Bound to the Prince (33 page)

Igraine. She alone made him feel at peace.
She was his own to keep like a precious gem. And he would not allow
anyone to take her away from him.

* * * * *

Their way took them longer than Elathan had
expected. Three days and nights passed, and they still followed the
road that wound its way between the hills and through the
occasional deep valley that was filled with lush greenery, a
turbulent stream or a quiet lake. Igraine had given up wondering
about the new kinds of flowers and trees she saw. The animals
looked familiar, only their size and colors were different from the
species she knew from the human world. Once she saw a giant toad in
bright yellow and orange sitting on a leaf beside a small pool of
water, and when it woke up, disturbed by their trespassing, she
could have sworn that it looked at her with deep, intelligent blue
eyes.

The prince seemed to be in a better mood now,
pointing out plants or places that he thought would interest her.
He told her tales of his travels when he was young, of pranks he
liked to play on the nobles at court before his harsh tutoring to
become an elven knight began. Igraine liked to watch his face while
he talked. It was amazing how much he changed when he let down his
guard. His amber eyes didn’t really seem to look at her as they
were directed in another time, another place in his long life –
long before she even was born -, but they shone warm and bright
with enthusiasm.

One night they made love in front of the
fire, but Elathan took his time, covering her mouth and body with
kisses that felt like summer rain on her skin. When she groaned
with desire and arched her hips against him, she heard his low
laughter of male satisfaction before he entered her, with an
unexpected tenderness that brought tears of joy to her eyes. He
increased the pace very slowly, taking her higher and higher with
every shuddering breath until she bit into his shoulder to keep
herself from screaming. His release followed just moments
afterwards, and he spent himself inside her in a white hot
explosion. When he came back to his senses, he wrapped his strong
arms and legs around her protectively and drifted off to sleep,
enjoying the soft trembling of her body molded to his own.

* * * * *

On the fourth day, the weather changed. The
grayish clouds with their promise of rain vanished, and the sun
came out. When they reached the top of a hill, Igraine saw the
outline of mountains in the mist, their peaks topped with snow.
“This is the land of my forefathers,” Elathan said, his expression
earnest. Igraine just nodded, sensing that the sight of his home
did not fill the prince’s heart with happiness.

Shortly before sundown, they reached a deep
green, dark forest in a valley, nestled between two ridges. A
higher mountain was right on the other side of the woods, but it
was too dark to see it clearly. When they rode beneath the old oaks
and willows, Igraine couldn’t escape the feeling that someone was
watching her from out of the shadows. Once in a while, she heard
the low crack of dry brushwood in the undergrowth, or a whistle
that didn’t sound as if it came from a bird. When she looked at
Elathan, he smiled at her. “They are still here, waiting for my
return after all this time.”

Just when she wanted to ask about ‘them’, the
prince stopped at a small rock formation and dismounted quickly,
holding out his hand to help her down from Bébinn’s back. Then, he
went to the stone and touched it with both hands, obviously
searching for something. “An egg-shaped hole,” Igraine whispered,
remembering what Calatin had told her. Elathan seemed to remember,
too, since he found the opening soon, placing his hand inside it.
The rock changed its color until it seemed to emanate a light, and
a low humming sound started, growing louder and louder until it
sounded like a scream, almost human. Igraine covered her ears,
shouting, “The stone screams!” Doubtlessly, this was a very stupid
thing to say, but Elathan grinned at her, nodding.

“This is why it’s called a Screaming Stone,
woman,” he said. “It is said only to scream when the true king of
the Elven Realms – or his heir - lays his hand on it. Until this
day I didn’t know if it actually worked; I never tried it before.
This will call my warriors to join us.”

Igraine narrowed her eyes. Calatin explained
to me where to find the stone and where to place my hand, but it
would have been useless, if you… “

“If I had been dead? Yes, the stone wouldn’t
have screamed, but closed tightly around your hand, imprisoning you
until my men could find you here and take you into their
protection. Very thoughtful of Calatin, I'll have to thank him for
that. On your own, you would just get yourself in danger again, and
I wish you to be safe if something happens to me.”

“He … what?” Igraine was speechless for a
moment, anger rising in her eyes. “This was Calatin’s idea? To keep
me here, incapable of defending myself, my hand caught in a stone
until someone chanced to find me? And if some large, hungry animal
came and found me first? Or no one at all?”

“Oh, my men would always find you, Igraine.
You humans move around the woods like a troll in the first flush of
youth, trampling down everything in your path. Amused, he watched
Igraine’s furious expression for a while, then he murmured, “They
are already here.”

Igraine gasped when one by one, maybe two
dozen elven warriors appeared out of nowhere, all of them wearing
shimmering bronze armor with fitted shields over fine woven grey
tunics, trousers and boots. Their long hair was partly braided so
their pointed ears were visible, and they had the faces of angels,
wide, almond-shaped eyes, high cheekbones, curved lips and
straight, aristocratic noses that were a sign of their noble
heritage. They were very tall and broad-shouldered, but with the
sleek muscles of someone who has been trained to move quickly in
battle. Some of them gazed at Igraine with open admiration, others
watched her more carefully, careful not to incite the wrath of
their prince.

They were magnificent. Igraine couldn’t help
staring like a fool while they knelt down before their overlord to
greet him. With both hands on the hilt, they thrust their swords
into the ground.

“This is … your guard?” she breathed.

Elathan groaned beside her. “They always have
that effect on women of any race. You should see how the fairies
fuss around them to braid their hair in the morning. I hope all
that female attention hasn’t made them vain and lazy over the
years. They probably spent hours polishing their amour every day
instead of training as they should.”

For the first time Igraine noticed that
Elathan’s beauty was of a more rugged kind, though he was endowed
with the same graceful way of moving and defined features as the
other elves. He showed no signs of age, but didn’t look young
either. But his eyes were deep and reflective, their youthful glint
gone after countless years of pain and solitude, separated from his
people. Yet when he smiled, his roguish charm was irresistible, and
his whole being seemed to radiate power and wisdom.

Calatin was the last to drop his glamour and
unveiled himself right before them, making Igraine wince with
surprise. He placed a hand on Elathan’s shoulder.

“I’m happy to see you survived your little
argument with the grass demons,” he said with a smile, while his
eyes were earnest and betrayed the sorrow he had felt for his
cousin. “Now let’s find out what Ruadan will say tomorrow night,
when you appear at his crowning ceremony as the guest of honor. The
Prince’s Men are at your command, Sire.”

That night, Igraine slept under soft woolen
blankets, in the camp of Elathan's warriors who always held a tent
ready for their prince, even if he was not present. It felt
heavenly to lie down on the straw-filled pallet, although it was
just a makeshift warrior's bed. Apart from the days in the inn, she
had rested under the open sky so often that she was glad to have
some kind of roof over her head again.

Not that it really mattered when one spent
every night in the arms of a handsome elven warrior who smelled
like earth, honey and fresh leaves. Besides, he made love like a
pagan god come down to earth to claim a human woman.

With the first light of morning, they left
the camp and rode towards the foot of the mountain at the other end
of the valley. When the sun rose, Elathan told Igraine to look up,
and the beauty of the sight in front of her eyes took her breath
away. According to the old legends, the Fae lived in hills under
the earth, but now she saw that this wasn’t quite true. The huge
elven palace wasn’t just built on top of the mountain, but carved
right into the eternal stone by magic. The mountain actually was
the palace, with high, arched windows, impregnable walls,
battlements, turrets and towers, several inner and outer baileys
that looked like terraces or the steps of a flight of giant’s
stairs. This fortress would easily hold off any siege, for only a
narrow, steep path wound around the ridge, ending at a heavily
guarded portcullis.

The sun rose higher, and all of a sudden the
whole mountain began to glow in a golden light, so bright that
Igraine had to shield her eyes. She smiled to herself. This
impressive castle seemed to be perfect for her noble, golden
warrior, representative of what befit a king. Yet she knew his true
colors now. The forest was the only place where he would ever feel
at home.

“Aye, it’s beautiful,” Elathan said, taking
her hand and kissing it. “My ancestors called it
Sliabh an
Óir
. The Mountain of Gold. I wished I could have welcomed you
to my home with all honors, entering through the gates as a prince
should, with the royal guard to greet us. Instead, I come like a
thief in the night, after hiding in the woods.”

Calatin reined his horse beside them. He had
heard Elathan’s last words. “Igraine does not care, and your people
won’t either, Sire. Their prince has returned at last.”

* * * * *

Prince Ruadan stepped out of the royal
chambers and descended the stairs do his vast throne room,
accompanied by two bulky troll guards, armed to the teeth to
protect their master and future sovereign. He was wearing his best
armor and the resplendent coronation robe of his noble ancestors,
made of deep green velvet. It was adorned with gemstones and
fastened with a huge emerald brooch. Around his neck he wore a
golden chain with the Seal of Kings.

Ruadan paused on a landing before a high,
gold-framed mirror. His appearance was flawless. He had inherited
his mother’s compelling beauty which made it impossible to resist
him, a sleek, muscular body and a perfectly shaped elven face with
deep green eyes. His midnight-black hair fell loosely over his
shoulders, tiny emeralds woven in between his warrior’s braids.

Half-breed
, a cruel voice in his head
whispered.

It was the voice of his mother. She made sure
that he never forgot his heritage. He knew what the court whispered
behind his back. Son of the nymph, they called him. Elathan was
King Midhir’s true heir, and he would always be, traitor or not.
Ruadan’s authority would have to be established with severe laws
that would ensure his power and the succession of his own,
considering the possibility that Elathan would father a son. It was
a rare gift when a child was born in the elven lands, but maybe his
half-brother already had a bastard hidden somewhere, conceived in a
barn or after battle with one of the pleasure nymphs who followed
in the trail of the elven army.

But Elathan was not here, so Ruadan would be
Great King of the Elven Realms in less than an hour. Once he was
crowned, not even his brother could ever dispute his right to the
throne, as long as he lived. And Ruadan intended to live for a very
long time, now that he had come so far. A dark smile spread over
his lips. Son of the nymph, indeed. Very soon, it would be
dangerous to call him anything except his proper title.

The whole court bowed respectfully as he
walked by, his gaze directed to the high golden throne on the far
end of the richly decorated hall. The walls and the high, arched
ceiling were painted with royal decorations, and huge tapestries
depicted glorious deeds of former kings. Elves, fairies, goblins
and trolls, even the sea people in their cities on the bottom of
the sea, would all be under his command.

Slowly, he went up the dais and slowly sat
down on the king’s chair, as his people simply called the throne. A
sharp pain pierced his heart when he realized that his father had
been the last king to claim this throne. What have I done? His
hands began to shake, and he felt the sudden urge to run away, not
realizing that the druids had begun their chanting to start the
ceremony.

But then, there was the touch of soft, female
fingers on his shoulder, and a surge of magic ran through his body.
It confused his senses and made him feel sick for a moment, but
then his mind cleared. He relaxed, fully convinced that he had done
the right thing, freeing his kingdom of a ruler who had become old
and weak.

“My queen,” he murmured, looking up into his
mother’s ageless face, more beautiful than anything he could
imagine. She had emerged from the antechamber behind the dais, her
steps so graceful that he had not heard her until she stood at his
side. “All is well, my son. Now talk to your people,” she said.

Ruadan raised his hand, and the great hall
fell silent.

“Tuatha Dé Danann,” he said, and neither his
face nor his voice betrayed the inner turmoil he had fought just
moments before. “Today I’ll crown myself your king. Now I ask you –
do I have your love and allegiance?” He did not enjoy the
courtier’s applause and cheering voices since he knew that his
troll guards ensured that nobody would dare to challenge his right
to succession, so that nothing would delay the ceremony. According
to the law, an elven king still needed his people’s approval to be
crowned.