Stephen

The sun traveled slowly through the sky, but it somehow felt frustratingly fast at the same time. Stephen found himself constantly looking up, tracking its progress. As the sky darkened, he found himself pacing awkwardly by her side. He didn't like pacing as a swan. It was more like waddling than anything else, but he couldn't help it, the anxiety forcing him to move. How was he going to keep her today?

Zellandine stood and began gathering her things, and he desperately tried to grab at her skirts with his beak, as he had tried before. He honked insistently and stepped on her feet, but she just laughed and treated it like an elaborate dance, weaving her way around him with her long, golden hair dancing along with her. He would have sworn to anyone who would listen that she was more beautiful than even the Queen of Faerie if he could have spoken right then. The way her face was lighting up with laughter, cheeks growing slightly rosier with the exertion, slender frame passing through the air like the gentlest breeze, gone before one could even stop to truly appreciate it.

"No, Honey, no." She said with a laugh, stopping once she'd gathered up all her things to squat down in front of him and shake her finger at him. "You know the rules. I have to be home before it gets dark." She laughed and shook her head, as if asking herself why a swan would know the rules, but he did. He'd always hated that rule, but never more so than now. She gave him a sigh that was half-amused and half-regretful, then broke free of him and left the glen. He watched her in frustration, knowing he shouldn't follow her, especially not now, but wishing he could.

The final hours of daylight passed, and all of the swans gathered at the center of the pond, waiting for the last rays of sunlight to vanish behind the horizon. When the sky was at last truly dark, a glow began from deep in the center of the pond, spreading and growing brighter until the entire pond surface turned white and was unbearable to look at. The glow faded suddenly and where the eleven swans had once sat, instead eleven princes stood, clothed in ivory colored versions of the last things they'd been seen alive in, their bare feet touching the surface of the lake as if it were stone.

Stephen was the first off the lake surface, heading for the magical barrier that protected their little lake before anyone could say a thing, but Liam caught up to him quickly and put a hand on his shoulder.

"Give it up, Stephen." The older boy said. "You know that cottage never stays in the same place."

Stephen slapped his hand away. "Don't touch me." He said, angrily. "If I could just get her to stay past sunset…"

Liam sighed. "There must be a reason she can't stay past nightfall. Don't you think she would if she could? She likes you well enough."

He'd never thought about it before. He'd always just assumed that the aunts she spoke of were overprotective and that was why they could never meet once the sun set. Now, with Liam messing with his head, though, he really was starting to think something was different about her, more than because she was the love of his life.

Liam continued. "I mean, how did she even get past the magic barrier? No one has ever been able to find this place without us guiding them before."

Stephen grew silent and still, body tense and stiff.

"I'm sorry. It's all my fault." Liam said. "I'm really sorry, Stephen."

"Stop saying that." Stephen snapped. He'd been saying that ever since they got turned into swans. Every single night, as if it was some kind of magic spell that could turn them all back. They all knew it was Stephen's fault. His fault for crossing Morrigan, for leading all of them into that damn hut, for causing that stupid fire.

"It's no one's fault." George said, stoutly. He'd been saying that almost every night, too. It was a ridiculous kind of dance they'd been at that Stephen was heartily sick of.

"At least she's stopped crying, though." Jack said, with his rough sort of cheeriness. "Remember when she first came here and started talking about you, all sobbing and demanding that it wasn't true." He wrinkled his nose at the unpleasant memory, which mostly made Stephen want to break it for him.

Harry quietly interrupted. "Jack."

"What?" The younger boy asked, rebelliously looking up at Harry, but then his expression sobered and he grew silent.

Stephen didn't want to admit it, but he knew what Harry was trying to tell Jack. He knew what Jack was slowly coming to understand. He hated seeing Zellandine cry, that was true, but if she stopped - if she accepted his death quietly and became content with her friend Honey the swan, or worse still, if she went on to be happy with another man - he knew, and so did the rest of his brothers, that it would all be over for him. It was not something he would ever recover from.

The others went about their night, stretching their legs, scouting around the area, sparring or laughing or just enjoying being human. But Stephen stepped back into the center of the lake to sleep, knowing he could only wait until tomorrow.