by Meara Platt
“I hadn’t given it thought.” He responded as she had to his question, for he knew the girl preferred honesty to flattering half-truths. She had told him so, and though he didn’t understand the reason—for most of her kind preferred to indulge in lies rather than face a hard truth—he sensed it was important.
“Well, I’d like you to give it thought now and not in a week or a month,” she said, spouting back his own words.
Had he misread her expression? Was she angry? He stifled a sigh, wondering whether he would ever understand humans. “Is it important whether or not I do?”
She pursed her lips again and began to nibble on the lower lip, a certain sign of her distress. “It is to me.”
“Then I will give it serious and immediate attention.” The response seemed to please her, as though she had somehow won a victory. In truth, Cadeyrn had been contemplating that very question since meeting the girl. The answer, he knew, lay in the words etched in the Stone of Draloch. He silently recited the Prophecy he’d long ago memorized:
In darkest hour shall bloom the mortal flower
With Fae king shall she lie, in love awakened
For Fae king shall she die, in love eternal
In fiery death shall she conquer the dragon’s darkness
And in her ashes shall Fae king triumph
To reign glorious in the Garden of Light
Was it enough that she love him, risk all for him? Or did the Prophecy require him to love her in return? He did not know the answer, but decided to turn to those he’d always turned to for guidance. “I’ll also discuss it with my council, for the elders—”
“No!” She put a hand over his heart and pounded it lightly. “They cannot tell you, for the answer lies right here.”
“In my heart?”
She nodded.
“It is an important organ,” he mused, knowing it controlled the movement of blood throughout his body. “But what can my heart tell me that a reasoned debate cannot? The intellect is far more powerful. It is the reason we Fae of the Woodlands have lived in peace among each other and beside mankind for thousands of years.” He dismissed the dark Fae, the demons led by Lord Brihann, for they had forsaken reason and were now guided by hatred alone. Hatred was a powerful evil, but its force had never been able to conquer love.
He glanced once more at Melody.
The Dragon Lords feared humans despite their inferior strength, for humans possessed an understanding of love—even the sweet, soft ones such as Melody had a boundless capacity to absorb love and bestow it on others.
“I can’t provide a scientific explanation,” she said, seemingly amused by his question for her lips were tilted upward in a grin, a sign that she was no longer irritated with him. “All I know is that either love exists between two hearts or it doesn’t. It can’t be forced. It can’t be analyzed, pondered, or discussed. It simply must be felt.”
He wondered how he, a being devoid of feeling, could ever experience it. Yet, he was no longer completely devoid of feeling, he reminded himself, for he had felt warmth when Melody had kissed him and now, as she touched him.
He had felt pain after this evening’s demon attack.
But warmth and pain were not the same as raging flames of desire.
Would kissing and touching Melody ignite sensations necessary to fulfill the Prophecy? Or were these motions merely a distraction that would keep him from ever reaching his goal? Were these flames of desire her goal to reach or his? Or was it required of both of them? If so, were they required to reach it together?
There were too many unanswered questions, yet Melody believed his council could not guide him in this matter. Could she? Since she seemed to understand more about love than he did, he decided to try asking her for advice. “Melody, how does one feel?”
“I don’t know. It just happens.”
He shook his head and sighed. “Can you describe to me what happens? Do your fingers tingle? Toes twitch?”
“Feelings start with one’s heart,” she reminded him. “Perhaps if you closed your eyes. I find it helps me, particularly when I must take in many sensations.”
“What sort of sensations?”
She sighed. “I don’t know. Close your eyes, Your Majesty.”
She was giving him orders again.
“Don’t be afraid,” she said with a soft lilt to her voice that revealed she was trying to be helpful and not insulting.
“I’m not afraid,” he assured her. “I’ve never been afraid of anything.”
“Good, then you won’t mind closing your eyes.”
“And if I refuse?”
She frowned and drew away. “You may do as you wish since you are king and I’m merely a young woman offering help. You are under no obligation to me. However, I think it would be extremely foolish of you to reject my suggestions.”
He laughed. “I agree. You seem to have a facility in feeling with your heart, though it is not always wise to do so. Very well. My eyes are closed. What happens next?”
“I’m not certain, but I think I ought to touch you.”
“Very well.”
She placed her hands on his chest as Ygraine had done when healing him, but once again, Melody’s touch was different … warmer, gentler. “How does that feel, Your Majesty?”
“Good.”
“Good how?”
“Your hands are little, but soft and warm,” he said as she slid them over his shoulders and down along the muscle and sinew of his arms.
“Does the feeling of my hands on your skin remind you of anything?”
“No. Should it?”
She let out a small grunt, as though his answer had disappointed. “Keep your eyes closed and think of things that you enjoy. Tell me about them.”
He shrugged. “I enjoy a fine meal.”
“Go on.”
“And fine wine.”
“Is that all?”
“I enjoy a good fight, though these nightly battles have grown tiresome lately. We used to sing and dance and feast the night away, but Lord Brihann is growing desperate and sends his demons out nightly now to hunt me down, so our feasts are necessarily cut short. He is determined to kill me, believes it will throw the Fae into disarray and make them easier to conquer. But in truth, I find it easy to defend against such attacks. They’re predictable, always after twilight, and the demons always come after me.”
As he spoke, Melody’s fingers tightened on his arms. She sighed and seemed about to speak, but when no words came out, he continued. “The lesser demons are no threat to me, despite appearances,” he added, opening his eyes and glancing down at his ribs. He also spared a glance at Melody and saw that she was once again distressed.
“Please, go on,” she urged.
He nodded and closed his eyes. “The greatest threat is from the Dragon Lord Bloodaxe. He was born a human and understands your ways. It is but a matter of days—as we measure them in Fae time—before Bloodaxe’s forces join in these nightly attacks. Therein lies the danger, for he will not be predictable, nor will he concentrate his army on me alone. He means to slay my subjects, show them no mercy unless they pledge fealty to him. Some will do it and lose their souls, but most will not. These gentle lakes and woodlands will become a slaughtering ground, a graveyard for my subjects … for myself as well, for I’ll never pledge fealty to the Dragon Lords.”
Melody let out several more ragged sighs.
Cadeyrn opened his eyes again. “Why are you crying?”
“I’m not certain, but I think I ought to kiss you now,” she said. “May I, Your Majesty?”
“Yes, I give you permission.” Often and as many times as you deem necessary. “Must I keep my eyes closed?”
“Yes.”
“I think better with my eyes open.”
“The point is not to think, but to feel. Now, put your arms—”
Cadeyrn didn’t need further instruction. He’d seen humans in lovemaking before and could imitate the motions. He drew her
into his embrace and lifted her up against him so that her arms circled his neck and their bodies molded to each other’s curves. She fit nicely in his arms, and he particularly liked the pillow-soft feel of her breasts against his chest. He buried his face in her long, sleek neck and caught the light scent of lavender.
Nice.
He also liked the taste of her mouth, he decided, lowering his lips to hers and silencing her chatter, for she was still issuing unnecessary instructions. However, he continued with caution. Though his first kiss hadn’t harmed her, he was ever on his guard that the next kiss … and the next … might cause her pain, or worse … kill her.
He opened his eyes and studied her. Her eyes were closed, her long, dark lashes resting just above her pink cheekbones. Her heart pounded rapidly against his.
Or was it his beating against hers?
Curious.
Her lips tasted sweet, like nectar springing from a honeysuckle blossom. He pressed his lips more firmly against hers, his tongue gliding across her slightly parted mouth and gently drawing out its dewy sweetness in a smooth, practiced motion, for he often sipped nectar out of his favorite honeysuckle.
Melody sighed against his mouth.
“Have I hurt you?” he asked, attempting to pull away.
She held him fast. “Stop asking questions, Your Majesty.”
He obeyed and kissed her again.
She ran her hands up and down his chest and shoulders, along the muscles of his back. He liked the feel of her bare hands against his skin and was pleased he’d obeyed her earlier command to remove his shirt. Though he’d done it so she could inspect his wounds, this new purpose also had its benefits.
Since he enjoyed the silken feel of her hands against his flesh, he wondered whether she would similarly enjoy his touch against her bare body. He meant to ask her, but she seemed lost in their kiss so he decided to take action on his own.
His fingers dipped to the tie of her robe to release it, and when she made no protest, he slid the robe off her shoulders.
“Sweetheart,” he said, repeating words he’d heard before, “you’re beautiful. I want you so badly.”
“I want you, too,” she whispered back, arching against his palm as he worked the ribbon at the front of her nightgown to release her rosebud-tipped breasts from constraint.
Cadeyrn kissed her again, easing his hand over one lush mound and teasing the bud to hardness.
She seemed to enjoy it.
Though her eyes were still closed, he saw her heightened pleasure in the soft swell of her lips, the pink blush of her cheeks, the delicate arch of her back, and her welcoming, open arms.
He thought he was supposed to say more nice words to her now, but wasn’t sure which words to say. When he had come upon humans mating in his realm, he had never taken the time to study them or listen to their chatter. It was mostly grunts and groans, anyway.
In truth, the act of mating had never held interest for him before.
Obviously, he’d underestimated its importance.
Melody had said to close his eyes and feel. He would in time, but not this night. Instead, he kept them open and used her expressions as his guide. He lowered his mouth to her breast and suckled the hard bud … pleased that it gave her so much delight.
Would her tongue on his skin give him as much pleasure?
He didn’t know.
But he was most eager to find out.
Chapter Five
Melody awoke at daybreak the following morning and felt for Cadeyrn’s hard body beside her. To her disappointment, he wasn’t there. She glanced down at her nightgown and saw that the ribbon was firmly in place.
Had she imagined lying in Cadeyrn’s arms?
Sweet, merciful heavens! The sensations were too real to be a dream.
She threw off her bedcovers, made her way to the window, and opened it. A cool, dew-laden breeze floated into the room, carrying the light scent of honeysuckle. She recognized it as Cadeyrn’s scent, but could not tell whether the scent lingered on her or had just blown in with the breeze.
She peered out of the window.
The sun was just peeking above the horizon, its gleaming rays cascading across the bluebell garden in a slender waterfall of light, causing the bluebell petals to glisten like diamonds against their small, green leaves.
Melody strained to find Cadeyrn’s sleeping form among the flowers, but the sturdy oak trees outside her window obstructed much of her view. She couldn’t see him, nor was she certain he’d ever appear to her again. “Your Majesty,” she whispered, hoping that he would, but there was no response.
She glanced at the tree branch where the snooping raven had perched yesterday, disappointed that not even the raven was about. “No matter,” she said under her breath, refusing to admit that it did matter greatly to her.
She washed and dressed, and then quietly made her way out of the vicarage toward the garden spot where she’d found Cadeyrn yesterday. “Your Majesty,” she called again, “are you here?”
Again, no response, only the soft, rustling wind.
“Because if you are here, I’d like to see you again. Though I’ll certainly understand if it isn’t safe for you to come out. I don’t wish to place you in danger.” She glanced around and then walked to the nearby hot spring, stopping beside the softly curved stones circling it. She knelt to dip her hand into the water. It was warm and bubbling, giving her hope that faeries still resided in it.
She gazed into the water, wondering whether she would find Cadeyrn staring back at her. Not that she expected to find him there, for he was a Woodlands faerie, not a Water faerie, as he’d taken pains to point out. “Faeries, indeed,” she muttered under her breath. “If Mother hears me, she’ll think I’m attics-to-let.”
“She’s still asleep,” Cadeyrn said from somewhere over her shoulder. “So’s the vicar, but he’s stirring.”
She looked up, startled. “Your Majesty, how long have you been watching me?”
Cadeyrn stretched out on his side on the grassy slope beside her, propping his head under one hand and lazily bending one leg. “Not long. You’re up early. Did you sleep well?” he asked, grinning as though he’d just won first prize at the local fair. It concerned her that he looked so well pleased, for she wasn’t certain what had happened after his untying the ribbon of her nightgown. Well, she remembered the warmth of his lips on her breasts.
Sweet, merciful heaven!
She shifted on her knees to face him. “I’m not sure. What did we do last night?”
“The demons—”
“No, afterward. We were in my bedchamber.”
He fell back against the lush grass, his grin broadening. “Oh, that.”
“Yes, that. Please, I must know.” Heat rushed into her cheeks, a hot, fiery heat similar to what one might feel when putting one’s hand too close to a roaring fire. “What happened after you untied the ribbon of my nightdress?”
“I kissed your breasts. You seemed to enjoy it … immensely, for you clutched my hair and held me fast. You scratched my shoulders with your nails. I didn’t mind, though. Do you wish to see?”
“No!” Her face felt as though it had indeed burst into flame. “I do remember that part. And what happened afterward?” That was the part she couldn’t recall.
He reached out and tucked a finger under her chin. “There was no coupling, if that’s what you’re asking. I held you in my arms until you fell asleep.”
“You did? That’s all?”
He nodded. “I saw joy in your eyes, but there was also fear. It seemed unwise for me to complete our coupling while you appeared uncertain, but we can try again this evening.”
She let out a long breath of relief. “No, there shall be no coupling, not this evening or any other.”
He regarded her in obvious confusion. “Was my touch not enjoyable to you? I was sure by your response that—”
“It was most pleasant,” she admitted, wincing at the recollection of her hot, breathy
moans as he’d kissed her and aware that Cadeyrn was thinking of them, too. “But it can never be again.”
He frowned lightly. “It must, if you are to be my queen.”
“That’s the point, isn’t it? I don’t wish to be your queen. Not that I don’t like you,” she said in a rush, unable to bear the look of confusion and hurt in his eyes … or was she reading more into his expression than existed? “I do like you. More than I should, if you must know. Oh, I did enjoy being in your arms last night and would like to be in your arms again, but not if it means having to face those demons we defeated last night.”
“Those demons are dead.”
“Others will come in their place, you’ve said so yourself. And what will happen when the Dragon Lords attack in earnest? You and your people will die! At best, you’ll turn into creatures like those we saw last night … foul, unthinking beings who exist only to injure and destroy. What can I do as your queen? Lift up a fire iron and smack a few demons about? It isn’t enough to save you. And what’s to become of me? Will they spare me or will I face the same fate as you and your Woodlands subjects?”
“As my queen, your fate is foretold in the Prophecy. Do you wish to hear it?”
“No. And I’m not your queen. I’m an ordinary Englishwoman who is content to live in these woodlands and lead an unremarkably quiet life.”
“You are by no means ordinary,” he said, reaching out to run his knuckles lightly against her cheek. “You forget that I watched you fight off those demons last night.”
“But that’s precisely the problem. I didn’t fight them off. You did. I merely swatted at them, as though they were flies, which they were not. They were big, oily creatures and my flesh crawls just thinking of them. I never want to see them again.”
“So you’ve mentioned before.” He shifted to a sitting position and inched closer, his expression suddenly serious. “You still don’t realize what happened to you in the chapel, do you?”
“Something happened to me?” Her eyes rounded in alarm at his nod. Her thoughts began to spill from her lips in a great, streaming babble, as they always did when she was unsettled. “Did they kill me? I knew it! But you revived me, didn’t you? Or did your council revive me? No, you must have done it. Is that why you had to kiss me? Oh, dear! You kissed me more than once … and touched me in that delightfully unexpected … wait! Am I dead? But don’t realize it yet?”