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Derdriu has excellent taste in lovers. But what of his legs?
“Of course not, your highness. You are the most magnificent creature I’ve ever laid eyes on.” Cylvan smirked. “Tell me more about how ugly everyone else is.”
“I have better instincts than that… especially after recently making a deal with an actual unseelie lord, who is intent on teaching me my place.” The unseelie lord smirked. “You mean between his legs?”
“B-Beantighe Village?” Beantighe Village. Saffron smacked him on the arm. “Don’t tease me!” “What?” Cylvan asked in annoyance. “That’s how it’s spelled!” “Ban-tee, Prince Cylvan! I thought you were supposed to be smart!”
“Oh…” he breathed. He hopped on his toes slightly, giggling more. “You… make it look so beautiful.”
He tried to find his eyes again, but there were only stars. Only stars, and warm breath, and gardenia and pine, and needles, and water, and wind. So much wind.
“I think I know how she felt…” he whispered at last. “I dreamed about you for a long time, too…”
“No,” he whispered. “You can’t disappoint me—not when you made me so happy…”
Dredging deeper, he grasped other muddy moments like the roots of an oak tree: the sound of a violin; water dribbling down his chin, a mouth pressing into his lips and forcing him to drink; a hand touching his forehead and pushing damp hair from his face; a voice whispering, “why aren’t you waking up?”
“Because… I felt obligated to give you a soft place to sleep. At least once, before you died.”
Was Prince Cylvan really capable of so very many emotions that weren’t annoyance or boredom or bitterness?
“What…” Cylvan started, making Saffron flinch when his fingers gently brushed along his sore cheek. Saffron just kept his eyes down, biting his lip as Cylvan’s voice turned venomous. “Who did this to you?”
“Tell me who did this,” he repeated tightly, “so that I may tear them apart with my own hands.”
That’s Alfidel’s hair!”
Those words were like a knife in his chest—and Cylvan said them with so much and so little emotion all at once, as if there were a thousand other things he wished he could add. Words spoken like he’d repeated them his whole life, whether to other people or just to himself. And something about them… made Saffron anxious, like Cylvan was going to suddenly take off into the sky and leave him there. But Saffron was less concerned about being left alone—and more about Cylvan feeling like he had to run at all.
“I would… tell the raven that pixies aren’t afraid of anything, really… They’re small enough that not even rowan or iron can hurt them. And… once the pixie saw past the beak and claws, it would see how pretty the raven’s feathers are. And how its ability to fly is actually very fun on nice days…”
“I care for you as well, Saffron—enough that I finally understand why people worship a Day Court,” Cylvan confessed between their mouths. “I want to fill your life with light, and joy, and peace, and safety…”
“If I am indeed a raven—then you are the treasure I wish to spend all my days appreciating.”
I wish to always be a safe place for you to close your eyes and rest.
He wanted to bottle that quiet moment. Let it ferment like the wine in his blood, so that he could sip it whenever he wanted. Him and Cylvan in the quiet room, warmed by the fire, warmed by the wine, warmed by dancing and laughing with one
“Like a raven over his treasure,” a foxlike smile crossed his lips. “I want to memorize every beautiful, forbidden thing about you.”
To be memorized was to be devoured.
“You can have my kingdom. Anything you’d like,”
“Stay with me, Saffron,” he beseeched once more. “As my treasure. As my one, simple peace, so that I may always know there is at least one person who cares for me.”
“I really thought… the veil was the worst thing that could happen to me,” he whispered weakly, but didn’t look at Cylvan again. “But I think I would prefer it to this.”
I hope the weight of your debt to me crushes you into dust.”
Prince Cylvan. With all due respect, go fuck yourself.
You were the light in my life—and my coming Night nearly snuffed you out.”
An agonized scream tore through the floorboards, vicious gusts of wind ripping through the suite below and whistling through the cracks beneath where Saffron lay.
“I’ll keep you safe,” Saffron promised,
