#ciarcuirte

@ciarcuirte from here

     "I try to be understanding when it comes to these sorts of things. And you didn’t lock me in a cage and then try to hunt me for sport .  .  . so it wasn’t the worst experience I’ve ever had.”

They’d made an agreement.  Not a vow, but an unofficial accord.  She got her space.  Irial got his visits and Niall was left trying to manage a new title, rekindle some sort of genuinely amenable relationship and wait.  In the span of a fae’s lifetime, her degree was nothing.  But it felt long.  Like each day was a century of attempting to learn thousands of intricacies that came with regency.  Some he knew already, but not with this much detail.  Others were completely new.  Or only implemented within the past hundred years or so.   The things he struggled most with were not things anyone could advise him on.  Irial left him alone when he went off to brawl or demanded the house to be cleared with the tang of bitter sadness on his tongue.  Gabriel had little empathy.  And it wasn’t something he was willing to burden Leslie with.   She hasn’t even finished saying his name before he’s all but flown down the stairs and out the door.  “Okay.” There’s no saddle on the sticky black equine of a steed, but he’s never really needed one.  Though it’s off before he’s really gotten his seat.  “Are you at the apartment or school?  What happened?”  Her guards should be there if anything dangerous happened.  But she’d send them away before or they’d given her too much space which was how Ren had been killed.  While it’s likely he’ll get there before she answers all the questions, he’d like to know what he’s getting into.  If it was a genuine physical threat or something emotional or some other disastrous thing he can’t even think of with how fast his mind is going.  She was human.  Mortal.  Very easily maimed or killed.  “Are you hurt?”