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possible. Koray had always stubbornly refused to, chosen instead to defiantly put his hair on display, make it impossible for people to miss. Every strand of gray and white had been put there by work he did for the Goddess and her children. He had earned them, and by the Goddess, people would look at them.
    Sorin had been the first one to look at him with want, to teach him what that look meant. Sorin treated his hair like it was a treasure, and Koray enjoyed that more than he would ever admit.
    And now, thanks to a bunch of foolish children, he was going to lose it all. He knew Sorin would still care about him, still find him appealing … but the uncertainty clawed at him anyway. It always clawed. One year, especially with all the upheavals in it, was not enough to convince him that Sorin would not eventually lose interest. What would Koray do then? They were both part of the Court of Five; they would always have to work together.
    He poured another drink and drained the glass, then sat there until his body was flushed and warm and his hands didn't shake when he picked up the shears. The alcohol did not, unfortunately, keep him from crying a bit as he began to cut. It was hardly the first time he'd been forced to trim his hair and was, in fact, the second time he'd had to cut it short.
    But it still hurt.
    He threw the ruined, sticky mess into the fire and used the mirror Myst had left to make the shorn ends as even as possible. Someone else would have to make him truly presentable, but later. He wasn't in the mood for people right then. Koray wiped his eyes and stripped off his clothes, then climbed into the bath.
    It didn't feel right. His hands kept fumbling whenever they reached the end of his hair long before they should have. Snarling, smacking the water in frustration, Koray grit his teeth and focused on the motions of bathing:  scrubbing his skin clean, washing his hair, doing it all again before finally climbing out of the tub and retrieving the bathrobe hung on a special hook on one side of the fire.
    He had only just grabbed it when the door swung open. Koray froze, robe slipping from his fingers as Sorin's eyes landed on him. He flinched and looked away when Sorin's eyes widened, unable to bear seeing what emotion overtook the surprise. Disappointment? Anger?
    Kneeling, he retrieved the robe from the floor and pulled it on with stiff movements. Tying the belt around his waist proved too difficult, the fabric slippery, stubborn, stupid— Koray jumped when Sorin's hands, still gloved and cold, pulled his away. The robe gaped open, washing cool air over his skin briefly before it was overtaken by the heat that poured from Sorin like water from an overfull bucket. "What do you think you're doing?" he asked, finally looking up.
    "Making certain My Lord High Necromancer is well," Sorin said quietly and reached up to touch his fingertips to Koray's cheek, the chill of them making Koray shiver. "You do not look well."
    Koray turned away from the touch, scowling at the mantle.  "I'm fine."
    "In all the time I've known you, I have never know fine to mean fine. What's wrong?"
    "What's wrong?" Koray knocked Sorin's hand away when he tried to touch him again. "What do you think is wrong? Look at me! How could you not notice?" He snarled and jerked away.
    Sorin huffed, but his expression was nothing but infuriatingly fond as he watched Koray. "Necromancer, for all I love your hair, and always jest about crying were you to cut it, I am far more concerned about the harm that could have befallen you. Surely you know that. I heard that your horse was startled and injured. It had to be put down, and you were brought here."
    Lifting his eyes to the ceiling, Koray replied, "It wasn't my horse that had to be put down. The pack horse startled and somehow in the chaos broke its back leg. A pity, because the paladins had decided it would be best to sell it off to a farmer when we returned to the castle. The poor thing would have liked