by Arianna Skye
“A kiss one shares with the one they love before one goes off to battle.” Maeve smiled. “See my point, Rhiannon?”
Yeah, she saw the point, for now. “But about this cloaking and hiding thing, that just isn’t me.” Catching Maeve’s scowl, she added, “Protection spell, maybe. Acting like a coward? Not on my life.”
Maeve threw back her head and chuckled. “I really didn’t expect anything less from you.
Rowan has the mindset that women are to be protected and hidden. It took us forever to get him to allow women to battle. And some of our women are the fiercest warriors, too!” Maeve scratched her head. “You’ll need a disguise, I’m afraid.”
“Make me look like Xena, and I’ll kick your ass.” Rhiannon giggled. The thought of wearing a metal thong and bra held little, if no, appeal, not to mention major ass chafing.
“Xena?”
Rhiannon smirked. “Never mind, it’s a human television show.” She turned her gaze to Cerne. Sitting tall on his mount, he conversed with Windstorm and Aine. She extended her finger to where they sat. “What about him?”
“He won’t be happy with our decision, but he’ll defend you. You’re the princess. He has no choice but to obey your command.”
“It’s good to be the princess.”
~*~*~
“ABSOLUTELY NOT! ” Cerne growled out. “You need to be protected. You should not be fighting.”
Rhiannon clenched her fists. “Was it not my mother who insisted I lead the armies?”
“Your mother wasn’t of sound mind when she made the decision.” Maeve shook her head. “She and I spoke of it before she fell ill. And do you not understand that her fighting in disguise is safer than putting her up front in General Windstorm’s position, right in plain sight?”
Thank you, Maeve. “And we’ll have a protection spell to keep us safe.” Rhiannon’s lips curved into a wide, confident smile.
“If you’re hurt, I’ll never forgive myself.” Cerne crossed his arms in front of his chest, his lips unwavering and his eyes glaring.
Maeve rolled her eyes. “That’s what the protection spell is for, you dolt.”
“And since I’m giving you a royal order, you have no choice but agree to it.” Rhiannon loved the finality of her voice.
Cerne’s jaw tightened and his fists clenched as he turned to Maeve. “I can’t believe you gave her this insane idea. However crazy it is, I have no choice but to respect my princess’s wishes.” His stern gaze bore into Rhiannon. “It doesn’t mean I’m happy with this decision.”
“Thank you, my love.” Rhiannon crossed her arms and arched a brow. “With you and the spell to protect me, how can anything go wrong?”
“Incoming!” A shout came from the crowd. Rhiannon glanced up just as a large fireball zoomed across the sky.
Without a second thought, she raised her hands. Closing her eyes, she visualized her hands
as giant buckets of ice. Throwing her hands toward the fiery globe, she imagined ice cubes flying at the fire. Cracks and sizzles broke the silence. Rhiannon opened her eyes to see giant flakes of snow floating to the ground.
Crossing her arms, she turned to Cerne, who was staring open mouthed at her. “Still worried about my safety?”
“Holy deities!” Maeve breathed out. “With a skill like that, you definitely need to fight.” Windstorm broke away from his troops and prodded his horse toward them. He gazed at Rhiannon, wonder shining in his moss-green eyes. “That was mighty impressive, Your Highness.” He scratched his bearded chin. “Where did you learn that skill?” Rhiannon sucked in a breath. “I discovered it when Aine and I were attacked by a dragon rider.” She relayed the rest of the story, from saving Aine’s flaming wing, to freezing out the dragon’s fire.
“Ahh, well, it’s still impressive, nonetheless.” Windstorm flashed a toothy grin. “Thank you, Your Highness.”
Rhiannon returned the grin with one just as big. Now that he’d witnessed just a little of what she could do, he would certainly go along with their plan. “It appears I may be of some use to the White Faerie army after all.”
Windstorm arched a brow. “What? Surely you don’t mean to fight?”
“Oh, but I do. I’m your best weapon, don’t you think?”
“She’s quite adamant, General,” Cerne added. “She gave me a royal order. I’m sure she’s ready to give you one as well.”
Windstorm’s jaw ticked. “Those blasted royal orders.” He grumbled something inaudible and turned back to Rhiannon. “Yes, Your Highness, you can fight.”
“Thank you, General.” Rhiannon’s lips swept into a gracious smile and she raised her hand in salute.
Windstorm raised his hand in acceptance. “If you find yourself in any immediate danger, I implore you to retreat. Your people won’t think less of you.”
“I promise I will.” If they weren’t stuck on top of their horses and Cerne wasn’t such a jealous ape, she would’ve thrown herself into Windstorm’s arms for a huge hug. Then again, the giant would probably be taken aback.
Cerne twisted his reins to steady his horse. “I’ll be here to protect her too.”
“I appreciate you standing by me.” Rhiannon turned her head to Cerne. “It means a lot.”
“You mean a lot to me.” Cerne’s eyes burned into hers. He opened his mouth to speak, however another streak of fire shot through the air, landing right in front of the troops. “We’ll talk about it later, after the battle.”
Rhiannon nodded. Better later than never. “Sounds good to me. We do have a lot to talk about.”
Cerne nodded. He turned back to Maeve. “What about the disguise?”
“Certainly.” Maeve closed her eyes and snapped her fingers. A thick blanket of fog and smoke surrounded Rhiannon.
Fanning the smoke from around her, Rhiannon coughed and sputtered. “Dang, Maeve. You could’ve warned me. That was raucous.”
“I’m sorry, Your Highness. I forgot what a strong spell it was. But the results are phenomenal. Look!”
Rhiannon glanced down. Silver chainmail cloaked her body. Although thick, the mail was as light as any of the other things she’d worn. A sword and sheath sat on her right and a wooden staff hung on her back. Looking down, she spotted a silver, etched helmet on the pommel of her horse. She picked up the helmet, expecting it to weigh a ton. However, it was just as light. She placed it on her head and slammed the visor down.
“Rock and roll, baby.”
“You look just like a warrior queen, mo cridhe.” Cerne smiled, taking in her new White Faerie soldier disguise. He switched his gaze to Maeve. “I suppose you have an outfit for me as well?”
Maeve nodded. “I can disguise you as a horse, if you like?” If Rhiannon had been drinking, she would’ve spewed it from her mouth. “Umm, I don’t think he’d be able to concentrate that way.”
“Good point, Your Highness.” Maeve closed her eyes and snapped her fingers. The same dark mass of smoke and fog surrounded Cerne.
“Rhiannon was right. This is a rather strong spell,” Cerne managed to say between coughs.
When the smoke cleared, Cerne lowered his head in a bow. He wore a hauberk of the same silver mail with beautiful etched helmet. His sword sat poised in its sheath and his wide smile peeked from underneath his helmet.
“You look all soldier-like, Cerne.” Rhiannon giggled. “My own personal faerie warrior. It makes me excited just thinking about it.”
Cerne shook his head, adjusting his visor. “You, my dear, are incorrigible.”
“Sometimes one needs to be in moments of intense stress.” Rhiannon gave him a tiny wink.
Windstorm led his horse to them and nodded. “Maeve has done well. I have one request.
Please stay near the back of the line.”
Rhiannon rolled her eyes to the dark billowing clouds in the sky. “Fine, but if I notice any help is needed, I can’t promise I’ll remain there.”
“Very well, Your Highness.” Windstorm clapped his hands, cal
ling Aine to his side. “Are you ready, Lady Aine?”
Aine nodded, fluttering her wings. “More ready than I ever have been.”
“Wonderful.” Windstorm tugged at his reins and jotted toward the front of the crowds.
“Faeries, take your positions!”
The battle was about to begin.
~*~*~
Rhiannon took a deep breath. “I can feel the amulet. Korrigan is nearby.”
“Do you know how close?” Cerne glanced over toward where Windstorm and Aine conversed. Noticing the spark of urgency in Aine’s eyes, Rhiannon could tell she sensed it too.
“I haven’t any idea. All this stuff is new to me.” Rhiannon adjusted the helmet on her head.
“I think it’s time for the protection spell.”
Belenus and Maeve arrived on two of the general’s finest horses. Aine and Rhiannon still rode their own horses, but having those magnificent steeds would certainly sway their decision.
“We would ask to remain in your service.” Belelus bowed his head. “We wish to help Cerne protect you.”
Cerne smiled, ready to open his mouth in agreement, but Rhiannon silenced him.
“Having you around me would draw Korrigan’s attention. The further my friends are from me, the better.” Rhiannon took Maeve’s hand in hers. “And the thought of you losing your life for me holds no appeal whatsoever.”
“I see your point, Rhiannon,” Maeve replied, much to Cerne’s chagrin. “Allow us to at least
exchange horses. Such magnificent beasts deserve to be ridden by a princess.” Cerne, although tempted by the stately beasts, knew better. “And wouldn’t Korrigan be searching for the persons riding the most magnificent beasts?”
“See. I told you it was a foolish idea.” Maeve pinched Belenus’s shoulder. “I apologize. It’s why he only makes decisions in the heat of passion instead.” Belenus rolled his eyes. “Yes, my love, it was foolish,” he said, giving Cerne a surreptitious wink. “We’ll be watching over the left flank.”
Maeve grabbed the reins to her horse. “Let's go, my love.” She flicked the reins and bounded off toward the left flank. “Keep her safe, Cerne.”
“Take care, my friend.” Belenus raised his hand in salute, grabbed his reins, and rushed off to join his life-mate.
“Cerne, are you nervous?” Rhiannon asked over her shoulder, her gaze concerned.
More than you know. “I’ve never fought a battle, even though I’ve been trained,” he said.
“Well, if it’s any consolation, I’ve only fought a dragon and the earlier fireball.”
“That’s—ahh—comforting to know.” Cerne reached down and grabbed her hand, placing a kiss on her wrist. He inhaled the rich scent of lavender and vanilla, reveling in her aroma. She was his, he would fight for her, protect her—die for her. Rhiannon’s eyes widened, as if she’d been reading his thoughts. Ahh deities, she probably had. “You have a natural ability, mo cridhe.
You don’t need any training. You’ve excelled at everything you’ve taken on.”
“I hope you’re right, Cerne,” Rhiannon said, shaking her head.
“I know so, in here.” He covered his heart with his hand, hoping the small gesture would appease her.
Rhiannon nodded, a mask of indifference covering her face. He supposed it was for the best, for the good of the White Faerie army. “I appreciate that, mo cridhe.” He took a deep breath. The more he held back, the more she drifted away. He had to say it, or she’d be lost to him forever. I love you. How hard could it be?
The little part that nagged at him reared its ugly head. But she plans on abandoning you—
your people. She plans to return to Earth, does she not? Bloody underworld, what was he to do?
Maybe if he’d be a man and just say those words, it would change her mind? It was now or never, he thought. He opened his mouth to speak. However, the voice that boomed wasn’t his.
Bloody underworld, indeed.
“I speak on behalf of my Queen and Commander, Dark Faerie Queen Korrigan.” Cerne looked up toward the booming voice. The giant beast of a faerie sat proud on a large grayish-silver dragon, gripping the reins. Dark steam and smoke billowed from the dragon’s nostrils. Cerne glanced over to Rhiannon, who clenched her fists. Cerne felt the mind link open.
Do you know this beast—man?
Rhiannon nodded. His name is Tynan. He’s the one who I believe took advantage of Onora.
I killed his favorite dragon.
I suppose he thinks he owes you some retribution? Cerne gritted his teeth. Thank the Gods she was in disguise.
“Whatever you have to say, Dark Faerie,” Windstorm shouted in a voice just as booming.
“Speak quickly. We have a battle to win.”
The monster sitting on the dragon—Tynan—threw his head back, blond streaks of hair whipping in the wind. “Arrogance does not befit you, General Windstorm. And you’ll do best to call me Master. You’ll be bowing at my feet soon enough.” Aine leaned in, whispering to Windstorm. Windstorm shook his head and turned back to Tynan. “Your feet? What would your queen have to say about that?”
“Lady Aine, don’t tell me you’ve decided to join this inept group of buffoons.” Tynan clucked his tongue. “What would your sister think?” With a shudder, Aine lifted her head and stiffened in her saddle. “I do not give two ferns what Korrigan thinks anymore. She means nothing to me now.” Rhiannon smiled beneath her helmet. Score one goes to Aine.
Cerne stifled a chuckle. But he had to give Aine credit. It took a lot to stand up to a beast like this Tynan.
“And I can assure you, Lady Aine, the feeling is mutual.” Tynan snorted. “I waste my time speaking to traitorous nothings like you.”
Leave it to Tynan to play the traitor card.
Cerne shook his head. You’re getting rather—ahh—cocky, mo cridhe. It isn’t the time.
Rhiannon looked ahead while Aine sat even prouder high on her horse. I’m sorry. My cockiness helps me deal with the stress of an impending battle.
Actually, he wouldn’t have expected anything else from his princess. And he liked it just the same. As soon as the battle was over and they were safely ensconced back at White Court, things
were going to change—things that should’ve changed long ago. Mainly, himself—he would make those changes. The first would be saying those words. Even if she did leave Fey, he needed her to know how he felt. He would’ve already said those words, had the beast Tynan not interrupted. Learning Tynan was the one who’d attacked her and Aine had added to Cerne’s fire.
He gritted his teeth.
Rhiannon darted her eyes in an inconspicuous glare. Save your anger for the battlefield, sweetie.
The man threatened you. He’ll suffer for it.
His treatment of me pales in comparison to Korrigan’s.
Excellent point. They both will die.
Rhiannon shuddered at his words. Vengeance, pure and simple. She remembered Aine explaining the transfer of souls, and couldn’t bear losing Cerne to the dark. What’s not to say a White Faerie couldn’t be affected?
I won’t allow it. I cannot. Rhiannon gripped her reins and stood silent, watching Tynan rattle off more threats.
You will be avenged. The ice in Cerne’s thoughts sent shivers of dread racing through her spine.
She bit her lip, coming up with a creative way to alter Aine’s words. Aine says when a Dark Faerie is killed in cold blood, their soul can be transferred to the one who ended their life, making the person darker.
I’ve heard it’s only a rumor. They have no proof.
Rhiannon sucked in a deep breath. Do you really want to be the proof?
Cerne harrumphed in her mind. Fine, but I can’t say I won’t be as forgiving if I see one of them attacking you.
Rhiannon made a quick nod. That’s fine. Self-defense and protection are excused, or so I’ve been told.
They went back to watching Tynan offer up some completely bogus terms. Hah! Like they w
ould just hand their princess over to the enemy? Rhiannon also liked the term of surrendering the lands to the north. Then again, Tynan knew no one would agree to Korrigan’s demands.
Korrigan wanted a battle. War and bloodshed was the only thing she strived for. From the little time Rhiannon spent with the demented bitch, she knew the woman lived by the whip.
Korrigan wanted control over everything. And she wouldn’t just stop with the White Plains. She would push on until all of the otherworld was hers.
“Let’s start this battle, already,” Windstorm shouted, once Tynan finished his tirade of terms. “Your requests are unacceptable.”
Well, looks like it’s the moment of truth.
Rhiannon gazed on as Tynan threw back his head and roared with laughter. “You, General Windstorm, are a fool.”
Tynan yanked the reins, sending his dragon into fits of anger. A shower of sparks emitted from its nostrils. “I’m afraid there’s more where that came from, right, Aine? I don’t see your pesky princess here to defend you this time.”
Yay! The disguise worked, Rhiannon thought with cheerfulness.
For now. In the heat of battle, disguises can be discovered and lives can be lost, even yours.
Cerne hoped his warning was clear.
Good thing I don’t feel like dying. But Cerne’s words rang in her mind. She couldn’t escape the fact that—faeries, dark as well as light, good as well as bad—were going to die. She took a deep breath.
No one wants to die, but it’s the way of things. The destiny one chooses determines their fate. Remember those words, mo cridhe.
Cryptic as ever. Yes, I shall ponder your words, oh knowledgeable, Cerne Silverwing.
She glanced up to see Tynan shoot off into the sky. He threw his hand into the air and shook his fist. “You White Faeries are fools! Troops! Onward march!” General Windstorm unsheathed his sword and held it high. “Defend the kingdom, proud warriors. Long live the Queen! Long live the king! Long live the princess. Stand ready!” Lightning bolts streaked across the sky and thunder rolled in their wake. Rhiannon raised her hand, poised to deflect the nasty jolts of electricity. She turned her head and saw Maeve raising her staff to deflect a streak of lightning. The troops pushed forward, marching one by one.