by Kai Andersen
She knew she shouldn’t, but she did anyway. “What theory?”
“I was quite the celebrated lover in my hometown. The women rhapsodized about my sexual prowess. Odes were written, alluding to my skill. But I was perplexed as to why I couldn’t excite my bride-to-be. Why she stayed stiff as a statue beneath me.” His eyes mocked her. “So I decided to conduct an objective experiment to find out with whom the fault lay. And guess what my conclusion was.”
“That you are impotent?” she asked sweetly. How had she ever thought his bedroom skills would improve with time? Arrogant ass that he was, he wouldn’t think there was anything he needed to improve on.
He jerked hard on her arm so that she was almost bowed, with her breasts thrusting out prominently as if offered up to him as a sacrifice. “You impertinent chit! I’ll teach you to obey me when we’re married. When I say I want it now, I expect you to get down on your knees and wait for me!”
His touch didn’t inspire lust this time, but fear -- fear at the terrible knowledge of his words, fear at what she might suffer at his hands. She suddenly realized how dangerous it was for her that there were only the two of them in the tent. Oh, why, why hadn’t she thought to bring Rodin in with them?
Even though she knew it was futile, she fought back. “Let me go!”
His mouth closed over her breast and sucked deeply. He pushed her away in disgust, so that she was unbalanced and fell to the ground. “A man can’t even get a decent mouthful.”
That stung. She rose and dusted off her clothes. “You used to love my breasts. You said they were beautiful.”
He shrugged. “That was before. If a few praises could make you pliant and willing, why not?”
“So you don’t want me pliant and willing now?” She didn’t even know why she was asking.
“Oh, I still want.” He grinned lasciviously. Capturing her hand, he brought it to his straining erection. “See how much I ache?” He guided her hand to caress and rub across his hard length. “But I have a feeling you won’t be so easily fooled now. You’re a different person now, Giselda, and I’m not yet sure if that is to my advantage or not.”
“I am not marrying you!” She flung at him.
He chuckled, but there was no mirth in it. “But my dear, you are marrying me, if I have anything to say about it. Anyway, you are ruined now, aren’t you? Who will want you if they know that the prince of Ermont had you first? Your father would surely not want that. My father, on the other hand, would be honorable and insist on a wedding as reparation for my actions.”
“Why?” she asked in a bitter tone. “You obviously don’t care for me. You don’t even desire my body. What do you hope to get out of this?”
The answer dawned on her just as he answered, “An alliance with Mithirien. If I don’t get the alliance, I’ll be disinherited and the position of crown prince will go to my younger brother, the pig!” He snarled, “I have wanted to be king for as long as I know. I can’t give up now that it is almost within my reach.”
It was terrifying to look into a face that mirrored her own desires and ambitions, her greed, and the lengths she would go to attain her dream. But she had not turned out that way. She had changed midway, and it was all because of Rodin, her saving grace.
She glared at him defiantly. “You won’t get your way in this, Michael.”
His face twisted in an ugly expression. “And why not?” He surprised her as he pulled down her trousers in one quick move and cupped her mound. “What is to prevent me from taking this pussy?” He slid a finger into her and thrust in and out, his progress impeded by her dryness. He pushed in roughly, and she cried in pain. “Or from making you mine again?”
She clamped his hand between her legs, drew in her breath, and shrieked. She shouted, “Rodin! Help, help me! Rodin!”
Michael couldn’t hold on to her as he doubled over with laughter.
Giselda didn’t stop to ponder why, but pulled up her trousers and rushed out of the tent, shouting for Rodin. Her way was blocked by Michael’s two bodyguards. She danced from side to side, trying to find an opening to push her way through.
“The matter has been taken cared of, master.” The bodyguard on the right addressed a point above and over her right shoulder.
Michael laughed again, a laughter that chilled her. “Well, Giselda, your bodyguard is now at the bottom of the river.”
The blood rushed to her feet. She rallied in defiance. “I don’t believe you!”
Michael burst into renewed laughter. “She doesn’t believe me!” he informed his guards, who chuckled with evil menace. “What can we do to convince her?”
The taller one handed something to Michael. “Here, boss. This might help.”
Giselda swayed when she recognized the object. It was Rodin’s sword, the sword that was always by his side, whether awake or asleep.
“No!” Her despairing cry echoed in the night.
Michael chuckled in feigned sympathy. “Poor Rodin. He was so brave, defending his princess and her betrothed, taking on the giant troll by himself so that the rest could escape.” He sighed theatrically. “He’s a bloody hero.”
“Rodin!”
Grief and desperation lent strength to her limbs, and she was able to push past the surprised guards and dashed in the direction of the river. She couldn’t see anything in the dark, but mainly made her way through instinct and sheer recklessness. Nearing the riverbank, she tripped and fell to her knees. She crawled forward as great, tearing sobs were ripped from her throat. She beat the ground in fury with her small, clenched fists.
Now she would never know the strength of those arms again, never hear the deep sound of his voice calling her “my princess,” never experience his intense lovemaking, never share thoughts with him, never grow old with him. What was life worth without him?
She was about to jump into the river after him and allow herself to be dashed to pieces by the craggy rocks at the bottom, when something shifted within her, a knowledge that rose to the fore and stole her breath away.
She was with child.
Her hand crept down to her abdomen, even as wonder and a bittersweet joy filled her.
Rodin’s child.
She still had something of Rodin after all.
The crashing behind her made her realize that she had some quick decisions to make.
The baby. Her foremost thought right now should be for their child -- their son -- that he would grow up healthy in all aspects -- physically, mentally, and emotionally.
The crashing grew louder, and suddenly Michael stood before her, short of breath. “How touching,” he sneered. “But then, I forget that even Frederick treated his servant like a trusted friend. So, what is it to be, Giselda? Do you marry me willingly, or do I force your hand?”
Anger grew in her, clouding her mind, her one thought to snatch the sword that hung by his side and exact vengeance for Rodin’s death. Thinking about Rodin cooled her mind a little. Exerting her will, she forced herself to tuck away the negative emotions in a small corner of her mind. She could not afford to be careless now. Her safety and that of her child depended upon her. She needed to think. She couldn’t just do what she wanted without regard to anything else; another life depended on her now.
Think of the baby. She couldn’t do anything for Rodin, but she could do something to secure her baby’s future. Could she subject him to the ugly names of illegitimacy, to the jeering calls and laughs of his playmates? What damage would they contribute to the child’s soul?
She couldn’t take the chance.
She knew what she had to do.
She stood, drawing all her regal bearing around her, despite the tears that still fell from her eyes. “You shall have your alliance, but you are not to touch me until our wedding night.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Rodin coughed out the last of the water from his lungs, although they still burned. He wheezed and sat up, groaning as the aches in his body and his head made their presence felt
. He rubbed the back of his skull, wondering what they had used on him.
“Don’t worry; a sip of my BPR formula has made you good as new.” The fox licked her front paw with a certain air of triumph and accomplishment. “At least, the holes on your head have closed up.”
Somehow, he was not surprised to see her there. “BPR? What is that?”
“You don’t know?” The tone was indignant. “Blueberry potion of restoration, silly.”
“How long have I been out?”
“A few days.” She cocked her head. “I think.”
“And -- and Giselda?”
“She left days ago with the prince of Ermont.”
Rodin slumped on the ground. “You should have just left me for dead.”
Merry gasped, a look of horror on her face. Rodin still couldn’t get over how an animal could express so much on her face, even for a goddess. “I couldn’t do that! It is totally against the rules of the fai-- our rules!”
Rodin squinted at her suspiciously. Gods, his head ached. “Whose rules?”
“Our rules!” She stood on her hind legs indignantly. “The side I am on!”
“And that would be ...?”
“The side of life and light, of course.”
Rodin groaned. “Why am I even asking these questions?” He paused. “How is Lila, by the way?”
“She’s fine.” A pleased smile crossed her lips. “It’s curious how the young can bounce back so soon.”
“Did you erase her memory? Giselda and I --” His head threatened to split from the pain.
“Why don’t you just ask what is in your heart, Rodin?” Merry’s voice was the gentlest that he had ever heard from her.
He hesitated. “Is -- is Giselda happy with -- with him? Is she marrying him?”
He could swear Merry positively danced with glee on hearing his questions. Or maybe that was because he felt like his head was swimming, he felt so dizzy. “I won’t tell you,” she said in a singsong voice.
“Please.” He hated begging, but he wanted to go with a conscience that was at peace, even if his heart was laden with stones.
His head had bowed in dejection, so when he looked up due to the prolonged silence, he was surprised to see Merry glaring at him. “What kind of attitude is that?! I rescued you out of the goodness of my heart, and now you are actively seeking death! Well, I never!”
“I never asked you to rescue me.”
Merry made a disgusted noise. “Pathetic!” She walked up to him and pushed her face in front of his. “Be a man, Rodin! Stand up! Where is that indefatigable, unconquerable warrior spirit that you’re so proud of?”
Rodin felt shame at her words, reminding him of the goals and ideals he had lived for. Giselda might be lost to him, but there were still other things to keep him going -- his love and loyalty to his country, for one. As a subject of Mithirien, he had a duty to use his skills for the betterment of the kingdom.
Duty. It was poor comfort for the long, lonely nights ahead, but that was all he had to look forward to.
He stood up on unsteady feet, his arms shooting out for balance. “You’re right. At the very least, I owe it to myself to make sure that he treats her right.” His fists clenched as a grim foreboding came over him. “I also need to find out who attacked me, and if those were his men, then that means ...” His eyes narrowed as thoughts flashed like lightning through his brain.
He turned to the fox. “I hate to ask this of you, but I need your help.” His gaze dropped to her front paws. “Specifically that of your seven-league boots.”
She grinned. “I was hoping you would ask.”
* * * * *
Rodin reached the castle proper the following night, where a celebration was going on. It seemed that it had been going on for the past three days, according to some of the castle folk that he had spoken with. He also learned that tonight was when the royal pair would be reciting their vows. In fact, they should be making their way to the throne room right now.
He had slipped into the castle in a disguise, with a hood covering his fair head. He was sure that he had been announced as dead, and much as he didn’t want to give people a fright, he was more concerned with the news of his “coming back to life.” He didn’t want to die without finding out who it was that wanted him dead and making sure that Giselda was going to be safe with her new husband. For unless it was brigands who had attacked him, he was almost one-hundred-percent sure that it had been the prince who was behind the dirty deed. If that was the case, then Giselda was in a lot of trouble.
Although ... He couldn’t understand the hastiness for the wedding. Unless Giselda was that eager to tie the knot ...
He almost turned around and left.
But no. All he had were assumptions. He had to hear it from her lips. He had to hear her say that she loved Michael, before his heart would understand. Even if it broke into a million pieces, at least it would not contain the lingering hope that would not go away. Only then would he find peace.
Maybe.
Moreover, there was that small matter of his assailants. Murderers. He had to find them before they committed any more dastardly deeds.
He didn’t know why Giselda would choose to have her wedding at night and in the throne room. For a girl who loved the outdoors, he would have thought she would prefer to hold it in the daytime in the castle gardens, where the flowers were presently in full bloom. Just like Frederick’s and Serena’s wedding four or five months back.
Whatever her choice, he was sure the king wouldn’t spare any expenses for the wedding, as he was even now witnessing. The bitter thought shamed him, for he knew how much his monarch loved his only daughter. But would he have done the same if his beloved daughter were marrying him, Rodin, the son of the gardener?
Multi-colored cloths and banners hung in kaleidoscopic display everywhere. The sound of joyful, danceable music and the delicious aroma of freshly cooked food permeated throughout the entire castle. Guests and residents lounged about in their gay apparel, chatting and laughing boisterously.
Rodin noted that most of the guests were royalty from the neighboring kingdoms. Given the short span of time in which the wedding must have been announced, he supposed the guests from farther away could not arrive in time. Most likely, a separate dinner celebration would be held for them when they all arrived. It was not usually done, but gatherings like weddings and births were strategic events to form new alliances and strengthen old ones.
He made his way to the throne room. He needed to find a good spot where he would have an unobstructed view to watch the proceedings.
A man came into view. If he didn’t miss his guess, that was the king of Rikandia over there. Beside him was most probably his wife, whose beautiful and perfect porcelain face was turned toward him attentively. Rodin wondered if the man knew of the blackness of his wife’s heart or how his daughter was endangered by having such a stepmother.
A trumpet sounded, announcing the hour of the wedding. Chattering guests started to file into the room with drinks in hand, standing on both sides of the room while the monarchs of visiting kingdoms were provided with chairs.
A second trumpet sounded, this one with a more complicated tune. Rodin bowed along with the others when the king and queen of Mithirien took their rightful places on the thrones. A few paces down the dais sat the king of Ermont. Rodin wondered how a man with such a kindly face could have sired the prince.
A third trumpet sounded, and Rodin knew what it portended. Everyone who was anyone was already there in the room, except for the most important ones. His heart started to beat in triple time.
Giselda floated down the aisle with her hands buried in the bouquet of flowers she was holding, her long brown hair done up in a coronet about her head, on top of which sat a small, sparkling tiara. She was resplendent in an ivory gown, which glinted and sparkled in the flickering candlelight. She was smiling, but it was barely there, and whatever was there looked ... forced.
What the hel
l was going on here?
As was the custom, she should have walked in together with her groom-to-be. Instead, said groom was one pace behind her train, stomping in anger though he tried to hide it. He slipped to the side and reappeared beside Giselda so that they stood side by side when they stopped in front of the thrones and bowed.
King Henry of Mithirien stood and cleared his throat. “It is both a sad and joyous occasion for which we are now gathered here.”
The guests buzzed among themselves. Rodin heard someone say beside him, “Sad? I thought we were invited to a wedding?”
The king continued, “My son’s good friend, Rodin, was ...” He sighed. “Killed protecting the princess and her betrothed. It is our loss and a great loss that is, for Rodin was a great warrior and a loyal subject.”
Rodin heard a sob, but he couldn’t determine where it came from.
“For his great and loyal service throughout the years, he shall be conferred the titles of high earl --”
He didn’t hear the rest; he couldn’t get over the first one.
Wow. High earl. An honorary title, to be sure, but on the same level as the earls of the kingdom. Rodin didn’t know whether to be honored or insulted that he should be given the title only after his “death.”
“Now, for the joyous news and for which reason all of you are here. Prince Michael of Ermont has completed the quest that I have required of him. Behold the golden bird, Firelight, the object of his quest.” The king gestured to the bird roosting on a perch beside the throne.
Rodin had not noticed it at first, for his eyes had been busy on Giselda. But now he saw the golden phoenix and was curious about the girl who lived within the form of a bird. Was she thinking in terms of human or bird?
All of a sudden, the phoenix opened its beak and warbled, trilling notes so pure, it brought tears to people’s eyes. When the song stopped, there was thunderous applause from all around.
“Amazing!” The king laughed. “In the few days that it has been here, this is the first time that I’ve heard it sing. It must be due to the wedding. You people are blessed to have heard it.”