghan, I can't...take this...I can't..."

Reghan carefully added a third finger, using magic to ease the way.

He wasn't going to hurt Castan. Castan wouldn't feel a moment of pain.

Not because of Reghan. Never because of Reghan. Castan's hips

slammed forward, and he exploded a second time, and Reghan didn't

lose a drop of his essence. He felt the tremors race through Castan's

muscles and didn't need to be told his muscles were going to fail him

soon. He pulled his hand free and let Castan's cock side from his mouth.

Reghan sat back on his heels and watched with a slight smile as

Castan collapsed to his mattress. His eyes were glazed and his mouth

was half-open and Reghan congratulated himself on a job well done.

"I didn't know..." Castan's attention drifted down Reghan's body

and he frowned. "You haven't..."

"Not yet, but I will. Lie down."

Castan blinked and then obeyed, falling backward and splaying his

legs. Reghan pushed himself to his feet and gazed down on the form

spread before him like an offering. Mortals had once made offerings of

virgins to him, back when the drums of war pounded in his blood and he

hadn't known any better. It was so long ago now, Reghan chose not to

remember it. The bodies that he had taken in the darkest part of the

night were just shadows in his memory. But he still knew none of them

had been as magnificent as Castan. If he had been one of the offerings,

Reghan would have dragged Castan into the fey realm, would have made

him immortal and forgotten all about making war.

* * * *

As Reghan gazed down on him like a predator might look upon

trapped prey, Castan realized he never truly knew the fey who had so

quickly pledged his life to Castan. He knew aspects of Reghan, but he

hadn't truly known the wild power that lurked so close to the surface.

He'd been given glimpses of that wildness, but this was something far

beyond anything Castan had seen, or even expected. He'd seen the

sparks and the smoke, but he never expected the wildfire. Castan felt so

small in comparison. He had been such a fool to think that Reghan

would ever serve anybody, least of all him, and now he was going to pay

for that foolishness.

Not that Castan minded paying that debt. His ears were still

ringing from his second climax, and he was already getting hard again.

Castan had never, ever experienced anything like the raw pleasure that

engulfed him when he felt Reghan's throat constrict around his shaft.

He'd never even imagined such a thing was possible. But there was a

world of things Castan had never imagined and Reghan seemed prepared

to show him. Which seemed right. It seemed so right. It was so right that

Reghan knew exactly how to touch him and where to touch him, like he

had somehow designed Castan's body for this purpose.

Reghan climbed onto the bed, gently hooking a hand under

Castan's knee and prompting his leg up and over, opening him up to

Reghan's touch. Reghan settled between his legs, stretching over

Castan's body, chest touching chest. His mouth was soft when he kissed

Castan, and Castan didn't realize he was nervous until Reghan kissed

the tension from his frame.

"Don't be scared," Reghan murmured. "Everything will be fine."

Castan would have killed any other man who implied he was afraid

of anything, but he couldn't do anything except nod. He wasn't scared.

He wouldn't be scared. Even if the wild power Reghan wielded so easily,

so thoughtlessly, should have terrified Castan to his very core. It was

difficult to be afraid of that when Reghan sounded the same as he always

did--his voice just a little gruffer--and tasted the same.

After several long, slow kisses, Castan felt Reghan's cock nudge

against his ass. Reghan reached between them and guided his length so

the head was more firmly pressed against his opening. Reghan's fingers

had been startling at first, but Castan had been so distracted by

Reghan's mouth that he forgot about the discomfort until it was gone,

replaced by a strange, dull pleasure. Castan clung to that memory now

as he stared up into Reghan's dark eyes. They were black again, but

Castan didn't mention it a second time. It seemed like something he

would just have to get used to.

Reghan pushed forward and Castan knew from the sudden

pressure that Reghan had breached the tight ring. But there was no pain

and no discomfort. Castan's eyes widened as a jolt of pleasure shot up

his spine and only one thought pounded in his mind--more. More, more,

more. He hooked his legs around Reghan and pulled him forward, unable

to articulate what he wanted because he was unable to speak or think or

do anything except pull Reghan to him. Reghan smiled at that and

Castan felt himself flushing.

"Why...doesn't it hurt?" Castan finally managed seconds or

minutes or hours later. Could Reghan affect time? If so, Castan hoped he

held them in this moment for as long as possible.

"Magic."

"Very useful."

"Extremely," Reghan breathed before he began to rock back and

forth, as gently as a lake lapping at the shore. At first, Castan felt a

twinge of frustration. He wanted to feel Reghan's power. He wanted the

friction and heat and speed. He wanted Reghan to take him as Reghan

had promised to do earlier. But that frustration barely lasted the space of

a breath, because there was something magic about the rhythm Reghan

found. And the way their skin slid together. And the way Reghan's breath

tickled against his mouth even though Reghan wasn't quite kissing him.

Reghan's rhythm wasn't the result of magic, but it was something

primal. It called to something inside of Castan that he didn't even know

existed, and that something responded to the call with unrestrained

enthusiasm. They were as close as two people could be, and Castan

wasn't surprised to discover that he could feel Reghan's heart beating.

He felt it in Reghan's lips and in his chest and his cock. It was faster

than Castan's and harder, more intent somehow. Castan reached up,

looking for something, and knew he found it when Reghan's fingers slid

between his.

"Castan...Castan...Castan...you're so beautiful." Then Reghan's

tongue was plunging into his mouth, and Castan forgot about the world,

the room, the bed. They could have been anywhere, they could have been

nowhere. Why hadn't they done this the very moment they met? Surely,

surely, this is why they'd met in the first place. This was why Reghan

had sworn his oath, and why Castan had demanded it, and why he

couldn't stand the thought of anybody else making any demands on

Reghan.

Reghan never quickened his rhythm, and eventually something

odd happened. Castan really did lose his ability to sense the rest of the

world. His vision began to blur and then gray out and then everything

went completely dark. He knew he wasn't unconscious, wasn't dreaming,

knew there was nothing to be afraid of. It felt like Reghan had simply

wrapped a great black curtain around the bed, shutting out every hint of

light and leaving nothing for Castan to cling to except Reghan's body and

the great waves of pleasure building and building and building with each

thrust before they crashed through him.

"That's it," Reghan whispered, and the words flared in the

darkness. Castan stared at the golden streaks they left behind, stunned

that he could see it so clearly. Magic, magic, this is magic. But it was

beautiful, too. "That's it, Castan. So close. So close now."

Castan realized he was close. His cock was trapped between their

bodies, and Reghan's stomach rubbed against the most sensitive part,

just below his slit. The pressure inside of him and above him and behind

his eyes and under his skin all became too much to withstand.

"Reghan, I'm..." It didn't work. It didn't sound right. It didn't make

golden lights erupt in front of Castan's eyes. "Reghan. Reghan."

And then there was nothing but light and colors and Reghan's

mouth pressed to his. His arms and legs tightened around Reghan,

pulling him closer as the waves finally swallowed him whole.

Chapter 12

Castan didn't call on Áine the next afternoon. Instead, he invited

Reghan to go on a long ride with him through the north forest. Officially,

they were scouting for an upcoming hunt, searching for fresh tracks and

signs that the deer had begun their migration through the area. But

Castan didn't care about tracking game, and that task was promptly

forgotten as they left the castle walls behind. Castan was more interested

in watching Reghan, especially since he could do so without fear of being

caught. It felt like Castan had already lost too much time, averting his

eyes or redirecting his attention to avoid notice when he would have

rather continued gazing at Reghan. He did hope this would be a short-

lived impulse, otherwise he would never get anything done and Somerset

would fall into shambles.

Reghan looked over every once in awhile and met Castan's stare

with a smile and a questioning arch of his brow. Castan felt himself

responding with a goofy grin and a half-shrug. The goofy grin was

completely alien, and it didn't feel like it truly fit his face. Nothing had

ever made him smile like that before, and he might have gone his entire

life without ever knowing he was capable of such a thing if he'd never

met Reghan.

"Didn't anybody ever tell you it's impolite to stare?"

"I'm the prince. So, no."

"It's not acceptable to be rude just because you're a prince,"

Reghan pointed out.

"Do you want me to stop?"

"No, it's just...I've never seen you like this."

"That's because I've never been like this," Castan answered. "It's

not like you said it would be."

"Because I've never been like this, either."

Castan blinked, surprised by the revelation. He believed Reghan

because he couldn't think of any reason for Reghan to lie to him, but it

made perfect sense for all of this to be overwhelmingly new to Castan. He

never expected for a second that Reghan would be experiencing anything

new. "Not even with Vivienne?"

"Not even with Vivienne."

"I guess that means you love me the most," Castan said lightly.

"I guess it means I do," Reghan said, before kicking his horse into a

run.

"Where are you going?" Castan shouted after him.

"Come on!"

Castan immediately urged his horse into a gallop. He could

overtake Reghan easily since his horse was far, far superior to Reghan's,

but he was content to hang back and let Reghan lead them across the

field and into the trees. The wind carried Reghan's shout of joy back to

him, and Castan whooped in response, his hair flying up in all

directions, his face stinging from the wind and the sun. The horse was

powerful beneath him, eating up the ground with its long legs. Castan

felt like they were flying, and he bent low over the horse's neck, shouting

for more speed.

Neither horse slowed until they were deep within the shade of the

forest. Reghan was forced to stop first, his horse's sides heaving. His

delighted smile lit his whole face and made his eyes burn. Castan

couldn't believe something so simple could bring somebody like Reghan

so much joy, but he was undeniably happy. Castan's heart lifted at the

sight of it, and his own goofy grin returned.

"Feel better?" Castan asked.

"Much. Though I wish I was riding a puka."

Castan's eyes widened. "A puka? You've ridden one of those?"

"Sure. Several, actually."

"What is it like?"

"Amazing. Come on." He clicked his tongue and his mare began

walking sedately. Castan set an easy pace to stay even with Reghan and

was content to return to his earlier pastime of watching Reghan. He

looked a little different now. It might have been the way his hair stuck to

his brow, damp with sweat. Or it might have been the shadows on his

face and the way the sun occasionally caught his green eyes.

"Do you like living in the castle?" Castan asked.

"I'm sure I will when I'm not a servant anymore. Not sleeping in the

stables is a big improvement. Why?"

"It just...it doesn't feel like you belong there."

"Where do I belong?"

At my side. Always. "I don't know. The castle...it used to seem so

big when I was a kid. I used to get lost wandering through the halls. I

couldn't believe it was all going to be mine some day. Now it seems

so...small. Too small for you."

"Are you saying you want to build me a palace?" Reghan asked.

Castan considered the question for a moment before nodding. "Yes,

I think I do."

Reghan laughed. "You don't have to build me a palace, Castan. You

don't have to build anything for me."

"I want to. I want to do something."

"Build me a kingdom, then. The best kingdom this land has ever

seen."

Castan tilted his head. "I think I can do that. Though I don't know

where to start."

"You've already started," Reghan said softly. "You've got a good

foundation."

"You were a prince, you said. Don't you miss having your own

kingdom?"

"Not at all. I don't regret the choice I made, Castan, and I'll make it

every day for the rest of my life."

Reghan's words were matter-of-fact, his tone one of flat truth.

Reghan at his most reasonable, his most even. Castan liked that side of

Reghan just fine--especially when his reasonable tone was cooling

Castan's more fiery temper--but he missed the wildness from the night

before. He missed the look in Reghan's eyes that said he was thisclose to

losing control, and Castan liked the way Reghan had attacked him like a

wolf falling on its prey. He liked to see that he wasn't the only one with

passions just below the surface, and he liked that Reghan couldn't

always be in perfect control.

His cock swelled at the memory, and Castan realized that it was

very, very uncomfortable to be stuck on a horse with an erection.

"Do you mind if we take a little rest?" Castan asked, trying to make

it sound like it made no difference to him either way.

"Already? I thought you had better stamina than that."

"It's not my stamina I'm worried about."

Reghan smiled. "Of course I don't mind. You're the prince, after all.

I thought that meant you would be informing me of breaks."

"Good point. Reghan, I insist we stop right now."

Reghan pulled his horse to a halt. "Anything else, sire?"

"Dismount," Castan ordered.

Reghan swung his leg over and slid off the horse, looping the reins

over a nearby branch. Castan smiled and followed suit. As soon as his

feet touched the ground, Reghan was there, hands curling in his shirt. A

second later, he felt rough bark at his back as Reghan claimed his

mouth. Castan sighed and wrapped his arms around Reghan, relieved

that he no longer had to pretend he was interested in anything else. He

had a hard time believing he would ever care about anything as much as

he cared about the texture of Reghan's mouth.

Castan wasn't sure how or why, but he was certain Reghan tasted

better--sweeter, somehow. Perhaps it was the fresh air or the scent of the

trees and sunshine. Or maybe it was just the bliss already speeding

through Castan's veins, infecting his blood. Reghan kissed him without

restraint, and Castan was gratified to realize that the night before hadn't

been some fluke. He was even more gratified to know that this wasn't

one-sided. Reghan really did want Castan as much as Castan wanted

him. His desire was desperate and frightening and that morning when he

watched Reghan sleep, he'd felt a little sick with it. Like his stomach

couldn't stand to be twisted into any more knots.

Kissing Reghan was almost like gorging on too many wild berries.

When he was younger, he'd find a ripe patch and stuff his mouth until

his tongue and lips were covered in sticky juice and his stomach felt

heavy. Then he would eat another handful or two because he really did

love the sweetness of it. He loved licking his sticky fingers and smacking

his stained lips and whatever discomfort he suffered later had always

been worth it. Memories of those lazy summer afternoons--the taste and

sound of them--infused his mind as Reghan devoured his mouth.

"Couldn't get you away from that castle fast enough," Reghan

murmured.

"We don't have to go back today."

"We don't?"

"It wouldn't be the first time I disappeared for a little while." His

hand went to Reghan's hip. "Nobody will notice."

"Good. I want to tie you to this tree and keep you here."

"Binding me isn't necessary," Castan said, tilting his chin up as

Reghan attacked his throat. He felt the sharp points of Reghan's teeth

sink into Adam's apple, and then Reghan was soothing the bite with his

tongue, which sent pleasure spiraling all the way down to his feet. His

cock strained against his breeches, and the soft material seemed far too

rough on his sensitive flesh. His balls ached, too. And though Reghan

had been gentle with him the night before, his backside hurt, too. Not in

an unpleasant way. It was almost like he wanted Reghan to tup him

again.

"Fun, though."

Castan's hands were suddenly busy. One was finding a way

beneath Reghan's shirt, and the other was between their bodies, his

fingers molding over Reghan's shaft. Reghan groaned, his mouth still

attached to Castan's neck. He was going to be covered in purple marks--

more purple marks. He didn't exactly remember at what point the night

before Reghan had gone crazy with his teeth, but he did notice the

evidence of such an attack that morning. His neck and chest and

shoulders, and his back for all Castan knew, were covered in bite marks.

Reghan had smiled at him a little sheepishly and made a gesture with his

fingers, wiping away the marks like they'd never been there. Now he

seemed intent on seeing their return.

"Fun how?"

"I'll show you sometime." Reghan closed his fingers around

Castan's wrist, gripping him tightly but not trying to move Castan's

hand. "I think you'll like it. Like the way the ropes cut into your skin and

the marks they'll leave."

Castan shuddered. He couldn't deny he liked the idea, even if he

felt more than a little trepidation at the thought of allowing anybody to

bind him.

"Yeah," Reghan said approvingly, "you do like it." He closed his

teeth over the fleshy part of Castan's ear and sharp pain lanced through

him. His first instinct was to bat Reghan away and escape the pain, but

that impulse was almost immediately swallowed up by sharper pleasure.

It felt like the pain had a direct connection to his cock, and when Reghan

bit him again, the throbbing between his legs only intensified. "You love

it."

Castan could only grunt. He twisted his fingers in Reghan's shirt

and gasped for breath, the ground suddenly less stable beneath him. He

thought of all the bruises and gashes, the sprains and broken bones, the

blood. He'd always felt a certain release in combat, whether it was

friendly sparring or an actual fight. But he was a little surprised at how

close that release was to the pleasure Reghan gave him. And he didn't

know what to make of the fact that Reghan was so fascinated, even

enthusiastic, about Castan's appreciation for pain.

"What's on your mind?" Reghan asked, his tongue moving in

strange patterns on Castan's throat. It almost felt like Reghan was

tracing foreign letters. "I can feel you thinking about something."

"How do you expect me to think about anything when you do

that?"

He felt Reghan's smile. "I don't. That's why I'm wondering what

could be so important."

"I'll tell you later," Castan said, gripping Reghan's shoulder and

pushing him backward until it was his shoulders pinned against the

tree. Reghan didn't resist him or push back, and it was in that moment

that Castan realized he could do whatever he wanted to Reghan. Reghan

would allow it. Welcome it. Castan had been more than happy to let

Reghan take the lead the night before, overwhelmed and confused by

everything.

The first order of business was to get rid of Reghan's clothes.

Castan loved his body. He loved the jut of his hips, and the smoothness

of his skin, and the compact muscles in his arms and thighs. Reghan

wasn't meant to wear clothes. He was clearly meant to run through the

forest naked, without any restrictions. Something about that image made

Castan ache, and it was a pain he didn't want to investigate too closely.

Reghan would never truly be unrestricted because he'd always be bound

to Castan. That didn't seem right.

"Castan...I want you." Reghan cupped Castan's shaft and gave him

a gentle squeeze. "Inside of me. Right here."

Castan moaned, every muscle from his throat to his groin

tightening in response to Reghan's touch and his words. Castan wanted

that, too. He couldn't remember wanting anything more, and the need to

get Reghan free of his clothes became even more urgent. His free hand

naturally went to the short blade he wore in his belt, but his fingers

barely skimmed the handle before he changed his mind. Reghan would

not want him slicing at his clothes with a knife.

"Do it," Reghan said, like he could read Castan's mind and knew

exactly what he was contemplating. He cupped the back of Castan's head

with his other hand and leaned in for a hard kiss. "Anything you want,

Castan. Do it."

Castan took a half step back and reached for his knife again.

Reghan met his eyes in a clear challenge, and Castan didn't need any

more encouragement. He dragged the tip of the blade down the center of

Reghan's shirt, cutting it away from his body. Reghan's chest hitched as

the cold metal touched his bare skin, and Castan didn't want to hurt

Reghan, but he did wonder about the way his ruby blood would look

against his pale skin. A flick of his wrist, and the laces on Reghan's

pants were severed, allowing the loose breeches to fall from his hips.

Castan replaced the knife and tore at material hanging off Reghan's

body, ripping it away until it was nothing but rags at his feet.

Reghan ran his fingers over Castan's laces, and they untied

themselves immediately. With the pants no longer a hindrance, Reghan

could get his long, hot fingers around Castan's shaft. Castan mimicked

him, fisting Reghan's cock and remembering exactly how it felt to have

every inch of his muscle buried in Castan's body. He definitely wanted

that again, there was no question of that.

They moved at the same time, their mouths crashing together.

Castan pushed closer until Reghan was completely pinned against the

tree, rocking his hips, thrusting into Reghan's hand hungrily. Castan's

fingers brushed over Reghan's crown, collecting the fluid there, and he

liked that Reghan was already leaking and wet for him.

"I want to know what you're feeling," Castan said breathlessly,

twisting his wrist, dragging his palm over the velvety, damp flesh. "Show

me?"

Reghan inclined his head and then Castan felt something slick and

hot winding through him, traveling down his body like a sun-baked

serpent. It circled his body, writhing in tighter and tighter circles, until a

new sort of pleasure settled deep in his flesh. He couldn't locate it

precisely. It was everywhere. It flared with life with every breath and

every sigh, and when he tentatively squeezed Reghan's cock, Castan's

legs nearly went out.

"Oh...oh...oh..." Castan kept trying to form words, but nothing

more than startled sounds would leave his lips.

Reghan released his hold on Castan's shaft and gripped his hip

instead, silently giving Castan the support he needed to stay standing.

"Keep doing that," he whispered, his voice as raw as Castan felt. "Please.

Please, Castan..."

Castan nodded frantically, seeking out Reghan's mouth to stop his

own embarrassing moans and pleas. He felt like if he wasn't careful he'd

be sobbing with pleasure soon, like he was about to lose all control of his

reactions and Reghan wasn't even touching him. Every time he stroked

his hand over Reghan's length, his abdomen clenched and his balls

pulled tighter. He experimented with the rhythm, moving slower and

then faster, trying to gauge what Reghan liked the most and marveling at

the fact he could feel something so intimate, so impossible. He knew the

bark was scraping across Reghan's back. Knew because he could feel

that vague pain mingled with the much stronger pleasure and the

overwhelming desire and need.

That need surprised Castan the most. He knew how badly he

wanted Reghan, but this was so much greater than what Castan had

experienced. It wasn't that Reghan wanted him more, it just felt like his

want was bigger, somehow. It was the world. Castan was his world.

"Reghan...oh Reghan..."

"Don't stop." Reghan panted. "Don't...Castan...Castan..." He thrust

his hips harder, and Castan responded by tightening his grip, pumping

his wrist so hard he wondered if he would hurt Reghan. But if anything,

the tight ball of pleasure only glowed brighter, pulsing in response to

Castan's too-firm grip and each too-hard stroke.

"Reghan, I need to...I need...need you..."

"Yes. Now. Castan, now, please."

Castan almost felt like somebody else was controlling his body,

pulling at his limbs like he was nothing but a marionette. He was

detached from everything except his sharp-edged lust. It was slicing into

him, slicing him open, slicing him apart. He wrapped an arm around

Reghan and yanked him off the ground. Reghan's legs went around his

hips and he rocked soundlessly against Castan, beyond words. Castan

had to release Reghan's cock so he could guide his own into Reghan's

waiting body.

Castan thrust into him, shouting as Reghan's tight walls enclosed

him. His muscles were fluttering, clenching and relaxing rapidly, and the

pleasure Reghan had sent to him finally became too much for Castan to

bear. It exploded inside of him, filling him from the tips of his hair to his

fingernails. He might have reached his peak, too. It was difficult to tell

with so many sensations surrounding him and battering him. His cock

felt slick when he eased back and thrust forward again, and it might

have been his own spending. But he was still as hard as a rock, and he

couldn't think of anything he wanted more than to pound into Reghan

again and again.

Reghan's mouth was hard and hot and sharp everywhere he

touched Castan, leaving more marks on his throat and his face. Every

time he felt the sting of teeth against his thin skin, he slammed into

Reghan and felt like he had no self-control at all. Reghan clung to him,

as light as a child's doll, his arms and legs wrapped around Castan's

trunk, ankles locked together at the small of Castan's back, keeping him

in place. Castan braced himself against the tree with one hand, happy to

let the rough bark slice into his palm and grind against the scrapes. This

was one type of pain that didn't get lost in the larger cloud of pleasure. It

was sharp and exacting and it helped Castan focus.

Birds fluttered above their heads as their shouts startled them

from their resting places. Castan could sense other animals around

them, hearing them scurry deeper into the forest, running from the

strange, too-loud sounds. Castan felt like he must have been screaming

even when Reghan's mouth was pressed to his. And in the back of his

head, he heard Reghan say over and over Do it. Anything you want,

Castan.

* * * *

They didn't talk for a long time afterward. Castan thought it had

something to do with the fact that neither of them were capable of

speech. Castan's throat was raw and his mouth dry. His muscles were

watery, and he had pretty much collapsed where he stood as soon as

Reghan disentangled himself. Reghan had chuckled softly and joined him

on the forest floor, sleepily curling into Castan's side. Was it like that

every time? And if so, how was Castan going to be able to function and

cope with ruling an entire kingdom when all he wanted to do was lock

himself into a room with Reghan and never leave?

He fell asleep while mulling over the possibility of that, and his

dreams were thin and entirely focused around Reghan. He didn't know

how long he slept, but when he woke again, the sun was much lower in

the sky and Reghan was no longer snuggled against him. After a moment

of panic, he realized that Reghan hadn't gone far. He was only a few feet

away, his clothes miraculously mended and on his body again, a small

fire burning at his feet. A rabbit hung on a spit above the flames.

"I thought I would set up camp," Reghan said. "Since I don't think

we'll be going anywhere tonight."

"It's not night yet."

"I meant since I will not be sitting on a horse anytime in the near

future."

"Why...oh." Castan frowned. "I didn't really hurt you, did I? I

should have been more careful."

Reghan smiled and shook his head. "You didn't hurt me, but I will

be a bit tender for awhile. And this is a nice spot."

"Where did you get the rabbit?"

Reghan arched his brow and Castan grimaced. "Okay, sorry, that

was a stupid question."

"After the afternoon you've had, you're allowed a few stupid

questions. Most people wouldn't be thinking too clearly after that."

"You sound awfully pleased with yourself."

"I am awfully pleased with myself. I didn't leave you wanting, did

I?"

Castan quirked his lips. "No, you definitely didn't do that. I can't

remember the last time I felt so...good."

Reghan patted the log beside him. "Come sit with me."

Castan happily moved to the other side of the fire, sitting with his

knees splayed and his hand resting on Reghan's thigh. The fire popped,

sparks catching on the wind and swirling above the fire before fading out

of existence. Castan watched them, still feeling a little bit dazed and

wondering when his mind would clear.

"I wanted to talk to you about Áine," Reghan said.

"I don't want to talk about Áine."

"I know, but there's something I need to tell you. Something that

might help you understand her choices."

"I don't care about her choices, Reghan. I don't care about

anything she does."

"I understand that. But...you're still going to have to marry her.

She's not going to go away anytime soon. And I think it's important for

you to have all the information. I want to be honest with you, Castan."

Castan frowned. "What is it?"

"Áine's mother was fey."

"Yes, you already told me that."

"Her name was Sibley. You've spoken with her."

"What? I don't remember meeting anybody named Sibley."

"She didn't introduce herself before you ordered her death,"

Reghan said softly. "She was the first fairy you offered to spare. The first

one to decline."

Castan knew he was staring at Reghan like a fool with his mouth

open and his eyes wide. "Áine...knows this?"

Reghan nodded.

"You told her," Castan said, knowing the answer, knowing it didn't

need to be a question.

"She asked me if I knew of Sibley's fate. I told her the truth."

"That's why she hates me now," Castan said dully. "Why would you

do that? Were you trying to undermine me? Or destroy the alliance my

father wishes to build?"

"No." Reghan turned to face Castan fully and took his hand. "No, it

was never anything like that. Never. I told her...I tried to make her

understand it wasn't your fault. It was Banbha's war and you had done

the honorable thing."

"How could I marry her now?"

"You have to," Reghan said. "You risk too much if you refuse her

now."

"I saw her with another man. I could send her away in disgrace."

"And Mannix could gather his men and declare war on the crown,"

Reghan responded. "To defend the honor of his daughter, if nothing else.

Think about this, Castan. Your ranks are badly depleted. You still need

time to recover from the battles with Banbha. Somerset couldn't

withstand a siege right now."

"Fine, I'll marry her. But I'm going to send her away. I don't trust

her, Reghan."

"With time, she may realize..."

"With time?" Castan asked, incredulous. "What are you saying?

That one day we might have a happy union if I just give her enough time

to forgive me for killing her mother?"

"No. I'm just saying she may forgive you someday."

"Her forgiveness means nothing to me. But...thank you for telling

me. Anything else?"

"Nothing that I can think of. Can I ask you a question?"

"Of course."

"Did you know your mother?"

Castan kicked at the fire half-heartedly, wishing he could just kiss

Reghan until he forgot he ever asked a question at all. That might work

in the short term, but Reghan would probably remember that he never

got an answer and ask him again. "She died when I was still very young."

"Did she fall ill?"

"Poisoned."

"What?"

"At least, that's what everybody believed. They tried to keep it from

me, but they couldn't keep me from the castle gossip. The servants

couldn't stop talking about it. How suspicious her sudden illness was.

How jealous..." Castan paused and took a deep breath. "How jealous the

king could be."

"Oh, Castan..."

"I'll probably never know the truth. I try not to think about it but

it's hard. Sometimes, I look at him and I ask myself if he could ever be

capable of something so horrible. Sometimes, I have to admit that the

answer is yes. He's fully capable of something like that, and I hate it."

Reghan touched his back, letting his hand act as a comforting

weight between Castan's shoulders. "I'm sorry. I can't imagine what

that's like."

"I mostly don't think about it anymore."

"Not unless some idiot asks you about it, right?"

Castan smiled. "You're not an idiot. And I'm glad you did. I don't

like talking about it, but I don't want to have any secrets from you,

either. Is it my turn to ask a question?"

"Ask whatever you like."

"You said that you tried to kill Banbha before and that's why you

can't hold it against me. But...why? Why weren't you like her? Is it

because of Vivienne?"

"No. I was like her once. A long time ago, we ruled both realms

together. She was bloodthirsty, but I was more so. We cut great swaths

through every people that ever tried to stand against us, and

we...I...toyed with them. I told them if they left me offerings, I would look

upon them with mercy, but no sacrifice would ever satisfy me. Banbha

hadn't always been the ruler of the fey realm, though hardly anybody

remembers that now. Her claim was so absolute, her throne coated with

so much blood..."

"What changed?" Castan asked, struggling to keep his voice even.

He wasn't surprised by these revelations, but he was surprised by how

easy it was to imagine Reghan's reign of terror. "What changed you?"

"We attacked a village one night. It was just the two of us. The

village was small and poor, and most of the children had died the

previous winter because of illness. We hadn't planned to go there, but we

met a traveler who was going there and invited us to join him. He took us

into his home and he fed us and offered us a place to sleep. He was the

first to die. And Banbha...nothing could ever satisfy her bloodlust. We

destroyed the village."

Reghan paused and Castan waited patiently. He knew the terror

facing Banbha's army in full armor with sword in hand and an army at

his back. He couldn't imagine how absolute the terror must have been

for those poor villagers.

"I watched her....tear the guts out of a child. She ripped into him

like a wild animal and she looked so...so happy. Like nothing could bring

her so much joy. She was covered in blood. Her hair was dark with it.

Her mouth...she was using her teeth and her nails and there was so

much fire. Every building was burning, people were screaming, I could

barely breathe from the smoke. And she was happy. I should have been,

too. That's what I had been born for. That's what she told me every day.

You're born for this. But in that moment, I recognized she was truly mad.

And she needed to be stopped.

"I ran away and she tracked me down. The fourth time I ran away,

she imprisoned me and told me she would leave me there until I learned

my true place. I never truly escaped her. Sometimes, she'd leave me

alone for a few years. Once, she didn't try to find me for a few decades.

But she'd always come back for me."

"Why didn't you just kill her?"

"I couldn't."

"Why not? Because she was your mother?"

Regan looked a bit surprised by the question, and then his face

shifted into a deep frown. "No, because...I wasn't strong enough. I was

never strong enough to stop her."

"That doesn't make any sense, Reghan. I know how strong you are.

I can...I can feel it."

"Yes, but not strong enough."

"Then how did I kill her?" Castan asked.

"I don't know."

"Reghan."

"I don't. When I learned that Sibley was actually married to Lord

Mannix, I wondered if she had something to do with it. Maybe she helped

you. Maybe you just got lucky. Maybe it was Banbha's destiny to fall to

your sword."

Castan stared at the fire, feeling pensive and unsure. Reghan

wished he had a better answer than that. He wished he could know for

sure that Banbha fell because Castan truly was the superior fighter. It

wasn't just a matter of pride, though Castan's pride was a little wounded

at the thought of receiving help. He needed to know he could defend his

own kingdom from any threat. The greatest threat to peace was now

gone, but there were other enemies to the crown. There would be other

wars to fight and battles to win. He needed to know his victory wasn't a

fluke of fate.

"Castan, I'll understand if you..."

"What?"

"If this changes things between us."

"Why would it change anything?"

"Because you don't trust the fey and you have good reason not to

trust me, either. Not with my past."

Castan's frown deepened. "But...it's the past. You're not like that

anymore. I know you aren't." He swallowed. "So, I guess I freed you."

"Yes, you did. You're my savior."

"Is that why you love me?" Castan teased, astonished he felt so

comfortable with the words, the sentiment.

Reghan smiled. "It's one of the reasons. You're special, Castan.

And your destiny is so bright."

"My kingdom will be secure for eternity?" Castan asked, cocking

his brow.

"Yes."

"What? Really?"

Reghan inclined his head. "It never crossed your mind that the

fortune teller was talking about me?"

"I...I didn't think about it. She didn't mean Somerset, did she?"

"No, I don't believe she did. But we don't have to worry about that

right now. Somerset is your kingdom in this realm and will continue to

be yours as long as you dwell here."

"And when I no longer dwell here?"

"Then you shall rule over the fey realm," Reghan said as though

there couldn't be anything more simple.

"But...how?"

"I'll crown you king of the highest throne, your highness."

"You can do that?"

"It's my crown. I can do with it what I wish."

"You said you were a prince once," Castan said slowly.

"And so I was. Until you killed Banbha and I became king."

"King of the fey," Castan whispered, surprised he could even

process the words. "I knew...I knew you were more than...but the king?

Of all the fey?"

"Every single one. Including Áine. She will never make a move

against you, no matter what her personal feelings are. She would not

wish to cross me. You'll never die, Castan. There's a reason that the fey

don't swear oaths to mortals. Once a fey and a human are bound in this

way, nothing can break that oath. Not even death." Reghan sighed softly.

"I'm sorry, Castan, I didn't want to tell all of this at once. It's a lot to

process."

"No, no. I'm glad you told me. I...didn't know that thing about

being immortal now. I didn't even think...I should have thought about

that before asking for your oath."

"Do you wish you hadn't?" Reghan asked.

Castan looked back to the fire, heart twisting at the hint of fear in

Reghan's question. Reghan was afraid of his response, like he had

anything to be insecure about. As far as Castan was concerned, Reghan

was the best thing that ever happened to him. Perhaps even his reward

for ridding the land of a menace like Banbha.

"I will never regret that decision, Reghan. Never."

"I never will, either." Reghan leaned over and kissed Castan gently.

This kiss had a certain quality to it that the others lacked, and after a

long moment, Castan realized what it was. Reghan wasn't holding

anything back from him. There truly were no more secrets between them.

He knew this fey, this immortal, this wild, dangerous being. Knew him to

his core, as nobody else ever had. Castan pulled Reghan closer, until he

was stretched across Castan's lap, warming his legs and pressing against

his groin. The kiss continued, unbroken and unhurried.

That night, Reghan stretched Castan out next to the fire and made

love to him. He moved the stars around with the wave of his hand, and

he whispered the words of Castan's destiny, and he made a thousand

promises. Every time he moved away, Castan reached for him and pulled

him closer again. The fire danced and died down, but Castan never felt

the chill of the night. Reghan kept it away with his body and his mouth.

Chapter 13

Reghan had never considered himself a particularly jealous man.

He actually thought himself to be highly pragmatic, and he'd assured

Castan again and again that his wedding night was something both of

them could survive. Castan clearly was not looking forward to performing

his new duties as husband, and Áine clearly wasn't pleased with the

idea, either. Reghan had been forced to comfort both of them at different

times before and after the ceremony, which was not a position that he

ever wanted to be in. But on Castan's wedding day, everybody had to

deal with something distasteful. There was no reason Reghan should be

any different.

The handfasting ceremony was interminable, but Reghan had

survived it by watching Castan. He wore a crown Reghan had never seen

before, and his robes were extremely ornate and vibrantly purple. Reghan

had wrinkled his nose when he got close enough to smell just what they

had used to make the dye so bright, but even that odious scent hadn't

ruined the image Castan created. He was tall and proud and as beautiful

as Reghan had ever seen him. Perhaps one day they would have a

ceremony of their own. The thought had been an idle one, but Reghan

liked the way it felt. Nobody had ever prompted the desire for anything

formal, but Reghan wanted Castan to be bound to him in every way. He

was turning startling possessive.

Aldred was allowed to stand with him during the ceremony, his

small hand closed around Reghan's fingers. He was thriving in the castle,

growing quickly due to his regular diet of three meals a day, a safe place

to sleep, and constant attention. Even if Reghan hated living in the

castle, he would have been happy to see the changes in Aldred and

satisfied that his decision had been the right one. His eyes were still too

old for his small face, though, and he looked up at Reghan knowingly as

they moved to the great hall for the wedding feast.

"You're sad," Aldred said softly.

"No. Not quite sad."

"What's not quite sad?"

"I'm not sure. I've never felt this way before."

"Áine is very beautiful."

"She is," Reghan agreed. "The fairest queen in the land, I'm sure."

"She's like me, isn't she?"

"Yes." Reghan wasn't sure if Aldred was referring to the fact that

Áine was half-fairy, the fact that her mother was dead, or the fact that

she really didn't like Castan. As far as Reghan could tell, Aldred had

never fully forgiven Castan either. The fey could hold grudges for a long,

long time. "Perhaps she will offer you an audience if you request to meet

her."

The kitchen servants had spent the past three months preparing

for this feast. Reghan had been drafted into service more than once as

the big date neared and the work seemed to double and triple no matter

how hard everybody worked. There was wild boar and venison and

peacocks. There were twenty different kinds of pie and puddings. There

were sweetmeats and candied fruit and cake. Wine and ale flowed freely,

and there were enough servants positioned around the table to be sure

that nobody's goblet was ever less than half-full. Bressal presided over

the banquet with a pleased smile. He was the only one at the head table

who appeared to be genuinely happy. Mannix was pensive, Áine was

distracted, and Castan spent most of the feast staring at Reghan.

Reghan didn't help matters. He spent most of the feast staring

back and wondering if he could try to communicate directly with

Castan's mind. He'd never done anything like that before, but it seemed

like if it were possible at all, it would be possible between the two of

them. But none of his attempts were successful, so he was left with

staring from afar and mentally rearranging the head table, wishing he

could remove Bressal and Mannix completely. Castan would take

Bressal's chair, Reghan could take his place beside Castan, Aldred would

sit in the former prince's chair, and Áine would be placed at the end.

Maybe one day. When Castan was actually king.

Reghan could barely touch his food, though it was all excellently

prepared. Partially because he could feel Castan's nerves and general

unhappiness--two things he hadn't experienced at all in the past eight

weeks. Now those eight weeks seemed like nothing but a very happy

dream. He and Castan had been inseparable. They slept together, they

rode together, they ate together, and they were always touching.

Something about Castan was addicting, and Reghan was not in the mood

to deny himself. He indulged his addiction, taking Castan, submitting to

Castan, worshipping him and being worshiped in turn. Reghan had even

been tempted to kidnap Castan and whisk him away to the wilderness to

live an idyllic life and forget all about ruling over great kingdoms.

They had been happy. Reghan had never been so happy. Castan

never bored him, never exasperated or frustrated him. They found new

delights together on a daily basis, and Reghan knew Castan's marriage

didn't necessarily have to change that, but it changed everything. Castan

would never be so carefree again, nor would he ever have that much free

time on his hands. Bressal had been willing to tolerate it because he'd

believed that Castan was spending all that time with his future queen.

This night was going to change everything, and Reghan could only wish

that he'd been given more time with Castan. He felt greedy for it. Just

another day. They could do so much with just another day of freedom.

The party would continue until dawn, but at the proper time, the

four at the head table stood. At the sight, everybody in the hall burst into

applause, and some of the drunker men added shouts and catcalls that

bordered on disrespectful. Nearly the entire length of the hall separated

them, but Castan unerringly found Reghan's eyes, and their gazes

locked. Reghan tried to smile, but it felt thin and insincere, so he gave up

and merely offered a small, encouraging nod. Then Castan was turning

away, following Bressal through the side door and into the corridor that

would eventually take them to the bridal chamber.

Reghan would have liked to make his escape at that point, but he

was obliged to stay until Mannix returned with the stained sheets. He did

not want to witness the visual evidence of Castan's time with Áine. It was

hard enough not to dwell on it. It didn't do him any good at all to think of

Castan undressing her, to think of him touching her and kissing her and

finally sliding into her. Reghan had extracted a promise from Castan that

he would not mistreat Áine. She might have been unfaithful to him, she

might hate him, and she might not be the one Castan wanted, but she

didn't deserve to be hurt or frightened on her wedding night. Castan,

who could still vividly recall how nervous he'd been before his first time,

had given his word that he would do neither.

For Áine's sake, Reghan hoped Mannix presented stained sheets.

For his own sake, he wished Mannix didn't have to present anything at

all.

"Don't make yourself sick," Reghan warned as Aldred snagged

another piece of pie.

"I like this."

"Yes, it's very good. But if you eat too much of it, you'll be sick."

"I won't eat too much," Aldred promised before filling his mouth

with the sweet pastry.

Reghan sipped from his goblet, wishing wine had a stronger effect

on him. He would have loved to lose himself to an alcoholic haze. Castan

could have, but Reghan had kept an eye on his consumption over the

night, and near as he could tell, he barely finished his first goblet. So

they were both going to be stone-cold sober for the night.

"Can I have one more slice?" Aldred asked.

"No, I..." Reghan stopped with a gasp, sudden pain in his stomach

stealing his voice. He didn't understand it. It was like somebody was

trying to slice him open from the inside out. Reghan turned away from

the table in case he had to vomit, but his half-digested food didn't seem

to be in any danger. In fact, the pain didn't seem to have a specific

source. He felt it in his abdomen, but it didn't seem to belong to him.

"Castan..."

"Father? What is it? What's wrong?"

"I..." Reghan tried to stand, but the blades under his skin were

having none of it. They sliced through him more furiously than before,

and his throat began to burn. He had to blink away sudden tears.

"Father?"

"Go to your room," Reghan finally managed. "Go right now. Don't

stop for anything. You understand?"

Aldred's eyes were wide but he nodded. "What's going on?"

"I...I don't know yet. But I need to know that you're safe. Run now."

Aldred abandoned his half-finished pie and fled the hall without

looking back. A few people noticed his rapid departure, but they were too

distracted by their own drinking to worry about the boy for long. Reghan

placed his hand flat on his stomach and forced the pain to dull. He could

have made it disappear, but Reghan didn't want to do that. The pain

belonged to Castan. He would accept it, but he needed to be able to

function. He needed to help Castan.

Reghan didn't bother running. He was always so careful never to

openly break the laws in Somerset, but this was different. This was an

emergency. Something was hurting Castan, and there wasn't a single law

that would stop Reghan from going directly to his side. He disappeared

from the great hall in a blink and found himself standing in the middle of

the bridal chambers. Bressal and Mannix were there, too, summoned by

Áine's screams. Áine, who was still screaming something about Castan,

half-dressed. Reghan noticed the red stain on the sheets but only for a

split second before his attention fell on Castan's lax face.

"Castan."

Bressal and Mannix turned at the sound of Reghan's voice, and

Bressal's face darkened with rage. "What are you doing here?"

Reghan ignored him. "Áine, what happened?"

"I don't know! He passed out. Everything was fine. We were...and

then he clutched his stomach and he just...he just sort of fell..."

Reghan pushed both of the men away without touching them. They

stumbled back, falling over their own feet, and Reghan was at Castan's

side immediately. His skin was sallow, and when he lifted one of Castan's

eyelids, there was no movement, no sign of life at all. Reghan put his ear

against Castan's chest, and his heartbeat was slow. Sluggish. Each

breath was shallow. So shallow that Reghan could barely tell he was

breathing at all.

The pain in his stomach.

Poison.

The word unfolded in his mind. Rage unfolded with it, traveling

down his spine and branching through his limbs. It was pure and

perfect. No softer emotions dulled the sharp, cold edges. He'd been

wearing a cloak of humanity, one that he had carefully constructed since

he began to defy Banbha. It would be easier to fight for the mortals if he

learned to live among them and learned to love them. It would be easier

to remember his vow if he shielded his powers from all, including

himself. But that cloak fell away and he rose off the ground, more

fearsome than Banbha could ever aspire to be.

"Áine." The word boomed from him like thunder, so loud it shook

the stone walls. "Did you do this?"

"No, my lord. No." She was sobbing, her hair in disarray, her face

streaked with tears and snot. She looked like a child, like Aldred. "No, I

swear it."

"Who did?"

Nobody had an answer. Reghan reached out and took Áine by the

throat. Mannix immediately tried to pull Reghan away from his daughter,

but as soon as he touched Reghan's arm, he went flying back to the wall.

"Who did?"

"I..."

"If you don't speak, I'll make certain that death is a very, very long

time in coming. Do you understand me?"

"Bertram."

Reghan dropped Áine with a growl of disgust that was drowned out

by the sound of every window in the room breaking. The glass shattered

outward, flying hundreds of feet with the force of Reghan's fury.

"BRING HIM TO ME!" Reghan's demand echoed over the land,

traveling all the way to the sea and back. The three in the room stared at

him with mouths hanging open, but Reghan wasn't speaking to them. He

was speaking to the wind and the earth and the animals. He was

ordering the universe to make a gift of the murderer, and there wasn't a

single creature in existence who wanted to cross him in that moment.

There was a thump against the door, like a body had been flung into the

wood, and Reghan twisted his hand, yanking the door off its hinge.

Bertram was there, slumped on the floor, his face ashen and eyes

wide with fear. He kicked and tried to pull away as an invisible force

dragged him toward the bed. Beneath Reghan, Castan slept on, oblivious

to the rage and chaos around him. He should have been dead. He would

have been without Reghan's assistance. A worthless little stable boy

deprived Somerset of the king it always deserved and for what? Jealousy?

Reghan flexed his fingers and Bertram was lifted into the air, his

legs kicking uselessly. He struggled against the hold on his throat, but

no matter how much he pulled at the hand he couldn't see, nothing

would break its grip.

"DID YOU DO THIS?"

"Please...please...I..."

"DID YOU DO THIS?"

"I just wanted to save her. I thought we could..."

Nobody would ever know exactly what Bertram was thinking when

he poisoned Castan's goblet, because Reghan could no longer contain his

wrath within the small vessel of his body. It erupted from him and in the

same instant, Bertram's body exploded in flames. He screamed terribly

as he burned, and a sliver of mercy still existed in Reghan. He couldn't

douse the fire, but he did snap Bertram's neck to save him from further

agony.

"No..."

Reghan turned black eyes to Áine and this time he caught her by

the throat. "If you speak one word, I will tear your tongue out. I don't

want to hear your voice again."

Áine nodded frantically, and he eased the pressure on her throat.

Reghan lowered himself to the bed, putting an arm under Castan's

shoulders, and the other under his legs. Feeling the dead weight in his

arms brought tears to his eyes again, and he didn't bother blinking them

away. He let them fall in hot trails down his face, watching as they fell on

Castan's waxen face like raindrops. He cried for the man Castan could

have been. He cried because he knew what he had to do now. He cried

because he already missed Castan so much. He cried because the anger

was still burning hot inside of him and there was nobody left to blame,

nobody left to kill. Overhead, the stars that lit the path Castan was

meant to walk blinked out one by one. His destiny was over now. His

skin was cold to the touch.

He felt Bressal's approach before he heard it, and he whipped his

head around, a warning in his black eyes. "I will return, Bressal. And

when we do, we will discuss the future of your kingdom."

"I will do no such..."

Reghan shouted and knocked Bressal to the floor, pinning him

there. "You will do as I say or Somerset will lose a king and a prince

tonight."

"My lord..." Mannix's tentative voice from across the room. The

man had a good sense not to try to approach Reghan. "Please don't kill

Áine. This was Bertram's doing. Not hers."

"I have no intention of killing Áine." He could already sense the life

inside of her, and so he had no choice but to protect Áine's life with his

own. "That will not be her punishment. But I suggest you bid farewell to

your daughter. You'll never see her again."

Mannix looked stricken, but he of all people had the good sense

not to argue with Reghan. He hurried to Áine's side and pulled her into

his arms, crying as hopelessly as Reghan had. Reghan carried Castan to

the window and called Blancheflor's name. The horse, recognizing the

voice of her true master, responded immediately. Soon, he heard her

hooves clicking against the cobblestones in the courtyard below them.

"Where are you going?" Bressal demanded, though he'd lost his

imperious tone, and Reghan suspected he would never find it again.

"Where are you taking my son?"

"To the fairy mound."

Bressal gasped. "You can't do that. You'll kill him."

"He's already dead," Reghan bit out. "As long as he's in the mortal

realm, he'll live but he'll never wake. He'll be like this for eternity, his

heart beating as long as I'm alive."

"But he'll wake in the fey realm?" Mannix asked.

"Yes."

"He won't be safe," Bressal insisted.

"He'll be safer there than anywhere. Áine, get dressed."

She obeyed immediately, nearly stumbling as the stained

bedclothes wrapped around her feet. Breaking free of that, she reached

for her dress, struggling to pull it overhead before Mannix helped her into

it. Reghan wished she had a dress besides her wedding gown, but there

wasn't time to worry about such trivial things. As soon as she was ready,

Reghan transported the three of them to the courtyard and the waiting

horse.

Reghan could see the question in her eyes as he gestured for her to

mount the horse, but she wisely remembered his order and refrained

from voicing it. Once she was settled, Reghan carefully draped Castan

across the mare's haunches, binding him there with unbreakable bonds.

No matter what happened, he would not fall off. Reghan would have

preferred to ride with Castan himself, but Áine would never be able to

keep up with the pace he intended to set. They needed to reach

Devonshire by dawn. Blancheflor was the only horse in Somerset who

could hope to make the journey.

Somerset was dark behind them as Reghan led the mare out of the

south gate, a shroud of mourning falling on its towers and spires. Even

the moon was gone, hiding its face from the wrath of the fairy king.

* * * *

Reghan stopped periodically to check on Castan, but his situation

never changed. He neither improved nor worsened. He was frozen in

time, unresponsive to Reghan's pleas and caresses, and no amount of

Reghan's magic would pull him away from the brink of death. At least,

not in the mortal realm. Castan needed to be surrounded by magic. He

needed to be infused with it. He needed to breathe it and touch it and

bathe in it.

He needed to be well again.

Reghan's mood fluctuated with each passing hour. At some points,

he felt perfectly calm. Castan wasn't going to die. Reghan could save him

and eventually everything would be fine. At some points, he was so

furious he felt the trees tremble around him and Blancheflor quaked. His

anger was infinite. No matter how far into the future he looked, the rage

burned on as bright as the sun. And then he would be crying again. Fat,

pathetic tears that streamed freely down his face, raining onto the

ground. His shirt was wet. When he licked his lips, he tasted salt.

"How did he do it?" Reghan finally asked.

Áine's eyes widened, but her mouth remained tightly closed.

"You may speak now, but only to answer the question. Did you

help him?"

"No, sire."

"Do you remember what I told you about lying?"

"I promise I didn't know anything about it, sire."

"Was he at the feast tonight?"

"No, sire."

"He must have had an accomplice," Reghan muttered darkly,

imagining exactly what he would do with that accomplice--he'd inflict

everything he'd been too furious to inflict on Bertram. "Somebody who

had access to Castan's goblet. Who was pouring Castan's wine?"

"I don't know, sire."

"Of course you don't. It's your wedding night. You had other things

on your mind, didn't you?"

"Reghan, I swear..."

"Shut up."

Áine fell silent and Reghan touched the side of Castan's face. His

fury was ebbing once again, and he braced himself for the incoming wave

of sadness. He didn't mind that Áine witnessed every tear and heard

every soft sob. Reghan only hoped that she felt each one in her heart,

that she experienced every second of pain. It didn't occur to him until

much later that she was suffering--but even when it did occur to him,

Reghan found he didn't care about her anguish.

"He didn't have to die," Reghan said after another cycle of rage and

grief. "Castan knew about Bertram. He didn't care. He wouldn't have

tried to keep you apart. He didn't have to die."

"Bertram didn't have to, either," Áine shot back.

In the next second, Reghan had her off the horse and pinned to the

ground, his knee in her chest, his hand around her throat. Blancheflor

stomped her foot and snorted, but otherwise, the forest was still.

"What did I tell you about ripping out your tongue?" Reghan

pushed his fingers between her lips, forcing her mouth open. "Did you

think I was kidding?"

Áine shook her head frantically, her eyes nearly glowing with fear.

"Bertram deserves to die a thousand deaths for what he has done.

For what he's deprived the world of. Is the child Castan's?"

Áine nodded.

"You're certain?"

She nodded quickly.

Reghan released her tongue and pushed himself to his feet. "Get

back on the horse. Don't mention that bastard's name again in my

presence."

Áine joined Castan on the horse again. Reghan touched Castan's

hair, remembering how it felt when it was coated in sunshine.

* * * *

The fey who'd been trapped in Somerset when Reghan closed the

fairy mounds joined them on their journey, silently, respectfully, trailing

behind Blancheflor. Reghan acknowledged them as they melted from the

surrounding woods, nodding slightly as they bowed in greeting. They

didn't ask any questions about Castan or where they were going, but

they were appropriately solemn. And they were loyal to Reghan. If they

had been on Banbha's side of the struggle, they would have either fallen

to Castan's knights, or they would have attempted an attack on the

prince who felled their queen.

Reghan was strangely pleased to see them. Perhaps it was because

he'd never felt so alone. His pain grew with every step, and he feared

what he might do under the combined weight of it all. He had grieved for

Vivienne, but those brief months, as painful as they'd been at the time,

were nothing compared to this. Each second of each minute felt like a

year. He could only hope he would have the chance to speak to Castan

once more. He needed to hear Castan's voice, but he hoped for more than

that. He hoped for a smile. He hoped for a touch and a kiss.

The first of the new arrivals to talk to Reghan was a very old fairy,

Deathwood. Deathwood was so old, he may have remembered the time

before Banbha. Reghan respected him, had once even sought shelter

with him when Banbha's vengeance had been particularly brutal.

"Your highness."

"Deathwood."

"Where will your pilgrimage take you?"

"Devonshire. There is a fairy mound there."

"What of the fairy mounds in Somerset?"

"I closed them at the request of the crown prince."

"I see. I hope you don't find our presence objectionable."

"I have no objection to anybody who is loyal to me, Deathwood. But

I will have no tolerance for anybody who is not."

"I assure you, my lord, all here are loyal to you. Is this young man

the prince you spoke of?"

"Yes. He has been poisoned." Reghan shot a hateful look at Áine.

"On his wedding night."

"That is a grievous shame. I heard he was a good man."

"He still is a good man. He lives. That is why I'm taking him to the

fairy mound."

"Forgive me, sire, but I don't understand."

"I'm going to make him king, Deathwood. And anybody who

opposes that decision will be named an enemy of the throne."

Deathwood was silent for a long moment. Reghan stroked

Blancheflor's face, assuring her through touch that she was a good horse

and she was doing well. Finally, the other fairy said, "He is the one the

stars spoke of."

"He is."

"I'm sorry for your great loss, Reghan. We're all aware of how dear

he is to you."

Reghan almost felt himself smile at that. "I'm sure the stars went

on in great detail."

"They can't help themselves, my lord." Deathwood almost sounded

like he was smiling as well. "I did admonish them to respect your

privacy."

"You've always been a good friend to me."

"May I ask a question, my lord?"

Reghan nodded.

"Why are you so sad? If it is as you say, then Castan will be strong

in the fey realm. You will have an eternity with him, if that is what you

wish."

"No, I won't." Reghan swallowed down the lump of sadness forming

in his throat. "I won't be joining him there."

"My lord?"

"You must watch him for me, Deathwood. You must teach him

what he needs to know. The fey realm won't be easy for him to navigate

at first."

"Of course, I will serve him as I serve you. There's no question of

that."

"Thank you," Reghan said softly. It was a small reassurance, but it

was appreciated all the same.

* * * *

By the time they reached Devonshire, it was only an hour from

dawn and Reghan's party had swelled to nearly forty. None but

Deathwood had the courage to speak to Reghan, but in the gray light, he

could see the sadness in their eyes. Some of them had even been crying.

If they had lived among the mortals, loving them, marrying them, hoping

for peace like them, Castan would have been their prince, too. Reghan

hoped others besides Deathwood would follow him back into the fairy

mound. It would certainly help Castan if he had a loyal band of

supporters.

Despite Reghan's eagerness to get to the fairy mound, he did make

one small detour. Áine gasped when she realized where they were, but

she didn't dare voice her question until the familiar castle came into

sight. "Sire? Why have you brought me here?"

"Because this is where you're going to live until the child is born. I

thought you would be pleased."

"I do not understand."

Reghan took her hand and assisted her off the horse. "It's quite

simple. You will remain a prisoner here until the child is born. Once that

happens, I will take the child back to Somerset."

"What will become of me?" Áine asked, bottom lip trembling.

"Are you afraid for your life, Áine? Don't be. One day, you will be

asked to repay the debt you owe this world. I wouldn't dream of ending

your life before that day comes. When I take the child, you will be

banished to the fey realm. There you will be Castan's responsibility. How

he punishes you is up to him, if he chooses to punish you at all."

Reghan saw her safely deposited in her private chambers. The

servants were clearly shocked to see their mistress returned to them on

the day after her wedding, but Reghan decided to leave the explanations

to her.

"If you try to leave, I will know."

"I understand, sire."

"Your father will not be joining you."

It was cruel, and judging by the sudden moisture in her eyes, she

recognized the gesture for what it was. "Yes, my lord."

Reghan sighed. "Áine..."

"I'm so sorry. I wish...I never intended for any of this to happen. I

just...needed...I don't hate him."

"I believe you're sorry. I'll return at the quickening."

He left her crying on her bed, his heart hardened to her tears.

* * * *

They reached the fairy mound at dawn. Reghan led the procession

to the door, Castan heavy in his arms. He held Castan up to the first

rays of the sun, wishing Castan could be awake for his final view of the

human realm. The sun slanted across his features, and Reghan bent his

head to kiss his lips softly. He would kiss him again on the other side of

the door, but it wouldn't be the same. Not ever quite the same.

Deathwood opened the door for Reghan, bowing as Reghan stepped

over the threshold and returned to the kingdom he had once renounced.

Chapter 14

Castan knew Reghan was there before he opened his eyes. After

spending nearly every waking and sleeping moment with the fey, Castan

recognized his scent and the rhythm of his breathing--which was usually

a little bit faster than a human's. But Castan's senses failed him in every

other respect. He couldn't say where he was or even when he was. Not

even after he opened his eyes. The sky was the wrong shade and barely

seemed like the sky at all. None of the colors were quite right, and when

he turned his head to study the area around him, the landscape wasn't

right.

"Reghan?"

Reghan leaned over him, his smile filling his line of vision. "There

you are, my prince."

"Here I am." Castan coughed and tried to lift his head more, but

sudden pain behind his eyes pinned him to the ground again. "Where is

that, exactly?"

"Welcome to the realm of the fey."

Castan blinked. "Really? I thought you said I couldn't be here."

"I did say that. But things are different now. Are you thirsty?"

Castan licked his lips, realizing for the first time how dry they

were, and how thick his tongue felt. He nodded, and was surprised when

Reghan carefully lifted Castan's head from the ground and let it rest on

his thigh. Once Castan was propped up, Reghan touched a cup to his

lips. Except, it wasn't like any goblet Castan had ever seen. It was softer,

smoother. It reminded Castan of a flower petal.

"What's different now?" Castan asked after Reghan took the cup

away. A few drops of the sweet water rolled down his chin, cooling his

skin.

"Everything, Castan."

Castan exhaled slowly. "What happened to me?"

"Áine's stable boy. In his blind jealousy, he conspired with another

servant to have your wine poisoned. I don't know what he used, exactly,

but it's fatal."

"What...if it's fatal, why are we still talking?"

"Because you made me swear my life to you. I told you that even

death can't break a fey's word, didn't I? As long as I live, you will, too.

But you have to live here."

"Here as in the fey realm? Why does it make a difference?"

"There's not enough magic to sustain you in the mortal realm. You

would just be unconscious, never waking, barely breathing. At least here,

you'll have some sort of life."

Castan sat up slowly, ignoring the pain in his head and stomach. It

must have been a side-effect of being poisoned and nearly dying. But

Castan had a feeling that this was a mere tickle compared to whatever

Reghan was clearly keeping from him. Pain was written all over Reghan's

face, and he had a pinched look around his mouth.

"What sort of life, Reghan?"

"A good one." Now he tried to smile, but he couldn't quite get rid of

that pinched look. His smile looked more like a grimace. "You'll have a

really good life, Castan. You'll be the king you were meant to be."

"What aren't you telling me?" Castan asked, hoping that his guess

was wrong. He hadn't missed the way Reghan kept saying you instead of

we.

"Castan...I'm sorry."

"What is it?" Now Castan was just scared, and that fear made his

voice hard. Reghan didn't just sound sorry, he looked miserable. Castan

wanted to find whoever made Reghan look that way and tear out their

hearts.

"I can't stay here with you."

"I don't understand."

"If we both stay in the mortal realm, you will be in sort of sleeping

death. But I cannot stay with you in the fey realm for the same reason

you're alive."

Castan's brow furrowed and the fear in his chest only grew. The

answer was dancing right in front of him, but Castan turned his mind

away from the obvious conclusion. He couldn't acknowledge it. He

couldn't say it, because if he did, it would be too real and Reghan would

leave him. What was he supposed to do without Reghan? He couldn't

even stand it when Reghan was out of reach. The wedding banquet had

been an exercise in torture, as he could see Reghan but couldn't speak to

him, couldn't touch him. How was he supposed to live without Reghan?

"Reghan..."

"I can't stay here, Castan."

"Don't say that. Please."

"I made a promise to you. I swore to you that I would protect your

children and your kingdom, and I have to live by that oath."

Castan shook his head frantically. "I free you of those obligations."

"You can't." Reghan wiped his face with the back of his hand, and

Castan's heart hurt. "And if you could, you would die if you freed me."

"How long? How long until you can come back?"

"I don't know. As long as you have descendents."

"I have no descendents!" Castan said triumphantly.

"Áine is with child. As soon as she drops it, I'll take the child to

Somerset and bring Áine here. The magic that is keeping you alive will do

the same for her."

"I don't understand. Why do we want to keep her alive?"

"So she can redeem herself. She owes a debt now. One day, she'll

be able to pay that debt."

"Reghan..." Castan cupped Reghan's cheek and felt the tears under

his fingers. Tears. Reghan was crying and that made everything so much

worse. So terrible and real and Castan felt answering tears pooling in the

corners of his eyes. "Please don't leave me. Please."

"Oh, Castan." Reghan slid his hand over Castan's shoulder and

settled his palm on the back of Castan's neck. The weight of his touch

was comforting, but all too fleeting. Castan knew Reghan would pull

away from him, no matter how much he begged or even cried for him not

to go. "I'm so sorry. I didn't know...if I knew, I would have stopped it. I

never would have let anything happen to you. Your destiny was so

bright."

"It's not your fault. It's my fault." Castan rested his forehead

against Reghan's and struggled to take a breath. The physical pain was

forgotten, but his heart was breaking. "I should have done something. I

should have sent her away or sent him away or...I should have done

something."

"I'm going to make you king before I go," Reghan whispered. "But I

need to balance this. I'm going to make Aldred heir to your father's

throne."

"I don't think Father would ever agree to that."

"He's not going to have a choice. As long as somebody with fairy

blood is ruling Somerset, the balance between the two kingdoms will be

maintained and there won't be any more war. It's the best I can do..."

Castan couldn't resist Reghan for another moment. He cradled the

back of his head, holding him as he claimed Reghan's mouth. The kiss

was slick and tasted heavily of salt, as though tears coated Reghan's lips.

Or maybe the salt was from Castan's tears. Castan knew no words would

be enough to sway Reghan, so he tried to use his mouth instead. He

poured his soul into the kiss, trying to convey just how deeply his love

went, feeling like a child pleading with an indifferent God for mercy. He

knew it wasn't Reghan's fault, but he couldn't stop himself.

Reghan responded with the same level of intensity, and they rose

on their knees, their chests pressed together, their arms locking around

each other. They strained for every inch, words forgotten as they sought

more bare skin, more contact, more assurances that everything was

going to be fine. Somehow. Someday. Castan felt like a drowning man

who could see the sun through the shifting surface of the water, but no

matter how he reached for it, he was always short, dragged back down to

the dark abyss. When he stopped kissing Reghan, Reghan would leave

him. So he simply couldn't stop kissing him.

They fell to the grass, and it wasn't grass, but it was close enough,

Castan pinning Reghan's body to the ground. Reghan pawed at his

clothes, and there was a flurry of movement as they both did their best to

strip away the inconvenient barriers. Castan managed to unlace his

pants and push them halfway down his legs without lifting his head from

the kiss. Reghan moaned beneath him, kicking his legs and twisting

until his breeches were down around his ankles.

"Castan...please..."

It was still amazing to Castan that he could reduce somebody as

powerful as Reghan to pleading with him. Almost begging. How could he

have so much power over a fey? How could anybody, fey or not, need

Castan as much as Reghan claimed to? It was utterly impossible, but

Reghan was twisting beneath him, writhing and moaning. Their mouths

touched and broke away and sealed together again, each kiss rough and

sloppy. Castan was hard, desperate, but his need had nothing to do with

pleasure. Physically, he was numb. He just wanted to be close to Reghan.

He just wanted to be sure that Reghan stayed with him for a few more

minutes.

Reghan wrapped his arm around Castan's back and put his other

hand on Castan's hip. His legs looped around Castan's knees, and he

arched his back in silent encouragement. It was easy to slide into

Reghan's waiting body, and the heat momentarily burned away the pain

and the fear, obliterating it. It was always like that when he was with

Reghan. Nothing mattered but the two of them, and they fell into each

other, crashing and scrambling for a hold, nails and teeth and sharp

moans.

::Don't leave,:: Castan pleaded with each solid thrust. ::Don't leave

me. I can barely remember a life without you and I don't want to know

one.::

::I'm sorry,:: Reghan said with his eyes and his mouth and every

touch. ::I'm sorry, Castan. I'm so, so sorry.::

When Castan couldn't take it anymore, he buried his face in

Reghan's neck and inhaled the wild scent of his skin. He was afraid that

one day he'd forget Reghan's scent and taste. Or the texture of his skin.

Or the way he felt when he was slick with sweat and flushed with desire.

He bit at Reghan's skin, sinking his teeth into the flesh, frustrated by

some unnamable desire for more. More what, Castan couldn't say. Only

that he felt the lack in the middle of his stomach, like a great hole that

could never be filled.

Castan's rhythm was shaky and hard. Each time he thrust into

Reghan, Reghan tightened around him, his entire body clamping down

on Castan's. He'd hold Castan like that, his thin frame shaking like a leaf

in the wind, then gradually relax and allow Castan to pull back. Castan

could only stand to lose a few inches of Reghan's heat before he was

slamming home again, burying himself to the base, his balls brushing

against Reghan's warm skin.

There were things Castan had intended to tell Reghan. There were

thoughts and dreams and hopes he'd never mentioned before because

they were supposed to have a lifetime together. How was he supposed to

know that they would only have two months? How he was supposed to

know that he needed to say everything he ever intended to say to his

lover? How was he supposed to know he needed to get his fill of kisses

and slow touches and soft whimpers? How were either one of them to

know that destiny could be so easily thwarted?

The world began to reorder itself around them, but Castan barely

noticed. His full attention was focused on Reghan, and he was more

interested in kissing every inch of Reghan's face and biting his bottom lip

and sucking on his ear. But eventually he realized that the ground

beneath him had shifted from grass to something like marble. Reghan

didn't seem to mind that he no longer had the soft, forgiving earth

beneath him. His body slid over the smooth marble with each thrust, and

then he pushed back, pushed himself onto Castan's cock.

Castan wanted to continue like that indefinitely. He wanted to

drive himself into Reghan's body forever. He wanted the heat of Reghan's

body and the amazing pressure around his flesh. More than that, he

wanted to share Reghan's breath and echo his moans until the two of

them were nothing but dust in time. But he was only human, and all too

soon the pleasure was building, spreading up his spine and down into

chest and wrapping around his throat.

He shouted when he reached the point of no return, shattering in

Reghan's arms. Reghan only tightened his hold, keeping him in one piece

and whole. Castan felt something damp and warm on his cheeks and

realized he was crying again. He hated that. He wasn't a girl, and his

emotions were never this close to the surface. But there was so much

regret and loss in his body. And not just for Reghan. He already missed

his kingdom, his home, even his father. He missed knowing where he

belonged in the world. And he missed Somerset. He had things to do. He

was going to rebuild Somerset, going to be the king who brought the land

into its first era of true peace. Didn't the universe understand that?

Couldn't Reghan fix it so Castan could accomplish the tasks he'd always

been meant for?

"Castan."

Castan dropped his head on Reghan's shoulder and let the

floodgates open. He cried for the world he'd lost, for the life that no

longer belonged to him, for the love he had to release, for the wife who

betrayed him, for the child he'd never know. He cried because his heart

was breaking, and even though his body still drew breath and his heart

still hammered against his ribs, life as he knew it was well and truly

over.

Reghan held him, stroking his head patiently, whispering soft

reassurances. Castan lost track of time and then realized time was a

relative term. It passed differently in the fey realm. But Reghan never

pushed him away and didn't try to tell him any lies.

Finally, Castan felt like all his tears had been wrung from him. He

lifted his head from Reghan's shoulder and kissed him once, sweetly,

then slowly pulled away from Reghan. Reghan let him go, watching him

with solemn eyes as Castan dealt with his clothes.

"Where are we?" Castan asked when he could trust his voice again.

His words were thin and rough.

"Your palace, my lord."

And it was a palace unlike anything Castan had ever seen. They

were in the throne room, and the throne itself was imposing and ornate,

made of carefully carved gold and inlaid with jewels. The crown resting

on the throne was no less impressive, and Castan doubted he could wear

something that looked so obviously heavy. The ceiling was high overhead,

and the windows were tall, allowing sunlight and starlight and a light

Castan couldn't name to flood the large chamber.

Reghan stood as well and pulled his pants up. "Do you like it? The

crown is a little ostentatious, but you wouldn't have to wear it all the

time."

"I can't rule here, Reghan."

"Why not?"

"Because the fey hate me."

"You already killed almost all the fey who hate you," Reghan

pointed out. "Besides, you have friends here."

"What friends?"

"One moment." Reghan crossed to the other side of the huge room

and pulled the massive doors open. A small band of fey waited on the

other side, a very old man in the front. He looked like he was as old as

time, and Castan felt a strange impulse to drop to his knee and bow his

head in respect. "This is Deathwood. Deathwood, King Castan."

"I'm not..."

"You are, your majesty," Deathwood corrected gently, bowing

before he entered the throne room. "And I am your loyal subject. As we

all are."

"Who...are you?" Castan asked, looking over Deathwood's

shoulder.

"These are all fey who have been living in Somerset as your loyal

subjects. They already recognize you as their prince, and they have

agreed to stay in this realm with you. You'll need friends," Reghan said.

"Deathwood will act as your advisor."

"How am I supposed to be their king when I don't even have any

magic?"

"You are acting king while I am away. The realm will obey me, and

now I have ordered it to obey your will as well. You're not going to be

powerless here." Reghan touched Castan's arm. "Trust me. This is a safe

place for you. Nobody will try to usurp you and take the crown."

"So that's it then? There's nothing left to argue?"

"That's it," Reghan agreed softly.

"When am I going to see you again?"

"I'll come back when I can. It won't be what we both want, but it'll

be better than nothing. And I'll make sure that Somerset thrives, Castan.

I'll love the kingdom as I love you."

Castan swallowed. "Do you really have to go?"

"I do. I need to get back and there's still a great deal to be done."

"But what am I supposed to do here, Reghan? I don't know what

I'm doing!"

Reghan touched Castan's cheek with infinite kindness. "You can

do anything you wish. Deathwood is very old and he's very wise. Be his

student. Let him be your master, and you will learn everything you need

to."

"I want you to be my master."

Reghan kissed Castan tenderly. "I'll never stop loving you. And if

you're lonely..."

"Don't," Castan bit out.

"I'm just saying..."

"Don't say it. There's nobody except you, Reghan. There will never

be anybody except you. You once told me that I'm yours. That hasn't

changed."

"As I'm yours." Reghan kissed him again. "Goodbye, my king."

Reghan left Castan standing in the middle of a great and empty

room. The physical pain returned and Castan shuffled to his throne,

feeling as though everything else had been lost. There was nothing except

the dull ache in his chest and the cold metal of the crown. He held that

crown between numb fingers, refusing to put it on as the light faded from

the windows.

Chapter 15

Nether Stowey, England

Present Day

"So...Reghan just left him there?" Travis Olsen demanded. "That's

the end of the story? That's a terrible story, Mum."

"I didn't say that was the end of the story," Áine said patiently.

"There's a bit more to it than that. But yes, Reghan did just leave him

there. He didn't really have a choice in the matter. He returned to

Somerset and by the next sunset, Bressal had named Aldred his heir."

"What did he do to Bressal to make that happen?"

"I don't know. I wasn't there. The only person who knows for sure

is Reghan. But...I'm sure I wasn't the only one terrified of Reghan after

what happened. Bressal might have simply considered himself fortunate

that Reghan didn't kill him where he stood and claim the throne for

himself."

Travis leaned forward. "What about your child?"

Áine swallowed. That had been the most difficult part of her story.

She never knew her daughter. Reghan took her from Áine's arms before

the babe even opened her eyes, and Áine never saw her again. She'd

understood that had been part of her punishment, and the only thing

that softened the blow was knowing that Reghan would care for the girl

as he cared for his own son. But in fifteen centuries, the pain of losing

her never quite faded.

"Reghan took her, as he said he would. When she came of age, she

was married to Aldred. By all accounts, they had a very happy union that

produced several children. And each one of those children bound Reghan

even tighter to the mortal realm and kept him from his prince. And their

children bound him, and their children, and so on."

"All because of that promise he made?" John asked.

"Yes. He didn't have a choice. A fey could never break his oath.

And Reghan...even if he could have found a way to break it, he wouldn't

do that."

"No offense, but Reghan doesn't exactly sound like the most noble

person," Travis said dryly.

Áine tilted her head. "Why do you say that?"

"The way he treated you! Throwing you around, threatening to rip

out your tongue, imprisoning you, stealing your baby, keeping you alive

so he could punish you later. All of that was unforgivable."

"No, I forgave him quite easily. Surely you understand, Travis."

"I do," John said softly. He looked at Travis almost shyly before

returning his attention to his cup. "If anybody poisoned you, Travis, I

would...I don't think I would show the self-control Reghan did."

"He was hurt very, very deeply," Áine said. "Bertram took

something so precious from him, and I was so young that I didn't

understand. I'm not even sure Castan understood until much later."

"Did he ever see Castan again?" John asked.

"Oh, of course he did. Twice or three times a year, he would return

to the fey realm and allow me to return to the mortal realm if I wished it.

Castan was always so curious about his descendents, he would send me

to meet them. I guess he had better things to do with Reghan than talk

about the kids. That is how I came to know Maeveen."

Travis's mouth fell open. "She's your family?"

"Yes. One of my direct descendents. She had Aldred's coloring and

his knowing blue eyes. At that point, Reghan wasn't directly involved in

their lives. He lived as a hermit somewhere in the woods. She had no

idea who I was or what her powers were. She was just a normal little girl

when I met her. The next time we crossed paths, she was much older

and had come into her powers. I tried...I tried so hard to help her, to

direct her magic toward good rather than pure selfish greed. But

Maeveen...she was an ambitious girl."

"Why didn't Reghan stop her?" Travis exploded, jumping to his feet

and toppling the chair over. "He was supposed to be some powerful fey

and he couldn't stop her or control her? He could have saved so much

suffering. John, you, me. Why didn't he do something about that?"

"What could he have done?" Áine asked calmly.

"I don't know. I thought he could see into the future. He couldn't

see her destiny?"

"Reghan could see into time. How do you know he didn't see her

full destiny? You see, at the end of this story is a boy. And that boy was

unlike any other the world had seen. That boy was as beautiful as

Castan and as powerful as Reghan and he was all alone. Reghan looked

into the future and saw the birth of this boy and knew that he could not

interfere if that boy's destiny was to come to pass. But he could help in

indirect ways. He could protect that boy."

John looked at Travis with so much affection that Áine almost

wept. She'd seen that look before. It was how Reghan watched Castan in

the few, precious seconds they shared. She was glad that the stars had

aligned themselves over Travis's head. Not because of his power or his

potential, but because they gave him the chance of happiness that Áine

had inadvertently stripped from Castan.

"How did he help?" Travis asked.

"He sent you John. And...he allowed me to repay my debt."

* * * *

Áine sensed Reghan long before she saw him. Wisps of smoke bled

from between the trees, gradually coalescing into the shape of a man. He

looked very old and very tired, but his eyes were the same. Áine clutched

the child closer to her, knowing that Reghan would take him away from

her, but wanting to prolong the inevitable for as long as she could.

"You have found him," Reghan said.

"Yes."

"His mother is gone. Arden has taken her, but I know not where.

He didn't return to the fey realm."

"What will become of him?" Áine asked, a tremor in her voice

revealing everything she'd hoped to keep from Reghan.

"It's difficult to say. His destiny is...complicated. Maeveen will wish

to harness his power and she may very well be successful."

"No." She tightened her hold automatically, tucking the baby closer

to her breast. The child gurgled up at her with a smile. "No, she will not.

Let me watch over him. Please, Reghan."

"Why do you wish to?"

"Because he's...because I love him. You said I owe a debt to the

world. Surely, this is why you spared me. So I could care for him."

"You will need to renounce your power. All of it."

Over the centuries, Áine had naturally acquired power from living

in the fey realm. The power she'd inherited from her mother had also

blossomed into something strong and wild. And she had received several

gifts from other fey, including Reghan himself. But Maeveen would know

her by that power, and could use it to track the child.

"Of course I will."

"There are still magical creatures in these woods, Áine. They will

aid your son when the time comes." Reghan smiled, his gaze sliding

sideways, drawing Áine's attention. Through the dense underbrush, she

saw the outline of the Black Dog. The one Maeveen had tried so hard to

enslave. Reghan had instructed Áine to guard him from Maeveen's

darker magic, and she'd complied by creating a sanctuary for him.

"Especially that one."

"Are you leaving, my lord?"

"This child is the last of Castan's descendents. He is like Castan in

many, many ways. Unlike Castan, he will never be compelled to marry

and produce an heir."

Áine brushed the golden hair away from the child's brow. "I

understand."

"If you are to take responsibility for the child, then my oath has

been kept and I may return to the fey realm."

Áine smiled. "You've been waiting a long time for this."

"An eternity," Reghan agreed. "There are still some dark times

ahead of you, Áine. But there will be happy times as well. Be happy. Find

love again. Raise the family you were always meant to have."

Áine averted her eyes, staring at the miracle in her arms. "Does

this mean you have forgiven me, my lord?"

"I forgave you a long time ago." She heard his soft footsteps as he

approached, and she caught her breath as he took her by the shoulders.

His lips were warm and dry when he pressed them to her forehead.

"Once you have raised the boy, you'll be free of all duties and obligations

to me and Castan."

"Thank you, my lord."

"Take care of him. He could be Castan's son."

"I'll protect him with my life," Áine vowed around the hot lump of

tears in her throats. This felt too much like goodbye. There had once

been a time when Áine would have liked nothing more than to bid a

permanent farewell to Reghan, but over the years, they had reached a

tentative peace, and even a friendship. Now she wondered what was in

store for him. Would she ever see him again?

Reghan kissed her brow again and then he was gone, his body

collapsing into smoke and fading back into the forest.

* * * *

"I met your father shortly after that," Áine said. "It was so easy to

fall in love with him that I often wondered if that was Reghan's doing as

well. If maybe he had made sure our paths would cross."

"Do I still look like Castan?" Travis asked.

"Yes, very much so."

Travis frowned. "Doesn't that freak you out?"

"No. Castan was only my husband for four hours, and that was a

very, very long time ago. After that, he was my jailer and my king and my

friend."

"Reghan and Castan are together now?" John asked.

Áine sighed. "I don't know. When Maeveen had us in the fey realm,

I didn't sense them at all. There are stories of another realm, one beyond

the fey, beyond anything. Perhaps they are there. Perhaps fifteen

hundred years is enough for any man to rule."

Travis sighed. "I wish they had waited until after the dark times to

disappear. I really could have used Reghan's help to face down Maeveen."

"But you had Reghan's help," Áine reminded him. "He sent John to

you. He sent Roger to you. He kept that fairy mound open for you."

John reached across the table and took Travis's hand. His fingers

naturally closed over John's, and Áine realized she didn't have anything

left to say. There were still stories to be told. There were still memories

tucked away in the back of her mind, shielded there by magic so she

would never forget again. But she told the parts she needed to tell.

"I think I'm going to turn in," Áine announced. "I'm exhausted."

"Of course," Travis said, releasing John and standing quickly. He

took Áine's hand and helped her to her feet. "Do you need any help up

the stairs?"

"No, thank you, dear. Pleasant dreams."

Travis kissed her cheek. "Thank you. For the story and for...for

everything else."

"It was my honor," Áine said, and meant it more than she'd ever

meant anything in her life. She patted Travis once on the arm and turned

to go up to her room. She heard the chair slide against the floor as Travis

sat down again, and John muttered something. Then there was no

speaking again and Áine shut her door on that heavy silence.

She crossed to the window and stared out to the stars. Reghan had

always seemed so surprised that she couldn't hear them whispering. He

said they were so loud that he was surprised the humans didn't hear

them, but for Áine they had always been cold, distant points of light.

They weren't chatty friends or wise guides. Áine couldn't hear the trees

and the wind didn't respond to her orders. Could Travis hear the stars?

Perhaps if he ever tried to listen for them, he would.

Áine tried to wipe the tears from her eyes, but they were falling so

fast she couldn't keep up with them. They weren't tears of sadness.

Maybe they were happy tears. Maybe they were simply cathartic tears.

Maybe they were for her, or maybe they were for Castan and Reghan, or

maybe they were for Travis. Or maybe they were for the story that was

now coming to a close. A story that seemed like it would span an

eternity. She could always feel Reghan, even when the walls of reality

split them. Or maybe he could always feel her, and when she sensed his

magic, it was simply because he was watching her, watching over her.

Either way, she didn't feel him now.

There was another world beyond the fey realm. A world of starlight

and myths and legends. It was rumored Banbha had come from that

world. It was once said she'd been a goddess there, as well. It was a

world Áine couldn't sense at all, couldn't even imagine. Was it possible

Castan and Reghan had gone there? Áine hoped so. She hoped they had

finally found their destiny there.

Epilogue

"Maeveen has been defeated," Reghan announced.

"Good. She was always such a troublemaker. She gets that from

your side."

"My side? She was clearly taking after Bressal."

"Please. Her appetite for destruction and empires was nothing like

Bressal's. She was too much like Banbha."

Reghan sighed. "Well, you've got me there."

Castan stretched his legs and arched his spine, looking sleepy and

satisfied. "What about the boy? Are you going to be calling him back here

soon?"

"No, I'm going to let him live out his mortal destiny first. He's

worked hard. He deserves that much at least."

"Did he really bring John back to life?"

"Yes," Reghan said, dragging his attention from Castan to the

scrying dish. Travis and John were holding each other like they never

planned to let go. "It depleted his power, but not permanently."

"Come back to bed."

Reghan waved his hand and the image fell away. He didn't need to

see anymore to know that Travis was safe and happy. Áine had held up

her end of the bargain well, and he would see her rewarded for that one

day.

"When did you learn to do that?" Castan asked, propping himself

up on his elbows as Reghan dumped the water out.

"About a thousand years ago. I missed your face, and it was better

than nothing. It takes a lot of energy to look between the realms, though.

It took me nearly five hundred years to learn how to do it."

"I wish you had shown that little trick to Deathwood. I missed your

face, too."

Reghan smiled and crossed back to the huge bed. He crawled onto

the mattress, and Castan matched his grin as Reghan covered his body.

"I would have if I thought he was powerful enough to do it."

Castan wiped his thumb over Reghan's cheek and slid his fingers

through his hair. "How long are you going to keep me here?"

The first thing Reghan did upon his return to the fey realm was

build a tower for the two of them. It was one of the few constants in a

realm that couldn't be changed with a thought, and Reghan had wrapped

a protective shroud around it, blocking anybody from looking in. The

fairy court knew they were there, of course, but Reghan had so much

time to make up for that he didn't want any interruptions or any

reminders that another world existed outside of those walls.

"Are you eager to leave, my lord?"

"Not at all. I just want to be sure I'll have enough time with you.

Fifteen hundred years would be a good start."

"I planned to keep you here until Travis's coronation. I trust you

don't have any complaints?"

"None."

"Good." Reghan settled between Castan's legs. It was easy to slide

his cock into Castan's body. He was still slick and stretched from their

last coupling. Castan gasped and arched off the bed, a flush racing up

his throat and cheeks. Reghan covered his face with kisses, then moved

to his neck and his shoulders, touching every bit of skin he could reach

with his lips and tongue. "I never loved any but you."

"Never leave me again."

"Never," Reghan promised with each thrust, the word falling from

every breath he took. There was no force in any realm that would take

him from Castan's side again. He would never lose Castan, never feel his

absence, never feel weak and tired from the desire to simply see him.

"Never, my prince."

"Love you." Castan sighed in response to each eternal vow. The

words were redundant and necessary all at once, and Reghan lost

himself in their sweet sound and Castan's welcoming heat until bright

light erupted between them, enveloped them, cradled them as they

trembled together.

Pepper Espinoza

Pepper Espinoza lives in southern California with her husband and her cats. She

has spent the last year working as a full time author, and intends to start graduate school
in the fall.

You can learn more about Pepper by visiting her website:

http://www.pepperverse.net

* * * *

Don't miss Gemini: The Wicked Things, by Pepper Espinoza,
available at AmberAllure.com!

Travis Olsen doesn't believe in fairy tales. When his mother warns him to be

careful of the black dog that haunts the Quantock Hills, he brushes her off. Even after he
meets the black dog, he's convinced the animal is just a stray and not a ghost of any kind.
But when the legendary black dog turns into a man, Travis has no choice but to admit it's
possible that all the old stories about the woodland are true.

In order to save his mother's life from a powerful witch, Travis plunges into a

world of curses and magic, pukas and fairies, and one figure stands at the center of it all.
John Walford, a cursed soul who will sacrifice anything if only Travis could return his
love...

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