"My King," Anabelle breathed, leaping from the settee and rushing to greet me. I kissed her, tenderly, then held her face in my hands. She was so beautiful, and so young. I loved her so deeply. My heart throbbed painfully at the thought of her being in any danger.
I looked to my mother, who was regarding the two of us with a sad expression on her face.
"Might I share your meal?" I asked.
"Of course, my son. We have already eaten our fill," my mother answered. I sat opposite her, with Anabelle at my side. I debated silently over whether to discuss the real meaning behind her vision in front of my queen. I didn't want to worry Anabelle needlessly. Then again, I remembered as I glanced at her out of the corner of my eye, she had demanded to be treated as an equal. She was not a childish, weak-spirited little thing. She was far stronger than I had given her credit for.
Besides – I remembered how furious I'd been just minutes earlier, when I realized that I'd been duped for so long. I didn't want to dupe her in the same manner.
"Mother," I said to Rhiannon. "Have you told my wife of the real meaning behind the vision you both saw in the flames?"
Rhiannon's skin, already pale, went even whiter. I knew she hadn't; she hadn't even expected me to find out the truth behind the vision.
"Mother, I understand," I said. "The council members told me the truth."
"Truth?" Anabelle said, looking back and forth at the two of us. "What truth?"
I cast my eyes downward; I didn't know how to say the words.
Finally, Rhiannon removed my burden. "My dear, this isn't easy to say. You see, the vision we shared … is the same as the vision I had 10 years ago, foretelling the death of Caside's father."
I took Anabelle's hand in my own as the meaning of these words swept over her. She slumped slightly, staring at the floor with great intensity. Her nostrils flared and her breath quickened.
"Anabelle? My love?" I asked softly. "Do you need to lie down?"
She looked at me, sharply. "Of course I don't need to lie down. It's simply … a shock, is all. I'd feared that what I'd seen was a message of foreboding, of course … but the knowing of it, that's another matter indeed."
Rhiannon spoke again. "I'm sure Caside has been informed of this, but I'll tell you. There is a dark wizard named Arthur, who since ancient times has enacted vengeance against the dragons. He made a vow, so many centuries ago, that he would not stop until the last of the dragons was destroyed. Shortly before the death of Caside's father, I saw a vision very similar to the one you and I saw today." I remembered how she'd stood as if frozen in place when Morgan led me back, and was sorry for the impatience I felt with her.
"After the King was killed, Arthur sent word back to the kingdom that it was at his hand the death had taken place. He made it known, far and wide, that he had destroyed another dragon; one far more powerful than he'd encountered in centuries, he said." Rhiannon's voice broke at this, and my heart went out to her. I crossed over to where she sat and placed and arm about her slim shoulders.
"It was agreed, my son, that the knowledge should be kept from you; you were too young, far too young, to bear such a heavy burden," she explained. "I've lived in fear for my sons these 10 years. I knew he would return, some day. And the visions and omens I've experienced, especially prior to your union , only cemented the fact that he would come back. I felt somehow as though he was waiting for the marriage to take place and be consummated. Why, I know not. Perhaps he feels the power of your bond and is jealous of it; legend has it that jealousy is what spurred his dark mission in the first place. Who can tell?"
As was usually the case, I felt guilt for the foolhardy nature with which I had first regarded my mother's messages of fear and foreboding. I had tried to brush her off as a silly woman, I realized now. In reality she had been witnessing the nightmarish coming to fruition of 10 years of worry. She had known the entire truth, and knew that there was much more to the messages and visions she was receiving than she dared reveal to me at the time.
I placed a hand over hers and murmured my apologies, but she merely patted my hand lovingly and smiled that indulgent smile I'd seen so many times through my life.
Anabelle sat, stock still, taking this all in.
"And he's immortal, I take it?" she asked, shortly. Rhiannon nodded, and answered, "Yes, my dear one. He cast a spell granting himself immortality until the day the last dragon was destroyed."
"How many dragons still exist in the world?" Anabelle asked, and neither Rhiannon nor myself knew the exact answer.
"We know the number has dwindled," Rhiannon admitted. "But we know not exactly how many; all that matters to me is that there are two, and they are my sons." Tears spilled over onto my mother's cheeks, and I pulled her toward me, trying to comfort her.
"Mother, I've sent the council along with any and all servants they could find to the libraries, in order to find a way to break the spell over Arthur," I told her. "There must be a way. Some time, in the centuries he has been hunting us, someone must have recorded something that will point us in the right direction."
Rhiannon did not look convinced. "I will pray that it is so, my son. For you both." She looked up at Anabelle, who gave her a brave smile. I loved her more in that moment than I ever had. She was a pillar of strength and calm in this tumultuous situation. I wanted to cling to her.
Some time later, when I felt as though she was calm and rational enough to be left alone, Anabelle and I retired to our own chambers. She was extremely quiet and pensive; I dared not ask her what she was thinking or feeling. I had learned over the course of our short union that when she was thinking deeply about something, it was best to leave her on her own until she felt like speaking. Otherwise she would become extremely irritable.
I watched her from the bed as she undressed herself. Normally she had help from her maids at the end of the day, but tonight she was far too caught up in her thoughts to be bothered. She slid her gown from her shoulders and over her ripe body, and even in my distressed state of mind I couldn't help becoming aroused at the sight of her. Still, she paid me no attention. She pulled a dressing gown over her shoulders and tied the sash, then sat down before her looking glass to brush out her long hair.
I got up from the bed and strode over to where she sat. I placed my hand over the brush, and she paused. She glanced up at me, her eyebrows question marks. I gently took the brush from her hand and began running it through the deep red tresses. Somehow … I needed to feel connected to her, even if it was through this quiet act.
I watched in wonder as the brush traveled through the thick curls. I knew I would never do as expert a job as her ladies did, but I tried to mimic their actions as best I could. I brushed out every last strand, then ran my fingers through her hair to separate the curls and smooth them down. She sighed, enjoying the attention I was giving her.
Once I felt that I'd done a sufficient job, I laid the brush down on the table in front of us. I then took Anabelle's slim shoulders in my hands; she was incredibly tense and stiff. I gently massaged the tight muscles, digging my thumbs in gently but firmly. I felt her relax under my hands after several minutes, and I moved to her neck. She allowed her head to fall forward as I worked those muscles just as I had her shoulders. She moaned, softly, once or twice.
Finally she picked her head up, then stood and turned to face me. She untied her dressing gown and let it fall to her feet. Her nipples were erect, betraying her arousal.
"My queen," I whispered hoarsely, "I didn't intend for that to lead to anything. I wasn't trying to seduce you. I simply wanted to touch you."
She nodded, and smiled. "And now I want to touch you," she replied.
I picked her up in my arms and carried her to the bed, where we made love until both of us were covered in sweat and hoarse from crying out the other's name.
Many minutes later, as we lay in our tangle of sweaty limbs and bedsheets, I heard her voice in the near-darkness of the dying fire. "I have something to tell you," she said, softly.
Just then, the door to our bedchamber flew open. "My King," I heard, and I recognized the voice of my most trusted guard.
"What is it, Liam?" I asked, and I heard Anabelle's frantic attempts to cover herself. I wondered if she'd ever become accustomed to having the intimate sanctity our marriage bed invaded so abruptly.
"There's a visitor at the gates to the village; an old peddler. He tells the guard there that he has a message for you, but that it can only be delivered to you personally. He insists, and refuses to leave until he has a brief audience with you. He's caused quite a stir, your highness, finally telling the guard to report that the message is from someone named Arthur." Anabelle gasped audibly, and I felt sick.