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Everything mixed into a bitter potion of nausea in his gut, where butterflies teemed and reminded him he was supposed to be excited. He was, he was. He was excited. He was so excited he might throw up if he opened his mouth too wide.
“Not once, nor twice, nor thrice— “Six knocks aloud, they scatter like mice.”
Just boarded the ship in Connacht. I think I will spend the second half with my eyes closed so I do not see the ocean for the first time without you.
I am glad you mentioned it before I had to ask. Please reserve your first time for me. I will make it worth your while.
Maybe he should have known better. Of course he wasn’t meant for a simple life of predictability. He was marrying Cylvan dé Tuatha dé Danann, after all, who was the most dramatic creature to walk on two legs.
“I appreciate your warm welcome. You’re as handsome as they say, you know—Ah, but perhaps that’s a little too forward of me so soon.” Cylvan’s crystalline eyes flickered back to him, and he smirked. Saffron’s dark prince finally sat up, smiling wickedly like Saffron had whispered something naughty in his ear. “You’ve heard of my beauty even in Alvénya?” he asked, voice low and cool.
“You’re real,” he whispered, squeezing Cylvan’s hand to prove it. Cylvan smiled at him, handsome and perfect and exactly how Saffron remembered it. “I’m real.”
“My prince is willing to start a war with the sea over my beauty,” Cylvan smirked, tucking a piece of windswept hair from Saffron’s eyes. “Perhaps we are fated to be as lovers in myth, after all…”
He would gladly pretend he’d barely seen anything at all. Just for a little bit longer.
“I am eager to fall in love with you at first sight,” Cylvan whispered. “All over again.” “Don’t lie,” Saffron mumbled in embarrassment. “You definitely did not.” “How would you know?” Cylvan countered with a coy smile.
Saffron would get to have the two things he’d always wanted most in his life—to attend school, and to have a love like those in myths.
My fiancé in Alvénya would always draw me such luxurious baths, it makes me miss him so much. Perhaps I’ll write him tonight and tell him all about how there isn’t a single fine fey lord in all of Alfidel.”
It was only dust. It was only pollen from their last class. It definitely wasn’t a huge, defining moment for Saffron and his life and everything he’d ever wanted. A welcome visitor to a school library, where he would be able to peruse all the books and read any of them that he liked.
“Oh, fuck,” Saffron croaked. “Ohhhh fuck, shit, oh god, oh fuck—” “Yes, good, get it all out while you can,” Luvon encouraged calmly. “Fuck, fuck, shit, damnit, cock, bint. Go on.”
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing!” “I should be asking you the same thing!” Cylvan hissed. Saffron pursed his lips, before grabbing one of Cylvan’s invisible horns and dragging him into the shadows next to one of the dorm buildings. Cylvan complained the whole time, cursing at him, calling him a nasty little moon-ear and trying to yank himself free.
I’ve never met a prince more jealous than you.
All the while, Hollow and Cylvan bickered like parents every time Saffron stumbled over rocks or upturned roots in the dark, or tried to point something out past the light of the beantighe dorms that neither of his companions could see.
Hollow scolded Cylvan for letting Saffron drink so much at his stupid party; Cylvan scolded Hollow for thinking he had any right to talk like that to a prince. Every insult thrown low under their breaths so the others wouldn’t hear, every word making Saffron laugh as he cooed and asked them to please get along.
“Are you jealous?” “The court will be thinner by morning.” “What do you mean?” “I will execute every fey lord who so much as looked at you last night. There will be only ladies and gentles left.” “Plenty of ladies and gentles spoke to me, too.” “Then it will be a bloodbath.”
Cylvan decorated him with bite marks and hickies down his neck and across his collarbones, whispering about how they would have to see if Saffron’s glamour would cover them up, too. How he hoped it didn’t; he hoped everyone would be able to see, the Flower of Alvénya had already been claimed by a demanding lover in Alfidel.
Saffron wished he could stay in the prince’s private suite forever. To be his beantighe pet that only existed to eat cakes and dress nicely and kiss him.
He tried not to think about it—but couldn’t deny the bond they formed while passing gifts back and forth, walking silently in the woods together, checking up on one another between classes. A messenger bird who couldn’t fly, a high fey lord who wasn’t a fey at all.
“Beautiful,” he grinned, pressing hands to Cylvan’s cheeks enough to make the prince’s mouth pucker. “You’re so beautiful. Beautiful dragon princess. My king of the forest. I’m your Mayday queen, please, do with me as you wish. I danced a lot. I drank so much. And I touched so many crystal penises.”
He wanted to scream—he wanted to cry and scream and rip his skin off in shame and guilt and regret and pure self-hatred for being so powerful but so useless. The most powerful witch in centuries—the most useless person left on their knees in the bushes.
Saffron couldn’t believe how much contention existed in every facet of fey politics, no matter where he turned. Perhaps he shouldn’t have been so surprised.
If the wolf that protected him was truly the incarnation of his wildest, most violent magic—then so be it. He would find his own means of taming it without Ryder Kyteler’s help.
She brought your pendant to me. She took me right to you. She was so insistent, she flew so fast. She attacked me more than once when I couldn’t keep up. What a good girl, the best girl.
“We were finally dancing,” Saffron sobbed. “I was finally able to dance with you—and it was all ruined, god, why can’t I have anything, just a single thing…”
“I am so lucky to hold you,” Cylvan whispered. “To have the blessing of holding someone as brave and inimitable as you—I am so blessed to be allowed to protect you. I am so blessed to be able to comfort you like you once comforted me. I will comfort you every day of your life, for as long as you need it. Please let me.”
“You gotta stop believing everything you’re told. Especially if you’re going to be king one day. God help us. Ériu and Christ and the devil and everyone in-fucking-between.”
“That’s not fair,” Cylvan pouted. “I want to bloody my hands a little, too. What kind of loving husband would I be if I couldn’t exact revenge for you at least once?”
“I’m sorry for interrupting the meeting,” he whispered. “I just wanted to be with you, tonight.” “I will always come when you call,” Cylvan answered in an instant, pulling their interwoven hands to his mouth, kissing Saffron’s knuckles. “Always.”
Within moments, it collapsed back in on itself—swallowing everything and everyone within the boundary. Thousands of people, stolen through the veil in an instant.
Saffron clawed at the ground, screaming, attempting to drag himself closer, only for his strength to vanish as King Tross uttered: “That tear in the veil was too large—he must have been made ashen.”
Hollow. Letty. Nimue. Daurae Asche. Sunbeam, in her own way. All of them, claimed by Ryder, taken through the veil. Somewhere Saffron couldn’t reach them.
If they were destined to walk in darkness—Saffron would learn how to bend light. If he couldn’t bend light, then he would bend shadow. If he couldn’t bend shadow—then Saffron would simply never let go of Cylvan’s hand. He already knew, that was where he best belonged, anyway.
Cylvan jumped awake the moment Saffron burst out laughing, squeezing the paper in his hand, then throwing his arms around his prince as the laughter melted into sobs of joy. Found them. London.
