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The days rushed by in a whirl of actively, and in it there was an exhausting sort of buzz she’d forgotten. In some ways, the hive of bodies milling about preparing for of all things, her wedding brought back to mind her times in the Counthouse or the Redcaps — everyone banding together, doing what they were best suited for in a grand effort.

It was to say, it felt like home.

Her own plans required much of her old skills. The first step had been finding someone to make it without alerting Gram. She wasn’t entirely sure it was supposed to be a surprise but she wanted it to be anyways, it was more fun that way — to that, she’d found a seamstress by means of asking Alphonse where she might get a few of her trousers altered for her new limbs. The seamstress was busy with dresses and adjustments for the bridesmaids — of which she did not remember having so many — but had an apprentice who was wide-eyed and eager to help, and had sent her off on part two of her little task.

That, had resolved one lazy morning after a night of barely-chaste passion with Gram, she’d awoken before him and taken careful, precise measurements with a bit of string and a sheet of vellum. He’d stirred of course and she had stashed away her contraband beneath a pillow and straddled him anew — it had been as good a reason to awaken him fully with her lips and the surprisingly enjoyable sensation of her new tail grinding down against his morning arousal. It had proven as effective as she wanted it to be, so effective she herself had forgotten her purpose until well after as she watched him stoke up the fire against the cool morning chill — his neck a rash of new marks. She’d have him soon enough, even now they were only teasing, few of their sessions ended in the same sensual, assisted release but rather a smoldering want. Her wedding night was not far now, and she would have to play nice no longer.

She’d stolen away after a breakfast back to the seamstress, and they set about the work involved. Gram was a soldier, so anything he wore would be tested, but she also wanted it to be personal. Something he would carry forever, same as Richart’s glasses. The answer had been simple really, staring her in the face. They’d set right to work, and she hadn’t lie — there were more than a few of her regular clothes that needed a bit of attention, and after a while she was in the seamstress’ own care as Simone helped fit her for her dress.

“When do I give Gram his wee little gift?” She asked Simone as she raised her arms again, the seamstress was a dark-haired Steppefolk woman with pale hazel eyes and fingers like steel pins. All business, she worked as the Baroness observed.

“Traditionally, the night before the wedding, it is the last thing you two share before you go into isolation until he sees you at the altar.” She grinned at that, “I daresay decent spectacles made my entrance to the chapel quite the bit extra impressive to Richart.”

“Oh I wager,” Lidia said with wide eyes as she turned, allowing the seamstress to draw the material closer around her tail again, tsking and murmuring something about ‘fae nonsense’ in a lighthearted tone. Lidia fell silent a moment, looking down at the dress and the thought of Gram seeing it upon her first thing.

They had finally agreed upon a compromise, the ceremony would be by and large a rather by-the-numbers Darrowmite affair, but the reception and much of the dress would be of Steppefolk design. Khanenko, Gram and even the seamstress and many of the others were themselves of The Steppe, and the blending of cultures came rather naturally. The gown itself was a steppefolk-style thing, long and white with elaborate bars of red, gold, and blue embroidery running down it in artful panels. It clung to her in all the right places and was delightfully loose in all the others, not unlike the sundress Gram so adored — if better made, and of finer materials. She was told Gram would be wearing a shirt of similar pattern. She was glad, it meant her gift would match.

The finalizing of that little token took up the latter of the few days until all things were in readiness, The Ivory Spears had rejoined and Lucian had come with them as well.

“Bart would never forgive me if one of us wasn’t here for little sister’s wedding.” He’d explained as she’d leapt into his arms as he’d rode through the gates with Martin and the rest of the detachment. “Let alone the Lady, you have any idea how heartbroken she is going to be she missed it? She might force you two to be wed twice, just for her.” The little redcap had laughed gaily at that, and she hadn’t doubted him one bit. She would miss some of her friends but… they were worlds away now, all on their own year-long journeys of one kind or another. Life must go on, and well… it would be all the more things to share with the others when they met again.

The final day eventually came, with an oddly quiet arrival. The folk of the Navel were all doughty, dutiful souls and had completed the considerable task of assembling a wedding in a matter of days instead of weeks without fail, though with some good-hearted complaints. The grounds were… still, peaceful. All was in place. The decorations raised for the next day’s events. The banquet — itself, a complete mind-blogging excess to the woodsy cutpurse’s mind — laid in and prepared. Lidia found herself dressed in casual clothing, with a small parcel tucked behind her back as her tiny hooves tapped nervously across the tile. Why was she nervous? It was Gram — was there anyone she was more comfortable with, more secure around? She bit her lip as she paused outside the door to the sitting room.

It was the fact she’d be alone after this for the first time in a long, long while.

She ruminated on that as she looked around, the sitting room chosen was a small one with two entrances on either side. Gram would be coming in the other way, chosen particularly for this fact. When she left, she would go to one of the guest bedrooms to sleep for the last time a single, virgin woman. The loneliness is what gave her pause, when had she last slept alone? Before Bart’s return from the Glade, when she mourned what she’d thought was his death. Gram had been there since, first as a warm presence to weep upon, then as a warm presence to love upon. It was just one night, and she’d have the warm memory of his response to this little thing to love on for that. With a breath, she stepped inside — to find Gram similarly, only just opening the opposite door. Perhaps she wasn’t alone in her jitters.

“Hey, loverboy.” She breathed, closing the door behind her and leaning against it for support. Her heart pounded as she looked at him. Tall, stately and far more handsome than he had any right to be.

“Hello, little redcap.” He said, sliding the door closed behind him. He also bore a small parcel in his hands, Lidia blinked — in all of her concern of his own gift, she’d forgotten that he was doing the same for her.

“Th’ big day.” She said softly, stepping up to him. There wasn’t a rule or tradition saying she had to be proper and reserved, but it felt odd to just hang off him as was her wont in this circumstance. He only smiled down at her.

“It is, my betrothed.” He said, and she found that distance between them crackled with tiny arcs of want. Oh she wanted him so, more now than even when she was in the grips of her cursed blood so many weeks prior. The silence between them spoke volumes through each other’s gaze. Fears, worries, wants, hungers, hopes. He smiled at her and she thought she would melt like a candle beneath the flame of its warmth.

“I… I ‘ave somthin’ for ye,” She said softly, unable to look away from his eyes as she brought the package around, her own dilating wide as she held it up. Neatly wrapped in paper and tied with a ribbon. “Simone told me ‘bout th’ wee little tradition, I… well its nae much o’ a token but…” she finally found herself unable to hold his gaze, she couldn’t. She’d fall upon him like one of her mother’s kin if she did, smother him in kisses and adoration until he gave in and they made love right there on the table. Gram to his eternal credit, simply took the package from her and began to carefully unlace the ribbon.

Out from the package fell a pair of neat, well-stitched gloves. Gram’s eyes went a bit wide as he lifted them free, they were a familiar, slightly-faded red hue with black accents and bright golden threading. They were functional, designed like a gauntlet cuff or riding glove to fit neatly and be flexible, and be cuffed over or under a sleeve. She’d been very careful to make sure his favorite shirts, armor and gauntlets would work with them well.

“Lidia…” he began, and for the first time she found him speechless as he held them in his hands.

“I talked tae Richart, he told me ‘bout his glasses… I thought, perhaps iffin’ she helped him tae see, I can help ye tae be what ye are.” She said with a little smile, eyes twinkling. “Yer a soldier, loverboy. God’s own perfect warrior, an’ it’d be a shame iffin’ ye couldn’t carry a blade in comfort anymore. Be like losin’ the arm all over again.” The words poured out of her, and he stared at them with a somber gaze, touching the material softly, his eyes widened and she smiled.

“I know this material…” he finally breathed, and she gave him a knowing little grin.

“Iffin’ ye stopped starin’ me in the eyes like a hero out o’ a shepherd’s love poem, ye’d ‘ave noticed sooner.” She laid a hand on her breast, pointedly on the ever-present mantle of her hood. She wore it as always, the red cloth matching the loose white linen dress she’d chosen — except now, there was a wide band of black dagging across the bottom where was once plain, slightly-faded red linen. The coif’s opening as well, newly-stitched in darker fabric. Gram’s eyes softened, and for once she thought she would see him cry as he pressed the gloves against his face.

“They smell like you.” He breathed softly, and she bit her lower lip gleefully.

“I slept with them next tae me skin for the last two days, jus’ hopin’ ye’d notice.”

“Lidia, your hood is… I…” Gram was just dumbfounded by the gesture, and she could only smile.

“S’my most important possession… or it was,” she said, finally reaching up to touch him — laying her hand on his chest. “Til now, ye gave me yer heart. An’ nothin’ will ever be more precious tae me again.”

He had nothing to say to that, and simply took the time to pull off his own, careworn riding gloves, and carefully pull the new pair on. They fit as well as she had hoped, Gram flexing both his left hand, and the right’s new fingers in them easily turning the cuffs down slightly as was the fashion. A smile spread across his face, a wide, genuine smile as he took those gloved hands, and gently cupped her face with them, stroking his thumb across her cheek.

“They are perfect.” And that was all she needed to hear, squeezing his hands as they lingered like that a long moment before he pulled away and took his own parcel from where he’d set it aside, handing it to her. “Mine own efforts were… somewhat fraught. What to give the heir of Seelie?” He teased softly. She raised an eyebrow at that, unwrapping the parcel, perhaps a bit more enthusiastically than he had. Out of it spilled a length of ribald red cloth, and she gasped and dropped the packaging entirely to gather the silken coils in her arms. It took a bit of juggling, but eventually she captured it and spread it between her fingers.

It was beautiful, the same vivid red as her wedding dress, shot with elaborate white embroidery, she peered closer and noticed the patterns were similar to the one Gram wore with his armor and casual dress.

“It is a sash, an important part of Steppefolk attire. We are given one, woven by our family matriarch when we are born, and wear it until we die.” He said, smiling as he took it from her, stepping behind her with either end in his hands. “It used to be a saddleblanket to be put upon one’s first horse, but that changed as we joined with the Darrowmites, it became the sash as our cultures joined, something to be worn, displayed. Honored.” He slowly began to wind it around her waist, dropping her own little belt to the floor as he carefully, instructively folded and wrapped it about her with such intimacy that she felt as if he were winding her naked body beneath the silken folds. “You… were not born in the Darrowmite traditions, you do not have a sash so…” he carefully tied it, letting the embroidered ends fall at her left hip as they did from his. His hands spread warmly across her belly, red on red. “… As you wished to be a proper woman, I wished to dress you as such.”

“Oh Gram…” she breathed, touching the fabric gently. He had no idea what he had truly given her… or perhaps he did. He knew her heart so well it frightened her. He gave her a home, a family… and now, a place to belong. He welcomed her, heart, soul and memory into his life. Aye she understood this tradition now, this was for them. She turned to him, eyes wide with want and adoration, and she had no words, herself struck just as dumb as he had been by the sheer, simple love in the gesture.

Bells tolled, the sudden chime startled the two out of their lovestruck reverie. They both looked to the source, the direction of the chapel. The hour had come. She pulled away, gnawing her lip fondly. She wanted to kiss him, kiss him so hard and sure he’d bed her now and then… but she drew away still. No. She wanted her next kiss to be at the altar. She wanted her next kiss to be as a married woman.

“I love ye, Gram.” She said as she slipped back to the door, their hands stayed joined until the final, barest moment, fingers pulling apart as he watched her go, stepping back to his own door as well.

“I love you as well, wife.”

Lidia felt her belly twist with butterflies, and she shut the door on a flash of a girlish smile.

~ ~ ~

The next day came after a night of uneasy sleep, plagued by half-images of disconnected feelings, shapes, people and sensations. She awoke alone, knelt by her bed and did her morning devotions alone.

How long had it been since she’d prayed? At the outset of their adventure? She’d asked God and the Lady for aid, for strength and mercy… but her prayers, had she said them? She knelt there, hooves, tail and naught much else before the tiny icon of the Horn and Eye hanging from the wall. She remembered now, despite all the struggles — shame filled her momentarily. The last time she’d knelt and clasped hands before the Lord in Ivory was right before Gram had fallen to her cursed blood. A tear beaded on her cheek and she wiped it away, she’d hidden away from everything in the pain and struggle, even the new, tender devotion she’d only just been introduced to. She clasped her hands anew, raising her eyes to the symbol once more.

“I understand now,” she said softly. Faith was a new sensation, but she lowered her head and raised her hands. The words of devotion coming to her mind in Gram’s voice and she smiled as she said them. Faith was new, but she was getting better at it.

The solitude lasted only long enough to bathe in that feeling a moment, wiping her eyes and letting out a shuddering breath, she was promptly given a start as her door practically banged open — and a veritable army of women suddenly invaded the quiet space. Lidia gave a squeak as she was suddenly almost hoisted manually up, the maids and ladies ushering her into a robe, gathering up her other effects. She had no time to protest at all before she was practically shoved out the door to the baths. Simone waited in the hall with a smile, Lidia shot her a wild-eyed look of confusion, the Baroness just winked.

“You want to look your best for Gram, don’t you?”

Lidia sighed ruefully and relaxed, then off she went. The process was intensive, she was scrubbed from head to hooves, and they combed, cut, polished and preened her at every possible angle. She didn’t even have time to be embarrassed — the brusque, business like maids were practically soldiers in their own right as they went about trimming her nails, and even as far as cutting and shaping the fluff of her tail — an experience that got a yelp out of her and ended with her leaning over a chair, beet-red and thinking faraway thoughts. This was for Gram.

Finally, the bulk of things was done and she was bundled off once more to her rooms, where Simone was already present. She looked stunning, Lidia’s mouth fell open as she looked at the Baroness. She’d already been made up and made ready for the affair, she wore a dress not unlike the one she’d be fitted for herself, with an open neck and long, sweeping skirts, bound at the waist by a sash of white with the same red embroidery, belled sleeves with tight, pattern-stitched cuffs completed the steppefolk-style dress. She had her hair down, save for a small crown of braids, the red-blonde hue shining and perfect. Rouged lips and cheeks, a faint line of kohl completing the subtle, but powerful enhancements to her natural beauty_._ she smiled at Lidia and she felt reflexively that she should kneel.

“I am not without some indulgences, and I reserved the pleasure of this part for myself,” the Baroness said as the maids finished helping Lidia into the rather more snug chemise that fit under the dress she wore. Simone gestured at a small table near a mirror and the sun-facing window at the edge, a series of pots and tin boxes — Lidia recognized makeup, cosmetics. “I am not remiss in assuming you have not worn colors as such before?” she asked, tilting Lidia’s face to the light. The little changeling shook her head.

“Nae, th’ Lady rather liked us natural for her weddin’, an’ well,” she shrugged. “I know more about smudging mud an’ grime tae disguise me girlhood than make it more obvious.”

“Mn, you mentioned your life was that of a street child.” Simone said, taking a small compact full of a white powder and then frowning thoughtfully. “God, the court ladies will abhor you, skin so pale and clear without even any powder or foundation.”

“That’s… good, right?” Lidia asked rather cautiously, and the Baroness tittered softly.

“Yes, you’re going to inspire such jealousy. I won’t have all that much I will have to do here, but… I think I can get my son’s attention.” She said, and gently uncapped another series of pots, opening various shades of red cosmetics until she seemed satisfied. She tilted Lidia’s face to hers.

“Be still, and pucker a bit dear.” She instructed, Lidia followed and she took the brush and began to gently paint the hue onto her lips. Lidia felt… oddly peaceful as she and the Lady of the house shared that space, her hands were warm and her breaths were steady.

“A shame to spend such time covering up such a lovely girl, hiding in boy’s clothes and boy’s work,” she mused as she came away and pointed at her own mouth, making a motion of gentle smacking. Lidia mimicked it and Simone smiled. “Lovely, like the first apples of harvest.”

“I nae would know,” Lidia answered as Simone carried on, gently adding a delicate rouge to her cheeks, only light daubs and dashes, it felt like feather touches, “Ne’er spent much time ‘round girlish things. Twas runnin’, climbin’, second-story work an’ all.”

“A miserable thing, to be forced into such a life.”

“D’ye think so?” Lidia asked truthfully, her eyes honest. Simone paused in her work, and she met Lidia’s gaze.

“I do. You should have been growing up happy, with dresses, books, toys and perhaps a pet cat to pester with childish attentions,” She said softly, taking the stick of kohl up and moistening the filed end of it gently. “It heartens me that I can give you those things, at least in part.”

Lidia smiled, that… was nice. She was expecting judgment, or perhaps actual pity. She didn’t want it any more than Louis did. Simone wanted her happy, not ‘fixed’.

“There,” She said, taking her hands back gently after having lined Lidia’s eyes properly. “Set to make my son’s eyes pop from his head,” she said with a smile and turning the mirror to her. “Do be a dear, and put them back in for him.” Lidia turned her gaze to the mirror.

They had worked her over quite a bit, her hair had grown longer still since their journey, and the maids had trimmed and shaped it into a wavy, raucous mess of the vivid red she’d gotten from her father. It danced across her neckline and framed her face with a surprisingly fae style. Simone’s own work had been subtle, but she gave a soft gasp at the sight. Her lips were red as new apples, or fresh roses, and her cheeks — naturally pale on their own — had been rouged just slightly, but it was her eyes that were so striking. Kohl, not unlike Nazir’s had been carefully applied and it made her large, almond-shaped eyes stand out with an intensity that startled even her. She for the first time, saw in that mirror her own face — and her mother’s as well. Her mother’s eyes stared back at her, and she found… she liked the way they looked there. They were dangerous, they held promises. They were just for one man.

“I’ll need tae keep a purse jus’ fer them iffin’ I get made up like this often,” she agreed, getting a soft giggle from the Baroness in return, who blew out a tired, satisfied breath.

“Here, let us finish this up, I don’t know about you, but I’m ravenous after all the scrubbing, dressing, and primping.”

~ ~ ~

The rest of the process went by smoothly after a brief repast brought by ever-stalwart Khanenko, who himself was dressed in a crisp embroidered shirt, sash and trousers of the Steppefolk, all in the colors of the house — merry blues, golds and reds abound. He looked the same as usual, stolid and unflappable — though there was perhaps a glimmer of pride in his eyes that was not quite as bright as other days. Lidia herself, was simply happy to have some food, having skipped breakfast in the mad rush of activities… but her nerves put a swarm of starlings in her belly, all flapping eagerly, and her hunger turned into a mere nervous picking at the admittedly light meal. Seemed someone had bet on that.

They had finished with her attire rather quickly, thankfully her protests about the complex capital fashions and Simone’s reservations of the style of the times had won out. The Steppe-style dress was a wonderful thing, it wove around her body and even showed off rather than hid her newer additions, the cut of the flowing skirts hugging her hips and hanging just at calf-length — so it spun and whirled like a flower in bloom with only a faint twirl. There was even a little extra room in the seat for her tail — in fact, it fit her perfectly, the most well-made piece of clothing she’d ever owned, it moved and hugged her, and when she caught sight of herself in the mirror — tears sprang to her eyes. She wasn’t a little cutpurse anymore, not just any little redcap.

“You look wonderful,” Simone said, and raised a hand. “The last piece.” In her hand was the sash Gram had given her, and she took it with an eager little smile, like a little girl with a new toy. She wound it like Gram had shown her before, tucking and tying it to one side so the long, tasseled ends hung at her left. It was snug and slightly stretchy, and it wrapped her middle with a firmness that felt like Gram’s strong arm around her middle always. She bit her lip as she looked back at Simone.

“Ye really did try tae make all my namedays come at once,” she said and Simone chuckled.

“What more can I do for the girl who did so much for us? I can hardly deny you dreams so easily fulfilled, not when making them real is oh so much fun.”

Lidia laughed and pushed herself into the older woman’s arms, and they both shared a tight hug, when Lidia popped up with a sudden look of alarm. “Oh, shite.”

“Language,” Simone said softly with a crooked little smile, “You are a lady now.”

“Lady’s Teats I am, a Lady wouldn’t forget what I jus’ forgot!” She said, squeezing the Baroness one last time, “Thank ye, truly!” She said, and scurried off, leaving the Baroness wide eyes as she bolted out the door. Silence reigned a moment before Lidia’s hooves skidded back into place before the still open door, Simone and Khanenko both staring at her with their own flavors of amusement. She gave a sheepish smile.

“Uh… where’s Richart?”

“Praying at the chapel, with Gram and his brothers.” Khanenko supplied helpfully. Lidia gnashed her teeth.

“I’m nae s’posed tae see Gram, ah fook it!” She said and took off at a run once more, Simone reaching out fruitlessly to stop her.

“Headstrong, that one.” The steward remarked.

“Cheerfully, though.” Simone added brightly.

~ ~ ~

Lidia peeked out into the yard, the grounds had been made ready long ahead of it. Banners and ribbons had laid out a procession from the house to the chapel, mostly unattended at the moment as the final parts of the ceremony were being laid into place. There were a few maids and goodmen milling about straightening and hanging the last bits of decor as she found herself bounding across the green. Her springy new legs eminently suited to her light-stepping sprint down the green. She came to a neat halt outside the chapel, and bit her lip. How was she going to get Richart out without Gram seeing her, or her seeing Gram?!

“Lady’s Teats…” she breathed, eyes flicking around — until she spied Brohn, sitting perched on the sill of one of the second story windows — peering out curiously at other, passing birds. She opened her mouth to call out to him, but then covered it. Well that would ruin it wouldn’t it? The little changling cast about for an alternative… and saw a draping banner hanging from the chapel’s wall, leading right up to the shingled, sloped roof below the little raven’s perch. She grinned.

Up she went, her new hooves were alarmingly good at climbing, and she found herself easily scaling the masonry surface of the stolid little chapel as silently and swiftly as she ever had, the dress was a bit snug about the middle but she was careful enough to not rip a stitch or pull a seam as she carefully found tiny footholds her human feet would have struggled to get purchase on and then peeked her head up over the edge.

“Hey!” She whispered quietly, Brohn’s ebon head twitched and alighted on her with a surprised click of his beak. She grinned at him and winked, swinging her hips up onto the edge of the roof to sit, legs dangling gaily. “Get Richart, would ye?” The little raven made a curious little warble and hopped dutifully down from his perch. She heard the clatter of his his talons as he picked his way down from the high spot, still too frightened to fly. Poor thing. She waited there, in her wedding dress, perched on the side of the chapel, with the wind stirring her hair, the smells of summer on the breeze. She wasn’t totally domesticated, not yet.

“Lidia?” came a searching voice from below, and she grinned, leaning down.

“Hey, up here.”

The Baron looked up with wide eyes. He was dressed much like Gram was, with a long, sleeveless mantled robe of sorts worn open over it — much like Karnov had dressed, she figured it must be for his station. His eyes went wider still, the scholar giving a start as he saw her up there. She waved at him cheekily, teeth showing with her grin.

“What are you doing?” He gasped and turned around, looking about and lowering his voice, “Come down from there before you hurt… oh, who am I kidding.” He sighed, crossing his arms and looking at her resignedly. Lidia giggled and turned, easily swinging down from the roof by way of the draping banner. Richart pointedly looked aside from her flowing skirts, ever the gentlemen. She landed neatly, her hair and skirts a little disheveled, but she smoothed them out with a rueful little smile, coming closer to the Baron. The attire was strange on him, but it looked good. He was not as muscular as his sons, nor Karnov, but he was a slim and tall man, the attire only serving to amplify that, making him feel twenty spans high as she looked up at him.

“I need tae ask ye somethin’ important,” she said, pressing up close, lowering her voice just for him. The scholarly man keyed to the urgency in her voice at once, raising his hands to hers.

“Anything, what has transpired?” He asked at once, eyes alert and dutiful. Baudelaire men were all of a piece.

“I dinnae ‘ave much in th’ way o’ family here, an’ I was hopin’…” she bit her lip, why was this suddenly hard? She met his eyes and there was that stern, searching seriousness as always — he was trying even as she paused to divine her needs from thin air and girlish worry. She swallowed, mouth dry and before she could speak, Richart’s hand touched hers. She stopped, her body going very still. He didn’t say anything, he just placed her hand in his, covering it with the other, his own wedding ring suddenly conspicuously present. She drew in a breath. “I dinnae ‘ave a papa tae give me away.”

Richart’s eyes widened a bit and he smiled, “Oh, is that what this is?” he asked, and she bulled forth before she lost her courage.

“I want ye tae give me away,” she blurted, squeezing his hands and going up to the tips of her hooves at him, “I want it tae be ye, ‘cause ye’ve been th’ closest thing tae a father I’ve ‘ad fer a long, long time. I…” she felt her throat catch and she stopped, eyes misting — she couldn’t ruin her makeup, not yet! With a hard swallow, she met his gaze again. “I love ye, an’ would… like tae think o’ you, like that.”

“Of course.” Richart’s voice was soft, and there was no hesitation. He squeezed her hand with a genuine smile of relief. “I had thought some ill had befell, or cold hooves had set in.” he added with a sly twist of his lips, Lidia’s own face turned to a little moue of mock-outrage and she giggled along with.

“Nae, still mad fer yer son down tae th’ hooves in question,” she said, and Richart nodded.

“If you had not asked this of me, I would have insisted nonetheless, for you are not the only one who has grown to love someone from outside their house.” He said, and raised his hand to cup her cheek gently. “I love you too.”

She made a soft little sound of need she was unable to restrain, and threw herself into the tall man’s arms, squeezing him tightly around the middle. She was eight summers old again for a moment as he hugged her back, just as fierce.

“Now then — do you not have somewhere to be?” Richart asked her, and she nodded, pulling away. He took a moment, straightening her sleeves and threading his fingers through her hair, “There, no harm done. Away with you, before Gram gets curious, you know how he is.” She could only nod, looking back at the door and then giving Richart another quick hug, she pranced away eagerly. She could spend the time counting her blessings, at this point she had enough that’d take plenty of time.

~ ~ ~

The day passed, and it dawned on her it was only barely begun when she’d been dragged away. What had felt like so much activity had really been crammed rather heavily into a very, very small space. In its absence, she had more or less been left to her own devices, and God and Lady love them all — but she chose to do so alone. It was no great step, after the previous night and day, she simply found the quiet soothing.

“Rubbin’ off on me, loverboy,” she tittered to herself, tucked back in her quarters — with Gram’s little book of dirty stories. She had no interest in shaming her husband for his youthful lusts, truth be told as she’d read them, she’d found them quite… tasteful really. Maybe it was the fact she’d spent a lot of time around real whores, this tawdry book felt positively artistic. Very upper-class. They were written in a bawdy way, but there was a through line of devotion in the desire that she found quickened her pulse as much as the very, very detailed descriptions. She may have been reading it to take notes, it wasn’t like she had any experience — and wasn’t by any means naive enough to think this is what real lovemaking was like — but it was Gram’s first fantasy… maybe she could make some of them real. He’d liked it before.

A knock on the door drew her from further thoughts of a not-so-distant wedding night, to a very apparently immediate wedding ceremony. Richart opened the door with a soft smile. Beyond, the bells at the chapel began to toll.

“It’s time, little redcap.” This time, the pet name rang out just right.

He took her from the room, arms linked they swept in silence through the halls. It was impossibly still, the halls for the first time absent of life and activity. As the Baron swung the doors to the green wide, she learned why.

Before her spread a long red carpet, trimmed in gold. At each edge stood the entirety of the Ivory Spears, each holding his saber at parade rest. Beyond them, the entirety of the keep was arrayed in messy, joyous rows. A cheer arose as she exited, and it struck her almost as a physical blow.

“I told you, we have a surfeit of tiny heroes here.” Richart said to her with a knowing smile, “You, chief among them.”

“I dinnae do anythin’.” She protested softly, and Richart chuckled.

“No, nothing. Simply brought home our prodigal son, and long-lost Baroness,” he said, raising an eyebrow, “Ejected a host of invaders, gained the favor of the High Canoness, and restored the line of succession of my house. No, nothing at all.” Richart said without missing a beat. Martin stood at the head of the line of armored soldiers, all of them gleaming like mirrors in the summer sunlight. He grinned at her with that scarred face and she smiled back as he raised his horn to his lips. A brassy call split the air and with a united bellow of assent — each of the soldier snapped to attention, a crisp salute with their fists clashing their breastplates the whole way down in a merry din of steel.

Lidia walked in silence with Richart, having to keep her words to herself or she’d ruin all that pretty makeup right proper, and she couldn’t be running with tears before Gram saw it at the least. She smiled at them and waved — waved proper, none of that fancy prim restraint. She bounced on her hooves, and laughed with them as she hooked her arm with Richart, looking up at him with gratitude. She could have had just a quiet little wedding in the chapel, but a funny, good man with a love of books and the hard-eyed, soft-hearted woman that loved him had decided she deserved more.

They walked to the end of the line, and the chapel’s doors opened. Music played, and she heard the house choir kick up as well in a traditional wedding hymn. At the end of the little walk through the pews, beneath a the stained glass depiction of The Lady in White and the Lidless Eye, before an altar of whitest marble laid with cloth and relics — stood Gram. Her breath caught in her throat as she laid eyes upon him. She had seen her beloved well-dressed, but today she saw him in a wholly new fashion.

He wore his armor, at least in part. His cuirass had been polished and buffed of dents and scrapes, and gleamed with a mirror brightness. His gorget lined with a faint turned-over collar of delicate lace. His sash was tied neatly and a vivid red — and matched to a great mantle — a furred pelt — that hung across his shoulders, sleek and black, it did not bear the fierce head as his father’s had, but instead an elaborate trim made of fangs and claws in glossy polished white. The Black Dog wore his fur proudly. The rest of him was equally pristine, the red and white of his shirt visible, his armor otherwise absent but for the polished breastplate — the long embroidered sleeves and voluminous pants adding to the regal bearing of her beloved. He notably wore no blade… but did wear both of her lovely red gloves, the sleeves neatly tucked into their cuffs. There he was, her husband in all his glory.

Richart’s hand gently squeezed hers and they proceeded down the aisle. At Gram’s side stood Lucian, looking every bit a proper Knight-Brother, his armor gleaming like silver and his black surcoat sharp and crisp with its embossed Eye-And-Horn. He smiled at her with a whole parliament of white teeth, the proper hero to their very enamel. Nearby were Alphonse and Louis, both dressed in shirts and mantles matching Gram’s. They were smiling as well — even Louis — who had not even a dour glimmer in his eye, he smiled from the heart. For his brother, if nothing else. Last of all but hardly least, stood their mother, who was stately and proud next to her three sons. She smiled at Lidia with open, unadulterated pride. For her, for her children. For her home.

Richart handed her off to Gram, and took his place next to the other three men. Lidia looked up at her beloved with wide eyes — green slits dilating to inhuman pools as she took him in. His gaze was positively intoxicating as he took her hand in his, she daresay he smoldered at her, getting a faint bite of her lip in response. Beyond, Father Denis turned, arrayed in a great stole and emblazoned robes with a tall mitre atop his head. He drew himself up proudly and spread his arms with a grin.

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to unite two well-loved, well-deserving souls here in the most Holy of Oaths within our fair faith,” he boomed, Lidia taken aback by the tiny, soft-spoken man’s sudden, arresting power. All was silent as he spoke, his stentorian voice demanding attention. “It has been a long, long time since we’ve joined two hands in this most unhappy of houses. Many ghosts have dwelled here with us, heavy and restless. It has been a gray time.” People murmured softly, Lidia felt a bit out of place with the sudden, quite serious reprise. Denis smiled still though. “Yet it is a bright day! An auspicious one! Today we celebrate not just these two, beloved members of our household and their love — but the mending of that very home!” he boomed, and cheers rose up. He turned with a great smile.

“Do you, Gram Guillaume Vauquelin Baudelaire, Firstborn of Richart and Simone, Captain of the Ivory Spears, and humble servant of God and Lady — come here, by your own will and power?”

“I do, by God and Lady’s grace.” Gram answered ritualistically, his voice a powerful baritone as always. Father Denis nodded and turned to her, she felt her heart begin to pound so hard she was sure Gram could hear it.

“And do you, Lidia Shaw, Firstborn of Lachlan, Scion of the Dame Morgana, and dutiful maiden of the God and Lady — come here by your own will and power?”

“I do!” She almost gasped, finding her voice in the second stanza, “By God and Lady’s Grace!”

Father Denis raised his hands to the skies and almost bellowed, his voice seemingly drawing from Godhome itself to cast out beyond the doors of the chapel to the waiting throng beyond, “Are you prepared to bind yourself blood and heart, in the ties of matrimony before the Lidless Eye and Lady’s Grace?” He demanded, unlike the Lady’s ceremony there was a hint of challenge in his question that demanded an answer as fierce. Gram and Lidia locked hands and raised them above their heads in unison.

“We do! By God and Lady’s Grace!” The echoing answer came from them both, almost a battle-cry. The Father’s face was a ribald grin as he nodded and parted his arms, the crowd cheering and applauding again before falling silent.

“Your oaths then,” Father Denis said, and Gram turned to her and she to him. He smiled. There was silence for a moment before he spoke.

“I Gram Guillaume Vauquelin Baudelaire, toiled all night for an oath appropriate for such a day. I have strode nightmare and eternity for your hand, I have battled Kings and Princes, monsters and men. I have had a thousand nights to write and perfect an oath for this moment…” his voice trailed off and his eyes were searching. “… And in this moment, I find them all as ash in my mouth before the simple, honest truth. I love you, Lidia Shaw. I pledge mine oath to protect you, care for you, and stand by you until the Pale Dawn calls me — and even then, I may not listen for one last look at your eyes.”

Lidia was struck… they had not rehearsed this, they were special. She had not known what to say, her letters were not quite good enough yet to properly write such a thing. She bit her lip and met his gaze, her voice was a small thing.

“I, Lidia Shaw, am jus’ about completely, madly, head over heels in love wit’ you, Gram Guillaume Vauquelin Baudelaire,” she said very deliberately, getting every single part of it as perfect as she could, feeling the thrill run through him as she Named him as best she was able. “I’m jus’ one girl, an’ nae much o’ thing tae note, but I pledge tae ye now that I’ll stand by ye, love ye wit’ every fiber o’ me being, an’ keep ye warm when th’ nights are cold an’ th’ watch long. Til th’ Pale Dawn calls me, an’ forever after.”

The crowd was hushed, and the sounds of weeping were audible from several places. Of all people — Louis wept openly. Tears streamed down his face, and beside him similarly, Simone gently daubed her eyes, offering a similar kerchief to her son, who took it thankfully. Father Denis raised his hands.

“The rings then?” He intoned, and Gram smiled and blew a short, sharp whistle. From behind came a faint, tinny little cheer and the clatter of claws, and up the aisle came hop-hop-hopping along, Brohn in glossy, gleaming glory — and on his back, astride him properly — was the Least Knight of Seelie, Tirrah. She wore a tiny tabard that Lidia immediately recognized as stitched out of the kerchief Gram had given her in the Wode, Gram’s house insignia proudly borne on her breast. In her hands was a small box, that to her was a fair chest of treasures as her avian mount eagerly hopped to the task, stopping next to the couple at the altar. Tirrah hopped clear, and quite artfully scaled the altar in two quick little motions, landing before Father Denis with a triumphant trill — the ring box offered with a neat little bow.

“Thank you, Lady Tirrah.” The Priest said, taking the small box from her. He dipped a small aspergilliam at hand into a golden vessel full of blessed water. With a genuflection of the eye-and-horn that was so ingrained it seemed automatic, he shook a mist of holy water over the rings and then extended the open box to Gram and Lidia. They each took their own.

“I grant this ring as an Oath of Gold, by God and Lady’s Grace do I bind my heart to yours, as sure and true as this band of gold.” Gram said in a rolling voice, taking her hand in his. Pointedly, his new, sidhe-wrought arm carried the ring and placed it upon her finger. She had to hold it together, just a few more moments… she took her ring.

“I grant this ring, as an Oath o’ Gold, By God and Lady’s Grace do I accept yer binding, an’ twist me heart twixt yers with faith an’ love true as this band o’ gold.”

The crowd grew hushed as they sat there, eyes locked on one another. She did not see Father Denis or anyone else as the old priest intoned softly.

“Does any here offer reason that these two should not be wed, these hearts stay unjoined, speak now or forever be silent!”

“I do, Priest.”

Lidia felt her blood run cold, and Gram’s head jerked to one side. The outside of the chapel doors were suddenly, utterly pitch black. A wall of shadow poured from the once-bright doors like mist… and a pair of bright, green eyes opened in that blackness. Slitted eyes. Sidhe eyes. Father Denis and Richart both set their teeth, and Lucian seemed to snap to a steely attention she’d only seen in warriors ready for mortal combat… But a soft laugh was all they earned. “Now, now. I only object that my invitation appears to have gotten… lost in the shuffle.” The eyes were bemused, and Richart grinned suddenly with fierce understanding.

“Dame Morgana, I am most sorry. I neglected such things for fear of intrusion during your time of recovery, pray — would you attend at your daughter’s side, at my most gracious invitation?”

The eyes flared wide with approval, and the darkness swirled and coalesced into a high-necked, stately black gown and a wide-brimmed hat with a raucous green plume. Dame Morgana’s Seeming was otherwise as she had remembered it, dressed-down, almost prim and proper as she gave an exaggerated nod and walked dutifully to her place at Lidia’s side of the altar, standing next to Alphonse with a wide, genuine smile of delight — knives, fangs and all. Lidia looked at her mother with shock… but she couldn’t hide her happiness to have her here. Father Denis took it in stride, the man was made of stern stuff, the old churchbell. With aplomb, he simply resumed as he had before, eyes gleaming with mischief.

“In the name of Our Lord in Ivory, Our Lady in White, and our Sovereign Crown, forever may it stand against the dark, I pronounce you Husband and Wife.” He boomed and in a slightly lower voice, full of cheer he added. “Now kiss the bride before she catches fire.”

Lidia was not sure who reached for who first, but she and Gram came together like fire and tinder, their mouths met and his hands touched her face and hips, drawing her up to him as she wrapped her arms around his neck. She kissed him hard, fuller, and deeper than she ever had before and around them the cheers rose and boomed. The chapel bells began to sound, and the choir began a fresh hymn as they kissed for the very first time as bonded husband and wife. Her hooves left the ground, and she realized he’d spun her in his arms as they kissed, and she only clung tighter still. Never would she let go.

A cheer went up, laughter and applause boomed off the walls. Gram scooped her up into his arms. She laughed gleefully and let him carry her properly down the aisle, the witnesses from the dais following close behind as the doors swung wide to the green anew. Both newlyweds were greeted again by Martin and his Ivory Spears. The scarred man grinned fiercely, snapping to attention.

“Present ARMS!” He bellowed, and there was a return stentorian cry of assent down the path. The sound itself was a physical force of devotion — each of the soldiers snapped his saber into an arch above the bride and groom. The steel blades rattled out like some perfect machine in exacting sequence. Full military honors, Gram’s men clashed their fists as they passed, each one’s eyes fierce and full of pride. Lidia felt it was a good enough time now, and tears flowed down her cheeks freely. Joy painted her face with the streaking kohl and rouge, and with it went her cares.

“Not bad, but it could be better.” Morgana mused from her place at the rear of the group, running one of her long, hooked talons across the brim of her hat. Richart shot her an alarmed glance but she only smiled at him wickedly — snapping her fingers with a crack like thunder.

The shadows of each man-at-arms in the line grew suddenly long, and figures sprung up from them. Spinning in an artful, choreographed pirouette — their long, sleek forms clutching delicate-looking silver trumpets with elaborate bells. Towering a head above each member of the Spears they assumed a strict, military attention in kind. Each one was dressed in a raucous equivalent to Darrowmite Finery — wide hats, great plumes, and great amounts of lace and capes. Their faces were human, their forms human — but they were clearly not. With an elaborate bow, they raised their trumpets to the skies and gave a brassy, clarion call that rang out sweetly, and clearly — in this world, and the next.

“I do not recall inviting them, Dame Morgana.” Richart chided her softly, and the Queen of Seelie gave a husky laugh.

“What Queen is without her entourage, Little Bird?” She countered — and followed it with a careful, deliberate wink. He let out a little ‘Ah’ of acceptance, taking Simone closer to him as Gram and Lidia continued down the walk towards the green, where the reception was in full swing. A feast, games and music already welcoming them.

Lidia looked back at the chapel, at Richart and Simone there, arm in arm, hand in hand — and for a moment, she saw two different people there looking down at her. For a moment, her father stood there with her mother as she last remembered them. Lidia felt her throat catch, and she blinked away the image until it was just The Baron and Baroness there… but her mother caught her gaze, and her smile turned from fierce to gentle. There was a little nod, and for a moment a final, single gleam of a woman that had died with Lachlan flitted across her face. She smiled back, and her joy sprang anew.

She was home.

~ ~ ~

Dame Morgana’s entourage it turns out — was extensive.

The already-boisterous celebration had become a full-blown festival atmosphere as along with the Trumpeteers came a veritable gaggle of similarly dressed and decorated Sidhe. Man and woman alike, all in hats and capes and a motley of colors nearly maddening to look at. They’d poured out of the doors through too-deep shadows and emerged into open revelry, flowing into the crowd in twirls and dances, flips and handsprings like a collection of Mistportian Jesters on parade.

“Is this quite safe?” Richart asked alarmed as the various Sidhe began to pair off with both guests and each other. The family was arrayed around the green and the great long tables that had been pulled out, piled high with food and drink in the Steppefolk tradition — an entire deer roasted with herbs for the event even.

“Oh as safe as any courtesan of the Capital,” laughed the Queen of Blood and Darkness, openly reclining in a particularly large settee that they’d dredged up from some deep storage within the keep. It was of the last-season’s fashion, high backed and very bright red. Khanenko seemed to relish the challenge of meeting the eldritch monarch’s needs, and she found herself quite comfortable. A snifter of brandy perched in her talons and a plate of delicacies nearby. “They will behave within the Laws of Courtesy, the most dangerous thing may be a pregnancy or two.”

“Oh iffin’ that’s all,” Lidia said with a roll of her eyes, she was quite firmly occupying the entirety of Gram’s lap. As was seemingly tradition in these military weddings, he and all of his men had shed their cuirasses and mantles post haste. They instead lounged about in those dashing embroidered shirts. Shirts, that she was starting to directly associate with masculine beauty. She liked the things it did with Gram’s neck and throat, it made her feel oddly bitey. Morgana raised her eyebrow.

“The last changeling born to these lands did well enough.” She said, sipping her brandy with a bit of pique, her eye flashing at the taste. “Majordomo, you picked out the same vintage from before!”

“The very same bottle, in fact. I put it away just in such cases of your visits, Your Highness.” Khanenko said with a crisp nod from nearby. Seeing the man in his traditional garb rather than his severe doublet and hose somehow made him more stern and piercing in presence, but no less comforting. Morgana caught her long tongue between her teeth in delight.

“A fine servant, if only mine own second had been so dutiful.”

Around them similar scenes played out. Simone lay across Richart’s lap, already well into her pipes and very content to let her husband hold her close. Dula and Louis similarly were nearby, but a ways apart — neither seemed particularly comfortable with the Sidhe courtesans idling about. Lidia raised her eyebrow at the latter in particular. “Who’re all o’ these fops anyways, mum?” She asked, idle, indolent even with the dangerous fairy. She’d come to an understanding to how things worked with the Sidhe.

“The Summer Court, Mine Child.” She said plainly, leaning back in her cushions, green eyes growing wicked. “I’m sure you shall recognize a few of them if you look carefully enough.” As if on cue, a trio of figures that had been nearby turned, the taller of the pair whipping off their ornate hats — one with a bright green plume, the other deepest, almost wet scarlet. Green and Crimson eyes met Lidia’s, and a familiar cleft chin on the tall Sidhe man with chestnut hair caught her eye…

“Colin!” Lidia cried, springing from her perch atop Gram’s lap to bull into the Sidhe man’s arms. He caught her, laughing and spinning her about as his partner fully removed her hat, Dearg wearing a body-hugging gown of glistening crimson silk, but aside from her long-limb build and half a head of height she was… almost human. Colin could have been as well. She touched his face, “What manner o’ sorcery?”

“A Seeming, that’s all!” Colin laughed, lifting her up and pirouetting like a dancer. That explained it, the whole troupe was the court they’d seen in the Amber Terraces, wearing Seemings same as her mother. The third companion, far shorter than the other two, whipped off his own hat, a crooked grin with a palsied eye greeting her. Simone sat up like a bolt with a smile.

“You old mule!” She said, and rose from Richart’s lap to wrap Abbot Giles in a tight hug, “What are you doing here, with this insane rabble?”

“Adventure! A brief one, at least.” He said, that crooked grin electric as he tucked his thumbs into the sash of his own gaudy outfit. “Colin here earned a boon of the Queen, and he chose to spend it on a bit of time together, He and I.”

“Ye’ve nae been taken ‘ave ye?” Lidia asked with a worried tone, and Giles guffawed at that.

“Hardly, I’ve lived in the shadow of the Black Forest longer than either of you girls have had your adult teeth, I know my way around fae deals.” He said with a fierce edge to his grin. “I am protected you see, Queen’s Favor.” He explained, turning his chin up almost defiantly at Morgana where she sat a ways away — offering him a wicked grin in return and raising her glass to him. He shrugged. “So I’m safe so long as I mind my own politeness. Rather like being at Court Mass, frankly.”

“You must be recording such things,” Richart offered with an almost feverish tone, and Giles cackled a bit, producing a heavy girdle-bound book from his waist. Already full of freshly-penned ink to a third of its considerable girth. Simone and Richart’s eyes sparkled like magpies.

“I’ll be needing it checked over, edited, bound and the like. I’m an old man, no way will I be able to make a full work of all I’m getting here before the Pale Dawn calls me.” He said and grinned at the two of them. “Wherever might I find a capable pair of hands or two, with a knowledge and hunger for fae lore?” He asked a touch dramatically, and it was his eyes’ turn to twinkle like a wee lad.

“That’s the work of a lifetime.” Simone breathed.

“Two lifetimes, I got a head start on mine.” Giles corrected, Simone and Richart looked at each other with glee and the old Abbot belted out a knowing guffaw, squeezing Simone tightly in his arms. “It’s good to see you out of the paddock, you old cow.”

“Had to get away from all your braying somehow,” She laughed through happy tears. “I suppose I had started to miss it a bit.”

“Come, walk with us! There is much celebration to be had yet, and what an honor to dance with the Lord and Lady both!” Colin crowed, taking Lidia’s hand and spinning her out from their embrace in a deft display of Sidhe agility — drawing a gleeful squeal from the changeling. “If I have the dispensation of Mine Queen and her Scion, that is.” He added, sweeping a bow at Lidia and Morgana.

“Oh go on, ye’ve both been through th’ wringer already,” Lidia said, glancing to her mother who simply laughed and made a shooing gesture at her courtesans. Simone took Richart’s hand, and the two scholars linked arms with Colin and Dearg, Giles caught right in the middle as they found their way off towards the green where dancing and games abounded.

Lidia settled back into Gram’s arms with a smile, the trio parting ways with a wave to wander away with Richart and Simone, eagerly conversing in a way only the learned really could. Gram’s face was serene, a smile had been upon his lips since they’d kissed at the altar. Their hands wound together again, both their rings gleaming against one another in the sunlight. She cast her gaze about, the rest of their friends and comrades had settled into their own comforts. The Ivory Spears and house soldiers were chatting and commiserating with one another — and the glamoured sidhe. The latter of who were seemingly eager to dance and wile the growing night away with boundless energy. Lucian and Martin had found one another and were laughing and chatting over pipes and cups on matters of little consequence with Father Denis. Marshal Avalov and his men were similarly belting out laughs and cheers over games of dice and cards with the church soldiers. All seemed to be well.

It was then that she spied the last member of their little family unaccounted for, even Colette had been seen playing joyously with other children and Tirrah. The Least Knight of Seelie, and now bonded member of the Keep Guard, leading them all in a merry game of pretend against an ogre made of barrels and straw. No, it was Alphonse that finally found his way into view — along with a dark haired, pale-skinned girl in a common homespun dress. They were apart from the others with one of his books, sitting beneath a tree near the long tables — and she was being very attentive to his every word.

“That must be the shepherdess we heard tell of.” Gram mused, his first words for a long while as he absently threaded his fingers over her belly. He was rather obsessed with that part of her lately, and she shivered in delight.

“Aye, a right miracle she was.” Lidia echoed, watching Alphonse down in the shade side a little closer to the girl, and she closer to him. Beside them, the Queen of Seelie tittered darkly.

“She was , was she not?” Lidia and Gram’s eyebrows both went up, turning in unison to the lounging sidhe, her long-legged, non-human form laid out like some pagan goddess of plenty — which Lidia realized, she sort of was.

“Did ye ‘ave somethin’ tae do wit’ that?” Lidia challenged, and her mother’s smile turned positively sharp, her grin so wide that her gums showed above her teeth.

“Tell me, Mine Child — what color were that girl’s eyes?”

Lidia’s own went wide, and she turned her head slowly to the distant girl, who as if on cue — looked dead at her with bright, unmistakably green eyes. She smiled and then turned her attention back to Alphonse, and Lidia turned her own back to her mother. The towering fae was positively smug. “I am fond of this place, these men.” She cast her own gaze back to Alphonse with a predatory desire. “They are so very _ interesting _.”

“Mum…” Lidia began and the Queen tittered softly, her voice for Gram rather than her Daughter, the cavalier’s face having grown cold and borderline furious.

“Have no fear Black Dog, I like the Hatchling as he is — unaltered, unspoiled. He will have a torrid summer romance, all the experiences a young man should.” She purred, tapping her talons on her teeth. “Beyond that, any interest is all his own…”

“Spoken like a fae and an aristocrat.” Gram replied with a resigned shake of his head. Morgana laughed gently, but Lidia leaned forward with intent.

“Ye promise?” The little changeling pressed her mother, “Ye put yer hooks in him like Colin or Mordred an’ I’ll sic Bart on ye.” The Queen’s eyes flashed at that, given immediate pause.

“You would task the Godslayer for such a thing?” She asked in a somewhat shocked voice, Lidia grinned knives right back at her.

“Nae a moment’s hesitation, an’ he’d come screamin’ down like a thunderbolt iffin’ I did.” Dame Morgana inclined her head at that, respect and incredulity warring with each other on her features.

“He would at that.” She agreed, nodding before turning her gaze back to the young scholar in the distance. “No Mine Child, upon mine power I swear to you, he will be unspoiled by all but the trials of youth.” She said — and such an oath was not one made lightly, she grinned at him.

“He wished for adventure. I am giving him one.”

Silence ruled in that for a moment, fears assuaged by bindings of oath, but Lidia did not settle in entirely, chewing her lip for a moment before turning her face to her mother once more.

“Whatever did happen tae Mordred?” she asked, hesitation softening her voice. The Queen tilted her head and her smile took on that familiar predatory edge, one of her talons caught between the saw-edged fangs.

“He has been gentled appropriately,” The faerie answered in a tone as sharp and brittle as glass. “He is being gentled yet still.” Lidia shuddered, and pointedly did not pursue what her mother could mean by that. The look in her eye nearly knocked the warmth from her blood.

Only nearly though, as Gram’s warm hands slid around her, pulling her in for another kiss. There had been many such kisses, as if he might forget the taste of her mouth, the touch of her lips if he was absent them more than a quarter-hour. She had no qualms with reacquainting him as many times as he needed.

The evening wound on like that, people flowing into and out of the proceedings — dalliances abounded, as seemed to be expected of a Steppefolk ceremony. Weddings were a time of celebration, and even the fae had engaged with the air of the evening — many of the soldiers and courtesans alike laughing as they kicked their heels up in traditional dances. Merry shows of dexterity and tenacity with a great deal of acrobatics, kicks and flips that the inhuman aristocrats rose to as a merry challenge. It was merry and full, and the Dame had been correct — there would likely be more than one union in the wake of this one. Life was infectious like that.

A ringing sound brought everyone’s attention as the sun had sank down below the horizons, the grounds lit by torches and a merry fire to stave off the evening cool. All eyes turned upwards to where Richart stood, having hoisted himself atop the main table in a suitably garish fashion. Having rang a brandy with a spoon — the man was quite obviously deep in both cups and pipes, but it was joy he was most drunk on.

“Dearly beloved, the night grows long, and with it our time grows short,” he began, turning to the whole of the keep, arms spread. “Let us raise our glasses once more, as we have our spirits — and our heels!”

Laughter followed that — Lidia and Gram alone had danced themselves to a fervor with drink pipes, and even the Queen of Seelie had taken to the floor alongside the Baron and Baroness — the giantess loping along in in merry frolicking with her court. It had been a thing of give and take, tit for tat. The courtesans would play to half of a song all lithe whirls and twirls — and the Steppefolk home guard would take the tempo with stomping rhythm, kicks, and flips. It seemed to be a tradition old as time, an exchange of joy. A joining of two houses — the story of Darrowmere. Richart’s voice rang out again.

“To all of you, my oldest friends, and staunchest allies!” He boomed to cheers from all around, raising his glass again, “To you as well, friends new and strange!” He turned pointedly and raised his glass to the Queen of Seelie, who grinned and raised hers in return. He smiled at her and turned his gaze to the rest of the crowd, “And to you all, wonderful and wild, I thank you. Thank you for breathing life into this cold, weary home again.”

He turned again and met Lidia and Gram’s gaze as he raised his glass once more, “Lastly, to my son and his dearest bride. A toast to your futures, our futures!”

“And grandchildren!” Came a gleefully intoxicated interjection from Simone, red faced and smug. Lidia bit her lip and Gram’s smile went a touch crooked. Richart merely laughed, honest and genuine.

They all raised their glasses in a cheer to the couple, and the prospects of a future golden and bright.