Deep down, Stray had never really believed that Ororo could transform.

Oh, she’d listened to the woman’s story of the loss of her husband, experienced for herself the tie between a Moonlight Key and a Sunlight Lock. Had even thought she understood the loneliness, the set-apartness she sometimes spied in the huntress’ regal self-mastery. But she’d never really believed that Ororo could actually turn into another creature-

Suffice it to say though, the spring maid believed now.

In fact, she had never held less doubt about anything in all her living life.

For without warning, without the slightest suggestion of hesitation Ororo transformed, her inner beast bursting from her skin as Stray suspected it had once burst from her husband T’Challa’s. Blue eyes and white-to-black, dappled fur exploding into existence as the huntress dropped her human form as easily as a bird would dip in flight. Feline grace shuddering through her limbs as she stalked forward, her new body- that of a giant, sinuous cat- so extraordinarily, lethally lovely that it seemed the form Ororo had been born to take. The form in which she belonged.

All around her the gathered nobles’ eyes widened, their realisation that they had Cursed in their midst clearly shocking them. Making their fragile, mortal frames tremble with dread. But Stray could not help but note that though their Duke was now faced with three fully-transformed and clearly dangerous creatures not one of his court moved to help him. In fact, Anthony Ironclad had edged subtly backwards to protect the Duchess Shushanna, her black-clad lady-in-waiting and the youthful, red-and-blue liveried page who crouched beside her quietly following suit. Only the blue-clad knight Etienne de Rogeres stood his ground, his gaze was flickering back and forth between Ororo and the Duke, his expression horrified. His chain-mailed hands clenching and unclenching by his sides, his shield lying almost forgotten on the floor. But he did not move to help his liege. In fact, he was staring at him in something very close to horror. His handsome face sickened with something that looked almost like guilt. The silence stretched out as nobody moved. More tense, more disturbing than any thus far in this longest of long days-

And then Ororo padded forward until she was nearly nose to nose with Latverius.

She crouched back on her hind quarters, as if ready to strike, and let out the longest, most terrifying, most heart-sick roar Stray had ever heard.

The words were simple. “Leave my family alone.”

The room shook with it, let alone the people. Even some of the Company of Miracles flinched, both Gainesborough’s and Petya’s arms coming instinctively up to wrap around Katherine Shadowskin and Illyenka. Scott’s arms wrapping tightly around Mistress Red. Latverius didn’t flinch but de Rogeres did, his face turning ashen, blue eyes worried. Again it occurred to Stray that he looked guilty, though what he could have done to merit Ororo’s anger Stray couldn’t imagine. After all, he seemed a good man. And it was thanks to his intervention that Logan and she were still alive. But be that as if may, this time he moved to gently stand beside Ororo. His hands held out before him now, his voice gentle and soft.

“Mistress,” he murmured, breath ragged as he spoke to her, “Mistress, I beg you not to do this…”

Latverius’ smile was mocking. “If she thinks herself able to save her friends, let her try it, Etienne. The garrisons always have room for another whore.”

De Rogeres’ gaze flicked distastefully to Latverius. “Pray, sir, hold your tongue before a lady-”

The Duke’s laugh was harsh. “Have you not been listening, boy? There are no ladies here present. Just the Cursed and their dogs. Isn’t that right, little one?”

And he went to chuck Stray- entirely lupine, entirely transformed Stray- under her chin, as if she were but a crabby child in need of coaxing. The spring maid snarled, snapping at his fingers but doing nothing else. Because the gesture, Stray suspected, had merely been designed to set the powder-keg atmosphere in the room off and she would not give him the satisfaction. Clarity was returning to her and also, she suspected, Logan- Which was probably for the best.

Besides, if anyone was going to instigate a battle in this room, the smart coin would be placed upon Ororo, not Stray or her Moonlight Key.

And the spring maid appeared to be right. For at Laterverius’ words Ororo began padding around him, circling. Her shoulders dropping, rage coming off her in ever increasing waves. She opened her mouth again and snarled, this time hissing something in that sing-song language she occasionally spoke with Logan. The sound of it like a battle cry now, a hymn to a war-goddess whispered in the dark. Stray did not speak the tongue, barely understood it. All she could make out for certain were the words “T’Challa,” and with it, “Msiri.” And then a string of something that sounded so much like curse words that she doubted they could be anything else. De Rogeres frowned as she spoke, almost as if he knew the language. His eyes widening, disgust and anger shuddering through his form. His hand moved down to the blade at his side, and instantly Anthony Ironclad drew his own weapon, moving to stand at his comrade’s flank. His loyalties clear, for all his annoying arrogance and the fact that he’d counted Sebastian Shaw as a friend. The Duke did not appear to notice though and it occurred to Stray that for a man with so much ostensible power, Latverius had very little actual support in this company-

“Is what she says true, your Grace?” de Rogeres asked then, his voice hollow. Ragged.

His hand had tightened on his sword’s hilt, awaiting his liege’s answer, and his eyes flicked calculatingly towards his shield.

Latverius laughed at the question, a short, sharp burst of anything but merriment. Even this close to his own destruction he unable to fathom how much trouble he was in. “So you remember the language of the garrisons, do you, Etienne?” He sneered at the knight in disgust. “I had thought Richard Reed’s hex-craft healed you. Thought when you brought that charlatan to court he cured you of your nightmares, of the memories of the experiments that made you who you are today-”

De Rogeres’ jaw tightened. “You swore to me that nobody was harmed in the building of my army,” he muttered. “You swore to me that those you brought from over the sea were allowed to return home-”

“And you believed that, boy?” Latverius turned his masked, burning gaze on de Rogeres. Instantly Ironclad tensed beside him. “Mab’s tits, how stupid are you? You actually thought I let those animals live?”

The knight gestured to Ororo with his sword. “She is not an animal, not all of the time anyway my liege. And the story she tells- The story of losing her husband…” His voice trailed off, his expression grave. Sorrowing. The voice of a truly good man who found himself in the middle of a truly terrible thing. “I should be ashamed if any of what was done to him was meant to aid me,” he said quietly. “And I will help her avenge your actions with my last breath, your Grace, do not doubt that.” His jaw tensed.

“Do not doubt it in the least.”

The Duke rolled his eyes, apparently unimpressed. “A soldier does not fret over the losses of a Cursed animal and a whore-”

“I am not a soldier.” De Rogeres whispered it. He was staring at Ororo, his words meant only for her. “I am a knight of this realm, and it is my duty to guard a lady’s honour.” He looked at the huntress. “Any lady who had been injured by actions that have me at their heart. Any lady I have failed. Any lady I have injured. Any lady standing in this room, and one is.” And his gaze flickered to his feet, his shoulders slumping. Suddenly he looked almost… young. Almost like a boy. “And for all my failures to you, Mistress Wildcat,” he said softly, “I humbly beg your forgiveness.”

Ororo’s feline voice growled, the words almost impossible to make out. “For that, I thank you,” she murmured.

“But I will do what I must.”

And with a tiny incline of his head she looked up, nodded to the knight. Watching as he drew his sword, Latverius still laughing at him. Flipping his great shield easily upwards and bringing it forward to guard Ororo even as the Duke belatedly lashed out, the gravity of his situation apparently finally occurring to him. A dagger appeared suddenly from somewhere in Latverius’ sleeve, his arm darting out to strike at Ororo, trying to stop her or slow her down. Time seemed to stop as Stray watched huntress and knight move in unison, fighters both, and honourable, each in their own way. Ororo slashing forward with her claws even as de Rogeres defended her. Ironclad guarding his comrade from any who might think to interfere, though none but Lord David appeared even tempted to try. There was a flash of steel, the snarl of a beast taking down its prey in time honoured fashion even as Latverius’ body hit the floor- Dead-

And then there was silence.

Total, overwhelming silence.

Stray felt the transformation move through Ororo even as if moved through her and Logan, the huntress collapsing in a pile of tears and blood-stained clothing, her shoulders shaking in her grief.

De Rogeres moved forward then, gentle as a lamb, and draped something heavy around her form. It took Stray a moment to realise that it must be his cloak. With a single, terse gesture from Shushanna the Duchess’ servants moved forward, soothing Ororo, coaxing her. One of them even offering a blanket to Stray and Logan despite the facts that by all accounts they should be terrified to touch one of the Cursed, let alone two. Logan padded forward, human again, and wrapped his arms around her. That was more than enough heat for her, Stray thought happily, and she took the opportunity to bury her head in his chest, burrowing into his warmth. The Company of Miracles slowly began to relax, taking the fact that nobody was trying to arrest them as a positive sign. The fact that they apparently had some sort of advocate in de Rogeres calming them, though Stray had her suspicions about how long this détente would last.

But more than anything else the spring maid allowed herself to finally- finally- breathe, as she realised that her long, long, long journey into darkness was probably over. That, judging by the way de Rogeres and his Duchess were glaring at Lord David, she wouldn’t be obliged to return to him any time soon. Besides even if they tried to make her go back, what did she have to fear?

And so, with pity in her heart for Ororo and relief that she’d survived Stray and Logan stole out of Shaw’s Great Hall as soon as opportunity would allow them. Walked into the evening hand in hand, each knowing that all they wanted was each other, each knowing the their way now was clear. And when Logan tugged Stray towards one of the darker paths, the moonlight streaming down on both of them both Moonlight Key and Sunlight Lock knew what they wanted to do with this night- What they wanted to do with each other-

“Come show me what mischief you can work, my trouble-begot,” Logan told her.

And there, in the healing starlight, Stray decided to do just that.