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Growing suddenly serious, Evie said, “Are you feeling deprived of my notice?”

He pretended to think about it. “No’ really. But ‘tis a good excuse for vexin’ ye.”

“Arghhhhhh!”

“And yer so beautiful when yer on the verge of a tantrum.”

“TANTRUM?!?” That was the wrong thing to say.

“Aye. Look in the mirror. Yer color is high. Just beautiful.”

She looked in the mirror. Truly, her cheeks were flushed and, truly, she did look good. “So, you intentionally make me mad as a beauty treatment.”

“Guess ye might say so.”

“Don’t do it again.”

“Or what?”

“Or I’ll set the dogs on you.”

He laughed. “Ye can no’ set the dogs on me, Evie. They’re my dogs!”

“Ex. Scruffen. Rox,” she said. “Will you obey my orders?”

All three said, “Yes,” in unison. Then Scruffen added, “Of course, you’re the master’s wife.”

“And you magicked us bodies of our own,” said Rox.

“So, we owe you,” said Ex. To Diarmuid, he said, “Sorry, boss.”

“Ye can no’ be serious!” Diarmuid looked genuinely distressed. “I’m the one who pled your case so that she’d give you yer own bodies. I’m also the one who said I’m keepin’ ye.”

“We know,” said Rox. “We’re terribly grateful and have pledged allegiance to you forever.”

“If it makes you feel better, she’s the only one who can overrule your command,” said Scruffen.

“Should that make me feel better?” Diarmuid asked.

“I believe it should,” Evie said with a smugness that made Diarmuid want to make her mad all over again.

“Alright. I give up.” He threw up his hands in mock surrender. “My wife is conspirin’ with my dogs, who’ve betrayed me. I’m goin’ for snacks.”

The three dogs simultaneously came to full alert at the mentions of “snacks” and jumped down from the navy sueded sofa that had recently been designated as authorized dog furniture.

The unicorn and the dragon had adjusted to the household’s addition of three Harlequin Great Danes as well as could be expected, except that Evie could tell Thorn and Squeaky were perplexed by their conversational skills.

It was hard to say if their concern was the dogs’ ability to talk or their strange accents.

The queen had told Rhiannon’s tenured bodyguards to get over it because Diarmuid’s dogs, now known as the “royal dogs”, were there to stay.

Naturally, she wouldn’t feel that way if it hadn’t been immediately evident that anyone wishing Rhiannon harm would suffer sore regret that they’d chosen to get out of bed that day.

Because Ex, Scruffen, and Rox would take them apart and bring the limbs to Evie as trophies.

The canines stood at the bassinette staring at the baby without moving for a full hour.

All the while, Squeaky vocalized his objections, and Thorn tried to nudge them away without causing a scene.

She’d finally been forced to tell Diarmuid, “Please. I’m begging you.

Get the dogs far enough away from Rhiannon to make Squeaky give it a rest. Either that or I’ll have no choice but to run from the building screaming.

And you know the magic gets unpredictable if I get that upset. ”

“What’re we havin’?” asked Rox, who was fully focused on the possibility of treats, and not nearly as interested in what the queen had to say.

“I do no’ know what I’m havin’,” Diarmuid said. “As for you, you can go look for your own snacks in the forest.”

The three did a synchronized downward dog bow. “Forgive us, Your Highness,” said Scruffen. “We’re only upholdin’ the standard of duty and loyalty someone of your noble stature would require of his best friends.”

How could he possibly argue with that?

Diarmuid had not been able to find fault with his dogs on any account, save that it was humiliating to be outfoxed and manipulated by one’s hounds.

As their voices receded, Evie could hear Diarmuid say, “Alright. How about tuna salad on gritstone wheat?”

“I LOVE tuna salad,” said Rox in deeper voice.

“Liar,” said Diarmuid. “I have no’ given ye tuna salad.”

“Well,” said Rox. “I love tuna .”

All three dogs began talking at the same time.

“Good grief,” Evie said out loud to no one before closing the doors to the main entry of their rooms.

The day of the party arrived. Maeve had done everything, including providing a Barbie-pink outfit for Rhiannon that resembled Baptismal dress.

There was always a question of who wore it first, pagans or Christians, but Evie suspected that particular ritual was mostly Catholic.

That was confirmed because, when she removed it from the box and held it up, her first thought was, “Jesus.”

Evie could get past the religious symbolism faster than the color.

Not that Rhiannon didn’t look good in that hue.

Rhiannon looked good in everything. But Barbie-pink?

Evie buried her face in her hands, inevitably remembering her wedding.

If she tried to defy her mother-in-law by arriving with Rhiannon dressed in something even a tiny bit less garish, a very public and magical infight would easily ensue.

And Connor might not be able to stop his wife before she wrecked the very party she was throwing.

The problem was that Maeve’s competition compulsion would kick in and trump all else.

No.

The current Irish queen would just put on a big smile and act like gauche was the new “give”. To add to the overall air of displeasure, Evie would also have to change her dress. She couldn’t arrive in resplendent crimson holding a baby in neon fuchsia.

Not to make it about me, but as much as I pride myself on not telling my grown daughter what to do, if that had happened, I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from asking what she’d been thinking. There’d be plenty of time for a fashion clash after Rhiannon could walk on her own.

So, the queen graced the occasion in a tasteful yellow, silk-shantung gown with a bustier bodice and handkerchief hem sleeves. Like Rhiannon, Evie looked good in just about anything, but her Titian-red hair was a stunning offset to the yellow of the dress.

Esme and Kagan arrived with us. Kagan hadn’t yet gone back to his Scotia digs.

Neither Keir nor I wanted to ask how long he’d be using the cottage.

We’d both rather he stay forever than be made to feel unwelcome.

I suspected he didn’t want to be very far away from Esmerelda.

That’s when it occurred to me that Esmerelda might not thrive living at the Scotia ruins.

And Kagan might not thrive living in Hallow Hill.

I put those thoughts aside, reminding myself of the hardest thing in the world. That everything is not my business.

When the four of us stepped off my front porch so that we might enter the door opened by one of my more magical companions, I noticed the ten-carat red beryl ring Esme was wearing.

In its way, it was as spectacular as my fake Tiffany-famed diamond.

Perhaps better simply because it suited her to a tee.

I grabbed her hand and lifted. The priceless stone was set into a wide platinum band with Kagan’s name etched in a primitive font I couldn’t name.

“What’s this?” I said.

My friend blushed so deeply she could’ve auditioned for the part of Rose Red.

“It’s a… ah, ring.”

“Esme,” I laughed. “You don’t sound sure. Let me reassure you. It is a ring. One that’s gorgeous. Probably priceless. And perfect for you. Question is, what does this ring represent? For instance, was it a gift?”

Kagan stepped in to stop the nonsense. “No. ‘Tis no’ a gift. ‘Tis a claimin’. Esmerelda is to be my wife. Soon.”

“Or later,” she interjected quickly.

“No,” Kagan corrected, “no’ later. Sooner.” Kagan laced his fingers through Esme’s then drew her knuckles up to his mouth to brush a kiss across them. His boyish appearance conveyed a newfound happiness I hadn’t believed was possible for my brother-in-law.

Keir and I exchanged delighted smiles. At one time, we both may’ve secretly thought there was no match for either of them anywhere under the sun. My spouse and I were ecstatic they’d found each other.

As I stepped into Eire, I knew immediately I was overdressed. While it was late December and quite crisp in Hallow Hill, Maeve had arranged for a warm, bright, perfect summer day to stage the festival that was ostensibly about my granddaughter.

“Two options,” I told Keir. “Either I go home and change into something weather appropriate now, or we stay until I begin to glow and then leave. Judging by what already feels like a hot flash, I’m thinking that may not be long.”

It was one of those times my mostly human disadvantages were a drag. The other three in my little party could change their clothes at will. With magic.

To Kagan and Esme, Keir said, “Go on ahead. We’ll be right back and catch up.”

Gotta love a flexible, easygoing man.

Given myself the recognition it deserves, I made some record-quick decisions about what to change into.

Esme had created a midi length white summer dress ablaze with a print that featured gigantic red roses.

I pulled it over my head, left my other clothes dumped on the closet floor, slipped into some natural straw wedgies, and added the pearl choker that Keir said was a fake, but a good fake.

It was probably real, but everyone knew not to give me presents worth millions.

I may be mother of the queen, but underneath my glamorous lifestyle, my soul is still middle class.

I was almost out the door when I realized the too-cute candy pink lipstick wouldn’t do with the “crimson” roses. I scrabbled through my lipstick drawer for something matching and found a winner. Not exact, but close enough.

I opened my closet door and did a gymnast’s victory jump with hands up in the air. “READY!!!”

Didn’t get a smile from Keir, but his eyes twinkled. Just as good.

Upon return to the festival, I said, “I know how I got this wrong. At one point, Evie was planning to wear velvet. No. Not just velvet. A long velvet gown, which would’ve been heavy and warm !”