"A... kiss?" Artemis echoes. Brief flashes of dreams involving a kiss and more with the slumbering prince consume his thoughts. There's a childish urge to say yes because it'd be a lie to say he hasn't thought about it. But Wren stands in front of him, wildly beautiful because he is a creature of unfathomable strength, hostility, and marvelous wonder. If he asks for a kiss, there must be a reason for it, and that reason will not be good.

"Why a kiss?" Artemis inquires.

Wren doesn't answer.

"You can at least answer that last question before I agree or not," Artemis demands. It's too simple a request from a fae, which means it isn't simple at all.

"Because I want to kiss you," Wren replies, grinning at Artemis' rigid posture. The fae steps closer. Artemis' grip on his blade almost looks painful. "Although, you may regret the kiss once you receive answers," he continues.

"I don't doubt that." Which is why Artemis is so hesitant to agree. He'd ask why Wren wants to kiss him, but he won't get an answer.

"One kiss for all the answers I ask," he whispers.

"Five," Wren replies. "I will answer five questions."

"And if I have five more?"

"Then another kiss for another five."

What would Ima say if she were here to see this? Artemis ponders, lowering his dagger until it rests idly at his side. She'd call me a boy with a death wish because there must be a catch.

What the catch is, Artemis isn't sure.

"Fine," he says, refusing to release the grasp on his blade. Wren approaches until he's a mere breath away.

"Are you going to kiss me?" Wren asks, leaning forward. He grins when Artemis retreats, gulping.

"Why do I have to do it? That wasn't part of the deal."

"You agreed without giving specifics so I decided for you."

Artemis growls. Then Wren closes his eyes, lashes sparkling like freshly fallen snow against pale cheeks. Like this, the prince looks tranquil and trustworthy. How could one so beautiful be threatening? But that is the fae's best weapon. Mortals imagine monsters taking on grotesque forms when the most monstrous of them can steal your breath away with a smile.

Leaning in, Artemis' lips barely graze Wren's before he withdraws, cheeks aflame. Wren's eyes flutter open, looking amused. "That's not a kiss," he declares. "That was a peck."

"It's still a kiss!"

"Not by my standards."

"And because I didn't give specifics, you decided for me?"

Wren wraps an arm around Artemis' waist. He responds by pressing the edge of his blade against the prince's neck. The skin blisters beneath the dagger, smoke ascending from the burning skin. Wren holds Artemis firmly against him. The chill of winter brushes Artemis' skin, coaxing a shiver. Or that's what he tells himself.

"No kiss, no answers," Wren whispers, leaning forward even when the blade cuts his neck. Blood sullies his doublet. "Perhaps we need a practice round to work up--"

Artemis cuts Wren off with the desired kiss.

The dagger drops, laying forgotten at their feet. Honestly, much more than that is forgotten. The danger of this all, the very world around them, dissolves. Artemis' mind goes quiet as his hands slide around Wren's neck, holding tight enough to bruise. The other twists into the prince's hair, soft and full between his shaking fingers.

Artemis should push away. The kiss should be good enough. But he doesn't. Once captured, he can't escape, and he doesn't want to. He craves the intoxicating sensation of Wren's cold crashing over him. Lips that burn and chill, steal his breath while giving another. Then the kiss deepens. The taste of snow, as if he's holding winter itself in his grasp. Wren moans and Artemis finally retreats.

Every breath escapes as a veil of white. Artemis' lips tingle, icy to the touch yet unscathed. Wren tilts his head, gaze beckoning Artemis to return. He almost does, but swiftly turns away.

"Was that kiss enough for you?" Artemis asks.

"Yes," Wren replies. "And you have four more questions."

"Four--" Artemis begins, then snarls. He did ask a question.

Artemis retrieves his bow and arrow. He searches for his dagger, discovering the blade laying at Wren's feet. The bow will do for the moment. His hands grip the bow, nearly splintering the wood. He sighs, trying to calm himself.

"Did you kill Mr... Mr. Hellsman and Orshawl?" Artemis asks.

"Yes." Wren chuckles when Artemis rolls his shoulders. "Does that upset you? Or does it upset you that you didn't get to them first?"

"I'm the one asking questions," Artemis growls, wishing not to open that box. He prefers to think he never would, but given the chance... he shakes his head. "Why did you kill them?"

"Because they made me angry." Wren holds up two fingers. "Two more. Choose wisely."

How could he choose wisely when Wren's answers led to more questions? The only way Hellsman and Orshawl would have made Wren angry was through Artemis' stories. He almost expected the prince to say he was bored after being trapped for so long or they were the first people he stumbled across, and it was a coincidence. But as expected, there are no coincidences with fae. Since Wren heard Artemis' tales, then there is one another "odd coincidence" that has to be addressed.

"My mother..." Artemis whispers, licking his suddenly dry lips. They yearn for another taste of winter. He looks away, whispering, "She's acting differently. What kind of spell did you put her under?"

"You're assuming I put her under a spell," Wren accuses, watching Artemis expectantly. But the boy says nothing, standing by for Wren's response.

"I gave you what you wanted," Wren says, bringing an anguish to Artemis' chest like no other. Realizing her words and actions are meaningless, forced upon her by a power she can't battle against, settles like a heavy stone at the base of his gut.

"Are you displeased?" Wren asks, stepping closer until Artemis' hand twitches on his bow. He snorts. "Your mother loves you, as you wanted--"

Artemis trembles, eyes burning with rage. "That is not love!"

"And the three that hurt you are dead."

"Three?" Artemis asks.

"The circus boy's father."

Artemis gapes, uncertain of the sensations swirling within. He can't speak. Next, he can't breathe. Finally, he swings his bow and kicks a chunk of dirt out from beneath his feet. Wren observes the boy's frenzied movements, shoulders tense and eyes downcast. Then they meet the prince's. A narrowed, heated glare.

"You're upset," Wren states.

"You murdered three people and brainwashed my mother."

Wren tilts his head curiously. "So?"

"So..." Artemis whispers, staring at the prince in disbelief. "So, you can't do that!"

"Says who? Your mortal laws? They mean nothing to me." Wren shrugs, not an ounce of remorse in his voice. "Where I'm from, if one hurts you, you hurt them back. If you want something, you take it. The only reason mortals hate us so is because they wish to do the same, but don't have the gall to go through with it."

"Or we have enough care for others to know better."

"Care..." Wren snorts. "Was it care that led that boy's father to beat you and his son?" He leans over, retrieving Artemis' dagger resting at his feet. "Was it care that your mother showed after your father died?" He walks closer.

Trembling, Artemis raises his bow, pointing the arrow between Wren's eyes again. His fingers ache from how tightly he's gripping.

"Was it care Orshawl showed you when he cleaned you up after Hellsman was done?" Wren flips the dagger, catching the blade in his bare hands. He offers the handle to Artemis even as the iron singes the palm of his hand.

Hesitantly, Artemis returns the bow and arrow to it's quiver then clutches the handle. Wren grips the blade harder, slicing skin, and pulling Artemis closer. Artemis peers into Wren's wintry eyes as he whispers, "Mortals only care when it benefits them. Like it benefits you now in your attempt to lecture me. If care is a choice, then you are no better than I am."

Artemis averts his gaze, hating how, in this ridiculous situation, he's thinking about how badly Wren's hand must hurt.

"If you expect thanks from me, I won't give any," he whispers.

"Didn't Ima teach you not to thank fae? It means you owe us something." Wren lets go, allowing Artemis to withdraw.

"Don't pity them," Wren says, walking away. "They got what they deserved in the end. We both know this."

"At least let my mother go."

Back turned, Wren holds up a bloody hand, waving half heartedly. "Goodbye, Artemis."

A harsh, freezing wind screams through the forest. The cold pains Artemis' eye that clamps shut. He hears only the howling winds. Then the wind's gone in a flash, leaving the intolerable heat of the sun and Artemis alone in the woods.

"Wren!" He calls, revolving on his heel. "Wren!"

All that remains of the prince are his frosty steps in the grass, leading into the woods, then nowhere at all.

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