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Chapter Text

Augus

*

They called him the King’s dog and the King’s executioner. Augus had only caught fleeting glimpses of him in the Unseelie Court throne room, the King’s dog was never there for longer than it took to speak briefly to the Raven Prince – their King, and not a prince at all. The dog and executioner almost never wore his Mage motley, and he stared around the room with open disdain. He’d teleport away with his incandescent light, even though it was rude to do within the Unseelie palace, but the Raven Prince always allowed it.

Augus had been invited to the Unseelie Court with increasing frequency of late. It was tedious, but he didn’t wish to slight the King, not when he had a barely leashed, feral Mage that ate the souls of fae and enjoyed it, at his beck and call.

The throne room wasn’t the worst place Augus had ever visited, though the melange of scents was overwhelming. Everyone gave him a wide berth – the reputation of previous waterhorses preceded him – and he was free to sit back and observe the others. He wasn’t interested in vying for Court or Inner Court status, and he only needed to be there for an hour or so.

He came after the sun set, when glowing creatures lit up and chandeliers of phosphorescence began to glow. Blue-pale fungi let off light, and served as comfortable, soft seats. Fireflies in yellow, blue and green arced around, floating up towards the ceiling and appearing like stars.

On this day, the Raven Prince walked over to him and stood by him. Augus’ skin crawled.

‘Your Majesty,’ he said, in quiet acknowledgement.

‘Each Uisge,’ the Raven Prince said. ‘Is it true you tailor your own clothes?’

Augus blinked. He wasn’t aware that the Raven Prince cared to know anything about him, other than the fact that he thought Augus pleasing to look at, and wanted him in his Court the way the Raven Prince often favoured pretty things.

‘Most of them,’ Augus said, and then looked up. ‘Looking for a tailor, Your Majesty?’

The Raven Prince gazed out towards the crowd, then his eyes narrowed. Augus couldn’t tell if he was pleased or annoyed.

‘Not for me. The Masque approaches and I wish for you to make something for Gwyn ap Nudd.’

Augus sat there for several moments longer and wondered if there was a delicate way of excusing himself. No one refused the King.

‘I hear that you are used to taming all manner of fae in unusual ways,’ the Raven Prince said. ‘I’m sure it won’t come to that. But I’d like for him to not be dressed as a peasant scarecrow for yet another year. If he comes at all.’

‘I think you misunderstand what it is that I do,’ Augus said.

The Raven Prince looked down at him, a thick black eyebrow arched. ‘Then use your compulsions. I don’t care. I’ll organise a time for you to see him.’

‘You wish me to attire your executioner,’ Augus said flatly.

‘If anyone can,’ the Raven Prince said with something odd in his voice, ‘it’s probably you, Each Uisge.’

He walked away, and Augus leaned back against the uneven, rocky wall and stared ahead balefully.

That night, he went to the human realm and hunted. He seduced and then lured his prey into his lake, before shifting into waterhorse form and feasting upon the plump, delicious maiden, blood so creamy that he would have bathed in it if it didn’t taste like mana itself. In his waterhorse form, he wasn’t truly aware of why he felt so spiteful. But Augus’ last thought before he shifted and tore the screaming girl apart, was that it would be awfully difficult for the Raven Prince to summon him while he digested a human for a week at the bottom of his lake.

*

The Raven Prince designated a neutral space for them both to meet. Augus found it fascinating that the Raven Prince chose the Unseelie Court itself as a neutral space, because that was where Gwyn had been raised as a child, and surely he favoured it more than Augus ever could? Or perhaps the Raven Prince was playing tricks in the manner he was accustomed, and this was just more putting Augus on the back foot for whatever game he was a pawn in.

It didn’t matter. Augus really only needed measurements for this. He hoped. He’d never been a professional tailor in his life. He didn’t even make clothing for his brother, Ash. As soon as Ash was old enough, everything he wore was from the human realm.

He sat in a room dedicated entirely to dress and cloth-making. He had nothing like this back in his home. There were even human machines that ran on magic on a table nearby. Augus hand-stitched everything he’d ever made for himself. A small pot of thimbles rested by the table Augus sat beside. There were pincushions everywhere, three made by the same person to resemble iridescent beetles. Augus was fond of those.

Gwyn ap Nudd swept in thirty minutes late, giving Augus a swift look of disgust, before giving the rest of the room the same.

Augus took in details quickly. The pale blond hair – nearly white – and the pale blue eyes that made him look even more alien and incapable of any emotion except cruelty. He was svelte, and his wrists were bony, his fingers long. He wore simple leather boots that didn’t look well-worn, as though he didn’t like to wear shoes at all. Suede tan pants, a cream linen shirt that had no collar, only soft, frayed ties so that it could be opened at the chest or tied closed. His cloak was just a huge bear pelt with the head and paws sheared off. No stitching, only a bare attempt at shaping. Two holes had been punctured to thread leather through in order to keep it in place on his body.

At his side, in a worn leather belt, his staff. Unlike other Mages from the School of the Staff, Gwyn’s looked like nothing more than a polished stick. The wood didn’t even look that special. It held no gems or stones or sculptures and it wasn’t living.

‘This is a waste of my time,’ Gwyn clipped off. ‘I won’t be attending the Masque.’

‘And yet the Raven Prince wishes you have attire for it regardless,’ Augus said. ‘Would it not be easier to get this out of the way?’

‘And why you?’ Gwyn snapped, walking over to him, directly into Augus’ space, and staring down at him with an unblinking gaze. Augus stared calmly back up at him.

He hoped he looked calm.

‘We all know what you do,’ Gwyn said.

‘Why?’ Augus purred, leaning back into the table and resting his elbow upon it, so he could lean his head on his hand. ‘What is it that I do?’

‘You fuck,’ Gwyn said.

Augus waited for the rest of the explanation, and when none came, he couldn’t help himself. He burst into quiet laughter, covering his mouth with his other hand.

You fuck.

‘Ah,’ Augus said, lowering his hand slowly. ‘And you, of course, never fuck.’

Gwyn stared at him unblinking for another few seconds and turned away, stalking across the room like a trapped animal.

‘I don’t need any clothes. I remember my measurements from the last fitting. I didn’t wear any of those clothes either. But I will quote you my measurements, and you can make whatever you like, I won’t wear it, and the Raven Prince cannot slight you for having done a task he wishes you to do. I know what he’s like, after all.’

Gwyn was talking to a large wall of fabric samples. Augus couldn’t tell what made him more uncomfortable. The fact that he was in a room dedicated to something he cared so little about, or the fact that Augus ‘fucked.’ Augus knew there was far more going on there, and he found himself unexpectedly entertained.

Still wary. Still uncomfortable. But entertained.

‘Oh, I’m afraid that won’t do at all,’ Augus said. ‘I need to take your measurements myself. If you could just undress, this will be over quickly, and-’

‘-I’m not playing another of his games,’ Gwyn bit out, without turning to look at Augus.

There was a burst of that bright light – that didn’t burn Augus’ eyes despite him expecting it to – and then Gwyn wasn’t there.

He was gone. He’d teleported away.

Augus raised his eyebrows and wondered who the Raven Prince’s ire would fall upon for this meeting not going well. Augus wondered what he was supposed to do.

After a while he yawned and looked around the room one last time, and then went home.

*

Gwyn turned up on his doorstep the next day while the sun was still rising in the sky. Augus couldn’t see it from his underwater home, safe and dry beneath its vivid green protective dome at the bottom of the lake, but he could sense the time. Gwyn stood there with his staff out, his jaw already clenched, and he stared at Augus like he was ready to fight.

Augus resisted the urge to smile at him.

‘I see the Raven Prince had something to say about you cutting the meeting short?’

‘He did,’ Gwyn said.

‘It’s incredibly rude to turn up on my doorstep like this. I could have been seeing a client.’

‘Fucking them,’ he said, like he was correcting Augus.

‘Oh, I don’t often fuck them at all,’ Augus said, walking back into his house and feeling his heart beat harder when Gwyn stepped in after him. He half-expected Gwyn to slam the door shut, with his ill-mannered ways. Instead, Gwyn carefully closed the door, even more gently than Augus did it himself. The click was hardly audible.

‘Would you like some tea?’ Augus said.

‘What?’

‘Tea,’ Augus said. ‘Or water? I don’t have much that you might like, unfortunately, but-’

‘As if you have any concept of what I’d like,’ Gwyn said, his voice hard and snarly all over again.

Augus thought that he’d not met anyone this defensive in a good long time. It was like he expected everything to be an attack, and was trying to pre-empt it. Augus’ brow furrowed as he walked into his kitchen, and then he decided to play with that a little more, turning around.

‘Well, I could offer you a mug of fae blood,’ Augus said, ‘but I’m partial to human, myself.’

Gwyn stopped immediately, where he’d been crossing Augus’ lounge. He looked caught out, and it took him a moment to turn his features to blankness once more.

‘I don’t drink their blood,’ Gwyn said.

‘That’s not what I’ve heard.’

‘I don’t need to drink their blood,’ Gwyn said eventually, and then offered a tiny cold smile of his own.  

That was deliberate. Gwyn had decided to bait Augus in turn. And Augus had no doubt that he’d tasted fae blood. They all said that Gwyn couldn’t help himself. He was a cannibal even beyond what his psychopomp appetite demanded he take. The Raven Prince encouraged it, and his half-wild executioner was said to eat his meat raw and often still twitching when he could get it.

‘Tea?’ Augus said sweetly.

Gwyn’s eyebrows drew together. ‘What are you going to put in it?’

‘Tea?’ Augus said. ‘Does the Raven Prince make a habit of poisoning you?’

‘No,’ Gwyn said, but he had a look on his face that suggested he’d been poisoned by someone, and hadn’t liked it very much.

‘Listen,’ Augus said, ‘we have both been tasked with something we don’t much want to do, and I-’

‘Why would you not want to do this?’ Gwyn said.

The flash of irritation that came was strong and bright, and Augus calmly rested his hands on the table before saying:

‘You are going to let me finish my sentences, and you are going to stop being so rude to me.’

A satisfying moment when Gwyn’s eyes glazed, which meant the compulsion had reached him. The Raven Prince had said he could use them, but Augus had no idea they’d truly work, even if he did have some of the strongest compulsions in the fae realm.

Augus watched in fascination as Gwyn fought the compulsions. The glazed look in his eyes lasted longer than usual, and faint lines appeared on his forehead. Either he didn’t want to give up on being rude, or he thought letting someone else finish their sentences was too much power to give away.

Augus forced himself to stay calm, because he suspected none of this was going to go down well.

After another minute, Gwyn shuddered and stared a flinty anger at Augus. But he didn’t do anything, and he didn’t insult him or teleport away. All of it was progress.

Though progress towards what, Augus wasn’t sure. He was beginning to give up the whole thing as hopeless. Perhaps he should just take down a list of Gwyn’s measurements, make something he’d never wear, and give it up as one of the Raven Prince’s nasty games. Most of his mischief wasn’t truly malicious, but he still made sport of other fae.

‘Your compulsions are strong,’ Gwyn said finally. ‘Most of them do not touch me.’

‘I find it’s very useful when the Raven Prince asks me to do something I don’t particularly care to do.’

Gwyn had opened his mouth halfway through the sentence, but closed it abruptly. The compulsion must have been working. After another few seconds, Gwyn said:

‘I know why I don’t care about any of this, but why are you against it?’

Gwyn looked him up and down and then gestured vaguely.

‘You care more for the sartorial than I do, that much is clear.’

And then before Augus could even speak – which he supposed didn’t count as interrupting a sentence – Gwyn said:

‘I suppose my reputation precedes me. As always.’

‘No,’ Augus said slowly, sweetly. ‘Of course not. You have proven yourself to be very sweet and good-natured and well-mannered, and don’t behave at all like the arrogant executioner psychopomp Mage everyone claims you to be. I’m having a grand time.’

The side of Gwyn’s mouth quirked upwards, his eyes flashed with humour and something dark when he turned and hid a breath of laughter. Augus found that charming. Why would anyone hide their laughter? Maybe he really was that invested in the persona the Raven Prince wanted him to occupy.

‘I also hunt,’ Gwyn said. ‘An arrogant executioner-hunter psychopomp Mage.’

‘A rude one,’ Augus said. ‘The Raven Prince still cares for some of fae etiquette. Is this all some misguided rebellion?’

‘Oh,’ Gwyn said quietly, looking down at his feet. ‘I wouldn’t call it misguided at all, but immature, yes. And a rebellion.’

‘Look at you, so self-aware,’ Augus said, unable to resist gently digging at him. Something about Gwyn invited it. There was more self-deprecation there than the resistance of earlier initially hinted at. And when he softened, there was something about him that Augus found intriguing. Even if he was rude, and this was a waste of his time.

‘The Raven Prince prizes self-awareness,’ Gwyn said, smiling ruefully. ‘He doesn’t much care what I do with it once I have it though.’

‘He cares about what you wear to the Masque.’

A flash of rage – no small irritation there – and it was clear that whatever was between Gwyn and the Raven Prince on this matter wasn’t simply some small quibble. Augus sighed and set up the kettle, spooning green tea leaves into the strainer, frowning. As he waited for the water to boil, he watched as Gwyn looked about Augus’ house once more. He looked curious, and then he held out his fingers briefly, they splayed like he was feeling something.

‘You have magic around this house, and it’s not yours.’

‘Yes,’ Augus said. ‘A warding to stop the unwanted from turning up on my doorstep.’

‘Am I not unwanted?’

‘People who intend me genuine harm,’ Augus corrected.

‘Ah,’ Gwyn said. ‘So I can still be unwanted.’

Augus wondered what the Raven Prince expected him to do. The Raven Prince went out of his way to avoid mentioning Augus’ vocation as much as possible, and yet had explicitly brought it up while talking about Gwyn. Augus had no real desire to take Gwyn on as a client. Not least because if he made a mistake – as unlikely as it was – he’d have harmed a member of the Raven Prince’s Inner Court.

And, as Ash would say, one just didn’t fuck with that.

Once the tea was made, Augus led them over to the couches with their many cushions. He poured Gwyn a cup first, poured his own, and then sat back and crossed one leg over the other. Gwyn didn’t touch the tea, and he took a seat in an armchair opposite Augus, the coffee table between them. He didn’t cross his legs, but left both feet on the floor, and both hands on the armrests, like he was ready to push himself up if he had to.

‘Your home isn’t what I expected,’ Gwyn said.

‘What did you expect?’

‘Something…dark and dank,’ he said.

Augus nodded. It surprised him a little, because many fae – especially Unseelie fae – knew that waterhorses liked creature comforts. Had Gwyn never learned that? Why wouldn’t he have learned that, especially with the Raven Prince having taken him in? Or maybe he had learned it, and he was trying to elicit some hostile response from Augus.

‘Is it true that you’ve lived mostly in the wilds?’ Augus said. ‘I have no idea what rumours about you are true.’

Gwyn picked up the cup of tea and turned it in his fingers, and then he traced the ceramic glaze as though he liked the way it felt. Or maybe he was charming the tea. Augus had no idea how he’d be able to tell if Gwyn was using his magic, unless he felt or saw it properly.

‘It’s true,’ Gwyn said. ‘Except for when I stayed at the School of the Staff, and when the Raven Prince made me live in the Unseelie palace.’

‘So you like your clothing to be practical.’

‘The first time he bade me go to a Masque, I was young and still didn’t quite understand what he wanted from me. And then I saw the mask that he’d had made for me, and I understood.’

Augus almost asked, and then he remembered what the rumours said about that too.

‘A dog,’ Augus said.

Gwyn nodded, smiling as he sipped the tea.

‘Well,’ Augus said, ‘he must want you to have a choice in the matter this year. He hasn’t told me to make you a dog again.’

‘People will talk, if I don’t wear the dog mask. They’ll wonder if the King’s losing control of me. Or they’ll ask what it means. Or they’ll push to see how loyal I am. The Mages who come are always insufferable about it. Like I’m his slave, you know.’

Aren’t you?

Augus wondered how much of this civil conversation was a direct result of the compulsion. Gwyn obeying it would have made it dissipate in only a few minutes. By now, this could easily just be Gwyn when he was feeling less defensive. But Augus couldn’t forget how quickly that anger flashed into existence.

‘And he wants you to do it,’ Gwyn continued, ‘because I think he wants to see if someone else can control me.’

Augus had wondered that too, but he was surprised Gwyn was being so transparent about it.

‘Maybe this is all a test to see if I’ll turn up as his dog again, in fancier clothes,’ Gwyn said, looking up somewhere past Augus, his gaze distant and unhappy.

‘Is it always like this?’

‘Like what?’

‘Questioning his motives? Trying to work out what the end-game is?’

‘Normally, I try not to bother,’ Gwyn said. ‘He always has his games, and not all of them hurt. But when it’s the Masque at the Court, and our rivals and allies and our Unseelie Mage colleagues will be there… The past few years, he has not fussed about whether I’m there or not. This year… I don’t know who is on his guest list, or what has changed to make this reality. But I trust it not.’

Augus was turning over Gwyn’s earlier statement. Did the Raven Prince truly want Augus to take Gwyn as a client? If the Raven Prince had the slightest understanding of what Augus did, he might think Gwyn troubled enough to need it. But if the Raven Prince didn’t understand, then…

He didn’t even want to try and figure out what the King was up to. It felt treasonous, and Augus wasn’t in the habit of upsetting monarchs.

‘You’re being very open with me,’ Augus said eventually.

‘What?’ Gwyn scoffed. ‘You’re no threat to me. My candour means nothing here if you use it against me.’

Augus sipped at his own tea and had to hold back a smile. But something of his amusement must have shown on his face, because Gwyn squinted at him.

‘What?’ he said, antagonistic this time.

‘Nothing,’ Augus said. ‘Of course I’m no threat to you.’

Except for those compulsions that clearly work.

Gwyn scowled now, and stared down at his tea like it had personally offended him.

‘Is there any animal you’d prefer to champion, at the Masque?’ Augus asked.

‘No,’ Gwyn said flatly.

‘Is there anything you’d like to-’

‘No.’

Ah, well the compulsion had worn off then. But Gwyn’s eyes widened, and he shrank back into the chair, looking up like he expected another compulsion. He’d obviously belatedly realised that he’d been rude, and was prepared for consequences.

Augus filed that away. A little too used to being quickly punished, which didn’t surprise Augus at all, he knew how fickle and impatient the Raven Prince could be. And Gwyn was adopted as a ward of the Court, after his Seelie parents gave him up to avoid a diplomatic disaster. But Gwyn wasn’t fostered out to anyone. The Raven Prince had realised what a coup Gwyn was, in terms of his Seelie pedigree, and his magical potential, and raised him up himself.

The Raven Prince was an impish, trickster teacher. Augus imagined he didn’t know the first thing about parenting.

‘I apologise,’ Gwyn said stiffly.

‘Thank you,’ Augus said. ‘Do you interrupt everyone else?’

‘Not him,’ Gwyn said. ‘But otherwise, yes. Talking is tedious.’

‘Rather be in some forest in the middle of nowhere, would you?’

It was obvious from Gwyn’s face that this was exactly what he wanted.

‘It may be that he wants you,’ Gwyn said musingly. ‘And that I am some form of payment, or security.’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘He finds you very fine to look at, and I didn’t realise you were so courtly in your mannerisms already. You’ve resisted the courtier path – for which I don’t at all blame you. But it means he can’t get a proper measure of you otherwise.’ Gwyn tilted his head like the dog he didn’t want to be, and then pursed his lips. ‘If I strike a personal accord with you, he’ll have more of an excuse to invite you to the Unseelie Court, and then he can get a better measure of you outside of the throne room.’

Augus opened his mouth, but Gwyn cut across him before he could speak.

‘If it’s that, then we can just pretend we have an accord!’ Gwyn said brightly. ‘I’ll go back and tell him that everything went as well as it could have gone, and he’ll likely invite you back for some other matter in the future.’

‘I don’t want that,’ Augus said, horrified.

‘Were you under the impression that he cared?’

‘What on earth would he want me for? The throne room is plenty.’

Gwyn smirked. ‘Struggle with it, do you?’

‘Shut up,’ Augus said, glaring. ‘That can’t be it. I don’t believe for a second that he’d want that, when he has anyone at all to choose from.’

‘You don’t understand,’ Gwyn said. ‘He likes pretty things, and he likes smart pretty things. If he can find a way to look at you more often, he will.’

‘I’m not an ornament!’

‘I know that,’ Gwyn said, drinking more of the tea. ‘Don’t get angry at me.’

‘He said, having spent every moment venting at me for what the King is making him do.’

‘Touche,’ Gwyn said under his breath, setting the teacup down.

What Augus liked least of all was that Gwyn’s words had a measure of truth to them. He’d felt the Raven Prince’s interest, seeing the beady brightness in his eyes, known that the Raven Prince wanted him at his Court more often than he wanted to be there. The idea that he was testing the both of them to see how they reacted – the idea of being leashed any more to that Court when he didn’t want the Raven Prince’s notice at all… it galled.

‘And that,’ Gwyn said, gesturing at Augus’ expression, ‘is a sliver of what it’s like to have been raised by him.’

Augus didn’t doubt it. There were few who envied him his role, and Augus wondered whether Gwyn had come to be his executioner naturally – after all, he did need to feed off the deaths of fae to survive – or if the Raven Prince had manipulated him into that too.

Augus could have asked him, but sensed the link between them was tenuous. It felt like a shared sympathy between equals, but it wasn’t. Gwyn was of higher status and could flick Augus out of his existence with his magic, his Unseelie ability, or any other method he chose. Augus had no doubt that if Gwyn chose to use his glamour – which they claimed was a brutal, hideous force that he kept coiled and leashed the rest of the time –  Augus would be as close to compelled as he could get, given regular compulsions didn’t work on him.

Gwyn placed his teacup down on the wooden tray. As with the door, he treated it as though it was extremely delicate. It was almost like he was afraid he’d break anything just by brushing a finger against it. Even Augus didn’t treat his objects that carefully, and they were his, and he cared for them.

‘I thought there’d be more dungeon equipment,’ Gwyn said, looking around the living area once more.

‘Oh, I have plenty of that. But it’s down the hall.’

He blinked, as though checking to see if Augus was bluffing.

Augus wasn’t.

‘Do you want to see it?’

A pause, where it was clear he did want to see it and Augus nearly smiled. But Gwyn’s face shuttered.

‘No.’

‘Did someone tell you that I tortured them?’ Augus said, curious as to how Gwyn had formed this opinion in the first place.

‘No. The Raven Prince said that you brutalised people, but with sex.’

‘Oh, I see,’ Augus said lightly. ‘So like a rapist.’

‘No!’ Gwyn said, looking increasingly angry that Augus wasn’t understanding him. But Augus was enjoying baiting him, especially now that Gwyn was sitting down, and didn’t look like he was just going to destroy the house around him.

‘There’s nothing wrong with that, is there? Doesn’t he have rapists on the books? I’ve heard rumours about him too.’

Gwyn’s face went completely blank. Augus couldn’t regret having pushed him so hard. Did he not like that the Raven Prince hired fae who fed on rape, and used them to interrogate his prisoners, when he could use compulsions or magic just as well to get his answers? But compulsions and magic weren’t as intimidating to many fae as much as knowing the King had no qualms about keeping rapists on the books.

‘An Unseelie fae cannot help their appetite,’ Gwyn said stiffly. ‘Outside of that, it’s none of my business.’

‘Maybe the Raven Prince wants you here, because he wants to see if I’m a good enough rapist to hire.’

He was only saying it for the sake of it, he didn’t believe a word he was uttering, but it upset Gwyn enough that he stood and walked away. He didn’t give his entire back to Augus, but he did stand side on, and wouldn’t let Augus see his expression.

That was fine, Augus could read his body language well enough. This conversation was stressful for him. And Augus liked placing fae under stress. Though he preferred when it was controlled, but ah, Gwyn didn’t want to see his ‘dungeon equipment.’

‘That’s not why I’m here,’ Gwyn said.

‘Really? You don’t think he wants me to rape you? Maybe to tame you?’

Gwyn didn’t say a word, and Augus straightened when he realised that even though the idea was preposterous, Gwyn…believed it.

He both believed Augus was more than capable – well, he probably was – but that the Raven Prince would do that to him. Wasn’t Gwyn the closest thing the Raven Prince would ever get to a son? And the Raven Prince had poured privilege over him, letting him live wild and unrestrained, hardly bringing him back to the fold unless he had need of him.

‘Goodness me,’ Augus allowed himself to say, letting some of the shock trickle through.

‘I’m sure that isn’t it,’ Gwyn said reflexively.

‘It certainly goes some way to explaining your defensiveness,’ Augus said, and Gwyn grimaced and looked back at him. Augus blinked, because Gwyn’s expression seemed to be saying:

I’m this defensive all the time.

‘Well,’ Augus said. ‘I haven’t been tasked to rape you, and it’s not something that frequents my schedule anyway. I’ve been tasked to fit you and then tailor clothing for you. If the Raven Prince wants a rapist, he can find others easily. He knows I will never choose him over my vocation.’

Gwyn placed a hand to his forehead and then dropped it. His fingers traced over his staff where it was tied to his belt. Augus felt a frisson of fear just watching him, wondering if he wanted to use magic to… Augus didn’t even know.

‘I need to think about this,’ Gwyn said. ‘I don’t want to be fitted today.’

‘And will that not bring consequences?’ Augus said. ‘The Raven Prince so loves to be slighted.’

‘I will tell him directly. That often mitigates the worst of his responses. I will return. Is there a time suitable to you? When you don’t have a client?’

‘Look at that,’ Augus said. ‘He can be polite after all.’

Gwyn glowered at him.

‘Truthfully, no,’ Augus said. ‘Most aren’t booked in, in advance. They are under duress, you understand. I see them when they come, which is why I prefer to be here rather than in the Unseelie Court.’

‘Then… I will come back in three days.’

‘Is it really so hard to just undress and let me get accurate measurements, talk about some fabrics, and then leave me to it? I don’t care to make this any more difficult than it has to be. You’re not unthreatening.’

‘Of course it’s not difficult,’ Gwyn spat, but his defensiveness was back, and he’d taken a step back. ‘It is that I do not want to do it at all! And this is nothing about my duty, nor my role. After all, the Masque is intended to be joyful, only slightly sinister, for everyone. Trust me, Each Uisge, you are not the only one who finds me threatening, and if he wants me there, he wants the others to be on edge. I will return after I’ve talked to him. Three days.’

‘What time?’

‘Whenever I come,’ Gwyn clipped off. He looked up towards the ceiling, and then – as rudely as he had the first time they met – he turned into a blaze of white-gold light and vanished.

Augus sighed.

At least Gwyn had come to the front door first, instead of simply teleporting inside the house. And, Augus decided, pouring himself another cup of tea, at least he was alive and unscathed and not cursed with any magic at all. All in all, it could have gone much worse.

Chapter Text

Augus

*

As it turned out, Augus did have a client in three days’ time, when Gwyn was supposed to return. Augus left his customary sign up on his front door, and left a post-script for Gwyn, stating that he was welcome to return in another two days.

Though he was curious about the King’s Mage, he was in no rush to compromise the way he lived for someone who was dangerous and rude. Just because Gwyn ap Nudd turned out not to be a complete waste of his time, didn’t mean he was still not mostly…a waste of his time.

Augus could usually get a solid read on people within about an hour of knowing them. More complex people might take about two hours. His vocation demanded an accurate way of interpreting first impressions. And while it didn’t always work, and sometimes he had to turn clients away because of it, he was surprised that where he’d expected ‘arrogance and an inferiority complex’ – for who wouldn’t have one, raised by the Raven Prince? – he’d gotten ‘arrogance and an inferiority complex and a mass of other things that no one has the time to deal with.’

Arrogance that wasn’t his own, bored him. Inferiority complexes were predictable and wholly pedestrian. The only time he found them fascinating was when he was making a client cry or beg for him because of one.

But, as with the Raven Prince, Augus didn’t get a clear measure of Gwyn’s sexual leanings. Perhaps he had none. Not that Augus needed a client to have any to work with them, but the Raven Prince had forced him into this, suggested Augus somehow use his vocational skills on Gwyn and then left it all up to Augus.

He disliked the idea that all of this might be a larger machination to get Augus into the Unseelie Court regularly.

No, thank you.

When he heard the chime of someone at his front door, he nearly smiled.

Look at that, he’s not teleporting into my home. It’s almost precious.

Augus walked to the door and opened it, and Gwyn stood there in nearly identical clothing to what he’d worn five days before. The peasant shirt was a lighter shade of cream, his pants a darker shade of brown, and that was all there was to differentiate from the clothing he wore last time.

‘Do you have twenty shirts and pants that are all the same?’ Augus said, looking him over and liking the way Gwyn flushed in response.

‘No,’ Gwyn said. ‘Who needs twenty of the same thing?’

‘Ah,’ Augus said, then stepped back and swept his arm out, gesturing Gwyn inside his home.

He watched him closely. The tension was there, just as bad as last time. Gwyn didn’t relax at all, and Augus knew the Raven Prince was a trickster, but not for the first time he had a sense that this was more intense than warranted. Gwyn profoundly didn’t trust this space despite having enough magic at his disposal to obliterate Augus, his lake, and the surrounding landscape without touching a hair on his own head.

It was fascinating. It spoke to some deeper issue.

He looked to see where Gwyn went first as he closed the door, but Gwyn stood awkwardly between the kitchen and the lounge as though waiting for someone else to make the decision for him.

That was its own kind of intriguing, but Augus dismissed it, because he already had too many grotesque fantasies of getting murdered if he so much as looked at Gwyn like he wanted to break him down in one of his rooms. He didn’t need another.

‘Any consequences for dragging this out even longer?’ Augus said as he walked into the kitchen. He took the kettle and filled it with fresh water, watching as Gwyn looked around the house slowly. His eyes marked every window, threshold and doorway. Augus decided to pounce on it. ‘I beg your pardon, do you believe me so rude a host that I’m going to attack you?’

Gwyn blinked, then stared at Augus with wide eyes.

‘You can teleport, can’t you?’ Augus said, with a purposefully tense smile. ‘Why would you need to know every exit? Are you expecting me to attack you? Or someone else? Should I be concerned?’

He kept his face a perfectly innocent, curious mask as he swept away his amusement at seeing the way Gwyn’s shock gave way to uncertainty, and then a hot anger that had his fingers curling into fists.

No, Gwyn didn’t like being confronted at all. Augus didn’t plan on continuing. His sense of self-preservation was too strong.

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Gwyn said finally.

‘Ah,’ Augus said. And then, because he couldn’t resist: ‘If you say so. You haven’t answered my question. Were there any consequences?’

‘I don’t have to answer any of your questions!’ Gwyn snapped.

Well. He was very rattled, then. Or perhaps this was just more of the same stock rudeness. Augus stared at him, lifting his eyebrows to indicate he wasn’t impressed. But Gwyn didn’t relax, he didn’t move deeper into Augus’ house, and goodness, he was tenser than he’d been with both of their first two meetings.

A tiny part of Augus wanted to crack that open, find out why, draw the pain out and then soothe it. But he quietly let that sink down into a well because that tiny part of him clearly wanted to die.

‘You don’t,’ Augus said. ‘But please don’t yell at me.’

‘You’re manipulating me.’

‘Of course I am,’ Augus said, spooning leaves into the strainer. ‘Did you think I wouldn’t? Do you not like manipulating others then? That’s…unusual. At this point, I’m going to have to assume there were simply terrible consequences to you returning without me getting your measurements.’

Gwyn was still and silent, and then curtly – as though addressing the room itself and not Augus specifically – he said: ‘There were no consequences.’

‘None?’

‘The Raven Prince thinks it auspicious that we have moved the meetings to your house, and then he promised me that if I did not let you measure me the next time, he would remove my language for a week.’

‘That sounds like a consequence to me,’ Augus said.

He shuddered inwardly. Everyone knew the Raven Prince could remove language to varying degrees from others. He did, after all, eat it. But sometimes as a dire punishment, he removed it entirely from prisoners and those who had committed crimes against the Unseelie Court. At its most extreme, it drove fae mad, having no ability to talk, sign, gesture or write language, so complete was the Raven Prince’s ability to remove a fae’s ability to communicate beyond unknowing animal gesture.

He’d heard rumours that the Raven Prince occasionally did the same to Gwyn, but the rumours also said that the Raven Prince generally only took a few phrases from Gwyn at once, not his entire ability to communicate.

‘Does he do that often?’

‘Not as often as he used to,’ Gwyn said.

That’s horrifying.

‘Does he take all of it?’ Augus said, genuinely curious now. ‘He uses that on his prisoners, doesn’t he?’

‘It’s a large spectrum, and he has refined control over what he takes. Usually I am left with the ability to speak some words, or at least write.’

Usually meant ‘not always.’ And being left with the ability to write meant there were times when spoken language was removed from him entirely.

‘He knows I don’t like it,’ Gwyn said, as though he sensed Augus’ disgust. ‘He really does it very rarely. And I do not treat him like everyone else, he has his reasons and his justifications.’

It was like watching a dog trying to defend its master. Augus pursed his lips and then decided it didn’t matter.

‘You have remarked on my rudeness yourself,’ Gwyn said. ‘So you can imagine how he takes it.’

Still defending him, even though Augus hadn’t said any judgemental words at all.

‘And what do you do when he is rude?’ Augus said finally.

Gwyn stared at him, then smiled. ‘I was not aware the Raven Prince possessed any other disposition.’

Augus laughed. He placed the filled teapot – strainer now removed – and two cups on his tray, and brought them over to the small table in his lounge. He sat in his customary space, and Gwyn sat opposite once more, though this time it seemed to be less a strategy and more that he had found his space in Augus’ home.

Augus poured him some tea, poured himself some, and then left it because he wasn’t all that thirsty. Gwyn didn’t touch his cup at all.

He leaned back and looked around Augus’ house again. This time he seemed to be studying the furniture, one piece after another. Augus decided he liked watching him. Gwyn was tall and rangy like a beast made for sprinting or the chase, his presence dominated a room. His leanness was appealing, but it was the way those sharp eyes tried to catalogue everything that captured Augus’ attention most. He wanted to dig in so deeply that Gwyn’s gaze might turn blurred, pliant, even dependent.

Augus curbed his thoughts, damming them away and frustrated with himself. He had so few people in his home who weren’t clients that he automatically started thinking of Gwyn as one.

There was an easy way to remind himself that he wasn’t.

‘If you’re not interested in the tea, should we do the measurements instead?’

Gwyn stilled, then lifted a hand in a shrug. ‘We might as well get this over with.’

‘Ah, yes, I’m certain this will be so much more painful than all the other things you’ve gone through. They say the School of the Staff training is brutal.’

‘It’s a challenge,’ Gwyn said as he stood, following Augus’ lead and walking behind him down the corridor. His steps weren’t hesitant, Augus loathed having him at his back.

He had a space set aside for his own tailoring. A room mostly for storage, but also for lengths and rolls of fabric, as well as good cloth scissors, needles and pins, measuring tapes and more. Usually walking into the room filled him with calm, but having Gwyn walking in afterwards set his teeth on edge.

He was the master of his own home, and he was used to holding power over all who entered it. Gwyn was too powerful, too fickle.

‘Strip down to your underclothes,’ Augus said, more curtly than he meant to. He pointed to an empty corner of the room. ‘You can stand over there.’

Gwyn didn’t respond, and Augus – not facing Gwyn at all – stared up at the ceiling and found himself more irritated than he expected. The Raven Prince had foisted all of this upon them both, and Augus was tired of having to be so patient when he knew it was unlikely to earn him anything more than continued, spoiled rudeness.

‘Do you wish me to use a compulsion?’ Augus said silkily.

He turned, and Gwyn – unsurprisingly – glared at him.

Tedious, Augus thought. This is all so tedious. I speak my mind, he is defensive. I make accommodations, he is still defensive. It is all a game between choosing whether he is simply rude to me, or injures me.

‘You behave like a five year old,’ Augus said, as calmly as he could. ‘Do you understand? Do you understand that you have barely any rudimentary skills in socialisation, and that the Raven Prince likely let you roam wild and feral about the place because it causes less diplomatic nightmares than if he’d let you remain in the Court? Even if you wanted to be there, he’d find reasons for you not to be.’

Gwyn’s eyes widened, and Augus felt that since Gwyn wasn’t his client, he didn’t have to tread carefully down this path. He was fairly confident that Gwyn was scared enough of the Raven Prince and his ‘consequences’ that he wouldn’t outright kill Augus. He’d likely just teleport away.

‘You have been asked to attend an event. You don’t know the motives, I don’t care about them. All I have been asked to do is tailor some clothing for you, and I have to measure you to get accurate, up-to-date measurements. At every turn you have been dangerous, boorish, suspicious, impatient and unreasonable. Did the Mages take your manners from you and replace it with a skill at magic? I can assure you, it wasn’t worth it.’

Gwyn took a step backwards, lips pressing together.

‘I have tried to ask you why you don’t want to be measured, so I can reassure you, and you offer me nothing but rudeness. You treat me as though I am going to attack you constantly, even though I have shown you no signs that I’m going to, and my reputation is not that I attack fae cruelly, but that I help them. Besides which – I have no intention of offering that assistance to you anyway, because I can already see that it wouldn’t be helpful in the first place. Whatever the King wants, I don’t care for it, but unlike you, I am not behaving as a toddler throwing a tantrum. Believe me when I say I want nothing more than for you to return to your wilderness and never darken my doorstep again.’

Gwyn stared at him like he was unused to people talking to him this way. But then he looked down, sighed, and his lips quirked up in a tiny smile. It was private, and not the response Augus expected. Gwyn walked over to the corner Augus had indicated and took off his shirt.

‘I don’t wear underclothes,’ Gwyn said, as he pulled down his pants and exposed a cock that was large even when limp.

Augus concealed his shock that Gwyn was doing as he asked, but a strange, bemused knowledge came to him as he reached for the tape measure.

‘Gwyn ap Nudd,’ Augus said slowly, ‘do you throw tantrums on purpose?’

‘You see,’ Gwyn said in a perfectly even voice, ‘if a Mage throws tantrums and sulks an awful lot, people tend to give him a wide berth. It’s a more extreme version of what the Raven Prince does. No one likes an unpredictable, emotionally labile Mage.’

‘But you are unpredictable,’ Augus said, getting a notepad and pen.

‘The Raven Prince is too,’ Gwyn said. ‘Perhaps I’m manipulative after all?’

Gwyn watched him calmly, an odd challenge in his eyes. He was calm, but Augus was sure he could scent fear. Gwyn was compliant, but he still wasn’t comfortable.

Augus started with measuring his arms first, asking him to hold out one, then the other. He measured around his bicep, his wrist, shoulder to elbow, elbow to wrist. He did multiple measurements, one after the other, before stopping to write them all down.

As he worked, that scent of fear never disappeared. It was mild, possibly masked, but Augus wasn’t harming him and Gwyn was still on edge. Yet he pretended at calm.

Discomfort swirled in him when he realised what this reminded him of, and as soon as he considered it, he realised it fit all of Gwyn’s behaviours.

If the Raven Prince knew that Gwyn had been sexually assaulted at some point – at least once – then it was cruel of him to send Gwyn to Augus. But it was entirely possible the Raven Prince didn’t know.

It all made sense. From Gwyn’s reaction to Augus implying that he was supposed to rape Gwyn, to the way he’d stood and walked away when Augus talked about how the Raven Prince had rapists on the books. The austere way he’d said ‘you fuck’ to try and encompass everything Augus did, as though fucking was the worst thing that existed. The way he didn’t seem to care for anything sensual, the way his scent betrayed him, even now.

The problem with very powerful people was that while as rest of the world thought them invulnerable, sometimes they made the mistake of thinking themselves invulnerable. But Gwyn wasn’t immune to compulsions. There were likely other things he wasn’t immune to either. And he was prideful, arrogant, that wasn’t false.

Careful, he thought, as he reached around Gwyn’s waist as impersonally as possible, letting the tape measure rest against Gwyn’s pale skin. Careful.

He grew no body hair at all. Augus wanted to run a hand over him to see what it felt like.

But no, he didn’t need to prove what his instincts had provided him. It also went some way to explaining why he’d had such a poor read of Gwyn from the beginning. Fae who had been thoroughly turned off sex or touch after sexual assault simply didn’t come to him. They knew what he did. Even if he was unlikely to fuck them, the rumours still preceded him and filtered the most appropriate clients his way.

‘Have you given any more thought to what you’d like to wear to the Masque?’ Augus said, keeping his voice as pleasant and neutral as possible. Nothing about this had to be comfortable for Gwyn, despite his pretence at relaxation. And Augus had no idea of exactly what had happened, and thought the likelihood that he’d get confirmation was close to zero.

‘No,’ Gwyn said.

Augus knelt, and felt no sense of subservience in himself at the posture, no disturbing sense of submission. The fear in the room had gotten sharper, though it remained mild. Augus was a predator, his biology finely crafted in favour of knowing when something was afraid of him. When Augus pressed the measuring tape into Gwyn’s groin, he felt the tiniest muscle twitch. Not a flinch, nothing so obvious.

But it was there. Gwyn was afraid, and not in a way that Augus could easily transform into something else.

If he feels this way all the time, he must be exhausted.

‘We’ll avoid dogs,’ Augus said, pretending he didn’t notice the heavy, unwelcome tension in the room. ‘Do you feel no affinity to any animals?’

Gwyn took a slow breath through his nose, and exhaled it just as slowly, and Augus carefully told himself to be very steady, very careful, and draw no attention to what he’d realised. If Gwyn was so good at concealing it – and he was very good if it had taken three meetings for Augus to realise – then he would accept no pity for it.

‘I don’t want them to know what animals I feel an affinity to,’ Gwyn said. ‘I care not what you make for me. As long as it’s not uncomfortable.’

‘If you’re willing to come back, I can actually fit the clothing properly.’

Augus stood again, writing down the measurements and giving his back to Gwyn, even though he hated doing it. He was making himself appear less threatening, even though it went against his instincts to do so. He was buying himself time, trying to think of what he wanted to do.

Realistically, he should do nothing. He should make the clothes, then never have anything to do with Gwyn again. That would be best for the both of them.

‘I don’t like red,’ Gwyn said, his voice louder than before, like he expected to have to raise his voice to have anyone pay him attention.

‘I don’t like it for you either,’ Augus said quietly, staring down at the notepad.

Gwyn was silent. Then: ‘I don’t like all black, either. That’s what the Raven Prince wears. Or violet. That’s also his.’

‘Black is too harsh for your complexion,’ Augus said, and then gestured casually to Gwyn’s clothes without looking at them. ‘You can dress. I have what I need.’

But Augus noticed everything in excruciating detail now. The way Gwyn bent too quickly for his pants, but then slowed to something casual. As though he didn’t want Augus to know that he cared. The way the fear in the room lessened as soon as he was covered by clothing again, but still didn’t disappear.

No, this entire house, everything Augus represented…all of it put Gwyn on the back foot before Augus even spoke.

‘I don’t want to be a bird,’ Gwyn said.

Augus smiled to himself. It was almost like Gwyn was testing Augus’ limits by listing all the things he didn’t want.

‘I wouldn’t have picked a bird for you,’ Augus said.

He could feel Gwyn’s curiosity. Augus sat down at his table and placed his finger on the notepad.

‘What do you want?’ he said.

Gwyn’s expression shuttered. Happy enough to say no, but not comfortable to volunteer information otherwise.

How did I not see this before?

Perhaps because the idea of the Raven Prince letting something like this happen to a member of his Inner Court, his charge, virtually his son, was impossible. It spoke to the fallibility of the both of them. Did the Raven Prince not know everything that happened under his nose? Had he not noticed? Or worse, did he know? Or worse still, had he engineered it?

Augus sighed as a headache spiked at the base of his skull.

‘I think I shall have some of that tea now,’ he said, taking the notepad with him, the pencil, and leaving Gwyn in the room.

Augus wanted to put it out of his mind, to sink his realisation so deep he didn’t have to care, but he felt that Gwyn would behave far less unpredictably if Augus kept it in the forefront of his thoughts.

When Gwyn came out of the room, Augus was already seated and sipping the tea – cold, but nicely fragrant – wishing his brother was here to talk to and feeling a pang that he hadn’t seen him for about two months now.

It only meant he was due.

‘If you like,’ Augus said, lowering the cup to the tray, ‘I could sketch several ideas for you, and you could choose the one you like most? Or give me some ideas?’

‘You would do that?’ Gwyn said. ‘The Raven Prince doesn’t seem to care what you make. He thinks it will be better than anything I choose.’

‘Of that, I have no doubt,’ Augus said, smiling lazily. ‘For I have seen what you wear. But it doesn’t hurt me to give you a choice. If it’s all too broad to look at now, perhaps if I sketch a few different designs, you’ll have a better idea of what you do want.’

‘I see.’

Gwyn reached for the cup, and then his fingers jerked back and he placed his hand in his lap.

Like a wild animal that wants to trust, but just can’t.

‘We can meet somewhere else, if you wish?’ Augus said.

‘Why would I need to meet you somewhere else?’ Gwyn said, his voice belligerent.

‘What would you prefer? That I give you no choices at all? Or that I ask you for your opinion?’

Gwyn’s jaw worked. After a while he said: ‘I suppose I like that you ask questions.’

Augus nodded and placed his nearly empty cup back on the tray. He couldn’t ask the questions he truly wanted to ask, and he suspected Gwyn would take whatever scars he had inside of him to his grave. He felt unsettled.

‘Why do you not simply use your compulsions on me?’ Gwyn said. ‘You know they work.’

‘They’re rude,’ Augus said. ‘Just because they’re effective doesn’t mean they’re appropriate. I’m sure you could do almost anything you wished with your magic, but that doesn’t mean you do it.’

‘True,’ Gwyn said. ‘Still… Do you not…want to? I’ve given you cause.’

Why? Has someone else used them too easily? Why would you ask me that?

It was obvious that Gwyn expected Augus to be exactly like the person – people? – who had hurt him. Or maybe Augus resembled him somehow. Or maybe their powers were similar.

His headache wasn’t getting any better.

Did the Raven Prince know?

‘Have I upset you?’ Gwyn said, hesitant now.

‘No,’ Augus said. ‘I apologise.’

‘You are unhappy.’

Gwyn’s ability to be aware of another person’s mood shifts could easily be put down to growing up vigilant under the Raven Prince? But now that Augus knew more, he wondered if Gwyn had been given serious cause to suspect the moods of people around him.

‘I’m not unhappy with you,’ Augus said. ‘I merely wonder why the Raven Prince wants this from the both of us. I want to have faith that it’s mischief to a good end, not something cruel for the sake of it.’

Gwyn leaned back, for the first time looking like he might actually be relaxing. ‘He is rarely cruel for the sake of it. And he thinks you comely enough that…I doubt this is meant to end badly for you. After all, you are the one acceding to his wishes. I am not.’

‘I have no desire to be manipulated into a situation where you’re hurt.’

Gwyn smirked. ‘Is that not your vocation?’

‘No,’ Augus said.

Gwyn stared at him sidelong, clearly suspicious, and Augus finished the rest of his cold tea, pouring himself another cup. It was lukewarm from the pot.

‘I am a sadist and I am a predator, but my vocation isn’t to hurt fae without reason or cause.’

‘But if you’ve got reason…’

‘If I have reason, then nothing will stand between me and tearing the truths out of someone’s soul while they scream for mercy, until they realise that what I gave them was no worse than the pain they were already inflicting upon themselves.’

‘That is what a torturer would say.’

‘Yes,’ Augus said. ‘I suppose it is. But the difference between me and a torturer is that my ‘victims’ sing my praises, buy me gifts, and leave me more whole than when they arrived. I didn’t ask for my reputation, I had no idea when I started out how adept I’d be, and yet I have a reputation as a healer nonetheless. Is it the same for a torturer?’  

‘Maybe.’ Gwyn shifted, his fingers dragged in agitation along the armrest.

Augus watched as Gwyn tried to understand what he’d been told. He watched, and didn’t have to prove himself, yet wanted to.

He needed to hunt.

‘When should I return?’ Gwyn said, standing.

It was no longer a surprise. Augus knew exactly how hard he’d pushed, and he knew how uncomfortable Gwyn had to be. It was a miracle Gwyn had been as polite as he’d been. But it was also entirely possible that Augus had spooked him earlier, to the point where Gwyn was reacting to him as he might the person who tormented him.

‘Mm, eight days,’ Augus said. Enough time to hunt. He didn’t strictly need to, but it was far easier to keep control of his urges if he was recently fed. And he didn’t like how strangely he behaved around Gwyn. His life had such a comfortable routine, he wasn’t often challenged like this.

‘Then…’ Gwyn turned towards the door, turned back to Augus. ‘Then, expect me in the morning. After dawn.’

‘All right,’ Augus said, not getting up from the couch.

Gwyn walked towards the door, but before he could get close enough to touch it, he teleported away. The light rose and fell, and Augus almost slumped in relief as the charged energy left completely. Goodness, was that his glamour? It was awful. Or maybe he wasn’t aware of it, maybe it wasn’t his dra’ocht but something else. Augus groaned softly and massaged his temples.

It was still progress. Gwyn offered a time he’d return, instead of expecting that Augus would receive him at any hour of the day. He was offering respect. But the respect came from fear. And respect borne from fear was unstable, liable to give way at any moment.

If he was a client, Augus would have turned him away to someone else.

Augus ended up on his back on the couch, one leg on the armrest, the heels of his palms massaging pressure points on his head until he felt sleepy, swamped with far less pain. He’d deal with the rest in eight days.

Frustrated, annoyed, he unlaced his boots and stood, shedding his clothing. Finally naked, he stepped out of his own door and walked calmly towards the blackness at the bottom of his lake beyond the green dome. He stepped into the water, let it fill his lungs, sighing out the rest of his tension as he swam in the deep stillness that belonged to him and the creatures he allowed to share in this ecosystem he called home.

Chapter Text

Augus

*

A letter on the door of Augus’ home meant that Gwyn ap Nudd found him, thirty minutes after dawn, harvesting small white flowers as delicately as possible near his lake, trying not to harm petals that seemed to only want to bruise. Augus felt Gwyn’s presence like a sharp, weighty thing and decided that it wasn’t just his fear and his wariness, but also his glamour. Gwyn wanted everyone on edge around him and he wanted them not to know why, to only attribute it to him.

‘Good morning,’ Augus said.

‘Good morning,’ Gwyn said, his voice less harsh than usual.

Augus almost smiled. He had a feeling – really something that should have been obvious from the outset – that if Gwyn was so known for living out in the wilds, perhaps they would have better conversations outdoors than confined within walls.

‘I apologise for changing the location so abruptly,’ Augus said. ‘These were supposed to flower yesterday. But they have been eccentric this year and decided on today.’

‘What are they?’ Gwyn said, stepping closer. Not close enough to crowd, but Augus felt that threatening force of him all the same. Augus wondered how often he needed to feed on the deaths of fae, and if they saw him coming and simply knew. A shepherd to take their soul from one realm to the next, whether they liked it or not.

‘Vanadellia,’ Augus said. ‘They’re rare. They grow well here.’

With the help of Augus’ growing ability, anyway. Gwyn walked up until he was alongside Augus, and then he crouched down about a metre away, staring down at the tiny flowers. About four hundred would fit on Gwyn’s palm. They smelled of sour lemon, but Augus thought they tasted sweet. His taste buds didn’t register bitterness or sourness the way they did for common fae like Gwyn.

‘I see.’ Gwyn looked openly at Augus, as Augus focused on the flowers. ‘Do you wish me to leave and come back later?’

‘No,’ Augus said. ‘I’ve sketched several ideas for you. My sketchbook is over by the…’

Gwyn was already up and walking towards it, bending down by the large ash tree and picking it up. He opened the pages straight to the bookmark, instead of snooping through the other pages like Augus thought he might.

Miracle of miracles, Augus thought he might have earned a modicum of Gwyn’s respect. Augus kept picking the flowers. It was a horrible job. They flowered for two days only and were best on the first day. They flowered once every three years, no matter how Augus prodded them to grow with his innate waterhorse abilities. He could not make them flower more often, only make them grow more verdantly. It was why he had more of the little pests than ever, and even less time to deal with them.

‘These are not what I expected,’ Gwyn said slowly. He didn’t sound offended. Augus thought that was a good start. He decided to say nothing, letting Gwyn fill the silence himself. After a few more minutes Gwyn came over with the sketchbook and crouched down again, in exactly the same place as before. ‘Is this a solar god?’

He pointed directly to the one Augus had hoped he’d choose.

‘Yes,’ Augus said. ‘It is.’

‘It’s not an animal at all.’

‘You noticed that, did you?’

‘Don’t be clever,’ Gwyn muttered. ‘But you’re choosing a solar god, or something like it. Because of my light?’

‘And Taronis’ defeat, and your acquisition of his tower,’ Augus said. He’d done his research after Gwyn had left last time. He’d heard of it, of course, that the Raven Prince had engaged in a great, dangerous duel against Taronis, who had hurt Gwyn ap Nudd for no good reason at all except jealousy. The Raven Prince had killed him for it, and instead of taking Taronis’ near mythical tower for himself, he’d gifted it to Gwyn. Rumour had it that Gwyn never went there.

Gwyn’s hands tightened on the sketchbook, and then his body language changed dramatically, as though he was trying to shrink in on himself, make himself small. Augus risked looking at him, surprised at how hunted he looked.

‘You don’t need to choose it,’ Augus said.

‘It’s not that,’ Gwyn said automatically, as though he was responding to the words without knowing who they were coming from. As though he was used to obeying orders instead of always talking back, as he usually did with Augus.

‘Then what is it?’ Augus said, trying for a light, unbothered ease. As though it didn’t matter whether Gwyn answered or not.

Since their last meeting, Augus had wondered about Gwyn’s history. Was it one instance of assault? Or many? Was it one person? Or many? Was it touch, hands, mind-games? Or was it rape? Was it in the past? Or was it still happening?  

Gwyn was susceptible to his compulsions. Augus could, in an instant, get all the information he wanted by tearing it out of him, violating his mind and tongue and satisfying himself in the process.

Of course he’d be killed two minutes later.

The savage beast inside of him wanted it, though. The predator inside him stirred at seeing a victim, seeing it weak, liking the challenge. He was drawn to the ones who pretended they couldn’t be hurt again, ever, but wore that hurt all the same.

Augus’ canines threatened to lengthen in his mouth and he focused on the flowers right when Gwyn turned to stare at him, as though he’d noticed the change in Augus’ mood.

‘You are trying to confront the King,’ Gwyn said. ‘With the truth of what you think I am.’

Augus’ fingers stilled where they moved over the tiny flowers. ‘Yes,’ Augus said eventually. ‘I am.’

‘And he knows I would never think to ask for this, because I have hubris, but not specifically in this area. He knows it will have come from you.’

‘You’re not arrogant about your magic?’ Augus said, rocking back and staring at Gwyn.

‘In matters of my light?’ Gwyn said, and then smiled in a crooked way that looked self-deprecating and vulnerable all at once. ‘It is very convenient when others think I am. But no, not particularly. But I like the design, all the same. The solar mask, the colours… And I can hide near completely behind this mask.’

And I can hide…

Augus imagined what it might be like, luring the raw truth out of him. He suspected Gwyn hated attention but craved it, never having known what kind of attention he truly needed and only being hurt by most of what he received. That wasn’t so uncommon. He knew Gwyn had very little concept of what good touch might feel like, maybe no concept at all. He was a lonely, wounded thing, standing on a great burnt field, and as far as the eye could see, there was nothing generous in the world for him.

So he’d turned himself to spikes and brutality, and become what the Raven Prince needed him to be, and yet someone had seen past all of that and scarred him further all the same.

Augus understood it. He understood it because he had that malice inside of him too.

Do they still see you? Do they see what you’ve become, and delight in it?

It wasn’t so strange, to feel bloodlust alongside a protective urge, it was what stirred him to his vocation in the first place.

‘May I…’ Gwyn put down the sketchbook. ‘May I help you with your flowers?’

‘I’m not sure that’s a good idea,’ Augus said, surprised at the change of subject. ‘The petals bruise easily.’

‘I can be- Do you think I can’t do it?’ Gwyn said, some of that biting fire from their first meetings kicking up and flaring. A defensiveness, as though Augus had greatly slighted him. ‘I’m very good with my hands.’

‘Oh,’ Augus said, unable to keep from teasing him. ‘Are you now? That’s interesting.’

‘No, I…’ Gwyn’s cheeks reddened abruptly, and he stared. ‘Not like that!’

‘What a shame, not like that? But in other ways? You can pick the flowers without hurting them, but you can’t satisfy a lover?’

Gwyn was up and had taken several steps backwards, and Augus couldn’t stop himself from laughing. It was so easy. He was awful to do it, but it was so easy.

‘You’re twisting my words!’ Gwyn said.

‘Aren’t you used to that? We all know who your benefactor is. He twists words as easily as breathing.’

‘Not like that,’ Gwyn muttered.

‘He is rather sexless, isn’t he?’ Augus said. ‘Wouldn’t know what to do with a cock or a cunt even if-’

Augus sensed the air around him change in the same instant the attack came. No warning, nothing to sense. One moment he was crouched with his fingers hovering over the tiny white flowers, the next he was lying several feet away, crumpled by the base of a tree, panting as he pushed himself upright, snarling, eyes wide.

‘How dare you,’ Gwyn whispered.

‘Leave,’ Augus snapped, and Gwyn’s entire body tensed, his pupils dilating as he fought the compulsion automatically. Gwyn’s breath caught abruptly, and Augus knew that the resistance was hurting him. He was enraged that Gwyn would resist him at all. ‘Do you think I don’t mean it? Gwyn ap Nudd, leave me alone, and don’t come back until you’re sorry for what you’ve done.’

Gwyn was turning and teleporting away in a burst of light before Augus had even completed his sentence, so heavy and brutal was his compulsion.

Then, Augus sagged back against the tree, one hand at his chest, the other moving over himself, shakily checking to see if he was injured. He was bruised from being thrown at least eight feet and hitting the trunk of the tree. At least two of his ribs were fractured. But otherwise he was uninjured. His basket, filled with tiny flowers, had been knocked over from the force of Gwyn’s magic. He hissed as he realised that most of the flowers would be unsalvageable.

Furious, he left the basket of flowers where it was, diving back into his lake and grunting from the pain in his chest. His canines lengthened, he wanted nothing more than to sink his teeth into Gwyn, pump him full of poison, and leave him insensate while tearing his skin from his bones. He wanted to hear the wet, rich sound it would make, feel him shake and shudder and hear him beg.

‘Fuck,’ Augus grit out.

He was never as in control as he thought he was around Gwyn, and he wondered if it was Gwyn’s glamour, or his own waterhorse-self wanting to take advantage of someone who was doing a poor job of hiding a wound.

He brewed himself tea, he paced his kitchen, he ate some raw lotus root, licking the sap off his fingers, careful of his own sharpened maw. Just the sensation of his own tongue on his skin helped calm him, he exhaled a heavy, painful breath and sipped at the tea, exhausted.

His ribs ached more and more as time passed, and he went into his herb stores and ate some of the pellets that assisted in bone healing. They’d work quickly, but he was aware how much each of the pellets cost, how much profit he was eating instead of selling. He thought of the spilled basket of flowers and leaned against the shelving of his own pantry, feeling the herbs already working on his bones.

He had to hand it to Gwyn, he really did defend the Raven Prince like he was his loyal dog. Augus was being provocative, but…he’d not expected that.

He wasn’t sorry about what he’d said, only angry that Gwyn couldn’t control himself better.

Augus didn’t want anything to do with him. He was a complete wild card, and Gwyn’s reaction to what Augus felt was frankly mild provocation – even taking into account Gwyn’s history of assault – quickly quelled his growing curiosity regarding Gwyn overall.

He brewed another pot of tea, drinking another two cups, then went down to his room and lay down, surrendering himself to the deep, dark well of his own mind. He’d heal better while he was asleep, and he didn’t want to think about the situation he was in for any longer than he had to.

*

He woke to the chiming of the bell at his front door and sat up, pressing his fingers to his ribs and realising they were very nearly healed. Only a slight ache remained. No wonder he charged his clients so much for those little herb pellets.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so injured.

Augus was in two minds about accepting any clients, and he walked to the front door quietly – composing rejection speeches in his mind – still waking up. When he opened the door, he saw Gwyn standing there, holding a large basket of picked flowers, many more than what Augus had managed to gather himself. Augus blinked at him, and Gwyn stared at him, then stared down at the flowers and refused to look up again.

‘Did you break the compulsion or obey it?’ Augus said.

Gwyn’s shoulders tensed. ‘I didn’t break it.’

Which meant he felt sorry for what he’d done. In fact, judging from the amount of flowers he’d gathered, he had to have been working for at least a couple of hours. Perhaps he felt sorry immediately after he’d teleported away and actually used his brain.

All of it just made Augus tired. He was tempted to take the basket from Gwyn and send him on his way. Then he noticed the sketchbook in Gwyn’s other hand. Augus had left it up by the vanadellia flowers. He’d been too angry and sore to do anything else.

Gwyn stood before him, head still down, tense but offering something like respect. Augus reached out for the basket and Gwyn handed it to him and didn’t look at him, didn’t attempt to push his way inside Augus’ home.

‘Did I hurt you?’ Gwyn said.

‘Yes. I am underfae, you know. You could have killed me.’

Gwyn’s arms were straight by his sides as though pinned. He still refused to look up.

‘If the petals on these flowers are bruised, they’re useless,’ Augus said.

He looked at the cloud-like pile of thousands of flowers, then stared again at Gwyn’s fingers. He couldn’t see any sap or dirt on them, they looked clean.

‘Did you use magic to harvest these?’ Augus asked.

‘No,’ Gwyn said.

The flowers looked perfect. Unbruised, no missing or torn petals, even the tender stamens looked preserved.

‘Stay there,’ Augus said.

He took the basket inside, closing the door behind him, and walked down the corridor to the laboratory where he did most of his serious work. He did some in the pantry, but many of the fumes of chemical processing were too strong for the food he kept in there. He opened a magically chilled larder and placed the flowers inside, unable to resist gently sifting through them. They were all picked carefully. Augus couldn’t have done a better job himself. Gwyn was good with his hands, after all.

A vision of Gwyn up there while Augus slept, quietly and apologetically picking thousands of flowers, not knowing how Augus would react…

A slow exhale, and Augus walked back to the front door and opened it again. Gwyn was still there. After a moment, he handed the sketchbook to Augus without a word. Augus took it, then transferred it quickly to his other hand, and grabbed Gwyn’s wrist before he could withdraw fully.

Gwyn froze, and Augus dug his fingers in, staring up at that downcast gaze. Gwyn’s eyebrows had pulled together, but he didn’t say a word.

‘You don’t get to treat me like that,’ Augus said. ‘Not ever again. I don’t care what I say to you, I don’t care how hurt you are by what I’ve said, or how treasonous you think it is. You could have killed me. Two of my ribs fractured.’

Gwyn’s wrist was tense within the ring of his unforgiving fingers, but he didn’t try and free himself.

‘Acknowledge me,’ Augus said coldly.

‘Yes,’ Gwyn said. ‘I’m sorry. I will try not to treat you like that again.’

‘Not try. You won’t.’

Gwyn tensed further. ‘I lack self-control.’

‘Really? So you just attack the Raven Prince whenever you feel insulted enough, do you? You’re so unable to stop yourself?’

Gwyn swallowed, his eyes flashed up once to Augus, something sharp and impenetrable in his gaze, before those blue eyes dropped once more. Augus had to admit, he felt very powerful in that moment, shackling Gwyn with fingers around his wrist and stern words. He was careful not to let it go to his head.

‘He stops me,’ Gwyn said. ‘But I take your point. I am able to restrain myself around him at times.’

‘Because of the consequences?’

‘Yes,’ Gwyn said.

Silence after that, and Augus studied him. The knees of his beige trousers were grass-stained. He wore simple shoes covered in small leaves and bits of dirt. He smelled vaguely of pollen, which was a sharp contrast to when he’d used his magic. Augus had been too shocked at the time, but afterwards he’d noticed the scent of ozone, sharp and uncomfortable, like an electrical storm hung around him.

‘Come in, at least,’ Augus said, not letting go of his wrist but pulling him forwards as Augus stepped backwards towards his door. Gwyn resisted then, but it was token, given how quickly he could react with his magic.

And so Augus led him inside his house and guided him to the couch where Augus usually sat when Gwyn visited.

‘I’m going to get something,’ Augus said.

He placed the sketchbook down on the coffee table as he walked towards his pantry. There, he went through his ointments until he found the one he was looking for. He turned the glass jar in his hands, pressing his lips together, glancing towards the lounge as though he could see it through the walls.

Sometimes, one didn’t get anywhere if they weren’t willing to take a few risks. Augus knew that very well. He turned the jar one more time and walked out of his pantry.

‘Let me see to your hands,’ Augus said.

Gwyn tensed, staring up at him. ‘What?’

‘The flowers are small, it’s hard work. Even with Inner Court status I’d like to look over your hands. You seem like the sort to hurt yourself to make a point.’

Augus sat on the coffee table, immediately opposite Gwyn, and reached for his hand confidently. It wasn’t until he had it resting nearly on his own knee that Gwyn’s arm locked up.

‘Gwyn,’ Augus cautioned.

‘But- They’re fine. What are you doing?’

Augus didn’t respond. He rather thought he was taking advantage of Gwyn’s guilt to push something he didn’t fully comprehend himself. He carefully turned Gwyn’s hand, moving slowly enough to give Gwyn the chance to unlock his wrist, which he eventually did. The tips of his fingers were a little reddened, hard to notice before, but he could see it now.

Augus traced his own fingertips across Gwyn’s, and he tensed newly all over again in response.

‘My compulsion didn’t make you do this to yourself,’ Augus said, softening his voice. ‘You even fetched a new basket.’

Augus rested the back of Gwyn’s hand on his knee and reached for the jar, unscrewing the lid and scooping out some of the creamy, translucent ointment. It smelled faintly astringent, hints of floral notes above it. Augus carefully painted some of it onto the tip of Gwyn’s index finger, heard the unsuccessful way Gwyn tried to keep his breathing even.

‘I’m fine,’ Gwyn said. ‘This is unnecessary.’

‘For my own peace of mind, then.’

Gwyn’s exhale was faintly audible. Augus moved onto the sensitive tip of his ring finger, smoothing his own fingers down over it, and then – as though he was used to doing this to Gwyn all the time – he lifted his hand and pressed his thumbs carefully into the knuckles, feeling them. Gwyn’s fingers tensed and relaxed and then tensed again, and as Augus felt the ligaments and muscles in his finger, then down further where it connected to his hand, he thought that Gwyn’s life must be hard on his hands.

They were whole and sound, but they lacked padding, thin with knobbly knuckles, not quite elegant.

Augus smoothed his slick, oily thumb over the inside of Gwyn’s little finger, massaging carefully as he went. There were little knots even there. Tiny adhesions from repetitive movement. Was it spell work? Something else? That wasn’t just from plucking the tiny flowers.

He catalogued the rest of Gwyn’s reactions too. He doubted anyone had ever touched Gwyn like this in his life. Gwyn seemed mesmerised by something he might have rejected if he was more familiar with softness. There were involuntarily twitches in his hand, not from pain, just from a lack of recognition, like when Augus touched someone’s belly for the first time and the muscles seized as though they didn’t know what to do with a touch so unfamiliar to such a vulnerable place.

But this was Gwyn’s hand, not by default vulnerable at all.

The ointment warmed, released more of its smell and allowed Augus to massage down into the gap between Gwyn’s thumb and index finger. There, he felt a ridge of scar tissue and frowned, gently pulling the thumb away from the hand in the pretence of a stretch. Gwyn’s shoulders loosened, he must have liked how it felt.

There, hidden away in a fold of skin, a remnant scar that looked red and angry even now. When Augus pressed his thumb directly over it, pushing down, Gwyn inhaled sharply.

‘How did you get this?’ Augus asked.

‘I was attacked,’ Gwyn said. ‘By a Mage. The rest of the scars are gone, but I didn’t notice that one until it was too late.’

‘I’ve heard only rumours,’ Augus said. ‘But…Taronis?’

‘Yes,’ Gwyn said, his wrist jerking minutely like he wanted to pull his hand back. But Augus kept hold of it, and Gwyn didn’t try again. Augus made a point of rubbing his thumb over the scar, over and over again, knowing it must have hurt, wanting the scar tissue to soften beneath his touch.

‘What did he do? This is a strange place for a scar.’

Gwyn was silent, then a small chuckle came, something wry and bitter. ‘Does it matter? My hands healed.’

‘Not completely. Not if you have this. And now that I think on it…’ He shifted his fingers over the back of Gwyn’s hand, seeking carefully. Some of what he thought were muscle knots were…ah, there. ‘This is scar tissue too. And here.’

He turned Gwyn’s hand, aware of the tension and working with it, rather than against it. He used both hands to cradle Gwyn’s, and then massaged his thumbs deeply into the palm and felt more scarring inside, beneath the skin.

‘What did he do?’ Augus asked again, trying to imagine something, his mind not quite offering an injury horrible enough for what he was feeling.

‘He burned my hands down to bone. Fluri saw to them. So despite it being a magical injury, I healed.’

Down to bone. Augus tried to imagine it, but still couldn’t. He focused instead on gently working his fingers over Gwyn’s hands and knuckles, knowing that of all the things Gwyn expected after turning up, penitent on Augus’ doorstep, this wasn’t it.

‘The Raven Prince killed him for it,’ Gwyn said.

‘Good.’

‘The Raven Prince just wanted an excuse to kill him.’

‘I beg your pardon?’ Augus said, looking up. Gwyn was staring down at Augus’ fingers on his hand, like he couldn’t look away.

‘The Raven Prince took my manners. My ability to apologise. And he didn’t tell me. He was – at the time – making a point, showing me how rarely I used them, that I wouldn’t miss them until I had absolute need of them. Then he sent me to Taronis’ land, to invade it without Taronis’ permission, and map it without Taronis’ supposed knowledge. But…these are things the Mage of Light would have always been able to sense. I was the ignorant one.’

Augus drew long lines down the back of Gwyn’s hand, from the top of his wrist to the tips of his fingers. And Gwyn’s hand trembled every now and then, which Augus realised was some involuntary response to pleasure, and not pain as he’d first suspected.

‘I couldn’t say anything meaningful when Taronis confronted me. And the thing about him, was that he cared so much for fae etiquette. More than most. And there I was, an invader, and perhaps if I’d been able to apologise, or beg for his pardon, or even greet him, the course of things may have gone differently. Of course, he knew the Raven Prince had tampered with me too, he could see that for himself. So perhaps he also wanted the duel.’

When Augus reached for Gwyn’s other hand, he gave it without thinking, and then seemed surprised at himself for doing it.

‘Go on,’ Augus said, carefully studying these new five fingers, the knuckles, the palm. As he began to move his own fingers over his hand, he felt more of that scar tissue. Not adhesions or muscle knots, but scars left behind. Fluri was a renowned healer, so the damage must have been unimaginable.

‘He broke my staff, and he grasped my hands and burned them with his light, and then he said ‘I cannot send you back to him without making it clear that I will not tolerate his attempts at incursion on my territory. It’s not even really about you, which I’m sure you’d understand, if you didn’t think the entire world revolved around you.’’ Gwyn smirked, and then sighed.

Augus shivered, because Gwyn’s entire voice had changed when he’d recalled those lines. Could Gwyn do that with anyone’s voice? Could he just slip into another accent, another form of diction, different tone, so easily? Would he remember everything Augus had ever said to him too?

‘How long did it take to recover?’

‘With Fluri’s direct intervention, three and a half weeks,’ Gwyn said. ‘The pain left after a month and a half. Longer than I expected.’

‘And the King gave you Taronis’ land after killing him for injuring you.’

‘I never went back,’ Gwyn said, and then his voice caught as Augus rubbed long, deep lines over the inside of his palm. He blinked, like he was surprised to realise how much he liked it. Augus had realised nearly straight away, Gwyn craved it. No one as suspicious and defensive as he was would put up with this otherwise. Augus was acting very proprietarily towards him, and what’s more, making him recount a horrendous injury that had happened to the very place Augus was soothing.

The power he felt at doing that was also addicting, though he let it fall away elsewhere in his mind, like redirecting a small waterfall. He could reminisce about this later.

‘I don’t think the Raven Prince ever understood why I never went back there,’ Gwyn said. ‘I don’t think I understand it myself. But it’s not my realm. It’s not my tower. It’s not my place.’

‘You suffered hideous damage there,’ Augus said. It made complete sense to him.

‘But I healed. Ultimately, it was only a few weeks of my life. In the grand scheme of things, it’s a drop of water in the ocean.’

‘Ah.’

‘You don’t agree.’

‘Well,’ Augus said, and then turned Gwyn’s hand so he could chafe the outsides of it gently, getting the blood running properly. Then he pressed his thumbs into the inside of Gwyn’s wrist, and felt – even here – scar tissue. When he dug deeper, he felt bone and tendon beneath. He tried to imagine all of the small bones of the hand exposed. A magical injury that bad could easily kill an underfae.

‘The Raven Prince returned my manners to me,’ Gwyn said. ‘But I still don’t use them often enough. I am sorry though, for attacking you in such a crude way and with no warning, at that. Perhaps you simply rub me the wrong way.’

‘Like everyone?’

Gwyn breathed a small laugh, and then his eyelids fluttered as Augus was clever with his hands, massaging the insides of Gwyn’s fingers, the sides, pressing down into the furrows between them.

Sometimes he felt the depth of his power while whipping someone to ribbons, but sometimes it was this, simply knowing he’d lured Gwyn inside his home, taken control of some of Gwyn’s body, and convinced him to share something difficult, even if they both pretended it was only a story.

‘Does it feel good?’ Augus dared to ask.

Gwyn’s legs tensed, and then the rest of him, like he was waking up to the knowledge of what he’d yielded. He was silent for a long time. Augus didn’t ask him again, letting him stew over what response he wanted to give.

‘I think so,’ Gwyn hazarded, like he wasn’t sure.

‘Good,’ Augus said, and saw the moment Gwyn reacted to that like he needed it. His whole body leaned forwards incrementally, even his hand pushed harder into Augus’ hand.

Praise, pleasure, gentleness. Not Augus’ typical trade, but he wasn’t a stranger to them, either.

‘Do they hurt in winter?’ Augus said, referring to Gwyn’s hands. ‘The scar tissue is riddled along the bones and muscles. They must stiffen in the cold.’

‘Sometimes,’ Gwyn said.

‘If you soak them in hot water for five to ten minutes on cold mornings, it will help the blood to flow and loosen the scarring when it seizes.’

‘Oh? Ah- Yes. Thank you.’

And to think, only a few hours ago he’d been throwing Augus against a tree like he didn’t care if he killed him or not.

‘You can also massage them like I have,’ Augus said. Though, honestly, no one needed to massage Gwyn’s hands for as long as he was doing it. This was all indulgence and finding the areas that felt painful, that felt good, and logging them away somewhere in case he needed that knowledge in the future. ‘But it’s best to do it once your hands have warmed. Say, after or during a bath or shower.’

‘I think…Fluri said the same, once,’ Gwyn said, sounding dazed now. ‘Are you a healer?’

‘Not officially. But you’d best be grateful I have some skills in healing, or I’d be far less well-disposed to you. It hurts to breathe through broken ribs. If I didn’t have good medicine available, I would have sent you away.’

This time when Gwyn pulled his hand back, Augus let him. Gwyn drew his hands back only as far as his knees, and then curled his fingers back and forth, as though testing them.

And Augus still wanted to know – more and more each time they met – who it was that hurt Gwyn, aside from Taronis and the Raven Prince. He wanted to know the person who saw the vulnerable fae beneath the mask, and he wanted to know where all of those wounds lay. He wanted to press into Gwyn’s mind and find the scar tissue there, too.

‘Should I begin work on the solar costume?’ Augus said.

‘I… Yes.’

‘No changes to suggest?’

Gwyn looked lost now. As though he didn’t know how he’d gotten here on Augus’ couch, his hands shiny with ointment, almost relaxed and not understanding it.

‘I don’t think so,’ Gwyn said, finally meeting Augus’ eyes. He started to stand, and Augus held out a hand, and Gwyn stopped like it was an order.

Augus wanted so deeply to know if that obedience was real, or just brainwashed into him.

‘Wait,’ he said. ‘Your hands are oily. Let me towel them off.’

Augus walked away and fetched a rough, dry cloth. When he returned, Gwyn was standing, but he hadn’t left. He must have felt too vulnerable to stay seated. Augus didn’t mind. It was information he gathered, painting a picture that he liked the look of more and more. Except for that attack. Augus hadn’t even been trying. He’d have to be very careful how he goaded Gwyn in the future, he doubted Gwyn would allow all of Augus’ compulsions, and there was nothing to stop him from coming back and exacting revenge.

‘Left hand,’ Augus said, and Gwyn held it out. Augus took it and began rubbing most of the ointment away. It had already done its job. That, and Gwyn’s Inner Court healing meant the tips of his fingertips weren’t flushed any longer. The skin was supple. As Augus finished off, he dragged the cloth pointedly down Gwyn’s palm, from the base of his fingers to the wrist, again and again, and he watched Gwyn’s face.

Gwyn was trying to hide how much he liked it. He thought his face was impassive, but it wasn’t. There was a softening around his eyelids, his mouth seemed more lax than a moment ago. There was a faint line in between his forehead, like he didn’t understand what was happening, or didn’t like that he liked it.

Augus reached for his other hand and towelled that off too.

‘You didn’t need to do any of this,’ Gwyn said.

‘Because of your Inner Court healing?’

‘And you owe me nothing.’

‘Sometimes, everyone can benefit from some healing,’ Augus said, aware that Gwyn would take the double meaning immediately. Gwyn thought of Augus’ vocation more than he did, of that, Augus was sure. ‘As to the healing itself, it’s not about owing you anything. The flowers are appreciated, though. You did a good job picking them.’

Gwyn said nothing, but his cheeks gained more colour, the faint flush he had while Augus tended his hands deepening.

‘I wish I had more cause to work with herbs,’ Gwyn admitted. ‘I thought, as a Mage, I might find reason to use them all the time. But none of my talents or skills lie in that direction.’

Right at the end, Augus moved the cloth away and kept Gwyn’s hand cradled in his own, just holding it. He waited to see how long it took Gwyn to realise what he’d done and how long he’d allow it.

Nearly a full thirty seconds before Gwyn blinked and then stepped backwards, curling his fingers into a loose fist. He stared at Augus warily, but when Augus didn’t do or say anything and simply folded the cloth and put it on the coffee table, he seemed to relax.

‘What happens now?’ he said.

‘I make the costume, you come to make sure it fits properly and actually like it on you. Seeing it on yourself is different to seeing it in a sketchbook.’

‘Then…’ Gwyn bit at his lip. ‘How long do you think…?’

Augus nodded, and thought about his loose schedule, how much time he had. In the end, he set a date in three weeks’ time, writing it down with a feather quill in a notepad for himself. He offered to write it down for Gwyn, but Gwyn shook his head, obviously memorising the date and time. Augus had never seen him write down any of the times they were supposed to meet, and he likely had a much busier schedule than Augus did.

A good memory was a curse to someone who had the experiences he did. Not that Augus knew much about them, except that they were there.

As Gwyn turned to leave, he hesitated. ‘I do not like your compulsions.’

‘I do not like being attacked by your magic.’

Gwyn said nothing. His hands clenched at his sides, and then he seemed to make a visible effort to relax his shoulders. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘Yes. I understand. You don’t seem to use them to excess.’

‘I’m glad you think so.’

I wouldn’t want to use them excessively around you anyway, I suspect you know too much of them already.

There was a way Gwyn had of reacting to them that made him wonder…

Well, there was no point.

‘Good day, Augus,’ Gwyn said, bowing slightly.

Augus returned with a deeper bow, and Gwyn waited for several more seconds, then unclenched his fists and stared at one of his hands, and then he turned and walked away. For the first time, he actually managed to close the front door behind him before presumably teleporting away.

Yes, Augus mused, you respect me after all, don’t you?

Gwyn was easily chastened and easily corrected, if one was careful about their timing. They were almost having real conversations now. It was progress.

But progress towards what? And why did it matter?

Augus sighed and walked to the room where he made his medicines and tinctures. At any rate, he had to process those flowers before their volatile elements dulled, before he couldn’t use them at all. It would be unfair to let Gwyn’s effort go to waste.

He found himself thinking of the strange, pale Mage for the rest of the afternoon.

Chapter Text

Augus

*

On the day of the fitting, Gwyn was prompt – not too early, not at all late – and he was polite. He talked the way he might talk to anyone he respected, but Augus could tell there was a barrier in place. Augus thought it might be a sign of his nervousness, but he showed no other indications that he didn’t want to be fitted.

Not until they went down the corridor, into the room where Augus did his tailoring.

Augus was businesslike when he told Gwyn to strip. He’d already handed him the pants and undershirt, turning back to his desk to work, giving Gwyn a sense of privacy. The rest of the costume needed to be placed by Augus to give Gwyn a sense of how it was meant to look.

Gwyn removed his clothing with a steely determination that wasn’t casual or relaxed.

Augus wanted so badly to just rip the plaster off and say that he knew. He knew that Gwyn had been abused or assaulted. He knew that Gwyn hated to be seen as vulnerable and likely hated baring his body to a fae he thought of as a rapist. He wanted to see the look on Gwyn’s face when he said it, wanted to see if that shocked him into fleeing, or made him calm down for once.

It felt like a horrible farce, and Augus wondered how amused the Raven Prince would be with all of it.

‘Okay,’ Gwyn said, indicating that he was done.

Augus turned to him and pursed his lips. The pants fit well, Augus had done good measurements on the day. He picked up the first mantle – this one a creamy ivory – and gestured for Gwyn to step forward.

Augus dressed him and felt that barrier between them and desperately wanted to dig his claws into it and shake Gwyn out of this place he’d sealed himself into.

With each piece of the costume, Augus realised he’d made something magnificent. Gold-ivory gloves on Gwyn’s fingers tipped with golden claws. Gold-ivory boots that Augus had outsourced to a shoemaker in exchange for one of his finer floggers.

‘And then gold lustre in your hair,’ Augus said quietly to himself. ‘And then the mask.’

He fitted it carefully over Gwyn’s head, making sure not to knock any of the spokes that radiated outwards. There weren’t too many, they were symbolic more than anything. He stepped back and looked at the pale blue eyes staring out from behind the luminous, white-gold solar mask. It wasn’t round like a sun, but instead an expressionless mask, like some detached, cold-hearted god that cared not at all for the people it could burn or save with its light.

‘You appear impressed,’ Gwyn said, and Augus could hear a smile in his voice. The first real one since the last time they’d met.

‘You should see yourself,’ Augus said. ‘Here.’

He pulled a sheet off the full-length mirror and gestured for Gwyn to turn and look. And then Augus had to stand there as Gwyn didn’t seem to react at all. Augus was confident in his design, but he wasn’t confident in Gwyn’s ability to accept whatever he made.

‘Oh,’ Gwyn said at length. ‘I see.’

He lifted his arms, which were draped in long, embroidered, golden sleeves. He looked down at himself carefully.

‘It’s going to be awkward to move.’

‘I can change the weighting on the fabric,’ Augus said quietly. ‘But if you do not move too often, people are more likely to come to you.’

‘They cannot see my expression,’ Gwyn said, looking back at the mirror. ‘You’ve chosen a full mask over a half mask. Why?’

‘I rather had the impression that it would be better if you seemed mercurial and unreadable. It puts you in a position of strength, and immediately puts others on the back foot. Many will come in half masks.’

‘Speaking of,’ Gwyn said abruptly. ‘The Raven Prince has told me that you are to ready your own costume for the Masque, for you will be there too.’

Augus opened his mouth, then managed to reel back his ill-tempered response before it could spill. Gwyn smirked at whatever he saw on Augus’ face.

‘No,’ Augus said.

‘Oh, you can take it up with my King,’ Gwyn said, twitching at the sleeves with his fingers. Reaching up and curving his index finger down the prominent cheekbone of the white-gold mask.

‘Does he think I’ll have time? I have no time to make something suitable for the Unseelie Masque. I’ve been working on your costume!’

Gwyn reached up and carefully took off the mask, tilting his head at Augus. ‘He is like this. I think he always intended for you to come.’

‘By the gods,’ Augus said, sitting down heavily into the chair behind him. ‘I hate this.’

Gwyn looked chastened for a moment, then his expression cleared. ‘I know you asked for none of it, truly. This costume is incredible. I think I may actually be looking forward to the looks on their faces when they see it, and if you knew me, you’d know that isn’t something I’d ever cared about before.’

‘I do know you,’ Augus said, staring unblinking, the gaze of a predator.

Gwyn stilled, his fingers freezing on a piece of cloth he had been touching for the sake of it. And Augus had never thought there was a saboteur inside of him, waiting to tear things apart like this, because he hunted when he wanted to, because his life had been peaceful before the Raven Prince had invited him into his Court.

No words were spoken for a long time, and Augus turned back to his desk and stared at his sketchpad, then opened it to a fresh page. He’d have to make himself a costume.

‘Have you angered him?’ Gwyn said finally.

‘Not that I know of.’

‘You could visit the Court and speak with him.’

‘I’d rather torture myself, than have him do it for me.’

‘Does he know how much you hate it? The Masque? The Court?’

‘Yes,’ Augus muttered, then turned back to face Gwyn as he put the mask down gingerly on a stool, and he stood there looking as much a king as the Raven Prince. Augus realised it would take very little to make Gwyn look like a prince or a royal, and that Gwyn likely dressed so rustically because he’d learned that himself the hard way.

It was in his bearing, the way he stood, wiry and strong and sure of himself. He’d been raised as the Raven Prince’s ward, with all the arrogance that attended such a role. He knew he was important enough that the Raven Prince didn’t trust his care to anyone else.

But not important enough to escape abuse.

‘He hates it too,’ Gwyn said. ‘Perhaps he wants someone of like mind closer to him.’

‘He has you.’

‘I am not the same,’ Gwyn said. ‘I escaped him and that Court as early as I could, and I haven’t returned in any meaningful way unless he commands it. He let me go because he knows how cruel the Court environment can be. I think he envies what I have taken for myself. He is not wild in the same way. He can’t do it himself.’

Augus stared at him, shocked. That was a critical assessment, and laid one of the Raven Prince’s weaknesses bare. Gwyn stepped back until he could lean against the wall. He watched Augus like he couldn’t quite figure him out.

‘I think you have more in common with him than I do.’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘You don’t see it?’ Gwyn said softly. ‘The Raven Prince and I are opposites that meet in the middle. We both have magic, we both have disdain in spades for the world around us, and we both hate politics. But then I am rude and rebellious enough to simply leave, and he will stay at a diplomatic meeting because he is King and he believes strongly in the old ways and in fae etiquette. His wildness is like his cloak, he will shed it to serve his sense of duty. It’s why the Oak King respects him so much, it is a divine Seelie trait, after all. You, as well, have done everything he has commanded you to, despite not trusting me or the situation. You adhere to the old ways too. But it’s more than that. You feel obligation more acutely than I do.’

‘And what are you obligated to?’

‘Nothing and no one,’ Gwyn said easily. ‘I attend my King because he commands it and he has the tools to make me regret not listening to him. I am here with you because he has told me I must be, but even you will well remember I found many ways to shirk that responsibility.’

But you do it out of fear, Augus thought, burying the words deep.

‘You fancy yourself a wild animal, do you? But you know you are his dog.’

Gwyn didn’t flinch, but his eyes flashed. ‘If I am, he has not truly tamed me.’

‘All right,’ Augus said. ‘That I can believe.’

It was a concession, and Gwyn looked satisfied to hear it. Besides, what wild animal wasn’t nearly wholly motivated by fear anyway? Even humans at the end of the day, tethered to Augus’ compulsions, were only blood and flesh and bone and terror, and nothing sophisticated beyond it.

‘A costume,’ Augus groaned to himself, distracted by the chore at hand.

‘You could go as a hor-’

‘Don’t,’ Augus said, pointing at him without looking. ‘Don’t even say it. I didn’t make you a dog.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Gwyn said, ‘I couldn’t resist.’

‘I’m sure. You’re an ass.’

‘I am.’

Augus turned, smiling in spite of himself. ‘Listen to how pleased you are at that. Maybe the only thing you’re obligated to is being an asshole, Gwyn.’

He grinned. ‘That could be true.’

Augus took a deep breath and exhaled heavily, enjoying himself all over again. ‘All right, do you wish me to look at the sleeves and make them easier to work with?’

‘Please,’ Gwyn said softly. ‘If that is not difficult.’

‘It’s not. When do you want to collect the costume?’

‘Bring it with you on the night,’ Gwyn said. ‘I’ll be late anyway. And this way, you can be late too. The Raven Prince will believe me when I tell him that I didn’t understand I was meant to have it sooner. He doesn’t credit my understanding of appropriate behaviour.’

‘I quite like how we’re co-conspirators now, against my King. I don’t feel like I’m in danger at all.’

Gwyn’s grin was charming as he stripped off the pieces of fabric that made the ensemble with careful hands.

‘You’re the Each Uisge,’ Gwyn said. ‘Maybe it’s good for you to understand the danger that you bring to your prey, every now and again.’

Augus stared at him, smirking in spite of himself. Here they were, two dangerous Unseelie fae, and Gwyn ate fae – killed them and sent their souls to the lands of the dead – and had been rumoured to drink their blood and eat their flesh when it suited him, and Augus could feel the prickling of unease, but he also felt like they were co-conspirators. Maybe this was what it was like to get beneath that barrier sometimes, maybe this was what Gwyn tried to hide from others.

He could be playful and charming and rousing.

Gwyn got dressed into the shirt and simple pants of before, then looked around the room.

‘The night of the Masque,’ Gwyn said. ‘I will see you then.’

He turned and walked briskly away. This time he didn’t even wait until he reached the front door, Augus saw the flare of light in the hallway, and Gwyn was gone.

*

On the night of the Masque, Augus teleported through water to the Unseelie Court and was met by a servant who was already waiting for him. The servant offered to take both Augus’ and Gwyn’s costumes, but Augus carried them himself, careful with the wrapping that kept them waterproof when he’d travelled from his lake to the Unseelie Court’s main lake that was used for teleportation.

Augus’ makeup – the deep violet eyeliner around his eyes and the black mascara – was waterfast. He was happy with how he’d styled his mane. A complicated braid that made the most of his waterweed, showcasing it. His mane would always be wet and dripping – even more now that he’d just teleported through water – but it held its shape well, the thick, black strands of hair settling into their neat position easily.

He was shown to what must have been Gwyn’s rooms, after they bypassed the throne room and the other sections of the Palace where the Masque was being held. After a spiralling staircase, Augus stood before large double doors, but it was the servant who knocked, went inside, and announced Augus.

‘Let him in,’ Gwyn said brusquely.

Augus entered and saw Gwyn sitting in an armchair, reading a heavy tome with a title in a language he didn’t recognise. Gwyn looked up, folding over the page instead of using a bookmark. Augus noted his hair wasn’t styled. He wore the same clothing he always did.

Gwyn, however, blinked when he saw Augus’ face. Augus knew he wasn’t used to seeing the makeup or his hair so elaborately styled. But Augus turned and laid Gwyn’s costume on the bed and walked around to the other side of the grand, large room.

‘I’m going to get changed in there,’ Augus said, pointing towards the bathroom. ‘Unless you need it? I assume you don’t need my help with your costume?’

‘No,’ Gwyn said. ‘I remember how you put it on last time.’

‘Excellent.’

Augus walked into the bathroom and closed the door behind him, wondering if he should have been friendlier. But they weren’t friends, and Augus was dreading the evening to come. He didn’t care for large social events and he hoped to be largely left alone. But if Gwyn was right and the Raven Prince wanted more of his company, he despaired of getting to hide away in some corner.

He dressed swiftly. His costume wasn’t nearly as elaborate as Gwyn’s, though the embroidery on the shirt and coat had taken an awfully long time. Black leather pants, treated to have a dull rainbow sheen, gleaming blue or jade green or violet depending on how the light hit. Calf-high black leather boots with a decent heel, also treated with the same coating, peacock feathers stitched into both sides with metallic and iridescent threads.

The shirt was a deep glossy green, a scalloped pattern of pale green feathers upon it, the coat was thick and black, feathers falling down over it in neat embroidery until they ended at the hem in a fringe of trimmed, real peacock feathers. His nails were painted a shimmering blue-violet polish. And over his hair he placed a tiara of stylised, metal quills of blue and green, terminating in faceted gemstones. The half-mask of the peacock, with its pointed beak – to hopefully stop people from getting too close to his face – and its metallic blue feathers and arched white eyebrows completed the ensemble.

It wasn’t elaborate, he didn’t even feel a particular affinity to peacocks, but he knew it would be striking and he didn’t have time for anything better.

He’d decided on a mask that he didn’t have to hold up to his face on a rod. The fact that it was tied around his head would make it harder to remove, but gave him more excuses to stay hidden.

He walked out, making sure he didn’t knock the silvery beak into the door, and Gwyn was nearly dressed. All that was left was the mask and the gold lustre in his hair which Augus would apply himself. He suspected Gwyn had no idea how to apply it.

Gwyn stared at him.

‘Oh,’ he said.

It was the same breathless reaction he’d had when he’d seen his own costume in the mirror. Augus couldn’t help but feel flattered.

‘I didn’t realise how green your eyes were,’ he said.

Augus smiled. ‘If I’d had more time, I would have come up with something more impressive, but this will do.’

‘It’s elegant,’ Gwyn said quickly. ‘It’s very elegant.’

‘Thank you. Now, do you need any assistance? We’ll need to get that gold lustre into your hair. Once you’ve put the mask on, sit down and I’ll attend you.’

Gwyn stared at him for a good while longer, and eventually nodded and continued to dress. Then he pulled out a bench by the wall and sat on it, leaning back to give Augus better access to his hair.

‘Wait,’ Gwyn said abruptly, as Augus drew out the powdered pigment. ‘What if I just…?’

He reached for his staff – Augus noted that he seemed happy to just lean it against walls and forget about it – with one hand, and with the other touched his fingertips to his head. A few seconds later his hair turned gold. Not dark blond, not yellow, but gold. Augus’ eyes widened. It looked like real gold, but his hair still moved like his hair, the curls hadn’t changed texture at all.

‘Like that?’ Gwyn said, looking at Augus.

‘How did you do that? Is it real?’ Augus said.

‘It’s an illusion. It’s not anything except a change in your perception. It’s… I suppose like a visual compulsion.’

Augus lifted his eyebrows. He’d never heard illusions described that way, but it made sense. But it disturbed him all the same to know that the spell wasn’t something cosmetic on Gwyn’s head, so much as a spell there that tricked everyone else’s eyes. He wasn’t susceptible to any vocal compulsions, so it bothered him to know that visual ones still worked.

‘You could have used that magic to make yourself an entire costume,’ Augus said, laughing weakly.

‘The Raven Prince would never have allowed it,’ Gwyn said. ‘But also, the more complex an illusion, the harder it is to maintain for a period of time, and the more other Mages can see through it. The Raven Prince maintains a hard line against illusions of that nature.’

‘I’d never have thought that he would have opinions as to what magic is okay and what isn’t.’

Gwyn burst into laughter behind his mask. ‘No? Gods, be glad you don’t talk to him about magical theory. He’s strict. And he has very strong opinions once you show you have a modicum of skill. He’s very much ‘learn it until you reach a certain stage, and then the rules begin.’ It’s why he’s so strong in the first place.’

‘But he’s a seventh son of a seventh son.’

‘That gives raw power, but not skill,’ Gwyn said, standing and shaking out the costume. He walked into a huge walk-in wardrobe that seemed to have more bows and quivers of arrows in it than actual clothing. He looked at himself in the mirror while Augus waited beyond. ‘Skill is learned through the repeated application of self-discipline. The School of the Staff does not look kindly upon anyone who relies on raw talent only. It’s considered lazy and undisciplined.’

‘Does he ever teach there?’

‘No,’ Gwyn said. ‘He prefers the single apprentice-patron model. It’s a shame, because his theories are very interesting, especially on linguistic magic. Surely I must be boring you.’

‘Not at all.’

‘But you have no capacity for magic.’

‘As you keep reminding me.’

Gwyn turned and looked at him, and Augus wondered what expression hid behind that mask.

‘Well then,’ he said. ‘Should we get this farce over and done with?’

‘Please,’ Augus said.

‘And after? Do you want to collect the costume?’

‘It’s yours. After tonight, unless the Raven Prince wills it, we’ll never see each other again.’

Gwyn didn’t look away for a long time. Then he took a deep breath, squared his shoulders and reached for his staff.

‘Your service has been commendable,’ he said. ‘I’ll let the Raven Prince know.’

He walked boldly towards the door. Augus expected him to simply leave, but to his surprise Gwyn waited for him, and they ended up walking down the corridor together.

*

When the huge doors to the throne room were opened and Gwyn and Augus were both announced by the crier, Gwyn took a small step backwards. A sharp carbon scent flashed into the air, there and gone, and Augus might have missed it if he hadn’t been inhaling in that moment.

‘What is it?’ Augus said under his breath.

‘He’s invited the Court’s executioners,’ Gwyn said, his voice carefully steady. ‘If he wants me here, and the executioners as well, tonight is intended as a threat to certain people he’s invited.’

‘Do you know who?’

‘I don’t care who,’ Gwyn said, and he swept off into the crowd like he hadn’t been terrified for those few seconds that Augus had caught the scent.

Augus walked into the crowd slowly, making his way over to the refreshment tables, covered in what looked like mountains of food and all kinds of drink. Augus wanted nothing alcoholic for himself, but he did want to be able to hold a glass so that if anyone spoke to him, he could buy himself time in responding by taking a sip of water or whatever else they might have.

He found a glass of chilled sweetwater, the nectar gathered from the blue flowers of Alvecchi, and then he slowly walked among the milling people who weren’t dancing on the ballroom floor. He kept an eye on the Raven Prince – who was there in a full raven mask, and otherwise hadn’t done a great deal to change his appearance at all – and he kept an eye on Gwyn.

Gwyn was scared of the executioners, perhaps. He didn’t seem to care about who was being threatened, he cared that the executioners were there.

He himself had been the Raven Prince’s executioner too.

Maybe…he was hurt by one of them?

After only ten minutes, one of his clients came up to him. She lowered her half-mask of a human-reckoned red devil for only a second so that he could see who she was, then beamed at him. An empusae with tumbling black hair, and lovely olive-brown skin, Augus had spent nearly four full days with her, and she’d needed every minute of them.

‘I wasn’t sure it was you at first,’ she said. ‘But then I saw the waterweed, and you have a way of walking that’s very distinct. It’s good to see you!’

‘You as well, Medelia. Are you keeping well?’

‘Very well, thank you,’ she said, turning to look out at the crowd. ‘I don’t think I really want to be a courtier, but I’ve always wanted to attend one of the Masques. I’m here as a guest of Lord Varronidas. The costumes are captivating.’

They were captivating. Augus enjoyed seeing the skill displayed in the crafting of so many of the costumes. He continued to make small talk with Medelia, it mostly involved asking her a question and listening to the words that spilled for minutes afterwards. She’d always been chatty, except when she’d been gagged. He remembered the third day with her, when he’d finally knocked her into a contemplative, distressed silence that allowed her to finally get to the heart of why she’d visited him in the first place.

She’d made the most delightful noises. And she was plump, with flesh he could sink his fingers into, watching it dip and pillow around his grip. He’d liked that too.

There were at least two other clients of his in the throne room. He wasn’t all that surprised. Higher status clients tended to visit him because they felt safer in the hands of an underfae who couldn’t truly hurt them, until they realised that Augus could truly hurt them, and was happy to do it.

When he lost track of Gwyn, he excused himself and meandered through the throne room, eventually heading down a colonnade, mica in the black marble shimmering beneath the sharp steps of his boots.

He followed Gwyn’s scent amongst the melange of others and ended up in a busy ballroom. Here, debauchery was happening freely. Some of the fae were fucking, others looked like they were only minutes away from it. He doubted the Raven Prince would come here, but as with so many fae, he had no issues with public sex, and the Masque was known for its revels. Likely rooms had been put aside specifically for it.

There, he saw Gwyn up against a wall, fingers tight on his staff as another fae – shorter than him – stood in front of him, wearing a half mask of a ram, horns curling tightly.

Augus walked up as discreetly as he knew how, staying a safe distance way. He expected to be noticed, but Gwyn didn’t react to his presence. And he was tense. And – Augus realised – he was afraid.

And then the fae in front of him reached out a hand and placed it easily on Gwyn’s waist, and Gwyn didn’t slap his hand away or use magic or do anything to get rid of him, even though his whole body looked like it could have been carved from stone.

His attacker is still alive. And, it seems, still active.

Augus watched for another few seconds, eyes narrowing at the way a possessive hand dragged across Gwyn’s stomach and then plunged into his robes.

Gwyn didn’t even move.

Augus walked over easily, then stood beside Gwyn even as the other fae had already removed his hand. The fae stood insouciantly, like he’d been doing nothing at all, and his silvery eyes glittered behind his ram’s mask.

‘Gwyn,’ Augus said easily. ‘I’ve been looking everywhere for you. How is the costume holding up?’

‘Well,’ Gwyn said stiffly.

‘Are you going to introduce us? I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure of meeting,’ Augus said to the fae before him.

‘This is Oxcillian, one of the Raven Prince’s executioners.’

‘Lord Oxcillian,’ the man corrected, ‘and his head executioner. But Gwyn does so like to be rude, don’t you, my Lord?’

Gwyn said nothing at all, and Augus wished he could see what expression he was making behind that mask, yet endlessly glad that Oxcillian couldn’t see it himself.

‘I’ve been a member of the Raven Prince’s Court for centuries,’ Oxcillian said calmly. He held out a hand, and Augus grasped it politely, and held it for the right amount of time, and wondered at what age he’d gotten his hands on Gwyn, how far he’d gotten, how confident he felt, harassing Gwyn at an event the Raven Prince himself had organised. ‘And you must be Augus Each Uisge?’

Augus inclined his head in acknowledgement, and then refused to leave Gwyn’s side, uncaring when Oxcillian tried multiple times to subtly indicate that he should leave. And he was frustrated at himself too, because this was none of his business, and if Gwyn wasn’t strong enough to use his magic to smack Oxcillian into the ground, it wasn’t Augus’ job to pick up the slack.

‘You’ll have to excuse me,’ Oxcillian said, after a frustrated few minutes of small talk, and then melted into the crowd.

‘What did you want?’ Gwyn said.

‘To meet the person you were talking to.’

Gwyn hesitated, and then the hand around his staff shifted and relaxed. He still wasn’t truly at ease, and Augus thought he could smell an after-odour of fear in the air, but it was heavily weighted down by the scents of the other fae around them.

‘You don’t like him,’ Augus risked saying.

‘He is obnoxious,’ Gwyn said. ‘He was the one who trained me on the finer points of execution after the Raven Prince was done teaching me about my true appetite.’

So you spent plenty of time alone together, and he held a position of power over you.

‘Can he do magic?’ Augus said easily.

‘He can quell it. He’s incredibly useful in the execution of Mages for that reason.’

And so Augus had almost an entire picture now of how it all would have happened, and Gwyn likely thought he was doing a good job of keeping all of it hidden. But not from Augus. Not this.

‘Execution seems a nasty business, how old were you when you started being trained to it?’

‘Excuse me,’ Gwyn said abruptly, and walked away.

Young. He was young.

Augus forced himself to take a deep breath and then he decided there was no point staying here when he wasn’t planning on sucking or fucking or torturing anyone. He walked away from three fae who were enthusiastically licking and lapping at the gasping body of another beside them, and headed back to the throne room.

*

‘You must be commended, Augus,’ the Raven Prince said, what felt like directly in his ear. He startled, turning slowly to see the Raven Prince standing behind him in that uncanny raven’s head.

‘Your Majesty,’ Augus said in acknowledgement.

‘I have never seen Gwyn in an outfit so elaborate in my entire life, especially not one that he’s wearing voluntarily, and hasn’t immediately discarded after ten minutes. How did you do it?’

‘Slowly,’ Augus said, turning back to look at Gwyn. He was mingling with people who hadn’t quite relaxed him, but definitely didn’t have him as tense as he’d been with Oxcillian.

Do you know? Did you orchestrate it?

He couldn’t believe that of his King. He couldn’t. Which was absurd, in some ways, given what some Unseelie fae fed upon. But the Raven Prince was only a raven shifter, he wasn’t some rare fae that fed upon rape or abuse. It was why he hired executioners to do that work for him in the first place. Everyone knew that he loathed battle and bloodshed, and tried to avoid both whenever possible.

‘And how do you find my Masque?’

‘Your people clearly enjoy it,’ Augus said.

‘Then are you not one of my people?’

Augus smiled to himself and turned to look sidelong at the Raven Prince. There was no clear place where his eyes would be looking out of the mask, no easy-to-see panel. Augus had no idea if there were surreptitious eye-holes, or if the Raven Prince had just transformed his head for the evening. The eyes looked bright and lively enough. His voice issued from a slightly open beak.

‘You have caught me out, Your Majesty,’ Augus said. ‘I am one of your people, and I enjoy this Court, but I profess I struggle with events like this.’

‘They’re awful, aren’t they?’ the Raven Prince said softly, turning his head like he was surveying the crowd. ‘But we must give the people what they want. Some of them, at the least.’

Augus was silent. He felt like any words he said around the Raven Prince could be turned into traps, though his King seemed in a benign enough mood. He’d started off the conversation with a compliment, after all. But Augus was also too troubled to think of ways to engage the Raven Prince in conversation. Not after what he’d seen. Not after the knowledge that Gwyn was still being touched by someone he clearly feared.

And there was something else too: Gwyn kept looking over to him. Not for very long, never for more than a few seconds, but it charged the tension between them. Was he angry that Augus had stepped in? Did he feel threatened? Was it something else?

‘Would you outfit him again?’ the Raven Prince said.

‘Of course, Your Majesty.’

‘Would you want to?’

‘He is not that bad, once you get used to him,’ Augus said.

The Raven Prince burst into raucous laughter, then leaned closer, before leaning away again. ‘It is as you say, Each Uisge. If only you could have known him as a child. He could be very endearing. But he has always been a half-feral thing. He knows, you see, that his mother hated him at the moment of his birth. He knows that I was never meant for parenthood. And I find myself certain that I more than met some of his needs, and never met some of the others.’

‘I see.’

‘Do you?’ the Raven Prince said. ‘Maybe you do, at that, since you managed to put all of that upon him, and he has even acceded to putting an illusion in his own hair.’

‘He suggested that of his own accord,’ Augus said, smiling. He hadn’t thought of what an achievement that was, when it happened. Gwyn had just offered it up in place of the lustre.

‘And you know I’m going to invite you back, don’t you?’ the Raven Prince said. ‘I like having you in my Court. You are comely, and you fascinate the others. There has never been an Each Uisge like you.’

My name is Augus.

‘I will come whenever you wish it, Your Majesty,’ Augus said.

The Raven Prince was silent, and Augus worried he’d offended him. His response to the compliments had been curt. But eventually the Raven Prince stepped closer to him.

‘Something has happened,’ the Raven Prince said abruptly. ‘Has he sought to change your opinion of me?’

‘No, Your Majesty.’

‘Surely he has?’

‘No, he would never do that, Your Majesty,’ Augus said swiftly. The idea of throwing Gwyn in front of the Raven Prince in order to protect himself had its own appeal, but Augus was still too concerned about Gwyn to do it.

‘He would, and he has,’ the Raven Prince said. ‘But I shall accept your words, Augus. Still, you are warier of me than you were a few weeks ago. Do you think I’ve done poorly by him?’

‘Your Majesty, this is not the place to discuss these things,’ Augus said, looking at the other fae nearby. None of them were close enough to be obviously eavesdropping, but some fae had excellent hearing, and he had no doubt that they were being watched and listened to closely.

‘Fascinating,’ the Raven Prince said, almost to himself. ‘Well, if you say so, Augus Each Uisge, then I shall leave it be for now. I will see you again in my Court soon enough, and we shall find the time to discourse upon certain subjects then, how does that sound?’

‘That suits me very well, Your Majesty. Thank you again for the invitation to the Masque, and the opportunity to work with your ward.’

The Raven Prince laughed softly, tilting his head back, which had the effect of making his beak thrust up into the air. But then he lowered it again and turned, standing so close to Augus they were nearly touching.

‘So polite,’ he said. ‘You really are nothing like the ones who came before you. Good evening, young waterhorse.’

With that, the Raven Prince walked off. Augus finally released the cold shiver he’d been suppressing. The Raven Prince disturbed him even when things were going well. But that had been a deeply uncomfortable conversation.

Augus found he wanted to go home.

Sighing, he made his way back towards the double doors that would lead to Gwyn’s rooms so he could get changed. It wasn’t his responsibility to protect Gwyn from his demons, and he wanted to sleep for an entire day.

*

He was at the lake – his costume wrapped safely to protect it from the water – and about to step into it when he heard a crunching in the leaf litter behind him. He turned swiftly and Gwyn was there, holding his mask in his hand. His expression was unreadable.

He waited for Gwyn to speak first, which made for a long, awkward silence.

‘You know,’ Gwyn said, his voice strained. ‘I don’t know how you know, but you know.’

Augus blinked at him, schooled his face so that it looked like he had no idea what Gwyn was talking about. Truthfully, he didn’t know exactly what Gwyn was talking about.

‘Oxcillian,’ Gwyn said.

That one word changed everything about his appearance. His body language changed, became smaller. His voice altered. Even just saying the creature’s name had a horrific power over him.

Augus’ fingers tightened on his clothing.

‘Does the King know?’ Augus said.

‘No,’ Gwyn said. ‘He will never…never know.’

‘Are you safe in this Court?’

Gwyn looked aside, staring blankly. After a while he turned back to Augus, his chin lifted. ‘Yes. Tonight is as bad as it gets.’

‘Then you are not safe in this Court.’

‘It is nothing compared to…’

An actual choking noise, and Augus wanted to take a step towards him, but he felt like the only reason Gwyn was talking to him now was because Augus was about to leave, because they weren’t close to each other, because it was always night here around the Unseelie Court, always dark, and they were shrouded by trees and shadows and the sense of seclusion.

‘It is nothing,’ Gwyn finished off.

‘All right,’ Augus said.

Gwyn scowled at him. ‘You were never going to tell me, were you?’

‘You threw me against a tree for far less,’ Augus said softly. ‘And no, I had no intention of telling you. What good would it do? Does it benefit you for me to know, when you are already on edge around me? When you have already assumed you know all about my vocation, and what role I play within it?’

Those blue eyes were so pale, so unnerved. ‘You could use it against me.’

‘I could have used it against you for some time,’ Augus said coldly. ‘Tonight only confirmed who, but I deciphered a lot of it for myself, thank you.’

Eyes widening in response to that, and Gwyn took a step backwards. ‘I…’

‘You will note,’ Augus said crisply, ‘that even I am not quite the monster you make me out to be. Now, I assume you want me to promise you I will never tell anyone else of what I’ve learned, of course I will keep your confidence. Does anyone else know?’

‘No,’ Gwyn said, his voice faint. ‘I didn’t know it could be guessed.’

‘My vocation puts me in a unique position when it comes to reading body language. I made an educated guess at the time, and your behaviour afterwards confirmed it. Do you think the Raven Prince sent you to me because of that?’

‘No,’ Gwyn said, his voice even fainter. ‘He will never know.’

Augus disliked how pale Gwyn seemed – even paler than the norm – and he took some steps towards him, only for Gwyn to straighten and, gods, he looked terrified.

‘Well,’ Augus said. ‘At the end of the day it’s none of my business. I should leave.’

Nothing was said in response to that, and so Augus knew it was the right course of action. What could he offer? What could he do? He was nothing against Gwyn when it came to their power or strength or ability, and likely nothing against the head executioner, or the Raven Prince himself.

‘I won’t betray your secrets,’ Augus said quietly, as he stepped onto the water, not sinking into it. He had terrified so many humans with the ability to walk on water, but Gwyn just watched him. ‘Farewell, Gwyn ap Nudd.’

He sank into the water at once, teleporting a split second later. When he stepped through the underwater barrier of his own lake into the dry space around his home, he sagged and held his costume close to his chest.

‘It’s not any of my business,’ he said to himself firmly. Yet as he went inside his house, he couldn’t help feel like he should be doing more. But the prickling of his conscience filled his inner waterhorse with loathing, and he went out to hunt soon after.