Forest of Mischief

A Moonlit Dance

“So Freya, did your dinner satisfy you?" Rory murmurs in her ear as he slides next to her. It only took him a few seconds to peel himself from the web of dancing fairies when he saw her watching from the side wall. Alone.

Apparently, a tradition of the Court of Anwen is to finish every night with a dance. The moment the feast died down, the tables and chairs disappeared with a blinding red flash. Only the wine decanters were left as celestial music from an unknown source pumped through the massive hall. The already tipsy fairies began ebbing and flowing with the music. Lilli quickly joined them, winding her way through the crowd, stopping a hairline away from Daniel. She was carefree in her nimble and elegant dancing, easily meshing with the other ethereal dancers. Freya was content to admire the spectacle from afar.

Freya ignores Rory's question as she purposefully studies the swaying fairies.

He leans against the wall, his arm brushing hers as he crosses them. An excuse to flex his muscles under the taught fabric of his shirt. He tilts his head toward hers. His red hair falls in front of his gleaming eyes, “You know, if you're waiting to ask me to dance, now's your chance."

“That's the last thing I would like to do," Freya asserts, angling her body toward him and crossing her own arms. Ready for a stand-off that he indulges. Their bodies are inches from each other, and Freya has to refrain from taking a step back. She holds her head higher as he studies her face.

“What about a trade?" He raises an eyebrow at her, “One dance for one question."

“I think I'm good," Freya says in a steely tone.

“Really? Because your friend seems to be preoccupied, and...so does your companion," the last word dripping in sarcasm. His head points in Merlyn's direction, who's in an intense conversation with Aeron in one of the corners of the hall.

“How about no dance, and you still answer all of my questions," Freya counters.

“Oh, the dance is not coming off the table," Rory grins.

“Seems we're at a stalemate," Freya says with narrowed eyes.

“Seems we are." They both hold their ground, waiting for the other to cave.

“One dance," Freya eventually says, just to get him to stop staring at her. “And you answer all my questions during it." His smug grin makes her instantly regret her decision.

To her surprise, Rory leads her away from the dance floor. He walks her to a curved door made of white birch tree, and opens it. Allowing her to walk through first, and Freya's breath catches as she looks at the scene around her.

'This is my favorite place in the castle," Rory says as he lets the door shut and she looks around. The music is still audible, but noticeably fainter. Cool breeze whips around her as she looks up at the night sky littered with stars. A crescent moon casting a glow over the balcony, high above the village below. An unruly garden forms a circle around the terrace, leaving a pocket large enough for two people to glance over the edge.

Distracted by the beauty, Freya is pulled back to reality when she feels a large, calloused hand wrap around her waist. Rory twists her to face him, and then reaches for her free hand. They stand there a moment, both feeling each other's closeness. Freya stiffens a bit, and Rory begins dancing to the music floating from inside.

She stares at his chest, which meets directly at her eye line as she asks her first question, “Why didn't you tell me your dad is the King?"

“Well, I didn't want that to be the only reason you liked me." She doesn't have to see it to know he's smirking.

“I'm serious, Rory. No lies, no tricks – remember?"

He glances down at her, and she looks up at him. “The truth is he's someone I don't particularly like to be associated with."

“But, you're here in court with him, that must count for something?" Freya starts, a tad surprised at his honesty.

“I'm here because I want to be. That doesn't mean I like the way he does things." He adds, “It's one of the reasons I brought you here, and he knows it."

“Oh, so that's why he glared at me throughout dinner?"

“No, that's his usual greeting. He was actually very well behaved tonight, I hope you never see him when he isn't." Freya doesn't either.

“He doesn't seem like the best dad," Freya states.

Rory laughs at this, “Well, after a few hundred years he stops feeling like your dad. And more like someone you have to take orders from, and in this case, I do – and so does everyone else."

“What types of orders does he give?"

“It depends on who they're for. In the Realm, everyone contributes in one way or another. There are other leaders, but even then, Aeron has final say." His hand tightens on her waist. Their dancing has turned into smaller movements. Freya feels the intimacy of the situation.

Thinking of a lighter topic, she asks about the nimble fairies she saw earlier.

“Those would be Pixies. Make sure to ask Lilli about them," Rory smiles.

Freya tilts her eyes away from his, looking back into the midnight garden. Her mind replays his answers as she tries to rummage between the old questions and new ones forming. She almost doesn't notice when the music ends, and it seems like he doesn't either – or at least, won't be the first one to say it.

Freya pulls away from him, “There's your dance."

He smiles, “And, there are your answers."

The door from the hall opens, streaming light on them. Merlyn stands casually in the doorframe. If he had any thoughts of the two of them alone, his face doesn't show it. “Aeron's ready for her."

Rory nods, and Merlyn offers his arm to Freya. His small attempt at keeping up their cover as the three of them wade through the fairies still partying. As they pass, Freya feels a twinge of jealousy at their ability to be utterly carefree. Their ability to escape their worry and fear – instead, Freya is walking straight into hers.

They exit the dining hall, where Merlyn drops Freya's arm. The sounds of laughter growing fainter as they continue to walk through the dimly lit corridor. Rory is unusually silent the whole way. The three of them reach a cherry wood door with two lit candles on either side, the wax dripping down the side of the candelabras.

Without a knock, Rory pushes the door open. Aeron sits behind a tall desk, the walls surrounding the room built into the mountain, and candles line the room. The warmth accentuating Aeron's disdain as he looks at Freya before his eyes settle on Rory.

They stick near the entryway, and for the first time, Freya is truly grateful for being in the company of both Merlyn and Rory. Aeron gets up from his chair, crossing in front of the desk to face them. He stands even taller than Rory, his boiling red eyes a stark contrast to the unsettling mask of calmness on his face.

The calm cracks as he growls, “Why is she here?" He still looks to Rory, not her, for an answer.

“You know why," Rory bites back.

“She's not worth it. She's not worth disrupting the peace over," he says. Taking a few steps closer to them as he speaks. Rory adjusts his stance, his left shoulder guarding Freya.

His emerald eyes glaze with heat, but Merlyn speaks calmly, “What's done is done, Aeron. She can't go back, even if we tried." Freya almost forgot about that factor.

Aeron flippantly asks, “Does she even want to be here?"

It takes Freya a moment to realize he's waiting to respond. She bites her tongue to keep her from replying, 'Do you have to be such an a*s?'

Instead, she asks, “Why does my being here concern you?"

From the incredulous look he gives her, maybe she should have gone with the first option. She senses both Merlyn and Rory tense next to her.

“I am in charge of everything that happens in this Realm, lest you forget," Aeron retorts. “You being here only causes more danger for my entire court." A small voice in the back of Freya's head warns her to not ask about the danger.

“Don't talk to her like that," Rory seethes, a low warning.

Aeron breathes out, “Make sure no one finds out who she is. If they do, she is no longer under my protection." His gaze turns to her.

Freya raises her chin, not backing down, “I don't need your protection." Now, she's angry too.

She feels a firm hand grip her shoulder – Merlyn's. He doesn't look at her, his violet eyes on Aeron.

“There's no need for threats, Aeron," Merlyn's voice is steady, unwavering. Aeron simply turns his back on them, walking back to his desk and sitting down. Apparently, they're dismissed. Merlyn keeps his hand on her as he steers her out the way they came. Rory follows behind and shuts the door hard enough that it shakes.

She can feel the shift in attitude of both Rory and Merlyn, and she wonders if they can feel it in her, too. Freya is furious, and for the first time since walking through the portal, she lets herself feel it. Her hands curl into fists, and she stops walking. It takes a moment for the two males to notice. They turn around, Rory's face a steely blanket of anger, and Merlyn's has a slightly perplexed look. As if he's not sure he cares to hear why Freya stopped walking.

“Why did you bring me here?" Freya demands. The questions that have burning inside her spill over, “Why bring me to a place where everyone would rather me be gone? What is this danger that everyone keeps talking about, but never explains?"

Her eyes cut at Rory, “Why wait to bring up an oath I supposedly made hundreds of years ago? What is the point?"

She watches as Rory's face softens, his anger dissipating. Merlyn's stoic mask falters for just a second. She wonders which will answer her, what excuse and reasoning they'll use. She's not sure there is an answer. Freya doesn't even know what she wants to hear.

Rory's tense face slackens, and takes a step toward her. “Does there have to be a point to want you back?"