obligations at present."
"Good," Ailill said and led the way out of the pub and back out onto the streets. "We can catch up, and you can take me to those meat-eating bastards in the morning and then go on your way. I am glad we crossed paths, Noire."
Noire smiled at him. "It's good to see an old friend, especially these days when everyone is so very tense. So tell me what it was like to go abroad."
"What would you like to hear about first?" Ailill asked, and he did not wait for an answer, simply launched into a story about his first time in Kundou as they walked along steadily darkening streets back across the city to his home.
Chapter Two: The Unicorn
Gael slowly and carefully untangled himself from the limbs trapping him in the Faerie Queen's enormous bed. Morning sunlight streamed through the windows and the filmy, pale green curtains wrapped around the bed. The warm light glowed on the skin of the women still fast asleep, turning Etain to flawless ivory and Freddie to rich gold.
He kissed each woman on the lips, breathing in their scents: Etain always smelled of flowers, the roses and orchids and lilies that she so adored; Freddie smelled like a forest, wild and untamed. Her short hair was spiked in a hundred directions, and Gael could not resist smoothing it before he finally pulled himself out of bed.
Leaving them to slumber, Etain draped across Freddie, her delicate faerie wings caught in the morning light, Gael went to get cleaned and dressed. He padded across the enormous royal bedchamber to the bathing room easily the size of his office. Servants had already come and gone, filling a deep porcelain tub with steaming water.
Gael groaned as he slid into it, grateful for the hot water on his tired muscles. He had spent an entire week sorting out yet another riot outbreak in a far north province. Returning home to be immediately inundated in work had not helped, and then he'd had to muster the energy for last night.
He hoped Etain and Freddie appreciated his efforts.
Though he wanted nothing more than to soak in the bath all day—and was sorely tempted to try it—Gael made himself wash and shave and get out again. He left the bathing room by way of a separate door that took him into his own suite of rooms and walked through the sitting room to his bedroom.
His clothes were already set out on the bed, and Gael sighed at yet another pristine outfit of white and silver. Tradition was tradition, however, and he would muscle through it until he either died beneath the Oak or became a god.
Just thinking about it made him grimace, made fear coil in his gut and sweat break out on his brow. Being a god was too surreal to scare him. He could not comprehend it, no matter that he had been told he was meant to be one from the time he was old enough to realize he was strange.
No, the fear came from the nightmares. Of seeing the one person he loved best in all the world dead in his arms, eyes empty. Sometimes there was blood, sometimes not. Sometimes it was an attack from a beast, other times a blade, and occasionally magic.
Eight different versions of his lover's death haunted Gael's sleep. The face never changed. In every life, he remained the same. Every time, Gael could not resist him. Every time, he died during the Tragedy of the Oak.
Gael tried to banish the thoughts and focus on his day. He picked up the clothes on the bed piece by piece and put them on. Under clothes, white clocked stockings, white shoes with silver buckles. White shirt, white and silver waistcoat, white and silver jacket.
The only spot of real color in his entire ensemble was the ribbon he used to tie back his hip-length hair. It was a pale, delicate blue, the sheen long worn away from use. His dressing table had dozens upon dozens of ribbons and other decorations for his hair, but Gael rejected them all.
Picking up a brush, he slowly worked out the tangles in his hair, starting at the bottom and slowly moving his way up until his fingers
"Good," Ailill said and led the way out of the pub and back out onto the streets. "We can catch up, and you can take me to those meat-eating bastards in the morning and then go on your way. I am glad we crossed paths, Noire."
Noire smiled at him. "It's good to see an old friend, especially these days when everyone is so very tense. So tell me what it was like to go abroad."
"What would you like to hear about first?" Ailill asked, and he did not wait for an answer, simply launched into a story about his first time in Kundou as they walked along steadily darkening streets back across the city to his home.
Chapter Two: The Unicorn
Gael slowly and carefully untangled himself from the limbs trapping him in the Faerie Queen's enormous bed. Morning sunlight streamed through the windows and the filmy, pale green curtains wrapped around the bed. The warm light glowed on the skin of the women still fast asleep, turning Etain to flawless ivory and Freddie to rich gold.
He kissed each woman on the lips, breathing in their scents: Etain always smelled of flowers, the roses and orchids and lilies that she so adored; Freddie smelled like a forest, wild and untamed. Her short hair was spiked in a hundred directions, and Gael could not resist smoothing it before he finally pulled himself out of bed.
Leaving them to slumber, Etain draped across Freddie, her delicate faerie wings caught in the morning light, Gael went to get cleaned and dressed. He padded across the enormous royal bedchamber to the bathing room easily the size of his office. Servants had already come and gone, filling a deep porcelain tub with steaming water.
Gael groaned as he slid into it, grateful for the hot water on his tired muscles. He had spent an entire week sorting out yet another riot outbreak in a far north province. Returning home to be immediately inundated in work had not helped, and then he'd had to muster the energy for last night.
He hoped Etain and Freddie appreciated his efforts.
Though he wanted nothing more than to soak in the bath all day—and was sorely tempted to try it—Gael made himself wash and shave and get out again. He left the bathing room by way of a separate door that took him into his own suite of rooms and walked through the sitting room to his bedroom.
His clothes were already set out on the bed, and Gael sighed at yet another pristine outfit of white and silver. Tradition was tradition, however, and he would muscle through it until he either died beneath the Oak or became a god.
Just thinking about it made him grimace, made fear coil in his gut and sweat break out on his brow. Being a god was too surreal to scare him. He could not comprehend it, no matter that he had been told he was meant to be one from the time he was old enough to realize he was strange.
No, the fear came from the nightmares. Of seeing the one person he loved best in all the world dead in his arms, eyes empty. Sometimes there was blood, sometimes not. Sometimes it was an attack from a beast, other times a blade, and occasionally magic.
Eight different versions of his lover's death haunted Gael's sleep. The face never changed. In every life, he remained the same. Every time, Gael could not resist him. Every time, he died during the Tragedy of the Oak.
Gael tried to banish the thoughts and focus on his day. He picked up the clothes on the bed piece by piece and put them on. Under clothes, white clocked stockings, white shoes with silver buckles. White shirt, white and silver waistcoat, white and silver jacket.
The only spot of real color in his entire ensemble was the ribbon he used to tie back his hip-length hair. It was a pale, delicate blue, the sheen long worn away from use. His dressing table had dozens upon dozens of ribbons and other decorations for his hair, but Gael rejected them all.
Picking up a brush, he slowly worked out the tangles in his hair, starting at the bottom and slowly moving his way up until his fingers
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