The elongated oak table of the dining room was piled with delicacies, lying in wait for its dinner guests. Whole roasted pigs, poultry with stuffing and platters of fruit de mer; wide varieties of vegetables, cheeses and breads, countless wines and spirits whose colours cast shadows on the walls in the flickering light of the candelabras.
The closing of the double doors indicated the late arrival of the last guest and Maebh could feel a pair of eyes blazing into the side of her head. From her spot in the middle of the table, she kept her eyes trained on her cutlery and busied herself by pointlessly straightening them.
"Good evening, everyone. Maebh." Hèmène said pointedly.
Maebh had successfully steered clear of the queen for the past 48 hours, skipping out on dinners and lessons alike. Not so much as an act of defiance but rather an attestation of her determination to stand her ground. Tonight however, was a full moon, a day on which attending 'family' dinner was mandatory.
Once his Childbearer had settled in the chair adjacent to his, the king took his first bite, thus wordlessly authorising everyone else to dig into their meal as well.
For a moment, only the sounds of chewing and savoring filled the air. And in addition to that, a persisting tension that obstructed the food from going down Maebh's throat. Each forkful was tinier than the next, even pausing in between as if the amount was too overwhelming for her stomach to bear.
Meanwhile, the crown prince was too preoccupied to eat at all. Engrossed, he watched his intended struggle with the emotions so clearly written on her face, free for the entire room to observe.
"Mother, I have agreed not to go through with the custom." He announced suddenly, effectively stupefying all dinner guests, but Hèmène and Maebh in particular.
Silverware loudly clattered onto white porcelain.
"Tradition is not the worship of ashes, but the preservation of fire. Gustav Mahler." the queen snapped at her eldest son.
"When men are oppressed, it's a tragedy. When women are oppressed, it's tradition. Letty Cottin Pogrebin." Fillin replied calmly.
His topaz eyes constricted as he sent a quick wink in Maebh's direction. Captivated, she could have sworn he resembled the earthly embodiment of a supernova, an explosion of luminous calibre that detonated every bit of suppressed fervour. It was the last coherent thought that crossed her mind before he averted his gaze.
"Darling," Hèmène began sickly sweet, with an undertone that made Maebh's skin crawl. "I'm all for female progression but some customs are in place for a reason. It is a crucial and defining factor of who we are as a species. The final phase of bonding transpires in your true form, as has been customary since the first Childbearer."
The Irish girl flinched at her words, the mental imagery plaguing her intellect. Still, she opted to refrain from interfering.
"New traditions are in order and sacrifices must be made." Fillin's voice was now climbing in volume. "And that is final."
The queen was on the brink of responding when the king's temper got the best of him and he slammed his palms flat on the table, thunderously. "Enough."
The exchange was instantly smothered and dinner progressed with no further conversation safe for the hushed whispers between Hèmène and her youngest son, Marrok. After alcoholic contents had been guzzled and refilled by servers, and empty platters removed, she clinged her glass –capturing everyone's attention.
"I realise we are all on edge considering the time of month but let us forgo the testosterone overload that accompanies the full moon, I beg of you."
The queen's sentiments had left a bitter aftertaste in Maebh's mouth, but as long as she wasn't forced into dead ends, she would adopt a forgive and forget mentality. With that, she raised her glass to toast to the lunar completion.
—————————————
Feeling trapped.
An emotion that had only seldomly reared its ugly head in the past few weeks.
Looking at the rounded walls of the tower that had been both prison and refuge since her arrival to Arcadia, Maebh decided she couldn't stay in the room a second longer. She put on her warmest clothes and went outside.
Night had presented itself like the spell of an enchantress, water to stone, earth to iron, green moss to frosted white –as ferocious as a dip in a glacial lake would be. In her monochrome musings, the full moon was a silver orb, sailing in the cloudless sea of space.
Using her phone's flashlight to find her way, Maebh rounded the corner to where she remembered the First Sanctuary to be located and crashed face first into a hard chest.
Two hands grasped her shoulders and abruptly shoved her away. "What are you doing here?"
Maebh felt an involuntary pinch of hurt at the hostility that laced Fillin's voice. Through a crack in the foliage, the moonlight splashed down its watery glow onto his contorted face, bathing him.
"Temporarily escaping that suffocating household of yours." she bit back, then looked down at the bottle he was clutching in his hand. "But perhaps we're in the same boat?"
The prince swigged the liquor, shaking his head as he went to sit on a crumbled wall at a five-step distance. Proximate to a previously unforeseen cliff, the spot offered a vantage point of the valley. Behind him, statues of stone wolves looked as if they might spring off their perches any moment. "Such blinding ignorance."
Maebh frowned and contemplated going back to the castle. Her presence was evidently not wanted. She eyed the amber liquid that reflected a golden hue in the light of night and approached the prince, snatching the bottle from his grip. Raising it to her weather-cracked lips, the fluid sat in her mouth before swallowing, leaving a powerful burn –one that had literally made her faint when first tasting it five months ago.
She wiped the thin layer of snow from the disintegrated stone wall and perched down beside Fillin, passing the bottle of Nectar back to him. She accidentally pressed the length of her arm against his –igniting a slow but fiercely growing heat that spread over her, fluttering through her veins.
"That was quite the mic-drop moment you delivered during dinner," Maebh said, hesitantly. "I-uhh thanks.. for standing up for me."
"It is my duty." He took a large sip, "An unwilling childbearer equals a kingdom in disarray." He related, echoing what Hèmène had also once told her.
Maebh said nothing, in disbelief of her own wishful thinking. Of course he didn't do it because he cared for her, the prince was simply safeguarding his future. She leant forward and picked a fallen leaf off of the nose of her boot, flicking it away.
The prince handed her the bottle and she eagerly necked a portion of its contents.
"So, what's the story of the First Sanctuary?" she asked, keen to change the subject.
"The name speaks for itself."
But Maebh wasn't letting him off the hook so easily and it went without saying that her unwavering gaze emphasised that.
Fillin heaved a sigh. "After my ancestors fled Hibernia, they wandered the Earth aimlessly for decades, in search of asylum. This was long before colonisation and the deadly greed of the white man. The indigenous people of the then 'undiscovered' Northern American continent were understandably wary of the pack of Lycanthropes, but the Kluane people offered them refuge regardless of their own fears. The mountain range we still reside in today, was bestowed upon us. We will forever be in their debt, aiming to repay the priceless gift until eternity ceases to exist. It was here, that my ancestors built the first settlement, the First Sanctuary. As our population increased in numbers, we relocated to the valley and the rest is history."
On the edge of her seat, she yearned to know more. "But.. how did Callisto get here?"
"As one of few to have had continuous religious faith in their divine authority, even in times of false deities and monotheistic reigns –the gods favour us. They sent Callisto to guard the First Sanctuary not only because it is sacred to us, but because it is the oldest place of Hellenistic worship outside of Europe." He said, taking the bottle from her hold and drinking, his adam's apple bobbing with each gulp.
Maebh licked her lips, momentarily distracted. "So the gods are not like– dormant?"
The prince shot her a look and she concluded the answer to be no.
Eyes drawn heaven bound, she stared up at the velvety darkness that had thousands of stars strung by invisible string and wondered if the nocturnal beings of old watched over them like myths foretold.
A violent gust of wind stalked through the atmosphere, stirring the wintry dreams of sleeping trees and tousling Maebh's hair into dishevelment. Unaware of the repercussions, the prince tucked a loose strand of white behind her ear –making her heart thumb so wildly she swore it was audible.
An electrified, familiar sensation settled in the pit of her belly and Maebh quickly seized hold of the Nectar bottle, chugging the drink down her oesophagus with desperate intention.
"This would be a good spot for hide and seek." She slurred, the alcohol doing most of the talking as she tucked the empty bottle into an open coat pocket, the majority of it protruding awkwardly.
"Marrok and I used to do that."
Maebh was shocked. To visualise the rugged man as a child was already startling, let alone the thought of him doing something frivolous like playing with his brother.
She stared at the prince like he was a secret map that required unravelling. From his herculean build to the prominent veins in his neck that bulged all the way down to his hands.
Her intoxicated psyche was ruled by a notion that nearly hypnotised her into sobriety. It jumped from pillar to post, and eventually made her succumb to a temptation. With uncoordinated precision, she edged her hand towards his and slid their fingers together until the heat of his palm was pressed against her own.
The bliss that stemmed from the bodily connection was short-lived, because as if struck by lightning, the prince bolted up and made a hasty retreat down the hill –hardly waiting for Maebh's stumbling form to catch up.
In her drunken state, she couldn't accumulate the energy to trouble herself with his rejection. But the walk back to the castle did her wonders. Once they reached the concealed door of the bibliotheca dormir, the only residue of tipsiness that prevailed could be pinned on the emotional influence the prince had on her.
Depositing her coat on the recliner in the corner, she placed the empty Nectar bottle on a random ridge and paused as she reached for her Talisman.
She turned to her stranger, "When did you find out I moved to Haines Junction?"
"The 3rd of May." He said, without hesitation.
Maebh blinked, realising that was the day she had arrived in Canada. "How?"
Uninterested, the prince shrugged and busied himself with drawing the floor-to-ceiling curtains –a task that made him look endearingly ordinary.
Folding her arms together, Maebh tapped her foot. "Why didn't you kidnap me then?"
"You were underage." He rationalised and she vaguely recalled Coinín saying something about that. Girls weren't considered women until they reached the age of twenty.
Although his answer seemed honourable, a strange spidery sense willed her to probe a little further, accusing him of telling a fib in order to camouflage the truth. "Then why did you take me only after Coinín rattled on me? It was nearly a month after my birthday."
His expression was unreadable, venomous words slipping through clenched teeth. "Because that mutt tried to take what is mine."
Oh.
Maebh had virtually forgotten about her almost-tryst with Bear, much less that Fillin had actually been informed about it.
The prince stormed off and a few seconds later, the muted sound of the shower could be heard.
In a daze, she climbed the stairs to the mezzanine and absent-mindedly put on the pyjamas that she had left in one of the drawers.
Despite her absolute aversion of alpha male behaviour, possessiveness tended to spring from insecurities –which relayed something about the prince she hadn't been aware of: he was only a man. One who could feel uncertain or anxious about himself, who could lack confidence in certain areas.
According to the Lycanthrope story, crown princes were unable to connect to their Childbearers on a romantic level. But didn't this type of jealousy arise as a consequence of affection? Or was it born from a sense of entitlement?
By the time Fillin was done showering, Maebh was sitting on the end of the bed, texting. She looked up as the steps of the staircase creaked under his weight –and inhaled sharply.
The only thing stopping her from beholding the prince in his full glory, was a towel wrapped around his waist. Enthralled, her eyes trailed over every inch of wet skin. Drops of water were falling from his hair, slinking down his toned pecks, abs and disappearing from sight below the white barrier.
As if bound and bewitched by a spell, she was in front of him –powerless to her own actions. Shaking like a leaf, she raised a hand and started tracing the fine lines of his inked art.
The prince had yet to move, yielding to her physical inquisitiveness.
She'd had a light taster of his tattoos before, but never to the extent where she could meticulously investigate what they displayed.
The inky sleeves that covered his arms reminded her of ancient Greek vases; expressing elaborate tales of old, from mythological creatures to scenes of almighty gods in battle. The tattoos gradually flowed over to his chest and shoulders, where they took on more symbolic shapes. The pièce de résistance on his back presented the origin story of his species, in an intricate melange of imagery with a wolf at its centre.
The pieces of colourless art were breathtaking in their splendour and horrifying in how much time and pain they must have cost to realise.
Maebh gazed up at the prince only to find him already staring at her, his eyes holding an explicit challenge.
With every, individual beating drum of her heart, her legs threatened to buckle more and more, her mind becoming more resolute, as if the dwindling distance between them diminished an emotional chasm. As the nascent proximity caressed her skin, Maebh entombed her inhibitions in thick walled ice.
"Nepenthe," Fillin said softly, prolonging each letter as if to savour them.
And with that, she kissed him.
The prince's change in demeanour was instantaneous. The second their lips touched, he snapped. Snarling against her, hands travelled over her curves, gripping her arse and hauling her off of her feet.
Maebh gasped and Fillin took full advantage, his force consuming her and knocking all the wind from her lungs. Her arms tangled around his neck, nails raking over his scalp and through his drenched hair. Drunk on endorphins, her only desire was to touch him; a craving so severe that she moaned wantonly.
Pressing his tongue to the seam of her lips, he delved inside at her grant of access, coaxing shivers out of her. The lingering taste of nectar was exchanged in the intermingling of their billowing breaths.
As the temperature rose, the prince pressed his pelvis against her own and Maebh became aware that he was in a rather compromising position. Something jerked awake in her brain and she yanked herself away from him –squeezing her eyes shut as if trying to regain her presence of mind.
She shook her head feverishly, cowering backwards until her legs touched the bed. "I-I I can't. I can't." her entire body was shaking. "We're only doing this because of the full moon and I'm- I can't."
Anger as hot as lava suddenly churned underneath a stony expression. "That is not true." Fillin fumed.
Clenching her fists, Maebh's movements betrayed the internal frustrations that bounced inside her like echoes in a deep cave. "Is it not? Is my entire infatuation with you not just the work of a supernatural force that is trying to trick my hormones into submission? Is the whole point of the full moon not to ignite our carnal fire?"
The still waters in the prince's eyes turned icy. "The bond only serves to enhance what is already there."
"Lust I could understand but this.. this is not real, none of it is real. I can't tell my emotions apart anymore and it's driving me to fúckíng insanity." Hot tears blurred her vision, her throat closing tight and each word pitching higher than the last in an effort to squeak out her bottled up emotions. "There's a fork in the road and my instinct is sending me west while my heart is navigating me east. I'm missing north and south but right now, it only feels like there are just two options."
Finally, the dam burst and salty drops of disheartenment flowed down her cheeks.
Maebh wasn't angry with the prince per se, but rather with her own, fragile backbone. She was trying to find her feet while the weight of the world bore down on her shoulders and her hands were burdened with responsibilities.
Deflated, her breathing hitched as knees grew weak and she slumped to the floor –sobbing into her hands.
Two arms engulfed her frail form and Maebh was surprised to find the brooding prince trying to console her. He placed a hand on the back of her head and pressed her face into the crook of his neck, his other hand rubbing circles on her back. Although warm and comforting, the masculine scent of his freshly washed skin only served to make her feel worse as it's alluring qualities entrapped her consciousness.
With every ounce of strength she possessed, she pushed away from him. "I need to go, I-I'm sorry– no I'm not sorry. I'm trying to assert my boundaries and right now, I want space."
She went to stand up but Fillin softly pressed her back down. "Stay. I'll go."
From her spot on the ground, Maebh hugged her knees and put her head forward –the pyjama bottoms becoming damp with silent tears. She listened attentively for movements, drawers opening and closing and waited until she was sure Fillin had left the bibliotheca dormir. Then, she dragged herself on top of the covers and released the cries of anguish that ravaged her body.
At some point, Maebh must have exhausted herself enough to fall asleep. She awoke the next morning to the light of dawn peeking through a window, cracked open at an unusual angle. Reverently rubbing her fingers along the silken mattress, the comforter she laid atop of was thick and irresistibly soft, like a billowing cloud. She was aware of the icy March air streaming inside but she strangely was not bothered by it.
At her back, down her legs, surrounding her, she felt something incredibly soft and warm. Fur? Reaching back with a tentative hand, she felt for what it was and awoke fully as she registered it to be a solid form.
Fillin.
Peering over her shoulder, she caught sight of the huge obsidian wolf, sound asleep as he enveloped her in warmth. She felt his chest expanding against her back with each hot breath. Maebh very much wanted to stay in that fur. But after last night... It was time to leave.
Slowly and carefully, she slid from the bed and turned to look at him.
The beast's head bore no passing resemblance to Fillin and yet he somehow reminded her of the prince. It was a terrible, monstrous face but she found herself appreciating his mystifying beauty. Unable to stop herself, Maebh extended a finger and lightly touched his snout, stroking the top of his head and then quickly pulling back –headful not to wake him– before she left the room.