Swathed in silks the color of starlight spun across moonlit waters, Queen Sylenet sat with a stillness that seemed carved from timeless marble. The jeweled diadem resting lightly atop her pale brow caught the light of the chandelier overhead, casting glints like frost on silver leaves. Around her, the feast murmured and sparked, quiet conversations blooming like wind-stirred petals in the great hall. Goblets chimed softly, silver utensils met gilded plates, and the scent of roasted meats, sweet fruits, and rare spices thickened the air like incense. Yet the Queen, eternal and ethereal, heard none of it. She was not here for politics beyond her discussions with the king tonight. Not truly.

`

Her gaze, radiant yet unfathomably piercing, remained fixed beyond the edge of the table, far from the lords and ladies seated around her and the king beside her. Instead, her silver eyes lingered on the space below, on the boy who was her son, and the girl who he was to marry. Aurelion stood, his fae elegance made all the more striking in contrast to the mortal laughter that rang around him. A smile ghosted across his lips, faint and fleeting, but unmistakably real. And beside him, the human girl watched with a softness Syleneth had not expected to find in one so scarred by grief. Her voice, when it rose was a balm of iron and honey and it coaxed from Aurelion a look the fae Queen had not seen in him since before the Bleed had begun to taint the borders of the Seelie realm.

`

She tilted her head at the sight, as if committing the moment to memory, and then finally spoke, her voice soft as wind over glass. "Sometimes." She said, her tone almost lost beneath the din of the feast. "The stars conspire not to match what is simple... but what is needed. And in those rare moments, we glimpse destiny at play." She did not look at the king as she responded to his words. Her eyes remained on her son.

`

Aurelion found himself still standing among the little ones. There was no weapon in his hand, no crown weighing down his brow. No shadowy whispers of war, no calculating diplomacy, no duty clawing at the edge of every breath. Here, he was only Aurelion, a fae with ancient magic in his veins, yes, but also a soul who had forgotten what it meant to laugh freely. And for the briefest span of time, he had remembered. Desdemona's voice, wrapped in the proud cadence of someone who loved dearly the children around him, drew his attention. Her words were simple, but they curled inside his chest like warmth before a hearth, quiet and persistent.

`

He tilted his head to look at her, thoughtful as though memorizing her expression the way one might map a constellation rare and newly discovered. When she did not flinch beneath the gaze that alone spoke volumes. "I have learned much from them." He said, at last, the edge of amusement threading through his low, melodic voice. The words were genuine and they carried a certain reverence as he glanced down at the children gathered around him. He let the silence breathe for a moment, the kind that filled not with absence but with meaning. "Such wisdom demands reward." He added, eyes twinkling now, and then he knelt fully before the children. The fabric of his robes spilled like liquid dusk across the polished stone. "And I would not have it said that the fae prince did not pay his debts." He extended a graceful hand towards the nearest child, palm open. "Each of you shall be granted one wish. Whatever your hearts desire." He smiled, and though such a genuine thing was a rare thing, not seen by anyone else but his mother for over a hundred years, it was radiant, sincere, and unguarded.

`

His voice softened then, laced with warmth and promise. "Perhaps a blossom that sings lullabies, or a toy that never breaks. A firefly in a bottle that chases away all nightmares. Or maybe, something more simple. Something like a story spun from starlight." The children gasped and looked at one another in delight, their excitement blooming like spring after snow. Aurelion chuckled softly, watching their little faces glow with unhidden glee. Yet his eyes, those piercing glacial robs, returned once again to Desdemona. Just for a moment, as if to silently ask if she too might dare to make a wish.

The fae nobility that had accompanied the Seelie Queen and the Prince to the mortal realm sat at the tables they had been assigned. They had eaten heartily, or as heartily as ethereal beings might when subjected to mortal cuisine. It wasn't that the food was poorly prepared. On the contrary, even the most ancient of the fae could acknowledge the immense care and labor poured into every dish. The flavors were rich, the spices aromatic, the textures lovingly arranged. But to those whose palates had been shaped by ambrosia steeped in moonlight and fruits grown in orchards imbued with song, this food was a faded echo of something greater. Like biting into stale bread laced with honey, pleasurable in theory, but lacking that certain spark. Still, they made no complaint. Not even passing a glance of disdain. To insult a gift offered in good faith was beneath them, or at least, beneath their current masks. Besides, something else had begun to stir, to catch their attention, and still their tongues. The tension that had clung so heavily to the grand hall like smoke was beginning to lift. Not entirely, not yet, but it was noticeable.

`

The source of this shift stood not at the head of the banquet table, nor beside the king, but knelt on the ground, his fine clothes kissed by dust and firelight. The Seelie prince and the children who were flocked around him. There was a warmth to the fae heir, the kind that could not be forged by fire or forced by pleasantries. It radiated from his soul, soft but potent, a golden glow that wrapped even the coldest heart in the promise of spring. Whether he intended to or not, that warmth had begun to ripple outward. It softened wary glances and eased stiffed shoulders. It allowed hope to creep in like sunbeams through shattered stone.

`

Looking toward the child who had placed her tiny hand in his, her palm dwarfed by his slender, calloused fingers. Normally, such a gesture, a wish offered to a fae, would come at a steep price. He did not grant gifts freely, and never to mortals. Not anymore. But children, he had come to understand were different. Whether fae or mortal, their hearts bore little malice. Their desires were not laced with scenes or secrets. When a child asked for something, it was not to manipulate or gain power. It was to remember, to dream, and to hope. So when the small girl looked up at him with earnest eyes and asked for a doll, a doll that would never age, fade, and remain exactly as it had been upon its creation, he did not hesitate. "As you wish, my lady." He murmured, and the corners of his mouth curved into something soft and sincere.

`

He released her hand and cupped his own palms together. With a breath drawn from someplace deep and ancient he summoned light. It blossomed into existence like a bud breaking through fost. A warm glow, golden and pale, hovered between his hands. It was not a harsh light like fire, but gentle and alive. Like a firefly's glow spun into silk. The child gasped, her small hands called together and the other children inched closer in awe.

`

Lowering his gaze to the light he let his mind wander. Not into the child's thoughts, though he could have, but into the quiet hum of her desire. The doll, he understood was more than a toy. It was a memory made manifest. A piece of this night she could hold onto. A reminder that once, a fae prince had knelt and made magic just for her.

`

So, he shaped the light, sculpting it with thought and will, fingers weaving through it like a loom of gold. To mortal eyes, it may have appeared to stretch and lengthen, taking the vague shape of a girl. But to him, the details were clear, hair that mirrored the child's own tumbling curls, a mouth set in a tender smile, round ears free of fae points, and a gown that shimmered with starlight. He plucked threads of magic to craft the fabric, midnight black silk threaded with silver so fine it caught even the subtlest flicker of light. Stars bloomed and faded across the skirt like constellations lost and rediscovered.

`

When he was satisfied, he closed his eyes and whispered words older than the mountain roots. "Naelira vethiel syraelen en'mir." Magic thrummed in the air. The light flared, bright enough to turn heads and still breath. Then it dimmed, and in his hands sat a doll. She was porcelain-fine, delicate, and perfect. Her hair curled in dark ringlets, her dress shimmered like a velvet sky, and her smile held warmth not typical of enchanted things. There was a glow to her, a faint echo of life. Aurelion had given her more than mere form. He had given her presence and permanence. Lifting his crystalline blue eyes from the doll in his hands, he looked back to the girl and held the doll out to her. "Here she is." He said gently. "But before she is truly yours, you must give her a name." The child looked down at the doll, mouth parted in wonder. But Aurelion did not watch her long.

`

His gaze drifted, unerringly and unshakable toward Desdemona. He had felt her watching since the moment he'd stretched his hand out to the children and made his offer. And though he hadn't voiced aloud the same offer to her, it had been made in the way he'd glanced up at her, allowing their eyes to meet. Now, she need only take it. Silently he caught himself wondering what she would ask if she dared accept the offer of a wish granted. What her heart longed for.

The warmth and the magic were tangible, seen as clearly as they were felt. Aurelion was used to it, to the wonder that wove through his world like breath itself. He was used to feeling magic course through his veins like rivers, overflowing and powerful. In the fae realm, it was nothing unusual to witness miracles: relics being shaped, enchantments woven, dreams brought to life. Home was thick with magic. So saturated with it one could practically breathe it in. It lingered in every breath, every heartbeat, every tree and flower and beast. It didn’t sit dormant, waiting to be summoned. It lived. It pulsed. And Aurelion, being born of it, rarely paused to marvel.

~

So accustomed was he that he hadn’t first considered how fantastical it might appear to others, especially the children and nobles watching from their seats in the dining hall. He hadn’t thought on how long it had been since human eyes of such stature had borne witness to this kind of wonder. Nor had he considered how they might feel watching him perform such magic. He was aware of the old warnings spread among the human realm, that fae gifts were rarely given freely, and seldom without consequence. And as a result, surely, some would be skeptical as he granted the children their innocent wishes. But he didn’t care to explain himself. Why should he? He was Aurelion Thorneveil, son of Queen Syleneth, heir to the Seelie Court. He owed no one an explanation.

~

Though his gaze was settled on Desdemona, watching her with such fierce focus it might have rivaled the sun’s gaze upon the earth, he still caught the moment the small girl named the doll he had gifted her. Celeste. A lovely name. A luminous name. He might have turned to tell her so, to offer that rare smile that always seemed to startle mortals with its quiet warmth. But before he could, the children struck again, clever and determined as any court schemers. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw them begin their newest plot, this one more cunning than the last, more planned than the ball that had been hurled at his chest moments ago.

~

They moved toward Lady Therrow, her dark gown whispering against the floor as they gently coaxed her closer to where he still knelt. He watched the way she was urged forward, as though the very world itself was conspiring to bring her within reach of him. She did not resist outright, but he noted the faint tension in her shoulders, the way she held herself carefully, like someone forever expecting to be touched by frost. And then came the question. The children, bold with youth and wonder, asked her what she would wish for. Aurelion’s brows rose, faint but distinct, his expression touched with surprise and something softer, amusement, perhaps, but tempered with genuine curiosity. He said nothing. He would not interfere. As curious as the children might have been, he found his own interest tenfold sharper. What could a woman like her. A woman so poised, so guarded, so painfully self-contained possibly wish for? She was wrapped in regality and shadow alike, a creature of steel and starlight. What dream could a heart like hers still carry?

~
And yet… she deflected. Politely. Respectfully. She insisted his magic was better spent elsewhere. That made him pause. It was not often that mortals refused the chance to speak their heart’s desire to a fae prince particularly when such things could be granted with ease. It was rare, and it was admirable, and perhaps most of all, it made him ache to give her the very thing she thought she didn’t deserve. She hadn't asked because she didn’t believe she should.

~

But the children pleaded with her, and for that he was grateful. He would not have pushed her not unless she wished to be pursued. But they could ask in innocence what he, in his own experience with pain, would not dare to pry open. And then, she knelt and he stilled. She did not do so lightly. There was no submission in her posture no powerlessness, no yielding. It was reverent, but not worshipful. It was, instead, deeply human and weighted with a kind of fragile courage that struck something chord-deep within him.

~

Her gown fanned around her like liquid starlight. The silk caught the glow of the candelabra's in the room, each thread gilded with quiet luminescence. And her eyes, those eyes of iron, not dulled by sorrow but forged by it, met his with unwavering steadiness. Then, she spoke. Her voice was soft. A whisper meant for him and him alone. The hall fell away. The breath of the crowd faded to silence. The only sound that remained was the truth in her voice as she told him what she wished for. Something to chase away the darkness on her worst of nights. Something warm, and soft. Something to remind her that she was not alone. Something gentle enough to offer comfort, and strong enough to endure.

~

Aurelion exhaled. He had expected many things. Vain things. Pretty things. But not this. There was pain in her voice, quiet, controlled, but unmistakable. Loneliness, woven into the very request. He recognized it. Gods, he knew it too well. The nights where silence became suffocating. The mornings where the cold settled into the bones and stayed. The way the world could feel heavy, even when surrounded by light. His gaze seemed to tremble a moment, not just with emotion, but memory. And in that moment, he vowed he would grant her this. Not because the children had asked. Not because it was expected. But because he wanted to. Because he could.

~

He inclined his head, offering her the smallest of smiles, and said, voice low and laced with something deep and ancient. “Then it shall be granted, Lady Therrow.” He turned his gaze from her then, slow and deliberate, and began to conjure.Magic answered his summons like breath to lungs. But this enchantment would be unlike the last. This one needed care. Intention. It needed to be worthy of the quiet bravery she had shown in speaking those words. Aurelion extended his hands, and the air shifted. Not in heat or weight, but texture, like the hush of snow falling over a still forest. From the space before him, a pale silver light began to coalesce, soft and cool, glinting like moonlight upon frozen water. It pulsed with a quiet heartbeat, steady and slow, and from it he began to craft.

~

First, the shape. Small enough to fit in the palm of a hand, yet intricate in design. A pendant—leaf-shaped, its edges curved like wind-swept flame. Its surface bore etched veins like those of an autumn leaf, but they shimmered faintly, like molten gold pressed into silver. He called it the Emberleaf. It was forged not from one single kind of magic, but from many—woven together like strands of fate. Threads of starlight gathered from the far reaches of the Veil. The scent of early frost from the first morning of winter. A fragment of a lullaby sung by the Seelie Queen herself to her son during his childhood. The last warm breath of a candle before it extinguishes. All of it, blended into the leaf’s creation.

~

At its center, nestled like a tiny seed, there was a glow, a silver ember, bright enough to banish shadow, but soft enough not to blind. It pulsed gently with life, reacting not to touch, but to feeling. When sorrow stirred, it would warm. When despair whispered, it would sing a quiet, wordless melody like wind in tall grass. When fear tried to settle in the bones, it would glow stronger, holding the darkness at bay. It would never burn. Never go out. It would not demand. It would simply be. A reminder. A promise that she was not truly alone. He extended the pendant between his fingers, letting it dangle by a slender chain woven from moonsteel: a metal rarely gifted, never sold. It was as light as air, and unbreakable.

~
For a long moment, he held it there, suspended between them, the Emberleaf glowing faintly like a star caught between worlds. And in that moment, Aurelion did not see a woman of House Therrow. He did not see a mortal noble with duty and reputation. He saw someone who had weathered her nights. Who still walked despite the ache in her chest. Who had dared to speak of loneliness, even when it might have been easier to hide. And he honored her for it. Carefully, with reverence, he placed the chain in her hands. “This will know your sorrow,” he said, his voice quiet, for her and her alone. “It will glow brightest when your heart feels dim. It will never ask, never take. Only remind you, on your darkest nights, that even in the absence of hands to hold, though shadows may linger, you were made to outlast them and warmth will always find its way back to you." And with that, the magic stilled. The emberleaf was hers.

Watching magic be done was something most humans only ever dreamed of. It had been nearly complete radio silence ever since the last accord, leaving those who had once witnessed magic to die out, and their stories of grandeur with them. Now, it was nearly unheard of, until that fabled evening when a Prince spun threads of wonder for children and a broken young woman. It was amazing and all many of the court could think about was how beautiful it was or how history was being made right before their eyes. The accord in itself felt like old news to them with the threads of magic drawing them in and capturing their wary minds. Perhaps the fate of the world really was beginning to change.

-

The children were ever so vigilant, acting on both instinct and clear intention when it came to their surroundings. They found trust in two of the most unlikely people and seemed to have decided that those very people needed to find that same trust in one another. Truly, the children had always been crafty little schemers, but even Desdemona did not think that the little brood would push her into wishing for something, let alone to push her into such close proximity with the fae. The little ones were not oblivious to how reserved she was, but they also were not oblivious to the fact they could talk her into almost anything without much resistance. Had it not been for the strong, nearly overbearing pull that she felt in her chest, she wouldn't have allowed them to bring her closer to Aurelion, but she had to admit at least to herself that she was drawn to him for some reason. There was something that the deepest pit of her soul knew that her brain did not, so of course, she allowed the children to guide her, their young minds wiser than their years would suggest.

-

There she knelt with a prince, a man of deep understanding, pouring out her heart to him as much as the wounded organ would allow. Telling him such things did not come easy, in fact, it was harder than accepting the wish itself had been. It would have been easy to ask for something pretty or selfish, but even with the hate coursing through her veins, she still knew that she couldn't squander away such a gift. It had to be something worth a fae's magic. It had to be something that she would look at with reverence and thanks each time she laid her eyes upon it. Something of use, something that just might heal bits and pieces of her broken heart. It had to be something that would be of true worth.

-

She expected nothing of the man, yet still he promised her wish be brought to life. There had been something in his voice, something of understanding as he began to craft with those miraculous threads of magic again. It made her heart beat falter, her breath hitch as she watched the way he moved the aura around, readying his craft just for her. Desdemona couldn't keep her eyes off of him, whether it be his meticulous hands or intensely focused eyes. Once again she felt herself drawn in, shuffling closer just to watch as the pendant took form. Her mind was so quiet, full only of awe as he gave life to what her heart longed for. She owed him a great thanks, more than he'd likely ever realize.

-

It was so intricate and special that Desdemona almost felt as if she didn't deserve such a gift. Her gaze narrowed in on the pendant as he held it between them, the chain glinting with precious steel that she could have never dreamed of having. In fact, she never would have thought she'd be staring at a glowing pendant materialized from the woven threads of magic, but there she was. It was gorgeous, already calling out to her lonely heart until the moment he set the item in her hands. Her heart skipped another couple of beats, her slender fingers curling around the pendant, the leaf still faintly warm. His words resonated with her, and though she didn't know him, she could hear how he knew of her pain. For a moment, she wished that she could grant to him the gift that he'd given her. "I cannot show you enough thanks, Prince Aurelion," she told him, his name rolling off of her tongue like smooth, sweet honey on a warm summer day. She held the pendant safe against her chest as she met his eyes, the world still silent to her ears. "You've granted me something I never thought I'd be able to have, and for that, I'm in your debt, gift or not," she told him, her voice firm yet almost playful. She knew there wasn't much she could do for a fae, but for the cost of not feeling so alone, she'd pay almost any price.

-

Though they were shrouded by children, the exchange did not go unnoticed by many. They might not have been able to hear the words spoken, but the intimacy of the moment radiated off of the kneeling couple like sunlight washing across dark land. The King was astonished, but it gave him hope that Desdemona would not completely object to the idea of marriage. He didn't know what the woman had asked for, but he what he did know was that the Prince was just what her lonely heart needed. All that she had to do was trust him and open up to the man over time. They could be everything that the other needed if they'd only take the chance to explore and learn.

Watching magic be done was something most humans only ever dreamed of. It had been nearly complete radio silence ever since the last accord, leaving those who had once witnessed magic to die out, and their stories of grandeur with them. Now, it was nearly unheard of, until that fabled evening when a Prince spun threads of wonder for children and a broken young woman. It was amazing and all many of the court could think about was how beautiful it was or how history was being made right before their eyes. The accord in itself felt like old news to them with the threads of magic drawing them in and capturing their wary minds. Perhaps the fate of the world really was beginning to change.

-

The children were ever so vigilant, acting on both instinct and clear intention when it came to their surroundings. They found trust in two of the most unlikely people and seemed to have decided that those very people needed to find that same trust in one another. Truly, the children had always been crafty little schemers, but even Desdemona did not think that the little brood would push her into wishing for something, let alone to push her into such close proximity with the fae. The little ones were not oblivious to how reserved she was, but they also were not oblivious to the fact they could talk her into almost anything without much resistance. Had it not been for the strong, nearly overbearing pull that she felt in her chest, she wouldn't have allowed them to bring her closer to Aurelion, but she had to admit at least to herself that she was drawn to him for some reason. There was something that the deepest pit of her soul knew that her brain did not, so of course, she allowed the children to guide her, their young minds wiser than their years would suggest.

-

There she knelt with a prince, a man of deep understanding, pouring out her heart to him as much as the wounded organ would allow. Telling him such things did not come easy, in fact, it was harder than accepting the wish itself had been. It would have been easy to ask for something pretty or selfish, but even with the hate coursing through her veins, she still knew that she couldn't squander away such a gift. It had to be something worth a fae's magic. It had to be something that she would look at with reverence and thanks each time she laid her eyes upon it. Something of use, something that just might heal bits and pieces of her broken heart. It had to be something that would be of true worth.

-

She expected nothing of the man, yet still he promised her wish be brought to life. There had been something in his voice, something of understanding as he began to craft with those miraculous threads of magic again. It made her heart beat falter, her breath hitch as she watched the way he moved the aura around, readying his craft just for her. Desdemona couldn't keep her eyes off of him, whether it be his meticulous hands or intensely focused eyes. Once again she felt herself drawn in, shuffling closer just to watch as the pendant took form. Her mind was so quiet, full only of awe as he gave life to what her heart longed for. She owed him a great thanks, more than he'd likely ever realize.

-

It was so intricate and special that Desdemona almost felt as if she didn't deserve such a gift. Her gaze narrowed in on the pendant as he held it between them, the chain glinting with precious steel that she could have never dreamed of having. In fact, she never would have thought she'd be staring at a glowing pendant materialized from the woven threads of magic, but there she was. It was gorgeous, already calling out to her lonely heart until the moment he set the item in her hands. Her heart skipped another couple of beats, her slender fingers curling around the pendant, the leaf still faintly warm. His words resonated with her, and though she didn't know him, she could hear how he knew of her pain. For a moment, she wished that she could grant to him the gift that he'd given her. "I cannot show you enough thanks, Prince Aurelion," she told him, his name rolling off of her tongue like smooth, sweet honey on a warm summer day. She held the pendant safe against her chest as she met his eyes, the world still silent to her ears. "You've granted me something I never thought I'd be able to have, and for that, I'm in your debt, gift or not," she told him, her voice firm yet almost playful. She knew there wasn't much she could do for a fae, but for the cost of not feeling so alone, she'd pay almost any price.

-

Though they were shrouded by children, the exchange did not go unnoticed by many. They might not have been able to hear the words spoken, but the intimacy of the moment radiated off of the kneeling couple like sunlight washing across dark land. The King was astonished, but it gave him hope that Desdemona would not completely object to the idea of marriage. He didn't know what the woman had asked for, but he what he did know was that the Prince was just what her lonely heart needed. All that she had to do was trust him and open up to the man over time. They could be everything that the other needed if they'd only take the chance to explore and learn.

Loneliness was a familiar companion to one who had lived as long as the fae. It was not the sharp sort of loneliness, the kind that cut quickly and left just as swiftly, but the kind that settled into the bones slow and quietly, like a winter frost creeping into an empty house long after the fire had gone out. Some fae were fortunate enough to find lifelong bonds, blessed in that they could tether themselves to others who also bore the weight of endless years. It was a rare blessing and one that Aurelion had not been so fortunate enough as to have been granted. He loved his people, truly. And he had grown fond of humans too, their fire, their brevity, the way they clung so fiercely to things they knew would fade. But aside from his mother, the immortal queen who had stood with him through the ages, he had no ties that reached backward through time, and none he allowed to root themselves in the present.

~

A prince of Faerie he was, here to ancient blood and ancient burdens, a sword and a shield not only to the Seelie Court but to the fragile peace that now held sway over bother fae and human realms. Aurelion would stand as the bridge between them. Steadfast, steely, beautiful. He could not be entirely soft, could not be fully open. He bore the weight of centuries with quiet grace and wore the trappings of royalty like armor, but beneath it all, there were cracks. Fractures worn into him by the slow erosion of time. So many years had passed since he was born despite the fact that he was considered young among his kind. There were so many more years that had passed since he had let anyone close. The memories of those who once laughed at his side still haunted the halls of his mind. Friends, lovers, and family, their voices came in dreams, their names like echoes, and yet they were all gone. Time had taken them one by one, and left him behind to mourn.

~

At one point in the vast expanse of time, he had loved once fierce and recklessly. He had let others in without hesitation and allowed himself to care in ways that were not safe or wise for one who outlived so much. But then they were taken, those dear to him, whether by war, by time, or the cruel caprice of fate. And with each loss, something inside had shattered. It wasn't loud, but rather quiet, like the soft breaking of porcelain beneath velvet. It was the kind of breaking that never quite healed. So, he had stopped trying. Ever kind and ever noble, yet with a distance. Aurelion had resigned himself to a life of duty. His heart, though capable of great affection, had learned how to retreat. He had learned to offer warmth without letting anyone close. Gave himself, but never too much. Spoke of dreams, but never his own. His life belonged to others, to his mother, to his people, to the delicate accord struck between the humans and the fae. He could not risk breaking again.

~

And yet, despite his resolve and the centuries of quiet chosen solitude, something in Desdemona's voice had stirred him. Like a soft knock on a door long sealed shut. Her pain called to something old in him, something buried. He had seen it, that flicker in her eyes, the set of her jaw, the faint tremor in her voice, and the rigidity of her shoulders when she'd asked him for his aid. She had masked it well, as all highborns learned to do. But he had noticed. Had heard it even, in the rhythm of her heartbeat, and he understood. He understood far more than she, or anyone could ever know.

~

To humans, fae were distant things. Godlike, cold, too ethereal to be wounded by mortal sorrows. But that was a lie. The truth was simpler and sadder. There were only a handful of differences between fae and humans. Longevity, appearance, and the ability to share the world with magic. Everything else, the longing, the fear, the ache of being alone in a room full of people... that they shared. The fae, just as mortals did, could feel, could love, and they could break. They mourned and remembered, and perhaps most tragically, they endured. For the fae had all of eternity to remember what and who they had lost.

~

Now, as the magic from the pendant he had crafted slowly dimmed around him, Aurelion remained still, kneeling on the ground before Desdemona. Wisps of golden light hovered briefly in the air like fireflies, some blinking slowly, others flickered like far-off stars, as though faerie sprites had come to bear witness to the enchantment. Then, one by one, the lights slowly faded until they were gone entirely. And with their departure, the hall came back into focus. The sounds of conversation, of shifting chairs and clinking glasses, returned to his ears as though from underwater. Reality reassembled around him. But even as the moment passed, Aurelion's gaze did not stray. His crystalline eyes remained locked on Desdemona's iron-gray ones. Tethered, not by duty or magic, but by something inherently quieter and older.

`

When he finally lowered his hand, the Ember leaf pendant fell gently into hers. Crafted from his own light magic, it pulsed softly, its heartbeat syncing with hers the moment it touched her skin. His eyes followed the motion, lingering on the way her fingers curled around the delicate chain, and how the pendant seemed to glow all the brighter, not with magic but with meaning. And when she spoke, he listened. Not just with his ears, but with the whole of himself, as if each word she uttered was a thread tying her more deeply into the moment. And when she said his name it moved him. "You owe me nothing, Lady Therrow." He said, at last, his voice quiet but steady. The kind of tone meant for twilight gardens and candlelit alcoves, not grand feasts. "Your gratitude is thanks enough. Not because I require it... but because it tells me the gift was received as it was meant to be."
~

A smile curved his lips then, faint and restrained, but real. It wasn't the playful smile he'd worn for the children, not the distant smile he'd granted the court upon his initial arrival. There was something ancient in it, something touched by long-forgotten joy. A knowingness born of lifetimes. "Loneliness is a cruel thing." He continued, his voice softening with each word. "It silences even the brightest of hearts. If what I've given you helps yours to sing again, even if only in whispers, then that is all the debt I would ever ask you to repay." His words were not meant for others. Not for the curious onlookers, or the councilors, or the mortal king and the fae queen on the dais. They were for her alone, a quiet offering in a world too often loud and full of masks. In that moment he wasn't just a prince, nor simply a diplomat here to marry and reseal the accord, he wasn't solely a sword or a shield. He was simply a man who understood what it meant to ache for something more, and who perhaps, for the first time in centuries, felt the faint stirrings of something he had thought long lost.

There had been a time after her family's passing that Desdemona was not alone. She had friends, council, and even once a young man she was courting. She had loved just as fiercely, her heart passionate and kind, but on that dreadfully dated day, things began to take a terrible turn. She drove them all away with the intensity of her depression and anger. She knew she had no one but herself to blame for her troubles and loneliness, yet still she found a way to blame the fae for being rumored to have slaughtered her family and the unfortunate souls of that village. Perhaps she had just needed someone to blame to save herself, but either way all of her malice and negativity pushed everyone who could have cared about her away. Some days she found that to be best, as no one got to see the extent of her sorrows. They only saw the darkness, and at least that protected the growing wounds of her shattered heart.

-

She knew that the fae must think them pitifully weak creatures, their life too fleeting to be mourned. The fae were magnificent, experiencing so many lifetimes and losses much greater than that of humans seemed. They were much stronger to have to endure those losses for many years past, where as Desdemona knew there was a great chance she wouldn't live to see her third or fourth decade thanks to the path of self destruction she pursued. It was a pitiful thought, but it was the truth. A broken heart did terrible things to people, and without the love and warmth that she so craved, Desdemona had long accepted she wouldn't last. Many a time she'd given thought to just giving up her fight, but she couldn't do so in good faith. "Find them and end them first," she told herself over and over, "and then you can let go of it all for good." It was not healthy or heavenly, but the thought of revenge was the only thing that was keeping her alive on that earth. It was all that her soul was tethered to. A painful, sorrowful existence.

-

Even as the world came to life around them once more, Desdemona knelt with Aurelion, her steadfast and iron-still demeanor shaken to the core, the shift only for the Prince to see. Though she could not allow herself to be soft and vulnerable for everyone to see and judge, she could allow herself the luxury of letting go before a stranger so perfectly familiar. The twinkling forms of golden light made her feel so connected to him as she huddled close, and that feeling strangely didn't fade even as the glowing twirls did. The way the pulsing synced with her own heartbeat gave Desdemona a rush of warmth, as if embers in a fire had been blown to create a spark, a new stirring of flame and heat. It was wonderful and invigorating, and just perhaps for once, Desdemona had hope that things would be alright.

-

As he smiled and began to speak, she would have sworn she felt her heart leap. There was something so raw and true in the way he smiled and the words that he spoke, it was as if he did indeed know of her pain and truly wanted to heal her of it. "In that case, my gratitude is all yours... I hope to be able to repay that debt, though I fear it'll be a hard one to see absolved," she admitted, a softness in her voice that spoke of a smile she could not quite form. She could still feel that warmth from the emberleaf flowing through her, stirring up all that was needed to combat the darkness she almost constantly felt. "I should also hope that you find what it is you need in this world, as I can feel parts of you just as you so feel me. You deserve the comfort and joy just as much as anyone," she added, her words as earnest as could be despite the hate she felt towards the majority of his people. Though she didn't quite trust him, she knew that he couldn't be one of the bad ones. There was just no way.

-

Desdemona sighed softly, the sound less burdened and more relaxed than before. She brought the pendant close to her chest, feeling its warmth and gentle pulses soothing her aching mind. "I thank you again, kind prince, though I should probably allow your attention to return to our merry little band of mischief makers now that their devious little works are done," she mused, exhaling a soft breath that might have been a laugh if it was much louder. Truthfully, she would have enjoyed to stay there kneeling with him in what felt like the calmest peace she'd had in years, but she knew that it wouldn't be long before that very important meeting was called. She didn't want to take away from the children or give the court more reason to gossip about her odd and intimate exchanges with the prince, so instead, she'd let him go, even if that deepest curve of her heart did not wish to.