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Chapter Text

Prince Porchay joined the waking world with a startled gasp. His head flew off the pillow as it jerked his torso upright, both trembling hands already wrapped tightly in the thin material of his tunic. Chay's panicked gaze urgently scanned the room for any sign of danger but found only the familiar curl of shadows where they'd always been. He saw no lurking evil. No waiting threat. No intrusion. The sky was dark beyond the window's heavy glass - daybreak's pearly grey-pink hues still hovered shyly along the horizon’s furthest edge as if unwilling to advance. Yet Chay's frantic heart kicked wildly in his chest, racing fast enough that its every beat verged on painful.

What in the Seven Realms had woken him from such deep sleep? He had no memory of a nightmare to explain it; no sweaty palms or tear-damp cheeks to note as evidence. What was happening?

Dread prickled just beneath the surface of his skin and raised gooseflesh along his arms the moment that question crossed his mind. He gave a full-body shiver so hard the hair at the back of his neck stood on end. And then-

Get up.

The demand came from everywhere and nowhere, delivered by a toneless voice directly to the core of Chay’s consciousness. He jerked against the headboard and blinked furiously against the odd sensation. 

Get up, quickly! 

Porchay followed the mystery orders entirely on instinct, spurred on by the dread that had since grown into gnawing worry. The prince swung both legs out from under the warmth of his blankets and paused only long enough to stretch the kinks out of his spine before standing up straight. He shivered when his bare soles met the chilly stone floor but brushed his discomfort aside to hurry across the room. He haphazardly donned whichever robe he’d left pooled beside his dressing table the night before and tucked his pajama bottoms into a pair of worn leather boots.

The unknown voice returned with a new demand: Make haste. 

Chay allowed whatever mysterious energy was filling the air to guide his actions. He tiptoed silently down the back staircase, peering around every corner only to be met by one empty hallway after another. Feeling slightly giddy over such an unexpected run of good fortune, the prince grinned brightly as he slid between one shadow and the next. Eventually he reached the heavy wooden door that would lead him out into the palace gardens. He paused automatically, every muscle tense.

Yes, go this way.

The prince barely suppressed a triumphant giggle as he slipped free of the palace walls and into the pre-dawn mist. He knew a lantern would destroy any attempt to be stealthy, and that wasn’t a risk he could take (even if his brother’s retinue of guards was exceptionally tiny in comparison to those of neighboring kingdoms). 

Chay scurried down one shrub-lined walkway after another in the mostly-dark, altering his course and speed at the whims of whatever force was guiding his movements. Following its flow was easy, almost too easy, but the prince felt more appreciative than suspicious. 

Porchay swung left suddenly and violently, turning along a row of raised flower beds, only to freeze in place – he had to stop, or else he'd have tripped over whatever object sat motionless in the center of the path. The small, oddly shaped lump resembled a discarded bundle of laundry or a child’s broken toy. The thin cloth covering the item fluttered in the wind, torn and ragged around the edges in a way that almost reminded him of a…

Porchay dropped to his knees in the dirt, not once considering the state of his clothing. He leaned closer, taking in every detail visible in the pre-dawn light. First, there was a collection of dark, borderline iridescent feathers. These were followed by a sharply pointed black beak and two rather impressively clawed talons that curved up into the air. The lump wasn’t a lump at all; Chay had been brought to the aid of a wounded bird. The poor thing lay on its back, all alone in the royal garden with both wings splayed across the dewy grass. 

"Oh no, how awful!"

Its purpose served, the string of magic energy anchoring their souls together faded back to nothingness. Concern for the injured animal overcame the prince so forcefully and gripped his heart so tightly that the sudden absence of his mysterious guiding force went completely unnoticed. 

“You poor creature,” Porchay cooed. He reached out a tentative hand to stroke his fingertip carefully from the bridge of the raven’s beak to the soft, warm spot at the crown of its head. Despite the heavenly fluffiness of his newfound patient’s inky down, Chay couldn’t help frowning. Continuing to refer to the raven as an ‘it’ felt utterly abhorrent when he knew for a fact that the bird was male. In a habit born from two decades of etiquette training, the prince murmured, “I hope it doesn’t offend you, but I’m going to call you Sir Raven for the time being.”

The bird didn’t respond, of course, but at least he was breathing. His tiny chest rose and fell steadily enough to keep the prince’s almost frantic worry from mounting any further. Chay continued to pet Sir Raven in an effort to soothe them both, feeling utterly content when the raven settled down instead of trying to shift away. 

As sunlight began to filter through the haze surrounding his family’s castle and illuminate the gardens, Chay’s attention landed on a gash across the animal’s right wing. His eyes followed the thick trail of blood seeping down into Sir Raven’s feathers, heart pounding like a wild thing for the second time in half an hour. 

A cut that deep needed immediate medical attention, before it got infected.

The prince couldn’t help but hum a quiet, comforting lullaby as he lifted the wounded bird gently into his arms. He cradled the raven’s warm body against his chest, marveling at the odd tickling of rightness that came with the embrace.

“Don’t worry, handsome thing, I know just how to wrap a cut like this. We’ll have you back to the treetops where you belong in no time.”

Porchay switched between humming snippets of various ballads and mumbling soft reassurances to the raven as he hurried back through the winding gardens with surefooted steps. The thought of waking or frightening the pretty creature – or, gods forbid, jostling his patient’s injuries – during the course of their short journey was enough to make Chay’s breath stutter. 

The prince didn’t have time to think about why his reactions to the animal’s peril were so strong; even if he did, he likely would have rationalized them away. He cared about other living things, plain and simple.

Porchay arrived in front of a different door than the one he’d used to escape the palace an hour ago. He ducked inside, no longer concerned with being caught now that Sir Raven was safely bundled in his arms. Grinning, Chay poked his head into the anteroom of the Knights’ private bathing chamber. Luckily, he found it occupied. “Hello, Sir Big!”

“Oh, uh… Good morning, Your Highness?” The only Knight in the vicinity whipped around to greet his liege lord automatically. Sir Big’s neatly tied bun jerked stiffly in time with his brief, respectful bow. “It’s a little early for you to be on an adventure, isn’t it, Sire?”

“I’m, uhh. I’m afraid this particular adventure couldn't wait for sunrise.”

As if only just noticing his precious burden, Sir Big nodded curiously at the raven clutched protectively against Chay’s torso. “Does this unsupervised midnight excursion have anything to do with the wild animal you’re carrying around like a favorite pet, Your Highness?”

“You’re very observant this morning, Sir Big,” Chay teased back. The Knights had effectively become his older brothers after his parents died and Porsche ascended the throne. Any real air of formality between them was saved for special events. Both men understood Sir Big to be more of a loyal friend than sworn vassal. “I’m afraid our good Sir Raven is the precise reason I’m out of bed this early. He’s been badly wounded, so I’m taking him up to visit the infirmary right away. If Lady Yok is willing to offer her advice and expertise, maybe I can take proper care of his wing and rehabilitate him.”

“Ah, I see,” Sir Big replied. He raised a joking eyebrow, “And if you fail, will we be having roasted crow for dinner?”

Chay’s glare was immediate, and far fiercer than he’d initially intended. But even the thought of his precious new acquaintance coming to harm was… It was… Porchay simply refused to entertain such a horrifying idea. “Absolutely not.”

“Oh, uhm…”

Chay shook his head to clear away the dark, invading fog. “Sorry, Sir Big, I don’t know what came over me.”

“Of course, Sire.”

“Could, err– Could you please do me a favor when you’re at breakfast and tell the kitchens to send up a bowl of raw meat to my room? Hopefully I can coax him to eat a little once he’s up and about.” Porchay turned as if to leave and then jolted. He swung back to face the bewildered knight, smiling benignly. “Oh! And if you see my brother, please tell His Majesty that I’ll be busy for the rest of today. No interruptions unless the castle is burning down or it’s absolutely necessary to obtain my input on the issue at hand.”

“Of course, Your Highness.”

“Thank you, Sir Big! I’ll be going now.”

By the time consciousness once again lapped at the edges of Prince Kimhan’s mind, he was clueless as to how many hours had passed since he’d been shot. He remembered the tip of the arrow skimming along the uppermost tendon in his wing. He remembered the searing trail of white-hot agony left in its wake, no doubt poisoned by the men hunting him down. Whatever they’d used was powerful enough to overcome even a Faerie’s advanced healing capabilities. 

He guessed, judging by the bright light streaming through his closed lids, that it was nearing midday. He’d been unconscious all night and most of the morning, then.

Kim was mere moments away from shifting back to his true form and speeding along the healing process significantly when he was stopped in his tracks by a totally foreign sensation. As the Fae prince lay on his back, closer to death than he could ever recall being before, a gentle finger stroked up from the bridge of his beak to the very top of his head. Curious enough to risk another few moments of horrible vulnerability, he kept still. 

The unseen stranger, whoever it may be, was either incredibly brave or terribly foolish to lay hands on an Unseelie Prince without warning or permission. Kim couldn’t be sure which option was most accurate yet, but the caresses felt so nice. His unseen company kept each delicate touch measured and firm, dragging the tip of a pointer finger in the same lazy pattern over and over. The Fae, who’d spent nearly two-hundred years looking over his shoulder and keeping alert in case of danger, let the remaining tension in his muscles fade away. 

For the first time since… Since… 

Kim balked when he counted the years and found that over a century had passed since the last time he felt safe enough to simply relax. As it stood, he’d been soothed into a hazy sense of contentment by the stranger’s steady, tender attentions.

The young man – because Kim may be in a weakened state, but his magic was still powerful enough to gather basic information –  didn’t have any latent magical capabilities, but he was leaking affection and concern so openly into the small room that Kim was already half drunk. Being the center of such unbridled tenderness was so foreign and overwhelming that the Fae couldn’t bear to move. 

Then, because the universe hated him and wanted nothing more than to see him suffer, his stranger began to sing. Kim melted as the words flowed forward, until he resembled more of a puddle than a corvid where he lay on the sun-warm wooden table. The tune of the stranger’s lullaby was maudlin but pretty, and the words jogged Kim’s memory, written in a half-familiar mortal language:

“The wind blows cold across the earth,

And gently falls the rain.

I never had but one true love,

And in greenwood he lies slain.”

Desperate to see his rescuer’s face, Kim couldn’t remain in the drowsy trance a moment longer. The prince shook his head and blinked his eyes open as theatrically as any raven could. A high, sharp gasp and a flurry of shuffling came from the direction of his human host and the petting stopped, much to Kim’s dismay. 

Once he’d managed to regain his balance and clear some of the young man’s addictive emotions from his head, Kim looked up and across the room. The injured Fae was shocked by his own reaction to seeing a gangly, doe-eyed boy staring back at him. Kim wanted to claim him, to hide the stranger away. He wanted fling himself so high into the sky that the thin, cold air at the precipice of space refocused him.

Kim brought his wandering thoughts back to the process of making observations. The young man’s clothing was simple but made from extremely high-quality materials, and a plain silver circlet peeked from his hairline to swoop across the center of his forehead. 

Was his rescuer a prince of the human realm? And if so, why had he shirked his royal duties to tend the injuries of a wild raven? 

Kim cocked his head to the side, one of the bird habits he couldn’t manage to shake no matter how much he practiced, and cawed softly. 

The human had his back pressed tightly against the stone wall near the door, clearly meant to be his escape route in case the bird attacked. His plan would’ve been incredibly useful if Kim were actually an injured beast of the forest and not a Fae prince in temporary disguise. 

The boy isn’t an idiot, at least, he noted. This thought was accompanied by a wave of smug pleasure that he acknowledged but did not question further – for now.

“I’m glad you’re awake, Sir Raven!” His human’s voice betrayed his youth, but also his unadulterated joy over Kim’s apparent recovery. He peeled himself off the wall but didn't approach Kim or the table. “I– Err, well, I was starting to get worried that your injury was worse than initially suspected. I don’t know that much about bird anatomy, but I had the head of the palace aviary help me out, so I know you should still be able to move with your bandage on!”

Kim cocked his head in the other direction and fluffed his plumage, because that’s really all he could do to convey the mixture of possessiveness and mortification filling him from tip to tail-feather. Clearly nervous, the boy continued to ramble in his pretty mortal dialect.

“You were wounded when I found you in the garden, so I, uhm… I brought you to the palace infirmary. I’m not sure if you can fly just yet, or with the wrap over your feathers, but you’re welcome to leave at any time. You can also stay for as long as you’d li– What are you even doing right now, Chay?”

Kim hopped a bit closer to the edge of the table and the young man – Chay’s –  hands twitched out from his sides like he was ready to prevent any sort of mishap before it could begin. Like he was prepared to catch Kim at all costs. He had an unusually deep sense of compassion, especially for a human. Enamored by the mysterious Chay but not ready to admit anything so embarrassing, Kimhan took the opportunity to take another glancing pass over his rescuer. He flicked the sturdy feathers of his tail and fluttered the tips of his wings absentmindedly as he memorized every little detail. 

The boy’s eyes were indeed wide and brown and startlingly lovely. They watched Kim back, taking an inventory of his movements in the same way he was doing to Chay. The Fae would be unnerved by the human’s awareness on a normal day, suspicious even, but the arrow’s poison still coursed through his veins, dulling his senses and slowing his reactions. Kim was downright sluggish, but he still dragged his beady gaze down across the bridge of the mortal’s nose and along either cheekbone. 

A previously silent voice at the back of Kim’s head wondered: How easily could you turn such a sweet face red? Are his kisses as soft as his caresses? What do human hands feel like on Faerie skin?

Suddenly, Prince Kimhan needed to know the answers like he needed to breathe. He was desperate to know. He would find out for himself, by any means necessary. 

Apparently tired with or unnerved by the silence, the boy opened his mouth a third time: “I hope your wing heals quickly so that you can return to the forest and your family soon.”

Kim violently and wholeheartedly disagreed with this statement. He didn’t want to go back through the Veil to bicker with Tankhun and play nice with their Seelie cousins at Beltane and Samhain. He didn’t want to command armies or coordinate spy missions. 

He wasn’t interested in danger the same way, anymore. Not when he could stay here. Not when danger meant sinking deeper and deeper into Chay’s magnetic brown eyes.

Kim cawed again, pleased. He puffed his feathers and tapped one set of talons along the edge of the table. Chay darted forward, just as the Fae expected. Kim poked his foot out into empty air and the wide-eyed boy was right there, holding out his hands for the raven to balance on. 

Once he’d been cradled close enough to feel his human’s heartbeat thud-thud-thudding through his tunic, Kimhan tucked his wings close to his sides and tapped playfully at one of Chay’s silver rings with the tip of his beak. Teasing surely counted as affection for humans, too. He wasn’t the kind to waste time debating logic and reason when he could stake his royal claim on the mortal by initiating the courting process. 

“You’re going to be a troublemaker, aren’t you? I’m going to lose all my favorite trinkets while you’re recuperating in my rooms, I’m sure.” Rather than irritation, Chay’s voice was effortlessly fond. Was he eager for his things to be stolen by a mischievous bird? 

Kim needed to pass a message through the Veil to one of his brothers and update them on the situation. There was no way in the seven realms he’d be going back to Faerieland anytime soon. 

Not alone, anyway.

Chapter Text

“Please?” Porchay groaned. He pushed the small crystal bowl of sliced fruit closer to his companion and widened his eyes in a way that always worked with Porsche. Unfortunately, it seemed birds were indifferent to pouting. “Won’t you please take just one little bite, Sir Raven? It’s almost sunset and you’ve been refusing food all day… I– I don’t know what to do anymore. I’ve followed every instruction the Aviary Keeper gave me but none of it works with you.”

The frustrated and mildly panicked young prince tugged at his hair and stood to pace. Two small black eyes followed his every movement, intense and focused where Sir Raven watched from his perch at the end of Chay’s bedspread. 

With a half-hysterical giggle he rambled on, “I’ve offered raw and cooked meat, fresh and dry bread, nuts, seeds, and now this. I'm sorry, Sir Raven, I just– I don’t– I–”

Sir Raven interrupted the prince’s spiraling worry and self-contempt with a series of deep clicking sounds from deep in his chest. Once he had Porchay’s full attention, the bird shot his host a sideways look and warbled softly. Were the raven a human person and not a bird, Chay would have interpreted the expression as one of concern, but he was a bird, so it wasn’t too difficult an idea to dismiss. 

The raven made an eerily human throat-clearing noise before clicking again more quietly and ruffling his iridescent feathers. Chay found himself struck by a sudden and strange impulse. 

Shoving aside his mild fear of being injured – a raven’s beak and talons were made for ripping flesh from bone, and Porchay was easy prey – the prince selected a random apple slice from the bowl and tapped it against the bird’s head, directly between his eyes. “Have some of this apple before we retire to bed, My Lord, or you can sleep in the window seat instead of the nest I let you build next to my pillow.”

At the sensation of his dinner hitting him quite literally in the face, Sir Raven snapped his head in Chay’s direction. Their eyes met, deep brown against inky black, and for a long and terrifying moment Porchay thought he was about to face the consequences of what were indeed very foolish actions. 

But instead of inflicting pain on the disrespectful (and squishy) human prince, Sir Raven reached slowly forward and ripped a piece of the apple away with the very tip of his pointed beak. His head bobbed a bit as he swallowed the morsel down, but he never once broke eye contact with the prince. Not even as he continued tearing the apple apart piece by piece, careful not to nip at the vulnerable skin of Chay’s fingertips. 

Porchay had been ignoring the peculiar sense of suspicion tugging at his gut all day, but as he watched Sir Raven eat his dinner so politely from a human’s hand, he acknowledged the idea that there was something strange about his supposedly wild patient. They’d spent less than a single day together so far, but Chay was already starting to notice the bird’s distinct idiosyncrasies. Sir Raven was picky about how his feathers were arranged when he was carried, made noises with human intonations to express his feelings, and never let Chay stray too far without attempting to follow after. 

None of the birds he’d ever encountered – wild or captive – behaved that way. And to pile more curious evidence atop those factors was the newly developed matter of Sir Raven’s peculiar nesting decisions…

According to the palace Aviary Keeper, ravens preferred to build their nests in rocky outcroppings where their back was always to a solid surface and they could easily protect their young from approaching danger. To ease his patient’s anxiety about being temporarily confined to the indoors, Chay had arranged a small half-well of stones on a short table against the wall nearest his bed.

The prince had naturally assumed that Sir Raven would prefer to build his nest within the divot of rock, somewhere comfortable and familiar. Somewhere that at least somewhat resembled his natural habitat. And Chay, of course, found himself proven terrifically incorrect. 

Sir Raven stepped awkwardly down from the supportive cradle of Chay’s arms and onto the smooth, silky duvet atop Chay’s bed after harshly rejecting the prince’s initial offering. He paused for a second, cocked his downy head from one side to the other, then hopped up to the pillow beside Porchay’s and promptly began shredding one of the decorative bolsters with his talons.

Rather than be upset by his guest’s decimation of the jewel-toned monstrosity (because really, that hideous purple disaster didn’t even match his other pillowcases and might as well be made useful) Porchay took a seat at the very furthest edge of the mattress. As the bandaged raven organized a series of silk strips to his liking, Chay giggled in delight at being able to observe a wild creature so closely. To his dismay, Sir Raven froze at the unexpected sound and lifted his head up from his task to stare at Chay again. 

Porchay sucked his bottom lip between his teeth and hung his head, disappointed in himself for interrupting the bird’s instinctual process. “Sorry, Sir Raven, I didn’t mean to startle you. I can be quiet from now on, I promise.”

The bird’s immediate reaction to Chay’s self-reproach that first night had been the prince’s second clue that something beyond his scope of perception was going on with Sir Raven. With a sharp flap of his one good wing, the raven released a sharp series of calls: “Caw! Caw! Caw!”

Chay understood the admonishment for what it was, though he couldn’t articulate exactly how or why. He simply knew that the tone of Sir Raven’s calls left no room for any other interpretation. “Oh, uhm. Alright, then. Should I… Do you want me to keep talking?”

The bird released another series of throaty clicks and bobbed his head. The gesture appeared to be… affirmative? Well, that wasn’t helping Chay solve his little mystery whatsoever. 

The prince rubbed his hand up and down the back of his neck to ease the awkward tension gathered along the length of his spine. “Err, okay. Whatever you want. Speaking of wh–” 

Chay froze with his mouth hanging half-open, then clicked it shut again with another flushed half-giggle. Sir Raven barked roughly and rapped at the wooden headboard with his beak. 

“Well, I was going to ask what you’d like me to talk about, but then I realized you can’t exactly answer me, can you? So I cut off the sentence before I could finish asking it and embarrass myself.”

This received more guttural sounds and a vicious talon scratching at one of his yet-unblemished pillowcases. 

“Hey!” Chay frowned, flapping his hand in Sir Raven’s direction to make him stop, “One destroyed pillow is enough! This may be the royal palace, but my brother hasn’t married and we don’t have much in the coffers for replacements.”

To his lessening surprise, the bird ceased. With a few twitches of his tail feathers, Sir Raven settled into the center of his nest. 

“That’s much better, thank you, Sir Raven. Now, err, should I tell you about myself? Or I cou–” 

Three sharp raps against the headboard nearly made Chay jump. The timing and intelligence of his patient’s answers was uncanny – perhaps the bird had been trained by a previous keeper? Yes, of course. That had to be the reason for such quick and precise replies. The rationale as to why he could interpret those replies so easily (and without any help from the Aviary Keeper), however, continued to evade him. 

Porchay spent the following three days bouncing between his room, the infirmary, the Aviary, and the gardens – always with Sir Raven in tow. The bird simply refused to leave his side. Whenever the prince tried leaving his bedchamber alone, the corvid would caw in displeasure and either teeter toward the mattress’ edge in an attempt to be ‘rescued’ or fling himself through the air to land on Porchay’s nearest shoulder. 

After two near-misses that could’ve resulted in his poor Sir Raven lying flat on the stone floor, Chay gave up trying to leave him behind altogether. 

Their fourth day as an inseparable duo was no different; except that Porsche finally managed to clear enough of his schedule to meet his little brother for breakfast. As they faced each other across the small table in Porsche’s private sitting room, the King raised a curious eyebrow at Chay’s uninvited guest. “I didn’t know you’d gotten a new pet.”

Porchay scoffed at the same moment his companion barked angrily. Porsche’s eyebrows rose even further into his hairline. 

“My guest is not a pet, Hia. This is Sir Raven, and once his wing has finished healing I fully intend to release him back into the wild. I’m sure he’s tired of being cooped up with me already; aren’t you, handsome thing?”

Once again the bird gave Porchay a heart-palpitation by nodding sharply two or three times. Sir Raven followed up his answer with a round of preening, tossing in a few self-satisfied clicks and warbles for good measure. 

“Are you sure he isn’t domesticated?”

“I’ve considered it,” Chay shrugged. “But that doesn’t really change my plans at all. Regardless of where he decides to go once he’s free, it would be irresponsible of me to keep him locked inside the castle any longer than necessary.”

“Why not find him a place with the other birds in our Aviary?”

Sir Raven himself offered Porsche several loud, threatening caws in response to such a stupid question. With an air of unmistakable haughtiness, the bird followed up his scolding by lowering his beak and nipping delicately at Chay’s idle fingertips until the human reached out with a slice of fruit for him to eat. The prince smiled warmly and ran the pointer finger of his free hand along the bird’s smooth back, from head to tail. “I think that's enough of an answer. Don’t you, Hia?”

“Hm. I suppose it is,” Porsche agreed. The King watched his brother interact with the unusually personable corvid, unsure whether he should feel frightened or bemused by the raven’s distinctive mannerisms. Unwilling to waste precious time worrying about his brother’s temporary guest, Porsche turned his attention back to food and Chay, who happily changed the subject to some new court gossip. 

Kim remained in his bird form for six long days and couldn’t bring himself to regret a solitary moment. He was lavishly spoiled by the attention and affection he received from his adorable human prince. His sweet Porchay, whose touch was ever-gentle and whose wide brown eyes never failed to make his heart sing for reasons he suspected but refused to broach for now. 

But in the middle of the sixth night, near the witching hour, news arrived for Kimhan from his brothers beyond the Veil. He watched from the comfortable bed he half-shared with his future Consort as a disgruntled barn swallow landed on the windowsill. The tiny blue bird was replaced seconds later by an equally disgruntled member of Tankhun’s personal guard. The knight’s gaze flickered across the room briefly before landing on the third Unseelie Prince with a mixture of surprise and recognition.

Never one to break from decorum regardless of the circumstances or his own feelings, Sir Arm greeted his sovereign with a sweeping bow and the words: “Your Royal Highness, I’m afraid your elder brothers insist that you return to Faerieland immediately.”

Kim flapped silently off the bed and landed on his feet – scowling, fully transformed, and wrapped in a shadowy cloak – mere steps away from the terrified knight. He snapped his fingers to summon his magic and felt it thrumming through the air, sharp and electric. He wove a simple silence charm around the body of his slumbering human that would shield Chay from their conversation. 

“Oh, do they? Did Their Royal Majesties happen to send along any justification as to why I must return so hastily, when myself and my intended have only just completed the first Courting Ritual? Surely they aren’t demanding that I break over fifteen-thousand years of Royal Fae tradition for no good reason, Sir Arm.”

“I– I’m– No, of course not, Your Highness. It’s just that…” The younger Fae shoved his spectacles back up the bridge of his nose but didn’t break eye-contact. Kim gave Khun’s attendant serious credit for standing his ground in the face of the iciest Fae princeling, but he wasn’t about to budge from his current place at Chay’s side, either. 

“Well?”

“King Tankhun demands that you return at once. Unless, of course, the first of our Courting Rituals has been successfully and honorably completed.”

Clearly neither of his older brothers grasped the magnitude of Kim’s feelings for the precious mortal prince who’d rescued him. He crossed his arms over his chest indignantly. “And if it has?”

Arm blinked. 

They both knew Kim’s question was rhetorical.

The other Unseelie royals were powerless to intervene or drag Kimhan back to Court by force if his claim had been legitimized – and Porchay’s natural instincts during their first slightly awkward day together proved to be so very accommodating on that front. From the first juicy bite of apple Prince Kimhan accepted out of Chay’s hand, their fates and lives were intertwined. 

“So we understand each other, then.” Smug and self-assured, Kim dismissed Sir Arm with a wink. “Excellent. I’m sure Their Royal Majesties will finally, completely understand my seriousness when you return with the news of my upcoming betrothal to Prince Porchay.”

“Y-Your upcoming betrothal?!”

“He offered me fruit with his own hand when I’d been wounded, and I took a bite,” the prince shrugged. “There’s nothing either of my meddling elder brothers can do to stop things from moving forward now, so they’d better adjust to the idea of a new family member.”

“What about the boy, Your Highness? Does he know your true name? Your identity? Is he even royalty?”

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business or Their Royal Majesties’, Sir Arm. Now hurry back through the Veil before we disturb his sleep.”

“As you command, Your Highness.”

“Oh, one last thing. Please give this–” the prince held out a piece of folded parchment bearing his personal seal “–directly to Crown Prince Kinn. It’s rather urgent.”

“As you command, Your Highness.” 

With a last bow of respect, Sir Arm leapt from the stony window ledge and sailed back toward Faerieland, the vee of his tail feathers outlined by the rose-petal pink of early dawn. When the knight was merely a speck on the horizon Kim turned on his heel, released the spell surrounding Porchay, and slid back into his own bird form with an easy exhale. 

Kim breathed so much easier when he was tucked against the warmth of his future Consort. 

“You can’t be serious,” Tankhun gasped, one silk-gloved hand flying to cover his mouth in a theatrical display of shock. “ Our little Ice Prince Kimhan has finally found someone to melt his heart?”

“That appears to be the case, Your Majesties. He refused to come back through the Veil, but he did send you this, Prince Kinn,” Arm extended the letter bearing Prince Kimhan’s seal and Kinn tore it open with eager fingers.

“Read it out loud!” King Tankhun practically squealed, tugging at his younger brother’s sleeve. The Crown Prince couldn’t remember the last time Tankhun looked so happy or excited, and he sent a flurry of sweet dreams to whoever had captured Kim’s attention. The family would finally have something to celebrate together instead of mourn. For this favor alone, Kinn would bear all of Kimhan’s inevitable antics.

“Alright, alright, please release my garments, Your Majesty.”

“Oh, right! Right. Of course,” the King settled his hands on his lap, grinning from ear to ear. “Go ahead!”

“Ahem. To my brother and liege Lord, whose prowess with magic is known throughout the Seven Realms, I submit this humble request. Please take the bracelet of imperfect silver pearls from my personal jewelry box and inlay it with your strongest and most effective protection charms. I wish to offer this gift to my Intended in order to complete the second of our traditional Courting Rituals. You’ll both adore Prince Porchay once you get the chance to meet him, I promise. Your Brother, Kim.”

“Not even ‘Kimhan’, then?”

“No, just Kim. He even drew a little music note next to his name, like he did when we were still in the nursery together.”

“It’s too bad he was wrong, then,” King Khun sighed, and the Crown Prince turned to him with a lost expression. Tankhun wiggled gleefully and knocked their elbows together. “I already love Prince Porchay! Look what he’s done to our grim-faced baby brother!” 

“You’re right. Now, shall we go find that bracelet and get to work?”

“Right away!”

Sir Arm watched the two royals scurry away, giggling like school children. From the shadows crept his fellow Royal Guard, Sir Pol. “Was he scary?”

“No, actually. But that was probably because when I first saw him, he was sitting in a nest made out of a hideous bolster pillow.”

“You jest.” 

“About something like that? Never! That kind of rumor would get me killed.”

Sir Pol nodded, and both knights scurried after their respective charges with hurried steps.

Chapter Text

Kim held Chay’s left wrist in the palm of one hand and carefully wrapped the precious pearl bracelet around its circumference with the other. He hummed lowly as he watched his human sleep, welcoming the presence of his icy magic as it danced pleasantly along the tips of his fingers. The love-addled Fae couldn’t help himself from weaving one note into the next. He stared down at the small engraved K shining up from a central pearl, grinning foolishly. 

While he slept on, completely unaware, Chay continued projecting his effervescent joy in Kim’s direction. The Fae shivered in delight as warm waves of happiness lapped against his skin. Chay’s innocent devotion to his raven friend was a heady drug; it slid like silk around the ember of Kim’s soul to cradle and protect him. The most powerful creature in two of the Seven Realms had been willingly reduced to a lazy cat in its favorite sunbeam, and Kim couldn’t find it in him to protest. 

Unfortunately, the prince was jerked rudely back into reality when he closed and fastened the delicate silver bracelet clasp meant to secure his betrothal, only to feel one of Kinn’s masterfully disguised dream spells flicker to life. All three of the royal siblings were talented and well-practiced when it came to wielding magic in one way or another, but none could craft spells like Kinn. Binding to an almost dangerous degree, the Crown Prince’s curses were nothing to be trifled with.

Irritated but powerless to do anything for the time being, Kim huffed, “Damnit, P’Kinn. This had better not be embarrassing.”

The Fae rolled his eyes and pressed a brief, apologetic kiss to his future Consort’s forehead. Kim had no idea what the dream bestowed upon Porchay by his brother contained, nor would he be able to take a peek once the vision took hold, but he sensed only positive energy and kind intentions. Begrudgingly, Kim allowed the (strangely personal) Fae gift to continue on its course unimpeded. 

“I’m going to write the most ridiculous speech for your wedding feast if this is a humiliating childhood memory of ours, P’Kinn.” Kim was entirely sure that somewhere beyond the Veil separating their two Realms, his elder brothers were having a hearty laugh at his expense. 

No matter, he let any lingering annoyance disperse like smoke in the breeze. All that mattered was right here in the circumference of his strong, sure embrace: Chay lay tucked against Kim’s chest, wearing Kim’s Courting Gift and occasionally snorting rather cutely through his nose. Whatever dream the Crown Prince of Faerieland had offered as a betrothal present was well worth any potential teasing from Porchay.

This moment, spent peacefully and alone with his beloved, would remain seared into Kimhan’s mind until the sun burnt out and the Seven Realms turned back to dust.

Chay sat on a wide wooden swing hanging from a tree branch, kicking his legs absently through the air. The breeze was warm and he shivered pleasantly as he felt it brush against the bare skin of his calves. He’d rolled up the hems of his trousers to enjoy the cool, plush grass and lovely weather. 

The prince let his eyes wander curiously across the unfamiliar expanse of flowers and hedgerows surrounding his perch. Something about this place felt… Felt like home. Like he’d always been meant to find the secluded grove and sit in this swing and breathe this sweetly scented air. 

But something was missing. The seat of the swing was too wide for one person by themselves. His heart ached in his chest, squeezing once before settling again. 

The sound of beating wings filled the air a split-second later and Porchay twisted in his seat. He searched the air with a near desperate gaze, an exhale caught halfway out of his chest. “Sir Raven?!”

He was confused when, instead of his dearest companion, a young man came striding into view from behind a nearby rosebush. The stranger held out his hands, an apologetic frown overtaking his inhumanly pretty mouth. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“That’s alright,” Chay smiled up into his visitor’s face. The man was incredibly handsome, and likely not much older than Chay. His eyes were somehow familiar to the prince, a shade of deep brown that appeared nearly black in the shade. He’d definitely stared into these eyes before. He knew this man, somehow. “Err– How should I address you, Sir…?”

“There shouldn’t be any formality between husbands,” the man winked. Chay flushed, cheeks noticeably warmer. “Don’t you think we’ve moved past royal titles by now, precious sunflower?”

“Excuse me?” Chay barely reacted when the handsome stranger – his husband?! – took his hand and lifted his knuckles to those cruelly beautiful lips. The ghost of a kiss pressed into the skin there, but Chay felt it like a brand. The half-second of contact permanently shifted his center of gravity until they were meant to be orbiting only one another. 

“I’m your betrothed, Porchay. I’ve come to claim your hand in marriage.”

“But… But what do I call you?”

“Kim.”

“And is that your name?”

“Do you deserve my name, darling? Can you be trusted with such a heavy secret?”

“I– Are you in danger?!” Chay’s hands abandoned the swing supports to cup his husband-apparent’s sharp jaw in both palms. He leapt to his feet and belatedly realized how much taller he was than the other man. “What must I do to protect you, P’Kim?!”

“For now, watch over me as you have been. Loyalty such as yours does not go unrewarded in my kingdom, sunshine.”

“Err, uh… K-Kingdom?” Chay’s heart beat faster, excitement building like a stuck pipe. “Are you titled?”

“I am.”

“Then you can compete!”

“Compete?” Kim laughed and wrapped his arms low around the prince’s waist. Such an embrace was highly improper, especially without a chaperone present, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. Being in Kim’s arms felt so intensely right that he ignored everything else until Kim added, “I’ve already won, fair and true.”

“The Tourney is over, then? You’ve been named Champion?”

“Nevermind the Tournament,” Kim rolled his eyes and exhaled sharply. His grip on Chay’s waist tightened by a fraction – the sensation of greedy hands pulling him closer was heavenly. “You’ve already melted a heart that all Seven Realms once claimed was made of steel and ice. With your smile guiding me from the stands, my most treasured Porchay, I can win the Tourney with one hand tied behind my back.”

“For your safety and my already frazzled nerves, please use both hands when you’re challenged to melee combat, P’Kim.”

“Your Highness!” Kim gasped theatrically. “Do you think anyone will prove themselves talented enough with a lance to unhorse me?”

“I don’t know,” Chay teased, already comfortable in the mostly-stranger’s presence. “I’ve never seen you joust, dear husband.”

“I am one of the finest tilters in all the land,” Kim boasted, wiggling his eyebrows playfully. Chay giggled, to the clear delight of his betrothed, and stooped to bury his face against Kim’s collarbone. Kim murmured, “I’ve taken first place against my elder brother in our last two tournaments at court. None of your other suitors stand a chance at victory.”

“Then I would be honored to bestow you with my Favor before you reach the lists, P’Kim.”

Kim lifted his chin with two fingers and smiled fondly, “I would be most honored to accept it, sunshine.” 

Then his fiancé's irises went dark and molten, so intensely focused on Chay’s face that he felt the back of his neck heating up automatically in response. No one had ever paid attention to him like this or made it feel as if he were the sole reason they continued drawing breath. 

Yet here he stood before an ethereally beautiful man who possessed a title, a kind heart, and a pair of infuriatingly soft lips. A man who’d pledged himself to Porchay, of all people. “Uhm, I… Thank you.”

“Oh! Before I forget,” the mysterious half-stranger produced a small wooden box from thin air and flicked the lid open. He withdrew a thin string of silver-grey pearls and poised it over Chay’s left wrist. “Would you do me the honor of accepting my Suit, my dearest Prince Porchay?”

The answer tumbled free from his mouth before he’d grown fully conscious of its existence: “Of course, P’Kim.”

“Thank you.”

And just as Kimhan bent to press a reverent kiss over the closed bracelet clasp, Chay’s body jerked–

The prince woke with a sharp inhale and found Sir Raven looking worriedly across the expanse of his pillowcase. His loyal companion warbled in agitation and inched closer, nudging his beak against Chay’s shoulder. The prince reached out automatically to run his finger down the length of the corvid’s softly feathered back. “Shh, handsome thing. I’m right here. It’s alright. I just had a strange dream, that’s all.”

He couldn't remember the pretty man’s face or name… But his voice had been engraved into Chay’s mind forever: “You’ve already melted a heart that all Seven Realms once claimed was made of steel and ice.” Secretly and with a somewhat guilty conscience, the prince fell back to sleep hoping he’d see the mysterious stranger from his dreams again. 

“Where’d that bracelet come from, Chay? I’ve never seen you wear it before,” Porsche asked around his mouthful. He gestured with his spoon to the short string of pearls looped around Chay’s left wrist. The prince startled, staring down at the jewelry as its components sparkled in the light from his brother’s sitting room window. 

“I– It was a gift.”

“I like it,” Porsche nodded. He chewed around his words, a habit that no royal lineage could break (despite their many childhood tutors’ desperate efforts). “It’ll look good with almost everything you wear.”

Chay played with a few of the pearls, running his fingers over their smooth, round surfaces before letting them slip away. “Something about it makes me feel safer.”

“Having someone show that they care about you will do that,” Porsche winked. “Does this person have a name? Will they be receiving your Favor, perhaps?”

“Hia!”

“I’m just asking!”

Chay threw a grape at his brother’s head and Porsche shut up… for awhile.

A few days later, another of his closest friends proved their care for him. But not in any way Chay could’ve possibly expected.

The prince sang his latest favorite ballad at a whisper’s volume and Sir Raven chuffed happily along from his perch on Chay’s silk-draped shoulder. The bird quieted halfway down the corridor, tucking closer as they made their way toward Chay’s bedchamber. The prince giggled whenever Sir Raven tapped playfully at his shoulder or ear with the tip of his beak, interrupting random verses with bursts of human laughter and the corvid’s throaty clicking. 

The political dinner they’d attended that evening went more than smoothly, and Chay was incredibly proud of his brother for handling diplomats from three different countries at once. Their dinner menu proved to be a feat of practical magic in itself; everyone’s culture had been equally represented on the table, and all their guests were equally happy with the outcome. 

Porsche frequently insisted that he was totally unprepared to rule a country when the time came for him to be crowned. He’d argued vehemently with every official in the palace that he wasn’t ready to shoulder so much responsibility so soon. So young. He needed more education, more practice… But he was doing an incredible job so far. Things were looking far brighter for their tiny, otherwise vulnerable kingdom only two years after Porsche ascended the throne.

The prince grinned, reaching his pointer finger to scratch beneath Sir Raven’s chin so that he ruffled his feathers adorably from head to tail and let out one of his half-bark, half-purrs. An awkward sound for a bird to make at all, but one Porchay treasured dearly for its obvious tone of contentment. “You’re such a wonderful companion, Sir Raven. My fierce, handsome thing.”

Chay’s only warning that something in the hallway had suddenly changed was Sir Raven’s brief squawk of displeasure, and then a sweat-damp hand was curling into the sleeve of his tunic. An unseen figure yanked him to a stop hard enough that the raven’s talons dug briefly but painfully into the meat of his shoulder. 

“Is that you, cute little Prince Porchay?”

Chay stiffened. His spine went straighter than a saber blade and his hands clenched into fists at his sides – he’d been trapped. Cornered. There was no easy route of escape. Perhaps an inch or so of space still remained between his back and the cool stone wall. His path forward was very obviously blocked by one of the ambassador’s drunken sons, a Lord whose name and territory weren’t important enough for Chay to recall. 

“Good evening, Your Lordship. I didn’t hear you approaching or I’d have greeted you properly.” He tried to shake his arm free, to no avail. “Are you lost?”

“No.” The smarmy Lord swayed forward into Chay’s personal space. Too close for comfort. “Saw you wander off this way and wanted my chance to bid you goodnight.”

“That’s very kind of you. Well, goodnight then,” Chay nodded politely and made an attempt to scoot sideways, out of reach. The man refused to let go of his tunic, tugging harshly enough that Chay heard the fabric straining. “Please unhand me, good Sir. I wish to depart and get some rest.”

“Hey!” the Lord snarled. He shook Porchay by the shoulder, hard enough that the prince instinctively reached to steady Sir Raven, and snarled out his next words: “You must agree to our trade offers as they stand, or this puny kingdom of yours will suffer greatly. We tried warning your idiot brother at the feast, but he simply won’t listen to reason.”

“I– I beg your pardon?!” Chay wished he’d brought along one of the knights or guardsmen as an escort; he’d assumed the royal family’s private wing would be off-limits to his brother’s guests. Anxiety and fear gripped him even more tightly than the stranger’s fingers, but he refused to back down. He was the Crown Prince and he deserved respect. With a hard shove against the Lord’s arm, Chay ordered him to, “Get away from me, bastard!”

Before the ambassador’s son could manage to sneer a reply, Sir Raven’s beak darted out and pecked at the man’s fingers still tangled in Porchay’s clothes. Shocked, the Lord released Chay’s sleeve to cradle his hand against his chest. Without a second to lose, the prince tucked Sir Raven close against his chest and took off down the hall at a dead sprint. Chay didn’t stop running until he was standing safely at the center of his bedroom with the heavy wooden door locked fast behind him. 

He deposited Sir Raven in the nest with trembling hands and collapsed onto his pillow. “I– I can’t believe one of Porsche’s ambassadors would be so horrible! I can’t believe he’d dare to put his hands on me like that, shove me around like that… Oh, Sir Raven, what will I do if he competes in the Tourney for my hand next month?!”

With each passing second that Porchay trembled silently beside him, the growing flames of Kim’s fury whipped ever hotter and higher. Damn that man for daring to touch his future Consort without permission, and damn Kim for not transforming right away to stab that fucker through his putrid heart. 

He wobbled closer to his shivering sunshine across the fluffy duvet and caught the sound of quiet sobbing. Absolutely unacceptable. 

“Caw!” 

Kim tilted his head back and clicked until Chay lifted a pair of teary red-rimmed eyes to look him over inquisitively. “Yes, Sir Raven? Are you still hungry? Does your bandage need checking?”

The Fae’s stubborn heart dissolved into a puddle once again, as he was sure it would continue to do with Porchay at his side. He shook his head in reply, an action which no longer seemed to startle his betrothed.

“What is it then, handsome thing?”

Kim’s magic flared so hard he felt paralyzed. Something about the untainted adoration in Chay’s tone when he used that pet name appealed to the very essence of Kimhan’s soul. Fuck, he wanted to show the human his true form… 

“I’m sorry for all the crying, it’s just that–” Chay sniffled, and Kim had to ruffle his feathers as a reminder that he couldn’t simply wipe away any oncoming tears “–It’s just that I know men l-like him will be coming to my N-Name Day Tournament next month, and I’ll have to w-watch them fight for my– For my hand in m-marriage. And all they want is land or money or p-power. They don’t want to m-marry me. They don’t care about– About–”

Kim heard the words escaping between his Consort’s heaving sobs, but he refused to accept their meaning. A Name Day Tournament, for Porchay’s hand and title?! Kimhan had already claimed Porchay, and Chay had accepted their Suit in front of his brother, the King. There was nothing any foolish, simpleminded human Lord or Prince could do to steal his treasured sunflower away. 

He pressed close to Chay’s heaving ribs and rumbled loudly until the prince calmed down enough to breathe again. The same two fingers came down to stroke his feathers beak-to-tail in a gesture that comforted them both. When his eyelids began to droop and the candles were nearly burnt out in their sconces, Chay breathed softly against the tip of Kim’s beak, “Goodnight, Sir Raven. I wish you were a knight. Then maybe you could have rescued me this time. You’d probably be an affectionate husband, I think.”

And oh, didn’t that give Kimhan the best idea in all the Seven Realms…

Chapter Text

“If only you could understand how desperately I wish to remain at your side, my sweet Chay…"  

Something brushed against the prince’s cheek, pulling him up toward the glassy surface of wakefulness without rousing him altogether. Glimmering remnants of an image – a memory? – flickered through his imagination one after the other: Dark eyes. A sharp jaw. Delicate fingers. Smirking lips. 

The picture was fragmented and incomplete; it slid from Chay’s consciousness like sand through a sieve.

“Unfortunately, your upcoming Name Day Tournament has complicated our courtship.” Chay felt the words more than he heard them. They were spoken from nowhere and everywhere in the darkness, “Though it pains me greatly to leave you vulnerable after what happened just a few short days ago, I must return home to prepare. There are items to gather and Rituals to complete before we can wed.”

There was a pregnant pause followed by a sigh of resignation. 

“Although your dear companion will be gone by the time you wake, precious Chay, do not fret for long. I’ll be back again soon to win your heart fairly, my darling Consort.” 

The prince knew he should be worried about a potentially dangerous stranger prowling around his room in shadow, whispering promises to return… But all he felt was the warm sense of safety that usually accompanied Sir Raven’s protective presence at his side. With the loyal and watchful corvid tucked into the nearby bolster-nest, nothing in the world could get close enough to hurt Porchay. 

When a few irritated grunts and quiet rustling sounded from the opposite edge of the mattress, followed by the familiar sound of feathers being shaken out, a brief moment of panic stirred the prince. Chay lifted his head from the pillow to blink across the room and gasped quietly in surprise and bewilderment. 

Next to the window, highlighted by the full moon in shades of gray and silvery white, stood the most ethereally pretty creature Chay had ever seen. The intruder stared levelly back. Porchay’s arm flew out on instinct to protect Sir Raven, and the prince felt his entire ribcage constrict painfully when his grasping fingers met only bits of shredded silk. The nest was empty. “S-Sir Raven?!”

The figure at the window sighed heavily, and the mournful sound shuddered through the air like music. Chay knew that sound. He knew those intense, sorrowful eyes. Chay knew this person, but how? When had they met before? Who was this man to Chay, and why did it feel so familiar when he thought of the name–

“Kimhan?”

The otherworldly intruder gasped sharply, his mouth forming a monochromatic ‘o’ of surprise. Chay giggled at how cute it looked, still sleepy, and watched the stranger raise one hand in his direction. The man murmured something under his breath while waving his fingers in a small half-circle. 

The prince couldn’t help but obey when the man’s voice, even softer than the caress of Sir Raven’s down against Chay’s fingertips, ordered him to: “Sleep.” 

Kinn and Tankhun could barely suppress their giddy smiles when Kim swanned back into the throne room with his usual air of cockiness. Lords, Ladies, dignitaries, and all their various retainers quickly scurried to make space. Creatures of all kinds offered their most respectful bow or curtsey to the youngest Unseelie Prince as he passed by, but Kim didn’t spare the doting crowd a single speck of his attention. Every echoing step toward the elder royals burned with purpose.

When he reached the foot of the platform that held their three matching marble thrones, Kim dropped to one knee and bowed his head. His brothers’ excitement quadrupled when Kim initiated the one Fae Ritual he’d sworn to never undertake, his voice deep and rough with emotion: “Your Majesty, King Tankhun of the Unseelie Court, First Ruler of the Second Realm, I come before you to beg your blessing on my Suit. I wish to take the human Prince Porchay Kittisawat to husband. I wish to see him crowned my Prince-Consort.”

First shocked gasps and then giddy whispers made their way across the wide stone chamber as onlookers registered the meaning behind Prince Kimhan’s request. How could it be that the iciest, most steel-hearted of the three brothers was the first to claim a Suit? Who was the mysterious, no-doubt dangerous man who’d caught the Unseelie heir’s attention? 

Never one to waste an opportunity for dramatics, King Tankhun rose slowly to his feet. He took one small step forward and lifted his chin to address not only Kimhan, but the Unseelie Court at large. The ancient words came easily to Tankhun, who’d been waiting nearly two centuries for one of his idiot siblings to get their shit together and fall in love. With his deepest and most commanding voice, he asked his youngest brother: 

“What proof have you that the Prince’s heart is willing?” 

“He wears my Gift. He…” Kim paused to clear his throat, and Khun noticed the flush creeping up his tunic to stain his cheeks. “He spoke my name.”

Even Khun and Kinn looked mildly shocked at this. “And he spoke it of his own Knowledge?”

“It was completely of his own Knowledge,” Kim confirmed. The mildly frantic prince took a shaky breath before announcing that, “I believe our bond of love is Fated. He was guided to my Faerie form when I was wounded and saw to my every need as I healed. It was Prince Porchay who initiated the first Courting Ritual by offering me food from his own hand, and I accepted because– Because it felt like the obvious choice. It felt right, and no matter how hard I tried, it was impossible to be suspicious of him.” 

“Hmm, this does make things more complicated… And yet easier, all the same. Your declaration of intention was strong and well-made, and the knowledge of your bond has helped me come to a final decision.” Tankhun paused for theatrical effect and any remaining noise ceased. Silence coated the throne room more heavily than Winter’s first heavy blanket of snow as the King announced, “I hereby grant you my royal blessing and the Right of Suit, Prince Kimhan. You have sixty days to complete the remaining Courting Rituals. Should you fail to win Prince Porchay’s heart and hand, the Suit is null and you must seek another Prince-Consort.” 

“Thank you, Your Majesty.”

“You are most welcome, little brother.”

“Soooo,” Tankhun threw himself down onto Kim’s bed, tucked his chin into his hands, and kicked his feet up in the air behind him. “Tell us all about the human boy who’s managed to melt your icy heart, Kim!”

Kim rolled his eyes and flicked a strand of stray hair from his face. “You’ll meet him at the wedding.”

“But that’ll be over a year from now!” Kinn whined. He flopped down sideways into a nearby armchair and kicked his feet up over the arm. “If you don’t want to talk about it, just show us a memory or two. They don’t even have to be very personal, I just want to see what he’s like.”

Those were agreeable terms. “Fine.”

“Huzzah!” Khun rejoiced. The two eldest Fae made themselves fully comfortable while Kim rummaged through various family-friendly scenes from his time in the Human Realm. 

“This one is fine, I suppose.”

Kim flicked out his hands and a shuddering stream of magic flew from his fingertips to dance over the surface of his bedspread. The brief memory played out in vaguely transparent miniature as his brothers sat and watched. 

Prince Porchay sat tucked against the glass of a large, decorative windowpane with a book of romantic poetry in his lap. Kim had perched on one of Chay’s bent knees, and the prince petted his companion from head-to-tail with lazy fingertips as he read aloud.

“Eee!” Khun squealed. “What an adorable human you’ve chosen, brother dear!”

“He seems kind,” Kinn added sensibly. “He’ll make a fine ruler.”

“Are there more?” 

“Khun…” 

“No, Kinn, it’s fine. I rightfully assumed that he would want at least two or three of them, and they’re not long. Here.”

Kim sat cross-legged on the duvet while Chay tossed and turned in his sleep, singing a lullaby under his breath. Each note calmed the distressed boy a little more until the corner of his mouth started to quirk into a smile. Kim bent closer and–

The scene changed quickly, but neither Kinn nor Khun spoke up to mention the way Kim’s face darkened by at least two shades. His embarrassment dissipated like smoke in the breeze when the final scene played; he’d chosen it specifically because it would annoy his brothers, but he still felt a violent rage simmering under his skin when he thought of that night.

Chay’s eyelids were already half-closed and his words came as barely more than an exhale: “Goodnight, Sir Raven. I wish you were a knight. Then maybe you could have rescued me this time. You’d probably be an affectionate husband, I think.” 

“Damnit,” a tearful Khun sniffled. “I think you may have been right about Fate.”

“When am I wrong?” Kim retorted. Both older Fae raised their eyebrows.

“Should we bring up the cursed blackberry bush incident?”

“No, no. I vote we begin with Father’s Enchanted Bear.”

“Ooooh, what about when he first learned about transfiguration spells and kept–”

“Okay! Fuck, I get it!” Kim groaned. Kinn took mercy on him, not for the first time.

“How long has it been since a Fated Pair has been recognized in the Unseelie court?”

Khun rolled over so that his head hung upside-down from the edge of Kim’s mattress. “At least six-hundred years, right?”

“More. There hasn’t been a Fated match since before Grandfather.”

“Damn. You know what that means, don’t you, Kim?”

“My poor, emotionally fraught human husband is going to be dragged through a Tournament in his Realm and then a lengthy celebration in ours?”

“I’m afraid you are correct, little brother.”

“Fuck.”

“Now,” Khun frowned. “We’ll need to find you Courting Gifts for each of the elements, as tradition requires, and a retinue will need to be arranged for travel. That means you get to spend the next two weeks digging through the treasury and planning a trip with your big brothers.”

“He’s well worth the suffering I shall no doubt endure, Your Majesty.”

“Hey!”

Chay read over the list of names for a third consecutive time. He noted a few familiar crests dotted along the edge of the paper but otherwise felt entirely and hopelessly lost. Where were these countries located on a map? Which families and clans had first been notified of his eligibility for marriage? “I don’t even know who half of these people are.”

“At least those two princes from the eastern border will be competing,” Porsche tried to cheer his little brother up somehow. The King faced a nearly insurmountable task; Chay was romantic to the core, and no amount of chivalric posturing during the Tourney would replace his only chance at love. Porsche jogged his elbow a little, smiling like they were in on a secret together. “I know how well the five of you get along when I’m not imposing my overprotective royal presence.”

“You’re never imposing, Hia.”

“Psh, like hell I’m not.” Porsche teased. When his little brother didn’t take the bait right away, the King ruffled his hair and pulled him close. “Chay, you don’t have to worry about hurting my feelings all the time or allow others into your space when they aren’t wanted. You know that, right? Despite being the King now and making a lot of decisions for the kingdom, I still understand what it’s like to feel over-supervised. Plus, it’s healthy for you to make a place where you can’t be intruded on.”

“I know, and I truly appreciate your support.” Then a sudden sneer twisted across Chay’s face and he flicked the corner of the list disdainfully, “But how in the world am I supposed to spend forever ruling alongside one of these princes or lords when I don’t know who the hell they are or what they’re like outside the Tourney? Being the most well-balanced man on a horse doesn’t mean shit in the grand scheme of things. You can have great balance and no real diplomacy skill.”

Porsche wrapped his brother in a tight hug and – not for the first time – wished he could strangle whoever designed their kingdom’s methods of ascension. “I’m sorry.”

“That’s okay, Hia. You did your best to help me and that’s what matters.” 

Porsche’s arms squeezed tighter and for a moment, despite the crushing absence of Sir Raven, Chay felt safe again. His brother murmured vehemently into his mussed black curls, “I’m sorry the council voted to uphold the twentieth Name Day tournament tradition, Chay. Mom, Dad, and I did everything in our power to change the rules before you reached the benchmark, but sometimes traditions exist for a reason. Even if we don’t think that reason is fair or makes sense.”

The prince nodded into Porsche’s collarbone but couldn’t find the energy to form a verbal response. Porsche hadn’t been forced to marry at twenty or when he took the throne at twenty-four, so why did Chay need to be married off at twenty? Why were firstborns exempt from Marriage Tournaments when they might be the only child born at all? Why? Why? WHY? 

Tears gathered at the corners of Porchay’s eyes, and not for the first time since waking up alone a week ago, he desperately wished Sir Raven were there. 

He missed the sensation of a sharp beak nipping at his fingertips while searching for snacks or caresses. He missed the various clicks, calls, and rusty-edged purrs that sounded like clockwork whenever his companion wanted more attention or affection. He missed going to sleep at night with a pair of watchful eyes trained on his face, holding back the terror of darkness with their knowing depths. 

Inhuman, his instincts knew. Screamed and shouted. But even such a primordial warning couldn’t keep the prince from orbiting his guest like a twin sun. Or perhaps twin moons, since Sir Raven resembled the night sky so much? The heavenly body didn’t matter – whatever the strange connection Chay had felt with a not-quite-bird now haunted him. 

“I think I’m going to lay down for a while, Hia. My head hurts.”

“Good idea, Chay. Take a nap, drink some water, and I’ll send Big with supper when it’s ready.”

“Hmm. Thank you, Porsche.” 

With a squeeze, the King released his little brother from their embrace. Chay bowed respectfully and headed for his chambers, but he didn’t want Big to bring him supper. He didn’t want to hear Porsche’s attempted platitudes or meaningless words of apology. He didn’t want time alone in his room to process the upcoming changes in his life. He didn’t want to nap or read or practice playing music until night fell. 

He didn’t want anything but to find Sir Raven sitting happily in his nest when Chay opened the heavy wooden door – unsurprisingly, he wasn’t. 

Porchay was all alone.

Chapter Text

Early morning sunlight filtered through the trees and reflected brilliantly off the bright green canopy that covered Porsche and Porchay’s temporary thrones. Placed on a short platform in the middle of the courtyard to receive his potential husbands, the Prince’s throne was front and center. Porsche sat to his right and a large, intricately designed wooden announcement board filled the space to his left. 

He hated that damned slab of wood more than any other Tournament decoration. Painted with the names and crests of the families whose sons were determined to win his hand and future throne, this board would first keep track of the mens’ courting intentions... Then it would be used to keep score during the Tourney. 

For today’s purposes, two small iron hooks had been fixed beneath each crest, standing empty but ready to serve their purpose at any moment. Glaring at them from his seat, the prince bit his lip and tried not to groan with outright impatience. “How long is this dumb procession going to take, Hia?” 

“I’m afraid it will probably last all day. Your guests have been invited to arrive at their leisure from all around the continent, but sunset marks the cutoff point.”

“Damn, that’s so far away.”

“Chay, watch your language!” the King snapped. Porchay barely withheld a snort of mutual frustration. He was grateful for keeping control when his brother’s shoulders drooped a moment later and Porsche added, “I’m sorry for my outburst. I know this isn’t pleasant, or the future you imagined when we were children, but it’s a long-honored tradition for our kingdom. The people have certain expectations that must be met. I really wish there was something I could do to change or prevent this.”

Easy for you to say, Chay thought. The Crown Prince sat up straight and tilted his chin up. He adjusted the loose sleeves of his favorite pale purple tunic so that it fell prettily around his wrists and highlighted the width of his shoulders. You don’t have to offer your hand to an entire herd of men one-at-a-time, knowing they’re intent on winning you like a prize. Knowing they see you as a trophy. A pretty face accompanied by plenty of land, your military support, and a title.

Suddenly the sound of distant trumpeting reached them, and both brothers turned to face the castle gates. A Kittisawat court herald called out the first of many nobles to arrive shortly thereafter, “Presenting the Honorable Prince Winter of Prekkimor and his retinue!” 

“Of course Prince Prickmore is first,” Porsche grumbled, and Chay giggled despite himself. 

“The early turd,” Chay replied under his breath. Porsche bit back a snort and two nearby Ladies gave them disapproving sniffs. Who’s sitting on the throne, hm? 

“Here they come, are you ready to receive His Highness?”

“No,” the word slid from between Chay’s smiling teeth. Regardless, he stood and dusted off his clothing, “But what choice do I have?”

He walked to the edge of the platform and offered his hand for Prince Winter to take. The noble placed a loud and uncomfortably wet kiss to the back of the prince’s knuckles, eyebrows caterpillaring over the bridge of his nose dramatically. Was it meant to be flirtatious? The prince couldn’t be sure. 

Prince Winter spoke, initiating the short verbal dance that would lead to an inevitable question directed toward Chay’s agency: “It is a great honor to see you again, Prince Porchay. You’ve grown so much since last we had the chance to speak.”

“I am honored by your presence at my Tournament, Prince Winter.” Chay recited, unwilling to engage more personally. Especially with one of the least friendly landowners in the northwest kingdom. “Do you wish only to compete for glory, or do you seek to win my hand in marriage?”

“I have come to win the honor of your presence at my side, Your most beautiful Highness.”

“Would you thus offer me your favor, Sir Knight?” Chay requested. The smarmy young royal handed over a small iron ring, which had been haphazardly wrapped with shiny navy blue and silver ribbons. The simple but identifiable Favor was meant to represent House Winter’s colors, but the Prince had obviously put minimal effort into the ribbon braiding and it did a shoddy job.

Chay rotated on his heel and approached the large board painted over with crests and names. He found the Winter colors and hung the Prince's ring on the left-hand hook to symbolize his intention to joust for Chay’s hand (Favors from those who sought to win glory or chivalric prowess were hung on the right). 

As the Crown Prince moved to sit down again, Winter couldn’t help adding: “I tilt in the name of His Highness, Prince Porchay, that our houses may join beneath one banner on the day of my victory.”

From the throne beside him, Porsche intoned: “Your Suit is acknowledged, Your Highness. We shall join you later this evening for a celebratory feast and dancing.”

“Your Majesty,” Prince Winter bowed. He shot a brazen wink at Chay before turning to re-mount his horse. “Please promise that you’ll save me a dance or two, Your Highness.”

“I promise nothing,” Chay replied smoothly, voice sickeningly sweet to mask his derision. “You’ll just have to be quick.”

The day passed in a haze of knights, nobles, royals, and equally bored retainers, less than half of whom the Crown Prince actually recognized. Chay’s singular reprieve from the endless monotony of his Reception Ceremony came in the form of his best friends from the eastern border kingdoms. The two Princes (who also happened to be cousins) arrived together, along with their companions. All four young men were nearly effervescent with potential mischief and giddy to see their friend after so long apart.

“I am honored by your presence at this Tournament, Prince Payu.” Chay addressed his formal greeting to the eldest noble in their entourage, but he smiled conspiratorially at Lord Rain from his periphery. “Do you wish only to compete for glory, or do you seek to win my hand in marriage?”

Porchay could tell the King was trying hard not to roll his eyes or giggle while he approved a courtship offer from Prince Payu first and then Prince Prapai. Chay hung both well-braided favors on the left-hand hook beneath the young mens’ family crests while amusement sparked across his skin like fireworks. The coast would freeze over before he ever married one of those two, even if Sirs Rain and Sky weren’t attached to their future husbands by the hips.

No, his sweet and faithful friends were simply here to keep him safe from inside the workings of his Tourney; and there were fewer people he appreciated more than his little ‘weather clan’. By using the rules of Challenge and Favor, the spoken-for duo were poised to eliminate any contenders the Crown Prince found particularly distasteful or annoying early on. Meanwhile Lords Rain and Sky were allowed to sit with him in the royal gallery and keep him from a complete breakdown during the various ritualistic proceedings.

After his little group of allies moved on to stable their horses and unpack their tents, Chay withdrew into his shell of general boredom. One stranger after the next pressed a possessive kiss to the back of his hand, announced some kind of romantic-adjacent claim over his person without once making sincere eye contact, and offered the Crown Prince their decorated iron ring as a favor to hang beneath their name. Always on the left. 

By the time the sun began to set and the ceremony drew to its end, Chay was resigned to living a very lonely existence for the rest of his days. And then…

“His Royal Highness, Prince Kimhan Theerapanyakun of Essvarin!” the herald bellowed. 

Chay leaned closer to his brother and whispered, “Who?”

“I don’t know,” Porsche shrugged in return. “His letter of introduction claims that he’s the prince of a small kingdom to the north.”

The man who swung down from his tall saddle and approached their twin thrones was familiar, but Chay knew for a fact they’d never once been introduced. A face like Prince Kimhan’s would have been completely impossible to forget. It looked as if he’d been carved from stone by master hands: angular but soft, like an angel or one of the Fa– 

Porsche elbowed his little brother subtly but sharply in the ribs and Chay jolted into action. He stood, as was customary, and approached the edge of the short pavilion. Prince Kimhan took his outstretched hand and the world whited out around them. 

Porsche, the kingdom, the Prince’s retainers and Chay’s noble attendants faded to nothing. The birdsong went silent and the breeze stilled. Prince Kimhan’s lips were petal-soft where they pressed against the back of Chay’s hand and he gasped softly, barely a sound under his breath. His face flamed red-hot in the span of a single heartbeat and his gaze locked with Prince Kimhan’s. Electricity zipped along the surface of his skin where the prince’s lips whispered against it with every murmured syllable, “It’s an honor to meet you face-to-face at last, Your Highness. I eagerly await the chance to know you better.”

“I am honored by your presence at this Tournament, Your Highness. Do you wish only to compete for glory, or do you seek to win my hand in marriage?”

All but one eager young Knight had chosen to pursue his hand thus far. They claimed it was for one fictitiously chivalric reason or another, like his beauty or ‘unerring kindness’, but he knew better. He was no fool. So Prince Kimhan’s answer shocked not just Porchay, but every other member of the court who’d gathered to witness the (so far, admittedly dull) proceedings: “I am content to leave that decision in the hands of his Most Gracious Highness.”

The air trying to escape his lungs caught in Chay’s throat. His heart skipped at least three consecutive beats before kicking straight into doubletime. Prince Kimhan’s eerily familiar eyes never wavered from his own. The warmth and sincerity pooling in their depths called to him. 

Distantly, yet so close it felt straight from the center of his very soul, a voice that had once woken him with a call to the garden said: “This man is your complimentary half. He is the one whose soul was made to travel alongside yours.”

Prince Kimhan stayed bent over Chay’s hand even as he finished making his plea, a gesture of obeisance no other Lord or Knight would be humble enough to offer. “Would you have me tilt merely for the glory it brings to my family name, Your Highness, or would you allow me the great privilege of proving myself worthy of your heart? I desire nothing more than to earn your trust, My Liege; there’s no safety or reward in pledging the rest of your life to a stranger, so I pray you extend me the chance to be your friend.”

The Essvarian prince offered Chay a small iron ring, intricately braided over with his family’s colors and flashing pieces of precious stone, and released the poor Prince’s faintly tingling hand. Porchay felt as if he’d been shot through the chest by a crossbow bolt and pinned in place. The Prince’s words struck one after the other, giving no quarter and sucking the breath from his lungs for a third time in so many minutes.

Inhaling fresh air proved an impossible task until Chay somehow found the will to turn and approach the ceremonial display of family crests. Every eye in the courtyard fixed on his softly trembling hands as they cupped the somehow precious iron ring. A choice, he marveled. Prince Kimhan gave you an actual choice. 

Without thinking about the decision for any longer than it took mortal men to blink, Chay placed the Essvarian Favor on the hook to his left. He returned to the edge of the platform and gave the mysterious newcomer his first genuine smile all day. “I look forward to your Suit, Prince Kimhan, and I’m very pleased to meet you. Please enjoy the festivities this evening.”

(Is go dté tu, mo mhuirnín slán = may your journey be safe, my darling, taken from the Gaelic song/poem "Siúil a Rún")

Kim did not enjoy the festivities that evening whatsoever, though it was no fault of his future Consort. 

The Fae royal had forgotten, for a long and blissful handful of minutes, that he was among the few people in the feast hall who already knew how this Tournament would end. Whatever knights and princes thought they were worthy enough for his sweet, compassionate Chay were utter fools to think of making an attempt. But for now Kim had to stay quiet and play the role of pitiful human competitor. Following the rules was an annoying but necessary part of truly wooing Porchay. Properly wooing Porchay.

“Are you taking ill after crossing through the Veil, Your Highness? You’re scowling and your face is slightly flushed.”

Kim smoothed out the wrinkles in his brow and nodded, “Thank you for the concern, Sir Arm, but I’m perfectly healthy. I’m afraid it’s simply my mood that’s suffering.”

“If it pleases you to know, there’s a waltz coming up soon. Perhaps you could steal a turn across the floor with the Prince?” 

Kim suppressed an excited grin. His thunderous emotions fled in the wake of whatever sunshine his precious Chay’s vicinity promised to bring, “Remind me to grant you a favor, later.”

“Thank you, Your Highness.”

Chay was growing increasingly weary as the night continued. He’d only gotten to eat a few bites of food and take hurried sips of wine between snippets of conversation at dinner, and now he was being run off his feet by one suitor after another. They didn’t ask for dances so much as demand them, swapping him from prince to knight to lord with no consideration for his wavering stamina. 

Almost desperate to make things worse, the strangers then insisted on dumping every bit of ‘necessary information’ about their kingdom and personal interests on Chay over the course of one brief interaction. By the time he was handed between dance partners for a new round of introductions, he’d said maybe three or four words in total. 

The Crown Prince was on the verge of collapsing in tears when a waltz started up, until a smooth tenor inquired, “If I let you stand on my feet and carry you around the floor, may I have the honor of sharing this dance with you, Prince Porchay?”

Chay, too tired to fully hide his natural reactions, outright giggled at the offer. Who would offer to let someone stand on their feet like a child?

“I–” lifted his eyes to kindly reject the offer and found himself staring at the handsome Prince Kimhan. “I would love to dance with you, Prince Kimhan.”

“You are most kind, Prince Porchay.” 

The heat of Prince Kimhan’s hand burned through the heavy silk of Chay’s lavender tunic and radiated along his ribcage where the slightly shorter man held his waist. Quick bursts of electricity sparked between their skin when their hands touched. Was this normal? None of the other twirls and lifts had felt so natural or easy, nor had any of his other partners been so considerate. 

“Your Highness,” Prince Kimhan began. “Are you fond of dancing, or do you prefer to spend your time practicing other interests?” 

Chay blinked, surprised. “Err– I like to play music and practice composition when I’m not busy with my formal education or dealing with matters of state.”

“What instruments do you enjoy most?” the Prince beamed. He quickly flushed a lovely shade of rosy pink and lowered his gaze. “Pardon my excitement, Your Highness. I happen to play as well.”

“Really? That’s wonderful! Perhaps we could hold a small concert, just the two of us and our chaperones? I’d love to hear what kind of style you play in the far north.” 

“I highly look forward to sharing my favorite songs with you, Most Gracious Highness.”

“Chay is fine,” Porchay whispered. He kept his voice low, afraid that another guest may overhear and take liberties. This was a gift for Kimhan and Kimhan alone. They may have been in the middle of their first dance and second meeting, but he sensed that something was very different going on. That the stranger with eyes he knew and a voice he’d heard somehow, somewhere in the past was more important than he could’ve possibly predicted.

“Chay,” Kimhan whispered back, interrupting his reverie. “If you are giving me such a precious and coveted gift, the least I can do is reciprocate. Please call me Kim.”

Chay exhaled the name as if he were afraid to lose it, “As you wish, Kim.”

That damned unknown voice made its third appearance out of thin air, nudging up against Chay’s consciousness like a nosy cat: “See? The Fates have chosen you for one another.” 

The Crown Prince ignored it; he didn’t feel the need to argue, anyway.

Chay was even more happily bewildered when he retired to his room for the night and found a familiar silhouette perched in the windowsill. He barely withheld the urge to shout with unfettered glee. 

“Sir Raven!”

The prince’s closest companion greeted him with a series of clicks and warbles that warmed Chay to the core. He darted across the room still wearing only his stockings and scooped the bird into his arms without pause.

“I’ve missed you so much, darling friend. I can’t believe you’ve returned to visit and that I get to hold you again, my handsome thing!” He nuzzled his face into the warm, dark down of Sir Raven’s arched neck and giggled, his heart filled to bursting with unbridled joy. “There’s so much to tell you about the Tournament already and it’s only the first day! Are– Are you staying with me tonight, or going back to the forest now that you’ve had your fill of me?”

Chay should’ve been expecting the precise, direct answer he received… But as usual he was taken by surprise. Sir Raven wiggled free of his embrace and dropped to the mattress with a thump. The bird clambered awkwardly up to the nest – which the prince hadn’t yet been able to destroy – and settled down with a shake of his iridescent feathers. Something at the center of the prince’s chest settled at the sight of Sir Raven within reach. 

“I’m so glad to hear it, Sir Raven. I haven’t been able to sleep properly without you here. I don’t feel safe alone,” he admitted. Sir Raven reached forward and nipped carefully at the tips of Chay’s fingers. The sensation tickled, never hurt, and he giggled quietly. “Should I tell you about the Tourney?”

A nod. 

“Hmm,” Chay finished changing and slid beneath the covers. He curled up on his side facing the bird, their eyes meeting in the darkness of his room. Like old times. Like it should always be, he decided. “Where to begin…”

Chapter Text

The first two days of the Tournament were mind-numbingly boring. 

Or at least they would have been, if not for the presence of Chay’s closest (and perhaps his only) friends from abroad. Since the Crown Prince was meant to “oversee” the whole event and choose someone to Favor from among his suitors, Chay was required to sit front-and-center in the royal gallery. 

To mitigate his little brother’s misery in an already unfair situation, Porsche had arranged for Sirs Rain and Sky to sit on Chay’s right side throughout the competition (placing himself in a nontraditional seat off to Chay’s left). The visiting nobles’ conversational banter and witty observations regarding certain knights kept Chay from fleeing his kingdom on the nearest available horse – which, considering the circumstances, would not have been a difficult feat to accomplish.

The hateful Tourney board and its pesky list of crests and family names had been moved closer to the field, where a squire scurried back and forth to adjust the position of (or remove entirely) any given competitor’s iron ring. Depending on the outcome of his jousting match, a suitor’s ring was either moved from beside his family name to the leftmost hook beneath or handed back to the eliminated party in ‘shame’. 

Chay and his companions watched yet another stranger be launched from his mount to tumble gracelessly through the dust, ass over tea-kettle. The Crown Prince exhaled slowly through his nose and tried to look remotely interested. What was this young Lord’s name, exactly? How was he meant to pick a favorite stranger from a formless, nameless pile of them? How was he supposed to sit on this uncomfortable wooden chair under a banner in the hot sun for three weeks and watch as a herd of blank faces vied for his hand in marriage?

“Has anyone caught your attention yet?” Sir Rain asked, leaning over the arm-rest of Chay’s throne to bat his eyelashes playfully. Grateful for an interruption to his depressing train of thought, the Crown Prince diverted all of his attention to the smirking noble, “Is there any knight or prince with enough charm and beauty to win our fair Prince Chay?”

“Maybe,” he replied. Only the fact that he was in public kept Chay from sticking his tongue out at Sir Rain. “What does it matter to you, hmm? You’re already practically betrothed.”

“Not yet,” Rain sighed theatrically, throwing the back of his hand up to lay flat on his forehead. He leaned even further into Chay’s personal space and the Prince barely withheld an amused snort. “My handsome, dashing, brilliant, talented, incredible future husband had to put off the proposal for a few weeks yet, I’m afraid. It seems he’s chosen to prevent my most adorable friend from having to marry any churlish strangers.”

“Hey, don’t blame me for his decision to wait this long! It’s not my fault this country has antiquated traditions,” Chay huffed. Rain immediately deflated, patting his arm comfortingly. 

“My sincerest apologies, Your Highness. Sometimes I forget how vastly different our situations are.”

“Don't worry about it, Sir Rain,” he shrugged back. It felt as if he’d had this conversation a thousand times between these two, his brother, and a stream of faux-sympathetic dignitaries. More sincerely, he added: “I appreciate the help you, Prince Payu, Prince Pai, and Sir Sky are willing to lend me over the next fortnight. I’m not sure how well I would be able to handle all this without your support.”

“Probably the way you handle everything else,” Sky pushed himself halfway across Rain’s lap to make accusatory eye contact with the Prince. “With poise, decorum, and a great deal of secret crying because you feel alone.”

“That sounds correct,” Rain agreed. Chay landed a solid flick to the center of both their foreheads before turning his ‘attention’ back toward the lists. 

He didn’t even know who was tilting anymore. Were these the same knights and lords who’d been yelling snatches of poetry and swearing their undying, loving fealty to his name a few minutes before? Were they in the middle of taking their second run at each other after missing the first, or had one of them re-lanced? Had the colored feathers dangling from their helmets changed? The Prince couldn’t be sure, nor did he particularly care.

“Who’s up to joust next, Hia? I don’t recognize any of the heraldry.”

“It doesn’t matter all that much who jousts this first week,” Porsche murmured, too lowly for anyone else to catch. “The preliminary tilts are saved for mostly younger, greener entrants to the Tourney. Those who only chose to joust for Honor are also included in this portion of the combat because they’re mostly eager to return home with good news.”

“Ah, so the whole Tourney system is rigged against its less experienced entrants.”

“No, the Tourney is designed this way to stay balanced. If a suitor lacks the patience, quick-thinking, and poise of a well-seated warrior, it’s very likely that he also lacks in other important areas of etiquette and skill. Being a good ruler requires discipline, knowledge, and a great deal of compassion, don’t you think? A hotheaded young knight can rarely meet a Crown Prince’s exacting standards.”

“Fine,” Chay admitted. “I suppose that makes sense.”

“You know you can always ask me about these traditions, right? We may dislike them, but they’re still a part of our family’s legacy.” Porsche raised a curious eyebrow, “Are there any early contenders for your Favor, so far?” 

“Hia! No way, it’s only been two days.” Chay leaned back against his throne and allowed himself a moment of true anger, regardless of his audience. “What if I can’t find anyone worthy to offer my Favor by the time we reach the Final Joust? What if there isn’t a suitor here who cares enough to woo me and not my throne?”

“I don’t know,” Porsche replied. He smoothed a hand through Chay’s artfully styled hair, careful not to dislodge the silver circlet fastened among his raven curls. “But I think you will find at least one or two people interesting enough to befriend, if you take the opportunity to speak with some of them rather than merely glaring.”

The Prince groaned again, but the note of anxiety that had previously stained the sound was now absent. “Fine.”

Two more days passed in monotonous agony. 

Chay smiled when appropriate, bowed when necessary, and spent all of his free time hidden away with Rain and Sky and their soon-to-be husbands, giggling behind their hands at childhood jokes or holing up in his private library to read. Porsche told him the royal advisors were displeased with the Crown Prince “flaunting his favoritism so obviously”, but under the circumstances, he told Porsche to tell them to shut the hell up. 

Once the first week of competitions ended and the lesser Knights had been eliminated after their fair go, the King swore to his council that Prince Chay would be more involved in his own husband-choosing process. For the time being, however, they should leave the poor thing well enough alone. He’d be dealing with enough once the proceedings ended and the Champion whisked him away to their kingdom for a honeymoon. 

However, as it always seemed to do, trouble found Chay a whole twenty-four hours early. 

He’d damn near sprinted to the palace gardens after dinner on the sixth evening of his stupid Name Day Tournament, desperately hoping to find Sir Raven perched among the flowering bushes. The meal had gone terribly awry and he needed to hold the heavy bird on his lap and bury his face in the haven created by those warm, dark feathers. Except that when Porchay flew around the corner at a run, trouble was waiting there, instead.

This part of the garden had become his favorite place to seek solace ever since he had discovered Sir Raven lying exactly where Prince Kimhan now stood. The Esvarrian Prince looked ethereally pretty bathed in the lavender rays of dusk, far too beautiful for Porchay’s mortal eyes. In fact, the prince would have probably turned on his heel and fled immediately back inside – if it weren't for the sharp gasp that tightened his lungs at the sight of his suitor, which gave him dead away. 

Prince Kimhan’s head tipped up and their gazes met. 

Whatever strange magnetic draw had manifested between them at the Reception Ceremony returned with shocking speed. Chay froze in place like a startled fawn. Had its presence grown stronger than before, or was it the intimacy of being unchaperoned beneath the darkening sky that made his heart race faster and push harder against the confines of his ribcage? 

Chay couldn’t gather enough intelligence to form an answer. 

“Your Highness,” Prince Kimhan greeted him with a respectful bow. “It is an honor to see you again so soon.”

“Prince Kimhan,” Chay replied. He wasn’t exactly sure how he managed to continue, but he did, “I must confess I feel much the same.”

The unfairly handsome man offered Chay a genuine smile, and all the stoic distance the Crown Prince had been trying to put between himself and the idea of ever finding love or happiness flew out of his head. He felt his knees come close to outright buckling when Prince Kimhan’s smile widened and his suitor murmured, “Please, Prince Chay, I’ve already told you to call me Kim.”

He’d never been so flustered in his life, nor blushed so furiously.

“R-Right, err– My deepest apologies, Prince K-Kim.”

Kim gave him no quarter. “I only ask that we set formality aside because I hope to earn your friendship, Prince Chay; regardless of whose name is granted favor, please don’t feel the need to hide your true feelings from me for the sake of manners. And while we’re still somewhat on the topic of apologies, I should ask your forgiveness for being overly familiar.”

Chay’s brow wrinkled of its own accord. “Huh? Why? But you haven’t–”

“Has anyone told you how infuriatingly adorable you’ve looked this week, Prince Chay? I’m grateful that my turn in the lists won’t come until later; if I’d been forced to tilt on the very first day of this Tournament, your beauty would have unhorsed me long before my opponent’s lance could strike.”

Chay stuttered out an acceptable amount of thanks and then fell silent. Decorum prevented him from doing what he wanted most and burying his crimson face behind the palms of his hands, so he shifted a bit to stare out over the colorful flower beds. “You are also, err, very handsome. And sweet.” 

“How do you know that I’m sweet?” Prince Kim questioned. His tone was earnestly curious. “We’ve barely spoken to each other.”

Chay swayed in place for a long moment as he worked up the courage to give his suitor an honest answer. Prince Kim’s compliment rang true, so he deserved to hear the truth from Porchay in return. Eventually, he admitted in a voice more fragile than glass, “You gave me a choice.”

“It was a risk worth taking, Prince Chay, though I’m afraid the result did not come entirely without some selfish gain.”

“Oh? And what did you receive from me?”

Prince Kim closed the distance between their chests and took one of Chay’s hands in both of his, pressing it flat over his racing heartbeat. “A chance.”

Oh, Chay blinked.

When he regained enough confidence to look directly at Kim’s face again, he discovered nothing but blind adoration waiting there. Devotion shone up at him from those dark, deeply familiar eyes. Chay’s heart put a valiant effort into digging its way through his sternum in search of Prince Kim’s, but with no small amount of effort he kept the overeager thing subdued. 

As Kim just pointed out, they’d barely spoken to each other.

Chay struggled to find a decent response but he’d been bowled over and left to scramble. In a show of true chivalry, Prince Kim came to his rescue by adding, “If the rules of your Tournament will allow, Prince Chay, it is my people’s custom to present a series of small but meaningful gifts to our intended.”

“I don’t believe there’s any rule against a show of custom, Prince Kim.”

“Excellent.” A thin, square black box appeared in Kim’s palm, just large enough to cover the majority of his outstretched fingers. He flicked it open with his other hand and lifted its contents free for Chay to inspect. 

Balanced precariously atop Prince Kim’s fingertips sat a beautifully crafted circlet. Masterfully woven from a series of thin green vines and laced with small but colorful blooms throughout, the circlet was vibrantly beautiful. With nothing else coming to mind, he exhaled, “It’s like something from a fairytale. Thank you, Prince Kim.”

“The vines and flowers are enchanted, so they’ll never wither away or die. As long as you live, so shall they.”

“Oh. That’s– K-Kim I–” 

“Your Highness!” Sir Big called from the direction of the rose bushes. “Prince Porchay?”

“Alas, it seems our time has been cut short.” With an artful flick of his wrist, the circlet was laid back inside the box, and the box latched shut. Kim tucked the gift into Chay’s hands like he was passing along some kind of secret, boyish mischief tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I look forward to stealing more of it in the future, Prince Chay.”

“I look forward to having it stolen.”

Where did THAT come from?! 

“Oh there you are, Your… Your Highness?” Sir Big marched through an adjacent hedgerow arch and Chay spun to face him, blushing furiously. The Knight smirked in understanding and put on a show of looking both ways along the path, even going so far as to peer teasingly into a nearby bush.

“Were you talking to yourself just now, Prince Chay, or did you have a ghostly visitor?"

"Don’t be silly, Sir Big.” The Prince did stick his tongue out this time. “I’ve been here with–”

But when he turned to introduce Prince Kimhan, his mysterious suitor was nowhere to be found.

Kim watched Prince Payu’s arm slide easily around the waist of his betrothed on the way to breakfast and felt an icy surge of magic steal across his palms. Keeping his instincts under control took enough effort to sting the surface of his skin, as if he’d taken fistfuls of snow and held on for too long. The Fae grimaced in outright irritation and slowly exhaled a shaky breath. 

Spending a month away from his darling Porchay, trapped in the Faerie realm as he prepared to join the Tournament, had left him an exposed nerve, full of raw emotions and sensitive to the touch. The feelings spun through him so quickly that they left the stoic Unseelie royal a dizzy mess: Jealousy. Affection. Joy. Possessiveness. 

In any other instance the Prince would be furious over such an enormous loss of self-control, but with Kim’s beloved future Consort at the epicenter of his small personal storm… Well, a few minor frustrations were easy to forgive. It helped to see Prince Payu drag a giggling Sir Rain into one of the darker corners of the stables later that same afternoon. Knowing the younger royal’s intentions clearly lay elsewhere soothed Kim’s bloodthirsty urges and warmed him toward Chay’s cocky human friend.

Still, even after receiving a large amount of his sunshine’s attention during their delightful interlude in the garden, Kim was ultimately consoled by the knowledge that he alone would spend the night at Porchay’s side. Tucked close against Chay's pillow, where Kim could keep him safe and ensure only the sweetest of dreams dared show themselves. 

“Sir Raven!” 

No longer hesitant to approach Kim’s Fae form whatsoever, Chay scooped the taloned bird into his arms. The giddy human immediately buried his face in the softest, downiest area on Kim’s body, between his neck and back. There was no need for Kim to suppress the contented shudder that wanted to rock through him at his betrothed finding comfort in his presence, so he didn’t – and it felt marvelous. 

The Fae tilted his head back until the dome of his skull rested against Porchay’s temple and rumbled low in his throat. I’m here, he tried to say without speaking aloud. I’m always going to be here.

“Today was awful,” his Consort mumbled. “Well, mostly awful. I took a walk after dinner that was, uhm, actually very lovely.”

Chay had already changed into his nightclothes, so Kim was unsurprised when the prince turned around and carried him straight to their bed, depositing him beside the nest. The Fae chuffed loudly and leaned to butt the rounded portion of his beak against Chay’s hand. 

“If I asked you a question right now, do you think I could understand your answer?”

Kim hopped closer and gave a single, sharp, “Caw!”

“Well, I suppose that’s answer enough,” Chay giggled. “Not that I’m scared about your unnerving levels of intelligence anymore, my handsome thing.”

This earned the human another awkwardly enthusiastic half-bark, half-purr of pleasure. Kim wanted to build a nest from Chay’s laughter alone; truly, it would be the fluffiest, warmest, and safest nest in all the Faerie Realm…

“So, flap your left wing if you want the garden story first, and your right wing if you want the shitty dinner story first.”

Obviously Kim wanted to save the best for last and send Chay to sleep with the memory of their encounter fresh in his mind, so the disguised prince tapped his right wing twice against the bedspread. He couldn’t help pridefully ruffling his tail and puffing out his chest when his precious sunflower grinned brighter than the sun and fell onto the mattress next to him. 

“Dinner was a total nightmare this evening all because of that smug, bastard asshole Prince Winter. He thought it would be good fun to waste an annoyingly large portion of the conversation in an argument with a significantly less calculating Knight.” Chay practically spat the words from his mouth, each one coated in disgust. “He talked Sir Leo in circles until, furious and frustrated, the poor thing called for a duel. They only gave up being total fucking morons when I begged them to speak with other guests instead of rousing chaos. One of them apologized and the other seemed incensed; I’m sure you can guess which was which.”

Kim clicked and cooed sympathetically, rubbing his head against the back of Chay’s hand. Taking his cue beautifully, the human started up their favorite shared routine. Chay ran two firm fingertips from the top of Kim’s head to the base of his tail feathers before starting over again. 

“But I spent a bit of time alone with Prince Kimhan near the raised beds. You know the spot, silly bird,” Chay tapped Kim’s forehead just to see the raven ruffle his feathers, and Kim obeyed. “He gave me a circlet… I plan to wear it when he jousts the first time. As a ‘thank you’, and also because…”

Chay’s exhaustion overtook him one syrupy word at a time, dripping the final sentence from between his lips like honey:

“I think I might be able to love Prince Kim.”

Chapter Text

“I think I might be able to love Prince Kim.” 

In a strange and dizzying turn of events, it was Chay who now held a powerful Fae Prince under his thrall by word alone. 

Kim could barely focus on anything but his sunshine's burgeoning feelings as the earliest phase of the Tournament drew to a close. He only knew a handful of other knights by name and he fought the urge to dally near Chay’s favorite hiding places on a daily basis. Worry and glee and adoration bickered constantly over who deserved the most space in his mind where the precious mortal was concerned. 

So he was extremely relieved to find that, by the eighth morning of the competition, every single one of the younger and less experienced competitors had already taken their turn in the lists and failed. 

The small herd of too-green knights and nobles accepted their dismissal from the Tourney grounds with surprising grace and poise (in Kim’s personal experience with humans). Despite his jealousy, the Fae understood why his Chay smiled warmly at each and every parting suitor as they meandered far too slowly back toward the stables. Kim found himself nodding along in unexpected agreement with a surprising amount of the praise King Porsche offered for their collective bravery and stalwart efforts; though his eyes never strayed from Chay’s face during the King’s whole speech.

Beautiful. Kim sighed in dopey satisfaction whenever Porchay’s honest joy shone through his veil of worried indifference for a moment. Beautiful, kind, and endlessly strong. My most adored sunshine. My future Consort. My sweet Chay.

Kim couldn’t help feeling a private sense of superiority whenever he observed the other suitors interacting with his future husband. With Chay’s fine manners and both his lovely dimples on display, the human prince made a highly desirable match. But Porchay wore Kim’s bracelet around his slender wrist every day. It was Kim’s token he first accepted and Kim’s name he whispered in dreamy contentment when he slept.

Chay may have been well on his way to falling in love, but Kim was already floating far beneath its surface where pressure grew with every passing minute. 

It didn’t help that Fae were notoriously selfish, obsessive creatures. Their youngest Unseelie Prince proved no exception to this rule. Unlike some of his ancestors, however, Kim chose to channel the bone-deep itch of his possessive desire into the finest Courtship any man – Fae or otherwise – could possibly manage to devise. 

With the dawning of a new week came the true tests of a suitor’s skills and courage. 

Whichever men remained at this juncture would not be so easily overcome in combat – of which there were three rounds. Day one would begin the jousting, followed by a single day of rest before a trip to the archery range on day three. Days four and five would be filled with more jousting before a two-day break for rest and the departure of additional failed suitors. The final week of Chay’s endlessly frustrating Name Day Tourney included yet another round of jousts and a duel between the last two Challengers. 

In order to keep things fair at the beginning, however, two initial Challengers were selected at random by a village elder. The stoop-shouldered woman had a long grey braid and laugh lines cut deeper than rice paddy trenches. She stuck her tongue out between her lips and concentrated hard before pulling a pair of decorated iron rings from within a shadowy cauldron: 

They belonged to Lord Gun and Prince Stop.

Lord Gun threw his gauntlet down before the shiny brown boots of Chay’s friend, the northern Prince Prapai. Never one to miss the chance for theatrics (so far as Kim had seen) Prapai accepted with a mockingly low bow to the man of lesser status. Meanwhile, Prince Stop brazenly called forth Prince Payu from the crowd of other suitors. The grimacing Payu’s jerky nod of agreement couldn’t have been any further from his cousin’s flamboyance. 

Regardless of their differences in personality, the Challengers’ decisions were perhaps the most foolish that Kim had witnessed in all his many years. Even the Fae interloper knew that his future husband's closest friends also happened to be the fiercest warriors in their homeland. Finer tilters couldn’t be found in any direction.

In fact, many of the visiting nobles from other kingdoms and provinces considered the cousins’ participation in Prince Porchay’s marriage Tourney somewhat strange. They both had obvious romantic partners, and Prince Porchay never showed them any favor during diplomatic gatherings… None of the details mattered in the long run. Court life thrived on gossip, and with Prince Payu and Prince Stop facing off in the lists there was an endless supply. 

Kim could barely keep note of Prince Payu’s jousting style. 

Focusing on battle tactics was damnably impossible when Porchay was just beyond his reach. His Consort looked sweet and somewhat apprehensive, tucked between his friends and elder brother in the royal gallery. No wonder, Kim frowned. His life is on the line, but the potential sentence could be far worse than death. 

Wearing a plain golden circlet and layered yellow robes in flowing material, Porchay reminded Kim of a flower in bloom. Much like the hardy late-summer flower, Kim’s precious human husband always looked to the light side of things first. Always sought the warmth in other people and adapted to uncertain weather with relative ease. 

Kim lost himself in the process of planning a letter to Khun for advice; if anyone had the kind of information Kim needed, it was his eldest brother. King Tankhun certainly knew how to procure an immortal sunflower for his beloved Porchay. The Fae was so engrossed in his thoughts that he almost missed a calculating look leveled in his direction by Sir Sky. 

Sky elbowed Rain, who glanced at him briefly before saying something directly to Prince Chay. Sir Sky gestured in Kim’s general direction and added his own bit of commentary before their bickering became irrelevant. His darling husband's searching gaze met his and Kim bowed automatically – one of the less annoying bird habits that snuck its way across the borders of transformation. The accidental mating tactic worked in Kim’s favor; his dearest Chay flushed beautifully and offered a wave in return. 

Unable and unwilling to stop himself, the Fae returned the gesture.

On the outside Chay smiled and waved both hands to the gathered citizenry of his Kingdom, but his mind remained awash with panic. 

What if Payu lost?

What if his lance didn’t strike the right part of Prince Stop’s shield?

What if Pai’s horse tried to veer, or his armor unexpectedly slipped?

What if, for any reason, one of the two worst suitors in the lot managed to move forward in this godsforsaken Tournament?!

A smaller hand grabbed Porchay’s and tangled his trembling fingers together with theirs. He looked over and met Rain’s reassuringly earnest gaze. “You’ll be okay, Prince Chay. They will not fail you.”

Trying to lighten the mood, Sky added: “Not if they want to see us naked again in the near future.”

“I know,” Chay nodded tightly. “But, uhm, you know. Accidents happen.”

“Have you met Sir Rain?” King Porsche interrupted, unable to help himself. He’d grown up around the northern royals and loved them as his own siblings – even though the four troublemakers always hogged Porchay when they came to visit. “That boy is a walking, talking, eating accident.”

“Hia!”

“He’s right,” Rain chuckled. He jogged the prince’s elbow and wiggled his eyebrows, holding up three of his five unoccupied fingers. “I’ve almost walked into three doorways since breakfast!”

“Four,” Sky said. “You forgot the stables.”

“Right!” Rain added another digit with a suave wink. “Four. By supper it’ll probably be nine.”

The exchange of friendly banter turned from Sir Rain’s ineptitude at walking in straight lines to Sky’s ideal proposal to Chay’s over-intelligent raven companion. Its flow was only interrupted when both northern lordlings noticed the mysterious Prince Kimhan’s continued staring.

“He’s looking at you again,” Rain murmured, halfway through Payu’s second turn in the lists. “The annoyingly handsome one from far away.”

“Since when have you been annoyed by looking at handsome men?” Sky snorted. “But Sir Rain is correct, my friend. Prince Kimhan seems to be rather enamored. He hasn’t stopped staring for at least two minutes.”

Chay’s attention flickered over to the suitors’ gallery, where it was immediately drawn to the ethereal Prince Kim. His favorite by far of all the true competitors for his hand. Once caught, Prince Kim sent his heart skittering to a halt by holding eye contact and bowing from across the distance that rudely separated them. All Chay managed in response was a single wave and a bashful grin. 

After another tenuous beat of time, Kim’s bored expression bloomed into a fond smile. The sight of it had Chay swaying where he sat, even in the shade provided by the gallery awning.

“I think he likes you,” Rain half-squealed, half-whispered. The statement drew Chay’s attention and freed him from the unstoppable, soul-aching draw of Prince Kim's heady eye contact. “Not just for your crown, I mean.”

“I like him, too,” Chay admitted, oddly breathless. “We’ve spoken once or twice and he’s… There’s something about Prince Kim.”

“Prince Kim?” Sky raised his eyebrows. “Awfully familiar of you, Prince Chay. What allows you to use such an affectionate nickname when referring to His Royal Highness, Prince Kimhan?”

“Didn’t you hear me?” Chay rolled his eyes, trying to come across far calmer than his blushing cheeks betrayed. “We’ve spoken before, more than once. He’s my, uhm. He’s sorta my friend.”

“Do you think he may be the one worth offering your Favor? Is Prince Kimhan the one you’d like to be your Champion in the end?” 

“I’ve been thinking about the whole Favor decision… And you’re right. At this point in the Tournament, he’s the most deserving of it.”

“That’s wonderful to hear!” Rain clapped.

His timing turned out to be perfect: Prince Payu deftly unseated Prince Stop on a return charge down the lane at the same moment. For an instant the arena froze; the northern royal had removed his haughty rival from both his saddle and the competition overall. Then Porchay leapt to his feet alongside the other revelers to cheer, briefly forgetting Kim in lieu of celebrating Payu’s victory over such a rude and snooty asshole (and his own tangential freedom from having to honeymoon with said asshole). 

His heart soared. 

Prince Stop is no longer a threat to my future, he thought. Relief shook through him in the form of giddy laughter. It spilled from him, gaining power as the torrent of unstoppable joy burst forth. Let the Councilors chastise my inappropriate behavior at supper. Let them frown and wag their fingers ‘til dawn if they please; it’s not their fucking wedding night.

He bumped into Prince Kim near the library that same evening. 

Literally.

Chay swung around the corner humming a quiet jig and near-instantly felt something hard bounce off the outer edge of his collarbone. When the prince looked down, his favorite suitor stood rubbing at a light red mark on his otherwise unblemished forehead. Realization dawned fast, and the prince flung out his hands in apology, patting at Kim’s shoulders like that would do any help.

“Oh no, I’m so sorry!”

“It’s perfectly alright,” Prince Kim chuckled. “I’ve seen far worse injuries than this in battle.”

“That’s not reassuring,” Porchay mumbled, awkwardly settling his hands back at his sides. “If I had any say about it, you’d never be hurt at all.”

He flushed with the admission and shook his head.

“I need to apologize again, that was innapro–”

“I appreciate that you’d prefer not to see me in pain,” Kim winked. He crowded up against the taller royal’s chest and Chay felt pinned, happily so. “Let me assure you the feeling is very mutual and requires no apology, Your Highness.”

“Right. Uhm, thank you, Prince Kim.”

“Personal safety is precisely the topic I’d come to speak with you about, actually,” Kim said. The prince’s heart doubled – no, quadrupled its already accelerated pace. “Please understand that I mean no offense by this, my dearest Prince Chay, but you seem unnerved by the presence of your suitors. Do we frighten you?”

“You don’t frighten me whatsoever.” Porchay knew he was blushing hotter than a forge in summer but bravely carried on, “Yet with some of the others… It’s true, yes. Their behavior often prompts me to think twice before walking past dark corners or down empty hallways.”

Kim’s brow wrinkled, the mild bruise forgotten. “That doesn’t seem fair.”

Chay blinked, bewildered. 

“Huh?”

“I don’t think it’s fair that you should feel trapped or captive within the walls of your own home, especially not by people who are meant to be gaining your trust and affection. To equal out the odds against mankind’s innate stupidity, may I offer you another customary gift from my homeland, my most adored Porchay?”

Struck dumb by the heat pooling in Kim’s half-lidded eyes, Chay nodded silently. He didn’t dare look away despite the curious rustling of the other prince’s hands. Blurs of color moved outside his range of focus as Kim pulled the gift from within his jacket and, without blinking, tucked the object against Chay’s palm. 

“So you are always ready to wield that fiery spirit in the physical realm,” he stated. “Docile royals are so boring, don’t you think?”

The prince had given him a dagger. 

Chay pulled the comfortable handle free of its sheath and inspected the blade. While ornate, the design was far from gaudy, and the blade was made of beautifully arranged damascus steel. Such fine craftsmanship would have been incredibly expensive, and Kim was offering this with no guarantee that he’d win the Tournament or Chay’s hand in marriage. In addition, a dagger could be used against its giver. Putting the power of their friendship fully into Chay’s hands further proved Kim’s total adoration for and trust in him.

There would be plenty of gossip to share with his beloved companion tonight. 

“It’s beautiful, Kim. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart. I– I may like this gift nearly as much as I like you.”

It was the handsome Kimhan’s turn to blush this time. Chay’s favorite suitor turned the exact shade of roses in spring, when the buds just started to form. Inhuman, the prince marveled in delight. I hope he wins. He’s so pretty…

Then Kim surprised him again by asking, “It’s better to have a little steel in your spine, right?”

Chay wrinkled his nose at the pun, giggling so hard he snorted. 

Emboldened by the gift and the flickering torchlight, he tucked his face against Kim’s shoulder for two short but priceless beats in time. Barely long enough to inhale the other prince’s perfume before pulling away. There was something familiar about the way Kim smelled, Chay noted. Something dusty and faint, but present enough that the image of inky down flashed before his mind’s eye. 

He grinned. “Thank you again for the dagger. I shall keep it with me always.”

“That would bring me great peace of mind,” Kim intoned. He was being entirely serious. 

Chay untangled his tongue long enough to say, “I look forward to seeing you compete at the archery range tomorrow.”

“I swear to put forth my best effort.” Kim winked again, and Chay’s knees went weaker than a new foal’s. He tried hard not to sway in place. “For now I’ll excuse myself. Goodnight, Chay.”

“Goodnight, Kim.”

Chay flopped back onto his bed with a dreamy sigh and laughed outright when Sir Raven squawked in offense. The human tilted his head back and pouted theatrically, reaching to soothe his friend with some scratches beneath the beak. 

“My apologies, good sir, but I’m a bit distracted this evening.”

This was met with a series of curious clicks and a bit of nibbling. Chay rolled onto his stomach and set his chin in the crook of one arm; he didn’t dare stop caressing the raven’s softly rumbling throat.

“Remember when that man attacked me in the hallway?” 

A deep, angry knocking sound ground its way out from the bird’s parted beak.

“I feel precisely the same. Anyway, Kim has–” Chay paused. 

Kim. Not ‘Prince Kimhan’ or even ‘Prince Kim’. He had referred to one of his suitors entirely without title or honorific! Fuck! 

“Uhm, well. P-Prince Kim gave me a dagger to keep on my belt from now on. If one of these bloated, bumbling fucks thinks he can make easy prey of me in some dark cranny then he will find himself sorely mistaken.”

Sir Raven tilted his head back and chortled, prompting the prince to smile along. Normally he would’ve laughed, but the knowledge that he’d potentially disrespected Prince Kimhan and ruined their Suit poked at him ruthlessly. Surely his suitor would forgive the trespass this once. Surely there would be no horrific fallout from an honest, affectionate mistake.

Sensing the human’s worry in that weird way of his, Sir Raven dipped forward and pressed his body more firmly into the crook of Chay’s neck. The bird leaned his head forward until he could nudge the tip of his beak against his human’s jaw, warbling nonsensical but comforting sounds in a show of solidarity that transcended species. 

“You always know what to do, my handsome thing. Whoever I end up marrying better not have an issue with birds because you’re not going anywhere unless you choose to leave willingly.”

Sir Raven barked in stark approval and nuzzled impossibly closer. Chay understood the unspoken signal: It’s time for bed, silly prince.

He pressed a kiss to the center of his feathered companion’s round forehead – right between his coal black eyes – and giggled at the bird’s slack-beaked expression. Could corvids experience human shock?

“Goodnight, Sir Raven. I love you.”

Later, as Chay wandered through the curling fog of pleasant dreams, a voice he knew replied in kind:

“Goodnight, my darling Consort. I love you more.”

Chapter Text

Kim finished lacing up both boots and gracefully shouldered his bow. He tied the strap of his quiver so it hung from his left hip and smirked down at the dark, borderline iridescent fletching of his arrows; the raven’s feathers flickered and winked in the morning sunlight. So far Prince Kimhan had stayed quietly polite, dutifully playing the role of an unassuming foreign guest. The Unseelie in disguise appeared icy and aloof to the other competitors for his future Consort’s hand, and maintained an unapproachable distance…

But with Chay’s presence came all the warmth and joy of spring. Decked out in layered shades of violet, with Kim’s gifted dagger hanging from his hip, what else could a Fae in love do except melt at the sight of his beloved? Kim watched with greedy eyes as Chay ascended the royal gallery steps and took a seat in his temporary throne. Even from such a long distance, his Consort was gorgeous. 

“Beautiful,” he murmured to the brisk spring air. 

Kim stepped forward to join the ranks of his fellow Challengers as they exited their tents and gathered before the elevated thrones. He dragged his attention from his darling to the elder Kittisawat, who rose and approached the railing for his brief welcoming speech. King Porsche lifted his voice to address the Challengers and audience members alike:

“Before the archery trial commences, are there any among your honorable number who wish to forfeit the Tournament early and forsake your claim on Crown Prince Porchay’s hand in marriage?”

To the shock of the audience (but not the Fae) Prince Payu and Prince Prapai stepped forward. The cousins lowered themselves to one knee in tandem and crossed one arm over their chests in a gesture of apology. Payu spoke first, his tone cool and steady, “Your Royal Majesty and Royal Highness, I hereby wish to formally withdraw my Suit. With your leave, I shall take only the honor of successful combat as a final prize. Please forgive me for failing to complete the trials, Crown Prince Porchay.”

Prapai repeated the same official Suit-renouncement rites verbatim after Payu finished and both men bowed their heads. The whole court seemed to hold its breath as both Challengers and onlookers awaited the Prince’s decision. Kim caught a glimpse of both Kittisawats trying desperately not to smile and reveal their little plot; the corners of his darling Porchay’s mouth twitched and his nostrils flared cutely under the strain of concealed laughter. After a dramatic pause the King said:

“You are both forgiven, of course. To prove that we intend to part on happy terms and in good faith, Crown Prince Porchay invites you and your retinues to stay at the palace after the day’s proceedings. You will be our valued guests for the remainder of the Tournament.”

“We gratefully accept your invitation, King Porsche,” Prapai answered with a bow to either royal. “And Your Highness. Thank you for this show of grace and understanding.”

The cousins exited the archery field and climbed the stands to join their true lovers in the royal gallery. Kim bit the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning at the way Chay’s face practically started glowing upon their arrival. Sirs Rain and Sky cuddled up to their respective Princes and got settled while King Porsche finished his short announcement and explained the rules of that afternoon’s event.

First, each archer would find the lane marked with their family colors and put their quiver to the side. Their arrows would be closely inspected by one of the guardsmen and either accepted or denied (cheating by smuggling altered kit into the Tourney was an offense punishable by immediate disqualification). From that point onward, all suitors were required to stay within the boundaries of their assigned lane unless given special permission directly from the King, Prince, or Gamekeeper.

Secondly, the Gamekeeper would take his post on a raised stage at the head of the field, behind the archers. From such a clear and distinct vantage point, he could be sure none of the Challengers tried loading an arrow during rest periods or tampering with each others’ weaponry. 

Finally, the Gamekeeper would call out every stage of the firing process – including the removal of any arrows by a handful of squires. This system prevented the crowd, attendants, and servants from being taken unaware by any sort of flying projectile. It also denied the Challengers an easy opportunity to put their fellow competitors in harm’s way.

A reasonable set of rules, in Kim’s opinion. 

Regardless, his gaze zeroed in on Porchay the moment his future Consort rose and approached the King.  

“Archers,” Chay called. He waved one arm toward the shooting lanes and the draping gossamer sleeve of his purple robe fluttered through the breeze like a butterfly’s wing. Kim’s heart stopped, only to be kicked into overtime by the prince’s demand to, “Take your places!”

Chay tried splitting his attention between the remaining suitors somewhat equally, but it always meandered its way determinedly back to Prince Kim. He didn’t even realize that he’d been leaning his cheek on his hand and practically going slack-jawed whenever the Gamekeeper called for the Challengers to “Fire at will!” until Rain jogged his elbow against Chay’s arm teasingly. 

Together they watched Prince Kim’s bicep flex as he drew and fired, entirely ignoring the arrow that leapt forth at an impressive speed to strike the center of the target. Chay groaned quietly. “He’s so… You know…”

“Stunning? Dashing? Handsome?” Sir Rain wiggled his eyebrows. Prince Payu pinched the noble’s side and Rain yelped, hand smacking into his lover’s chest on reflex, “Hey!”

“You’re only allowed to think I’m handsome, remember?” Prince Payu huffed. 

Rain rolled his eyes and tilted his head back in Chay’s direction. “Nevermind the marriage, darling. Enjoy freedom while you can. They get so terribly broody and possessive once you’ve given them a kiss.”

“A kiss, is that what we’re calling it?” Sky butted in. “Because I am almost certain that you’ve done more than–”

“Archers!” The Gamekeeper’s bellowing interrupted Sky’s no-doubt clever quip at Rain’s expense. “Let the true show of talent begin! Take your starter’s marks!” 

The suitors stepped forward and straddled the firing line. 

“Nock your arrows!”

Prince Kim fed the string of his beautifully crafted bow into the crown of an arrow with careful fingers, but Chay’s gaze was drawn to the dark fletching fixed above them. His heart skipped a beat. 

Raven feathers.

While not uncommon to see in the royal Tourney circuit due to their reliability and strength, raven-fletched arrows could be expensive and difficult to procure. The parts of a raven’s plumage sturdy enough to serve this purpose were notoriously difficult to find in good condition, and the material sold for stupidly high prices at market. Only the memory of Sir Raven nuzzling him awake that same morning kept Chay from panicking outright over his companion’s safety. 

“Are you feeling ill, Prince Chay?” Rain asked, voice barely above a whisper. “You’ve gone pale and your hands are shaking.”

“Oh, err– I’m perfectly fine,” he flapped one of said hands dismissively in his worried friend’s direction. “I was overcome by the heat for a moment. My apologies.”

“If you insist, Your Highness.”

He nodded, offering a tight smile.

“Draw, aim, and fire at will!” 

Chay observed the dwindling herd of Challengers critically, watching how each one swung their bow into place. Most moved with the smooth comfort of men who’d practiced this same technique a thousand times before – yet none of them squared their shoulders or drew the taut string back to his chin with such ease as Prince Kim. And while many an arrow struck its target successfully, the handsome northern prince’s had the greatest speed, force, and accuracy. 

Kim disguised a flirtatious wink in Chay’s direction by flicking a wayward strand of hair off his forehead. The Crown Prince squeaked and sucked his bottom lip between his teeth to muffle the sound. He didn’t need to hear his friends’ politely disguised snickering to know how bright his cheeks had gone. 

Still, he heard them.

Prince Prapai sighed. “Alas, it seems His Royal Highness is falling in love.”

Chay huffed at the older royal’s declaration but didn’t disagree or look away from Kim’s perfect shooting form. Why should he? Let them all speculate to each other beneath the covers tonight and swap opinions. Let the two nosy couples whisper behind their hands about who Chay would (obviously) choose to offer his Favor. Their unfairly weighted guesses wouldn’t change his mind. 

Porsche wiped a bead of sweat from his hairline with as much subtlety possible in his position and glanced sideways at Chay. The sun beat down on their heads with unusual strength for such an early day in spring; he was worried that his little brother might catch a mild case of heatstroke. He managed to overdo himself at least once a year, usually early on when the breeze deceived him into wearing heavier layers than necessary. 

When the Gamekeeper called an end to the competition and began to tally up each Challenger’s total score, the king saw Chay begin swaying slightly in his throne. His initial suspicions were confirmed when the prince levered himself up onto his feet and approached the speaking platform on legs like half-set jelly. Porsche rushed (elegantly) to help him balance. He jerked both eyebrows toward his hairline to ask, Are you alright?

Chay nodded almost imperceptibly up at him. I’m fine.

 The Gamekeeper approached and gave them both a shallow bow. He and Porchay both inclined their heads in return, signaling him to conclude the afternoon’s festivities.

“Your Majesty and Royal Highness, by virtue of his true form and even truer aim, I am pleased to present your honorable sharpshooting winner and Champion of the day: Prince Kimhan of Esvarrin!”

“Step forward, Champion,” Porsche intoned with his best authoritative voice. 

The King did his utmost to keep his posture aloof and his expression stony. This man’s name was not unknown to Porsche; his brother and the eastern royals whispered about Prince Kimhan in the gallery or huddled together around a table in the library. Apparently he’d been showing up the other suitors by offering Chay a series of thoughtful gifts and gentle declarations of devotion. 

Porsche needed to know more but refused to give a damn thing away.

The willowy Prince Kimhan stepped forward from the line of nobles and dropped to one knee with an uncanny sort of grace. The kind of grace that almost reminded Porsche of… Well, that would be utterly impossible. The king refocused on the situation at hand and announced, “Rise, Champion. Accept your prize from the man whose heart you seek to win with pride.”

As he seemed determined to do at every opportunity, the soft-spoken suitor shocked every person in attendance by turning his face to Chay and asking:

“Would His Highness bid me rise?” 

Porchay’s cheeks flushed a deep, ruddy red and Porsche knew this was true love standing before him. Chay had found real, honest-to-goodness first love with Prince Kimhan. And from the utterly besotted look on the mysterious prince’s face, Kimhan was in considerably worse shape than Porchay. 

It took all of Porsche’s strength not to laugh out loud in relief when his brother squeaked out an acceptably royal sounding, “Y-Yes, Prince Kimhan. Please stand and accept your prize.”

He watched with eagle eyes as Kim tilted his chin forward so Porchay could lower a small golden arrow medallion over his head. The Prince’s fingers trembled slightly when they adjusted the chain around Prince Kimhan’s neck and Porsche saw the Champion’s muscles twitch in reaction. He bit the inside of his lip to keep from screaming every ounce of excitement in his chest to the heavens. Later, when he was alone in his chambers, he could do a happy dance on his brother’s behalf.

For the moment he was required to perform his duties as King.

“Thank you, Prince Porchay. I am indeed highly honored to have won your attention this way,” Prince Kimhan swept into a low bow from the waist – far lower than necessary – and pressed a reverent kiss to the back of Chay’s hand. The Crown Prince’s face flamed even brighter. 

“It is you who flatters me with your presence and persistence,” Chay replied smoothly. Porsche was impressed with his ability to think while being simultaneously barreled over by the intensity of Prince Kimhan’s open affection. “I hope to see you again at supper, Your Highness.”

“My Liege,” Prince Kimhan released Chay’s hand and straightened to full height. He paused half-a-beat and added, “Please be sure to rest if you can, Prince Porchay. For your health.”

“I will, thank you.”

Porsche followed his brother and the four eastern nobles down from the platform and back through the gallery. Payu and Rain were supporting Chay on either side. The king hurried to walk behind them, “Chay?”

“I’m okay, Hia. Just a bit of sun. I'm going to take a cool bath and have something to eat.”

Always the logical one.

“Will I see you at supper?”

“Err– Yeah? Of course.” 

“Ah, right. Prince Kimhan will be there, as well. Why come and eat with your brother when there’s a good looking man to be ogled over the edge of a goblet?”

“Hia!”

Porchay squirmed his way through the first fifteen minutes of supper before finally leaning over and whispering something to the King. Porsche’s bland, Kingly expression transformed into a scowl so briefly that only Kim’s inhuman senses caught the action. Fuck, if only these idiot humans weren’t so damn loud…

The King clapped twice and the feasting hall fell silent. Every eye in the room turned to Porsche; the Challengers and their retinues ceased eating and carousing, frozen by the rules of courtly etiquette. “His Royal Highness begs your forgiveness, but today’s exceptional heat and bright sun have overcome his constitution. Crown Prince Porchay will be retiring early this evening.”

There were a handful of murmured well-wishes but otherwise the nobles shuffled awkwardly in their seats until Porchay had been escorted from the room by one of his personal guards. When he’d fully exited their line of vision, the men continued eating and conversing. 

Kim feigned interest in his own plate for a few minutes more before ducking from the table and out of the room. There was no reason for him to stay behind and fraternize with the other nobles in attendance – as Kim sincerely doubted their support on the battlefield could ever be worth suffering through an entire conversation. Gnawing worry over his fragile human Consort’s immediate health took precedence. 

So Kim obviously didn’t react with a Fae’s usual elegance when two slender hands darted out from a shadowy doorway and fisted into his tunic. “What the–”

“Shh!” One of those hands flew up to cover his mouth, drawing him close. “You’ll get us caught!”

“Hmph? Pchah?” he mumbled against the radiant heat of Chay's skin.

“I said shh!” the prince punctuated the admonishment with a quiet giggle that had Kim’s heart doing hummingbird flight patterns in his chest. “I want to take a walk in the garden alone again. With you, I mean. But, uhm… Unchaperoned. I want to show you something.”

Kim stared up at his future husband in abject wonder. He made no attempt whatsoever to escape. How could he, and what was the point in struggling anyhow? Porchay’s palm was a white-hot brand where it lay pressed over his mouth and the side of his cheek. He felt the prince's knuckles flex and curl around the hinge of his jaw, present but unrestricting. It was heaven to be touched by his beloved.

Then the tip of Chay’s calloused pointer finger grazed the sensitive hollow beneath Kim’s ear and the Fae’s lips parted to release a quiet gasp.

Porchay immediately realized what he’d been doing and yanked his offending limb away, dropping the hand back to his side. The prince’s magenta blush grew easily visible in the dim torchlight, aura flaring with embarrassed heat.

“Sorry,” he whispered. Kim reached out and tangled their fingers together. 

“So how do we reach the gardens undetected, Milord?”

“Oh! Right this way!”

Chay dragged the eager Fae through a blurry collection of back hallways and narrow service corridors until the castle eventually spit them out near the back end of a tall, unkempt hedge maze. Kim turned his head slowly in every direction, taking in whatever detail possible: A blooming vine of wild climbing roses that had choked out one of the topiary bushes, a stone fountain cracked right down the middle, a collapsed and half rotted wheelbarrow sitting upside-down in a far corner, and plenty of abandoned birds’ nests in various states of decay…

These were not the gardens they’d gone strolling through before. He was being honored with the knowledge of Chay’s own personal sanctuary. 

“Your Highness…”

“Chay.”

“Alright, Chay. And you must call me Kim.”

“As you wish, Kim. Now, since we’re well and truly alone, what do you want to know about me?”

“Are you feeling alright? Sincerely?” Kim squeezed his Consort’s fingers where they stayed tangled together. “You didn’t look well after the archery contest. When I knelt to receive the prize you were pale. Unbalanced.”

“I started feeling better after a cool bath and some dinner.”

“But you barely touch– oh.” Kim chuckled at his own foolishness. “The kitchens must’ve brought a meal to your room between this afternoon and supper.”

“Mhm,” Chay grinned. His lashes fluttered but otherwise did nothing to hide the mischievous glint in his eyes. “And I knew you’d follow after me when Porsche announced my illness. You’re always so concerned. So considerate of my wellbeing.”

“Of course,” Kim frowned. Was it not obvious how much he cared? To clear the air he stated simply, “I completely adore you.”

"Well I–” his beloved blushed again. "Thank you. I rather adore you, too."

"That makes this much easier," Kim smiled. He pulled a shimmering blue scarf from within the folds of his jacket and offered it to his beloved. "It's Fae silk, and enchanted. It'll keep you cool even on the hottest days. I have two gifts left for you before the rituals of my homeland are complete, Your Highness. I hope you continue to accept."

Chay took the scarf and marveled openly at the texture and feeling, running his hands along the length with a gasp of joy. "It feels like running water! This is incredible! Thank you so much!"

Kim shrugged. Kinn had done the necessary magicks for him, of course, always happy to help. He was giddy at his darling's reaction. 

"You are most welcome."

“The thing is, Kim, I... Uhm, err- I brought you here to ask if you would please accept my Favor at the joust tomorrow? Or, what I mean is, do you–  Would you be, perhaps–"

"My sweet, precious Chay, I cannot express politely how happy it makes me to hear this news."

"Almost as happy as I am to know that you'll accept." The prince's giggle took on a nervous edge when he added, "And I'll be sure to wear your circlet tomorrow. For good luck."

“With you in the stands to cheer me on and your Favor bolstering my armor, there will be no need for luck,” Kim swore. He used their hands to tug Chay closer. “I will win your hand, Prince Porchay.”

“Good,” Chay jerked his chin emphatically. Then he rocked forward on the balls of his feet, planted a swift kiss to the apple of Kim’s cheek, and darted back inside the palace. Kim was so stunned by the unexpected series of events that he barely heard his darling Consort call back over his shoulder, “Goodnight, Prince Kim!”

“Goodnight,” he exhaled, unable to say anything more. “And sweetest dreams.”

Chapter Text

The moon had long since risen and Chay was nearly sleeping by the time Sir Raven settled on his bedroom windowsill. The prince watched from beneath heavy lids as his companion half-flew, half-flopped his way onto the bed and waddled over to his nest on shaky legs. The bird offered a quiet croak of apology for his tardiness, and Chay answered by reaching out a hand to pet his feathers. “C’mere and settle in, Milord. Today left me exhausted.”

Despite how badly he wanted to tip fully into dreamland, Chay loved observing Sir Raven’s nightly beauty routine. The process consisted mostly of detailed preening and a lot of irritated feather ruffling; the prince couldn’t resist staying awake a few minutes longer to watch. He shifted until his coverlet pooled low around his waist in the warm night air and pillowed his head atop his hands.

Chay adored the meticulous attention his companion paid to his appearance. He’d never once seen Sir Raven with even a single pinfeather out of place. Chay crooned on his next exhale, “You’re always so particular, my handsome thing.”

The corvid barked once in approval and then purred roughly at the back of his throat as if to tell Chay: Yes, I know.

“And so full of yourself,” Chay giggled. He might’ve been somewhat delirious due to the late hour. “You’re welcome for the compliment, by the way.”

The prince’s sassy remarks earned him an affectionate nip on the collarbone. 

Unfortunately Sir Raven overestimated the distance between them, and the tip of his pointed beak impacted hard enough to draw a single bead of blood. The miniscule wound smarted a bit, forcing Chay’s brows to wrinkle with distaste and an instinctive whine of displeasure to slip out before he could gather enough sense to stop it. He wiped at the injury absentmindedly with the edge of his sleeve. His bottom lip jutted forward out of habit and he muttered, “Ow.”

Sir Raven’s plumage fluffed out anxiously. Chay’s beloved companion immediately apologized for his transgression by rubbing his soft forehead along the side of Chay’s upturned cheek, churring up a storm all the while. Somehow Chay knew the gesture and sound in combination were meant to convey: I’m sorry for being overzealous. Please don’t be angry.

“You’re forgiven, silly bird. Now finish up your grooming so we can go to sleep.” He punctuated his sentence with a tremendous yawn. “Tomorrow is an especially important day. Prince Kim is going to have his first joust.”

“Caw! Caw!” 

“Sweet dreams to you, too, Sir Raven.”

In the middle of eating breakfast the following morning, surrounded by the last handful of his remaining suitors, Chay had a life changing realization. 

He saw Prince Kim adjust the hem of his tunic using a few sharp, jerky little movements and absentmindedly noted how similar they seemed to Sir Raven’s habit of tugging at uncooperative down. On the way to setting his cup of tea back in its saucer, another thought struck: Sir Raven’s pruned feathers were never waiting in the nest when dawn arrived. Chay’s companion somehow took them along every morning, right out the window… 

And Prince Kim used raven feather to fletch his arrows for the archery competition. Feathers that were notoriously difficult to come by in such large quantities. 

Kim also smelled like dust and sunlight and fresh air – the same scents that filled Chay’s lungs whenever he clutched the half-domesticated Sir Raven close and breathed into his inky feathers. 

Kim knew the dark and hidden corners of the palace hallways as if he’d walked their lengths before, and Chay had accidentally met with Kim that first time in the gardens, right where he’d found…

“Yes!” A voice he’d nearly forgotten piped suddenly from that nebulous place in the back of his mind. “You know he’s meant to be your dearest friend and other half. You know who he is, don’t you, Porchay?” 

Chay squinted. He didn’t doubt that his other half was meant to be Prince Kimhan of Esvarrin, but why did the voice he associated with Sir Raven speak up about the issue? 

Wait a minute.

Esvarrin…

Chay took a deep breath to keep from screaming aloud and giving everything away at the breakfast table. How could he have been so foolish?! How could he have missed so many obvious signs and clues?!

He would definitely be sitting the not-quite-bird down for a serious conversation about communication, comportment, and acceptable wooing strategies. That was for damn certain. 

Because in the space of an instant, Porchay understood that Esvarrin wasn’t a real place at all. The mysterious kingdom nobody had heard about before the Tourney was merely a placeholder, a name with no land attached. Esvarrin was nothing more than an anagram for Sir Raven. 

Chay’s half-guesses and passing jokes about the animal’s hyper-intelligent behavior proved themselves true, one after another. The silly notion that his companion may have supernatural powers wasn’t a notion at all, but an inarguable fact. The prince finished his breakfast with only one thought circling around his busy mind, taking up every inch of available space: 

He was madly in love with Prince Kim, and Prince Kim was a Faerie who'd been hiding his identity for weeks.

Kim stood before the stands and gazed adoringly up at his future Consort. Dressed in layers of pale green and silver and backlit by the late morning sun, Chay carried the softness of a newly budded tree. Or perhaps a sprouting vine. 

As he stared in open reverence at the figure glowing brightly above him, Kim noticed a specific circlet tucked amongst those dark, unruly curls. The betrothal circlet Kim had gifted him that first day in the gardens. The Fae found it utterly impossible to control his beaming smile. I love you, he thought. I would give you anything. Everything. 

Three other men flanked him as they stood before the lists; two fellow Princes to his left and a Lord to his right. Kim hated them all in equal measure for the goal they shared – stealing his precious sunflower away from him – but generously chose to forgive their transgressions. In fact, forgiveness would make a perfectly fine reward in return for the minor role they’d played these last few weeks. Their only real purpose from the beginning had been formalizing Kim’s bond with Chay (and Chay’s reciprocated claim on Kim) anyhow. How else was the Faerie meant to partake in his sweetheart’s silly human customs? 

“Ladies and Gentleman of the court and country,” King Porsche began, gesturing for the crowd and competitors to quiet down. He waited for silence to fall before continuing, another mark of excellent leadership from Kim’s perspective. Porsche would make an excellent brother-in-law. “Today marks the final joust for Crown Prince Porchay’s hand in marriage. As is the tradition of our ancestors, the Crown Prince will choose one of these four brave and talented warriors to bestow his Favor upon. Whoever receives this coveted honor shall be granted the additional boon of choosing their own opponent. The remaining two competitors will be automatically paired off for the final joust. Is this understood?”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” the suitors answered in tandem. 

“Excellent, thank you.” King Porsche nodded. “Now, may I present to you His Royal Highness, Crown Prince Porchay Kittisawat.”

Chay stepped forward to take his brother’s place at the railing and the crowd roared with excitement. Much as the King had done, Porchay raised his arms and waited for the stands to go silent once more. Turning his attention fully to the knights, he began to speak: 

“While I commend each of you for displaying such courtly prowess and courage for us these past few weeks, only one man may be granted the gift of my Favor. The man I have chosen shows great skill and tactical knowledge, but more importantly he has shown an even greater talent for listening, caring, and honoring my desires. There is no other man for me, as I’m afraid he has stolen my entire heart without my noticing.”

Gasps and murmurs echoed briefly through the crowd, but no one talked for long enough to miss the Prince’s next words. 

Chay continued, slowly pulling a strip of braided cloth from within the small leather pouch at his waist, tucked against the enchanted dagger. “Prince Kimhan of Esvarrin, please step forward.”

Kim’s legs moved without his bidding, bringing him out from the line of unimportant strangers. “Your Highness?”

Chay descended the platform to stand before his future husband, Favor gripped tightly in one hand. Authority and mischief sparked equally in his warm eyes and Kim nearly melted into the dirt. “Kneel, Prince Kimhan, if you wish to accept my offering.”

Kim dropped gracefully to his knees. 

Going to one knee would have been plenty formal, but Kim needed the entire audience and each of the three men glaring at him to understand how fully devoted he was to Porchay. There was no telling how far he’d go in order to keep the pretty human safe. Happy. Content. He’d spill the blood of a thousand men in a heartbeat to protect his beloved. 

“With the knowledge that accepting my Favor swears your Fealty to my Crown forthwith, binds you to my side, and charges you to care for and safeguard me ‘til the end of your days, do you still wish to receive this honor?”

“I do,” Kim answered without hesitation. Chay flushed pink at the speed and surety of his response, and Kim could practically smell the pleased pride rolling off his future Consort in little waves.

“Then it is with great happiness that I formally bestow this Favor upon you, Prince Kimhan of Esvarrin.” Chay bent to tie the braided cloth around the middle of Kim’s bicep and Kim noticed a familiar flash of purple buried amongst the twining strands. Material from our nest? Wh– What could that possibly mean?! Why had Chay woven their nest into his Favor? Then, so quietly that only the two of them could hear it, Chay added: “Go forth to victory, my handsome thing, and carry my heart with you.”

Kim barely managed to repress a shiver at the openly possessive note in his darling's voice. He loved it more than anything else when Chay called him–

Wait.

“What’s got your tiara in a twist?” Rain scoffed, plopping gracelessly into the seat beside the Crown Prince’s throne. He glanced around the royal gallery to check for eavesdroppers before adding conspiratorially, “Your lovely Prince Kimhan is clearly the most prepared of all these idiots.”

“Accidents happen,” Chay frowned. “And since I was exceedingly foolish and confessed to my Champion during the Favor ceremony, any of those other three bastards could be planning something awful. I’m sure at least one of them will try their level best to get rid of him.”

“Wouldn’t attempted sabotage result in automatic disqualification?”

“Of course! If they get caught.” Payu explained. 

“Ah. And these men have all the necessary talents and resources to get away with some sort of cheating scandal.”

“Mhm,” Chay’s frown deepened. “But if Prince Kim ever gets wounded and I find out it was intentional, there will be nothing less than hell to pay.”

Sky shivered and rubbed at his arms as though warding off a chill. “Remind me never to piss you off, Your Highness. I’d like to live until my wedding day.”

Payu nodded in agreement. “You’re awfully fierce for such a ray of sunshine.”

Rain cleared his throat with an air of superiority and patted Chay on the arm comfortingly. “I never once doubted your ability to draw blood, dearest Prince Porchay. When you love someone, your willingness to keep them safe and happy knows no bounds. I’d be terrified if I upset you, Your Highness.”

“Thank you for such a strong vote of confidence, Sir Rain.”

“Of course! Now, your Champion is emerging from his tent in full armor, and Prince Phawin already looks damn-near ready to faint!” 

“The bastard hasn’t even taken to saddle yet, and he has a solid three or four inches of height on Prince Kimhan,” Prapai complained. “What’s there to be scared of?”

Just you wait, Chay thought. His heart fluttered and his stomach twisted, unsure if he was more anxious or thrilled at the concept of seeing his handsome Sir Raven in action for the first time. Could a Fae warrior be injured by human weaponry? Why hadn’t Kim told him before now about his true identity? Did he intend to confess at all before their betrothal day? 

“He’s truly a sight to behold.”

And Rain was correct: Kim looked downright dashing in his riding armor. It shone in a way that Chay understood to be either otherworldly or enchanted. No silver forged by human hands could swirl with patterns smoother than smoke the way Kim’s armor did. His mount was a coal black destrier at least thirteen hands tall and tacked entirely in black leather. 

“Forget Sir Sky, I’m not going to live until my wedding day at this rate.”

In fact, Kim looked so breathtaking as he swung into his saddle that Chay found it easy to ignore the growing laughter of his friends.

The Master of Ceremony’s voice filtered distantly through his awareness, the joust rules partially muffled by Porchay’s intense focus on his Champion. Chay had braided the Favor together with every ounce of loving intention possible. Surely his magical companion could feel the strength he’d imbued within the fabric? The care he’d packed into every strand? There must be a way for Kim to understand how deeply Chay felt for him in all his various forms.

“Knights, take your beginning positions!” 

Kim and Prince Phawin maneuvered their horses until they were straight down the lists from each other, one rider on each side of a central wooden fence. Phawin’s horse pawed nervously at the dirt, dancing in place. 

“Charge!”

“Hyah!” Prince Phawin called, kicking his steed into action. 

Kim remained stoic and silent beneath his helmet as the destrier burst forward, hooves stirring into an easy gallop. The blue-painted lance clutched in his gloved fist slid into place at his side at just the right moment; Chay watched his Champion carefully aim the weapon at Prince Phawin’s chest. 

There were only a handful seconds between the horses taking off down the lanes and both lances colliding with their intended target, but each ticked by with syrupy slowness. Chay swore he could count every hair in the horses’ manes or see the individual flecks of dust on Phawin’s armor. Each fleck of dirt churned into the air by the scrape of hooves burst like fireworks in the morning sunlight.

Until, with an echoing clang that shook Porchay down to his bones, both Kim and Prince Phawin’s lances met their targets. The two royal competitors shuddered in their saddles but neither fell. 

“C’mon,” Chay whispered. His fingernails had dug grooves into the arm of his makeshift wooden throne. Rain and Sky patted his arms soothingly but the sensation barely registered. “C’mon, Kim.”

The challengers returned to their starting positions and exchanged their broken lances for fresh ones. Chay, exhausted and ready for the whole farce to be over, prayed that the mystery voice would deliver a short, simple message to Kim from across the field for him:

“I believe in you, Sir Raven. Now finish this and come home to me.”

When the Master of Ceremony next called for the riders to charge, Prince Phawin almost instantly found himself on his back on the ground, staring up at the clear blue sky. Unhorsed and disqualified. 

“See?” Sky smirked. “I told you there was nothing to worry about.”

“Shut up,” Rain huffed. “We knew it would be fine in the end. Right, Your Highness?”

But when Rain looked over to the prince for confirmation, Chay was nowhere to be found.

Kim heard the soft swish of his tent flap moving and glanced up from removing his bracers. His beloved Consort stood just within the awkward square of grass and deep blue material, face flushed and eyes brimming with curiosity. Before Kim could greet him properly, Chay anxiously blurted: “Why didn’t you tell me that you were Sir Raven?”

The guiltridden Fae bit his lip and scuffed his toe in the dirt. Truth be told, he didn’t have the strongest reasoning for hiding his identity at this point in their courting process. “How did you figure it out?”

“You haven’t exactly been subtle,” Chay snorted. “With the feathers and the protectiveness. Anyway, that isn’t the point. How do I know that your feelings are genuine if you haven’t been telling me the truth about your homeland? How do I know your gifts and kindness and consideration aren’t all pieces of some big plan to… To use me for something? I thought you were different from my other suitors. I thought you wanted me instead of my crown or kingdom.”

“I do want you more than anything else, sunflower. It would destroy me to ever do you harm or see you cry,” Kim declared. He puffed up his chest in a mimicry of Sir Raven’s affectionate bullying tactics and Chay giggled. Kim was pleased to see his human's rigid posture relaxing, no longer resembling a puppet on tightened strings. “I love you, Porchay. Truly and deeply and with all of my being. Please, never doubt or question my devotion.”

Chay's breath caught and tears filled the corners of his eyes. Kim darted forward to wipe them away with calloused thumbs. His beloved’s words came as barely more than a whisper, “I love you, too. I have been at your mercy for so long without ever knowing. I feel overjoyed and yet so confused.”

“Then let me prove my sincerity, my darling sunshine. Please don’t turn me away. Let me complete my people’s Courting Ritual.”

“Fine. But tonight, when we meet for bed, will you explain yourself?”

“I– You’d still allow me the honor of sharing our nest?” Kim’s heart wanted to pound straight out of his chest and take flight entirely on its own. Instead he dropped back to his knees and wrapped his arms around Porchay’s midsection. With a flick of his wrist, he shielded the tent from intruders and prevented the moment from being spoiled. “You’d be so forgiving?”

“If you give me enough good reasons for your secrecy,” Chay sniffed. He was trying to sound irritated, but Kim was close enough to smell his pure, untainted joy and sense a faint trembling through all his layers of robes. “You did wonderfully in the lists, by the way.”

“For you,” Kim insisted. “You are of the utmost importance, my sweet Consort.”

“Hmm.” Chay folded nearly in half, but managed to drop an affectionate kiss on the crown of Kim’s slightly sweaty hair. “Now, what is the final step in your Courting Ritual?”

“There is one final gift I must bestow upon you, but I’m afraid my original plans have fallen apart. Would you be disgusted if I gave you something a bit more personal than an enchanted plant?” 

“That depends,” Chay teased. The bright, pure beauty of his happiness struck Kim harder than any lance. It plunged between his ribs and pried them wide open for Chay’s hands to reach inside. For Kim’s beautiful husband to claim his final prize “What is your final gift for me, Prince Kim?”

In a show of adoration and vulnerability that not even the Unseelie Prince’s closest family had observed, Kim tilted his head back to expose his throat. He closed his eyes and admitted: “Me. Whatever you wish to do with me, I am yours. Body, soul, and heart.” 

“That is too great a gift. I am not worthy.”

“Nonsense, my love. You are the only person who is worthy. Will you accept this gift and accept my total suit?”

“Yes, but I’m afraid my time here must end now." He drew Kim back to standing and, to the Fae's complete shock, pressed his lips against Kim's own. The kiss - their first - was sweet and exhilarating and far too brief. But Kim would cherish it for all of their thousand years together. "We shall speak at length this evening, my handsome thing.”

And with those words, Chay exited the tent – Kim’s heart held firmly in his gentle hands. 

Chapter Text

Sir Raven flew in silently through the open window the same way he did every night. This time, however, Chay watched with eyes full of giddy wonder (and no small amount of vindication) as his companion’s wings lengthened and merged to form a sweeping floor-length cloak. His grin widened impossibly further when he noticed how the inky material shimmered blue-green in the moonlight, a reflection of Sir Raven’s iridescent feathers. 

Two bare feet dropped quietly to the stone floor of his bedchamber in place of the bird’s usual talons, though the prince was happy to find Sir Raven otherwise fully clothed. Chay’s eyes traced up from the floor like a set of twin sunflowers drawn toward heaven, meandering over Sir Raven’s plain grey trousers and loose black shirt to the crown of his companion’s bowed head. 

The territorial bird that spent each night curled over the pillow near Chay's shoulder, playing bodyguard as he slept, was now fully unmasked. Unmade. Revealed. Where Sir Raven had once been now stood Kimhan, the suitor he'd openly exchanged hearts and oaths with earlier that same afternoon. ‘Awe’ was not a strong enough word to describe whatever feeling stirred itself in Chay’s heart after witnessing Kim’s transformation.

The Fae finally lifted his head to let their gazes meet, and Chay found a welcomed inferno of possessive energy burning behind his future husband’s eyes. Its heat flared intensely enough to catch his already uncooperative breath in his throat. 

And this wasn’t simply another wonderful vision?

Chay shuffled closer in a half-daze, feeling more at peace with every inch of space that disappeared between them. He desperately wanted to reach out and touch but feared the moment might shatter or disappear. Instead he whispered:

“Are you… You can’t be real, Kim. You simply can’t be real.”

“Of course I am,” Kim’s hand lifted from beneath his cloak to cradle the hinge of Chay’s jaw in one warm, rough palm. The intense furrow between his brows softened; he looked so dangerously human. “Can’t you feel my touch, sunshine?”

“Yes,” Chay exhaled. Was he trembling, or was that Kim’s hand? He couldn’t tell.

“I’m very real, my darling. I promise.” 

“I know, but– But it all seems so impossible! You were barely more than a dream when I saw your face for the first time. Or when I learned your true name.” Chay poked Kim squarely in the center of the chest. “That morning I woke up and everything felt wildly different, but nothing I saw in the daylight had changed. Why didn’t you tell me we were courting, Kim? Why didn’t you transform right then and explain yourself?”

“There’s nothing I would’ve loved more, my sweet Consort, but I couldn’t.”

Chay gave his future husband a look that conveyed great personal displeasure with this answer. Loud and clear.

Kim hurried to continue: "My brothers were highly impressed that you managed to remember those details, but I still hadn’t asked their full permission to court you or win your hand. I had to finish healing before I could share the truth, and then you were attacked and… Well, my plans needed to change.”

“That’s when I first mentioned the Tourney, wasn’t it? After the incident with that awful dignitary’s son?”

Kim nodded. “The best course of action required me to go back through the Veil and consult my family. It was the most difficult decision of my life to leave you vulnerable; you almost managed to lure me back to the nest by calling out to me, darling. I thought it might’ve been a brief hallucination.”

“The night you left was awful,” Chay’s stomach dropped at the memory. “I saw your silhouette against the window and thought I’d woken straight into a nightmare.”

“You’ve always been two steps ahead of me,” Kim’s tone bordered on teasing. He tried swaying forward but Chay disengaged from the embrace, stepping toward the bed. There were still more questions to be answered. 

“I only figured out your big secret today, and it turns out I’ve known you for three full months already! There was no need for me to worry about your trustworthiness or sincerity before, and now there is! You kept this from me when it could have relieved so much anxiety during that awful Tournament!” Chay took a seat on the edge of his mattress and huffed in open disbelief.

Kim radiated devastation at the rebuff but still cleared his throat enough to ask, “Why don’t I give you a worthwhile explanation, starting from the very beginning?”

This appeased both Chay’s hurt feelings and his honest curiosity. “Alright.”

“We met by accident,” the Fae began, starting to pace right away. “I’d been wounded by a band of hunters; and no, they didn’t know who or what I was during their chase. Normal human weapons usually aren’t strong enough to inflict any lasting damage on my kind, but this particular clan used a potent toxin to coat their arrowheads. As it spread further from the wound I grew increasingly weaker. Eventually my wings gave out and I dropped, paralyzed, into your family’s garden.”

Chay had been absolutely determined to wait out Kimhan’s entire speech before drawing conclusions. However, learning the origin of his future husband’s first injuries drew him staggering to his feet. Chay flung himself into Kim’s arms and bent to hide his face against the shorter prince’s neck. “I’m so glad that you did, my handsome thing. I can’t imagine what could’ve happened if you had landed anywhere else.”

“Me neither, sunshine. And you obviously know what happened next. A beautiful human prince took me in, cared for me, and kept me safe. In fact, it was he who initiated the first Fae Courting Ritual and offered me his hand in marriage to begin with…”

Chay pulled back from the comfort of Kim’s shoulder so fast they nearly knocked chins. He blinked down at the otherworldly creature in his arms, shocked. It took every ounce of royal eloquence he could muster to ask: “Huh?”

And to his continued amazement, a line of red climbed steadily from between the half-tied laces of Kim’s shirt to meet the Faerie’s hairline. He’d never seen Kim blush so brightly or prettily before. Chay was enchanted. Fascinated. He needed to know exactly how he could make it happen again.

“I’d planned on waiting for nightfall and sneaking away from the castle without a trace. I assumed you would see to my initial comfort and return to the throne room or whatever duties you held, but you refused to leave my side the entire day – even though you only knew me as a bird. And, by human standards, not necessarily a desirable one.

“Then you carried me to your private suite of rooms and saw to my comfort immediately. You named me, gave me affection, and offered me something to eat. Over and over I forced myself to reject the things you brought. Over and over you’d try to whet my appetite.” Kim paused to laugh under his breath.

“By the time late afternoon arrived and you offered me sustenance directly from your fingertips… It was too late for me. I’d learned how kind your nature is and wanted you for my own. I couldn’t let you feel upset over my wellbeing, nor did I wish to continue refusing.”

Chay’s face rushed to match shades with his betrothed. 

“So sharing a meal is part of the, uhm, romantic initiation?”

“You put forth a marriage suit by offering me food from your own hand, yes. I acknowledged you and made a public claim by putting a bracelet bearing my initials on your wrist. Any sort of visible gift will do, but you always played with your sleeves. I thought it might be soothing to have the pearls instead; sometimes when my eldest brother is worried over something, he fiddles with the pearl ring on his left hand.”

“I– Yes, it has been better since they arrived. Thank you,” Chay giggled nervously. They hadn’t yet managed to let go of each other. “No wonder I couldn’t remember where it came from; and no wonder why I never take it off.”

Kim hummed, pleased. 

“It was heartening to see you wearing them when I first arrived.” 

Chay attempted to bite back a yawn but Kim caught the twinge in his expression. Softly, warmly, the Fae leaned up and touched their foreheads together. 

He pulled back after too brief a moment to murmur, “I think it’s time to get some rest, sweet sunflower.”

“Y-You’re going to stay, right? You’re not going to stop, uhm…” Chay bit his lip, unsure how to continue. Now that he’d learned the final details, it was totally against tradition to share a bed with his future husband until at least a week before the wedding. But he also knew for a fact that any night he spent without Sir Raven at his side was a night he barely slept at all. 

Kim’s hands closed around one of his and he glanced up. 

“I’m not going anywhere, my love. Not tonight, and not ever.”

Chay’s shoulders relaxed. “Thank goodness. Would you, I mean– Is it alright if you stay like this? A person? We could move the nest aside for now…”

His future husband pressed a doting kiss against his temple. “That would be lovely, Chay.” 

Kim glared out the window at the rising sun. He didn’t want to leave Chay’s bed, or his side, or his dizzyingly sweet presence. Nothing filled Kim’s head with buzzing joy faster than Chay’s affection spilling out into the air. The pleasant strength of his human’s aura clogged Kim’s senses and zipped through his veins, sugary and bright and perfect.

He kept Chay tucked against his chest, hot little puffs of air blowing across his collarbones in time with his heartbeat. Everything was right in the world when Kim knew his sunshine lay within the safety of his arms (and perhaps the additional cover of a few protective spells). 

Overwhelmed by the sudden, childish urge: the Unseelie Prince stuck his tongue out at the light breaking over the horizon. “Go away.”

“I don’t want this to end, either,” Chay’s sleep-rough voice sent Kim's heart battering at its confines without any particular rhythm. “But that’s no reason to be rude, Your Highness.”

“My sincerest apologies,” Kim replied. “I just wish he’d return to wherever he was hiding before. Dawn should leave us alone for another few hours. Or days.”

“Hmm,” Chay agreed. “But after today the battle is finished. You’ll win the duel, Winter will leave the kingdom, and I’ll be yours to keep forever.”

“And I, in turn, shall be devotedly yours.” 

“Kim, darling, you can’t just say things like that! It– It makes me want to–” Chay balled his hands into fists and groaned. Kim barely held back a victorious smirk.

“What are you trying so hard to avoid doing, Your Highness?”

“This!” Chay declared. Then he tilted his head up and claimed the Faerie’s mouth for a deep kiss. 

Kim's excitement tripled and his eyes fluttered halfway closed when Chay rolled onto his forearms so that he hovered over the Unseelie Prince. Messy-haired and smiling like starshine, the prince’s happy giggles soon gave way to gentle sighs and sweet nothings as he pressed the eager Fae deeper and deeper into the plush mattress. With every surge of Chay’s lips against his, the waves of adoration crashing together above Kim's head sent him reeling further from shore. 

Chay’s hands slid down his ribs to cage his waist, clamping hard over his hip-bones; he gasped sharply when a set of intuitive canines nipped their way down the column of his throat. “Chay!”

“Sorry,” Porchay flung himself back and off of Kim. His face glowed redder than the morning sky and his voice already dripped with sour self-reproach. “I don’t know what came over me.”

Kim stared at his future Consort, watery eyes blown wide and bare chest heaving. 

“Well,” he managed eventually. “Whatever it was… I hope it comes back.”

Prince Winter frowned down at his whetting stone and sighed for the sixth time in a row. He turned the lump of material over in his hands, running his fingers across its rough surface and then tapping the pads together thoughtfully. The two competitors who’d been eliminated in the joust sat opposite him in matching armchairs, looking equally annoyed.

“I hate losing,” he snapped. “But that damned Prince Kimhan is impossible to beat. It’s not natural how well he can handle a horse.”

“He has proven rather adept at every task set before him so far,” Prince Phawin agreed. “Almost unnaturally adept, now that you mention it.”

“Even his dancing appears inhumanly graceful. I’m not sure Prince Porchay’s feet ever touched the floor that first night, so far as I remember. Their waltz froze the whole room in place.”

“If that’s the case, and he can’t be beaten in any normal capacity,” Lord Force jumped in, “Perhaps the best option is to hamper his talents some other way?”

“Are you suggesting that I cheat?” Prince Winter raised an eyebrow. Force shrugged in feigned nonchalance.

“Those were not the words I used, nor will I claim them.”

Phawin rolled his eyes, but a smile pricked at the corners of Winter’s mouth. “As you both well know, our duel will last until one of us draws first blood.”

“So?”

Winter slowly set his whetstone aside. He stood and pulled his rapier from its sheath on his hip, making the flat of its blade sing against the leather as he did. The prince pitched his voice low and recited a few lines of literature the others quickly recognized, adding an unnecessarily dramatic flair: 

“Oh good Prince Kimhan, no medicine in the world can do thee good...”

Force laughed outright and Phawin followed suit, sharing a round of hearty chuckles over their foe-turned-conspirator’s clever scheme. The mysterious, snooty royal from far away had no right to suddenly show his face at court and win the hand of Prince Porchay out from under them. The unjustly territorial nobles wouldn’t stand for something so humiliating. Not while such an easy avenue for Prince Kimhan’s destruction existed.

“Not to mention,” Force clapped his newfound friend on the shoulder and squeezed encouragingly. “Should your first plan fail somehow, there’s always the old fashioned way of claiming a Consort.”

“And what, pray tell, is this ‘old fashioned way’ you’re talking about?”

“Take what you want, whether you’ve won or lost. The reason behind bridal parties existing in the first place is to either capture or defend the bride, isn’t it? Put them to a test.”

“Are you really suggesting he kidnap Prince Porchay in the case of his loss to Prince Kimhan?”

“Not in so many words.”

“You’re a slippery one,” Winter smiled again. It was a greedy, frightening smile. Lord Force almost regretted sharing his ideas. Almost. 

“You know, Lord Force?” Prince Winter reached to shake his hand. “I like the way you think. Perhaps it’s time our families became better friends.”

“What a kind offer. I look forward to discussing an alliance.”

Prince Phawin shook his head. He wanted no part in this anymore.

That night, after his sword had been taken for inspection and approval by a royal arms-master, Prince Winter slipped from his borrowed suite in Kittisawat Castle. He slithered through the corridors and hid between the shadows, blending into the darkness as best he knew how. Spying came as a second nature.

With practiced ease that did little to bolster his character, Winter picked the lock and snuck into the armory. He located his rapier and pulled it carefully – and silently, so silently – from its leather sleeve. He plucked a vial of oily, pale green liquid from his waistcoat pocket and spread a thin but solid layer along its length. Concentrated from three different, highly poisonous plants in his homeland and totally without antidote, Winter knew this concoction would be perfect to bring about Prince Kimhan’s end.

“Fare thee well, sweet prince.” 

Winter added a second layer for good measure before replacing the rapier in its sheath and disappearing back to his room without a trace. Even with the knowledge of an attempted murder at the front of his mind, Winter fell straight to sleep. Fighting required a great deal of rest.

Kinn flew into Tankhun’s private study without knocking once. His hair was a dark riot around his head and his eyes were round and bloodshot. The King leapt from his chair, flying around the desk to grasp his younger brother by both shoulders. He tried to steady the taller man, but the Crown Prince swayed dangerously back and forth.

“What’s wrong, N’Kinn?!”

“Kim! I saw Kim!” 

“What?” Tankhun tried to stay calm, but it was incredibly difficult with his middle brother practically hyperventilating in his arms. “What’s happened or going to happen to Kim?”

“He’s in terrible danger, but I’m afraid all these newfound positive emotions are too overwhelming for him to realize…" Kinn's voice shook. "I think he’s going to be terribly hurt, P’Khun. Dark forces are at work in the Human Realm and our youngest brother is unwittingly positioned at their center.”

“Then we must intervene,” the King decided. Kinn wasn’t always the greatest at thinking things through or looking at a situation from more than one or two perspectives, but his gift for magic also gave him glimpses of the truth no one else received. Tankhun trusted that this was a legitimate emergency. “Fetch Sir Arm and Sir Pol and take them through the Veil. Stop the incident if you can or do your best to save him if you're too late. Either way, please hurry!” 

“Yes, right away!”

And as quickly as he’d arrived, Kinn was gone.

Chapter Text

Kim’s eyelashes fluttered. The edges of his vision blurred and darkened. 

In front of him, Chay’s pretty pink lips twisted into a horrified grimace. His Consort’s lungs steadily emptied themselves into an anguished scream and Kim swore he could almost hear the awful, grating sound of it over the heavy buzzing in his ears… But the droning hum was so fucking loud that it obscured every other noise in the busy throne room.

Then, as Kim struggled to figure out why his beloved was so upset, the walls around him tilted unexpectedly to the left. His center of gravity shifted along with them quickly enough to make him nauseous. The Fae didn’t have time to notice the sensation of his own knees buckling out from under him before his right shoulder slammed against the hard floor. His limp neck did nothing to prevent his head from snapping sideways and connecting with the flagstones.

Chay collapsed beside him in the next instant, mouth moving in a blur to form words Kim desperately wished he could understand. His husband's delicate hands fluttered over his body – only to pull away with blood staining each fingertip an odd sort of red-black color. Chay stared down at him, heartbreak written plainly in every line of his beautifully innocent face.

Oh. The Faerie blinked sluggishly into the red-rimmed eyes of his soulmate, realization dawning far too late. That human bastard cheated. I’ve been poisoned.

Porsche summoned the final two Challengers from the crowd and gestured for them to kneel. While he delivered some boring traditionalist Tourney speech about protecting Chay’s honor and guiding kingdoms, Chay took the opportunity to discreetly (but thoroughly) observe his future husband. Kim was dressed fashionably but with his task in mind; a fact the Crown Prince greatly appreciated. He was even happier to notice the way Kim’s tunic didn’t wrinkle around the shoulder seams or gather awkwardly at his waist as he knelt. 

Such minor details wouldn’t catch the attention of most casual onlookers, but Chay was no fool. Despite how form-fitting it first appeared, he knew the tunic’s narrow sleeves and low collar were meant to facilitate Kim’s quick movements in combat. The embroidery along its hemlines was finely detailed but unobtrusive. Overall it was ingenious handiwork.

The carefully assembled tunic also gave Kim a distinct advantage over his opponent, who’d opted for a waistcoat instead. Exposing the flowing sleeves of Winter’s loose white shirt wouldn’t have been Chay’s first choice when competing in a rapier duel, but what did he know? He’d only been training with swords for more than a decade.

His attention snapped back to Porsche when his Hia intoned, “Are you both willing to fight by the rules of First Blood?”

“I am,” Kim and Prince Winter replied as one. 

“Do you swear to uphold the standards of Princely sportsmanship and stop the duel when First Blood has been drawn by a victor?”

“I do.” 

“Then I must thank you both for exhibiting such excellence in your pursuit of our kingdom’s greatest treasure.” Porsche turned back and offered a hand to Chay, who stood from his throne and joined him. “Crown Prince Porchay, dearest brother and fellow keeper of our peace, are there any last words of encouragement you would offer these brave warriors?”

“May the man who possesses the kindest heart and fairest hand prevail.”

“Well spoken,” the King smiled warmly. “And a sentiment I gladly echo.”

Porchay pushed Kim, Prince Winter, and their anxious audience from his mind entirely. He wanted to share this moment with Porsche and Porsche alone. He smiled back at his Hia – his final blood relative and closest friend – in a way that said, Don’t worry. Everything is going to be wonderful.

“Now,” the King broke their loaded eye contact with a flash of disappointment so quick only Chay could catch it. “Please rise, Your Highnesses, and take your places for the duel.”

Once either Prince stood on his appointed marker and had his weapon drawn, Porsche called for them to take a starting position. Chay watched his beloved coil like a snake in human form. 

Silly me, he nearly giggled aloud. He’s not a snake, he’s a raven!

“Begin!”

Whether Kim was a bird or a serpent mattered little anyhow – the Fae prince advanced ruthlessly fast and with no shortage of determination. He obviously didn’t wish to delay their official public betrothal any longer, and his aggressive footwork forced Prince Winter to stay on the defensive. 

His human opponent snarled and took another flustered step back, losing precious ground. Hoping to distract Kim somehow, he blurted: “What gives you any right to come in from some unknown land and steal Prince Porchay for yourself?” 

“It’s impossible for me to steal something that wasn’t yours to begin with,” Kim replied venomously. He twisted the tip of his sword under the grip of Prince Winter’s glove and maneuvered his wrist in a smooth circle. Chay watched gleefully as Winter’s rapier skidded across the floor, its rounded guard throwing sparks into the air with a dull shriek. “It’s even less possible for me to think myself worthy of stealing a treasure so dear and priceless as His Highness, Prince Porchay.”

“What the hell do you mean by that?!” 

“He isn’t some shiny gem or rare bolt of silk that you can barter for or snatch in the dead of night,” Kim glared. Chay could practically see the fire dancing in his irises. “I wouldn’t dare attempt to undermine His Highness’ personal desires by merely competing for his hand. I am Champion today because I’ve always fought with Prince Porchay’s heart in mind.”

“Huh?”

“Why would I spend all my time boasting and bumping shoulders with other noble competition when I could be doing my best to court my future husband?” Kim scoffed. Chay’s heart filled to bursting with pure love for his handsome Sir Raven. “Do you really know or care enough about His Highness to claim that I’ve stolen him? You don’t deserve him or his love and, frankly, neither do I.”

To end the conversation for good, Kim reached forward and flicked the tip of his rapier over Winter’s shoulder. An injury there would be easy to bandage, unlikely to scar, and leave the prince’s movement completely unhindered in the long-term. Having Winter totally at his mercy and choosing to inflict minimal damage was an enormous gesture of chivalry and good sportsmanship from Kim.

So of course Winter’s response was anything but.

With a cry of pure rage, the losing Challenger snatched his discarded weapon from the floor and darted forward. He extended his arm just far enough to slash the very tip of his pointed blade across the front of Kim’s chest. The torn material surrounding Kim’s wound instantly bloomed red… 

And then black.

It all happened so quickly that Chay didn't have time to blink or even exhale. One moment his darling Kim was standing before the gathered witnesses, finally victorious, and the next he was collapsing to the ground. 

The horrified prince opened his mouth and screamed.

Chay’s fingers tangled forcefully into the material of Kim’s shirt as if they might wring a cure from its ruined fibers. He could feel the raw patch in his throat growing as he repeatedly called Kim’s name with more conviction than a mantra, begging his future husband to wake up. He vaguely registered the sound of other voices around him shouting and pleading in turns, but he couldn’t understand a single bit of their cacophony. His pulse raced too loudly for him to make out individual words.

All Chay could see was the pale, sweat-damp face of his beloved Sir Raven, unmoving except for an occasional twinge of pain. 

The incoherent prince shrieked wildly when two sets of strong hands closed around his biceps and hauled him away from the wounded Faerie. He glanced over one shoulder with the full intention of clawing at this new opponent and returning to Kim’s side, only pausing when he locked eyes with Prince Payu. Over his other shoulder, Prince Prapai smiled back cheerfully. 

“Our apologies, Your Highness, but you were getting in the way of Crown Prince Kinn.”

“What? Prince Kinn is here?” Chay ceased struggling and looked around. The entire royal court was in chaos. 

Porsche’s most loyal guards were organizing a search for the escaped Prince Winter while others sorted through the terrified guests for nearby witnesses. Both rapiers were being examined by Sir Chan and Sir Big, whose frowns and scrunched eyebrows didn’t bode well. To Chay’s great relief, however, the main focus of those present was tending Kim’s injury. 

A somewhat familiar man crouched over his betrothed, both palms glowing a pale blue-white.

The prince wet his lips and took a deep breath before asking, “When did his brother arrive at the palace?”

“How did you kn– Oh, right. Your little garden liaisons,” Prapai teased. Payu elbowed him and muttered a warning to knock it off, but Chay felt grateful for the moment of levity. He’d need it to survive whatever happened next. 

“Will he live?”

The two older princes exchanged a long and meaningful glance but kept their mouths shut. Chay’s lips pressed into a thin, pale line. His hands shook. The world spun and tilted around him like he’d mounted a bucking horse.

“I asked you a question, Your Royal Highnesses, and I expect an answer. Will my betrothed, my Champion, the winner of my Name Day Tournament and my dearest beloved, live to see the dawn?”

Payu cleared his throat and waved Prapai away. With careful steps and gentle hands, he maneuvered Chay further from the storm of activity surrounding Kim. They exited into a dimly lit corridor and eventually found seats on a quiet alcove bench. The Northern Prince slowly exhaled. 

“Crown Prince Kinn believes he can save Prince Kimhan’s life. He arrived within the necessary time frame and administered an antidote straightaway, so the danger has already somewhat abated. That being said, Winter used an incredibly powerful poison to coat his blade… And he administered enough to kill two fully grown human men.”

The world shattered around Chay at the concept of a life without Kim at his side. Some of the pieces burned to ash and floated around his head, choking the air from his lungs. “Oh.”

“But those are mortal men.” Payu tilted his head, “And your handsome stranger isn’t merely human, is he?”

“No. No, he’s far more.”

“Gross,” Sky interrupted, taking a seat on Chay’s other side. He shooed Payu away with a quick word of thanks and handed Chay a mug of warm tea. “Drink up, buttercup. Prince Kim will be pissed if he wakes up and discovers you unconscious in a different room of the apothecary’s wing.”

“Right,” Chay nodded. Each movement came across jerky and stiff. He played the role of automaton well, choking back most of the tea before abandoning the effort altogether and setting his mug aside. He cleared his throat. “Any news?”

“They’ve taken your fiancé to the infirmary, where they can tend to the injury in a clean, quiet environment. Prince Kinn swore on Kim’s honor that he’d send for you the moment his brother is stable enough. I promise.”

“He’s not allowed to die,” Chay insisted, clinging to Sky’s hand with both of his. He worried that if Sky let go, he would simply float away into space and never return. He wished the little voice in his head would appear and offer some kind of reassurance or clue like before, but it remained frustratingly mute while the minutes crawled by. “He cannot die.”

“That smug bastard just won your hand in marriage after winning your heart through weeks of valiant effort,” Sky snorted. His usual loose-limbed sass worked perfectly to ease Chay’s frazzled nerves by a fraction. “There’s not a chance in all the stars Prince Kim will let himself do something so stupid as dying now that he’s free to claim his groom.”

Chay gave a watery giggle and leaned his head against Sky’s shoulder before both young men fell silent. They stayed that way until the setting sun tinted every window along the eastern wall a pale orange, waiting for good news to arrive.

Kinn folded one last strip of clean bandaging around Kim’s chest and tied it off with a heavy sigh of relief. “You silly boy. Why are you constantly running off and getting into trouble?”

“I’m grateful every day that Prince Porchay grew up relatively well-behaved.” The Unseelie Fae straightened and turned to face the door. King Porsche filled its frame, looking at Kinn with a curious tilt to his head. “And I do mean relatively. How is His Highness faring?”

“Thankfully Prince Kimhan has always been an incredibly stubborn child. He’ll survive this injury with plenty of rest and proper care.” Kinn bowed, “Thank you for asking after him, Your Majesty.”

“Of course, Prince Kinn. He’s family, now.” 

Kinn bit his lip; he’d never been this disoriented before. Where had all his princely attitude gone? Where was his confident swagger? His charm!?

“So you’re the Crown Prince of Esvarrin?” King Porsche inquired. He didn’t come any closer but he also didn’t leave the doorway or offer Kinn an exit. It ruffled Kinn’s feathers even more. 

“Yes; my eldest brother is the King.”

“I don’t mean to sound rude, but have your parents passed away or simply retired?”

“They died long ago, I’m afraid. Tankhun has held the throne for… several years, now.”

King Porsche nodded along in understanding. “My parents are also gone, but I’ve barely carried the title for two years. Years that have dragged along like endless eons, it feels.”

Kinn heard himself asking the question before it could be stopped: “Why is that, Your Majesty?”

“I’m not sure,” Porsche chuckled. The genuine amusement in the sound poured over Kinn and relaxed him down to the marrow of his bones. Each deep hum dunked him beneath the surface of a calm hot spring. “But if it weren’t for Porchay, I’m not sure how well I’d have been able to function during the worst parts. His way with people is astounding.”

“I’m glad you could support each other. Mourning is complicated. Mourning and ruling can prove doubly so. Doing either all alone? No, thank you.”

Why the fuck did Kinn want to comfort this strange human so badly? What compelled him to stay and continue speaking? Was he under some sort of curse or enchantment? No… That was impossible. He would’ve felt the magic clinging to his skin with the same sticky residue as a melted sweet. 

“Hmm,” Porsche assented. But before their conversation could move forward, Prince Porchay flew into the apothecary’s wing with the force of a small monsoon. 

“Where is he?! Where is my darling Kim?!”

Kinn perked up. 

He’d never seen his brother’s human Consort up close before (at least not in the waking world), nor did he think he’d be given the opportunity to meet Prince Porchay without Kimhan’s interference. He lifted an arm and waved. “Over here, Your Highness!”

A young man appeared before them as if summoned by Kinn’s own magic, panicked eyes wide and red-rimmed. He paused long enough to offer Kinn and King Porsche a polite bow before rushing further into the room. He dropped onto the stool waiting at Kim’s bedside and laid a shaky hand over the sleeping Fae's clammy forearm.

“Oh my handsome thing,” the human whispered reverently. His voice held a note of devotion so pure and sweet that Kinn felt bad for overhearing. “You’re not allowed to leave me yet. Not ever, actually.”

“Will you agree to be married when he’s finished healing?” Kinn asked. Prince Porchay whipped around to face him, mouth forming a shocked ‘o’ that immediately gave Kinn half an answer. 

“We swore to love and protect each other always. I will never leave his side so long as we both draw breath.”

Kinn blinked. Magic tickled at the very tips of his fingers, eager to give his brother’s perfect match some kind of boon. A reward for his honesty and loyalty. “It’s a great relief for me to know that someone has Kimhan’s back. He can be a prickly little thing. Always determined to handle every conflict by himself.”

Porchay’s expression relaxed and a smile brighter than Seelie sunshine split his face. An aura of comforting joy spread through the room like wildfire and Kinn instantly knew why Kim refused to let this human go. He was simply too adorable. 

“Prince Kim is the most incorrigible man I’ve ever had the pleasure to meet,” Prince Porchay informed Kinn. “And I know exactly how lucky I am to have gotten the chance.”

“You two are going to be unstoppable,” Kinn chuckled. “A true force of nature.”

“I’m not sure I like the sound of that,” King Porsche stepped inside fully. Kinn jutted his chin in Prince Porchay’s direction. 

“Is yours a troublemaker as well?”

“He can be a handful sometimes, yes.”

“Hia!”

“Don’t Hia me,” Porsche scoffed. If it weren’t for his playful tone and body language, Kinn might’ve worried for their kingdom’s lasting peace. But something beneath the King’s pleasant demeanor had the Fae’s heightened senses going wild. He’d never experienced this kind of aching desire before; the desire to both protect and be protected by another person. To hold them close when the time must come to part ways.

“Do you have any herb gardens I might be able to gather more supplies from? I’d like to reduce his fever a bit more, if possible.”

“Of course!” Porchay piped. Without looking away from Kim’s face he added, “Hia, why don’t you show him around? I can look after my fiancé for a while.”

“I–” King Porsche stuttered and his handsome face flushed. “I suppose. Your Highness?”

The King’s gaze went soft and he extended an arm in Kinn’s direction. The Fae settled one hand politely around the crook of his elbow. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

“Porchay,” Kim panted. His fingers wound more tightly into the fabric of his sweat-damp bed sheets. “Porchay, no!”

“I’m right here,” Chay ran the damp cloth over Kim’s forehead, face, and the tops of his shoulders. He replaced the chilled strips of toweling tied around Kim’s wrists and wiped every bit of sweat away as it tried to gather in the divots of his neck and collarbones. “It’s alright, I promise. I’m safe and so are you.”

Kinn had lowered Kim’s fever by another few degrees, but not even his cleverest magic had been able to fully stop Kim’s nightmares. Chay had barely slept as a result, refusing to leave his beloved’s side until Kim's suffering ended. By the third morning it seemed as if every passing minute started taking a larger toll on his body. 

Then, miraculously and with much rejoicing from the gathered family, Kim woke up after three days of healing hibernation. 

It was decided that Crown Prince Kinn would stay at the palace for another few days to help facilitate his brother’s final phase of healing and then all would be well. Kim, barely conscious but able to speak, demanded that his “poor, sweet nurse” finally get some much needed sleep, and for once Chay didn’t bother arguing. He was dead on his feet.

With a quick peck to Kim’s forehead and a polite bow to everyone else in the room, the prince excused himself. The soft blankets and pillows awaiting him in the privacy of his chambers had Chay practically floating on tip-toe down the hallway. He’d never regret taking the time to care for Kim during his convalescence, but the workload of tending to Fae needs left him utterly drained. 

He would later point to this exhaustion as the reason he didn’t hear two sets of heavy footsteps coming up behind him in the palace hall. 

He’d actually win an important argument with a dignitary in the future by saying: “How about you try saving the life of a powerful magic wielder right after hosting a month-long celebration and competition for your hand in political marriage, then see how lively you feel?”

At the time of the incident, however, Chay had less than a split-second to panic. He was grabbed around the shoulders while a damp cloth forced its way over his mouth and nose. He barely got the chance to struggle before the potion served its dark purpose and sent him hurtling straight into the icy arms of darkness. 

[Letter reading:

Kimhan,

I would gloat, but I'm afraid such childish behavior would upset my soon-to-be husband. Fare thee well, and goodbye forever from myself and my darling Prince Porchay.

-Prince Winter of Prekkimor]

Chapter Text

“So.” Chay scraped a handful of carefully measured herbs against the inside of his mortar bowl with unnecessary force. He watched Sir Rain jerk at the sudden noise of stone-on-stone before pulling every trick in his extensive book to avoid meeting Chay’s eyes. The prince gave him no wiggle room. “How long have you and the others known my betrothed is a Fae?” 

“A-ow!” Rain jerked more forcefully, enough that he bounced off the overstuffed seat cushion. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Your Highness.”

“Payu is human. Prapai is human. You and Sky are human, too, correct?” 

The tip of Rain’s nose and both neat eyebrows scrunched up in the most obvious display of guilt Chay had ever seen – only Rain himself still wondered why Prince Payu had no trouble calling him out for mischief. His answer wavered with the same high, unsteady pitch as a poorly tuned flute: 

“Uhm, yeah. Mostly.” 

“Mostly?” Chay frowned. He tipped the mortar sideways and very gently shook its contents closer to the curving marble lip. A single practiced hand made one final adjustment to the tiny medical scale. Rain shifted uncomfortably. 

“You see, uhm. Well, Sir Sky might technically be a fourth or fifth generation Seelie? We think? He’s more human than anything and has no inherent magical powers or we would have told you much sooner! I swear! I mean, the most he can do is navigate his way through nature scarily well and add a bit more oomph than normal to Prince Prapai’s favorite gardens.”

Chay’s mouth twitched, unsure whether to smile or frown at this new information. Rain saw the movement and immediately sprinted headlong into full-on panic. 

“I’m so sorry, Prince Chay! We didn’t mean to lie or keep secrets but it didn’t seem very important in the long run! He can’t do anything dangerous, you know?!”

To Rain’s obvious and complete surprise, Chay doubled over laughing. Lavender-tipped fingers clenched tightly over his kneecaps to steady his shaking torso and mirthful tears filled his eyes. Between desperate gasps for air he managed to explain: “I’m not mad at you, Rain. It’s just funny that your first thought was my potential anger over you hiding Sky’s tactical capabilities.”

“Huh?”

Chay set the supplies for Kim’s medicinal tea aside and let one hand drop heavily over the curve of Rain’s shoulder. “I’m terrified of ever meeting Sky in battle or at a chessboard. However it has nothing to do with his Faerie blood; which, all things considered, answers more questions than it creates. No, Rain. I’m terrified because he’s smarter than me and would absolutely kick my ass.”

Rain smiled wanly, nodding along. “Right, yeah. Of course.”

Reassured that his best friend wouldn’t start crying in the next twenty seconds, Porchay turned back to his table of supplies. He measured out a dram of sparkling water from Kim’s Unseelie realm (provided by Prince Kinn) and added it to the water already waiting in his kettle. He triple-checked the amount before smoothly swinging its round brass body over the fire. 

Gentle humming filled the mildly awkward silence left by Rain’s admission as Chay packed away his herbs, wiped the mortar clean, and waited for the tell-tale sound of bubbling. After another infinite stretch of seconds, Rain cleared his throat. “Are you seriously not mad, Prince Chay?”

“Not in the slightest, I’m afraid.” Chay shrugged. “What do you expect me to feel mad about, anyhow? It’s not like that topic of conversation popped up frequently during our friendship.”

“That’s true and, uhm… good.” Rain paused, chewed thoughtfully at his bottom lip, and then blurted: “Do you want to be alone with Prince Kimhan for a little while? I can distract the other boys for you until dinner, at least!”

“That would be lovely if you don’t mind. Otherwise you’re welcome to stay here and listen to me talk at him for the next several hours.”

“No offense, but I’d prefer to help Sky and King Porsche make some of the less detail-oriented wedding decisions.” Rain stuck out his tongue. “Tell him we all miss his dry sense of humor very much, alright? Tootles, darling!”

“I will, I promise. Good afternoon, Rain,” Chay waved. “Have fun with flowers and ribbons and my Hia.”

“I will. Trust me!” The willowy young noble sprung from his chair and disappeared down the hallway toward the King’s study. “I hope you like pink!”

Porchay giggled and shook his head; he was incredibly lucky to have friends who knew just how to brighten his mood.

Whatever poison Prince Winter had chosen left Kim unable to move a solitary muscle or open his eyes. His understanding of time and level of awareness ebbed and flowed at random. Even the advantage provided by his sharpened Fae senses meant nothing in the wake of such grievous injuries. 

During the rare moments his mind cleared enough to form rambling strings of thought, Kim found them twining around one topic alone: How long had he forced Chay to watch him sweat atop the thin infirmary mattress? How many sunrises and sunsets had his Consort seen without him? When would he be allowed to hold his precious sunshine in his arms again? Be able to reassure Chay that everything was alright – he was alright?

The fragile lucidity never lasted long; a high fever turned Kim’s mind against itself, plaguing his fitful sleep with dark visions.

Kim heard the sound of his precious sunflower crying brokenly but didn’t see him. The ground was rough. Mist hung dark and heavy in the air, obscuring his immediate surroundings.

“Chay! Sunshine!” Kim tried reaching out to comfort his beloved but found both arms tied steadfastly behind his back. Frustrated, the Faerie glared over his shoulder. Instead of rope or manacles, he was horrified to discover innumerable stone hands jutting from the ground and locking him in place. He tried summoning his magic to destroy them but couldn’t find it. Couldn’t reach it. 

Desperate and angry, Kim snarled in outright frustration. 

“Fuck!”

Porchay’s heartbroken sobbing grew louder, more intense, and Kim fought to dislodge his arms from the grasping statuary with every ounce of strength available. He wriggled and jerked his limbs with more desperation than a worm avoiding the hook, ignoring the patchy bruises and fine, shallow cuts his prison left behind. 

He needed to get free. He needed to save–

“Porchay!”

Kim’s lungs burned. Every breath ached as it filtered over the skin of his throat, raw from endlessly screaming his beloved's name. Sweat trickled down his forehead and into both eyes, hot and stinging enough to blind. The love of his life was so close to being in his arms again, but those damned hands kept him from reaching out. 

“Porchay, no!”

The scene shifted.

It remained too dark for Kim to identify his surroundings, and it made him tense further. A man’s low, steady baritone was speaking in a loping cadence from everywhere and nowhere. Kim didn’t pay much attention to the words at first, too focused on determining his location, until he registered the familiar initiation of a wedding vow: 

“Do you, Prince Winter of Prekkimor, take Prince Porchay Kittisawat as your own beloved husband, to love and cherish unto death?”

Kim opened his mouth to object – this was obviously some kind of horrible misunderstanding – when another voice spoke first. Prekkimor's answer came out smug and slightly nasal, “I do.”

Kim tried interrupting the ceremony but his lungs were frozen. He couldn’t breathe, much less yell for his Consort’s attention. He NEEDED to stop this from going any further – What was happening? Why couldn’t he see anything? Why couldn’t he speak?!

The priest continued, “Wonderful. And do you, Prince Porchay Kittisawat, take Prince Winter of Prekkimor as your own beloved husband, to love and cherish unto death?”

A sudden burst of light revealed Porchay.

His radiance muted the sun where he stood in all his wedding finery – a white doublet covered in pearl beads and hemmed with lace. Beautiful, ethereal, and promising his love to their mutual foe. 

Each word rang like the chime of a crystal bell in Kim’s ears, unmistakably awful in its perfect clarity. The captive prince shook his head ‘no’, sobbing silently but hard enough to strain his creaking ribs. 

Please, no. Don’t say it. Don’t say–

“I do.”

Whatever mysterious force had silenced Kim throughout the hellish exchange of vows disappeared like smoke in a breeze. Furious and heartbroken by the loss of his love, Kim bowed back, tossed his hair from his eyes, and screamed. He wailed and thrashed, swearing vengeance on his captors and their kingdoms. The distraught Faerie threatened death to all who’d ever touched his darling Chay. 

And through it all, the unbreakable menagerie of stone hands refused to let him go. 

“I hereby bind your names together in the Light. May this blessed kiss mark the beginning of your journey as one soul, and may the growth of love between you see no end.”

A primal rage tore through Kim’s body when the priest officially announced Chay’s marriage to someone else. Wrath burned fiery and white-hot in his core, melting the Unseelie’s soul, scorching him to ash. Kim didn’t stop screaming until his lungs ceased cooperating and soft, quiet darkness deadened the awful sound of his sunshine being kissed.

An unknowable number of hours later, after he finally stabilized and was freed from the realm of nightmares, Kim’s magic dutifully latched onto Chay’s presence in his room. It tracked his human across the small space, luxuriating in his warm golden aura as he fluttered from one table to the next. Chay’s physical proximity acted as a balm whenever the human drew close to the side of his cot. It was glorious.

During his slow journey toward wakefulness, Kim concluded that his prolonged exposure to Chay’s positive energy and soft lullabies, honey-dripped straight into his ears, were directly responsible for his recovery. His dear human husband deserved full credit for Kim’s fever stabilizing (Chay’s regular administration of Kinn’s Fae antidote aside). 

With his own personal ray of light warming him from head to toe, Kim’s heartbeat and breathing steadied back to normal. His muscles relaxed. Chay is here and he’s safe. He’s here. He’s safe. He’s mine. He’s here. He’s safe. He’s–

Late on Kim’s second day in half-conscious purgatory, another presence arrived in the doorway of his small sickroom. Chay spoke without standing, greeting, or even turning to face the newcomer. His eyes never left Kim’s face. “How much longer do you think he’ll stay like this, Your Highness?”

“Perhaps a day or so,” Kinn’s voice replied. 

When had Kinn arrived? 

“Hm. That’s good.” Chay released a jaw-cracking yawn, but regret and frustration were absent from his tone. When Kim reached out with a small wisp of his magic he felt only fondness, love, and concern; his chest ached with the need to hold Porchay. “I miss him dearly.”

“Then I’m sure you’ll be happy to hear that he’s thinking of you, too.”

Of course I’m thinking of him. He’s everything, and it’s going to be wonderful now that we can finally have each other. 

“Don’t poke around in there while he’s sleeping! That’s nothing but rude, P’Kinn!” 

“My sincerest apologies, little brother, but he’s daydreaming rather loudly. It’s hard to avoid catching snippets here and there.”

“L-Little brother?!” Chay sputtered, ignoring the rest of Kinn’s statement entirely. “Are you talking to me or Kim!?”

“To you, obviously.” Kinn’s tone lilted, playful, and Kim’s mouth tried valiantly to form a fond smile this time (failing once again). “In less than a month you’ll be my brother-in-law!”

“What do you mean less than a month? That’s not nearly enough time to plan a–”

Okay, I’m not ready to overhear this conversation yet. Kim allowed sleep to drag him beneath its inky surface long before his Consort reached the end of his brief rant.

Porchay’s exhaustion grew increasingly evident as his third day being Kim’s primary caretaker wore on. Unlike Kinn or Kim, Chay was a human, and humans weren’t built for such long spans of detail-oriented work. His husband needed a full night of sleep, a bath, and a solid meal. Which meant one thing in particular must happen: Kim needed to wake up.

Summoning all the power and strength provided by his royal Unseelie bloodline, Kim levered himself up in bed. A pained gasp rattled its way from his lungs; Chay’s resulting exclamations of joyful confusion slammed into Kim's chest like captured fireworks, sparking along his nervous system to kickstart his heartbeat: 

“Kim, you’re awake! Praise the stars, you’re alive!”

A warm hand closed around one of his, clinging for dear life. Kim held on with equal desperation.

“I certainly wasn’t going to die right after winning your hand at last,” Kim laughed. His ribs pinged after each sharp puff of air he exhaled. He shuddered, lancing pain forcing his spine into a slight arch. 

“Kim!”

The Fae sank gratefully into Chay’s waiting arms, who laid him flat on the mattress as gently as if he were handling a chalice made from freshly spun glass. Kim drew the knuckles of Chay’s hand to his lips and dragged a kiss along their length. “I love you too much to let you go now. You’re stuck with me, I’m afraid, Prince Porchay.”

“Hush,” Chay ordered. His precious sunflower's flaming cheeks and pink-tipped ears told Kim enough to relent for now. “You should be resting.”

“As should you, my love.”

“I can’t, you–”

“You must,” Kim put on his best Official Unseelie Glare. It did very little in corralling Chay, who merely raised a single eyebrow in reply. Playing dirty, Kim pushed his bottom lip out and batted his eyelashes. “For my sake, please?”

“But–”

“No arguments, darling. I won’t be able to rest properly knowing you’re barely able to stay on your feet.”

“Fine.” Chay sighed. He placed a warm, slightly chapped kiss on Kim’s forehead and the Faerie’s sluggish magic hummed contentedly. “I suppose a few hours’ rest wouldn’t be too awful, if you’re sure.”

“I am.”

“Alright, alright.” Chay sighed again, both shoulders rolling back as if the weight of the world recently disappeared. “Goodnight, my handsome thing.”

“Goodnight, my sweet sunshine.”

A violent pounding crashed against the inside of Chay’s ears for a long handful of seconds, until whatever drug they’d used to subdue him faded away. He blinked his eyes back into focus with deliberately slow movements; rash actions in this circumstance wouldn’t do him any good. Especially since Prince Winter had his jaw firmly pinched in one hand and was currently tilting his face back and forth. 

“He might not be the most accommodating husband at first, but at least he’s pretty enough to look at.”

“Could be much worse,” Lord Phawin agreed. “But he’s not really my type, either.”

Chay rolled his eyes and huffed. Good to know.

They’d chosen to wrap a thick cloth gag around the bottom half of his face rather than tugging it between his teeth, which was preferable, but it still prevented him from properly insulting his captors the way he wished. His foolish fucking captors. It didn’t prevent him from trying, however: “Fmph hmm!”

Winter’s fingers squeezed once in warning and his voice lowered into something like a rough, threatening purr: “What was that, my sweet? Did you have something you’d like to add?”

Porsche’s voice entered his head in a flash, words of advice from many years ago after some delegation meeting: “The wisest thing a ruler can do is play to their strengths. Even if those strengths can look like weaknesses at first.”

Thankfully Porchay’s strengths centered around de-escalation and coordinating other people in hectic situations. 

Porsche asked for his advice in matters of diplomacy at least twice a week on average, for fuck’s sake. His solid reputation amongst some snootier members of other royal families rested heavily on his skills of patience, compassion, and reasoning. There was no way for him to overpower Prince Winter physically or fight his way free… But he could play along for a few days and facilitate an easy rescue.

“Darling?” Winter tried again. “Do you have anything to add?”

Chay lowered his eyes, batted his lashes, and jerked his chin ‘no’ within the cupped palm of his kidnapper’s hand. 

The next time Kim was roused from the depths of dreamless sleep, it would be to a series of shouts from the guards. 

Shouts of “He’s gone!” and “He’s been taken!” and “Have you seen the prince?”

Which prince?! Who’s been taken? And who took him?!

Questions whipped around Kim’s head at blizzard force, but understanding slowly trickled through the background of every other thought – he imagined determined beams of light filtering through layers of leafy canopy to speckle the ground at his feet. Because Kim already knew the answers. Every single one of them. 

He knew that Chay was gone. That Winter had stolen him. 

And come hell or high water, Kim was going to bring him back. 

Chapter Text

Based on the behavior they’d exhibited throughout his Name Day Tournament, Chay had expected the group of kidnappers to be more lackadaisical in their approach to actually kidnapping him. He’d also assumed that Winter would need more time to plan their sham wedding between his abduction and their vows.

He was terribly mistaken.

A swarm of attendants rushed to unload their caravan the moment Winter arrived at Prekkimor Castle. Servants and soldiers alike took their commands from a stone-faced butler before scurrying off to comply. Six armed guardsmen surrounded Prince Winter, Prince Phawin, Lord Force, and Porchay while another, younger member of household staff approached. “How may I be of service, Your Highness?”

“Take Lord Force and Prince Phawin to their guest chambers until supper and tell Father to meet me in his study right away.”

“As you command, Your Highness.”

Phawin, Force, the butler, and two of the six guards peeled away from the group as Chay’s clouded head continued spinning. Their exit relieved a bit of tension at first, but ultimately served the cruel purpose of granting Prince Winter more time to spend tormenting his captive. 

He made sure to hook Chay’s arm through the crook of his elbow like any true gentleman before teasing, “It would be an utter tragedy if you were to feel lonely or uncomfortable in your new home, my dear.”

“How considerate of you.” Chay batted his eyelashes coyly even as  his stomach pitched and rolled with the intensity of a ship trapped by a whirlpool. Shit.

“I’ve also insisted that at least four guards remain with you at all times and protect the entrance of your chambers tonight. The safety of Prekkimor Kingdom’s future queen and my husband-to-be is of the utmost importance, after all.”

“Of course. It’s very kind of you to personally attend to my safety, Your Highness.” Chay inclined his head to hide his grimace. “I am indeed grateful.”

“Soon we’ll be able to drop these formal titles for something more intimate. Won’t that be a lovely change, my dear? You shall have the honor of calling me ‘husband’ and we shall retire to the same room after supper each night.”

“How soon do you mean?” Chay bit his lip. The gesture’s purpose was to disarm Winter, but despite all his strength Chay knew it might wobble without safeguarding. “Days? Weeks? A month?”

“And waste precious time?” Prince Winter’s bark of laughter conspicuously resembled a dismissive scoff. “This is a wise and prosperous match, Prince Porchay. After I get you settled in I’m going to speak with my father about marrying us right away. Ideally you will become Prince-Consort Porchay of Prekkimor before dawn tomorrow. The ceremony takes place on our palace balcony, overlooking the court and our people as is our tradition.”

“Wh-What? I– But you can’t–” Panic hit Chay in full force. The sweetly obedient persona he’d donned came crashing to the ground; there simply wasn’t enough time for playacting his way out of here. 

They arrived in front of a heavy wooden door, where Winter turned smoothly on his boot heel to face Porchay. “After our vows have been recognized by the King and recorded into our history books, there’s no way in the nine realms – short of magic or divine intervention – that you’ll be allowed to leave my side again. Not even if King Porsche demands you return.” 

Chay’s bashful smile sharpened, growing teeth and claws. Fury leaked into the honey-brown of his irises, staining them dark. “These foolish daydreams of yours won’t ever come to pass, Your Highn-ass. My true love will come for me, and when he does no vows, history books, or armies will be able to stop him.”

“I’m sure,” Winter smirked. “But he still wasn’t on his feet by the time we absconded with you, so how quickly do you think they’ll be able to heal him once you’re gone?”

Exhausted as he was after caring for Kim, being drugged, and being kidnapped, Chay wanted nothing more than the chance to punch something or burst into tears. He wasn’t picky. Nor could he finish this conversation on two feet after two months of constant motion; it felt as though a pair of cosmic scissors had reached down and cut his strings. 

Married by dawn? Even bolstered by his Faerie strength and Kinn’s spellwork, would Kim be able to make it in time?

“He’s far stronger than you think.”

“Don’t play dumb with me, Kittisawat,” Winter sneered, pressing into Chay’s personal space. The prince inhaled sharply but had no room for escape. “I know you think that pretty fool is going to burst through the door just in time, but don’t hold your breath, my dear. If that poison didn’t kill him, I’ve got plenty of other tricks up my sleeve.”

“Fuck you.”

“On the honeymoon, perhaps.” Winter snorted at Chay’s affronted squeak in response. “My entire castle guard is on the defense, ready and willing to protect our wedding day from interlopers with their very lives. With that in mind, I think you’d best spend the remainder of this evening coming to terms with our future as husbands, Crown Prince Porchay. Because we’re going to have a very long and prosperous reign together whether you like it or not.” 

Chay squared his shoulders but stayed silent, trembling with a dizzying combination of fear and hatred. Winter raised Chay’s right hand to his lips and pressed a mocking kiss to the backs of his knuckles. Chay shuddered involuntarily at the sensation of unfamiliar lips against his skin. Not Kim. Not Kim. Not Kim, his body and mind screamed in unison.

Sensing his discomfort, Winter did it again, chuckling under his breath to really grind the mocking tone in. “Goodnight, my dearest betrothed.”

There wasn’t air left in Chay’s sand-dry throat to make a rebuttal. He stepped wordlessly away and slipped inside Prince Winter’s guest-chamber-turned-cell. He slammed the heavy wooden door closed, swaying on his feet. If Kim didn’t make it in time to steal him back, Chay would be married before lunch tomorrow. Not to his beloved but to a greedy, selfish, childish asshole who can’t accept a graceful loss.

“This can’t be happening.”

His gaze slowly swept across the room, searching for weak points or hiding spots. A sinking feeling struck hard and true when he realized the only exits were the well-guarded door at his back and a small glass-paned window covered by interlaced bars of iron. 

Chay’s earlier plans for escape went up in smoke. His knees buckled, sending his torso sideways onto the mattress – which, in his current state, might as well have been carved from stone. His head bounced hard off the duvet but its impact never registered. Above him, the dark ceiling blurred into a dreary rainbow of greys. Appropriate decor for the eve of a wedding at sword-point.

The prince sniffled and took a deep, calming breath. 

He needed to stay strong for Kim. He had to stay strong. They were soulmates, after all, and belonged together. That night, when he’d found a suspicious bundle of feathers in the garden and held Sir Raven in his arms for the first time, only cemented its rightness. Chay knew that throughout the nine realms (and wider universe) that this singular fact rang inarguably true. 

Kim had fallen through the Veil and into his arms – and there he’d stayed. Chay, although initially by accident, was responsible for initiating the Faerie courting ritual and securing Kim’s place at his side, and his beside Kim. Their agreement was already struck, and the laws of Faerieland were strict in regards when it came to the completion of Deals and Promises. Words carried power, and interrupting the flow of said power resulted in disastrous consequences. Hopefully those consequences included getting Chay the hell out of here, in this case. 

The center of his chest ached. Deep and throbbing, it reminded him of a bruised bone. Perhaps the very matter of his soul sensed the loss of Kim. Felt and reviled the distance between them.

“We were so close,” Chay whispered to the small window. He rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling with his eyes open – unblinking, and unseeing. “We were so close.”

A violent sob of despair wrenched its way from his chest at last. The ache transformed into a sharp pain that spiderwebbed across his ribs. They cracked and popped from the force of his anguish, threatening to burst him at the seams. It reminded Chay how disjointed things had become. He wailed between cramping inhales, their intensity scraping at the lining of his raw, dry throat. The distraught human prince could’ve easily been mistaken for a wounded animal in the last painful throes of death. 

Please, my handsome thing… Hurry.

Chay missed the scent of dust that naturally surrounded Kim’s raven form and penetrated the fibers of his clothes. He yearned for the comfort and safety of their nest. For the sensation of Kim’s warm back pressed against his chest, tacky with sweat as they slept curled around each other. For the bright joy in Kim’s eyes whenever they pulled away from a stolen kiss. Or the formless, sleepy sounds Kim made when he first opened his eyes, seconds before a yawn.

“We were so close, and our love was fairly won.” Chay gasped, desperate to get the words out. Desperate to have someone, anyone – anything – hear his prayer. “Please don’t let it end this way.”

“Chay needs me; I must find him!” Kim struggled against Kinn and Khun’s steely grip on either of his shoulders. His red-rimmed eyes blazed with fear and fury in equal measure, the bright flames dancing behind their irises turning on his uncooperative brothers, “Release me at once!”

Kinn shook his head, “Not until you calm down enough for us to create a legitimate plan. It won’t take long, but we can’t just go charging–”

“Hunting down those vile thieves and killing the bastards where they stand is my plan,” Kim interrupted. “They kidnapped the Crown Prince, what more justification do we need for knocking down their front gate and demanding his return?”

“You can’t slaughter an entire ruling family on sight, Kimhan, it simply isn’t done. Not to mention how absolutely heartbroken your poor Consort would be if he saw you acting so rashly. Which he would likely do, because his presence is probably mandatory at his own wedding.” 

Kim stopped moving in an instant, dropping limply into Kinn’s waiting arms. Tankhun was right. Chay would be heartbroken if Kim or any of his rescue party wounded Prekkimor’s innocent subjects due to sloppy, rushed planning. Only this once would he choose not to follow his penchant for rushing to action; but in the same breath, who’d blame him for thinking about it? 

Kim let his forehead tip forward against Kinn’s chest with a quiet thud. Khun’s arms closed around both his younger brothers, forcing them into a hug; Kim closed his eyes, basking in the shelter of his brothers’ embrace. 

“I have never felt so weak as I do without him near, Milords. It is unusual for me to desire close companionship, but now that I’ve met Prince Chay, I–” he squeezed his eyes closed tighter. “Please, Prince Kinn and King Tankhun, help me recover my future husband.”

“Finally a hint of intelligence shines through,” Khun teased softly. The words held no bite, loosening something hot and tense deep in the caverns of Kim’s heart. His muscles relaxed marginally, and continued doing so when Khun ruffled his hair with a firm, “We’ll have him back before the moon sets. I promise.”

“Khun, we can’t–”

King Tankhun squared his shoulders to an imperious degree and shot Crown Prince Kinn a dangerously firm glare. “Before the moon sets, Prince Kinn. No arguments.”

“As you command, Your Majesty.”

“Well I just have, so,” Khun gestured vaguely in the direction of King Porsche’s private study. “Let’s get planning, gentlemen!”

Kim’s heart settled its rhythm back from the edge of delirium; if anybody could help him recover Chay from within the reinforced walls of Prekkimor Castle, it would be his family.

Khun led him through the library door, one arm flung over his shoulder for comfort. Kinn followed them and King Porsche brought up the rear of their strange procession. His beloved's wellbeing took up too much of Kim’s focus for him to see the way his middle brother’s hand brushed conspicuously (and repeatedly) against King Porsche’s or he would’ve rolled his eyes at the awkwardly attempted flirtation. 

“First things first.” The only human in the room flattened his hands across the top of his desk and tilted his head toward Khun. “What kind of magical firepower are we working with, here?”

“Crown Prince Kinn is the most talented spellcrafter in the realm,” Tankhun openly bragged. “I have no fear in that regard, Your Majesty.”

“I had none to start,” Porsche shrugged. Kim’s heart fluttered weakly at the show of trust, unable to fully appreciate its weight in his current turmoil. “I simply wish to know how easily we might execute a show of unprecedented force. Magic users are rare, at least in our realm. Intimidating and outsmarting them is easier than fighting them.”

“You’re smart, King Porsche. I like that,” Tankhun jerked a single approving nod. The Unseelie King turned toward Kim next, narrowing his gaze. “You spent several weeks in their presence during the Tourney, Kimhan. What can you tell us about your Consort’s kidnappers?”

“Prince Winter is highly overconfident regarding his talents on the battlefield, but sneaky and charismatic when dealing with opponents in conversation. He got into King Porsche’s armory and poisoned the blade of his sword before our final duel for Prince Porchay’s hand without detection,” Kim explained. “And we know he has the support of at least two allies; I believe that Prince Phawin and another Lord have been helping him since just before the joust. It’s my understanding that their families intend to leverage a political marriage with Chay for better trade rights.”

“But the kidnapping didn’t appear planned in the slightest,” King Porsche argued. “How could their families have joined the chaos so quickly?”

“I’m sure they expected Winter to win the Tournament and were already preparing for the happy couples’ arrival,” Kim ground out. “And then I appeared to throw those plans into disarray.”

“Human politics astound me,” King Tankhun sighed. Kinn and Porsche hummed their mutual agreement, shooting each other pleased looks beneath their lashes like nervous schoolchildren when they realized they’d done it simultaneously. 

“We’ll have to transform,” Kim said. “It’s the only way we can reach him before the ceremony begins.”

As the group started evaluating the pros and cons of this particular plan, Sir Arm stumbled into the room. The breathless knight fixed his spectacles atop the bridge of his nose, bowed to the gathered royals, and stated: “I’ve just returned from following the caravan East, Your Majesties. I’m afraid the time is short to rescue Crown Prince Porchay, as Prince Winter plans to wed Milord at sunrise.”

“Sunrise?! That’s barely any time!” Kim snarled. 

“As I promised you, little brother,” Tankhun’s tone remained chipper despite the awful news. “We only need until the moon sets.”

Chapter Text

Chay stared at himself in the full-length mirror, silent and unblinking. His exhausted body did its best imitation of a tailor’s mannequin despite the simmering fury in his gut. He stood listless and emotionless while two cheerful handmaids adjusted the fit of a starched white jacket across his shoulders. The rich material of its sleeves had been embroidered all over with small pearl beads in starry patterns, each burst of eye-catching light a carefully laid display of talent. Such masterful craftsmanship would’ve cost a fortune…

He hated every awful inch of it. 

Tears heated the space behind his eyes but Chay swallowed them back hard. He refused to let another drop fall at Prince Winter’s expense. He was the Crown Prince, for fuck’s sake! Chay finally allowed his rage to bubble over into brute determination. 

One of the maids spoke up after a long period of silence, startling him from his thoughts: “Are you feeling alright, Your Highness?”

Porchay pictured the anger in his veins freezing and slowing like ice floes in pictures from the Arctic. It cooled his hectic thoughts. Created the environment necessary for him to focus. 

He cleared his throat, batted his eyelashes, and shot her an innocent smile. Chay’s saccharine outrage grew increasingly acidic as his rant picked up speed: “I was kidnapped from the bedside of my true betrothed after your dishonorable Prince cheated the final duel for my hand! He attempted to murder the man I love with all my heart and is claiming me in marriage against my will! I’m a captive! The obvious answer is no , my dear, I’m not feeling alright! I’d rather be anywhere else in the nine gods-damned realms than here in this room, this castle, or this accursed kingdom!”

The handmaid’s tongue clicked dryly against the roof of her mouth. Her shock-widened eyes dropped down, where pale fingers twitched in her lap and revealed her increasing discomfort. His other unnamed attendant approached, awkwardly ordering him to, “Take a deep breath, Your Highness, so I can lace your stays.”

Chay inhaled deeply enough that his face flushed red and his nails bit sharply into his palms as both hands clenched roughly into fists. He wanted to scream and cry and rip off the awful wedding ensemble. It was suffocating him, making every inch of skin crawl where it was covered. Everything had gone so terribly wrong after Kim left their bed that final morning. How? How? How?  

The jacket tightened suddenly, narrowing the circumference of Chay’s ribs and forcing a soft gasp from between his lips. The first maid offered an apologetic hum that rose into one of open appreciation toward the end, obviously pleased by the stays’ result. Deep frown lines cut across Chay’s blank neutrality. Nothing about his appearance could possibly be pleasing under Winter’s direction. He felt certain of that. 

“Now for the last, most exciting touches!”

Chay remained motionless. There was no point stopping the two women from fluttering in circles around him and making their last tiny alterations. They chatted merrily as they dusted imaginary lint off his shoulders, tucked away his bootlaces, and fitted a decorative silver coronet over his glossy curls. When the maids had finished fussing they threw a handful of joyful exclamations at him about how “adorable” his wedding clothes looked.

The prince did not thank them.

Especially not when the taller maid ducked out of Chay’s borrowed bedchamber and her partner approached with a length of blue silk rope. At that point the prince could only raise a curious eyebrow and ask, “What’s that for?”

“Your wrists, please, Your Highness. Prince Winter demanded it and His Majesty agreed.”

Chay didn’t bother arguing. He merely rolled his eyes and thrust out his arms. “Crossed or uncrossed, hmm?”

The woman’s jaw worked for a moment while she processed the shocking compliance before she could manage, “Uncrossed is fine, Your Highness.”

“Alright.”

“I know you don’t care for our Prince just yet, but I’d still like to offer a warm welcome to the royal palace.” She looped and knotted the rope, gathered their materials into a basket, and curtsied on her way to the door. “I hope you somehow manage to find happiness here, Prince Porchay.”

Moments later, it seemed, Chay found himself glaring down a sea of unfamiliar faces. When had they left his room? When had he arrived at the altar? He thought back to his recent memories and found only dread, dark and empty. Footsteps echoed in his ears but his mind was blank. 

Beyond the balcony’s marble railing were hundreds, perhaps thousands of Winter’s citizens; nobles, merchants, and commoners who eagerly gathered before dawn to witness the vows between their fierce warrior prince and his hard-won fiance. Chay stood on the ceremonial dais bedecked in Winter’s prickly wedding finery and fixed his gaze over their heads. These people wanted a performative wedding full of beauty and emotion. They would be sorely disappointed to find emptiness instead. Chay was bound to an Unseelie Prince, after all – the cold belonged to Kim and Kim belonged with Chay. 

When Winter joined him beside the priest, an arrogant smirk fixed where it usually was, his expressionless mask never flinched. Not even when Winter asked, “Are you ready to become one soul, one heart, and one crown under the law of our shared lands?”

“I’d rather die.”

“Hm. Try that again after the honeymoon and we’ll see how generous I’m feeling,” Winter snarked under his breath, smarmy smile unwavering. Two could play at this game.

“Oh my dear Prince Winter,” Porchay deadpanned. “Are you really foolish enough to believe that you’ll live until sunset? Truly? After stealing me from the arms of my beloved Kim and putting us through this entire farce?”

“Ah, a good omen!” The priest interrupted. He poked a thin finger toward the railing where a lone kingfisher haughtily puffed up its chest. The old man aimed a wobbly smile at Chay, each papery wrinkle on his cheeks pulling taut with effort. “This bodes well for the future of your love.”

Everyone on and below the balcony, who had been gathered since pre-dawn to witness their Crown Prince’s royal marriage ceremony, gawked in shock or wonder as the kingfisher seamlessly morphed from bird to man. In a chillingly clear voice, the man replied: “That it does.”

Chay dropped his impassive act, grinning abruptly. “King Tankhun!”

“Hello, little brother! My sincerest apologies for arriving so far behind schedule and failing to interrupt sooner. We intended to be here before the moon set this morning but there were a few issues getting organized.”

A flock of mismatched, unseasonable birds flew forward from decorative trees placed around the balcony, led by a large black-shouldered kite, two sparrows, and an undersized hawk. To the surprise of all except Porchay, only a series of dashing men in otherworldly finery alighted on the marble floor, weapons present but sheathed for now. 

Six of the most imposing figures formed a half-circle in front of the altar while their remaining retinue fanned out along the balcony’s edge, effectively securing the guests. Now they would be forced to play his captive audience.

Chay bit back a smile after noting the familiar faces taking charge: Crown Prince Kinn, King Tankhun, Sir Arm, Sir Pol, and Sir Pete. Wait, where was–

“Unhand him this instant or lose that hand!” Kim’s irate voice rang across the short distance louder than pealing thunder. 

The Faerie Prince stalked down the aisle with all the bravado of a conquering hero (which, in this case, Chay supposed he was). His happiness knew no bounds. “Kim!”

He reached out for the embrace of his true love and both sleeves pulled taut, revealing the silk cord wrapped around his wrists. Kim’s already murderous glare turned somehow deadlier. The temperature of their immediate surroundings began to drop at an alarming rate. Chay would’ve shivered if the heat from Kim’s stare wasn’t so ember-hot over his skin. 

“How dare you restrict my Consort in this way. I’ve killed more powerful men than you for lesser offenses, Winter. Don’t test my waning patience any further.”

Frost gathered at the tips of Kim’s fingers and formed swirling patterns down their curled lengths. Their lacy shapes converged at the center of his palm, where a thin layer of silver ice spread quickly down his hands and wrists to disappear under his tunic sleeves. More of the delicate crystals formed at the corners of his narrowed eyes, sliding past his temples and curling beautifully along his jaw and neck. The pale glow they emitted cast Kim’s burning eyes in stark relief.

Those audience members who noticed gasped in shock and Chay felt his own jaw dropping to match. He’d never seen his future husband so wholeheartedly enraged before, nor so gorgeously in control – and he’d seen Kim win a Tournament mere days ago. 

Kim’s tone made Winter go rigid against Chay’s back, the Fae’s voice was cool and slick with threat: “I’m going to make you wish you’d never set foot in the Kittisawat Kingdom. In fact, I think your kingdom needs a solid reminder of what betrayal means. You’ll make a wonderful permanent ambassador for acts of cowardice, Winter. And after you’ve been handled I’m going home with my husband, where I can be properly claimed as his.”

“Oh, Kim–” Chay leaned forward automatically, safe in the knowledge that his beloved Sir Raven would be there to catch him. 

“Not so fast!” Prince Winter’s lack of intelligence sparked back to life at the worst moment. He snatched Chay out of the air mid-step and yanked him back against his chest. Steel cold enough to sting made contact with the side of Chay’s neck and he froze. It wasn’t hard for royalty to recognize the edge of a blade. 

He made pointed eye contact with Kim and tried desperately to convey what he couldn’t speak aloud: I love you. I trust you. We’ll make it out of this together, so do whatever you must.

 “Let. Prince Porchay. Go.” Kim’s voice scraped across the space between them like a big cat’s claws over stone and the air temperature dropped even closer to freezing. Winter’s wedding guests shivered in their light, springtime silks.

“Let him go? And what, allow you to wreak your bloody vengeance upon me? Ha! What kind of fool do you take me for?” Winter jostled his captive, who gasped at the sensation of thin skin tearing under sharp steel. “I don’t think so, Your Highness.”

“Come, now, Prince Winter. Don’t be an idiot,” King Tankhun sighed, shoulders sagging. “There’s still a chance for you to make it out of this whole ordeal relatively unscathed.”

“No, there isn’t.” Kim and Kinn argued simultaneously. Chay knew Porsche would have chorused along with them, were he present for this whole disaster.

Tankhun shrugged and sniffed, gesturing dismissively in Winter’s general direction. “Well, I tried my best. Good luck to you.”

Chay giggled at the King’s lighthearted joke despite their circumstances, mildly hysterical from the mixture of anger, anxiety, and joy twisting around in his gut. He ignored Winter’s grip on his arm to offer a soft encouragement, “I knew you’d come for me in time, my handsome thing.”

“Always, sunshine.”

Kim returned his attention to their shared opponent. He flung both arms forward and flexed his fingers, shouting wordlessly as if to hurry the wave of angry magic that burst from their tips. A trail of ice shot along the ground but paused at the very edge of the dais. Kim’s outstretched arms twitched. 

Chay could see how badly his beloved wanted to let his powers consume Winter whole. 

“Last chance, asshole,” Kim snarled. His tense shoulders squared beneath the weight of his channeling. “Let him go and you can live to see another day.”

“Fuck you! I stole him fairly and I’m not abou–” 

Kim’s furious cry hid whatever declaration Winter tried to make in his last moments alive. The Faerie’s enchanted ice slid around Chay’s ankles smoothly, as though already melted, but flowed over Prince Winter’s boots and up his legs like climbing vines. The prince flew into a panic. 

He dropped his dagger with a clang and released Chay, whose habit of using his higher brain functions led him – though stumbling and still bound – into Kinn and Tankhuns’ waiting arms. The Unseelie King patted his hair comfortingly while Kinn’s magic released the handmaid’s tricky knots, gradually unwinding the rope from his reddened wrists. “There, there, my little emerald dove. We’ll take care of you until our most feral brother finishes his rampage.”

Chay couldn’t stop his quiet hiccoughing laugh; Kim was a bit feral. “He was a bird when we first met.”

“So he told us,” Kinn chuckled. “No one has ever infatuated our Kimhan so entirely before you, Prince Chay.”

“Uhm. Thank you, Your Highness?”

“Shh, look!” King Tankhun whisper-shouted, drawing their attention back to Kim’s display. 

Glassy ice crawled steadily up Winter’s chest, growing incrementally closer to his face. His gasping, whining pleas for mercy went ignored; even Chay deadened his ears against them. This man had attempted to snuff out the light of his life. Had tried cheating Kim of victory and Chay of a husband he loved. Who loved him wholeheartedly in return. 

No, Winter would find no stay of condemnation from Porchay. 

Kim grinned as the enchanted shell of ice he’d built around Prince Winter finally covered the bastard’s useless, squalling mouth. Silence reigned over the gathered nobility as they stared in horror. He noted a few particular spots in the audience where dissonant energy pushed against the norm, more pleased than upset by Winter’s demise. Smart people.

The idiot made for better decoration than royalty, anyhow. At least he served a purpose now. 

“Where did–?” Kim whirled on his heel without finishing the sentence. Pinpointing Chay’s aura came easier to him than drawing breath. 

His darling sunflower's matching smile shone back at him, warming Kim’s chest and melting the ice from his hands and face. Spring had returned. 

“Did he– Are you–?” Kim strode across the balcony toward Chay, who wriggled free of his brothers’ loose embrace and met him halfway. Kim wrapped one arm low around his Consort’s waist while the other automatically reached up to cup his blush-warm cheek. “Are you alright, sunshine?”

“Of course I am!” Chay tilted his face down until their foreheads gently met. Kim breathed in the sweet, lovely floral scent of his betrothed and held the perfume in his lungs. Maybe, if it lingered in his tissues long enough, some trace would stay embedded til death. Chay continued, knocking Kim back to reality. “I was not the one who got stabbed, poisoned, and dragged into an unexpected rescue mission the day after waking up! Are you alright, dear Kim?”

Kim laughed outright. His lips sought Chay’s before begging permission, but his offense didn’t seem to matter as the other prince met the kiss with equal enthusiasm. Perhaps more. 

Only once they’d pulled back to breathe did Kim answer: “I’m absolutely fine, my sweet Chay. Everything is perfect now that you’re back in my arms.”

“Almost perfect,” King Tankhun invaded their private bubble yet again. Kim glared his brother down until Chay tapped his chest in reprimand, forcing him to relax. “You still need to be properly married by Chay’s laws and ours.”

Chay glanced between them. “Are they so different?”

“Very,” Kinn smirked. Kim opened his mouth to warn him off but it was already too late. “Wait until you see our family’s traditional mating dance.”

Chapter Text

Prince Chay found the ride back to Kittisawat Castle significantly more pleasant than his unwilling exit; and not only because he was being cradled against Kim’s chest in the back of Tankhun’s enormous carriage this time around. No, his primary sense of relief stemmed from the tension that seeped gradually out of Kim’s bowstring-tight shoulders the longer he held Chay in his embrace. Kim had Chay tucked within the vee of his legs as they ran lengthwise along the bench, Chay’s back against his chest so they lay half-atop each other.

Across from them sat Kinn and Tankhun (titles they apparently preferred all family members to use over ‘Your Highness’ or ‘Your Majesty’). Kinn’s eyes in particular stayed aimed steadfastly out the nearest window. He released a heavy sigh every ten or so minutes, at seemingly random intervals, without once joining in on the general conversation.

All the while Tankhun used his eyes to pin Kim and Chay against the upholstered seat. They could barely twitch a muscle without the nosy Unseelie King directing all his attention to that exact movement. Being the only human present in the magically-steered carriage should have made Chay less at ease than he currently felt – especially since his trust was already hard fought and hard won – but as the eldest Faerie siblings asserted, he was already considered family.

Regardless of his initial comfort, after an extended silence spent squirming under Khun’s firm gaze, Porchay gave up and glanced over his shoulder to his equally nervous fiancé. “Do you ever plan on releasing me, my handsome thing?”

Kim stared over Chay’s head at the swinging tassel hanging from the window drapes even as his face flushed a darling shade of crimson. “Hm.”

“That’s not an answer,” Chay teased, running the tip of his nose along Kim’s jaw. To his surprise, Kim didn’t give in and play along. Usually he leapt at the chance to make Chay stutter out what might have been a witty or snappy reply. “Sir Raven?” 

“It’s not that he will not answer you, dear boy,” Khun piped cheerfully. “It’s that he cannot answer you. At least not in his current state of mind.”

“And why is that, if I may ask? Is Kim going to be alright?”

“He’s just fine, dear child. Don’t worry your pretty head over his broodiness.”

“Eh?”

“Ah, let me explain. You see, little Chay, our Fae magic is bound by a set of very specific and immovable laws,” Tankhun extrapolated. “One of which is the inability to lie when we answer direct questions. The problem here is that my possessive baby brother has no desire to release you any time soon. If ever. So any sane-sounding answer to your direct and specific question is, at this moment, quite impossible.”

“I see.” With an affectionate roll of his eyes at his silly bird’s ruffled feathers, Chay craned around at an awkward angle to plant a few firm kisses over Kim’s exposed collarbone. “You’re an absolutely wonderful future husband, my strong Sir Raven. Thank you for taking such good care of me.”

“Khun is right,” Kim managed to half-pout, half-grumble. Each warm puff of breath mussed Chay’s gentle curls and tickled the back of his neck when Kim spoke. “Our kind cannot lie. We may only try and maneuver our way around the truth when allowed. And the truth is that I’m rather loath to let you out of my arms until we’re safely through the veil between worlds.”

“How fortunate I am to have a spouse that cannot lie to me.” Chay’s accompanying kiss landed on Kim’s cheek this time. The Fae somehow tightened his grip around Chay’s middle without crushing him in response.

“You never intend to let Kim win an argument, do you?” Khun tittered gleefully. He paid Kinn’s obliviously distracted pining no mind, enthralled completely by his youngest sibling’s unprotected soft spot.

Chay grinned back at the Unseelie King and gave his brooding husband-to-be another firm kiss. Right on the mouth. “Not a single one.”

Hiding a smile from Tankhun’s greedy gaze behind Chay’s messy nest of hair, Kim mumbled a secretive, “I love you, too.”

The four royals spent the rest of their short ride discussing Kim and Chay’s upcoming wedding. They made a list of each individual item needed for the human and Faerie ceremonies and figured out a plan for which realm would host whom. As they neared the family castle, Chay briefly suggested some tactics for how Kinn might successfully woo King Porsche (to Kinn’s loud and unerring dismay). 

Two Weeks Later, the Day Before the Ceremony

“Wh-Why am I not allowed to see him?!” Chay begged the palace guard to explain. The poor man shifted his weight nervously. “Has there been a change of plans?” 

“I– I do not entirely understand myself, Your Highness. Perhaps King Tankhun has an answer; shall I fetch him for you?”

“Would you please, good sir?”

The prince did his level best to control his expression even as terror and confusion burned wildly up the back of his throat. They carried the same acidic sting as bile, scalding his voice and scraping him raw – perhaps Kim had come to his senses and realized what a mistake it was to woo a mere mortal when he could have had another Fae. Or someone from a kingdom more powerful than the Kittisawats’.

King Tankhun barely allowed Chay’s panic a chance to fully set in. The eldest Unseelie swept out from the brothers’ shared suite of rooms, arms already outstretched and ready to fold the boy against his chest. One arm looped automatically around Chay’s shoulders when the King drew near enough, the slender fingers of that hand threading carefully through his hair. No matter their realm of origin, all eldest brothers had the same instincts. “What’s wrong, little sandpiper?” 

Chay stepped back to better look Khun in the face. Still eager for contact (and comfort), he clasped the hand that had just been in his hair between both of his own and tried to keep all three from shaking. He sent a brief ‘thank you’ to the stars that Khun’s low Fae body temperature naturally prevented their palms from clamming up. “Have I done something wrong, Your Majesty, or done something beyond my understanding to upset Prince Kim? Why has my handsome thing– I mean– W-Will he ever let me see him again?”

Tankhun exhaled slowly and then said: “I’m sorry for being so frank when you are clearly upset, sweet Chay, but what in the Nine Realms are you talking about?” 

“What other reason could Kim have for barring me from his presence so suddenly, Your Majesty? And the day before our nuptials! I can’t apologize or make things right in time for the wedding if I’m not sure what offense has been committed to begin with! I– I don’t–”

“Ah, I see what has happened,” Khun nodded sagely. “And there is no need for panic. My best guess is that Prince Kim never explained the full extent of our Faerie marriage traditions.”

“Are there steps beyond the standard Courting Gifts, Your Majesty?” 

“Are there steps beyo– Stars above! That boy is incapable of communicating even the simplest things, I swear!” Khun muttered a few colorful maybe-swearwords under his breath before taking a deep breath and smiling calmly down at Porchay. He patted the young man gently on the knee. “This forced rejection of your visit is nothing but formality, dear child, and one of our peoples’ most ancient traditions. Unfortunately it seems that our beloved Kimhan has simply failed to give you some important details in any sort of timely manner.”

Chay’s head tilted curiously to the left and he blinked slowly. Whatever weight crushed the breath from his lungs felt marginally lighter, but he wouldn’t mind a further explanation. “What do you mean by ‘important details’?”

“Come, come, come,” Khun ushered him past the door to their rooms – where Kim had chosen to sequester himself for the next full day and night, apparently – and into the King’s own private sitting area. He plopped the listless prince onto an overstuffed loveseat and positioned himself on the armchair opposite, teetering precariously against the edge of its upholstered cushion. "Sit, little sandpiper."

“Would you and His Highness care for some refreshments, Your Majesty?” A tall Fae man with an enormously giddy grin poked his head through the open doorway and glanced between them. “I can have a tray brought from the kitchens with little fuss, Milords; apparently everybody in the palace has chosen to have an informal midday tea within their rooms.”

“Please and thank you, Sir Pol. I’m famished!”

“As it pleases you, Your Majesty.”

Sir Pol disappeared back into the hall with a single quick wave in Chay’s direction. The prince couldn’t help waving and smiling back at his host’s exuberant attendant. A hefty chunk of the remaining weight on his chest dissipated, fading faster than smoke in a strong wind.

“Where were we in our discussion…” Tankhun returned the full brunt of his focus to Chay. He clapped his hands together beneath his chin and the prince jumped in his seat. “Right! The mandatory separation period!”

“Y-Yes. What is that?”

“The practice originated from an ancient Faerie legend. It’s one of my favorites, about a clandestine wedding ceremony held between lovers from warring families. He was a Seelie Prince and she an Unseelie Princess, and though our kingdoms are no longer at odds, this was a period of heavy conflict.”

“May I know about the legend, or is it knowledge only for the Fae?” 

“Of course you’re welcome to know the story, silly Chay! You’re nearly Fae, yourself.”

“What do–”

“The story tells of a brave couple who fell in love by accidentally meeting in the woods one night. Rather than shooting each other on sight, as many other scouts and warriors from their separate clans may have done, they continued meeting every night thereafter to speak in secret. Eventually the couple discovered their many shared desires and fell in love. They hoped a union might lessen the fighting between their families and strengthen the bond between Summer and Winter once again.”

“Did they ever get caught or discovered?” Chay gasped. 

Khun leaned closer, feeding off the prince’s eagerness for more. “In order to prevent their parents from stopping them or discovering their plot before they could reach the temple in time, both young Faeries drank a potion of invisibility. This sacrifice allowed them each to avoid being tricked into sharing the secret and also flee their kingdoms undetected on foot.”

“So they couldn’t see each other or their wedding finery until the very last minute, at the altar. Because of the potion’s invisibility magic.”

Tankhun sighed and flopped back against the bolster pillows. “Is it not the most romantic story of young love you’ve ever heard?”

“More romantic than a mysterious disembodied voice leading you through a dark garden in the middle of the night to rescue your future husband from certain death?”

“I lied!” The King somehow flopped more determinedly into the fluffy red velvet of his chair. Chay wondered if it might swallow him eventually. “You have the sweetest and most adorable love story of all time! A Fated Match after so many generations of arranged marriages! You and Kim shall be living legends!”

“Oh, uhm–”

“But that’s family history for another day. When my brother is present. Today is for you to learn about our various expectations and traditions.”

“And this story is why I’m not allowed to see Kim until tomorrow?”

“Correct! The reason you aren’t allowed to see Kim until the ceremony in the morning is because the two ancestors who brought peace to our lands actively made that sacrifice for our sakes and we feel it only fair to honor them... Also because Fae folk are dramatic, and what’s more dramatic than crying at the altar over seeing your spouse’s face for the first time in a full day?”

Chay giggled. He calmed himself enough to thank Sir Pol for the enormous tray of tea and snacks he carried through the door at just that moment. It gave him the perfect excuse to chat a bit longer with Tankhun and learn about the Faerie realm he’d soon inhabit. The afternoon was much less lonely, now. “Thank you for the explanation, Khun. I am very much relieved.”

“Trust me, Kim will rarely let you out of his sight once tomorrow is over,” the King patted Chay gently on the head as elder brothers were wont to do. “He barely speaks of anything else when he writes or visits. The only way to make things even is probably– Oh, I have a marvelous idea! Kinn! Crown Prince Anakinn! Where are you?!”

Kinn came flying through the sitting room’s open door less than thirty seconds later, eyes wide and usually smooth hair awkwardly mussed. “What’s wrong, Khun!?”

“Fret not,” the King wiggled a limp hand in the prince's direction. “That was a social summoning. Poor Chay has been emotionally bewildered by our youngest brother yet again; currently over the separation period.”

“I told him to remind you,” Kinn huffed in Chay’s direction. He offered the boy an apologetic smile and shallow bow. “My sincerest apologies for Kim’s behavior. I have no clue where he gets it from. Now, Khun, what should we do about Kim’s bad manners?”

“Since Kimhan has failed to inform his future Consort of our traditions, I think it’s only fair we let Prince Chay in on a few important family anecdotes…”

“Oh brilliant,” Kinn giggled. Actually giggled like a child with a sweet.

“What about Kim? Won’t he be upset that you’re sharing these stories without his express permission?” Chay gawked, glancing between the two eldest Unseelie royals. Kinn shrugged and Khun rolled his eyes.

“He’s good and trapped in my chambers for now, and it’s really our only chance…”

“Too true,” Tankhun agreed. “And you really must hear about the blackberry bush incident.”

“And father’s enchanted bear!” 

“Of course we’re going to tell him about the bear!”

“Uhm, alright, then.” Chay took another sip of tea and reached for a finger sandwich. “What in the Nine Realms is the blackberry bush incident?”

“Ohhhhhh, hohohoho. Your handsome thing,” Tankhun winked playfully at Chay over the rim of his cup, “Neary killed half the family with a poisoned blackberry tart when he was about five. Our father figured out his magical powers had finally manifested when the obstinate boy accidentally hexed the very dessert he’d been forbidden from eating.”

“The little shit,” Kinn smiled, tone nothing but fond. “Though it was technically my fault about the enchanted bear. You see, I convinced poor Kim that our father wanted a wild bear to dance at his birthday celebration more than anything else in the world. Kim spent weeks practicing the perfect spell to enchant one from the forest… He even hired a band! As you can imagine, however, it did not go very well.”

“Remember when he turned himself into a girl and forgot the counterspell?”

“He was nearly kicked out of the palace entirely!”

“Thank goodness he called you a meaniehead and Father realized the toddler with pigtails really was our awful little brother.”

Chay slowly relaxed between the two boisterous Unseelie Fae as they regaled him with stories of Kim’s childhood misadventures. He missed the presence of his future husband, sure, but this was comfortable. This was his family.

Kim was close to bursting with purely nervous energy. He’d never felt this way before; it made him twitchy. He’d been pacing for nearly an hour between rounds of feverish practice. The dance– His mating dance for Porchay had to be perfect by sunrise. Or else his heart might shatter. 

The ritual wouldn’t be complete under Fae law until Chay accepted his dance.

What if his chosen steps failed to entice his darling human the way they might have done with Faerie folk? What if Chay failed to understand the significance of joining Kim and let the ceremony pass unfulfilled?! He hadn’t explained himself and now there was no longer any time… 

He had been working on these steps since he was just a fledgling, weaving each careful beat of music into the next with dedicated intention. He hadn’t known it during his childhood, but this was meant to be a mating dance worthy of a prince. Worthy of his sweet, beloved Chay, whose heart of sunny gold would warm the Unseelie throne for centuries to come. 

Kim would not be able to bear the loss if this dance failed and he failed his Fated Match. He would practice until he dropped. For Chay. For their love. For their future as it began to dawn across the sky outside…

Chapter Text

“I look… uhm.” Chay twisted back and forth in front of the full-length mirror, a bundle of nerves barely capable of holding himself together. King Tankhun watched through damp lashes as his future brother-in-law shook out his remaining wedding jitters. “How do I look?”

Neither Anakinn nor Tankhun had expected Kimhan to marry for at least two centuries, at least. He kept himself so heinously busy ‘protecting the family’ that romance became no more than a frivolity to their little raven. A distraction. So to be here, now, and to  attend his youngest brother’s First Dance before Kinn’s or his own – it warmed the King’s very soul. Even the magic in his fingertips knew Prince Porchay, a fragile human boy whose smile emitted pure sunshine, had already done so much for their family.

The Unseelie King cleared his thoughts and throat with the same brief cough before cooing in open appreciation at Chay’s wedding ensemble. The Faerie tailors had truly outdone themselves this time; “You look incredible, silly boy. Like true Fae royalty.” 

Khun settled the short white cape into place at Chay’s mid-back with a firm tug and adjusted the fall of his pale blue sash, tutting and tsk -ing until every last wrinkle lay flat against his chest. Tankhun smiled at Chay in the mirror as he stood behind him and pinned Kim’s beautiful courting circlet into the riot of bouncy curls, their shared joy practically tangible.

The King took one of Chay’s trembling, clammy hands and sandwiched it firmly between his own. He stared the boy directly in the eyes and, in a quietly reserved tone that he saved for only rarest of occasions, Tankhun murmured: “Just so you know, there is truly nothing that could make me any happier with Kimhan’s choice of husband. You have brought a new era upon our kingdom.”

“I–” Chay’s pulse startled beneath Khun’s fingertips, a sudden pitch in his voice betraying obvious disbelief. “Your Majesty?”

“You may be the only person in over three-hundred years whose courage and cleverness have balanced out my youngest brother’s absolute windstorm of a personality,” he spun the boy around to face him and tapped Porchay directly on the forehead. Chay’s flushed cheeks and downturned eyes spoke volumes more than any spoken words could manage. “Our darling Kim is a headstrong fool with an overwhelming sense of responsibility. He can be broody, intense, possessive, and usually whines like a wet cat when he’s jealous.”

Chay giggled, nodding his agreement – though his (now sparkling) eyes held nothing but love and fond amusement for the silly raven. This boy loved and appreciated the things about Kimhan most Faerie courtiers found unnerving; a perfect match between the veil of their different worlds. Ugh, the romance of it all!  

Khun cleared his throat and steered himself back on course one final time. “Yet, despite his flaws, we are both fully aware of how deeply caring, devoted, and protective he is when it comes to those he loves. That ridiculously adoring Fae will not rest until you deem him worthy of it… Anyway, regardless of his flaws or your own, I am confident that the two of you will write a long and positive chapter in the Unseelie Kingdom’s history books. How can there be anything but peace across the realm with a love like yours as the peoples’ example?”

The shade of Chay’s burgundy blush must have nearly matched the red of Khun’s favorite (if gaudy) crushed velvet window drapes. “Thank you, Your– Uh. Thank you, Khun.”

“Ugh, you’re just too sweet!” Khun clasped one dramatic hand over his heart and sighed theatrically. Weddings were such a toll, but such fun as well! “Now, do we need to make any finishing touches to your outfit, or are you ready to claim your husband once and for all?”

The giddy human gave the circlet one last inspection through the glass and nodded up at him; it was time to bind Porchay’s Fate with Kimhan’s and officially declare the boy a member of their family. The entire Unseelie Court was gathered downstairs to see if their youngest Prince’s human spouse could pass one final test:

Affirming the magic of their true love-match by returning Kim’s Mating Dance.

The throne room had already been packed to the rafters with important wedding guests – visiting delegates from distant realms, Fae courtiers, Kim’s small handful of Seelie cousins, and a fair number of creatures Chay wouldn’t be able to name on pain of death. By the time he was guided through a small side door, momentarily tucked away from the clamor by his impending brothers-in-law, Chay’s limbs trembled fiercely. 

“Are you alright, little one?” King Tankhun asked from his place behind Chay’s right shoulder. Crown Prince Kinn squeezed his left shoulder, nodding his assent.

“I know it’s overwhelming but you’re nearly through,” he encouraged. Powerful as Chay knew the man to be, Kinn came off more like an eager puppy than a threat  (at least with him). With a firm nod to Chay, they guided him into the light and attention of the gathered crowd.

The trio sailed gracefully down a long blue carpet and arrived before a short dais set above the floor without incident. By some miracle. For all his confidence when alone with Kim, Chay had been without his almost-husband for another full day by now and it wasn’t getting any easier to handle such persistent nerves alone. As Khun and Kinn settled his panicked automaton-body onto a long ceremonial bench between them, his glazed eyes roamed over a wide rectangle of space nearby. What exactly was meant to be going on down there? 

And more importantly: Where was Kim?

“Prince Kinn,” Chay tapped the Faerie’s shoulder gently and tried to hide his whisper, “What exactly is about to happen and where is Kim?”

“You and Kimhan have completed your family’s strange human mating ritual in your realm, correct?”

“Our wedding, yes,” Chay nodded. “Though it appears that human wedding ceremonies are much shorter than those in Faerieland.”

“Faerie romance works a little differently, as I’m sure you’ve learned over the course of your and Kimhans’ somewhat unconventional courtship process.” 

Chay nodded again. ‘Unconventional’ sold the whole experience short by a measurement yet to be discovered by either Fae or humankind, but he wasn’t sure what other word to offer in its stead. It would function for the time being. “Yes…”

“Well,” Kinn continued. “This is how the Unseelie people acknowledge our love for one another. A Mating Dance is the reinforcement of your bond by the magic that guides our lives and world.”

“Ah. I see.” Chay swallowed back his fear of failure. The thought of losing Kim and their breathtakingly pure connection lay sour on his tongue; it carried the same mildewy notes as oversteeped tea left for hours. “And if I cannot complete the ritual properly? If my human nature doesn’t cooperate with Kim’s Fae magic, will I have lost my chance with him for good?”

“If there is one thing in all the nine realms that I’m happily willing to bet my life upon, Prince Porchay,” Kinn chuckled under his breath and subtly shook his head. “It’s that you will never fall short where loving and protecting Kimhan are concerned. Nor could either one of you bear to be parted for more than a few days at a time.”

Chay fully intended to give Prince Kinn a fair reply but didn’t have a moment left to speak. He wasn’t allowed the chance to open his mouth again before a single low whistle spun through the air over their heads doused the room in silence. From one end to the next, it seemed as if every single guest were breathing as one. Perhaps they intended to reduce the level of ambient noise. Perhaps it was an instinct beyond human capability. Perhaps the magic of a royal Mating Dance had overtaken them–

Regardless of his onlookers’ simultaneous reactions, Prince Porchay’s focus had turned elsewhere, whisked away by the memory of a starry spring night so many months ago. Drums and strings built together, combining their power to lift him from the dais. He rushed down its short steps and across the room as though dragged by whatever mysteriously demanding presence first led him to Sir Raven. To Kim. The tune filled each small gap of space in his chest with crisp, sweet joy. He closed his eyes, letting the airy music carry him forward…

Chay scurried down one shrub-lined walkway after another in the mostly-dark, altering his course and speed at the whims of whatever force was guiding his movements. 

Slowly opening his eyes once more (entirely unsure when they’d fallen closed) Chay stood before the odd rectangular space still free of guests. Silent and unmoving at its center stood a long figure with its inky eyes locked onto Chay. A familiar cloak of iridescent black feathers fell over the man’s shoulders to sweep the pale flagstones. He smiled, and any last panic evaporated from Chay like dew under sunshine. “My love?”

His darling Sir Raven stayed silent as he swayed through a series of easy first steps. Each one of his long limbs held position perfectly as Kim moved in time to a song playing only for them. His intense, all-seeing gaze held nothing but love as it focused on Chay through each shifting stance. Kim’s arms lifted up from his sides and froze in midair, locked into place around an invisible waltz partner. The deep blue stones on his crown shimmered as though lit from within by small stars.

Their song was soft. Lilting. Like the lullabies Kim used to hum for Chay at night when they– When they lay together in their nest. In their bed where they always felt safe with each other.

Chay grinned and stepped confidently into the space between his husband’s arms. Where he was happily Fated to be. It was as easy as breathing to match Kim’s increasingly difficult footwork. Step for step, beat for beat, quickly they whirled through the room like a storm. The enthusiasm of their audience grew in volume as they picked up speed, whirling fast enough to blur around the edges. 

Chay ignored them. 

He had eyes for one man, and one man alone.

“You transformed into your human form, didn’t you, naughty bird? And sang to me when you laid beside my pillow on the bad nights.”

Kim beamed down at him, grin loaded with lopsided enthusiasm, “Only while you slept, of course. I didn’t want you figuring out my secret before the time came. You’re far too clever for me to risk such a foolish mistake so early on.”

“Would knowing the secret too soon have ruined our courtship?”

“Never, my love. You could never ruin anything.” Kim pressed a gentle kiss to Chay’s flushed forehead. “But it may have brought about unnecessary complications. And, in my personal opinion, we’ve already faced far too many of those.”

Chay laughed wetly, dipping his head forward to hide from the world against Kim’s shoulder. There didn’t need to be an audience for this confession. “I love you more than I have words to express it, Kimhan.”

“Then don’t speak anymore, darling. Just dance with me until the music ends.”

The ferocity of their dance had dwindled down to little more than gentle swaying and the music lost its harried pace. Soft strings and fading flute notes pulled them slowly toward the throne. The true purpose of this Fae tradition, to confirm and acknowledge the full magical strength of any potential couple’s bond, had been served. 

When the final note faded to quiet at last and the young princes separated for a kiss, Tankhun also stood abruptly from his throne. Chay noted his red cheeks and teary eyes with a warm smile. After clearing his throat and regaining the attention of their guests, the King declared: “I hereby present to thee, officially and for all eternity, Prince Porchay and Prince Kimhan, Heirs to the Unseelie Throne and Fated to find happiness beyond the veil of death. Three hearty cheers for the newlyweds!”

As the Faeries of their newly declared court shrieked various congratulations and joyful wishes from all around them, Kim and Chay shared their first of many husbandly kisses. And another. And perhaps a third for luck.

THREE YEARS LATER

“What kind of bullshit magic nonsense is this?!” Porsche groaned. Chay and Khun rolled their eyes in tandem, already tired of his seemingly endless whining. “Who invented these rules and why are they necessary for marriage?!”

“Was I this bad without Kim?” 

“No way,” Khun snorted. “You were nervous, of course, but you never complained to such an obnoxious degree.” 

“Obnoxious?!” Porsche gasped, sitting up and pointing at the Faerie King. “I- You-!” 

“Us?” Khun asked, tone bright with feigned innocence.

“Your beloved family?” Chay teased. “What about us, Your Majesty?”

“If you weren’t being so helpful and kind about how weird this all is,” Porsche crossed both arms over his chest with a hmph, “I would be mad at you. But, seeing as you’ve been through this before and I’m–”

Chay met Porsche’s eyes and saw it lurking in their too-familiar depths: the telltale fear of not being enough for someone like his fiancée. Chay knew the creeping terror that his brother now battled to overcome. The idea that his courtship, effort, and love were not enough to win over the power of Fate themself. 

But Chay knew Porsche. And he knew Kinn. And he knew they would do a fantastic job ruling the Kittisawat Kingdom together for many years (until they would eventually need to fake their deaths and move to Faerieland with him and the rest. Marriage to a Faerie came with certain perks, and near-immortality landed among Chay’s favorites). 

“You’re doing wonderfully, Porsche,” he reassured his older brother. “We all know how overjoyed Kinn is going to be when you meet him on the dance floor.”

“What if I–”

“Trust me,” Chay grinned. He helped Porsche to his feet and followed Tankhun’s lead toward the hall, “I have some experience in this area and from what we have all seen and been forced to experience the last few months, you’re definitely soulmates.”

“Alright,” Porsche exhaled slowly. “I trust you.”

After the excitement ended and the royal family started off to bed, Tankhun turned their attention back to Kim and Chay. 

“So, now that you’re all settled and these other two have figured out their nonsense–” Tankhun paused for Porsche and Kinn to interject with protests, which were quickly shouted and dismissed “–When can we expect an egg?”

Chay laughed off the King’s antics and wrapped an arm around his husband’s waist. No one else must have found the joke amusing, though, because the others were dead quiet… Chay slowly raised an eyebrow. “Was your question not in jest?”

Porsche glanced between his little brother and the other three Faeries before grabbing Kinn’s wrist and loudly declaring, “We’re off to honestly besmirch our marriage bed. Goodnight and only the sweetest of dreams to you, dear family!”

“Wait, are you being serious?” Porchay stared first at Kim and then Tankhun. Then Kim again. “There might be an egg in our future?”

Kim’s shrug was innocent but his gaze stayed downcast. “Perhaps… It’s possible?”

“Alright,” he sighed. He rubbed his fingers over his closed eyelids and exhaled slowly. It wasn’t the worst news in the world, all things considered. He just had one important question: “Who lays the egg?”

Kim's cheeks flushed. "That's not quite how it works, my darling."

"So how does it work, then, my handsome thing? Three years of marriage and you'd think this would have come up!"

"I had no expectations for children!"

"I didn't even know we could have children! Do you want them?"

"I mean, I-" Kim stuttered. 

Tankhun chuckled as he meandered away from the bickering couple and down another hallway. He had foreign dignitaries to visit with and boring conversations to sigh over. 

Then, as his guards pulled the door to his private sitting room open, the King's heart stopped. The faun perched on the very edge of his settee with tight smile lines and spectacles was drop-dead handsome. It took the Faerie a long moment to catch his breath again. Kim's egg problem flew far from his consciousness as this enchanting stranger overtook its every corner. 

"Hello, Your Majesty," the faun rose to give a graceful bow. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

And so they all lived Happily Ever After…