19. The Rings

Ostara arrived.

The sun came out for them, and the last week had been mild enough to prompt the trees to bud and the snow to melt. In Minnesota, it was just as likely there would be a blizzard the week after, but they weren't concerned with that possibility.

Insulated in his tightly-laced Docs, Andrew stepped unafraid through shallow, mirror-bright puddles.

Sam, Liath, Andrew, and Fionna left the Saturn parked on the street that ran through Cherokee Park and overlooked the bluffs and the city. Cherokee was nearly deserted, so Andrew was able to park in the same spot as his first time coming to Lilydale with Micah.

Sam and Andrew wore brown tweed suit coats and dark brown slacks, Andrew's blazer with maroon elbow patches. He was going once again for his ‘professor' energy, but with how much he was glowing, he might as well have been dipped straight into liquid gold. Andrew's Leinster scarf crossed around his neck and through the coat. The top part of his hair was pulled back in Celtic braids Liath had fixed in place with Ingrid's black enchanted thread and a forest-green ribbon that fluttered in the wind.

"So, what's the plan here? Wander around the park till you figure out where your wedding is?" Sam's tone clearly carried his opinion on Micah's secrecy around the site of the wedding ceremony.

"I'll be able to tell." Andrew slipped his hands into his slacks. He was following the tickle in his nose, the taste of mulberries that coated the back of his tongue, getting faintly stronger as he headed southward towards the Brickyard Trail. "I already have a good—"

Leaping far higher than most girls her size could, Fionna stomped into a puddle with a howl. Unbothered in her galoshes and shiny jacket protecting her puffy dress, she looked up with delight in her eyes and tucked a stray gray hair up into her braid crown.

"Child." Liath tsked, swiping the beads of water easily off her wool skirt. It bore the same Louth tartan as Andrew's scarf.

Andrew stopped next to a black chain-link fence and gazed up at a familiar archway of trees that led to the switchback Brickyard Trail. The soles of his feet tingled with anticipation. He took a deep breath and put an arm around Sam and an arm around his mum and squeezed them both to his sides.

"What?" Sam blinked. "Is this it?"

"You don't feel anything?" asked Fionna, tilting her head back as she leaned into Sam's legs. "Micah's magic tastes like berries!" Fionna took his hand and pulled him away.

Andrew slid Liath's hand through the crook of his elbow. She blinked and caught his left hand in her fingers, pulling it closer to her face. Her moonstone ring glinted on his finger.

She looked up, eyes damp. "You kept the ring I gave you."

"Er…" Andrew tried to tug back his hand. "Is that okay?"

"Andrew…" Liath turned toward him and cupped his face in her hand. "You honor me more than I deserve, and I am so happy for that. It means the world to me that I get to be here for this today."

"Me, too, Mum."

Arm in arm, they stepped off the paved walkway and under the trees, which were still mostly barren. Blushing pink honeysuckles stood out in stark relief among the gray and brown landscape. As they drew close, the honeysuckles vibrated, radiating a powerful fragrance and making the air around them draw aside like a veil.

Andrew was right: this was the spot.

Blossoms of every color fenced in a path plush with emerald green moss, smelling like balmy high summer rather than the early kiss of spring. Faerie lights floated like snowflakes. The two dozen Folk of Lilydale started to cheer when Andrew appeared. They were arranged in a processional aisle and dressed in fine gossamer and silk. Uncannily beautiful music drifted from the lyre which Cosmos held between their rosy pink knees and plucked skillfully with their eyes closed and their angular head cocked toward the sweet, slow notes. Liath let out a wistful sigh at Andrew's elbow, leaning her head on his shoulder. As lovely a party as the Folk made, Andrew's gaze found Micah and all else faded into smudges of color and distant murmurs.

Lord Heartwood wore a green velvet suit, a bow tie at his throat bearing the County Louth tartan. His skull and nightshade crown sat prettily on his brow; delicate gold lined his lower lashes and brushed his tawny cheekbones, drawing out the rosy hue of his flushed cheeks. He beamed through a sheen of tears, which reflected like a thousand mirrors over his lilac irises. Andrew tried not to break into a run to reach the quivering archway of white flowers curving over Micah's head. Micah's slim brocade boots rocked restlessly within a ring of red-capped mushrooms, which had just enough space to let Andrew in as he handed Liath off to stand beside Sam.

Micah caught his lip between his teeth. "Did you know where to look?"

"Of course." Andrew scoffed. "This is where I first kissed you." He drank in how Micah's lip glistened when released from his sharp ivory canine, drawn into the citrus ambrosia of Micah's euphoria. He felt himself lean forward, wanting Micah's lips on his own, fully in control of his faculties yet helpless against his desires.

Micah's sage lashes fluttered as he tipped back his chin, pillowy lips curling. "You're intoxicating."

Chamomile cleared her throat pointedly. She perched on a fallen oak tree which crossed through the edge of their clearing, crisply dressed in a wool suit that was certainly from the seventies. Her silver hair was bound in a low ponytail and decorated with tiger lilies bright and vivid as the sunlight trickling through the branches overhead. When the couple hushed and turned their attention to her, she began, "You two put me in charge of this ceremony, so you'd best keep your hands off each other till I say so."

"Aw," Andrew whined. Over Micah's shoulder, Ingrid laughed. It was a sound like a bubbling stream flowing over colorful pebbles. Her lips, painted a pink that matched the honeysuckles growing magically in the woods, spread to reveal her straight white teeth, and when they drew the attention of Julian's amber eyes, he didn't flinch.

Her laughter was a sound he'd never heard in the Redwoods, never from the lips of the Queen nor from her daughter. Something clicked, some door opened to reveal that this woman was no longer the same as the Redwoods which grew her, as much as her lithe body and burgundy curls may have looked it. Her dress complemented Micah's green suit, a velvet so dark green it was black in the shadows of the canopy of branches. Her dark makeup was already smeared with tears, another sight never beheld in the Redwoods. Julian, positioned at Micah's elbow and cozy in a knit cardigan over a dress shirt and a green tie, looked up at her and smiled.

Chamomile sighed prettily, grasping for her words with a vague gesture as she studied Andrew and Micah in lengthy turns. "I felt it the moment you two collided." She wetted her plump lips. "I felt something momentous starting, but I wasn't sure what it was going to be. Some love that cleaves on so quickly is just as quick to burn out."

Micah raised an eyebrow at her.

"It's clear yours is not one such love," she assured him with a grin. "To have Lilydale led by two people so empowered by one another will yield great things. To lead the rest of your days in love will give back tenfold the bounty to you and yours." Her light voice broke like a flower stem snapping. "You have asked to perform a handfasting ritual when you exchange vows. This is something Folk have carried with us for millennia, and we have passed it onto our Druid kin." She gestured briefly to Liath, who inclined her head in silence. Then Chamomile looked past Micah's shoulder toward Ingrid, who stepped forward holding a shimmering green ribbon.

She laid Micah's left hand atop Andrew's right hand and then wound the ribbon from Micah's elbow, down around their joined hands, and then up to Andrew's elbow. The ribbon had a heartbeat, which lured in the lifeblood of the men joining hands until the beat was one singular rhythm coursing between them.

"Andrew," said Chamomile, "go ahead with your vows."

"Okay, well, I wrote some stuff down, but I'm not going to read from a paper." Andrew slid his free left hand around Micah's waist, and Chamomile didn't stop him. He gazed down at Micah's full rosy smile, his squared chin, the column of his throat now healed and unblemished. Then he found his way home to Micah's lavender eyes. "It feels more right to hold your hands and look you in the eyes and tell you how wonderstruck you make me feel." He took a breath. "My vow to you, Micah Stillwater, is that you will always have all of me. I vow to choose you every single day, as you chose me since you first laid eyes on me. I don't know why I'm lucky enough to be yours, but I thank the stars and the earth every day for that. I vow to fight for you, as I have since we met, and to fight with you, if you need me to." He grinned, his soul capturing Micah's returned smile like a suncatcher that blazed into a rainbow of sunshine. "I vow to grow with you, not out of you. And I vow never to give up on you, or on us."

Micah kissed his knuckles with his eyes bright with tears.

"Micah, you go ahead now."

"Okay, I vow to try not to cry too much," laughed Micah.

"Let it out," Andrew said warmly. "Men ought to cry more."

Micah giggled at Andrew's nod to their first date. Then he took a steadying breath. "I knew, too." He tipped his head toward Chamomile as he gazed into Andrew's mahogany eyes. "When I saw you, I knew you were my person. I know it was probably magical intuition. Or maybe something in my soul vibrated in time with yours. But I know that isn't gonna cut it. The love may have been easily won, but I'm ready to fight for it.

"I vow to work for us every day no matter how difficult you're being." He winked, and Andrew laughed. "I vow to protect you and build you up, and to let you protect me if you choose. I also vow to choose you every single day until I stop breathing. And I'm so, so excited about that."

When he concluded, the ribbon around their arms vibrated and began to dissolve into their sleeves, into the delicate skin of the backs of their hands. It settled on their flesh like dewdrops, and then the rope disappeared. Their hands, though, were marked with twin green stripes like an intricate knot made from grass stains on a summer day.

Chamomile nodded in satisfaction. "It's time to exchange rings. A ring has no beginning or end. Within the ring, the wearer is protected from forces that oppose what it represents. For you two, let it serve as a visible reminder of the vows you have made for each other today."

Julian held out a small velvet sachet to Micah, who took it with fingers that trembled slightly. Sam held out a matching sachet to Andrew, which Andrew tipped into the palm of his hand.

He gently lifted Micah's left hand. Micah's band was delicate gold and designed to tuck under the edges of his moss agate stone. Andrew slid the band onto his finger as he tried to see through his tears.

Rather than Andrew's left, Micah picked up Andrew's right hand. As the cool band slid onto his slender ring finger, Andrew's mouth dropped open. He could feel the real wood beneath the golden sheen. A little stone was set into the metal, bark-brown with flashing amber banding.

Micah explained, "It's a twig from my heartwood. I grew it for you from my staff, then Ingrid electroformed it with gold." Andrew caught his breath. "Then the stone is a Tiger's Eye. It's supposed to represent wisdom, courage, and protection. Obviously all things that made me think of you." Micah sheepishly dropped his gaze. "Tiger's Eye is also said to help alleviate depression. I don't want to change you, but I want to help how I can."

Andrew burst into tears. They leaked down swiftly as he wiped them with the edge of his scarf, still staring at his ring. Smiling warmly, Micah used the pad of his thumb to catch the last salty drop.

"This concludes the wedding ritual, which binds you to one another like a promise," said Chamomile. "I have nothing to do with the legality of Andrew taking Micah's family name, but this also marks the beginning of your life together as one another's husband. And I've been led to understand that you only consider this ritual complete if you get to kiss. So, I hereby conclude this declaration of marriage and invite you to…"

The word didn't leave her mouth before Micah bounced up to throw his arms around Andrew's neck. Lips tasting of hope, of new beginnings, of life and love, pressed together over the cacophony of Folk and human cheers. For as wonderful as the support was, Andrew and Micah hardly heard them. Within their embrace, all they felt was the heat radiating between their bodies, and all they heard was the thunderous pounding of their synchronized heartbeats.

The celebration in Lilydale lasted long past sundown. White flower petals drifted lazily from the ivy canopy overhead. Syabira had grown mushrooms on the trunks of the trees which glowed green in the dark among paper lanterns hanging from the branches of the trees and the ivy. The Folk drank deeply from goblets of golden wine and ate from a lavish setting of fruits and pastries and cheeses on the log table near the blazing fire pit. Every instrument in the compound was given a part played by wandering Fae between drinks or bites.

Adorned with crowns of delicate white flowers, Andrew and Micah slipped away to their shelter. The Folk had placed at their door—which was now a slab of dark oak on a pair of antique hinges—fresh flowers and baubles and plastic-wrapped foods they'd gotten from the store out of respect for Andrew.

"The walls are finished," said Micah, gesturing. The limestone walls were eight feet tall and maybe twelve square feet. They merged with the thatched roofing, which was now speckled with toadstools and bright little wildflowers. "They won't hear a thing." Micah grinned suggestively, and then his hands roamed up beneath Andrew's blazer and untucked the dress shirt beneath it.

Color rose on Andrew's cheeks as he tingled under Micah's touch. Micah toed open the oak door, pushing Andrew inside as the lanterns blazed to life. Andrew was just barely able to pull the door closed behind Micah before he was whisked off his feet and carried over their deerskin rug, arms and legs twisting around Micah, who held Andrew aloft with his hands under his thighs.

"Sorry—" Micah's voice was a husky half apology. "But I am very eager to make love to my new husband."

Andrew couldn't respond before Micah pressed a new kiss to him as they crossed the room and laid across their blankets. White flowers sprinkled across the bed and provoked a heavy fragrance when their bodies rubbed against the oil of the petals.

They unbuttoned trousers and dress shirts together with alacrity. Leaning over Andrew and spreading his legs, Micah beamed at him with the warmth of a thousand suns, tracing his fingers along the faint freckles across the bridge of Andrew's nose, brushing his red eyelashes with the pad of his finger. Andrew felt his eyes sting and his throat tighten at the intensity of Micah's admiration. He clenched Micah's hips between his thighs and then laced his fingers together behind his neck, tugging Micah down, touching their foreheads together while trying to collect himself. They were completely still for several ragged breaths, chest to bare chest, skin scorching hot with desire. But it was more than that now, after everything they'd made it through, after the handfasting tattooed green ribbons on their skin that merged on their hands.

Andrew took a deep breath of Micah's musk of sage and spring as he pressed his lips into the curve of Micah's neck.

"You smell like…cinnamon," said Micah, pulling back and inhaling deeply. "That's new. Is it a cologne?"

Andrew shook his head. "Not wearing anything."

Micah raised one moss-green eyebrow before his lips quirked in a smirk. "Must be magic."

"You've always given off different magical smells." Andrew's hands roamed across Micah's bare muscled chest, tracing one of the antlers on his tattoo. "Maybe it's my turn to join you."

Micah's eyes brightened into shining coins when Andrew said join. He gathered his attention back to the task at hand, sinking his fingers into Andrew suddenly enough to elicit a trembling gasp from him. Micah brushed their lips together, flicking his tongue into Andrew's mouth while he flicked his thumb over Andrew's nipple. When he made Andrew twitch, Micah deepened the kiss and slid his arm under the small of Andrew's back.

With his flower crown askew on his braided hair, Andrew hooked his ankles together behind Micah's hips and threw back his head when he felt Micah fill him. Micah kissed and nipped his way up from Andrew's collarbone while he drove a steady rhythm; they both moaned. Andrew looked up to meet Micah's eyes, silver as the moon, craning his neck and reaching for a kiss, which was obliged. Softly at first, and then deeper, tongue swirling, Andrew practically purring.

Pulling back, but only slightly, Micah growled against Andrew's lips, "You're my husband." He let go of Andrew's left hand so he could stroke him, eliciting more frantic gasps as Micah made short work of him. They finished together with a shuddering sigh.

"Well?" Andrew asked breathlessly.

"What?" grunted Micah, flopping onto the blankets beside him, slicking back his sweat-damp hair.

"Am I different now?" Andrew rolled to face Micah, playing with the wooden plug in Micah's ear. "As Andrew Stillwater?"

"Different?" Micah repeated hoarsely. "Mm, perhaps. I don't know how you could amaze me more than you do, but every day…every second, I love you more than before." The way Andrew's eyes glowed like sun-soaked tea made the pit of Micah's stomach clench.

Andrew shook his arms free of his blazer and dress shirt. He began pressing kisses and light licks to Micah's smooth, tattooed chest. He ran his hands down Micah's muscled torso and then over his thighs. He scraped Micah's nipple with his teeth.

Breathlessly, Micah clutched Andrew's shoulders and managed, "Wait, wait, wait. I know. I'm there with you. But we can't."

Andrew protested and dropped his head on Micah's stomach with a whump. "But I want all the wedding night sex."

"The night's not over." Micah flicked Andrew's nose. "C'mon. Let's wash up. The stream running inside the east tree line has warmed up since my trees grew. It's a regular watering hole."

Andrew peered up at Micah. "You want to take a bath in front of everyone?"

"We're their lords," Micah answered with pride. "They'd be honored."

"I don't know if I'm…uh…precocious enough for that, love."

Clutching Andrew's chin, Micah assured him, "If someone looks at you wrong, I'll string ‘em up a tree for an hour."

"Oh my."

"Come on. We don't have time to lose."

With a groan of displeasure, Andrew shook his head. He nudged Micah onto his back and laid his hands flat against Micah's chest, planting a line of kisses up Micah's sternum, to the hollow and to the apple of his throat, and along his square jaw. Micah's breathing hitched repeatedly, and he got hard again. With a wicked grin, Andrew sat up and lowered himself onto Micah before he could protest.

This time they went slowly, tender, never out of breath so much as inhaling each other's delight and affection. Their twined fingers made an uninterrupted tattoo from the marks left by their handfasting.

After they finished, Andrew climbed off and sat on his knees and said, slurred with pleasure, "Okay, fine. I'll take your bath, but only because you're my husband." He combed Micah's hair back from his forehead, picking a flower petal loose from the pale green locks. He ran the pad of his thumb over Micah's damp, flushed cheek, and Micah caught his fingers and kissed Andrew's wedding band.

They clambered unsteadily to their feet, leaning against each other, and pushed open their oak door. Andrew picked up an unopened bottle of champagne as he passed the gifts stacked around their shelter as if they lived inside an altar.

Spirulina and Leif both glanced their way with surprise and warm amusement from outside their own tent, which had been remade after Andrew and Micah colonized theirs.

Andrew shrugged in feigned nonchalance as Micah scuttled with his hand in Andrew's toward what was once the stream marking the eastern edge of Lilydale's territory. Now the water was turquoise and still, with flowers and lily pads drifting across the surface. It had gotten deeper, condensing itself into four shallow feet of water over smooth stones. It was currently empty, so Micah splashed his way in with Andrew in tow.

They heard a familiar whistle and Andrew glanced northward to Chamomile's hut. She sat on her roof with her legs crossed next to Reave, where they picked at a large frosted pastry. With a wink, Chamomile called, "Andrew, you've got a cute little ass, don't you?"

"You know I threatened to string up gawkers from a tree," called Micah.

"You could certainly try," drawled Chamomile.

Andrew popped the bottle of champagne and took a drink straight from the lip of the glass and then handed it to Micah.

"Why are we in a rush tonight?" asked Andrew. "We don't have a honeymoon planned or anything."

"Oh." Micah leaned his head back and dunked his hair into the water. His flower crown melted apart and drifted away on a gentle current. "Yeah, we do."

As he lowered himself into the pond, Andrew asked with eyes widening, "Come again?"

Micah lifted his head so water ribboned off his hair and down his shoulders, trickling over the faint green sunbeam scar on his back. "We're going to Ireland."

"We're what?" demanded Andrew. "No. What? No."

Micah grinned and nodded.

"Micah! What?"

"I started planning it as soon as your mum got here. Our flight leaves at four in the morning, so sorry, we won't be getting any sleep tonight until we're on the plane. Your bags are all packed at the brownstone. Julian and your mum also helped me renew your passport. Fionna's staying here and is now calling Cosmos her auntie, so that's good."

Andrew stared at Micah with his jaw slack. "I…Ireland."

Micah took Andrew's face between his hands and kissed him lightly. "It seems wrong that you've never been."

"This is amazing." Andrew ran his hands over his cheeks, eyes bulging. "I haven't been in Europe for twenty years."

Micah nodded. "Yup. I've never been. We'll be there for three weeks."

Andrew's mouth opened further.

Looking a little embarrassed, Micah confessed, "Only catch is that Ingrid got really jealous and wanted to be in Leister with you, so…I told her she could come for a few days, before she goes back to the Redwoods. And since she was going, Chamomile decided she wants to come too."

"For their own romantic trip together in Ireland," said Andrew with a knowing nod.

"Watch it," called Chamomile.

"Undoubtedly. Now, they're not flying like us. We're going to be normal about this. Business class, though, since you're tall. And no layovers. They'll meet us there in, like, five days or something. I don't remember. Is that okay?"

"That's great!" laughed Andrew.

Micah added more solemnly, "I didn't want saying goodbye to Ingrid to come anywhere near the joy of our wedding, so I convinced her to hold off a few weeks. That's why I compromised when she found out about Ireland."

Andrew paddled closer and wrapped his arms around Micah's neck and kissed him tenderly. "I don't even know what to say. I have the best husband."

"Now, I expect we'll get into some amount of trouble when we're there, because that's what we do." Micah thumbed Andrew's chin. "But I'm excited to travel with you again, and sink ourselves into the magic there and see what happens. It's going to be amazing. Our whole life together is going to be amazing, Andrew. I love you so much."

Andrew bumped their foreheads together. "I love you."

They climbed out of the pond and shook themselves dry in the mild, luminous air.

"Andrew!" Ingrid appeared out of nowhere, her eyes wide and slightly crazed as she held a golden plate piled with food. Her cheeks were rosy red apples.

Andrew jumped. He tried to cover himself. "What's wrong?"

"I had this revelation," she explained, stripped down from her velvet dress into a slip of black silk. "Wouldn't salt neutralize the spelling effect of Fae-made food?"

"Oh." Andrew furrowed his brow at the boughs of trees overhead. "Well, yeah. Presumably."

"I'm so smart!" squawked Ingrid. "Here, try." She sprinkled from a salt shaker Micah didn't know she owned and coated a piece of Fae-grown apple.

Andrew glanced uncertainly at Micah. "I think I'd rather not mess with that on my wedding night," he said carefully, looking back at Ingrid. "I like our method now, bringing me in food. Can we wait? Like…a year or two?"

"Ah." Ingrid sobered, withdrawing the plate, popping a cherry into her mouth. "I suppose you have plenty of time here."

Nodding, Andrew said, "Thank you very much for thinking of me, though, Ingrid."

"I always will," she told him seriously, but her voice slurred a bit. "I think you're my best friend."

"Rude," called Chamomile.

"You're not my best friend," called Ingrid, pointing. "You're my partner. My lover." She clapped her hands over her mouth. "Oops."

"What?!" screamed Micah. He shook Andrew's arm. "Oh my god. We were right!"

"What?" exclaimed Chamomile. She jumped from her roof and padded over to them. "You two have been talking about us?"

"We've literally been speculating about you two since we were in Montana together," Andrew told her gently.

"If only you knew what we say about you two."

"Red here doesn't actually hide her feelings all that well," said Micah, ignoring Chamomile's attempt to regain her standing. "We have that in common. The only difference is that Ingrid doesn't have as many feelings as me, except where you're concerned, Chami."

"Aw." Chamomile's cheeks turned pink.

Andrew asked awkwardly, "Also, can I please put some clothes on?"

"Nothing to be modest about, babe," said Micah as he patted Andrew's flat stomach.

Reave fluttered from the roof of Chamomile's hut on his moth wings and said, "I'll get naked too, if that helps, Lord Andrew."

Andrew grimaced. "Thanks, Reave."

"What kind of thing are you two?" Micah asked over his shoulder as he hurried to their hut, ducked inside, and returned with a blanket which he wrapped Andrew within. He pulled on his own pair of rather short track shorts. He held two French macaroons from one of their offerings, one he popped in Andrew's mouth, the other he ate himself.

"Well, I'm not particularly interested in sexual relations," admitted Ingrid, munching on a flaky pastry. "That's problematic for partners, I'm finding." She turned in a circle, spotted an unsupervised jar of golden mead, and picked it up to take a deep swallow.

"I don't want to ask her to give what she's uncomfortable giving. And anyway, I would not be an acceptable lover in the Redwoods," said Chamomile. "Tall Ones only engage in true relations among themselves. As a goblin, if they suspected I was expecting affection freely from the Ruby Daughter, they'd kill me."

"It's gonna be so difficult to resume acting with dignity," said Ingrid, swaying. "You all have made me so easygoing."

Andrew said with a scoff, "Ah, yes. How dare we."

Chamomile smirked. "Ingrid and I knew as soon as she arrived here it was likely she wouldn't stay forever, so we knew whatever we did together was not forever, either."

"Does this mean I kind of kissed my sister?" Micah's complexion paled.

"That means I've kind of kissed both of you," sighed Andrew. He took a long drink of champagne.

"We've all kissed," said Ingrid, screwing up her features. "I dislike that a lot."

"It's just body parts touching body parts, everyone," said Chamomile with a shake of her head. "Reave and I touched body parts twenty minutes ago, and everything is fine."

"I'm in love with her," cried Reave as he stalked away from them before flapping his wings and climbing into a hanging basket in the grove of trees, disappearing inside with a mournful sigh.

Chamomile shook her head wearily.

"Maybe you need to find someone special," said Micah, patting her head.

"Oh, I'm completely in love with Ingrid," Chamomile told him dismissively. "Everything else is just to pass the time."

Ingrid looked away, blushing.

Andrew's jaw dropped.

"It's fine, you romantic twit," muttered Chamomile, punching Andrew in the back of the knee so his leg buckled. In exchange, Andrew whipped her with the edge of his blanket cape.

"This is weirdly bumming me out." Micah took a drink of champagne.

"Then come and dance until you must leave!" exclaimed Ingrid. She grabbed Micah's bicep and hauled him away as he tripped through the grasses and over limestone planes.

Andrew and Chamomile stood beside each other quietly for a moment, as Chamomile's expression sobered.

"I envy you," she admitted to him.

Andrew glanced down at her.

"What you have with Micah." Chamomile scratched her cheek awkwardly. "I probably confessed my love to Ingrid twenty years ago. But it's not her path to love deeply like you or Lord Heartwood. She's given all the love she has to give to him."

Andrew bent his knees, swooped a blanket-draped arm around her, and picked her up in a bone-popping embrace. Chamomile went feral, pushing back his head at a painful angle and kicking her short legs. He fought her for a moment to hang onto her before he dropped her back to the ground. "I'm sorry," he said to her.

"For what?" demanded Chamomile, trying to tame her mussed hair.

"Unrequited love is the greatest tragedy of all time," Andrew said.

Chamomile let out a soft sigh and shrugged one shoulder. "I have the privilege to spend a few nights of my life with the Ruby Daughter. I'm content with that." She glanced up at him and added, "It's something of a balm for me to know I get to watch you two give each other everything for so many years to come. It warms me and my cynical old heart."

Andrew smiled.