The fae prince imagined, with no small measure of amusement, how utterly out of place he must have looked: standing tall and golden amidst a gaggle of children, draped in garments of embroidered silk with rings gleaming like stars on his fingers. The flicker of laughter in his eyes deepened at the thought, but he did not shrink from the absurdity of the image. No, he wore it proudly. For all the pomp and ceremony that so often cloaked him, Aurelion had never placed much stock in the expectations of either fae or mortal courts, least of all when it came to such joy. And this moment, fragile and briefly as it might be, held a gentle and quiet kind.

`

Let them whisper if they wished. Let them wonder what a prince of the Seelie Court was doing here, crouched in velvet and lace among mortals who bore none of his splendor. It did not matter Not when glorious laughter had replaced damning silence, and wary stares had softened into something warmer. Not when he could feel the effervescence of childhood magic humming in the air around him, magic not of spells or enchantments, but of innocence unspoiled by centuries. It had been a long time since he had been offered this. Hundreds of years, perhaps more, since he had last knelt among children and been invited into their world of play. There were children in the Seelie Court too, of course, some bright-eyed and beautiful as starlight spun into flesh. But the play of the fae was something different entirely, ritualistic, elegant, sharp-edged, and intricate like a dance of blades. Mortal children, by contrast, played with abandon. There was no calculation behind their laughter, no veiled intention in their joy. Only curiosity, and the boundless freedom of hearts unburdened by centuries of memory. Perhaps that, more than anything, was what drew him in.

`

He had felt it the moment he'd stepped into their makeshift circle: the warmth of small hands tugging at his sleeve, the curious gazes that had turned to him, not with fear but wonder. Children, he had learned long ago, were far more difficult to fool than adults, for they did not care about titles or crowns. They saw only what stood before them.

`

Crouched before the children, with his long limbs folded beneath him in grace similar to that of a willow bending in the breeze, he looked at the children. One of the bolder boys stepped forward to explain the rules of the game he'd been invited to take part in. "You have to catch it," the boy explained. "But not from the person right next to you. That's cheating." Another girl nodded solemnly. "And you can't drop it, or that's a point against you." She added. "If you catch with your eyes closed..." A smaller child chimed in, their eyes gleaming. "You get two points!" The girl at his side balked and shook her head. "That's not a real rule!" She scoffed. "Is now." The small child declared, puffing out their chest.

`

Aurelion listened with the reverence of a scholar at a sacred text. "So I must dodge, leap, and attempt to catch this ball of yarn?" He questioned, and their laughter erupted like spring thaw breaking ice. No doubt imagining him doing such a thing. "Exactly!" The boy beamed. "And if you win, you pick the next game. But if you lose... You must carry me like a steed!" He reiterated his demands, his tone as triumphant as someone who had already won.

`

Aurelion placed a hand over his chest. "A punishment that, should I lose, I will take without complaint." He said, tone solemn but sparking with thinly failed mirth. It was then, as the children began to reform their circle, that Lady Therrow's voice pulled his attention. Hearing that she would keep an honest score, he dipped his head in response, a courtly gesture layered with subtle respect. "Then I am in safe hands." He murmured, voice rich and warm like honeyed wine. And yet, as his eyes lifted once more, they lingered on her, just a fraction longer than courtesy required. It was then that he caught it. The barest flicker. A fleeting, almost imperceptible curve of her lips. There and gone in the space between heartbeats. A sliver of genuine amusement, perhaps. Or something else entirely. It had vanished to swiftly to be studied, but not so quickly that he had missed it.

`

In response to the sight, as brief as it was, the corner of his own mouth tilted upward, subtle as a breath of wind. And though he said nothing, the look he offered her in return was a silent acknowledgment. A glimmer of recognition passed like a coin between strangers who he hoped would not remain so forever.

`
So focused was he on the children, and on Lady Therrow, that he was unaware of other eyes upon them. The mortal king, watching with sharp interest. His own mother, her expression unreadable save for a glint in her eye that promised mischief, the kind that usually involved others far more than herself. If he had known, he might have responded with his usual cool restraint. But he did not, and so, he remained open and relaxed in a way he so rarely allowed himself to be.

`

The weight of the yarn ball in his hands pulled his attention from the woman and he turned to look down at it. Worn, soft, and wholly unremarkable, yet it felt like something sacred now. Transformed by the joy threaded into it. He turned it once in his palms, the gold of his rings flashing in the light, and then looked around at his small, impromptu court of jesters and judges. "I understand the terms of the game, so let's get started shall we." He said softly, a smile gracing his lips once again as he moved to rise to his full height. As he stood the children quickly readied themselves. Standing amidst their circle, he was every bit the fae prince hailed from a realm at odds with theirs. He looked like something timeless, smiling amid a sea of mortals, reaching across the chasm of centuries not with power, but with play. And once he was certain that all the young mortals were ready he tossed the ball to the child across from him.

The whispers surrounded Aurelion, threading through the air like a faint, persistent wind only he could hear. His senses, gifts sharpened by centuries, and very much fae, perceived far beyond mortal reach. It was akin to how a hawk sees from the skies, the way the forest listens to a distant storm. The murmurs of shock, the barely concealed criticism, even the subtle calculations beneath the surface, all arrived clear and piercing. Yet, like the cold steel of his blade, he remained unmoved. These petty judgments would not taint this moment, not when he had resolved to hold onto it, to savor it like the rarest of wines.
`

He stood among children, human children, with laughter spilling around them like light scattered through stained glass. These were not the whispered councils of kings or the venomous plotting of courts; these were simple joys, unburdened by ambition and distrust. When the bets began Aurelion nearly allowed himself to smirk. Such games, such childish wagers, carried no true weight here. These children, unscarred by the bitterness of age and duty, had welcomed him. They had invited him to play, to be part of their world, if only for a little while. And that, more than anything, filled him with a quiet warmth.

`

His attention sharpened when he caught the mention of a name: Desdemona. It was unfamiliar at first, but the tone, the pointed glances, and the subtle shifts in posture betrayed its significance. Slowly, the pieces fell into place. The woman they spoke of was Lady Therrow, of which he was certain. She stood apart from the others, a shadow on the fringe of the gathering, her bearing distant, aloof. When he had first arrived, first greeted the king and his court the others had turned their eyes away and bowed their heads. Yet she had met not only his gaze but the gaze of his mother as well. That single act marked her in a way no words could. And so he listened as they spoke of her. The notion that Lady Therrow might mount some brazen display of disrespect toward him was, for lack of a better term, fascinating. She wore her dislike of the fae as openly as any other adult in this dining hall, but there was a difference. He did not think her a fool. Not so foolish as to risk provoking the wrath of a fae prince, and by extension the entire Seelie Court, and certainly not so reckless as to anger her own king. The balance of power, delicate and dangerous, was a thread he was certain she would not dare sever. After all, she hadn't scorned or rejected him when he agreed to join the children in the game.

`

As the game unfolded, Aurelion's gaze never left the ball as it flew from hand to hand, a beacon of pure, untainted delight. Each child's face lit with exhilaration upon catching the ball, then anticipation as they prepared to pass it onward. The innocence of the moment, a stark contrast to the weight on his shoulders, settled upon him like a fragile veil. A faint smile, translucent and fragile as glass, ghosted the corners of his lips.

`

Soon, his freedom would be surrendered. Soon, he would be bound in marriage to a human woman, one he had never met and who would likely regard him with fear or reluctance. He had mourned his fate silently, lamenting the loss of choice, the loss of autonomy. Yet as he observed the children, so full of light and hope, his bitterness toward the idea softened and then faded. It was for these moments, for these innocent smiles and shining eyes, for the fragile peace that such sacrifices must be made. He, the sword and shield of his people and theirs, would bear this burden willingly if it meant preserving this fleeting happiness.

`

At the royal table, Queen Syleneth sat with an unyielding grace that commanded the room's attention even without word or gesture. Her posture was impeccable, regal beyond question, a living testament to the centuries of fae sovereignty. Her silver eyes were fixed solely on her son, watching intently as he mingled with the mortal children. The joyous laughter and eager excitement around them barely registered with her; her attention was locked on a far more subtle and telling detail.

`

It was in the way Aurelions eyes had briefly met those of Lady Therrow before the game began. There had been an exchange there, charged with unspoken meaning, one that captured her interest most keenly. The quiet fire that had kindled in his gaze in that moment was a spark she had seen before in the eyes of warriors and rulers, a sign of something deeper than mere courtesy or disdain.

`

When the mortal king spoke, the Seelie Queen turned her attention toward him, offering a smile both diplomatic and measured. "Quite." She said, inclining her head with a grace that bespoke centuries of courtly experience. "Tell me, who is that woman?" She asked, gesturing subtly toward Lady Therrow. Though her son had memorized the names and legacies of the human houses, she had not and so hadn't any idea who that woman was aside from her formal title. The question she'd posed was laced with more than curiosity; it was a probe, a thread pulled to unravel hidden truths. Who better to ask than the mortal king, so intimately acquainted with his court and its players?

`

Aurelion heard his mother's voice clearly amid the chorus of children's laughter and whispered conversation. He paused, a brief, imperceptible stillness, and lifted his gaze toward the dias where the royal table sat, his crystalline gaze meeting the argent depths of Syleneth's own In that look he glimpsed a sharp amusement, a spark of mischievous intent that unsettled him slightly. He loved his mother dearly, but when her gaze took on that particular gleam, it rarely portended anything kind or easy for him. She was a force of nature wrapped in reality, and he often found himself the subject of her subtle motherly tests and jests.

`

Had his attention lingered on her longer, he might have missed the sudden movement that followed, a swift unexpected assault of motion from the corner of his eye. The ball, just moments before in the hands of the boy who had invited him to play, was hurled towards him. Had he been less skilled, less accustomed to the ceaseless vigilance required by centuries of battle against humans and worse, things born of the Bleed, he would have missed it. The ball would have undoubtedly sailed past him, untouched, a failed catch marking him as the losing party amongst the children. But before his gaze had fully left his mother, his hand rose in a perfect, fluid motion. The movement was so swift, so effortless, that few untrained eyes could have followed it. With the grace and precision born of countless battles, he caught the ball firmly in his palm. His gaze shifted back to the sphere in his hand, then to the boy who had thrown it. A smile, soft and genuine played at the edges of his lips. "You've got quite the throw." He said. Though simple, the words conveyed a silent acknowledgment of the child's crafty and cunning trick.

The children's surprise and amazement were evident in their gaping mouths and wide eyes. Normally, he wouldn't have thought twice about moving so swiftly and with such precision, after all, it had been woven into every fiber of his being over the last five hundred years. But seeing the wonder in their faces, hearing the little girl gasp in delight at the fact he hadn't even been looking, it demanded pause. To children as young as these, he could imagine how magical such a thing must seem, especially if they'd never seen it before. When the little boy he'd spoken with earlier responded to his words of acknowledgment, Aurelion chuckled. "Thank you." He said with a nod and a fond smile. "Shall we continue?"
`

He tilted his head, crystalline eyes sweeping over the young humans encircled around him. The little girl who had voiced her amazement was quick to nod, her voice bright and full of conviction. "Yes!" She exclaimed, eager and wide-eyed. "All right then," Aurelion replied, and with practiced ease, he tossed the ball her way. As he did so he did his best to ignore the look his mother had given him or the sound of the king's answer to the question she had posed regarding Lady Therrow. His gaze remained fixed on the children, eyes tracking the ball's arc through the air. But the Queen had not yet turned away. Her eyes lingered on Aurelion for a heartbeat longer before shifting toward the woman who now stood watching the game, silent and unmoving as a monument.

`

So... she is of Tareth Therrow's blood. Queen Syleneth remembered Tareth. A cold, iron-hearted man, one she could scarcely tolerate the presence of. He had hated the fae with such fervor it choked every conversation, bled through every council, and poisoned every treaty. Never mind that it was the fae who had pulled humanity back from the brink after their catastrophic arrogance nearly ended them all. It had been human hands that cursed the land. Human hands that began the Sundering. And it had been fae hands, tireless, bloodied, unthanked, that had fought to hold the curse at bay. Fae warriors who fell defending human settlements from the monstrous spawns of their own doing. But men like Tareth saw only what they wished to see. Their hatred was like a veil, every death, every skirmish, every Wretched attack, somehow all traced back to fae in his mind. Blame twisted into truth until there was no room left for reason. And now this woman stood here was his descendant.

`

Syleneth saw it now, in the set of her brow, in the press of her lips into a grim line. In the shade of her hair, the color of her eyes, cold and clear like iron washed in rain. A mirror, if not a perfect one. And as she gazed at the woman, she found herself wondering... did the hatred run as deep in her veins? When the king went on, to mention the loss of Desdemona's family six winters prior, the queen's gaze snapped back to him. One brow arched ever so slightly. She schooled her face into stillness, though it required effort not to bristle at the quiet implication that the massacre may have been by her people's hands. The very idea.

`

Yes, there was unrest among the lesser Courts. Yes, borderlines had frayed and tempers ran hot. But a slaughter such as that? Not without her order, and she had given no such command. Still, she said nothing of it. It was of no concern to her whether this mortal king believed her and her people innocent or not. Instead, she hummed softly, almost contemplatively, and returned her eyes to the lady in question. "And her feelings toward my people?" She asked at last, voice smooth and low like river water gliding over stone. "I imagine her hatred must run deep... if she believes we were responsible for such barbaric acts."

`

Aurelion had heard every word exchanged between the king and his mother, despite his best efforts to focus solely on the game and the children's laughter. He had not meant to listen. Had tried not to. But the mention of Lady Therrow's family and the quiet accusation that it had been the fae who wrought such violence... his gaze hardened ever so slightly. His lips pressed into a thin, unreadable line, and a muscle in his jaw twitched.

`

No fae would have dared lay a hand on humans, let alone massacre an entire town, not without his mother's explicit will. And if such a thing had occurred, if even the shadow of such a crime had passed into the realm of rumor amongst his people, he would have known. He would have heard. His mother would have sent him to root out the offenders herself. She would have demanded their heads.

`

His eyes had drifted before he realized it, drawn toward Desdemona. She remained standing just out of the circle, still and composed. Her posture the very picture of dignity. Cool and silent. But now... he found himself wondering. Beneath that quiet facade did a fire of hatred smolder? Was she burning, even now, for vengeance against him and his people? She had been cordial, civil, and perfectly mannered. But if he truly considered it, there was no reason she wouldn't be. Not with so many eyes on her, not with her king present. It would be no great feat to mask a blade behind a smile.

It was an unfathomable, unthinkable idea that her people would defy her direct command to protect the humans, not harm them. That they would dare risk fracturing the sacred seal of the Accord for some misguided notion of vengeance or pride. No... she knew them better than that. Knew it in her marrow, in the old magic that still hummed in her bones. They would not. They could not. Not in so barbaric a manner, not for something so hollow. And yet, how could she hope to pass this truth into the hands of a heart so cold and guarded toward the fae as Lady Therrows likely was? She could not fault the mortal girl. Not truly. Not when whispers had long linked the death of her family to the fae, rumors wrapped in blood and ash, weighted by loss. Pain had a way of carving blinders into even the most reasoned minds.

`

There had been a time, long ago now, when Syleneth had known such grief. When the Sundering first began its long, cruel song, she too had suffered a loss that had cleaved her soul in two, a tear so deep and so raw that it had nearly unmade her. Her firstborn daughter, her brightest star before Arelion's light had risen, had perished in the burning of Thalasgrove.

`

The grove had once stood proudly on the borders of the Unseelie lands, where fields of moonlight-white Thalas flowers danced beneath ancient leywoods. But the humans had come, drawn by green fear. They razed the grove to mine ironroot stones, rare rocks said to suppress fae magic in ways even the Iron Sigils could not. The attack had been brutal and swift. And her daughter, foolish in love, had slipped away from the Seelie Court's safety in the dead of night to meet with the Unseelie man who had captured her heart. For days, weeks, and months, Syleneth denied the reports. Refused to believe that her daughter, so radiant and so full of promise, had been reduced to nothing more than smoke and ruin. But years passed, and no sign came. No trace of her magic. No whisper of her presence. Eventually, the ache of unknowing solidified into truth. And then... the pendant. A single broken fragment, brought to her by a scout who had never dared meet her eyes, was all that remained. From it, Syleneth conjured the final memories of its bearer. And what she saw shattered the last fragile threads of peace she had clung to.

`

From that moment on, the Queen's wrath had been boundless. Cold. Relentless. Entire human settlements had turned to ruin beneath her fury. She would have been lost to it utterly had it not been for the birth of her twins. Aurelion and his delicate sister Aerindel. The girl had not lived long, her flame to brief for this world, but her presence along with Aurelion's unshakable love, had tethered the Queen's heart to the earth once more. Had saved her from becoming something monstrous.

`

So yes, she understood the kind of pain that likely clung to Desdemona's soul like a shadow. She understood the ways the young woman might wear her bitterness like armor, every inch of her being with the weight of grief and inherited rage.

`

In silence, the Queen listened as the mortal king seated at her side spoke. His words were measured, and chosen with care, but more than that. They rang with truth. She had walked this earth long enough to know when words were tangled with deceit. His were not. His voice was steady, his expression sincere, and Syleneth inclined her head in quiet acknowledgment. He believed Desdemona's animosity stemmed from ignorance... from wounds that had not yet fully healed. That there was still room for reason in her soul and for understanding.

`

Upon hearing this a long, contemplative silence followed. The Queen turned her gaze outward, silver eyes settling on the children at play, her son among them. A hum left her lips, soft and distant. She would have the massacre investigated, of that she was certain. If the unthinkable had occurred, if fae hands had been stained in human blood, then heads would roll. Aurelion's sword would ensure it. The fae prince was her son, yes, but more than that, he was her most trusted knight. A weapon of beauty and terror, honed by centuries of power. Even as a youngling he had surpassed her. His magic had been boundless, a well with no bottom, and his control over it had once terrified her as much as it had awed her. Even now, she suspected he had not reached his peak, that his power was still unfurling like a storm across the sea. He would carry out any command she gave without hesitation, of that she was certain.

`

"If the girl is as unlearned as you suggest..." She murmured, at last, her voice the velvet drawl of wind over snow. Her eyes slid once more to Desdemona, recalling the moment their gazes had met earlier. There had been no sign of hatred in the mortal's expression. No rudeness. Only a flicker of curiosity and respect. And if that were the case then perhaps not all was lost in building a long-lasting relationship with house Therrow. "... then it would be wise to teach her," Syleneth said, finally turning her gaze back to the king. "Educate her in our ways. Let her see us beyond the stories." A pause. Then, with all the regal weight of a queen whose voice held command in every breath, she asked. "Have you chosen the woman who will join Aurelion in resealing the Accord?"

`

Aurelion's gaze lingered on Desdemona's, glacier blue meeting stone and iron. He studied the way that she shifted as their eyes met, how her posture straightened further, as thought drawn taught. The faint twitch in her cheek, the flicker of uncertainty in her gaze. So small, so subtle, that no ordinary observer would have noticed. But the fae prince was no ordinary person, and though he did not show it, he noticed everything. For a woman whose family had been slain, their deaths rumored to be done by fae, she held herself with impressive composure. Civil, even now. How unlike Tareth, who would have torn the sky apart in rage if given the same wound. The comparison unsettled him, not because he feared her temper but because it meant one of two things. Either she was far more restrained than her forebear. Or her malice was simply buried deeper.

`

He turned away, not wishing to make her evident discomfort worse, and instead, cast his gaze toward the gathering at the banquet tables. The scent of sweet fruits and spiced meats drifted to him, and idle conversation filled the hall. Still, he could not quite detach his thoughts from the mortal woman, or what he had heard his mother and the king speaking about.

`

His distraction, of course, didn't go unnoticed by the children and they seized their moment. A ball sailed through the air, hurled with all the might one tiny girl could muster. Aurelion saw it coming easily, his reflexes more than sharp enough to catch it, but he slowed deliberately. Let them feel victorious. Let them believe they had bested a fae prince. The yarn ball struck his chest with a soft thud, a mere tap really, but he clutched at the spot with exaggerated drama, feigning pain as a grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. His other hand caught the ball before it could fall. "I've been wounded." He groaned, his voice rich with mock agony. His eyes however, sparkled with amusement.

Though it had been posed as a question, a polite inquiry cloaked in diplomacy, Syleneth had not asked it idly. When she had inquired whether a bride had been chosen for her son, a woman to join him in resealing the accord, the words had carried the weight of tradition, but not of uncertainty. For in her heart, the Queen of the Seelie had already settled on her answer. Desdemona Therrow. The girl was a paradox, a portrait painted in dueling stories. A descendant of Tareth, whose name still burned like a scar across the tapestry of fae history, whose sword had drawn blood that stained the realm of the fae. She was the living echo of a man once called Fae-Bane among the fae folk. And yet, it was her Syleneth would choose. Not in spite of that legacy, but perhaps in part because of it.

`

There was power in contradiction, and Desdemona embodied it with every breath. The hatred she bore for the fae was not completely hidden: it shimmered in the spaces between glances, the guarded slope of her shoulders. And yet, there was something more. A pull. A current. Invisible to the mortal eye but unmistakable to a being such as Syleneth who had walked with starlight and danced with time. But beneath it, no through it, Syleneth had sensed something rarer than hatred. She had watched from her place on the high-backed chair beside the human king, as her son exchanged glances with the girl across the flickering candlelight of the banquet hall. Fleeting though they were, those looks were laced with something ancient, something that moved in spaces between breath and fate. Not mere curiosity, but something more. Something that made even the ever-composed Queen lean forward, ever so slightly with interest.

`

Aurelion, her beloved and treasured son, had faced great adversity. Aurelion, her knight knew what it was to protect as well as what it was to lose. Her boy who despite all the love and affection he had for the world and the many different kinds of people in it, had built a wall around his tender heart, had not shied away. That, perhaps, was what struck her most. Her son, the storm-souled prince of Thorneveil who had kept the world at arm's length for centuries, now regarded a mortal girl not with disdain or guarded amusement, but with attention. With wonder and interest. And Syleneth who had once walked beneath moonlight so bright it carved shadows into stars, recognized the hand of destiny when it stirred. She saw the invisible thread for what it was. A whether. Dangerous. Delicate. Divine.

`

When the mortal king spoke, when he finally offered the name he had already selected in her mind like a jewel placed in a crown, she did not react immediately. She allowed the silence to stretch, let the weight of his words linger in the air like incense. Then, and only then, did she offer him one of her most coveted gifts. A smile. It was not entirely warm. To anyone but her son, Syleneth's smiles never were. It was a regal thing, honed by centuries of restraint and clarity, a blade sheathed in moonlight. But it was real. "Desdemona." She achoed. The name fell like a dropped stone into still water. "She is a fine choice." Her eyes, silver as starlight caught in crystal, did not waver. "Your wisdom honors your crown, King of Men."

`

Below the dais and the diplomacy, her son stood among the ring of mortal children. The clamor of goblets and slow conversation faded beneath the melody of laughter. The feast still simmered around them, platters and roasted meats perfuming the air, but it was not the scent of food or the glitter of politics that commanded Aurelion's attention. It was the game and the joy. He had been drawn into it almost unwillingly, plucked from the weight of his title and into something simple. Human. A ball of yarn tossed between small hands and lighthearted shouts, leaving a temporary spell stronger than any enchantment. He had allowed them to "best" him, pretending the blow to his chest was grievous, staggering back with a dramatic gasp that made one of the boys dissolve into giggles. The sound echoed against the vaulted ceilings like a hymn.

`

This, he thought, was the kind of magic worth remembering. He had opened his mouth, ready to tease or jest, but then he heard it. A sound softer than the flutter of moth wings, almost too quiet for mortal ears. But he was not mortal. He was fae, and he had heard it clear as thunder. A laugh. Not a child, not his mother's, but Desdemona's. His gaze found her instantly, trained like a compass to true north. She stood just beyond the circle, no longer a spectator but a participant in something neither of them could name. Her hand was drifting down from her lips, and there... there it was. A gleam of something warm, something real, in those storm-bright eyes. Her expression had changed. Unmasked, if only for a heartbeat.

`

He did not speak, but rather simply watched her as she stepped forward, as the children shifted like petals toward sunlight, drawn to her presence. Her gown whispered across the polished stone, her voice joining theirs like a forgotten chord rejoining a song. And he - he breathed again. Slow and steady, like someone surfacing from beneath too many fathoms. Only then did he shift his attention back to the children, bowing low with a theatrical flair that sent another wave of laughter bubbling through the group. "Yes, well." He murmured, voice low and velvet smooth. "I believe I only fared so well thanks to the brilliance of my instructors." He said and cast a wink towards the smallest girl who had sent the ball flying toward his chest. Her eyes went wide before she buried her blushing face into her brother's sleeve.

`

From the dias, high above all, Syleneth watched in silence. She did not speak, for she did not need to. Her decision, and that of King Geralts, had been made. And fate, it seemed, had already begun to move.