VIRGO: THE WARRIOR PRINCE 

by

PEPPER ESPINOZA 

Amber Quill Press, LLC 

http://www.amberquill.com  

Virgo: The Warrior Prince 

An Amber Quill Press Book  

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

Amber Quill Press, LLC  

http://www.AmberQuill.com  

http://www.AmberHeat.com  

http://www.AmberAllure.com  

All rights reserved.

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

Copyright © 2010 by Pepper Espinoza 

ISBN 978-1-60272-740-3 

Cover Art © 2010 Trace Edward Zaber 

Layout and Formatting 

Provided by: Elemental Alchemy 

Published in the United States of America  

Also by Pepper Espinoza

...And To Hold 

Bus Stop 

A Busted Afternoon 

The Devil Went Down To Georgia 

Elected

A Farewell To Angels 

Forward Progress 

Four O'Clock 

Fumble Recovery 

(Just Like) Starting Over 

The Major And The Minor 

Making Waves 

Maybe I'm Amazed 

My Only Home 

The Obsolete Man 

Peanut Butter Kisses 

The Prince Who Never Smiled 

Quarterback Sneak 

The Streets Of Florence 

Surrender's Edge 

To Bend 

You And Me And The Moon 

Boys Of The Zodiac

Gemini: The Wicked Things 

Dedication

This book is dedicated to Vivien, Carrie, 

and Lindy for the constant encouragement. 

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

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

Chapter 1 

 

 

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

heightened if he stole their prince. 

 

Twelve other fey formed a circle around Banbha, each burdened 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

the sun had refused to show itself at all. 

 

Until the prince cut down the mighty Banbha. 

 

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

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

agrees to abide by its laws." 

 

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

 

The prince wasn't perturbed by the outburst. 

 

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

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

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

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

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

of her power. "Do you yield?" 

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

long legs trembled. "I do not." 

 

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

not ask again." 

 

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

 

"Then I am sorry." 

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

prince directed his attention to Banehorse. 

 

"Do you yield?" 

 

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

us?" 

 

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

 

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

sworn it to her for eternity." 

 

"She's dead now." 

 

"I will never swear an oath to another." 

 

The knight behind Banehorse cleaved his head from his body with 

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

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

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

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

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

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

of his blood touched the earth. 

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

she destroyed without thought? 

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Who would look after him? 

 

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

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

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

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

when you are beaten?"  

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

brothers." 

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

"Then it is settled. Knights..." 

 

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

through the salt. "My lord." 

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

genuinely curious, genuinely perplexed, by anything. 

 

"What's your name, old one?" 

 

"Reghan, sire." 

 

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

 

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

cannot pledge it to you." 

 

"But her death breaks those bonds." 

 

"No, sire. Those bonds are eternal." 

 

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

have no sense of loyalty?  

 

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

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

 

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

 

Reghan was sure the explanation would do nothing to protect his 

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

to fight, sire." 

 

"How?" 

 

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

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

 

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

 

"Yes." 

 

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

 

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

pledge my existence to you." 

 

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

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

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

not fail. 

 

"What is your name, child?" 

 

"Aldred." 

 

"Aldred, is your father on this battlefield?" 

 

"Yes." 

 

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

boy. "Go to him." 

 

Aldred began running before the prince finished speaking, 

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

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

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

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

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

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

having watched the death of a legend. 

 

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

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

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

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

answer. 

 

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

 

"No, sire." 

 

His thoughtful frown deepened. Reghan could barely stand to look 

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

 

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

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

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

while the battle still waged around him. 

 

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

away." 

 

Reghan stood and scooped Aldred into his arms. Strong hands 

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

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

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

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

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

place? 

 

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

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

 

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

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

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

land." 

* * * *  

 

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

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

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

withstood the attention without speaking, patiently waiting for his father 

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

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

 

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

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

doubt that it was meant to be accusatory. 

 

"To keep you safe." 

 

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

 

Reghan believed that. He could not imagine the golden prince 

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

 

Under other circumstance, Reghan might have smiled at such a 

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

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

to witness that." 

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

"Will you be a servant?" Aldred asked. 

 

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

revealed soon enough. 

 

"Who will take care of me?" 

 

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

 

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

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

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

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

 

Reghan swallowed. "I am now." 

 

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

the tent. 

 

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

to his neck. "Yes, sire, I do." 

 

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

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

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

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

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

watch as Castan bit a strawberry in half. 

 

"None of the fey chose to live." 

 

Reghan nodded. 

 

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

counting the boy." 

 

"He's human," Reghan said softly. 

 

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

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

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

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

 

"Yes, sire." 

 

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

 

"Do, sire?" 

 

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

serve me?" 

 

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

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

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

"I...I don't know." 

 

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

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

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

to clean armor?" 

 

"I...I could serve you." 

 

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

one." 

 

"I could protect you." 

 

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

 

Reghan supposed that meant court sorcerer was right out as an 

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

 

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

assumed so, due to the child." 

 

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

 

The prince studied him thoughtfully for several long moments. 

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

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

 

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

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

appropriate place for you." 

 

"What of Aldred?" 

 

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

agreeable?" 

 

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

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

one. "Yes, sire." 

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

front of your son? 

 

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

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

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

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

Reghan was forced to endure. 

 

"We have irons," Castan continued conversationally. 

 

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

 

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

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

you need anything, speak to them." 

 

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

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

 

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

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

the death of your queen and your brothers. 

 

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

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

 

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

 

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

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

golden human more credit than he deserved. 

 

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

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

 

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

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

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

 

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

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

 

"Yes." 

 

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

Somerset." 

 

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

to nod. 

 

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

 

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

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

 

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

 

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

Castan's kingdom. 

 

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

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

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

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

goblet. 

 

Then he was gone with a swirl of his cape. 

 

"I hate him," Aldred whispered fiercely. 

 

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

 

"But he doesn't know who you are." 

 

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

understand, Aldred? I'm nobody now." 

 

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

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

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

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

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

stirred when he remembered how Sibley and Banehorse fell. 

Chapter 2 

 

 

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

now he couldn't go back on his promise. 

 

Despite his general misgivings about bringing a fairy back to the 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

of his subjects. 

 

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

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

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

something Castan did not? 

 

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

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

already considering the possibility of turning Reghan into one of his 

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

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

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

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

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

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

advisor like Reghan would be a boon to his cause. 

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

dastardly plans, they should be thwarted now. 

 

Castan stood patiently while the servants stripped him of his heavy 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

victory. 

 

A sudden wave of emotion washed through him, overwhelming him 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

neighboring kingdoms to descend like birds to carrion. 

 

Castan had willed a victory because the thought of losing his 

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

Banbha survived all of her campaigns against the mortal realm because 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

there, how it happened, was unknown to him. 

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

and celebrate. 

 

He had specifically told the messenger not to mention Reghan or 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

most politic to report the situation himself. 

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

when he had the chance? 

 

Why did he have a mortal son? 

 

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

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

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

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

His mind constantly worked and strategized, which was convenient in 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

strange but, Castan recognized, true.  

 

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

bowed his head. "Sire." 

 

"Rise, Sir Daegal. What is it?" 

 

"The fairy, sire." 

 

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

 

"Yes." 

 

"What about him?" 

 

"He has emerged from his tent." 

 

Castan blinked. "And?" 

 

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

 

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

 

"No, sire." 

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

 

"Sire?" 

 

"Yes?" 

 

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

Daegal would never say as much. 

 

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

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

presence. 

 

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

irons on him." 

 

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

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

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

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

if he has done something wrong." 

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

of ignoring his orders. 

 

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

servant. 

 

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

want it destroyed before we leave here." 

 

"Yes, sire. But..." 

 

"What?" 

 

"How does one destroy a fairy mound?" 

 

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

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

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

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

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

before they had a chance to recover from this one. 

 

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

"You wished to see me, sire?" 

 

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

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

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

him either way. 

 

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

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

 

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

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

Thank you for your generosity." 

 

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

 

"I am here to serve, sire." 

 

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

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

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

be done?" 

 

"No, sire." 

 

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

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

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

 

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

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

 

"Do you know how to do that?" 

 

"Yes." 

 

"Do you know where the nearest one is?" 

 

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

here." 

 

"How many fairy mounds are in Somerset?" 

 

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

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

more." 

 

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

 

"Yes, sire." 

 

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

in this area. That is all." 

 

"Sire?" 

 

"What?" 

 

"May Aldred accompany us?" 

 

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

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

Especially since his knights probably found the strange child alarming. 

 

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

tent." 

 

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

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

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

Chapter 3 

 

 

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

that. 

 

Reghan tried to pull himself together before Castan arrived, having 

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

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

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

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

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

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

expression. 

 

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

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

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

felt the horse's warm, soft fur. 

 

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

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

neighed. 

 

"Yes, sire. We're ready." 

 

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

waste." 

 

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

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

hoped that Aldred had the good sense not to complain. 

 

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

 

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

fear. "He comes from a poor village." 

 

"And they had no horses?" 

 

"No, sire." 

 

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

 

"No. He knows how to hold on." 

 

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

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

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

Castan would just be exasperated and confused at the confession. 

"Which direction?" 

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

blow. 

 

"It's west of here, sire." 

 

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

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

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

you're at the rear." 

 

The two knights nodded and kicked their horses into position. 

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

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

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

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

ignored them, Daegal nodded in their direction. 

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

magical advantages at all. 

 

Reghan didn't know how that could be. 

 

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

are you?" Castan asked. 

 

"Funny, sire?" 

 

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

another army." 

 

"Oh. No." 

 

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

 

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

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

nobody left to lead one." 

 

"There's you," Castan pointed out. 

 

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

traitor to them." 

 

"Because you swore an oath to me?" 

Among other things. "Yes."  

 

"Where is the child's mother?" 

 

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

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

 

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

young." 

 

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

Reghan quietly sighed with relief. 

 

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

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

battlefield yesterday, was she?" 

 

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

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

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

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

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

winter." 

 

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

wish I could bend the elements to my will." 

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

mundane to the evil. 

 

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

 

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

motion. 

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

him staring. 

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

 

Castan reined in his horse. "Alone?" 

 

"Yes." 

 

"Why?" 

 

"It would be best if..." 

 

"No." 

 

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

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

not be easy. I cannot risk being distracted." 

 

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

I will ride ahead." 

 

Reghan awkwardly turned to shake Aldred awake. He blinked up 

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

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

 

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

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

eye on you." 

 

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

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

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

and Castan tossed the reins back to Reghan. 

 

"Lead on." 

 

Reghan considered commenting on how brave it was for Castan to 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

difference. 

 

"We're close, aren't we?" 

 

"Yes, sire." 

 

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

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

through this land." 

 

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

all living things." 

 

"Why am I not repelled now?" 

 

"Because you're with me." 

 

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

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

immediately dismounted and approached it, forgetting that he should be 

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

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

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

immediately rushing to gather around him. 

 

"Is this it, then?" 

 

"Yes." 

 

Castan walked right up to the mound, unmindful of how 

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

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

 

"It's so small." 

 

"It's only an entrance, sire." 

 

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

castle." 

 

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

Besides, there are castles inside."  

 

"Big ones?" 

 

"Palaces beyond your imagination, sire." 

 

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

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

 

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

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

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

 

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

 

"Correct, sire." 

 

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

 

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

step away, please?" 

 

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

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

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

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

prince has returned. The prince has returned to us.  

 

Reghan held his hand out toward the door and spoke two 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Refusing to fail him. 

 

Gathering what strength he had left, he muttered another 

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

weight. 

 

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

 

"It's powerful magic, sire." 

 

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

 

Reghan licked his lips. "It should be." 

 

"But there are others." 

 

"Yes." 

 

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

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

 

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

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

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

 

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

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

 

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

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

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

 

Reghan nodded, and found himself gently lowered to the grass 

beneath him. Castan collapsed beside him in a surprisingly graceless 

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

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

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

special about that piece of grass. 

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

than capable of generating an infinite number of inquiries. 

 

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

had not anticipated. 

 

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

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

could kill me right now." 

 

"Why did you show me clemency?" 

 

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

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

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

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

great..." 

 

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

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

just...wanted to know." 

 

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

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

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

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

Killing you would have done nobody any good." 

 

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

 

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

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

murderer and she reached a just end." 

 

"You...really feel that way?" 

 

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

 

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

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

 

"Isn't it?" 

 

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

 

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

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

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

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

life." 

 

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

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

 

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

fey." 

 

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

 

"Yet you offered to spare their lives." 

 

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

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

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

 

"Oh." 

 

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

 

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

accepted," Reghan said softly. 

 

"It wasn't like that." 

 

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

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

you." 

 

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

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

apparently reached the same conclusion, because he closed his mouth 

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

and Reghan thought about the fact that they could have been 

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter 4 

 

 

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

and a little boy. 

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

until he was completely swallowed up? 

 

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

animal. 

 

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

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

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

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

gentle currents of Reghan's breath. 

 

"May I show you the mound, sire?" 

 

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

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

to do that, sire." 

 

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

 

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

"I assure you, sire." 

 

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

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

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

something? Were you really going to ask his permission? 

 

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

 

Castan nodded and turned to follow Reghan away from the 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

would be punished for his obvious stupidity. 

 

Long, warm fingers closed around his wrist and Castan resisted 

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

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

 

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

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

 

He expected Reghan to apologize for forgetting his place and then 

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

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

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

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

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

before, and his skin was a gleaming white. 

 

"There's something here," Reghan said. 

 

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

thought you said we'd be safe." 

 

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

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

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

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

eternity.  

 

"What is it?" 

 

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

 

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

 

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

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

don't take your eyes off me." 

 

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

liking either one. 

 

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

complete as the one above their heads.  

 

Branches scraped across his face and hooked around his arms and 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

coated the back of his tongue.  

 

Reghan stopped suddenly, his thin shoulders rising and falling 

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

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

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

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

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

sword hand. 

 

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

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

seemed to tremble beneath the command. "Now."  

 

"What--" 

 

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

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

stones at their feet, and the air itself. 

 

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

authority underscoring each word still came through loud and clear. 

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

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

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

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

dark would turn on him as well.  

 

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

 

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

 

"But the doors--" 

 

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

darkness quaked around them in fear. And then that oppressive 

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

and blue, light pulling away from shadows.  

 

Reghan released his wrist. 

 

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

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

 

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

 

"I'm your servant."  

 

"You're dangerous." 

 

"I just saved your kingdom." 

 

"What was that thing?" 

 

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

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

 

"Where was it?" Castan asked. 

 

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

body." 

 

"How did you sense it?" 

 

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

moment it arrived?" 

 

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

did we run?" 

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

him the answer. Several times. 

 

"We must close it," Castan murmured. 

 

"Yes, sire, that's why we're here." 

 

"But...I don't want to." 

 

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

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

your kingdom, then I need to seal it." 

 

"But what if we need it?" 

 

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

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

this man--especially since in his confusion he didn't look much older 

than a child. 

 

"Why would we need it?" 

 

"I...I don't know." Castan rubbed the back of his neck and looked 

away. "I just felt like...it's permanent. And you...you are not a servant." 

 

Reghan's lips twitched. "Didn't we just have this discussion? I 

know you're a little...apprehensive." 

 

Frightened, Castan thought bitterly. He was going to say 

frightened. Castan couldn't remember the last time he'd been afraid of 

anything, and nobody in Somerset would call their prince a coward. He 

led his men into every battle, and he had slain a goddess of war, the 

queen of the fairies. If he never fought in another battle, his legacy would 

still be secure, and the bards would tell the story of his legend well after 

his death. Maybe even for hundreds of years after his death. When they 

marched back to Somerset, they would be honored as heroes, and all the 

people would demand retelling after retelling of his most triumphant 

moment. And Reghan had almost accused him of being scared.  

 

The worst thing was that Reghan was right. Castan was scared, of 

a power he didn't understand and certainly couldn't control. He had 

believed he could. When he took Reghan's oath, he was confident that 

the power the fey harbored would fall easily under Castan's domain. 

Even when he had been given his first practical demonstration, he had 

believed himself to still have the upper-hand on the situation. But 

Reghan could control the very darkness that surrounded them. 

 

"You don't trust me," Reghan finally said softly, unhappily. 

 

"I don't know what to make of you." 

 

"Ask me anything, sire." 

 

"Why did you swear your oath to me?" 

 

Reghan took a deep breath. "Because I had no wish to die in a war 

that was not mine. Because I don't make war against mortals. Because I 

loved a mortal once. Because Banbha kidnapped my son and held him 

where I couldn't reach him, forcing me to fight at her side. Because 

you're a good man and one day you may be a great king. I know you are 

frightened of what I can do, but you have my word that I would never act 

against you. Think about what we could accomplish together." 

 

"What are you suggesting?" Castan asked with an edge of 

suspicion. 

 

"Nothing, my lord. Nothing beyond the obvious, at any rate. My 

power is yours to command. I could do nothing with it. Or I could make 

the winters mild, the summer heat bearable. I can make sure nobody in 

your kingdom ever goes hungry. I can make your kingdom prosperous 

beyond your hopes. And if you have no desire for any of that, I can tend 

to your horses and keep to myself with Aldred." 

 

There was a calmness in Reghan's voice. A certain authority. His 

earlier certainty that Reghan was no servant came rushing back to him. 

He spoke as though he were a king. Castan hadn't considered the true 

ramifications of his decision until that moment, and the force of it drove 

him to his knees. He put a hand down to the dirt to steady himself and 

he realized he was kneeling, actually kneeling, at Reghan's feet. Castan 

had bowed to no man, save his father, in his entire life, but there he was 

like a common peasant.  

 

Reghan immediately dropped to one knee, ducking until they were 

eye-level again. "Sire?" 

 

"Tell me the truth." 

 

"Anything." 

 

"You are not a servant." 

 

"No, I was once a prince. But now I'm your servant, as I said. And I 

will remain your servant until you cease to take breath. You have offered 

me the choice, and I took this one." 

 

"But you could..." Castan let his voice fall away, allowing 

everything they both knew Reghan coulddo to hang between them.  

 

"You could have killed my son," Reghan said softly. 

 

Castan jerked back, his face twisting in disgust. "I would never kill 

an innocent child. Never." 

 

"I believe you to be as innocent as Aldred. You didn't seek a war 

with the fey. That was all Banbha's doing. You were like ants are to her. 

She crushed you for the pleasure of it, and you fought back. You, 

Castan, had the strength and the courage to stop the bloodshed. And 

now you'll have the opportunity to put your kingdom back together 

again."  

 

"With you by my side." 

 

"Yes." 

 

Castan grasped Reghan's forearm, and Reghan took Castan's. They 

knelt in front of each other in mutual respect, arms locked together, in a 

promise that held more than a little magic. Before Castan had only 

Reghan's oath of allegiance, but now there was something much stronger 

bonding them. Because Castan made a promise as well, and he intended 

to honor it. 

Chapter 5 

 

 

 

The king's guards were waiting for them at the castle gates, and 

Castan knew that word of his newest servant had beat him back to the 

court. Castan dropped back from the head of the procession, allowing his 

knights to slowly pass him as he moved into position beside Reghan and 

Aldred. Reghan acknowledged him with a small, almost shy smile, and 

Castan felt like a real ass for what he was about to say. 

 

"The king's men are going to place you under arrest." 

 

Reghan looked at him with confusion, his smile slowly morphing 

into a frown. "Why?" 

 

"Because he...he doesn't trust you." 

 

"He doesn't know me." 

 

"He knows you're a fey," Castan answered softly. "I gave explicit 

instructions to the messengers not to mention you or your son, but I saw 

the guards waiting for us outside the castle gates. Normally, they 

wouldn't be waiting to meet us, unless we had prisoners." 

 

"And we're the only prisoners." 

 

"Yes." 

 

"What happens after that? He'll send me to the dungeons and 

then?" 

 

"I don't know. He will probably sentence you to execution, but I'm 

sure I can convince him to grant you a pardon." Castan looked down at 

his fingers, curled tightly around the reins. The stallion was already 

prancing beneath him, reacting to his tension. Castan just hoped Reghan 

didn't realize how much the entire situation upset him. "It's not illegal to 

be a fey." 

 

"It is illegal to make war on the kingdom." 

 

"Well, yes. But you weren't making war on the kingdom," Castan 

pointed out. 

 

"I doubt he'll appreciate the distinction you're drawing." 

 

"You could leave. Right now. I know you can just...disappear." 

 

"I could," Reghan agreed. "But I won't." 

 

"I said I only think I could convince him to pardon you. I can't 

guarantee it."  

 

"I made a promise to you, Castan," Reghan said with finality. 

Castan had heard that tone before. It was the same one his father used 

when making announcements to the kingdom. It meant there would be 

no further argument or discussion. "What will happen to Aldred?" 

 

"He's human. They won't arrest him. I'll take care of him." 

 

Reghan blinked. "You don't have to do that, sire." 

 

"I do. He'll live in my quarters and I'll assign a maid to see after his 

needs. It's the only way I can guarantee his safety." 

 

"Can I ask for one thing?" 

 

"Yes." 

 

"Don't let them chain me. I don't want Aldred to see me being 

hauled away like that. It'll only upset him." 

 

"Of course," Castan said. "I'll ride ahead." 

 

Castan put himself far ahead of the column of marching knights, 

his mind working furiously as he approached the guards. First, he was 

going to find out who reported Reghan's capture to the king. He had 

spent the past three days carefully working over scenario after scenario, 

rehearsing dozens of different speeches with dozens of small variations, 

carefully selecting each word and stringing them together in the perfect 

order. It was a very delicate matter. Probably more delicate than even 

Castan could handle with his rather coarse diplomatic skills, but he was 

definitely the best man for the job. And he had made it absolutely clear

that he didn't want any of the men speaking out of turn. He hadn't 

instructed the messengers to lie to his father, of course, but he made it 

clear that he was the only one who should be providing a full report.  

 

When he found out who had disobeyed him, he was going to string 

the cur up by his toes in the middle of the courtyard. He would make a 

fine example of Castan's wrath. He punished servants very, very rarely--a 

trait that his father deplored--but when one moved him to rage, he or she 

was punished to the full extent of Castan's power and anger. Putting 

Reghan in danger called for that sort of response, though Castan 

couldn't explain how or why. It just did. Perhaps because he understood 

on a basic level how helpful Reghan could be for the kingdom. Not just 

for wars, not just for gaining more land, but for protection and food and 

water. The servant who had reported to Bressal, and Bressal himself, 

should have trusted Castan's judgment on the matter. He was entrusted 

to know who to kill, they should also trust him to decide who lived.  

 

As he approached the castle gates, he realized that the riders were 

not merely guards dispatched to meet Castan. They were the king's 

personal guard. And King Bressal was at the head of the party, his back 

straight, his bearing regal astride the finest stallion in all of Somerset. 

How Castan hadn't recognized him before, he didn't know. Perhaps his 

rage over Reghan had affected his vision. 

 

"Sire," Castan said, dismounting from his horse to drop to one 

knee. "You honor me with your presence." 

 

"When I heard of your triumph, I was eager to see what you had 

conquered in the name of Somerset." 

 

That was Castan's signal to stand, and his squire was already on 

hand to help him back on his horse. "We have many fine spoils." 

 

"Including a prisoner, I hear." 

 

By his toes, Castan vowed, though he did his best to smile. "Yes. 

His name is Reghan." 

 

"He is a fey?" Bressal demanded. 

 

"Yes. Though he has sworn his oath to me." 

 

"Fey can't swear allegiance to anybody besides their queen." 

I was a prince once. Reghan's calm words echoed through his 

mind. He had made his announcement so casually, as though there was 

nothing to fear from Castan learning the truth. Did he think Castan 

would be unable to draw the next logical conclusion? "This one can."  

 

"And you believe him?" 

 

"Of course. Fey do not lie." 

 

"They withhold the truth and twist emotions to their own end," 

Bressal said bitterly. 

 

"Yes, but they don't lie. Reghan has repeatedly refused to break his 

oath to me." Castan took a deep breath. "He even agreed to seal the fairy 

mounds in Somerset, ensuring the kingdom's safety." 

 

"But Banbha can return through any door." 

 

Castan tilted his head, looking at his father curiously. He had just 

assumed that the big-mouthed idiot who had revealed Reghan would 

have surely told of Banbha's demise in the process. "Banbha is dead, 

sire. I slew her myself." 

 

Bressal regarded him with wide eyes that softened and turned 

watery without warning. Castan caught his breath, surprised by the 

glimpse of the man who lurked beneath the king's impassive exterior. 

"You...you truly have killed her then?" 

 

"Yes." 

 

"I feared it was perhaps a mistake." 

 

"Is that why you decided to meet me here?" Castan asked. 

 

"I tried to prepare myself for the possibility that..." Bressal faded, 

his eyes darkening, and Castan nearly reached out to take his arm. 

 

"Sire? Father?" 

 

Bressal roused himself with a visible shake, his eyes hardening 

once again. "We will have a magnificent feast tonight in your honor. 

Please bring the fey to my private council room as soon as possible." 

 

"Yes, sire." 

 

Bressal nodded and turned his horse around. The silent, watchful 

guards fell into step behind him, one by one, until they were riding back 

to the castle keep in a dignified, single-file line. Castan's relief was sharp 

as his blade, and he twisted his horse around, eager to tell Reghan the 

good news. He had no idea how to explain this sudden change in 

attitude, but Castan didn't trouble himself with that. Perhaps Bressal 

was simply relieved now that he knew Banbha was no longer a threat to 

them and that Castan was safe. Perhaps his hatred for the fey had been 

primarily motivated by his specific loathing of Banbha, and now that she 

was gone, Reghan could be assured of safety. 

 

Castan felt lighter at that thought. Keeping Reghan out of the 

dungeon would be nearly impossible without a change of heart from 

Bressal. The speech he'd planned so carefully had been designed to 

soften his father's stony heart, but perhaps that was no longer necessary 

at all. Perhaps he and Reghan would be able to work together without 

Bressal's interference, and the possibilities spiraling from that particular 

thought were almost enough to make him dizzy. 

 

Castan hoped his smile would be reassuring, but if anything, 

Reghan looked more worried. "What's going on?" 

 

"King Bressal was waiting for me at the gates." 

 

"Oh." 

 

"He didn't give orders for you to be arrested. In fact, he wants to 

have a private audience with you." 

 

"Why?" 

 

Castan blinked at the question. "What do you mean why? Because 

there's no other like you in Somerset. I'm sure he's eager to meet you." 

 

"But he considers me an enemy of the kingdom," Reghan pointed 

out. 

 

"Not anymore. I explained that you have sworn your allegiance to 

him and Somerset. He knows what a fairy's word means." 

 

It all seemed very simple to Castan, but Reghan still didn't look 

reassured. Perhaps once he actually spoke to Bressal, he would feel 

better. And then Castan would install him in the castle near his own 

quarters, and their real work could begin. It never occurred to him that 

Reghan should live anywhere except near him. Since the night Reghan 

had banished the guardian, Castan felt it was his duty to keep Reghan 

close by at all times. It was not a feeling that Castan wanted to think 

about too deeply. Because then he might be forced to question it, and 

Castan didn't know what was worse--learning the answer or learning 

there was no explanation for it at all. 

 

"If my father does not wish to put you in chains now, then I can 

assure you, you're safe from the dungeon." 

 

"What if he questions me and he doesn't like my answers?" 

 

Castan waved his hand dismissively. "I've questioned you many 

times. I've always liked your answers." 

 

Reghan's lips twitched at that, and Castan caught his breath, 

wondering if he would actually smile. Reghan's smiles were rare things, 

Castan had realized at some point. He wasn't sure when or how he 

noticed, but then he had automatically started keeping track of Reghan's 

smiles. It just seemed like the logical thing to do. That was another thing 

that Castan didn't spend a lot of time thinking about. 

 

"Be that as it may, my lord, he might have a different set of 

criteria." 

 

"Trust me." Castan tilted his head. "You do trust me, don't you?" 

 

"With my life." 

 

Castan knew the answer to that, of course. There really was only 

one answer Reghan could give, considering the nature of their 

relationship. But Castan still liked to hear it, because he knew Reghan 

meant it. And it was important that Reghan understand that Castan 

truly intended to protect him. 

 

"Does the king know about Aldred?" 

 

"He didn't mention him." 

 

"So he didn't request Aldred's presence?" 

 

"No." 

 

"May I...that is, you mentioned your chambers earlier and I..." 

 

Castan frowned. "If you would like something from me, Reghan, 

you must request it." 

 

"I would feel better if Aldred was allowed to wait for me in your 

chambers, sire. But I understand that I have probably asked too much 

and..." 

 

"Asked too much? How could that be when I made the offer? Of 

course Aldred is welcome to stay there until more suitable 

accommodations can be made." 

 

Instead of thanking him, as was appropriate, Reghan gave him a 

long, searching look. Like Castan had said something completely 

unexpected and he was trying to figure out who this man before him 

was. Castan shifted uncomfortably in his saddle, not accustomed to the 

weight of Reghan's gaze. Nobody had ever dared to study the prince like 

that. Castan was just about to protest when one of those rare smiles 

fluttered across Reghan's face.  

 

"You're a very kind man, Castan." 

 

If anything, Castan's confusion deepened. "Thank you." 

 

Reghan looked away from Castan, his attention landing on the 

castle's turrets. Whenever Castan looked at his home, his heart swelled 

with pride and love. And maybe a little bit of longing. It wasn't his. Not 

yet. Not quite. But he still felt as though he was solely responsible for the 

kingdom's safety. Ever since his father had installed him as head of the 

army, entrusting Castan with the kingdom's defense, he had taken his 

position very seriously. There was nothing as exhilarating as returning 

home victorious.  

 

Castan was forced to leave Reghan's side and return to his place at 

the head of the column once they were within sight of the gates. The 

commoners would be lining the street to welcome him home, and it 

wouldn't do if he was riding at the back of the line with the prisoners. 

Even if he hated to think of Reghan and Aldred as prisoners, since they 

emphatically were not. But he couldn't very well explain the nuances of 

the situation to his people. If Reghan was aware of the significance of his 

placement in the column, he never let on.  

 

Castan rode into Somerset with banners flying, feeling every inch 

the hero they heralded him as. It wasn't until he saw their excited, 

adoring, and awed faces that it really hit him. The monster that had 

terrified them, and their parents and grandparents and their 

grandparents was finally defeated. They weren't just welcoming their 

prince back. They were welcoming the dawning of a new age, free of 

random skirmishes and bloody battles. Somerset could finally thrive as it 

always should have. He, Prince Castan, had succeeded where everybody 

before him had failed. Including his own father.  

 

Battle hardened knights did not cry. But Castan didn't bother to 

wipe away the curious moisture streaming from his eyes. His people 

cried their relief, and Castan joined them. 

* * * *  

 

Banbha's court had been, in a word, glorious. Nothing but white 

marble and gold and glorious lights. It had always been full of her 

courtiers, and each one had been exceptionally beautiful. So beautiful in 

their queen's court that a mortal man would have fallen dead at the sight 

of them. There was always music--a low, sweet hum that emanated from 

everything and nothing all at once. The jewels that lined Banbha's crown 

had once been stars. Banbha had plucked them out of the night sky 

when she claimed her place as queen of the fey, and she added one to 

her crown with each successive battle. Everybody had existed in their 

natural state, creamy skin exposed to be honored and in honor of 

Banbha. Mortals would have called it paradise, and Banbha would have 

laughed in rich amusement at something so ignorant. As lower being, 

mortals weren't even capable of imagining paradise. 

 

King Bressal's court did not even bear a passing resemblance to 

the splendor that Reghan had once known. They passed through the 

throne room and Reghan felt something like anger twist inside of him. 

Castan would rule from this throne? He deserved better than that. He 

deserved so much more and Reghan did wish to give it to him. But he 

kept his comments to himself, mutely following the guards that led him 

through a heavy door into a smaller, well-lit chamber. 

 

Reghan had met King Bressal once before, many years before 

Castan was born. Bressal had been a young nobleman then, eager to 

fight and prove himself worthy on the battlefield. Reghan had been in the 

midst of his own private war and had no interest in killing Bressal, even 

though Bressal had seemed intent on ending Reghan's life. The fight had 

been long and bloody, Reghan finally putting an end to it when he 

realized Bressal was never going to stop pressing his attack. He was 

injured and pale, eyes exhausted, feet dragging. His reaction time was so 

slow, anybody could have sliced into his vulnerable left side. Reghan had 

simply stopped time, put himself a safe distance from Bressal's wrath, 

and waved his hand again. Bressal had been mid-lunge, and when time 

began moving again, he fell flat on his face. Reghan had laughed--it 

hadn't been very nice but it was better than killing him. 

 

Now Reghan was strangely glad he'd chosen not to drive his sword 

through Bressal's throat that day. 

 

Reghan hadn't mentioned that to Castan. He would have 

reconsidered that decision if he'd known that Bressal remembered him as 

clearly as Reghan remembered the former knight and present king. 

Reghan realized he'd been recognized as soon as Bressal looked at him 

with narrow, thoughtful eyes. This was not going to be as easy as Castan 

had assumed. Bressal wouldn't remember him as the fairy who let him 

live, he would remember Reghan as the fairy who got away. Reghan 

promptly dropped to one knee and bowed his head, not even risking a 

glimpse through his lashes until Bressal acknowledged him. Castan 

stood to the right and slightly behind Bressal's throne, but Reghan 

barely caught a glance of him before he was looking at the floor.  

 

"What is your name, fairy?" 

 

Reghan addressed the floor. "Reghan, your majesty." 

 

"Reghan, did you make war against Somerset?" 

 

"No, your majesty." 

 

"And yet Castan has brought you back from one of the bloodiest 

battles in the history of Somerset." 

 

"It was not my war, sire. I was compelled to fight, but I never had 

any desire to make war with humans." Reghan didn't know how much 

more plainly he could state that fact, but nobody ever seemed to believe 

him. Except Castan. Reghan fervently hoped the prince kept his faith in 

him, because he was certain Bressal was going to do everything in his 

power to harden Castan's heart. 

 

"How am I supposed to believe that?" Bressal asked, his words 

brittle. He heard Castan take a sharp breath to speak in protest, but 

Reghan answered quickly. 

 

"I have offered my oath to your crown and kingdom, sire. I will 

never do anything to harm you, your family, or your subjects. Not for as 

long as I live." 

 

"Rise, fairy." 

 

Reghan pushed himself to his feet, resisting the urge to glance at 

Castan's face. He had been in enough courts to know that it was best to 

keep his eyes downcast, submission written in every line of his body. 

Even when he was actively scheming against Banbha, he always gave her 

the proper respect when she addressed him as the queen and not as his 

mother. 

 

"It has been said that a fey's oath cannot be broken. Even by 

death." 

 

"That is true." Bressal didn't need Reghan's confirmation, but it 

was the clear the king expected a response. 

 

"You offer your oath now, and yet, you claim you were compelled to 

fight for Banbha. Which is true?" 

 

"Both are true, sire. Banbha possessed something dear to me, and 

I could not retrieve it unless I participated in her siege." Reghan had 

chosen his words carefully, and he silently begged Castan not to mention 

Aldred. Whatever the king had planned for him--and it was clear he had 

something in mind--Reghan wanted to ensure Aldred would have no part 

in it. The only person he trusted with his child was Castan himself. He 

had no reason to expect Bressal would treat the young boy with 

kindness, much less respect. 

 

"How do I know that you won't be compelled to act against 

Somerset? Banbha must have had something precious indeed if she 

could make you fight against your conscience. There's no telling how 

many of my men you killed." 

 

Reghan could tell him exactly how many human lives he'd taken. It 

was never something Reghan did lightly, and the guilt of each death 

lingered with him. Bressal need only ask, and Reghan would give him all 

the details. But Bressal never would ask, and even if Reghan volunteered 

the information, Bressal wouldn't believe him. Besides that, the only 

thing that mattered was the two lives he didn't take.  

 

"I can only offer my solemn vow." 

 

Bressal nodded, looking as wise and solemn as any good king. But 

Reghan could tell it was just an act. His eyes had a hint of excitement, 

like this was a particularly exciting contest or sport. "If only there were a 

way to prove your loyalty." 

 

Reghan swallowed. This was it then. He was sure that Castan had 

no idea what was about to happen. He had been optimistic when he 

informed Reghan that Bressal wanted to see him, and that optimism had 

been entirely genuine. Castan was, at heart, a good man. He had a 

strong sense of honor and integrity, and he expected others to conform to 

the same high standards he set for himself--especially the king. But men 

were often petty, vindictive creatures. Castan could not conceive of 

bringing Reghan low, of humiliating him now that the war was over. 

Bressal, however, could conceive of nothing else. In fact, Reghan was 

almost sure that Bressal believed this was why Castan had brought him 

back. To satisfy that base hunger for revenge, for humiliation dealt back 

one-hundred-fold.  

 

"I will gladly do anything you command of me, sire." 

 

"The fey are a proud race. There are no prouder creatures in this 

realm or any realm. Isn't that true?" 

 

Even if it weren't, Reghan had no choice but to nod. "It is indeed, 

sire." 

 

"But it is common wisdom that no race so proud could ever bow to 

a mortal man." 

I just did, you clot. "It is as you say, sire."  

 

"Then in that case, it's best that your back become accustomed to 

the weight of servitude. Your spine needs to learn how to bend. I think a 

week in the stocks should do it." 

 

Reghan showed no outward reaction to that announcement, but 

Castan exploded in outrage. "Father!" 

Don't cross the king, Castan. Not right now. This is not a battle 

worth fighting. You are a warrior, you must recognize that. Reghan wished 

he could at least meet the prince's eyes and convey his message, but he 

was rendered mute. It did chafe to bow to a mortal king, especially when 

Reghan could feel the ghost of his own crown on his head. But in the 

long run, it was nothing more than a minor inconvenience. If this was 

necessary to win his place in Somerset and at Castan's side, then that 

was what he would do.  

 

"There is no need to test his loyalty," Castan continued. 

 

"Are you questioning my wisdom?" Bressal snapped. 

 

"No...no, sire. That's not what I meant." 

 

"Good. Guards, take our new prisoner to the stocks." 

 

"Wait!" 

 

Bressal looked at his son with more than a hint of exasperation. 

"What is it?" 

 

"You're taking him now? He's only just arrived after a long 

journey." 

 

Bressal did not look moved. "Would you have me install him in the 

royal chambers and feed him sweets by hand before he's sent to the 

stocks?" 

 

"No, but it wouldn't be remiss to give him something for his 

stomach."  

 

"They'll be throwing rotten food at him. Perhaps if he keeps his 

mouth open, he'll get something to eat." 

 

Reghan had expected exactly that response, but Castan looked 

positively horrified at such disregard for Reghan's health and needs. 

Bressal gestured at the guards who brought Reghan in, and strong 

hands closed around his shoulders and forearms. He didn't resist as they 

dragged him backward, but he didn't look away from Castan, either. I'm 

fine. This is fine. There's no need to be upset. Just do as you normally 

would.  

 

Reghan had no way of knowing if Castan got the message, but he 

didn't strike his father or chase down the guards, so he must have 

understood on some level. A week in the stocks would not be pleasant, 

but it was far from the worst thing that could happen to him. The 

thought of Bressal's shocked face when he realized that the stocks had 

not bothered Reghan at all sustained him as the guards dragged him to 

the courtyard. Reghan began mentally counting the seconds until his 

release as soon as the chains were locked into place. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 6 

 

 

 

Castan was furious. Reghan could see it in the slant of his mouth 

and the way he held his shoulders. Every tense gesture, every stiff 

motion, betrayed his rage, and Reghan was just relieved that the anger 

wasn't directed toward him. Castan was strong enough to kill Banbha, 

after all. No matter how fond Reghan grew of him, it was important to 

remember just what he was capable of. Reghan tried to offer 

reassurances, but it was difficult from his position and angle. Every time 

he attracted Castan's attention, something dark would move across his 

face and the anger would take hold again.  

 

Reghan wasn't the least upset--a fact which only seemed to make 

things worse for Castan. Instead of being reassured by Reghan's 

sanguine approach, he seemed offended by it. Clearly, Castan seemed to 

say with each angry gesture, this is an insult that cannot be borne. How 

dare you be so calm? 

 

Reghan let Castan pace and run his hands through his blond hair 

and rant about dottering old kings. He was inching dangerously close to 

treason, but Castan had dismissed all the guards from the courtyard, 

and despite being in the center of the castle, they were alone. It would 

have been a nice, private moment, if Reghan wasn't bent over and 

chained. 

 

"Are you in pain?" Castan asked every ten minutes or so, as if 

expecting a different answer. 

 

"No, Castan. I assure you I'm quite well." 

 

"How can you be? Do you want me to go get more food?" 

 

"No, I'm not hungry." 

 

"But you only had bread." 

 

"Bread you were generous with. I found it to be very satisfying." 

Reghan waited until Castan was looking at him again before he slid his 

gaze sideways. "Have a seat. You're making me nervous." 

 

"I can't believe he's done this. I can't believe you're putting up with 

it." 

 

"What other choice do I have? If I escape, I'll have to leave 

Somerset, and I have no desire to do that. Besides, Bressal's pettiness 

doesn't hurt me." 

 

"Being stuck in the stocks for a week will hurt you." 

 

"Banbha's punishments were much more severe. This is almost 

pleasant in comparison. Sit down, please." 

 

Castan sighed with frustration, but complied, dropping to the 

ground and leaning against the stock. Reghan sighed with relief--he 

hadn't been kidding when he said Castan was making him nervous. The 

last thing he wanted was the prince working up a good head of steam 

and then marching off to confront his father for his abysmal treatment of 

a being that enjoyed Castan's protection. The moonlight bounced off his 

hair and the sharp lines of his face, softening him despite his very real 

anger. He looked like he was too young to bear the weight of a kingdom. 

He looked like he was blessed. 

 

"I just can't believe he..." Castan looked up before Reghan had a 

chance to look away. Their eyes clashed, and Reghan had no plausible 

deniability. He couldn't really claim he hadn't been staring at Castan 

when he very clearly had been doing exactly that. "Wait a second." 

 

He pushed himself into a kneeling position and took a kerchief 

from his belt. Reghan frowned up at him in silent inquiry, and Castan 

answered by wiping some of the rotten apple from his face. "This is 

beneath you." 

 

"But that's the point, isn't it?" Reghan's mouth felt dry as Castan 

continued to clean his face. He couldn't remember the last time anybody 

had been so gentle with him. "To learn how to bend." 

 

"You kneel for me. I never had to go to these extremes." 

 

"But you're not your father, Castan." 

 

"Are you saying you wouldn't kneel for him?"  

 

"No, I'm saying that he doesn't have your wisdom." 

 

Castan's frown deepened. "You shouldn't talk like that. My father 

is a very wise king." 

 

"He's a good king," Reghan agreed. "Despite Banbha's best 

attempts, Somerset has flourished in the past twenty years. It seems like 

his people are healthy and cared for. But he's not wise like you are, 

Castan." 

 

Castan continued cleaning Reghan's face with the corner of his 

kerchief, delicate over the bruises forming on his cheeks and brow. 

Rotten or not, getting hit in the face with fruit hurt. "This is stupid. You 

can't survive a whole week of this."  

 

"I can. I promise you." 

 

"I wish I could stay out here with you and keep you company." 

 

Reghan could tell that Castan was completely sincere with that 

wish. Did Castan realize how strange that was? Did he even know how 

weird it was for him to be there at all? While Reghan was locked in the 

stocks, he was supposed to be below Castan's notice. If Bressal caught 

him kneeling in front of Reghan--kneeling like a commoner--and wiping 

mushy apple from his face, he would have a royal fit.  

 

"Thank you, but there's no need. I'm not alone out here." 

 

Castan arched his brow. "The guards don't count. They're not 

allowed to talk to you." 

 

Reghan chuckled. "That's not what I meant. I can't be lonely when 

I have the wind singing to me and the stars chattering away." 

 

"The stars?" Castan tilted his head back, exposing his throat as he 

stared up at the glittering sky. "What do they chatter about? Anything 

interesting?" 

 

"Yes. All kinds of things." 

 

"Like what?" 

 

"The stars know everything. Past, present, and future. They like to 

tease me with what they know. They think it's funny." 

 

"You're talking about them like they're your mates," Castan said, 

sitting back on his heels. It would be nice to touch him. Reghan wasn't 

sure where the thought came from, but he knew it was true. It would be 

very nice to touch Castan.  

 

"They are. In a way. Though they're horrible gossips." 

 

"Do they talk about me?" 

 

"They talk about a great prince." 

 

Castan smiled at that. "What do they say?" 

 

"I'm not a fortune teller, Castan." 

 

"Well, I didn't ask you to read my fortune. You're the one who said 

the stars were talking about me. Why did you bring it up if you didn't 

want to tell me?" 

 

Reghan could have pointed out that Castan was the one who asked 

if the stars ever spoke of him, but he decided he didn't want to annoy 

Castan further. "What stars were you born under?" 

 

"The sign of the virgin." 

 

"So you're chaste and fair?" Reghan teased, hoping to draw the 

conversation away from Castan's fate. The stars couldn't stop themselves 

from sharing, but Reghan knew it wasn't his place to tell Castan his 

destiny. 

 

He expected Castan to protest that--at least the chaste part since 

he was fair of face. But Castan merely averted his eyes, and his silence 

told Reghan more than any words could.  

 

"Really?" Reghan finally said. 

 

"Yes. I did go to a fortune teller once. She told me that if I waited 

and spilled my seed in the proper container..." Castan's face twisted. 

"Those were her words, not mine. Anyway, if I waited, then my kingdom 

would be guaranteed and I would be rewarded for eternity." 

 

Reghan blinked. "That is...quite the promise." 

 

"I know. It seems too good to be true, and I was young at the time. 

For all I know, Father paid her to tell me exactly that so I didn't muddle 

the royal bloodline with a bunch of bastards. But..." He folded the 

kerchief and tucked it into his belt again. "There seemed to be something 

to it. Besides, I don't really have the time." 

 

Reghan offered an understanding nod, but knew that if Castan 

really wanted to give some girl a tumble, he could have made time for it. 

That was the one thing mortals always seemed to make time for. 

 

"So..." Castan glanced up, drawing Reghan's attention heavenward. 

"I was wondering what they had to say about that."  

 

"The fortune teller was right," Reghan said softly, hoping Castan 

had the good sense not to press for details. 

 

"How will I know who the proper...person is?" 

 

"You'll know when the time is right." 

 

Castan considered that for a moment and then nodded, like he 

hadn't expected anything else. Reghan hated to be so cryptic with him, 

but it really wasn't his place to explain destinies and reveal the future. 

Besides, the answer might very well frighten Castan and that was the 

last thing he wanted. And sometimes, some very few times, the stars 

were wrong. They certainly hadn't foreseen Banbha's death.  

 

"Yeah, I guess I will. Do you need anything?" 

 

"No. Thank you for...everything." 

 

"I wish you were thanking me for talking sense into my father." 

 

"I don't even want you to try. He needs this, Castan. He...needs to 

remind everybody of their place now. Everything in his world has 

changed quite suddenly." 

 

"What do you mean?" 

 

As soon as Castan uttered the question, Reghan realized that he 

really didn't understand. Of course he was angry. From where he was 

standing, Bressal was behaving like a mad man without any rhyme or 

reason. How could he accept Reghan's entirely unjust punishment when 

he didn't even understand what prompted Bressal to hand it down.  

 

"I mean," Reghan said slowly, "the power has shifted in Somerset. 

You have accomplished something that no man before you ever could. 

You have, by virtue of saving your father's kingdom, proven yourself to 

be stronger than he is. You're a..." Threat. "Rival now."  

 

Reghan had thought he explained it gently, but Castan's flushed 

cheeks and narrowed eyes indicated otherwise. "That is the most 

ridiculous thing I have ever heard." 

 

"I'm sorry, Castan, but--" 

 

"I'll have my squire fetch dinner for you tomorrow," Castan said, 

pushing himself to his feet. 

 

"Castan, wait..." 

 

But the prince was already gone, marching away with all the anger 

he'd brought with him to the courtyard. 

 

Reghan didn't see Castan again for three days. By the second day, 

the peasants had lost interest in pelting him with rotten food, and they 

seemed far more inclined to talk to him. Reghan didn't mind. He learned 

a lot about Somerset that way, including the fact that most of the 

commoners believed the king's taxes would ruin them for the winter. A 

common complaint regardless of the kingdom, but Reghan heard true 

fear in their voices when they spoke of it. At night, when he was left 

alone, he entertained himself with the wind and the earth and the 

animals that snuck out of their hiding places to sniff at the stranger in 

their midst. He could have opened the locks and stretched his back, but 

he was determined to be as stubborn about this as Bressal had been. 

 

On the fourth night of his incarceration, Castan returned bearing 

gifts. He offered honey cake and candied fruit in apology, and Reghan 

accepted it graciously even though an apology wasn't necessary. He knew 

he would get under Castan's skin with the comment about his father. 

That was why he had said it. 

 

"How is Aldred?" Reghan asked, once Castan was seated beside 

him. 

 

"Good. As I promised you, he's been living in my chambers. The 

only person who knows he's there is Amelia, and she's loyal to me." 

 

"What did you tell him?" 

 

"That you had to go on a short journey for the king, but you would 

be back soon. Amelia has been keeping him entertained with my old 

books and toys." 

 

"Thank you." 

 

"I think it's the least I can do, given the situation. I've been busy, 

you know." 

 

"Yes, I assumed you must have been." 

 

"I mean...that's why I haven't been around. In case you thought it 

was something else." 

 

"I know you have many duties and responsibilities. I'm honestly 

surprised that you took the time to visit me at all." 

 

"I'm a little surprised by that myself. It's not as though I make a 

practice of visiting prisoners. But--" 

 

"You wanted to have me read your fortune?" Reghan asked lightly. 

 

Castan shook his head. "I feel like I've been all...confused since the 

moment we first spoke. You surprised me when you agreed to my 

conditions of surrender, and you surprised me again when you claimed 

Aldred as your son. You haven't stopped surprising me since. Even when 

you're nowhere near me, I find myself thinking about you and--" 

 

"That's just because I'm fey," Reghan said airily. "It's natural to be 

interested in new things." 

 

Castan seemed to consider that, chin resting in his palm and 

elbow resting on his knee. After several long seconds he said, "No, I don't 

think it's that." 

 

"What do you think it is?" 

 

Castan tilted his head up. He looked so young. Like a boy. Reghan 

had become accustomed to thinking of Castan as an equal, his match in 

some ways. It was almost painful to remember that Castan's entire 

lifespan was just a small measure of what Reghan could expect--of what 

he'd already lived. Castan had probably forgotten that, too. Perhaps it 

would be easier for both of them if Reghan wore an older face. One that 

was more in line with his true age and experience. But he dismissed that 

notion when Castan grinned at him. 

 

"When I figure it out, I'll let you know." 

* * * *  

 

Castan felt more than a hint of pride when Reghan stood in front of 

Bressal with his spine straight and his shoulders back. He still looked 

properly respectful, and he still cast his eyes to the floor in perfect 

deference, but Bressal had not managed to break Reghan. Castan knew 

it was illogical, but he was pleased by that. He liked having a man of 

such obvious strength and spirit on his side. Even if the being in 

question wasn't really a man at all.  

 

The week had dragged by until Castan had been angry at time 

itself. He hadn't voiced a single complaint, though. If the week was so 

awful for him, it must have been one hundred times worse for Reghan. It 

seemed terribly disrespectful to whine about how slow the days were 

when Reghan was stuck in the stocks with no promise of relief or break 

from the monotony. But he had withstood it all with a smile. Like he 

knew he just needed to survive the bad bits and he would be amply 

rewarded. Castan truly hoped that would be the case. Not that he could 

explain why Reghan deserved a great reward.  

 

"On your knees," Bressal ordered. 

 

There was the briefest hint of defiance. So brief that Castan 

thought it might have just been a trick of the early morning light. 

Especially since Reghan gracefully sank to the ground, his hands held 

behind his back as he waited for further instruction. Unfortunately, 

Bressal seemed to have noticed it as well. 

 

"You don't want to kneel in front of your new sovereign?" Bressal 

asked. 

 

"I'm happy to kneel in front of you, my lord." 

 

"Come here." Bressal pointed to the ground at his feet. "Do not 

stand." 

 

Castan bit his tongue to keep himself from protesting. His father 

was not a patient man at the best of times. He would not tolerate another 

outburst from Castan, even if it meant Castan choked on his own 

unspoken words. Reghan gamely followed his order, approaching the 

king on his knees. Slowly. 

 

"Is this difficult for you?" Bressal asked, his tone almost friendly. 

 

"No, sire. It is never difficult to do your bidding." 

 

"Don't lie, Reghan. I can see that it's difficult for you. But I require 

all of my servants to walk on their knees from time to time. You shall 

practice." 

 

Castan's hands curled into fists. He had seen Bressal make some 

pretty surprising decisions and ruthless demands. His father was 

capable of both cruelty and almost boundless compassion. He was often 

unpredictable, his temper getting the better of his common sense. He did 

act rashly on occasion, though Castan had noticed that his tendency to 

behave that way had decreased as Castan got older. But in all the years 

he'd held court with his father, he had never seen the king take such 

great pleasure out of humiliating somebody. 

 

That he was taking pleasure from the sight of Reghan on his knees 

was not in doubt. Castan could see it in his smile and the bright, almost 

crazy light in his green eyes. If Castan could see it, then surely Reghan 

could. Which only made the humiliation worse. Castan didn't want to be 

watching this, but he knew Bressal would turn on him next if he dared to 

look away. 

 

"Yes, my lord." 

 

"You shall spend the day crossing the courtyard on your knees. 

The guards will see that you don't stop for any reason and that nobody 

will molest you during your travels." 

 

And Reghan simply bowed his head again, like Bressal had 

bestowed something great on him. "Yes, your majesty." 

 

Castan could feel his mouth twisting into a grimace. What Bressal 

demanded could destroy Reghan's knees. He may not be able to walk 

again for days. Not to mention how humiliating that would be for him. 

The same people who gathered around to chuck fruit at his head would 

circle him again, this time laughing and jeering. Castan's chest tightened 

at the thought, and his temples throbbed with fresh anger. He had never 

felt so utterly powerless. Reghan had sworn an oath to Castan, pledged 

his life to Castan, and Castan couldn't even protect his body from 

Bressal's vindictiveness. He couldn't even speak in Reghan's defense. In 

all his life, he'd never been at odds with his father. But as the guards 

dragged Reghan away, Castan couldn't help but feel that irreparable 

damage was being done.  

 

When Castan was finally excused from the throne room, he went 

directly to the courtyard, prepared for the worst. What he saw there 

stopped him short, and his shocked brain desperately looked around for 

some sort of explanation. Instead of jeering and laughter, the crowd had 

formed two respectful lines across the width of the yard. Reghan passed 

between them, his path open and clear. The guards stood on either end, 

but they didn't touch him or hit at him with their staffs to keep him 

moving. At one point, a child emerged from the crowd to walk with 

Reghan on his long journey to the end of the line. Once there, the girl 

gently squeezed his shoulder and smiled. Reghan smiled back. 

 

The child wasn't the only one who showed him kindness. The 

commoners pressed skins of water in his hand, and as Castan watched, 

somebody actually gave him an apple. Reghan never stopped moving, 

clearly determined to follow the king's orders to the letter, but he did 

smile at each gift and thank the giver with clear sincerity. 

 

The people loved him. Far from humiliating Reghan, Bressal had 

found a way to endear him to all of his people. Castan was a prince bred 

from a long line of kings and he didn't need an explanation of what that

meant. Right now, he only had the people's love. But what about their 

loyalty? Would they be willing to stand behind Reghan against their 

king?  

 

Castan shook his head. Of course it wouldn't come to that. Reghan 

wasn't in Somerset to raise an army, after all. But the thought was more 

than a little disquieting. Especially given his own current rage at Bressal. 

What would he be willing to do in defense of Reghan? How far was 

Bressal going to push this? Did he even have any idea of what was 

happening under his very nose? Castan would guess that he didn't.  

 

He took his place at the end of the line, positioning himself so 

Reghan would see him as soon as he lifted his head. When their eyes 

met, Reghan smiled. Something inside Castan shifted, and though he 

was still angry, it no longer felt like an impossible weight on his 

shoulders. This won't last forever, Reghan's smile said. You just need to 

be patient, sire. 

 

Castan nodded, accepting the message. He just needed to figure 

out what, exactly, he was waiting for. 

 

At the end of the long day, Reghan could barely move. Castan's 

impulse was to lift the other man in his arms and carry him up to his 

chambers, but there were many reasons why that would not be 

appropriate. So he did the next best thing and ordered the guards who 

had monitored Reghan's progress to carry him up to the chambers next 

to Castan's. They obeyed without question, their faces carefully blank, 

not even hinting at what they might think of Castan's strange request. 

Reghan muttered something, possibly an order to put him down, but the 

order was roundly ignored. 

 

Servants were dispatched in all directions, carrying orders for a 

tub with fresh water, dinner and wine from the kitchen, bandages and 

salve, and clean clothes. Reghan watched them bustle around him with a 

slightly bemused expression, like he couldn't believe so many people 

were going to so much trouble for him. When Reghan's eyes met his, he 

smiled, and Castan knew he was supposed to smile back. But he wasn't 

in the proper mood for that. Even knowing that Reghan would have the 

chance to eat and rest didn't completely dampen his foul mood. 

 

Reghan allowed the servants to undress him once the tub was 

filled with heated water, and he didn't protest when they helped him 

bend his long limbs into the small space. Castan knew he should go and 

give Reghan his privacy--he certainly wasn't needed there since he wasn't 

going to bathe Reghan, or tend to his battered knees. And his knees were 

terrible. There were bruises from the hard stones all the way down his 

shins, and the skin had been shredded until it was nothing but a 

bleeding pulp. The water turned a murky shade of pink as Reghan 

straightened his legs, but if he was in pain, his face didn't show it. 

 

He didn't protest until one of the servants tried to wash his back. 

"Wait. Please stop." 

 

The servant froze, looking from Reghan to Castan, her eyes wide 

with fear. Her fear of displeasing Reghan warred with her obvious fear 

over disobeying Castan, and Castan finally had no choice but to give a 

curt nod. "You all may go." 

 

The sound of Castan's voice prompted them to move before they 

even had a chance to process his words. Within seconds, every single 

servant was gone, leaving Castan and Reghan alone with plates of 

untouched food, pinkish water, and the crackle of the fireplace. 

 

"I doubt this is what your father had in mind when he said I 

needed to learn how to kneel," Reghan finally said, softly amused. 

"Thank you. Once again, you've proven yourself to be generous." 

 

"Are you going to be all right?" Castan asked, not moving away 

from the door. 

 

"Yes. It'll take a little bit of time, but I heal faster than humans." 

Reghan tilted his head, his blue eyes pinning Castan in place. Why did 

he have to look at Castan like that? It made him feel like the whole shape 

of the world had changed. "Why are you so angry?" 

 

"I can't believe you even need to ask." 

 

"I already told you that you don't need to be angry on my behalf. 

Didn't I?" 

 

"We should be focused on the fact that Banbha is dead, and 

instead he's playing ridiculous games with you. I shouldn't even be 

saying these sorts of things about him. I shouldn't even be thinking 

about questioning him."  

 

"Then don't. Don't question him. Don't be angry. He has a childish 

desire to show me how powerful he is, and I don't mind." 

 

"Don't you have any pride?" 

 

Castan had meant the question sincerely, but Reghan just 

laughed. "Bressal hasn't even come close to bruising my pride. 

He's...insignificant to me." 

 

Castan drew himself up, his shoulders tensing as he automatically 

took offense to the words. "He is your king."  

 

"You are," Reghan said mildly. "If you wished to hurt me, I'm sure 

you would succeed. But all of this is pointless posturing. Banbha once 

imprisoned me in a tree for fifty years in a fit of rage. That was far worse 

than staying in the stocks for a week." 

 

"A tree?" 

 

"She was very cross with me. She intended to keep me there 

forever, but I managed to escape," Reghan said absently, his attention 

focused on his oozing knees. 

 

"Do you need any help with that?" 

 

"You sent the servants away." 

 

"I meant..." Castan stopped himself. The castle walls themselves 

might crumble if the prince lowered himself to bathing a servant. But it 

had been so natural to offer his assistance. The words had just flown out 

of his mouth without a second of hesitation. "I could call them back in." 

 

"Thank you, but that won't be necessary." 

 

Castan knew he needed to leave, but he still lingered near the 

door, unable to pull himself away from the sight of Reghan in the tub 

and firelight. Beads of water rolled down his shoulders and the side of 

his arm, and Castan was close enough to see the goose bumps spreading 

over his skin. He felt another bizarre urge to offer his assistance--this 

time he wanted to build up the fire and chase the chill from the room. 

 

"Is there anything else you would like from me, sire?" Reghan 

asked evenly. It might have been Castan's imagination, but he thought 

heard the lightest stress on sire.  

 

"No. I was just going to say that Aldred has already been put to 

bed. If you would like me to wake him..." Yet another request instead of 

an order, but at least Castan could comfort himself with the reminder 

that Aldred was Reghan's concern and as the boy's father he should have 

final say on where Aldred slept.  

 

"If he's asleep, please don't disturb him. May I check on him in the 

morning?" The question was oddly stilted, as though Castan wasn't the 

only one having a hard time remembering his proper place. 

 

"Of course. As soon as you're ready to see him." 

 

"Thank you." 

 

There was nothing left to say after that. No more excuses to keep 

Castan rooted to the spot. He was the prince, he didn't need an excuse. 

He could stand in any room he wanted for as long as he liked, and 

Bressal was the only one who could demand an explanation--and truth 

be told, Bressal probably wouldn't care to. But Castan still felt like he 

was encroaching and couldn't really justify his presence. So he bid 

Reghan a good night and ducked out of the room, his mind racing, 

confusion warring with anger and something else. Something much more 

startling.  

 

When Castan finally fell asleep that night, he was still thinking of 

Reghan's golden wet skin. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 7 

 

Bressal continued his game for another month. Reghan accepted 

each new order with calm grace, while Castan stood to the side, 

becoming more, rather than less, enraged. It was almost worse that 

Reghan didn't seem to care. Perhaps Castan wouldn't have to be so angry 

on Reghan's behalf if he would show even a flash of his own irritation. 

But he never did. He would merely nod his head and bow low at the 

waist, seemingly impervious to any humiliation designed by a lowly 

mortal. Castan's thoughts often turned back to Reghan's casual mention 

of the fifty years he spent imprisoned in a tree. It was practically a mortal 

lifetime. Bressal was like a petulant child beating his fists against a brick 

wall--the wall didn't care and it only resulted in bruised and battered 

knuckles. 

 

Reghan spent a week sleeping in the stables. Bressal had sneered 

at him, bidding him good luck with the fleas. The fleas, of course, never 

touched Reghan. He bedded down in hay that was made sweeter by his 

presence, and Castan had sneaked down on more than one night to 

check on the fey, only to hear Reghan talking pleasantly with the horses, 

the dogs, the stable boys. He spent another week in the dungeons and 

may or may not have befriended every rat that scurried across the floor 

and stole food from the prisoner's plates. For an entire week, the kitchen 

was ordered to feed Reghan nothing but slop, and even in the privacy of 

his own room he'd refused Castan's offer for better fare. If the king 

wanted him to eat slop and refuse, then he would. That week had nearly 

driven Castan mad.  

 

But that was nothing compared to the impotent fury that washed 

through him at Bressal's final order. Lord Mannix and his daughter, the 

Lady Áine, would be arriving to court that night. A fact that would have 

been driving Castan to distraction any other time, but had barely 

registered in his mind until the actual day they were due to arrive. 

Bressal had summoned Reghan early in the afternoon, while the castle 

servants rushed back and forth in a general uproar of excitement. This 

was to be no routine visit from a noble. This was going to be very 

different, and even though nobody discussed it, everybody knew it. 

Including Castan. 

 

"Sir Mannix is one of my most trusted friends. He hails from 

Devonshire. He owns a substantial manor and runs it very successfully. 

It is a cause for celebration whenever he visits my court." 

 

Reghan didn't respond. No response was necessary. 

 

"Now he comes to feast with us and celebrate the death of Banbha. 

I'm going to make a gift of you to Lord Mannix." 

 

Reghan and Castan tensed at the same time, but Bressal held up a 

hand, staving off any potential protest. 

 

"I am well aware that Castan intends for you to serve him. But it 

occurs to me that you truly have no concept of what it takes to be a 

proper servant. Lord Mannix is a very exacting man. He will know how to 

train you so that you're finally suitable to be in the Crown Prince's 

service. You will be presented to him tonight at the banquet." 

 

Castan was still trying to sort out all of the very many reasons he 

hated this idea when Reghan bowed and murmured, "Your majesty." 

 

Bressal gestured, indicating Reghan was dismissed. He turned 

smartly and marched out of the room with a regal bearing. Perhaps that 

was why Bressal couldn't resist devising new humiliations. He wanted to 

see Reghan's spirit broken. Castan could have told him that was never 

going to happen, even if Bressal dedicated the rest of his life to the quest. 

Castan didn't wait for Bressal to dismiss him or request his leave. He 

caught Reghan in the antechamber, and this time he saw a flash of anger 

in Reghan's dark blue eyes. The sight of it almost cheered Castan. 

 

"Tell me about this Lord Mannix," Reghan demanded in a tone that 

would have gotten anybody else flogged within an inch of his life. 

 

"He and my father are great friends," Castan began slowly, casting 

around for the right details to reveal and the ones he needed to hide. "He 

is known for being quite firm with the servants." 

 

"What else is he known for?" Reghan pressed. 

 

"There are rumors--" 

 

"If he and the king are indeed great friends then I'm not interested 

in rumors. What more do you know of him?" 

 

Castan had never heard that tone in Reghan's voice before, and he 

was fascinated by it. He didn't dare hold the answer back to provoke 

another sharp retort, but that just contributed to his fascination. This 

Reghan was accustomed to having every question answered, every 

demand met, and it was impossible to imagine him sharing a bed of 

straw with the fleas and rats. 

 

"He...indulges in certain...appetites with his servants," Castan 

finally said, a flush traveling from his cheeks to the tips of his ears. 

 

"He's a pederast," Reghan said flatly. 

 

"Yes." 

 

"And am I to guess that he doesn't particularly care whether his 

target is receptive or not?" 

 

Castan could only nod miserably. This was worse than anything 

Bressal had done. Ever. In Castan's entire life. This was going to keep 

him awake and restless and angry for the duration of Mannix's stay in 

the castle. Reghan began walking, giving Castan no choice but to hurry 

and catch up with him. If the guards thought it strange to see their 

prince chase after a servant, their faces didn't betray them. 

 

"Just because there are rumors doesn't mean that--" Castan 

started. 

 

"You know exactly what it means." 

 

Yes, Castan did. And when he thought of Mannix touching 

Reghan's smooth skin--the skin that Castan was beginning to think of 

quite possessively and obsessively--something hot and slippery twisted in 

his stomach. He couldn't even touch Reghan casually. There were no 

friendly touches or claps on the shoulders, and Mannix would be able to 

reach for Reghan, to order Reghan, anytime he wanted.  

 

"You don't have to do this," Castan said instead. 

 

"Yes, I do." 

 

"No, you can..." 

 

Reghan's lips thinned. "What, Castan? What do you think Bressal 

will do in the face of blatant disobedience? From a fey, no less? Do you 

think he'll send me out for another night in the stables or do you think 

he'll kill me? And I can't do anything to him. You've made sure of that." 

 

It was no less than the truth, but the easily flung words found 

their marks right in his chest. He couldn't have done anything else. Of 

course he couldn't have. But Castan still felt more than a twinge of regret 

when he remembered how carefully he had extracted Reghan's promise. 

Not just to him, but to the crown. Not just to Somerset, but to all their 

future generations. And Reghan had given that promise so easily. Why 

had he agreed? But then, what else could he have done?  

 

"How long will Sir Mannix and his daughter be staying here?" 

Reghan asked. 

 

Castan swallowed. "Until after the wedding." 

 

That brought Reghan up short. "You're getting married? To the 

Lady Áine?" 

 

"Yes." 

 

"Why didn't you say anything?" 

 

What business of it is yours? You're a servant, Reghan. I don't have 

to explain anything to you. Which was absolutely true. The words 

positively burned into his mind with their righteousness. But Castan 

could no more say that than he could order Reghan to be flogged. He 

didn't understand why, and he didn't have the energy to sort it out. It 

was easier to just tell Reghan the truth.  

 

"I've been betrothed to Áine for so long that I don't even think 

about it anymore. My marriage has been an inevitability since I was a 

child." Castan shrugged. "It didn't occur to me to mention it." 

 

"When?" 

 

"In three months. On my twenty-fifth birthday." 

 

Reghan sucked his breath in sharply, balled his fists at his side, 

and began walking again. Castan watched him for a moment, wondering 

which upset Reghan more. Of course, it would have to be his ordered 

service to Sir Mannix. Castan shook his head at himself. Why would 

Reghan be upset that he was betrothed? He was getting stupid. And now 

Mannix and Áine would be arriving within hours, he didn't even have the 

chance to go for a good hunt or practice with his knights. 

 

"I'm sorry, Reghan. I'm going to figure out a way to fix this. I 

promise you." 

 

"Castan--" 

 

"I am. This isn't right." 

 

"Castan, I appreciate that. But I don't want you to cross the king 

on my behalf." 

 

"I know you don't. And I didn't mind biting my tongue when it was 

just a week in the stables but--" 

 

"Yes, you did." Reghan stopped again and reached out to take 

Castan's shoulder. Castan stiffened at the contact, but didn't push 

Reghan's hand away. "You've been angry over every minute of this." 

 

"He has been behaving most--" 

 

"I know," Reghan said softly, cutting Castan off before he could say 

anything he truly regretted. "And I appreciate that you've wanted to fight 

for me, even if you were unable to. But I am just a servant, sire."  

 

"No, you're not. You've never been just a servant to me. 

We're...we...that night..." 

 

Reghan continued to gaze at him, offering absolutely no help. Not 

even a glint of recognition in his eyes. "What night?" 

 

"The night in the woods. With the guardian. Something happened 

that night, Reghan. I felt it. Don't try to tell me you didn't." 

 

Reghan sighed and finally broke eye contact, looking down to his 

scuffed boots. "Of course I did. Of course I felt it." 

 

"I know what your place in my service is going to be," Castan said. 

 

"What?" 

 

"My advisor." 

 

"Castan--" 

 

"Are you going to question me?" The question sounded hollow, 

given the liberties Castan had already allowed. 

 

"Bressal will not like that." 

 

"I don't care." 

 

And he really didn't. In Bressal's mad attempts to humiliate 

Reghan, he'd demonstrated to Castan that Reghan really wasn't a 

servant. He had no business bowing and scraping and kissing hems. It 

was wrong. And good God, if he ever dared to utter those words in his 

father's presence, he would be executed for treason. Bressal would hand 

down the order and have him on the chopping block before the sun set. 

Not just because Bressal didn't like anybody questioning his judgment--

though he didn't--but because of the implication that it was wrong for a 

fey to bow to a mortal. As though Reghan's servitude had truly upset the 

natural order of things.  

 

"Sometimes, Castan, I don't know if you're making things better or 

worse." 

 

Castan blinked. "What's that supposed to mean?" 

 

"It means...it means I want to hate you for putting me in this 

position. I want to blame you for every uncomfortable second, every 

insult, every ache and pain. But then you're so defiant, so righteous and 

sure. And I remember that there's nothing Bressal could ask of me that I 

wouldn't gladly give." 

 

Castan opened his mouth, but he was too stunned to speak. He 

didn't even know what he could say to that. Reghan apparently didn't 

need to hear anything in response, because he gave Castan's shoulder a 

light squeeze and then turned to keep walking, his fists no longer white-

knuckled with fury. 

* * * *  

 

Sir Mannix and Lady Áine arrived with great pomp and 

circumstance. Áine was clearly a favorite with the commoners, and they 

lined the streets to greet their future queen. She rode a chestnut horse 

and wore a beautiful green dress that set off her eyes. Her blonde hair 

fell in long curls down her back, the sides braided away from her face 

and the rest allowed to hang loosely. Her features were as fine as 

Reghan's, her eyes as sure and knowing, and she didn't resemble her 

father in the slightest. Reghan stood on the battlements with Castan, 

watching the long, slow approach as the huge party wound through the 

valley toward the castle. 

 

They were both silent. Castan was probably distracted by thoughts 

of his impending matrimony, but the purpose of Mannix's visit to the 

court wasn't even on Reghan's mind. He was too distracted by the king 

they were traveling to visit. Castan hadn't realized the implications of 

Bressal's latest order, and Reghan was actually glad for that. Or maybe 

he did. Maybe that's what fueled his decision to make Reghan an 

advisor, elevating him above almost everybody else in the court. Maybe 

he realized it meant that Bressal knew he could trust Reghan but that 

trust meant nothing to him. If he couldn't trust Reghan, he would never 

be foolish enough to trust Mannix's care to Reghan's hands.  

 

"She's very beautiful," Reghan said softly. 

 

"Yes. She always has been." 

 

"Forgive me, sire, but you don't exactly sound like you're happy 

about that." 

 

"It's not that I'm not happy," Castan said. "Of course I'm happy 

Father didn't have me betrothed to a troll or something. But sometimes I 

wish he'd given me a choice." 

 

"Who would you choose?" 

 

"I don't know. I've never given it any thought. I don't even know 

what it feels like to want to be with somebody."  

 

Reghan tilted his head. "You've never desired anybody?" 

 

"Not really." 

 

"I suppose that's why you've managed to keep your vow of 

chastity." 

 

"I would be able to keep any vow I made, regardless of the 

situation," Castan informed him. 

 

"Yes, I believe you would try. But most mortals I've met, not to 

mention the fey, have a hard time remembering promises they've made 

when it comes to desire." 

 

"What's it like?" Castan asked lightly, as though he was asking 

about dinner the night before. 

 

"Do you mean desire or love? Because they aren't the same." 

 

"Both. Either." 

 

"Desire is..." Reghan stopped, thinking of Vivienne's strange smile 

and calm strength. Then he thought of Castan's eyes and the way his 

hair shone like gold in the sun. "It's like a punch in the gut. It hurts, but 

not in a bad way. You can't think of anything except possessing the 

person you want. It distracts you and drives you mad until you're 

convinced you'll never be sane again if you don't get what you want." 

 

"I have a hard time imagining you being like that," Castan said. 

"You don't seem like you'd get that worked up over anything." 

 

"And yet I have a mortal son." 

 

"So that's how it happened? You saw a fair maiden wandering 

through the woods and you felt that punch in the gut? Nine months 

later, there was Aldred?" 

 

"More or less." 

 

"I thought the story would be more interesting than that." 

 

"Why?" 

 

"Because Aldred is so...unique. I thought the story would be more 

like something a bard would sing about." 

 

"How do you know bards don't sing about me and Vivienne?" 

 

"Usually their stories are slightly more interesting." 

 

Reghan smiled thinly. "Aldred isn't unique." 

 

"He's half-fey. I'd say that counts as unique." 

 

"Most of the children in your kingdom are half or partly fey." 

 

Castan blinked. "What are you talking about?" 

 

"Humans are fascinated by fey. It is not difficult to seduce a mortal 

to coupling, and that coupling results in a child more often than not. 

Sometimes, the fey will steal their children back from their mothers. 

Surely you knew this." 

 

"I knew women were frightened of the fey and there are stories of 

changelings once or twice a year, but I had no idea that...I mean, nobody 

ever told me the fey were taking their own children."  

 

"Who would admit to it? Most mortals hate the folk and with good 

reason. Nobody would admit to having sex with one. Or, even worse, 

loving one." 

 

"Did...were you and Vivienne...did you love her?" 

 

Reghan almost smiled at how shy Castan sounded. He was often 

surprised by the fact that Castan had bested Banbha, but never more 

than at times like these. He was a fearsome warrior, but he was still so 

innocent in other ways. But then, he didn't doubt most people would be 

more successful without the distraction of relationships and all that 

chaos that came with one. 

 

"I did. We were very happy in the time we had together. Which is 

always too limited when you love a mortal." 

 

"Then why bother with it?" 

 

"Sometimes you don't have a choice." 

 

Castan sighed at that and looked out at the approaching party. 

Reghan wondered if he should mention that Áine was one of those not-

quite-so-rare half-fey children, but decided it wasn't his place to say. 

Especially given the court's distrust and hatred toward the fey. The 

revelation might save Castan from a marriage he didn't necessarily want, 

but at what cost? What revenge would Bressal extract? What sort of 

punishment would he mete out? It wasn't a stretch to say this sort of 

thing could lead to a war. Castan was a good prince. Reghan doubted 

he'd want his subjects to die in a war that was sparked because twenty 

years earlier, Sir Mannix fell in love with a fairy. 

 

"This will probably be the last time we can talk like this," Castan 

finally said. "Mannix will want you to sleep... in his chambers. We can't 

speak freely at court. I can't even acknowledge you." 

 

"It's only three months," Reghan said, automatically trying to 

soothe Castan. 

 

But Castan didn't take it that way. Reghan was beginning to learn 

Castan's little tells. The most obvious was when something upset him. 

He pulled back and tensed, as if that extra inch of space he cleared made 

all the difference to his well-being. Reghan could almost see the wall that 

went up around him reflected in the hardness of his eyes. 

 

"I'll leave you to prepare for the evening," Castan said stiffly. "The 

king will expect you in the banquet hall before the start of dinner." 

 

Reghan wanted to call him back, but it was better to let him walk 

away. If he was angry at Reghan, then maybe three months wouldn't 

seem like such a burden. And maybe he'd be more concerned with his 

future bride and less concerned over Reghan. Which was how it should 

be. But he still kept his attention locked on Castan's back, watching him 

walk away until he was out of sight. Castan never once faltered in his 

stride and didn't look back either. Reghan couldn't sort through the 

tangle of emotions in his chest, but one did stand out sharper than all 

the rest. He was strangely, inexplicably proud of him. 

 

Once Castan disappeared from sight, Reghan looked down and 

realized Mannix's party was right below him. His sharp eyes were able to 

distinguish more details at this distance, and he realized Áine didn't just 

look like a fairy. She looked like her mother, Sibley. Reghan remembered 

her well from Banbha's court, though he couldn't say that he 

remembered seeing Áine before. Perhaps her father had claimed her as a 

baby and bound her to the mortal realm. 

 

They passed the gate into the courtyard, disappearing from 

Reghan's sight. Finding himself completely alone, he looked out over the 

lower town, and then to the villages beyond the castle walls, and beyond 

the valley and the mountains. He looked as far as he could over the land, 

and no matter where he turned his attention, he found peace. There were 

no battles brewing, and the villages that'd been hit again and again by 

the wars were finally beginning to recover. Because of Castan. 

 

Reghan kept that in mind as he descended to the keep. He went to 

his chambers first and changed his clothes--Castan had provided him 

with a rather rich wardrobe. Perhaps to gall Bressal. He'd been in the 

habit of wearing the most modest of his options, but not that night. For 

the banquet, he would choose something suitable for a prince. A wave of 

his hand made it suitable for a king. He risked Bressal's wrath by 

wearing something so obviously above his station, but he risked Bressal's 

wrath simply by existing. 

* * * *  

 

Reghan attracted attention. Reghan attracted a great deal of 

attention as he entered the great hall. First, it was the servants, jumping 

at the sight of him, rushing to his side in fear that he was a member of 

Mannix's party that they had overlooked somehow. The knights at the 

lower table noticed the commotion first, and their attention was drawn to 

the strange looking man in the fine clothes, asking themselves whether 

he was the one who Bressal sent to the stocks for a week. Gradually, the 

diners at the middle tables turned their heads, casually glancing over to 

see what the ruckus was about, but not looking away again. Finally, the 

king, his son, and their honored guests were forced to find out what had 

captured everybody's rapt attention. 

 

He felt Castan's gaze land on him first, and it was all he could do 

to stop himself from meeting it. He wasn't breaking any rules of protocol 

with his clothes--not technically, though everybody heard the statement 

loud and clear--and he wanted to keep it that way. So he ignored the 

prince in favor of bowing to Bressal, bending so low at the waist that his 

hat almost fell off. He knew Áine was staring at him, too. Even if she'd 

never been to Banbha's court, she would still know him. Like called to 

like, and he could feel her seeping into his skin. 

 

"Who is this handsome young man?" Mannix asked. 

 

Reghan kept his eyes averted, waiting for Bressal to choke out an 

answer. Now he hoped Castan understood why it was so important to 

play by Bressal's rules. The entire court would now witness Bressal with 

his wrists tightly bound, unable to control a servant in his own court, in 

front of his dear friend and guest. 

 

"This is Reghan. One of the prizes Prince Castan brought back 

from his battle with Banbha." 

 

"He's a fey?" Mannix asked. 

 

Reghan risked looking up at that point, and the sight of Castan 

and Áine was almost enough to steal his breath. They were sitting at 

opposite ends of the table, but they were still stunning together. Reghan 

had the sudden vision of the two of them sitting side by side, hands 

clasped, heads proudly bearing crowns, shoulders and throats shining 

with jewels. They were both fair and they were both wise and they were 

both in the fairy court. 

 

Reghan gasped and closed his eyes, doing his best to forget the 

vision. But it couldn't be erased. It only seemed brighter behind his shut 

eyes, all of the colors standing out starkly, Castan wrapped in gold, Áine 

wrapped in silver. 

 

"Yes. The only one who would swear his oath to Prince Castan. 

Now he serves the court." 

 

"He is your servant?" Áine asked, sounding as breathless as 

Reghan felt. 

 

"Yes, he is," Bressal said before Castan could answer. "I've been 

endeavoring to break him in and prepare him for the life of servitude." 

 

"How, pray tell, have you done that?" Mannix asked gruffly. 

 

"A week in the stocks taught him how to bow, and a week of 

walking on his knees taught him to kneel. A week in the stables taught 

him humility, and a week in the dungeons reminded him of his new 

place in this court. And now, my dear Mannix, I would like to ask you to 

complete his lessons." 

 

Áine's eyes widened, Castan's frown deepened, and Mannix didn't 

look half as pleased as Bressal had clearly expected him to. Reghan took 

advantage of everybody's temporary shock to bow deeply. "I look forward 

to serving you, my lord." 

 

"Aren't you scared?" Áine whispered, and the rest of the hall might 

not have heard her, but Reghan did. 

 

Bressal laughed openly. "What's there to be afraid of? He's 

completely beaten." 

 

"But..." 

 

Mannix held up his hand, stopping his daughter's protest. She fell 

silent, but Reghan could see she wasn't happy about it. "Your trust in an 

honor to me, your majesty. I'm grateful for the gift you've bestowed and I 

promise I will train him to the best of my ability." He looked over to 

Reghan, his stare pointed, and Reghan realized that Mannix wasn't 

ignorant of Reghan's lineage either. "Go to my chambers and wait to 

attend me." 

 

Castan was staring at him. Reghan could feel it, like a thousand 

ants crawling over his bare skin. He wished he could offer Castan some 

reassurance. Perhaps Mannix or Áine would give him permission later to 

speak to the prince. No, no, Reghan's earlier plan to distance Castan 

from him was still a good one. For more than one reason. The fact that 

he hated it so much was a pretty good sign that it was for the best. If it 

wasn't painful, it wouldn't be necessary. 

 

Reghan turned smartly on his heel and marched out of the 

banquet like the great hall was his domain. He didn't stop walking until 

he reached the chambers used for the most honored guests. He let 

himself into the room, settled in the chair closest to the fireplace, and 

arranged his cape around him. He set his mouth in an austere line, and 

for the first time in a very, very long time, Reghan prepared himself to 

hold court. 

Chapter 8 

 

 

 

Castan rarely enjoyed the responsibilities and obligations that 

accompanied large banquets like this, but he usually managed to smile 

and speak politely, to laugh and joke at the appropriate times, to be 

suitably solemn if the conversation turned to politics or kingdom 

matters. But after watching Reghan walk away, he couldn't put up that 

sort of effort. He wasn't even interested in trying. He responded only 

when somebody spoke to him directly, and then he was surly and bit out 

only the most necessary words. Bressal noticed, of course, and sent him 

pointed looks throughout the night, expressing his disappointment and 

annoyance without ever changing the tenor of his voice. Castan didn't 

care if Bressal was displeased. 

 

His thoughts never left Reghan. 

 

He was certain everybody in the hall was thinking of Reghan. The 

servant who looked more like a king. The servant who couldn't have been 

more humble, more respectful, or better behaved. Bressal had expected 

everybody to be impressed with not only his gift, but his litany of abuse. 

He'd expected all in the hall to take great satisfaction out of seeing 

Reghan subjugated and humiliated. But the tension in the air was 

enough to tell Castan that Bressal had gravely miscalculated. Until 

recently, the fey had been Somerset's most hated enemy, and that 

included Reghan. So why had everybody in the hall--nobleman, knights, 

and servants--ignored Bressal in favor of gazing on Reghan? 

 

Castan knew why he did. Perhaps it was possible everybody had 

been stopped cold, flummoxed by the man's great beauty, his bearing. 

Áine had been afraid of him. Or maybe that wasn't quite right. Maybe she 

had been awed by him and his power. But why? 

 

Why had she watched Reghan like she knew him? Castan wanted 

to ask, but it didn't seem wise to do so. What if he didn't like the answer? 

 

The evening dragged, each hour marked by a new dish. Bressal 

had spared no expense, and hunting parties had been sent in all four 

directions with instructions to bring back the biggest, the best game they 

could find. It was more of a wedding feast than a welcoming feast, but 

Bressal couldn't be blamed for throwing a feast with such excess. If 

Somerset and the court had reason to celebrate, it was now. Now there 

was peace and soon the crown prince would be married to a beautiful 

lady who was already popular with her future subjects. Castan didn't 

begrudge the celebration. He just wished Reghan was seated on the other 

side of him. 

 

Castan spent most of his time thinking about Reghan. And he 

spent the rest of his time thinking about his fixation on the fey. In the 

past month, he'd spent every free moment he had with Reghan. He 

sought the fairy out and he told himself it was because there were so 

many things Reghan could teach him. It was best to know his enemy and 

even with Banbha dead, the fey were still his enemy. 

 

Reghan wasn't his enemy. 

 

Sometimes he and Reghan didn't even speak. Sometimes they sat 

in silence, Reghan alone with his thoughts, Castan with his. But just 

being in Reghan's presence brought a certain peace that Castan had 

never experienced before. His life was frenetic, his mind often chaotic, his 

feelings too big, too strong, too often at ends with the figure he was 

supposed to cut and the men he was supposed to be. But when he sat 

with Reghan, everything was calm. Possibly because nothing about 

Reghan was frenetic. 

 

It stung when Reghan implied he didn't mind the three months 

that stretched ahead of them. Castan wasn't sure why, but he felt it in 

his chest and in the back of his mind. As though Reghan had wanted to 

hurt him. Well, Castan didn't know what that meant or what Reghan was 

playing at, but he did know that he didn't intend to wait three full 

months before speaking to Reghan again. He was the crown prince and 

Reghan had sworn his fealty to him and he was not going to be deprived 

of this new pleasure before he even had the chance to understand what it 

was. Or why it was.  

 

His mind remained on Reghan, though he did occasionally glance 

down the table to study his future bride. Áine was more beautiful now 

than he remembered from their previous meetings. She had a very 

pleasing countenance and her laugh was light and easily prompted. He 

liked the shape of her eyes and her nose and even the way her lips 

curved. There was something sharply glorious about her. Some rare 

quality he couldn't quite begin to describe. She reminded him of 

somebody, though he couldn't quite say who. He could grudgingly admit 

that he didn't mind the thought of spending more time with her, though 

he still wasn't quite sure what he was supposed to do with her. 

 

Castan wasn't a complete innocent. He understood what men and 

women were supposed to do together, even if he'd never had the chance 

to experiment himself. The problem was that the whole concept was 

completely alien to him. He had an easier time understanding the brief 

glimpses he'd caught of Reghan's magic than he did women and love and 

romance. There had been servants over the years who'd made their 

interest known--and probably several more who had tried but simply 

weren't blunt or forward enough for him to notice. After he turned 

fourteen, there had been wives and daughters of noblemen, and Castan 

had always felt particularly uncomfortable with them. For a short time he 

wondered if he was expected to lie with them. If his avoidance, and even 

outright refusal, could be construed as some sort of slight or insult. He 

knew what the knights did with bar wenches and the groups of women 

that followed them to war. But what he didn't know was how all of that--

or any of that--applied to his betrothal to Áine.  

 

The thought of the wedding night in particular held such a number 

of terrors that Castan could barely stand to entertain it for more than a 

few seconds at a time. Hearing Reghan's explanation of love and desire 

had just further confused the issue. Was he supposed to feel that way for 

Áine? Did his feelings matter at all? He could already hear Bressal's 

response to that question. You are the crown prince and you will do your 

duty for the crown and for Somerset.

 

Perhaps if he spent enough time with Áine, those feelings would 

come. Castan wasn't sure how he was supposed to do his duty for 

anybody when looking at her inspired the same sort of feelings as looking 

at a particularly vivid sunset--interest and appreciation, but nothing 

more than that. It wasn't like looking at Reghan. 

 

The thought seemed to strike from nowhere, and Castan very 

nearly deprived Bressal of his heir by choking on a piece of chicken. He 

coughed, trying to discreetly clear his throat, but the chicken refused to 

budge and he was growing light-headed within seconds. He turned away 

from the table, doubled-over, struggling to force the chicken from his air 

passage. It seemed as though the harder he struggled, the more secure it 

became. This was not how he wanted to die. If he had to go down, he 

wanted it to be in battle. Not at a dinner he didn't want to attend with a 

throat full of partially chewed chicken and his head full of very confusing 

thoughts. 

 

Bressal slammed his fist down on Castan's back, finally forcing the 

food from where it had lodged itself. It flew out of Castan's mouth, and all 

he could do was weakly gasp for breath as the word blurred around him. 

 

"Castan! Castan, can you hear me?" 

 

"I can hear you," Castan wheezed. "I nearly choked. I'm not deaf." 

 

Then Áine was at his side, her fine features creased with concern, 

her blue eyes surprisingly dark. She was touching the side of his face 

and making comforting sounds and with her face so close to his, he 

could make out all the little details that he never took the time to notice 

before. Three thoughts followed in quick order. 

 

Áine looked like Reghan. 

 

Áine was half-fey. 

 

Áine only seemed beautiful to him now. 

 

"Are you quite well, my lord?" Áine asked. "Castan? Are you well?" 

 

"I..." 

 

"Would you like a drink? Perhaps some sweet wine?" 

 

"I...I just..." 

 

"Castan?" Now Bressal was leaning over and invading Castan's 

space. He felt trapped and surrounded. He wanted to run as far as he 

could. Run right out of the castle walls and into the welcoming night. He 

wanted to run until only Reghan would be able to find him, and that 

realization made him hot and cold all at once. This wasn't like getting hit 

in the gut. This was like getting brained with an axe. 

 

"I need some air," he finally managed. 

 

Servants rushed forward to help him out of his chair, but he waved 

them away. Áine straightened, her frown settling even deeper. Castan 

had the uncomfortable sense that she could read his mind. She could 

see all his thoughts about Reghan, and sense his surprise and fear and 

every other conflicting emotion Castan couldn't name. Perhaps the entire 

hall could. Perhaps they were all nodding their heads knowingly and 

commenting on how that fey had enchanted their brave prince.  

 

"Air," Castan said again. "Alone." 

 

He stood and made his stilted way across the room. He knew they 

were all watching him. He could feel their surprise and their questions. 

Bressal would have words with him later, no doubt. But that was later. 

That wasn't now. Now nothing mattered except finding a place to clear 

his head. His feet took him out to the courtyard and he half-expected to 

see Reghan there. No, he wanted to see Reghan there. Even though 

Reghan was currently the source of great confusion and not a little bit of 

fear. 

 

When Castan was ten, he had a pet dog that was just his. The dog 

had been his ever-present companion, following after him from his 

training to his lessons to the council room with Bressal to his chambers. 

He had been a good dog. Extremely loyal and dedicated, and he always 

knew when to lick Castan's hand to cheer him out of his darker moods. 

He had loved that dog more than just about anything in his life. He still 

missed him. The first time the dog had encountered a harmless snake, 

he had been completely confused. He kept darting forward, sniffing it, 

and jerking back. He barked and growled and whined. He looked to 

Castan for help. He circled it and lunged at it, but no matter how he 

tried, he didn't know what to make of it. Castan had laughed and 

laughed at the time.  

 

He didn't find it half so amusing now. In fact, he was beginning to 

realize that the dog was a kindred spirit. 

 

Ultimately, the dog had abandoned the snake, choosing to follow 

Castan rather than stay and investigate the mystery. Castan understood 

on some level he was facing the same choice. He could keep sniffing at 

this new development and try to figure out what it meant and why it was 

happening now. Or he could go where he belonged. No matter what he 

thought or felt, he would be marrying Áine. That had been settled since 

the moment of her birth. 

 

Castan paced around the courtyard, shoulders hunched and brow 

furrowed and chest aching. Reghan's face in the front of his mind, Áine's 

hovering on the periphery, waiting for him to shift his attention to her. 

When he tried, it was only to realize that as pleasing as he found her 

face, it was nothing compared to the wild beauty Reghan possessed. But 

those thoughts would make him sick in the heart and sick in the head. 

They needed to be abandoned, as his old dog had abandoned the snake. 

 

Maybe the three months Reghan spent in Mannix's service 

wouldn't be so bad? While Reghan served Mannix, Castan would focus 

his attention on Áine. It would be good for both of them to remember 

Reghan's true place in the castle and Castan's true responsibilities and 

obligations. 

* * * *  

 

When Áine entered the room and saw Reghan, she curtsied almost 

to the ground. Mannix bowed smartly and both of them allowed their 

faces to reflect their true feelings at the sight of him. Reghan was glad 

they'd shielded their thoughts from Bressal, because if he had seen the 

awe and reverence in their eyes, he would have surely had Reghan 

executed just out of spite. Reghan didn't have to be told that Bressal 

didn't want anybody but himself to be on the receiving end of awe and 

reverence. 

 

"My lord," Áine murmured. "Forgive me. I did not know you were 

here." 

 

"Of course you didn't. Please, both of you, have a seat." 

 

They jumped to obey him, Mannix pulling up two chairs so they 

could sit a respectful distance from the fey. Once they were settled, 

Mannix leaned forward and asked urgently, "Why are you in Somerset, 

my lord?" 

 

Reghan tilted his head. "Why are you referring to me as such? 

You're mortal, are you not?" 

 

"I am, sire. But when I married my wife, I took on all her oaths and 

vows." 

 

Reghan blinked. "You married Sibley?"  

 

"Of course. I love her. That's why certain rumors about me persist. 

I've stayed true to her and people assume that if I'm not interested in 

bedding women, then it must be boys." 

 

"All of her vows? Are you loyal to Banbha?" 

 

"I am, as always, loyal to Devonshire," Mannix said. "But Áine is 

loyal to the fairy court." 

 

Áine looked at Reghan hopefully, and Reghan suddenly wished 

he'd changed his face. He should have as soon as he realized who Áine 

was. He should have made himself look old and small and human. Like 

somebody who had been born into service and didn't know the first thing 

about ruling. But his pride had gotten in the way. He'd been obsessed 

with making Bressal look foolish, and he'd never realized the possible 

consequences of his actions. He supposed he deserved what was about to 

happen. 

 

"Why is Sibley not with you?" Reghan asked carefully. "Surely 

she'd wish to see her only daughter married." 

 

"Banbha called her," Mannix said, as though he couldn't believe 

he'd have to tell Reghan that.  

 

"Banbha is dead." He looked to Áine. "Did you not feel that?" 

 

"I...I felt something, my lord." 

 

"Don't call me that," Reghan said sharply, ripping the hat off his 

head. "That's not who I am here. Here, I am...just Reghan. I'm the 

prince's servant, and now I serve you. You must remember that." 

 

Mannix frowned. "How could Banbha be dead? I know that Bressal 

has of course announced his victory but...she is a goddess. She is more 

powerful than the most powerful fey. Surely Bressal is mistaken." 

 

Reghan shook his head slowly. "I saw her body. I was there when 

Castan killed her. Banbha was not the only one to die. Her entire army 

fell." 

 

They had identical questioning looks and he saw the moment 

understanding dawn. Mannix's mouth opened like he wanted to shout 

and Áine's face crumbled, her eyes filling with tears. Reghan looked 

away, giving them a chance to process the news more privately. He hated 

to be the one to reveal this news, but they must have known on some 

level. They surely spent the whole evening listening to Bressal brag about 

his son and his unstoppable knights, the finest in all the land. 

 

"Castan killed her?" Áine finally whispered. 

 

"He ordered her death." 

 

"I hate him," Áine said, not quite whispering anymore. 

 

"No," Reghan said quickly. "I know this hurts. I know...I know. 

Believe me. But Castan didn't start this war. That was Banbha's doing. 

He's not the culpable one here." 

 

"How can I marry him?" Áine turned shining eyes to her father. 

"Please don't make me marry the man who killed my mother." 

 

"You must marry him," Reghan said, keeping his voice even though 

his alarm was mounting. "If you refuse the betrothal now because he 

defeated the fey--and that's all Bressal will hear--then you will surely 

start a war." He looked over to Mannix. "You can't afford that, can you?" 

 

"Perhaps she is not dead." Mannix looked hopeful. "No mortal 

would cut her down." 

 

"Castan captured me and twelve others after Banbha fell. He 

offered each one of us the chance to yield and swear our fealty to him. 

Sibley was the first to refuse him. It wasn't Castan's fault that she could 

not swear allegiance to anybody but Banbha." 

 

Áine covered her face and her body began to shake. She slid off the 

chair, sinking to the floor in her grief. Her blonde hair fell around her 

face and shoulders, shielding her from view, but Reghan could still feel 

her sadness flowing through him. Every tear sent another sharp pang to 

his heart. Mannix joined his daughter on the floor, gathering her up in 

his arms and holding her as she continued to cry for her mother. 

 

"I'm sorry," Reghan said, though he knew they probably weren't 

listening to him. "I didn't know she had a husband and a daughter. I 

didn't know..." 

 

The fire was warm against his back, and he concentrated on that 

heat as Áine and Mannix cried. Sibley had been beautiful and proud and 

deadly, and she always led the charge against Banbha's mortal victims. 

How had she been married to a human? How had she allowed him to 

keep her daughter? Why had she not raised Áine in Banbha's court to be 

fully fey? Reghan couldn't begin to understand. He'd been willing to 

marry Vivienne, but he no longer hated mortals the way Banbha and her 

closest circle did. Had the queen known of Sibley's family? No, he would 

guess Sibley somehow managed to keep them a secret; otherwise, 

Banbha would have killed them just out of spite. 

 

Reghan waited several minutes before he bid them to rise and 

return to their seats. They did so immediately, and Reghan realized he 

would have to be very, very careful what he said to them in public. They 

would obey him without a second thought. He couldn't be seen ordering 

the great Lord Mannix around Somerset. 

 

"Listen to me very carefully. You must not behave any differently. 

You must continue to be loyal to Bressal. You must marry Castan." 

Reghan leaned forward and lowered his voice. "If Bressal suspects your 

first loyalty does not lie with him, he will have you executed." 

 

"Why didn't Castan kill you?" Mannix asked. 

 

"I told you. He demanded an oath. I was the only one who could 

give him one." 

 

"You did not swear an oath to Banbha?" Áine asked. 

 

"She was my mother. It was not necessary." 

 

"That means you are king of the fey now. How can you tolerate the 

way Bressal treats you? You can destroy him with a word," Mannix said. 

 

"Don't say things like that, either. Even if we are alone, don't say 

anything like that. I have sworn my life to Castan, his family, and his 

kingdom. I could no more kill Bressal than Sibley could have killed 

Banbha. It was necessary to do this." 

 

"This seems a far worse alternative to death," Mannix observed. 

 

"Making my child an orphan is a far worse alternative to anything," 

Reghan said. 

 

"You have a child?" 

 

"Yes. His name is Aldred and he's six. His mother died last winter 

and I would not allow myself to be killed in front of him." 

 

Mannix's eyes widened. "He was there?"  

 

"Yes. Banbha knew of my devotion to him and so she stole him 

from me. She enchanted him so any disobedience from me would 

immediately result in his death. And then she made me fight, though I 

have spent most of my life resisting her and her efforts to destroy the 

mortal realm. The enchantment broke with her death. I felt no loyalty to 

her and I was happy to serve Castan if it meant I could stay with Aldred." 

 

"Why do you call him Castan?" Mannix asked. 

 

"What do you mean?" 

 

"It's very familiar, is it not?" 

 

"Castan and I have...a complicated relationship. One that Bressal 

facilitated with his pettiness. I believe Castan would have been quite 

happy to treat me like a servant if Bressal hadn't been so intent on 

proving his point." 

 

"I don't desire you to serve me," Mannix said. 

 

"We don't have a choice in the matter." 

 

"I would like to meet Aldred," Áine said. 

 

"Of course, my lady. If it pleases you, I'll bring him to your 

chambers tomorrow." 

 

"Where is he now?" 

 

"He has been staying in Castan's quarters and Castan's old 

governess is seeing to Aldred's care." 

 

"That is quite...generous of the prince," Mannix said. 

 

"Yes. Castan is quite generous. He's a good man. Please don't hold 

him responsible for what happened. He was fighting a defensive war." 

 

"But...how did he do it?" Mannix asked. "How did he defeat them? 

He's so...young." 

 

That is perhaps not what Mannix meant to say, but Reghan 

understood. "I don't know. I didn't see it when he killed her. Perhaps she 

grossly underestimated him. She had no respect for any mortal. Or 

perhaps he was just lucky. Somebody was bound to be." 

 

"You hold no ill-feelings toward him?" Áine asked. 

 

"Of course not. He is a good man. He's going to be a good king one 

day. You should be proud to rule by his side."  

 

Áine shook her head. "You might be able to forgive him for killing 

your mother, but I cannot forgive him for killing mine." 

 

"He had no choice." 

 

"I understand that," Áine said softly, her fingers twisting in her 

dress. "But when I look at him...that's all I'll be able to see." 

 

"Does Castan know Áine is fey?" Mannix asked. 

 

"Of course not. And I have no intention of telling him. Unless you 

have some desire to explain to Bressal why his greatest friend was 

married to a fairy." Reghan stood. "I'll be happy to escort you to your 

chambers, my lady." 

 

Áine's face twisted for a moment, but then she nodded and stood. 

"Thank you, my...Reghan." 

 

Mannix jumped to his feet. "You're excused for the night, Reghan." 

 

"Thank you, my lord. Would you and the Lady Áine like to break 

your fast in your chambers tomorrow?" 

 

"Yes, thank you." 

 

Reghan smiled, nodded, and opened the door for Áine, the perfect 

picture of a well-trained servant. He could see that Áine and Mannix 

were both uncomfortable with that, but the discussion was over. They 

would go along with it because they had no choice. 

 

Áine was quiet as they walked through the corridor to her room. 

There were still tears on her cheeks, and her eyes were red. Reghan 

wished he could do something to help her. Despite his attempts to make 

her forgive Castan, he knew she wasn't going to listen to him. Regardless 

of how or why it happened, the result was the same. Áine was never 

going to see her mother again. Though Reghan had a hard time 

imagining Sibley being a proper mother. She was too much of a warrior. 

He wondered if she had been capable of loving Áine at all. Both Mannix 

and Áine were clearly devoted to her, but they must have seemed so very 

small to her. 

 

"Do you really believe Castan is a good man?" Áine asked, once 

they reached her door. 

 

"Yes. I do." 

 

"How can you know for sure?" 

 

"I...I believe I've seen his heart. He was built to fight, to lead men 

into war. But he's kind. He understands the importance of mercy. And 

one day, he'll be wise. He's still so young. He needs somebody like you, 

Áine." 

 

"Somebody like me?" 

 

"You're not as young as he is." 

 

"He is two years my senior." 

 

"As I said, he was raised to lead men into battle. He still has a 

great deal to learn about people, about life, about living and suffering 

and the wisdom that comes with that." 

 

"I don't know if I can help him," Áine said, looking away from 

Reghan. 

 

"Then perhaps you have a great deal to learn as well." 

 

"You really are loyal to him, aren't you? It's not just for Aldred's 

sake." 

 

"He was loyal to me." Reghan opened Áine's door and bowed. 

"Sleep well, my lady." 

 

"Thank you...Reghan." 

 

He waited until she shut herself in her room before turning away. 

A part of him wanted to go to Castan's chambers, but he knew Aldred 

would already be put to bed for the night. And it really wouldn't be 

appropriate for him to seek out Castan--even if he wanted to speak to 

Castan about what happened that night. He wanted to know Castan's 

reaction, and he wanted to explain to him that Bressal's plan had 

backfired once again. 

 

He went to the servant's quarters instead. He found an empty bed 

and he ignored the questioning stares he received. It was better than 

sleeping in the stables, though not as nice as sleeping in Castan's 

antechamber. Reghan didn't even bother to change out of his finery. He 

collapsed onto the cot and closed his eyes and it wasn't Castan's face he 

saw. It wasn't Áine's or Bressal's or Aldred's. It was Sibley's. 

 

She would have known Áine was betrothed to Castan. 

 

She would have known. 

 

She must have known. Why had she agreed to that? Why would 

she allow her only daughter to be betrothed to Bressal's son instead of 

taking her directly to the fairy court? Had she been a traitor? Had Sibley 

been the key to Banbha's defeat? The true scope of such treachery was 

almost too large for Reghan to fully comprehend. But then, it was no 

different from what Reghan was willing to do. What Reghan had already 

done. He didn't dare mention his suspicions without some sort of 

evidence. He would never undermine Castan's victory and 

accomplishment. But Reghan had always known that Castan must have 

had help. 

 

Reghan just hoped that Sibley's betrayal--if that was the ultimate 

explanation to this mystery--wasn't in vain. And if Áine couldn't look 

past her own anger and sadness at the loss of her mother, then the 

sacrifice she made would have been for naught. 

Chapter 9 

 

 

 

Áine had known Castan her entire life, but she couldn't say she 

understood him. She spent a number of months at court every year, sent 

there by her father to become acquainted with the royal house, the ways 

of Bressal's court, and the subjects she would one day be ruling. Castan 

had barely acknowledged her. At first, she had tried to befriend him. 

After her twelfth year, she tried to coax attention and affection from him. 

She could ride as well as any man, and her father had shown her how to 

use a sword. But when she tried to reach him through non-traditional 

means, he seemed even more confused and put off by her. By the time 

she was fifteen, she'd given up her attempts. Whatever affection she'd 

had for him had withered from his neglect, and now it was difficult to 

believe she was the same girl who used to follow him around like a 

heartsick puppy. 

 

Áine didn't feel anything now. Not for Castan, not for anybody. 

She'd spent the entire night crying over her mother, until there was 

nothing left inside of her. She cried out her pain at the loss, her anger, 

her frustration. She cried into her pillow until the material was damp, 

until her face was hot and her eyes hurt and her throat was raw. At some 

point, she realized that she wasn't just crying for her mother. In three 

months, she would be bound to her mother's killer for the rest of her life. 

But somehow, that wasn't even the worst of it. 

 

Reghan was the worst of it. 

 

Reghan vibrated with power. He glowed. When he first stepped into 

the great hall, it was all Áine could do not to turn away from him and 

shield her eyes. She'd thought her father had seen the same thing at 

first, but now she wasn't so sure. It was clear Bressal did not, or else he 

wouldn't be so keen to make Reghan angry. He was bound by his word to 

protect the kingdom, but Reghan was powerful. The most powerful being 

in either the fairy or the mortal realm. Surely he could retaliate without 

breaking his oath. His free will hadn't been stripped from him. 

 

She wanted to talk to Reghan when he brought her meal to her 

chambers, but he refused to engage with her. He treated her like he was 

any other servant, keeping his eyes lowered and his responses short and 

to the point. Then she realized that he truly meant to behave as though 

this was completely normal, as though they weren't caught in some 

bizarre pretense. If Reghan truly intended to serve Castan for the rest of 

Castan's life, Áine knew she would have to get used to Reghan's 

continued presence. She didn't think she could. 

 

After breakfast, she made her escape to the stables. She couldn't 

stay caught in the castle walls for the rest of the day. She didn't want to 

risk running into either Bressal or Castan or her father. She wasn't in 

the mood to speak to any of them. She wasn't in the mood to speak to 

anybody. Every time she uttered a word, it hurt her throat. It hurt her 

head. And the words she didn't dare utter hurt most of all. They were the 

ones locked in her throat, tearing at the tender flesh, choking her. Words 

she would speak of her mother. Words of accusation and anger. Words of 

mourning. They were like poison. It might have been better for her if she 

did speak them. If she shouted them from the top of the battlements and 

forced the royal house and the subjects and the whole kingdom to hear 

them. 

 

But she could never do that, so she went to the stables. Her horse, 

Blancheflor, had been a gift from Sibley on Áine's fifth birthday. Though 

the mare had now been in the mortal realm for fifteen years, she hadn't 

aged a single day. Like other creatures from the fey realm, she was 

immortal. She couldn't speak, and she didn't have any extraordinary 

abilities, but she'd always been Áine's closest friend. Áine wrapped her 

arms around Blancheflor's neck and buried her face against the thick 

coat. She thought she was done crying, but something about the heat of 

the mare's body drew the tears from her eyes. Soon, she was crying like 

she hadn't stopped at all. 

 

The horse stood patiently, allowing Áine to muffle her sobs against 

her neck. She hadn't known her mother particularly well. She didn't have 

memories accumulated over years and years. She had moments. She had 

days. She had brief images of a woman who seemed to wear the night 

like a cloak, letting the stars shine from her hair. Sibley didn't visit often, 

but when she did, Áine's world stopped, time stopped, and her mother 

was the only thing that mattered. She had treasured every second of 

every visit, and some part of her had believed that one day, when she 

was old enough, Sibley would take Áine with her. Mannix had missed 

Sibley with the same intensity. She knew he never touched another 

woman, even when Sibley's absence had stretched for years. 

 

"My lady?" 

 

Áine stiffened and turned slowly, prepared to send the servant 

away with a sharp word. But when she finally looked at him, she forgot 

to be annoyed with him. He was handsome, with dark hair and deeply 

tanned skin, but it was his eyes that stopped her breath. They were as 

dark as his hair, and they were full of concern. As though the sound of 

her tears had pierced his heart. 

 

"I'm sorry," Áine said. "I didn't mean to disturb you. I didn't know 

anybody else was here." 

 

"Are you hurt?" 

 

"No. No, I'm fine." 

 

"Are you sure, my lady?" He took a hesitant step forward and 

smiled gently. "With all due respect, you don't sound like you're fine." 

 

Áine straightened, her tears forgotten as they dried on her face. "I 

don't believe you have given me all due respect." 

 

The friendly smile faltered and he stepped back again. "I apologize. 

I did not mean to overstep my bounds." 

 

"No," Áine said quickly. "No, I'm sorry. That's not what I meant. 

You didn't overstep anything. What's your name?" 

 

"Bertram. I've been caring for your fine horse." 

 

"Blancheflor." 

 

"Blancheflor," Bertram repeated, smiling again. "May I?" 

 

Bertram took a brush from a nearby bucket and approached as 

though he was walking toward a skittish animal. But she got the sense 

that was just how he moved. He was careful--gentle. He began running 

the brush down Blanchflor's neck, as though he was trying to wash away 

the damp tear stains left on her fur. 

 

"She's a fine horse," Bertram said softly. "How old is she?" 

 

"Fifteen." 

 

Bertram blinked. "Are you sure, my lady?" 

 

"Can you keep a secret?" 

 

"Of course." 

 

"This is a very special horse. She's from the fey realm." 

 

"Oh," Bertram breathed. "I should have guessed. She's the finest 

horse in the stable. Finer even than the king's prized stallion. Perhaps I 

shouldn't say that, but I hope you can keep my secret, too." 

 

Áine felt herself smiling. "Don't worry. Your secret is quite safe with 

me." 

 

"May I ask what's distressed you this morning?" 

 

Áine studied his face, searching for any hints that she shouldn't 

trust him. But he was gazing at her with open concern, and she trusted 

Blancheflor's instincts. The mare seemed to like and trust the man 

brushing her coat. Áine felt comfortable doing the same. 

 

"I recently learned that my mother has died while on a trip. 

Blancheflor is the only friend I have here at Castle Somerset. I...I didn't 

have anywhere else to go." 

 

"Any friend of Blancheflor's is a friend of mine, my lady. I, too, lost 

my mother, so I know a bit of the pain you feel." He stepped closer, lifted 

his hand, and then hesitated. "I don't wish to take any liberties." 

 

She shook her head and assured him it was fine. Then one strong 

arm wrapped around her shoulder and gently pulled her toward his solid 

chest. He wasn't as soft as Blancheflor's fur, and he didn't smell as 

sweet. In fact, his skin was a bit sour from the various odors of the 

stables clung to his clothes. But his arms were secure around her, and 

when the tears started to fall again, he rubbed her back and whispered 

assuring words. 

* * * *  

 

Castan's first attempt to be more attentive was to invite Áine to join 

him for lunch. She arrived with her maidservant, Gwen, to act as a 

chaperone, and she seemed to be even more beautiful than Castan 

remembered. Her hair was braided away from her face, and her eyes 

were a little darker than before, her cheeks a little redder. But when she 

smiled at him, Castan thought it looked strained. Almost like she was in 

pain, though she didn't appear to have any injuries. 

 

"Good afternoon, my lady." Castan took her hand and bowed, 

trying to smile his most charming smile. Having never done anything like 

this before, he didn't know if it worked or if he just looked like he was 

grimacing. "I hope you are well." 

 

"I am, my lord, thank you. And thank you for inviting me to join 

you." 

 

"It's always my pleasure to share your company." Said in the right 

tone and with another smile. Castan felt this was all going rather well. 

"Please, have a seat." 

 

Gwen remained at the door, holding her hands behind her back, 

watching intently as Castan held the chair out for Áine and then gently 

slid it forward. He didn't know why she watched him like that. He had no 

intention of despoiling Áine. And even if he did, what difference did it 

make? He was the crown prince, he could despoil anybody he wanted to. 

Plus she was going to be his wife, so who would ever know the 

difference? Not that he had any real desire to despoil anybody. 

 

He was not going to let himself think about Reghan. Or the fact 

that he'd dreamed of Reghan all night. Looking at Áine didn't help with 

his resolve to push Reghan away from his thoughts. Now that he noticed 

the resemblance, he couldn't stop seeing it. Which meant despite all of 

his best attempts, Reghan was still front and center on his mind, still 

demanding his attention. He knew he needed to speak to her, but he 

found himself at a loss for what to say. 

 

"Has Reghan been satisfactory?" Castan finally asked. 

 

Áine's eyes widened and the flush on her cheeks deepened. "Yes. I 

thought he would be ignorant, but he has proven himself to be very 

capable and...compliant." 

What's that supposed to mean? Castan's temples began to throb. 

Thinking about Reghan was a bad idea. Talking about him was an even 

worse idea. Of course, if he were sharing this meal with Reghan, he 

wouldn't have been struggling to find something--anything--to talk 

about. Reghan was endlessly fascinating to him, so he had endless 

questions. Questions Reghan never seemed to mind answering.  

 

"That's good. My father will be pleased to hear it. And how are your 

chambers? I trust they are comfortable?" 

 

"They're the same ones I've stayed in every year of my life, my lord. 

I've never had any cause to complain." 

 

There might have been a hint of reproach in her voice. Of course, 

Castan had never asked about her comfort before. He had never really 

cared to and it wasn't his problem. If there was anything causing her 

discomfort, there were servants to deal with that. But the question about 

her chambers exhausted the short list of topics he had in mind when he 

invited her to join him. Castan was saved from trying to think of a 

completely new question by the arrival of their lunch. 

 

Castan always preferred a simple lunch. His daily request 

consisted of cold meat, a few hunks of cheese, and bread. It hadn't 

occurred to him to make any changes to his daily routine until his 

servant set the plate in front of Áine and she looked at with an 

unreadable expression. 

 

"I hope you find lunch satisfactory," Castan said quickly. "I 

normally don't have a heavy lunch because I spend the afternoon drilling 

my knights." 

 

"This is more than satisfactory, my lord. In fact, it looks quite 

delicious." 

 

"What are your plans for this afternoon?" 

 

"I still have a great deal of work to do on my tapestry." 

 

Castan grimaced, unable to think of a more boring pastime. "Why 

are you doing that?" 

 

"So it'll be finished in time for our wedding, my lord." 

 

"Oh." That tapestry. The one that would hang in their chambers 

once she moved in as his wife. "I look forward to seeing it." 

 

"Thank you." 

 

Castan took a long swallow from his goblet and wished it was 

something stronger than water. He would remember that for the next day 

and instruct the servants to bring a carafe of ale. Perhaps she would 

appreciate it as well. 

* * * *  

 

Áine rose with the sun and eagerly kicked the bedclothes away 

from her legs. She called for Gwen and dressed quickly, instructing her 

servant not to worry about fetching breakfast. She wasn't hungry. She 

couldn't even think about food. She'd spent the entire evening before 

thinking about Bertram and the entire night dreaming about him. Áine 

knew it was not wise to show so much interested in a mere stable boy. If 

Castan, or her father, or Bressal ever learned of these meetings, there 

could be serious consequences. But the lunch hour spent with Castan, 

and the afternoon spent in isolation, just increased her desire to see 

Bertram. Beautiful, kind Bertram. 

 

She left Gwen in her chambers and sneaked down to the stables. 

She tried to look like she wasn't sneaking anywhere. It wasn't as though 

she needed anybody's permission to go to the stables and spend time 

with her mare. She couldn't even be sure she would see Bertram again. 

Despite that, there was a certain lightness in her step. Even if she only 

had a few moments with him, it would be enough to help her get through 

the rest of the day. There was more warmth in a single glance from 

Bertram than Castan could muster in an afternoon of conversation. 

 

Áine didn't know what prompted Castan to pretend he was 

interested in her, or that he cared for her, but she hoped it wasn't an 

impulse he would experience a second day in a row. She couldn't even 

remember enjoying his company. It seemed like the girl who used to 

follow him around and wait patiently for a single word from him was a 

completely different person. Áine didn't even know that girl. She was glad 

she knew the truth, but a part of her knew that it would have been best 

for her if Reghan had never mentioned Sibley at all. 

 

She hadn't even seen Reghan since he escorted to her room the 

night of the banquet. She thought she caught a glimpse of him the day 

before, hurrying back to her father's chambers. Áine was just glad that 

she didn't have to tolerate Reghan serving her. It was different for 

Mannix. He might have been willing to swear an oath to Reghan as king 

of the fey, but he couldn't sense Reghan's magic. It wasn't pulsing 

around him, distracting him, forcing him to his knees. 

 

Blancheflor neighed at her in greeting as she ducked into the 

stable. It was cool and dim inside, since the sun wasn't shining directly 

on it, and Áine sighed with relief, feeling as though she was stepping into 

a new world. She glanced around, searching for any sign of Bertram, but 

found herself to be completely alone. Áine was only mildly disappointed 

by that. She longed to see Bertram again but she was quite content to 

keep her own company. 

 

This time, she didn't fling herself at the patient horse and cry like 

her heart was breaking. She stroked the mare's face, pressed her cheek 

to the soft fur on its nose, inhaled her familiar horsey smell. She wished 

Blancheflor could talk and tell her what to do. She doubted she could 

tolerate another week in Castan's company. How could she marry him? 

Even if the alternative to their wedding was war, Áine could almost 

believe it was worth it. Shame pierced her at the thought--what would 

her father say if he knew she was willing to risk the lives of his men just 

to avoid being married to the future king of Somerset? He would be 

disappointed in her, to say the least. 

 

"Are you sad again, my lady? If that's the case, I must ask who has 

made you so, for surely they've committed a grievous sin." 

 

Áine spun around, her breath catching in her throat as she saw 

his face. Somehow, he was more handsome than she even remembered, 

and he looked just as kind and tenderhearted as before. "I am not as sad 

today as I was yesterday." 

 

"I am quite pleased to hear that, my lady. But I believe you 

shouldn't be sad at all. I would prefer to see you smiling." 

 

"I have very little to smile over these days," Áine admitted. 

 

"Perhaps a ride would cheer you up?" Bertram suggested. 

 

"It might, but I left my maid in my chambers, and I couldn't go 

without her." 

 

"Ah. Of course. I was just going to brush Blancheflor down." 

 

"I'll help you." 

 

"That is very kind of you, my lady." 

 

"Nonsense. I'm happy to help. Especially since soon I will be 

unable to." 

 

"Why is that, my lady?" 

 

"Because in three months I will be married to the crown prince. I'm 

quite certain that princesses and queens are not allowed to groom their 

own horses." 

 

Bertram picked up another brush and moved to stand beside her. 

She focused on the mare's neck while he ran his brush over Blancheflor's 

haunches. They weren't touching, but she thought she could still feel the 

heat from his body. She should have been embarrassed by her behavior 

the day before, but she just found herself wishing for another reason for 

Bertram to hold her. 

 

"If you are the princess, or the queen, shouldn't you be able to do 

as you please?" Bertram asked. 

 

"I'm sure Prince Castan would prefer his wife to behave 

appropriately for a princess." 

 

"If he loves you, he'd want you to do what made you happy." 

 

The words pierced her chest. Prince Castan did not love her and 

she did not love him and it mattered not at all. Perhaps he would have no 

care at all for how she behaved as long as she provided him with an heir. 

She was of no use to him otherwise. 

 

"I do not believe my happiness is one of Castan's concerns." 

 

"That is a great shame. If you were my betrothed, I would have no 

greater purpose than to make you smile." 

 

"Bertram--" 

 

"I'm sorry. I spoke out of turn." 

 

"No, not at all. You may speak freely when it's just the two of us." 

 

"You're as kind as you are beautiful." 

 

Áine ducked under Blancheflor's head and moved to the other side 

of her body. She ducked her face so Bertram couldn't see her blush, but 

she was sure her pleasure at the compliment was evident in her voice. 

"Have you worked in the stables your entire life?" 

 

"No, my lady. I have only recently arrived in Somerset. I hope to 

prove myself worthy and become one of Prince Castan's knights." 

 

"Why? If you don't mind me asking." 

 

"Not at all, my lady. There was a raid in my village when I was a 

boy. Nearly everybody was lost, including my family. I was left an 

orphan, and so I vowed to avenge my home one day. But I knew I could 

not face the fey on my own. And so I traveled to Somerset." 

 

Áine froze. "The fey?" 

 

"Yes. It wasn't bandits who attacked my village. It was the folk." 

 

"Do you still wish to join Castan's knights now that Banbha has 

been killed?" And the fey king is Castan's captive and servant?  

 

"The folk were not the only threats against the kingdom. And now 

that I have met you I have even more reason to wish to join the knights 

of Somerset." 

 

She swallowed. "You do?" 

 

Bertram walked around the horse, his hand resting on the mare's 

rump. She saw true devotion in his eyes, and felt it in his smile. Áine had 

no idea what she'd done to prompt such a look from Bertram, but she 

felt light-headed and her stomach fluttered. She remembered feeling like 

this before, when she thought the sun rose only for Castan. 

 

"I cannot think of a greater calling than pledging my life to 

protecting yours," Bertram said, as though he was making some sort of 

vow. As though he was actually pledging his life to hers in that moment. 

 

"Thank you, Sir Knight." 

 

She thought Bertram would smile, but to her surprise, he blushed 

a deep scarlet. "I hope one day you will truly be able to say that." 

 

"Perhaps that will be the day I make you my champion." 

 

Bertram looked shy and pleased and happy and solemn all at once. 

In all her life, nobody had ever looked at Áine like that. It was close to 

what she'd once hoped to receive from Castan. If Bertram could be her 

champion, perhaps being bound to Castan would not be so bad. 

 

 

* * * *  

 

 

Castan's second attempt to woo his future bride happened three 

days after their awkward midday meal. He'd been tempted to give up 

entirely on his plan, not at all eager for another painful hour in Áine's 

presence. But after three days of meetings with the king's council and 

drilling the knights, Castan was exhausted and lonely. He missed 

Reghan. It was a physical ache in his chest, and he found himself 

walking past Mannix's room when he had no need to, hoping for just a 

sight of the fairy. 

 

When he couldn't take another second of it, he sent a message to 

Áine, asking if she would like to accompany him on a ride through the 

fields surrounding the castle. She accepted his invitation, and the party 

that set out consisted of her maid, his manservant, two knights, and a 

stable hand. If Castan was trying to get time and space to be alone with 

Áine, he would have been disappointed by the large party. He was still a 

little annoyed by the fact that he couldn't be alone with his future wife, 

but it was a vague, general sort of annoyance. Not the sharp pang of 

irritation he felt whenever he remembered he couldn't be alone with 

Reghan. 

 

Castan was determined to make this work. As they rode out of the 

south gate, he took the time to study Áine. He forced himself to find three 

things he truly enjoyed about her and then focused on those, waiting for 

something--anything--to happen. But the most he could muster was an 

appreciation for the shape of her eyes, which was of course, the same 

shape as Reghan's eyes. Though they weren't the same color. Reghan's 

eyes were a truly beautiful shade of blue. A shade that reminded Castan 

of the sky in the late afternoon--deep and dark with a hint of the evening 

to come. 

 

"You're an excellent horseman, my lady," Castan finally said, when 

the silence between them had stretched for what seemed like an eternity. 

He hated silence. 

 

"Thank you. My father began to teach me before I could walk." 

 

"I've never seen a steed like yours before. Where did you get it?" 

 

"It was a gift, my lord." 

 

"That is quite a generous gift." 

 

"Yes." 

 

Castan blinked, waiting for more, but Áine apparently had no 

intention of adding anything else to her response. She also refused to 

look at him. Her attention darted from the road ahead of them to the 

fields to her maid and even to the stable hand, but he never felt her 

looking at him. He began to wonder if that meant she didn't like him. She 

had liked him before. He remembered the way she always seemed to be 

underfoot. He'd mostly ignored her then because he didn't have any 

reason not to. She was a girl, and so she couldn't do anything truly fun. 

 

They rode at an easy pace. The sort of pace one took when there 

was no real purpose to the ride, no real destination or goal. Castan felt 

antsy, and he knew his horse was picking up on that. If Reghan were 

with him...but Reghan wasn't with him. He couldn't let his mind drift 

that way. He couldn't imagine the conversations he would rather be 

having. He couldn't think about the way Reghan always made him feel 

calm and comfortable. Áine made his skin itch. She made him unsure of 

himself. He could slay the fey's great warrior queen, but he couldn't 

speak to his future bride. 

 

The silence continued unabated, except for Castan's occasional 

efforts to start a conversation. No matter what he did, Áine would not 

meet him halfway with a response. And when she did respond with more 

than a simple yes or no, she never asked him a question or indicated she 

understood how proper conversations were conducted. If Castan hadn't 

known better, he would think she had no formal training or 

understanding of social etiquette at all. But of course, she'd been raised 

in the court, and probably knew more about the customs and mores 

than Castan himself did.  

 

Which meant he was probably doing something wrong. There had 

been no lessons on the proper way to charm a woman, future bride or 

not. And Castan had no practical practice whatsoever. He felt like a 

bumbling fool. The longer they rode together in awkward silence, the 

worse he felt. When Reghan spoke of love and desire, he had made it 

sound like it was overwhelming, like it was a wild, irresistible force. 

Whatever he felt for Áine wasn't close to that. And it was clear that 

Castan didn't overwhelm her. 

 

The afternoon ride wasn't Castan's last attempt to gain the 

attention of his betrothed. He brought her gifts that he thought she 

would like, but she never seemed interested in his tokens. She was never 

rude to him, but the harder he tried, the more she removed herself from 

their interactions. Conversations petered out to nothing and were never 

revived. Meals were taken in tense silence, and Castan found it tolerable 

only when he began to compare her face to Reghan's. He was more 

pleased by the differences than the similarities, finding Reghan's features 

superior to Áine's in every way. 

 

A month passed in this way. A month where Castan didn't see 

Reghan except once, in passing. Those few seconds when their paths 

intersected were relived again and again in Castan's memory, until he 

knew he was going to drive himself mad if he didn't force his mind 

elsewhere. That's when he pushed himself the hardest, finding any 

excuse for physical labor and working until his body wouldn't remain 

upright. Only then would sweet, dark oblivion extend, and he could 

manage sleep without spending hours twisting and turning in his bed, 

arguing with himself over whether or not to summon Reghan. He needed 

to put space between himself and Reghan. And he just couldn't do it. The 

space between them seemed to be shrinking as the space between he and 

Áine grew ever wider. 

Chapter 10

 

Reghan didn't perceive the passage of time the same way as 

mortals. For him, thirty days was no more of a bother than thirty 

seconds. But now he was beginning to learn that a month could pass as 

slowly as an eon, and the glimpses he caught of Castan around the 

castle did little to break up the monotony of his life. He insisted on 

performing all his duties as a servant simply because it kept him busy. If 

he was constantly running from one end of the castle to the next, he 

didn't have to stop himself from running after Castan. Mannix had 

graciously turned one of his room's over to Reghan for his use, and he'd 

moved Aldred there immediately. He'd hoped that would prompt Castan 

to visit or at least send a message, but there was no response at all. 

 

He stuck close to Mannix's side, which meant he rarely saw 

Castan. Normally, he would have spent a great deal of time with the 

prince, but he was busy wooing his lady. Both Mannix and Bressal 

laughed over his absences over lunch and in the afternoon, pleased that 

their children were so clearly besotted with each other. Or at least, that's 

what Mannix wanted Bressal to think. It was difficult to tell if Mannix 

bore any grudge against Castan over the death of his wife. Mostly, he just 

seemed very detached. As though very little that happened in Somerset 

mattered to him or could ever matter to him. Reghan understood. It was 

difficult to accept the death of a loved one, especially if that loved one 

was supposed to live forever. 

 

Reghan might have only seen Castan once or twice a day--and then 

he usually had Áine on his arm--but his thoughts constantly dwelled 

with the prince. Reghan couldn't say why except that he was lonely. 

Aldred's presence helped a great deal, but Aldred was only a child. 

Mannix and Áine were potential allies, but Mannix could barely follow a 

conversation most of the time and Áine, of course, was busy. He never 

thought he would miss the other fey, or the other realm, but he found he 

did. Or at least he missed knowing they were there. 

 

He missed Vivienne most of all. He missed talking to her. She'd 

always understood him. He'd never felt the burden of his centuries when 

he was with her. It was simplistic to say that she made him feel young 

because he never felt that way. Even when he had been young, he hadn't 

feel that way. But he felt understood. Even though there was no fey in 

her lineage and as far as he could tell she was a normal mortal in every 

way, she still understood him. There had never been anybody else like 

that in Reghan's life, and when he'd lost her, he was sure he'd lost 

everything. If he had been there instead of summoned to Banbha's side, 

he could have saved her. There was plenty of time for regret in the span 

of an almost immortal life, and Reghan felt like he had more than his fair 

share.  

 

Why did the sight of Castan always make Reghan mull over those 

regrets? It never failed. He would see green eyes and golden hair, and 

suddenly he felt the same sharp yearning that Reghan had quickly 

associated with thoughts of Vivienne. Over the course of the month, it 

became more and more apparent to Reghan that he couldn't continue 

this way, yet he would never be free of Castan. Not that he wanted to be 

free of Castan. It'd only been ten weeks since Banbha had fallen, but it 

felt like a hundred years. 

 

Reghan was musing on the strange paradox his life had become 

when he literally ran into Castan. The tray he was carrying to Mannix's 

room fell to the ground with a terrible crash, and Reghan went careening 

backward, his foot sliding over the slick soup that now coated the 

smooth stone beneath him. Reghan put his hand out without thought 

but before he had the chance to use magic, Castan grabbed his arm and 

kept him upright.  

 

"Thank you." 

 

Castan smiled crookedly. "You should watch where you're going." 

 

"I usually do. I guess I was distracted. Did I get any soup on you?" 

 

"No. Were you on your way to Mannix's chambers?" 

 

"Yes." 

 

"Has he been treating you well?" 

 

"He's been very kind. Castan." Reghan waited until Castan's gaze 

shifted back to him. "There's no need to worry. It seems that Bressal has 

miscalculated his friend as he has miscalculated everything else." 

 

"Good." 

 

Reghan knew he should clean up the mess and continue on his 

way, but he couldn't bring himself to step away from Castan. Not now 

that he was close enough to see the tired lines around Castan's eyes. 

"Were you calling on the Lady Áine?" 

 

"No, actually, I just escorted her back to her chambers. We spent 

the afternoon riding." 

 

"That sounds nice," Reghan said, for lack of anything else to say. 

 

"Yes." 

 

"So you and the Lady Áine are getting along?" 

 

"Yes, of course. She's a very beautiful and intelligent woman. She'll 

make a fine queen." 

 

"I've no doubt of that, sire," Reghan agreed quickly, though 

Castan's voice was flat and strangely hollow. He could have been talking 

about any woman in Somerset, including a woman he'd never met before. 

That was hardly the tone he'd expect from a man who was besotted with 

his betrothed. But it wasn't any of his business. Who the prince married 

and other state matters were not his concern. 

 

But Castan was his concern. He couldn't stop the wedding, but 

Castan needed friends right now. And Reghan was beginning to suspect 

Castan didn't have any.  

 

"You should get back to your duties. I'm sure Lord Mannix is 

hungry." 

 

"Yes, I'm sure he is. Castan, wait." 

 

"What?" 

 

"Mannix won't mind if I'm a little late," Reghan said, deliberately 

dropping the title before Mannix's name. 

 

"What about this mess?" 

 

Reghan half-smiled, waved his hand, and the tray immediately 

righted itself, as did the tureen of soup and the goblet of ale. "Good as 

new." 

 

"You're not supposed to do that here." 

 

"Are you going to tell the king?" 

 

Castan shook his head. "Are you sure that Mannix won't mind?" 

 

"I'll simply tell him that the crown prince needed my services for 

the afternoon. How could he argue with that?" 

 

The corners of Castan's eyes lifted, almost like he wanted to smile. 

Reghan would take what he could get. "I was surprised that you sent for 

Aldred." 

 

"I didn't want him to get underfoot." 

 

"He wasn't. I kind of miss him." 

 

Reghan arched his brow. "Really? Perhaps Aldred could serve as a 

squire? The steward has not yet assigned him a position." 

 

"I know, I told him not to." Castan began walking again, and 

Reghan eagerly fell into step beside him. It felt good to match Castan's 

long strides. He always walked with a sense of purpose, even if he was 

only going back to his own chambers. 

 

"My lord?" 

 

"He seems rather taken with Amelia. Has she been continuing his 

lessons?" 

 

"Yes. Mannix told me she has called on Aldred every morning. I 

was not aware that she was acting under your orders. I appreciate the 

concern you have for him." 

 

"I know you do." 

 

They finished the walk to Castan's chambers in companionable 

silence. Reghan noticed that Castan's mouth seemed more relaxed, and 

he didn't hold his shoulders as rigidly. Walking beside him felt right, like 

his place was at Castan's side, and anybody who took his place was 

nothing but a usurper. Considering that Castan was going be married 

within two months, Reghan supposed he needed to get over that feeling. 

His place wasn't at Castan's side. If anything, it was behind and slightly 

to the left of the prince. 

 

"I don't know what I'm going to do," Castan said, once they were in 

his chambers with the door closed and locked behind them. 

 

"About what, sire?" 

 

"Don't call me that here, Reghan. I don't...I don't want to hear that 

from you." 

 

Reghan inclined his head. "Very well. What's going on, Castan?" 

 

"I've been trying to do the right thing by Áine. I know that my 

parents were very happy together before my mother's death, and I'm sure 

Father meant for this to be a happy union." 

 

"You don't believe it will be?" 

 

Castan collapsed in the nearest chair and shook his head. He 

looked young and miserable again. He looked tired, but it wasn't a 

physical exhaustion. Whatever was depleting him came from inside. 

"Time stops when I am with her and not in a good way." 

 

"Haven't you spent time with her before? It was my understanding 

that she visited Somerset often." 

 

"Yes, of course she did. But I...I don't remember a great deal about 

her previous visits." 

 

"You don't remember speaking to her before?" 

 

"No, not really. I was often training or hunting or patrolling. 

Sometimes I was preparing for battle. Other times I was actually in the 

middle of a battle. Speaking to Áine was never truly a priority." 

 

"I see." Reghan settled in the chair beside him. 

 

"I keep thinking about what you said." 

 

"What was that?" 

 

"About desire. About how it hurts and how it distracts you and 

drives you crazy." 

 

Reghan smiled a little. "Maybe it's not that way for mortals." 

 

"No, I think it's exactly like that for mortals." 

 

"You said you never desired anybody before?" 

 

"I never have." 

 

"And you don't desire Lady Áine?" 

 

"No. I don't even desire to be in the same room with Lady Áine." 

 

"Then how do you know how mortals feel desire?" 

 

Castan looked up and pinned Reghan with his bold gaze. Reghan 

wished he'd never asked. He wished neither of them had mentioned 

desire. He wished he hadn't followed Castan to his chambers because 

that single decision undid all the good work of the past month. 

 

"I know," Castan said softly, purposefully, giving Reghan no 

recourse for response. 

 

"Oh. Castan--" 

 

"Why do I feel this way?" Castan asked, his voice harsh. "Why do I 

have these thoughts? Did you do something to me?" 

 

Reghan shook his head, and now Castan's eyes weren't quite so 

bold. He held Reghan's gaze for another beat and then looked down. His 

cheeks were flushed, but Reghan didn't know if that was from shame or 

rage. Perhaps it was a combination, as so often happened in matters 

such as these. 

 

"When I'm with her, I just want to be with you. She looks like you. 

Here." Castan gestured at his own eyes. "The coloring isn't right, but I 

stare at her just because she looks like you. She's one of those half-fey 

children you mentioned before, isn't she?" 

 

"Yes," Reghan said, because there was no point in lying to him. 

Plus, he welcomed any change in the conversation. "But rest assured she 

means you and Somerset no harm. I'm quite certain of that. I would 

never let her near you if I thought otherwise." 

 

"Mannix fell in love with a fey?" 

 

"Indeed. He married one named Sibley. She...Castan, none of this 

truly matters. Mannix is still loyal to the crown." 

 

"He hates the fey." 

 

"He hates what the fey have done to his lands and his people. He 

hates the cost of battle. But I believe he loved Sibley. He certainly loves 

his daughter." 

 

"That explains why she looks like you. I wish it wasn't so. It would 

be easier..." Castan closed his eyes and the red on his cheeks only 

deepened. "I'm not like this, Reghan."  

 

Reghan bit his lip. It seemed to him very likely that Castan was 

like that. He'd admitted himself that he had no interest in women, and 

even if Áine were a poor conversationalist, she had many other wonderful 

attributes to excite Castan's interest. Nearly any other man in the court 

would happily give up prized possessions and body parts to have a 

moment of her attention. But Reghan was certain that if he told Castan 

as much, Castan wouldn't understand. The situation could still be 

salvaged. Reghan was sure of it. Castan hadn't indicated any curiosity or 

interest in any other men, which meant that Reghan could nip this in the 

bud before it got out of hand. Castan was the champion of Somerset, a 

hero among the people, but he would be seriously undermined if 

anybody believed him to be...effeminate.  

 

"I believe the solution to your problem is simple," Reghan said 

slowly. "You must focus more of your energies--all of your energies--on 

the Lady Áine." 

 

Castan didn't look pleased with that suggestion. "I'm already doing 

the best I can." 

 

"Have you tried to kiss her?" 

 

"No." 

 

"It's perfectly acceptable to do so," Reghan said. "She has probably 

been waiting for you to try. You must...show your interest." 

 

"My interest," Castan repeated dully. 

 

"Yes. You may quite enjoy it if you kiss her." 

 

"Reghan--" 

 

"Castan, you must try. If not for your own sake, then for the sake 

of the kingdom. If you cannot even stand to kiss her, then you will not be 

able to provide an heir later." It was best to frame the argument in that 

way. Best to remove himself from the conversation completely. Castan 

needed to focus on his obligations rather than his desires, and Reghan 

needed to be very careful about how he spoke to Castan in the future. 

 

"Do you think she's who the fortune teller meant?" Castan asked. 

 

Reghan felt the heat of the lie from his throat to his stomach. But 

it was necessary to keep Castan on the proper path. "Yes." 

 

"Sometimes I'm sorry I killed Banbha." 

 

Reghan frowned. "Why would you ever be sorry about that?" 

 

"Because when she was alive and the fairy mounds weren't sealed, 

I had a purpose. Nobody expected me to be anything except a warrior. 

But now, I'm...a prince. And it feels like everybody expects something 

from me, and I don't know what it is." 

 

"It's this, Castan. For now, they expect you to secure the future of 

the kingdom, since you already secured the peace. When you ascend to 

the throne, everything will change again." 

 

"What if I can't do what they want me to do?" 

 

"You can. You can do anything you want to do. Nothing can stop 

you. Not even a goddess." 

 

"Do you know what Father told me last week? He said I'm not to 

ride out on any more patrols. If there are reports of bandits on the road 

or raids on the outlying villages, I'm to send out my knights and remain 

here." 

 

"I heard about that meeting. Mannix was quite...surprised, to say 

the least." 

 

"I feel like I'm going mad." 

 

"You're not. You won't." 

 

"Reghan, do you--" 

 

"Castan, don't. Don't ask it. Don't think it." Reghan swallowed 

hard, bracing himself for the inevitable response. Castan would rebuild 

the walls around himself that he destroyed for Reghan's sake, and 

Reghan would find himself on the outside of Castan's life once again. He 

hated that. It hurt. "That's the way it has to be." 

 

Reghan caught a glimpse of the man inside the prince before 

Castan's eyes hardened and his mouth set in a thin line. "You should 

return to your master now." 

 

"Castan--" 

 

"You're a good and loyal servant to Somerset, Reghan. I won't 

forget that." 

 

The words were civil, but it still felt like Castan had slapped him in 

the face. A good and loyal servant to Somerset. Not to Castan, though. 

And what did he care for Somerset? His true loyalty lied solely with 

Castan. He hoped Castan understood that.  

 

Reghan stood, bowed, and murmured, "Sire" before crossing to the 

door. He wondered if Castan would call him back. He wondered what he 

would do if Castan tried. He would have to be the strong one until 

Castan could provide his own strength. And he could do that. He'd done 

far harder in the course of his life, and he would probably live to see 

challenges that would put this small affair to shame. 

 

He secretly knew there would never be a challenge in his life like 

Castan. 

 

Reghan pulled the door open and slipped into the corridor. He 

walked too slowly down the hall until he reached the tray, waiting for 

him exactly where he left it. A mumbled word, and the soup was fresh 

and hot once again. He wished he could use that magic to solve all his 

problems. He supposed he could. It was technically possible to use the 

magic on Castan and change all his thoughts and desires, but that was a 

violation Reghan would not commit. 

 

Castan would be fine. The road he was on wouldn't be an easy one. 

But Reghan never promised Castan he'd make his life easy. Of course, 

he'd never counted on this. He'd never thought he would be obsessed 

with a prince who wasn't quite a man and certainly not a boy. He'd never 

thought he would long for another mortal. He'd never thought he would 

tell anybody as beautiful as Castan that he wasn't interested. But then, 

he never actually said that. He hadn't let Castan back him into saying 

anything like that. Because the one thing he couldn't do was lie quite so 

baldly. Not to Castan's face.  

 

He just hoped that Castan didn't press the issue. He didn't think 

the prince would. He had too much pride to risk it. The memory of 

Reghan's rejection would sting him for a long time. Hopefully, when that 

sting finally faded away, Castan would be more comfortable with his 

duties. He would be more forgiving of Reghan's duties. One day he hoped 

to serve Castan as his advisor, and he hoped to serve the king well, but 

he couldn't do that if he was weak now. 

 

 

* * * *  

 

 

Castan thought he might throw up. He hadn't eaten anything that 

morning, so he wasn't sure why his stomach was churning quite so 

dramatically, but it felt like it was trying to push its way up through his 

chest and out of his mouth. The last time Castan had thrown up, he was 

eight. He was learning how to use the quarterstaff and got hit directly in 

the stomach. The knight who'd delivered the blow, Bersules, immediately 

dropped down to Castan's level and asked him if he was all right. Castan 

remembered opening his mouth to inform Bersules that he was perfectly 

fine, and then the contents of his stomach suddenly sprayed everywhere. 

 

Reliving that memory didn't help the pain in his abdomen. Neither 

did looking Áine, who was riding with her spine straight and her 

attention locked straight ahead. Castan had tried three times since they 

left the stables to draw Áine into conversation, but she was more 

withdrawn than usual. She answered him politely, but with the fewest 

words possible. The sun was shining and the air was heavy with summer 

heat, but Castan felt a chill between them. It made the hair on the back 

of his neck stand on end. A distinctly unpleasant sensation when paired 

with the relentless agitation in his midsection. 

Castan, don't ask. Don't ask it. Don't think it.

 

Reghan's words never left his head. He fell into a fitful sleep the 

night before with the words on the front of his mind. He woke up that 

morning with the same three, short sentences. He'd dreamed them all 

night. He heard the words with each beat of his heart. They might have 

been the source of his illness. Castan wasn't sure. He would absolutely 

love to blame this all on Reghan, but that didn't seem entirely fair. He 

was sure all of his problems didn't start and end with Reghan. 

 

On the other hand, he was pretty sure they did. Hadn't he been 

happy before he met Reghan? Hadn't he been resigned to his life, even if 

he wasn't particularly looking forward to his marriage? As the years had 

gone by with his betrothal hanging over his head like a sword, Castan 

had always been certain that he would be able to do what he needed to 

do, when he needed to do it. Now he was preparing to kiss Áine's sweet 

mouth and he would rather take that blow from the quarterstaff directly 

to his gut. 

 

Castan had a mind for strategy, and this day was no exception. If 

he was going to do this, he wanted to do it right. He thought they should 

be away from the castle, and he knew the perfect clearing just an hour's 

ride east. It was small and quiet, and while Castan didn't normally have 

an eye for beauty, he was sure this spot was perfect for what he had 

planned. He hoped being far away from the distractions of the castle 

would put Áine at ease. 

 

When they finally did reach the clearing, Castan's stomach twisted 

more painfully than before. It must have been nerves, but it was nerves 

unlike anything Castan had experienced before. Even when he led his 

knights into that last battle, knowing Banbha was waiting for him, 

knowing he was going to die, he hadn't felt like this. His own death was 

easier to face, and he could not understand why. It had to be Reghan's 

fault. It had to be. 

 

Áine barely looked at the peaceful spot. She seemed intent on 

riding through it and into the dark trees on the other side. How long 

would she ride if Castan didn't stop her? Would she try to go all the way 

back to her home that wasn't really her home at all anymore? Would she 

try to go farther? 

 

"Let's take a rest here," Castan said, surprised that his voice 

sounded so normal. If he found a reflection of himself in a still pond, he 

was certain it would look calm--he would look normal. 

 

"Yes, my lord." 

 

It didn't matter what Castan suggested, Áine always responded the 

same way. Yes, my lord she would say, and then she would quietly do his 

bidding. Her obedience should have pleased him. It would please any 

man to know that his betrothed was docile and prepared to do whatever 

she was told. But the listless way she responded to him did nothing to 

warm his heart or sooth his stomach.  

 

He dismounted first and then held her down from her mare. The 

white horse was as docile as Áine. It wasn't even necessary to hobble her 

in place. She would not leave her mistress's side. Castan appreciated 

that sort of loyalty. Sometimes, he felt like he had more fondness for 

Blancheflor than he did for Áine. 

 

"This has always been a favorite spot of mine," Castan said as he 

untied the blanket from the back of his saddle. He unrolled it beneath a 

tall tree and took Áine's hand while she quietly settled on the soft 

material. Gwen and the knights had stopped a respectable distance 

away, giving the two of them privacy. Did they ever notice the lack of 

intimacy between the prince and his lady? Did they ever comment on it 

between themselves? Were they already the subjects of castle gossip? 

Castan wouldn't doubt it, but he hadn't heard so much as a whisper. 

 

"It's very beautiful," Áine agreed dutifully. 

 

"As are you, my lady," Castan said in a rush. 

 

She returned his compliment with a small, gracious smile. He 

thought Reghan would appreciate this place. He imagined Reghan seated 

peacefully on the blanket, absorbing the scents and sounds of the world 

around him. He imagined Reghan's sweet, patient smile as he calmly 

explained that the trees were whispering to him. Castan didn't know if 

the trees actually whispered to Reghan, but he wouldn't have been 

surprised. How could he be after Reghan revealed the stars were horrible 

gossips? 

 

"Have you enjoyed your stay in Somerset, my lady? If you want for 

anything, please tell me, and I will see that you receive it." 

 

"Everything has been lovely, my lord. Everybody has been very 

kind to me, following the model that you have set yourself." 

 

"I only wish for your happiness." The words were stilted, but Áine 

still smiled at him. Of course she did. She rarely had any other response 

handy. It was so much easier to talk to Reghan. Even when he was 

revealing how weak he felt, it was easier to speak to Reghan. Castan 

wished he could kill something to demonstrate his devotion to Somerset. 

But he already had killed something, and apparently that was not 

enough.  

 

The long silences between them were never comfortable. Castan 

always wanted to fidget, and this time, he plucked a flower from the 

ground and rubbed it between his thumb and forefinger, the petals 

catching the light as they twirled back and forth. 

 

"Áine, you're very beautiful." 

 

"Thank you." 

 

"Any man would be quite pleased to have you as a wife." 

 

"You're too kind, my lord." 

 

"Including myself," Castan said with a bit too much force. 

 

"I would not question that, my lord." 

 

"Áine, what I'm trying to say is..." He leaned closer and reached up 

to touch her cheek. He wore gloves, so he couldn't feel the texture of her 

skin, but the contact was still shockingly intimate. She froze like a baby 

deer, holding perfectly still, eyeing him warily. He wanted to tell her that 

looking at him like he was some sort of predator didn't help the situation. 

He wasn't a predator, he was her prince, her betrothed, and one day he 

would be her king. She was supposed to trust him. She was supposed to 

want him to touch her this way. 

 

Castan didn't hear anything except the pounding of his own heart 

as he closed the distance between them and pressed his lips to hers. 

Once they touched, Castan realized he didn't know what to do next. He 

thought there would be some sort of instinct, some natural prompt that 

would guide him through the entire gesture. But he felt nothing as he 

finally kissed her--no surge of desire or pleasure, no satisfaction, no hint 

of what he was supposed to do next. And Áine was as still as ever, as 

though the touch of his lips had turned her into a marble statue. 

 

The kiss was short-lived. He tentatively touched the tip of his 

tongue to her mouth, and that was when she responded. Áine yanked 

away from him like he disgusted her, and the flash in her eyes might 

have been rage. It was difficult to tell because she composed herself so 

quickly. Castan did not think she would appreciate a second attempt, 

and that was fine, because he didn't want to make one. 

 

"My lord--" 

 

"I'm sorry. I thought you would like it." 

 

"It's not that," Áine said quickly, but she was leaning away from 

him, like she was frightened he really would try again. "But I...vowed to 

remain perfectly chaste until my wedding night. My mother asked it of 

me." 

 

"Oh. My apologies." 

 

"No, please, that is not necessary, my lord. And I hope I didn't 

cause you any offense." 

 

"It is I who should be worried about causing offense," Castan 

assured her. "Would you like to return to the castle now?" 

 

"If you don't mind, sire." 

 

Castan stood and went through his previous actions in reverse, 

helping Áine to her feet, rolling the blanket up and securing it to the 

back of his saddle, helping her onto Blancheflor. The ride back was 

worse, though. The tension was thicker, and the pain in his stomach had 

migrated until it settled in his head. He felt it in his throat and his 

temples and his ears. He felt it behind his eyes. He wanted to escape to a 

silent, dark room and think of Reghan until he didn't feel quite so awful. 

A good plan, except thinking of Reghan almost always made him feel 

worse. 

 

They parted ways once they returned to the stables, as they always 

did, though this time it was without a farewell. Castan saw to his own 

horse, making sure it had a good rubdown, checking its hooves, joking 

half-heartedly with the stable hands who watched from the corners. It 

always made them anxious when Castan insisted on seeing to his own 

horse, as though they suspected it could only lead to their eventual 

dismissals. Castan was always pleased with their work, but if he couldn't 

get it right with Áine, and he couldn't be with Reghan, and he didn't want 

to be alone, he simply didn't have any other option. 

 

Castan spent a good hour with his horse before he peeled his 

gloves off. He nearly reached the door before whispered voices caught his 

attention. He couldn't make out what was being said, or who was 

speaking, but he recognized intensity behind the voices. Curious, he 

ducked around the corner, expecting to see one of the stable boys and a 

servant girl in the sort of passionate embrace he was beginning to 

suspect he would never participate in. 

 

He did see a passionate embrace, and it did involve one of the 

stable hands, but the woman he held was no servant. Neither one of 

them noticed him, but only because they were kissing each other with 

real hunger. Áine clung to the man's broad shoulders, like a drowning 

woman might cling to her savior. He had one hand buried in her long, 

white hair, and the other arm wrapped around her waist. They were 

pressed so closely together that nothing could come between them. Not 

even a speck of light. 

 

Castan stared for a long time. He thought they would notice him, 

but they were too wrapped up in each other. He was angry, but he felt 

the rage in a distant, cold way. A new weight settled in his stomach, 

holding him in place as they moaned into each other's mouth. Áine had 

been so cold with him that he thought she must have been made of ice, 

but now he realized she had fire inside of her. It was him. She had no fire 

for him. No matter how he tried, she couldn't even pretend to be 

interested in kissing him. She had no affection left for him.  

 

Castan backed behind the corner, realizing that he didn't want 

them to notice him. If they did, he would be forced to challenge the boy 

in a battle to the death, or he would be forced to throw Áine from the 

castle, utterly disgraced and ruined. Simply because she didn't love 

Castan. Perhaps he would have sought his revenge if he loved her, but he 

didn't. He didn't even like her. Castan knew one thing for certain--he 

wasn't going to waste another second with her. He didn't even plan to 

speak to her until the day of their wedding. Then he would lie with her 

until she was with child, and that would be the end of their relationship. 

 

A certain weight fell from Castan's shoulders as soon as he made 

his decision. The sick feeling left him, and his headache improved. 

Reghan would probably present an obstacle. He would argue that Castan 

needed to try harder with Áine, or drive the stable boy from Somerset, or 

some other quick, unambiguous act of violence. He would argue that it 

was Castan's duty as prince and future king. He would very likely have 

many strong arguments and speak very eloquently and try to sway 

Castan from the path he'd chosen. But it wouldn't work. It was time for 

Castan to make his own decisions, in his own way. 

Chapter 11

 

Áine's lips were swollen, her cheeks were flushed, and a single 

piece of straw clung to the back of her hair. She rushed down the 

corridor, not quite running, but not quite walking, either. She shot the 

occasional glance over her shoulder, like she thought somebody must be 

following her. She looked like a guilty woman. Maybe one that hadn't 

been caught yet, but would be caught soon. Reghan watched her duck 

into her room and heard the unmistakable snap of the lock bar falling 

into place. He considered knocking on her door, knowing that she would 

feel compelled to admit him into her chambers. But it wasn't necessary 

to speak to her. He had eyes. He could see what she spent the afternoon 

doing. 

 

With Castan. 

 

It was nothing more than what Reghan had ordered Castan to do, 

but it still made Reghan's head feel curiously heavy. He felt angry, too. 

He didn't want to think of the pleasures she discovered in Castan's arms, 

but once the image wormed its way into his brain, he couldn't ignore it. 

There was no benefit in Castan being perfectly chaste, but now that he 

was no longer the ignorant innocent, Reghan couldn't shake the sense 

that something had been lost. An opportunity. Castan had so much to 

learn--why couldn't Reghan be his teacher? 

 

A pointless question. Reghan knew the answer. The many, many 

answers. Reghan could be a guide for Castan and an advisor. He could 

help Castan make Somerset a great kingdom. But he couldn't teach 

Castan every lesson he would ever need to learn. 

 

"Reghan!" 

 

Reghan barely had the chance to step out of the way, but Castan's 

squire, Allan, still almost managed to plow right into him. Reghan 

grabbed the boy's shoulders and held him straight as he gasped for 

breath. "What is it?" 

 

"Prince Castan..." 

 

"What about Castan? Is something wrong with him?" 

 

"He demands your presence. Immediately. He's in his chambers."  

 

"Is that all he said?" 

 

Allan nodded. "You can let go of me now." 

 

"Right. Of course." Reghan released him and hurried down the 

corridor. He wished Castan had another friend he could brag to. It wasn't 

that Reghan didn't want to be there for Castan, but he needed a bit more 

time to prepare himself for what he was about to hear. For one thing, he 

needed to figure out exactly why he thought he should be the one to take 

Castan's virginity. And that was exactly what he wanted. Once he worked 

out that conundrum, he could begin preparing himself to hear all about 

the person who did.  

 

Reghan nearly barged through Castan's door, but he forced himself 

to stop and knock. Boundaries. It was important to remember that they 

had boundaries. Boundaries that had to be respected now. Why had he 

ever pushed Castan into Áine's arms? Reghan forced himself to smile 

because he didn't want Castan to think him upset or unhappy or jealous. 

Had Castan enjoyed it? Was he going to be smiling and chipper? It was 

difficult to imagine Castan chipper. Reghan reminded himself that he'd 

been through much worse in his life and knocked lightly on the door.  

 

Castan must have been waiting for him because the door flew 

open. A large hand closed around his upper arm and then Reghan was 

being pulled forward. He barely had the chance to register the door 

slamming shut behind him before Castan was pressing him against the 

solid oak. Castan had never once tried to overpower him, and though 

Reghan understood the other man was strong, this was the first time he 

truly felt it. Castan's hands seemed to be large enough to snap a mere 

mortal into two, and Reghan was close enough to see the way his 

muscles flexed beneath his shirt and the darker flecks of gold in his eyes.  

 

"Castan?" 

 

Castan's mouth pressed to his was not the response he was 

expecting, but at the same time, he hadn't truly expected anything else. 

Reghan closed his eyes and parted his lips, knowing he should push 

Castan away, but so curious. Curious about the texture and heat of his 

mouth. Curious about what Castan would give him and what Castan 

would let him take. Curious about what Castan had learned and what 

was still left to teach him.  

 

The kiss was clumsy and hard with a hint of defiance. Reghan 

braced himself with his hands against Castan's chest, but he didn't try to 

push Castan away. He had no intention of that. He let Castan plunder 

his mouth, his blood singing as Castan's tongue slid against his. He 

didn't taste Áine in Castan's mouth. He didn't taste anything except 

Castan, and it was more wonderful than Reghan could have imagined. 

 

After several long seconds, Reghan began to take more control of 

the caress. He did so gradually, slowing the kiss by increments until it 

was something sweeter. Castan moaned softly, his fingers tightening on 

Reghan's arm as he braced himself against the wall with his other hand. 

Reghan was trapped, and he couldn't do anything about that except 

clench his fists, twisting the material of Castan's shirt between his 

fingers. He licked at the curves of Castan's cheeks, teased his tongue, let 

his teeth catch for a moment against Castan's bottom lip. He felt 

something nudge against his thigh, and his cock stiffened completely. 

 

This was not what Reghan had intended. He told himself that 

again and again. They broke apart for air, but Reghan barely had a 

chance to gasp before their mouths crashed together again. When was 

this desire born? Where had it come from? Did it begin when he saw 

Castan fighting so valiantly on the battlefield? Or did it develop later 

when he had the chance to see the true nature of Castan's heart? Or had 

it always existed? Had Castan been made for him to find? They fit 

together so well that Reghan could believe it, could believe that they had 

both been born for this moment and these long, desperate kisses. 

 

Reghan's hands slid away from Castan's chest, one traveling over 

the smooth skin on his throat to the back of his neck. The other went 

down to where his shirt met the waistband of his pants, and he pulled at 

the linen until it was free and Reghan could let his palm dance over the 

newly revealed strip of skin. Castan jerked at that contact, hissing softly 

against Reghan's mouth before he deepened the kiss again. 

 

This wasn't the first time Reghan had tasted the sweet heat of a 

mortal's mouth, or felt the gentle urgency of a mortal's passion. But it 

might as well have been. Reghan was intoxicated with it. He was 

intoxicated with the smell of Castan's skin and how Castan yielded to 

him and resisted him and claimed him with the same small gesture of 

his lips. All of the desire and affection--not to mention the true moments 

of love he had felt for Castan--merged together into something hard and 

pulsing deep in his abdomen. 

 

"I tried," Castan said against his mouth. "I tried. I did what you 

told me to do." 

 

"I know." 

 

"But it didn't work." 

 

"It didn't?" 

 

"She wouldn't let me do this." Castan's kiss was hard and short. 

"Or this." He moved his mouth to Reghan's throat, and his lips were 

damp and his tongue was hot and Reghan thought his legs were going to 

melt. "Couldn't even touch her." 

 

"But I saw her..." 

 

"She has somebody else." 

 

Reghan forgot all about melting. He stiffened and slightly pulled 

away from Castan's mouth. "What?" 

 

"I don't care. She can lie down with every stable hand if she 

wants." 

 

"But Castan..." 

 

Castan caught Reghan's chin with his thumb and forefinger. Once 

again, Reghan was reminded that this man was strong. And his eyes 

were like twin green flames when he looked up. "I don't care. I don't want 

her."  

 

"So you're still...you're..." 

 

"A virgin?" Castan supplied, his mouth slanting. "Did you think I 

wouldn't be? You just told me to kiss her." 

 

"You're mine," Reghan said, and there wasn't anything else left to 

say. Reghan felt the truth of that has deeply as he felt any truth. It didn't 

matter what Castan thought of that declaration or how he felt about 

Reghan, it was just a simple fact. Castan, the warrior prince, the slayer 

of Banbha, belonged to him. Nobody else had any claim over him, and 

Reghan would kill anybody who argued otherwise.  

 

"Yes," Castan said, as though Reghan was stating the plainly 

obvious. 

 

Reghan held the back of Castan's head and took his mouth in a 

hard kiss. The certainty of his claim over Castan only increased as 

Castan moaned in encouragement, and nothing was going to stop 

Reghan from claiming every inch of Castan in the same way. Without 

breaking the kiss, he transported them across the wide room, putting 

them at the foot of Castan's bed within a second. Castan didn't seem to 

notice. Or if he noticed his sudden transference from the door to the bed, 

he didn't care. There were more important things demanding his 

attention. 

 

Hunger gnawed at Reghan. It gnawed at his bones and his heart. It 

tore into his body with sharp teeth, and Reghan knew that Castan was 

the only thing that would sate it. His need to possess Castan was nearly 

animalistic--or maybe it was completely animalistic. He had no point for 

comparison, because he'd never wanted anybody the way he wanted 

Castan. Vivienne had been the center of his world for years, but even in 

the beginning when everything was fresh and new and she was beautiful 

in her desire, it hadn't been like this. 

 

The fey weren't known for their stormy passion. Even their anger 

had a reserved quality to it, almost as if they were truly above such 

emotions but couldn't quite resist the temptation to indulge. Banbha had 

been an exception to that. All of her emotions ran deep, fed by a molten 

core of seething love and rage and obsession. Reghan had spent most of 

his existence denying that the same sort of fire existed within him, 

struggling to emulate the other fey, or even the more even-headed 

mortals. But with Castan, he felt that control slipping. 

 

He felt Castan's control slipping, too. 

 

They tore at each other's clothes, struggling with the layers and the 

laces. Castan was wearing his riding breeches, and the leather was soft 

and supple but stretched tight over his thick thighs. They felt like a 

second skin, and it was much easier to remove Reghan's pants first. The 

tip of his cock dragged across the leather, and Reghan shifted, grinding 

himself against Castan's leg. Castan bent his knee slightly so his thigh 

pressed harder into Reghan's crotch. No matter what Reghan did, Castan 

responded, keeping up with him like he had no intention of losing an 

inch of ground to Reghan. 

 

Reghan couldn't wait to bury himself in Castan's virgin ass. 

 

When the breeches became too much for Reghan to tolerate for 

another second, he used magic to dispose of them. Each time he used his 

magic, the air sharpened around him, and there was a high, bittersweet 

smell. It was so familiar and had been so absent from Reghan's life that 

he longed for more. He wanted it to be as thick as a fog in Castan's room. 

He wanted to inhale that magic and taste it and roll around in it. Later. 

He would show Castan everything he was capable of, all the wonders and 

mysteries of the mortal realm. In the meantime, the scent of his skin and 

the taste of his mouth and sweat and arousal would be more than 

enough for Reghan. 

 

Once he got Castan undressed, Reghan had to take a step back, 

though it cost him a great deal to break the physical contact. But he 

wanted to see Castan's body. He wanted to know the scars and the 

dimples and the birthmarks. He wanted to know the landscape of his 

body the way he knew the landscape of Castan's land. Fingers moved 

over raised skin, and his mouth followed the curve of his collarbone. 

Castan was the closest thing to physical perfection that Reghan would 

ever hope to see, and yet he had flaws. The years of war had not been 

kind to his flesh, and there were countless stories carved into his skin by 

sharp blades and blunt rocks. Reghan could read each one as though he 

had witnessed them all. 

 

"Reghan...your eyes. They're black." 

 

Reghan blinked and forced his concentration back to the moment 

instead of all the years before. "Does it bother you?" 

 

"It...surprised me." 

 

"Just surprise?" Reghan asked as he dragged his tongue over a 

jagged wound on Castan's right shoulder. He knew where that wound 

came from, knew exactly who had sliced into Castan's skin. Knew that 

fairy was dead and knew he might have killed the culprit himself if she 

still lived. 

 

"It was...oh...disconcerting." 

 

Reghan had already lost interest in the conversation. He wanted to 

tell Castan he need never fear him, but Castan already knew that. He 

was more interested in the texture of the scar, and he ran his tongue 

over it again and again and again until Castan fisted his hair. His large 

fingers tangled in Reghan's hair, pulling it until Reghan felt the sting 

from the top of his scalp to his neck. Reghan palmed Castan's erection, 

running the heel of his hand over the top before wrapping his fingers 

around the shaft and dragging his hand back down the length. 

 

Castan gasped, his fingers suddenly going lax, and Reghan surged 

against his body to claim his mouth again. Lips twisted in a harsh kiss, 

but Reghan kept each stroke slow and sweet. Castan made the sweetest 

sounds in the back of his throat, and he kept shuffling his feet and 

swaying, like he wanted to be closer to Reghan. Reghan's other arm 

sneaked around Castan's waist to steady him. His cock was slick, 

growing slicker by the second. The clear liquid covered Reghan's hand 

and made it easier for him to stroke faster, increase the friction and the 

speed until the sweet sounds turned into small, pleading mews. 

 

"I'm going to take you," Reghan said, licking Castan's lips. "You 

understand?" 

 

Castan nodded. 

 

"Do you want that?" 

 

Castan nodded again. 

 

Reghan rewarded him with a twist of his wrist, and Castan's 

scream was almost instantaneous. His knees buckled and he was 

swaying again, his cock jerking, covering Reghan's fingers with long, 

sticky strings. Reghan felt the liquid drip along his wrist, hot against his 

skin, tickling over his pulse point. His mouth watered for a taste of 

Castan's spending, and he knew that desire came from the same place as 

his earlier animalistic needs. It was pure instinct to capture the scent 

and taste of Castan's body, of his life and his skin and the salty liquid 

that nobody else had ever sampled. 

 

Reghan scraped his teeth across Castan's mouth in a playful bite 

before dropping to his knees. He attacked Castan's semi-erect length 

with his mouth, seeking out every drop and thick band across his skin. 

He wiped his hand over the wiry hair at his base and then followed that 

with his tongue, mouth tingling from the texture of his hair, the taste of 

salt and sweat and come. Reghan gripped Castan's thighs, fingers 

digging into the flesh hard enough to leave bruises, and wished he could 

roll around in that scent. Wished he could cover himself in it. 

 

"Reghan...what...oh gods..." 

 

Reghan focused on Castan's skin and thighs, and when he was 

clean, he shifted his attention to Castan's cock. It had been a very long 

time since Reghan had done this with anybody--a very long time since 

Reghan had wanted to--but he wrapped his lips around Castan's crown 

like it was the most natural action in the world. Would Castan do this for 

him? It didn't matter either way. It didn't even particularly matter if 

Castan wanted to touch him at all. All that really mattered was that 

Castan would let Reghan do this, do anything, do everything.  

 

Reghan pushed his tongue against the slit, coaxing out the last 

drops of his come before he began laving the silky skin with his tongue. 

By the time his head was clean of the salty taste, Castan was fully erect 

again. He stood perfectly still, like he was afraid if he moved, Reghan 

would simply stop. Reghan took him by the hips and yanked him forward 

roughly, feeling Castan's hot muscle slide against his tongue and reach 

the back of his throat. Castan shuddered and Reghan yanked him 

forward again. Castan moaned and stood still, his cock down Reghan's 

throat, the wiry hair tickling against Reghan's lip. 

 

Reghan guided the rhythm at first, showing Castan what he 

needed to do until Castan didn't need Reghan's help anymore. He found 

the pace he liked, and it was hard and a little rough, and Reghan 

moaned in encouragement. He wanted Castan to lose himself in that 

moment, to be caught up in driving his cock as deeply into Reghan's 

throat as he could, because if he was caught up in that, he wouldn't 

notice what else Reghan had planned. 

 

He cupped Castan's balls, squeezing and pulling, knowing that it 

would hurt a bit. He also knew Castan would like it to hurt. Castan had 

never known true pleasure. The purest sensation he'd ever experienced 

in his life was pain, and Reghan understood instinctively that Castan 

would be more comfortable if he hurt a bit. He squeezed until Castan 

made a sound like a growl, then unfurled his fingers to reach behind his 

heavy sac, where the skin was soft and untouched. 

 

Castan had been beyond words, but now he found the energy to 

form some. And they were all pleas for Reghan to do more, to give him 

more, to do something to finally satisfy that need he couldn't name. 

Reghan would have smiled if Castan wasn't using his mouth with so 

much force. His fingers continued their exploration until he finally 

reached Castan's tight hole.  

 

This would be the tricky part, even though he'd already told 

Castan exactly what he was going to do. If Castan didn't want to submit 

to him, Reghan would understand. He wouldn't press the issue though 

he felt like he was about to burst and would probably go a little crazy if 

Castan pushed him away. He just needed to feel Castan's heat once. One 

time. Just one time. Reghan wasn't greedy. If Castan let him have that, 

he would never make that sort of demand again. 

 

Reghan slowly worked his finger past the ring of muscle, twisting 

and pushing gently until he was buried to the first knuckle. Castan's 

rhythm slowed for just a second--just until Reghan had his finger 

completely inside of him. He didn't do anything for a long time so Castan 

could get used to the pressure. When Castan pushed his hips back, like 

he was more concerned with what was going on behind him than in front 

of him, Reghan slowly worked in a second finger. 

 

There was a twinge in the back of his mind, concern, fear that he 

shouldn't be doing this. Maybe he was wrong and Castan didn't belong to 

him at all. But it didn't amount to anything more than a slight diversion. 

Because the fortuneteller had been right when she read Castan's stars. 

His fate was written across the sky in brilliant colors, and you didn't 

have to have any particular powers to see it. His throne, his kingdom, 

would be secure because Reghan would lay it at his feet. He would give 

Castan the world if Castan asked it of him. He would give him the fey 

realm. He would give him all the treasures in the heavens. But first, 

Castan needed to give Reghan one thing. 

 

How could it be wrong to take it when Castan had been saving it 

for him? 

 

"Reghan, I can't...take this...I can't..." 

 

Reghan carefully added a third finger, using magic to ease the way. 

He wasn't going to hurt Castan. Castan wouldn't feel a moment of pain. 

Not because of Reghan. Never because of Reghan. Castan's hips 

slammed forward, and he exploded a second time, and Reghan didn't 

lose a drop of his essence. He felt the tremors race through Castan's 

muscles and didn't need to be told his muscles were going to fail him 

soon. He pulled his hand free and let Castan's cock side from his mouth. 

 

Reghan sat back on his heels and watched with a slight smile as 

Castan collapsed to his mattress. His eyes were glazed and his mouth 

was half-open and Reghan congratulated himself on a job well done. 

 

"I didn't know..." Castan's attention drifted down Reghan's body 

and he frowned. "You haven't..." 

 

"Not yet, but I will. Lie down." 

 

Castan blinked and then obeyed, falling backward and splaying his 

legs. Reghan pushed himself to his feet and gazed down on the form 

spread before him like an offering. Mortals had once made offerings of 

virgins to him, back when the drums of war pounded in his blood and he 

hadn't known any better. It was so long ago now, Reghan chose not to 

remember it. The bodies that he had taken in the darkest part of the 

night were just shadows in his memory. But he still knew none of them 

had been as magnificent as Castan. If he had been one of the offerings, 

Reghan would have dragged Castan into the fey realm, would have made 

him immortal and forgotten all about making war.  

 

 

* * * *  

 

 

As Reghan gazed down on him like a predator might look upon 

trapped prey, Castan realized he never truly knew the fey who had so 

quickly pledged his life to Castan. He knew aspects of Reghan, but he 

hadn't truly known the wild power that lurked so close to the surface. 

He'd been given glimpses of that wildness, but this was something far 

beyond anything Castan had seen, or even expected. He'd seen the 

sparks and the smoke, but he never expected the wildfire. Castan felt so 

small in comparison. He had been such a fool to think that Reghan 

would ever serve anybody, least of all him, and now he was going to pay 

for that foolishness.  

 

Not that Castan minded paying that debt. His ears were still 

ringing from his second climax, and he was already getting hard again. 

Castan had never, ever experienced anything like the raw pleasure that 

engulfed him when he felt Reghan's throat constrict around his shaft. 

He'd never even imagined such a thing was possible. But there was a 

world of things Castan had never imagined and Reghan seemed prepared 

to show him. Which seemed right. It seemed so right. It was so right that 

Reghan knew exactly how to touch him and where to touch him, like he 

had somehow designed Castan's body for this purpose.  

 

Reghan climbed onto the bed, gently hooking a hand under 

Castan's knee and prompting his leg up and over, opening him up to 

Reghan's touch. Reghan settled between his legs, stretching over 

Castan's body, chest touching chest. His mouth was soft when he kissed 

Castan, and Castan didn't realize he was nervous until Reghan kissed 

the tension from his frame. 

 

"Don't be scared," Reghan murmured. "Everything will be fine." 

 

Castan would have killed any other man who implied he was afraid 

of anything, but he couldn't do anything except nod. He wasn't scared. 

He wouldn't be scared. Even if the wild power Reghan wielded so easily, 

so thoughtlessly, should have terrified Castan to his very core. It was 

difficult to be afraid of that when Reghan sounded the same as he always 

did--his voice just a little gruffer--and tasted the same. 

 

After several long, slow kisses, Castan felt Reghan's cock nudge 

against his ass. Reghan reached between them and guided his length so 

the head was more firmly pressed against his opening. Reghan's fingers 

had been startling at first, but Castan had been so distracted by 

Reghan's mouth that he forgot about the discomfort until it was gone, 

replaced by a strange, dull pleasure. Castan clung to that memory now 

as he stared up into Reghan's dark eyes. They were black again, but 

Castan didn't mention it a second time. It seemed like something he 

would just have to get used to. 

 

Reghan pushed forward and Castan knew from the sudden 

pressure that Reghan had breached the tight ring. But there was no pain 

and no discomfort. Castan's eyes widened as a jolt of pleasure shot up 

his spine and only one thought pounded in his mind--more. More, more, 

more. He hooked his legs around Reghan and pulled him forward, unable 

to articulate what he wanted because he was unable to speak or think or 

do anything except pull Reghan to him. Reghan smiled at that and 

Castan felt himself flushing.  

 

"Why...doesn't it hurt?" Castan finally managed seconds or 

minutes or hours later. Could Reghan affect time? If so, Castan hoped he 

held them in this moment for as long as possible. 

 

"Magic." 

 

"Very useful." 

 

"Extremely," Reghan breathed before he began to rock back and 

forth, as gently as a lake lapping at the shore. At first, Castan felt a 

twinge of frustration. He wanted to feel Reghan's power. He wanted the 

friction and heat and speed. He wanted Reghan to take him as Reghan 

had promised to do earlier. But that frustration barely lasted the space of 

a breath, because there was something magic about the rhythm Reghan 

found. And the way their skin slid together. And the way Reghan's breath 

tickled against his mouth even though Reghan wasn't quite kissing him. 

 

Reghan's rhythm wasn't the result of magic, but it was something 

primal. It called to something inside of Castan that he didn't even know 

existed, and that something responded to the call with unrestrained 

enthusiasm. They were as close as two people could be, and Castan 

wasn't surprised to discover that he could feel Reghan's heart beating. 

He felt it in Reghan's lips and in his chest and his cock. It was faster 

than Castan's and harder, more intent somehow. Castan reached up, 

looking for something, and knew he found it when Reghan's fingers slid 

between his. 

 

"Castan...Castan...Castan...you're so beautiful." Then Reghan's 

tongue was plunging into his mouth, and Castan forgot about the world, 

the room, the bed. They could have been anywhere, they could have been 

nowhere. Why hadn't they done this the very moment they met? Surely, 

surely, this is why they'd met in the first place. This was why Reghan 

had sworn his oath, and why Castan had demanded it, and why he 

couldn't stand the thought of anybody else making any demands on 

Reghan.  

 

Reghan never quickened his rhythm, and eventually something 

odd happened. Castan really did lose his ability to sense the rest of the 

world. His vision began to blur and then gray out and then everything 

went completely dark. He knew he wasn't unconscious, wasn't dreaming, 

knew there was nothing to be afraid of. It felt like Reghan had simply 

wrapped a great black curtain around the bed, shutting out every hint of 

light and leaving nothing for Castan to cling to except Reghan's body and 

the great waves of pleasure building and building and building with each 

thrust before they crashed through him. 

 

"That's it," Reghan whispered, and the words flared in the 

darkness. Castan stared at the golden streaks they left behind, stunned 

that he could see it so clearly. Magic, magic, this is magic. But it was 

beautiful, too. "That's it, Castan. So close. So close now."  

 

Castan realized he was close. His cock was trapped between their 

bodies, and Reghan's stomach rubbed against the most sensitive part, 

just below his slit. The pressure inside of him and above him and behind 

his eyes and under his skin all became too much to withstand. 

 

"Reghan, I'm..." It didn't work. It didn't sound right. It didn't make 

golden lights erupt in front of Castan's eyes. "Reghan. Reghan."  

 

And then there was nothing but light and colors and Reghan's 

mouth pressed to his. His arms and legs tightened around Reghan, 

pulling him closer as the waves finally swallowed him whole. 

Chapter 12

 

Castan didn't call on Áine the next afternoon. Instead, he invited 

Reghan to go on a long ride with him through the north forest. Officially, 

they were scouting for an upcoming hunt, searching for fresh tracks and 

signs that the deer had begun their migration through the area. But 

Castan didn't care about tracking game, and that task was promptly 

forgotten as they left the castle walls behind. Castan was more interested 

in watching Reghan, especially since he could do so without fear of being 

caught. It felt like Castan had already lost too much time, averting his 

eyes or redirecting his attention to avoid notice when he would have 

rather continued gazing at Reghan. He did hope this would be a short-

lived impulse, otherwise he would never get anything done and Somerset 

would fall into shambles. 

 

Reghan looked over every once in awhile and met Castan's stare 

with a smile and a questioning arch of his brow. Castan felt himself 

responding with a goofy grin and a half-shrug. The goofy grin was 

completely alien, and it didn't feel like it truly fit his face. Nothing had 

ever made him smile like that before, and he might have gone his entire 

life without ever knowing he was capable of such a thing if he'd never 

met Reghan. 

 

"Didn't anybody ever tell you it's impolite to stare?" 

 

"I'm the prince. So, no." 

 

"It's not acceptable to be rude just because you're a prince," 

Reghan pointed out. 

 

"Do you want me to stop?" 

 

"No, it's just...I've never seen you like this." 

 

"That's because I've never been like this," Castan answered. "It's 

not like you said it would be." 

 

"Because I've never been like this, either." 

 

Castan blinked, surprised by the revelation. He believed Reghan 

because he couldn't think of any reason for Reghan to lie to him, but it 

made perfect sense for all of this to be overwhelmingly new to Castan. He 

never expected for a second that Reghan would be experiencing anything 

new. "Not even with Vivienne?" 

 

"Not even with Vivienne." 

 

"I guess that means you love me the most," Castan said lightly. 

 

"I guess it means I do," Reghan said, before kicking his horse into a 

run. 

 

"Where are you going?" Castan shouted after him. 

 

"Come on!" 

 

Castan immediately urged his horse into a gallop. He could 

overtake Reghan easily since his horse was far, far superior to Reghan's, 

but he was content to hang back and let Reghan lead them across the 

field and into the trees. The wind carried Reghan's shout of joy back to 

him, and Castan whooped in response, his hair flying up in all 

directions, his face stinging from the wind and the sun. The horse was 

powerful beneath him, eating up the ground with its long legs. Castan 

felt like they were flying, and he bent low over the horse's neck, shouting 

for more speed. 

 

Neither horse slowed until they were deep within the shade of the 

forest. Reghan was forced to stop first, his horse's sides heaving. His 

delighted smile lit his whole face and made his eyes burn. Castan 

couldn't believe something so simple could bring somebody like Reghan 

so much joy, but he was undeniably happy. Castan's heart lifted at the 

sight of it, and his own goofy grin returned. 

 

"Feel better?" Castan asked. 

 

"Much. Though I wish I was riding a puka." 

 

Castan's eyes widened. "A puka? You've ridden one of those?" 

 

"Sure. Several, actually." 

 

"What is it like?" 

 

"Amazing. Come on." He clicked his tongue and his mare began 

walking sedately. Castan set an easy pace to stay even with Reghan and 

was content to return to his earlier pastime of watching Reghan. He 

looked a little different now. It might have been the way his hair stuck to 

his brow, damp with sweat. Or it might have been the shadows on his 

face and the way the sun occasionally caught his green eyes. 

 

"Do you like living in the castle?" Castan asked. 

 

"I'm sure I will when I'm not a servant anymore. Not sleeping in the 

stables is a big improvement. Why?" 

 

"It just...it doesn't feel like you belong there." 

 

"Where do I belong?" 

At my side. Always. "I don't know. The castle...it used to seem so 

big when I was a kid. I used to get lost wandering through the halls. I 

couldn't believe it was all going to be mine some day. Now it seems 

so...small. Too small for you."  

 

"Are you saying you want to build me a palace?" Reghan asked. 

 

Castan considered the question for a moment before nodding. "Yes, 

I think I do." 

 

Reghan laughed. "You don't have to build me a palace, Castan. You 

don't have to build anything for me." 

 

"I want to. I want to do something."  

 

"Build me a kingdom, then. The best kingdom this land has ever 

seen." 

 

Castan tilted his head. "I think I can do that. Though I don't know 

where to start." 

 

"You've already started," Reghan said softly. "You've got a good 

foundation." 

 

"You were a prince, you said. Don't you miss having your own 

kingdom?" 

 

"Not at all. I don't regret the choice I made, Castan, and I'll make it 

every day for the rest of my life." 

 

Reghan's words were matter-of-fact, his tone one of flat truth. 

Reghan at his most reasonable, his most even. Castan liked that side of 

Reghan just fine--especially when his reasonable tone was cooling 

Castan's more fiery temper--but he missed the wildness from the night 

before. He missed the look in Reghan's eyes that said he was thisclose to 

losing control, and Castan liked the way Reghan had attacked him like a 

wolf falling on its prey. He liked to see that he wasn't the only one with 

passions just below the surface, and he liked that Reghan couldn't 

always be in perfect control.  

 

His cock swelled at the memory, and Castan realized that it was 

very, very uncomfortable to be stuck on a horse with an erection. 

 

"Do you mind if we take a little rest?" Castan asked, trying to make 

it sound like it made no difference to him either way. 

 

"Already? I thought you had better stamina than that." 

 

"It's not my stamina I'm worried about." 

 

Reghan smiled. "Of course I don't mind. You're the prince, after all. 

I thought that meant you would be informing me of breaks." 

 

"Good point. Reghan, I insist we stop right now." 

 

Reghan pulled his horse to a halt. "Anything else, sire?" 

 

"Dismount," Castan ordered. 

 

Reghan swung his leg over and slid off the horse, looping the reins 

over a nearby branch. Castan smiled and followed suit. As soon as his 

feet touched the ground, Reghan was there, hands curling in his shirt. A 

second later, he felt rough bark at his back as Reghan claimed his 

mouth. Castan sighed and wrapped his arms around Reghan, relieved 

that he no longer had to pretend he was interested in anything else. He 

had a hard time believing he would ever care about anything as much as 

he cared about the texture of Reghan's mouth. 

 

Castan wasn't sure how or why, but he was certain Reghan tasted 

better--sweeter, somehow. Perhaps it was the fresh air or the scent of the 

trees and sunshine. Or maybe it was just the bliss already speeding 

through Castan's veins, infecting his blood. Reghan kissed him without 

restraint, and Castan was gratified to realize that the night before hadn't 

been some fluke. He was even more gratified to know that this wasn't 

one-sided. Reghan really did want Castan as much as Castan wanted 

him. His desire was desperate and frightening and that morning when he 

watched Reghan sleep, he'd felt a little sick with it. Like his stomach 

couldn't stand to be twisted into any more knots. 

 

Kissing Reghan was almost like gorging on too many wild berries. 

When he was younger, he'd find a ripe patch and stuff his mouth until 

his tongue and lips were covered in sticky juice and his stomach felt 

heavy. Then he would eat another handful or two because he really did 

love the sweetness of it. He loved licking his sticky fingers and smacking 

his stained lips and whatever discomfort he suffered later had always 

been worth it. Memories of those lazy summer afternoons--the taste and 

sound of them--infused his mind as Reghan devoured his mouth. 

 

"Couldn't get you away from that castle fast enough," Reghan 

murmured. 

 

"We don't have to go back today." 

 

"We don't?" 

 

"It wouldn't be the first time I disappeared for a little while." His 

hand went to Reghan's hip. "Nobody will notice." 

 

"Good. I want to tie you to this tree and keep you here." 

 

"Binding me isn't necessary," Castan said, tilting his chin up as 

Reghan attacked his throat. He felt the sharp points of Reghan's teeth 

sink into Adam's apple, and then Reghan was soothing the bite with his 

tongue, which sent pleasure spiraling all the way down to his feet. His 

cock strained against his breeches, and the soft material seemed far too 

rough on his sensitive flesh. His balls ached, too. And though Reghan 

had been gentle with him the night before, his backside hurt, too. Not in 

an unpleasant way. It was almost like he wanted Reghan to tup him 

again. 

 

"Fun, though." 

 

Castan's hands were suddenly busy. One was finding a way 

beneath Reghan's shirt, and the other was between their bodies, his 

fingers molding over Reghan's shaft. Reghan groaned, his mouth still 

attached to Castan's neck. He was going to be covered in purple marks--

more purple marks. He didn't exactly remember at what point the night 

before Reghan had gone crazy with his teeth, but he did notice the 

evidence of such an attack that morning. His neck and chest and 

shoulders, and his back for all Castan knew, were covered in bite marks. 

Reghan had smiled at him a little sheepishly and made a gesture with his 

fingers, wiping away the marks like they'd never been there. Now he 

seemed intent on seeing their return. 

 

"Fun how?" 

 

"I'll show you sometime." Reghan closed his fingers around 

Castan's wrist, gripping him tightly but not trying to move Castan's 

hand. "I think you'll like it. Like the way the ropes cut into your skin and 

the marks they'll leave." 

 

Castan shuddered. He couldn't deny he liked the idea, even if he 

felt more than a little trepidation at the thought of allowing anybody to 

bind him. 

 

"Yeah," Reghan said approvingly, "you do like it." He closed his 

teeth over the fleshy part of Castan's ear and sharp pain lanced through 

him. His first instinct was to bat Reghan away and escape the pain, but 

that impulse was almost immediately swallowed up by sharper pleasure. 

It felt like the pain had a direct connection to his cock, and when Reghan 

bit him again, the throbbing between his legs only intensified. "You love 

it." 

 

Castan could only grunt. He twisted his fingers in Reghan's shirt 

and gasped for breath, the ground suddenly less stable beneath him. He 

thought of all the bruises and gashes, the sprains and broken bones, the 

blood. He'd always felt a certain release in combat, whether it was 

friendly sparring or an actual fight. But he was a little surprised at how 

close that release was to the pleasure Reghan gave him. And he didn't 

know what to make of the fact that Reghan was so fascinated, even 

enthusiastic, about Castan's appreciation for pain. 

 

"What's on your mind?" Reghan asked, his tongue moving in 

strange patterns on Castan's throat. It almost felt like Reghan was 

tracing foreign letters. "I can feel you thinking about something." 

 

"How do you expect me to think about anything when you do 

that?" 

 

He felt Reghan's smile. "I don't. That's why I'm wondering what 

could be so important." 

 

"I'll tell you later," Castan said, gripping Reghan's shoulder and 

pushing him backward until it was his shoulders pinned against the 

tree. Reghan didn't resist him or push back, and it was in that moment 

that Castan realized he could do whatever he wanted to Reghan. Reghan 

would allow it. Welcome it. Castan had been more than happy to let 

Reghan take the lead the night before, overwhelmed and confused by 

everything. 

 

The first order of business was to get rid of Reghan's clothes. 

Castan loved his body. He loved the jut of his hips, and the smoothness 

of his skin, and the compact muscles in his arms and thighs. Reghan 

wasn't meant to wear clothes. He was clearly meant to run through the 

forest naked, without any restrictions. Something about that image made 

Castan ache, and it was a pain he didn't want to investigate too closely. 

Reghan would never truly be unrestricted because he'd always be bound 

to Castan. That didn't seem right. 

 

"Castan...I want you." Reghan cupped Castan's shaft and gave him 

a gentle squeeze. "Inside of me. Right here." 

 

Castan moaned, every muscle from his throat to his groin 

tightening in response to Reghan's touch and his words. Castan wanted 

that, too. He couldn't remember wanting anything more, and the need to 

get Reghan free of his clothes became even more urgent. His free hand 

naturally went to the short blade he wore in his belt, but his fingers 

barely skimmed the handle before he changed his mind. Reghan would 

not want him slicing at his clothes with a knife. 

 

"Do it," Reghan said, like he could read Castan's mind and knew 

exactly what he was contemplating. He cupped the back of Castan's head 

with his other hand and leaned in for a hard kiss. "Anything you want, 

Castan. Do it." 

 

Castan took a half step back and reached for his knife again. 

Reghan met his eyes in a clear challenge, and Castan didn't need any 

more encouragement. He dragged the tip of the blade down the center of 

Reghan's shirt, cutting it away from his body. Reghan's chest hitched as 

the cold metal touched his bare skin, and Castan didn't want to hurt 

Reghan, but he did wonder about the way his ruby blood would look 

against his pale skin. A flick of his wrist, and the laces on Reghan's 

pants were severed, allowing the loose breeches to fall from his hips. 

Castan replaced the knife and tore at material hanging off Reghan's 

body, ripping it away until it was nothing but rags at his feet. 

 

Reghan ran his fingers over Castan's laces, and they untied 

themselves immediately. With the pants no longer a hindrance, Reghan 

could get his long, hot fingers around Castan's shaft. Castan mimicked 

him, fisting Reghan's cock and remembering exactly how it felt to have 

every inch of his muscle buried in Castan's body. He definitely wanted 

that again, there was no question of that. 

 

They moved at the same time, their mouths crashing together. 

Castan pushed closer until Reghan was completely pinned against the 

tree, rocking his hips, thrusting into Reghan's hand hungrily. Castan's 

fingers brushed over Reghan's crown, collecting the fluid there, and he 

liked that Reghan was already leaking and wet for him. 

 

"I want to know what you're feeling," Castan said breathlessly, 

twisting his wrist, dragging his palm over the velvety, damp flesh. "Show 

me?" 

 

Reghan inclined his head and then Castan felt something slick and 

hot winding through him, traveling down his body like a sun-baked 

serpent. It circled his body, writhing in tighter and tighter circles, until a 

new sort of pleasure settled deep in his flesh. He couldn't locate it 

precisely. It was everywhere. It flared with life with every breath and 

every sigh, and when he tentatively squeezed Reghan's cock, Castan's 

legs nearly went out. 

 

"Oh...oh...oh..." Castan kept trying to form words, but nothing 

more than startled sounds would leave his lips. 

 

Reghan released his hold on Castan's shaft and gripped his hip 

instead, silently giving Castan the support he needed to stay standing. 

"Keep doing that," he whispered, his voice as raw as Castan felt. "Please. 

Please, Castan..." 

 

Castan nodded frantically, seeking out Reghan's mouth to stop his 

own embarrassing moans and pleas. He felt like if he wasn't careful he'd 

be sobbing with pleasure soon, like he was about to lose all control of his 

reactions and Reghan wasn't even touching him. Every time he stroked 

his hand over Reghan's length, his abdomen clenched and his balls 

pulled tighter. He experimented with the rhythm, moving slower and 

then faster, trying to gauge what Reghan liked the most and marveling at 

the fact he could feel something so intimate, so impossible. He knew the 

bark was scraping across Reghan's back. Knew because he could feel 

that vague pain mingled with the much stronger pleasure and the 

overwhelming desire and need.  

 

That need surprised Castan the most. He knew how badly he 

wanted Reghan, but this was so much greater than what Castan had 

experienced. It wasn't that Reghan wanted him more, it just felt like his 

want was bigger, somehow. It was the world. Castan was his world.  

 

"Reghan...oh Reghan..." 

 

"Don't stop." Reghan panted. "Don't...Castan...Castan..." He thrust 

his hips harder, and Castan responded by tightening his grip, pumping 

his wrist so hard he wondered if he would hurt Reghan. But if anything, 

the tight ball of pleasure only glowed brighter, pulsing in response to 

Castan's too-firm grip and each too-hard stroke. 

 

"Reghan, I need to...I need...need you..." 

 

"Yes. Now. Castan, now, please." 

 

Castan almost felt like somebody else was controlling his body, 

pulling at his limbs like he was nothing but a marionette. He was 

detached from everything except his sharp-edged lust. It was slicing into 

him, slicing him open, slicing him apart. He wrapped an arm around 

Reghan and yanked him off the ground. Reghan's legs went around his 

hips and he rocked soundlessly against Castan, beyond words. Castan 

had to release Reghan's cock so he could guide his own into Reghan's 

waiting body. 

 

Castan thrust into him, shouting as Reghan's tight walls enclosed 

him. His muscles were fluttering, clenching and relaxing rapidly, and the 

pleasure Reghan had sent to him finally became too much for Castan to 

bear. It exploded inside of him, filling him from the tips of his hair to his 

fingernails. He might have reached his peak, too. It was difficult to tell 

with so many sensations surrounding him and battering him. His cock 

felt slick when he eased back and thrust forward again, and it might 

have been his own spending. But he was still as hard as a rock, and he 

couldn't think of anything he wanted more than to pound into Reghan 

again and again. 

 

Reghan's mouth was hard and hot and sharp everywhere he 

touched Castan, leaving more marks on his throat and his face. Every 

time he felt the sting of teeth against his thin skin, he slammed into 

Reghan and felt like he had no self-control at all. Reghan clung to him, 

as light as a child's doll, his arms and legs wrapped around Castan's 

trunk, ankles locked together at the small of Castan's back, keeping him 

in place. Castan braced himself against the tree with one hand, happy to 

let the rough bark slice into his palm and grind against the scrapes. This 

was one type of pain that didn't get lost in the larger cloud of pleasure. It 

was sharp and exacting and it helped Castan focus. 

 

Birds fluttered above their heads as their shouts startled them 

from their resting places. Castan could sense other animals around 

them, hearing them scurry deeper into the forest, running from the 

strange, too-loud sounds. Castan felt like he must have been screaming 

even when Reghan's mouth was pressed to his. And in the back of his 

head, he heard Reghan say over and over Do it. Anything you want, 

Castan.  

 

 

* * * *  

 

 

They didn't talk for a long time afterward. Castan thought it had 

something to do with the fact that neither of them were capable of 

speech. Castan's throat was raw and his mouth dry. His muscles were 

watery, and he had pretty much collapsed where he stood as soon as 

Reghan disentangled himself. Reghan had chuckled softly and joined him 

on the forest floor, sleepily curling into Castan's side. Was it like that 

every time? And if so, how was Castan going to be able to function and 

cope with ruling an entire kingdom when all he wanted to do was lock 

himself into a room with Reghan and never leave? 

 

He fell asleep while mulling over the possibility of that, and his 

dreams were thin and entirely focused around Reghan. He didn't know 

how long he slept, but when he woke again, the sun was much lower in 

the sky and Reghan was no longer snuggled against him. After a moment 

of panic, he realized that Reghan hadn't gone far. He was only a few feet 

away, his clothes miraculously mended and on his body again, a small 

fire burning at his feet. A rabbit hung on a spit above the flames. 

 

"I thought I would set up camp," Reghan said. "Since I don't think 

we'll be going anywhere tonight." 

 

"It's not night yet." 

 

"I meant since I will not be sitting on a horse anytime in the near 

future." 

 

"Why...oh." Castan frowned. "I didn't really hurt you, did I? I 

should have been more careful." 

 

Reghan smiled and shook his head. "You didn't hurt me, but I will 

be a bit tender for awhile. And this is a nice spot." 

 

"Where did you get the rabbit?" 

 

Reghan arched his brow and Castan grimaced. "Okay, sorry, that 

was a stupid question." 

 

"After the afternoon you've had, you're allowed a few stupid 

questions. Most people wouldn't be thinking too clearly after that." 

 

"You sound awfully pleased with yourself." 

 

"I am awfully pleased with myself. I didn't leave you wanting, did 

I?" 

 

Castan quirked his lips. "No, you definitely didn't do that. I can't 

remember the last time I felt so...good." 

 

Reghan patted the log beside him. "Come sit with me." 

 

Castan happily moved to the other side of the fire, sitting with his 

knees splayed and his hand resting on Reghan's thigh. The fire popped, 

sparks catching on the wind and swirling above the fire before fading out 

of existence. Castan watched them, still feeling a little bit dazed and 

wondering when his mind would clear. 

 

"I wanted to talk to you about Áine," Reghan said. 

 

"I don't want to talk about Áine." 

 

"I know, but there's something I need to tell you. Something that 

might help you understand her choices." 

 

"I don't care about her choices, Reghan. I don't care about 

anything she does." 

 

"I understand that. But...you're still going to have to marry her. 

She's not going to go away anytime soon. And I think it's important for 

you to have all the information. I want to be honest with you, Castan." 

 

Castan frowned. "What is it?" 

 

"Áine's mother was fey." 

 

"Yes, you already told me that." 

 

"Her name was Sibley. You've spoken with her." 

 

"What? I don't remember meeting anybody named Sibley." 

 

"She didn't introduce herself before you ordered her death," 

Reghan said softly. "She was the first fairy you offered to spare. The first 

one to decline." 

 

Castan knew he was staring at Reghan like a fool with his mouth 

open and his eyes wide. "Áine...knows this?" 

 

Reghan nodded. 

 

"You told her," Castan said, knowing the answer, knowing it didn't 

need to be a question. 

 

"She asked me if I knew of Sibley's fate. I told her the truth." 

 

"That's why she hates me now," Castan said dully. "Why would you 

do that? Were you trying to undermine me? Or destroy the alliance my 

father wishes to build?" 

 

"No." Reghan turned to face Castan fully and took his hand. "No, it 

was never anything like that. Never. I told her...I tried to make her 

understand it wasn't your fault. It was Banbha's war and you had done 

the honorable thing." 

 

"How could I marry her now?" 

 

"You have to," Reghan said. "You risk too much if you refuse her 

now." 

 

"I saw her with another man. I could send her away in disgrace."  

 

"And Mannix could gather his men and declare war on the crown," 

Reghan responded. "To defend the honor of his daughter, if nothing else. 

Think about this, Castan. Your ranks are badly depleted. You still need 

time to recover from the battles with Banbha. Somerset couldn't 

withstand a siege right now." 

 

"Fine, I'll marry her. But I'm going to send her away. I don't trust 

her, Reghan." 

 

"With time, she may realize..." 

 

"With time?" Castan asked, incredulous. "What are you saying? 

That one day we might have a happy union if I just give her enough time 

to forgive me for killing her mother?" 

 

"No. I'm just saying she may forgive you someday." 

 

"Her forgiveness means nothing to me. But...thank you for telling 

me. Anything else?" 

 

"Nothing that I can think of. Can I ask you a question?" 

 

"Of course." 

 

"Did you know your mother?" 

 

Castan kicked at the fire half-heartedly, wishing he could just kiss 

Reghan until he forgot he ever asked a question at all. That might work 

in the short term, but Reghan would probably remember that he never 

got an answer and ask him again. "She died when I was still very young." 

 

"Did she fall ill?" 

 

"Poisoned." 

 

"What?" 

 

"At least, that's what everybody believed. They tried to keep it from 

me, but they couldn't keep me from the castle gossip. The servants 

couldn't stop talking about it. How suspicious her sudden illness was. 

How jealous..." Castan paused and took a deep breath. "How jealous the 

king could be." 

 

"Oh, Castan..." 

 

"I'll probably never know the truth. I try not to think about it but 

it's hard. Sometimes, I look at him and I ask myself if he could ever be 

capable of something so horrible. Sometimes, I have to admit that the 

answer is yes. He's fully capable of something like that, and I hate it." 

 

Reghan touched his back, letting his hand act as a comforting 

weight between Castan's shoulders. "I'm sorry. I can't imagine what 

that's like." 

 

"I mostly don't think about it anymore." 

 

"Not unless some idiot asks you about it, right?" 

 

Castan smiled. "You're not an idiot. And I'm glad you did. I don't 

like talking about it, but I don't want to have any secrets from you, 

either. Is it my turn to ask a question?" 

 

"Ask whatever you like." 

 

"You said that you tried to kill Banbha before and that's why you 

can't hold it against me. But...why? Why weren't you like her? Is it 

because of Vivienne?" 

 

"No. I was like her once. A long time ago, we ruled both realms 

together. She was bloodthirsty, but I was more so. We cut great swaths 

through every people that ever tried to stand against us, and 

we...I...toyed with them. I told them if they left me offerings, I would look 

upon them with mercy, but no sacrifice would ever satisfy me. Banbha 

hadn't always been the ruler of the fey realm, though hardly anybody 

remembers that now. Her claim was so absolute, her throne coated with 

so much blood..." 

 

"What changed?" Castan asked, struggling to keep his voice even. 

He wasn't surprised by these revelations, but he was surprised by how 

easy it was to imagine Reghan's reign of terror. "What changed you?" 

 

"We attacked a village one night. It was just the two of us. The 

village was small and poor, and most of the children had died the 

previous winter because of illness. We hadn't planned to go there, but we 

met a traveler who was going there and invited us to join him. He took us 

into his home and he fed us and offered us a place to sleep. He was the 

first to die. And Banbha...nothing could ever satisfy her bloodlust. We 

destroyed the village." 

 

Reghan paused and Castan waited patiently. He knew the terror 

facing Banbha's army in full armor with sword in hand and an army at 

his back. He couldn't imagine how absolute the terror must have been 

for those poor villagers. 

 

"I watched her....tear the guts out of a child. She ripped into him 

like a wild animal and she looked so...so happy. Like nothing could bring 

her so much joy. She was covered in blood. Her hair was dark with it. 

Her mouth...she was using her teeth and her nails and there was so 

much fire. Every building was burning, people were screaming, I could 

barely breathe from the smoke. And she was happy. I should have been, 

too. That's what I had been born for. That's what she told me every day. 

You're born for this. But in that moment, I recognized she was truly mad. 

And she needed to be stopped.  

 

"I ran away and she tracked me down. The fourth time I ran away, 

she imprisoned me and told me she would leave me there until I learned 

my true place. I never truly escaped her. Sometimes, she'd leave me 

alone for a few years. Once, she didn't try to find me for a few decades. 

But she'd always come back for me." 

 

"Why didn't you just kill her?" 

 

"I couldn't." 

 

"Why not? Because she was your mother?" 

 

Regan looked a bit surprised by the question, and then his face 

shifted into a deep frown. "No, because...I wasn't strong enough. I was 

never strong enough to stop her." 

 

"That doesn't make any sense, Reghan. I know how strong you are. 

I can...I can feel it." 

 

"Yes, but not strong enough." 

 

"Then how did I kill her?" Castan asked. 

 

"I don't know." 

 

"Reghan." 

 

"I don't. When I learned that Sibley was actually married to Lord 

Mannix, I wondered if she had something to do with it. Maybe she helped 

you. Maybe you just got lucky. Maybe it was Banbha's destiny to fall to 

your sword." 

 

Castan stared at the fire, feeling pensive and unsure. Reghan 

wished he had a better answer than that. He wished he could know for 

sure that Banbha fell because Castan truly was the superior fighter. It 

wasn't just a matter of pride, though Castan's pride was a little wounded 

at the thought of receiving help. He needed to know he could defend his 

own kingdom from any threat. The greatest threat to peace was now 

gone, but there were other enemies to the crown. There would be other 

wars to fight and battles to win. He needed to know his victory wasn't a 

fluke of fate. 

 

"Castan, I'll understand if you..." 

 

"What?" 

 

"If this changes things between us." 

 

"Why would it change anything?" 

 

"Because you don't trust the fey and you have good reason not to 

trust me, either. Not with my past." 

 

Castan's frown deepened. "But...it's the past. You're not like that 

anymore. I know you aren't." He swallowed. "So, I guess I freed you." 

 

"Yes, you did. You're my savior." 

 

"Is that why you love me?" Castan teased, astonished he felt so 

comfortable with the words, the sentiment. 

 

Reghan smiled. "It's one of the reasons. You're special, Castan. 

And your destiny is so bright." 

 

"My kingdom will be secure for eternity?" Castan asked, cocking 

his brow. 

 

"Yes." 

 

"What? Really?" 

 

Reghan inclined his head. "It never crossed your mind that the 

fortune teller was talking about me?" 

 

"I...I didn't think about it. She didn't mean Somerset, did she?" 

 

"No, I don't believe she did. But we don't have to worry about that 

right now. Somerset is your kingdom in this realm and will continue to 

be yours as long as you dwell here." 

 

"And when I no longer dwell here?" 

 

"Then you shall rule over the fey realm," Reghan said as though 

there couldn't be anything more simple. 

 

"But...how?" 

 

"I'll crown you king of the highest throne, your highness." 

 

"You can do that?" 

 

"It's my crown. I can do with it what I wish." 

 

"You said you were a prince once," Castan said slowly. 

 

"And so I was. Until you killed Banbha and I became king." 

 

"King of the fey," Castan whispered, surprised he could even 

process the words. "I knew...I knew you were more than...but the king? 

Of all the fey?" 

 

"Every single one. Including Áine. She will never make a move 

against you, no matter what her personal feelings are. She would not 

wish to cross me. You'll never die, Castan. There's a reason that the fey 

don't swear oaths to mortals. Once a fey and a human are bound in this 

way, nothing can break that oath. Not even death." Reghan sighed softly. 

"I'm sorry, Castan, I didn't want to tell all of this at once. It's a lot to 

process." 

 

"No, no. I'm glad you told me. I...didn't know that thing about 

being immortal now. I didn't even think...I should have thought about 

that before asking for your oath." 

 

"Do you wish you hadn't?" Reghan asked. 

 

Castan looked back to the fire, heart twisting at the hint of fear in 

Reghan's question. Reghan was afraid of his response, like he had 

anything to be insecure about. As far as Castan was concerned, Reghan 

was the best thing that ever happened to him. Perhaps even his reward 

for ridding the land of a menace like Banbha. 

 

"I will never regret that decision, Reghan. Never." 

 

"I never will, either." Reghan leaned over and kissed Castan gently. 

This kiss had a certain quality to it that the others lacked, and after a 

long moment, Castan realized what it was. Reghan wasn't holding 

anything back from him. There truly were no more secrets between them. 

He knew this fey, this immortal, this wild, dangerous being. Knew him to 

his core, as nobody else ever had. Castan pulled Reghan closer, until he 

was stretched across Castan's lap, warming his legs and pressing against 

his groin. The kiss continued, unbroken and unhurried. 

 

That night, Reghan stretched Castan out next to the fire and made 

love to him. He moved the stars around with the wave of his hand, and 

he whispered the words of Castan's destiny, and he made a thousand 

promises. Every time he moved away, Castan reached for him and pulled 

him closer again. The fire danced and died down, but Castan never felt 

the chill of the night. Reghan kept it away with his body and his mouth. 

Chapter 13

 

Reghan had never considered himself a particularly jealous man. 

He actually thought himself to be highly pragmatic, and he'd assured 

Castan again and again that his wedding night was something both of 

them could survive. Castan clearly was not looking forward to performing 

his new duties as husband, and Áine clearly wasn't pleased with the 

idea, either. Reghan had been forced to comfort both of them at different 

times before and after the ceremony, which was not a position that he 

ever wanted to be in. But on Castan's wedding day, everybody had to 

deal with something distasteful. There was no reason Reghan should be 

any different. 

 

The handfasting ceremony was interminable, but Reghan had 

survived it by watching Castan. He wore a crown Reghan had never seen 

before, and his robes were extremely ornate and vibrantly purple. Reghan 

had wrinkled his nose when he got close enough to smell just what they 

had used to make the dye so bright, but even that odious scent hadn't 

ruined the image Castan created. He was tall and proud and as beautiful 

as Reghan had ever seen him. Perhaps one day they would have a 

ceremony of their own. The thought had been an idle one, but Reghan 

liked the way it felt. Nobody had ever prompted the desire for anything 

formal, but Reghan wanted Castan to be bound to him in every way. He 

was turning startling possessive. 

 

Aldred was allowed to stand with him during the ceremony, his 

small hand closed around Reghan's fingers. He was thriving in the castle, 

growing quickly due to his regular diet of three meals a day, a safe place 

to sleep, and constant attention. Even if Reghan hated living in the 

castle, he would have been happy to see the changes in Aldred and 

satisfied that his decision had been the right one. His eyes were still too 

old for his small face, though, and he looked up at Reghan knowingly as 

they moved to the great hall for the wedding feast. 

 

"You're sad," Aldred said softly. 

 

"No. Not quite sad." 

 

"What's not quite sad?" 

 

"I'm not sure. I've never felt this way before." 

 

"Áine is very beautiful." 

 

"She is," Reghan agreed. "The fairest queen in the land, I'm sure." 

 

"She's like me, isn't she?" 

 

"Yes." Reghan wasn't sure if Aldred was referring to the fact that 

Áine was half-fairy, the fact that her mother was dead, or the fact that 

she really didn't like Castan. As far as Reghan could tell, Aldred had 

never fully forgiven Castan either. The fey could hold grudges for a long, 

long time. "Perhaps she will offer you an audience if you request to meet 

her." 

 

The kitchen servants had spent the past three months preparing 

for this feast. Reghan had been drafted into service more than once as 

the big date neared and the work seemed to double and triple no matter 

how hard everybody worked. There was wild boar and venison and 

peacocks. There were twenty different kinds of pie and puddings. There 

were sweetmeats and candied fruit and cake. Wine and ale flowed freely, 

and there were enough servants positioned around the table to be sure 

that nobody's goblet was ever less than half-full. Bressal presided over 

the banquet with a pleased smile. He was the only one at the head table 

who appeared to be genuinely happy. Mannix was pensive, Áine was 

distracted, and Castan spent most of the feast staring at Reghan. 

 

Reghan didn't help matters. He spent most of the feast staring 

back and wondering if he could try to communicate directly with 

Castan's mind. He'd never done anything like that before, but it seemed 

like if it were possible at all, it would be possible between the two of 

them. But none of his attempts were successful, so he was left with 

staring from afar and mentally rearranging the head table, wishing he 

could remove Bressal and Mannix completely. Castan would take 

Bressal's chair, Reghan could take his place beside Castan, Aldred would 

sit in the former prince's chair, and Áine would be placed at the end. 

 

Maybe one day. When Castan was actually king. 

 

Reghan could barely touch his food, though it was all excellently 

prepared. Partially because he could feel Castan's nerves and general 

unhappiness--two things he hadn't experienced at all in the past eight 

weeks. Now those eight weeks seemed like nothing but a very happy 

dream. He and Castan had been inseparable. They slept together, they 

rode together, they ate together, and they were always touching. 

Something about Castan was addicting, and Reghan was not in the mood 

to deny himself. He indulged his addiction, taking Castan, submitting to 

Castan, worshipping him and being worshiped in turn. Reghan had even 

been tempted to kidnap Castan and whisk him away to the wilderness to 

live an idyllic life and forget all about ruling over great kingdoms. 

 

They had been happy. Reghan had never been so happy. Castan 

never bored him, never exasperated or frustrated him. They found new 

delights together on a daily basis, and Reghan knew Castan's marriage 

didn't necessarily have to change that, but it changed everything. Castan 

would never be so carefree again, nor would he ever have that much free 

time on his hands. Bressal had been willing to tolerate it because he'd 

believed that Castan was spending all that time with his future queen. 

This night was going to change everything, and Reghan could only wish 

that he'd been given more time with Castan. He felt greedy for it. Just 

another day. They could do so much with just another day of freedom. 

 

The party would continue until dawn, but at the proper time, the 

four at the head table stood. At the sight, everybody in the hall burst into 

applause, and some of the drunker men added shouts and catcalls that 

bordered on disrespectful. Nearly the entire length of the hall separated 

them, but Castan unerringly found Reghan's eyes, and their gazes 

locked. Reghan tried to smile, but it felt thin and insincere, so he gave up 

and merely offered a small, encouraging nod. Then Castan was turning 

away, following Bressal through the side door and into the corridor that 

would eventually take them to the bridal chamber. 

 

Reghan would have liked to make his escape at that point, but he 

was obliged to stay until Mannix returned with the stained sheets. He did 

not want to witness the visual evidence of Castan's time with Áine. It was 

hard enough not to dwell on it. It didn't do him any good at all to think of 

Castan undressing her, to think of him touching her and kissing her and 

finally sliding into her. Reghan had extracted a promise from Castan that 

he would not mistreat Áine. She might have been unfaithful to him, she 

might hate him, and she might not be the one Castan wanted, but she 

didn't deserve to be hurt or frightened on her wedding night. Castan, 

who could still vividly recall how nervous he'd been before his first time, 

had given his word that he would do neither. 

 

For Áine's sake, Reghan hoped Mannix presented stained sheets. 

For his own sake, he wished Mannix didn't have to present anything at 

all. 

 

"Don't make yourself sick," Reghan warned as Aldred snagged 

another piece of pie. 

 

"I like this." 

 

"Yes, it's very good. But if you eat too much of it, you'll be sick." 

 

"I won't eat too much," Aldred promised before filling his mouth 

with the sweet pastry. 

 

Reghan sipped from his goblet, wishing wine had a stronger effect 

on him. He would have loved to lose himself to an alcoholic haze. Castan 

could have, but Reghan had kept an eye on his consumption over the 

night, and near as he could tell, he barely finished his first goblet. So 

they were both going to be stone-cold sober for the night. 

 

"Can I have one more slice?" Aldred asked. 

 

"No, I..." Reghan stopped with a gasp, sudden pain in his stomach 

stealing his voice. He didn't understand it. It was like somebody was 

trying to slice him open from the inside out. Reghan turned away from 

the table in case he had to vomit, but his half-digested food didn't seem 

to be in any danger. In fact, the pain didn't seem to have a specific 

source. He felt it in his abdomen, but it didn't seem to belong to him.  

 

"Castan..." 

 

"Father? What is it? What's wrong?" 

 

"I..." Reghan tried to stand, but the blades under his skin were 

having none of it. They sliced through him more furiously than before, 

and his throat began to burn. He had to blink away sudden tears. 

 

"Father?" 

 

"Go to your room," Reghan finally managed. "Go right now. Don't 

stop for anything. You understand?" 

 

Aldred's eyes were wide but he nodded. "What's going on?" 

 

"I...I don't know yet. But I need to know that you're safe. Run now." 

 

Aldred abandoned his half-finished pie and fled the hall without 

looking back. A few people noticed his rapid departure, but they were too 

distracted by their own drinking to worry about the boy for long. Reghan 

placed his hand flat on his stomach and forced the pain to dull. He could 

have made it disappear, but Reghan didn't want to do that. The pain 

belonged to Castan. He would accept it, but he needed to be able to 

function. He needed to help Castan. 

 

Reghan didn't bother running. He was always so careful never to 

openly break the laws in Somerset, but this was different. This was an 

emergency. Something was hurting Castan, and there wasn't a single law 

that would stop Reghan from going directly to his side. He disappeared 

from the great hall in a blink and found himself standing in the middle of 

the bridal chambers. Bressal and Mannix were there, too, summoned by 

Áine's screams. Áine, who was still screaming something about Castan, 

half-dressed. Reghan noticed the red stain on the sheets but only for a 

split second before his attention fell on Castan's lax face. 

 

"Castan." 

 

Bressal and Mannix turned at the sound of Reghan's voice, and 

Bressal's face darkened with rage. "What are you doing here?" 

 

Reghan ignored him. "Áine, what happened?" 

 

"I don't know! He passed out. Everything was fine. We were...and 

then he clutched his stomach and he just...he just sort of fell..." 

 

Reghan pushed both of the men away without touching them. They 

stumbled back, falling over their own feet, and Reghan was at Castan's 

side immediately. His skin was sallow, and when he lifted one of Castan's 

eyelids, there was no movement, no sign of life at all. Reghan put his ear 

against Castan's chest, and his heartbeat was slow. Sluggish. Each 

breath was shallow. So shallow that Reghan could barely tell he was 

breathing at all. 

 

The pain in his stomach. 

 

Poison. 

 

The word unfolded in his mind. Rage unfolded with it, traveling 

down his spine and branching through his limbs. It was pure and 

perfect. No softer emotions dulled the sharp, cold edges. He'd been 

wearing a cloak of humanity, one that he had carefully constructed since 

he began to defy Banbha. It would be easier to fight for the mortals if he 

learned to live among them and learned to love them. It would be easier 

to remember his vow if he shielded his powers from all, including 

himself. But that cloak fell away and he rose off the ground, more 

fearsome than Banbha could ever aspire to be. 

 

"Áine." The word boomed from him like thunder, so loud it shook 

the stone walls. "Did you do this?" 

 

"No, my lord. No." She was sobbing, her hair in disarray, her face 

streaked with tears and snot. She looked like a child, like Aldred. "No, I 

swear it." 

 

"Who did?" 

 

Nobody had an answer. Reghan reached out and took Áine by the 

throat. Mannix immediately tried to pull Reghan away from his daughter, 

but as soon as he touched Reghan's arm, he went flying back to the wall. 

 

"Who did?"  

 

"I..." 

 

"If you don't speak, I'll make certain that death is a very, very long 

time in coming. Do you understand me?" 

 

"Bertram." 

 

Reghan dropped Áine with a growl of disgust that was drowned out 

by the sound of every window in the room breaking. The glass shattered 

outward, flying hundreds of feet with the force of Reghan's fury. 

 

"BRING HIM TO ME!" Reghan's demand echoed over the land, 

traveling all the way to the sea and back. The three in the room stared at 

him with mouths hanging open, but Reghan wasn't speaking to them. He 

was speaking to the wind and the earth and the animals. He was 

ordering the universe to make a gift of the murderer, and there wasn't a 

single creature in existence who wanted to cross him in that moment. 

There was a thump against the door, like a body had been flung into the 

wood, and Reghan twisted his hand, yanking the door off its hinge. 

 

Bertram was there, slumped on the floor, his face ashen and eyes 

wide with fear. He kicked and tried to pull away as an invisible force 

dragged him toward the bed. Beneath Reghan, Castan slept on, oblivious 

to the rage and chaos around him. He should have been dead. He would 

have been without Reghan's assistance. A worthless little stable boy 

deprived Somerset of the king it always deserved and for what? Jealousy? 

 

Reghan flexed his fingers and Bertram was lifted into the air, his 

legs kicking uselessly. He struggled against the hold on his throat, but 

no matter how much he pulled at the hand he couldn't see, nothing 

would break its grip. 

 

"DID YOU DO THIS?" 

 

"Please...please...I..." 

 

"DID YOU DO THIS?" 

 

"I just wanted to save her. I thought we could..." 

 

Nobody would ever know exactly what Bertram was thinking when 

he poisoned Castan's goblet, because Reghan could no longer contain his 

wrath within the small vessel of his body. It erupted from him and in the 

same instant, Bertram's body exploded in flames. He screamed terribly 

as he burned, and a sliver of mercy still existed in Reghan. He couldn't 

douse the fire, but he did snap Bertram's neck to save him from further 

agony. 

 

"No..." 

 

Reghan turned black eyes to Áine and this time he caught her by 

the throat. "If you speak one word, I will tear your tongue out. I don't 

want to hear your voice again." 

 

Áine nodded frantically, and he eased the pressure on her throat. 

Reghan lowered himself to the bed, putting an arm under Castan's 

shoulders, and the other under his legs. Feeling the dead weight in his 

arms brought tears to his eyes again, and he didn't bother blinking them 

away. He let them fall in hot trails down his face, watching as they fell on 

Castan's waxen face like raindrops. He cried for the man Castan could 

have been. He cried because he knew what he had to do now. He cried 

because he already missed Castan so much. He cried because the anger 

was still burning hot inside of him and there was nobody left to blame, 

nobody left to kill. Overhead, the stars that lit the path Castan was 

meant to walk blinked out one by one. His destiny was over now. His 

skin was cold to the touch. 

 

He felt Bressal's approach before he heard it, and he whipped his 

head around, a warning in his black eyes. "I will return, Bressal. And 

when we do, we will discuss the future of your kingdom." 

 

"I will do no such..." 

 

Reghan shouted and knocked Bressal to the floor, pinning him 

there. "You will do as I say or Somerset will lose a king and a prince 

tonight." 

 

"My lord..." Mannix's tentative voice from across the room. The 

man had a good sense not to try to approach Reghan. "Please don't kill 

Áine. This was Bertram's doing. Not hers." 

 

"I have no intention of killing Áine." He could already sense the life 

inside of her, and so he had no choice but to protect Áine's life with his 

own. "That will not be her punishment. But I suggest you bid farewell to 

your daughter. You'll never see her again." 

 

Mannix looked stricken, but he of all people had the good sense 

not to argue with Reghan. He hurried to Áine's side and pulled her into 

his arms, crying as hopelessly as Reghan had. Reghan carried Castan to 

the window and called Blancheflor's name. The horse, recognizing the 

voice of her true master, responded immediately. Soon, he heard her 

hooves clicking against the cobblestones in the courtyard below them. 

 

"Where are you going?" Bressal demanded, though he'd lost his 

imperious tone, and Reghan suspected he would never find it again. 

"Where are you taking my son?" 

 

"To the fairy mound." 

 

Bressal gasped. "You can't do that. You'll kill him." 

 

"He's already dead," Reghan bit out. "As long as he's in the mortal 

realm, he'll live but he'll never wake. He'll be like this for eternity, his 

heart beating as long as I'm alive." 

 

"But he'll wake in the fey realm?" Mannix asked. 

 

"Yes." 

 

"He won't be safe," Bressal insisted. 

 

"He'll be safer there than anywhere. Áine, get dressed." 

 

She obeyed immediately, nearly stumbling as the stained 

bedclothes wrapped around her feet. Breaking free of that, she reached 

for her dress, struggling to pull it overhead before Mannix helped her into 

it. Reghan wished she had a dress besides her wedding gown, but there 

wasn't time to worry about such trivial things. As soon as she was ready, 

Reghan transported the three of them to the courtyard and the waiting 

horse. 

 

Reghan could see the question in her eyes as he gestured for her to 

mount the horse, but she wisely remembered his order and refrained 

from voicing it. Once she was settled, Reghan carefully draped Castan 

across the mare's haunches, binding him there with unbreakable bonds. 

No matter what happened, he would not fall off. Reghan would have 

preferred to ride with Castan himself, but Áine would never be able to 

keep up with the pace he intended to set. They needed to reach 

Devonshire by dawn. Blancheflor was the only horse in Somerset who 

could hope to make the journey. 

 

Somerset was dark behind them as Reghan led the mare out of the 

south gate, a shroud of mourning falling on its towers and spires. Even 

the moon was gone, hiding its face from the wrath of the fairy king. 

* * * *  

 

Reghan stopped periodically to check on Castan, but his situation 

never changed. He neither improved nor worsened. He was frozen in 

time, unresponsive to Reghan's pleas and caresses, and no amount of 

Reghan's magic would pull him away from the brink of death. At least, 

not in the mortal realm. Castan needed to be surrounded by magic. He 

needed to be infused with it. He needed to breathe it and touch it and 

bathe in it. 

 

He needed to be well again. 

 

Reghan's mood fluctuated with each passing hour. At some points, 

he felt perfectly calm. Castan wasn't going to die. Reghan could save him 

and eventually everything would be fine. At some points, he was so 

furious he felt the trees tremble around him and Blancheflor quaked. His 

anger was infinite. No matter how far into the future he looked, the rage 

burned on as bright as the sun. And then he would be crying again. Fat, 

pathetic tears that streamed freely down his face, raining onto the 

ground. His shirt was wet. When he licked his lips, he tasted salt.  

 

"How did he do it?" Reghan finally asked. 

 

Áine's eyes widened, but her mouth remained tightly closed. 

 

"You may speak now, but only to answer the question. Did you 

help him?" 

 

"No, sire." 

 

"Do you remember what I told you about lying?" 

 

"I promise I didn't know anything about it, sire." 

 

"Was he at the feast tonight?" 

 

"No, sire." 

 

"He must have had an accomplice," Reghan muttered darkly, 

imagining exactly what he would do with that accomplice--he'd inflict 

everything he'd been too furious to inflict on Bertram. "Somebody who 

had access to Castan's goblet. Who was pouring Castan's wine?" 

 

"I don't know, sire." 

 

"Of course you don't. It's your wedding night. You had other things 

on your mind, didn't you?" 

 

"Reghan, I swear..." 

 

"Shut up." 

 

Áine fell silent and Reghan touched the side of Castan's face. His 

fury was ebbing once again, and he braced himself for the incoming wave 

of sadness. He didn't mind that Áine witnessed every tear and heard 

every soft sob. Reghan only hoped that she felt each one in her heart, 

that she experienced every second of pain. It didn't occur to him until 

much later that she was suffering--but even when it did occur to him, 

Reghan found he didn't care about her anguish. 

 

"He didn't have to die," Reghan said after another cycle of rage and 

grief. "Castan knew about Bertram. He didn't care. He wouldn't have 

tried to keep you apart. He didn't have to die."  

 

"Bertram didn't have to, either," Áine shot back. 

 

In the next second, Reghan had her off the horse and pinned to the 

ground, his knee in her chest, his hand around her throat. Blancheflor 

stomped her foot and snorted, but otherwise, the forest was still. 

 

"What did I tell you about ripping out your tongue?" Reghan 

pushed his fingers between her lips, forcing her mouth open. "Did you 

think I was kidding?" 

 

Áine shook her head frantically, her eyes nearly glowing with fear. 

 

"Bertram deserves to die a thousand deaths for what he has done. 

For what he's deprived the world of. Is the child Castan's?"  

 

Áine nodded. 

 

"You're certain?" 

 

She nodded quickly. 

 

Reghan released her tongue and pushed himself to his feet. "Get 

back on the horse. Don't mention that bastard's name again in my 

presence." 

 

Áine joined Castan on the horse again. Reghan touched Castan's 

hair, remembering how it felt when it was coated in sunshine. 

* * * *  

 

The fey who'd been trapped in Somerset when Reghan closed the 

fairy mounds joined them on their journey, silently, respectfully, trailing 

behind Blancheflor. Reghan acknowledged them as they melted from the 

surrounding woods, nodding slightly as they bowed in greeting. They 

didn't ask any questions about Castan or where they were going, but 

they were appropriately solemn. And they were loyal to Reghan. If they 

had been on Banbha's side of the struggle, they would have either fallen 

to Castan's knights, or they would have attempted an attack on the 

prince who felled their queen. 

 

Reghan was strangely pleased to see them. Perhaps it was because 

he'd never felt so alone. His pain grew with every step, and he feared 

what he might do under the combined weight of it all. He had grieved for 

Vivienne, but those brief months, as painful as they'd been at the time, 

were nothing compared to this. Each second of each minute felt like a 

year. He could only hope he would have the chance to speak to Castan 

once more. He needed to hear Castan's voice, but he hoped for more than 

that. He hoped for a smile. He hoped for a touch and a kiss. 

 

The first of the new arrivals to talk to Reghan was a very old fairy, 

Deathwood. Deathwood was so old, he may have remembered the time 

before Banbha. Reghan respected him, had once even sought shelter 

with him when Banbha's vengeance had been particularly brutal. 

 

"Your highness." 

 

"Deathwood." 

 

"Where will your pilgrimage take you?" 

 

"Devonshire. There is a fairy mound there." 

 

"What of the fairy mounds in Somerset?" 

 

"I closed them at the request of the crown prince." 

 

"I see. I hope you don't find our presence objectionable." 

 

"I have no objection to anybody who is loyal to me, Deathwood. But 

I will have no tolerance for anybody who is not." 

 

"I assure you, my lord, all here are loyal to you. Is this young man 

the prince you spoke of?" 

 

"Yes. He has been poisoned." Reghan shot a hateful look at Áine. 

"On his wedding night." 

 

"That is a grievous shame. I heard he was a good man." 

 

"He still is a good man. He lives. That is why I'm taking him to the 

fairy mound." 

 

"Forgive me, sire, but I don't understand." 

 

"I'm going to make him king, Deathwood. And anybody who 

opposes that decision will be named an enemy of the throne." 

 

Deathwood was silent for a long moment. Reghan stroked 

Blancheflor's face, assuring her through touch that she was a good horse 

and she was doing well. Finally, the other fairy said, "He is the one the 

stars spoke of." 

 

"He is." 

 

"I'm sorry for your great loss, Reghan. We're all aware of how dear 

he is to you." 

 

Reghan almost felt himself smile at that. "I'm sure the stars went 

on in great detail." 

 

"They can't help themselves, my lord." Deathwood almost sounded 

like he was smiling as well. "I did admonish them to respect your 

privacy." 

 

"You've always been a good friend to me." 

 

"May I ask a question, my lord?" 

 

Reghan nodded. 

 

"Why are you so sad? If it is as you say, then Castan will be strong 

in the fey realm. You will have an eternity with him, if that is what you 

wish." 

 

"No, I won't." Reghan swallowed down the lump of sadness forming 

in his throat. "I won't be joining him there." 

 

"My lord?" 

 

"You must watch him for me, Deathwood. You must teach him 

what he needs to know. The fey realm won't be easy for him to navigate 

at first." 

 

"Of course, I will serve him as I serve you. There's no question of 

that." 

 

"Thank you," Reghan said softly. It was a small reassurance, but it 

was appreciated all the same. 

* * * *  

 

By the time they reached Devonshire, it was only an hour from 

dawn and Reghan's party had swelled to nearly forty. None but 

Deathwood had the courage to speak to Reghan, but in the gray light, he 

could see the sadness in their eyes. Some of them had even been crying. 

If they had lived among the mortals, loving them, marrying them, hoping 

for peace like them, Castan would have been their prince, too. Reghan 

hoped others besides Deathwood would follow him back into the fairy 

mound. It would certainly help Castan if he had a loyal band of 

supporters. 

 

Despite Reghan's eagerness to get to the fairy mound, he did make 

one small detour. Áine gasped when she realized where they were, but 

she didn't dare voice her question until the familiar castle came into 

sight. "Sire? Why have you brought me here?" 

 

"Because this is where you're going to live until the child is born. I 

thought you would be pleased." 

 

"I do not understand." 

 

Reghan took her hand and assisted her off the horse. "It's quite 

simple. You will remain a prisoner here until the child is born. Once that 

happens, I will take the child back to Somerset." 

 

"What will become of me?" Áine asked, bottom lip trembling. 

 

"Are you afraid for your life, Áine? Don't be. One day, you will be 

asked to repay the debt you owe this world. I wouldn't dream of ending 

your life before that day comes. When I take the child, you will be 

banished to the fey realm. There you will be Castan's responsibility. How 

he punishes you is up to him, if he chooses to punish you at all." 

 

Reghan saw her safely deposited in her private chambers. The 

servants were clearly shocked to see their mistress returned to them on 

the day after her wedding, but Reghan decided to leave the explanations 

to her. 

 

"If you try to leave, I will know." 

 

"I understand, sire." 

 

"Your father will not be joining you." 

 

It was cruel, and judging by the sudden moisture in her eyes, she 

recognized the gesture for what it was. "Yes, my lord." 

 

Reghan sighed. "Áine..." 

 

"I'm so sorry. I wish...I never intended for any of this to happen. I 

just...needed...I don't hate him." 

 

"I believe you're sorry. I'll return at the quickening." 

 

He left her crying on her bed, his heart hardened to her tears. 

* * * *  

 

They reached the fairy mound at dawn. Reghan led the procession 

to the door, Castan heavy in his arms. He held Castan up to the first 

rays of the sun, wishing Castan could be awake for his final view of the 

human realm. The sun slanted across his features, and Reghan bent his 

head to kiss his lips softly. He would kiss him again on the other side of 

the door, but it wouldn't be the same. Not ever quite the same. 

 

Deathwood opened the door for Reghan, bowing as Reghan stepped 

over the threshold and returned to the kingdom he had once renounced. 

Chapter 14

 

Castan knew Reghan was there before he opened his eyes. After 

spending nearly every waking and sleeping moment with the fey, Castan 

recognized his scent and the rhythm of his breathing--which was usually 

a little bit faster than a human's. But Castan's senses failed him in every 

other respect. He couldn't say where he was or even when he was. Not 

even after he opened his eyes. The sky was the wrong shade and barely 

seemed like the sky at all. None of the colors were quite right, and when 

he turned his head to study the area around him, the landscape wasn't 

right. 

 

"Reghan?" 

 

Reghan leaned over him, his smile filling his line of vision. "There 

you are, my prince." 

 

"Here I am." Castan coughed and tried to lift his head more, but 

sudden pain behind his eyes pinned him to the ground again. "Where is 

that, exactly?" 

 

"Welcome to the realm of the fey." 

 

Castan blinked. "Really? I thought you said I couldn't be here." 

 

"I did say that. But things are different now. Are you thirsty?" 

 

Castan licked his lips, realizing for the first time how dry they 

were, and how thick his tongue felt. He nodded, and was surprised when 

Reghan carefully lifted Castan's head from the ground and let it rest on 

his thigh. Once Castan was propped up, Reghan touched a cup to his 

lips. Except, it wasn't like any goblet Castan had ever seen. It was softer, 

smoother. It reminded Castan of a flower petal. 

 

"What's different now?" Castan asked after Reghan took the cup 

away. A few drops of the sweet water rolled down his chin, cooling his 

skin. 

 

"Everything, Castan." 

 

Castan exhaled slowly. "What happened to me?" 

 

"Áine's stable boy. In his blind jealousy, he conspired with another 

servant to have your wine poisoned. I don't know what he used, exactly, 

but it's fatal." 

 

"What...if it's fatal, why are we still talking?" 

 

"Because you made me swear my life to you. I told you that even 

death can't break a fey's word, didn't I? As long as I live, you will, too. 

But you have to live here." 

 

"Here as in the fey realm? Why does it make a difference?" 

 

"There's not enough magic to sustain you in the mortal realm. You 

would just be unconscious, never waking, barely breathing. At least here, 

you'll have some sort of life." 

 

Castan sat up slowly, ignoring the pain in his head and stomach. It 

must have been a side-effect of being poisoned and nearly dying. But 

Castan had a feeling that this was a mere tickle compared to whatever 

Reghan was clearly keeping from him. Pain was written all over Reghan's 

face, and he had a pinched look around his mouth. 

 

"What sort of life, Reghan?" 

 

"A good one." Now he tried to smile, but he couldn't quite get rid of 

that pinched look. His smile looked more like a grimace. "You'll have a 

really good life, Castan. You'll be the king you were meant to be." 

 

"What aren't you telling me?" Castan asked, hoping that his guess 

was wrong. He hadn't missed the way Reghan kept saying you instead of 

we.  

 

"Castan...I'm sorry." 

 

"What is it?" Now Castan was just scared, and that fear made his 

voice hard. Reghan didn't just sound sorry, he looked miserable. Castan 

wanted to find whoever made Reghan look that way and tear out their 

hearts.  

 

"I can't stay here with you." 

 

"I don't understand." 

 

"If we both stay in the mortal realm, you will be in sort of sleeping 

death. But I cannot stay with you in the fey realm for the same reason 

you're alive." 

 

Castan's brow furrowed and the fear in his chest only grew. The 

answer was dancing right in front of him, but Castan turned his mind 

away from the obvious conclusion. He couldn't acknowledge it. He 

couldn't say it, because if he did, it would be too real and Reghan would 

leave him. What was he supposed to do without Reghan? He couldn't 

even stand it when Reghan was out of reach. The wedding banquet had 

been an exercise in torture, as he could see Reghan but couldn't speak to 

him, couldn't touch him. How was he supposed to live without Reghan?  

 

"Reghan..." 

 

"I can't stay here, Castan." 

 

"Don't say that. Please." 

 

"I made a promise to you. I swore to you that I would protect your 

children and your kingdom, and I have to live by that oath." 

 

Castan shook his head frantically. "I free you of those obligations." 

 

"You can't." Reghan wiped his face with the back of his hand, and 

Castan's heart hurt. "And if you could, you would die if you freed me." 

 

"How long? How long until you can come back?" 

 

"I don't know. As long as you have descendents." 

 

"I have no descendents!" Castan said triumphantly. 

 

"Áine is with child. As soon as she drops it, I'll take the child to 

Somerset and bring Áine here. The magic that is keeping you alive will do 

the same for her." 

 

"I don't understand. Why do we want to keep her alive?" 

 

"So she can redeem herself. She owes a debt now. One day, she'll 

be able to pay that debt." 

 

"Reghan..." Castan cupped Reghan's cheek and felt the tears under 

his fingers. Tears. Reghan was crying and that made everything so much 

worse. So terrible and real and Castan felt answering tears pooling in the 

corners of his eyes. "Please don't leave me. Please." 

 

"Oh, Castan." Reghan slid his hand over Castan's shoulder and 

settled his palm on the back of Castan's neck. The weight of his touch 

was comforting, but all too fleeting. Castan knew Reghan would pull 

away from him, no matter how much he begged or even cried for him not 

to go. "I'm so sorry. I didn't know...if I knew, I would have stopped it. I 

never would have let anything happen to you. Your destiny was so 

bright." 

 

"It's not your fault. It's my fault." Castan rested his forehead 

against Reghan's and struggled to take a breath. The physical pain was 

forgotten, but his heart was breaking. "I should have done something. I 

should have sent her away or sent him away or...I should have done 

something." 

 

"I'm going to make you king before I go," Reghan whispered. "But I 

need to balance this. I'm going to make Aldred heir to your father's 

throne." 

 

"I don't think Father would ever agree to that." 

 

"He's not going to have a choice. As long as somebody with fairy 

blood is ruling Somerset, the balance between the two kingdoms will be 

maintained and there won't be any more war. It's the best I can do..." 

 

Castan couldn't resist Reghan for another moment. He cradled the 

back of his head, holding him as he claimed Reghan's mouth. The kiss 

was slick and tasted heavily of salt, as though tears coated Reghan's lips. 

Or maybe the salt was from Castan's tears. Castan knew no words would 

be enough to sway Reghan, so he tried to use his mouth instead. He 

poured his soul into the kiss, trying to convey just how deeply his love 

went, feeling like a child pleading with an indifferent God for mercy. He 

knew it wasn't Reghan's fault, but he couldn't stop himself. 

 

Reghan responded with the same level of intensity, and they rose 

on their knees, their chests pressed together, their arms locking around 

each other. They strained for every inch, words forgotten as they sought 

more bare skin, more contact, more assurances that everything was 

going to be fine. Somehow. Someday. Castan felt like a drowning man 

who could see the sun through the shifting surface of the water, but no 

matter how he reached for it, he was always short, dragged back down to 

the dark abyss. When he stopped kissing Reghan, Reghan would leave 

him. So he simply couldn't stop kissing him. 

 

They fell to the grass, and it wasn't grass, but it was close enough, 

Castan pinning Reghan's body to the ground. Reghan pawed at his 

clothes, and there was a flurry of movement as they both did their best to 

strip away the inconvenient barriers. Castan managed to unlace his 

pants and push them halfway down his legs without lifting his head from 

the kiss. Reghan moaned beneath him, kicking his legs and twisting 

until his breeches were down around his ankles. 

 

"Castan...please..." 

 

It was still amazing to Castan that he could reduce somebody as 

powerful as Reghan to pleading with him. Almost begging. How could he 

have so much power over a fey? How could anybody, fey or not, need 

Castan as much as Reghan claimed to? It was utterly impossible, but 

Reghan was twisting beneath him, writhing and moaning. Their mouths 

touched and broke away and sealed together again, each kiss rough and 

sloppy. Castan was hard, desperate, but his need had nothing to do with 

pleasure. Physically, he was numb. He just wanted to be close to Reghan. 

He just wanted to be sure that Reghan stayed with him for a few more 

minutes.  

 

Reghan wrapped his arm around Castan's back and put his other 

hand on Castan's hip. His legs looped around Castan's knees, and he 

arched his back in silent encouragement. It was easy to slide into 

Reghan's waiting body, and the heat momentarily burned away the pain 

and the fear, obliterating it. It was always like that when he was with 

Reghan. Nothing mattered but the two of them, and they fell into each