Havenwood, NY

Flynn woke to a dreary Monday morning at around seven. He had hoped that for his sister's arrival it would be a sunnier spring day rather than a rainy one, but alas, it was not to be so. He had informed his hotel staff in plenty of time that he would not be available, but if an emergency occurred, Flynn could be contacted, of course. The faerie dallied by having breakfast in his study and by reading the Herald, mostly to keep his mind from wandering to the arrival of Aisling and getting overly nervous.

Yet nervous he was as the faerie shoved aside his barely touched plate and spun his chair to face one of the windows that overlooked the back grounds. In the distance, he could see the stables and barracks and the barely discernable guards going about their assignments and routines. A smile curved his mouth when he saw the familiar mop of hair that identified Toby as the fae broke away from the group to head back toward the mansion. As he so often did, Flynn couldn't help but compare his relationship with Toby to his relationship with Cavan. The bond he had with Toby had been forged through blood, sweat, and tears, creating a level of loyalty to one another that was unmatched. There was almost nothing the two wouldn't do for the other. He and Cavan, however… Up until Cavan had twisted the knife in his back, Flynn had loved his brother and he thought with time, the animosity, the jealousy Cavan held against him would fade. He assumed—poorly—that Cavan would've had his back where it counted on the simple fact that they were brothers. Flynn realized far too late that his brothers ambitions far exceeded his love for the brother that stood in his way. A sigh was heaved at the loss, even after so many centuries.

Of course, with his mind on Cavan, thoughts of Aisling didn't stray far behind. Unlike his bond with Cavan, he and Aisling had been close. Before his exile, they spoke often with each other, confided dreams and secrets to one another, and Flynn had enjoyed teaching her how to use a sword and to play chess. His absence had to have been difficult for her and he only hoped that Malachi proved to be a much-needed balm. Her arrival to Rosewood Manor would be an equally needed change and he only wished that Malachi could be there with her so that he could get a better sense of the other faerie prince.

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After decades of service to the Spring Court, Morgan was still glad that the Courts had made some unspoken agreement that plate armor was superior and that his own personal set was useful in his transition. What he could not understand or grow accustomed to was Liber's aesthetic for Roman clothing. For certain celebrations, Morgan was required to don the Roman inspired armor yet every time he wore it, he felt exposed without the remaining plate armor protecting his lower half. The comforting weight of chainmail was missed, the sound it made against the plates, and the whisper of his tunic was all familiar. It's absence throughout the celebration—A young Sidhe's debut—was sorely noticed to the Hellhound. The only assurance Morgan had was that Liber did not often require such attire from his guards and he was grateful when the evening was finally ending as he accompanied Aisling back to her suite.

As Captain and Princess walked in silence, they were accompanied by the banter of the four other guards assigned to protect her until Morgan called out, "Knock it off," as if he was having any other conversation. The command was followed by protests, "Aw, come on, Morgan! Don't you ever have any fun?" The Hellhound whirled on them, his action immediately ceasing any additional words with a stern look on his face. A beat passed where he looked at each guard until his mouth twitched into a smile.

Indicating to two of the four, "Clear her room and then you're dismissed. Be thorough!" He called after them as they scrambled for the door in a rush. Chuckles were accompanied his command and a hand clapped to his shoulder.

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