Astor's voice is the first to pierce the nervous quiet.

"What do you mean?" The words are a cold, very barely controlled, fury.

In spite of the cold tone, one look into Astor's eyes and all Quinn can sense is pure flame. 

That they had only just been reunited - and God help the poor soul who attempted to separate them again. 

"Orders are orders," says a man who is clearly enjoying enacting the very same. 

Elodie's voice is quieter, but the fury is as clear as the sun in the skies over their heads. "You promised my friend safety."

"And I will not go back on my word," the confirmation is truthful, the Knight's heartbeat doesn't so much as hitch when he speaks. 

He sucks on his teeth, chuckling softly. "There is only so much Court Aquila stink we can bare with at once." 

Childish taunts, the murmur of laughter is something Quinn is barely conscious of.

"We cannot have too many strangers in our Court at once, as I'm sure you understand." 

Esmond seems nothing more than disappointed by the lack of reaction, but his tone does not quaver. 

"Or maybe not - from what I hear you weren't aware of a threat within your own walls until it was already too late." 

It is that which makes something snap. 

She makes the mistake of stepping forward, Quinn doesn't know if it is out of anger or something else. The movement slight but no one misses it.

Metal sings as several dozen blades point in her direction. 

Elodie is unconcerned, her gaze barely deigning to drift across them with disinterest. 

She is, however, in control enough that her movements slow to a seamless halt. 

Astor moves, the movement as smooth as rushing water, between the guards and Elodie, the movement almost unconscious. 

As instinctual as breathing. 

It is only as she watches Astor move, that Elodie's disposition changes - that too as subtle as the shift of the sun towards mid-sky. 

"Okay," her voice is hoarse but otherwise unchanged. "I will do whatever you need of me," her gaze drifts towards Sam, before snapping back towards Esmond. "If you assure my friends will be safe." 

The iron is back with the latter words, a slicing bitter thing. 

Esmond's laugh this time is not taunting this time. 

The closest thing Quinn can put a word to the melodic sound, is someone who's other choice is a sob. 

"Court Corvus has never been thought of kindly, Your Majesty," somewhere between a growl and a song, whichever would be deemed closest - it is clear it is a warning. "But we would not hurt a guest." 

She swallows, calculating and chewing on the words in silence for nothing more than a minute. 

Before finally deciding that his word is enough for her. 

"Okay." 

Astor, is less willing to listen. 

"Your Majesty," his words are deferring, quiet. "El-..." 

She swoops around, her pale, narrow arms around Astor's neck in a swooping motion that startles even the male fae. She holds him close for a moment, whispers something to his ear that only the pair is privy to. 

The pair, and Quinn. 

"Sam needs help and this is the only way," she murmurs, lips brushing Astor's ear. "And I think I can take care of myself." 

Astor almost laughs at that, but that too is very nearly a sob.

But he steps away with a stoic nod. 

Half of the soldiers crowd the Queen and Sam now. The other half gathering around the rear of the remaining two - cutting them off from the world outside. 

The Wolf catches the soldier that strays too close to him by the elbow, his grip gentle but his words are anything but. 

"If she returns with so much as a hair out of place," Quinn speaks for the first time now, and he does not know the source of his quiet words. But it is a gentle fury he recognises all too well, "I will make sure you regret the day you were born." 

The Knight nearly laughs, then whatever he catches in Quinn's eye, silences the sound. 

And the stranger darts away before Quinn can be sure whether his words have met their mark. 

Quinn watches her go, silently tracking her steps until she is devoured from sight by the darkness of the Palace's gaping jaws. 

Even then his gaze doesn't pull away from where she had disappeared, doesn't until he is shoved forward none too gently. 

The Wolf and the Fae are lead through the Palace entrance, their boots barely across the threshold before the world is filled by the groan of metal again. As the drawbridge is dragged back into place, the world is flooded with darkness for a beat again. 

As their eyes become accustomed to the golden light of the torches and candles. The world here smells of must, the distant sea, and the licking flame. 

Quinn isn't able to orient himself any further, as they are pushed deeper and deeper. 

His gaze drags across the room. Every he looks are more soldiers, the glint of metal at their hips, in their hands. Watching the newcomers with the same fear they might have a ravaging fire, but ready all the same for whatever might come. 

A portcullis allows some light into the chamber, a courtyard beyond, gardens and if he can concentrate on the sound hard enough, laughter. 

A merry world beyond this narrow, strange place. 

His eyes are quick to accustom to the darkness, and he finds himself in a narrow corridor. Descending several flights of stairs, their boots thudding against the dirt floor, the sound echoing until the sound drowns out the thrum of his own heart. 

He has lost count of the stairs by the time they finally come to a stop in a chamber barely lit by candles. Humid and hot and stinking, he doesn't ponder too long on the source of the smell, the familiar tinge that reminded him of the one place he wanted to put far from his mind.

A rattle of keys as a large, thick wooden door is unlocked and pulled open. They are thrust into the room it has unlocked. The ceiling is cavernous, and in the dim light he cannot see the end of this place. 

Mostly because his gaze is dragged only one place. 

Cells, two dozen of them. Metal bars dug deep, reaching upward until they connect with the ceiling metres above their heads.  

In the distance he can hear the stir of movement, but he doesn't know if they are prisoners or prison guards. 

He and Astor stand shoulder to shoulder.

Quinn is so distracted he barely notices the handcuffs being strapped to his narrow wrists, flinching in a delayed manner when he realises. But it isn't that which has his heart thundering so hard it feels fit to burst through the cage of his chest. 

A cell door opens, the metal groaning as it is forced open, bars scratching against the stone floor. 

A fae man stands beside the bars, studying the pair in silence, eyes dark as they drag up and down the both of them. Like he would sooner eat them for dinner than he would offer a kind word. 

He says nothing, jutting a calloused thumb through the new opening. 

An offer - the easy way or the hard way. 

Astor has relented himself to this fate, is moving and within the cell in only a matter of heartbeats. 

Quinn is less willing, barely conscious of the effect the sight of a cell is having on him, until he realises he has stopped moving. 

"In." The stranger's breath is hot and stinking and threatening, mere inches from his face and the sound echoes through him. 

Quinn wants to move, every part of him wants to follow the order. 

But his legs keep him rooted in place, and no matter how he tries to force it, he cannot take a step further into the cell. 

The dark a ravenous thing, the parting of the rusted gates like great jaws opening wide. 

Ice bolts through every inch of the Wolf, a sensation so all-consuming, he can track its movement through his veins. Freezing him in place, holding him still. 

His brain screams at him, pleads with him to turn, to run.

He can feel the eyes on him, lines of sight that burn through his clothes, his skin. 

But the chasing stares can't move him from his spot.

Aside from the unconscious knowledge that he is being watched by everyone, he barely acknowledges it. Unable to hear anything beyond the sound of his own mind screaming at him, a bloodied, broken echo. 

Reminding him that the last time he had stepped into a cell, he hadn't felt the sunlight on his skin again for nearly three years. 

"Quinn," the sound of his name is enough to bring him away from the numbness, if only for a heartbeat. 

Just in time to hear the whoosh of air, and feel something hard crack between his shoulder blades, drawing a cry - mostly from shock, from his lips. 

A blow so minor would normally have barely been noticeable, catches him off guard. 

But it catches him off guard enough that he doesn't spot the second swing, a sword hilt connecting with the back of his knees, which sends him toppling forward, onto the hard, obsidian stone. 

Though the bark of pain in his knees is a jarring thing, he doesn't blame the guards for their choice. Quinn doubts he would have been able to move had it not been through force. 

"Quinn," it is the familiar tone of someone who isn't quite sure of what words to use, but only that he needs to say something. 

It takes him a moment to realise it is Astor but he has no words of his own to answer.

The gates swing shut again, and as the metal clangs into place, the fight in the Wolf dies at last. Though fight is a pitiful world for whatever that was. 

He can feel Astor's eyes on him, drifting across him. 

Something near to pity, though Quinn tries not to think on that for too long. He can smell the questions, but he makes no effort to meet them, answer them. 

Instead his gaze turns to the wall opposite them. 

A small window, square and barely large enough to allow a slither of sunlight to pierce through the small cell. Bars cut across the opening, rusted but strong. 

That slither of sunlight is all Quinn can think of, and it is enough to bring his heart to a steadier pace. And as he calms, Quinn slumps against the cell-wall, the tips of his shoes dipping into the pool of light. 

His hands running through his dark brown curls, pulling at the knots. 

Trembling.