Servants packed the cars with their luggage. Kryth stood, looking immaculate and cold in his desert clothes. They billowed in the gentle breeze, stirring like a black ghost. Curious men and women with kohl-lined eyes peeked out from over their veils, hoping for a once-in-a-lifetime chance to see the Lord of the North with their own eyes. Those that managed would talk about this day for the rest of their lives. People were just as curious about Raven, each trying to catch a glimpse at a real, live Garden Fey.

It made Raven horribly uncomfortable to be the center of attention like this, but Kryth didn’t even seem to notice. He continued on with those slow calculated movements; everything he did or said seemed to be scripted for him.

People in bright colors lined the courtyard, each silent and still, like multi-colored statues dressed in clothe. The wind in cloth created the only movement; the only sound was the occasional grunt from a servant as he lifted something especially heavy.

When everything had been loaded, Kryth turned to Lord Shamlyn, his complete stoicism making the older man uncomfortable.

“It was a pleasure to have you stay in my house, Lord Kryth of the North.” Shamlyn bowed, his balding, white hair tumbling forward over his shoulders. Karma and Rallie stood behind him, his first and third wives. Lady Iriira, Raven noted with a smile, was nowhere to be found.

“A pleasure, I am sure.” Kryth sneered a little at the word, his whole posture twisting with distaste. “We will be moving on now. I thank you for the... hospitality you so graciously offered the North and his servants.”

Shamlyn’s thick, white eyebrows furrowed as Kryth hissed “hospitality;” he had undoubtedly heard of the actions of his second wife. The old man became nervous, his round belly shuttering with anxious twittering. “Ah... yes...” He fell silent, unable to find something to fill the silence.

And Kryth chose to remain silent.

‘That poor old man. He’s fighting for something to say, and Kryth isn’t helping. Shamlyn isn’t a bad man; he just has bad taste in women. Ah, but that is the way of Lord Kryth, I suppose. These people will be talking about this for weeks.’

With a tiny smirk of satisfaction, Kryth finally broke the silence, much to the obvious relief of Lord Shamlyn. “We must head out before the heat becomes unbearable.” He turned to his driver with a curt nod, before settling into his seat. Raven shut the door behind his Lord, before running to the other side of the car.

He sighed, heavily, as he sat down, relived at the tinted windows hiding them from view of Shamlyn’s people. The mask dropped instantly from Kryth’s features, a warm, boy-shy smile replacing his scowl.

“That was fun!” Kryth grinned wildly as the engine roared to life. “Do you think that was too much?”

Raven chuckled softly. “No, my Lord; I think your performance was perfect.” Removing his sand-soaked sandals, Raven threw them to the floor and curled up against his Lord. “Where are we headed now?”

Kryth lifted his hand, pressing his index finger to his lips. “You’ll see when we get there.” The smile spread across his lips, shining out through the depths of his violet eyes. Raven had never seen his Lord so happy, so relaxed. There was a gentle, childish air to him as he pulled Raven into an embrace. After a soft kiss to the Child’s forehead, Kryth, to all appearances, fell asleep, curled against his Garden Fey.

David Czuchlewski rocks. My Socks. Thanks to Inky, as always, Sean, Claire, and Rashalla, for your readings. And thanks to everyone else who reads, even if you don't leave reviews.

Happy Mother's Day.

Mina