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NO MATTER how many times he took on his Aelurian form, and prowled the palace's battlements, and wore the kingdom's crown–heavy, so heavy, it flattened him - and barked commands that the other Moonborns had no choice but to obey, he felt trapped.

Trapped in skin that wasn't his, between walls that sought to squeeze him until he burst, given a crown that would, at any moment, slip over his eyes and slide down his muzzle and sink its metallic teeth into his neck, emptying him of everything.

Lucy was an imprint of himself when he paraded around as King Lucian Dinn' Aelurus, goddess-blessed, heir apparent to the Crescent Moon, his original left somewhere back in Exul.

His tail slapped the ground, his fur damp and stuck in clumps despite several attempts to tame it with a comb. Much to his lament, it would not cooperate, adding to a growing list of things that refused to obey him. The Moonborns sought to further strain relations between the Cloudians and Aelurus by delaying food distribution. The hungry Cloudians made angry, open threats - that if Lucy didn't deliver on his promises, the Cloude would be forced to expand beyond the sands, easily toppling the fragile peace established between the two races.

And all this, he had to contend with, while propaganda flooded the streets of Darkmoore, the common folk up in arms over the realm's latest residents. They were starting to believe the Cloudians and Shadlings 'invaders' here to take what was rightfully theirs.

Not a night passed where Lucy didn't go to bed exhausted. All he wanted was peace and a glass of wine, and Aelurus refused him both.

He tsked, scraping his claws over the railing. Beneath him, Darkmoore slumbered, snuggled in the twisted arms of the Great Tree.

"Your highness."

He draped himself over the railing, his muscles having given up on holding him straight. "You don't happen to have a bottle of wine hidden beneath your tunic, do you?" he sighed. "Or perhaps some magicked so as to be discreetly concealed in one's pocket?" Fur scrunched over his eyes as he shot Margo a hopeful, mostly desperate glance over his shoulder.

A smile stretched across her face, though she shook her head. If he could have sunken further, without fully tipping over the railing and plunging to his death, he would have.

"No wine." She sidled up to him. "Wouldn't want to invite the wrath of the royal advisor down upon me."

"Ah, yes." Lucy inhaled, the cold air stinging his chest. Thank the gods for his fur, or he'd be a pile of shivering, prickled, red, albeit still incredibly handsome, flesh. But the cold, he'd been told, was good as it signaled magick's full recovery.

"Reven's little declaration. What a villain, taking away my wine." He turned over, flopping against the railing, his ears slightly drooped. "He gives one decree, and they all fall over themselves trying to carry it out. I'm supposed to be king. I wear the crown; I sit in that uncomfortable menace of a chair."

"But it is for, his majesty," she started, her shoulders held back, chin aimed at the moon. She clasped her hands at the small of her back, perfecting Reven's dignified, haughty posture. Even her whiskers held themselves with Reven-levels of smugness. "To better help him work."

Lucy sighed again. "You even have his voice down."

She shrugged. "Lots of time to practice."

Lucy's gaze drifted off Margo and across Darkmoore. Somewhere out there, there must be a tavern beyond Reven's control, or some common folk with a cellar stocked full of sweet red eager to sell it all to a hooded, mystery figure.

He would have back his wine, someday.

 "Wine took my mind off things."

"Too much, according to the advisor."

His ears twitched at the sound of her voice so near. He glanced up, relief and excitement at finding Margo beside him. "He's old right?" A grin split his lips, and something other than misery alighted in his eyes. "Far too old? He should step down, yes? For the good of the realm? Perhaps--" Lucy ran a claw down the railing. "I'll force him to retire."

She shook her head, curls falling in front of her eyes. Lucy tightened his fist around the railing to keep himself from reaching up, and brushing those curls aside. He always wanted a clean, unhindered view of Margo's face so he could better memorize the many wonderous things it did.

 How the skin under her eyes crinkled when she laughed, how her chin protruded when she was annoyed, how her lips puckered when a meal was too salty or sour, how her cheeks flared whenever Lucy said or did anything too forward. When she appeared in his dreams, all he seemed to do was stare into that face, and fall deeper in love with it.

"Even if he retired, you still wouldn't have your wine." She turned to face him, the wind catching in her hair and carrying her scent - one of red berry jam- to Lucy's nose.

"No, but perhaps I'd have a moment of quiet."

Her face wrinkled, her whiskers raising slowly, tentatively. "You know what he said about the Black Sea." Her radiance was a cloak of soft gold, matching his mother's light, and Lucy ached to touch it, to feel it, to sate his starving mind and devour all its warmth.

Her tunic was open, a smooth expanse of sand-colored skin no longer tormented by the weight of her pendant. She had kept the chain though, a reminder of the cost paid to wield magick, a cost the Cloudians had paid many times over, looped over her wrist. No longer a symbol of her dwindling life force, but a mundane piece of jewelry – the Wizard Kellog's gift to her.

"Yes, yes," he waved aside her concerns. "Black sea. Unbridled magick. The looming threat of war between the Moonborn Houses to secure more power for themselves." He glanced over at her. "Things running as usual here in the kingdom."

He eyed the garden below, where his brother's statue guarded a pool of murky water. Blue mist gathered at his brother's plated ankles like tentacles wishing to drag him under. The Moonborns at his council were each a tentacle, intent on seeing him suffocate.

"Gods, I would fling myself over this balcony to hear of something new happening in this place."

Grinning, she turned toward him. "I've heard something new. A rumor spread by the servants in the castle."

"Oh?" His ears perked up, and his lips curved.

She leaned over the railing, eyes darting between him and the ground. "Well?" Glee, simply too much glee, filled her voice. "What are you waiting for? Get to hurling yourself over the railing and then I'll tell you."

Lucy shook his head, fur a thick blanket draped in front of his eyes. "You know I'd land on my feet, safe and sound, my feat of agility making you fall for me more than you already have."

Margo jumped back, her radiance an alarming red.

Taming the laugh he felt clawing up his throat, Lucy dragged the conversation back to less embarrassing, though less fun, topics. "This rumor, is it a juicy one? A tale of a sordid affair between my staff? Perhaps a forbidden tryst between Houses Hewn and Swift? Dalliances being done behind the hedges in the very garden we stand above?"

Her radiance returned to a warm yellow, verging on gold, as laughter slipped from her lips. Acutely aware of how her mouth was parted, Lucy's urge to touch her, to hold her, to—in all honesty—kiss her, overwhelmed. He stabbed his claws into the railing, grimacing as pain shot through his fingers.

"Nothing so imaginative."

Reenergized, as was often the case in Margo's presence, Lucy reached out and cupped her cheek. It was safer than kissing her, though his eyes still managed to find her lips.

Look at something, anything else, he pleaded with himself.

The moon through the tree branches. The second-rate Sebbi statue. Her curls and how she'd gone and locked a strand behind her ear. How the wind had made her whiskers dance above her lips.

Gods, he was hopeless.

"L-lucy?"

"Is your rumor then about the cheese gone missing in my larders? I find it hard to believe all those wheels just sprouted legs and happily danced their way over the castle's walls themselves."

Margo's eyes bulged, a squeak leaping from her mouth, the sound as much of an admission as any words.

He chuckled, and dropped his hand, though he was remiss to sever the sensation of her skin on his.

She rebounded quickly, her arms flying up to her chest, her cheeks puffed. Indignance, in bright orange swatches, wove itself through her radiance. "I'm owed cheese," she huffed, her interested in the great tree's leaves and how they swayed renewed. "Your cooks, by the way, have been skimping on my portions. And there's been a shortage of sheep's milk cheese for moons now. It's my favorite, you know?"

He did know. In fact he knew her second, third and fourth favorite cheeses, and which condiments she preferred with each.

"So yes, I raid the kingdom's larders, to take what's rightfully mine."

"I ought to invite you to sit in on Council meetings. You'd fit right in with the other Moonborns."

A bark of laughter peeled between her lips. His ears twitched as he strained to hear it, to memorize it and preserve it to memory. "I just want cheese." Her gaze flitted up to his face. "Not Aelurus's throne or its crown." She wrapped a curl around her finger. "Thing's too heavy anyway, it'd flatten my curls and I happen to adore my curls."

So did Lucy.

He turned away as he felt his skin ignite. Looking at Margo for too long was getting dangerous. His reason might flee, his heart might explode, and while some might argue he was never in possession of reason, and would be better off a handsome smear on the castle's throne room floor, he knew above all else, he cared for Margo and didn't want to do anything to ruin that.

Even if the uncertainty and the waiting was ruining him.

"This rumor, then," he said, eyes locking onto hers. Margo bristled, a flush of heat bursting across her skin. "It's not salacious or tantalizing, and you've outed yourself as Darkmoore's resident cheese-thief, so what is it?"

"Ah," Margo's gaze darted to the ground. She shuffled on soft-soled slippers, doing her best impression of the Great tree and its swaying branches. "It says King Lucian plans to sail the Black Sea."

Heat invaded Lucy's neck, embarrassment marching up his face and onto his ears. Thank the gods for his fur.

Her eyes were back on him, watching him closely. "The royal advisor, I hear, is adamantly opposed."

"He would be opposed given he is opposed to almost everything I would do. Drinking, gambling, chatting with the locals. And now he's trying to keep me landlocked. I swear he wants for nothing more than for this castle to be my tomb."

"You're king."

"Yes, king." He said the word slowly but it was still sharp, bitterness slicing him open. "Not some chained up prisoner. How am I to lead Aelurus if I am forbidden from leading? If my advisor does not trust me with a bottle of wine, let alone the power to dictate what path this realm walks down? I am Aelurian, I have claws and a sharp tongue and yet Reven seeks to dull them all."

Margo drew close, her arm grazing his. She tightened her grip on the railing, blotches of black showing up in her radiance. "Must you--" Her gaze dropped. "--go to sea? Before it's known that it's safe? What if—" Her whiskers trembled, shoulders slouched.

He placed his hand on top of hers and instead of recoiling or threatening to toad him, she allowed her head to fall against his shoulder, her fingers slipping between his.

Gods he had needed this; he had needed her.

"The other Moonborns lead with fear. That will not be me. I'll lead by example."

"When did you get so noble?" Her tone was mocking, but not unkind. She buried her face into his fur and after a moment of silence, added, "You sure you don't just want all the fish yourself?"

He smirked. "When I've proven the water's safe, and the sea's bounty safe to eat, I'll have my fill of fish at all my banquets." He lowered his gaze, his eyes reflecting her, and only her. "Don't worry, I'll make sure there's enough cheese to accommodate even your appetite."

She gave his hand a squeeze, then pulled herself away. "Fine. You have my approval."

Lucy's hand flew up to his chest, and he bulged his eyes. "My word, Miss Puffs!" His voice was bright, and high-pitched. "You giving me your approval?" He glanced around, then leaned in, his lips a hairs breadth from her ear. He dropped all pretense and his voice grew dark and honeyed. "Are you sure you're feeling well?"

Quickly, rather too quickly, she pushed him away. Lucy's heart stung at her rejection.

"Don't get used to it."

Oh, but all he wanted was to get used to it. To Margo berating him, Margo praising him, Margo snuggled up beside him, Margo threatening a toad's miserable existence on him, Margo finally admitting how she truly felt.

"You know," she shifted her weight, propping an elbow on the railing, "you could tell Reven why you want to sail first. I'm sure he'd understand."

"Why bother?" Lucy's lips quirked. "He took away my wine."

"There are Cloudians that say they can hear you and Reven's bickering all the way out in the Sands."

He gulped. "Enough about that old fur heap. What about you? Nervous about tomorrow?"

"I'm not." Contrary to her words, her radiance flashed a panicked yellow. Her cheeks paled and her gaze once again sought refuge in the ground. "Clearly I am." She harrumphed. "What if I mess up?"

She turned to face him.

Lucy shrugged. "Something burns?"

Her hand smacked his chest playfully, her eyebrows knitting into a scowl. "Seriously though..."

"I was serious, a rarity I know, but you must—"

"What if no one shows up?"

Lucy stood to his full height, grabbed Margo by both shoulders and spun her to face him. "That's preposterous." She flinched, her mouth a tight line, her hand reaching up to where her pendant had sat, a habit she hadn't yet broken free of.

"Margoliesse Browntail."

At hearing her name, her full and true name, her head snapped up, her radiance a blazing fire at her back. "With all that magick makes possible, it's impossible to think that no one will show up." His hands tightened around her, his claws retracted so he didn't accidentally hurt her. "You are the best wizardess I know."

She whipped away from him. "I'm the only one you know." Lucy's heart raced as he looked down at her - whiskers drooping, hair sagging. Usually she didn't pout in front of him - too much pride, or too much fear of his endless teasing, which was, in truth, a fair and accurate assessment. But the fact she was now so vulnerable, his heart ached to comfort her in whatever ways he could.

If only he had a wagon full of cheese on hand. But because he didn't, he did the only thing he could think of - he wrapped his arms around her.

She went rigid, her radiance one of intermingling gold and soft rose.

"Certainly," he said, his breath tickling the hairs on the top of her head, "I am biased, but I don't believe for a second that there is no one who has met you, who has seen what you are capable of, that wouldn't want to learn from you."

"But Cloudians–" Her fingers wrapped around his robe and tightened. "They fear magick."

"And you helped save them all with magick."

She tilted her head, angling herself so she could glimpse him better. "You believe it? What you say?"

"With all my heart."

Margo, eyes glistening, turned away, resting her head on his chest. He was surprised she hadn't made to get away from him. Perfectly captured she'd been within his arms, and perfectly content.

"--not all that bad," she mumbled.

Lucy's ears perked up. "What was that, Miss Puffs?"

Her radiance exploded into a pink cloud at her back.

"Nothing."

"No, it was definitely something. Now, if you'd be so kind so as to repeat yourself."

"I don't think I will."

"I can have you sent to the dungeons."

"I'd just escape by the next morning and be well on my way to another Great Tree." She flashed a smirk. "After having emptied your larders of all their cheese, of course."

Lucy's tail thumped against the ground. "Really, Miss Puffs? Must you make Aelurus's king beg like some common dog?"

She giggled, and then, with her back turned, relented. "I said, I guess up close, you're not all that bad."

Lucy gulped. This was as close an acknowledgement of his handsomeness he'd probably ever pry from Margo's lips. It was a victory, but a short lived one, for as soon as she'd said it, he found himself desiring to hear her say it again. Over and over. Until they became the first words he heard when he awoke, and the last words before he slept.

"B-but your whiskers are still disappointing." Margo added, a nervous squeak in her voice.

"Yes, so I've been told, many times by you and your fellow Cloudians. I believe they make pictures of me, mocking renders of my lackluster, wiry, whiskers, no?" Her gaze fell off him, trailing over the balcony and onto the city below. He released a breath and bent over, resting his chin on the top of her crown. "You know what I see when I look over this balcony?"

"The city? Aelurus? The cat kingdom?"

He squeezed her waist and brought her closer to him. Through her clothes, he could make out her heartbeat. "I don't know what I see, but I like that I don't know. With all the Shadlings and the Cloudians, I don't think Aelurus is much of a cat kingdom anymore."

She nodded, her hands sliding over his. "You're right. It's not a cat kingdom anymore, but whatever it is, whatever it will become, I'm glad you wear the crown. It's rather becoming on you."

"Miss Puffs," He leaned over, his breath caressing her ear. She shivered. "Is that a declaration of your love for m–"

She broke free of the embrace and rounded on him, finger aimed at his chest. "One more word, Lucian Tells, and I'll turn you into a toad."

Lucy grinned and placed both arms on either side of Margo, satisfied his prey was finally cornered. "Then I'll be the handsomest, most kingly toad there ever was."

Beneath a grinning, ever-prudent golden crescent moon, Lucy and Margo bickered. Some Cloudians said it, and the occasional laughter, could be heard all the way across the Black Sands.