There’s a place just out of sight, just out of reach where the world you know ends and a different one begins. It lies nestled in the woods, or just across the riverbank, or at the end of the dead-end alley. Some mortals are gifted with the sight to perceive it, that shadow in the corner of your eye that flits away when you turn to catch it, the dream that feels all too real but far too fantastical. Every so often the veil shifts, the barrier between the mortal realm and the realm of the Fae listing, allowing mortals to stumble through. Other times Fae linger on the fringes, calling out, a gentle melody meant to lure and entrap. Once a human crosses over they fade from the memories of the families they once knew, the friends they once loved. Sad really, if you think about it, but no Fae ever does—because what is a life, a mortal life? Merely the blink of an eye to people like them.

It was here on the edge of the wood that Aithne lived, far from the gilded halls of the high court, carving out a life for herself—out of sight and therefore out of mind of those who had cast her out. Her home was small, but suited her just fine. She no longer had an abundance of gowns or trinkets to find spaces for. No, nearly everything she owned now had a purpose.

The small home had been abandoned when she stumbled upon it, fallen into disrepair in a way that the Sidhe found surprising and more than a little appalling. She had grown up used to the smooth polished shimmering moonstones that made up the streets, the intricately carved branches of ash trees, housing purple flames to light the way. A city teeming with life, of fairy neighborhoods with their numerous toadstools, of silkies and kelpie findings homes among the glittering blue of the numerous lakes, of the towering structures that housed her kin and more, of the palace crowded with delicate details, from the windows to the sconces to the intricate inlays of the floors. Here there is nothing so fancy or delicate, though Aithne had managed to procure a set of beautifully embroidered drapes for the small window in her new home. When a gentle breeze rolled in to catch the diaphanous fabric in its tender clutches, the images embroidered on them seemed to spring to life, acting out jaunty tales of woodland creatures. They were the most extravagant thing she owned now.

Here, days were spent tending the small garden she had coaxed along with a little help from her innate magic, and strolling along the riverbank beneath the trees, checking her traps for fish. It was a delicate practice, and one she kept well-hidden because the river ran along the border that separated her world from the mortal one. She saw them from time to time, also fishing, sometimes swimming. More than one had crossed over to her side on occasion, and she had to gently herd them back using trickery. Better they are afraid of a monster they can’t see than get caught in the snares of the Fae.

The days were growing cooler and shorter and soon the solstice would be upon them all.  Aithne would be summoned back to court, as all Fae are, to attend the festivities. She would be escorted to the palace, silver hair brushed until it shone once more, before being delicately braided and woven on top of her head. Pale green skin soaked and scrubbed until there wasn’t a shadow of dirt anywhere to be found, then made up to still look the part of the royal family. A gown would be provided, darkest grey, but never black, not anymore, with sleeves that stopped at the elbow to be sure everyone could see the tattooed brands she wore on her skin. She would not run in The Hunt, not anymore: instead, when dusk fell, she would carefully pick her way back through the woods to her home. Usually naked, as her sister was sure to take the dress back, as she did every year, and conveniently forgetting Aithne came to the palace dressed. Being nude didn’t bother her that much, but the brambles and branches that caught her while she walked were an uncomfortable inconvenience she would rather avoid.

It was a problem for another day though, and one she didn’t need to worry about now, as she was already wrist-deep in the dirt of her garden, fingers curling in the soil, missing her power and the way she felt truly connected to the land with it, and now it felt like she was wandering in the dark without it, like a piece of her was missing. Pushing the thoughts aside she surveyed her garden once more, pride at the picture of it stretched out before smoothing the grimace from her face. Tomorrow she would begin to harvest, but now it was going to rain soon. She could feel it in the gentle breeze across her skin, see it in the way the wind was turning the leaves, showing their silvery sides. Just a gentle shower, but she didn’t want to be outside when it came. One last rainfall would do her garden good.

She stood, brushing her hands together to get the worst of the dirt off and then shook out her skirt with a small yawn. It would be so easy to climb back into bed until dinner time, but she wanted to make the trek out to the blackberry grove before the rain came in. She picked up her basket and pushed open the rickety gate she had built herself and headed west. The berries are ripe and juicy and stain her fingers as she picks them and puts them in her basket. The brambles prick her fingers and by the time she’s done her fingertips are tender, but the haul was worth it.

Halfway home the skies opened up. The rain was cool upon her skin, and she tipped her head back to savor the droplets as they fell. Then she heard a voice, frantic and uneasy that cut through the gentle sounds of the rain and the forest. Aithne turned towards it; it was coming from near the border. She took her time approaching, not even sure if she should. More than once she’d come upon a group of teens daring one another to cross the river without a stone, smooth and round with a perfectly placed hole in its center. Little good that did them, but mortals and their superstitions always went hand in hand.

He was on the wrong side of the river. And alone.

Well, alone except for the bear.

“What are you doing?” she called, making both man and bear freeze and turn towards her. She watched with mild amusement as the bear’s shoulders slumped while the man gaped like a fish. “Go on then, off with you.” The snout of the bear crinkled and it shook its head as it snorted at her before ambling off, casting one last look at the mortal before rounding a bend in the river and hopefully treading back towards home.

“Holy shit,” the man breathed, then frowned, looking down at his arms before pinching one. “Not a dream,” Aithne heard him mutter and she bit back a laugh.

“You plan to stand out here in the rain all day?” She asked, which caused him to blink. “Come on, it’s not safe for your kind to be out here.”

“My kind?” he asked, jogging to catch up with her as she turned back towards home, now that the small crisis was averted. “What do you mean, my kind?” Out of her peripheral, she saw him finally take her in. “Holy shit,” he said again, “you’re green.”

Aithne bowed her head forward slightly. “Exactly as I said. Your kind. Mortal. Not Fae.”

“Holy hell, no. That’s not possible.” He looked shell shocked, and a little pale, though maybe that was just his complexion. She knew Fae so pale their skin was almost translucent, as well as those who were so dark they could blend into the darkness of the forest around them in a  way she never could.

“It’s very possible.  The river is like a doorway to here. I’m sure you’ve heard that before. It lets you in, but not out.”

“Yeah, in bullshit fairy tales and bedtime stories meant to scare you into listening to your parents. It wasn’t supposed to be real.” His voice rose as he spoke until he stopped, stomping heavily through the underbrush. Then more quietly than she expected, “how do I get out?”

“You could wait.  The solstice is coming, but it’s still over a month away, and there’s no way to tell how much time has passed on the other side. There’s also a door. A ring of stones, but it’s the entire way across the land, and assuming you survive the trip, you run into that pesky time problem, plus location. That door opens where it will.”

“All of these options sound excellent. Has anyone ever told you you’re really great at moral support? A true comfort.”

“Is sarcasm your preferred method of self-preservation or are you always like this?”

“Like what? Charming? Funny?”

“Desperate and scared.” His mouth snapped shut with an audible clacking of teeth and she smiled a little. “Come on.” She led the way to the path that her own feet had trod over often enough to show the way to her little garden gate and home.

The space, her home felt incredibly cramped with the two of them in it now, and she found she was oddly nervous. It’s always been hers alone, but now— “You can stay here if you like.  It’s not much, but you’ll be safe here.”

He scoffed.  “From what? Fae that want to eat me?”

“Well, yes, though they don’t live around here. But also Fae who might want you dead.”

He nodded, not looking at her but taking in her little home: the rough-hewn table, the pile of pillows on the floor near her shelf of books, the bed beneath the window and curtains. “Okay,” he nodded again, then turned to look at her.  “So, what’s your name?”

“Aithne.” She placed her basket down on the table.  “And you?”

“Sebastian,” he said, strolling around her small home, dragging his fingertips along the tabletop. “It’s quiet here.”

“So no one can hear you scream.” He paused and she gave him a sharp-toothed smile. “A joke, I won’t hurt you, I swear it.”

“What do you want?” Aithne frowned at him now, tilting her head to the side as Sebastian rolled his eyes. “In exchange. For my staying here.”

“Oh, nothing. Maybe some help in the garden.”

“I haven’t done any gardening since I was a kid.” He spoke the words with a lilt of memory woven in, a happy one, based on his small smile. “I can’t promise I’ll be good help, but I’ll help.”

“Alright.” She sits down at the table and gestured for him to join her. “There are probably a few things you should know—”

She jumped at the sound of a heavy knocking on her fragile door. “Hide,” she hissed, “under the bed, now.”

He gaped at her for a moment before scrambling towards the low bed and shuffling beneath it. Aithne picked up a few pillows and chucked them toward the foot of the bed and then moved towards the door, unlacing the top of her dress as she went.

The door opened with a loud creak and she plastered a smile on her face. “Oh, hello Tristain,” she greeted the visitor on the other side. “Drew the short straw on patrols this month, did you?”

“The possibility of running into you, my dear Aithne, is something I always hope for when my patrols bring me this way,” the Fae rumbled. He was a shifter, spent more time in the form of a bear than anything else; handy for when he had patrols, and to enlist the help of other bears in the area. Outside of his preferred form though, he was still an imposing figure, solid muscle and taller than most Fae she knew. His hair was thick and dark brown, eyes the color of honey, and fur like a bear’s spread across the backs of his hands. She knew it grew nearly as thick over his abdomen and upper thighs.

Tristain reached out, fingers toying with the ends of the string of her dress, following the line of it up to her chest, delicately drawing a slow line over her skin between her breasts. She swatted his hand away and glared up at him. “For a snack you shall never have again no matter how many times you try that tired line. What are you really here for?” Aithne sniffed, crossing her arms over her chest as she waited for his answer.

“A bear reported a beautiful but mean woman stopped him from having a feast today.” Aithne rolled her eyes as Tristain grinned. “You’re the only one who lives out here, and the stench of mortal flesh runs right up to your little home.” The way he sneered the final words let her know exactly what he thought of her home.

“How fascinating. I’m sure your friend will be able to find a snack elsewhere.”

“Aithne,” Tristain warned, “don’t. Let’s just do this the easy way, no one gets hurt.”

“No. The solstice is coming; I can just push him back over. I’m not handing him over to my sister.”

“His cock must be impressive, for you to be so loyal already.”

The slap echoes through the rainy forest as red blooms, bright and angry, on Tristain’s cheek.

“Touched a nerve, have I?” He smirked

Aithne rolled her eyes. “You’re despicable.”

“You used to like despicable, from what I remember.”

“When we were younger, maybe.”

“Aithne, please don’t do this.”

Aithne paused, glancing back over her shoulder, hands tightening on the door. “I won’t give him over, Tristain. Not this time.” Tristain looked into her home now, gaze focused on her bed.

He took a slow step back and his whole body shuddered. In the blink of an eye, he was back in his preferred form of a bear. “You really think he’s worth the risk?” He leaned in to snuffle at the tattered ends of her dress.

There was no risk for her left anymore. Tristain should know that; every Fae who lived should know that. It’s why she was out here. “What’s the worst that could happen?” Aithne asked, drawing Tristain’s sharp stare up to her once more.

“It’s your head.” He took one last sniff and then rambled off, but not before calling back to her over his shoulder. “You owe me one. See you at the solstice, princess.”

She stood in her open doorway long after he disappeared into the woods. It took Sebastian grunting for her to turn around as he crawled out from beneath the bed.

“Bit tight,” he muttered, groaning as he stood. “So, he seemed nice.”

“There are many ways to describe Tristain, but I don’t believe ‘nice’ is one of them.”

The man grinned a bit, making his face appear just a bit boyish and playful instead of fearful. “So, you and him, huh?”

Aithne sighed and looked down, pretending to inspect her fingernails. They were a mess, dirt caked beneath them and along the sides. “As I said, it was a long time ago.”

“So how old are you?”

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-six.”

Aithne smiled just a little. A blink of an eye. “Five hundred and a few odd years. I’ve lost count.”

“You look good for over five hundred,” Sebastian grinned, leaning back against the far wall.

She sniffed and moved back towards her basket of berries. “I trust Tristain, though only barely, so I expect word will reach my sister within a fortnight. Fae are terrible gossips—”

“Naturally. How else would you pass living for so long if not for gossip?”

Aithne blinked and buried her smile by focusing on moving the berries into a small bowl. “Naturally,” she echoed, and she heard Sebastian snort a little from somewhere behind her, “The solstice is over a month away, so we’ll have to hope she doesn’t call us both to court before I can get you back across the veil. You’ll still have to lay low though, just in case my sister does find out I’m housing a mortal. We have to hope she doesn’t.”

“Why? What makes her so special?”

“She’s the queen of the Fae.”

“Oh. Oh shit. I thought that guy was just… a pet name, you know?”

“No, I’m afraid he was telling the truth.”

“Don’t live like a princess.”

“I live in exile, on the edge of the realm. Cast out and marked for life. My punishment, for killing our mother.” She pulled up the frayed edge of her sleeve, baring the dark lines that marked her as a murderer to him.

The silence swelled in the room between them, pushing into every nook, cranny, and shadow. It had been so long since she’d told someone about her crime, she had forgotten the weight those words carried when spoken out loud.

“Like, on accident?” he asked, stepping closer, hand outstretched to touch.

Aithne drew back, releasing the fabric, letting it cover her once more and Sebastian pulled back, gaze darting from her arm to her face. “No, it was very much on purpose.”

“Damn. Okay. You haven’t made it a habit or anything, have you? You aren’t some Fae serial killer, are you?”

“Serial killer?”

“Yeah, like someone that just kills a bunch of people? Usually spread out over time with a similar method. Serial.”

“Ah.” Aithne nodded. “No. Only her.”

“Do you regret it?”

She hesitated for a beat. “Yes.”

“Well, okay, I think we’ll be fine.”

“Perhaps.” She didn’t tell him she regretted it if only because it placed her sister in a position of power, and that she was more ruthless and more unhinged than their mother had ever been.

“Is your sister green too?” he asked after a few quiet moments spent inspecting her shelves of books and plants.

“No, purple. Our mother was blue. We know nothing about our father.”

“Yeah, me too. Well, I have pictures. Not purple or blue or even green.” Aithne smiled a little at that. “He was killed in the war before I was born. Mom says I have his eyes.” Aithne glanced back to see him smiling, gaze distant.

“Your mother, will she miss you?” She felt the sudden urge to hurry to find a way to get him home sooner because she knew it was only a matter of time—

“Maybe. She’ll forget me though, yeah? It’s what the stories always said.”

Better to tell him straight, then play any word games. “Yes.”

He inhaled long and slow, fists clenched tight. “Okay.” He turned and looked around her small home once more and Aithne pretended not to see the wetness in his eyes. “I’m gonna—the garden, no further. Don’t want to get eaten by any bears.” The joke fell flat between them, and he winced as he said it but Aithne offered a smile all the same.

“Take all the time you need.”

She busied herself with making a small dinner; nothing fancy, just some vegetables from her garden and smoked meats she had out in the larder she built off the back of the house. She bathed and changed into clean clothes, sat on her bed, and plaited her hair while she listened to the falling rain and birdsong while ignoring Sebastian’s gentle sobs. Tucked away in her dresser she found clothing she hoped would fit him. They’re her hunting clothes, and although she’s taller than him she’s hopeful the pants at least will work.

“Sebastian,” she called as she pushed open the front door to her garden. She peered around the wood towards a little bench and spotted him there, soaked through from the rain, eyes red. “Dinner is ready.  I also have some dry clothes. You shouldn’t sit out here, you’ll get sick.”

He blinked and nodded. “Yeah, okay.” He heaved himself up and trudged towards her. “Shoes off?”

“If you would like.”

“Sure.” He toed off his sodden sneakers just inside the door and stood there shivering.

“Through that door.” Aithne pointed towards the narrow door in the corner. “It’s a bathroom. There’s hot water in the tub already. It’s the best I can do right now.”

“Thanks,” he muttered as he shuffled across the floor, the door creaking as it opened and closed behind him. Aithne moved to her hearth to make a pot of tea. She reached for the canister housing her own special blend, the kind she preferred on the evenings she’s restless, or the nights she woke up from a nightmare.

When he finally emerged, he looked hollow. The pants seem to fit, and the shirt is a little tight across the chest but it didn’t seem to bother him. It’s been a handful of hours since his arrival and she was pretty sure he had run a full gamut of emotions, but all the flirty bravado from earlier couldn’t cover up the naked fear and grief he experienced now.

“You need to eat,” she finally said, gesturing at the chair.

“‘M not hungry.” He sat down though and then stared suspiciously at the humble spread. “Won’t I get trapped here if I eat this?”

“No. That’s only the honey wine which is kept at the palace for parties that the queen throws. The common Fae aren’t allowed to have it because of an issue centuries ago,” Aithne explained, pouring them each a cup of tea. “Too many Fae were luring human younglings over and giving them the wine. It’s been banned now, except for—”

“The queen.” Aithne hummed in response and watched Sebastian slowly put food on his plate, then eat mechanically, chewing slowly and taking a sip of tea after every bite, as if it was a terrible burden to suffer through. “So, does she use the wine?”

“Of course she does. Fae lure mortals over and they get taken to the palace for the monthly revel. The queen picks her favorites to drink the wine. Whoever brought them gets a pretty gem or a horse, whatever strikes my sister’s whim at the time, and the humans stay with her until she grows bored with them.”

“What about the ones she doesn’t choose?”

Aithne picked at her food with her fingers and didn’t look up when she answered. “It’s probably best if we don’t discuss it. I’d wager a guess that all of your bedtime stories never come close to the true reasons to listen.”

“Comforting,” Sebastian shuddered with a small closed-lip smile, then picked up his teacup to drain it.

The rest of the meal was quiet, the tense, uneasy kind, and Aithne had no idea how to fix it. It’s been so long since she’s had to make small talk to put others at ease. Once they finished though Sebastian helped clean up. She thanked him, trying to hide her surprise at the gesture. As the host, she felt responsible; but, then again, she was used to Tristain visiting only long enough to make a mess he didn’t care to deal with. Then she watched Sebastian sink down into the pile of pillows.

“What are you doing?” Aithne asked, nudging at his side with her toe.

“Going to sleep,” he muttered, voice muffled by the pillow he buried his face in.

“There’s a bed,” she told him, watching him arch his neck to look at her bed in the corner beneath her curtains. “Come on. It doesn’t look like much, but it’s more comfortable than the pillows.”

He stared at it for a bit longer and then face planted into the pillows once more. “No.”

Aithne sighed. “Suit yourself, but you can change your mind whenever you want.”

It took him over a week, but after dinner one night he stood and eyed the pillows with distaste. “I’ve changed my mind,” he said, and that was that. Aithne crawled in first and rearranged her pillows while he pulled off his shirt. A long groan escaped him when he sank into the mattress, pulling the covers up over his chest. “You were right, this is comfortable.”

She laughed, turning toward him in the dark of her home. “I know.” There’s some shuffling around as they both got comfortable, but she pulled away from him again when his toes brushed the tops of her feet. “Why are you so cold?”

“It’s cold in here. Or maybe you’re just hot.”

“Fae do run warmer than humans I believe. At least the Sidhe, my kind,” she clarified quickly, when she saw Sebastian’s mouth pop open to ask a question, “do. Fairies, the tiny ones with wings,” she explained with wiggling fingers.

“Like Tinkerbell,” he said with a nod.

“Er, I suppose. Selkies as well, they’re the exception and run colder. I have more blankets.”

The offer hung between them and then Sebastian smirked. “No, you’ll just have to cuddle me.”
“Why would I do that?”

“Because I’m charming and have been immensely helpful and pulled up way more turnips than one Fae needs.”

“And I thank you for it, but either grab a blanket from the bottom drawer or stop complaining.”

He grabbed two blankets and threw them over her bed dramatically, snapping them up and letting them float down, smoothing them out and flicking them up over her head until she was laughing.

“Better?” she asked after he crawled back in.

“Better,” he agreed with a happy sounding sigh. “Goodnight, Aithne.”

“Goodnight, Sebastian.”

—

 

The nights grew steadily cooler, and she did her best to keep her home warm, fire burning low and steady through the night, but morning after morning she would wake surrounded by Sebastian. Sometimes the other way around. She would do what she could to carefully extricate herself before he woke, but on more than one occasion he caught her.

“All right there, Aithne?” he would ask, hair sleep tousled and eyes barely opening to peer at her.

“There are things to get done, Sebastian,” she would sniff every time. It took him weeks to realize she said it not only because it was true, but also to avoid another truth: she wasn’t fine. It made her nervous, and excited, and soft and terrified, and warm. So, so warm. She hadn’t realized how she missed touch until she woke up in the arms of a friend.

A friend. Because that’s what he was and what he had to remain if she had any hope of getting him home. It was becoming increasingly difficult as she noticed the lingering stares, the deliberate brushing of fingers when he passed her something, the way he stepped just a bit too close to be casual when they were working together in the kitchen, the way he would peel off his borrowed shirt and act like nothing was amiss for hours on end. He should go home. He should rebuild his life. Sometimes though, when the clouds cleared in the sky and the starlight made its way inside while they climbed into bed—sometimes she caught the way he looked at her.

Sometimes she thought about leaning in to kiss him, but she never did, always whispering a quiet goodnight and rolling away from him instead. She collected those moments though, like flowers for a vase. Those were hers to keep. They’re precious. A man, or anyone really, wanting her for her—out here, alone, dirty more often than not, with walls built up high around her, a terrible conversationalist, a murderer, a princess—it was something she never expected to happen. The last two factors didn’t interfere in his attempts at flirting, and the gossip to be had in court for wooding and bedding her were nothing to him.

For a while she thought perhaps it was just her appearance; her complexion, which was so different from what she had seen of mortals, or her ears or sharp teeth. It would have been easier to think he viewed her as some sort of attraction like at the summer solstice gatherings held just outside the palace gates for two weeks, the midpoint of the festivities falling on the longest day. There was drinking, and feasting, and never-ending dancing, but along the fringes there were games, for the smallest and youngest of the Fae to the oldest. And out past that, the oddities were housed, animals from the mortal world, sometimes humans too of all shapes and sizes, and temperament too. It was needlessly cruel, but her sister delighted in it. Aithne could have stomached it though, if Sebastian saw her that way, like something new to gawk at. But that wasn’t it.

She taught him how to pickle and preserve their harvest for the upcoming winter, and he told her about where he came from, about abhorrent sounding ‘fast food’ and various forms of entertainment. Some she was aware of, in a vague sense. Sometimes some things from the mortal world would permeate the veil without anyone knowing how or why, but when it happened, suddenly everyone was talking about some ‘new’ thing the mortals were doing now.

Some days Sebastian was listless and Aithne let him be as he stared into the forest, no doubt worrying about the life he accidentally left behind. Other days he disappeared behind the house where wood was piled high for the coming winter. When she had asked, he insisted he was making something, and that it was a surprise so she shouldn’t go looking for it. She hadn’t yet, but she was curious, especially with the racket he was making.

When she ventured to the small market nearby she insisted he stay in the house, then used what little magic she was still allowed to possess to put a ward up to not allow anyone but the two of them through. Her sister would be able to get through, but she would never come so far from the palace. Aithne returned with swaths of fabrics she traded for with her preserves and dumped them in a pile in front of Sebastian when she walked inside.

“What’s this?” he asked, closing his book and leaning forward to pick up the closest piece, a durable piece in a lovely shade of dark green.

“It’s for clothes. You should have a few more pieces and— what?” she asked, catching sight of the amused look on his face.

“You’re just tired of me looking better in your shirt than you, aren’t you?”

“Oh, you mean when you actually wear it?”

“Ah, so you’ve been looking, have you?”

“It’s a small house Sebastian, I’ve seen you, yes. Also, no, I’m not jealous of you. I happen to look very nice in my shirt, I only lament that I can’t wear it anymore as you’ve likely stretched it out.”

He laughed, and Aithne smiled just a little. When he stopped, he ran his thumbs over the fabric in his hands and cleared his throat. “I’m sure you’d still look nice.”

The silence lingered between them and Aithne reached out to touch a dark grey piece. “Oh,” she said quietly, not looking at Sebastian, but she could feel the way the understanding between them shifted. It followed them through the rest of their day, quiet as a beast on the prowl. It hung heavy in the air of her home, settling on her shoulders during dinner, and she pulled it with her as she crawled into her bed long after nightfall.

“Aithne,” Sebastian whispered into the dark of night from the other side of the mattress, starling her, he had been quiet and she thought he had drifted off almost as soon as his head had hit the pillow. She rolled over to face him, still staunchly acting as if falling asleep far from him would result in anything but her ending up in his arms. She hummed sleepily, nuzzling into her pillow as she looked over at him. “What happens if I can’t get back home?”

“You’ll be able to,” she told him, smothering a yawn. “I’ve gotten others across the veil before. We’ll have to hang out by the river, otherwise, they might catch you in The Hunt.”

“What the hell is that?”

“It’s this thing, every year. At the solstice, my sister crowns the leader of The Hunt, we call him The Horned God. His crown is made up of a tangle of antlers and silver and gold. Then, well, the mortals that aren’t given the wine are released, told that they’re free, all they have to do is cross through the veil. They get a lengthy head start while the palace celebrates the harvest, then, just before midnight, the horns are blown and the Horned God and those Fae who wish to join The Hunt set out.”

She startled when his fingers tapped against hers, then slid along them, lacing them together. “I think I can guess the rest,” he said somberly.

“Don’t worry,” she mumbled, scooting closer. “I won’t let them catch you. We’re far from the palace. I’ll likely be invited to the festivities, but I can make it back with plenty of time to spare.”

His thumb ran along the length of hers, soothing, gentle. “I trust you.”

“I’m glad. Not many do.” She willingly moved as he shuffled them around, getting an arm beneath her shoulders and she rolled into him, soaking up his warmth. “‘Night,” she whispered, eyes drifting shut. The steady movement of his thumb along hers was relaxing and sent her drifting off to sleep before long.

There were moments in Aithne’s life that were real and true but felt like a dream. The day her younger sister was born, the night of her first revel, a kiss stolen beneath a floral archway in the royal gardens, the day she first witnessed death, the night she took her mother’s life, her first day here in her home. Waking up the next morning felt a lot like all of those moments. Their hands were still curled together, nestled between their stomachs, her head was on his shoulder, his quiet snores coming from above her. It felt like surfacing from the water after almost too much time spent beneath it, a slow ascent and everything glittered with the droplets clinging to your lashes.

Aithne curled closer and took a deep breath. She could feel it. Things were going to change.

Change came without so much as a knock at her door. Instead it was slammed open and Aithne had just enough time to put herself between Sebastian just as he exited the bathroom and her sister as she breezed inside, gold hair up in a high ponytail, cascading down her back in curls. Her chosen crown for the day was blacker than the night sky.

“Orlaith.” The name fell from Aithne’s lips quietly, and her sister grinned.

“You know, they told me you had taken up with a mortal,” her sister drawled, a finger trailing a line across the table, “I thought, surely that’s a joke. My sister? She would never.” She rubbed her fingers together with a grimace and then looked to where Aithne and Sebastian stood. “But here you are.”

“Why are you here, Orlaith?” Aithne asked, watching her sister stalk through her home like a wild cat, lithe and lethal.

“To invite you both to the harvest revel, of course. A personal invitation, from your queen.”

“Oh, you know, I think I’m actually busy, books to read and—” Sebastian started, falling silent with a wheeze of pain as Aithne jammed her elbow back into his stomach.

Aithne grinned, sharp and tense, “An honor, to be invited, and to have such company when I’m sure being queen takes up so much of your time.”

“It is, isn’t it.” Orlaith sighed dramatically, focused only on Sebastian now. “A shame you didn’t arrive later in the season, I would have loved to have you for our spring harvest.”

“Thank you for coming all this way, Orlaith.”

“Oh, don’t sound like you want me gone.” Aithne watched, apprehensive as her sister straightened out her skirts. “I understand, new toys are fun. Just don’t wear him out too much.” With a wink and a shower of stardust, she was gone.

“You two look nothing alike,” Sebastian said once the dust stopped falling. Despite it all, Aithne laughed.