Dream was growing impatient. He had been for the past hour: the turmoil and anxiety lugged him down like an anchor dragging him into the sea, but with the strength of a God he kept himself above the water. Just above enough not to drown.

  But he could not do it forever. Perhaps he had overestimated himself, or underestimated the mole: there had been no outlier in anything. Nothing excessive, nothing lacking. The mass of emotions rising and rising only weighed his own mind down, and he was going to tire out soon. He would need to hurry things along.

  “Dream,” CORE spoke. “You haven’t accepted any of our offers. May I ask what they lack?”

  Dream locked eyes with CORE Frisk. CORE was not too upset with him if they were giving him a hand. Their gaze was level, cool; unhappy with him, that was sure, but they would still help him a little. A good friend, as always.

  “Since you’ve asked, CORE, I’m more than willing to oblige.” It was a chance to escalate the situation, to exacerbate the mole’s emotions beyond any indistinguishability. “You see, I believe I never said anything about wanting someone to warm my bed.”

  And really, there would have been a sweet reprisal when he turned his eye upon Duke Isre had it not been the immediate horror in turn turning it sour. Already Dream could feel his aura losing its hold; so when he continued, he spoke casually, because he could no longer say it firmly or his voice would betray his fatigue.

  But even then, there was nothing at all. Too much, really. Just no outlier.

  But there would definitely be one of Nightmare’s moles here. It was a habit of his, having a ear in everything he could. Especially with something like the Council waging war against him.

  His gaze drew towards the rows of seats, searching for— a twitch? A glare? A shiver, a glance away. No, none of that was damning enough.

  “I’m beginning to think,” He said softly. “That you don’t have what I want.”

  He was searching for anything in the mass of grief, anger, confusion and fear (god, it was so hard keeping his smile up when it was like drowning in their anger). Then a gleam of relief, so small but like a star in the depths.

  About just as noticeable, too. But he noticed it nonetheless.

  And Dream found, at the other end of it, was an unassuming Guard.

  Got you, he thought.

  “You,” He said softly.

  Dream scanned the letter from top to bottom.

  Hey, Ink. I’m getting married today. If you even care. He paused. Was that too aggressive? He scratched out the words and replaced it with I wish you were here. It’s not going to be a big wedding, just some martial rites. Nightmare’s still on with his war. Also, no need to worry about my soon-to-be husband, I won’t let down my guard around him.

  He paused again. Actually, if it makes you visit I will. He crossed it out. Was there anything left to say? No, he didn’t think so. It’s summer for me now, he added, and signed off.

  For a moment, he just held the letter in his hands. What was this, the four thousandth letter? Later, he’d tie it to one of his birds and send it off. For now he left it on the table.

  Just as he left the room, he realised he’d forgotten to add something. He sighed, a hand pressed against his temple. No need to reply. But Ink seemed to already know that. He hadn’t talked to Dream in centuries, his last reply— what, a century ago?

  He hovered in the doorway. I wish you were here. Did he? Hey, Ink. I’m getting married today. If you even care. He was biting his tongue. If you even care.

  He went back. Like an instinct the warmth was pooling in his fingertips, burning hot-red; then fire, and the letter was reduced to a pile of ash. He gazed upon it for a second longer, then turned on his heel, door closing with a clack.

  It was only one of the many letters he would never send. It would be pointless, anyway.

  Blue would be arriving soon with his soon-to-be husband.

  And suddenly, Dream no longer had the urge to cry, a curious thought in his head: how will you act, I wonder? He was sure he was one of Nightmare’s moles. Nightmare always wanted eyes and ears in everything and everywhere he could; it was a habit he’d never broken from Princehood. He’d definitely have one of his right-hand men in the council he was waging war against; it was the sort of Nightmare-ish thing he would do.

  Though— Cross, was it? Did not give him the air of a warrior for the sake of it. He was good at keeping a poker face, but not that good at constraining his own emotions, restraining it so it would not set off Empathy.

  Too risky to teach them, brother? The humour did not last as long as he wanted it to. Nightmare was always careful to not impart anything that could be used against himself, even his own Empathy.

  A wry smile caught on his mouth like on a fish hook.

  Oh, brother. Then his throat was starting to tighten again so he had to drop the thought. Cross wasn’t a bad spy from the looks of it: had it not been for Dream’s Empathy, he would’ve missed him entirely.

  What of the martial rites? First, the ring exchange. Half-done. The cup of syrup. Was there anything else?

  No, he didn’t think so. At least nothing that would be useful. He reminded himself to charm the ring with a tracking spell when he got the chance; he’d already gotten the ring onto Cross, so it wouldn’t be that difficult. He would need to get a ring to Cross, too, for him to give Dream. To complete the pretense of exchange.

  And then drinking syrup from the same cup. That would be easy enough, just an arbitrary rite for the pretense of matrinomy.

  With a rush his dagger formed in his hand, linked to his wrist by a thin hot-red chain. He gripped it, for a moment, then let go of the grip. He got the feeling Cross wouldn't be taking the aggressive route, at least not at first.

  So Dream would put up a pretense of affection first. Just enough: thereafter he would reciprocate whatever he got.

  The dagger was still in his hand, but he wouldn’t need it yet. With a wave the metal dissolved into golden sparks, and the sparks into nothing.

  “Well, then,” He murmured to himself. Already his soul was burning through his bone and whatever layers were left between it and the air; with an exhale the air around him thickened, heat spilling out; that would be thick enough of an aura, right?

  Surely Cross would at least be too caught up in it to attack him outright. Speaking of Cross, when were they going to arrive? They had a wedding to get to.

  There was little in that he actually found funny, but it wasn’t so bitter that it left a bad taste in his mouth. Maybe that was enough.

  The sugar cube was half-dissolved in his teacup when the knock came.

  “Come in,” He spoke, and it came out naturally. The room had long been filled with his aura, pooling and gathering within the walls. Still he held it back from seeping into the hallway when the door opened.

  That didn’t mean he was holding back his Empathy, however, and he let it trickle out when a moment passed and there was still no one in the doorway.

  Expectancy. That was Blue, after all this time he could always pick his emotions out from even a crowd. Perks of a Sun-Stained soul.

  A thread of worry. Fear. That would be his to-be-husband, correct?

  “It’ll be fine. Don’t worry too much.” There was Blue’s voice, however quiet. Kind of him, but Dream did not feel even the slightest bit of the worry calm, so it was a futile effort. Then there was a figure in the doorway, through the doorway, and then in the room with him.

  Dream let go of his aura when the door closed soundlessly; it stuck to Cross, and he took a step back. Dream drew back his aura a little, but not too much; Cross was still in enough turmoil that it wouldn’t be safe to withdraw it.

  Cross met his gaze. Somehow it was still level; Nightmare’s spies were always good at containing visible emotion, they had to be, but Cross’ emotions were still betraying him.

  Dream offered a smile. “Hello, Cross.”

  The level gaze quickly crumbled. Dream almost lost his smile. Cross was spiralling.

  “Hey, hey. It’s okay,” He tried. He took hold of his aura again and pulled Cross into a lull instead. “Don’t panic,” He soothed. “Everything’s going to be okay, I promise.”

  “What are we doing?” Cross murmured. “Going to do?”

  His voice had worked better, so he pulled back more of his aura. There was no response, though, so Dream got to his feet. Cross did not seem to be looking at him as much as looking through him.

  “Cross?”

  Cross flinched. Threads of almost-malice, yet dull, not quite. His aura tore it away from him anyway.

  “Cross,” He called out again. “Cross, can you hear me?”

  Cross’ eyes finally focused and drew back. Dream abruptly realised how close he was to Cross; but he didn’t step back, because Cross quickly stumbled away into the closest chair.

  There was a hint of embarrassment, so abrupt it almost felt like Dream’s, but it was not and he allowed concern to show on his face.

  “I’m sorry. Are you feeling better?”

  Again, the fear. But this time Dream didn’t pull it from him because it seeped away on its own.

  “I’m fine. Just a little dizzy from the incense.”

  Ah, the incense. Dream had considered not using it on Cross, just to lull him into a sense of security for as long as he could. It was only a diluted version of his own magic, after all. But there was always the chance of him getting out of Dream’s domain and making it back to Nightmare with the information of how to get to Dream, and he couldn’t have that.

  Dream realised he hadn’t responded and let out a light laugh. “My apologies.” Unconsciously his aura had spilled out again and he pulled it back. “It’s necessary for our security, but I understand. You’ll get used to it, no worries.”

  “Yeah, I guess it’s probably a smart move. Where are we?”

  Dream paused. Was that a trap? Cross’ emotions had become clearer, so he wasn’t as out of it, but part of it was still fogged over slightly.

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  “Clever,” Dream chose to say, instead. However Cross took it would be Cross’ choice. “For security reasons, I’m afraid I can’t say, but you will be safe here. This is my domain.”

  He could take that as a warning. It could be.

  Cross frowned. “I’m to stay, and I don’t even know where we are?”

  Aha. That spark of indignation was small, but it was still there.

  “I’ll tell you after we are married,” He said gently. Immediately he remembered that they were to be married, thereafter; somehow he had pushed that to the back of his mind.

  “Right. Ah. Our wedding,” Cross murmured.

  They were to be married. Dream had planned for every possible outcome; no wedding, for large-scale festivities could’ve given any harm Cross might have tried a bigger reach. For hostility, he would be cold. For confusion or anything soft indeed, he would be sweet.

  But he didn’t know how to act, because he didn’t know how much of Cross’ feeling was his. He was awkward, but not murderous; not like a danger at all. But how much of this was Cross, and how much was his own aura? If left to his own devices, what would Cross attempt, and how far would he be willing to go for it?

  Cross was the first of Nightmare’s that he’d allowed into his domain in a long, long time, but that meant Drean was in the dark of how much they knew, how they acted, how much of Nightmare’s influence they were under and how much control they were under.

  There had been a silence for some time, and Dream knew he was meant to break it. But, suddenly, there was a welt of saliva in his throat blocking any of the soothing, empty words from leaving his mouth; and he did not know what else to say.

  Cross was still groggy from the incense, wasn’t he? He should let him rest before the actual marriage. Dream got to his feet. When Cross made to follow he raised a hand to stop him.

  “Rest here.”

  “What about the marriage?”

  And when Dream looked at him, he felt the desperate curiosity of what a man would feel on his deathbed. Of an incoming death. Of a feared inevitability. Something in him bristled; but then it passed. It made sense for Cross to want information, and Dream would only deny it.

  “The rites can wait.” And he left the room without a second glance; there were hints of bewilderment, almost relief, then his Empathy retracted and the door closed behind Dream without a noise.

  First, he would need to speak to CORE. Dream had seen Cross in his element that day, but he’d need to know on a closer level how Cross behaved outside of it, even if just on his own. CORE always paid very close attention to detail; they’d have at least a sliver of information for him, Dream was sure.

  Would they tell him, though? He had gotten the feeling CORE hadn’t been too pleased with him then. The memory was still stuck in his head: CORE, saying “I assume you’re the Sun Immortal?” And the thread of weariness in it: you and your dramatics.

  And then his own reply, “Officially, yes; but just call me Dream.” i.e. a plea not to blow his cover. At least CORE had acquiesced. But would they again, if he directly went to ask for their help?

  “That was fast.” Dream glanced up; he hadn’t realised he’d been pacing down the hallway, and that Blue was right behind him. He became conscious of his aura spilling out again and immediately drew it in so it wouldn’t affect Blue. It didn’t seem to be much of a bother, though, as Blue hadn’t reacted much. Suppose he’d long adjusted to his aura.

  “I’m not a married man yet. I just…” He trailed off. His aura drew in more. “I left him to rest for a while.”

  “Oh?” He looked at him curiously. “Is he still groggy?”

  Dream glanced back. “Honestly, I don’t know if it’s from the incense or not. I, uh,” He hesitated. “I need to spend more time around people who haven’t spent years around my aura. I think I’ve forgotten how it feels like to them the first few times.”

  Blue blinked, then a quick smile formed on his face. “You—”

  “Yeah, okay,” Dream interjected. “You know I did too much, I know I did too much, let’s leave it at that.”

  Blue shook off his laughter. “Is he that out of it?”

  “You know what, let’s give him some quiet.” He intentionally ignored the soundproofing charms in the walls and Blue tactfully didn’t call him out on it. “Do you mind if we talk for a bit? Elsewhere.”

  Then the humour melted off Blue’s face like water through a crack.

  “We can talk in my room?” He offered. A friend Dream was always grateful for. He shook his head; and as he walked further down the hallway, Blue followed him. Dream was more familiar with this building, after all. Some days he wanted to lock its doors and remain inside for the rest of his existence. Some days he wanted to burn it to ash.

  It was easier to make decisions in this building. It grounded him in the same way a hearth steadied a child. Though the memories of this place were more like the ash left behind a once-burning hearth now.

  “No need. There’s no one else in this estate anyway.” Apart from Cross, of course. He turned to the nearest door. “I need help gathering my thoughts.”

  Blue nodded slightly, and followed Dream into the room. If only for the pretense of the security of closed walls. It was another sitting room full of cushioned armchairs. Dream knew every room in this place. Blue, some of them. Neither of them took a seat.

  Dream took in a breath. “First off. How are the frontlines?”

  Blue didn’t tense, but his eyes quickly focused. “Most’ve been taken back.”

  That was to be expected. He hadn’t bestowed Swap with his Fire for nothing, however temporary. But still he checked, “With Sun Fire?” His Fire was enough to burn through Nightmare’s forces, even if just temporarily. But it exhausted Dream greatly; though this time not as much as he’d expected. He’d only been bedridden for a week or two.

  “Not a lot of it.” Blue was concerned. His worry was spilling in like water through a gash. “I didn’t want to burn through it. Uh, ignore the pun.”

  “How did you take the frontlines back, then? Did Nightmare’s forces retreat that easily?”

  Blue hesitated. There was a silence that Dream could’ve broken, but didn’t. “I think your brother’s planning something. His forces don’t usually retreat without a fight.”

  “Mhm.” His eyes narrowed slightly. He was deep in thought. “Most?”

  Then Blue’s eyes flickered to him, the uncertainty in his face as clear as the uncertainty his Empathy caught. “Some forces wouldn’t retreat.”

  That caught his attention. “Even with the Fire?”

  “Even then,” He paused. “The land withered when we burnt through them.”

  “All of them?” Nightmare wasn’t usually wasteful. It was strange enough that he’d allow his forces to retreat after a mere smoulder, but even odder that he’d want them dead rather than retreat like the rest. “Where was this?”

  “Uh, Nias and Arden, I think.”

  Oh.

  Dream made sure not to grimace. “Got it.”

  “Is it a problem?” There was so much concern, flooding out like the hand of a friend on his. On instinct, Dream felt himself calm; it was an instinct he did not fight against. Nias. Arden. The message Nightmare was sending was clear; but for Blue’s sake, he didn’t call it out.

  “Don’t worry about it. Is that all?”

  Blue was quiet for a few moments, “Nothing else.”

  “Then about Cross, Blue.” Dream shook his head slightly. It seemed ironically hilarious that Cross was a situation more difficult to face than war itself. Then again, his and Nightmare’s fight had never been a simple war.

  Blue looked at him.

  “You know, if you weren’t you, this would be a very different premarital talk.” He didn’t say it without humour altogether, but it wasn’t full of humour, either. Dream sighed.

  Blue had talked to him for a little while, hadn’t he? “What do you think of him?”

  “Well,” His eyebrows scrunched together. “When I first met him, he seemed quite passive. Not how I imagined Nightmare’s right hand men to be like. I tried to be nice, and he wasn’t that hostile in return. A bit awkward, actually.”

  “How much of it do you think was an act?”

  Blue sent him a look. “I’m not sure I can give you much else that your Empathy can’t, but sure.” Dream huffed at that, but it was a light breath. “It might be an act. I honestly think it is, but it’s also possible that he was so out of it that it wasn’t an act. Both are possible, and honestly I wouldn’t be surprised if it was the latter. Marriage is very extreme,” Blue said, as if Dream needed the reminder. “I get why, but it’s still looks—”

  “And I’ve explained my reasoning to you.” Several times, actually. More than he would like to admit.

  “And I know, but Cross wouldn’t. From his perspective, you picked him for no reason in front of dozens and trapped him into an engagement.”

  “He probably suspects his own tie to Nightmare,” Dream murmured.

  “Suspects,” Blue said, exasperated. Feeling it through his Empathy made Dream a touch more sullen. “Not know. We know why you chose the guise of marriage, which I still don’t understand why you apparently being infatuated was received any better. It’s not like forcing him to come with you for any other reason is any more moral—”

  “Hey,” Dream muttered though Blue’s words were not without truth, feeling equal parts amused and vexed. “It’s not my fault they have customs. I’m just exploiting them.” Dream shook his head; amusement was winning, but Cross was still in a room down the hallway and he had to figure out what to do with him.

  “Why don’t you talk with someone who knew Cross before you decided to marry him?”

  He paused. “CORE?”

  “Mhm. Fair warning, though, I don’t think they’re too happy with you right now.”

  Dream winced. “I gathered.” There was no other choice, then. But, he didn’t want to return. It was one thing to address the Council as a God, another to face another Immortal as himself. He didn’t want to face CORE. Not after— “Could you go?”

  Blue blinked. “What? Why?”

  “I trust you.” He paused, then swallowed. “And I’m not comfortable leaving you with one of my brother’s men.” It was true. Just because it wasn’t the full reason didn’t mean it wasn’t true.

  Blue… was not entirely convinced. But still he conceded. “Should I do it under your name?”

  “Yes.” The stiff politeness took some effort to erase. “Yeah. Claim whatever authority you need from me to get a private audience with CORE.”

  He could only hope CORE wasn’t too weary of him or even people on behalf of him. CORE and Dream weren’t really friends, not anymore. Was acquaintanceship a better term?

  “Do you still want me to show Cross around?” It was a reasonable question, so Dream gave it a serious thought.

  “No,” He decided. “I’ll do it.”

  A pause.

  “Okay.”

  Another pause. “Take care.”

  Dream exhaled, and smiled slightly. “You too.”

  But his smile was long gone by the time Blue had slipped through the barriers and into the world outside his domain. The pressure building in his head was alarmingly similar to a headache; the long, winding hallways grounded him, but in the way ice grounds a burn.

  It was a headache.

  He stopped.

  It was a headache. A pain, an ache. And only one thing could make him feel pain. Only one person.

  With a gleam of golden light he was in the room Cross was in; he knew this estate from the back of his hand. The headache climbed. Cross was reclined in his armchair; but when Dream touched him, he was ice cold.

  Fuck off, Nightmare. Dream’s eyes flared golden and warmth began spilling from his fingers, through his gloves and into Cross. His mind barely reacted, being so fogged over with sleep; but there would be no nightmares today.

  This was Dream’s domain, and he’d be damned if he let Nightmare use nightmares to communicate with someone in Dream’s care. Quickly the feeble attempt to communicate crumbled into dust, and he removed his touch.

  He exhaled.

  At the very least, under the pretense of marriage, he was able to lure one of Nightmare’s into his own domain and past the reach of Nightmare. Had Cross been outside his domain, it would’ve been child’s play for Nightmare to reach a soul as Moon-Stained as Cross’ was.

  Cross’ soul was— he sighed. Cross’ soul was almost as Moon-Stained as Blue’s was Sun-Stained.

  And he would need to keep up the pretense of marriage. If Cross continued being nonviolent, perhaps he would be enough amendable. At the very least, manipulable. Another reason why he did not want Blue around Cross these first few days. It would be more difficult for Blue to tell truth from lie; and his Empathy had never failed him yet.

  So, sweetness it would have to be. Kindness, even. He knew kindness like a friend, and a tool.

  It will be better for Cross, too. Because all Nightmare did was hurt people. There was no love in his heart, no kindness at all. Not anymore, perhaps not ever.

  Why, oh why, was his throat so tight?

  Cross would not have emerged from Nightmare’s grasp untouched. No one ever did. There was the slightest hint of pity, in himself.

  Then he stopped himself.

  No, no, he told himself. He would carry through with the pretense of affection, of love. He knew how to wield affection as a tool, but he could never lose himself in it. Even if Cross had been hurt, whatever he’d gone through to have ended up serving Nightmare— he couldn’t lose sight of the bigger picture.

  Cross was still sleeping. His breaths were soft inhales and exhales; soft, because they seemed so fragile.

  He was the most dangerous mortal for miles.

  It wouldn’t be comfortable, sleeping like that. Dream would know; on his more tiring days he had fallen asleep anywhere he could, but he always awoke with aching bones.

  Tomorrow, they would need to carry through with the marital rites, if only for the sake of convincing Cross. He would need something arbitrary to think he’d crossed the line into no return; so the cup of syrup would easily suffice however old of a rite it was. But perhaps today, they could wait.

  In the silence only broken by Cross’ quiet breathing, Dream reached and touched his forehead. Another moment lapsed.

  Cross was still asleep. So he was a deep sleeper. Noted.

  He reached over; carefully, he adjusted and got enough leverage to lift Cross into his arms. It couldn’t be a back carry; that would give Cross an opportune moment to attack if he awoke. So he carried Cross in his arms; he was still asleep, he noted, but teleporting might stir him awake: Moon-Stained souls would always be more sensitive to his magic.

  Soon, he was at the door of the closest bedroom. Dream moved Cross slightly so he’d be able to open the door; though, he was still asleep. Dream vaguely wondered if he’d been too aggressive in chasing Nightmare’s nightmares away from Cross’ sleep-addled mind. Surely one of Nightmare’s right hand men wouldn’t be such a deep sleeper? That was its own type of liability.

  He shook off the thought and carefully laid Cross onto the bed. Should he cover him with the blanket?

  Dream stilled. What was the matter with him? Cross wasn’t a child. He’d be fine as he was, the bed was already an upgrade from the armchair. Dream was treating him well enough. It’d be almost patronizing if he were to tuck him into bed.

  Dream sighed. His gaze was on Cross’ sleeping form. His breaths had, at a certain point, turned into soft snores.

  Was this his first comfortable sleep in some time?

  Dream watched him for a bit longer, then turned away. In the quiet, the door opened soundlessly and closed too without a noise. A flick of a finger; the sound almost like a match being lit; and the door was locked.

  It was the only locked door in the entire estate.