Bound to the Prince (30 page)

It seemed as her prince had just fainted.

And he would kill her for sure if she ever
breathed a word of this to a living soul.

Horses were incredible creatures. If not for
Ahearn, Igraine would have never managed to take Elathan to the inn
on her own. The steed had knelt down at his master’s side and
pressed his body flat to the ground, so she could drag Elathan’s
heavy, motionless form across his back. When Ahearn stood up, she
took his reins and started her long walk over what used to be the
blue grass plains of Debethea, now nothing more than vast fields of
burned earth.

The sun had already risen after she had sat
for hours with Elathan’s head in her lap, unable to move or think.
Hanging face-down over a horse’s back was not a very dignified way
to travel for the prince of the realm, but for now, it was all she
could do. His armor was covered in blood, and she did not know how
much of it was his own. Even if she had examined him further, it
wouldn’t have helped him much, for she neither had enough water to
clean his wounds properly nor clean cloth to bind them.

Looking down at herself, she saw that she was
a mess. Her clothes were not much more than rags, torn by the
demons’ claws, she was covered in dirt and dried blood. Her skin
was marred by several wounds, the worst of them the one on her
shoulder and the deep cut over her chest, which was still bleeding
when she moved too quickly. Probably it would need stitching. She
was glad that Elathan had told her about the inn somewhere on the
plains, so at least she had an idea where she was going. After the
fight with the demons, she had lost all sense of direction and the
landscape looked the same wherever she turned her head.

Maybe such things as compasses didn’t exist
in this world, and the elves traveled with the help of some magical
instinct. But as she had no other fixed point, not even a single
tree or mountain, she followed the direction of the moon which was
already faintly visible in the clear afternoon sky. A ridiculous
thought crossed her mind, and involuntarily she grinned. Back in
school, maybe I should have joined the girl scouts after all and
learned something about survival in nature. You never knew when you
would get stranded in a once-grass-plain-desert, dragging an
unconscious elven prince along with you.

The cold wind over the plain tugged at her
torn clothing and made her shiver. Her feet hurt, and she felt weak
from her loss of blood. But if she climbed into the saddle behind
Elathan’s heavy body, the horse would not be able to proceed much
longer and without him to carry his master, they would never reach
the inn in time. The sun was very low already, and who knew if some
of the grass demons survived, already lurking in the ground to have
their revenge?
Igraine decided to stop for a short moment to take a sip of water
from Elathan’s leather bottle. When she checked on the prince, took
his hand and called him by his name, he was still unconscious. She
lifted up his head and tried to make him drink a little, but it
only served to wet his lips. They had to find some shelter, and
very soon.

She directed her gaze to the horizon,
narrowing her eyes to see if there was any change in the landscape,
a hill or a mountain maybe, or a tree, so she could tell where she
was going. But there was just the same, barren land wherever she
turned her head.

Suddenly, something happened to her eyesight.
She did not see anything, not even darkness. It felt like the
blinding spots that you see when you close your lids after staring
too long into the sun. But before she had time to contemplate why
she had gone blind, she could see again … and jumped back with an
cry of surprise.

Just a few paces from where she stood with
Ahearn at her side, the outline of a large structure had appeared
on the plain. It looked exactly like you’d imagine a medieval inn.
There was a two-storey main building with straw thatching and two
smaller houses to the back. An outside ladder led up to the upper
floor that was completely surrounded by a wooden balcony, probably
where the guest rooms where located. The stables were to the right
of the yard which was enclosed by a narrow stone wall, covered with
ivy. To Igraine’s utter astonishment it was surrounded by a
circular area of intact blue grass that was softly moving in the
breeze. Undoubtedly this place had a strong magic of its own since
it hadn’t been touched by Elathan’s devastating fire. And it had
allowed her to find it just when what she needed most was a safe
place to spend the night.

She began to wonder about the foolishness of
her own thoughts – how could a building ‘allow’ itself to be found
– when suddenly the front door opened and Calatin came running out
like the hounds of hell were after him. He was protecting his
red-haired head with one hand, which was wise because several heavy
clay dishes came flying after him, a plate, a bowl and a jug full
of ale, then even a wooden chair. Igraine had to acknowledge that
he moved very quickly despite wearing his silver chainmail. He
ducked just in time before everything fell to the floor and smashed
into pieces, then hurried out of the yard. At a safe distance to
the inn, he paused, laughing with what could only be described as
elven mischief. When he finally spotted her standing beside the
horse carrying his prince’s motionless body, he stopped dead in his
tracks.

Then a bright, happy grin enlivened his
handsome face, and he ran to Igraine to capture her in a
bone-wrenching embrace. Before she could say anything, she felt his
mouth on hers in a kiss that couldn’t in the least be called
brotherly. For a short moment she was so shocked that she let it
happen. His lips explored her passionately, so soft and sensual
that it took her breath away. She did not even think about what a
great kisser he was but raised her hand to slap him. He broke away
first and caught her wrist, laughing. “Now, now, lovely human!” he
said. “I just wanted to express my joy over seeing you alive and
well.”

“Did your joyous feelings also include your
prince here who’s actually more dead than alive right now?” she
asked, gesturing to Elathan.

“Oh, him.” Calatin glanced at the sleeping
prince and absently patted his shoulder. He didn’t seem to be
overly moved by the poor state his friend was in. “I was never
really worried about him, actually. He’s stubborn as a bulldog when
it comes to dying, so he simply keeps fighting until everyone else
is dead. He’s just a little worn out right now. But when you did
not reach the inn by nightfall, I wasn’t sure if he’d manage to
fight against so many demons and keep you safe at the same time.
Humans are so fragile.” Gallantly, he bowed before her and kissed
her hand. “I am very happy to find you unharmed, my Lady.” When he
lifted his emerald eyes to her, their expression was earnest so she
knew that he meant it.

“Who threw all those dishes after you – and
the chair, by the way?” she asked innocently.

He shrugged. “Just a small game of dice with
trolls. They are not very bright, you know. I won all their
gold.”

“You cheated?”

“How could you ever believe me capable of
such misdeeds, Lady Igraine?” he said with a wounded look on his
face. When she sweetly smiled at him, he laughed. “We should get
you safely inside the inn now. Offering her his arm to walk with
him, he took Ahearn’s reins with the other hand and led them into
the yard. When he saw that none of the guests were outside, he took
the horse around the house to the back entrance, where they found a
second, smaller stable. Before he lifted his prince off Ahearn’s
back, Calatin turned to Igraine and gave her a boyish, pleading
look that would have gotten him every wish fulfilled by any woman,
young or old. He must have successfully used it many times before,
she surmised.

“I assume you won’t tell Elathan that I
kissed you? It was meant as a sign of my friendship and chaste
admiration. I don’t think it necessary to bother him with such
trivialities now that he has so much to worry about – saving his
kingdom, for instance.”

Igraine gave him a sharp look, skeptically
lifting one brow. “He would kill you if he knew, wouldn’t he?”

Calatin’s grin revealed a row of perfect
white teeth. “I had no choice but to take advantage of the
situation. After all, he’s not unconscious every day.”

Elathan had been resting on the large, crude
wooden bed of the inn’s best room for two whole days and nights
now. After Eamon, the innkeeper, had been informed that a member of
the royal family – he did not manage to conceal the surprised
expression on his face when he recognized him - had been wounded
and lay unconscious in his stables, the burly elf had prepared his
best room in a hurry and personally helped Calatin to carry the
prince up the back stairs, so none of the guests had the chance to
have a closer look at him.

With Calatin’s help, Igraine had removed the
prince’s heavy armor and undressed him so she could wash his wounds
before cleansing him of the demons’ dried black blood that stuck to
his pale skin everywhere. She blushed when she tended to Elathan’s
naked body in Calatin’s presence, but the copper-haired elf did not
joke this time. His eyes held real sorrow for his friend when they
realized that Elathan was not just weak from the magic he had
summoned, but also in a fever, caused by too many deep wounds the
demons had inflicted upon him with their poisonous claws and teeth.
Obviously Calatin had the ability to heal, for he closed the minor
cuts with magic, chanting spells while his hands seems to glow with
a faint silver light when he moved them over the wounds. That done,
he stitched up the last few gashes with a fine needle and thread he
took out of a small leather bag attached to his belt. “Some more
scars for you, my friend,” he murmured, but he didn't smile.

When the prince’s wounds were bound up with
clean linen, Calatin covered him with the sheets and turned to
Igraine. “I have done everything in my power to heal him,” he said.
“But he has to fight the fever on his own. He is strong, my Lady,”
the magician added, when he saw the fear in her eyes. “But what
about you?”

“Me? What do you mean?” Igraine answered, not
knowing what he was talking about.

“The demons hurt you, too … let me have a
look at that.” He made her sit on a wooden stool and knelt down
beside her. Cautiously, he pulled down her bodice until her
shoulders were bare. He examined the wound at her shoulder and
healed it with his hands as he had done with Elathan. Then, he
looked at the gaping cut that reached from the upper part of her
breast almost to her throat. The worst bleeding had stopped, but
some blood trickled out from time to time.

“I will have to stitch this up, my Lady,” he
said. “But do not worry. You will feel nothing, and my stitches are
said to be finer than those of the castle’s best seamstresses.
There will be no trace left to mar your soft skin.” He smiled a
roguish smile at her indicating that healing her wounds was not an
unpleasant task at all, so she assumed that her injuries were not
as serious as Elathan’s.

Calatin had told her the truth. The elf
started to murmur soft elven words while he worked on her. Indeed
she didn’t feel a single stitch while his long, elegant fingers
sewed her skin back together, applying the finest stitches she had
ever seen – very tight but so tiny that she had no doubt that there
would be no scar left as he had promised. When he was finished, he
took her hand in his and looked up into her eyes. But to her
surprise she saw not a flirting glint in them, only sincere
sorrow.

“Igraine, there are things you need to know.
I have to be honest with you – I am not sure if Elathan will
survive this fever. The wounds alone wouldn’t have been enough to
kill him, but the poison is in his blood now. I did everything in
my power to help him, but he has drawn back so deeply I can’t reach
him anymore. It’s his decision alone if he will fight to live or
not. But he has lived a very long time, and sometimes immortals …
well, they just choose that they have had enough and that it’s time
to move on.”

He paused for a moment while she tried to
understand the terrible meaning behind his words, her face ashen.
“There are so many things I would like to tell you about our world
if I only had more time. About Ruadan, Elathan’s half brother. He
is not crowned yet, but because the old king had grown weak, he has
been ruling the elven realms for years now. Yet he’s only a puppet
on a string for his ruthless mother and fulfills her every wish.
Among other countless crimes, they have forbidden all magic unless
with their permission – which is never granted. I wish I could
explain to you what this means to my people. The human world never
knew magic so they found other ways to make life easier. But the
Fae are helpless without it, for it is all they know. Without
magic, they have to watch their children die if they fall ill.
Their fields will be barren, and there will be nothing to eat. They
will not be able to disguise themselves with glamour, to protect
themselves from their enemies.”

“Like humans?” Igraine asked
thoughtfully.

The elf lowered his gaze. “Forgive me, my
Lady. I did not mean to offend you. But you have to be aware that
there will be war if Ruadan is king, first against our own race,
then he’ll try to subdue the human world. But not all is lost since
he has not been crowned yet. Once a king, no one can take the right
to the throne away from him, not even the rightful heir. This is
the reason why I must leave immediately and reunite Elathan’s army.
Most of his men reside in the woods around the castle and have been
eagerly awaiting his return. I protected their hiding place with my
magic so Ruadan won’t find them, no matter how hard he orders his
own guards to look for them.” He grinned, then his expression grew
earnest again. “Without Elathan, we’ll do all in our might to
prevent this coronation until my prince has recovered and can join
us to reclaim the kingdom.”