Sleep had not come easily to the golden knight. Siobhan had taken time for herself and had not returned for a while. Ailill did not doubt the mare’s ability to keep herself safe in the jungle, he really could not place why her absence made him anxious, he just knew that this much time away from her children was not typical of the doting mother. As the sun fell over the horizon, the stallion’s tail swished while he tucked the girls into slumber, whispering sweet words of soothing into their ears so they would sleep. In the clearing just beyond their resting space he paced for awhile, his blunt teeth gnashing together. He trusted Siobhan, and her absence concerned him when there was so much on the line. Despite his best efforts, a restless sleep overtook him and he drifted away.

Dreams plagued him. Dreams of love, wrapped tightly around Siobhan as Akadi and Roisin played around them. Dreams of fear as black cats hunted in the night, snuffing out life in the blink of an eye. And dreams of what was and what could be. Broken promises and stronger trusts.

The crunch of her hooves were not enough to stir him, though a single ear flicked in what could have been preparation. It was not until her voice flowed through the air that it was able to penetrate his consciousness, pulling him from a conversation he had with another from years ago. His light eyes opened and instantly he was able to breathe with relief. Siobhan… he started, but hesitated at her next words, her simple request. He saw the tears staining her cheeks, could smell the salt on her skin, and hear the break in her voice. Under it all, he did not need to smell the scent on her flesh to confirm, he knew it had been Bjorn. Without a word he rolled to his feet.

A season ago he had placed himself beside the strange dark mare of the Ridge. They had been side to side with a smile tugging at his lips as he had taught the stranger the basics. Such a stance was far too impersonal. This night he stood with Siobhan, chest to chest, his breath on her shoulders, or his lips against her back.

Easy… he whispered as he eased his body against her to take a step back before he could step forward. He used his nose to lead her slowly to the side. And turn… He used both cues to carefully and slowly revolve them around. It would not be the playful prancing he had taught Shararat in his youth, nor was it the sweeping waltz he had introduced to Faolian on the sandy beach. It was a slow, measured step that would allow her to fall into his lead if she listened to the pressure of his body. A low hum resonated through his chest. No real tune save that of his breathing and his heartbeat.

He could try to kill Bjorn. He could have hated him, cursed his name, issued a threat, a warning, spit in his face, done all sorts of things in the name of vengeance and hate. He could have, had he been any different of a man. They had been friends once, and now there was pain between them. The king had left more than his lover behind.

The stallion could not think too deeply on the thoughts on his mind. Instead his focus was on his footsteps, careful to move slowly so as not to trip Siobhan and steadfast in his cues so she could let her mind wander as she needed. He could not think of the pain she could bring him as he guided her with his body. He could only be there so they both could enjoy the moment.

What do you need from me? He asked against her skin as he pivoted them into another turn. What do you want from me? Ailill would never ask her to choose between those who tugged at her heart. He would not willingly add to the trails that still streaked her cheeks, even if it meant crushing his own heart.