“A message came while you were at the Peacock last night,” Iole said over breakfast in the courtyard—well, over breakfast for Evander and Iole and Sanur's two children, at least. Hermia and Melanippe had chosen to eat with their wounded partners, and cook, housekeeper, and maids typically ate together, but Iole's presence at breakfast had resumed as life had normalized somewhat. It was, Narcissa had said, all but impossible to keep secrets from one's handmaid, and if one had a good and trustworthy handmaid, it was often counterproductive not to have her aware of everything possible.

“Good or bad?” Narcissa asked, holding out a hand for it. Iole passed it over: not a scroll, just a rectangle folded in on itself with a wax seal holding it closed.

“It's from Brykhon of Dromas, but I don't know what it's about. The messenger wouldn't say, and wasn't terribly pleased about leaving it with anyone but you, even when Hermia called me away from Phaidra to talk to him.”

“Brykhon.” Tyrel rather thought that would have been a groan, but Narcissa was entirely too elegant for such a crude sound. “What could he possibly want?” She accepted the belt-knife Kaveri passed her, and used it to break the seal and open the message.

Everyone else waited while she scanned the contents quickly. Kieran gave Tyrel a questioning look; Tyrel shrugged. Dromas was a country sharing a border with Enodia, but that was all he knew.

“Let me guess,” Evander muttered, reaching for more heavy bread to dip into his wine. “He's going to use you being almost killed as an excuse to call on you. Purely out of concern for you, he'll point out that if you were married to him instead of pursuing your own idealistic plans, you would never have been attacked. And if he makes one more comment about the queens of old often having eunuch handmaids along with women, I may castrate him myself.”

“Brykhon is one of my more persistent suitors,” Narcissa sighed. “He's the third son of the king and queen of Dromas, immediately east of Enodia. We're close in age, which is usually not advised, but he's been set on marrying me since we were adolescents and met for the first time.”

“I gather you have a different opinion on it being a good match,” Mirren said.

“I would rather cloister myself with the priests of the Silent God.”

Tyrel had no idea who the Silent God was, but that didn't sound all that appealing.

“He's no longer third son,” Evander said. “He's now the only son. Both his brothers have died—the eldest in a hunting accident, perhaps a year ago? And the other before that, in a fight over a woman, which doesn't come as much surprise. I did send polite condolences from both of us. The replies weren't worth passing on to you.”

“I missed that,” Narcissa said. “How fortunate for Brykhon. And how unfortunate for Dromas. Only the eldest of the lot would have made a good ruler. The daughters of the family are no better. I'm unsure how successful their parents were at finding them husbands, since few sensible men would want them for themselves. Well. Brykhon has indeed heard that I was attacked, although I'll spare you his dramatic description, and he fears for me and is making all haste to Phleion to reassure himself that I am well and offer his services in any capacity I wish.”

“Maybe Pherusa can use his mighty strength in doing the laundry,” Evander suggested.

Narcissa glanced at him and grinned. “That would be more useful than having him lurking about trying to protect me.” The humour faded, and she sighed. “I suppose I have to see him, although I can think of better uses for my time currently. However, if he thinks he's going to invade my house with his usual chorus of sycophants, he's in for a surprise. This is, current company excepted for good reason, a house of women.”

“Sy-what?” Kaveri said. “Sorry, not a word we've encountered.”

“Arse-kissers and blood-suckers,” Evander said. “I can think of other descriptions, if you'd like me to keep going.”

“I think we get the idea.”

“It would, I think, be best not to be alone with him, even here,” Tyrel said slowly.

“I doubt Brykhon was in on the plan to kill me,” Narcissa said.

“Maybe not. But right now, it's probably best to assume that anyone is a potential threat and take precautions. Is he going to accept you having at least Kaveri or Mirren or Hermia with you?”

“Not easily, and he may decide to be offended. He has, in the past, tolerated Evander's presence, on the grounds of propriety and my insistence on not being alone with a man I'm not related to. Alternatively, when Evander has been unavailable, Iole has stayed.”

“Probably the only example ever of my being on the side of propriety,” Evander said drily. “I'm not much help as far as physical danger, however.”

Probably more than he believed, Tyrel thought. Much of what could be used in self-defence could be used to protect someone else. On the other hand, he lacked experience, and Narcissa would be devastated if he got hurt—especially in an attempt to protect her.

“Timing?” Madoc asked. “Is he showing up today?”

“He expects to call on me the afternoon of the third day after this message is delivered.”

“At least it isn't tomorrow,” Tyrel said. “Since Madoc and Mirren will be too exhausted to be any use all day.”

“Thanks,” Madoc said laconically.

“The day after that, well... Mirren would be the most subtle, but changing will still be extremely uncomfortable by then. I'll be starting to push it a bit the other way, but not as bad. I can spend that day fox-form and be a pet. That's a little more exotic than a cat...”

“We've seen much more novel pets in royal and aristocratic and wealthy hands,” Evander said. “So I'll be without one of my shadows that day?”

“I don't entirely like that idea,” Narcissa said.

“It'll be all right,” Kaveri said. “Hermia and Melanippe are getting more comfortable about working with us. One of them can come along and cover, either outside with Madoc or in with you and one of us can stay with Madoc.”

“My presence would require too much explanation,” Kieran said. “And it's just as well if I'm here as unexpected assistance for whoever's guarding the door, just in case. Should there be trouble during this visit, your fox can buy enough time for the rest of us to reach you. Where would you see him?”

“Typically, that would be the dining room,” Narcissa said.

“Can you plausibly use the courtyard?”

“Yes, I suppose so. Is there a reason?”

“Even should you meet his eyes directly, in full sunlight he'll see nothing unless he's sensitive and observant.” He inclined his head towards Evander in acknowledgement of the one person present who did fit that description. “It's unlikely that during the day, indoors, he would see anything, but not impossible.”

Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

“Then I'll see him in the courtyard. That's an easier place to reach quickly, as well. I had no intention of making eye contact, since he generally interprets that as interest and an invitation. I don't anticipate this being a long visit, since I don't plan to invite him to stay for dinner.”

* * *

Fox-form, Tyrel shifted position a bit to make sure he could be on his feet in an instant. Narcissa managed to make a fan-backed wicker chair under a potted tree look like a throne, all formal in a very white dress under a mantle of intense purples and reds and blues that must have cost a small fortune. A second fortune in gold jewellery glittered with amethysts and rubies and sapphires. That was certainly not what she'd been wearing when she'd returned from the hospital at midday, but then, Iole was very good at her job and had been ready.

Tyrel had his own padded rectangular stool right next to Narcissa, where she could keep a hand on him casually and comfortably. They'd worked out a few basic signals, as a precaution, though neither really expected to need them. Kaveri and Iole had even dismantled a necklace of square gold plaques set with black onyx and adjusted it into a fox-sized collar. Evander was on her other side, though back a bit, and while the indigo of that finely-woven tunic was probably expensive, it and the little jewellery he was wearing only made it easier for him to be simply part of the background against the foreground of Narcissa's regal elegance.

Lysandra had pointed out, with a hint of mischief, something Tyrel found it hard to imagine Evander saying: referring to her pet fox as a vixen would be a subtle way of reinforcing the emphasis on Narcissa's domain being feminine space. She had a point, and Tyrel didn't much care which pronouns Narcissa used. Lysandra had teased him about keeping his tail down so Brykhon wouldn't find out otherwise, and offered to tie a bow in it to help him remember.

“I should go into the theatre,” Narcissa murmured, one hand stroking Tyrel's fur absently. “It would be no more performance than we've done a thousand times. What is this but stage and costumes, with tricks we've been trained in all our lives like dogs?”

Tyrel nuzzled her hand sympathetically.

“One thing you won't miss,” Evander said.

Tyrel perked his ears up, catching the sounds of motion close outside the street door.

“Hermia,” Narcissa said, before Tyrel could even get as far as making a sound to warn them. Very alert to his reactions, their princess. That was good. Over time, they were all growing more adept at reading one another when unable to speak, but Narcissa lacked that familiarity.

Hermia, who was waiting nearer the door, nodded. Still, she didn't hasten excessively to unbolt the door when the chimes rang.

“His Royal Highness Brykhon Hylactos to see Her Gracious Serenity Narcissa Diamantina,” an imperious voice announced.

What a mouthful.

“His Royal Highness is welcome,” Hermia said smoothly. “Her Gracious Serenity has taken a vow, and this is a house of women. I hope you do not expect to bring a dozen men, armed and otherwise, into her home?”

“Of course not.” That was a different voice, though no less supercilious. “I have no fear of my safety in the lady's house. My attendants can wait outside.”

Creating a spectacle for the whole neighbourhood to watch. I wonder how long it will take the children next door and across the street to start throwing things at them?

Hermia dipped her head in deferential acknowledgement and stepped aside, opening the door entirely as she moved.

Tyrel braced himself, and knew that Kieran, in his own form, and the rest of his family and Melanippe, lurking out of sight, all prepared to move if necessary, but only one man came in. Hermia closed and bolted the door behind him, and Tyrel relaxed. No one had tried to force entry; that was a positive sign that they were being more cautious than necessary.

Narcissa rose with a charming smile, though she didn't offer her hand. Her vow not to marry made her person semi-sacred, and gave her an ideal excuse to avoid contact.

The prince was well-dressed, if a bit hard on the eyes, in crimson with indigo borders and an indigo cloak; he wore more gold jewellery than Tyrel had typically seen on men in this part of the world, most strikingly a heavy elaborate brooch pinning his cloak, shaped like a muscular bull, but the wide cuff around his upper left arm shared the motif and was hardly less obvious. He did indeed look around Narcissa's age, and in good condition at that: he was uncommonly tall even for this area, and broad-shouldered, and what Tyrel could see looked muscular, though he couldn't decide whether it was honestly come by through activity or deliberately cultivated.

The scent hit Tyrel like a gastraphete arrow.

Not human. Moonblood. Not our bloodline.

Tyrel felt his ears flatten, and forced himself to relax physically. He couldn't help if Narcissa had to banish her unruly pet. Would she spot it? The same sunlight that would help hide her would do the same for him, especially without eye contact.

Evander might see, but how could he tell Narcissa, either?

He lost track of the formal greetings, mind racing. How could he alert Narcissa?

The prince couldn't have changed long ago, since there was no obvious discrepancy between his age and Narcissa's; his skin might have been aristocrat-fair to begin with, since sun-weathered skin was often equated with menial outdoors jobs, so it was impossible to tell whether it was growing paler with a more lunar existence. His choice of a chair in the shade of another potted tree might be upper-class habit, or might be discomfort in the sun's full glare. His clothes smelled like real linen and dyes and soaps, but then, so did Narcissa's.

Narcissa re-seated herself regally, and let her hand drop to Tyrel's back, fingers combing through his fur.

“I hope you'll forgive the visit at short notice as the concern of an old friend,” Brykhon was saying. “When I heard, I was appalled. To be assaulted and wounded in broad daylight, in one of your own cities, while announcing one of your usual thankless charitable projects, and I'm told you were locked out of the building? Whoever's responsible has been punished, I trust?”

“We're both fine,” Narcissa assured him. “Yes, I was injured, but it was very slight, and it's healing quite cleanly. The door being locked was an accident in a moment of panic, and was my own fault as much as any other. I hesitated when I saw the bear, fearing that it was from Neaira, though I now know otherwise. No one has been punished and no one will be.”

Brykhon sighed indulgently, and Tyrel could almost see the thoughts: Softhearted woman. “I gather you didn't even grant yourself well-deserved time to rest and recover. It would have been a terribly upsetting shock for anyone. Narcissa, you're valuable to your family and your country and to your friends. You really must take better care of yourself. Had I been here, I would have insisted you take some time to yourself.”

That was enough to distract Tyrel briefly. Oh, would you? On what authority?

“I prefer to keep busy,” Narcissa said patiently. “That's better for me than hiding in my bedroom and weeping. What are you doing, little one?” The last was as Tyrel hopped off the stool and ventured over to sniff at Brykhon. “She won't bite. She's quite tame.”

Brykhon leaned down to run a heavy hand over Tyrel's head and down his back; Tyrel arched his spine away from it, but didn't dodge it entirely. “Clearly a fox, not a lap-dog, but such an unusual colour.”

“She was a gift. Apparently, north of here, some one in four are similar to this. She seems to be curious about you.”

“That's all right. A large dog would be better protection, but for a lady's house pet, she's a pretty little thing.”

“I've never cared much for large dogs. Great ungainly things, shedding and drooling on everything and knocking things over, destroying my plants and terrorizing my cats. I suppose I should consider getting one or two, as additional security.”

Tyrel went up on his back feet, one forepaw braced on Brykhon's leg, and pawed at his arm with the other forepaw. It took considerable concentration to keep his ears forward and his tail waving lazily, displaying friendly interest when what he wanted to do was go for Brykhon's throat—and small though he might be in fox-form, he could certainly get his jaws around an exposed human throat.

Stay all cocky, don't look at my eyes, don't bother to confirm that I'm really an animal. But then, bear and eagle and wolverine and even Neoma's a wolf, you lot are all bigger flashier animals, aren't you? Nothing as humble as a fox.

“Playful, too,” Brykhon chuckled, rubbing behind Tyrel's ears.

“Oh dear, she's hurt you,” Narcissa said in dismay.

Brykhon looked down at the scratches on his arm, and shrugged. “My favourite hound bitch's pups have done worse. There's no need to suddenly become the healer. The issue at hand here is whether you are safe.”

Yes, from you.

Even in the sunlight, to moonblood eyes the pale aquamarine sheen of his blood was perceptible. Tyrel snuck a quick look at Evander, while tolerating more petting. Though Evander was very good at staying absolutely impassive outwardly, his gaze flicked from the scratches up to Brykhon's eyes.