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I blushed, remembering our wild coupling the night of Rychel’s feast and the scorched sheets the morning after.

“The stew is ready,” Hawl announced suddenly. There was a stack of wooden bowls beside the Bearkin which they began ladling stew in.

I stared at the pot, abruptly unsure of whether my stomach wished to be filled with anything but the pure, sweet liquor Rychel had crafted. Not after what I had seen today.

“It is a vegetable stew,” Hawl said, looking over at me. “Barley, potatoes, carrots, and fresh herbs. No meat.”

“Well, that’s a relief,” Lancelet muttered, coming forward for a bowl. “Never thought I’d be so happy to hear that.”

She’d come a long way, I thought, if she could say such a thing in jest. I couldn’t even begin to imagine how triggering today must have been for her.

But whatever she was feeling at seeing the similarities between the children of Meridium and what had been done to the people of the village we’d passed through, she seemed determined to grit her teeth and get through it.

“We should do this more often,” Gawain said brightly as we sat around the fire, eating Hawl’s vegetable stew and passing the wineskin around from time to time. “Dining outdoors, beside the sea. Why, Draven, you and I used to do this all the time when we were younger.”

“We would sneak out of the palace,” Draven recalled. “Go up to Noctasia, then catch a ride with some peasant farmer on the back of his cart. We had our bedrolls strapped to our back, our bows, and enough food to last us a few days.”

“We would hunt and swim and fish,” Gawain added. “And as we grew older...” He grinned at Draven.

“We’d drink,” Draven said, carefully avoiding my eyes.

“Copiously, I presume,” I said, elbowing him with a grin.

“At times. Better to vomit into the grass than at one of my father’s parties. We learned our limits.”

“Alongside some very pretty boys and girls,” Gawain said with a wink. “I won’t bore Morgan with the stories.”

I flushed. “Crescent wasn’t with you then?”

“Oh, no, the Royal Prince would never have been allowed to associate with Crescent back then.”

“Why not?” I demanded.

“The di Rhondans were another class, essentially. In service to the emperor and his family. Noble warriors, to be sure. But we weren’t permitted to mingle as freely with him and Odessa as Gawain and I could,” Draven explained. He smirked. “Of course, eventually, he and Crescent mingled very freely.”

Gawain laughed loudly. “Very. My mother was furious. She wanted me to wed one of your cousins. A girl with a viper’s tongue. Quite literally. But that was not to be.”

“You broke the mold,” I noted.

“We had no choice,” Gawain said simply. “Just like you and Draven. I couldn’t stay away from Crescent. We were meant to be.”

Quiet fell again. I glanced around the fire. Lancelet and Guinevere were sitting across from one another. I noticed Lancelet was being very careful not to lift her eyes.

“Do Bearkins choose mates in the same way we do, Hawl?” I inquired. “Do they believe in fidelity?”

“There are very few Bearkins left to believe in anything,” Hawl said gruffly. “But no, we do not form bonds the way fae and mortals seem to. With these romantic notions. That is not to say we do not take mates or care for those mates. But an Ursidaur mates for a purpose, and when that purpose is over, they are solitary once more. We prefer it that way.”

“You’re not so solitary now,” Lancelet observed.

“Companionship. Friendship. Now that is different.” Hawl rose and lifted the heavy copper pot from where it hung over the fire. “And to fight by a companion’s side in a worthy battle. Now that is what all Ursidaur aspire to.”

“You’re born for battle then?” I asked, curious.

“Most of us. There was a day... well...” Hawl became quiet.

“What?” I urged. “Tell us.”

“Once, the Ursidaur had their own court. As fine as any fae, though vastly different. We were famed warriors. Sought after by many kingdoms.”