Breaking free of that dingy tavern, I spiral up into the air, scattering wave after wave of dust in my wake, showering my sheer, unbridled, joy across the area surrounding the tavern, temporarily covering it in glitter before it returns itself to its eternal status quo. But, looking down upon it from a few hundred feet up? It’s not so oppressive anymore. It looks comfier from up here—as if the palette surrounding it has brightened a few shades. Squinting, it almost looks like the tavern has taken on a slightly different shape, more akin to a nice farmhouse within the same footprint.

  “Oh, ha—ha, father. Now you’ll spruce the place up. Very funny.” I go into a steep dive towards the path and begin sailing along it towards the distant horizon where my future—nay, destiny, awaits! After a few minutes of flying, I’m struck with a thought and begin to slow to a stop, fluttering in place and looking around.

  “Caoim—”

  “Yes, Princess?” His voice comes from behind me -- where I’d been looking not even a half second ago -- making me nearly jump out of my skin. He still appears somewhat transparent. “Did you need something?”

  I stare at him for a moment before drawing a deep breath. “I want to apologize.”

  His eyes widen in genuine surprise. Is it really that weird that I would do this? I think I’ll need to think about that reaction some more and what it says about me… “Lilidh, it's not like you to apologize. But you don't need to. I've been needling you for years, knowing it would eventually get under your skin.” He waves a dismissive hand. “I'd rather you be mad at me than at your father. Bearing that burden is something I do gladly.”

  “Why would I be mad at Father?” It feels like an almost nonsequitor how he brought it up, so I focus elsewhere, “And why doesn't bearing that burden bother you?” I fly up to face him, poking his nose. “Everyone else here is free to do as they please within our lands. How can you stand being so shackled? I appreciate you trying to keep me out of trouble and ensuring my father's safety, but why does it have to be you? Father could create a construct to protect him better than any of the Fairfolk, not to mention his own personal abilities are above and beyond compare.”

  For the first time in years, his casual demeanor falters. He turns away and sits on a nearby stump overgrown with colorful mushrooms, gesturing for me to join him. “Lilidh, you're leaving, aren't you? Not just a quick adventure, but truly leaving our lands?”

  I settle onto his knee, my feet tucked beneath me and my hands on my lap as I look up at him. “I am. Father believes I've become part of something special and wants me to embrace it.” The air falls silent for a few moments as Caoimhín seems to steel himself. “Won't you come with me? If I have permission to leave, and your duty is to watch me, shouldn't you be allowed to come?”

  A sad smile crosses his face. “It's not that simple. My place is here now. I didn't stop traveling with you because I lost interest. When you called me a background character earlier, you weren't entirely wrong.”

  The words come out of his mouth in a way that feels like a diagnosis. “What do you mean?”

  “The decision was made years ago because of my close connection to your family despite not being royalty. I carry a portion of the Elysian Gateway now.”

  Confusion knots my brow. “But isn't Father supposed to be the sole bearer of the Gate? Unless… have you secretly been royalty all this time?”

  He shakes his head. “No, Lilidh. Normally, only royalty inherits this gift, but I made an agreement with your father to bear it. It allowed him to move more freely without needing to return regularly, since a piece of the Gate remains here.”

  “Why you? Shouldn't that responsibility have fallen to me? No one ever mentioned it to me at any point.”

  He sighs softly -- not in frustration, but sounding very tired. “The other courts have more fae to share the burden, but our Fair Lord has always been singular in his affections. He only ever had one daughter who wanted nothing more than to leave this place.”

  Realization dawns on me.“Wait, are you saying you bound yourself to our lands in my stead? Why would Father agree to that?”

  “Because I asked him and he owed me. I knew you'd never be happy being forced to stay here. So, years ago, I offered to take on that duty so you wouldn't be shackled.”

  A mix of emotions surges within me. I punch his knee lightly. “Who asked you to do that? I didn't! What gave you the right?”

  He meets my gaze calmly. “You did.”

  I stare at him, incredulous, but I realize exactly when he’s referring to.

  “You tricked me? All those years ago?” I hover in front of him, pointing accusingly. “I was exhausted after we got lost! That shouldn't count!”

  He smiles slightly. “To trick royalty—is there a greater accomplishment for a mere dryad?”

  “Stop that! We moved past treating each other's words like that. You can't have done that when I was barely conscious.”

  “Lil, if you hadn't kept imbuing me with your essence during those days, I'd have perished. You exhausted yourself saving me after I got us lost.”

  “We got us lost! It was a joint decision!”

  He shakes his head. “I was the one who led us to those ruins. It was my fault, and I wanted to make it up to you because I knew you'd never accept a debt.”

  “So instead of accepting thanks, like a normal person, you twisted my words when I was vulnerable?” I jab his chest with my finger, and he flinches disproportionately -- a habit he picked up when we were younger and playing together to help me feel like I could have an impact.

  “Correct. And I'd do it again. What happened today proves I made the right choice. I'm not sorry. I wanted to help my friend and my Fair Lady. Now, you have a grand adventure ahead, something so significant that your father released you from your responsibilities. That's incredible! I'm thrilled for you, Lilidh.”

  I sigh, torn between gratitude and frustration. I have every right to be mad, right? One of my closest friends twisted my words… But he did it to help me because he cares… It leaves my head spinning, trying to figure out the right way to respond. “What if I don't want you to be happy for me leaving? What if I want to free you from this burden?”

  He looks at me gently. “Then I'd be saddened that my friend doesn't appreciate the lengths I went to for her happiness.”

  “I'm messing this all up.” I bury my face in my hands. “Caoimhín, I don't know how to feel! I appreciate what you did, truly, but it was cruel to yourself, and I feel guilty!” I fling myself against his chest, my fists lightly hitting him as he wraps a comforting hand around me. “I wanted us to go on adventures together, like we used to.”

  He holds me steady. “I know, but as we learned that day, I can't venture far enough for true grand adventures. This way, you're free to experience everything without hindrance. I'm not dying; I've just decided to put down roots. It's in my nature, after all.”

  A reluctant smile tugs at my lips. “Fine.” I pull back and poke his chest. “Since you're not going to budge, I'll accept your gesture—even if it's years late. But I have one request.”

  “Name it,” he says with a playful tilt of his head.

  “Stop being a background character here. If you're taking my place, then embrace it fully.” Tears well up in my eyes. “No half measures. Do it like I would.”

  He chuckles softly. “So you want me to pout and trudge through duties with great reluctance?”

  “Why are you like this?” I huff. “Let me rephrase: do it like I would if I wanted to stay here. Is that clear enough?”

  He grins. “Perfectly. In fact, I'll strive to do it even better than you could.”

  “Good. The Court will need it. Father will worry himself sick until I return, so someone has to pick up the slack.” I see little bits of moisture building up around the edges of his eyes, looking brown and saplike. As he reaches to wipe them away, I flutter over and wrap my arms around a couple of his fingers in as strong a hug as I can manage. He obligingly brings his other hand up to “hug” me back, and I tuck my wings to better allow it.

  We stay there for a little while as leaves scatter down around us, the forest seeming to pass from spring to summer to fall in a matter of moments. I open my eyes at the first feel of a chill and look around with a bemused smile. Addressing the forest itself, I chide, “You’re kind of reading the room wrong. This is a hopeful parting, not a sad one. It should be bright, cheery, with a slight lilting undertone to the music that builds up to a positive reprise near the end.” Floating backwards, I look around impatiently but settle on Caoimhín, “There’s no good help nowadays.”

  “Not all of us are so blessed as the daughter of the Traveller when it comes to understanding tropes and their interactions. Your father being the source of all of those things makes it a little unfair. But I’m sure our spirit friends mean well.” He gestures as snow begins to fall, and a lilting tune picks up from nowhere in particular. “Maybe the intention is that our parting in the dead of winter means that when next we meet, it’ll be a beautiful spring or a comforting summer?”

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  Making a show of thinking, I nod and smile warmly. “That is an interpretation I can abide by.” The words leave my mouth and the omnipresent music begins to rise. Hopeful high notes with a daring drumbeat rising from the sad strings and indistinct vocals, “Then I suppose that marks the end of this scene, huh? Or this arc, even?”

  He nods, “Suppose it does. Wouldn’t want to outstay the music, that would be crass.” There’s a long pause between the two of us, as we clearly struggle to say the last couple of words.

  “Till next time, Lilidh O’Ceilidh, my dear friend.” He finds his words just slightly faster than me and smirks, knowing exactly how much it will annoy me.

  “Till next time, then, Caoimhín.” I follow simply and flit up to his forehead, planting a single kiss in the center of his dark, oaky, skin. There’s a slight flash of Elysian essence when I make contact, leaving behind a simple knotted sigil behind that glows for a few seconds—my own mark of essence. The sigil appears as stylized sheet music with alternating words in the fae tongue and musical symbols, all surrounded by the stylized knotwork unique to the Court of Tale and Song. I feel a tiny piece of my essence slice itself off to imbue itself into the mark and smile.

  Not being willing to risk any more delays, I smile and flutter away towards my destination, leaving Caoimhín standing in the midst of a sprouting grove full of hopeful music, waving at my retreating form. The parting doesn’t hurt like I expected it would. Time is immaterial to us, so I’ll see Caoimhín again once this journey has reached its end.

  I decide to take my time on my way out, rather than using magic to speed my passage. I don’t know when I’ll be returning, so I make an effort to wander around, saying farewell to each and every member of the court individually and anyone who I’ve interacted with or told stories alongside over the years. While word will surely get around as to my leaving to go on an adventure, I feel most people should hear it from me directly. A princess’s duty is to her people, after all.

  I definitely haven’t been stalling for time to give Ayre and the probable-prince a chance to form a budding romance before showing up to help them solidify things. Not a chance.

  But a few days later of journeying through the courts lands I’ve eaten my fill at banquets of plenty, witnessed several epic conclusions to tales of heroics and villainy to refresh myself on some of the more esoteric tropes, watched romances blossom and wilt, tragic deaths and heroic recoveries. Having said farewell to many friends and fae I considered family, I finally make my way to the edge of the court’s lands.

  Deep inside of me, I’ve felt something changing as I make my way towards the border. Something growing distant in a way that’s difficult to describe. The part of me that is my connection to these lands is fading. It’s a cold feeling, something that makes me second guess my decision a few times along the way, but I realize that that coldness is simply a void. If I retained my connection to the Court directly, then I’d be beholden to its rules. I think this change, this disconnection, is my father's way of making a point to set me free unto the world.

  Alighting upon a blade of grass at the terminus between my world and the one beyond -- where the grass grows brighter, the flowers more vibrant, the scents more vivid, and where dreams come alive -- I try to compose myself. With what courage I can muster, I push through the gently shimmering barrier and myself pushed by what feels like gentle, warm, hands. The forest itself bidding me well, I think.

  The “barrier” is a metamagical thing. It defines the court's lands and the role it plays in the world. To enter it is to willfully become part of the Grand Tapestry of the court. But to leave, to separate from the court, is to give up the role of the storyteller, in order to embrace that of an actor. It's something I've been voluntarily doing since I was born, but something about it feels very final this time.

  The coldness I’ve felt growing becomes total the moment I pass. The last vestiges of my connection to my father's Gate being severed, rendering me not powerless, but significantly reduced. Where before I could draw upon a virtually limitless supply of our court’s essence, I now am limited to that which I generate on my own. It’s a scary thought if I’m being entirely honest. What I did to save Ayre or to bind Sir Henry Slinks would be beyond my capabilities now. With great hesitation, I pull a handful of my hair forward and see that even that has dimmed noticeably. It's still retaining its natural shimmer, but much less vibrant.

  That’s simply unacceptable. Before doing anything else, I call upon a simple charm to restore my hair's luster. I’ll go bald before I lose my luster.

  That task done, I draw in a deep breath and let it out with a small shudder. “It simply wouldn’t do for me to begin a journey as powerful as a court royal should be. Any good adventure needs growth and struggle.” I say aloud to nobody in particular, but the words bring me a small bit of stability, a reminder of the role I’m choosing to play. I resist the urge to cast a glance backwards. Father has always said the only time to look back is at the end of a tale. Doing it before I’ve ever properly begun would set the wrong tone for my character in this whole endeavor. Wings beating, gliding along between branches and flowers, I follow the long memorized path to get to Ayre’s home.

  After a long flight, I approach the clearing that serves as Ayre’s domain, I slow to a stop, landing on a branch to peer around. From here I can see into Ayre’s cabin, and see the bed is empty—Which is good, it means she got up! Unless she died. She probably wouldn’t be in the bed if she died, either. I scratch my chin, considering the odds. Deciding that it must be impossible for Ayre to be dead, I write the thought off and continue to look around.

  Her field has been fully harvested— a task that normally takes the better part of a week for her… So either the cursed boy is actually a farmhand (Another strong possibility, all things considered) and did it all himself, then they’re both probably working together. Good! But…where are they? I continue casting around but see no sign of anything or anyone anywhere.

  “Did they leave without me?” I pout at the possibility, “How would I even go about finding them?” I ask aloud, finding some ease in speaking aloud as I adjust to his empty feeling in my chest and a growing pit in my stomach. In an abundance of caution, I murmur, “Hide from prying eyes, with a transparent guise.” I feel my spell exact its cost upon me and feel a wave of fatigue roll over me. I stumble forward, woozy, nearly off the branch, but arrest my near-fall with some quick flutters of my wings. “Hooookay, Maybe not full invisibility next time.” I pant the words, feeling…tired. At least, I assume this must be what tired feels like. Not a fan. Not at all.

  I step forward off the branch and set to flight, but nearly don’t pull up in time, with the dreaded “tired” setting in. Making a grumbling mental note to be more careful, I stick closer to the ground and make my way over to Ayre’s cabin. I land on the sill of her window to look around, sticking off to one side and poking my head around. Inside I see everything is made up very neat and orderly, which means either curseboy is as fastidious as Ayre, or she woke up and set things right.

  The whole area is hushed, which isn’t uncommon but is still setting me uneasy. I want to just shout out, but something about doing so just feels far too risky. Instead, I opt to sit on the sill, maintaining my invisibility to wait for a little while.

  About a minute passes before I start to get restless. About five pass before I start tapping my heels against the sill while drumming my fingers on the nearby wall, which makes a pretty negligible amount of noise given my current size. After thirty minutes, I’m pacing back and forth on the sill, starting to get a little bit angry, “Where did you go? You didn’t even leave a note!” My heels click in time with my tongue while I count in my head. Each sharp noise irritating me nearly as much as my friend's apparent abandonment. , “One… Two… Three…Fou-”

  My ear twitches, hearing something distant that sounded like a moan or groan, but it’s hard to pick out. “Wait…it sounded kinda like a moan, maybe?” Giddiness bubbling up, I wait for another sound after flying up a little bit. My patience is rewarded by the sound of somewhat rhythmic pounding sounds that stop for a little while, go for a little while. Identifying the direction, I dart off, freshly relieved of my “tired” by excitement. I do little rolls and loops on the way, hearing the sounds more clearly as I do, but when I hear the first voice, I come to a grinding halt, catching myself on a branch.

  I hear Ayre first, “You know,” she begins, sounding slightly breathless, “With that curse of yours, you’ve got some incredible stamina. We could go at this for hours.”

  I feel my cheeks heating up, thrilled that my prediction clearly came true!

  I hear the man chuckle, “You’re not too bad yourself. At this rate, I think you’ll probably last longer than me, though. I’m getting real close to done.” I hear a long pause, a series of thuds, followed by what sounds like a body hitting the ground.

  I hear Ayre giggle. She giggles! She never giggles! “Well, I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve, I just like to be leading in situations like this. That aside, your reach is leaving something to be desired, but we can work on techniques to overcome that if you like.”

  I hear him respond with a teasing tone, “Oh, I appreciate the offer, but I’m pretty sure I can show you some things…”

  I clap my hand over my mouth, “Are they really…?”

  Intrigued, I listen closer, moving to a nearer tree that’s still out of sight. Between the two of them, it’s constant panting and exertion, “You know, size and reach isn’t everything.”

  She laughs warmly in response, “Sure, that’s true, but you can’t fault me for liking a little extra, right?”

  Unable to resist any longer, I fly out from behind the tree, poking my head out first and see…Ayre and Curseboy fully clothed and flushed, quite disheveled. Ayre twirls her spear with a flourish before tapping the haft on the ground. Curseboy, sitting on the ground clad in shoddily mended castoff clothes of Ayre’s, sheepishly rubs the back of his head with a grin.

  “Am…am I interrupting something?” I squeak out with a total failure of giving off a casual energy.

  “Oh, hey, Lilly! Nah, you aren’t interrupting, we’ve just been practicing.” She’s so vibrant, I swear her scales are sparkling. In a very real way, she looks much happier than I’ve seen her in years. Maybe the two of them did hit it off, and I just wandered in on the most mundane thing they might be doing…

  “Right…practicing.” Their eyes gleam with a competitive edge, and both are nearly drenched with sweat. Nothing amorous, not even any handholding!

  “What, uh, did you think we were doing?” Curseboy asks with a confused look between us — waiting to be let in on the apparent joke.

  “Oh, nothing! Nothing at all!” I feel like my entire body must be turning red with embarrassment, “It just…sounded like you guys were, I don’t know, having “fun”.”

  They both stop and stare at me in unison before glancing back at one another, and Ayre busts out into boisterous laughter. The boy seems none the wiser for the implication, though.

  “You could always join us next time. We could use someone to keep score.” He says with strain as he hauls himself up, clearly trying to only use his left hand with some amount of awkwardness. “Actually, do you know how to fight? We could all practice together.”

  “Lilly,” With a cough, Ayre interjects, humor gone like a snuffed candle, “Say we were doing that, how long were you eavesdropping and watching?”

  I pale, “Not terribly long! Not long at all! Hey, I’ll meet you back at the cabin, alright? Bye!” I quickly fly away, covering my face with my hands, purely embarrassed.

  How two people who look like that can just sit around one another just hitting each other is beyond me. Ayre's stunning — by my objective opinion — and he's a mysterious and handsome stranger! I have my work cut out for me. It’s like they don’t even realize they’re basically fated to be together because of the circumstances. Ridiculous.