Kept in the dark seems to be the mantra of my hosts. Or, maybe rabble of rebels is a better description. Ardan sends me brief glances of concern from my curled position in the corner of the weapons wagon. A corner I've been allocated for the long journey back to the city. I feel a little like luggage, but girls with no earthly possessions should not throw stones, or dirty looks. Oisín sits by my side, braiding twine and chattering about something I've long lost track of. Despite the fabled wits of the faerie, it appears that only this little fawn seems to sense the drone of his chatter is the one thing that keeps me from shattering, and I'm content just to attune myself to it ... to him.

No one asked any questions when I returned from my encounter with Naisi. Ardan was by the tent. He simply raised an eyebrow and nodded once. He never joined me inside, and Oisín remained fast asleep the rest of the night. A full belly and cosy bed doing wonders, I could not say the same for myself. I lay awake the whole night considering every which way this bargain might play out, and how exactly I'd managed to walk myself into this.

The resounding, and oddly roomy, silence in my head alerted me to the fact that Naisi's intrusions were gone for the time being. Part of me wondered over this. Wondered over the absence and how the difference felt. Though there had been silence before I hadn't felt alone, something creeped in the crevices – caressing my thoughts with vapour fingers and curling around them. The emptiness now, well, it felt void. The realisation left me cold—hollow. When dawn broke I hadn't the energy to muster even a smile for Oisín—though a feeble attempt was made—and even less for Ardan.

Ardan's mount catches up with the wagon once again, another concerned glance my way, and eventually he clears his throat. I lift my chin, my gaze sidling from Oisín's nimble fingers and up to the captain.

"You haven't eaten or drank anything in some time, Clara," he says and nods to the water skin and parcel of bread wrapped in cloth tucked to my right. "Perhaps you'd feel better if you did?"

Better? How do I feel better about dying? Surviving, I suppose.

"I'm not hungry," I murmur, offering one of those almost smiles to try and brush over the concern. "Maybe later."

Ardan nods. "Instruction has been given that you are to have the best quarters and comfort within the palace. Once we arrive I will ensure you have servants to tend to you properly."

I tilt my head to the side. That instruction was bound to come from Naisi, and for Oisín's sake I won't utter his name, but Ardan spies the unspoken questions in my gaze and smirks.

"He has sway when it comes to the little one." Ardan motions to Oisín who has clambered to the far end of the wagon to speak to the driver. "Even the council lords and stewards would not dare cross a father's command. Besides, he needs a nursemaid, and he's clearly decided you are the favoured lady for the position."

I know I'm supposed to find comfort in that statement. That I'm supposed to chuckle along with Ardan, and be grateful for the favour ... and I am ... but my mind just feels empty. I can't quite summon the energy or think around what all of it means. Faerie Court? A lethal, deadly, wicked place if the tales are to be believed ... for a human at least ... but I'm not human anymore. That thought causes a pain to break through my chest and I inhale a sharp breath, fingers reaching to grip the wood of the open wagon. Ardan doesn't miss the movement, his brows ever deepening into a near constant frown.

"Remember what we discussed, Clara?" Ardan's question help me concentrate on breathing in and out, to pay attention at least. "You're most welcome in our kingdom as a refugee from the decimated Eastern clans." His brows rise and I nod. "It's so lucky Naisi's spirit happened upon your caravan, the only survivor." He drops his head in mock horror and shakes it. "Anything we can do to ease your suffering, lady, anything I can personally do, please do not hesitate to reach out. This is our fault. We were unprepared to receive our guests."

I let the words seep into my wide open mind, letting them paint a pretty picture. A delicate high fae lady, on her way to seek upstanding employment in a neighbouring kingdom, ruthlessly attacked and what was left of her kinsfolk butchered. I place that image over the horrifying memories of the truth. I can see where the lines blur. The savaged Formorians looking like wounded Fae. The rabble of warriors a stream of shining knights. A kind spirit in the trees. I swallow, blink back a few tears, and nod once again for an expectant Ardan. I can pretend. I'm good at pretending.

"Clara!" Oisín's voice lifts the shroud that seems to suffocate me and his sunny little face plops in front of mine. "We're home. We're here. Come, you have to come see."

He takes my hand and I move mechanically with him. We crawl to the front of the wagon and lean on the edge. Beyond the two elk drawing us forward the road curves and the forest falls away to a river of purest crystal. The water a wide and glittering sheath that cuts its way through the land like a pathway to heaven. Beyond it the forest climbs into the foothills a mountainous range that stretches high into blankets of mist and shards of white rock with cascading waterfalls.

The white rapids of the river rush with speed the closer we get, the sunlight casting rainbows off the foam that cuts around the marble bridge that rises out of the river. The white sheen of the bridge reflects the colours that dance in my eyes and leave me transfixed. That is until we begin to cross said bridge and I register it is not white marble but glass. I suck in a breath and lean away from the edge of the wagon, quite convinced us, the two elk, and the driver will simply disappear through the transparent floor and be swept away by the rapids beneath.

Oisín sniggers at my fright and grins at Ardan, who winks back.

"It's an illusion," Ardan tells me and motions to the warping and flickering bridge. "Did you think a Faerie city would be so easily discovered?"

I frown at both of them, but let my fingers creep over the edge of the wagon again as I lean and peer forward. Oisín pushes into my side, his small hand tightening around my arm, and I get the distinct impression he's just as nervous as I am. He ran away, maybe coming back feels a little like being captured. So, I reach a hand and engulf his with mine. He peers at me, his lip wobbling. I offer a smile and squeeze his finges. We'll do this together. He seems to take courage from my faux confidence and leans his cheek against my arm.

The bridge falls away and with it the illusion of a wide open forest. In it's a place cobble streets sprawl before us like a maze of rabbit warrens. High, creamy, stone walls warmed by the sun and dappled by the leafy overhang of the tree canopy's hidden within  the shade whilst ivy twines the high walls and spreads spidery fingers through the crooks and crevices of the great that seems to run for miles in either direction. The wagon passes through the opening into the outskirts of the city beyond, and as it passes I almost reach out to touch the oaken doors that have been parted for us. The wood—a silvery grey with the most intricate carvings—is smooth and solid, nearly a metre thick I'd wager. It isn't until all of our small rabble has passed through and the gates shut behind us that I can marvel at the full picture.

A white stag with antlers of pure silver wearing a crown of stars above its head—no, not just stars—a constellation of stars; the hunter constellation. It's almost like the carved lines in the wood glimmer but perhaps it is just a trick of the eye or how the sunlight catches the shadows. Either way it is the most majestic gate to behold and not a lock or bar in sight to indicate the mechanics of how it opens.

"Magic, Clara," Oisín tells me and when I look down he is studying my expressions with scholarly intent. I nod in understanding and he smiles. "Don't worry, I will help you."

Ardan eyes Oisín and presses a finger to his lips—a shushing gesture. A reminder that who and where I'm from is our little secret, just for the three of us, something I'd overheard him tell Oisín in our tent early in the morning before we left. Oisín likes this, to have a secret, and that so long as he keeps it he can keep me. I'm not sure how I feel about the insinuation of being kept, like a prisoner, or a pet, but what choice do I have? There's literally nowhere I can go, and I've a better hope of surviving with Oisín, maybe even a chance to find a way back home—if there even is a way back for something like me.

The wagon winds its way through quiet streets. Apart from faerie I recognise as guards due to their garb being similar to Ardan and his legion, there's very little in the way of activity. It's not long before I realise the quaint homes with their painted doors, and window boxes that once held flowers, are empty. Some have scorched marks and damage, others broken doors and smashed windows, and some just lie vacant. An eerie silence hangs in the air and I notice the tension in the shoulders and the weary expressions of the warriors around us. I glance to Oisín and he looks to Ardan, wide-eyed and pale.

"Our wards and walls were breached," Ardan murmurs, his eyes fixed to a point in the distance. "Millennia they've withstood the outside world until her, and we paid heavily, with many innocent lives."

Her. The evil Ardan spoke of. The mother. I sidle a peek at Oisín who doesn't react to the mention of his mother, but I presume he knows nothing of her. Judging by the pure innocence in those bright eyes that have shown me nothing but kindness and acceptance I sincerely hope he never knows of her. How can something so cruel create something so precious? He catches me staring and tugs my arm, so I plaster another smile on my face and bend my ear to listen to his whisper.

"No one talks about the battle. It's because this is where Grandpa ..." he swallows and ducks his head.

I curl a finger around his little chin and tug his sorrowful gaze to meet mine. "It's okay, I will help you too." A ghost of a smile tugs his lips and he tucks himself close to my side again. When I look away I find Ardan studying the exchange with pulled brows and drawn lips, but he doesn't voice what's bothering him and I don't question him either.

We remain in companionable silence as the wagon and our little troop continue through the streets. The cobble roads move into an incline and after a short time I notice more walls and a gradual change in the architecture. The quaint little stone homes with their flat-topped roofs and dusty steps give way to wide open pavilions made from shimmering alabaster. I realise, much slower than I should've, that it's the change in the environment. We're entering the foothills of the mountains and the homes and stately buildings are rising up out of chiselled rock and caves. It's so seamless that it takes time to differentiate the wild of the forest from the constructed buildings. Our road cuts straight into the foundations, yet all the light and forest continues to grow up around us like it has never been disturbed. Levels of apartments and multi-levelled stately mansions rise up either side and all around us. Silhouettes of figures roam in the bright and flowery balconies which somehow grow trees and shrubbery even on the very precipice of rock. Rivers flow around the streets, little gondolas and small canoes are tied up at jetties and around them life begins to blur into existence.

Markets dot the roads around the rivers. Vendors in the open air selling everything from the day's catches, to fresh produce, and more exotic items; silks, spices, even livestock. Voices are caught on the air along with music from folk songs on strange string and wind instruments that I can't quite see between the crowds as the swell and surge. The smell of food mingled with smoke from fires, and the tang of spice or aroma of wine fill my nose and coat my tongue. Faerie folk, not warriors or vicious beasts, stroll the streets. Their clothes a mismatch of colours but mostly greens, russets, golds, and browns. They wear smiles on their faces and embrace each other warmly with pleasantries and jovial laughter. Some appear a little less ornate than others indicating differences in wealth and status, but they all mingle and commune peacefully, and definitely not like the cut-throat court I'd been imagining.

"Welcome to Merchant's Row, Clara," Ardan says, arm aloft and waving it to the people and buzz of the area. "The heart of all trade and life in the city. The rivers are the main thoroughfare to the outside world. You'll find just about anything you need here." He points to the vendors along the little docks and then over to the left where great circular pavilions house the players and artists. "The amphitheatres are nearly always busy, plenty of entertainment to suit any mood, especially lovely in the starlit evenings. Beyond them are the public gardens and the Scholars courtyard—all our finest libraries can be found there. Further to your right, lies the Halls of Healing" He points forward and both Oisín and I crane our necks as the architecture becomes more intricate and high into the rocks, a warren of a chiselled out stairways and halls hidden in plain sight. "Then above us is the justice courts and treasuries ...the least interesting place unless you are prone to gold and a den of vipers." I laugh and Oisín pulls a quizzical brow. It appears even in Faerie terms the lawmakers and bankers are not to be trusted.

We pass through a narrow part where the offices of the treasury and the justice courts meet with just a bridge between them. Once through the other end it's like stepping into a dream. The manic bustle of the city fades to all but golden light and an air of elegance that commands poise. I sit poker straight, mouth wide open, as my eyes gobble up the images, unsure whether they are real or figments of imagination. Either way I never want to forget so I can return and try to capture it. I doubt a lifetime devoted to painting might ever be enough to do a single sliceo f this paradise any ounce of justice.

There, in the centre, rising out of rock and forest is a palace of spires and stairs, countless open balconies spilling with flowers and flora that I've no name for. It's chalk-white alabaster stone shines cool and bright as it reaches to point perhaps forty stories high. And all about us, as if standing guard, or holding attention, is a canopy of the tallest trees. As we pass I notice homes built into the high boughs. Beautiful, intricate homes with multi-levels, and a network of bridges and lamps lighting their way through canopies. Around us streams bubble past and the forest continues to live and grow uninterrupted. Birds flit in the trees and red deer graze openly and without fear. A fox peeps through bushy ferns not but a stone's throw from the wagon, then darts out of sight, it's flame tail ducking down hole in the roots of a great tree. Ducks paddle in the nearest stream, and a hare bound across the wagon's path.

"Welcome home." Ardan smiles at Oisín who peeps up at me with a grin.

"This is home." I gasp and lean so far forward that I might just topple out.

"Mhm." Oisín nods, then giggles at whatever expression is found there on my face.

"The great palace of the Northern Wood," Ardan begins in a commanding and overly deep voice which serves to intensify Oisín's laughter. "The highest seat of power this side of the Western Gate and home to the fiercest and most loyal clans ... throne of the Wild itself."

Ardan's small rabble join Oisín and I's chuckling at his theatrics, but I won't deny a thrill that runs through my veins at the mention of the wild ... as if it is a tangible thing. An identity all on its own. Perhaps it is?

The wagon rolls to a stop, and Ardan dismounts. He lifts Oisín down and offers me his arm which I gratefully accept. Transfiguration aside, I still don't trust my balance just yet. Once out of the wagon he motions for them to leave and they do, save for two of his warriors that flank him. We start towards the stairways that lead to a wide-mouthed opening bedecked with trees, or at least that's about as much as I can tell from this angle. It's long way up and the marble white steps are narrow, my stomach almost drops at the climb ahead, but needs must. Either side of the steps two slim crystal waterfalls plummet to the sparkling pools below. The rock has been carved into the feminine shape of identical women cradling bronze bowls that overfill with a gush of water adding yet more drama and awe to the artistry of this magical place.

Oisín keeps a firm grip of my hand as we start the ascent. Ardan a step behind, and his two companions a step ahead. The further we climb the tighter they close rank, until I'm fairly certain I sense the heat from Ardan's chest against my back. It's a little suffocating but I don't complain, especially once I register that there's a welcome committee at the top of the stairs. A small gathering of tall, thin, aristocratic gentlemen. Their appearance not nearly as vicious as the warrior that shield Oisín and I. Their clothes made of fine silks; robes paired with sashes and finely made soft boots that fit just below the knee. Most of them appear pale in complexion, like Ardan, but unlike the majority of the warriors in his legion. A mixture of fair and bronze colours of hair, nearly all long and either braided or immaculately preened indicating a less active or laborious lifestyle. And every single one of them is male. Not a feminine presence in sight. If not for the fact I'm certain I saw females in the city, I'd be convinced we were a dying breed here, but perhaps just in positions of power ... which isn't exactly a comforting thought.

"Captain Ardan you have proven your worth yet again." The voice of the most decorated individual crows from the centre of the huddle of aristocrats. "Did I not assure the council that this fellow would find our dear little prince. Though I should like to know what notion possessed his highness to run away from his home?"

Oisín's fingers curl tighter around mine as he slips behind my thigh. I get the distinct impression he'd like to disappear. I don't blame him. Ardan side steps and presents himself to the committee and bows, deeply, though I note the rigidity of the motion. He doesn't quite flow naturally into the respectful gesture and his jaw is pulled so tight I can see the very bands of his muscles quiver.

"My lord Darragh," Ardan begins, straightening out of his bow to gesture to both Oisín and I. "The child is not to blame. It is my fault—"

"And how pray tell is it your fault?" This Lord Darragh, circles out of this gaggle of lords, hands linked behind his back, reddish brows raised high on his forehead. "You are not tasked with the boy's upbringing, nor are you a guardian, in fact you're little more than a bounty hunter."

"I am captain of the King's elite guard," Ardan snaps, his voice gone cold and void of any pleasentry as his hands coil into fists. "Hardly some bounty hunter and I've been in the boy's life since he was born. I promised his father I'd guide him, it was a failure on my part to not be more present in his life. You can forgive me I take this misadventure a little personally."

"What use is there of a King's guard if we have no King." Darragh gives a short, sharp laugh. I'm nt sure if it's a jibe or a statement of fact. By the way the two warriors flanking Oisín and I shift, their shoulders flexing as they eyeball each other with matching expressions of fury, I'd go with jibe. "Face it, Ardan, you and your battalion are little more than specialist warriors made for missions such as these. Do not mince my words, the council is grateful, but the burden of raising this child is no longer your concern. Do yourselves all a favour and release yourself from the guilt. Naisi is not coming back. The sooner everyone accepts this the better ... including Oisín ... boy, why are you hiding?"

I don't know why I automatically shove Oisín further behind me? I guess Naisi might've been right, maybe I am a quick judge of character, and his character is giving off all sorts of bad vibes. Least of all because he looks like someone who grew up a little too comfortable. He's dripping in jewellery. Everything from emerald cufflinks, to a chain with a fist-sized diamond pin used to secure his sash about his chest. He screams wealth and power and cunning. A flash of his amber eyes and I shiver. He stops his circling to analyse me, taking an equally disproportionate amount of time to drink every last inch of me in. That fixed stare is piercing. It leaves me exposed and unable to meet his gaze, but I defiantly shield Oisín from those eyes ... those cruel faerie eyes.

"And this must be the survivor your scout reported?" Darragh asks Ardan without breaking his stare. "She does not have the appearance of one from the Eastern clans?" He purses his lips then shrugs. "Probably for the best, she will blend in better with the help now ... who was your family again?"

It takes me a minute to realise the question was directed to me, and I frantically look to Ardan who does his best still as a statue impression. We didn't go over families. He didn't recommend an alias, and now what? I can hardly lie, can I? Or ... maybe I can? Ardan doesn't really appear all that concerned and despite Darragh's pomp, there's no real proof he actually has a clue about the world outside his finer home comforts.

"My name is Clara," I say, then have to clear my voice because of the frog that catches it. I blush at the snort Darragh gives. "I've no family left, my lord. I had a grandmother back home but ... she passed on ... and my parents are not here to tell the tale of my family. My mother was from the West, perhaps that is why I don't appear how you would imagine one from the East should. They say I look like her ... my people that is."

"Ah." Darragh nods to his counterparts who all hang their heads in mock expressions of sadness. "It is just awful how our Eastern brethren has suffered. The mass exodus from those lands, well, it's to be expected. But why did you not go West to your mother's folk?"

"She was requested by the King himself, before he died," Ardan interrupts. "Lady Clara's grandmother had secured her a position here, as a nursemaid, the paperwork is all in order. You can check it yourself ... but with his death and Naisi ..." Ardan trails off and gives me a sidelong wary glance. "It appears the news got lost in translation."

"And how would you know of the paperwork?" Darragh eyes Ardan with utter disbelief, an almost smirk framing his thin lips. "I'm almost shocked an orphan wood dweller would even know how to read." The gaggle of council lords chortle and Darragh's wicked grin widens.

"I was educated in the city, my lord," Ardan answers through a tight smile and clenched teeth. "Besides, one does not need to read when Naisi confirms the order."

"And how could Naisi confirms anything?" The smirk is wiped right off Darragh's face and he spins on the captian. "Be careful of your next words, captain, the council will not tolerate blatant disregard and gross misuse of that name."

"I spoke with him." Ardan bows his head, his eyes flash toward Darragh, a challenge in them.

"You spoke with a shadow?" Darragh's voice goes quiet and low, one of those bronze brows leaping to his hairline again.

"No," I say and boldly step forward, well aware that Oisín hears every little detail and is clinging more desperately to my coat tails. "Naisi is no shadow. He is recovering within the safety of his woods, and I saw him, with my own eyes. Captain Ardan speaks the truth. If it weren't for Naisi's intervention I would be dead. So would your prince."

"You saw him?" A member of Darragh's council, a smaller lord, with mousy hair, asks, stepping forward while others share whispers and looks of alarm.

"Yes." I nod and try to remember to draw my spine up straight.

"How?" Another pipes up and I don't miss the seething look Darragh throws their direction.

"How?" I let out a nervous laugh. "How do any of us see each other. He is just as solid and real as you, my lord."

"It appears Naisi is not beyond hope, my lord Darragh," Ardan pipes up and returns to my side. "He is recovering his strength. It may take some time but he may yet return."

"He cannot return!" Darragh barks and every single one of us, council lords included, flinch at the echo his voice casts in the open pavilion. Darragh holds his head high and draws in a long breath with a slow exhale. "For his own safety, and the child's, he cannot come back here ... to the palace, or the city ... you all know what evil would follow. Surely he knows that risk too?"

"He, more than any of us, knows that risk," Ardan replies, only this time no forced smile accompanies the hiss those words make as they escape through barred teeth.

"Forgive me, Captain," Darragh says with heavy bow of his head. "I know you were very close to him. Of course all of us would love to see him restored to some semblance of heath, to live among his kinsfolk, but the risk ... it is too great ... and that breaks my heart to admit it aloud."

Liar. I don't need to witness the crocodile tears or the over-dramatics to know that his guy benefits far too much in the absence of a monarch. I can't speak for the rest of his council, for at least some appear perplexed by the revelations, but Darragh is in no rush to give up his power. He's got the best seat in the house.

"Nevertheless we shall need to monitor this situation," he begins, more to his small crowd of council lords. "If Naisi does find a way back to us then we shall need to be ready and waiting ... to best help him, of course. Either way, it changes nothing, we continue on with our plans. Lady Clara, you are very welcome and have arrived just in time. Young Oisín here needs care that we simply, as a government, cannot provide. Provisions have been made for you to join the Palace, and there will be healers assigned of course, to attend you considering your traumatic ordeal." He pauses to waft his arms in the air, but he's yet to actually acknowledge me. "Take however long you need to recover, and when you're ready we will have your properly introduced to your new position. Captain." He pauses to look over his shoulder at a fairly livid Ardan. "Please see the lady into the care of royal healers on your way out." He jerks a chin and provides a cool, watery stare at Oisín who peeps from behind me. "Come now, Oisín, I think you've caused enough trouble."

That's it. No emotion. No warmth. Utter dismissal, no wonder the child ran away. I'd run away. I want to run away and take Oisín with me. When Oisín doesn't move, Darragh lets out an exasperated sigh, turns right around, and clicks his fingers.

"Oisín do not have me repeat myself. Come."

He drops his little head and moves one toe forward .. and I slam a hand to his shoulder and hold him steady. He startles at the force and blinks up at me with those wide eyes that sparkle with tears he's valiantly attempting to withhold.

"No." I step in front of him, chin held high. Darragh's mouth slackens as he snaps his gaze from Oisín to me, then slowly looks me up and down.

"I beg your pardon?" He retracts a step, head tilted. Even Ardan is staring. I can almost sense his internal scream to stand down, but I can't. I won't.

"I was sent to be the child's caretaker," I say, placing my free hand on his other shoulder and drawing him close. "His father saved me and petitioned me himself. I do not need rest or recuperation. My duty is to the boy, and the crown."

"My dear, there is no longer a crown," Darragh chortles, though continues to slink his eyes up and down my frame ... measuring ... calculating. "And you have been through a traumatic event. You are in no fit sta—"

"With all due respect, I believe I am the judge of my own capabilities," I reply, shocked at how even I can keep my voice steady though my legs go to jelly and if my hands weren't clamped to Oisín's shoulders they'd be quivering too. "And, this little one has had more of a traumatic experience than I. If your people are ever to see the restoration of their crown then you'd best let me get on with the job I've been charged with."

Utter silence descends. The tension so thick I might choke on it. The stifling glare Darragh offers causes my skin to prickle and my nerve to waver. But, I can't let Oisín go into that brute's care. He'll lock him away in the cold and confusion. Punish him for doing the one damn thing everyone here seems terrified of attempting. Something is very wrong and I'm no genius but Faerie court doesn't have a notorious cutthroat reputation for nothing, and this lord reeks of illusion. The child is a pawn and his father knows it. I just don't quite know what the stakes are but I'm pretty certain power and position might have something to do with it.

After what feels like an age of silent stare-offs, Ardan clears his throat. We all give him our complete attention.

"She does come highly recommended." Ardan tosses a brief smirk my direction then enters another stiff bow. "And, our young prince is already extremely settled with her."

"Evidently so," Darragh says and casts a glance over Oisín who visibly shrinks from it. I give his shoulders a little squeeze of solidarity. "Please yourself," he mutters with a dismissive shrug. "However, I assume you will not object to our healers ensuring your fitness to work and appropriate security assigned while you become ... acclimatised?"

"I shouldn't expect anything less," I reply and give a rather disgraceful attempt at a curtsey. I can tell it's extremely sub par by the scrunched nose and horrified expression on Darragh's face as he swivel's on his heels and clicks a finger at Ardan. "Oblige the young lady, captain ... I haven't the time or the resources to rearrange plans ... show her to the living quarters. Introduce her to Naimh. She will oversee the rest."

And with that he sweeps out of the room. Along with his gang of lords. I notice that some of the less ornate males take a more submissive stance, and it takes me altogether too long to realise they are subordinates, perhaps personal servants. With that little nugget, the size of the council lords circle reduces even more, and from my guesstimations I count maybe five high-ranking officials. Just five. What a small number to hold such power over so many folk? I don't like it.

Oisín takes a full step forward and spins to eyeball me. "That. Was. Incredible!" Ardan laughs out loud and I blush as he hoots and looks at me like I might just be his hero. "No one ever speaks to Lord Darragh like that. And ... and ... you won!"

"Well, I wouldn't call it winning." I chuckle and outstretch my hand for him to take. "I think I might just have landed on his naughty list."

"That is for damn sure," Ardan says and shakes his head, almost in awe, as he looks me over. "Remind me never to piss you off."

"Wouldn't recommend it." I raise a brow, then cast my gaze downward to an impatient Oisín. "Well ... aren't you going to show me around?"

"Yes!" Oisín grins delightedly, then takes a firm grasp of my hand and yanks me forward. "Come on, Ardan, keep up!"

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A/N. Wow so much love already. So glad you guys are loving the changes to the characters and plot. This is still very much a first draft so I'm developing as I go and really love all your feedback and suggestions. It's just fabulous. I am sooo grateful, you've no idea.

And, what do ya'll think of Darragh? Hmm? What's his game? Also, I'd like to move to the city. Maybe ride a gondola up and down the cave rivers. Would be sooo awesome right now. A girl can dream. Anyone else excited to meet Niamh? *me*