Water still dripped down from the leaves, entrenched as they were in it, but they got less wet than they would have otherwise. He took her a little ways down the path and they stopped when necessary for her to repeat the spell.  Once they’d turned a corner and were away from the immediate sight of the hallway he stopped and found a place where they could sit together.

It looked like a stone peacock, the back a fanned out tail that curved forward, granting further protection from the weather. She took a seat beside him, leaning her back against his side and curling her legs up to keep her dress from getting wetter than it already was. He leaned his head against hers for a moment and listened to the sound of water hitting the cobblestone path, watched as it danced off the petals of flowers then down their leaves to the ground.

It was cool out here, but not cold. They weren’t entirely soaked, but wet enough that she appreciated the warmth of him, and cold enough that she didn’t think he’d blame her for stealing it. She could tell herself that chill was all there was to it and that it’d be easy to leave, but somehow she didn’t think she’d feel that way tomorrow, so she tried to commit the feel of him to memory while she could.

The scene was serene. It didn’t hold the wonder and beauty of a quiet evening, but the storm dampened their surroundings in more ways than one. The patter of rain and occasional rumble of thunder obscured the sounds of the party inside. It hid them, let them feel as if they were the only people there, maybe the only ones left in the world. 

It was a long time before either of them spoke, both content to soak in the peacefulness of nature. They were both connected to it, appreciated it, even if they had different ways to honor that connection. 

“What did you know?” She asked quietly, just when she felt herself wanting to fall asleep in his arms. That was unheard of. If you stayed the night you had to wake up extra early the next morning. There couldn’t be time for awkward questions, or worse; breakfast. While she might not have minded any of that in that moment, her instinct was to leave before she could fall asleep.

“Hmm?” He eased out of his own trance, water playing in the darkness, a warm, soft body in his arms, hair that smelled of woodlands and vanilla. 

She specified, finally acknowledging the words he had spoken as they entered the garden. “You said you called something. What was it?”

“Oh,” a chuckle rumbled through his chest and resonated along her back. Stone didn’t make for the most comfortable seat, but he did. “I could tell you’re a druid.”

She didn’t mind the words at first, hardly even heard them as she made up her mind to crawl more fully into his lap. He shifted to accommodate her, and despite not questioning her motivations she explained, “You’re more comfortable than the bench.”

“Won’t hear me complain about having a pretty girl in my lap,” he replied easily.

It was unfair at how readily he had retorts available. Compliments, counter arguments, they always seemed to slide fluidly from his tongue as easily as an exhaled breath. It made her want to refute them, to deny them. He couldn’t mean something so smooth. It was just a line to keep her complacent. “Well, you haven’t even seen me.”

“I’ve seen most of you.”

And there it was again, an easy retort. She couldn’t even argue it. And now she was smiling! That wasn’t fair either. “That’s true.”

She found herself watching him for a little too long: the orange rings along red irises, striking as a summer flame against the warm night, the light skin beneath his mask, freckles disappearing beneath grey feathers formed into a lupine shape. His lips were full of compliments and lies, but also of promise and pleasure. She lingered on them for long enough that he took notice and closed their distance to hers.

She signed through her nose, gripping him briefly tighter as her mouth parted and their tongues met. The hand gripped at his back made its way into his hair, while the other stayed latched to the lapel at his chest. 

His fingers traced the silken chords, laced like vines across her spine, leaving goosebumps along her arms and legs. She felt his lips curve gently against hers for a moment before his other hand slipped between the slit in her dress to draw similar patterns on her thigh. 

“Cold?” He murmured, only separating far enough for the word.

“Mmm, not enough to go in,” she replied, her voice heavy with contentment she hadn’t thought to contain. “I like breaking rules with you.”

He huffed a laugh and pulled away enough only enough to meet her eyes, “We haven’t broken any rules yet.”

She frowned at him. It was annoying how coy he was being. Certainly, she’d enjoyed their diversion so far, but she still didn’t know why he’d dragged her out here. “You realize I don't actually know the rules of this party?”

“What? Have you never been to a fey party before?” She stared back at him in consternation. “Shit. You haven't, have you.” He’d suspected she was new to this. She’d never been to a party he’d been at, but none at all? Had she arrived alone, or had she been brought here? One was stupid, and the other was dangerous. “Alright,” he shook his head and separated them more to think clearly. She shuffled off of his lap and sat beside him on the bench with her feet under her, looking back at him with concern as he collected his thoughts.

“I-” he shook his head, deciding to try again. “Look, there are rules and there are rules. Some of them you can break and talk your way out of.” He gestured around them. “Aren’t technically at the party, are we? Little rules..maybe they don’t apply here.”

“And the big ones?” 

“And the big ones get you killed.” He was serious. She could see it in his eyes, the way they bore into her with an intent that was not to be ignored.

“Alright, so what rules are we breaking then? And what are the big ones I should avoid?”

He sighed and moved to pinch the bridge of his nose, but then felt the mask and abandoned it. “One of the rules fey, and all of us in the Wyldlands operate on is subterfuge. You can’t just outright say any of it, and you can’t outright lie either. It breaks the game and it lets outsiders in too easily. Now, if it were up to me I’d tell you, but them?” He gestured back into the party.

“You’re not allowed to tell me the rules,” she summarized, knowing he’d wax poetic if she let him keep talking.

“Naa, everyone’s gotta figure those out by trial and error. Keep the game fair, to the hosts at least, and that’s all they care about.”

“Alright,” she spoke slowly, considering how absurd this whole place was. Why’d she bother coming here in the first place? The fey always held more questions than answers. “So you can’t tell me the rule we’re breaking? Even if it’s a little one.”

“Na, sorry, can’t do that,” he agreed, leaning away from her and against the bench, somehow managing to make it look comfortable despite the awkward angle of the sides. 

“But you can lead me there? As long as you don’t say it?” His grin was all the answer she needed. She didn’t know if his obtuse nature was because he was a bard or from the Wyldlands, but she was at least glad she could parse it effectively. “Fine then, what are we doing next? Is that a better question?”

“Yeah,” he agreed softly, his slightly husky voice nearly hidden in the downpour, “yeah that’s a better question.” 

He shifted again to something more upright and gestured for her to come closer. She shuffled near, but they didn’t touch, gazing at one another from a foot away. “Let’s trade masks,” he suggested.

She frowned. It seemed like such an arbitrary request, and suddenly he had decided to be direct and to the point instead of superfluous with his words. “Why?”