Ardan chooses to speak very little on our way to wherever home is for Oisín. He seems uncomfortable, on edge. His eyes flit from objects, to floors, to ceilings and he keeps one hand braced on the hilt of a long knife just visible where it pokes out from the leather of his faded and beaten-up jacket which he has loosened. In one way it's an odd image—a solider in the midst of a palace loosening his armour, but not his anxiety. It doesn't quite instil any confidence and I try vainly to focus on Oisín's endless energy and vague direction as he pulls me further and deeper into this strange and cavernous Palace.

The white rock walls are polished to near glistening. The floors flecked marble, thin veins of gold and silver branch out through the wide slabs like young tree roots, which is fitting considering every supporting column is a grand tree—carved of stone—but the craftsmanship so perfect it's almost deceptive. I have to look twice to convince my brain that the structures are stone and not real trees. Great chandeliers hang from gigantic domed ceilings with burning lights that I can't quite decide as living flame or trapped starlight. Art work decorates the ceilings and the walls; dawn, day, twilight, night-scapes swirl on the rock canvas above our heads. Trees, valleys, and rivers come alive on the walls around us. It's an artist's dream and the beauty of it brings tears to my eyes. Maybe this is heaven? Or, at least my version though I don't even believe my mind could ever touch the mastery of this place ... this dream.

"Nearly there!" Oisín cries, his little chest puffing with exertion from practically running the whole way. "You can see my room first."

I giggle at this enthusiasm as he skids to a halt by a set of marble staircases. He points dramatically and I follow the direction of his finger to the open expanse below. I need to blink once ... twice ... thrice ... my breath all but gone.

If a world could be captured within a world this would be it. My mind can't quite understand or make sense of the logic or the mechanics that brought any of this place to life, but this ... this is the masterful pinnacle of design.

A garden—as beautiful as the one outside the palace—grows in a small pavilion that opens onto a cliff that overlooks the entire city and the forest beyond. I realised we'd climbed a lot of stairs and had felt the slow incline from entering the city, but this ... my mind can't quite figure it and I sway, reeling at the dramatic shift in place. The journey here seemed so subtle, so easy, and yet here we are high up in the mountain. I must audibly gasp for Ardan puts a gentle hand on my shoulder. He offers a small smile and nods to the view.

"Our kingdom's are intricate, they defy a lot of your people's natural laws," he says trying, I think, to offer some context to my already boggled mind. He guides me toward the steps, mercifully only a few this time, and we descend together, Oisín already several feet ahead. "I can only sympathise with you. This is a lot to digest."

I merely nod in agreement. There's nothing to say. I don't have any words and even if I did they would all fall short. So, I just keep walking, mentally reminding myself that I'll take one minute at a time, no need to freak out just yet, I can deal with anything if I just stay in the present and don't think too much. Ardan gives my shoulder a little squeeze again and I remember to breathe.

We follow a winding path to the foot of a home. Quaint, in some ways, compared to the grandeur of some of the stately dwellings I saw on the way in. But, it's impressiveness isn't in the design or the artistry, it's the position. A porch, if one might call it that, runs along the garden then sweeps out onto the cliff, and every storey above it has a balcony that does the same. There's only about four stories that I can count, each have a warm glow emanating from the open archways and doorways. Gossamer drapes billow from those doors cracked open, and the light dances off panes of stained glass. The smell of fir, florals, and moss mingles with the scent of cinnamon, peppermint, sage, and even the muskier tang of sandalwood? Maybe frankincense?

Before my mind can catalogue and compare the wild assault on my senses, a door quietly clicks shut and I blink—stay present. A figure moves out from behind the grand entrance arch, their footsteps timid, almost disbelieving. A woman. A female. I wilt with relief.

"Oisín?" She murmurs in a wind chime voice that almost parallels the song birds twittering on the overstuffed hanging baskets slung to the stone railings.

"Niamh! Niamh!" Oisín beams and bounds up the steps and straight into the arms of the woman who drops to her knees to embrace him. A sound close to a strangled hiss leaves her and I swear her shoulders tremor at the impact of that hug.

"Lady Niamh of Darach." Ardan motions to the lady before us. "Her family have been close personal friends to our previous King, and to Naisi, for many, many years."

At the mention of her name she straightens out of her crouch and wipes tears from her eyes. Large, turquoise eyes that are a startling contrast to her mocha rich skin and mane of molten chocolate curls. My jaw works to stop itself from unhinging and hitting the floor. Sure I've been surrounded by these disgustingly handsome warriors for days, some of which were female, and equally as terrifyingly beautiful, but not a feminine creature. Not a Faerie lady in all her glittering glory, and for a short, sharp second I am acutely aware of how dirty, bedraggled, and very unfeminine I must appear. I duck my chin in shame, my gaze sweeping dirt encrusted nails and muddy clothes.

"And friends to their friends," she answers Ardan and trots down the steps, slender hands clutched together at her chest as she offers a little bow. "Captain, must a tragic emergency be the only reason we see your face around here?"

Ardan's lip twitch upward and he tilts his head shyly. I quirk a brow. "There's very little need for a captain of the King's guard when there is no king, is there?"

"Nonsense!" She plants her hands on her hips and looks him up and down. "You're just sulking." He doesn't correct her, only keeps his eyes firmly at his feet, as she twists around to observe me with those sparkling eyes. "This cannot be she? Is it?" She whisks her head back to Ardan who can't even loosen his lips. His lack of quick response prompts her to catch my arms in her hands, a smile breaking across her heart-shaped face. "The survivor who saved our little prince and found my missing Naisi ... who is going to wish he stayed missing once I get my hands on him ... oh, look at you."

Her brows furrow as she strokes my hair and then inspects my hands. "Don't you worry, I will take care of all this." She waves a hand around my head. "You'll have to forgive me I was told you'd be going to the healing halls for a time." She shoots Ardan a pointed glare. "I haven't quite finished preparing your room, and I've no measurements for your clothes, but we'll find something suitable. I'll have a bath poured immediately." Her fingers snap and then she pauses to touch a hand to her brow and tuts. "Oh ... I'll have to check the pantries for some lotions. Honestly, it has been an age since there's been some female company around."

I can't decide whether it's the warmth of her smile or the over animation in her features, but something about her glows and for the first time today a genuine—albeit tiny—smile creeps its way onto my lips completely unbidden.

"My manners!" She gasps out loud and I flinch at her theatrics. "I didn't even properly introduce myself, just let this lug do it for me, and honestly like you'd even know who the Darach are?" She eyeballs Ardan. "For goodness sake, you make us sound all important. We're not." She reiterates, just for my benefit. "I'm just a simple chieftains daughter who happens to have a fine taste in friends. I'm the help ... the head housekeeper the King's personal staff ... well ... was." She ducks her chin and tries to push a clump of her energetic curls behind a delicately pointed ear. I notice a pretty gold cuff decorating the outer rim and wince, that piercing must've been painful. "Well, its neither here nor there, we have our little Prince Oisín to attend to now, don't we?" She swivels to the steps and outstretches an arm to my little rescuer who grins back. "Little scamp keeps us all on our toes."

Her comment is utterly weightless by the beaming smile she offers him as he hops down the last few steps to join us.

"Well now that Niamh has stopped for breath," Ardan interrupts, earning him a slight pout from the effervescent lady. "Clara," he begins and outstretches his hand to gesture to Niamh. "is an immigrant from the Eastern clans. Very far east. She's never been inside a city, let alone one of the major kingdoms. I'm certain a lot of this is a huge culture shock to her, so any guidance and discretion on your part, Niamh, would be greatly appreciated.

"Naturally," she sniffs and looks Ardan up and down like he seriously underestimates her, then outstretches a hand for me. "Come, I'll take care of everything. We'll get you settled in no time." She offers another of her warm smiles and nods toward Ardan. "This one forgets I was one of the wild folk. I know how to fool the aristocracy."

"Yes," Ardan adds with a wink. "Don't let the yards of silk and courtly manners full you, this one has a bite."

"Mhm." Niamh nods and rolls her eyes. "And don't you forget it."

I press my lips tight together, suppressing the grin that threatens to split my face. Gingerly, I let my grubby fingers slip into Niamh's outstretched palm. She gives my hand an encouraging squeeze and guides me up the steps and through the front door. Oisín has already darted ahead and is kicking off his boots in the little atrium. The sunlight casts a rainbow of colours from the marbled stained glass above the door upon a solid, redwood floor. An intricate golden coat stand that looks like rambling roses holds an array of cloaks, some thick and fur-lined, others light and hooded. Boots and shoes of varying sizes line-up neatly by the coat stand. I notice all of them masculine. Riding boots, ankle boots, boots with long and scaled leathers with metal-capped heels and toes.

"Who else lives here?" I ask, my curiosity getting the better of me.

Niamh pauses at the inner door, her eyes following my gaze and her chest expands and falls in a weary sigh. "No one but us, my lady. I haven't the heart to move his things."

She doesn't need to elaborate. The heaviness in her eyes and how she drops her head is enough of an answer. These are Naisi's things, and I wonder how much of him is woven into the fabric of this home, for it sure doesn't seem he has any presence left in the kingdom. I follow Niamh through the doors and into a spacious hallway.

Ardan hasn't even put a foot through the door when she spins and points at his attire. "Excuse you. No weapons in the house. Leave them in there please, house rules."

I chew the inside of my cheek to stop the snigger at Ardan's grumbling. The tell-tale crash of blades hinting at his disgruntlement. Niamh ignores it and floats to the little table in the centre of hall. A crystal vase sits atop and inside wild flowers spill out and almost cover every inch of the table. She sets her fingers gently on the table and glances around the hall, before clearing her throat.

"Naisi's mother loved all the wild things," she says and looks pointedly at the table. "He ... I ... like to keep little touches of the family. It's good for Oisín." I nod in agreement, my own gaze floating around the airy hall noting the doors and a wide stair case leading to the upper levels. It's not exactly where I imagined a royal to live. Niamh, clearly seeing the confusion on my face flutters a hand around her. "Naisi liked to live privately. He couldn't live away from court but he could create a safe space for himself and his son. This is his home. You will be safe here. No one can come here except by Naisi or one of his blood's permission."

"Even the council?" I motion to Ardan, my shoulders inching closer to my ears at the thought of being under Darragh's scrutinizing watch. Ardan shakes his head.

"No, especially not them," Niamh affirms, both she and Ardan sharing hardened looks. "This is a sanctuary. There are even enchantments still clinging to this house, though they are weakened in the absence of the one that cast them."

Again, I don't need her to elaborate. Naisi was obviously taking precautions long before he vacated. This doesn't fill me with any kind of comfort. It only serves to remind me that outside these doors the nefarious Seelie would not think twice of taking advantage of me, and maybe even Oisín. It must have been great need that drove the child out from the protection his father built for him. And, I could cheerfully choke his father for thinking four walls and a pretty view would stop his son's curiosity ... or, his desperation.

"The kitchen is toward the back," she points behind her. "It's accessible through the door to right, that leads to the dining room throw to a drawing room, and from their kitchen and the pantries." She clasps her hands together and then motions to her left. "That is lounge, which opens up onto a beautiful terrace. It's quite spacious. There's a piano if you like to play?"

I shake my head. "I can't, or, at least I haven't played much since childhood when grandmother forced me to take lessons."

"Oh? I apologise I assumed you'd be instructing Oisín." She glances to Ardan, an uncomfortable blush decorating her cheeks.

"No, Clara will be only his caretake, we've yet to establish good tutors. Though, I'm certain Lord Darragh has a few in mind." Ardan swiftly saves the moment and offers me a tight grimace.

Niamh only nods in understanding and returns her trademark grin. "Of course, that makes sense, so ..." she trails off and motions to the stairs. "I'll show you to your suite. I'm sure you very weary."

I don't argue and amble along behind her, noticing that Oisín has already disappeared up the stairs, but I assume from the odd scuffle and bang in the distance he isn't far. Niamh instructs Ardan to make himself comfortable, she has tea waiting in the kitchen. He offers me a parting nod. His relaxed stance a small comfort. He obviously trusts Niamh, and as of yet there's nothing about her that is in anyway disagreeable. Frankly, I find her easy chatter and concern somewhat disarming, and the relief of not living on my nerves is starting to allow that ache in my bones to return. My head bobbing with exhaustion.

She leads me up the flight of stairs, and informs that the two levels above belong to Oisín and Naisi respectively. When I quirk a brow, because I assumed servants and nursemaids would be holed up in the attics she's quick to amend her description.

"I know, it's odd isn't it." she laughs guiding me along the corridor to the left toward a grand floor to ceiling window that overlooks the world below. "The top floor was entirely the prin—" she coughs and corrects herself. "Naisi's, I mean. He liked his space. Liked to be high up. Liked to able to see everything. He used to say he could watch the stars and still keep an eye on his forests from up there."

To see. The words catch me. An image of those shattered eyes flashes before me and I almost stumble at the realisation. He can't see anything anymore. The thought of not seeing another sunrise, or the constellations glittering to life, or the view from that stunning window pierces me in a way I'd not expected. I'm an artist, I live by my sight, and I wonder did he?

"Are you alright, my lady?" Niamh pauses, turning to place a hand on my arm.

I swallow. Then blink. "Yes. Yes of course." I attempt a smile and add, "though you really must stop calling me lady. I'm certainly no chieftain's daughter. And, not of any special notoriety to afford such a title."

To this, she openly laughs. Those beautiful eyes filling with mirth as she wraps both slender hands around my shoulders. "I do believe the lady that saved our young prince and found my dear friend is deserved of such a title ... regardless of where she's from." She winks and starts guiding to an ivory door sporting beautiful golden leaf handles. "In my humble opinion the title of lords and ladies and royalty should be earned, not bestowed."

"Wouldn't that make a nice change," I reply as she pulls open the door. "But, please, I would really feel much more comfortable if you just called me Clara."

"Of course." She nods. "And, please, call me Niamh. It is really lovely to have another feminine presence around here. I do hope we can be friends."

The sincerity of her words causes an ache deep in my gut. Friends? Would she be friends with me if she knew what and who I was? Would she be friends if she knew I was a human before all of this? Probably not. Still, she doesn't have to know, and likely will never know if I can hide as much of my human oddities as possible ... oh gods ... she's gonna know.

"Well." I draw in a deep breath and shrug, painting a silly grin on my face. "I don't have anyone, so I guess we're friends by circumstance."

"The very best kind," she beams and shoves on in to the room. "This will be your room. I'm back down the hallway. If you need anything at all, at any time, just come knocking." She splays her hand wide. "And I mean anything. Don't be shy. Us, Northern lasses are not particularly prudish. Feminine things, a good cry, heavens, even contraceptive tonic—don't ever feel you're alone—I'm here to help."

"Th-thanks," I stammer, a little taken aback by absolute unabashed nature. She reminds me a little of Mary—unapologetic and a defender of the sisterhood.

She motions me into the room with a flick of her wrist, her eyes dancing. I slide through the door, finding everything in darkness with drapes still pulled. Again, she clicks her fingers, almost absently, and with a swoosh the drapes fall open and the place is bathed in golden light. I nearly hit the wall with fright. Almost catch the door to stop myself toppling out of the room. The drapes opened by themselves. Or, not ... no, Niamh opened them, with a click of her fingers.

"Are you alright?" She asks yet again, her brows raised high in alarm. I might curse myself for being so stupid as to be stunned by magic. I'll never keep my secrets if I'm going to leap right out of my skin at every faeish talent,

"F-fine." I cough to clear my throat. "Heads a little light. The sunshine blurred my vision."

"Oh." She frowns, and for a moment I don't think she's going to buy until she slaps a hand to her curls. "I'm so stupid." She shakes her heads and tuts. "I'm so used to being by myself. It's muscle memory. I don't always remember that not everyone can command objects with a thought." She wrings her hands and ducks her chin. "Truly, I didn't mean to blind you ... how rude am I?"

"No. No." I outstretch my palms. "I'm just not very sharp since ... well ... you know?"

Her face fills with pity and compassion, and perhaps even awe as she nods. "Such a terrible tragedy. I'm so sorry for your loss. I didn't want bring it up. And, please, know I'm here if you ever feel you need to talk. We've all seen terrible things."

"Thank you," I whisper and it's my turn to duck my chin and feign grief.

"Well," she eventually says and dusts her hands as if swishing away the uncomfortableness. "Like I said, I'll take care of everything." Then she motions to the room, which I begin to slowly catalogue. "There's a bathroom through those doors, I've the bath already running. It should be ready now." She points to a set of ivory double doors to the left and grimaces, and it amuses me that she's embarrassed about her power, so I offer an enthused grin in return. "Plenty of fresh towels and soaps. I will fetch you some clean dresses." She observes me for a moment, tapping a finger to her chin. "I've some spare in my wardrobe that will do until I can send your measurements. Five, I think, to begin with. And, undergarments, several stockings, and three nightdresses. A sturdy well-fitting cape too. Oh, and riding gear. This should do, what do you think?"

"Five ... as in five dresses?" I want to ask where on earth I'll be wearing them if I'm just a glorified nanny but I keep that to myself.

"Right." She clutches her hands again and seems to mentally count with every bob of her head. "Yes, you're right, maybe seven?"

"No. Sorry," I say and hold out my hands again. "I just don't think I've ever owned five dresses in my life."

A wide and brilliant smile lights up Niamh's features, like I might have just informed she's come into a small fortune. "Truly? How many dresses did you own?"

"Um ..." I try to wrack my brain for a realistic number for a faerie lady. "Two? An everyday and an occasion dress."

"Bless the mother! Two!" She flaps her hands at her sides. "You'll need more than two here. You're in the service of the young prince ... and it comes with its benefits ... lots of fancy frock benefits." Her eyes are practically glittering and she bounds to my side and clutches my hands in hers, sharing a girlish giggle. "My papa used to say I was spoiled coming to work for the royal family. A change of dresses every season, who needs that, he'd tease me terribly. But, you know what, there's nothing wrong with a bit of luxury." She giggles again and squeezes my hands. "So, you tell me exactly what you've always wanted and I'll make it happen."

"You're spoiling me." I chuckle but only because I'm buying for time. I've no idea what a lady would want in the latest Seelie fashion? And, I've certainly no experience of ball gowns. In fact, there's a reason I never did that whole maxi dress trend, spent more time tripping on my hems than staying upright. "Uh, I don't know ... what do you think?"

"Oh, don't tell me you don't adore fashion?" She almost whines and I can't help my laughter,

"It's not that I don't" I offer with a shrug. "I just don't know what would be in fashion for the northern lasses." Nice save. I allow myself a congratulatory smug smile.

"Oh," she huffs a delighted sigh and flutters her eyelashes, one of her hands swiping the air between us. "I can absolutely guide you in the best northern fashion."

"Excellent, because I think I'll need it." I nod along with her bouncing head. She's nearly vibrating with excitement. "So, please, it would be so appreciated if you can help me with the right stylings to fit in."

"Say no more," she places a hand on her heart. "This is certainly my area of expertise."

"I'm relieved." I chuckle as she dances to the doorway. "Settle yourself in. I'll leave fresh clothes on the bed for you. And, if you're feeling up to dinner, it's at nightfall. Oisín and I would love nothing more than the pleasure of your company ... perhaps, even Captain Ardan if I can convince him to stay."

"That would be lovely," I remark and watch her disappear out the door we entered with a parting wave.

For a few minutes a stand in the centre of the room, kind of at a loss for what to do, or even what to think? Although, to be honest, I've given up on coherent thought patterns long ago. The emptiness in my head alerts me again to the lack of that irritating voice, and even though he's not exactly a person high in my estimations, my stomach sort of sinks. It appears being irritated is better than feeling nothing at all.

That long, endless, gaping darkness swirls in the background—in the shadows of the room—threatening to swallow me whole, again. I breathe in. Then out. And repeat until the panic rising in my chest dissipates, at least enough to allow me to focus on the details surrounding, anything to distract me.

The room is very spacious, hardly for a servant. Hard, cherrywood floors gleam without even a hint of dust and there's several plush woven rugs in soft ivories. A bed dominates the internal wall and faces toward the three large floor-to-ceiling windows. The one in the middle, I register as a Juliette balcony, with wild flowers rambling the wrought iron spindles along with waxy climbing ivy. The drapes are a simply silver, thick and heavily lined. I walk toward them and finger the brushed fabric, testing the immense weight and craftmanship, before glancing back to the bed. It's large, but fairly simple. The same warm wood and fashioned in a sleigh shape, but with beautiful carvings on the head and foot. I meander back to it and traces the images; a wild hare running through the tall grass at the base. And the head; that wise stag but with what appears as stars woven in his crown of antlers.

I run curious fingers over the thick down comforter; ivory with delicate star shapes stitched into the fabric. Plump pillows bounce back with the softest of touches, and with a little rummaging I notice a warm blush woollen blanket beneath. There's also a grey fur draping the bottom of the bed, and for a moment I consider crawling on top of the bed and swaddling myself in it, but Niamh did mention a bath. One swift sniff of myself has me straightening and hurrying for those double doors.

Steam billows from the moment I slip inside. A clawed foot tub takes up the majority of the room, again tilted toward windows that look out onto the wild of the forest, being much too high up at this point to see the kingdom from this angle. I'm relieved to see what appears to be a working toilet, and a marble vanity with a gilded mirror and pristine white basin. The vanity is stocked with towels and soft wash cloths, even a sponge. By the bath there is dark coloured soap. I pick it up and take a tentative whiff. Something woodsy and fresh hits my nose—clean and tangy—spruce, maybe? And, something more citrus. It's divine.

So, with a bathtub filled with piping hot water. Fresh, fluffy towels warm and folded close by, and what looks like a heavy blush robe draped over a wicker chair in the corner of the room by the window—I decide that I might have earned some me time.

xXx

I wake in a dazed stupor, cocooned in the grey fur, curled in the fetal position atop the bed. The sun already sank below the horizon leaving my new room in a dusky shade. I sit bolt upright, scrambling to ensure my robe is secured in place and I'm not exposing my chest and lord knows what else?

It takes a moment, or maybe a few, to gather my senses. I recall finishing my bath and sitting on the bed, but somewhere between then and now I must've lost all consciousness. Part of me is relieved it was a dreamless sleep, the other part a little freaked out at the fact I've lost track of time and memories. Oisín had wanted to show me his room? He was with me this whole time and at the first sight of a bath and blankets I abandoned him. That's not really keeping up my end of the bargain, but instead of a roaring voice in my head there's that ever present silence. I scowl.

Ripping the fur coverlet off I brace for the cold, but the room is warm ... cosy even. It's then that I spy the small hearth on the outer wall, burning gently, and the clothes neatly folded atop the arm chair there. I notice a little more detail than I had earlier, my mind too frayed to process anything other than basic needs. But, with a little rest, I see my room is bedecked with two ornate wardrobes, the same carvings etched in them as the bed, a matching set. There's two little bedside tables, similar in design. The one closest to me has a lamp with that strange living flame that flickers without need of an energy source or wick to burn. On the other little table sits a few bottles. On inspection I find them to be labelled with little cards. Two are lotions; one for wounds and the other for soothing the skin. Two more are oils; one for hair and nails, the other for the face. And, the last, a crystal decanter with a little puff—perfume. I give it a squeeze and a burst of jasmine with something warm and deep scents the air.

I take a few moments to apply some of the healing lotion on my cut up foot, that's nowhere near as bad as it was, and slather a bit more on the various cuts and gashes still healing on my hands and neck. I decide to leave the other fancier bottles for later, when I've time, but don't deny myself a swift spirtz of the perfume before clambering out of bed. My toes hit the warm rug but also soft, satin slippers which I swiftly shove into, then dart to the fire to inspect the clothes.

Nothing too outrageous awaits. A simple mauve dress, with even simpler undergarments; cotton vest, pants, and a straightforward petticoat. I dress at speed, keen to find Oisín and apologise for my prolonged absence. But, when I catch an image of myself in the mirror overhanging the fireplace I outwardly sigh, and sag forward.

My hair is a bird's nest. The blonde curls matted and sticking out in every direction but where they should, a consequence of air drying without attention. A quick scout of the vanity in the bathroom finds me a brush and a comb. It takes several minutes of brutal brushing and yanking at the knots but eventually I manage to claw the mad mess into a thick bunched braid. I've nothing to tie with but at least its own weight will hold it off my face for a little while.

Convinced I look somewhere near normal, and the little buttons of the dress definitely tied, I smooth the skirt and straighten my shoulders. I can do this. I can make sense of all this ... somehow ... I'll just have too. There's a little warning bell in my head that gives a weak tinkle. I'm not okay. I've no answers. And, with every second ticking forward I've less of a grasp of reality. Nothing but an old man's rambling, and his ring ... his ring.

I sprint for the bathroom yet again, stumbling over my own feet as I claw over wet towels left hanging over the tub. My clothes? The ring? It's my only proof of what happened. My only insurance that these people do not kill me. And, it's not mine to lose in the first place. What happens if I lose a dead faerie king's prized possession? The sickening feeling my stomach only confirms I don't want to find out.

Mercifully, my old clothes are still carelessly strewn on the wicker chair where I'd cast them off for the robe. I jam groping fingers in the tunic pockets and they clasp around that ring. I nearly fall to the ground in relief as draw it out and stare at it where it sits in my palm glimmering in the faint dreg of lights.

What was Odhran thinking? I roll over the heavy metal and the hunk of a jewel. The opulence, the wealth, and the status of this one ring is astounding. It's not something given without cause, but what he thinks I have to do with anything is still a baffle? I figure, pretty quickly, in a kingdom where the old king and his prince have been quickly swept aside that this little nugget is significant. A clue, maybe? My thoughts around his last words to me. Those riddles. He said something about maybe saving more than one life. Maybe there's something I need to do here? Ardan said as much with the Ever-Light stuff. But, yet again, I'm drawing a complete blank as to what on this good earth I might do.

Sealing my fist tight around the ring I hug it to my chest and stride back into my bedroom, lifting a small unused wash cloth as I go. I wrap the ring up tightly in the cloth and drop to my knees by the bed, diving on to all fours to slip my hand under to feel for a raised groove or slat I might hide it. True enough, near the head of the bed, the wood that adds as the ligaments for the slat protrudes just enough to neatly tuck the ring. There. It'll be safe there for a time, at least until I can find somewhere better,

I rise back on to my feet and stride for the door. I can't prolong my absence much longer and maintaining a cover is simply the only option I have. I need to understand more. There's a million questions that rush so fast in my mind that it feels like a rickety old washing machine left on spin cycle. How and when I'll get these answers, I don't know? But, I must try, and it looks like Ardan and Niamh might be my best shot, especially since Naisi has upped and left his rent-free position in my head ... rude ... you'd think convincing a gal she'd psychosis would automatically entitle me to answers. Then again, I forgot who I am dealing with. Bloody Seelie.

************************************************************

A/N: Oh my gosh. Look where the time has gone. Guys I've been trying to write as much as possible to get material ahead. I'm aware I've real author deadline about to approach. So I'm going to do my best to keep ahead, but do expect unwanted delays - most UNWANTED - there's nothing I want more than to work on this story.

Grrrr. Interruptions.

ANYWAY. SO MUCH LOVE TO EVERYONE WHO IS COMMENTING. Asking about the story, getting involved, liking it, sharing it ... you guys ... YOU GUYS ... legends. I say it all the time, but it is so true. You've no idea how much it helps and how much it means to me.

So ...

Our Niamh, aka Ollie 2.0 ... love her, what do you think?

So, why has Naisi went quiet? Hmmm ... interesting?

And the house ... I mean ... I want this house? 

Until next time *grins* I think we need some Ardan shenanigans.