Be forewarned: This chapter contains mature content.
The next evening, leaves dripped from the trees and the chilly breath of fall was imminent as the sun set over the horizon. The first of three nights of festivities would be starting soon.
With her hair still damp from her bath, Cecily lit the candles in her chamber one by one, and remembered, to her dismay, she had nothing to wear to the feast other than her cloak and armor from Bráithre Delve. She examined her worn, muddy undergarments. Threadbare in some spots, they resembled dingy rags. In spite of that, she started slipping them on when something caught her eye.
A lovely satin gown with a plunging décolleté hung over her wardrobe door. She ran her hand down it; the texture felt soft and luxurious against her rough skin. She fingered the delicately trimmed neckline and the two dainty strips down the bodice to the waist, defining her bust line. It was rich, subtle, and absolutely perfect.
Cecily took the lovely garment down, held it against herself, and glanced into the looking glass. She'd never worn a garment so fine in her life, and could never have imagined a more beautiful tone of dark, dark red, like blood.
Where had it come from? And why was it hanging there?
Suddenly, she understood. Daire.
When she was ready, Cecily slipped on a pair of matching lace gloves and went downstairs. Striding confidently along an avenue of roses leading to the gardens, her dark hair hung in loose waves around both shoulders, reaching down past her waist; her smile was wide and engaging, yet her expression remained enigmatic. The effect was one of mystery and experience, a woman of the realms.
Swirling around her, courtiers inspected her with the round-eyed wonder of children watching a fire dancer. She thought her performance was rather finely drawn, playacting as an ambassador at its most convincing, and perfectly suited to the occasion. There was a sense of pretense about the ball, making it appear as the center stage of pomp and circumstance.
For a time, Cecily followed closely behind a group of attendees until they reached a darker part of the forest. Although she could see nothing, she was very much aware of the flourishing life around her, not in the trees, but in the shadows between them: rustlings, and cracking; the sound of breath. The mist was thicker there, and the presence of smoke strong enough to make her eyes water. Then she saw an amber glow through the trees ahead, and could hear a low drumming sound.
The hand suddenly covering her mouth from behind and the arm sliding around her waist startled her so that her heart seemed to skip a beat. At once, she recognized the laughter from behind her and wiggled from his grasp. She turned, slapping Daire on the arm in reprimand.
"You are so very lucky that I'm unarmed," she scolded.
Daire's smirk grew, but he said nothing. The look in his eyes, however, was all too familiar.
She actually stepped back from him. "What are you up to now?" she asked. Clearly, he was up to no good; she knew it from his expression.
"Just a bit of unfinished business," he muttered as he reached out, letting his arm go around her waist once more, lifted her off the ground and carried her behind a nearby tree and into complete seclusion.
Keeping his other hand over her mouth, he tilted her head to one side, and she nearly fainted from the euphoria of his kiss on her neck. "You look ravishing," he mumbled against her neck. Her flesh tingled from the delightful sensation. He reached out a forefinger and touched a small wave at her temple. "So courtly and proper. I like it."
Cecily blushed and found herself stumbling over something witty she was going to retort. Was she so unused to receiving compliments from a man? She could not hold back a smile at his words nor did she have any idea how to respond. Every time he told her she looked ravishing she had almost replied, So do you. And it was true. In another of those high-collared leather jackets, that fit him like a second skin, showing off the tapering of his shoulders down to hips in a magnificent way, he looked like royalty.
He was royalty.
Before she could move or speak, Daire leaned down and captured her lips. In response, she placed her hands up against his chest as if to push him away, but her arms no longer possessed the strength to do so. She felt lightheaded, as if she had too much drink, and she found herself coiling her fingers into his cloak to steady herself.
She had told herself that the kiss they shared in her chamber last night had not been as delightful as she remembered, but clearly, she had been lying to herself. His lips were even more delicious than she remembered, while his touch sent her body on fire; she felt alive in every sense. Cecily suddenly realized that she was trembling, and hoped that Daire hadn't felt it. She was mortified that she could not control her own body in the slightest. All she wanted was to breathe him in, to wrap her arms around his waist, and press herself flush against him. Then, she gasped, her need growing hotter between her thighs.
She was losing all control. Wild with need that shook her to her core, when he raised his head to look down at her, she could not move, but only gaze back at him, stunned. She wanted to touch him, to trace the lines of his body with her fingertips, the hard lines of his jaw and brow, and the warmth of his skin against hers.
Daire smirked, but his expression didn't carry its usual hint of mischief and mockery, only a faint and sweet look of surprise. "Cecily," he whispered. "You seem so eager to lay hands on my prize." He brushed his lips against her mouth, soft and brief as the touch of a raindrop on her lips. "You think you know what you're doing, do you?" he teased, releasing her face to gently slide his fingers down her arm.
"I don't know what you're talking about," she replied innocently, shrugging as she let her fingers entwine with his. "You're the one who laid this trap."
Daire seemed to fight for enough restraint to warn, "Oh, but I have reason to believe that you do. You've reached a line, my raven. Think a moment before you cross it. There's no escaping me once you do."
A fair warning, but it was too late, there was no denying her need. "Capture me, then," she said with such passionate certainty. Her arms rose and wrapped around his neck, and she moved onto the tips of her toes, pressing her lips into his.
Daire broke away, smiling. "Just when I think I know you, I find..." He captured her lips again, and punctuating his words, each kiss growing in heat. "You're ... more... than... what... you... seem." His mouth finally settled on hers with tender finality and kissed her as deeply as he could muster. He let out a low, but visceral groan, and began to slide his hands down to her sides. Along their journey, his fingertips brushed the soft skin of her breasts before venturing further down and around the luscious curve of her hips.
She knew it was mad to be doing what they were in the middle of a forest where Daire, a man of royalty, could be easily recognized. She should pull away; she should know her place in the world, but she wanted to escape; to know more and feel more than what she was. She relished in the surge of heat within her; the unaccustomed throbbing that started between her legs.
Last night, when he had kissed her in the dark, she thought that these new feelings that blossomed inside her must have been the climax of her desires; the height of all sensation. But now, with every passing moment, with every kiss, the sensation grew; her own hunger pulling her in further, so that she craved even more of him. Cecily knew that this would be no easy path. Yes, there would be pleasure, satisfaction, but perhaps even danger. Above all else, she was absolutely certain that Daire would lead her to experience sensations beyond anything she had ever known, and wanted nothing more than to let him take her there despite all that would rise against them.
At that moment, a festive cheer arose from the bonfire in the distance.
"Oh," she breathed, subduing a cry of frustration when Daire drew away and broke free from her grasp. But his expression eased her anxious mind, bringing her back to the present moment. With her hands in his, he backed away slowly, motioning for her to follow. And she obeyed, her heart hammering wildly and her skin layered with a thin coat of sweat.
The sound of the celebration slowly subsided and she relaxed against his side, gently tugging her hands from his grasp. But Daire wrapped a protective arm around her shoulder, holding her close, trailing gentle kisses along her cheek as her hand came to rest around his waist.
"Does this excite you? This game of mine," he whispered, working his way toward her ear. "It's your move, now."
Her move to fulfill his needs and desires? Oh, yes, and more.
Cecily smiled, watching as the light in his eyes seemed to darken with each passing moment, and then she heard the catch in his breathing. Gently, she pulled her fingers through his long, black hair and then moved her hands back to his shoulders firmly, gently pushing him away. "After the feast, I promise I will make my move."
"As soon as you get your wits back, you mean," he said, chuckling quietly. "Mark me, you're going to finish what you've started. I can't remember ever being this incredibly unsatisfied in my life."
"Good," she said with a sigh that was pure contentment. "I wouldn't want to be the only one."
With great reluctance, Daire led her from the darkness, through a circle of ancient oaks, into a clearing, which was dominated by an immense bonfire. Sparks gushed up into the air from it, like flaming petals from a flowering tree. Around it, a group of figures were gathered. Some were throwing kindling into the flames, while others danced, slowly in synchronization to the rhythm of drums. Others stood off to the sides in small groups, sipping daintily from wooden saucers.
"Who are these people?" Cecily asked.
Daire let go of her hand as they approached. "Those are the descendants of the forest," he explained. "Followers of the old way. It is said that on the first night of the festival, they hold a ceremony, followed by the feast. They will put out saucers of blood and wine as an offering to the gods to bless the marriage of their leaders. The next night, they will build a bonfire on the green, and dance in a circle to keep the spirits of the dead at bay during the wedding."
"Saucers of blood?"
Daire shrugged. "Yes, as they've done for thousands of years. Its tradition."
"Are they sorcerers?" she asked curiously.
Daire nodded. "Nature's magic is in their blood. There is one thing more that you should know and fear," Daire said at last. "This form of Old Magic can be a dangerous thing. This world is not yours and you should be wary of everything you encounter in it."
"Even you?" Cecily looked up from the path.
"Especially me."
By this time, the group had noticed newcomers were in their midst and approached them.
An elderly woman sailed forward and offered Cecily a saucer. "You must drink," she urged.
She inclined her head and did so. To her relief, it was wine.
"Thank you," she said and the woman moved on, neglecting to offer the vessel to Daire. Cecily found that strange, considering his status. They were not courteous to him at all. Despite this, she didn't feel uncomfortable.
Ignoring Cecily, Daire drifted off to speak with a small gathering of noblemen. Their conversations seemed no more than political gossip, so Cecily stood to the side, looking around.
As the moments drew on, she found herself mesmerized by the music, and even more so by the nearly nude women who freely danced around the fire. They were like pixies, or perhaps, tree spirits, dancing on a bed of luscious green grass. Their hair was layered with branches and flora, their skin the tawny cream of goat's milk. And as she drew near, she was sure she had caught their scent, which reeked of moss, dirt, and blood.
There was a sense of death in the air, yet it was collared with the life within the circle, and the dancing hinted at controlled passion. Life, death, and passion united under a sacred truce.
Then, without her noticing, all went quiet. The drummers sat before their drums, panting silently.
"Forgive me; I was not aware that the dwarves of Bráithre Delve were so beautiful," said a low voice behind her.
Cecily could hardly manage to keep from clapping a startled hand to her breast and straightened herself. She turned to find that a radiant, fair-haired, young man had appeared beside her.
"Would you care to dance?" he asked, sounding hopeful.
She wasn't certain in that moment or any moment that followed which fact held her more entranced: that this man had magically appeared beside her, that he was the most beautiful creature she had ever seen, or the seemingly bottomless depths of his blue-grey eyes. His features were statuesque: too perfect, too strong. His face, though reddened a little with the cold, still held an incredible radiance which was framed by his long, straight hair, streaming loose with the wind.
When he smiled at her, she had thought for certain the world had tilted.
"It is foolish of you to ask me to dance," she replied without thinking. Her heart was pounding, and beneath her gloves, her palms had gone damp. "Especially when there's no music."
He waved his hand and suddenly, the drummers took up their playing once more. "It is a foolish thing for you to refuse a dance with the Crown Prince of Alcove." He laughed, probably at her dumbfounded expression. "I must apologize," he went on with a deprecatory wave. "It was your loveliness which compelled me to ask out of curiosity."
"You honor me, Your Grace," she said, stunned by the realization that she stood face to face with an elf, not a man.
"Please, my name is Rilien," the elf said, introducing himself. Flashing a brilliant smile, Rilien inclined his head as though taking a modest bow and held out his hand. "I don't share my secrets with those that address me as 'Your Grace.'"
Cecily's face warmed as she rested her hand in his. As her hand embraced his, a vision came across her eyes, as she recalled in the back of her mind the note on her nightdress bearing that name many years ago. "Please, call me Raven," she replied, letting curiosity get the best of her. "How are you so sure that I will keep your secrets, whatever they may be?"
"Oh, that's simple, Raven." Another one of Rilien's strong, long-fingered hands settled over her own and tugged at the lace fingers of her right glove. He slowly drew the glove off her hand and studied her knuckles with great care.
"One would never suspect..." he murmured, turning her hand over, palm up. "You're in your twenty-fifth year of life."
"How did you –"
"Magic can be a dangerous thing," Rilien remarked deliberately, tugging playfully at her hand. "Remarkably young for a dwarf, one might say. I see you have quite a few secrets of your own."
"Do all the elves read palms?" Cecily felt a prickle of naughtiness as she allowed him to twirl her into a dancer's position. It was as if she was held spellbound and yet wasn't. Elven magic seemed to work in such a mysterious way.
"Only the most interesting ones." A lighthearted quirk lifted his brow. "Now, have you changed your mind? Will you honor me with this next dance?"
"Would you oblige me if I asked you to let me go?" Cecily said sarcastically, to which his expression clearly said 'no'. "Well then, of course, Rilien. But I must warn you, I have two left feet."
"You sound a bit afraid?"
"Just so," she said, smiling. "And I imagine you should be as well."
Without hesitation, he pulled her flush against his body. They moved slowly. And truthfully, it would have been perfectly fine if they had not moved at all. When he lowered his head and pressed his cheek to hers, she closed her eyes and her heart settled into a slow, but heavy beat.
"Why such a lovely woman would be afraid, let alone entreat from the opportunity to act freely is still a mystery to me," he said. "Besides, you don't want me to let you go, Raven. I do know a little bit about your kind."
"You know nothing about me or my kind." A flash of spirit. "We just met."
There was a pause when he moved into an unfamiliar step, half turning her away from another dancer by the fire. "Ah, but that's the puzzling thing. I feel I do know you," he countered. "You're familiar to me somehow. Perhaps you can explain how you have such a distinct aura of magic?" He was staring down at her as if the answer lay somewhere within the depths of her eyes. "Come now, did you truly think no one would notice? You must be wary. You must believe me when I tell you that there's black magic afoot."
Cecily's mind was racing, but her thoughts were unfolding in slow motion. The sense of intimacy between them confounded her. The mesmerizing effect of Rilien's gaze was having on her was astounding, so much so she found it a huge effort just to keep her concentration.
"Shall I show you one of my secrets?" she offered, hoping to steer the elf away from invading her thoughts any further. She turned her head to one side. "Over there." She gestured with her eyes over to a table beside the bonfire.
Rilien followed her gaze curiously.
Concentrating her will, Cecily summoned a slight surge of energy and tipped over every chalice filled with wine onto the laps of unsuspecting guests.
Rilien chuckled, and then a short burst of laughter erupted. He tried to hide it with his hand. "I see you have a touch of mischief about you," he said, keeping his voice low.
"Only when necessary." Cecily held his gaze. "I told you: you know nothing about me."
"Perhaps, you're right." Releasing her from his firm embrace, the elf twirled her slowly, and gracefully around the clearing. There was no need to follow the beat of the drums any longer when the world felt like it was falling away. "But you'd be surprised to find that I do know mischief quite well myself."
When she reversed the twirl and spun back into his arms, she paused and said, "You seem to enjoy baiting me."
"Truly, I do, Raven. But my heart isn't really in it."
"Oh, you've got a heart, then?"
"Oh!" he said, laughing as if he lived in a world full of jest. "I must. It's hammering away just like yours." Briefly, he touched a finger to her neck, as if to check her heartbeat, though it lingered far longer than it should have, traveling downwards ever so slowly. "I sensed you wanted some excitement." His breath was warm, spirit flavored against her cheek. "Isn't this what you need? A bit of excitement?"
They remained tantalizing inches apart. It was a distance Cecily felt comfortable with, astounded to find that her resolve was damn near fragile. There was so much she wanted to ask him about magic, but she couldn't break the spell of that moment. It could have been her mind playing tricks on her.
"Excuse me, but may I have a dance with the lady or do you intend to monopolize her the entire evening?"
Cecily twirled around, startled by the grimness she heard in Daire's voice.
"Daire!" Rilien stepped back, smiling as if greeting an old friend. "By all means. Raven and I were just getting better acquainted, that's all. Dare I say, I believe I've grown quite fond of her?"
"I've noticed," Daire replied, almost growling the words.
Rilien stood there smiling for a long moment, his hand clutched on her delicate shoulder. When he spoke his voice had a rough edge. "Enough excitement for one night then."
Following a sly wink in her direction, the elf graciously bowed his head and left. And once he did, the daze of Rilien's spell lifted from her eyes, as if she had just woken from a daydream.
But she had no time to recover, for Daire took the advantage and swept her into his arms, commencing the next dance. "I was beginning to think you'd left. I haven't seen you in some time," she said, her gaze on Daire's clenched jaw. Even with his most composed expression, she could visibly see the familiar spark of wrath in his eyes.
"I hate these types of gatherings. I'm always getting cornered." His gaze dropped to the low cut dip in her dress. He smiled mischievously before continuing, "I can certainly see why Rilien would relish cornering you. From this angle I could ravish you with my eyes alone."
She covered the top of her dress with her hand. "You're not serious. I am to believe that I initiated this?"
"You are every man's dream." His voice still rough with control. "Rilien must have been the perfect fool. Did you make him grovel? Beg you for a dance?"
"Perhaps," she hedged, not wanting him to continue speculating about the matter.
"And what did he say to you, exactly?" he pried; his voice suddenly serious.
"Cease this petty jealousy. It does not become you."
Daire stiffened; the vibrations of the word 'jealousy' seemed to course through his being and he suddenly looked terribly embarrassed. "I'm not jealous," he protested. "Just curious."
Cecily laughed. "Now who's lying?"
Suddenly, the beat of the music changed, and all the guests were forming a circle around the great fire. Daire took her hand and led her away from the flames, which were roaring furiously. The kindling cracked and spat embers high into the dark sky. When she saw the sparks, she thought she saw stars forming and reforming in the smoke, like exploding constellations.
The old woman stood before the fire with her saucer, raising her arms to the sky, and for some moments, stood in silent communion.
Then she spoke. Her voice rang out, clear and audible over the hungry flames. "Then said the people of the forest: we shall offer our blood, the bride to consecrate; and spread it on the maiden's knee to unite these kingdoms of men."
By the end of her speech, Cecily could no longer understand her, for she no longer spoke a language she could understand. It was something else entirely. Around them, the women of the forest raised their arms and began to howl like the feral creatures of the night. Shortly after this, it began to rain, drop by drop.
Daire tugged at her hand in warning. "Let's go. You'll not want to see the rest."
The moment they reached Cecily's chamber, there was nothing that could turn him from her, from what he wanted of her. He had woven his desires into more passion than his body could hold. She had not expected him to look so perfect with all of his lean and sinuous muscle. The sight of him, bare and aroused, did not stir her nerves as she thought it would. It stirred lust and want; an aching desire for him that she knew would not be quelled – not this time.
Desire ignited her cells and lit up her veins like flares of the sun, hot and yellow-gold high above them in the mid-day sky. Within moments, one of his strong arms found itself wrapped securely around her waist, letting out a small cry of delight when he pressed her body against his. The feel of their flesh touching pushed aside all coherent thought, for when she touched him, she hungered to have all of him, and her hands couldn't move fast enough. Her fingers too anxious to map him before exploring the next curve or vale of his form. She, a woman of patience, found that her greatest trait had left her entirely.
She bit back a soft moan of enjoyment as Daire slowly captured her wrists in one fist, pulling her into her own bed as though it were his, and rested her hands on the soft bank of pillows above her head.
What was he waiting for? Did he think she couldn't handle it? She would bear anything to have him claim her. "Don't stare at me as if I might break," she complained.
His lips curved in amusement. "Don't touch, hold back, or she might break... is that what you believe I'm thinking?" he teased her in a low voice.
"Daire!" she warned him furiously as he dropped kisses everywhere on her face except her lips. He was in no hurry; toying with her clothes and making her wait seemed to delight him.
"You're looking at me as if I'm one those delicate ornaments from court."
"Would you rather I was rough with you?" As he spoke, he moved her against his hard body, and she knew by his quickened breath that he felt proof of her desire as well.
She bit her lip.
"Tell me," he whispered, placing his mouth against hers.
Cecily wanted to. She tried desperately to find the strength of will to utter her inner wants, but the way his hands felt on her body, the way his aura twined with hers, the way his mouth teased her, robbed her of whatever strength she had left. She wanted him, like a lioness stalking her prey.
"Make me," she whispered.
He laughed softly, with a hint of surprise. "Do not test me, darling. I cannot ensure any measure of control on my part."
She had been warned and his hungry kiss ended any further remarks she might make on the tactics he used to gain what he wanted.
Holding her close, he dared to put his hands on her waist, and the lace of her corset pressed back against his palms. She didn't resist when he pulled at the lacing. Instead, she laughed softly, moving to try to help him, her nerves would not let her stay still, and her restlessness seemed to both arouse and torment him. Finally freeing her from the last scrap of lace, the sight of her unrestrained breasts took the last of his patience and left longing in its place. Her hair tangled and flooded with the scent of rose petals. She laughed like a drizzle of rain as she ruffled his damp hair and feathered her fingers over his chest. She kissed him so roughly he shuddered, his lips warm and live.
"So eager," he whispered against her skin as he kissed along the contours of her neck. He gently cupped her breasts, moving his focus down to brush his lips over the hardened tips, and she arched towards him slightly. "It's your move."
When he nipped the tips of her breasts with his teeth, she thought of all the things she wanted to do to him. She moved her fingers along his lean back, encouraged by his appreciative whispers to act more boldly. So distracted by her ministrations, she nearly cried out with pleasure when he drew an aching nipple deep into his mouth, suckling softly. Each slow, but tender draw increased the need brewing low in her belly. She buried her fingers deep within his dark mane to hold him close as she arched toward him, urging him to continue.
And he did, sliding his hand down to the soft curls that lay between her thighs. She sucked in a breath, but his soft words soothed her nerves as he continued to caress her mound. So besotted was she by his caresses, she felt more than ready when he began to join their bodies, ending her innocence.
At first, Daire moved slowly, kissing her deeply. Despite the short, sharp pain of their coupling, she clung tightly to him, and soon matched his pace. When his movements grew fiercer, she meet his intensity, feeling driven.
"My move, remember?" Cecily turned him over, pinning him to the mattress, and straddled him. She gently parted her thighs to invite him in, letting him turn her soft giggles to shuddering gasps.
The darkness hid their greed for each other's bodies; the rain and peals of thunder muffled her moans of pleasure and the low sounds he held at the back of his throat. When her climax seared through her, it tumbled her into a blinding maelstrom of total feeling, where she realized exactly what she had been seeking: love. As Cecily enveloped him in her soft darkness, hot and honey-sweet, and held his desire prisoner in the petals between her thighs, she realized that she could no longer hold back her screams. She clung to him, trying to pull him deeper inside her as she lifted her hips to receive his sweet release.
The next moments were dark damask and velvet on his body; he turned her over and held her under him. "My queen," he murmured, gently dragging his fingers through her thick, damp hair. "Do you still think me such a brute?"
She smiled. "You're my brute and my king."
Cupping her chin in his hand, he tilted her face toward his and gave her a slow, gentle kiss. "I'm glad of that."
"You would be. It means you got what you wanted."
Nibbling on her earlobe, he whispered, "And I wanted it bad."