“I do,” he stated firmly.
She hesitated, took in his expression, then bit her lip.
“Elena,” he warned.
“There are tales of yore. Tales of lovers,” she began, but said no more.
“Yes?” he prompted yet again.
“True love, destined for one another,” she whispered.
He grew solid.
She carried on.
“In those days, before it was known the magic a unicorn possessed, that it could be had by taking their horns. Before the unicorns learned to evade our kind. That if two lovers who were destined for one another found each other, they would know this for their unicorn mates would find them. Then man and woman, stallion and mare would be bound together in love and magic. And if the woman should perish, so would the mare, so the stallion and male could have the other close in their mourning. And, er…vice versa.”
When he made no reply, she rushed to fill the silence.
“This does not mean what you had with your —”
“It is not surprising, Elena,” he stated gruffly. “We are destined for the other.”
She peered up at him hesitantly.
To take the hesitance out of her gaze, he bent and touched his mouth to hers and then murmured, “I have received many gifts tonight.”
She smiled a smile of blinding beauty.
He allowed himself a moment to enjoy it before he tugged on her hand to get them moving again.
When they arrived, they saw the fire was banked, the campsite deserted, and Cassius thanked the gods for this as he led Elena to their tent.
They were curled together under their blanket when Mac called out, “About bloody time,” which was followed by Jasmine’s husky laughter, a loud giggle from Rose and an annoyed shout from Ian of “You just couldn’t keep your mouth shut, could you?”
Mac chose not to reply.
“Bloody hell,” Cassius muttered.
Elena did naught but laugh softly and cuddle closer.
When no more came from any of the others, Cassius relaxed.
“You see?” Elena asked confusingly.
“See what?”
“You were tense, waiting for someone to say something else, when you don’t care. You think I care. And only when you knew it would be all right for me did you find calm.”
He was incorrect.
She had not grown fond of him.
It was much more.
A great deal more.
And Cassius could not deny having this from her was warming.
He did not give her that knowledge.
He curled her closer and murmured, “Be quiet and go to sleep, princess.”
“Can we have more sex in the morning?” she requested.
If she talked about it further with that eagerness, she’d get it right then.
“Yes,” he answered. “Now quiet.”
“All right, sweetheart,” she muttered contentedly and burrowed closer.
Cassius did not think he would find sleep with ease.
Mere moments after he felt Elena find it, which was mere moment after she spoke her words, he followed her there.
62
The Dance
Prince True
The Antlers Pub and Inn, Five Miles from the Lights
WODELL
“The royal summons has been received, and we shall go, but only if the gnomes do not sit in front.”
True did not hear Áine speak.
He was busy sitting in his chair at the back of the pub, as away from the music as they could get (which was not very far), watching Farah twirl around with Wallace, Luther and Florian.
The beat of the drums, the quick notes of the flutes, pipes and strings meaning the tempo of the dance was lively, bringing color to her cheeks. Her eyes were lit, and her smile was bright.
She had lost her cares in that moment and was simply…
Happy.
“My prince, did you hear my words?”
He turned his head and looked down to Áine, the fairy spokeswoman of the Keeper of the Lights, who sat beside him. Her copper hair flamed in the bright lanternlight of the pub, the glittering ribbons in it twinkling, all of this framed by the iridescent wings that shown gold and honey that she had opened behind her. But her brown eyes were sharp on him.
“No, I’m sorry,” he admitted his rudeness. “What did you say?”
She glanced at the dancing then back to True. “I said that we shall go to your wedding, but only if the gnomes do not sit in front.”
He fought back a heavy sigh. “Áine, your peoples are two to three feet taller than the gnomes. They would not be able to see if they were not sat in front.”
“You can give them cushions.”
“Is it really that important where you’re seated?”
She straightened her shoulders and he knew her well enough to know what was coming.
“The fairies—”
He interrupted her. “I know the fairies have stronger magic. I know the fairies consider the sacred places they keep safe to be more important than that of the gnomes, pixies and sprites. I know the fairies were brought forth by the Green Men, the gods who created the forests that are Wodell. Though I’ll remind you, the gnomes, pixies and sprites also came of the Green Men, just after the fairies. And last, I know that the gnomes are at least two feet shorter than you, the pixies even smaller and an elderly person with bad sight might not even be able to see a sprite. What I also know is that, in the end, we are all one in Wodell and it matters not who sits where at a wedding.”
“You say this, and the gnomes will hold it over our heads for a century.”
“Áine, the gnomes can’t reach over your head.”
Her eyes grew wide and then she tipped her head back and laughed her bell laugh.
True grinned at her but felt it as Farah’s attention came to him.
Therefore, he turned his to her.
She was still dancing, but doing it smiling in his direction.
He felt his grin turn into a smile and tipped his chin up at her.
“Her beauty is great.”
As Farah was whirled away by Bram joining the dancing, he looked back at Áine.
“Firenz women are known for their beauty, but I’ll tell you true, Farah is the greatest I’ve ever seen,” he shared.
She tilted her head to the side and her face turned from shrewd to kind. “I’m not talking about that kind of beauty, my prince.” Her chin dipped, she looked under her lashes at him and murmured, “And here she is, to demonstrate the beauty I’m talking about.”
And just then, he felt his hand taken up and pulled.
He looked that way and saw Farah had hold of him, her happy face now close, warming True to his core.
“Come. Dance,” she urged when he resisted her pull.
“I must finish speaking with Áine, my sweet,” he denied.
She turned her gaze to Áine and pleaded, “Just one song…or three. Then you can have him back.”
He chuckled, and Áine replied, “It would give me great gladness if you danced with your prince the rest of the night.”
Farah instantly pounced on her words.
“There you have it, True,” she said, pulling harder.
He looked to Áine, intent to resist, but he didn’t get his mouth open to say that first word.
“We will sit behind the gnomes, and pixies and sprites,” she declared. “If we get to be in attendance to witness our prince find his happiness, we will sit wherever we’re placed. Now go. Dance.”
“You are my favorite being in the land,” Farah avowed to Áine.
“Even above Baldrick?” Áine asked drolly. “For you must know, he boasts broadly that you are partial to the gnomes of The Doors. I know this for the pixies are spreading that tale throughout the land.”
“All right, then at least tonight you are my favorite,” Farah admitted.
The bells of Áine’s laughter rose above the music, and the fairies we
re so sensitive to any perceived slight, True was taken aback she showed no offense.
Through her amusement, Áine urged True, “Dance with your bride, my prince.”
Only then did he allow himself to be pulled out of his seat and led to the dancefloor. Males and females of the human and fairy varieties cheered and made room as Farah and he came close.
But he felt immediately strange, for they were not dancing any dance he knew and was adept at doing. There were no waltzes. No structured minuets.
There seemed a lot of hopping, skipping, jogging without getting much of anywhere and twirling, all of this without any rhyme or reason, though there was rhythm.
This was how the countryfolk danced. He’d seen it before, but never participated in it. And they did not give lessons on such in the city, lessons such as his mother had him start taking when he was twelve to learn the courtly dances of the gentry.
He started to take Farah in his arms in order to try to do his best, considering she seemed to wish to dance with him quite badly, but instead she wrapped her arm along his stomach and tucked her hip to his at his side, starting to turn him as she walked one way, and he the other.
“I don’t know this dance, sweets,” he told her.
“There is no dance to know,” she replied, continuing to guide him with pressure at his middle. “Just move to the music however you see fit.”
He gazed through the crowd, watching eyes quickly shift away before he would catch them, and he felt less strange and more awkward.
He also felt, acutely, that he was their prince, their future king, and inept hopping, skipping and twirling was not at all what they should witness their future king doing.
Farah suddenly stood in front of him and took both of his hands. She shook them, vigorously, which in turn stirred his arms.
“Don’t think about steps or what you’re supposed to do,” she instructed. “Don’t think about anyone watching you, for they aren’t dancing and thinking of anyone watching them. They’re simply enjoying themselves through the music. So, True, just listen to the music, do what you wish and do it enjoying yourself.”
She had no idea.
She had no idea they were watching him, they always did, and they always would. Thus, he must be circumspect in everything he did, every word spoken, every action taken.
Everything needed to befit a king.
Before he could find some way to communicate this, Farah held their arms out and stepped to his side, bumping her hip to his. She stepped back and did the same on the other side. She then moved from foot to foot for a few beats of the tempo as if showing him what it was before she stepped back, lengthening their arms between them, and moved quickly forward, nearly brushing his body, pulling their arms out to the side.
She then abruptly let him go and hooked an elbow in his and forced him to spin.
And spin.
But suddenly, she let go and True was reeling, searching for her, only to be caught by another woman, elbow in elbow, and twirled.
And twirled.
He had not managed to get his wits about him before he looked down on the curvy woman who had hold of him. Her bust was nearly bursting from her bodice, and she was beaming up at him with what appeared to be unadulterated glee, her face red and shining from exertion.
“It is my deepest honor to be dancing with you, Your Grace!” she cried excitedly, before she let him go, and he was caught by another woman.
This woman whirled him, also beaming, and further shouting to the room, “Look at me! I’m dancing with our handsome Prince True!” Her head twisted this way and that with the twirl as she yelled, “I shall steal him from you, my lady.”
“Never!” Farah called, breaking from the man who was spinning her to come and lay claim on True.
The woman spun away with a delighted laugh.
“No one comes between a fair maiden and her prince!” someone shouted.
“Hear, hear!” someone else called.
Farah reeled him around and around, smiling up at him happily before she stopped their turning and caught his hands. She did some maneuver over their heads that took their arms behind their necks before she let go and fell back.
True nearly cursed, moving to catch her, but before she fell, it was she who caught his hand, their arms long. Then she twirled in, holding hands, so she banged into him, her back to his front, their arms wrapped around her middle.
She tipped her head and again caught his eyes.
“Just listen to the music, bello,” she urged. “And let go.”
She then whirled out again, still holding his hand so he caught her before she would fly away.
After that, using their hands and arms and legs and hips, she spun and twisted, skipped and swayed, as well as did a good deal of jogging without getting much of anywhere.
Watching her, glancing at the others, listening to the music (but it must be said, mostly watching Farah and how joyful she seemed, not to mention the atmosphere of the same that charged the air around them), True fell into it.
Indeed, after a spell, True got lost in it, his blood moving, warming his body, his heart beating pleasantly harder, the joviality about him, the cheers and clapping, the stomping of feet and encouraging calls, the bursts of ringing laughter, the constant accompaniment of cheerful music.
The light growing in Farah’s eyes as he fell into the dance.
All of this driving him ever onward.
He laughed with her when she ran into a man who then took her away and True moved directly to the partner he had left behind, spinning her, twisting her, whirling her.
She, too, appeared openly gleeful as he did this before he twirled her away and caught another woman.
And when she spun away, he found himself with a female fairy.
He bent low, took her elbow, and they moved about the floor before she flapped her wings, taking herself off her feet so she was at his height, something that made the fairy laugh, thus, True did too.
This she did before she also spun off (or flew off), and he found himself confronted with Florian, who immediately curved an arm around his stomach, bowed low, lifted and then caught True’s arm and spun him around.
Everyone about them shouted with laughter and True grinned at his man before a comely woman laid claim to Florian.
True was pulled around and Farah was there.
When the music started building to a crescendo, she took both his hands and moved to the side, forcing him to move to the other. She took them faster and faster, doing this leaning back. He had no choice but to do the same, watching her long, shining hair flying to the side, her skirts billowing, her face gleaming, her laughter never ending.
It made him feel odd.
Dizzy.
Out of control.
And he liked it.
Because he also felt strangely more alive than he’d ever felt. His heartbeat in his chest escalating not due to a frustrating conversation with his father, infuriating news about Carrington, deep concern about an order to send his men into battle, his blood spiking because he was leading them there.
No, it wasn’t any of that.
He felt…
Uninhibited.
Free.
As the music sounded like it was going to die away, he tugged sharply on Farah’s hands, which meant she flew forward and slammed into his body.
He wrapped his arms around her, lifted her well off her feet, holding her at her thighs under the curve of her behind, and kept twirling around and around.
True watched her head fall back, her fingers linked around the back of his neck and her laughter rang through the room as he kept his head tipped, a grin stamped on his lips, and exalted in her glee.
He did this until the music stopped, and when it did, he wished it hadn’t.
But only then did True cease whirling and let her slide down his body.
That was a liberty he should not have taken, but he could not have stopped himself even if he’d been thinking.
He was captivated by her happiness.
Farah did not keep her hands linked at his neck.
She wrapped her arms around it, pulling him down to her.
Lost in her, feeling the warm softness of her body, her breast heaving against his chest, more aware of her than he’d ever been—and he’d been very aware of her for some time. Indeed, more aware of her than he had ever been of anyone, True bent to her, watching her eyes heat, glittering like topaz.
And then his gaze dropped, and he saw nothing but her lips.
“To the Prince and Princess of Wodell! Farah and True!” someone shouted right before his mouth would find hers.
A cheer split the air. “Farah and True!”
His eyes rose to hers and he saw frustration before she blinked it away and whispered, “Farah and True.”
“Farah and True,” he whispered back.
She smiled at him right before she was whisked away.
He went to reach for her, but he could not.
For he was whisked away too.
“Thank you for the dance, my prince,” a woman called as her man pulled her to the door.
“My pleasure, Edwina,” True called back.
Edwina waved and waved as she was dragged along, her eyes moving to Farah.
“Lovely to meet you, Lady Farah!” she yelled, almost out the door.
“And you!” Farah yelled back just as Edwina was pulled out.
His mother would be cross for months if she’d seen anything that night, specifically True (and Farah) shouting across a pub at a commoner.
But after that night, all True could think was…
Fuck his mother.
He looked to Bruce and Simon, who were sitting with them, enjoying an end-of-evening port, and he smiled at the men.
They returned his smile.
The band had stopped playing perhaps twenty minutes before. Half of them were gone, the other half were enjoying well-earned ales or whiskies at the bar.
Other than that, most of the rest of the folk in the pub had cleared out, including Florian and Luther, who had both found maids to share the remainder of their evenings with.
In fact, Bram was chatting one up a few tables away, and True suspected he soon would be enjoying the warmth of her bed.
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