“Jolly good. See you in the morning.” Wren shut the door upon him without waiting for a reply.
Despite having locked up the office behind himself, Wren couldn’t shake the anxiety gnawing at the back of his mind as he walked down Oxford Street. He resisted the urge to whirl ‘round to see if anyone followed him. The hairs at the nape of his neck stood on end the whole way, though he turned up the collar of his frock coat to shield them from the wind. It did his heart a great deal of good to pass through Cumberland Gate and arrive at Achilles to see Shrike standing in the hero’s shadow.
No sooner had Wren come within reach of him than Shrike shrugged off his coat and slung it around Wren’s shoulders. The warm furs and familiar woodsmoke musk did much to calm his nerves. He chalked up his shivering to the weather as he watched his breath and Shrike’s rise up to mingle with the fog.
“You’re not cold?” he asked, as Shrike now stood defenceless against the elements.
Shrike shook his head, regarding Wren with a concerned cast to his noble brow. “Are you all right?”
“I’ll be better when we’re out of London,” Wren lied.
To his relief, Shrike took him at his word.
They walked side-by-side at arm’s length over the paths and through the trees. Wren would’ve liked to take Shrike by the arm or perhaps share the cloak between them, but he remained wary of prying eyes even after dark. Despite the warmth of the fur-lined hood, the hair on the nape of his neck still prickled.
Only when they came across the mushroom ring did Wren dare to grasp Shrike’s hand, falling into his arms and through the fairy circle alike.
~
Chapter Thirteen
The Court of the Silver Wheel
The Fae Realms
Winter Solstice
Returning to the fae realms gave Shrike a measure of relief on most nights—relief from the poisonous miasma of London’s fog and from the bone-deep ache of the surrounding iron, if nothing else.
Tonight, however, while he breathed easier, and while the iron taint no longer dragged down his limbs, the true relief came from Wren’s fingers interlaced with his own as they wandered together through the wood toward the Court of the Silver Wheel.
Traversing the forest with Wren felt like seeing the realm with new eyes. Wonder shone on his every feature, from the parting of his speckled lips to the gleam in his dark eyes with their pupils blown wide, to the quickening of his breath in plumes of astonished vapour. His sharp grin matched the knife-edge line of his jaw as he tilted his head back to stare at the bare grey branches and green needles hundreds of feet above them, exposing the swanlike curve of his throat. Shrike could’ve spent another century content in his company.
All too soon, however, the snow-muffled silence gave way to distant echoes of carousing. The trees thinned, and they came upon the tourney field of the Court of the Silver Wheel.
Shrike halted just short of the frost-limned grass. With great reluctance, he withdrew his arm from Wren’s. Wren stepped back and moved as if to shrug off the cloak and return it to Shrike but stopped as Shrike caught his eye.
“From this,” Shrike said, trailing his fingers along the hem of the fur-lined hood, “all shall know you are under my protection. None shall harm you, lest they incur my wrath. But—take care, nonetheless.”
“I will if you will,” Wren retorted.
Shrike laughed and bent to kiss him.
Wren balked.
Shrike withdrew at once, wondering what he’d done to displease him or what had happened to distress him.
Wren’s eyes flew to the tourney field and the host of fae making merry just beyond the forest’s edge. A few stragglers, a blue-horned faun and an ancient dryad among them, had turned away from the throng to gaze into the trees where Shrike and Wren now stood.
Too late, Shrike recalled that Wren hailed from a realm that had outlawed affection between men. Small wonder Wren should feel reluctant to embrace amidst the general throng.
Yet even as Shrike remembered this, something hardened in Wren’s gaze, fear turning to determination. And it was Wren who leapt up to capture Shrike’s face in his hands and give him a kiss worthy of a champion.
Breath demanded they break off long before Shrike felt ready to. He hardened his heart and turned to go.
Wren caught him by the arm.
Shrike halted and turned to gaze down on him.
