MT Musings

“You will if you love me,” she said, turning back to her father, hands curled into fists. “This is important! I want to make a good impression.”

“I don’t even like this kid, I don’t know why we’re bothering with this whole charade.”

“It’s not a charade! Please be nice, Daddy?” Elyra said, tears welling along her lashes. Valion made a face, rolling his eyes.

“I’ll try, alright? That’s the best you’re getting.”

Elyra surveyed him a moment before pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“Thank you, Daddy,” she said sweetly. Orlaith shot him a knowing look, which he ignored, unless you counted sulking more, which he didn’t.

“This is your fault for humoring her,” he groused at her as Elyra flounced up to the door of the wretched castle to knock.

It wouldn’t have looked out of place on one of the fetid moors in Unseelie, but Elyra certainly did, standing there in her pink gown and pearls, hair glittering with jeweled clips. It looked all the more dour and imposing for her standing in front of it.

It was hardly the sort of place his daughter could ever belong.

He took a deep breath, grinding his teeth. He tried to remind himself that it was only dinner—dinner none of them would be able to eat, no doubt—but it amounted to a few hours of misery.

Hopefully it would be enough to nip all this foolishness in the bud.

“Adrian, darling, just take a breath,” his mother said in fond exasperation, though it did little to deter his pacing. “All will be well.”

“I just want everything to be perfect,” he said, straightening the entrance hall rug more for something to do than because it was out of place. It was the first time he’d formally meet El’s parents after all—he of course knew her grandparents quite well, but he’d only met her mother a few times when she came to Gresit to visit, and he’d only met her father once, in passing.

He hadn’t gotten the feeling he liked him very much.

Which was all the more reason that everything had to be perfect.

He glanced over as his mother huffed a laugh, caught her trying to hide her smile behind her hand. He scrunched up his nose at her, giving her a dirty look, though there was no heat behind it.

“I’m serious, Mother!”

“I have no doubt, but I hardly think the outcome on the night depends on the angle of the doormat.”

He blew out a breath, shaking his head. His mother crossed to his side and smoothed his hair back from his face, cupping his cheeks.

“It will be a lovely night. I’m very excited to meet her, she sounds wonderful from everything you’ve said. Just take a breath.”

He sighed, and nodded.

“Where’s Father?”

“He was finishing something up in his study. Don’t worry.”

“I’m not worrying.”

“You’re not supposed to lie to your mother.”

He huffed a sigh. “Alright. I’m a little worried.”

She tucked a lock of his hair behind his ear, giving him a smile. He started at the sound of wrapping on the door. He took a deep breath before he crossed and opened it.

His breath caught as he spotted El on the doorstep, looking even more lovely than usual—something he hadn’t thought possible. She wore an elaborate pink silk dress, stitched with pearls and what looked like dragonfly wings, her hair pulled back from her face with strands of pearls, moonlight-colored curls cascading down her back.

She looked every bit the faery princess he knew she was, though it was something special to see her so dressed up. He’d grown used to her dressing as an ordinary merchant girl while she was traveling with her grandparents, the glamour she was forced to wear around humans dulling her features.

He so rarely got to see her true face, at least in the Mortal Realm. He savored any opportunity he got.

Hopefully soon he’d have the privilege of growing used to it.

“Hello, please come in,” his mother said. He hadn’t realized she’d stepped to his side, nor that he’d just been standing in the door staring moonstruck at El.

He hadn’t really even noted her parents.

“Welcome,” he said quickly, hoping to make up for the snafu. “We’re so glad you could join us.”

“Thank you for inviting us,” El’s mother said, ever-gracious.

Somehow her dress was almost more fancy than El’s, a pale green silk glimmering with gems and silver embroidery. El’s father stood next to her, his face sour. He was dressed finely as well, his doublet a matching deep green to his wife’s dress, though there were little spots of paint on the cuff of one of the sleeves.

“Yes, thank you!” El said, beaming at him and his mother. She hesitated a moment before she darted forward to him, reaching out automatically for his hands. He grinned at her as he took hold of her hands.

“I’ve missed you,” she said, almost shyly.

“It’s only been a few days,” he said with a laugh.

“For you! Everything is so much slower here.”

“Oh yes, I forgot about that,” he said, unable to stop himself from smiling, stop the warmth from spreading through his chest.

“I’m so glad you came,” he said finally, giving her hands a squeeze. “You look beautiful.”

“It’s a little much, isn’t it? I told Mummy it was too much,” she said very quietly, though her mother still huffed a laugh behind her.

He shook his head. “It’s perfect.”

“You’d say that about anything.”

“It’d be true.”

She blushed at that.

Her father cleared his throat pointedly behind her and she rolled her eyes, though she stepped back, releasing his hands.

“Remember your manners, darling,” her mother said, resting her hand on her back.

“Oh, yes, of course!” she said. She gave a little wave of her hand, a small circle of golden sparks appearing in the air, what looked like a kitchen table in the middle. She reached through it and grabbed a plant in a crystalline pot before closing it with another wave of her wrist.

“Lyra,” her father said sharply, giving her a hard stare. She ignored him, instead presenting the plant to his mother with a smile, though it was almost nervous now. It was a strange, but beautiful thing, almost like a miniature tree dotted with twinkling flowers, almost as if they were made of starlight themselves.

“Thank you so much for having us here in your home,” she said. His mother took it with a warm smile.

“It’s lovely,” Adrian’s mother said, looking closer at it. Adrian couldn’t help but take a closer look as well—he’d never seen anything like it.

“Lyrie grew it herself. She also enchanted it, so you won’t have to worry about watering it for a century or two,” her mother said, beaming at her. He watched El flush all the way to the tips of her ears before she ducked her head, trying to hide it.

“How wonderful! Are you very interested in botany?”

“Um—” El said, eyes flicking to him as if searching for the right answer. He wasn’t sure there was botany in Faery.

“I wasn’t aware that our guests had already arrived.”

He turned to find his father descending the stairs, brow furrowed as he took in El and her family.

“They only just arrived,” he said quickly. His father hadn’t been keen on the meeting, even before he’d learned they were from Faery.

Of course, there were only a minuscule amount of people his father tolerated, never mind liked.

“Look at the wonderful present El brought for Mother, she grew it herself,” he said, hoping that, at least, would help to endear him to her.

“How lovely,” he said, as his mother turned to show him the little tree, jaw tight, though his face softened just a bit when he saw the way his mother looked at her gift.

“It’s very nice to meet you,” El said, giving him her best winning smile. His father just surveyed her, face unreadable.

Adrian hated the way her smile slipped, just a little.

El’s father glared at his, grinding his teeth.

“Vlad,” he said finally, almost as if it were a curse. “Good to see you put away the impaled humans out on the lawn before we came.”

El’s eyes went wide, her face turning white. Adrian felt himself go crimson, glancing between his parents. How did his father know El’s? They’d clearly met before his father had met his mother, before she’d tempered his wrath.

His father hardly looked rattled, though, simply raising a brow.

“It fell out of fashion,” he replied.

“Thank the stars for that,” Valion said, almost under his breath, but not quite. “The smell alone—”

“I am so glad to finally meet you, Elyra has just had the most wonderful things to say,” Orlaith said, turning to his mother with that bright smile of hers.

“Oh, likewise. Adrian has spoken of little else,” his mother replied, looking over to smile at the way his cheeks heated.

“Perhaps,” he said, trying not to look at the way El’s father glared at him. “Perhaps we can retire to the library? I did promise I would show El.”

“What a wonderful idea,” his mother said, taking hold of his father’s hand before turning to lead them to the library. He couldn’t help but catch the way her father made a face, mockingly mouthing ‘El’, nor the furious look she gave him, hands balled into fists. Her mother lightly smacked him on the arm and he made another face, though he let her pull him forward.

He, in turn, stepped forward to off his arm to El, who offered him a sheepish smile.

‘I’m sorry,’ she mouthed. He shook his head. She had nothing to apologize for—she’d been nothing but lovely. It wasn’t her fault her father seemed intent on ruining the night as quickly as possible.

He only hoped his own father would keep his temper.

“Oh, wow!” Elyra said, eyes going wide as she stepped into the library, still holding onto Adrian’s arm. “You were being quite modest. It’s a truly marvelous thing!”

She turned to beam at Adrian, though she caught his father giving her an appraising look. It rather made her want to wither away, though she ignored the feeling, focussing on Adrian.

He looked particularly lovely, dressed much more formally than she’d ever seen him, though his hair was still long and loose, spiraling lazily down his back. She couldn’t help but swoon, just a little, when he returned her smile.

Every one of his smiles felt like a precious gift, set her heart fluttering.

“I thought you would like it. Oh—I’ll go pull that book I’d mentioned. I don’t want to forget to lend it to you.”

“Oh, that would be lovely,” she replied, unable to stop herself from smiling.

“One moment, let me go find it,” he said, lifting her hand to his lips before setting off between the shelves. She just stared after him, heart fluttering in her chest, cheeks aflame.

He was so sweet to her, it just made her want to melt. If only her dad would just see that, see how gently he treated her, how much she adored him.

How very happy he made her.

She wanted her dad to like him, wanted him to approve of the match—of course she did. Still, even if he didn’t, she wouldn’t stop seeing Adrian. The mere thought of it made her heart ache, made tears prick her eyes.

She glanced over to where her parent and Adrian’s were speaking, hoping that it was going better than it had in the entrance hall. She still didn’t know if her dad had been serious about the impaled humans, or if it had been another of his dark jokes she never found funny.

She hoped it was the later.

She made sure they weren’t paying attention to her before slipping away to admire the hoard of strange contraptions on the other side of the room.

She’d been so astounded by Adrian’s steam contraptions, she hadn’t thought there could be much else more interesting than that, but she was wrong. She had no idea what any of the strange cylinders perched on legs were, or the strange half domes of glass latticed with metal, or indeed any of it.

They were fascinating, though.

Faerie didn’t really have any of the things Adrian called ‘science’. There wasn’t really the need—magic seemed to do much of the same things as his clockwork and steam. Still, she found herself drawn to it all. It was so very clever, she just had to admire it.

She admired one of the legged cylinders, reaching out to see what the mechanism at the end did. She let out a gasp of surprise and pain as she ripped her hand back, palm burning. She hadn’t realized it had been made of iron, hadn’t thought to ask—she shouldn’t have touched it without asking, she knew that, she’d just never seen such an instrument and gotten carried away, her fascination leading her to be reckless—

“What is it? What happened?” her father asked, all at once at her side, even though she’d been quite sure he’d been at the far side of the room by the fireplace, being as antisocial as her mother would allow.

“It’s nothing,” she said quickly, but he ignored her, reaching for her hand and carefully prying her fingers from her palm. He swore vilely.

She hoped Adrian’s parents didn’t hear him.

“Daddy, stop,” she began, doing her best to keep her voice low enough that the others wouldn’t hear. The last thing she needed was for him to make a scene.

Or more of a scene than he’d already managed.

“The fact that they’d leave iron lying about—”

“I shouldn’t have touched it,” she said quickly. “I’m fine, I’m fine, it’s nothing—”

“It’s not nothing. The insult alone is enough reason to leave right now.”

“It’s not—” she began, and she blinked back a wave of tears that had nothing to do with her burning palm.

She knew he was looking for any reason to go, any reason to make a fuss and convince her mother that she shouldn’t be allowed to see Adrian anymore, and she wouldn’t let that happen. If he’d just try to get to know Adrian, she knew he’d see how kind and brilliant he was, how utterly charming. She just had to get him to actually try.

“El, dove, are you alright?” Adrian asked and she mentally cursed his timing and attentiveness.

“I’m—”

“Her hand is blistering from the iron just left about. I knew this was a terrible, absurd idea! I don’t care if it’s ignorance or malice—”

“Daddy, it was my fault. I shouldn’t have touched it!”

“They shouldn’t have left it lying about when entertaining fae! What sort of dinner party leaves its guests scarred—?”

“Daddy—”

“Oh—oh, no. We should clean it, and I can make a poultice for the blistering,” Adrian said, eyes locked on her hand as he reached for her. She wasn’t even sure he’d really heard anything her father had said since he’d found out that she’d hurt herself.

Her father stepped in front of her as if Adrian meant to harm her. She sidestepped him as best she could, glancing wildly around for where her mother had gone.

She could almost always make him see reason.

Of course, she wasn’t lucky enough to catch her mother’s eye, instead catching Adrian’s mother’s as her mother and his father talked about something. It at least seemed they were getting along—though her mother could get along with nearly anyone, or at least pretend to well enough that they couldn’t tell the difference.

“What’s happened?” she asked as she walked over, absently reaching out to place a hand on Adrian’s back.

“Nothing,” Elyra said quickly.

“She burnt her hand on the telescope and it’s blistering. I hadn’t thought to put it away—”

“Oh dear, that much hurt quite a bit,” she said, reaching out to examine her hand.

“It’s not bad—”

“It should have never have happened—” her father began, reaching out to pull her away from Adrian and his mother, but she stepped out of reach.

Adrian’s mother, though, hardly seemed bothered by his obvious seething in the slightest.

“Let’s get this cleaned and taken care of,” she said. “You poor dear.”

“The infirmary is right this way,” Adrian said, offering her his arm. She hated the pinch of his brow, hated that her foolishness was causing him distress, that her father was only making it worse by blowing it all out of proportion.

“I’m sorry,” El said quietly as Adrian steered her into the infirmary and to a little freshly-made cot. That only made him feel worse.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Adrian replied, shaking his head.

“I shouldn’t have touched it in the first place, and Daddy was being just awful about it, as if it were your fault—”

“I should have put it away. All the others are copper or bronze and I forgot about it.”

“There are more?” she asked, eyes lighting up.

He couldn’t help but smile at the glimmer of interest in her eyes, just like when he’d first bumped into her in the market. It was the same expression, even if it wasn’t the same face—she’d been glamoured, then, of course, had been going by the name Eleanor while she traveled with her grandparents to fit in better amongst the humans of Gresit.

He’d been struck by her curiosity, her exuberance in the very idea of learning—something that seemed so foreign compared to the humans of the city.

Perhaps he should have realized sooner, that she wasn’t human.

He’d thought her like his mother in that way, though he’d later found that her interest couldn’t be confined to one subject, or even one type of subject, because as much as she was enthralled by his engineering work, she was equally captivated by the natural sciences and literature and languages, not to mention art and history and music.

“Here, let me clean it and see what we’re working with,” his mother said, setting a bowl of fresh water on the table next to the cot. She held out her hand to examine El’s, though she waited for her to place her hand in hers. His mother grabbed the clean cloth from the bowl and gently cleaned her hand.

“That is rather nasty. Adrian, can you make up a poultice? With yarrow?” she asked.

“Yes, of course,” he said, flitting over to his mother’s work table.

“I truly am sorry my father was being so rude. It was my fault, I should know not to touch things without asking first,” El said to his mother, brow knotted.

“Don’t you worry about it. Parents can be terrors when their children are hurt. It’s nothing new to me,” she said gently.

“Here we are,” he said, rushing over with the poultice and fresh bandages.

“It really isn’t that bad,” El began, but his mother stopped her.

“Shhh, it will help with the blistering, and the pain. It’s a nasty burn.”

“Mother’s a doctor, you can’t trick her,” Adrian said, smile a bit forced.

He still couldn’t believe he’d forgotten to put away the damn telescope. He’d thought he’d double-checked everything in the rooms they’d be using for entertaining. Her first time visiting, and she’d gotten so badly burned because he’d been careless.

He hoped it wouldn’t scar.

He watched his mother spread the poultice across El’s hand and gently wrap it in a bandage, careful not to wrap it too tight.

“Thank you,” El said, her ears so terribly red, her gaze dropped to her lap.

“Don’t be silly, dear,” his mother said with a little huff of laughter. “How does that feel?”

“Better,” she said in a small voice.

“Good. Adrian, you should show her the observatory, considering her interest in your father’s telescopes.”

“Oh—yes, that would be wonderful!”

“An observatory?” El asked, furrowing her brow.

“It’s marvelous—we have a larger telescope there and we can look at the stars and planets. We should be able to see Venus tonight!”

“I thought Venus was a Roman goddess?” she asked, and he laughed before he could think better of it. His mother gave him a look as El’s face fell.

“She is,” he said quickly. “The planets were all named after Roman deities. Do you have other planets in Faery?”

She shook her head, cheeks pink.

“All the more reason to show her,” his mother said, helping El to her feet. “I’m sure your father wouldn’t mind showing off the observatory either, he’s rather proud of it.”

Adrian nodded before offering El his arm. He hoped the observatory might make up just a little for the blister she’d gotten because of his carelessness.

“You have quite the collection here,” Orlaith said, nodding to the books. It was a rather impressive library for Mortals—she’d never seen such a large collection in the Realm.

“Are you fond of libraries?” Vlad asked. She huffed a laugh.

“No, not particularly, but my father is and Archivist, so I’m a fairly good judge of them. Valion, on the other hand, is quite partial. Elyra takes after him, thank goodness.”

She turned and smiled at Val, giving him a clear entrance into the conversation—hell, a chance to brag about Elyra, no less—but he was still just glaring at the strange contraptions on the other end of the room.

She’d nearly had to physically prevent him from following after Elyra and no doubt trying to drag her home. She understood he was upset she’d been hurt, but it was an accident, and a minor one, and he was frankly being dramatic about it.

It wasn’t as if she didn’t get a whole myriad of cuts and bruises in her fencing lessons with her, and he never once pitched such a fit. He didn’t like watching the two of them spar, but he’d sit on the porch step and keep it mostly to himself.

She fought the urge to kick Val in the ankle.

She knew he was miserable, knew he hated the fact that Elyra was growing up, hated the fact that she was showing interest in courting, hated that she was treating it with any seriousness.

Of course, that didn’t excuse him acting like a little tyrant.

They weren’t at Court, she wouldn’t put up with it, not when she knew how much this night meant to Elyra.

She had that glimmer in her eye, anytime she was with Adrian. She hadn’t voiced any theories, lest Val’s heart give out on the spot, but it was a familiar look. She remembered it from when she was young, from when she’d first fallen for him. There was very little either of them could do about the match, if she was right.

She liked Adrian, though. He was so sweet to Elyra and bright enough to keep up with her. Her parents had told her how he’d shown up with flowers for her every day and books nearly as often, after they’d met, spent whatever time they’d allow talking with her, how he’d taken her to one of the local Mortal dances, and she’d actually enjoyed herself for a change, rather than spending the night glued to the wall as she did at her aunt’s balls.

And he made her happy. She practically seemed to glow when they were together.

That was all she wanted.

“I was not aware there were archives in Faery,” Vlad said, brow furrowed.

She wondered if it was the only expression he had. Between him and Valion, conversation was like pulling teeth.

Actually, she thought she’d prefer pulling teeth. So long as they weren’t hers it’d be markedly less painful.

She was opening a bottle of the good wine when they got home. She’d daresay she and Lyrie would deserve it if they managed to make it though the night with any semblance of patience left.

“The Seelie keep a curated, centralized collection,” Valion said, expression no less sour. “In the Undercourt such tomes are relegated to private collections.”

“Ah,” Vlad replied, with all the enthusiasm of a wet hunk of rotting leaves.

She nearly let out a sigh of relief when Elyra returned with Adrian and Lisa. At least with their return there was a chance of enjoyable conversation.

“How’s your hand, Petal, darling?” she asked, reaching out to wrap her arm around her waist as they joined them by the fireplace. She pressed a kiss to her temple almost absently.

“It’s fine, Mrs. Tepes and Adrian sorted it, it wasn’t anything to fuss about,” she said, eyes flicking to her father as she said the last part.

“I was wondering if I might show El the observatory, Father?” Adrian asked. “She was rather fascinated with the telescopes.”

Valion started to swear under his breath and she stepped on his foot.

“Yes, of course,” Vlad said, eyes flicking between his son and the bandage wrapped around Elyra’s hand.

“Lyrie’s been rather taken with Mortal invention,” Orlaith said. “I swear it’s all she’s talked about since she was on holiday with my parents. Every sort of peculiar Mortal invention, and of course Adrian. I was rather sure he’d hung the moon from the way she’d go on.”

“Mummy!” Elyra said, turning beet red all the way to the tips of her ears.

Lisa huffed a laugh, though, expression fond as she looked over at her son, reaching to tuck a stray curl into place.

“Adrian’s been much the same. I don’t know if he’s talked about anything but El since he returned home,” she said, not bothering to hide her smile at the way he’d turned the same shade.

“I’ll show you the observatory,” Adrian said, too loud, offering his arm to Elyra. She took it without hesitation, the pair of them walking away as fast as they could without running.

Orlaith laughed, shaking her head as she caught Lisa’s eye.

“They’re all quite ridiculous at this age,” she said, glancing at the door the pair of them had disappeared through. She couldn’t help but think of how entirely absurd she’d been at Lyrie’s age, how disgustingly in love she’d been with Val.

“He needs more troops. He’s already declared war, it’s not like you can talk your way around that. Unless you intend to hang him out to dry and see what happens.”

“There were steps before war—”

“She’s your granddaughter. You were all set to make a spectacle out of it before you learned it was the damn Light Court that sent the assassin.”

“Then you agree this this?” Veylon snarled, waving the missive in her direction.

“I didn’t say that.”

“Then what are you saying? Or are you just vexing me for sport?”

“I’m saying that dragged your heels, and to make up for your lack of decisive action, Valion overreacted, as he nearly always does. So now we’re in another mess, like with the ambassador of the Ambertide.”

“Being cautious is not dragging my heels—”

“It was long enough for Valion to drag two brigades of our best soldiers to Seelie.”

“I was trying to deal with the fact that, unless Valion has taken up a new hobby besides defiance and whoring, our granddaughter has taken to Death magic.”

“So Valion marched on Seelie.”

“You seem far too unconcerned with the fact that she rotted his arm—”

“Because I’m not,” Morgana spat, throwing down her embroidery. “I frankly couldn’t care less when Riona is so brazenly trying to kill one of our heirs.”

“If it got out—”

“It would change nothing. It’s a rare talent, but not unheard of. Just because the Bitch Queen was particularly talented in it doesn’t mean Elyra will be—”

“She’s a child—”

“And you should be glad she has it, or she’d be dead.”

“It’s one more tie—”

“It could just at easily have come from my line,” she retorted. “My grandfather was gifted in it, and you know Valion gets his arcane talent from me. Now are you going to send reenforcing troops, or have you been shorn completely of a spine?”

“I have a spine—”

The moon motes in the sconces flickered, the air of the study turning electric. She glared at him, violet eyes burning.

“I’m done with this lark,” she said, standing and brushing out the wrinkles in the skirt of her gown. “I’ve already lost one son to impotence. I’m going to speak with him. I’ll let you know what we decide.”

“Morgana—” Veylon spat, tone warning, but she merely swept out of the room without glancing back, slamming the door behind her.

Alucard gently massaged the oil into the scars on Rose’s hands, on her forearms as they both sat in the middle of their bed, long-since changed into their night clothes. He wondered when they’d stop paining her—they were deep, brutal things.

He wished there was something he could do to more than simply dull the pain. He wished he could simply fix it, wished it could be that easy, for once.

His eyes flicked up to her face as she winced, though she tried to hide it.

“I’m sorry, dove,” he said, voice hardly more than a breath.

“It’s just—it’s just uncomfortable. Thank you, for helping,” she replied quickly, looking at him under knotted brow.

“Of course,” he replied, though he still felt awful for the pain he caused her, even if it was necessary to prevent the scars from thickening and causing more pain.

“For today, too. The whole mess with my grandparents. Thank you,” she said softly.

“It was hardly a trifle,” he said, pressing a kiss to her temple before getting up from the bed and setting the oil back on the vanity. He crossed to wash the rest from him hands—it left them feeling a bit numb and tingly if he didn’t.

“I mean it, Adrian,” she said as he returned, climbing back onto the bed to sit next to her.

“As do I,” he said, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close. “I am glad to be done with it, for today, though. I hate seeing you so distressed.”

“I’m sorry—”

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Rose. I only want you to be happy.”

“You make me happy,” she said softly and he smiled at her, warmth blooming in his chest. “I’m so very glad I found you.”

“I’m so lucky you did. I could have never guessed how you’d change my life,” he said, idly playing with a bit of her hair.

“Yes, I’d say all the faery nonsense was quite the surprise,” she said, almost bitterly. He shook his head.

“I’m not talking about that—I’m talking about you. You have made me happier than I could have ever imagined I’d be. I—I never thought I’d ever look forward to the centuries ahead of me, but I am so glad to have the privilege of spending them with you,” he said, watching her turn red all the way to the tips of her ears.

“We really will have centuries and centuries,” she said, almost absently, as if she’d only really realized it.

“Plenty of time to get through all the books in the library,” he quipped. She tried to hide her smile.

“Not if we keep adding to it,” she replied.

“I don’t know, I think we could do it, given three hundred years or so,” he said and she laughed.

He loved the sound of her laugh.

He wove their fingers together, raising her hand to his lips so he could press a kiss to it.

“I love you,” he said quietly, searching her face. “Now, and three hundred years from now. Forever won’t ever be enough.”

She pressed her lips together, eyes misty. He just smiled and kissed her, weaving his fingers into her hair, hoping she felt how very much he meant it, hoped it made up for all the words he couldn’t find to properly tell her just exactly how much he adored her, how lucky he was to.

They were both breathless when they finally drew back, cheeks flushed. Rose pressed her hand to his chest, right above his thundering heart. She reached out after a moment of hesitation and took hold of his hand, placed it above her own heart.

It took him a moment to realize why, that hers hammered too, that they were beating to the same rhythm. He grinned at her, huffing a laugh.

He kissed her again, though it was clumsy in their haste, but he didn’t care. He only wanted to be as close to her as he could, only wanted to hold her and never let go—

He knew he’d never let go.

He absently played with her hand as they both caught their breath, touch feather-light.

“We still have to pick a date,” he said softly. She turned on her side so she could survey him, a gentle smile curving her lips.

“I don’t care when. Only that it’s you,” she said adoringly. It made his chest feel fit to burst.

“I did promise Tereza and Adelina that they could get new dresses for it. I suppose we’ll have to wait for that, at least,” he said. She wrinkled her nose at him, amusement plain.

“Oh, they have you wrapped around their fingers, don’t they?” she said with a smile.

“As if you’re one to talk!” he said with a bark of laughter. “You spoil them all, don’t think I don’t see.”

“It’s hard not to,” she said, something about her expression so tender it made his heart ache. “They’re wonderful children.”

“They are,” he agreed. “I’d never much thought of having a child, never mind seven, all at once, but—”

He broke off, shaking his head, unable to find the right words.

“I know,” she said, reaching out to cup his cheek, thumb caressing his cheekbone. “We’re lucky.”

He just smiled at her.

“What if we took them to Florence for their wedding clothes?” she asked. “I want them to travel, see different things. I always loved traveling with my father.”

“I don’t know that they’ve seen a city,” he said, furrowing his brow. “I think it’s a wonderful idea. We’ll see if I think that afterwards.”

She burst out laughing at that and curled closer. He tightened his hold, pressing his lips to the crown of her head as he tried not to laugh himself.

He was hardly very successful.

Aoife pulled the hood of her cloak lower before casting a second web of wards over the little townhouse, stomach roiling. It had been days since she’d last seen Róisín, not since the wretched Council meeting that Riona had decided to move against the little Blackthorne girl.

She knew Róisín had disagreed, knew she could be rash when her temper flared.

She just hoped she was wrong.

She’d forged a missive from Taliesin, an urgent summons across the Sea. She hoped it would be enough, even if the timing was more than a little suspect, considering it was Róisín’s father and everyone knew how delicate his health was. She’d sent him a missive after she failed to get a hold of him over their distance mirrors—no doubt he’d lost the damn thing again—though she wasn’t sure it would arrive before someone began asking questions.

She’d try again tonight, so long as Valion hadn’t battered the city wall’s wards down before then.

She wasn’t sure he even intended to unweave them. It seemed more likely he meant to beat them down with force alone.

She walked back to the palace as fast as she dared, trying to ignore her rising nausea. Perhaps Róisín and Colm had simply gone away, gone to that little seaside cottage his family kept—it wouldn’t be the first time Colm had dragged her away when Court had left her particularly infuriated, lest she do something foolish before she’d had the chance to calm herself, to think logically, strategically.

That was Taliesin’s fault—he’d never quite managed to control his emotions, his thoughts always far too plain on his face for any of Court’s subtle games.

She nodded to the palace guards as she strode in, making her way directly to Fionn’s study. He was sat at his desk, massaging his temples, the shadows under his eyes looking more like bruises.

She doubted he’d slept much at all the past two nights.

Still he looked up and gave her a faint smile, though it didn’t meet his eyes.

“We have to do something—something to diffuse it,” she said, unable to stop herself from pacing.

“Auntie—” Fionn started, making a face.

“What if we told him it was the Cluaran?”

“He knows it was Mother. I don’t know how, but I doubt he’ll be placated with a patsy, never mind accept that it was a clan as out of favor as the Cluarans.”

“I don’t—I don’t know how we fix this,” she admitted, voice hardly more than a breath. “Have you tried convincing Eimear to sway her into parlaying, at least?”

“He’s practically convinced her Valion is here for her crown. I’m not sure she even recognizes the correlation between her trying to kill his child and him trying to drown the city in blood,” Fionn said, making a face. “If only Father was still here.”

“None of it would have ever gone this far, if your father was here.”

Fionn sighed—he knew it was true. Still, it did little to help them now.

“Daddy!” Siobhan called, bursting into the room with little ceremony. Fionn’s face softened, slightly, despite everything, at the sight of his daughter. She looked like him, took after the Aureliane side of the family with her golden hair and violet eyes.

“Sunshine, darling, I thought you were working on your sampler with your mother,” he said, furrowing his brow.

“She had to go lie down,” she replied, smiling at Aoife and offering her a little wave. “Hi Auntie.”

“Hello, dear,” she said, reaching out fondly to cup her cheek for a moment.

“Did she have another of her boughts?” Fionn asked, concern clear on his face. Mhairi had never quite recovered from giving birth to Siobhan. Even seventeen years later she was still frail, still prone to fainting and uncontrolled bleeding and pain that left her bed-bound for days. Aoife was quite sure Fionn had gone to every healer trying to find a cure, but nothing had yet to help.

“I don’t know, she just said she was too tired to work on it with me,” Siobhan said, pressing her lips into a thin line.

She wasn’t sure Fionn or Mhairi had told her the severity of her mother’s illness, or indeed much at all about it. She knew they meant it as a kindness to prevent her worrying, but she thought it only made it more confusing for her.

“Go to the infirmary and get Brigette to check on her,” Fionn said, jaw tight.

“Why don’t you come with me?” she asked, making a face.

“I—I have things that need to be dealt with.”

“But you said—”

“Go get Brigette and then work on your history. Your tutor said you need remediation on the Second Golden Age.”

“But—”

“Now, Siobhan. I’ll check it tonight.”

She huffed a sigh, deflating before she turned on her heel and stalked back towards the infirmary.

“Have you not told her—?” Aoife began. Fionn just shook his head.

“Nor Mhairi. I don’t want to add to her stress, you know how it exacerbates things. The most I want Siobhan worrying her with is what an absolute tyrant I am for making her do extra lessons. That, at least, is amusing to her.”

Aoife nodded. She wasn’t sure she agreed, but she understood it, at least.

“I’ll talk to Eimear, though I wouldn’t count on it doing any good. Just—try and come up with something else. Perhaps if you and Caoimhín talk to her—”

“That’s assuming I can drag Caoimhín to the palace.”

“He might be more agreeable, considering the host of Unseelie trying to tear down the city’s wards.”

“Clearly you haven’t visited your uncle in the last century or two,” she replied, though she took a deep breath. “I’ll let you know if I make any progress.”

Fionn nodded, gritting his teeth before he strode out towards his mother’s apartments.

“Alright—Adelina, Mihai, Petru, Tereza, Maria, Andrei—where’s Florin?” Elyra asked, cataloguing the kids. She looked around wildly along the busy street, stomach twisting unpleasantly. She swore she’d just counted them all ten minutes ago and he’d been there with the rest.

“He’s right here,” Adrian said, stepping around the corner with Florin’s hand held firmly in his own. Florin beamed.

“I almost fell in the harbor,” he said, as excited as it they’d told him they were going to take him to the circus. Her eyes flicked to Adrian, who just gave her a look. Something told her he was the only reason he hadn’t. She fought the urge to laugh.

“No more wandering off!” she said, doing her best to be stern. “We told you, we need to stay together, or we’ll go home.”

“You had better get it together!” Tereza said to Florin, glaring at him.

She’d been very excited at the prospect of shopping.

“Everybody gets a buddy,” Adrian said, steering Florin back into the group.

“I’ll watch Florin,” Tereza said primly, grabbing his hand before he could wander off again.

“Wonderful. Petru, you’ll be buddies with Mihai—”

“We’ll look after Adelina,” Andrei said, glancing at his sister.

“I get two buddies!” Adelina said, turning around to make a face at Florin as she grabbed the twins’ hands.

“You need two buddies,” Petru said under his breath, far too low for anyone but she and Adrian to hear. She reached out and ruffled his hair, giving him a slight shake of the head, though she couldn’t quite hide her amusement. He grinned before ducking his head to hide it.

“Alright, we’re going to the tailor first. If you’re good then we can stay the rest of the afternoon and have dinner, otherwise we have to go home,” Adrian said. He was much better at being firm with the children and setting expectations.

“We’ll be perfect,” Tereza said, looking far too serious.

“O—okay,” Adrian said, though he didn’t look quite convinced. Still, they lead them all through the streets to the tailor who surveyed them with wide eyes as they filed in.

“Hello,” Adrian said, giving the tailor his best winning smile. He was an older man, greying at the temples. He stared behind him at the gaggle of children doing their very best to be quiet and well-behaved.

“Hello?” he replied, though it sounded much more like a question.

“We’re hoping to get the children measured for some formal clothes.”

“All of them?”

“Oh yes. Is that too much?” Elyra asked, furrowing her brow. “We just heard you were very good, but we understand if—”

“No, no! We can do it,” he said quickly. “Vito! Luciana! I will need help with measurements.”

“Thank you,” she said, and he just nodded, still looking more than a little apprehensive.

Still she let him usher the children to the other side of the shop with a little riser for them to stand on. A young woman pushed through the curtain behind the counter, eyes going slightly wide at just how many people were crammed into the shop, a young man hot on her heels. They crossed to help after only a moment of hesitation.

“What do you think for the design?” she asked Adrian as they flipped through the tailor’s look book that had been left on the counter.

“What if we just decided on a color and they could all pick the design they wanted,” he asked, furrowing his brow, though his eyes flicked to Tereza. “Within reason, of course.”

“Oh, that could be good,” she said, nodding. “I like them picking.”

“What color, though?” Adrian said, pulling over another book full of swatches of fabric.

“Pink!” Adelina said, shoving herself between the pair of them so she could try and haul herself up on the counter to look. Andrei huffed as he strode over and scooped her up.

“You’re supposed to stay with Maria and I,” he said, making a face. “You can’t run off just because Maria is getting measured.”

“I want to pick the color, though!”

“You don’t get to pick the color, it’s not your wedding.”

“But it’s my dress!”

“That’s not how it works,” he said, hauling her back to the other side of the shop.

“Maybe they can pick two,” Elyra said, flipping to the pink swatches. Adrian laughed at her.

“You’ll spoil them rotten,” he said, though he didn’t look too worried about it. “What about this?”

He flipped to a soft, golden-yellow color. She looked over at the kids.

“Do you think that might make Mihai look a bit peaky?” she asked. Adrian furrowed his brow for a moment, before he nodded, flipping through the swatches again.

“What about that one?” she asked, stopping him at a blue-green that was nearly the same color as the leaves of the trees in the Gloaming.

“I do like that one,” he said, holding it up so he could look at it next to each of the children. “I think it suits everyone.”

“Why don’t we go with that, then?” she said with a smile. He grinned back at her.

“That was far easier than I’d thought.”

She could feel a blush rising in her cheeks at the soft way he looked at her. She reached out and gave his hand a squeeze before turning back to the children.

“Alright, whose already been measured?” she asked, waving them over. “You can pick any design from this book, we’re going to get them all in the same color.”

“Pink?” Adelina asked, beaming at the pair of them.

“Not pink,” Adrian replied and she visibly deflated.

“But, as a treat, you can pick another one in whatever color you want,” she said and Adelina squealed, jumping up and down, though it was Tereza who lurched forward and wrapped them both in a hug.

“Thank you!” she said before pulling both the design book and the swatches from their hands. The rest of the kids crowded around her, chattering excitedly as they argued about what designs to look at first.

“Um—Signor?” the tailor said, looking in confusion at the gaggle of children manhandling his sample book. “You are wanting seven formal outfits?”

“Fourteen,” Elyra said. The tailor stared at them.

“And you know they are looking at the silk swatches? I have the wool over here,” he said, reaching under the counter for another book of swatches.

“Oh no, we would like the silk,” she replied with a smile. “How much will the deposit be?”

The tailor looked at Adrian as he said the total, almost as if he were waiting for him to get angry. Elyra just pulled out her purse and dumped out a small mound of gold, counting out the correct amount before swiping the rest back inside.

“Wonderful, we’ll get started on them right away,” he said, unable to stop himself from smiling back at them. “Would you like help with anything else today?”

“Could you recommend a place to eat that would be able to serve all of us?” Adrian asked.

“Oh yes—my sister has a lovely restaurant, just two blocks over!” he said, far more enthusiastic and helpful than he’d been when they first arrived at his shop. “I’ll walk you over and introduce you. She makes the best pasta in the city—none of that dried Genoan stuff. My other daughter, Isabella, helps during the week.”

“Sounds like that’s sorted,” Elyra said, huffing a laugh. “That will be good for the children to try.”

She swore by the time they made to his sister’s restaurant, they’d met half of Salvatore’s family—anyone that had a shop, at least.

“Where are you going?” Petru asked, making Elyra jump. She hadn’t heard him enter the sitting room, too lost in her own thoughts as she opened up a gate.

“I was going to Vienna, I wanted to check on my father’s shop. There’s a few tools I’d like to bring back.”

“Can I come?” he asked, though he looked almost sheepish.

“If you’d like,” she said, giving him a small smile. He nodded and followed her through the gate.

“Woah—those are big,” he said, eyes wide as he examined the presses.

“There’s actually bigger ones, but our shop was too small for them,” she said, looking fondly at her father’s old presses. “Just don’t stick your fingers in anything, you can get very hurt, and the big ones still need to be repaired.”

She crossed to the bench that held her father’s tools and began sorting through them, though she had to stop every so often to try and rub the ache from her hands. She should have taken Adrian up on his offer to apply more of that strange oil that Valion had brought—it at least numbed the pain quite a bit. Enough to get through the day, at least.

“I can do that,” Petru said, crossing to stand next to her, closer to the tools. “Just tell me which ones.”

She smiled at him, eyes pricking with tears. She ended up telling him about all the different tools, their names and how they were used. He was much more interested than she would have guessed. It was nice to talk about making books again. She remembered her father telling her all about his tools, remembered sitting on her stool and watching him work, remembered how he’d teach her, so patient and soft with her.

“Could—could you maybe show me how to make one? Like—maybe I could make a notebook for my lessons?” Petru asked, eyes shining with interest, though there was still that hesitance.

“Of course. How about tomorrow? I’ll have to have Adrian help me move a few things to the library.”

“I can move it!” he said, wrinkling his brow. She huffed a laugh.

“I need his help moving that press over there. Even though it’s small, its very heavy, it’s all metal,” she said, pointing it out. Petru looked at it for a moment before nodding.

“Maybe—maybe he should do it,” he said very seriously and she couldn’t help but laugh, reaching out to ruffle his hair.

“I’d like to go run some errands in the city, but I don’t want the others to feel bad because they didn’t get to go. Can we keep it our secret?” she asked. She knew she should probably just drop him back home and not mention it, but she wanted him to see the city, to go to the stationary with her, pick out his own piece of leather from the tanner like her father had let her when she was small.

She also just wanted to give him the time, give him her full attention for a bit. It was hard with all seven of them to give them one on one time, and she knew he needed it, perhaps a bit more than the others.

He was still having nightmares nearly every night.

“I won’t tell!” he said, eyes going wide as his face split into a a grin. She beamed back at him.

“Okay, you have to stay with me, though, it’s very busy,” she said, reaching out for his hand. He took it without complaint, staring at everything the moment they stepped outside the shop and she stopped to lock the door behind them.

“Alright, do you want to get a strudel before or after we go shopping?” she asked.

“What’s a strudel?”

“It’s a pastry, they fill them with different fruit. They’re my favorite.”

“First,” he said, and she smiled at him before setting off to the bakery, delighted with his barrage of questions as they walked.

“Hello?” Elyra called as she relocked the door to the Gloomveil house behind her.

“Elyra?” Róisín said, appearing in the kitchen door a moment later.

“Hi—is it a bad time? I usually visit Dad in the mornings and I just thought...” she said, trailing off. Perhaps she should have asked before simply showing up without warning.

“No, no, no, it’s a wonderful time!” she said, smiling widely. “I was just making shortbread for tea.”

“Okay, if you’re sure.”

“Yes of course. COLM!” she called up the stairs. It was a few minutes before he appeared, hair rumpled and an unfamiliar pair of glasses perched on his nose.

“Yes, Róis, dear—Starshine! I didn’t know you were visiting!” he said, clambering down the stairs so he could wrap her in a hug.

“I just thought, um, perhaps—”

“You don’t need a reason! Oh, how wonderful,” he said, beaming at her.

“Yes, well I need to go finish the shortbread if we’re to have it for tea,” Róisín said, forcing a smile even as she rung her hands.

“You didn’t tell me you were making shortbread,” Colm said, crossing to follow her into the kitchen. He pulled out a stool next to him at the counter were she usually ate with Valion and motioned for her to sit. She did, staring around at the kitchen.

It was spotless—it had never been dirty, but the familiar sort of clutter had been cleared away, the piles of books and forgotten paintbrushes Valion pulled out of his pockets while he was cooking.

Somehow it made her all the more aware of his absence. 

“Where’s Adrian?” Colm asked.

“Oh, he’s helping the children with their lessons. He’s taken over the natural sciences and philosophy,” she replied, unable to stop from smiling.

“Children?” Róisín asked, furrowing her brow.

“We took in a few children that were orphaned by Night Creature attacks. We’re trying to get them caught up—they didn’t really have any schooling before. They’re doing very well, though,” she said, smiling at the thought of just how far they’d come in such a short time. Andrei in particular was learning far faster than she’d have ever guessed. He’d hardly known his letters when they’d first begun, but now he was making his was through every astronomy book he could manage.

“Well isn’t that wonderful?” Colm said with a smile.

“How many are you looking after?” Róisín asked.

“Seven,” she replied. “Mihai is seven, and then Adelina is eight. Florin’s nine, but his birthday is in a month, and Petru is ten. Tereza’s twelve and the twins are fourteen, though their birthday is coming up soon too. March, I think. I have it written down.”

“Oh, that’s—that’s a lot,” Róisín said, eyes wide.

“It can be a challenge,” she said with a laugh. “But I think it’s rather nice. Neither Adrian or I grew up with siblings. There’s always someone they can play with, if they want. And the twins help so much with the little ones.”

“I hope you’re not straining yourself, you’re still healing,” Róisín said, furrowing her brow. Elyra just shook her head.

“I’m not. I’m afraid I’ve left far too much of it to Adrian lately,” she said, gaze dropping to the ground.

“Now, now—you’re much too smart a girl to say such ridiculous things,” Colm said, giving her a disapproving look even as he reached out to softly cup her cheek. She couldn’t help but, smile, if only just, even if it didn’t completely lift the weight in her chest.

One day she wanted to be strong enough that Adrian wouldn’t have to take care of her, wouldn’t have to worry. He deserved someone who could look after him, too, deserved to be taken care of. She wanted to take care of him, to protect him, to be able to defend him as he did her.

“I, um—I have to grab something in my room,” she said, forcing a smile before she excused herself, ignoring the way her palms sweat, the way her heart stuttered.

It wasn’t fair, it was her room, the room her dad had painted flowers all over the walls, the room with the furniture her mom had picked out, before she’d been born. She couldn’t help, though, the way her mind flashed back to the figure standing over her, to the glint of the knife before they brought it down, the familiar bite of iron.

She hesitated a moment before she stepped through the door to her sitting room, taking a deep breath before crossing to her bedroom before she lost her nerve.

She froze, though, on the threshold. Last she’d seen it there had been blood splattered everywhere, soaking her bed, the floor, splashed across the ceiling.

It was pristine, spelling of fresh laundry, every inch of it scrubbed clean. She might have been able to convince herself that none of it had ever happened, based on her room, except for the missing floral rug next to her bed, the rug that had been drenched in blood, the rug Valion had killed the person who’d attacked her on.

She swallowed hard, crossing to her wardrobe and pulling open the doors. She reached out to feel the pale blue silk of her mother’s dress, trace the pearls sewn across the bodice.

It felt so long ago that Valion had given it to her, that he’d shown her the closet full of her mother’s dresses that he kept, as if he were simply waiting for her to return. So long since her greatest worry had been telling her dad that she was getting married, trying to figure out how to convince him to come, to share in her joy, to be a part of it.

She still wanted him to be a part of it.

She opened a gate to the bedroom Adrian had given her when they first returned from Faery and hung the gown in the wardrobe along with the veil of pearls that went with it. She closed the wardrobe doors carefully and stepped back through her gate and to her room in Faery.

She just stared at it for a long moment, stomach twisting uncomfortably. She wondered if it would fade, or if it would always remain, a bit of terror in her throat whenever she stepped inside.

She froze just as she turned to go, a glimmer on her vanity catching her eye. She crossed to it, letting out a strangled cry as she realized it was her ring.

She snatched it up, smiling even as she felt tears slipping down her cheeks. It still had her blood crusted over it and the bottom was scratched from her trying to block the knife, but it was here, she hadn’t lost it.

She’d thought it must have gotten lost in all the mess afterward, that it had fallen out of Valion’s pocket or he’d left it in the palace or something, had almost been too afraid to ask, lest she be right.

She crossed to the bathroom and turned on the sink, carefully working the blood from it until it shone again before she slipped it back on her finger. It felt right there, like she’d missed the weight, even though she’d hardly had the time to grow used to it.

She stared at it another moment before slipping back downstairs and saying goodbye to her grandparents. They didn’t question her watery eyes or mention the fact that she was so clearly running away—running away from a clean room, from the mere memory of her attack.

She was glad they didn’t.

Adrian frowned as he pushed into their bedroom, at the lump under the blankets that he knew was Rosalind curled up as small as she could manage. He hadn’t thought much of the fact that she’d missed lunch—she’d said she wanted to visit her grandparents, he’d assumed she’d stay later, like she sometimes did when she went to work on her lessons with Valion. He’d assumed she’d find him when she came back like she always did, but now he had to wonder how long she’d laid buried in blankets as if she wished to disappear from the world.

“Rose, darling?” he asked softly, crossing to the bed so he could sit on the edge. She pulled back the blankets after a minute, eyes red.

“What happened?” he asked, hands immediately searching for injury for pain.

He paused when he saw a familiar ring on her finger. She followed his gaze, glancing at it before looking away, looking at anything but him.

“I—I gave it to Dad to keep it safe. They—they wanted to cut it off, but I wouldn’t let them and he—it was on my vanity,” she said, trying so very hard to keep her voice even. His heart lurched in his chest.

“I thought you were just visiting your grandparents. I would have come, had I known you were going to go back to your room—”

“I just—I had something I had to get.”

“I could have gotten it for you. There was no need for you to push yourself so soon after—”

“I didn’t—I didn’t want you to see.”

“Dove—”

“I wanted—Dad let me have one of my mom’s old dresses and I wanted to bring it back, and I didn’t want you to see it, because I want to wear it for our wedding,” she said, still looking at anything but him.

He reached out and drew her into a hug, pressing his lips to the crown of her head.

“You should have asked Colm to retrieve it for you—”

“I don’t want to be frightened anymore,” she said softly, voice hardly more than a breath. He tried to ignore the way his heart ached.

“How long have you been home? Why didn’t you come and get me?” he asked.

“I didn’t want to pull you away from lessons. I was only feeling sorry for myself.”

“You’ve been home since the morning?”

“I was fine. I just—I just wanted to stay here for a little while. I thought I’d feel better. I didn’t want to be so dour with the children.”

He sighed, scooping her into his arms so he could lay on the bed next to her and hold her tight to his chest.

“Adrian—”

“Hush now,” he said, tightening his grip just a little. “You’re so terribly hard on yourself.”

“I’m not—”

“You’d never expect me to brush off such a trauma in two weeks. There’s so much that you’re processing, and it’s okay to not be okay, yet. It’s not a burden to anyone.”

She didn’t answer, which he knew meant she didn’t believe him. He sighed, rolling over so he could cross to where he’d left his bag from their trip to Florence and retrieve the narrow volume he’d picked up at a market stall. He climbed back in bed, shifting so he’d be able to hold her and read.

She turned, propping herself up so she could stare at him.

“I’m fine, Adrian. I only wanted to wallow for a while until it passes. I don’t want to steal you from the children, I know how they adore spending time with them.”

“I sent them all to bed, it’s fine.”

“What? Why?”

“We’re working on astronomy and I told them that if they all rested this afternoon I’d take them up to the observatory tonight to look through the telescopes. They were very excited about it.”

“Still, you have much better—”

“I found this in Florence. I’ve been waiting to read it with you.”

“Adrian—”

“What do you think I’d rather do, figure out why the shop keeper said this book was banned in four principalities, or go work in the Hold and have Trevor shake crumpled pieces of paper at me?” he asked. He smiled at the small upturn of her lips at that.

“I think the jar is on my father’s desk,” she said, a little of her melancholy receding.

“I didn’t hear anything, I’m much enjoying this.”

She huffed the smallest of laughs. He pressed a kiss to her cheek, stroking her hair.

“You know I want to know when you're sad, even if you think the reason is foolish? I want to know when you’re angry or excited, want to know when you’re frightened or amused or bored or content. I want to know everything, I want to know you—not just the pieces you think are the ‘right’ ones, the most palatable.”

She stared at him a moment, a single tear slipping down her cheek. He reached over to swipe it away with his thumb.

“I don’t—I don’t know how I can ever deserve you,” she said, voice so terribly soft.

“You don’t have to—it’s not about deserving, dove. It’s a choice—I choose you. I’ll choose you today, I’ll choose you tomorrow and I’ll choose you in a hundred years. We choose each other—the idea that anyone deserves anything, that they must is rubbish. Things happen to us, regardless of our character, but we can choose what to do, who we spend our time with.”

“I’ll always choose you,” she said, reaching out to cup his cheek, though her brow remained furrowed. “You’re my always, no matter whatever else that happens.”

“I love you too,” he said, leaning forward to press a chaste kiss to her lips. He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear as he pulled back, wishing there was some way he could make it all better, take the burdens from her shoulders. If there had been a way, he’d done it long before.

Instead he smiled, raising a brow.

“Now, do you want to read this with me? The trader wouldn’t tell me why it was banned, but I have a sneaking suspicion it’s bawdy filth,” he said and she actually laughed at that—really laughed, not the quiet sort of huff that had become more frequent.

“Adrian!” she said, perhaps trying to sound admonishing, though she failed stupendously with how hard she laughed, cheeks flaring red.

“What? I was curious. The children all got presents.”

“So you bought a filthy book?”

“It was worth it for just how flustered you are before I’ve even opened it,” he said, enjoying the way she wrinkled her nose at him but couldn’t quite suppress her smile.

“So, you don’t want to read it?” he asked, raising a brow tauntingly.

“I didn’t say that!” she replied, making him burst out laughing himself. She pulled the book out of his hands and began flipping through it. He tugged it back.

“Uh-uh, no reading ahead,” he said, holding it out of her reach.

“How do you know it’s filth?! It could just be heresy,” she said, scrambling up to stand on the bed to try and snatch it back.

“Maybe it’s filthy heresy. I think that’s best case scenario,” he said, easily keeping it out of her reach.

“Adrian! Stop being mean and let me see it!”

“Oh, I’m being mean now?” he laughed, catching her as she overbalanced and nearly fell on top of him, though he still kept the book out of reach, much to her frustration and his amusement, though she was laughing too.

“Just let me see!” she huffed and he instead wrapped his arm and a leg over her to stop her squirming away, nipping lightly at her ear.

“Foul, Adrian!” she squealed, failing to sound even close to severe. She tried to wiggle her way out of his hold, though he held firm, careful not to hold too tight.

“If you want to read it, you’ll just have to cuddle with me instead of whatever you call this pathetic form of wrestling,” he said, enjoying the scrunched face she made.

“You’re impossible,” she said, though she stopped trying to squirm free, instead falling limp on top of him, pressing her cheek to his chest. He couldn’t help but note the way she returned his embrace, hands knotting in the fabric of his shirt, as if she thought he might pull away.

“And you’re a sore loser,” he said, pressing his lips to the crown of of her head before shifting the pair of them to a slightly more comfortable position to read. She glanced up at him, offering him such a soft smile that made his heart flutter.

“Thank you,” she said, voice soft, but not in the awful, small way it had been since she’d been attacked. No, it was a voice just for him, warm and adoring, something he adored.

“For what?” he asked, even though he knew, knew that sometimes she just needed to be drawn out of her head, to forget everything about Faery, to not be Seelie or Unseelie, but just Rosalind.

Too often, now, she was Elyra, princess of Unseelie, burdened with the consequences of decisions she’d never made.

She’d always been happiest, though, when she was simply Rose.

“For being an idiot,” she retorted, though she nestled closer, taking hold of his hand not holding the book. He glanced down, smiling to himself as he caught sight of the ring back on her finger.

She was such a stubborn thing, he wished he was surprised that even after that awful attack, she’d pitched a fit to make sure no one ruined it. It left a sick sort of warmth in his chest that it meant so much to her, when really, it was just a ring.

What it represented wouldn’t change, whether it was there or not.

He lifted their hands, shifting so he could press his lips to her knuckle, right below the ring. She twisted to get a look at his face, but he just turned to to the book and began to read.

She settled, her head against his shoulder and he dropped his head so his cheek rested on the top her her head. He didn’t pause his reading, even as he curled closer to her, unable to ever feel close enough.

He couldn’t help but savor the rare few hours during the day that they had together, a few hours where they could simply be Adrian and Rose, before they had the weight of expectation dropped back on their shoulders.

“Yes, just like that,” Elyra said as Petru set his book block into the cover. “Make sure everything lines up right.”

She watched him fuss with the endpapers, trying to get everything to sit properly. It was a very good first book—she’d been right about him taking to it. He beamed up at her once he was satisfied.

“Now we clamp it?” he asked. She nodded and he practically skipped over to the small, tabletop press Adrian had helped her move from her father’s shop to the library. They’d used it for fussy special editions, but it was much easier to learn on than the large one.

She couldn’t help but think of how happy her father would have been to know all his knowledge was being passed down, that it wouldn’t disappear with her. She reached out and ruffled Petru's hair, pride blooming in her chest.

Had her father felt this way when she’d bound her first volume?

“Can I make another one tomorrow?” he asked, face alight with hope. She grinned at him.

“Of course, if you’d like. We could make notebooks for everyone for their lessons.”

“Oh, we’d have to make a lot of those!” he said, utterly delighted. She was so happy to see him excited, thrilled that it was something he enjoyed.

She turned at the sound of a throat being cleared. Valion stood behind them, looking almost haggard, surveying the table covered in supplies.

“Dad?” she asked, furrowing her brows as she took in the rumpled clothes, the bruise-like shadows under his eyes. “What’s happened?”

“I came to check on your hands,” he said, shaking his head. Petru stared at him with narrowed eyes, lips turned down in a scowl. She made a face, wrapping her arm around him so she could pull him into her side and stroke his hair reassuringly.

“Dad I don’t know if you’ve met Petru. He’s wonderful,” she said, smiling down at Petru. “He’s learning how to bind. Come, look what he’s done, and it’s only his first time. I think he’s going to be rather marvelous at it.”

Valion surveyed them a moment, his expression familiar and surly. Still, she stared at him expectantly. She knew he didn’t like people, or being polite, but he’d suffer both for the sake of her children.

That or she’d make it clear he wasn’t welcome to visit their home until he did.

He sighed, giving her a look.

“Let’s see it, then,” he said, forcing a pained-looking smile.

She’d take it, though.

“Can you show him?” she asked Petru, voice soft. She knew how shy he could be with strangers, and she didn’t want to push him. He nodded, crossing to the press to pull out his book. He held it out to Valion without looking at him.

“Be careful, it’s only just been glued,” she said as Valion took it and examined it. He frowned, turning it all around and flipping through it, though he was careful not to let the endpapers move.

“That is rather good,” he said, almost sounding surprised. “It’s very neat for a first attempt.”

“He’s very good at stitching the signatures,” she said, pretending not to notice how red Petru’s ears turned. “He had no problem with getting the right tension.”

Valion nodded, handing Petru back his book.

“That—good job,” he said, looking supremely uncomfortable. “You—you have a very good teacher.”

“I know,” Petru replied, still surveying Valion warily, though his face had softened, just a bit.

“Alright, darling, put it back in the press and we’ll check on it tomorrow. How about you clean up and see if Adrian needs any help with dinner?”

He stared between the two of them for a moment before he turned back to the press to carefully re-set his book.

“Why—why don’t we go to the parlor?” she said to Valion. Hopefully he’d be more forthcoming in private. He just nodded and followed her silently until the door had shut behind them.

“Let me see your hands. Have you been using the oil?” he asked, picking them up as if they were made of thinnest glass and examining them.

“I have,” she said, furrowing her brow. “What’s going on? Please—I know something’s going on, just tell me.”

“It’s nothing for you to worry about,” he said, frowning as he traced a few of the deeper wounds to the heels of her hands.

“Can’t I be the judge of that?”

“Moonbeam—”

“I went to the house to look for you,” she said and he froze, eyes locked on her hands, though she wasn’t sure he was seeing them anymore.

“I’m already frightened,” she said, hating the way her voice cracked. “You look as though you haven’t slept a week, and I know it has something to do with Riona, and I know it’s bad, because you hid Grandad and Nana at the house. I just want to know what’s going on, I want to be prepared—”

“You don’t have to be prepared, I have everything handled—”

“You don’t have to—”

“Of course I do, I’m your father,” he said, glowering at her. “You’ve suffered enough and far too young. Let me spare you what I can, what I should have before.”

“Dad—”

The door swung open, too hard, and banged against the wall.

“Oops! Tati said to come get you for dinner,” Adelina said, beaming at the pair of them. Elyra’s breath caught in her chest for a moment—she’d called Adrian dad. She smiled, carefully blinking away the tears that had sprung to her eyes before turning back to Valion.

“Come have dinner.”

“Lyra, I have to go—”

“No, you’re going to stay for dinner and we can finish talking after,” she said, giving him a look. He made a face, but she just grabbed his hand and began dragging him towards the kitchen.

“Oooh, are we holding hands?” Adelina asked in delight, darting forward to grab her other hand and skip down the hall next to them. Elyra fought the urge to laugh.

“Is he your dad?” Adelina asked, oblivious to any of the tension between her and Valion.

“He is.”

“He looks like you,” she said with a bright smile. “But grumpier.”

Elyra barely stopped herself from laughing.

“Adelina, you can’t say that, it’s very rude.”

“But it’s true, though.”

“It’s not a nice thing to say.”

“Oh,” she said considering that for a moment. Then she turned to Valion. “Sorry for saying you look grumpy.”

Valion just stared at her for a long moment, until she elbowed him.

“Thank you?” he said, though it sounded more like a question than anything. That didn’t bother Adelina, though.

“We’re having fish again tonight,” she said, swinging her and Elyra’s clasped hands back and forth. “I helped with the vegetables. I used my secret spices.”

She grinned up at Elyra and pressed a finger to her lips, giddy enough that she wondered just what they might be. She was rather glad Adrian always made her food and didn’t let the children touch it.

Adrian glanced over from his place at the stove as she pushed the door open, Adelina darting ahead to grab the plates on the counter to set the table. She watched his eyes flick to Valion and then back to her, the furrow in his brow questioning. She just gave him what she hoped was a reassuring smile.

She steered Valion to a seat as Florin clunked the silverware down in front of each place, humming to himself, and Mihai very carefully set out glasses.

“It’s just us, tonight,” Adrian said as he set a pan with several baked fish on the table. “Sypha wasn’t feeling well so I sent Trevor up with soup.”

“What’s wrong?” Elyra asked, fear curling in her chest.

“I think it’s just a headache. She said she didn’t sleep well. It’s nothing out of the ordinary, fortunately,” he said quickly and she nodded, the pressure in her chest releasing a bit. He gave her a smile, reaching out to give her hand the gentlest of squeezes.

He didn’t acknowledge Valion in the slightest.

“Dad, do you want wine with dinner?” she asked, already crossing towards the cellar. He opened his mouth and then shut it again before he answered.

“I—I suppose.”

“Do you want the white with the green label, or the new one?” she asked Adrian.

“The new one, it’s drier,” he said, crossing with a second pan full of vegetables. She nodded and retrieved two bottles from the crate they’d brought back from Florence. When she came back, Adrian was making sure everyone took vegetables and Mihai didn’t just eat rolls. He’d plated and set food for her and Valion already—she smiled at the capers he’d arranged into a little heart on her plate, feeling her cheeks heat.

“Thank you for dinner,” she said, smiling at him as he sat next to her. “It looks lovely.”

“Thank you!” came the chorus of children, though Adelina was the loudest, practically drowning the others out.

She’d bet Adrian had let her have cookies for her snack.

They ate in their usual sort of controlled chaos, the children talking over one another and laughing. Adelina’s secret spices looked to be an absurd amount of dill and black pepper. She watched Adrian sneakily scrape most of it from his vegetables.

He caught her looking and rolled his eyes. She just bumped his shoulder with hers.

“Why are you here?” Florin asked Valion through a mouthful of fish. He sat on his knees so he could get a better look at him. Only he and Adelina seemed to have any interest in him. The others simply surveyed him warily.

“To see my daughter,” he replied, voice clipped. She noted how he pushed his food around, leg bouncing under the table as if he couldn’t keep still.

“We went to Florence! We had pasta, it’s new, but Tati says he doesn’t know how to make it yet,” Adelina said, grinning at him. Elyra watched Adrian still next to her, cheeks aflame, though he dropped his gaze to his plate to try and hide it. She reached over under the table to take his hand, giving it a little squeeze.

“Ah,” said Valion, looking supremely uncomfortable.

“Maria,” she said, hoping to shift the conversation. “How are you liking that embroidery book we found at the market?”

“Oh,” she said, giving her a rare smile. “I like it very much. I’m trying out one of the patterns on my yellow dress.”

“Do you have enough thread?” Adrian asked, furrowing his brow. She laughed.

“Yes, I have a whole basket. I’ve never had so many colors.”

“Good,” he said, turning back to his meal. She’d caught him circling back to the market booth after Maria had very carefully chosen two skeins of thread, checking with them three times that it was okay for her to get both of them. She was rather sure he’d gotten a half dozen in every color and slipped them into her shopping bag without saying a thing.

He was so sweet with the children, in his own way. She wasn’t sure he was quite comfortable expressing his affection for them, but she saw the way he noted when one of them took interest in something, or if they needed a shelf or a box for their baubles, how he nearly always gave into their demands for his time, despite anything else he had to do.

She glanced back at her dad, at the tense set of his shoulders, the way he seemed to stare through the table, a bit of the warm feeling in her chest retreating.

Whatever he said, whatever he thought, whatever it was that was going wrong in Faery would find her, whether she knew what it was or not. And clearly it was effecting him—he looked exhausted, ready to crawl out of his skin.

He looked old.

His visage hadn’t changed that much, but for the first time she could see it behind his eyes, see it fully. She couldn’t help but worry, no matter how irritated she was by his refusal to tell her anything, by his endless surliness and stubbornness.

She didn’t want him to get hurt, didn’t want him to do something rash and foolish because he felt he needed to do something. She knew he was scared—she was too.

Valion stood, the moment they finished dinner and everyone began to help clearing everything away—everyone but Adrian, who she insisted did not clean, because he’d cooked.

Not that he often listened to her.

“I have to be off,” he said and turned on his heel, walking as fast as possible without running. She turned to Adrian who just made a face, rolling his eyes. She sighed.

“Leave me the dishes,” she said to him before chasing after Valion.

“Dad! Wait!” she said, hiking up her skirts so she could jog to catch up with him.

“I have to be off, I’ll be back in a few days.”

“You can’t just run off and keep me in the dark!”

“I’ve told you, Lyra, it’s for the best.”

“It’s not! Why can’t you just trust me?”

“I do trust you, it has nothing to do with trust.”

“You don’t need to coddle me,” she spat. He turned to her, searching her face for a moment before he reached out to cup her cheek.

“Thank you, for having me for dinner. The wine was interesting,” he said before turning away again. She huffed, swearing under her breath.

“This isn’t fair!” she snapped, not caring how juvenile she sounded.

“What isn’t fair is how your hands still pain you, all the wretched new scars inflicted on you. What isn’t fair is that someone harmed you again, harmed you in your sleep, in our home.”

“Why did you hide Grandad and Nana at the house?”

He made a face. “Since when was Róisín Nana?”

“I’m trying,” she said, balling her hands into fists even though it sent little shocks of pain through them. “She’s family, and she apologized.”

“You’re too forgiving,” he said darkly, shaking his head.

“What else am I supposed to do?” she asked, making a face. “Be mad at her forever? Not see Grandad in case she’s there? People make mistakes—I make mistakes all the time. I wouldn’t want someone to hold the ones I’ve made when I was most distraught over me forever.”

“Some things are mistakes, and some things aren’t,” he said tersely, staring pointedly at the ground as he called forth a faery ring.

“I don’t like being angry all the time,” she said, trying to catch his eye. “Isn’t it exhausting?”

He refused to meet her gaze. Instead he took a deep breath, the sort he’d taken a lot of when she’d first met him and she’d needled him on purpose.

“The rude one—the rude boy—the mousy-haired one,” he said, brows furrowed as if telling the difference between all of them was a trial.

“Petru?” she asked, crossing her arms and raising a brow. 

“That one. He has some talent, you’re doing well teaching him. I’m glad you’re working on your binding again. I always loved watching you work.”

She just stared at him, deflating a bit.

“Dad—”

“I love you,” he said, pressing a kiss to her temple before stepping into the circle and disappearing. She watched the toadstools wither as the threads were broken. She kicked one into the forest, swearing, before she turned to return to the castle.

Ysolde hardly looked back at the destruction in her wake, the blackened fields and withered plants. It was slow-going, but she brought Night with her, would cast all of Faery in its shadow.

The hadn’t learned. All these millennia and they hadn’t learned a thing, were still as sniveling and cowardly as they’d been when she still lived.

She hadn’t been able to save Rowan, save Amaris last time, but she’d thought this time—

Perhaps she’d been foolish, too hopeful, thought them capable of more than they were. It was hard not to be hopeful when her Amaris had come running back into her arms, when she possessed none of the rot of her line, when she saw the childlike whimsy that she brought to Faery, not simply undoing the curses she’d sunk into the land, but bringing things back better, more beautiful than they’d been.

They could have just let her.

But they were craven, despicable things. She wouldn’t let them take her Amaris again, she’d protect her, this time.

~~~I feel like he must have had a pretty good childhood considering how he talks about his parents in the show, though I think he wasn't home with them for super long? He has that one off-hand line about growing up 'very fast' in the show, and then there's the whole underground, steam-powered lair in Gresit. I feel like he must have moved out at least a few years before the start of the show to be able to make all of that. Plus, he'd have to have spent a lot of time with his dad to learn how to make the mechanism properly and make his own place.

Like all the material evidence we see in the show of his childhood shows that his parents loved him, like the fact that they made all his toys and painted constellations on his ceiling, and also the fact that they kept his room the same after he'd grown up? It feels very much like they were trying to preserve a part of him in the castle, like a little bit of his childhood. It was probably very disconcerting to have a child grow so quickly and mature and want to leave and start his life, so I kinda see that almost as a sort of mourning? It feels very 'child who died' to me, especially because he most likely was a teenager in the castle too, and that room didn't look like a teen boy had lived in it, at least to me.

~~~I think that unless Elyra asks, he probably won't. He's not good at identifying and telling her the things he probably should about her mom, it's more that he shares things as he thinks of them, or when it relates to what their doing. It's gotten easier for him to talk about Orlaith to Elyra, but I think he's so used to not talking about her to anyone that he just doesn't think about it.

~~~I haven't specifically yet, but would love to as the plot allows! I'd looooove to get more Speakers in the mix and I think it would be very interesting to have Adrian and Elyra run into a forgemaster, because I feel like they might have veryyy different feeling about them. Like Adrian being raised by Dracula for sure knows about them and probably has more ambivalence about them as a general rule unless they're specifically doing something horrible (ie Hector reanimating animals) whereas Elyra's only exposure has been to the roving Night Creatures that they can make and I'm sure if she learned they were made with human souls she'd be about ready to go give them a nice warm dirt nap.

~~~Honestly, I don't think she truly will? I think she'll come up with something of a half-truth to protect them from Faery as much as she can. I don't think that will work with all the kids, I think several of them will figure it out, given everything they have access to in the library, but I don't know that they'd bring it up with her? Like, I could see Andrei and Mihai figuring it out, and Andrei would tell Maria, but I can't see them making a big thing of it? Like they would know there was a reason, especially after seeing her return from visiting her father and being so hurt. I'm on the fence whether Petru would figure it out. I think it would have to be much later in life for him, but I don't think he'd care, especially at that point? Left to their own devices, I don't think Florin, Tereza, Adelina would figure it out because they're not big into the library or research, which is also good, because they would be the ones to make a big thing about it and try and get her to take them to Faery.

~~~I assumed they got torched by the crazy fire-breathing monsters in the siege? Or trampled and thrown in a mass grave after with the other people who died and couldn't be identified? Personally I like the idea of them just getting incinerated.

~~~Adrian realized that he was in love with Rose after Valion pulled her into the Dream Realm and then made it so she could safely sleep and he thought she was going to die. It fully hit him that morning after staying up all night in case every breath was her last that it was actually love (even though he'd been lying to himself before then that she was just his friend). Elyra knew for *sure* when Vranos took her, and getting back to Adrian was her light at the end of the tunnel. I think she was more aware of her feelings beforehand, though she pushed them down more consciously because she never saw them being returned.

I didn't have a ship name for them. I'm not super good at coming up with them lol

~~~Currently Trevor is trying to get his voice back somehow, lmao. But I think he's working on helping with the construction of the village and the reconstruction of some of the Belmont manor. He's still recovering from his brush with death, so Sypha is making him take it easy, but I'm sure he's also itching to hunt down some monsters, though that'll for sure have to wait until after the baby is born, because there's noooo way he's taking any chance of missing that. I also see him informally passing on some of his monster hunting knowledge to people who want it? Like no way he's holding formal classes, but if someone wants to learn how to use a whip or throw some daggers, he's all about it.

Unless it's one of Adrian and Rose's kids, then he has to do anything else. (Florin wants to use a whip soooo bad, but to be fair, he'd probably put his own eye out if he tried to use one.)

~~~5ish months? I'm trying not to rush through it (but I want Baby Belmont to be born so bad!!! I already have bits of them written as a toddler and I *love* them)

~~~Riona had a consort, who has since died. He was good at being a voice of reason and she wasn't as fearful and reactionary before. He died in a freak accident, along with their daughter, and that really lead her to be more irrational about things (it was 100% an actual accident, but she convinced herself that it had to have been a plot by the Undercourt or someone in her Court looking to unseat her, that someone had taken him from her.

Her dynasty is the Aurelianes, and they've been in power for less time than the Blackthornes. The Seelie Court has quite a bit of turnover in rulers compared to the Unseelie Court, which also adds to Riona's paranoia. She has two living siblings (Aoife, Róisín's mom, and Iomhar, her brother who has no children) and had three children: Fionn, who is her eldest and heir, Eimear, and Caoimhe, who died with their father. Fionn has only recently married (for a faery) has a daughter, Siobhan.

I'd say that Seelie and Unseelie are both semi-constitutional monarchies. There are limits and rules which the ruler could be called to step down, but it's super rare that it's enacted in Seelie and never happens in Unseelie. Basically it takes a coup to shove someone out. There's clever ways for the ruler to get around them, but it's not good for them to look like they're breaking the rules (faeries love rules).

~~~I'm so torn on this, because I want them to, but also, it would go so bad??? Like, it would be soooo devastating to Adrian that his parents had lived and they were out doing whatever and never thought to tell him and relieve him of the guilt he holds over not saving them? And I also think that since meeting Rose and starting a family, that he'd be even more angry about it, and angry with his father? Because he could never imagine hurting his child or abandoning them when they needed him.

And it would be sooooooo bad if Rose was there, because they hurt Adrian. Like, I feel like Adrian would let his mom off the hook, but Rose for sure would not, for making him feel as if he were secondary in her life and not as important as her husband, not to mention for not seeking him out after she came back to life, especially after all Dracula had put him through. She'd want to send Drac straight back to Hell, for hurting Adrian and doubly for *hurting his child*. She would have Things To Say about what sort of parents she thought they were. I don't know that she would be able to keep her temper, tbh. She'd try for Adrian's sake, but she'd be so absolutely infuriated by Drac she might have to just go to Faery so she didn't deck him.

She should have been planning a trip, introducing the children to the sort of culture they lacked out in the Wallachian wilderness, should have been sitting down and planning curriculum with Sypha, planning for when she’d step in when she had the baby, should have been planning her wedding—

She should have been doing nearly anything but worrying about what nightmare her father was keeping from her.

Of course, he could never make things easy.

She’d just decided to sneak away, rather than interrupt Andrei’s lesson, when Adrian turned.

“Rose?” he asked, immediately rising from his chair to cross to her. “Is everything alright?”

Andrei turned in his seat, surveying her with sad, grey eyes, his brow pinched.

“Yes—yes. I didn’t realize you were giving a lesson, I don’t want to interrupt.”

“Nonsense,” he said, carefully taking hold of her hands and examining them, gently tracing over scars, noting how they were healing.

“They’re fine, Adrian. Dad checked them.”

“That doesn’t mean that I shouldn’t,” he said, tone deceptively light, though it didn’t hide the tension in his jaw.

“Just finish your lesson,” she said softly, nodding towards Andrei and the books piled on the table in front of him.

“It’s okay,” Andrei said, face still so terribly pinched. “We were already done, I just stayed after to ask some questions. Can—can I borrow this book to keep reading?”

“Of course,” Adrian said, turning back to him. “You can borrow anything, so long as you take care of it.”

“I will, I promise,” he said quickly, clutching the book to his chest like a precious treasure. She couldn’t help but smile at the sight.

“I know you will. You’re not the one I worry about,” he said with a sigh. “I never thought I’d have to specify not to eat jam over a book. Nor that it’s meant to be spread on something, not simply eaten with a spoon.”

Andrei huffed a laugh, though he quickly looked down at his shoes to try and hide it. Adrian crossed to the table and pulled another book from one of the stacks and handed it to him.

“This might help with some of the basics, if the other gets confusing. It’s a very good book, but it does meander a bit.”

“Okay. Thank you!” he said, flashing a smile at Adrian before turning towards the door. He stopped, though, when he reached her.

“I hope you’re feeling better.”

“I’m starting to. Thank you,” she said, offing him was she hoped was a reassuring smile. Andrei opened his mouth and shut it, pausing before he spoke again.

“Don’t—don’t tell Mrs. Belmont, but I miss your lessons. Hers are fine!” he said quickly, clearly worried about being offensive. “I just really like the books you picked on ancient history.”

“I should be able to go back to them soon,” she said, a bit of shame heating her ears. “You could always ask, though if you want me to pick more books.”

“I didn’t want to bother you.”

“You’re not a bother,” she said, furrowing her brow. He just glanced between the pair of them.

“I—I should go make sure Adelina isn’t driving Maria up the wall. Thank you, again,” he said, and scurried out.

Elyra sighed, staring after him for a moment before turning back to Adrian.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to drive him off.”

“It’s fine, dove, we were nearly done.”

She made a face. She wouldn’t doubt he would have gone on another hour or two, until he went to make dinner. She decided to let it go, though.

“Who spilled jam in a book?” she asked instead. He raised a brow.

“I’ll give you a guess.”

“Adelina?”

“All over the Young Reader Primer. At least it wasn’t a book I cared about, though I’ve given them all a lecture about how to properly treat them. And I’ve moved the jam out of reach of little hands.”

“Was she really just eating it with a spoon?”

“I think she might be the only person with a bigger sweet tooth than you. She got through half the jar before I caught her.”

She huffed a laugh, imagining the sort of mess he must have walked in on. He drew her attention back, though, by taking hold of her hands again, his touch as delicate as if he were handling fine porcelain.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, searching her face. “Is your tonic wearing off? It’s nearly time for another—”

“No, I’m—I’m only a bit sore. I just—Valion was acting strange and then he left really quickly and—something’s wrong, but he won’t tell me. He wanted me to leave it alone, but I have a terrible feeling about it. I just want to figure out what’s going on.”

Adrian’s lips thinned as he listened, expression pinched.

“I just—maybe if I go corner him at the house he’ll tell me. I just—I don’t know. I could just be being silly.”

“I doubt that,” he said. “Are—are you sure you want to go back to the house after—”

He broke off, making a face. She felt herself deflate a bit.

“No,” she said honestly. “But that’s where he’d be. Or, at least that’s the only place I know he’d be.”

Adrian sighed. “Just let me gather a few things, then I’ll be ready to go.”

“You don’t have to—” she began, though she didn’t quite mean it. He rolled his eyes.

“Don’t be ridiculous, dove,” he said, holding out his arm for her to take. He lead her back to their chambers, where he first crossed to the dresser to retrieve one of the half-dozen or so tinctures for pain he’d left there, removing the cork before handing it to her.

She didn’t ague, merely took it, glad for the relief it provided, even if it left her feeling a bit in a fog. Without it, the ache in her hands made her nauseous.

Adrian retrieved a proper jacket from the wardrobe before buckling on his belt that held his longsword and pulling it on overtop. She eyed the sword, wishing she could tell him that he was being ridiculous.

He caught her, staring at her as if he could read her thoughts.

“Rose—”

“It’ll be fine. Just—let’s just get it over with,” she said, pulling open a gate before she could think better of it. She was tired of Valion lying to her, tired of him keeping things from her, even if he thought it kept her safer—clearly, things were much worse than she knew, if the Queen of Seelie wanted her dead so badly.

Alucard did his best not to glare at the stone manor, to push down the roiling anger in his gut.

The last thing Rose needed was more things to worry about. If only Valion had ever learned to compose himself, but he was hardly better than a child throwing a fit—he had to make it everyone else’s problem.

She should be home resting—he knew her hands ached, especially at the end of the day, especially since she’d just had the stitches removed, not to mention the rest of her wounds. But instead she was going to figure out the reason of Valion’s latest tantrum.

Still, he kept a hand reassuringly on Rosalind’s back as he looked for anything out of the ordinary, any sign of movement, his other hand on the hilt of his blade.

He watched her make a series of complicated gestures in the air, watched her wince as she did—she’d deny it, if he mentioned it, though. At least until she talked to her father and forced some truth from his lips.

She was so damn stubborn. He hated how she suffered for it.

He stepped forward to open the door for her, to save her the unnecessary movement. He followed her inside, glancing around the entranceway—it was different than the first time he’d been.

The paintings on the walls were the same, as was the black trim work, but it looked lived in, in a way it hadn’t before. There was a book perched on the narrow table by the door, amidst all the strange knickknacks, boots left by the door, cloaks left on the coatrack, rather than put away in the hall closet.

It looked a bit more like a home, and less of a mausoleum.

Had Valion relaxed his protections about the place too, his wards? Was that how someone was able to nearly murder Rose in her bed?

“Dad!” she called, loud enough that he couldn’t pretend to not hear her, even in his studio. Alucard froze, though, as he heard movement upstairs, heard two heartbeats.

“Rose,” he said, voice hardly more than a whisper as he tugged her back from the stairs, stepping in front of her. “Something’s wrong, someone else is here.”

“What?” she asked, face going white.

“We should go,” he hissed, eyes sweeping around them, looking for some hint of who might be upstairs. She didn’t listen, though, only tried to step towards the stairs again, eyes shining.

“DAD!” she yelled again, frantic, this time. The air felt electric around them, heavy with magic. He unsheathed his blade as he heard footsteps approaching, mind whirring with different scenarios.

He froze, though, at the sight of a familiar figure.

“Granddad?” Rosalind asked, voice cracking as she spotting Colm at the top of the stairs.

“Dawn’s Light—Elyra, darling! Oh! How are you? I’ve been so worried,” he said, hurrying down the stairs with hardly a glance at the sword in his hand.

He looked much the same as he had at Solstice, though he wore a rather rumpled brown doublet and his hair looked as though he’d been running his hands through it all day.

And he looked frightened.

“What—what are you doing here? Where’s Dad? Why—?” she broke off, just shaking her head as she tried to make sense of it.

“Did your father not—well, I suppose that would be wise, all things considered,” he said, almost to himself before forcing a smile. “Your father is having us stay here, while he sorts things out with Seelie.”

“What’s going on?” she asked, though she looked up at movement, again, on the landing. She froze at the sight of Róisín standing there in a dress far too formal for puttering around the house, shoulders curling in as if she wanted to disappear.

He glanced between the two, trying to make sense of the reaction, noted Colm look between the two as well, expression turning tight.

“Oh, this is very silly, we can’t have you just standing in the foyer! Come sit down—come, come! Adrian, it’s very lovely to see you again,” he said almost too cheerily as he ushered them towards the parlor. Alucard let out a breath, sheathing his sword.

“How are your hands, Starshine? Your father was worried,” Colm asked as he lead her to one of the couches sitting next to her as his eyes searched over her, anxiety plain behind them. Alucard sat on her other side, reaching automatically to place a hand on her back in an effort to soothe her.

“They, um—they ache. Dad says they’re healing alright though,” she said, sounding so very unsure.

“You poor dear. I’m so sorry. I—I’m sure your father has something for the pain around here that I could find—”

“I just took one. Adrian made sure I did.”

“Thank you,” Colm said, turning his familiar green gaze on him for a moment before he focused back on his granddaughter. “I’ve been so very worried about you, my dear.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“Don’t be ridiculous. How could we not worry? May I?” he asked, holding out his hands for hers. It struck him as odd, after all he’d seen of Valion’s parents—they’d never asked for her permission for a thing, didn’t care how she felt.

At least Colm seemed as kind as he remembered, from their brief time meeting at Solstice.

Rose deserved one family member that was just kind in Faery.

Rose placed her hands in his, after a moment, though she looked away as he examined them. He made a face as his thumbs ghosted over the deeper wounds, touch so incredibly gentle.

“Oh dear—no wonder you’re in so much pain. I’m so sorry, my darling girl. I’m so sorry we couldn’t stop it.”

Rose opened her mouth, clearly searching for words, only to shut it again, dropping her gaze to her lap.

“We should have your nana look at them—she’s much more skilled in healing than I. Perhaps there’s something more to be done,” he said and Rose stiffened, though he wasn’t sure if it was because of his words or the door opening again.

Róisín hesitantly pushed her way in, carrying a tea tray. Alucard couldn’t help but note the way Rose swallowed hard before dropping her gaze once more to her lap.

“I—I thought you might like some tea. I—I wasn’t quite sure what you prefer so I—I just brought everything,” Róisín said, almost hesitantly. She stood in the door another moment before crossing to set the tray down on the coffee table. He could see now that it piled high with a dozen tins of tea as well as milk, sugar, honey and what looked like lemons, though he wasn’t sure what the faery equivalent was.

“Thank you,” Rose said without looking up, voice cracking slightly.

He traced his hand up and down her spine, hoping to soothe her, even as he looked between Colm and Róisín. She hadn’t told him what had happened, with them, not more than the fact that they’d tried to warn them of the attack. Still, it had been clear there was something more, something that had happened that had left Valion furious and left her withering at their mere mention, though he’d guess it was more to do her grandmother than her grandfather, based on her reactions.

Róisín stood there for a long moment before crossing to sit on the couch opposite, her posture stiff. Colm stared at her for a moment before he took a deep breath.

“I got your letter,” he said, smile only looking slightly strained. “You know I meant you to keep the books, dear.”

“I, I just—I thought you’d want them back.”

“I should have been more specific. Though I did very much enjoy your thoughts on them.”

“I wasn’t—I wasn’t sure when I’d be able to see you next.”

“It was a lovely surprise.”

“What—what books did you lend her?” Róisín asked quietly.

“Early Material History of the Light Court, Bettara’s Abridged History of the Golden Age, and something else, what was it?” he said, furrowing his brow as he tried to remember.

“A Record of Trade Along the Emerald Coast in the Forty-Third Century,” Elyra said, voice so terribly small.

“Yes! That was the one,” Colm said, nodding to himself. Róisín made a face.

“Of all the books, you pick the driest, dullest ones—”

“They’re not dull,” Colm shot back, making a face. Róisín shook her head.

“You could have given her Saratii, or Rishka, or Dawn forbid, something from this century.”

“They’re good resources. Though—perhaps I should have included some poetry,” he said, almost absently as he leaned over to make a cup of tea. It seemed muscle memory as he added sugar and one of the fruit slices before passing it to Róisín and reaching for another cup, which he added only the smallest splash of cream to.

Alucard caught Rosalind’s eye as they were momentarily distracted, at least a bit, furrowing his brows in question. She pursed her lips, jaw tight.

He was of half a mind to come up with an excuse to pull her aside and ask what was going on, what had happened, but Róisín spoke again before he thought of anything believable enough.

“How are you healing. Has Val—has your father been attending to you? Hands can be complicated if not monitored correctly,” she said, sounding overly formal and stiff, though a ‘your father’ had been twisted by anger, even if it seemed she’d tried to suppress it.

“He—he has. And Adrian checks on them about four times a day,” she said, leaning into his side, slightly. Róisín’s eyes flicked to him, almost as if she were noticing him for the first time.

“That—that’s good,” she said, though her expression remained pinched. “I believe we met briefly at the Solstice ball.”

“Yes,” he said, unsure of what else to say. He’d hardly exchanged a handful of pleasantries with her, though Colm had been quick to draw him into conversation about his studies.

“It seems—it seems you take after your grandfather,” she said, turning back to Rosalind. “Your—your mother was never one for academics. Colm—your grandfather had to practically tie her down to the chair at your age to get her to complete her lessons.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” Colm said with a huff of laughter, though it didn’t disguise the sadness behind his eyes. “She just hated sitting still for long enough to get through them. If I read to her to her in the garden while she puttered about she didn’t mind them.”

Rosalind seemed to deflate a bit at the mention of her mother. He reached out, taking her hand automatically, though he didn’t squeeze it in reassurance as he usually would have, just held it, as if it were made of glass. He saw Róisín note it, but she didn’t say anything.

The silence lingered for an uncomfortably long moment, before Rosalind finally broke it.

“Well, um, we should—we were just looking for D-Dad, but um, he’s not here, so we should just—we don’t want to interrupt your day,” she stammered, staring once more at her skirt. He stood with her, more than happy to leave, especially when she was so clearly uncomfortable, and he couldn’t try to fix it, because he didn’t know why.

“Elyra—” Colm said, standing up very fast. “You’re not—we’d love you to stay longer. If—if you can. I understand, though, if you can’t.”

Despite his words, he very much looked as though he’d be devastated if she left. He watched Rosalind’s resolve break as she looked at him him, shoulders slumping.

“I—I suppose we can stay a little longer,” she said, and he beamed, though she just seemed to curl inward even more.

“Dove, could you—could you show me where that book was. I just don’t want to forget it again, like last time,” Alucard said, not caring that it was a barely veiled excuse. She nodded, looking far too relieved and rose, taking a step towards the door before she turned back to her grandparents.

“We—we’ll be back in a moment,” she said.

“Oh—of course, dear,” Colm said quickly. Róisín just nodded, face pinched. Alucard ushered her out, not caring, frankly, if her grandparents thought it rude.

“What’s going on?” Adrian asked, the moment he closed the study door behind them. Elyra stared at the floor, wishing she could seep into it.

“It’s—it’s nothing.”

“It’s clearly not.”

“It’s just—I’m surprised they’re here. Dad—Dad was not very happy with them, after everything, and I’m quite sure Róisín loathes him, so I’m not sure why she’d ever even agree,” she said, still staring at the edge of the rug under Valion’s desk, the intricate pattern of it.

It was true, even if it wasn’t all of it—of course it wasn’t all of it, but she didn’t know how to say any of the rest of it, could only feel its weight on her chest.

She made the mistake of glancing up, of not only seeing Adrian’s pinched face of worry, but the portrait of her mom over the mantlepiece, the portrait Valion had painted of the woman he loved more than anyone.

She looked like Róisín.

Perhaps her face was a little rounder in the portrait, her features softer, but there was no denying the resemblance, even if Róisín’s eyes were lavender and sharper than Orlaith’s had been.

At least how Valion always painted her.

“It’s more than that, Rose. It’s so clear you’re uncomfortable,” Adrian said gently. She pressed her lips together, making a face.

“I just—” she began, looking for the right words. “It’s just hard. They—Colm only just told Róisín what happened to my mom. I just—”

She broke off, rather than telling him how she just felt like she was rubbing salt in the wound, that it felt cruel to be around them after their daughter had died giving birth to her.

How the painful politeness was almost worse than the screaming had been—the screaming had at least felt honest.

You stole my daughter from me.

She took a deep breath, wrapping her arms around herself. Adrian sighed and pulled her into a hug.

“You know we don’t have to stay. I don’t care about being polite,” he said, voice so gentle and soft. She shook her head.

“We—we’ll just stay for an hour. I don’t want to upset Colm,” she replied.

Didn’t want to upset the one grandparent she had that actually liked her, despite having every reason to not. The one grandparent who ever made her feel as though he saw her and not just the thing she was.

An hour of uncomfortable conversation was fine, if it made him happy.

“Okay,” Adrian said, though he still looked unsure. “Though we can leave whenever you like.”

She nodded, taking a deep breath as she just stared at Valion’s desk, trying to settle herself. She couldn’t help but note the jar perched on the side of it, a jar she was quiet sure she recognized from their pantry.

She was nearly sure that was the jar Trevor had been harping on her about, the one Valion had locked his voice in.

She turned to the door without so much as pointing it out to Adrian. She’d been rather enjoying the silence at home, she wasn’t about to ruin a good thing.

At least for a few more weeks.

“Just—just let me talk to her,” Colm said, eyes flicking to the door through which Elyra and Adrian had slipped through. “I’ll just clear the air—”

“She can’t even bear look at me. I—I’ll just find something to do upstairs and stay out of the way. You should enjoy the time you have with her,” Róisín said, unable to look at him.

“We just need to work through it, Róis. It’s...unfortunate and uncomfortable, but it won’t get better if you just hide away.”

“I don’t know. I just—I don’t want to make it harder on her.”

“Let me talk to her. Just—talk to Adrian so I can pull her aside. He’s a wonderful boy, I really enjoyed speaking with him at Solstice. And you know I usually don’t enjoy speaking to anyone at Solstice.”

She at least attempted a smile at that, though it was hardly convincing.

“Okay. But if not—I don’t mind. It’s—it’s her house, I don’t want her to feel uncomfortable in it. More uncomfortable.”

Colm didn’t believe for a second Róisín would be fine hiding away upstairs, but he didn’t press. There was no point—he’d figure out a way to work through the situation, he had to. Besides, at it’s core it was a misunderstanding—though that did little to soothe the wounds it had created.

Elyra and Adrian returned, pausing in the doorway before they returned to their place on the couch. Elyra stared at the hem of her dress, jaw tight. Adrian, however, looked between the pair of them, gaze sharp. He hadn’t let go of her waist since they’d stepped out, his hold unmistakably protective. Still, he kept his face neutral, if not overly pleasant.

Colm couldn’t exactly blame him for that.

Róisín cleared her throat, rolling her shoulders back slightly as she put on her practiced, Court smile and turned to Adrian.

“I thought—I thought I might ask you about your home. I have always found the Mortal Realm rather fascinating, though—though I admit I have done little traveling there. Last I was there, they were constructing a rather lovely temple, the whole thing made of carved marble. I was rather impressed they were able to construct such a thing with no magic, though I have seen Mortals do marvelous things with logs and sleds. Remember that lovely stone circle we saw—was is Prydein? What did they call it?”

“A henge. Fantastic thing, really,” Colm replied almost automatically.

“Yes, yes—henge. Do they have those by you?” she asked Adrian.

“A henge?” he asked, furrowing his brow.

“Yes. Or—what did they call it, it had all these fabulous statues and it was for their warrior goddess, Athe-something.”

“The Parthenon?” Adrian asked eyes going wide.

“Well, I don’t know. They just called it ‘the Temple’ while we were there.”

“Might I speak with you, dear? Just the two of us?” Colm said quietly to Elyra. She searched his face for a moment before she nodded.

“Adrian,” she said softly, reaching out to touch his shoulder, almost as if she needed to reassure herself. “I—I’m just going to orient Grandad to the library. Dad has a bit of an eclectic organization system, so I thought I’d show him where everything is.”

Adrian searched her face for a moment before he nodded. “Sounds wonderful.”

She gave him a smile before crossing to the door. He followed her up the stairs to the library, noting the way she wrapped her arms around herself.

He took a deep breath, trying to put together the right words.

“I’m so sorry, for how everything happened last we saw. We’re both very sorry. Your—your nana has a bit of a temper and I’d only just told her...everything. She shouldn’t have said any of that in front of you, no matter how furious she is with your father. I just—no one blames you, for what happened to your mother. Róisín—Nana, never blamed you.”

Elyra hung her head, staring at the hem of her dress.

“It’s okay if she does,” she said, voice so very small. He felt tears pricking his eyes, his throat too tight.

“Elyra, sweetheart, it’s not your fault. Dawn’s Light—Orlaith would hate—” he broke off as his voice cracked. He couldn’t imagine how wretched it would make her feel to know that her daughter blamed herself for being born, that she thought herself a mistake.

It made his heart ache so much it threatened to steal his breath.

“I’m sorry,” he said, stepping forward to pull her into a hug as he heard her sniffle, unable to stand by when she so clearly needed comfort. “I’m so sorry. It’s a horrible, complicated mess, and we haven’t done very well navigating it. I—”

He broke off, mind whirring as he tried to find a way to convince her that she wasn’t a mistake, that she had been so wanted and so loved.

He had no doubt Orlaith had loved her fiercely, from the moment she knew she was pregnant.

“I’m sorry, I’m not trying to be difficult,” she said and he just held her tighter.

“You’re not, you’re not being difficult at all,” he replied, automatically smoothing back her hair from her face. He paused when he realized why it was automatic, because he’d done it a thousand times with Orlaith, when she was upset, that Elyra ducked her head in the same way in response, as if she wanted to hide her tears from him.

He couldn’t help the tear that slipped down his cheek at that.

“It’s so hard, when you lose someone you love. Grief is miserable and ugly and it rarely brings out the best in anyone. That’s why your father sent you away, so you wouldn’t have to suffer his grief, so you didn’t have to grow up in its shadow. I—I wish he hadn’t sent you to the Mortal Realm, I wish we hadn’t missed out on so much of your life, that we’d gotten to see you grow, but—I don’t know, if it would have been best. You’d have grown up with family, grown up loved and connected to Faery, but—you’d have grown up in the shadow of our grief, then. Róisín—she’s not good with it, has never been good with it. It’s easier to be angry, than to acknowledge the pain, the helplessness. I’m not making excuses, for how she behaved in front of you, after you’d already—you’d already—”

He broke off, trying to compose himself as he thought of how very close he’d come to losing her, to losing his only granddaughter.

“I love you, so very much,” he said, voice breaking. “You are such a wonderful girl and I hate that you feel this way. I want to fix it, I just don’t know how.”

She stared at him for a long moment, a fresh tear dipping down her cheek.

“I just want to stop making everyone so sad,” she cried. “I just feel like a constant reminder that she’s gone and I just—she died, giving birth to me, I killed her, and I don’t even know her. You all miss her so much and I didn’t know to miss her and I grew up thinking other people my parents and I don’t—I don’t even know if they’d have wanted me, if they’d known what I was, that I wasn’t theirs.”

“Elyra—” he said, voice cracking, but she just plowed ahead, as if she couldn’t stop herself.

“And I don’t want you to be hate Dad, because I know he loved her so much and he’s been all alone since she died and he’s trying—I know he’s trying. He just doesn’t always know what he’s doing because his whole family is horrible and mean and I think—I think he’d be just like them, if he hadn’t met M-Mom. And I know that doesn’t make any of it better, but he’s my dad, and I love him, and he’s the only parent I have left. I don’t want you to fight and I know it’s selfish.”

She was sobbing by the end of it, near-hysterical as she stepped away, burying her face in her hands.

Colm’s eyes flicked towards the entrance to the library as he heard the slight creak of the floorboards, saw Róisín standing in the doorway, Adrian just behind her. Róisín just stood and stared, as if frozen, for a long moment, lower lip trembling.

“Excuse me,” Adrian said, slipping past and crossing to Elyra without looking at either of them.

“It’s okay, Rose, darling. It’s okay,” he said, wrapping her in a hug. She just pressed her face to his chest as she sobbed, so clearly trusted him utterly.

“It’s not. It’s awful, it’s all awful and I can’t fix any of it.”

“It’s not for you to fix,” he said softly.

“Yes it is, it’s my fault,” she cried, though her words were almost unintelligible. “It’s all my fault.”

Adrian turned to looked at the pair of them without letting go of her.

“Could we have the room, please?” he asked, ever so politely, though there was a steel to his words.

“Yes—yes, of course,” Róisín said reaching out to grab his sleeve and tug him from the room.

“It’s not your fault,” Alucard said, throat tight as Rosalind sobbed into his chest.

“I ruined their lives, just by being born. I ruined Valion’s—”

“No you didn’t.”

“They’d all be happy, if my mother was still alive, and Faery wouldn’t be changing—”

“I’d be miserable, if you weren’t born. I’d have been left all alone in that castle, never knowing what it was like to truly be loved, never knowing my favorite person. More of the villagers would have died, if it wasn’t for you, the children would have been left adrift. I’m—I’m so happy because you’re here and I hate that you feel like any of this is your fault. I hate seeing you so sad,” he said, voice cracking by the end.

“I’m sorry—”

“I don’t want you to be sorry. I just—you’re such a wonderful person, and you make the world better, just by being in it. You make Faery better—who the hell wants an endless night without the moon or stars? Who the hell wants everything to stay the same, forever? You’ve done them a favor, as far as I’m concerned.”

She pulled back just enough to look up at him, face ruddy and tear-stained.

“R-Róisín—she kept yelling at D-Dad, telling him h-he’d stolen her d-daughter, but she wouldn’t have died—”

Alucard made a face, the whole dreadful, uncomfortable afternoon suddenly making sense.

“Dove—”

“I’m not supposed to exist. That’s why, that’s w-why—”

“According to who? Some idiot faeries a million years ago? That awful Seelie queen? What do they know? Why should they have any say in it?”

“I don’t—I don’t know,” she said, face so horribly crumpled, though it felt like progress.

“Your parents wanted you, Rose. It was so clear in every room of your house, how much they loved you. Why wouldn’t they love you, just because you were different? You were still theirs.”

“But I wasn’t—”

“You were in all the ways that counted. You’d never say that the children are lesser, because they’re not biologically ours. You don’t love them less.”

She sniffled, dropping her gaze. He plowed ahead.

“It’s not your fault, what happened to your mom. It’s nothing you chose to do, nothing you had any control over. It’s just a terrible thing that happened. And Róisín can be as mad as she wants, but it doesn’t make it your fault. Your parents wanted you, they were trying to keep you safe from all this Faery nonsense. I mean—considering everything that’s happened, it makes sense that they’d want to make sure no one knew you were both Seelie and Unseelie.”

“Then why does it feel liked it?” she asked, voice breaking.

“I don’t know,” he said softly. “But it’s not. None of this is your fault.”

She trembled for a moment before she stepped forward again, wrapping him in a hug. He just held her, hoping it did something to soothe her.

He hated that she felt this way, hated that everything about Faery only made it worse. He just wished he could make her see herself like he saw her, like Sypha saw her, like the children saw her.

“Do you want to go home?” he asked, softly.

“I don’t—I don’t know. We still don’t know anything—”

“And we can try again another time. We can come back, it doesn’t have to be now.”

“But what if something awful is happening?”

“Then your father should have told you, instead of making you worry without any sort of recourse, especially with everything else you’re already dealing with. It’s not fair to you,” Alucard said, unable to keep the edge out of his voice.

Certainly Valion must have figured out, by now, that withholding things only left Rosalind more vulnerable, that it only made her more anxious, that it wasn’t fair, when she was the one being attacked, the one most at risk.

But of course he’d only left her in the dark again, hadn’t even told her that there were other people staying in their house, even though it had only just been broken into, even though clearly something big must have happened for him to allow other people to stay there, and stay there without him.

He remembered how very uncomfortable Valion had been with simply the idea of he, Sypha and Trevor setting foot in his house.

“I—I think I want to go home. I don’t—maybe he’ll be back soon. I just—I think I want to be done with today.”

“Then let’s be done with it,” he said, giving her a soft smile. She tried her best to return it, though her eyes were still watery.

“I’ll just have to make dinner, and then we can hide away the rest of the night.”

“Oh yes,” she said, smiling even as she sniffled, wiping her eyes with her sleeves. “I do think the children will riot if the cooking is left to Trevor, again.”

“It might be interesting to watch,” Alucard said, letting a small smile curve his lips, even if it did nothing to ease the weight of everything bearing down on them.

“It might be cruel,” Rose replied.

“To the children or to Trevor? I don’t care if it’s cruel to Trevor,” he said, and that made her huff a laugh, at least.

“The children. Even Sypha said it was bad.”

He sighed over-dramatically, rolling his eyes. “I suppose I’ll cook, then.”

“Is there still sweetbread left over?” she asked and he couldn’t help but laugh.

“You’re just as bad as the kids. You might be worse.”

“I haven’t started eating jam out of the jar yet.”

“I don’t think we’re far off,” he said, reaching out to cup her cheek gently, even if his words dripped in sarcasm. She really smiled, at that.

“That doesn’t answer my question,” she said, a little of the familiar mischief sparkling behind her eyes. He rolled his own, trying not to smile.

“Yes, of course we do, I hid it in the pantry on the glamoured shelf.”

She just stared at him for a moment, expression so terribly soft.

“I love you,” she said. “I hope you know how very much I love you.”

“Almost as much as I love you,” he said, pressing his lips to her forehead before ushering her out of the library so they could return home.

“I thought—what on earth did you say to her?” Róisín asked Colm as she dragged him down the hall by his sleeve and down the stairs.

“I—I was just trying to explain what happened, and how sorry we were—”

Róisín made a face as she heard Elyra still crying in the library, heard Adrian trying to soothe her.

Colm was right, he was a very nice boy.

“I don’t want her to feel like this, I don’t want her to feel like she’s caught between,” she said, staring very hard at the trim.

“She is though,” Colm said, voice steady in the way she hated, because it usually meant he was right. She stared at him for a long moment, throat tight.

“It’s not fair,” she said finally. He gave her a sad sort of smile.

“Of course it’s not fair. None of it’s fair. It’s not fair we lost Orlaith and didn’t know, it’s not fair Valion didn’t have anyone to help him with Elyra, it’s not fair she grew up in the Mortal World without a clue who she was. It’s not fair Orlaith didn’t get to raise her. We can’t change any of that—you know we can’t. We—we can be there now, try to be present now, do what’s best for her. I know you’re angry with Valion—I think a part of me will always be angry with him. But that doesn’t help her. At least—at least in that respect, we’re all on the same side. He’s her father, and she loves him—we have to find a way to make peace with it, for her.”

She sighed, curling her hands into fists before uncurling them.

She hated Valion—how could she not, after all those years spent hoping? She hated that he hadn’t told them, hated that he stayed silent all those years when they were searching, when he knew the sort of pain they felt. She hated that he’d sent their granddaughter away, hated that she’d been raised a changeling, shorn of Faery, of her magic, of her birthrights. She hated that he’d been too involved in his father’s stupid, pointless war in the Heartlands to properly look after his daughter, that he let her be kidnapped and abused, that he let her learn that sort of fear. She hated that he’d let her fight, after her bastard of an uncle called a trial by combat, hated that he hadn’t fought for her, even if she knew Veylon had done everything in his power to make sure he couldn’t. She hated that Elyra had nearly been killed in his house, hated that with all his prodigious magicks he couldn’t keep once small girl safe.

She hated listening to her granddaughter cry, hated that she blamed herself for her parents’ foolishness. She hated seeing the scars across her skin, seeing how deep she’d been cut, how much pain she was still in. She hated hearing her wonder if her foster parents would have loved her if they’d known she was a changeling, hated that she thought herself merely some poor vestige of her mother, something to only illicit grief.

And she hated hearing her defend Valion, hated that she wasn’t furious with him for all he’d let her suffer, hated how obvious it was that she did love him.

It would be so much easier if Valion could simply be the villain, if it all wasn’t some horrible convoluted tangle, if she couldn’t see—despite herself—why he might have done some of the miserable things he’d done.

“I still hate him,” she said, voice hardly more than a whisper.

“More than you want to get to know her? More than you could love her?” Colm asked, though she knew he already knew the answer.

“No,” she said, jaw tight. “Of course not.”

“Then we have to figure it out, figure out a way not to put her in the middle of that. It’s not fair to her.”

“I know,” she said, hating the feeling of tears pricking behind her eyes. Colm reached out and took her hand, giving it a little squeeze.

She looked up as she heard footsteps, saw Elyra and Adrian appear at the top of the stairs. Adrian’s posture was stiff, face carefully controlled, but Elyra’s eyes were red, skin blotchy from crying.

No one had ever taught her to mask her emotions, that she needed to. She found herself wondering what sort of people her foster parents had been, that they let her simply feel, never made emotions the antithesis of propriety, of decorum. That she’d been able to grow up without them being used against her. What an odd thing, in a child of twenty. She couldn’t imagine what it would have been like, to not have been raised amidst the games of Court.

It might have been lovely.

She took a deep breath, steeling herself as they descended the stairs.

“We’ve got to get going,” Adrian said, not unkindly, though it left little room for discussion.

“Yes—I’m sure you’re both very busy. And you should be resting anyway, dear,” Colm said, doing his best to disguise his disappointment. She’d be surprised if the children could see it, but she could in the slight bowing of his shoulders, the wideness of his smile, the way it didn’t quite meet his eyes.

She stepped forward, preparing to be rebuffed, though she hoped her granddaughter might offer her more grace than she deserved.

“Elyra, may—may I speak to you?” Róisín asked softly.

Elyra hesitated a moment, her eyes flicking to Adrian. She nodded, though, after a moment. She stepped into the kitchen, idly fussing with the fruit in the bowl on the counter, sorting them by color. Róisín followed her, standing on the opposite side of the counter, trying not to wring her hands.

“I—I am so very sorry,” Róisín said quietly, voice tight. “I—I never meant to hurt you, but I did and I’m so, so sorry.”

Elyra just nodded, though she didn’t look in the least bit convinced. Róisín couldn’t blame her, though she scrambled for the right words, the right way to try and mend what she’d torn—for all her years as a diplomat, she floundered, in the face of sincerity, in the lack of machinations and half-truths. She could play the game, knew the right things to say and when, knew the role she had to play, there.

It was all so much harder, when there were no games, no lies, just hurt and pain and the blood that tied them together.

At least Orlaith would have yelled at her. There was hardly a person in the world her daughter would ever hold her tongue for, least of all her. At least that way they could simply lay it all out, get it out of their systems and move on from it. Colm had always hated it, but he hated any sort of conflict.

Elyra was much too demure, too polite, it was clear. She’d sit and endure the suffocating awkwardness, not say a word about it.

Orlaith would have begun telling her off before she’d so much as fully opened the door.

“I—I know I haven’t earned the right to ask any grace of you, but I would very much like to start over. I—I was not fair to you, and—and I was perhaps not the most fair to your father,” she said, taking a deep breath.

Elyra looked up, searching her face as if she was trying to determine if she was lying.

Róisín forced a smile—as much as she could. It was so hard, when all she wanted to do was cry.

“Your father—I have known your father a very, very long time. But—but I have known him as the Crown Prince as I have worked ambassador for—for my aunt,” she said, each word a struggle to string together in the right way, especially with the way her throat tightened and tears pricked at the backs of her eyes. “It—It’s clear there are other...facets of his person that I was not aware of and—and while I am still angry that he didn’t tell us about Orlaith, Colm—your Granddad was right, we cannot change it. I understand what it is to want to protect your child, even if it was at our expense.”

Elyra just stared at her for a long moment before she spoke, eyes haunting, beneath snowy lashes.

Her daughter’s eyes.

And Valion’s face. Not quite the same, but she’d never once questioned upon meeting her that she was his. Perhaps that’s why she hadn’t noted her eyes, couldn’t have ever guessed why they might have looked familiar.

How could there be so few traces of Orlaith left? It felt unfair, after she’d given so much to bring her into the world, doubly so when Valion hadn’t even raised her.

“I’m really sorry, about—about Mom,” Elyra said, voice soft, but not small in the same way it had been, as if something had settled.

“Elyra—” she started, face crumpling. She never wanted to hear her blame herself in such away again, never wanted her to feel that way.

How could it have ever been her fault?

“I know Dad loved her, though,” she said, in that same soft voice. “I know he still does. And I know you—I know you and Granddad loved her. I just—he’s different, when he’s not in that awful palace, when he’s here. He’s just—he’s just my dad. I think—I think you might like my dad, if you got to know him. I just—you all miss her, so much. I don’t think Mom would want you all to fight, but—but I don’t know.”

She trailed off, dropping her gaze to the ground.

“She wouldn’t,” Róisín said quietly. “And she’d have been furious that I’d dragged you into it.”

Elyra stared at her for a long moment, long enough that she hadn’t been sure she’d say anything else at all.

“I—I never had grandparents growing up. My—my Mortal parents were older, when they—when Dad sent me to live with them. I think I’d like to have grandparents. Real grandparents, not like Dad’s parents.”

“I would very much like to be your Nana,” she said, voice cracking slightly. “I wish I hadn’t missed so much time.”

Elyra stared at her for a moment, brows furrowed

“We can still start now,” she said, a small, unsure smile curving her lips.

“We can start now,” Róisín said, returning it. Elyra stared at her for another moment before she carefully stepped forward and gave her a hug. Róisín froze for a moment in shock before she returned it holding her as tight as she dared.

“I’m glad to meet you,” Elyra said, voice slightly muffled by their embrace. “Granddad says you like Mortal architecture. Adrian and I just saw some amazing buildings when we visited Florence.”

She couldn’t help but laugh at that, even with the tears that slipped down her cheeks.

“I’d very much like to hear all about it,” she said, pulling back enough that she could look at Elyra’s face, brush back a bit of her hair as she cradled her face. She smiled back, her own eyes watery, though the smile was genuine.

Valion ripped his sword out of a Seelie soldier, kicking another in the chest as he sent another blast of ice towards the the rest of the phalanx defending the northern entrance. He dodged a bolt of fire, skewering another before whipping around and freezing another in their tracks.

Riona would run out of disposable soldiers soon enough, be forced to call their retreat behind Ghrian’s walls. Then it would only take time.

Time he didn’t have, but he’d have to weather it.

He just didn’t want it to turn into another mess like in the Heartlands. He couldn’t leave Elyra alone again for so long, wouldn’t leave her vulnerable as he had.

Of course, that meant leaving it to Lucien or Lennox for a few days at a time.

A lot could go wrong in a few days.

Still, he’d have to, at least to check on her healing, make sure nothing was going wrong—he was worried about the scars thickening, worried about what that would do to her dexterity, never mind how it could make the pain linger.

He knew well enough about that.