by Olivia Myers
The pandemonium grew after the unveiling. Taverns threw open their doors and vendors dumped buckets of beer out to the clamoring crowd. The streets turned into a muddy paste, mixed with alcohol. In a short time there was nowhere in town to go that did not smell of spirits.
Gwythn went to meet her father, but he was speaking with the herald. Finally, he dismounted the stage and melted into the waiting arms of his daughter.
“Architect!” she buried herself in his waiting arms. “Honored by the king!”
“It is an impossible honor,” Artyr said gravely. So much publicity made him uncomfortable.
“It is a fitting honor,” Gwythn said.
“My dear,” he rubbed Gwythn’s back warmly. “My dear, the king has made a request.”
“The king! Oh, Daddy, did he speak to you? What did he say? What was it like?”
“I didn’t speak with the king, no, my dear,” he shook his head. “Only with his assembly. My dear, you promised me that you do indeed love Prince Alwen. It wasn’t just enthusiasm speaking for you? It is a true love?”
“As true as the soul I feel within me. Has he said something? Will I meet him?”
“The assembly has welcomed the idea of a marriage between you,” Artyr said, and smiled. “Prince Alwen has given his consent.”
“Oh! Oh!” Gwythn’s heart beat like a chariot. She could not even talk through her excitement. Everything was happening so fast. Only last week she’d been hunting rabbits with Fafiny. Now—now she would be a princess. Why, she’d probably have servants to hunt rabbits for her. And servants to make her clothes, to cook her meals…
“It is a good match,” Artyr’s arms tightened around her. He stared at her and his eyes were intense and unblinking. “But child, you don’t know the Prince. You don’t know what kind of man he is. You will think before you agree? I would like you two to be acquainted before anything happens. Please, take a walk with him. Find out what kind of a man he is. Find out if you can really devote your life to loving him. If you still agree, nothing will make me happier than to give you my consent.”
He let her go. “The prince has left some time ago. He’s waiting for you at the eastern gate. I’ll keep Fafiny here safe for you.”
His arms loosened. Gwythn was trembling for joy. She hadn’t heard any of the words her father said to her. There was only one thought in her head, and it was of King Blethen. A princess to the Savior. Soon, she would be a princess.
A moment later and she was on her way to the eastern gate.
*
Prince Alwen had wandered a short distance from the gate, and was stooped, gathering a patch of thorny, purple wildflowers.
“You know,” he said when Gwythn arrived, “there was an old king who died of a poison made by this stuff. They call it Lockweed, ’cause it locks the throat and then you suffocate. The books say it was his brother who killed him so that he could marry the queen, but I don’t think that’s true. I think the queen did it.”
Prince Alwen went on picking, as though he wasn’t even aware that he’d spoken. Gwythn was a little confused, but she curtsied. “Your Grace.”
“Don’t call me that,” the prince said abruptly. “That’s what you say to the king.”
“But surely you have a title as well, Your…Majesty?”
“No, I don’t.” He stood, looked at his wildflowers, and then dropped them in a little heap. He turned and looked at Gwythn. It was the first time that he’d really regarded her and she was rapt with excitement. He was even more beautiful up close. Everything about his face was pillow-soft and luscious. It was almost a girl’s face. The thought made Gwythn giggle.
“You’re laughing about something,” the prince said. “Tell me.”
“It’s nothing, Your Majesty. Just something silly.”
“If it’s something that amuses you, then I insist you share it with me.”
“Only if Your Majesty would be pleased to take a walk with me, down to the lake,” she said. She was getting used to the prince’s moodiness and knew how to counter. It was a little like dealing with a child.
“I’m fine here,” he said. “There are flowers. You can help me collect.”
“The prince wouldn’t refuse his lady’s request of just a little walk,” Gwythn said. “Just to go somewhere where there isn’t a smell of wine.”
“It stinks, doesn’t it? If I’d my way, I’d put all of these boozing rascals in prison.”
“It’s a celebration, Your Majesty. It’s not every day they have the opportunity to see King Blethen the Redeemer.”
“I still think it’s disgusting,” he said. “You’re right. I don’t want to stay here after all. But are there creatures in the woods?” he said, and a trace of fear shadowed his face. “Of course I know that all the mountain wolves were killed long ago. But…but…” he trailed off.
“We’re as safe as could be, Your Majesty. I walk through here at least once a week.”
“Okay. Fine. But you will lead. I don’t know these parts.”
“As Your Majesty wishes,” Gwythn said, and took the prince’s hand. It was doughy, cold, and dry.
“‘Alwen,’” the prince corrected. “I don’t want to hear ‘Your Majesty’ out of your mouth again.”
They walked down the main street south, deserted now with all the festivities in town, and turned off into the woods after a mile. With spring now in full bloom, the woods gleamed a rainbow of flowers, of verdant greenery and of deep, marble waters. The prince, though he’d started the walk moodily and had made no move to get closer to Gwythn, was enraptured by the sight of the flowers and insisted that they stop so that he could gather more. She stooped and began collecting as well, although most of her attention was fixed on him. She’d never known any man whose habit was collecting wildflowers, but the prince was so concentrated in his work she doubted whether he saw her at all. What passion! she thought, only for another thought to replace it. This is rather strange.
Of course she knew the rumors that the men in the taverns and the women at their washing spoke about him. Everyone knew the rumors. There were so many and so various, and all of them containing no doubt a kernel of fact that it was hard to know just where the truth started and the lie ended.
There were men who said that the prince was really a girl who’d been disguised at birth so that she might inherit the throne. Others said that he was indeed a boy, but that around the court he dressed as a woman, although no one could say why. Others went even further and said that he himself believed he was a woman, and even preferred men to women, but Gwythn believed none of these. He was indeed a curious person, but that he would melt for her she had no doubt.
They remained some time in the glade, and then when they heard a rumble of thunder, wandered deeper into the woods where they would be sheltered in case of rain. “There’s an old barn I know not far from here, just in case it gets bad.”
“A barn,” the prince said. Gwythn half-expected him to stick out his tongue in disgust. But before she could say anything there was a second crack of thunder, and so loud that the forest seemed to quiver.
“Quick!” she said, and dashed down the path, dragging the prince with her.
They managed to find the barn before the third crack of thunder came—so loud it was like a cry from the Creator himself. Gwythn’s heart was pounding from the excitement of the run, but the prince was doubled over, gasping as though he’d just escaped from a burning house.
“Alwen,” Gwythn said. She felt her heart reaching out to him and she put a tender hand on his back. “My poor prince. We’re okay now. We’re safe now.”
He steadied himself, rose from his position, and faced her. His perfect, golden hair was plastered with sweat and his eyes were wide with excitement and fear. Even distressed, there was a harried beauty to him that made Gwythn’s heart go crazy. Without thinking, she bent towards him and found his lips.
“Wha—what,” the prince said, backing away. “What are you doing?”
Gwythn stammered. “Your Majesty,” she said. “I thought…I was just…”
Prince Alwen looked on her, furious, and she could find no words. Who knows for how long the horrible moment might have gone on? It was clear that the prince would get his answer, one way or another, and it was equally clear that Gwythn was so struck and so nervous that she was practically incapable of speaking.
Luckily at that moment, fate intervened to save her.
“Ssh!” the prince said suddenly. “Do you hear that?”
“Your Grace?” Gwythn asked. But even as she spoke she could hear it. It was a growl, low and threatening.
And then, everything happened in a flash. A huge, wolf-like beast leapt into the barn, teeth bared, coat shining like a sword, and made straight for the prince. Alwen, indignation and anger forgotten, didn’t even stand around to let out a cry. He ran out of the barn and away from Gwythn, up the hillside, plunging into the woods—the echo of a piercing scream trailing behind him.
“Oh, Faffy!” Gwythn cried. The eager hound stared up at her, eyes wide with hope and expectation. “You followed me! Do you not know what you’ve done? Oh, you stupid beast!”
She shoved the dog aside and flew from the barn, calling Alwen’s name. But it was no use. He was probably still running, losing himself in the trees. How stupid she’d been to suggest a walk! She continued her desperate search, following the river down to where it terminated in a small lake. Maybe, she thought, just maybe I’ll find him by the water.
Gwythn was breathless with delight when she heard not only sounds from the water. A figure moved between the trees.
“Alwen!” she cried for joy and rushed to the water. But it was not Alwen she found. There, halfway submerged in the water, completely naked except for a kind of shiny cloak covering his back, was Rhythion.
Gwythn looked away in embarrassment. This was the only possible way to make things worse. She’d lost and alienated the prince, and now she’d come across this naked, loathsome creature—with its strangely bent body and jagged, cracked muscles, and with that strange cloak thrown over the shoulders which every now and then, seemed to give a twitch, seemed to move.
What was that? Gwythn wondered, forgetting that she’d determined not to look. The more she focused, the more she determined that it was not a cloak but a kind of awful scar. But why did it move? She crept forward. And then she halted. She had been so focused on the figure in the water that she’d failed to see the water itself. A thick curtain of steam rose from where Rhythion bathed. It wasn’t possible the water could be so hot. This was no hot spring. But in fact, the water was boiling.
He would burn! He would die! She had to help him. Gwythn stifled a cry, but made no move. Rhythion certainly didn’t seem to be in agony. He looked quite calm, quite at peace as he waded in the water. Turning his gaze into Gwythn’s direction, he stopped.
“You’re not going to join me?” he called.
Gwythn’s heart stopped dead. He’d seen her. She made no movement.
“Stay there as long as you like,” he went on. “It’s warmer here.”
And then, she felt a peculiar stirring in her breast as though a string had attached itself to her and was now mastering her movements. She revealed herself from behind the tree, turned, and faced Rhythion’s cold, blue stare. Those eyes. Those eyes. From some place deep and distant they called to her, summoned her from a long sleep into the realm of the living. She followed the gaze to the water’s shore, without speaking, and stopped.
“No further?” Rhythion frowned. “I thought you were the bold type. Come a little closer, princess. I don’t bite.”
Rhythion’s words penetrated her. She heard them not as words, but felt them like a caress on the stomach. They made her shiver, and then they made her hot. So hot, like the water itself. Beads of sweat were forming on her skin. Her dress would get ruined, she thought with horror. With one movement of her arms, she picked up her skirts and slid the soft fabric over her head, revealing her perfect, naked body.
“That’s better,” Rhythion smiled, and baited her with his eyes. “It’s not as hot anymore, princess. You can come in.”
Silently, she stepped into the water until it was up to her breast, and then she let the soft, lapping tongues of water carry her over to where beckoned the strange man with his penetrating eyes.
“Rhythion,” she said at last.
Rhythion’s strong arms tightened around her naked torso. His hands bit into her flesh and she gave a little cry although she liked his strength. She liked his roughness.
His hair was wet and obscured his face. She smoothed it out of her way and found his lips, touching them with her own. Not knowing what compelled her, she touched her tongue to the seam of his mouth, begging to be let in. His mouth was warm and wet and opened to her tongue eagerly. Enraptured with the kiss, she slid her naked body closer to his, letting her legs wrap around his chest so that she could kiss him even more deeply. It was delicious. Nothing in the world could interrupt it—not the prince, not the promise of a royal marriage. Not even the thought of King Blethen.
Still buried in the kiss, Rhythion began running his hands down her submerged thighs with such vigor that Gwythn opened her mouth and gave a little gasp. She loved his manly force. She loved his strength. She longed for more of it, although a part of her, a dim part of her mind was still afraid.
“I’ve never—” she tried to say, “Never—”
“Never what?” Rhythion whispered. His firm stalk grazed Gwythn’s belly, just above her center, tempting her. She ached with so much desire that the contact brought tears to her eyes.
“Oh heavens,” she whispered, “Oh heavens. I want you inside. Please.”
For Gwythn it was as though she was not even speaking, but that the words were coming from some place very deep within her, a place usually concealed by the camouflage of her daily social obligations. Now it’d revealed itself in all of its impossible power.
Still kissing Gwythn, Rhythion drew his stalk across her belly once again, this time, letting it linger. Gwythn clawed his hair and his back, desperate for more of him.
One hand gripping his hair while her tongue worked inside his mouth, the other plunged underwater and boldly grabbed his stalk and moved it closer. Rhythion gave a grunt and grinned.
With him there, just a fraction of a centimeter away, Gwythn rotated slowly forward, pulling him inside her. Everything in her body seemed to open for him. Every part of her body was concentrated in the contact between them. Only once, years before while playing with a friend, had she touched a stalk, but she’d never had one inside.
She kissed him and moved her thighs forward, working him deeper and deeper in. It was unbelievable how far he could go, and unbelievable how much of him she could hold. She could take all of him. She wanted all of him.
Faster her thighs rotated, swirling the water around them. Her kisses became rougher, became a fight with him for control. She bit his lip and tasted blood, and his thick tongue fought her back with delicious force.
“Oh heavens,” she arched as her body was brought to climax. She wanted to take Rhythion with her—to the pleasure she felt ricocheting through her body. She grabbed his hair and pulled to steady herself and he didn’t seem to mind. Her hands went further down, to his back where she hugged him fiercely as he pushed more inside her.
But gripping him there, hugging him dearly, she felt a strange knot in his back, like the hollow of an old oak tree.
Slowly her senses returned. She fell away slowly and let him fall out of her, but she kept her hands on the strange knots, prob
ing and feeling. Now, the power of his eyes seemed to diminish and she was no longer spelled and she had control again. What she’d begun to see before she was mesmerized returned with dizzying clarity. There was something wrong with him. Something inhuman. The knots gave a little twitch. And then, they grew.
Gwythn screamed, leaping away and swimming with all her energy towards the shore as if a serpent had embraced her. She threw herself onto the shore and then, feeling stupidly vulnerable, yanked her dress over her head, as if the garment could offer protection.
She heard mocking laughter from behind, and then felt a cold blast of air.
“Oh, you devil!” she shouted. “What have I done? How could I?”
Another gust of cold air, and there was a little thump. Rhythion had come down from the air. Looking at him, Gwythn was struck with the most horrible sight in her life. There stood Rhythion, a delighted smile on his face, body hunched: a fortress of muscle, and yet from his back protruded wings. Ugly, membranous, yellow bat wings, folding themselves back into the smooth knots she’d mistaken for a cloak.
“Why me?” Gwythn broke into sobs and collapsed to her knees. “Why did you choose me?”
“Come on now,” Rhythion laughed, tugging on a pair of trousers. “It was fun, wasn’t it?”
“You’re a monster! You lured me! It’s all your fault!”
“You found me, princess,” he said. “And from your expression, I thought that you enjoyed it.”
“You drugged me!” Gwythn covered her wet face with her hands to try and hide her sobs. “How can I marry Prince Alwen now?” Her voice was thick with tears. “It’s all ruined. Everything is ruined because of you!”
“Here,” Rhythion gave her the shirt he was about to put on so she could dry her tears. She took it without looking at him. “Your fairy doesn’t have to know about what happened.”
“How could I keep it from him?” Gwythn cried. “You’re a shifter! An enemy of the kingdom! I have to denounce you!”
“You think you’re going to denounce me?” Rhythion said blandly. “As a Fugitive? With what evidence? Before what jury?”