A few moments before the spiteful attack on a loyal hound...

Oberon felt the strain of controlling the myriad conflicting agendas swirling around him. What had begun as a casual lark and a chance to get out of the palace started sliding towards the chaos where things that weren't in his control happened. It wasn't the size of the gathering. The seasonal festivals were a hundred times as large. It was the potency of the people present without the structure of a traditional event. Too many great Lords and Ladies with goals and the power to achieve them were sitting around him, pondering if this was their hour to roll the dice and reach for a higher rank.

If violence or even vigorous dancing broke out, someone would die and start a long walk back from the realm of shadows. The longer you endured life, the longer the walk back. His own would be of such a duration that he had long ago decided that he would abandon his persona and reincarnate as someone else. Thinking on the mortals, he wondered about beginning as a peasant lad or lass. That would give him the best chance at attaining true power and fame. And it would be fun!

But not yet. He couldn't leave the Fae Kingdoms in ruin, and his death in a civil war would do just that. Armies would march, the old order overturned, and so many would rise and fall. That part wasn't so bad, perhaps even a good thing. But there was too much chance that someone like Duchess Midnight or one of the Sunken Lords would take the throne. That would lead to war unending and spill over into the mortal realms. And who the hell knew what would happen then? Mortals lived short and bright, and any one of them could become a hero to confound an enemy bent on dominating the human lands. The history of the Fae was full of such tales. Much better for him to die to an assassin while on the throne, his heir there to avenge him and pick up the crown.

So, while enjoyable, this situation was edging to the point of slipping from his control. He was countering most of the known alliances by inviting the wiser heads to his table and convincing them with wisdom, cunning, or bribery. The Beast Princes were on his side, thankful for his offer to have his own physicians see to the restoration of Prince Leporidon and the sponsorship of a suitable replacement to finish his quest. Their tents and squires were placed around the King's tent, close enough to form a protective circle if violence broke out.

Prince Fairchild had also committed to Oberon's banner for a year and a day in exchange for holding the wedding of his daughter at the palace. That was a wedding he was looking forward to. Seeing a crafty clan of goblins elevated to the lesser peerage was priceless. The nobles of his court would have to choose between missing a royal event or hobnobbing with the hobs. He was proud of his fourth cousin for arranging such a marriage for his daughter. He seemed like a hardworking lad, engaged in the sale and trade of ribbons and shoelaces. The bridegroom was currently seated at Oberon's table and playing things smart, saying little and letting his large ears gather information from those around him as he ate and drank sparingly.

Oberon could see and hear the ongoing negotiations between the Captain and the Duchess. The man had done well, navigating her challenges with ease. The manner in which he had done so was amusing. A princess disguised as a hound, who could fly above her maze and scout the exit? It was a new way to cheat. He doubted anyone else could see through the illusions, mists, and enchanted hedges so he would keep the Captain's secret. Emptying the river of rippy fish by the obvious method of fishing had amused him. Few had the patience and skill for such a method, choosing to try one of the trapped bridges.

In negotiations, the Captain had also done well, not giving in to the terror or her aura and showing none of his fear. He also navigated the tricky part of pointing out that a mistake had been made and proposing how the blame should be placed. Probably the best he could do. She would be furious inside that she had made such a simple error but couldn't show it. The deal he offered was more than fair, giving her what she requested. Which, of course, didn't make her happy. She didn't want a fair deal; she wanted to win, to put the man in his place and make him subservient to her.

The tipping point was probably when she presented him with the classic test of 'But which of these is the real Princess?' And she had cheated, as always. Somehow, the Captain had known, and she wouldn't forgive that. Oberon watched as the Duchess bent the rules of Guest Rights to the fullest and insisted on treasures she would keep forever. This was where the mortal would lose. He might be thought mighty among mortal champions, but he was a gnat compared to the Duchess's old power. He couldn't fight and couldn't leave his lover in her clutches, so he was forced to pay her price.

Oberon had hoped it wouldn't come to this but had known it would. No matter how clever a mortal was, this was Duchess Midnight, a treacherous spider and one of the greatest powers of the Fae. The Captain would lose a treasure but keep his lover and be tied to the Duchess with bounds of trade. He had done well overall, but he'd still lost. The odds of him taking only a minor loss had been 7 to 1. Oberon would make quite a bit of profit on the barrel of gold he had bet. The odds of the Captain coming out with a minor win were 132 to 1, and only a few fools took that bet. Oberon was one of them, handing the money changers another barrel of gold. Two barrels wagered and seven won would force his Master of Coin to build another treasure vault.

Things changed so quickly, as the mortal did the thing that mortals do and surprised everyone watching.

The appearance of Primordial Iron in a realm so close by struck him like a sword to the heart. The pain was immense and nearly killed him, yet he laughed long and hard. His physicians thought he was mad. How had the mortal known to come with such in his enchanted sack? And where had he found it? There were only a dozen such items still in existence. You simply didn't walk up to an Archangel of the First Host and ask to borrow his sword and halo! The more powerful Fae Lords and Ladies were on their knees doing undignified things with their stomachs or staring at the gates and screaming. The lesser fae packed their bags in a heartbeat and started running, not as affected by the curse of iron as their betters.

Oberon stood a moment later, the power tonics and charms restoring his health as he kept the decaying effects of the Coldest Iron inside of Midnight's Realm. The Beast Princes formed a perimeter around him, their high tolerance to pain and experience with iron in the mortal realms letting them shrug off the effects. Oberon smiled as he saw his most recent ally, Gombindle of Tuckbottom, standing beside him, two long needles in his hands and black ribbons whipping around him with a life of their own. It was a minor faux pas to come armed to the table of the king, but far worse to need a weapon and have none to hand. Oberon had never considered a six-inch needle a weapon, nor had his stewards. Seeing how the goblin held them in his hands made him almost hope someone tried to assassinate him. It would be splendid to see the newest member of his court in battle. Everyone underestimated the lesser fae, sometimes fatally.

Midnight was dying. Her realm was dying. In a moment, he would throw it into the void. But he had to watch and see the end of this ploy! The risk was worth it to see Midnight lose. He'd been waiting for this all of his long life. And she had to lose and give the Captain what he wanted, letting him leave unharmed. They would walk away and take the Coldest Iron with them. She would wave off the encounter as a bit of fun on her part, pointing out she had lost nothing except an extra place taken at her dinner table.

Only it didn't happen that way. The little barmaid, who was so much more, hadn't wasted her captivity. In a splendid bit of brinksmanship, she forced the Duchess to lose repeatedly, forcing her to free her slaves. Above his head, realms misplaced to time appeared as floating islands bearing proud cities. Thousands of lesser Fae and dozens of enslaved Lords and Ladies sprinted across the dying land and out the open gates of Silverthorn. They trampled through the sickened Lords and Ladies in their haste to be far away from Midnight's land of terror and the crazed mortals confronting her.

And then, a few heartbeats before he severed the Midnight Realm from the rest of his lands, it was over. The Captain casually took back his fell treasures and picked up his bag. They had humbled the Duchess and forced concessions from her. Midnight would be left alone in her ruined and empty lands to rebuild, but now she was a shadow of her former self. She would be absent from court for ages, not wishing to endure the snickers from behind her back, and there would be many.

He savored the sight of the Captain tipping his hat and reminding her they were still business partners. Oberon reached out and touched the minds of the fleeing ex-slaves, calming them. He whispered to several Lords contemplating taking advantage of the situation and turned them from their actions. No one died, and no wars started. He was still in control.

And then everything went to hell!

The prideful Duchess, who couldn't stand to lose, did the unthinkable and struck a Hound before his eyes. The crime was seen by dozens of Fae Lords, dizzy with the exposure to iron. Most would never understand the enormity of the Duchess's action. The ruse was over. Worse, instead of the mortals running for their lives, they went to war. He didn't even know the odds for that, it was on none of the standard BINGO cards, and no one was crazed enough to take the bet. Then he saw the Sphynx smiling like a very large cat with a giant bowl of cream. She was watching the fight with interest as she kept an eye out for anyone who would interfere. Lord Olbersted had pulled his sword and was racing for the gate, as was his oldest son. The Sphynx took off both of their heads with one swipe of a paw, sending the four parts spinning into a stunned crowd. She licked the blood from her claws. "Some people are rude and should learn not to step on other people's tail."

Lord Olbersted's second born, Alicia, sipped her wine and accepted the congratulations of her friends on inheriting her title so early.

Oberon raced for the gate, his household knights forming around him and the Beast Princes forming an outer ring. Two mortals raced to join their companions in a suicidal battle, and the Sphinx stood her ground in the middle of the gates, roaring and challenging anyone who wanted to get past her.

The King laughed even as he unleashed his power and tried to control the chaotic mob. Being in control was just an illusion that could be trampled in the mud like any other lie, and today had proved that to him yet again.