Marriage of the Fae

A/N: Welcome to Chapter 4! It's been a long fucking wait, hasn't it? I want to thank everyone who's stuck with me from the beginning and apologize for another looooong delay. Finding time to write narrative that I feel is up to my own standards, and up to the standards that loyal Lit readers deserve, has been kind of a harrowing process. But I know from personal experience with my favorite stories on here that it really sucks to wait even a few days, let alone months. I want to thank everyone who has commented with kind words, constructive suggestions, and encouragement to keep writing.

If you're new to this story, thanks for hopping in, and I recommend that you start at the beginning!

I'll stop talking now. Without further ado, here it is! I hope it was worth the wait.

Chapter 4

Siobhan

Rhys' advisor nears us, and bows deeply. "Princess Siobhan."

"Jerome," I reply.

"I'd like to speak with you, if you would not mind." Jerome looks pointedly at Aibhlinn, offering her an apologetic smile.

"Consider me gone. It was a pleasure riding with you, Princess." It's a double entendre Jerome would never catch, but I blush beneath my riding tunic. Aibhlinn walks her horse into the barn and is gone.

I stroke my steed's mane as I look to the advisor. "How is your prince, Jerome?"

The man shifts in his boots, seeming to choose his words carefully. "You take me right to my point, Princess." He smiles, a bit sadly, but his smiles always seem to be rather so.

"Oh?"

He nods. "Princess Siobhan, I need your help."

I glance back toward the barn, where somewhere inside Aibhlinn is tending to her mare. "Oh?" I repeat. I know where this is going. Do I want to let on?

Jerome sighs quietly. "I apologize for the intrusion. I'm sure this can't be easy for you." He steps forward in a conciliatory gesture. Right, I'm supposed to be mourning the end of my engagement. Or is he putting on airs as well? If he's been alone with Rhys and Noelle for more than five minutes he surely can't be too sympathetic toward the prince.

"I've spoken to our Priest Aodh and Prince Rhys...and Noelle," he says. The last bit surprises me. What did she have to say? "After some thought, I decided it might be best to come to you with this request, considering your situation."

"My situation?" The words are silly and euphemistic, and I want to force something direct out of the all-too-polite Jerome.

"We thought that the Council and those in power between the two clans may be more sympathetic to Noelle were she to become familiar with the customs of our people, and then greet them officially on a sort of middle ground." Jerome lets the statement hang in the air for a few blinks.

"And considering my...

situation

, you want me to teach her," I say.

Jerome nods.

Admittedly I have no problem with the girl; she seems likable, even. But I want to probe further. "And you don't think a royal tutor could offer the same services?"

"I believe a royal tutor would not show the same grace toward her as I know you possess."

I nod. He wants her taught with the full benefit of the doubt, not to mention by the woman who a few days ago was set to marry her husband. I can understand how a man may see a sort of inexplicable solidarity there.

One more complication rises to mind. "Will Rhys be there?"

Jerome's passive expression flickers infinitesimally. "I'm sure the Prince can arrange to be elsewhere if it so pleases you."

"That would be best." Not only will I not have to deal with him, Noelle will find a short respite.

"There is the concern of their Elixir bond. Neither can be very far from the other." I'm caught off guard by Jerome's reminder. But I shake my head.

"Let me deal with that."

He nods. "I trust your word, Princess Siobhan. And I believe these lessons should begin as promptly as possible."

There's one thing left to put into place. I've had arrangements for weeks, long since I thought it would be me requiring the particular service I am now about to seek. "Give me half of an hour," I tell him, "then please meet me on the path toward the Grass Clan royals' quarters, on the border between the clans."

He bows deeply. "I will be there." Jerome straightens and strides away, back from whence he came.

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

Noelle

Bathing with Rhys is surprisingly uneventful, in relative terms. Once he's made it clear he's uncompromising on having me lie against his bare chest, I find myself dozing off in the warm water.

I don't realize I've completely fallen asleep against Rhys until he's gently shaking me awake, pulling me up to stand with him and climb out of the tub, set deep into the shimmering marble of the floor. Rhys' hands are still steadying me by my elbows once I'm on solid ground, holding too tight.

"I'm fine, you can let go," I tell him. Whether I'm actually fine is irrelevant; in fact, the polished floor looks like a death trap for someone with slippery wet feet. Rhys seems to notice my reservation and holds my arms a moment longer, probably enjoying it. He lets go and I stalk away, turning to the sink before I notice Rhys walking naked to the open door to pick up a slip of paper waiting just outside. After having been skin to skin for so long, the thread in my chest tugs irritably at his distance and I resist the urge to smack myself. Any relaxation left over from the bath is gone. My body is betraying me in every way.

Rhys turns around as he reads the paper to himself, his face impassive. I find myself wondering again how those enchanted missives work, if not only by magic. Would they work outside of the Fae's borders? Could they reach another dimension?

What if I could contact my family?

Rhys looks up from the letter as if he forgot I was there, standing naked in front of him. "Right," he mutters. He reaches up into a high cupboard above the sink and pulls out two towels, draping one over my shoulders with his free hand and wrapping the other around his waist. "You're to begin lessons with a tutor of Jerome's choosing tonight."

I glance over his shoulder out the wide windows of the bedroom, displaying the darkness outside and the deep blue night sky. It's late, but I'm guessing lessons on how not to fuck up crucial matters of diplomacy can't wait. And, I realize with a rush of relief, it's probably better than whatever alternative nighttime activities Rhys had in mind.

I pull the towel tightly around me and begin drying off, moving away from Rhys to shimmy it over my wet skin. He frowns but only says "Hurry up," then stalks into the bedroom. The thread between us shivers and I try to ignore it.

I take a quiet moment to think as I twist the towel over my damp hair. Before Rhys interrupted my thoughts by draping me in a towel, I was considering the range of the grass paper—whitegrass, Rhys called it—used to send messages here. I apparently can't leave here myself, but what about a letter from me? One sent with "thought and intent," as he had said.

Not being Fae myself, I imagine it wouldn't be possible for me to use the paper in such a way. Would Rhys be willing to help me send a letter to my family? The thought gives me pause. Granted, he's been a raging, possessive asshole, but only in regards to my own behavior and location. Would he have any reasonable reservations against sending a simple letter to the human world, telling them I'm alive?

In other words, how far past logic does his raging, possessive assholery run?

And what are my other options?

"Noelle." Rhys' voice is a sharp end to my reverie. "Come out here."

I wrap my towel under my armpits and walk into the bedroom, where Rhys is fully dressed. A nasty little piece of me lashes out and I smirk. "I'm not dry yet."

"That's too bad." Before I can react, Rhys tosses a bundle of blue fabric at me. "Get dressed, sweetheart."

I'm not your sweetheart.

I bite back the words and pull the dress over my head. It flutters down to my feet. It's a light matte blue, but seems to be made of the same fussy fabric as the gold thing that now sits in scraps on the floor.

I have nothing against dresses; I like them, even. I always—used to—wear them on the weekends, when I wasn't with my old-boys'-club programming team and could get away with being the least bit feminine. Now, though, the lack of something concrete on my hips and legs just reminds me of how vulnerable I am. How I cannot close myself off from anything, most of all from him.

I push down the cynical tears threatening to rise and test my luck. "Could I wear a pair of pants sometime?"

Rhys gives me an odd look, like I've just asked him to manufacture the pants himself. "We can discuss that later," he says.

There's a knock on the door. Rhys strides across the large room and opens it briskly, then freezes. "Siobhan," he breathes.

The stately redhead steps into the room, barely giving Rhys a glance, and Jerome comes in after her, shooting an apologetic look at Rhys.

"Hello, Noelle." Her voice is gentle, steady. I've forgotten how much taller she is than I am, almost as tall as Rhys. She's wearing a set of well-fitted riding clothes, and I'm reminded again of my status as pantsless and small.

I smile at her waveringly, beginning to feel relaxed again despite the obvious tension in the room. When Siobhan is here, Rhys can't touch me.

Rhys, who is in the corner by the door looking resentful. "You're the one who's giving Noelle lessons?" he mutters.

Siobhan gives me a look that seems almost conspiratorial—the type you'd give a friend to say

can you believe him?

She puts a smile on her face and turns to Rhys. "Yes, I am. Jerome thought it would be best for the tutor to be someone with whom Noelle is familiar." Her tone is short. "We also thought it best that the lessons are one-on-one."

"Of course, how else?" Rhys nods.

"Meaning you and Jerome will leave."

I stand perfectly still for a moment, trying to process what I'm hearing. She can't mean that Rhys

leaves

, right? That he exits the room, and I get a break, however brief, from his looming and patronizing and penchant for sexual assault?

Rhys seems just as disbelieving. "That's a good one. You do understand how the Elixir works, do you not?"

Siobhan simply rolls her eyes. "I've made arrangements." She reaches into a pocket of her jacket and pulls out a small glass bottle stoppered with a cork. Inside a small amount of clear liquid sloshes around.

Jerome gawks. "I'm sorry, but that's not—?"

I can't hold back my curiosity. "It's what? What?" I look from Siobhan to Jerome, utterly confused.

"You're absolutely right it is." Siobhan looks proud, and maybe a little abashed. She looks at me. "Noelle, this is called a trench potion." She sloshes the liquid around inside and it seems to shimmer. "It significantly dulls the effects of any illness or spell...including the adverse effects of the Elixir bond."

"It's illegal," Rhys says.

"It's absolutely essential," Siobhan retorts. "It's only illegal because of times like these—when you want to be rid of the effects of a spell or ritual that is considered immoral or inadvisable to reverse."

"It's also addictive," Rhys says, his voice growing darker. "You're not giving that to Noelle, and you're certainly not giving it to me."

"I can—" I interject without thinking, but Rhys glares so deeply at me that my voice catches in my throat.

"It's addictive in large amounts over time, of course," Siobhan says. "Not if it's used in controlled increments."

"I will not disgrace the Council like that," Rhys says finally.

Siobhan visibly loses her temper, spinning to face Rhys head on. "If you recall, the Council doesn't give a shit about you anymore, and certainly won't unless we come up with a way to help Noelle assimilate," she snaps. "And she's not going to be very comfortable trying to learn anything with you breathing down her fucking

neck

."

There's silence for a moment as Siobhan leans back, regaining her composure as if she never lost it in the first place. Finally Rhys takes a heavy breath. "Fine."

"Good." Siobhan holds the bottle out, and I take a moment to register that she's handing it to me. "It's not addictive, Noelle. It'll simply dull the bond so that you're able to be apart from each other for a while. There may be a slight hangover afterward."

Sounds good to me. I gingerly take the little bottle, pulling the cork out and looking inside. "How long do the effects last?" I ask.

"Dose like that, maybe half an hour," Siobhan says. "It takes less than a sip to be effective, and we need to make this supply last—not to mention make sure there isn't any adverse effect. It'll be plenty of time."

I nod and stare into the bottle. Rhys sighs, pressing his fingers to his dark brow. "Go on, Noelle."

I deliberately wait another moment before placing the bottle to my lips and tipping it back. The moment the first drop lands on my tongue I pull it away with a grimace.

"Oh right, and it tastes like shit," Rhys says. I glare at him weakly and his handsome face breaks into a wide grin at my reaction. "That's a great face, sweetheart."

By way of revenge I thrust the bottle at him, hoping it stings his tongue as much as it's stinging mine. He swipes it from my hand and takes a sip, then coughs. "Gods, that's bad. No wonder it's illegal."

"Alright, now that it's over with, you need to leave—fast," Siobhan says. "Both of you, out." She motions at Rhys and Jerome. "Now!"

Rhys casts a glance at me before turning to walk out of the room, Jerome on his heels. He steps into the hall, closes the door, and...nothing.

"Wow," I whisper. The tugging of the thread is all but gone, replaced by a gentle numbness at the center of my sternum.

"Feel good?" Siobhan arranges herself in a chair by one of the large windows, and motions me over. I nod and come to sit beside her, still marveling at the feeling of, well, nothing. It's a distinct absence of sensation. It's almost exhilarating.

"I suppose we should get right into it then, since we haven't got much time," Siobhan says. "Though I need to figure out what 'it' exactly is, I don't really have a lesson plan..." She smiles at me amicably, and I let myself smile back.

"We can start with general customs, I think, and then branch out into more complex topics," she muses. "History, some basic laws of magic..."

That strikes a chord and I'm suddenly reminded of my earlier thoughts. Is it safe to ask? I fidget in my seat.

Siobhan notices my discomfort and immediately grows quiet. "Or we could just talk," she murmurs. "You look like you might need that." Her words carry a weight.

I know what he's been doing to you. All I can do is listen.

With the weight of her words comes immediate trust. I can ask her about the paper. Even if she refuses to help, she won't let anything on to Rhys. Here, she is my confidant, if nothing else.

"I wanted to ask you about the whitegrass paper, actually," I begin. It now sounds like an awfully trivial topic for someone who's just been offered a judgment-free ear. "Do you know much about how it works?"

Siobhan gives me a strange look. "A lot, actually. You're curious about how it travels, right? It's due to the properties of the whitegrass—the plant is able to completely disintegrate part or all of its body. It's how it reproduces. It was engineered so that the disintegration could be controlled at will through simple magic. Do you know about

thought

and

intent

, the two facets of sending a message with whitegrass?"

I nod. "Rhys told me," I murmur.

She looks surprised, but carries on. "Those are controlled by micromagic, which harnesses the communicative power of the reproducing plant. Does that make sense?"

"It seems to," I say.

"I can give you a book about it if you want," Siobhan says.

"I'd like that."

"I'll bring it to our next session."

I bite my lip. "Do you know...do you know how far the letters on whitegrass paper can travel?"

Siobhan's face immediately breaks into an expression of recognition. "You want to contact your home, right?"

I lower my eyes, abashed at how quickly she seemed to figure me out. "I do," I say. "Very much."

When I look up again, Siobhan's expression is soft. "I don't blame you," she says. "Our first lesson can be on the whitegrass, then, seems appropriate." Siobhan shifts closer to me in her seat. "The short answer is, yes, in theory, whitegrass can be used to send missives between most parallel worlds. The paper still disintegrates, and then may pass through the 'border' between worlds in the presence of a portal. It's almost analogous to your theory of osmosis, I suppose."

I smile gratefully at the comparison. Though it doesn't seem to be a very precise analogy, I can at least visualize it with something familiarly scientific to imagine. "I think I understand."

"The thing is," Siobhan pulls her thick red hair over one shoulder, thoughtfully, "making the portal is what's difficult. It must be placed in a location compatible with an area in the world you're trying to contact."

"Is it the same type of portal that brought me here?" I'm full of questions now, barely stopping to consider the ridiculous nature of the question that a few days ago would have sounded like silly fantasy to my own ears. "Did someone make that?"

Siobhan suddenly stiffens, pulling back from where she was leaning in beside me a moment ago. "It would be a similar portal, yes, but not as big. I don't know much else." Her words are clipped.

I frown in confusion, loathe to upset this woman who seems to be my closest and only ally. "Sorry, is that rude to ask?"

"No, no." Siobhan's tone is still short. "I'm the one who should be apologizing, getting your hopes up like that. Portals are very complicated to make, and they take a lot of planning. It's not something you should count on happening anytime soon."

I press further; it's probably a bad idea. "But could you help me try? Maybe find someone who can do it, not even now, just once I've started fitting in here better?"

Siobhan stands. "I'm sorry, Noelle. I don't think it's something we should even be discussing anymore."

I rise to follow her as she crosses the room. "The trench should be wearing off soon. We will resume your lessons in two nights. Be prepared to learn about the Elixir, I think it's good that you familiarize yourself with it."

Her hand is on the doorknob when I chance touching her on the arm. "Princess Siobhan, if I've said something to offend you..."

She shakes her head and turns to me. "Nothing. You've done nothing wrong, Noelle, alright? Do you understand?"

I don't believe her, and I don't understand, but I nod. She opens the door to reveal Jerome and Rhys on the other side, Rhys leaning on the far wall across from the door. Leave it to him to look stiff while reclining against a wall. Jerome stands beside him, and their conversation stops when the door swings ajar.

Rhys looks up. "I trust the lesson was a productive one," he says to no one in particular. Siobhan doesn't respond.

"Yes, thank you," I say.

Rhys pushes himself off the wall, coming up to his full impressive height. His violet eyes land on Siobhan. "I need to speak with you," he hisses.

Siobhan rolls her eyes. I feel a rush of jealousy; she can get away with giving him what-for. "Prince Rhys, you don't

need

anything."

"Humor me, Princess."

Siobhan casts another glance at me, offering a sad smile. Her hand comes out as if to grasp mine, but she pulls back a second later. "Make it quick," she tells Rhys. He nods and spins on his heel. She follows reluctantly behind and they disappear around a corner, leaving Jerome and me in the empty hallway.