son.
He stared at her, surprised. No one had ever spoken to him in so blunt a fashion.
A trumpet sounded, and Archeron leaned over to tell Lara, “I have a surprise for you, my lady. I hope it will please you.” He pointed to the doors of the banqueting hall.
Lara’s green eyes widened with pleasure, seeing the new arrivals as they came forth from the cloud of purple mist. She arose to greet her mother, Ilona, who came into the hall in the company of her mate, Thanos. Running forward, she embraced Ilona, to the faerie queen’s delight. “Come and meet my husband, Mother,” she said.
Vartan was already on his feet, wishing desperately that he was clothed in something more elegant, but he owned nothing elegant. The company here was much too rich for him. He was eager to leave and return home to Camdene. Lara brought her mother to him. He took his mother-in-law’s hand in his, and kissed it. “I am pleased we have this opportunity to meet, Queen Ilona,” he said.
Ilona looked the Outlander over carefully, her green eyes assessing him physically, and peering deep into his heart to see if he truly loved her daughter. What she saw pleased her, but it also worried her. Vartan did indeed love Lara-perhaps too much. Still, it was not yet time. Let the Outlander have his happiness while he could. “I am pleased to meet you, Vartan of the Fiacre,” Ilona replied. “This is my mate, Thanos, the father of my son, Cirilo, Lara’s baby brother.”
Thanos, a courtly faerie man, bowed politely.
“Are you pleased with my surprise?” Archeron asked Lara.
“Very much so,” she answered. “It has been some time since I last saw my mother.”
“I am happy then to have engineered this reunion,” Archeron replied.
Another dining bench was brought, and the faerie queen and her mate reclined upon it as the meal was now served. There were all manner of creatures from the sea, some broiled in delicate wines and served upon beds of greenery with lemon slices; red clawed creatures that had been boiled in their shells, and served with drawn butter; small rounds of succulent flesh set in dainty shells in a delicious cream sauce. Neither Lara nor Vartan had ever seen their like. They carefully watched how their hosts ate these foods, and followed suit. There were silver baskets upon the table piled high with fresh breads kept warm by means of heated stones, and bejeweled silver bowls of newly churned butter.
Vartan particularly enjoyed the red shelled creatures, cracking them open to extract the meat, dipping it into the drawn butter. He ate heartily.
Lara leaned over to speak with her mother. “I do not know what to do,” she said softly to Ilona.
The faerie queen did not ask about what, she simply said, “What does your heart tell you, daughter?”
Lara sighed. “I do not think I have ever heard my heart speak. I have been told I have a faerie’s cold heart.”
“But you are human as well as faerie, daughter,” Ilona replied. “And faeries do not always have cold hearts, Lara. That is a choice we make so we may protect ourselves in a world where magic is more often feared than not. My heart was warm for your father. You were born of the love I had, still have, for John Swiftsword.”
“I sense I will need a cold heart for what is to come, Mother,” Lara said.
“It is not time,” Ilona answered. “I tell you this though I probably should not, but I cannot bear to see you so indecisive and unhappy as you wait to meet your destiny, Lara. I honored your father’s request, and kept from you as a child although I knew your fate. I have done little for you, but this I can do. You have time, my daughter. These next few years are yours to do with as you please. Have the child you desire to give Vartan. It will comfort him when you must leave him. Let yourself love him.”
“But when that moment comes?” Lara said.
“You will do your duty, my daughter, because you were bred to do it whether you knew it or not. As a leader you must know when to show mercy as well as strength. If your heart is always cold, how can you? I have looked into Vartan’s soul. From the moment he laid eyes upon you, Lara, daughter of Swiftsword, was his life. He adores you, and to refuse to accept such homage, such passion, would be foolish. Revel in it! Return it! You will not be the weaker for it, but rather stronger, for unconditional love builds strength in those who will accept it. And you will need all of your strength for the road ahead.”
Tears slipped down Lara’s beautiful face. “I have wanted to love him,” she admitted, “but I feared to do so would weaken me.”
Ilona reached out, and gently brushed the tears from her daughter’s cheeks. “No. Love does not weaken. If my love for your father had weakened me I should not have been able to leave him to return to the duties I owed my mother, and my faerie kin.” Her green eyes suddenly twinkled. “I can see that Vartan is much man. No faerie girl would waste him.”
“Do you love Thanos?” Lara asked her mother candidly.
“In my own fashion,” Ilona said. “But not like I loved John Swiftsword. I took Thanos as a mate because it was necessary to produce an heir or heiress to follow in my footsteps. I left that choice up to fate, and birthed a son. Your brother, Cirilo, will be the first king the Forest Faeries have had in three generations. Thanos understands, for he had courted me for many years before I agreed to have him as my mate.”
“I do love Vartan, though I have never admitted it before even to myself. I feared it would weaken me, but as I think on it I realize his love does make me strong,” Lara said. “I have felt like I was living on the edge of a sword, Mother. It is a relief to know I may become a simple woman, if only for a short time.”
“Do not lose your skills,” Ilona warned. “Practice each day with both Andraste and Verica. Until your belly swells ride Dasras regularly so his skills, too, may remain sharp. Remember this is but a respite for you, Lara. When you are finally called you must be ready. I am here for you. Kaliq and the Shadow Princes, also. Do not hesitate to seek our advice when you need it.”
Outside the large windows of the Coastal King’s banqueting hall, the creamy yellow moon of the province was shining down on the waters of the sea. Inside the feasting continued until very late, and then the guests were shown to their chambers. The bedchamber where Lara and Vartan would sleep was luxurious, and yet deceptively simple in its elegance. A great round window gave them a view of the sea. A bed draped in diaphanous curtains of turquoise silk awaited them. Before the fireplace opposite the window was a large bathing tub filled with hot water, and scented with freesia.
“I’ll smell like a girl,” Vartan protested as his wife began to slowly remove his clothing.
“You’ll smell delicious,” she teased him as she unbuttoned the horn buttons on his leather vest, and laid it aside. Her supple fingers undid the laces of his shirt, pushing it off his shoulders, her palms smoothing over his broad smooth chest. “Just like a flower, and I’ll be a little bumblebee coming to gather your honey.” Lara stood on her toes, and whispered, “Buzz, buzz,” in his ear. Then she pulled the shirt completely off.
“Wife!” he said.
“Husband?” she countered as she unfastened his leather trousers, pushing them over his slender hips, her hands now moving to caress his taut buttocks as she pressed herself against him seductively.
Vartan grinned. He could not remember Lara ever seducing him in so bold a manner, and quite frankly he liked it. Reaching out he unfastened her gown, letting it fall to the floor. Then he lifted her from the pile of soft fabric.
Her hands reached out to fondle him. She raised her head up to gaze into his eyes, and he kissed her softly at first, and then as his arms closed about her, and her arms slipped up about his neck, their kisses became fiery, demanding, one blending into another until they were weak with passion. They fell upon the bed, bodies intertwined, and she caught his face between her hands. “Tonight, husband, we make a child,” Lara told him, a small smile upon her lips.
“Faerie women only give children to those they love,” he groaned, and began the thrusting rhythm that would eventually lead to their mutual satisfaction.
“Yes!” she told him.
“Say it!” he demanded of her, his loins afire with his hunger for her. “Say it!”
She laughed. “Say what?” she teased him as she wrapped her legs about his torso.
He thrust harder and harder, his manroot seeming to swell more as he pushed himself deep into the soft hot morass of her sex. “Say it!” he groaned through gritted teeth. “Say that you love me, you faerie witch.”
“I love you,” Lara told him, and then the world exploded around them and in them as their pleasure reached its first heights. “I love you!” she told him as it peaked a second and final time. And then as they lay together sated, she said it a third time. “I love you, Vartan of the Fiacre, and I always will, no matter where my destiny takes me.
