Cross did not dress in wedding garb. He had decided on that from the very first day of the wait. However, he decided it would be too risky to arrive in too casual attire: he still did not know of Dream’s temperament.

  So he wore, instead, his usual Guard uniform. Clean and proper enough, and the same set he had worn on the Summer Solstice.

  He had woken up at dawn, expecting to be called away as the sun breached into the night, soon day. But nothing, no news; it was only when the sun was high in the morning sky did the knock come.

  It wasn’t CORE Frisk at the door. It was some nameless Guard, holding the door open awkwardly. Cross did not remember him.

  But perhaps he would now, perhaps he would remember his face as the carriage carried him further and further away. He would remember every detail of this day very clearly, he knew. Just as clear as the day Nightmare had found him.

  He found himself led to the Council Chamber in some semblance of deja vu. There, someone in blue was conversing with CORE Frisk. Not the entire Council was present, he realised, and what members there were seemed eager to avoid him.

  CORE Frisk soon noticed him. “Ah, there you are, Cross.”

  It was then that Cross noticed the stranger, though dressed like a Guard would be, wore attire different from any Council Guard. He wore no badge marking his allegiance either, so it couldn’t be one of the Council member’s Royal Guard either.

  A strange numbness was in him, like the numbness of a delayed realisation.

  “Hey, Cross.” The stranger nodded in his direction. ‘I’m Swap. Dream asked me to escort you back.”

  “Oh.” Cross looked to CORE Frisk, before looking back. “Okay. Are we leaving now?”

  Perhaps Swap was Dream’s own Guard? He could not fathom why a God would need one, but what did he know of Gods?

  “We can, yes. Are you ready to leave?”

  “We have arranged parting gifts for him,” CORE interrupted. “Will that be an issue?”

  Swap paused. “No, but let’s get them loaded first. If there are too many, I’ll call another carriage.”

  Huh. That was surprisingly nice of him. Cross grew more wary of him; so was Dream going the pretense route? He could not decide if that was more merciful.

  CORE looked at Cross, but Cross could not recognise what was in their eyes.

  “Shall we proceed, then?” Ah, it was concern. A little too late for that, but Cross nodded all the same.

  There was a crowd.

  CORE Frisk was obviously none too pleased at that, but they kept looking Cross’ way and it was so much harder to maintain the appearance of unconcern. There was a crowd, and that pissed Cross off. Who leaked the news, or even the date?

  Swap seemed unbothered by the crowd, however. It was curiously just like Dream’s disinterest. Cross buried that thought away, as he did with any thought of Dream. It was less risky that way.

  There was no need to call another carriage, so he got in.

  He was leaving. The thought struck him.

  “Goodbye, CORE,” He had tried to tell them but could only manage a murmur. CORE heard it, though, and smiled back. Their smile almost faltered. Almost.

  And soon, he was off, with a thousand apologies and goodbyes still on his tongue for faces he did not remember. And a faint sweet smell. His hand dipped to his head, suddenly dizzy.

  It smelled like honey, almost. Sweet and cloying. Was the wind carrying the scent of some honeyed pastry over?

  Cross didn’t realise he’d been asleep until he awoke. Almost immediately the urge to sit upright hit him, but it hit him so hard he got dizzier. A good thing, because as soon as he remembered where he was he realised it would not be wise to react so abruptly. It could’ve been taken as some unconscious act of aggression that proved he did not trust them.

  So he took his time to rub his eyes, shifting and stretching his sore limbs; Swap was sitting across him, he realised, watching the view from the window.

  It took a moment of Swap to realise he had woken up. “Oh, you’re up?”

  “Did you, uh,” But he hadn’t eaten anything. How could he have drugged him? A sudden anxiety hit him. How could he say that out loud? That was rude. “Um. When did I— fall asleep?”

  At that, Swap smiled bashfully. “Sorry about that. It was just sleep incense. No one’s allowed to know the path in, so everyone has to burn it while they enter and be put to sleep.”

  Cross realised he was very much still groggy, so he wisely chose to shut up while he regained his sense. To his credit, Swap did not comment on his dishevelled appearance

  “Since you’re awake, I’ll brief you a little.” For which Cross was surprised by, and also thankful for. “When we arrive, you’ll be brought to Dream, and he’ll explain a little more, but you won’t be going through all the martial rites, I believe? Then after, I’ll show you around so you won’t get lost on your first day. So don’t worry, you’ll see me again,” He joked. Cross acknowledged that it was a joke, but it seemed as if the sleepiness had swallowed up any humour he had today.

  Swap awkwardly continued, but Cross wasn’t listening much anymore. “So, uh, do you have any allergies?”

  No, Cross tried to say, but his tongue was too heavy. He opted to shake his head instead.

  Swap understood; a moment, then a tiny smile.

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  “The incense's worst the first time, I promise. It won’t be so bad if you have to smell it again.”

  If. Did that mean he wouldn’t get to leave?

  “Are we in yet?” His voice was still raspy.

  Swap blinked.

  “Oh, we reached about an hour ago. We’re just getting to Dream’s now.”

  “Oh. Okay.” They were going to Dream’s, now?! Fuck, fuck. He tried to gather his mushy brain together.

  “Maybe you should lie down a little longer,” Swap added awkwardly. “You do look very tired.”

  But Cross was stubborn, and he settled for rubbing circles into his forehead. It worked somewhat. By the time the carriage was slowing down he had regained most of his sense, and his previous dread.

  “I have his ring,” He mused. Suddenly he realised what he had spoken, and wished he could sow his lips shut.

  “That is not,” And Swap suddenly stilled. “I do not think that is, ah, the martial rite you will be doing.”

  The carriage door opened. Cross, for a brief moment, was grateful; then the reminder of what awaited him sank in, and he was stuck. Sooner or later, however, Swap was out and waiting for him outside— and, god, even though he could hardly breathe and every step sank into the—

  “Cross?” Swap’s hand was extended. Cross looked at him blankly. The ground was a few feet away; Swap was frowning ever so slightly. There was a pair of ornate doors behind him; the small distance to it immeasurable. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah.” Pitchy. “Yeah, I’m good.” He took Swap’s hand and stepped down from the carriage. He did not seem to be in control of his body anymore, each step to the door weighed and each step was mechanical and stiff.

  Swap took a moment to open the door; he wanted that moment to last forever, but it was only a moment and the door opened without a noise. It was unlocked? Cross had to hold onto that detail as he crossed the threshold. Where were they even, that the door would be just, unlocked?

  Just as he stepped in, he’d turned slightly; dozens of eyes, on him. Curious, surprised, gazes. But then the door closed and there was only its white, and they were moving on.

  Cross hadn’t been paying attention to the hallway. He swore internally and cast his eyes to the side, a hint of shame beating in his chest. That was the most fundamental thing, paying attention. And now he was looking but not registering anything. Fuck.

  He was an absolute mess today. Mentally, but it might be literally by the end of the day.

  Swap had stopped. How long ago had he stopped? He was knocking on a white door; for the first time Cross realised the floor was made of gold-laced marble.

  “Come in.” The voice came from somewhere beyond. Only then did Swap push open the door.

  Silence. It was then that Cross realised he was to go in alone. He glanced at Swap.

  “It’ll be fine,” He reassured. “Don’t worry too much.”

  That did not reassure him in the slightest, but he dragged himself through the door and could feel the heartbeat in his throat.

  He found himself in what looked like a sitting room. Immediately a honeyed scent hit him; sweet, achingly sweet. His breath stuck in his throat and he unconsciously took a step back.

  Dream was in one of the armchairs, a hand around a teacup. Somewhat deliriously, he noticed how Dream’s pinkie was stuck out, like some prince at a tea party. Ah, he was losing it. There was the Sun Immortal. Not dressed in the same light silks, Cross uncomfortably noted, but instead looser robes of light gold.

  His gaze had followed him from the door, and at a certain distance Dream offered an indulgent smile. “Hello, Cross.”

  Kill him. Seduce him. Hurt him. Every instruction from Nightmare swam into his head, but his throat felt too tight to squeeze even a syllable out.

  He was abruptly aware of the closed door behind him.

  “Hey, hey. It’s okay.” His voice was soothing. It was terrifyingly calm. “Don’t panic. Everything’s going to be okay, I promise.”

  “What are we doing?” He managed to say. “Going to do?” The sweet smell was all around him, languid and flowy. Dream’s eyes were a gold. A strange gold, so dull It was more of a yellow. Was it dull? Or was it just not agleam?

  “Cross?” He was on his feet. When did Dream get up?

  Cross. A murmur struck him like thunder. What was he doing? Kill him. Kill him. He couldn’t contain the command, everything was hazy and he couldn’t hold onto everything.

  “Cross,” His voice was sweet, maybe even kind. “Cross, can you hear me?”

  Dream was in front of him. Dream was so close to him.

  Abruptly aware and abashed he stumbled into the closest chair, high-backed and cushioned. Dream’s mouth was a stroke of— amusement? Concern?

  “I’m sorry. Are you feeling better?” There was concern laced in his words, but also something else, like rue?

  There was a lot of power here. He could feel it; spilling out, seeping into the walls and floor, in the air like a to-be rainstorm’s warm wind. There was a memory of cold walls of inky marble, towering spires and wrought-iron gates. But there was none of the earthy, crisp winds of Nightmare’s power.

  “I’m fine,” He murmured. “Just a little dizzy from the incense.” His nose crinkled. Honey. There was always the smell of honey. It was starting to feel like danger.

  “My apologies,” And Dream was chuckling lightly. Was that his only response, laughter or threat? Half-better than Nightmare, he supposed. “It’s necessary for our security, but I understand. You’ll get used to it; no worries.”

  “Yeah, I guess it’s probably a smart move. Where are we?” He did not mean to blurt that last part out. That was what he was meant to wriggle out of the other through double-barrelled questions and careful observations. Half his head seemed weighted down by whatever honey was in the air, however, and though he was annoyed with his loosened tongue nothing more was done to ‘correct’ his mishap.

  “Clever,” Dream commented idly. Perhaps it would be taken as a tease if Cross could breathe past the tension in his throat. “For security reasons, I’m afraid I can’t say, but you will be safe here. This is my domain.”

  At this, Cross frowned. It was an actual, genuine frown this time. “I’m to stay, and I don’t even know where we are?”

  Dream’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “I’ll tell you after we are married,”

  Ah. Cross swallowed. Somehow he had pushed that to the back of his mind. “Right. Ah. Our wedding.”

  There was a silence between them. He waited for Dream’s response, for any sliver of information, but there was nothing.

  Dream got to his feet. Cross made to follow but he raised a hand like a halt.

  “Rest here.” There was a strange look on Dream’s face.

  For an instant Cross forgot himself. He couldn’t help but ask, “What about the marriage?”

  “The rites can wait.” And he left the room without a second glance, leaving Cross bewildered, slightly relieved; and the smell of honey gradually faded from the room.