Bound to the Prince (19 page)

Igraine was surprised to find a pile of
green, soft velvet cushions and blankets laid out before the fire.
Elathan gently placed her down on the makeshift bed. When she
looked at him, he smiled at her. “There are not only fairies who
try to kill unknowing humans who stumble through their wood,
Igraine. Some of them have very skillful little hands, and they
love to make beautiful things … like this.”

He reached under a pillow and drew out a
lovely dark red gown which shimmered golden where light fell upon
it. It had wide sleeves that were slit up to the elbows, revealing
golden brocade underneath. The long, flowing skirt was embroidered
with tiny birds and flowers. With it came a girdle made of golden
coins, each of them bearing the royal seal and a white, sleeveless
chemise so thin it seemed to be made out of cobwebs. Speechless,
Igraine held it into the light. The fabric was incredibly fine, yet
it felt comfortably warm on her hands.

“How did you …?” she breathed,
uncomprehendingly, while the elf sat down at her side.

“Bring you a new dress in the middle of the
forest? I don’t know … with magic, perhaps?” he answered mockingly,
one pale brow raised. Her joy about his present seemed to please
him. He took a hand to her face and cupped her jaw, looking into
her eyes. “It will suit you very well, sweet Igraine. But haven’t
you forgotten something?” She felt her pulse quicken under his
scrutinizing gaze.

“You forgot to thank your prince for his
efforts, woman,” he murmured before he lowered his head to hers and
placed a soft kiss on her lips, light as the touch of a feather. He
deeply inhaled the scent of her skin, whispering “water lilies”,
before he continued to kiss her chin, her cheeks and the tip of her
nose, each sensitive lid of her closed eyes. Shortly he pressed his
forehead to hers, and she heard his unspoken order in her mind.

Never try to leave me again, Igraine. I need
you.

“I did not leave…” she breathed, but never
finished the sentence because he claimed her lips with a fierce,
hard kiss, letting her know what it had cost him when he had found
her drowning in the pond, drifting peacefully towards her death.
“Why didn’t you fight them with all your strength, Igraine?” he
asked her, anger in his voice. “Why did you give up so easily? Is
there no reason for you to live?”

His hands covered her shoulders, shaking her
as his eyes burned with fury. “I shared my blood with you, made you
mine forever,” he growled, his rugged breath proving how hard he
struggled to control himself. “You will stay with me, Igraine. I
forbid you to give up again, no matter what happens. Your fate is
no longer your own choice. You are mine,” he finished, starting to
kiss her again, his mouth taking hers recklessly. His tongue moved
playfully over her lips until she opened up for him, licking
teasingly at his upper lip. He groaned and sucked her into his
mouth, playing with her until she could take no more and threw her
arms around his neck, grabbing a handful of his hair and pulling
him closer to her.

She didn’t even know how he had removed his
tight pants and boots, but suddenly they were gone, his glorious
naked body rising over hers while he eased her gently down to the
silken pillows. His long fingers slid under the hem of his shirt
that still covered her trembling body. Inch by inch, he pushed it
up, over her hips and her tight belly until he bared her sweet,
supple breasts, rosy nipples hardening under his gaze. His eyes
went dark with desire. Quickly, he pulled the shirt over her head
and carelessly threw it to the side.

“Mine,” the prince repeated admiringly, his
deep voice husky. His hands cupped the twin mounds and pressed them
together, raising them up to meet his lips as he lowered his head,
his moonlight hair stroking her oversensitive, heated skin. Then
his lips devoured one sensitive peak, kissing it first, his rough
elven tongue circling it until she moaned with pleasure. He bit her
very softly, making her cry out before he sucked her into his mouth
as if he wanted to eat her alive.

He continued to cover her other breast with
tender bites, his teeth grazing her skin ever so slightly. Igraine
wriggled helplessly, wishing he would enter her hot, throbbing
emptiness that yearned for him so desperately. His hand began to
explore the soft lines of her waist and hip, slowly searching a way
between her legs. Igraine writhed beneath him, eager to touch his
skin. But the prince was in control now, lifting his body from her
so she could not press herself against him. She moaned with
frustration, spreading her thighs for him.

The elf chuckled. “So eager today, sweet
Igraine? Let’s see how thankful you really are, little slave …” A
long, sensitive finger glided over the inside of her thigh, moving
up until he reached the core of her womanhood. He opened her
tenderly, wetting his finger with her juices before he entered her
slick channel, probing it. Igraine cried out and threw back her
head, dark curls spilling over her naked shoulders.

“Well, you are a thankful wench indeed,”
Elathan murmured, then hooked his finger into the soft swollen pad
of flesh he felt inside there, pushing up gently. He smiled when he
heard her surprised, lustful scream, demanding more of his sensual
play. Kissing her, he inserted a second finger and repeated his
upward movement, increasing the pressure while his thumb started to
rub over her aching little bud in small circles. It made her scream
again, so he rubbed her some more, moving his fingers inside her
simultaneously.

“Mine,” he said for a third time, close to
her lips.

Igraine convulsed so violently around his
hand that he felt her inner muscles squeeze him hard, making it
impossible for a moment to withdraw his fingers. He continued
stroking her insides, intensifying her climax until she came again
and again, waves of ecstasy rippling through her body.

She was still throbbing with one explosion
after another when he moved away his hand and replaced it with his
long hard manhood. Holding her in his arms, he sheathed himself
into her with one quick, graceful movement of his hips. Gently he
raised his long fingers to her lips, offering her a taste of her
own honey before he licked it off with a naughty smile. Moaning,
she clenched around him when he started to move inside her. In and
out he went, slowly first, but moving deeper and deeper into her
before he pulled back again, only to enter her anew. Igraine molded
herself to his magnificent body and met his mighty thrusts by
pushing up against him, wanting him to go faster. Their bodies were
in exquisite harmony with one another as they mated with equal
passion.

When he heard her scream out his name, the
prince lost all self-restraint and drove himself into her softness
like a wild beast. He groaned with pleasure as he spilled himself,
her tight inner muscles contracting around him while she found her
final release. This time it was Igraine who bit her pale lover,
marking the skin of his neck with her teeth in a raw act of
possession.

“Mine,” she whispered into the silken mass of
his hair. She didn’t see the amazed expression in Elathan’s eyes
before he caught her in his strong embrace, making it impossible
for her to ever leave him again.

It definitely felt good to sit by an open
fire in the woods at night, leaning back against a warm male body.
The elf had encircled her in the safety of his strong arms and held
her tightly to him, feeding her pieces of roasted meat with his
long, pale fingers. Now it seemed as if he was the slave serving
her, not the other way around. Igraine sighed and closed her eyes
while he cut another slice of the delicious meat into tiny morsels
for her. It was so wonderful being cared for, just for once, when
all her life she had been the one who sacrificed her own needs to
help others, desperately wishing they would love her for it.

At first she had refused, having lost her
appetite after her near-deadly encounter with the water nymphs
completely. But Elathan had simply commanded her to eat. "You will
need your strength later, believe me,” he had added with a wicked
smile, although he didn’t manage to conceal the sorrow in his eyes
every time he looked at her. Somehow, he still wasn't sure she was
out of danger now.

Igraine was wearing only the thin chemise of
the new clothes he had given her, but it was more than enough with
an elven male’s heated skin warming her from behind and the fire in
front of her. Once in a while his hand wandered under the light
fabric, caressing softly over her thigh, the swell of her breasts.
His warm breath grazed her ear, tickling the sensitive skin behind
it until small shivers of pleasure ran down her spine.

He sat with his back against a tree, his head
bowed slightly forward so his hair fell like a silver cascade over
them both. She touched it very lightly at first, loved the feeling
of the long tresses gliding over her hand. When she discovered that
he didn’t mind, she began to entangle her fingers in it and played
with the smooth strands, pulling at them for punishment whenever he
said something to tease her. He did nothing to stop her; indeed he
seemed to enjoy it, for he tilted his head to the side, towards her
hand. She discovered some thin braids that tamed the heavy mass
behind his pointed ears and decided she would plait them for him
from now on. Surely an elven prince didn’t have to braid his hair
by himself, so Igraine guessed that some helpful magic creatures
were responsible for that. But she was his pleasure slave, after
all, and wouldn’t ever let a little fairy near his hair again.

Her head was resting comfortably in the curve
where his neck met his muscular chest. She breathed in the exciting
scent of his skin which had become so familiar to her during the
last days.

“Tell me a story,” she said, cuddling closer
to him in front of the crackling fire.

The prince smiled sadly. “Those words. It has
been a very long time since I heard them. My race is called
Sidhe
in my tongue, the fairy people. When I was a young lad
at my father’s court, it was the throne heir’s duty as well as his
prerogative to tell the stories of his people so they would never
be lost. But it was only asked of me when my father held a great
feast, for we also had bards and storytellers who preserved the old
legends. A harper used to play while I told a tale. His music was
so sad that all who listened began to cry … or laugh, when he chose
to play a merry tune. I liked to think of him as one of Boand’s
sons.”

When Igraine looked up at him questioningly,
he explained, “Boand, the River Goddess. She bore her husband, the
harpist, Uaithne, three sons. When Boand delivered her first child,
it was a difficult birth and she cried out. To ease her pains,
Uaithne played the harp at her bedside, and when his first son was
born, he named him Goltrai after his mother’s cry. The birth of
Boand’s second son was much easier and she laughed out loud for
joy, and he was named Gentrai. The third time the River Goddess
fell asleep to her husband’s song and gave birth to her last son,
Suantrai. The sons all grew up to be great harpists like their
father, and whoever heard their music cried, laughed or fell into a
deep, peaceful sleep.” He smiled, staring into the fire. "When they
played at the court of the king and queen of Connaught, twelve men
died from crying and from sadness, the legend says.”

Igraine listened to his melodic voice weaving
the old stories. It was like a beautiful medieval tapestry that
came to life before her inner eye, making her able to see
everything in rich detail. Perhaps this was part of his magic. She
could easily imagine the young prince standing before the elven
court, enchanting his listeners with the power of his voice
alone.

“I’ll tell you the story of Fráech and
Finnabair, sweet Igraine, for I am sure you will like it. Fraech
was a handsome young man, the son of Idach, a human warrior, and
Befinn, a Sidhe. Thus he belonged to both the human race and the
fairy people. For years he lived without a wife, preferring the
merry company of fifty sons of kings who lived in his household.
But word spread that Finnabair, the golden-haired daughter of King
Ailill and Queen Medb, had heard of his courage and beauty, so she
was in love with the young warrior without ever having seen him.
Fráech decided to seek her out and woo her. He went to his mother’s
sister Boand, and the fairy people provided him with rich clothes
for himself and his companions, and precious gifts to take to the
stronghold Cruachan where fair Finnabair dwelled.

“He left for Cruachan with his amazing
retinue of fifty warriors on horseback, seven horn-blowers, fifty
hounds, three fools, three druids and three harpists of the highest
rank, the same brothers I told you about, Boand’s sons. Fráech rode
in front of them in his shimmering bronze wagon, repeatedly
throwing up his spear high into the air and catching it before it
fell down to the ground.”

Sighing, Igraine closed her eyes and listened
to his captivating tale, playing with a strand of his hair while
she relaxed against him. It seemed that she drifted in and out of
sleep. Yet his voice seemed to reach her even in her dreams, for
later she could remember everything he had said.

He told her how Fráech was received well by
the king of Connaught, and that Queen Medb desired the young
warrior for herself after having played chess with him on his
golden board for three days and nights. When Fráech asked the
harpist Goltrai to play, the queen cried like all others who heard
his music, so she lost one game after the other until Fráech won
twelve cows from her, but gallantly gave them back. But when Medb
wanted to take him to her bed, he convinced her to listen to
Suantrai's harping first, and the queen was lulled to sleep.