For a long moment Stray and Logan were utterly still.

Unmoving, disbelieving. Staring into one another’s eyes as they felt the familiar pop of travel through the portal. As they lay, entangled in one another, bodies pressed tightly together as if they feared being ripped apart at any moment. All around them Stray could hear the Company taking breaths, muttering out prayers to whichever Gods they followed that they had been delivered from Gold’s fetid realm. Mistress Red crying softly somewhere to the right of her, Mistress Kitty and her former husband Petya whispering rapidly in the silver-skinned man’s native tongue while Gainsborough tried to calm the newly-childlike Illyenka. Stray went to move away- it was hardly proper, their being pressed together like this- but before she could Logan tightened his grip on her. His arm locking around her waist tightly, his gaze still on hers. She frowned, not sure what was wrong even as she felt a low, relieved growl echo through his chest where her palm rested. Even as he reached out and laid his forehead, very gently, against hers, his exhalation of breath wafting across her skin. “Don’t go fer a minute, cariad,” he said softly. “Just- I just don’t want to lose you…”

She had to smile. “You will never lose me, Logan,” she said. “My heart, just like my gift for finding trouble, will always be yours.”

And she pressed a kiss against his lips, shy in front of everyone but knowing now that this was what she wanted. Felt his slight inhalation of breath at her boldness even as she wrapped her arms more tightly around his waist. She was dimly aware of the claps and wolf-whistles from the Company; Apparently they at least felt it was long past time for this to happen. But Logan, while he did not pull away did not engage either, and she knew that in a minute he would stop her, would remind her that their relationship was merely sham to protect her from others-

And yet, for here and now he was alive, and he was in her arms, and she was happy.

So Stray, despite her embarrassment, did not let him go.

Perhaps Logan agreed with her assessment. Perhaps he too had feared loosing her so much that he was willing to loosen his restraint. But after a split second’s hesitation he responded, his mouth pressing more fully against hers, his arms sliding up her back and into her hair to caress. Shifting her so that her knees were splayed on either side of his hips, her chest and belly snug against his. The pressure and contact felt divine, the feel of him as right as it had been that night long ago in the Wolf Mother’s Cave and despite her ladylike upbringing, despite the fact that they had an audience and they were unwed and they really should be too tired for this Stray let herself fall more fully into her desire. Let herself move and press and push against him even as she caressed him, determined to follow her instincts to their logical conclusion. She did not care if people knew that she wanted him; They would just have to deal with it. She had never felt less like her father’s daughter, less like Lord David’s virginal bride than she did right now. This was where she was supposed to be. She pulled back for a moment to find him smiling the most blindingly… happy smile she had ever seen from him-

And in that moment a single, tapered blade pressed itself between them.

Another joining it to press against Logan’s throat.

He snarled, manoeuvring himself easily in front of Stray to find two men in armour glowering down at him while more surrounded the Company of Miracles and Shaw’s newly-healed servants, their blades drawn.

A long, brittle, extraordinarily tense beat wherein it occurred to Stray to despair of ever having a quiet, uneventful life.

The spring maid shifted then, her chin on Logan’s shoulder, her eyes following the blades’ lengths upwards to the two knights who threatened them. Each was dressed in armour of a different colour, their forms and equipage making them as different from one another as night was from day. The first- and nearest to Logan- was a tall, muscular man with blond hair and blue eyes. His armour was a deeper blue, edged here and there with silver, a single silver star emblazoned on his chest. She could see the outline of a massive shield attached to his back, the metal’s edges glinting in the light: He was staring at her thoughtfully, his expression showing that he’d noted the difference in herself and Logan’s ages as well as the chatelaine’s ring she wore. The knight next to him was shorter, his face equally handsome though his dark brown eyes were world-weary and mocking: His armour was crimson and gold, so brightly polished it almost hurt to look at it though it occurred to Stray to wonder whether- it being so decorative- it would be of any use in a fight. This man seemed more amused at being able to sneak up on them than anything; He held himself with the natural hauteur of the aristocracy, his blade playfully digging at Logan’s throat although Stray knew such smugness would irritate her man on principle. For no matter what he felt Logan would not be able to challenge such a man to fair combat, and he knew it-

Though he would win any fight he would be executed for treason the next day, the price for killing a noble was so high.

As if he were flicking something casually from his boot the crimson and gold clad knight flicked his blade again then, the skin of Logan’s neck opening a little, a single drop of red bleeding out onto his shirt. Without hesitation Stray reached down, kissing it and then wrapping her arm possessively around his throat to cover the mark. She could not risk the knights seeing Logan’s healing, not with the price of being Cursed still set at death. Though Logan snarled again he held onto her tightly, his grip growing more possessive; Apparently even in his temper he could appreciate that this was one fight which he could not afford to begin. Instead he pressed a single kiss to her palm, almost defiantly. She tightened her hand against his and the blue-clad knight’s worried expression lessened a jot. Their evasion apparently worked: The crimson knight rolled his eyes at his companion, his handsome face breaking into a grin that was anything but suspicious.

“What do you think, Etienne?” he said. “Should we present them to their Graces?”

The blue-clad Etienne nodded. “Aye, Anthony,” he said. “I imagine the Duchess will wish to speak with them, to see what they know of the disappearance of Seneschal Shaw.”

It was at this that Stray found her voice. She should have guessed that people would be waiting for them here: Shaw’s marriage had been set for Mabsday and that had been but four days hence when Mephisto took her. Suddenly the armed men surrounding them made more sense. “There was no disappearance, my Lords,” she said quietly, making sure to keep her voice polite and her eyes lowered. A rich man’s daughter she may have been but that still did not empower her to address two knights as her equal.

“Oh aye?” the crimson-clad knight- Anthony- asked tartly. “Then where might he be?”

Logan spoke over her before she could answer him. “His Lordship-” he made the title sound like an insult- “Is over there, with his bride-to-be.” And he gestured to Shaw, who had managed to make his way to the back of the group with Emmalaine, using Petya’s bulk to hide himself from notice. Realising he was being used as camouflage the massive man picked Shaw and Frost up, roughly depositing them in front of the knights. The apologetic look he shot Mistress Kitty seemed to soften her ire at his having to touch Frost though when he went to move towards her she skittered away- An action which seemed to please Gainsborough no end. Shaw and Frost were still bleeding- the Phoenix had done little to heal them- and both looked far more dishevelled than a Lord of the realm and his Lady had the right to look. Nevertheless when they realised they were visible they straightened up, tried to execute a bow and a curtsy. Neither were very elegant, Stray mused, but then they’d had a devilrous day all round.

Of course, if they hadn’t been a scheming, evil shrike-monger and plague-bitch she might have felt some sorrow about it.

“Shaw, there you are,” Anthony boomed. He looked deeply amused at the notion that the Seneschal had been trying to hide and Stray swore she heard Etienne give a long-suffering sigh which would have done Ororo proud.

Shaw’s eyes were narrowed but his tone was polite. “Anthony Ironclad, as I live and breath,” he huffed out, trying for jovial. “And Etienne de Rogeres, as always I am gratified by your presence. You must forgive my appearance, we have had a period of misadventure-”

The crimson knight’s expression was almost gleeful. “I do not doubt it,” he said. “Though your future lady’s beauty of course shines like the most precious of gems.”

This time Stray was sure she heard Etienne sigh.

Ororo joined him in it and their eyes met for a brief, startled moment before both looked away.

Sir Anthony was not done flirting with his hostess however. He reached out and kissed her hand lightly, an intimacy which would be unthinkable with so young a woman as Stray. Perhaps, the spring maid mused, Emmalaine’s reputation preceded her. Shaw must have thought something similar but he held back, aware that he could not act with impunity towards these men as he had towards the Company of Miracles and the servants he had abused. Stray had been around enough powerful men to recognise the mantle of authority when she saw it and both Anthony and Etienne wore it with ease. “Yes, well, nobody resists my Emmalaine for long,” Shaw said, trying to sound good natured. The fact that Anthony had moved on from the lady’s knuckles with his kisses and was now foraying onto her wrist wasn’t making it easy; Emmalaine smiled at the attention but as soon as Anthony paused to take breath she pulled her hand back. The knight took the semi-rebuke with a smile, though his eyes showed he wasn’t repentant at all.

Again Etienne and Ororo sighed at the exact same time.

The tips of Etienne’s ears turned a dark shade of pink.

“I am sure you have a wonderful tale to tell us,” Sir Anthony said then, his tone playful. “Perhaps you would like to tell it at feast tonight, since your lady-” he inclined his head towards Emmalaine- “Requested so many members of court come to see you wed.”

Just for a tiniest moment Emmalaine actually looked embarrassed: One did not summon the court, Stray knew, one waited for them to summon you. Maybe Gold had talked her into that, the girl mused. Or maybe she had just been so punch-drunk on the notion that she was marrying a Lord that she thought such impropriety would go unnoticed. Whatever the case Frost had the good grace to look chagrined now and she took a step away from Lord Anthony, her gaze remaining floor-ward. Stray guessed it was killing her: Demureness- as the past few days had proved- was not Emmalaine Frost’s natural state. “Yes, well, I did not expect anyone to read the invitation really,” the thought-reader said hesitantly. “Lord Sebastian’s friends have so much to keep their notice, what with their role in ruling this land-”

This time Anthony’s eyes were hard. “Indeed, my dear. But nothing would stop us coming to meet the woman the King’s Seneschal wished to marry. Nothing.” He smiled a bland, friendly grin that Stray just knew had preceded many a battle; Lord Etienne’s expression was equally hard though his eyes were not as cold. “But rest assured you have our complete and undivided attention, Mistress Frost,” the crimson knight continued. “Including that of Duchess Shushanna Stormhold, who has come to meet you especially-”

Shaw sputtered, shocked that his would-be wife had dared contact the most powerful woman in the realm besides the Queen. Shushanna Stormhold was the wife of Duke Richard Stormhold, the king’s alchemist. Next to Victor Latverius he was the most senior courtier in the land. “I’m- I’m sure that her Grace will have much to say on the matter,” Shaw stammered.

For the first time Etienne’s mouth quirked into a smile. “And I’m sure we’ll all get to hear it,” he muttered. “Every last word.”

Ironclad nodded. “But to do that we shall simply have to move ourselves to the banquet hall next door-” He held out his arm to Frost in mocking invitation. “So won’t you join me, my dear?” His eyes twinkled. “After all, you brought us all here, including that strange guest of yours from the Hrimcaeld. It would be most impolite to leave us to entertain ourselves.”

The look on her face showed that Emmalaine would indeed have liked to leave her guests to entertain themselves but she knew politeness would not allow it. So she took Ironclad’s arm with as much good grace as she could muster and began walking towards the room’s double doors, Shaw following behind her. Etienne De Rogeres’ presence an intimidating bulk on his right. The Seneschal looked more like he were going to his execution than a night of courtly feasting- But then how in blazes would he explain where he’d been and what had happened to him, without mentioning Illyenka and the Phoenix and Gold? As the aristocrats walked away the Company of Miracles exchanged looks, waiting to be released from their guards. The men themselves seemed unsure what to do, one brave soul raising his voice falteringly to ask Lord Anthony for orders though he seemed more frightened that the Lord would answer than anything else. Without even glancing back the crimson knight called, “Bring them,” in a tone which would have irritated a paragon into wrongdoing. The snarl Logan gave at such indifference echoed through the room and Ironclad laughed. But the guards still herded the Company of Miracles forwards, Shaw’s much abused servants with them-

And as soon as they set foot inside Shaw’s ballroom Stray heard a voice she hadn’t wanted to encounter ever again call to her. A voice from her past. A voice from her nightmares.

“Mahri,” Lord David’s voice said, his tone angry, “Mahri, is that you girl?”

And then- “You had better hand her over to me, Ironclad. The chatelaine is mine.”