“So … you did not actually mention the woman in the green dress with her?” he asked as he stood in the doorway to her room.

Philomel rolled her eyes, but continued what she was doing and had been doing this short time of the current conversation - this time writing at her elegant chestnut wood desk.

“To confirm, again, no. The situation was not right, and I do not want to overwhelm her right now. She has enough going on right now to know that she is personally visited by a goddess every night.”

Vaeron raised his brows but grunted. “Point granted, Princess, but she will need to know some time.”

The faun nodded. “And she will. But until a time as I think is right, this stays between us.” She paused and looked up at him, her grey eyes staring. “Not even Tarrimar.”

A small spark of happiness came into Vaeron's eyes as he thought about his new boyfriend - only the second one he had had in his entire life - and he nodded.

“Agreed. He knows there are some things we need to keep secret.”

Philomel went on. “As for confirming it … next time Drys is gracious enough to appear to me, I will ask her. She likely already knows the question is there, but her timing is above my own.”

The unsmiling man grunted, “That sounds right.”

As a former spiritual mage himself, he knew the need to be patient when working with the gods. He had, for most of his life, been a mage of Earlon, a Raiaeran star god of the sea. It had been what had let him to take up the life of a sailor-mage for some time, before he met Philomel. Now he had respectfully left Earlon’s worship to more capable hands, and begun a healthy dedication to Drys. It had changed his powers somewhat and made him far closer to his horse Megladon than he ever knew was possible, but it had been wise to adapt to the society in which he lived.

“It is the best way,” Philomel confirmed. “Drys will hopefully talk to me. Let me talk, I mean, she has done before.”

Vaeron leaned off the wall, coming more into the room. “Still not appeared to me.”

“You're not her priestess,” Philomel shrugged as she leaned to dip the end of her quill in ink. “I am.”

The comment made Vaeron smile. “I know you are. What, the only one, you said, outside of Paradisia?” He spoke of the faun homeland, which was a hidden world somewhere within the Jagged Peaks. Somewhere Philomel still had never been.

She nodded. “Yes. That is true.”

He walked further in, mostly meandering over slowly, his eyes on the paper and wondering what exactly could be distracting her so. He paused and picked up the book she had been reading before, 'A History of Magic in Alerar,’ as it sat on a coffee table. Briefly he bent over to flip over the first page and look at the table of contents that divided the timeline into the main ages of Alerar. Philomel was still silent, so he looked back up to her.

She was still writing.