“No,” Eilidh said, putting her hand on Griogair’s leg. “Nothing so formal. Consider the evening an introduction. You might like her.” She shrugged. “On the other hand, you might detest her. I’d never ask you to do anything that made you uneasy. I only wish you to dine with us.”
Tràth met his father’s violet eyes. “What aren’t you telling me?”
Eilidh answered before her mate had the chance. “Queen Naima is celebrating her 924th year and, by all reports, has begun to slow down. They say she passes more of her duties to Imena of late. Also, she may have expressed to her attendants that she wishes to see her daughter choose a mate before she dies.”
“And you thought you’d throw me into the pot with the other minor royals clamouring for her hand?”
“You’re no minor royal,” Eilidh said gently.
“I’m the son of your predecessor, Your Majesty,” Tràth said, unable to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. “A woman you had killed.” Eilidh sucked in her breath as though he’d slapped her, and Tràth regretted the careless statement. “I’m sorry,” he said.
“No,” Eilidh said, rising from her chair. “Don’t be. You’re right, of course. I…I think of you as a member of my family, Tràth. I don’t have much family. Sometimes, I forget.” She straightened her dress as she talked, refusing to meet his gaze.
The words stung Tràth. He started to apologise again, but she tilted her head and her eyes glazed over. “Quinton is coming up,” she said. “He’ll probably have Maiya with him. I’m sorry. He’ll try to make you hold her.” She muttered something and left the room, fumbling like an awkward adolescent.
The moment she’d left, Griogair shot out of his seat. “What is wrong with you?” he shouted. The overt display of emotion startled Tràth. “She’s never asked you to take on any duties. She supports your ridiculously frivolous lifestyle. Do you forget that when you were missing, lost without hope of return, only Eilidh’s efforts brought you back?”
Shame burned within Tràth’s chest. He bowed his head and placed a hand over his heart. “Forgive me, Father,” he said.
“You owe your apology to my mate.” Griogair sighed. “Will you at least come to the dinner?” His voice betrayed his frustration.
Misery threatened to swallow Tràth whole. He had no desire to embarrass Eilidh by declining, but neither would he pretend to be interested in becoming anyone’s mate. No one had thought about what that would mean to Douglas. Tràth couldn’t court a princess without speaking to his bonded druid. “No,” Tràth said. “I’m not fit to be anyone’s mate. Why pretend otherwise?”
“Are you not well?” Griogair’s anger vanished as concern etched across his face. “I’d hoped your difficulties had lessened with your bonding.”
“Douglas is so obsessed with his work, we hardly reap the benefits of our bond. I suffer with our separation more than he.”
“Then perhaps a diversion will do you good,” Griogair began. Before he could argue further, Munro came in, bearing the smallest faerie child Tràth had ever seen. Not that he’d seen many children.
Eilidh was speaking. “But what is she wearing?”
“They’re play clothes, Eilidh. I got them for her when I went to Scotland.”
“Didn’t the nurses pack plenty of clothes?”
Munro rolled his eyes. “Hello, Griogair. Hi, Tràth,” he said with a grin. “It’s about time you met your sister. Well, step-sister. Sort of.”
The statement made Tràth’s misstep with Eilidh that much more painful. “Our family is complicated,” Tràth said with a smile at Eilidh. He hoped she could forgive his earlier outburst. Not only was he dependant on her, but she had been kind to him when many others hadn’t. Although Eilidh had been responsible for his mother’s death, she had been too gracious to mention Queen Cadhla had ordered Tràth and Griogair’s executions at the time.
“It is indeed,” she said.
Tràth studied Maiya, uncertain what one was supposed to say to an infant. “Hello, princess,” he said.
She leaned toward him and held out her hands.
“Errr, what does she want?” Tràth asked.
Munro chuckled. “She wants you to hold her.” As though sensing Tràth’s discomfort, Munro distracted her. “It’s all right,” he said. “You’ll get used to us. I’ll have you playing pat-a-cake before you know what’s hit you.”
“Errr…” Tràth hadn’t felt so tongue-tied in quite some time. He glanced at his father, but Griogair offered no relief. Eilidh looked like she was about to break into a rather undignified giggle-fit.
Munro then did the most peculiar thing. He took Princess Maiya and tossed her straight up in the air. In a panic, Tràth reached for the time stream. The baby was frozen in mid-air, eyes wide. Eilidh appeared equally startled. Strands of time reached out from the child. Although most threads showed her landing safely in her father’s grasp, in a rare few, he dropped her or she suffered an injury. Why would Munro take such a risk? Without pausing more than a heartbeat to consider, Tràth reached up and grabbed her, using the resistance of stopped time to give him purchase.
When she was safe again, he released the flows of time. Panic set in as the others took a moment to catch up. Munro appeared shocked when he realised Maiya wasn’t in his hands. “Are you mad?” Tràth spat at him.
Just as Munro started to speak, Maiya burst into a gale of laughter and clapped her chubby hands together. The druid chuckled, exhaling his relief. “I would have caught her,” he said. “I always catch her.”
“But it’s dangerous!” Tràth said, holding the giggling infant, who latched her soggy hand onto his nose.
Munro shook his head. “You’re supposed to look surprised,” he said.
Tràth frowned. “Why?”
Eilidh cleared her throat. “Because she’s got your nose.”
“Maiya,” Munro said in a mock-stern voice. “Give your brother his nose back.”
The scene was so ridiculous, but something tugged at Tràth’s emotions. He raised his eyebrows at the girl, and she thumped his nose with her tiny palm.
“Good girl,” Munro said. He turned to Tràth. “So you’ve already discussed the dinner tomorrow night?”
“Yes,” Tràth said. “With regret, I will not be attending.”
“Will you not?” Eilidh asked, crinkling the space between her eyebrows. “I promise there will be no pressure to do anything more than chat pleasantly over dinner. If you find her disagreeable, you need never speak with her again.”
He hated disappointing Eilidh. “I’m afraid I cannot guarantee I’d be pleasant company. I doubt the princess will be as forgiving of my social incompetence as you are.” He gave a slight bow.
She glanced at Munro, her eyes losing focus slightly as they did when she was communicating telepathically.
Munro turned to Tràth and took Maiya out of his arms. “I was thinking of heading over to the library. Care to join me?”
Eilidh touched his arm. “Surely you aren’t thinking of taking Maiya to the library.”
“Why not?” He gave Maiya a dopey look. “You want to come with Daddy, don’t you? Can you say Daddy? Da-da?”
“Daddy?” Tràth glanced toward Eilidh and Griogair.
“Don’t ask,” Eilidh told him. “It’s a human expression.” She turned to Munro, who continued babbling to the child. “I’ve sent for a nurse. It might be more comfortable for Tràth if the nurses take her while you two chat. Besides, I don’t think the Keepers are accustomed to infants. Her presence might disrupt their work.”
Two nurses stepped into Griogair’s study as Munro bounced the giggling Maiya in his arms. “All right,” he said. “Maiya, you want to go play without Daddy at our Hall for a bit?”
The tiny princess’ lower lip trembled as he handed her to the female nurse. The woman at least had the good sense to whisk the child away before Munro could change his mind.
“Well,” Munro said, looking out the archway at the retreating figures. �
��I suppose she’ll be all right.” The whole thing confused Tràth. How could Munro believe the child would be better off with him, an obvious novice with children, to someone who had been raising children for hundreds of years? Wasn’t he worried she would form an unnatural attachment to her parents?
“Yes, I’d love to join you,” Tràth said, seizing the opportunity to get away from the Caledonian Hall.
Eilidh spoke up. “I hope you will spend a few days at the Hall,” she said. “We plan to remain at least until the Feast of Dilum. We would so enjoy some time with you.”
“Thank you,” he said. “I have no immediate plans. I will stay for a few days, at least.” Between the packing and travelling, it had taken half a day to get to the Halls of Mist. He was in no hurry to reverse the journey so soon.
After saying a quick goodbye to his father and Queen Eilidh, Tràth followed Munro to the main floor and into the Caledonian courtyard. When they arrived, the druid turned to him. “Look, we don’t need to go to the library. I made the excuse to get you out of there, if you wanted. I told Eilidh this whole thing with you and the Zalian princess was a bad idea.”
“Did you?” Tràth asked, surprised to find an ally in Munro. Perhaps he shouldn’t have been. After all, the dinner request was about politics, a game Munro played by instinct rather than practice or guile.
“Sure,” Munro said. “Yeah, it would help the Druid Hall to have a diplomatic tie to Zalia. If you had a friendly relationship with their princess, she would likely be more open, because of your bond with Douglas. And I know Caledonia is interested in negotiating favourable terms with them on trading for gold and rare metals. Then there’s the Keepers, who have no representatives in Zalia. They’d like nothing better than to add to their stores of knowledge and be allowed to search for significant runestones.”
Tràth chuckled. “This is you describing why it’s a bad idea for me to meet with the princess?”
Munro expression turned serious. “None of that means anything if doing so would make you unhappy. I can tell by looking at you that you’re not content.”
“What of my duty?” Tràth asked, curious about the reversal of the argument.
Munro shrugged. “We druids are used working hard to gain a queen’s confidence. Besides, we’ve finished our Mistgate, so we have options. If Queen Naima is as close to death as they say, things will soon change in Zalia no matter who the princess selects as her mate. The keepers will likely find her more amenable than her mother, regardless of your choice.”
“And Caledonia?”
“So Eilidh pays a little more for diamonds. It’s hard to worry too much about that.”
Tràth knew Munro was oversimplifying things, particularly the diplomatic ties with Caledonia, but he appreciated the effort.
“Why haven’t you seen Douglas?” Munro asked.
The baldness of the question startled Tràth. He was accustomed to being the most blunt person in a conversation, but his stark way of speaking was nothing compared to the humans’ usual manner. “He’s changed,” Tràth said. “We are not as close as we once were.”
Munro nodded. “His work with the Source Stone has been consuming him. I think seeing you would do him good.” The druid hesitated. “I know how you feel about him. It’s the same with me and Eilidh. This bond we share is like nothing else. I don’t think anyone who hasn’t experienced it could understand.”
Tràth stood, lost for words for the second time that night. He’d never discussed his feelings for Douglas.
“Go talk to him, at least. It’ll do you both good. Then, if you have time, we’ll go to the library. I ran into some runework that may relate to temporal flows. I’m not sure, but I’d value your perspective.”
“Very well,” Tràth said. “I’d like that.” They walked together to the Druid Hall. Each step of the way, Douglas’ presence grew more intense as the bond pulled him onward.
Tràth knew the moment he and Munro arrived at the Druid Hall that Douglas was not inside the workshop. “I believe he’s in his suite,” he told Munro. “I’ll find him.” What he didn’t say was the emotional ripples coming through their bond told him Douglas was not alone. And likely having sex.
Tràth climbed the stair, noting how much more activity filled the Hall than during his last visit. Nurses, Watchers, attendants, servants of all types, and scholars went about their business as in any kingdom Hall. For the first time, he was aware of Douglas’ true rank. He wasn’t merely Tràth’s bonded druid anymore, but a nobleman in his own right. Had he been selfish to worry that the distance was due to anything more than Douglas being busy with his station?
The human’s familiar, musky scent greeted Tràth as he walked through the arch into the druid’s suite. The arches were doubled and offset to allow for some privacy, but as in the Caledonian style, the building’s designers used few doors, locks, or latches.
He walked past the entryway and the private lounge, into the bed chamber, guided by the heightening thrill streaming through their bond. Douglas lay on a raised, flat, human-style bed, naked, atop a female faerie whose legs were wrapped tightly around him. Her head was thrown back, her eyes closed. Douglas met Tràth’s gaze without breaking the rhythm of their congress.
The powerful sensations coursed through the bond, and Tràth’s body responded. His breathing became heavier, and he sat on a lounger across from the bed, enraptured with the experience. Months had passed since they’d shared such moments, since they’d held pleasure parties and partaken in the pure delights only a bonded pair could enjoy. The heights of their sexual experiences were increased not two-fold, but many times over. They each felt the pleasures of the other, but something in the sharing gave them so much more.
For the first time in months, without the need for smoke, the thumping of time receded. Douglas held Tràth’s gaze. As he moved toward his peak, he did so slowly, and Tràth knew this was for his benefit as much as for the faerie beneath Douglas. At one point, she opened her eyes, startled to discover the prince watching. Douglas soothed her, whispering huskily into her ear until she smiled.
When Douglas finally climaxed, Tràth pressed his eyes closed, feeling every shudder, relishing the groans of his bonded druid. Although not sated himself, he revelled in Douglas’ gratification. He only opened his eyes when Douglas spoke.
“Come over if you like,” Douglas said. “I’m sure she’ll eagerly accommodate you.” Tràth watched as Douglas disengaged himself and stood, leaning on the tall bedpost.
“Indeed I will, Your Highness,” the faerie purred, rolling over on her side and holding out one hand to him.
“No, thank you,” Tràth said. He looked at Douglas, admiring the beauty of the young human’s strong body. He was short, his muscles taut and compact. His grey eyes were the colour of a brooding storm. “I came to see you.”
Douglas nodded and playfully smacked the female’s bottom. “Time to go,” he said. “I need to speak with Prince Tràth.”
Tràth marvelled at the druid’s newfound confidence. He couldn’t help but remember what a shy young man he’d been when they bonded over two years before. Douglas had been uncertain, uncomfortable with women. Any hint of sexuality had made him blush in the most charming way.
The woman scowled for a moment, but did as she was told, gathering her robes and scurrying toward the separate bathing room. Tràth wondered idly who she was. A servant? A scholar? The daughter of some visiting elder? “I hear the Mistgate is finished,” he said. “An incredible achievement.”
Douglas stretched lazily. “Is that why you’re here?”
The question wounded Tràth. Why shouldn’t he come? But then, why did he assume Douglas didn’t want him here? Perhaps the question meant nothing. “No. Queen Eilidh invited me to a diplomatic dinner at the Caledonian Hall, an offer I could hardly refuse.”
“I don’t envy you,” Douglas said, donning a sheer lounging robe before sitting on the edge of the bed closest to Tràth. “Now that the queens have a
ccepted our position as draoidh, we’re overrun with bloody diplomacy. At least I don’t have the bother of being trotted out to test for bonding capability. You gotta feel for Huck, Aaron, Demi, and Lisle.”
“Quite.” Tràth paused. “Our friends miss seeing you at parties.” He glanced away. He envied the humans’ seeming ease with emotions. Although they usually went much further than he would, at least they acknowledged their passions. All too often, fae society expected his race to be expressionless. It was, perhaps, why he liked Eilidh so much. For a faerie, she was almost gregarious, although he doubted humans viewed her as such.
Douglas tilted his head in an almost fae-like expression. He had changed. “Parties don’t interest me the way they once did. My work here is important. I enjoy feeling needed rather than merely being someone’s amusement.”
“I have never seen you that way,” Tràth said, leaning forward. “You know that.”
Douglas nodded, conceding the point. At least he didn’t deny what the bond told them about each other’s feelings and intentions. “The drinking, the parties, the drugs…after a while, my whole existence seemed so frivolous. I found purpose here, something I’m good at.”
“Frivolous is the very word my father used tonight when describing my life.” Tràth chuckled without humour.
“Ouch,” Douglas said.
Tràth shrugged. “He’s not wrong, though. Is he?”
“I’m not judging,” Douglas said. “I know what you have to do to cope with the flows of time.”
They’d rarely talked about the struggles Tràth had with the thunderous demands of his magic, stresses that had nearly driven him insane. The drink, the smoke, the physical stimulation and pleasure distracted him and kept what Douglas called his demons at bay. Tràth met Douglas’ eyes. “Nothing helped as much as bonding with you.” Affection surged from Douglas, so the faerie prince slid across to the bed and sat beside his druid. “I miss you. We don’t need to resume the life we had before. I know your work is important. There may be little in the Halls of Mist for me, but I can compromise, visit more often. Perhaps you can come to me when you need a break from time to time. We might move our home to a city closer to the portal to make travel easier. The palace at the Gap of Bria means nothing to me.”
Caledonia Fae 05 - Elder Druid Page 4
