The Incomplete Crown Of Bethmoora

Chapter 13

"And you? Have your wounds healed?"

She felt stupid even asking for something she herself had direct responsibility for. She had cooperated to capture him. They had tortured him for almost a complete month. Day and night, chained to an execution bed. No food, no water, no rest and in constant pain. What did they want from him? What had he done to deserve such punishment?

The Prince looked her deeply in the eyes. She remembered having listened to his voice in her mind seconds before losing consciousness. Still pinned to her gaze, he raised his left hand and with a slight gesture he commanded an elf to pour a red beverage in both glasses. He dismissed him with equal ease. He was used to giving orders. He had been born and raised to rule and lead. Loreto supposed he didn't know another world nor form of life. Only then sitting at his right she realized the Prince was wearing a different outfit than the previous day. This one was white with applications in gold and red. This coat had no protection on his chest nor forearms like the black one he wore as they left the agency. Now he was at home and among his people. On his chest the same symbol of his belt was embroidered in golden threads. The circle enclosed a tree with its roots, log and branches. He noticed her studying the details. Loreto colored strongly and felt back on her chair.

"Aiglin, the father tree," he uttered with solemnity. "It's the coat of arms of the kingdom of Bethmoora," he explained and touched the embroidered detail with the tree in the middle.

The smell of stews and steamy side dishes whetted her appetite, making her mouth water and stomach grumble. She was starving like she hasn't been in weeks. The Prince gestured to the table, and suddenly she became inhibited about abusing his hospitality. Everything looked delicious. Not a trace of meat, fish, eggs or dairy. It was all vegetables, seeds, nuts, cereals and roots. Loreto took her dish and served a bit of everything, not knowing what to expect. Only then the Prince served a plate for himself. She waited for him to begin to eat first, to do so herself. He was a prince! His education was to be extent and rich as also must have been his knowledge. For him, Loreto was to be even lesser than a commoner. She was a mortal human way below his race. It took her significant effort to take that idea out of her head and relax. She pinched a few steamed vegetables stewed in herbs judging by its aroma and ate them. The explosion of flavor took her by surprise. She chewed her heart content and loaded her fork with more vegetables with gusto.

"Loreto," the Prince called and drank a quick sip of his glass. He adjusted himself on the chair and faced her at his right, "you ought to know elves can read minds," he said and looked away with a sarcastic grin drawn on his black lips.

The beet red took possession of her cheeks and chest, making her feel feverish. She noticed him watching her piercingly. She could not meet his gaze. To be in his presence at such a short distance was overwhelming. She drank from her glass and to her surprise she liked what she tasted. It tasted like grape juice and it was alcohol-free. The Prince returned his attention to his plate.

"You can relax in my home. If you weren't welcome, you wouldn't be here. What you did for me yesterday I shall never forget. I am in your debt. You saved my life. From this day forth you are my friend and Bethmoora's," he said and clinked his glass with hers.

Loreto replied to the gesture mechanically. She saw herself from above. Her family, friends, producer, record label, agent and fans were still wondering themselves up there on the surface where the hell she was. The flash memory of the newspaper cover came to her mind. The previous night, sitting in one of the taxis they took from Connecticut, where her mobile's GPS had shown the agency's location, she saw a bunch of newspapers piled up against a corner awaiting the following morning's distribution. Its headliner read in red capitals Where is Loreto Clair? next to a photo of her. That of a gaunt face and extreme thinness was she. Only now she realized how sick she had been. Maybe they had already declared her deceased. She was missing for a month leaving no trail. The agency was a secret entity and therefore her diagnosis and surgery wouldn't be made public as neither would the operation to capture the Prince in which she had been key. Metastasis. The word returned to her consciousness like a death innuendo awaiting her at the end of the road. She loaded her fork with tasty potato cubes in rosemary and small pearl onions in caramel. At her left she saw the Prince eating, focused on his plate. Loreto drank another sip of grape juice and cleared her throat.

"If you can read my mind then you must know how much I regret having taken part in the operation to take you prisoner," she said in one flow of air. "I didn't know what they were planning to do with Your Highness and above all things, I never imagined they'd torture you so cruelly. When I saw you chained to that execution bed..." Loreto swallowed hard and fought against the knot in her throat.

"It's not the first time humans have captured me," he said with a soft tone. "You need not address me as Your Highness. You're not an elf, I'm not your prince. You may call me Nuada."

Loreto questioned him with her eyes. Under the light of dozens of candles and mild halo lamps, his long straight bleached hairs looked more blond and his marble skin, warm like brushed by the sun. She noticed his hair tips were of a more intense blond color than the rest. He and his people did not remember the sun kiss. The source of energy and life had become poison for them. Such realization made her see him in a new light. She contemplated her surroundings and considered what was life underground for the elves and for him. He was a prince without a kingdom or a palace. A prince without a complete crown.

"Why did they want to hunt you down? What have you done and what do you plan to do for them to torture you and capture you in such away? What did they intend? To have you there for the rest of your life?"

Nuada grumbled a laugh which left the air loaded with irony.

"They could have easily done so. The German tin man hasn't got a body to age him and I am immortal. We could have been in that relationship for centuries to come," he said with such coldness in his voice to freeze her bones.

"Are you immortal?"

"Unless I'm deadly wounded, yes," he said and drank from his glass. He took his dish and served another round of each of the stews. "Elves age very slowly, our biology differs from yours. The day shall come when I meet my equal in the battlefield and he shall be my executioner and liberator. It's my destiny. For that reason yesterday you did not only free me but also you restored my honor," he adjusted on his chair and fixed his gaze on hers. "I shall die one day by the mortal stab of a worthy opponent, yet not without being able to defend myself and at the mercy of lower schemes such as torture."

Loreto swallowed through her tight throat and allowed herself to dive in the depths of his amber eyes. How old was this being exactly? How much history had he witnessed? How much wisdom did he possess? How many lives had he already lived?

"More than I can remember," he answered. "Your thoughts scream louder than you realize," he said amused and continued eating from his dish.

Loreto shook her head, smiling, and ignored the heat coloring her cheeks again.

"You could stop fighting then," she offered with doubt in her voice.

"When life is survival, one cannot give up the fight. When you want to live instead of survive, you have to fight."