Birch wasn't curious by nature. He had all the time in the world and Faerie to learn the things he might need to know. Still, the fact that she still lingered in his mind and memory rankled. He knew control, he liked control, and the very thought of her sent him spiraling out of it. It was unacceptable. It was also unacceptable that she'd left him.
       She'd left him!
       There'd been others, of course, and he wasn't curious about some fragile mortal (who'd left him), but sometimes Birch wondered. His court kept him mostly amused and busy, and the dark and the dank was comforting but gave no real context or sense of time.
        "How long has it been?" he asked the worms that burrowed in the dirt of his hills. "Six months? A few years, mayhaps? Twenty?" Time was such an odd thing when it didn't apply to him. The worms were never any help, either.
       Birch paced the halls of his house, the inner tunnels of his secret hill before he wandered out to the forest. No one under his control got underfoot or dared question. When the Erlking got in a mood, it was best to get out of the way.
       He winced when the subtle magic between planes shifted. How long has it been since I've walked the human realm? He'd had no reason to, after a point. No one believed much anymore, and mortals were all so jumpy and terrified of the littlest of things. Back in the day, he would have found that fear delicious. The Folk were called the Good Neighbors for a reason -- it was smart to appease them and avoid their wrath. At some point, though, mortals had started to fear everything. How could he enjoy conquering a maid or stealing a child's soul if they had to be so careful just to survive their daily life? Where was a place for him in all of that fear?
       No, staying away was for the best and was absolutely not because she left. Something in him twisted, his old familiar haughtiness showing once again in his sharp features. Surely she's regretted it by now. It wouldn't hurt to see for himself, and if her life had crumbled from the loss of him, it would be a sweet victory in an otherwise boring stretch of his existence. I'm not curious. 'Tis something to fill the day.
       The forest was still all around him. Simple enough wards discouraged mortal tampering and allowed the trees and bracken to grow wild without a guiding hand. It was a borderland, a comforting place for those Fae still left, and a lure for mortals who grew a little too bold, just as she had been.
       The king strode through the trees, ignoring the branches that leaned out of his way, just as he ignored the path to the little house he'd once conjured so they'd have a place to dally in. He didn't care, didn't need to see if it still existed. He'd never quite understood why he'd given in to any of her requests, but especially not that one. At the time, he'd assured himself it was something new and different to amuse himself. I should have just swept her away as the custom. If I'd done that, she'd likely still be in my thrall.
       He had a reputation, after all, though it was very likely a forgotten one. The Faerie lord strode through the trees without truly examining them for damage. He ignored the dryads that appeared to greet him, and the gold, orange, and crimson leaves that fell to welcome his presence left him numb. If animals lurked, they were either smart enough to stay away or didn't know to come and be seen anymore.
       No matter. I'm not here in an insignificant place for trifles. All of this is pointless stalling.
       Finding her wouldn't be hard, but he had to focus on the idea of her. The notion sent an unpleasant, queasy sensation from the pit of his belly to all his lithe limbs. His frown grew more severe as his head pulsed at the effort of really, truly thinking of the insignificant girl who'd caused him to lose face. I've come this far, though, and going back will only give the Courts more gossip. He had no need to look for the thatched roof and ivy-covered walls, no reason to pop his head in and see if the bed was still made or even still there. He wasn't even sure why he remembered such useless detail when he had a massive bed and any number of willing souls to fill it back home.
       "It's all so confusing." It was the first time his voice spoke in the human world in ages. Trees shivered in reverence. Birch almost smiled, and it absolutely wasn't because he was thinking of tawny hair spilled over a pillow or the way green eyes lit up as the seasons changed. He wasn't gaining anything from the memory of soft lips that could spill words more cutting than Robin Goodfellow's taunts.
       "If I feel anything, it's the warmth of seeing what a pitiful life she's made for herself. Mayhaps I'll make her beg that I don't wreck it further." The canopy of tree limbs shuddered in approval, sending a curtain of leaves to fall delicately around him.
       Birch's stride lengthened, and an old familiar darkness fluttered in his chest. This is who I am: Faerie lord, mighty Erlking, stealer of the innocent, ruiner of maidens, exacter of revenge.
       He may have added that last part, but it still applied in this case.
       Something else pulled at him, too. Something familiar, something that refused to fully disappear, burned under his skin and fought against the dark void inside him. Instead of forcing it down or drinking it away as he preferred to, Birch leaned his being into the sensation and let his magic latch onto the thread.
       He walked swiftly through the forest, his gait not disturbing one twig or blade of grass. His robes and gown rippled, and long auburn hair streamed out behind him until his feet didn't touch the ground, and he was taken to the sky in the form of a bluebird.

       The house, castle, whatever it was, felt wrong to his ancient sensibilities. Getting in had taken the right timing to flutter behind a sad, distracted man laden down with flowers. Inside, it was nothing but halls and bright, intrusive lights and the scent of chemicals and things near death. That stench, the sheer complicatedness of the whole realm of death, was why so many of his kind had taken to staying in Faerie with the hopes that the mortals would burn themselves out and things would go back to the way they used to be.
       It was a smell, a thought, a concept that made Birch's skin crawl, or rather, his bluebird form's feathers ruffle. It would have been easy to get turned around in the pristine labyrinth had it not been for the pull on his magic and memories. He felt the slightest shred of relief that the stark, gleaming corridors were deserted, though what could mere mortals do if they spotted him? I could do with putting a few mortals in the ground after such a long dry spell. His bloodlust would put redcaps to shame. He almost hoped for it to happen -- it would do wonders for his mood. Still, he had his task, and he was determined to stick to it. He could spill blood later and use his magic to remain undetected until after he'd taken his pleasure and sated his curiosity.
       He glided, unspotted, past strange workstations and beds that looked more like torture devices, equipment with tubes and buttons that perplexed him.
       The thread of recognition frayed and tapered off at a doorway in a hall full of similar doorways. He flew in, circled the ceiling once, and lighted on the back of a chair. Do humans live like this now? Do they cram themselves into boxes together, away from the wild? They deserve to be put out of their misery.
       It wasn't a grand room or even a good one. It was functional, perhaps a step or two above his dungeons. The room was dark, and curtains were drawn, which likely explained the lack of people and his easy entry, not that many humans would see him unless he really wanted them to. Where am I? Mayhaps she felt my approach, and this is her attempt to imprison me, the fool. He lighted on a strange, beeping machine filled with many lines and gathered himself.
       "I'm surprised you came."
       The bluebird hopped from his perch, and the Faerie stood there in the darkness. His tall, imposing figure loomed over the bed, his exquisitely embroidered robes out of time and place in the minimalist room. His auburn hair flowed in cascades down his back. He was a beautiful and intimidating figure, haughty in every move he made. Birch was a fleeting reminder that once, long ago, other timelines, other things had indeed existed.
       He followed the voice to what looked like a torture device but must have been a bed. Nothing looked familiar. Why would the trail lead me here?
       "Come now, no words for me after all this time? Here I thought you'd be ready for the last word."
       The voice was almost familiar, but it was the soft, willful tone that convinced him. His eyes darted around the room before landing back on the bed and the frail figure tucked into it.
       "Annie?" He'd made it a point to not use her name often during their times together. It would paint them too much as equals, betray the intended game. Yet now, he had to be sure.
       The old woman gave a tired, resigned smile and something in her eyes went up: a wall, a guard, something. "It is you." How many times had he seen that expression when he'd laid thick the honeyed words, full well knowing that she knew that he'd likely only meant them in the moment.
       "I suppose I've outgrown the age for 'darlings' and all the rest." She chuckled.
       Birch frowned and stepped closer to the bedside. Up close, it was like looking at a mask. It was Annie, but not her. The long, wild tresses had gone silver and been cropped close to her face. Her round cheeks sagged a bit, and the skin of her jaw and neck was soft. It wasn't unpleasant. She was nothing like the forest hags and crones he'd seen in his long life.
       What he focused on were not her wrinkles or quivering lips but her eyes. For the first time, as he stared and drank his fill of her, he could see cracks in the wall, betraying things she'd kept hidden. There was also a very real fear.
       I should be pleased. I should be the happiest I've been in hundreds of years. She'd succumbed to him as was proper, let him lure her away time and again, full well knowing that taking a Faerie to bed did not end well, full well knowing the stories of the cruel Elf King who locked up the souls of his lovers, who left women to ruin, left them alone and yearning.
       Annie had taken his gifts with a shrug, taken his promises and words for what they were, taken him, and then left him bare in the woods, in the guise of hide and seek, never to return.
       It simply did not happen.
       I should love this.
       "I'm surprised you aren't gloating, or have you come to deal the final blow, the mighty Erlking taking his revenge?" The words contained the sly tone he remembered, though her voice was changed a bit.
       Despite the bravado, she's afraid, he realized. And not just of me. "What happened?" He couldn't quite manage the haughtiness he was known for.
       "Being human," she shot back. "I could list a lot of big words and terms, but that's what it amounts to. I'm old and sick and tired, and you're beautiful and eternal." She opened her arms as if to invite his barbs.
       He'd ranted long and loud when it had happened, had stormed into the hill, and not looked back. Now, seeing her confined when she'd once run so easily, seeing her face so serious when she'd once laughed like a carefree breeze made something in him ache.
       "I'm sorry." He'd never uttered the words before, and his voice surprised him.
       Annie blinked. "You always were good at playing the hero."
       That gentle barb struck home and raised his irritation. "You left me! You left me naked, calling your name like a fool!"
       "We both know if I hadn't left, you would have. And you had me naked many times as a foolish girl."
       "You don't know-"
       "My sweet, arrogant lord, I do." For a moment, the term of endearment sent him back to their secret house. "We all know what the Erlking does to wayward young ladies. I was looking for an escape, but that doesn't mean I was an idiot." Birch arched a brow in surprise, and Annie chuckled. "There's the quiet outrage I remember."
       "I'm not used to anyone playing the game back at me," he admitted.
       "You always were too serious."
       "I recall plenty of pleasant moments." He smirked.
       She blushed, and the strangest warmth filled him. I should be outraged. I'd be within rights to take revenge here and now. Instead, he took a seat beside her. "It seems we each played by our own rules and got what we wanted."
       "Perhaps," she agreed. "You liked a vulnerable lover, and I got to have a handsome man tell me what I wanted to hear."
       He raised both brows. He had heard that some mortals lost their minds with age, but Annie didn't seem lost in the fog. "You could have had any man for that."
       "With how shy and awkward I was? Only someone as bold as you would bother to give chase. I always assumed that I was one of the few left to notice you existed, and you'd gotten desperate." The teasing lilt was gone, and her gaze walked down the paths of memories.
       "Stop your mouth," he chided and took her trembling hand in his strong one. "Was I after things? Yes. Did I intend to lead you on? We both know that answer. I cannot deny who and what I am, but I only chase those I want." He'd never considered why she'd been wandering the trees the day he'd found her. He'd simply desired the young, strange woman with the odd clothes and vibrant laugh.
       Annie nodded, and though it was fragile and crumbling, the wall was still there in her eyes. She wanted to believe him, wanted to fall into the fantasy once more, yet his legacy hung heavy between them.
       "My name is Birchwood," he whispered. It was the only real gift of value that would be of any worth to her.
       "It suits you. Though not much harm can come from your right name being known by a dying woman."
       He flinched at the words. "You could order me to take my life with yours."
       "Would that work?"
       "There's a reason my kind don't trust easily. We are naturally eternal, but the right weapons still do the job."
       She nodded, considering the offer, or pretended to. "You can leave if you like, my lord. This cannot be comfortable for you."
       The words made Birch flinch more. How did I forget? How many times had she said, "You can leave, my lord, I'm sure you have pressing business?" How many times had he done it, with her believing he'd never return? Yet she kept looking for him anyway. Until now, he'd never once looked for her, likely because he would have never tempted fate by giving her the option.
       He'd never felt the cad about his choices until that moment. "You'll have to order me by name, sweet child."
       She snorted, but the corners of her mouth twitched, falling into the game. "I'm not a child, and I shall not."
       "Then I shall stay."
       "Will anyone see you?"
       "They never do unless I will it."
       She fell silent, and her eyes fluttered shut.
       He sat there for a time before he removed a silver flute from his robes and began to play.
        Her chest rose and fell, and she smiled. "I haven't heard such sweet music for so long. I suspect I never will again."
       He didn't know what to say to the last bit. "I've been away."
       He wasn't sure if Annie was tired or if something else was happening, but she looked different, lighter, yet very tired. Her breath rasped a bit, and she waved him off when he rose. "What will be, will be. I'm sorry for leaving."
       His chest tightened. "Last time or this?"
       "Both."
       "I could take you with me."
       "You have no need for a decrepit plaything. If I didn't fall for that before, I won't now."
       He leaned close and lightly brushed the hair off her face. Her skin was cool, and he didn't know if it was right or not. None of this was right. She should be running through the trees or seeing the sights of my kingdom, not. . . Birch pushed past the panic and regret. I was the fool, not she. I purposefully deceived myself and will forevermore pay for it.
       Annie squeezed his hand. "Don't be sad, my king. Perhaps I'll come harass you and whomever you find to spout nonsense to next in your forest hideaway."
       He smiled despite the knife in his chest. "Silly girl, you forget that a Faerie cannot lie. I may have used words to my purpose, but what I said to you, I said to no one else. No one else ever used that cottage before or after you."
       Her eyes grew large and startled. The wall had crumbled.
       Birch pressed his lips to hers before she could say anything and before he lost his nerve. It was sweet and spring and home.
       He stayed beside her, holding her close, recounting memories until she was too exhausted to do more than listen.
       After a time, the strange beeping grew louder and longer.
       Those that rushed into the room didn't see him.

       Funerals were for humans, and Annie likely would have been mortified had he gone. When the moon shone full, though, he visited the grave. It was good that the cemetery was on the edge of a woods. It kept him from losing his resolve. Birch stared at the stone with the carved name, knelt, and traced it with a pale finger before placing a crown of flowers atop it. The bright blossoms were a stark contrast to the falling orange leaves and the cool night air, but they would last surprisingly long.
       "I wanted to say so much, but you wouldn't believe it, anyway, brat that you are." He sighed. He felt hollow, useless. It was a horrid, unfamiliar feeling and those around him were far more fearful than when he raged. "I thought to visit; I thought seeing you tucked in here would be enough. Now, I don't know. I still feel the pull, still feel. . ."
       Faeries did not make proclamations of love, but he didn't have to. He reached for his flute but tensed at footsteps on the leaves behind him, waited to see what action to take. It was rare for a mortal to see him anymore, but Annie's death had also affected him in strange ways.
       "You knew Grandma?"
       Birch tried to hide his surprise as quickly as he hid his elfin dress with magic. In the dark, hopefully, the change from robes to suit and trench coat would be seen as a trick of shadows.
       The boy was not a child but not grown. In the long-ago days, he would have been working on a farm or in a shop.
       "I did," Birch replied. He attempted to do the figuring in his head, attempted to fight a bitter wave of envy. Of course, she would move on after how I pushed her away and made a game of her affections. "We were close once."
       The youth didn't question it, and he should have. Instead, he sidled around the Erlking and put his own bouquet on the ground. "I miss her like crazy. She told the best stories."
       Birch nodded, not knowing what to say. Of course, she would have taken others. You did, yourself, idiot. "I wasn't aware she married."
       The boy frowned, pushed his long curls that were the same tawny color as Annie's had been away from his face. Birch's stomach twisted. "I don't think she did. I never had a grandpa on that side, I don't think. How did you know her?"
       The Erlking blinked down into deep blue eyes that were far too bright in the dark and too close to his own to be mistaken for human unless one was ignorant. The boy's features were sharp, almost delicate compared to the brawny youths he remembered from back in the day.
       Everything fell into place for Birch at once. The fear in Annie's eyes during their farewell, the proud mask she wore even as she faded away. There was no reason for him to still feel a pull from the mortal realm unless there were ties left that he hadn't known about.
       Is this why she left? Did she mean to hide a child from my wrath? Did she think not even an offspring would bind me to her? The realization left him thunderstruck. Stories of the Erlking's hunger for children's souls had been whispered forever, but not even Birch would have sacrificed his own blood. He'd tumbled plenty of maidens and left them to yearn for him long after he'd lost interest, but children from such revels were exceedingly rare and precious.
        We were proud fools twice over.
       The youth stared at him, curiosity piqued in his keen gaze.
       Birch couldn't help but feel a soft, growing affection for the youth. He cocked his head. "Should you be out so late?"
       The boy's face flashed a guilty look. "I like the woods at night, and we don't live far. Mom gets it. Sometimes she comes with me. Grandma used to, before she got sick."
       The Erlking nodded, stunned. The thread of recognition was there, though. His magic practically sang and danced over it. Did she think I would have shunned her? Would I have? Did she fear me taking an interest, or did she assume I'd steal a babe away?
       It was difficult to tell at first meeting if the boy was touched by magic. Children of Faerie and humans were rare. While some were extraordinarily lucky yet ordinary, others felt the pull and had their own abilities that depended on their lineage. If he is blessed, he'll need to learn to use his gifts.
       Letting him run rampant could be disastrous. It was as good an excuse as any to keep an eye on the child and explore the strange feelings that were sprouting in the Erlking.
       Regardless, he couldn't tackle it all in one night, and the hour grew late for humans. Birch did his best to keep his expression calm and well-meaning, though his heartbeat pounded in his ears. "I understand, but you should probably go back home. There are all kinds of things in the woods, after all."
       The youth rolled his eyes. "I know. It's why I like 'em."
       The Faerie chuckled. "Go home, child."
       The boy flashed a defiant look that was eerily reminiscent of Annie when she'd grown tired of his haughtiness. "I wanna hear about Grandma."
       "I'll be around. I've decided to stay in the area for now." He paused, and it was probably foolish, but the words came anyway. "You'll find me here or in my cottage in the forest. It isn't hard to find if you look for it."
       The boy raised an eyebrow, sizing up the Faerie. He wasn't a fool, he obviously suspected something, but like his grandmother, fear didn't seem to be much of an issue. "Okay. I'll come after school next week."
       Birch fought the grin and nodded. "Very well."
       Appeased, the boy waved and took off into the night.
       The Erlking waited until he was alone before he let himself smile, his long fingers trailing over the cold stone. "You continue to surprise me, beloved. I realize your expectations were likely low, but I shan't leave this time. We may be a fickle, haughty lot, we may seduce maids and steal the souls of children, but we also look after our own."
       He smoothed his hands on his coat, and a bright white blossom gleamed on his ring finger.
       He stood with his memories for a while, then headed toward the trees in search of a tucked-away cottage that might need rebuilding.