Two figures marched along the dark stone hallway, matching each other step for step, as though fearful the other might break into a sprint at any moment. Torches flickered along the wall, glinting on copper-plated armour and throwing shadows from every angle.

Fiona's pulse beat in time with her footsteps and the clap of the guard's steel-tipped boots on the stone. No hallway had ever felt so long, no passage twisting so wickedly as the one preceding the stairs to the ground floor.

"A certain High Lord's son has come to see you..."

Almost without thinking, she leaped to the first step, and heard Eris' guard behind her grunt as he shuffled clumsily in his armour, trying to keep up. It jerked her mind back to the sound of his chuckle only moments before as he stood in the kitchens, smug as hell and bold as brass.

"He said that might get you moving."

Fiona couldn't summon the will to be angry at the barb Eris had given his knight, didn't want to give herself time to consider just how much he knew this news would get to her. All of her energy was focused on the male waiting for her upstairs, her mind racing as she tried to picture the scene. He'd be in the drawing room - guests usually were. Her mind raced ahead faster than her feet could carry her, painting the scene she would discover.

Yes, there he was, sitting in an armchair in the corner, still and silent, as though he would melt into the shadows entirely if he could. Would his elbow be crooked against the arm rest, like it had that one afternoon-? Or would he be perusing the shelves, calloused fingers running along dusty tomes that hadn't seen the sky in centuries.

Her heart began to race as she turned a corner into the main hallway, trying to piece his face together from the memories she had so carefully hidden away in the recesses of her mind. Like a child digging through a treasure trove, Fiona reached for pieces of the puzzle she had skimmed over, rediscovering locks of hair and shades of indigo that lingered somewhere still.

Blood was roaring in her ears and the knife pressed hot against her chest beneath her corset; the guard had fallen behind now, he was grumbling something but she couldn't hear him over all the rushing.

Swerving instinctively, Fiona reached the drawing room and saw that her guess had been correct - two more of Eris' knights were stationed beside the grand golden doors. They stood to attention as she practically ran down the hallway, but she ducked past them to the side door, not wanting to be announced, not wanting to wait.

One barked an order to wait but she was there, she was there and her fingers grasped the door as she swung herself inside, hair and dress swinging madly as she came to a halt and saw...

...white hair upon a slim set of shoulders. A pale blue jacket lined with fur. A young fae, standing in the middle of the room tapping his foot.

Oh.

"Fiona!"

Baird spotted her and turned, flashing a brilliant white smile as he strode across the polished wood to meet her. Fiona stared at him a little stupidly. She had been hoping for a fragment from her life up north, but this was not the right piece. Her eyes roamed over every feature of his countenance, the white embellishment on his tailored coat, the rosy blush on his cheeks, all the while unable to hold back one insistent, roaring thought:

Wrong.

A breath escaped Fiona in a kind of sigh as he reached for her hand.

"It's so wonderful to see you again," said Baird, his eyes glowing in earnest as he led her to a loveseat in front of the unlit fireplace.

"You came to see me." Fiona remembered to smile. "That's very kind of you."

Baird shrugged, turning to face her on the plush velvet seat. "Perhaps. Or maybe I just wanted a chance to see the scandalous Lady Fiona of rumour in person."

Instinctively Fiona's breath hitched, but one glance from Baird set her at ease. His eyes glimmered with humour and affection that made her chest squeeze, and though many strands of guilt were weaving together in her stomach she plucked the one she deemed least upsetting.

"After the ball," she nodded, wondering just how much he'd heard. "I'm sorry I couldn't see you before I left to explain."

Baird was already waving her away. "Please don't apologise. From what I heard, you weren't in much of a state to dance." The pair of them glanced toward the guards standing like statues by the door.

"No, I don't suppose I was." Fiona admitted, allowing herself a smile. So Riordan had been a little more forthcoming with the details then, if Baird knew she'd been hurt - and likely had guessed about her cousins' involvement. Remembering how Dan's hands had shaken with rage as he bid her goodbye, she was hardly surprised. He wouldn't have spared himself an opportunity to spit on Aidan's name even in front of another High Lord's son.

But if the whispers that had returned to the Autumn Court were any indication...she stole a sideways glance at Baird and found him watching her. He smiled kindly, shaking his head.

"I won't ask for answers you don't want to give. But tell me," he leaned in, and lowered his voice as concern clouded his features. "How is being back at home?"

Fiona found it an effort to be friendly and jovial at first, but as the minutes ticked on they soon fell again into the easy rapport they'd discovered at the Mountain Palace. She gave bland and uninteresting descriptions of life at the Forest House, missing out details of snide servants and guards that wouldn't let her leave the house.

The conversation soon turned to his home and family, to the snow dusted mountains of the Winter Court. Baird was happy to talk on without much answer, and while he did, Fiona tried to imagine a life with him. He was tall, and classically handsome despite his odd colouring, which she supposed she should be grateful for. He had high cheekbones and a strong jaw, but kind eyes which offset his sharp angles – eyes that lit up like glaciers in the sun when he spoke most passionately.

And he was passionate about a great many things; he loved to care for the creatures in his father's grounds, to go hiking up sheer mountain faces and to play the lyre, to name a few. Fiona found it endearing, but couldn't help feeling that he seemed so very young as his eyes sparkled, the words tumbling out of his mouth. Though there couldn't have been more than a decade between them, but that greenness, that innocence that she had picked up on when they'd first met at court had not yet been worn away. She couldn't tell if she was envious or if it irked her - but either way Fiona felt as though there were a thousand years between them when he caught that look of boyish joy. It made her feel like such a broken, blackened thing by comparison.

Eventually, Baird caught the time and stood to bid her goodbye.

"I'm so glad to have seen you," he said, that earnestness glowing on his pale skin. "I'd like to come again, if you'll have me..?"

Fiona nodded, giving her his hand to kiss before she realised it was she who should be bowing to him. He promised to come within the next week, time allowing, and then he was off...and suddenly she was sad to see his charming, youthful smile disappear around the corner.

*

The journey from the drawing room to Fiona's chamber was not a long one. But once Baird and the adrenaline of his visit had abandoned her she felt exposed, sure that the knife grating against her chest must be glowing through her dress. Every servant she passed along the way seemed to stare for an eternity, their steps hesitating at the strange tilt of her head, the way she pressed at her corset as she stormed down the hallways.

Once she was back in her bedroom, Fiona leaned against the closed door, breathing deeply. She wasted no time undressing, though the thin lines of blood on the fabric of her dress were not a welcome sight.

Another thing to explain away to Aoife, she sighed. How much can one female claim to bleed!

Her thin fingers caressed the steel knife, wiping the specks of blood from its tip as she knelt on the floor beside her bed. Running a hand over the wood, she found a board with a blackened scuff mark in the corner, and paused a moment, stilling as the sound of footsteps echoed outside.

When the echo faded in the hallway, she breathed again and lifted.

The old birchwood creaked so loudly it made her wince. Painstakingly slowly, Fiona unscrewed the rusty nail and pulled back the floorboard with the scuff mark. Setting it aside, she allowed herself a moment of satisfaction as she gazed upon the small armoury she had amassed this last week.

Steel, copper and silver blades of all types lay in carefully ordered piles beneath the floor. Most were little more than butterknives - the kitchen knife she had stolen was by far her biggest addition. But their size wasn't important. What was important was that she had them, within reach of her bed and carefully stored away from the servants prying eyes.

Fiona took a steak knife from the pile, watching the metal glint as a shaft of sunlight fell upon it. Just looking at the cache calmed her nerves, but it was holding a blade that truly set her at ease. With a knife in hand the shadows seemed to recede, and the dark eyes in every corner became not a threat but a challenge. With a knife in hand, Fiona was not weak but a warrior.

Cassian would be proud, she thought to herself with a satisfied smile.

She got to her feet and slipped the steak knife under her pillow. Her corset lay on the dresser across the room, beside the steel blade she'd stolen before Baird's untimely arrival. It wasn't much of a weapon, she thought as she approached it, but its edge was sharper than her other additions, and would certainly come in handy - perhaps for skinning game. Though a little embarrassed to admit it, Fiona wasn't blind to her total incompetence in the realm of survival skills. When she made her escape, if she ever did manage it, she knew she'd be woefully unprepared to survive in the wild. Her best option would be a rural town, across the border where-

- CLICK -

Fiona's heart leapt into her throat as the snick of the door handle sounded. She whipped around in time to see the handle turn, her eyes glancing between the door and the stash of knives flashing brazenly in the middle of the room.

"I'm changing!" she yelled, her voice tinged with panic.

The door continued to open; there was no time to put the floorboard back in place, and she was too far away to cover it up. But who would walk in on the High Lord's kin, especially while indecent?

A moment later Fiona had her answer, as Keegan's vulpine smile appeared around the door.

"Oh don't worry," she cooed. "I don't mind!"

Fiona's gaze flashed between Keegan and the knives, wishing fervently against all odds that it might just vanish, that her cousin would somehow miss them as she edged into the room.

"What's got you in such a tiz?" her cousin asked, clearly delighting in the reek of fear permeating the air. Fiona watched aghast as Keegan stalked toward the bed, stepping over the stash of weapons without so much as a glance. She plopped onto the sheets, crossing her legs casually as Fiona stood frozen by the dresser in nothing more than her undergarments.

"Gods, Fiona!" she cackled. "If I'd known you were such a prude, I'd be tempted to make a habit of barging in on you like this."

Fiona frowned, daring to look again at the pile of blades - and had to swallow a gasp. Where a moment earlier there had been ten dull knives, there was now just floor, not so much as a mark on the boards. As she stared, the birchwood seemed to blur and fade to silver, the glamour weakening as her concentration did. She snapped back to Keegan, whose icy eyes had narrowed.

"Are you going to be sick?" her cousin asked, lip curling. "I'm the one who has to look at your boney little body. You needn't punish me further by hurling up your lunch."

Remembering herself, Fiona grabbed a shawl from the open wardrobe by her side. "Alright then Keegan," she sighed, wrapping the fabric around her chest and shoulders. "Other than peeping at my boney little body, what are you here for?"

The fae gave a shrug of her shoulders. "Does a girl need an excuse to drop in on her dear cousin?" Her teeth gleamed as she patted the quilt beside her. "Come, let us be close - we'll gossip about boys and braid each others hair!"

Fiona stayed firmly put by the dresser, but allowed herself a small smile. "Ah. So this is about Baird."

A huff sounded from the bed. "Well, I suppose we could talk about the filthy, peasant kitchen faeries, but something tells me that wouldn't be half as interesting as the Winter prince."

The cousins' eyes met across the room. Fiona's narrowed, though not with malice.

"Why are you so interested?" she asked. "If I didn't know you better dear cousin, I'd think you were jealous."

Keegan's laugh was sharp as citrus, though just as lovely as its taste. As children, Fiona and Riordan had spent many hours making fun of their family's upturned noses and haughty drawls, teasing Donovan about his piggy little eyes or whispering about Cillian's paper-pale skin behind his back. But whatever they could say of the twins was limited to their character; much as Fiona wished Isolda and Keegan had crooked noses and cackled like the witches they were, their disposition and mannerisms were a stark contrast from their rotten hearts. Even in mocking, Isolda always sounded pretty, if a bit exaggerated in her speech. And likewise, Keegan's laugh was always lovely - at least, it was when she wanted something.

"I'm afraid, Fiona," she went on, still chuckling. "That even with your Lordly suitors, I have no reason to envy you. I have no doubt they'll dry up in time, when their families discover exactly who it is their son is gallivanting across Prythian for." she proclaimed loftily.

Fiona drew her shawl tighter around her shoulders. "I'm sure Lord Kallias was aware of his visit."

"Oh, on that we agree!" Keegan nodded as though they were village maids confiding in one another. Her elegant fingers wandered across Fiona's bedcover and began to play with the hem of her quilt. "Though the High Lord is likely under the impression that his son was here for lovely Lady Niamh, or Isolda, perhaps."

Silence stilled the air as Keegan found a loose stitch and began to pull slowly. "I know you weren't raised as a noble Fiona, so I'll make this plain. Your efforts on Baird are wasted."

Fiona rolled her eyes, but this only seemed to encourage her cousin, whose smile widened. She pulled harder on the thread, unravelling the edge of the blanket. "I'm not sure how on earth you managed to snag his attention in the first place, but this flirtation will only cause him pain. Soon enough his father will discover it is not lovely Niamh his son comes for, but a bastard girl who would rather wrestle in the wild with Illyrians than be a lady. And when that day comes-"

Using the long nail on her index finger, Keegan snapped the thread she had been toying with.

"-Baird will disappear," she finished, tossing the blanket aside as though it bored her. She fixed Fiona with a promising smile as she stood to leave. "And he will take your only chance to quit this court with him when he does."

Keegan left the room with her nose in the air, stalking off like a cat who'd finished with its prey. The moment the door closed, Fiona loosed a sigh and her glamour wavered like an image in the heat. Like a priestess she fell to her knees, scrambling to return the missing floorboard with the new kitchen knife stashed safely beneath it. 

When it was done she sat back on her haunches, breathing deeply. Her mind was reeling from the effort of keeping up the glamour, but more than that - Keegan's words had struck a chord. Though she hated to admit that her cousin could have any kind of an effect on her, Fiona knew she was right. Baird was a kind young boy with a gentle heart, a heart his hardened father might not care to break. 

And if Lord Kallias did disapprove of his son's flirtations, where would that leave her? Her knives were a comfort in the clutches of her night terrors before the dawn, but she wasn't stupid enough to believe that she could really make it out of the territory on foot, even if she was armed to the teeth.

Keegan was right. Baird was still her best bet at escape. So she'd have to do everything she could to win him over. She would have to learn to love him - and soon, so that he could spend some of that earnest energy convincing his father of the match, if he would even accept her himself.

Fiona sighed and leaned onto her back, her head thumping softly against the floorboards. 

Some things were easier said than done.