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Confronting a frightened lakebeast beneath the estate is only part of the problem. Can Alcyone convince the terrified furfolk to help treat her and her friend?

Another chapter for Fromso; content warning for referenced noncon, though the chapter itself is not NSFW in any way. Thumb is art by  DayBreakShifter !

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In the tunnels beneath Umber’s neglected estate, Lleudmab recoiled, growling and hissing like a slavering beast. His black fur stood on end, an attempt to intimidate, and he snarled.

“Lleudmab, it’s me,” Alcyone said. She fought to keep her composure, to maintain control of her voice. It took all the training of her youth, the self-control she’d learned as the eldest daughter of a staunch misogynist, the way she’d fought to no longer frighten those who looked at her in her new, bestial form. “It’s Alcyone. Do you remember? I thought you were dead, or vanished into the wilderness… I didn’t know, I would have come for you!” Half-healed, festering old wounds peppered his body. He needed help. She swallowed, and took a step closer. “Let me—”

A thunderous bellow ripped from Lleudmab and Alcyone stopped dead, primal fear suddenly arching through her. Ever since her liberation, it’d been a long time since she’d felt physically threatened by another living thing. In her mind, she’d figured that only gargantuan beasts or monsters like manticores and dragons would likely be able to touch her now.

But Lleudmab, despite his injuries, matched her in bulk—and his claws looked vicious. She had no doubt that he could lash out at her in fear.

She remained frozen. What was she to do?

Behind her, Protea teemed in obvious fright, their translucent, starry form quivering down into a shape like a half-melted pyramid of slime. “Alcyone?” they asked, voice quiet. “That’s your friend, right? The one you were telling me about?”

“Yes,” she whispered, agonized. “That’s him. Lleudmab.”

She didn’t blame him for being scared—he was injured, had spent ages trapped and captive to Umber, and there was the distinct possibility that the dragonborn had used spellcraft or alchemy to dose him into a feral beast; after all, he’d done the same to her, leaving her delirious and near-insensate for multiple years as she’d served as an unwitting breeder. The fact that Lleudmab was still not even attacking them despite his obvious distress was a testament to how good-souled he truly was—

And it made the fact that he was clearly scared out of his mind hurt all the more.

“Will he hurt us?” Protea’s voice was quiet. Alcyone’s first instinct was to shout no! but she caught herself. Who knew what Lleudmab was feeling or seeing right now?

“If he was himself, he wouldn’t,” she said instead, carefully weighing her words. In a way, she was grateful to Protea for being there and asking questions. Taking a firm stance and cautioning her friend helped her remain in control of her emotions. She had to keep it together; she had to be strong, for Protea. “But he’s injured, scared, and might be enchanted or dosed. I don’t think he’ll make the first move, but… if we provoke him or get closer, he’s going to at least try.” As if to prove her point, Lleudmab snarled again, the three teal-embered eyes in his skull-like head darting back and forth between them.

Protea sounded fearful, but resolute as if trying to overcome their own emotions—a sign of true bravery. “So what do we do? Just… leave him? That doesn’t seem right. Look at him—he needs help!”

“You’re right, Protea. We can’t leave him. We can’t.” She sniffed the air again. It smelled musty and cloying, as befit a half-collapsed secret passage beneath her late husband’s estate—but was also sour with the splash of diseased blood and the noxious sweetness of infection.

“He needs help,” Alcyone affirmed, “or he’ll die.” Stating it out loud, the simple fact, was frightening—but also served to help her solidify her desire to help. Lleudmab would die without her. Perhaps he could get his mind back and become the beautiful-souled beast she’d come to love, and perhaps not—but she’d never know unless she fought to save him from this.

She had to.

“Right.” Protea’s voice sounded more confident; they put together their favored, diminutive foxfolk form. “So, how do we do this?”

We? “I can’t ask you to imperil yourself for my sake,” Alcyone began. “Why don’t you run back to Ostwind and—”

“Nuh-uh, I have got to stop you there.” The slime-fox put their hands on their generous hips and stared up at Alcyone. “The only reason I was able to keep it together during my captivity was because of you, and it seems like the reason you lasted as long as you did was because of Lleudmab.”

It was true. Seeing him had spurred her to righteousness, caused her to take a stand against Umber and her father. That sense of righteousness had allowed her to maintain her sense of self, even after the mistreatment, and to claw out of the morass of her bondage to strike back against Tereus.

“So,” continued Protea, “I’m staying. A friend of yours is a friend of mine, and as someone who was also captive and mistreated for being a ‘monster’…” They lifted their chin. “We gotta stick together!”

Alcyone smiled. It was nice to have a reminder about her friends; that she wasn’t alone. The unsubtle looks and double-takes she provoked, the veiled whispers behind raised paws, the way the villagers in Ostwind had cringed at even the slightest picture of displeasure… it was all too easy for Alcyone to internalize that she was an outlier. A freak, destined to be alone.

But of course she wasn’t. Protea was here too, and a ‘monster’ just like her. And Lleudmab would make three.

They would not fail him. She refused to entertain that.

“Thank you, Protea. Really. It means a lot to me—and to him, too, even if he can’t say it right now.”

Protea giggled, evidently pleased with themself. “Okay, so—how do we do this, exactly? He doesn’t seem to be in the state to let us talk him down.”

No, he didn’t. Alcyone breathed in sharply, readying herself. “We’ll need to compel him. Knock him out, probably. Then I’ll drag him back to Ostwind myself while you go ask them to ready medical attention on my behalf.”

“Can you really take him all the way back on your own?”

Alcyone stared down at her heavy, overlarge paw. Sometimes it still seemed unreal that this was her body, now—but there were times she was glad of the strength afforded her. When she’d smashed Tereus and his vile ambitions into paste, for instance.

And now.

“Yes,” she said. “You and my brother and everybody else keep telling me that I’m strong.” She smiled at Protea. “I suppose I’d better put that to the test, then.”

“You know it!” Protea morphed into a long ribbon of slime and draped themself casually over Alcyone like a sash. “Now what’s the battle plan?”

Battle? Alcyone supposed it would rather be like a battle. Given that Lleudmab was injured, she could probably overpower him on her own—even if he weren’t, with her and Protea working together, they still likely could’ve clinched it. But the problem was that he wasn’t an adversary, but a victim—someone they needed to rescue. They had to subdue him without aggravating his injuries or inadvertently giving him new ones.

“A knock to the head should suffice,” Alcyone said. “If I can get close enough to have a clear shot…”

Protea teemed against her shoulder. “But isn’t it dangerous for you non-slimes to take knocks on the noggin?”

Their concern touched her. “In general, yes. But lakebeasts are different. That thick skull should shield Lleudmab from lasting damage.”

That seemed to mollify Protea. “Alright, if you’re sure. Where do I come in?”

“Well…” Alcyone knuckled her jaw. On the other side of the chamber, the feral Lleudmab was still eying her with fearful apprehension. He clawed against the ground, leaving deep and heavy gouges in the stone. She winced. Powerful new body or no, she wouldn’t like to be on the receiving end of those. “I’ve never actually seen you fight, but dear Orfy told me plenty. You’re pretty dexterous and flexible, aren’t you?”

In response, Protea uncoiled around Alcyone and waved a long ribbon of slime over her head, wriggling like a snake. “You bet your ancestors!”

“Well. Let’s put that to good use. Wrap yourself around Lleudmab and try binding his limbs, especially those claws. His physicality shouldn’t imperil you, but if you feel in danger, retreat and slip in again once I give you an opening. Got it?”

“Got it.”

“Okay. The longer it goes on, the more likely the fight’ll go south, so let’s try and make this quick. And… go!”

With a surge of movement, Protea—still in their elongated, serpentlike form—whipped forward, darting towards Lleudmab. The wary lakebeast hissed in alarm and slashed at Protea with speed that belied his size and injuries. The claws scythed through Protea, but the slime peeled around them readily, rebinding themself into a solid form. They coiled around the trunk of Lleudmab’s body before reaching the ends around his fore- and hind-legs, tying them together like cuffs.

The sudden lack of mobility made Lleudmab roar angrily, and he thrashed in place. Alcyone could sympathize. After years as Umber’s captive, being re-bound again—even only temporarily, and to try and help him—would feel nightmarish, all the more so as he wouldn’t understand why it was being done.

I’m sorry, love, Alcyone thought, readying herself to rush in. I promise, this is to ensure you can live to remain free!

“Now, Alcyone! I think I’ve got him!”

At Protea’s prompting, the transformed princess barreled forward, moving with might and surety. The sudden approach of a large, unfamiliar figure cannoning towards him was enough to frighten Lleudmab, however, and he roared. Apparently deciding he was done being penned in, he lurched forward to try and meet Alcyone head-on. The movement left him staggering and to Alcyone’s distress there was a wet plopping noise as Protea struggled to contain him.

“Oh no… he’s strong! Stronger than I thought! Look out, I think he’s—”

But then Protea’s words cut off as Lleudmab surged once more. The slimy cuffs holding his rear legs tight maintained, but Protea’s grip around his forepaws slipped, and they wailed as Lleudmab wrestled a claw-tipped limb free. With a snarl, he drove it forward.

Fire lanced through Alcyone’s body at the blow; he didn’t use his claws to slash, but instead to puncture, driving inches deep into her shoulder. The shock of the pain momentarily made her gasp, halting—but then adrenaline kicked in, her heart racing. She felt alive.

“Alcyone! I’m sorry! I—”

“Get back,” Alcyone roared, surprised at the volume and crag-like timbre of her own voice. “And look for an opening!” At her command, the string of slime wound off of Lleudmab, retreating—for now.

Lleudmab tried to yank his claw from Alcyone’s shoulder and pushed to shoulder past her and rush to freedom. Now that she too was injured, if he got loose it was possible she would never catch him.

“I don’t think so,” she growled. “I’m not letting you go. Not again, do you hear me? Not again!” She shouldered against him, pinning him against the wall even as it drove his own claw deeper into her. Though blood trickled down her flesh and pain throbbed in her veins, she ignored it. She had failed to save Lleudmab once, and would rather bleed than do so again.

Lleudmab half-roared, half-bellowed, and sliced his other claw at her, the movement arcing low, Catching the motion from the corner of her eye, Alcyone swung her own paw low, complete with its own ferocious talons. Claws met claws with a loud, stony clack and Lleudmab bugled angrily and hurled his whole body weight at Alcyone. He was even larger than she was and she found herself panicking, giving ground. Before long he would have an easy avenue to escape. She wished to swing at his skull and knock him cold, but she was using the arm not tied up in his claws to try and pin him to the wall. She had no openings!

“I’ve got this!” Protea called out. They raced forward and lunged at Lleudmab, coalescing their body from the long snake form into that of an archetypal slime: a wobbly, loose, roughly spherical shape. They slapped against his head and enveloped it, and with a muffled, panicked bellow Lleudmab took his free hand out from Alcyone’s claws and yanked it up to his face. Good—that was just what Alcyone needed.

Lleudmab’s paw tightened around Protea’s body and flung them off of him, and not a moment too soon. Alcyone’s fist swung up in a low arc and bludgeoned the side of his skull. The blow sang; she suspected she’d bruised her knuckles. Lleudmab’s eyelights flickered but amazingly, he was not out yet.

Easily fixable.

“I always suspected you were hard-headed,” Alcyone bellowed, stepping back. She winced as his claws slid out of her shoulder wound like butcher’s knives. “Thankfully, so am I!” Rearing her head back, she brought it forward in a powerful headbutt, leading with the curved, heavy ram’s horns that sprouted from her temple.

Horn and skull met with a loud CRACK and Lleudmab froze. With a weak exhalation that almost sounded like a whisper, the eyelights flickered out and he slumped to the floor, unconscious.

They’d done it.

Momentarily, the slime and princess both surveyed their victory with astonishment—and then Protea teemed, returning their form back to their favored fox shape. They rushed over to Alcyone. “You’re hurt! You’re—”

“I’ll be fine,” she assuaged, rolling her shoulder and wincing. Now that her adrenaline was fading the pain was marching back with renewed vigor. It was a deep, lancing sensation that refused to abate. “Simple physical pain is nothing.” Not compared to what I’ve endured, she thought. The agony of betrayal by her father and her husband—the horror and depersonalization of seeing her body transform. The grotesque indignity of being forced to mother the offspring of beasts.

Compared against all that, mere blood and sinew was something she’d take again any day.

“But… you’re bleeding.” Protea’s voice was quiet and fearful. “You non-slimes—I know enough about you to know blood’s supposed to stay in. That looks bad.”

What a dear they were. “It didn’t hit anything vital, though it will certainly need to be looked at. I can drag Lleudmab back to the village, but please—run ahead and notify the villagers. Let them know their lady requires medical help and will be bringing someone else who needs it even more direly.” After a momentary pause to consider, she added: “Let them know that Lleudmab is like me. A ‘monster’, but one that has will and personality. Don’t use the term ‘lakebeast’ as it’s part of their folklore and might frighten them.”

“Okay. Be safe, alright?” Protea gave Alcyone a brief, brisk hug on her leg. “If you don’t make it to the village within an hour or two after my arrival, I’m gonna come looking for you!”

A smile twitched the corner of Alcyone’s mouth. “What did I ever do to deserve a friend like you?”

“Pffft. To answer that question, I’d have to write a book.” And with that remark and a pithy smile, Protea was gone.

Silence remained, broken only by the deep, aggrieved breathing of the unconscious Lleudmab. The lakebeast’s chest rose and fell in heavy breaths. Without the fear in his eyes or the fearsome roaring, he looked almost peaceful.

“Right,” Alcyone said, rolling her shoulder again and wincing. She was not looking forward to dragging him to Ostwind with such an injury, but she had no choice. She bent and grabbed hold of him.

Immediately, the presence of his fur spurred something in her. It was soft and inviting. For all that she had bonded with Lleudmab in their old lives, had craved his touch, the enchanted cell had kept them forever apart. Today was the first time they had actually touched—and while the combat had been too fast and vicious for her to dwell on it, this new sensation was everything she wanted.

He was warm, like old coals. Even in a dire state, his fur was gentle. The faint rise and fall of his breath was a soft pressure against her paw.

After years apart, and certainty she would never see him again, Alcyone had finally reunited with her lakebeast friend—and they could touch. It was everything she’d ever wanted. All three of her eyes slowly began tearing up. She swallowed and somehow found her voice.

“Let’s both get saved, love.”

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It was hard going. Alcyone was almost spectacularly powerful in her new form, but between her injury and Lleudmab’s bulk, it was quite the labor. Still, as she dragged him out of the tunnels and basement and into the forgotten estate, she had to admire her own tenacity. It was an impressive display.

She stopped in the grand hall to catch her breath, Lleudmab safely unconscious. As she reposed, she looked around at the ruined grandeur which she had once called home.

It was hers now. She frankly cursed herself for not realizing that Umber’s lands would have devolved to her, for not reaching out to Ostwind or the other villages. Thank the ancestors they hadn’t withered on the vine. Their success in the absence of nobility is yet more proof that we’re not needed.

Long had Alcyone nurtured a suspicion—treasonous, some would say, to her class if not her nation—that nobles were unnecessary for governance; that at worst, they actually impeded the very people whom they claimed to rule. Orfy, bless his soul, was working to transition the crown towards a purely symbolic role, and had for the first time granted the common folk the ability to have a say in their own governance in the new House of Burgesses. Just one of several reasons why she was achingly proud of her brother.

She studied the begrimed splendor around her once again. She could return here, reclaim this estate—purge the remnants of her husband’s laboratory and experiments. Instead of making the manor ostentatious and showy, it could be functional and modest. Many rooms and doorways would need to be widened to accommodate Alcyone’s new bulk, but she suspected the masons and carpenters of Ostwind would enjoy the employment.

And afterwards? She would let them govern themselves as they had in her absence. Perhaps she could serve as an arbiter for conflicts between the common-born—“his fence-line is on my land,” “the terms of this contract are unfair and predatory.”

Or perhaps she could put this great strength of hers to use. She could quarry stone from mountains far more readily than any stonecutter she knew; could hoist beams with ease, pull carts filled with rubble. Why not? There was nothing wrong or shameful about honest labor. As a noblewoman living off the taxes of her people, didn’t she deserve to give back to them?

The vision of what her life could be seemed more and more promising. Heart aflutter, she rose and, ignoring the thudding pain in her upper body, slowly resumed taking Lleudmab back to the village.

Lleudmab. Could he, perhaps, be part of her life? She hoped he would return to his old self with treatment and healing, as she had after breaking free of her father’s dark magic. Perhaps he would return to the lakes and mountains his people had once called home. She would not fault him for that. But if not… her heart panged. She had intended to confess to him after spiriting him away from Umber’s grasp, back before it had all gone wrong. She could still confess to him now. Whether he reciprocated or not was up to him. But if he did…

Could she marry a lakebeast? Why not? He was a ‘monster,’ but then so was she—and he was intelligent and spoken. He could say ‘I do.’ He could live with her in the estate, no longer a prisoner but a long-mistreated soul finally enjoying quiet and comfort.

They could, perhaps, take one another to bed. That set a pang in Alcyone’s heart. After being made to perform ‘wifely duties’ to Umber, and afterwards being used to breed her father’s soldiers… Alcyone desperately, so desperately, wanted sex that was on her terms. To yield her body to someone she loved. To have the spike of pleasure not feel treacherous.

She didn’t want her life to be defined by what had been done to her. She didn’t want to carry the heavy title of ‘rape victim’, though the presence of her offspring in the capital made it clear to anyone who cared to think what the past several years had entailed for her. She just wanted to be herself. To choose, to enjoy. Was that so wrong? Wasn’t that what she deserved—what everyone deserved?

“If you would have me,” she whispered to Lleudmab, “I would have it be you. I would, love.” Love. It almost felt fake for her to say that; unearned. But that was her father’s voice snidely cracking at her across the void of time. She would repeat it until it felt earned—and then repeat it again until she no longer felt she had to earn it.

For no one had to earn their right to love.

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‘Twas late in the day when she arrived at the outskirts of Ostwind, a dusky breeze blowing dust from the road and shaking the leaves of the chestnut trees. The sky above had grown amber.

And as Alcyone approached, disquiet stirred in her soul. Something was wrong. She realized it.

She’d expected herbalists and healers out front to meet her, shepherded by Protea. She’d expected laborers or strong men to help her carry the lakebeast’s vast body. But there was nobody. She could spy a few eyes peering suspiciously from behind shuttered windows and through cracked doors; hear fearful mutterings on the wind. But there was no one, not even the aging foreman.

“Hello?” Alcyone cried out, her voice booming through the village. “This is the Lady Alcyone. I’m injured, and have another injured fellow as well. We require assistance.”

Nothing but the whispering of the wind. From a side alley, Protea emerged.

They were in their foxfolk form and looked distressed. “Alcyone, I… when I mentioned Lleudmab—I, I promise I never said the word ‘lakebeast’! But when I described his injuries, the townsfolk probed about what he looked like and as I described him…” Protea wrung their hands together. “They immediately identified what he was, and kept on saying things like ‘monster’ and ‘daemon’. They—they don’t want to help him. They’re too scared! I don’t even know if they want to help you!” Their voice was tight with anxiety as they continued: “Some were even mean to me, calling me a ‘mere slime’… a ‘jumped up animal’… I, I don’t—”

Fire lashed through Alcyone’s breast. How could they treat them this way? How dare they?

She pitched her voice high, and the snarl was low and fearsome and, she was sure, heard in every home in the village: “By my name as Alcyone, princess of Braston and sister to the king, I demand assistance! Come forth, NOW!”

The last word was spoken with such force that even Protea flinched at it. After a moment, the creak of the door sounded, and the scared-looking foreman emerged, flanked by a dozen-or-so other villagers; the elders, she suspected.

The foreman stopped dead several paces away from Alcyone and looked as if he would not come closer even with a blade at his throat. “We recognize your presence, Lady Alcyone,” he said momentarily. “And recognize too that we are your subjects. But.” He cleared his throat. “Lakebeasts have stalked our fables for generations. Do not demand us to approach them.” He shivered, but looked resolute. “We all have a breaking point. We—we can put up with someone twisted by dark magic in our village. We can, mistress. But a lakebeast? We dare not!”

Twisted. There it was, then. They’d said it to her face. Alcyone grit her teeth and the villagers, as one, took a fearful step back. She suspected she would be a terror if she looked enraged.

She could not unleash her anger on them, not even verbally castigate them. That would not get her what she wanted. Lleudmab’s life hanged in the balance.

“I’ve heard the tales,” she said. “Lakebeasts were given the waters by your ancestors, who lived alongside them comfortably for years. It was only the cold nobility that offended them. They are harmless to you!”

“So you say!” Interjected another villager, a rotund halfling with curly, greying hair and pince-nez spectacles. “But look at that injury on your shoulder—and the fresh blood on the thing’s claws! It did that to you. Harmless? I think not!”

“P-Please, mistress,” the foreman said, rubbing his hands in a cringing fashion. “Consider we are all lesser than you in size and strength. If it could injure you, what might it do to us? We have families to care for! I beg you, do not ask us to imperil ourselves!”

“I am the apothecary,” added a swanfolk woman. “I can treat your injuries, ladyship, I can. But I will not waste life-saving medicines on something that would do me harm!”

“He is a kind soul,” Alcyone replied, “driven into a corner by Umber’s mistreatment. He is as much a victim of that bastard as you are—and I am! Do not let my so-called husband divide us from beyond the grave. I will be present to subdue him if he lashes out upon waking. So please!”

“He… he n-needs the medicine to live!” Protea injected. They looked back and forth between various villagers, eyes wide and pleading. “He’s injured and sick. His wounds are infected. I don’t know if he can last more than a few days without help. Can’t you find it in your heart to help him?”

“If he is to die, let him die!” the halfling cut in. “Leave him in the forest beyond our borders and let the nightmare end. Lady Alcyone, you are letting your… your current state cloud your judgment. It was not forced into such a form as you were; it was born monstrous. Do not sympathize with it. That thing is not your friend. It’s dangerous!”

They weren’t listening. They refused. Alcyone felt fury and despair congeal together in her heart. After finding Lleudmab again, now she had to face his death? “I will not,” she growled. “I will not allow him to die, not now, not after everything I’ve undergone! Do you hear me?”

At the tone of her voice, some of the villagers—the foreman and the apothecary—shied back, looking as if they would make a break for it. But others, including the halfling, looked ready to take up arms. How was this happening? How—

“YOU SHOULD ALL BE ASHAMED!”

A sharp, feminine voice cut over the proceedings, and all parties turned to spy a low, matronly form stalking towards them in anger. It was a badgerfolk woman, face etched with emotion. She looked familiar…

And then, sharply, Alcyone understood. The badgerfolk she’d confronted Umber to rescue. The woman who originally was meant to be the one twisted for her father’s purposes.

“It’s you,” she breathed in recognition. The woman was older, no longer girlish, and had the frame of one who had borne children. The badgerfolk woman met eyes with Alcyone and there was a mélange of emotions there: gratitude, righteous anger, confidence. But not a jot of fear.

“Tulip,” said the halfling, “get back—”

“Silence, Bel!” she snapped back. “What sort of people have we become, to be ruled by fear? To deny the one who saved us? Have we forgotten how the whole village celebrated when I returned from beneath the north wing after being written off as another villager gone? Have we forgotten how we sang praises to our lady’s name, or how we realized afterwards that she herself had gone missing—that king’s daughter had paid for the return of a simple, common woman with her life?”

“But she—the animal is—”

“Speak no more to me, you craven,” Tulip said in a voice of deep contempt. “Do you have any idea what I endured in the basement under the north wing before my lady intervened? Umber made it clear that it was only the beginning for me.” She turned to Alcyone and her anger melted into grief—and gratitude. “When we heard of the coup, and your return, and your transfigured state, I… I realized—he hadn’t killed you at all. He’d had you take my place.” She approached Alcyone, heedless of the fearful cries of the villagers behind her, and she placed one trembling paw on Alcyone’s fur. “That was meant to be me, wasn’t it? You took my place.”

“I am glad you survived,” Alcyone said, her own voice soft. “It meant—it meant that it wasn’t for nothing, I—” She broke off, suddenly emotional, and Tulip wiped her own eyes.

“Look at what she saved me from,” Tulip said, turning to face the others. “Have we forgotten the brief moment in time when she lived in the manor—when we had a noble who cared for us? Who sent us food from her larders and visited the village and asked after our children’s health? Are we now to spurn her because she looks different?”

Bel hung his head, ashamed, and the foreman stammered: “I just… we…”

“She looks different because she saved me!” Tulip exclaimed vociferously. “And I can confirm that, when I was captive down in the basement, the lakebeast was there too. He was a captive of Umber’s, and he was intelligent and spoken. Gentle.” She swallowed and her voice shook as she continued. “I… as I was strapped into the table and stripped, the lakebeast spoke to me. He told me that what was being done to me was not my fault, that Umber was a devil in man’s clothing… he comforted me during the darkest moment of my life.”

The foreman looked floored. “But why… why didn’t you tell us this?” he said.

“What was I to say? That the bogeyman of our people was trapped in our lord’s basement? And I… I had half-wondered if I hadn’t imagined it in my fear. Only now do I know that it was true.”

Bel found his voice. “But look at Alcyone! The injury!”

“Have none of us seen someone delirious in disease and injury? A kind soul might lash out then. Are we to let him succumb when we could save him?”

The apothecary spoke. “But how am I to treat a monster—”

“DON’T YOU DARE USE THAT WORD!” Tulip’s voice cracked through the village. More villagers were peering, some opening shutters or cracking doors to stare. “You want to speak of monsters? I have seen one—Umber in his basement, leering at me, hoisting instruments as he chained me to a blood-stained table. I do not care if the lakebeast looks frightening. He was far kinder to me than Umber ever was. Monster? Monster?! The only monster I’ve known is the dragonborn slain by our king—but I will soon know more monsters if we let someone who has never harmed us die simply because we were afraid.” She leveled a gaze at each of the townsfolk in turn. “Trust Alcyone, who treated us right, who saved me. Trust in her. And trust not your fear.” She sniffed. “It is a base emotion, one that beasts are ruled by.”

Silence pealed through the village and then, with a soft clear of her throat, the apothecary tentatively approached Alcyone and Lleudmab. She cringed as she got near him, but maintained composure. With a deep breath, she studied his wounds.

Then she glanced up at Alcyone. “I… I think I can treat these wounds. They will leave scars, and he will be weak for life… but I can save him. The infection is bad, though. We must hurry.”

Relief flooded Alcyone. “Thank you.” She gazed at the others. “And please, I need help. Help me bring him.”

A few young men burst from the nearby houses and rushed to her. After a moment, Bel stepped forward as well. He placed his calloused hands under Lleudmab’s bulk, flanked on one side by Tulip, on the other by Protea. And as one, the villagers carried him to the apothecary.

---

Alcyone was as good as her word; she remained by Lleudmab’s side. So did Protea—and Tulip.

“I owe my life to you, lady,” Tulip said as the apothecary ministered to Lleudmab. The air smelled of sour herbs and sharp alcohol, used to disinfect. She splashed it on Lleudmab’s wounds and rubbed it against him, provoking low, angry moans from the lakebeast. The noises gave the swanfolk pause, but only momentarily.

“What else could I have done? Let you suffer?” Alcyone replied. “It was the right thing to do. The only thing to do.”

Tulip teared up. “Even so. I… I’m married now. Have me a husband. He’s a logger, currently off in the forest. Two kids, second one’s a daughter. I… I named ‘er after you.”

Alcyone was not certain she could have named the emotion threading through her at that moment. She suddenly found it hard to swallow. After a moment, she said in a low voice: “I would like to meet her. If you don’t mind.”

As the apothecary busied herself with Lleudmab, one of her apprentices—a charming halfling girl on the cusp of adulthood—tended to Alcyone’s wound. The transformed princess hissed as alcohol was splashed on her injury, and grit her teeth as the dutiful girl took a fire-cleansed needle and catgut and sewed her up. When she was done, though, the injury—while still painful—felt better. She was sure it would heal cleanly.

“Now don’t be doin’ nothing heavy, miss,” the halfling lectured. “Such as carryin’ around a big ol’ lakebeast, like.”

Alcyone smiled. “Cross my heart.”

The halfling girl nodded, and then studied Alcyone’s body—but to the princess’s shock, it was not with an air of disgust, or even the can’t-turn-away grotesque fascination which she so often prompted. The girl just seemed genuinely curious.

Finally, she spoke. “You’s pretty strong, ain’t ye?”

Alcyone gave pause. “I… well, yes. I am quite strong.”

“Pfeh! Nice. I’m jealous, like.”

“J-Jealous?!”

“Yeh! Lookit these stumpy vegetable arms.” The apprentice waved her limbs in clear distress. “I ain’t never gonna be a powerhouse. Count yer blessin’s, princess. Plenny a’women would like t’be as strong as ye.”

After she wandered away, Alcyone leaned back, overcome with thought.

Some of the villagers approached; the foreman was among them. “I… apologize for my treatment of you, your Ladyship,” the rabbitfolk man said, head down. “I know your state is not your fault and that your mind and soul are the same as the woman who did her best to shield our people, but I… I could not look past it. I am a weaker man than I expected.”

Alcyone was about to say ‘it’s alright’—but she paused. No, it wasn’t alright for him to do that. Instead, she said something more honest. “I accept your apology,” she said gently. “I… was repulsed by this form of mine as well, after I returned to being myself. I am still learning to get used to it. Why don’t we learn to grow with it together, your people and I?”

His ears twitched. “So you will be claiming your position in Ostwind?”

“I think I shall. If you can have me, and my friend Protea.”

“Of course.” Then the foreman turned to Protea. “My dear slime, I also fear I mistreated you. It was wrong of me to call you a ‘jumped-up animal.’” He cringed at the words. “By the ancestors, was that really something I said just this day? I thought myself an open-minded fellow…”

“Hmmm! Well, don’t do it again.” Protea put their hands on their hips, muzzle lifted in a show of superiority. “Tell you what. You can make it up to me with a meal, how’s that sound?”

“A… meal? Do you eat?”

“I sure do! And I want to taste as many things as I can. Now what’s this village’s favored dish?”

As Protea bantered with the villagers, Alcyone leaned back, lulling into a half-slumber to rest and thinking over the day. Things had grown tense there, but… but perhaps this would all turn out okay.

The apothecary worked late into the night, and finally retired well past midnight. “This is the best I can do,” she said. “We’ll need to let him rest and hope for the best. If you don’t mind, my lady, I need rest. I can check on him after dawn.”

“Take your sleep,” Alcyone replied. “You deserve it. I will remain with him.”

The swanfolk woman curtsied. “As you wish, lady.”

The rest of the night passed slow and quiet, and as the sky outside paled into a soft pink, heralding the coming dawn, Lleudmab stirred—and woke.

Alcyone was tense, preparing for another fight if necessary, hoping beyond hope that it wasn’t—but the flickering eyelights sparked within his three-eyed skull and looked about. “This… is not… wh-where…”

He spoke. He spoke. The voice was trembling and weak, but it was still inarguably him, the music of his words straight from Alcyone’s memory.

“You’re safe now, Lleudmab,” she said as gently as she could, not wanting to scare him. His eyes swiveled to her and he made to rise as if in alarm, but gasped and winced, settling back down with a pained shudder. “You were terribly injured and ill. I took you to the village and the healers rescued you.” She breathed sharply. “Umber is dead and gone. So is Tereus. We are not captives anymore. We’re free.”

His sharp eyes studied her and despite the pain and illness, she could tell that his mind was putting together her words. When he spoke next—the skull’s mouthpieces clacking together in a way that in no means matched the musicality of his words—it was with apprehensive awe.

“Alcyone?”

“The very same.” She breathed. “I… I know I am not how you remember me.”

Silence, and then: “I thought I would… would never see you again. They stole you to the capital…”

“My life after was a nightmare of dark magic and—indignities,” she said. “But I endured beyond them, and now I am free. I returned, expecting to find you dead or vanished, but you were there. Frightened, sick, delirious—but you were there.”

“After you were gone, Umber hurt me,” Lleudmab stated simply. “A great deal. The injuries did not heal well, and I… I retreated into my sickness and pain. I could not bear the thought of being captive forever and, worse, of never seeing you again…”

“I missed you too,” Alcyone said, voice soft. “During the darkest moments, I clung to memories of you.”

“Alcyone. The princess with the beautiful soul. I… I never felt you. Your paws… I don’t care that they are larger than when you were a tanuki. They’re yours. Can I…?”

Wordlessly, Alcyone bent over him. Gently, with her non-injured arm, she placed a palm on the curve of his skull and arced it backwards. It met the nape of his neck, where fur sprouted, and she continued gently stroking him, paw tracing through the fur. Lleudmab sighed long, a sigh of relief.

“You are so soft, Alcyone,” he said. “Softer than anything I’ve known in a lifetime.”

“I wanted to feel you too,” she whispered back. After a quiet moment, Lleudmab continued:

“I do not know if a thing like me can experience ‘love’ as furfolk know it, but. But I.” His words grew terribly quiet. “I think I love you, Alcyone.”

Her heart almost broke and tears swam in her eyes. “I think I love you too.”

A weak, pained rumble rolled through his lupine body. “Look at us. What do we know of love? All we did was talk on opposite sides of a cell wall. We have not even touched until today. Surely this is fake.”

“Surely? Nothing is sure,” Alcyone replied. The rising light was filling the chamber, letting her look closer at Lleudmab. His sleek, dark fur was terribly fetching. “Perhaps our love is shallow, but perhaps it isn’t. But I know one thing for sure.” She leaned and gently, oh-so-gently, kissed the crest of his skull. “I would like to find out with you.”

A long sigh. “I would like that too.”

And outside, the sun rose.