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"An unwise man brought me to this place. And to his grave shall he fall," the tug was strong, painful almost. The king could not be summoning on his own now. He felt himself slipping away, his essence peeling from his solid form; his lines began blurring, the deep, wispy shadow rolling off his skin. "We will meet again," he promised before the body collapsed into nothing and the black smoke that was his ethereal form streaking away toward the city, flitting through the trees and out of sight.

He was pissed.

"I will be fine. Thank you for everything, Cwen." She smiled up at her guardian. "Safe travels," she called on after her as she left, then lowered her voice and added "to the both of you" before tidying up.

Once her guests were out of sight, Ev turned to her newly accumulated treasures. The delicate silks and beads and golden threads that were woven into them, were luxurious and exotic, yet practical as she preferred them. She stood a while in front of the mirror, a large copper plate spun underneath a thin blanket of smooth, straight glass for protection from the tiny scratches of accidental inconvenience, and admired how the gowns hugged her slim figure and fell, gracefully, over every curve. She took from a tin container, a fistful of bark-like stalks which she laid in another contained that were put above the fire. The stalks softly sizzled and started to crumble in the hot air around them within minutes and produced a loveliest sent that only sandalwood could release. Crickets and little toads were awoken by the aroma wafting in, up and around Yr. They chimed into the harmonious rhythm of the forest. Ev indulged in the imagination that they were chanting the prose of the universe beyond: the night sky and all the heavenly bodies. She longed to communicate with them, somehow, and join their song or, in the least, be able to listen to their humming voices at every dusk and every dawn. It was with this thought that she raised her own voice to the rhythm of her fellow forest critters, adding her own words and philosophies in foreign languages, often mixed, yet lyrical still, to become a part of the expanse. To be a part of something, she thought solemnly, that is all she has ever wanted. How brave she seemed that night in the badlands and how rapidly he tamed her and broke her. She twirled a lock between her fingers. It was much shorter than the others and seemed somewhat like the mishap of a barber, but that fragment of her was elsewhere. It was, perhaps, the only extension of herself, as requested by Lady Cwen, that has caused her pain to send abroad after such men and ladies. Such foolishness I hope to never come across in my own collective life, she mused. How sorry I would be to love when it only brings upon a strong, bold soul, such grief and misery. Such foolishness to trust and invite into an innocent heart. How ruined it has become. Yes, I should be very sorry if any of the sort overcame myself. There are better lifeforms to love and nurture than betraying rationals. It would be lovely to travel, I should think, but this forest will always be my home in the end, and I would surely return to it. But travel, I must. I hope that could be quite soon, my dearest Lady Cwen.

Cwen strolled languorously back into her home. Calmed by the garden she moved towards a little bell in the foyer. A piercing tingle called forth a sharply dressed man. He made a small bow and awaited his orders. “Darius, please find out when the auction of Miss Jaime’s goods will be held and be sure to acquire a list of the items on auction.” He bowed again and left. Replacing the bell, Cwen stood in the foyer for a while. I should have gone to court more often. I should have known it would be valuable to befriend the prince or at least the king. Troubled she made her way back to the hidden door in her room and took the marble steps to her haven below the house. Her collection of weapons was still neatly arranged like she left them at the beginning of the night.

She walked to her fae blades and let her dress fall from her shoulders. Standing in her slip she took the blades and worked her way through warm-up patterns she was taught as child. Soon she was a blur of movement, gliding through different stances with ease. The double-edged design of these blades was impeccable. They sang softly through the air as Cwen increased her speed even more. She stopped and straightened, replacing the blades. Merrill accustomed a number of Cwen’s habits had already filled a bath.
When Cwen finally reappeared from her room she was perfumed and dressed in a simple crimson dress. The music room was prepared and she sat down by her piano.