By the Horns

by Jeanette Lynn

  “Truly?” Oberon’s head cocked to the side as he studied her. His heart had shrunk so much, hardening, it was barely chugging along.

  Her hand went to her décolletage, her fingers dancing between to pert breasts. “Mm, you know I do.”

  “Then that shall be yours,” her king whispered. Regret filled him, no matter that they were both dying under her wilting regard, whether she was aware of the issue or not. Even if Oberon had wanted to, he’d been sworn to silence on the matters of royal fae’s mate-heart curse. It was a failsafe to weed out the undesirables.

  Except, they hadn’t accounted for one thing: the love Oberon held for his queen had been enough to sustain them both all these years. What he’d thought was love. And now, they were all that remained of the once great ruling class.

  Titania shrieked, gasping, when she blinked and her eyes flushed white. Robbed of her sight in a flash, the queen’s teeth gnashed, giving truth to one of many of her lies.

  Oberon should almost be angry with the tiny human and her mates for putting things to rights, painting his world in a different light. But it was too late, the damage done. The great infallible Warrior King wanted... more. Thousands upon thousands of years, he’d lived, assuming this was to be his lot.

  “A wish, I’ll grant you both, as well,” the king said, the ice in his wife’s cool gaze as the room suddenly grew cold chilling him to his marrow. With great effort he stood, walking to the circle of runes lining the floor. Looking to Robin, he nodded. “Words are not needed. You will tell me, show me this place in your mind, and it will be done.”

  “And if I wish to stay?” the Queen spluttered, incredulous. Her beautiful crystalline eyes blinked, her skin icing over as she sent an icy deluge about the room. Her skin was starting to turn blue, starting at the tips of her fingers. She was so enraged, she was freezing the palace clean through.

  The handful of fae in residence, no more than humans with wings anymore, could be heard fleeing, soft cries echoing through the great hall.

  It was rather fitting, knowing soon her heart would match in physical coldness, until everything was uniform, inside and out.

  Oberon held his hand out to his wife, the greatest beauty in all of the great green isles. “That is your choice to make. Come with me, or don’t. May I find you in this land, a new one, or not.” He glanced down at his own feet, bare toes wiggling on the floor, a thick layer of ice slowly encasing the marble surface.

  The ground began to glow, heating, Oberon’s palms splaying. The thought struck, that he had the ability to restore court to its former glory, but what would be the point?

  This was the end. Oberon paused then, for so long he looked for all the world a statue. No, he couldn’t do it.

  Looking to Puck, who lay in a puddle of his own blood, matching his claimed scar for scar. “I cannot send you to Tavros.” Oberon shook his head, reading the fae’s mind. “The Trickster has been banished from there.”

  Though hatred seethed in glowing purple eyes, Robin’s breaths choppy, unnatural, chest heaving, lips clamped shut tight as tears poured from his eyes, he gave a mental nod.

  They spoke in their minds a moment more, Oberon blinking as the great deceiver agreed to what the once great warrior king proposed. “You will feel it, you know, though you will not know why. You will ache and pine and the source will be lost to you. What’s come to pass cannot be wiped clean. No matter the shell, the soul remains. The soul always remembers. You truly wish it?”

  Robin lifted, clutching his stomach, giving a barely perceptible nod. He was dying, left to the fate he’d sentenced his claimed to, and he knew it.

  The ground swirled, whirling around the Trickster. Motes of purple and gold tore at him, nipping his skin, until bit by bit, slowly, where Puck once stood nothing but soot and black sand remained. Puck’s eyes, once glowing purple, glowed no more.

  “Luck to you on your new journey,” Oberon found himself saying. Adding, “You fool.” The Trickster, in his final moments, had shown the King all he needed to. Could a broken soul, once rendered, ever become mended?

  “What was that noise?” Titania hissed, unaware she’d gone as white as the snow, lips a crystal flecked blue.

  “Good old Robin departing,” her king murmured. The portal had begun to open, a whole new world at his feet, literally. Yet he found he could not do it. Walking determinedly to his wife, his life partner, he went to take her hands in his, swallowing hard when his heart kicked once, hard.

  He could always escape this, all of it, with one swift jump and a few simple, whispered words. But he’d feel it, same as Puck. Whoever Puck became, he would always know this horrible want. Why prolong the torture?

  “You will kiss me one last time, my heart?” he murmured softly.

  “For what? More curses?” she spat.

  “For your dying mate,” he admitted.

  “Dying?” She jerked as if he’d just slapped her. “Ridiculous. You can’t die! We are tied. That would mean- That would...”

  “You feel it, don’t you?” Beron took her hand, placing the frozen coolness over his heart. They sucked in shocked breaths at once, the king at the cold of it, his queen at her king’s heat.

  “Beron,” she gasped, wings popping free, fluttering. “What is- What’s the meaning of this?!”

  “This is the end,” he murmured softly, his wings slipping free in response, pulling her suddenly limp body close.

  “No. No-no-no.” She fought but it was no use. Her limbs were starting to grow stiff, stuck in a prison of her own making.

  “Yes,” he whispered, his sins as well as hers flashing before his eyes. Yes. This was right. His body curled close, until he was all she knew. Her head lifted, unbidden, her hand going to his face, where it held.

  Beron closed his eyes, his lips finding that of his lover’s. He could feel it, the ice flowing through him. It spread fast, too fast, his last thought of their first kiss, her eyes only for him. He sent the thought to his mate, and thoughts of all the memories he hoarded like precious gems. The Queen’s fingers twitched, nothing more.

  Encapsulated in ice, until they became their own prison, an ice king and queen, the kingdom frozen over, the couple would be discovered years from then, when the palace had long ago crumbled, leaving them to sink into mountains of snow and ice. Entwined in an eternal, lover’s embrace, the red glow of Oberon’s heart had yet to cease.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  The first wail made me laugh. Tiny hooves and a sweet little pink snout, my first born was as Tauran as his fathers, buds for horns and all, but for the thick thatch of silky soft brown hair atop his boxy head. His fur was a mix, thick and curly, but white.

  I lay there holding him as he squalled, crying, happy tears streaking down my cheeks. “He looks just like you!” I looked to my mates, who were getting a little watery-eyed themselves.

  Green eyes opened to glare at the world as our child protested harder. Gold swirled within his irises with his ire, until tiny little smoke rings puffed from his nose. Wiping off his face, I set him at my breast, snorting when he latched on immediately to begin eating hungrily.

  Both males grinned. “Just like us,” they said in unison, earning themselves a tired chuckle from me.

  “You are ready?” Vetra asked from my left, eyeing Suzaela, Vachel, and Aronia, one of the temple maidens who’d delivered many a babe in her time.

  “When it is ready,” Aronia chastised my younger sibling softly. “Tauran babes take time, child.”

  Vetra pinkened but nodded. Smiling softly, she looked to the sweet face of her little nephew. “What shall you name him?”

  “Kvigelric.”

  “Adelvor.”

  My males spoke at once.

  “No.” My face pinched in a grimace. “He needs a name all his own.”

  Two grunts met me in reply.

  Continuing as if they hadn’t spoken, I shrugged. “He will need a good, strong name,” I glanced down at the baby, ruffling his soft fl
uff, still goopy with afterbirth, “won’t you, my little handsome warrior.”

  “Magnar,” a voice called from the other room. “It means strong warrior.”

  Vetra looked to Yhem’s voice, her lips parting.

  “Magnar...” I tried the word out.

  Kvigor and Adelric looked to each other and slowly nodded. “I like it,” Kvigor murmured. “Is it not because Yhemesh means soft sweetness,” Adelric called back to his friend, who let out a snort.

  “Lies,” the older male muttered. “Yhemesh means harsh and unyielding, and you well know it!”

  “Don’t I ever,” Vetra muttered, frowning.

  Yhem made a choking noise, Kvigor and Adelric snorting.

  “Oh,” Vetra grimaced, “I did not mean...”

  “Later,” I got out between gritted teeth, carefully swaddling my little Magnar to hand him over to his sires, “this one’s sibling is ready to go.”

  Adelric took the precious bundle first, cradling him close to his massive chest. “You have battled greatly this day,” he told the babe, “you will give up the air mixing with food, and then you will rest.”

  “Burp him,” Kvigor muttered. “You will burp him. He is already drunk on his mother’s milk. I cannot imagine he is in a better place right now.” My white bull looked to me and smirked. That teasing curl of his lips fell when I began to pant, my right hand flailing as I reached for him. A thick hand curled around mine, offering me support. “You are a brave, strong female, of the likes of which I’ve never known. You can do this, vacha. It is like one of your pieces of cake.”

  “Cake,” I got out between gritted teeth, lifting my sweating face to growl in his as my belly heaved, “you think this a piece of fucking ccccccaaaake?!”

  Several hissing snarls of warning to my males and a mouthful of swear words later, a tiny set of feet began to emerge into the world.

  “Oh, she is stubborn,” Aronia said with a chuckle.

  “She?” Even through the pain, my heart sang, coming through in my voice.

  “A boy and a girl,” my beasts marveled.

  Lifting my legs, gripping my knees, I groaned, glaring down at those three-toed, tiny feet with black toe nails, panting, huffing, pushing. Slowly, my daughter slipped free, until a tiny squall rent the air.

  Vetra and Aronia gasped softly, but it was Suzaela and me who let out a shocked laugh.

  “Give her to me,” I got out between sobbing laughter. A blanket was set on my belly, my youngest wailing softly as I beheld her.

  Kvigor and Adelric, watching, right beside me, could barely believe it.

  Tiny pale fingers gripped mine and I laughed, sniffling, overcome with emotions. Dark curls complimented glowing black eyes, the tiny, furry white tail along her backside flicking wetly. Little clawed feet curled, three-toed feet wiggling. A tiny pair of leathery white wings curved along her back, the clawed thumb along the bend of her wings curling towards her shoulders.

  “Vacha,” Adelric whispered, reaching out with his free hand to touch his little girl’s tiny fingers. She was small, so very small, dwarfed next to my big, strong warrior’s thick fingers.

  “Vacha,” Kvigor murmured, placing a kiss to my temple to reach out, cupping the head of our tiny little one. “Vacha la’an,” my male added.

  “That’s so pretty,” I said quietly, “but I refuse to name our daughter something I’ve no clue the meaning. And little cow, no offense,” I looked to Vachel, who took none, “isn’t to be it.”

  My warrior bull handed his bundle over to Kvigor, who eagerly took his turn holding his son. “La’an,” Adelric told me, leaning in to tempt our youngest from me while I finished with the afterbirth, “means sweet. And vacha, my sweet demon pixie, means miracle. This,” his snout bussed his daughter’s tiny nose, then he brushed warm air over her forehead, “is our Vacha La’an, our sweet little miracle.”

  It was perfect.

  Vacha La’an started fussing, rooting around for a nipple that wasn’t there. “She cries for her Mama’s teat,” Adelric felt the need to point out. Tiny fingers gripping one of his, brought it to her mouth. “Strong,” my dark-furred warrior commented.

  “A hellion, she’ll be,” Kvigor said with pride.

  Vacha La’an chose that moment to start really kicking up a fuss, until, cleaned up, a new sheet draping me, she was back in my arms. That little mouth found what it sought, with a little help, and the tiny minx latched on. Swirling black orbs shifted before our eyes, flushing gold in one eye, lavender in the other.

  “A hellion, indeed,” Kvigor blurted, leaning in, kissing my stunned lips as I gaped at our newest addition. “And she’s all ours, as you are, my little wife.”

  “Maybe more so,” Adelric boasted, “as I will love you for all of your life, little one. Our little hellion.”

  “All-father bless us,” Aronia cackled, making the sign of a horseshoe across her chest.

  “All-father blessed us, alright,” I got out, stunned silly.

  EPILOGUE

  5 years later

  “Greetings, my friends!” Baboroth called, his huge tusks narrowly missing the small compared to him but large for her kind Foxen, his mate Harrolah, huddled close to his side. Baboroth, an Elephas, trumpeted happily. “My men, come, we shall set up our tents!”

  Vacha La’an huddled by Adelric’s side, half hidden behind her father’s leg, peering up at the enormous male come to join us in awe. “Pretty,” she whispered, pointing to the orange and white furred, curvy Harrolah.

  “As you are, little von, like mamman, yes,” Harrolah complimented with a grin and a wink, sauntering past.

  Vachala, as she’d been nicknamed, giggled. When she looked to me, my wings out, a darker match to hers, our tails lashing the ground, she grinned so wide my heart ached.

  “Come on, ‘An,” Magnar called to his sibling, using the name only he was allowed to use. “Heard cake!” Fur curling wildly about his sturdy little frame, pink nose snuffling as he danced about, his buds for horns two little black nubs on his boxy head, I couldn’t help but smile. He was the best of both of his fathers rolled into one, the sweetest, most stubborn, happy little troublemaker this side of the Bowdakrein river I’d ever beheld. A handful and a half, my little Tauran was. And his sister had him wrapped around her little finger.

  “Cake?” Vachala perked up instantly. Tugging on her sire’s leg, she wiggled excitedly.

  “Go and see for yourself, and then bring me back some,” Kvigor teased, leaning around me to spy his baby girl, eyes bright, lips twitching, “cannot be hanging on your Papa’s leg all day, sweetling.”

  Tiny hands tightened on Adelric’s leg until he reached down to pat her thick mass of curls comfortingly. “She is shy and you are just jealous she prefers me,” he bared his teeth at his brother in challenge, “leave her be.”

  It was almost comical how horrible Adelric was with his youngest.

  “Even worse than with Vachel, you are,” Kvigor’s deep voice rumbled. Snorting on a chuckle, he shook his head.

  Nostrils steaming, Adelric made a noise, a rattling rumble from deep in his chest. Finally, he looked down at his youngest, speaking to her softly, “You wish cake, my little one?”

  “Ah-hum.” A little head with dark curls nodded vigorously.

  “Magnar is with Papaw Argemon,” I heard him whisper, “and Mamaw Su. You must hurry or it will all be gone.”

  Obsidian eyes found mine and I tossed her a wink, blowing my little wee beastie a quick kiss. Unlike her bold, minutes older sibling, my little vacha needed time to work up to things.

  “Come! Meet my Olie-brick,” Baboroth said with great enthusiasm. “Best of my men, leader of my scouts.”

  A thin form stepped forward, a youth, I assumed, the thick hood over his head masking his features. It wasn’t until I caught the flutter of wings that I knew he was different. “You talk me up too much,” a surprisingly crisp, sharp, high but not femininely so, voice called to his leader. “I fear I won’t live u
p to your boasts, my friend.”

  “Hah! Hear him now?” The great Elephas rumbled a laugh. Lifting a meaty paw, he slapped his comrade on the back, sending him flying forward.

  A spot of orange and brown flashed as the male stumbled, twisting, and toppled right into me.

  Hands shooting out, I caught him with a gasp. He was light as a feather, but not so small as I’d thought—a mistake I made, comparing him to an Elephas.

  “Oh. Are you alright?” I asked, wondering at him when he sucked in a sharp gasp.

  Kvigor and Adelric moved forward, grabbing the male to help right him.

  “He is fine!” Baboroth gripped his friend and none too gently clamped him to his side. “Found little one in field. Fell from sky. Cold, it was. Iced clean through. Blue all over. Funny little bird man.”

  “Bird man?” Kvigor mumbled questioningly, as if he was wondering, as I was, if that was a nickname or...

  A small chuckle from the hooded figure had me staring after him. “Excuse my friend. He means Turedidane, of Praskar, presumably. Can’t rightly remember,” the male replied softly, his voice low, as if to soothe. “And he means bird man, literally, in case you were wondering.”

  Fingers absent of nails, covered in soft looking brown feathers, lifted, going for his hood. A brown beak peeked out first, an orange throat next. It was those eyes that captivated me, though, leaving me stunned, a strange feeling washing over me like I should know him from somewhere.

  “I am Olbrecht,” the Turedidane introduced with a wing flapping flourish. Thin legs on a muscular frame, his arms and wings one, a pretty speckled brown color, he bowed low. Lifting, he looked to Adelric and Kvigor. “Baboroth has said many great things about you.” Eyes as blue as a robin’s egg met mine and held. An odd moment passed between us. “A great many things.”

  “This is our Addie,” Kvigor said gruffly, “and over there somewhere, stuffing his face with cake, is our Magnar. And,” he paused when he looked to Adelric to find his leg absent of his clinger-on, “our hellion has absconded, presumably to join in the cake revelry.”