Under the darkening sky, Banrion lead Fenn back through the winding houses, back to the central hub of the settlement. Other Fae darted playfully between the shadows and the waning sunlight, reveling in the turning of day to night. One could catch sight of creatures slinking into houses to rest, and others coming out bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.

A flurry of activity was centered around the palace doors. They were wide open and coyly inviting, music and chatter drifting out from within. At the entrance stood a few burly guards, who had brief words with those who wanted in. Fenn timidly stepped over the threshold ahead of Banrion. Suddenly, a mound of fur in leather armor shifted, blocking Fenn’s way with a bulky arm. “This is no place for an outsider, nor a child,” a rocky voice stated from underneath the fluff.

A cold hand gripped Fenn’s shoulder in a clear show of ownership; Banrion. “Allow him entrance,” she said coolly. “He is under my care.”

The mound immediately withdrew its arm and stepped aside. “As you wish, Ceannaire.”

Letting go of Fenn, the Chancellor waved him in.

First, they passed a table heaping high with treasures. Except for Fenn and the Chancellor watching over him, each Fae had come bearing a gift. Most were as simple as a pinecone. Others were far more extravagant. His fingers twitched their way onto the table, seemingly of their own accord. A lump of bright amber found its way into Fenn’s hands. He gasped and turned it over curiously in his hands as he wondered how much such a rarity would sell for in Radasanth’s underbelly. It was tempting to just casually slip the hunk of rock into his pocket. Yet, Banrion’s keen crimson gaze dug into him as he inspected the present, her watch a pointed reminder that maybe it was best not to breach boundaries around here. He smiled back sheepishly. Everything on this table belonged to Morrighna, and she seemed to hate him enough without being given a proper reason.

With a causality that fooled no-one, Fenn dropped the amber back where he had found it and forced himself to take a few steps back from the table of goodies.

“Stay by my side, child, and touch nothing.” Banrion spoke closely to Fenn’s ears as they entered the source of the clamour -- a glittering ballroom. She seemed to know where she was going. “You will find no friends in these halls.”

He believed her.

Creatures spun across the earthen floor, some with lithe-limbed liquid grace, others stomping, tromping, and gamboling under glowing white crystals. Pale sprites flitted through on glassy battered wings. One nearly bumped into Fenn, hissing and baring black fangs at the inconvenience. He reached instinctively to swat it as it flew away. In one corner of the room, folk stood at delicate tables, playing dice games and gulping deeply from ornate cups of… well, Fenn wasn’t sure what all they were drinking. None of the colors matched any drink he knew from Althanas.

For a while, Fenn did as he was bid stayed close to Banrion’s side, studying the odd creatures around him. There was music playing in the background, but the melody was smothered by the henpeck gossip many fae whispered between each other. It made his head ache. They passed close to a table of food. Fenn pricked up. His stomach growled disagreeably; his hunger was sharp enough, it almost hurt. For the briefest moment, the boy stepped away to see if he could grab a bite of something palatable; just a moment, he intended. Just for a bite.

Three stilt-like pairs of legs surrounded him as soon as he left the Chancellor’s side. Boney hands spirited him away by his upper arms before he thought to look up at their owners.

The three were tall and supple as aspens, shining through the gloom as if lit from within. Fuck no! Fenn wriggled and glared up at them as they jabbered away in their native language. The lady holding onto him, her arms wrapped around his chest as one might coddle a doll, had a grip that was shockingly firm. All peered at him with long masks half-hidden behind messy braids speckled with fir needles, their eyes bright as the shell of a polished beetle.

“Oh, I recognize this one,” the one with stark white hair burst out, abruptly switching to Tradespeak. She seemed to be addressing Fenn himself. “It is the foreign one our Rialoir decided to spare earlier. I was not aware that she let children into our revels!”

All three threw their heads back and tittered like drunken birds.

“Of us, but also of the human lands. How could such a tiny scrap survive all the way out there?” one with a sharp nose cooed. He reached out and ruffled Fenn’s hair, sending shivers down the boy’s spine. All three giggled as Fenn snapped his teeth and pushed away the intrusive, bony touch with his comparatively small hands.

The one holding Fenn twirling one of the boy’s silky locks daringly between her fingers. With a hiss, he brushed her hand off as well. “Aw, look at you struggle! I think I may ask Chancellor Banrion if we may borrow you sometime,” she mused. “Whenever the Rialoir decides to let you back in our lands. She can be generous, when she feels like it.”

Great, Fenn thought as he glared at his captors. They seemed to regard him much as he might a stray kitten.

“Oh, good, there you three are. What have we here?”

All three captors looked down, and so did Fenn. The willowy fae’s expressions went flat on sight of Regent Morrighna herself standing before them in all her coy glory. Fenn, on the other hand, greeted her with a scowl, bared teeth, and a strong hiss. He was not in the mood for this.

Morrighna ignored his fit. “Well, I was going to ask you three about the cost of the nectar... but that can wait. Could I see the outsider child a moment?” she asked willowy fae, her hands clasped together. “I want a word with him.”

Muttering words in their native language that sounded suspiciously like apologies and platitudes, the three dropped Fenn in from of her and skittered away. He wasn’t sure if they were being reverent towards the Regent, or absolutely terrified of her. She stepped forward and took Fenn by the arm -- and unlike Banrion, she didn’t let go when he flinched away.

These days, Fenn could use a snap of frost break the grip of those who snared him. It was a happy discovery. Sometimes it occurred out of anxious accident, sometimes out of pure spite. But, that only worked if his grabber minded the cold.

The Regent barely noticed the lace of tiny ice crystals that had slithered their way up her pale fingers as she dug her nails into Fenn’s forearm. The sharp points piercing his cloak left five dots of black blood seeping through the fabric. He gasped and fell to one knee, not prepared for the sudden pain. “I’m not sure how much information your tiny brain can handle, so let me put this in a very simple way,” Morrighna said sweetly. “You are in my land, at my ball, only alive because my Chancellor decided she wanted you for herself. You will treat me with all the respect I deserve, or I might find the motivation to devise a clever end to you. Can you get that through your thick skull?”

Fenn grit his teeth and gave her a jittering wobble of his head back, looking away from her hard grey eyes.

“Good boy.” She snatched her hand away, and twitched her lip in disgust. “Next time, greet me more kindly. I knew something was wrong with you the first time I laid eyes on you. You’ve seen me before -- in a dream. You remember, right?”

Massaging his arm, Fenn confirmed this with a shudder.

An ugly look crossed the Regent’s face, one that was hard to gauge. “I saw you in a dream far before that, and it was not a favorable encounter. Keep yourself in check, outsider.” With a haughty turn of her head, the Regent started back into the crowd.