by Renee Wildes
“I wish you wouldn’t do this. You don’t want this, I know you don’t.”
He closed his eyes and just let her hold him for a moment. “Nay, but there is no one else. They need someone to lead them in the days ahead, to speak for the world of men. Who better than one who has been there? At least I shall be in a position to decide and lead, and not just ask and hope.”
“Whom do you seek to convince, me or yourself? I think you’ll make a great king. You’ll be good for the kingdom.” She leaned against his back. “I just don’t know if the kingdom will be good for you.”
A true guardian—always concerned for the welfare of others. Loren turned in her arms and held her close. Dara. Fierce. Beautiful. Caring. His. It boggled the mind. “I am glad you are here.”
“I am here for you, you know that.” Her eyes searched his. “You look very…princy.”
His lips twitched. And then there was Dara herself. What would become of her? Were he crowned king, would they honor his commitment to her? There had never been a queen of the elves who was not an elf. He did not know if there was law against it, but tradition was. And the ministry was a strong proponent of tradition.
They would not drive Dara off when Jalad was gone. He would not marry Alani just because a bunch of old men told him to, either.
Loren opened the door and Dara followed him into the back of the hall. Cedric sat on his throne, flanked by his parents. Sirona and Falak stood in the center front row with Paulette and Brannan. The ministers occupied the right-hand chairs, the mages the left. Pahn sat with the mages, aside Gwendolyn.
Aletha appeared from behind Cedric’s throne. “Who petitions for the crown of the heir?”
“Last chance,” Dara whispered.
He glared down at her and took a deep breath at all the eyes on him. “I do.”
“Who art thou, petitioner?” Aletha asked.
“Loren ta Cedric ta Pari ta Lir, prince of the realm, warrior and Lady’s champion.”
“Who stands with thee?” the priestess demanded.
High priest Everett came from the shadows in the opposite back corner of the hall to stand at Loren’s right side. “I, Everett, high priest of the Lady of Light, do so stand with Prince Loren. I uphold his claim as Lady’s champion.”
Cianan strode up as well. “I am Cianan ta Daneal from the academy. I uphold his claim as warrior, chosen by Hani`ena and trained by Lord Elio himself.”
“Doth Lord Elio support this claim?”
“Wholeheartedly,” the Minister of Defense declared.
Cianan grinned.
Aletha smiled. “Then let the petitioner come forward.”
Loren stared at the white runner leading him straight to the last place he’d ever pictured himself—the throne of Cymry. His eye caught Brannan’s. “Trade?”
Brannan looked horrified and shook his head.
There is none else. So be it. Loren squared his shoulders, locked eyes with his father and started down the endless, too-short walk with Everett and Cianan. Cianan, his best friend, who had been by his side through every major and minor event in his life.
“Welcome, Loren ta Cedric ta Pari ta Lir,” Aletha said as he stopped afore her. She turned to Cedric, who rose to his feet. “Sire, dost thou acknowledge thy heir?”
“Thou art my son, and now my heir,” Cedric decreed. He turned to Pari, who handed him the heir’s crown. “With this symbol, the crown of Cymry stands at the end of thy path. Three powers doth the crown grant thee—justice, mercy and truth. In fact and deed, thou hast borne thy sword Justice with honor and mercy already, for many years. Empathy thou hast as well, since birth, a gift from thy mother.
“But truth begets true wisdom, and so, with this symbol, one last power I grant thee as my son and heir. With this crown, accept the gift of truth. Never again shalt thou hear or tell a falsehood, as long as thou live. Dost thou accept this symbol of thy rank and responsibility, and all that goes with it?”
Loren had known truth was the true power of the crown, but the wording shook him. “Never again shalt thou hear or tell a falsehood, as long as thou live.” What about omissions? Could he hold silent, or would he always be cursed with blurting what he thought at any given moment? Why had he not asked afore now?
Could he call a recess in the middle of a swearing?
His grandparents stared at him. Cedric knew, Loren saw the look on his face. But the king would wait him out. Loren must answer unprompted. Unhindered.
“If not you, then who?” Hani`ena asked.
Loren straightened. “I, Loren ta Cedric ta Pari ta Lir, prince of the realm, warrior and Lady’s champion, do hereby swear to accept and uphold the position of heir to the throne of Cymry. I accept the responsibilities of justice, mercy and truth with honor and due vigilance…until my last breath.”
The irony of that statement was not lost on him.
“I, Cedric ta Pari ta Lir ta Karel, high king of the realm of the dawn, do accept my son Loren as my heir, afore this company and with the Lady of Light as my witness. Come forward, my son.”
Loren climbed the dais steps and knelt at his father’s feet. Cedric lowered the crown, and as it encircled his head he heard his father say, “With this symbol of office, I bind my heir to my kingdom.” The words settled into Loren’s soul with the weight of finality. He looked up into his father’s face as the king helped him back to his feet.
“Turn and greet thy subjects,” Cedric instructed.
His subjects? Lord and Lady, he wanted a drink. Loren turned. The first face he saw was Cianan’s, who grinned at him as he took a knee to his future king.
“He needs a drink,” Cianan thought.
“About time we got the right son on the throne.” Lord Elio bowed low.
Thoughts. He was hearing actual thoughts. Loren shook his head to clear the ringing in his ears. The words and thoughts swirled around him like a chaotic chorus.
Pari gripped his upper arm to get his attention. “Shields, lad. Thou canst block the thoughts if not the intent. Thou need hear thoughts but deliberately.”
Loren focused, and the thoughts dropped to a barely audible buzzing. His relief was immediate. “Thank you.”
His granther patted his shoulder. “I figured this would help. But one thing thou cannot do is speak a lie. Try. How old am I?”
“Two hund…” Loren’s face twisted as he sighed. “Three thousand one hundred sixty-two.” His eyes widened.
Pari nodded. “Omit if thou must. Only the truth shalt come out if thou opens thy mouth.”
Dara met them at the door. Her eyes searched Loren’s. “How do you feel?”
“Like I lost three straight rounds with Lord Elio.” He winced. “Forget the reception, I should like to go straight to bed.” Truth, indeed. Hopefully he did not talk in his sleep.
“Take him up, lass,” Pari stated. “Thou need rest. I shalt make thy apologies to this assembly. Go.”
Dara and Loren walked arm-in-arm up to their suites. Loren turned to her at the door and dropped his shielding, just a little. Waves of sorrow emanated from her. She thought she was losing him, that she, a common mortal, had no future with a king of the elves. Royalty. An immortal.
His jaw tightened. He had not asked for this. Mentally he drew a line betwixt himself, Dara and the Destiny Hand. No more. I have chosen what is mine and I shall not give her up to You.
“Stay with me,” he heard himself saying.
A flash of Light, and the Lady stood afore him. “She cannot be thy wife, not until this war be over.” Her voice echoed in his mind.
“But she is my wife,” he dared to argue. “You made her so.”
“She hath a threefold purpose in this coming conflict—dragon, fire mage—and maiden. Thou art My champion. Heed Me.” Her face softened. “Wait. Thy time hast not yet come.” She disappeared, leaving Loren staring at Dara.
Dara stared back at him, uncertainty of his intent in her eyes. “I’ll be right next door—”
He tra
iled the back of his hand down her cheek. “I would not take advantage, but neither of us wants to be alone tonight. That is all I offer.” For now, but someday soon he would tell her all. He owed them both the opportunity to make their choices with their eyes wide open.
“Trust me.”
Surprisingly, she blushed. “I do. Always.”
Truth.
More surprising how right the world became from three simple words.
Chapter Thirteen
Loren fumbled to open the door and eased her inside. He saw Dara swallow hard and flinch a bit as the door clicked shut. Not with fear, but with nervous…anticipation. His body tightened, and he cursed silently. Lord and Lady, this was going to be a long night, but he would keep his vow. The Lady did not make such stipulations just to torment Her followers.
The firelight glinted off the rich copper of Dara’s hair. All the gold in the world, in one sensual body. Gold skin, gold eyes. He could stare at her all night, get drunk on her scent…
“Are you gonna stare at me all night?” Her husky voice sent a shiver of need down his spine.
He grinned. “Where have I heard that afore?”
“Well, if you’d quit doing it I wouldn’t have to keep saying it.” Her tone was severe, but the corner of her mouth twitched, and her eyes sparkled.
“Ask the sun not to rise, or something equally impossible, while you are asking.”
She came over to wrap her arms around him. “How am I supposed to resist you when you say things like that?”
Resist. His mind latched onto that one word, even as a drowning man latched onto driftwood. Resist the softness of the lush curves pressed against him. Resist the full lips parted in open invitation, the scent of her growing need for him. A dragon’s allure, his granther had called it. He did not know the half of it.
But it was more than that. The Goddess-Bond of life-mates was soul-binding, hearts and minds as well as bodies. If he took her now, they would be inseparable…literally. And he would not do that to her while there was still so much unsettled.
“Loren?” Dara’s voice called him back. Her expression was worried. “Where did you go?”
“Nowhere you want to follow,” he stated.
“You were right—you shouldn’t be alone tonight.” She turned to the table, to pour them each a glass of wine. “Talk to me. About anything.” She handed him a cup. “Just don’t shut me out again.”
He took a sip of wine. “Did Rufus and Fanny know about your mother?”
“You want to talk about me?” Dara looked astonished.
“I for certain do not wish to speak about anything that has happened the last few days to me,” he retorted. “You have lost so much—not the least of which is a considerable amount of control—most of which is my fault.”
“I don’t blame you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
He waved it off, impatient. “The time for blame is long past. What is, is.”
She glared. “If you start blathering on about that Destiny Hand too, I swear I’ll scream. The guards would come running, and we’d both be embarrassed. I make my own choices. I could have left you, refused to come with you. Short of gagging me and tying me to your horse, you couldn’t have stopped me if I’d truly wanted to leave. I’ve never fought against you, not in earnest. Trust me—I’d win, especially now.” She fingered the torque around her neck.
No, she would not. She did not hurt those she cared for. He knew that with every fiber of his being. “Which brings me back to my question. Women are forbidden combat training in Arcadia; even in Riverhead wearing men’s clothing is frowned upon. I would bet if someone asked why you carried a knife, you would have responded ‘To cut—’”
“—bandages,’” she finished. “You’re right. Fanny and Rufus never said anything to me, but I started wrestling and knife training when I was barely big enough to carry pails of water from the creek. I think Mother knew she…” Pain cut her voice, and she paused to regain control. “…was not going to be with us much longer, and wanted to make sure I would not be defenseless if I was left alone, I would have skills and not be helpless and without choices.”
“Was she a seer?”
Dara shook her head. “Just good at reading the lay of the land, as it were. The once ways are fading, and Hengist and Moira are becoming the exception rather than the rule.”
“The daughter of queens hiding as a common peasant healer.”
“Not queens in the sense you’re thinking. We don’t rule over others. That takes diplomacy skills. If we have a thorn in our paw, we remove it.” She eyed him over her glass. “When I told you if Alani made you uncomfortable, just break it off and toss her out, I meant it. I did not consider the ramifications of the friendship of your fathers, or her family’s position in the kingdom. For that I apologize. That is the kind of thing that will make you a great king, and what makes me such a liability.”
“Anika called you the wind of change,” Loren stated. “We must change—bend or break.”
She snorted. “I don’t think your people are ready for that much change.”
“You truly think I will make a good king?” Loren hated voicing the question aloud. It sounded weak.
“You will be an amazing king,” she assured him. “You are decisive, a man of action and a man of vision. You do not suffer from tunnel vision. The kingdom will be in good hands.”
There was a ring of finality in her voice he liked not at all. “And what of you?” he asked. “What shall you do when all this is over and Riverhead is free once again?”
“I don’t know.” A shadow crossed her face. Sorrow. Doubt. “I don’t want to talk anymore. Can you just hold me for a bit?” She set her glass down and turned her back to him. “Would you mind? I can’t reach the laces. Stupid gowns.”
His mouth went dry as he reached to undo the laces and watched her shimmy out of the layers of silk until she stood clad in the thinnest layer of gauzy linen he could imagine. She reached up to loosen her hair. He would take the vision of her standing afore the fire, the silhouette of her body and the blazing glory of her hair, with him to his grave.
“There. Now I can sleep in comfort without pins stabbing me in the head all night,” she muttered. She glided over to him, and undid his belt. “I’m almost afraid to ask what you sleep in,” she confessed.
One moment brazen, one moment shy. It would take a lifetime to learn her moods, her secrets. He wanted that lifetime. But did she? Enough to defy a kingdom? “I think it best to keep my breeches on.” He kicked off his boots and yanked off his tunic, then climbed onto the bed. “Come here.”
She eyed him warily. “Maybe if you looked less like a hungry fox in a henhouse.”
She had no idea. “A dragon afraid of a mere fox? Now that would ruin your reputation,” he teased. “You wished to be held, remember? The bed is much more comfortable than the floor.” He sobered. “For tonight, no crowns, no kingdoms, no demons. Let us just be together.”
Dara crawled up aside him and snuggled into the crook of his arm. “No more talking.”
“Not another word. My word of honor.” Loren took a deep breath and wrapped his arms around her. She tucked her head under his chin and went boneless by slow degrees. The sweet scent of her hair, the silken slide of her skin against his was an exquisitely agonizing torture. But would he have forgone it by not touching her?
Not in this lifetime. He knotted a hand in her hair, stroked the other hand down her back. She sighed and nuzzled closer, turning into him and sliding one leg over his. Her small hand glided across his chest, her fingers caressing his skin, the muscles beneath. She drifted, her consciousness a hazy cloud. Warmth. Comfort. Not alone in the dark. It was enough.
***
Loren opened his eyes. Dara draped across him like a blanket, her deep, even breathing indicating the depth of her slumber. Would the past week been but a nightmare. Again, he had been unable to stay the Destiny Hand. His brother was dead. Another brother, and yet a
gain he was responsible. The ministry would not hold silent on that fact. The rift betwixt Deane and himself was permanent, now forever unmended. And he was now heir; the wrong son of Cedric, future high king of the eastdawn elves.
He studied Dara. His life-mate. Future queen. Fear tightened in his throat at what lay ahead of her. So young in her power, going up against the demon that had scattered her people and killed her father. And if they survived, what of after? What he would not give to someday be able to wake up to her each and every morning, both of them naked and under the covers. No matter Cedric’s objections. Someday, when all this is over. I shall not give you up.
Unable, unwilling to stop himself, he drew her face close for a chaste kiss.
She stirred and opened her eyes, reaching out a hand to his cheek. “Are you all right?”
He shrugged. “Fair enough. Good morning, elingrena.”
“Good morning.” She leaned up for a long, leisurely kiss his body took entirely too easily as an invitation.
Recalling the Lady’s admonition, Loren kept a tight rein on his desire, resisting the temptation to deepen the kiss, to tease her breasts until her nipples stiffened, until her eyes blazed hot with need and she moaned…
Dara drew back and stared at him. She brushed the hair back over his shoulder, and he shuddered at the innocent caress. She blushed and bit her lip. “I should sneak back into my own bed afore Verdeen comes to wake me and finds—”
A tentative knock came on the adjoining door.
“—me not there.” Dara rolled her eyes.
“Prince Loren?” Verdeen called, her voice worried. “I apologize for disturbing you, but Lady Dara is missing.”
“Really?” Loren murmured. “Missing? Seems I have found her.” He bent closer for another slow, lingering kiss that heated his blood, then broke it off with regret. “We should get moving. Cianan and I go to address the ministry, and you have lessons with the adepts.”
“Prince Loren? Are you there?”
“Relax, Verdeen. I’m not missing. I’m right here.”
There was dead silence on the other side of the door. “T-take your time, my lady.”
