THE KING'S DAUGHTER - Chapter Two (The Maiden Fair)
Inside the Gate of Time, within Maicair Caylus,
the Monarchy of the Fey of the Northern Forest
Aibell sat upon the mushroom, combing her curls with slender fingers. The ruby mass shimmered in the dappled sunlight with an ethereal luminescence. Her pale fingers plaited a complicated six-strand braid. Violet eyes half shut in gentle contemplation; the Faery maiden sat humming an ancient Otherkin melody.
She paused a moment, while the mist that drifted through the trees wound its way to her. It wrapped about her like a floating ribbon of lavender-gray, the color of her thoughts, should thoughts have color.
Why must I grow up? I remember running barefoot through this forest as the wind carried me faster than the leaves being blown. Faster than birds in flight, faster than the leaves tumbling on the ground, faster than anything alive! I cannot do that when I become a wife and mother. Not when the glorious courts of Lumilrel call me.
She fingered her skirt, frowning slightly at the worn hem. New gowns would be made. Silks, velvets, satins, sheer linen; all used make gowns fit for the wife of the future King of Feenoriah. New gowns in the Feenorian style, like the one I wore for the portrait that was painted in hopes of a betrothal. The cincher was uncomfortable, when compared with the free flowing tunic gowns of the Fey. I am giving up my childhood and freedom to a man I have never met. I would marry for love. She sighed. "I hope I can be happy with my 'Prince Charming'."
A small smile crossed her face. Urlian. Never have I met such an interesting Elf. Most other races stay in their kingdoms and not go wandering about. Well, except the Pixxi. I should ask him why he came to the Fey court instead of the Feenorian. The son of a Duke would do well there, I suppose.
She smiled as she recalled a few nights ago, after supper, when Urlian approached her in the gallery. Quietly she had walked, looking upon the faces of her ancestors as she was apt to do in times of contemplation. He had caught her from behind and with a chuckle, led her into a curtained alcove. Backing her against the wall, he brushed her cheek with his large hands, in a surprisingly gentle move. His wide smile of satisfaction irked her for some reason. That is, until he stopped her frown with a gentle brushing of lips. Her first kiss! She gasped. He stopped and took a step away from her, smiling anew as he noted her deep blush.
Aibell stammered, "W-w-what do you think you are doing? How dare you!"
"Perhaps I was too bold, my dear Princess. Allow me to start again." He cleared his throat. "Ahem. Princess Aibell, I bring you a token of my adoration. However, it is but a wan moon to your glorious sun." He brought forth a single rose, its petals black-purple at the edges, lightening into a rosy pink in the center. The heady rose perfume made her head swim.
"Urlian! I am stunned. Thank you. The rose is lovely."
"No more lovely than you, Aibell. I would like to take you to the mountains of Ruhullald. You would grace the court at King's Hill like the ruby does the hilt of my blade. I would show you off to my great-uncle, the King. Your exotic Fey beauty would stun them all, and you and I would relish it, for you belong to me."
"That is a lovely thing to say, Viscount." Aibell stopped smiling. "However I do not 'belong' to you. I belong to no man. I have been educated far better than many men. Granted, I lack sophistication, but I will learn that at the Feenorian court when I marry Denilus of Feenoriah. I will not belong to him, but be a helpmate. Besides, only if the union between Denilus and I falls through, will Father grant you leave to court me. Should you pay court to me and win my hand, I will still not ‘belong’ to you."
"You belong to your father, Princess. Is it not he who decided who to approach for your hand? Did he not arrange for your grandfather to travel to Lumilrel to find out whether or not Prince Denilus will accept you?"
"How did you know Lord Ispepaltim was my grandfather?" Aibell crossed her arms over her chest as she awaited an explanation with a deep frown on her face.
"Is it not common knowledge? I thought all knew Queen Kaelis was his daughter."
Aibell held a finger to his lips. "Do not speak her name to me. Let us talk of a more pleasant topic."
"What did you have in mind? I know what I would like to talk about." There was a devilish gleam in his bright green eyes.
She smiled. "What did you have in mind, my lord?"
Again, he backed her up against the wall in the alcove. He pressed himself against her and kissed her lips. Half expecting this pleasant onslaught, she tried kissing back. After a few moments, soft footfalls were heard nearing the alcove.
"Aibell! Where are you?" a gentle feminine voice called forth.
Urlian rolled his eyes and muttered an oath. Aibell swore.
"You leave first and walk off with her, then I will leave." He pecked her cheek.
Aibell left the alcove, nearly bumping into the Pixxi noblewoman who was searching for her. "Sorja, you needed me? Come; let us walk on the battlements." The Princess drew the noblewoman away.
Sorja stopped the Princess before they reached the door to the battlements and cocked an eyebrow. "You look rather flushed, Aibell. I hope you do not have a fever."
"I am fine, just a little warm, that is all."
"I imagine that nook to be quite cozy. Think of your reputation, Princess!" Sorja's voice betrayed her concern.
"There is no harm in a little flirtation. He knows it can come to naught." Aibell brought the rose to her nose and inhaled deeply the lingering perfume of the flower.
Sorja smiled as she noticed the bloom. "I hope it was worth it."
The Princess grinned. "Aye, it was."
Stopping her reverie, Aibell sniffed the air--something was not right. She caught the earthy scent of rosemary mingled with lavender. Rosemary did not grow anywhere near this part of the forest, not for miles and miles… to top it off, there was nary a breeze, for the leaves in the trees were not singing. Someone was here-in her sanctuary.
Shutting her eyes completely, she focused her mind’s eye. Seeing the person invading her haven, the Princess melded with the mushroom. Aibell manipulated her thoughts, watching in her mind as her shape slowly faded with aid of the Fey Magick. Virtually invisible to the unwary, she waited for the interloper. Slowing her breathing, so that her chest barely moved, she waited. Perhaps a half-hour passed before she sensed the intruder was extremely close to her. She stopped breathing, her heart pounding a thunderous tempo. Opening her eyes, she spoke up.
“Altachadh-beatha, Sorja.” Aibell greeted her friend, while thinking, first you interrupt my time with Urlian, now my daydream! Your timing is impeccable.
“Hello to you too. You look too quiet.” A short, slightly plump young woman dressed in a magnificent dark blue gown answered as she tossed her smoky brown tresses over her shoulder. Sorja’s almond shaped yellow eyes glittered wickedly as she sparred verbally with her invisible friend.
“Too quiet? How can one look quiet, let alone too quiet? Oh, never mind. Care to join me?” Aibell reappeared and patted the spot next to her on the blue and white spotted mushroom-throne.
“Of course, as long as you are done mooning over that pompous ass, Urlian. Sweet mother above! He is such an arrogant beast! How I would so dearly love to… to…” Sorja closed her yellow eyes, balled her up fists, and then cried out, “Make his genitals shrivel, turn the man into a worm and feed him to RedBreast! May he have a good meal!”
“You cannot possibly mean that! He has done naught to you! Nothing at all! That is quite unfair!” Aibell protested.
“Unfair? Unfair! Kindly listen to what he has been saying! He has told half the court in the past day that you and he are lovers. Lovers! And that you were quite… proficient at it, too. That you were not only a Princess, but a courtesan as well! I know that he is lying, as you do. Have you not noticed the stares you get when you enter the Great Hall each morning? Have you not heard the whispers when you announce to all, that he is to be seated next to you at meals?” Sorja placed her hand on Aibell’s shoulder, gently rubbing in a circle.
“He wouldn’t have, not my Urlian.” Her chin quivered, as did her voice. “Not Urlian. He gifts me with roses.”
“Roses? For a Princess? He should be giving you stars, not thorns,” Sorja could not hold back the scathing reply.
“He knows I favor roses above all. He would not have said so. No, not my Urlian. You cannot prove otherwise, anyhow.” Aibell looked away, up to the canopy of green-blue leaves that swayed in the breeze.
“ ’Your Urlian?’ You know I can prove it. You have seen me use my sphere. Aibell, why can you not you see this? Why can you not see past your nose to what this man is doing to your virtuous reputation?”
“If you have the sphere, then let me see it!” Aibell cried out, half in difiance, half in pain.
In a pouch hanging off her belt, Sorja drew forth a clear crystal ball. The size of a large apple, it seemed to emit an otherworldly light. Cradling it in her hands, she held it up to Aibell’s gaze.
“You must use me to channel this, for you haven’t the strength to withstand the truth. Ask it. Black is no, White is yes. Gray is the Unknown. Grab hold of my arm, if you want to experience the sphere without harming yourself”, she murmured, “Never let your gaze falter, no matter how much you have to focus. If it hurts, keep holding. Remember, the truth hurts. Furthermore, Pixxi Spheres never lie.”
“I know, and I shall prove you wrong.” Holding onto Sorja’s elegantly clothed arm, she stared intently into the crystalline orb. Drawing a deep breath, she unfocused her eyes a bit, and relaxed. “Has Urlian ever slandered my good name?”
The orb lit up, illuminating its center with a white smoke that seemed to have arms. Grasping, pulling, clawing its way out of the crystal globe in an attempt to latch on to whom ever held it and unleash its horrific power. It rolled and boiled and lashed out, trying to escape in vain the iridescent walls which held its content prisoner.
“No! It lies!” cried Aibell, agony pouring through her body. She trembled with the force of energy and potent violence she felt unleashed, rushing and surging in Sorja’s body. “Has Urlian ever called me whore?” she gasped, shaking with the pain of truth the orb radiated.
Again, with a demonic brutality, the sphere lit up the area with its pure white light.
“This cannot be true…” an angst-ridden Aibell whispered. “It cannot…”
“It cannot lie. It tells the truth. Urlian lies, and well you know it. What are you going to do?”
Releasing Sorja’s arm, Aibell said in a very soft voice, “I will make him pay.” And with that, in a cloud of blue smoke, she was gone.
Sorja called out, “How will he pay?”
And, with a voice sounding like the wind through leaves, she heard the reply.
“Any way he can.”
Kellanach Castle
The hidden fortress of King Manann, father of Aibell, and ruler of Maicair Caylus
Kellanach Castle looked like a primeval oak tree that had stood up to an eon of battering from the elements, and had survived to stand as monumental proof of that fact. Large and green, its twisted trunk hid a bevy of rooms and galleries, antechambers and presence chambers. Hidden by enchantment the mighty oak tree looked no different than any other oak in the forest. Up in the leafy canopy, balconies opened up to the branches that served as walkways and battlements, the thick lower ones housing the nobles, the royal family and dignified guests. The top most branches acted as storage space and servant rooms, towers, spires and watchtowers. The Magick that protected this castle was set by the King’s ancestor, the first Fey warrior to claim this land for himself and his decedents for a thousand years to come.
No one had ever penetrated the Castle, for what the Magick did not guard, the Captain of the King’s sentry did, and quite fiercely, too. There was but four entrances into the palace, all heavily guarded. No one unknown passed through the main gate at the base of the roots-the guards knew who you were and what purpose you served by coming inside the sacred walls, for it was their mission to protect the residents of the castle at all costs. This was a close-knit community, the King well liked and admired for unlike his war-loving ancestor, he desired nothing but peace.
However, Aibell’s thunderous steps echoed in the almost-empty Hall, her angry voice reverberated on the wooden walls. Curses of I-hate-him and I-hope-his nose-falls-off-his-face rang out. Her green-blue gown of shimmery Neibran swirled around her ankles as she came to a halt in front of her father’s unoccupied green crystal throne. The golden cushion on the throne was of sewn of Neibran, a cloth made only by the Fey. It was rumored to be empowered, but to the Fey, it was just pretty fabric.
On a small dais near by, a young girl with wide blue eyes lounged on clover-stuffed pillows, idly strumming her harp.
“Paige, have you seen the King?” Aibell demanded.
“Highness, nay, I have not seen your father since we broke our fast this morning. Perhaps the King is in the stables?” the sable tressed lass replied.
“Perhaps. Send Mag to the stables and find him. Ask him to meet me in the Hall. Have you seen Viscount Urlian about?”
The young Faery pondered for a moment before answering. “Aye, shall I fetch him for you?” was the hesitant answer.
“Nay.” Came the curt reply.
The doors to the Hall burst open for a second time, revealing Aibell’s father, as he strode through them, dusty from his ride, and followed by his court.
Laughter and merriment reigned supreme in this happy time, though sometimes it was forced on King Manann’s part. His wavy red-gold hair was cut above his shoulders, and a fine beard covering his square jaw. He wore his standard on his tabard- a white lily between two rampant black unicorns on a burgundy field. Face flushed with health, he saw his daughter standing near his throne, looking despondent. Breaking away from his company, he strode to Aibell, arms extended. “Daughter! Hither! Speak with me a moment.”
She walked into his open arms, softly saying, “Father, something terrible has happened!”
Together, they left the throne room, and progressed into an antechamber. A warm fire was lit to ward off the encroaching cold of the evening. King Manann gently cupped his hands under Aibell’s down-turned face and raised her eyes to meet his. “Though I rule this kingdom, this land, these people, there is one thing that I lack, and that is your mother, may the Gods look after her good soul. Kaelis was a wonderful woman. I miss her dearly, though she turned her back on me for a mortal. You are her very image. Now to see you like this, it brings back memories best buried. Daughter, what ails you?”
Aibell stepped away from her father, eyes flashing and cried out, “Do not mention that woman who bore me for she was no mother. No mother turns her child away for her lover in return. Let alone a mortal lover!” Aibell spat out. “She was a disgrace, and every time I see my reflection, it sickens me that I should bear her likeness, although I have your hair color.” Aibell calmed down after her rant and continued in a measured voice, ”She was not worthy to have been your queen, nor should she have been allowed to leave and disgrace our family’s honor. Please, I beg you; do not mention her to me. You may mourn her as is your right, but do not ask for me to mourn her for she was no mother to me. She is nothing to me, for I have no memory of her. Nothing!”
Manann stood stunned. Never before had Aibell ever spoken with such venom. Never had she shown so much anger. Even more puzzled as to what could have disturbed his darling, he asked again, “Daughter, what ails you so?”
“Father, it is Viscount Urlian. I beg you, send him back to his father, and whatever rock he crawled out from!”
“Whatever did he do to you, my sweet girl?” He guided Aibell to a chair and bade her to sit down.
“He slanders my name, my virtue. Lady Sorja tells me of this, and it was verified with her Pixxi Sphere. Father, send him away, lest he destroy the chance of our union with the Feenorian. My marriage with Prince Denilus will add prosperity to our crofters and coffers. With the Viscount slandering my good name, there is a possibility that Denilus will learn of it, and believe the vile things said. What I am to do, Father?”
“What was said, exactly?” His breathing quickened with the thought of a scoundrel, a rogue, a man soiling his daughter’s name.
“It is said that the good Viscount whispers that I have… lain with him, that I am naught but the court’s courtesan!” Aibell tearfully broke down. “Father, he called me a whore!”
Manann closed his amber eyes. He had truly liked Urlian. The lad had promise, for being Elvish and all. Quick of wit, strong of limb, and handsome as they come-- it was not a bad thing that had Aibell favored him. If the union with Denilus did not work out, then he could count on Urlian to do the right thing. Now that the bastard had hurt his child, the bastard shall pay. Then there was the possibility that word may have leaked from the court of Maicair Caylus, to that of the Feenoriah court, where it may be on its way to the ear of its King. The possibilities for failure were high, if the situation did not get nipped in the bud. Opening his eyes, the goodly King asked his daughter, “What do you suggest? Do I send him back to his father, or perhaps banish him? Execution? What, Aibell, would you have me do?”
Stepping away from her father, she locked her watery violet eyes onto his sober amber ones. “My lord, I ask that he be sent back to his father. I never wish to see the lout again. Lady Sorja proposed turning the slug into a worm and feeding him to Red Breast.” Aibell giggled at the image, this time agreeing with the Pixxi. The relief of telling her father her woes was tremendous; never before had anyone dared treat her in such a callous way.
Manann smiled, thinking that it was not such a horrid punishment, the banishing that is. The lad had not been stripped of his titles, nor had he lost any limbs, appendages or his head. The lad could still be great, perhaps at the Elvish court of Ruhullald, if he was finished playing trite games. “Daughter, it is done. Retire to your chamber. Have Sorja prepare you a posset. Relax this night, and in the morning, the Viscount will no longer reside in this castle. Or do you prefer to remain and watch?”
"If I stay, I will end up skewering him with a blunt object, or resort to tearing his eyes out. I would much rather relax a bit, then retire." Aibell stood on her toes and kissed her father’s weathered cheek. “I bid you a good night. Sweet dreams, Father.” And with a tear-stained smile, she walked out of the antechamber much more at ease than when she had first walked in.
That beautiful star, his daughter, his heir, was the future.
It was a fair punishment meted out by the Princess, for although she was indeed raging inside she had shown restraint. Well, if she had proposed an execution, Sorja would have talked sense into her, but violence was not her style. With a sigh, the King walked to a sideboard and picked up a clay jug. Pulling out the cork, he sniffed the contents: a fine batch of mead, if memory served correctly.
Locating a cup, he poured himself a healthy dose of the deceptively potent brew. He hated doing this-hated the fact that he needed a dose of liquid courage for something as simple as banishment.
There was an intensity kept banked in Urlian's eyes that would sometimes make the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. Lifting the glass to his lips, Manann raised his eyes in a silent tribute to Kaelis, his lost wife, wherever she may be, May the Gods look after her. And with that final thought, consumed the mead. Placing the cup on the sideboard, he walked to the door of the antechamber. Calling Turlough, his captain of guards, he nabbed the jug of mead and three cups, and then sat at the head of the large oak table that dominated the room.
Turlough walked in, his broad shoulders scraping the doorjamb. He was a throwback of a wild Fey warrior with little refinement, but pure soldier. Bowing at the waist, he declared in his rough voice, “My Lord, I am at your service.”
Manann smirked at the warrior, indicating to Turlough that formalities were not required at the moment. He needn't call me Lord, Manann thought, we're the same age, and, after all, we are cousins and former playmates, his mother even changed my nappies...
“Turlough, my friend, sit down. Have some of this mead, for we have something to discuss.”
Turlough poured himself a cup of the honey ale. Sniffing it, he smiled. “This wouldn’t be Maevis’ secret recipe, Manann?” he asked with a smile.
“You know it is. I think she would rather make mead than drink it. Strange woman…”
“Manann, out with it. What troubling you? Is Prince Denilus not marrying Aibell? Naked Elvish maidens running amok in the forest that you want me to catch? What is wrong?”
“A banishment is in order.”
“For whom? If it is for Maevis, at least get the mead recipe first. Then toss her arse first into the moat.” The captain let out a hearty chuckle at the mental image.
“’Tis for Viscount Urlian.” Manann poured another mead for them both.
“The Viscount? Whatever did that fool do?”
“Called Aibell a whore, or so she says. Had the lady Sorja verify it with the Pixxi Sphere. Of course, I’ll ask him. If he is uncooperative, then we shall inquire with the Lady Sorja. Nevertheless, he is going to be banished. This very night. See that he never sets foot on these grounds again, and use whatever means are necessary to accomplish it. If you would be so good, please fetch the lout and bring him here. You are to be privy, of course.”
“Aye, I will bring him. Are you burning on the inside with rage? Am I to pull you off him when you begin to see red?”
"Aye, I would kill the bastard for daring to slander my daughter. Aye, if the Elfling does not watch his tongue, you may end up pulling me off him. Feel free to land a blow or two before you stop me. Never before have I been so angry-- even with Kaelis, never have I wanted to thrash someone. Hurry, fetch him before my anger boils over, and I hit him without asking of his innocence. He is entitled to explaining himself before punishment is meted out.”
With a nod, Turlough got up, and strode out of the room. Manann thought why would Urlian do this? Damn the oaf! Quaffing the contents of his cup, he poured a fresh round in all three cups. He placed one at the right, for Turlough and one on the left for Urlian. This would work out fine. Send Turlough to fetch the lad and then have him in plain view during this discussion to frighten the lad.
Oh, yes, this may be quite refreshing.
A knock at the door, the order to come in. Turlough, with the anxious Viscount in tow. The Viscount, graced with a pale complexion, ink black hair and moss green eyes… How his visage makes me ill, Manann thought. “Come, sit, sit. Turlough, on my right, Viscount, my left. We have matters to discuss.”
Urlian, bold and proud, stood his ground. “Your Majesty, I would rather stand, though if that is mead I spy, I shall have a taste of it.“ He never let his fear out, but Manann could sense it.
“You whelp of a hound, sit your arse down, before I sit it for you. “ Turlough’s tone granted no leeway. It was sit down, or have your head lopped off. And the fiendish gleam in the captain’s eyes did nothing to make Urlian feel at home or welcome.
Strutting like a peacock to his seat, Urlian sat down and drank the honeyed wine.
“Viscount, it has come to my ears that you have violated my daughter, both her honor and virtue. What say you?”
“My lord, I find the Princess an intelligent girl. Comely as well. In what way have I violated her?”
“Lad, tread carefully, else I hold your still-beating heart in my hand mere moments before you realize that you have been executed.” Turlough’s growl was meant for Urlian’s ears only.
“Turlough, calm yourself. Urlian, have you any knowledge of the Pixxi Sphere? Or perhaps of a Trial by Orb?”
“Aye, though not much. It is a legend, mostly. A Pixxi, being gifted in the Magickal arts is granted one when they have proven themselves as worthy. A sphere is said to be the frozen breath of the Goddess. A holy relic, some would say. They work by the collective psyche; that every mind is linked, and can filter through all these minds to discover truth or lies. It is a powerful tool. I was told that there are but a handful still in existence.”
“Viscount,” The King’s voice was weary. “I’ll ask you once. If I repeat myself, you lose your life. I am not pleased at all. Have you ever slandered my daughter’s name? If need be, I shall call on the castle's resident Pixxi, whom has been granted a Pixxi Sphere.”
Guilt was written on the Viscount’s face. “Aye, sire, I did.” He could not lie, not when a Trial by Orb is at stake. There was nothing more heinous than witnessing a vengeful Goddess bent on justice flay the flesh from the condemned; nothing more gruesome than the screams of the guilty, long after death had claimed them.
Turlough and Manann let out a collective breath. “What would possess you to slander the Princess Aibell? Why-- ”
What little composure that Urlian had, was now lost. Leaving delicacy out of the conversation, he let lose a tirade of hate. “Sir, she is naught but a flighty cock teasing bitch. Hot one minute, cold the next. She has promised much, but delivered nothing. Nothing! I cannot stand it. No man could stand it. She, sir, is a whore. Like her mother I suppose. How does the story go? The passionate Kaelis leaves the devoted Manann so she can leave this realm for her mortal lover. A peasant no less. Pity. I heard that she was beautiful. Was this mortal lover her first?”
Manann sat quietly, and drank his mead. After a brief pause, he spoke up, quietly, calmly. “Son of Eisloh’n, Aibell herself has offered this punishment. You are banished this night. Be gone. If you refuse to leave, or if you return, or if I hear anymore slander of me or mine, your head will belong to me. Turlough himself will wield the ax that severs your skull from your shoulders. Your father shall be receiving a missive shortly, telling of your banishment. Collect your things and go in peace before morning light.”
Turlough rose, and yanked Urlian by the arm. “You have been dismissed. Come with me, we collect your things now.”
Before being pulled out of the room, Urlian called out, “King Manon, this is not the end of this, I promise you! By the Gods, someone shall pay. It will be that bitch you and your whore for a wife spawned!”
Turlough saw the expression of rage and fury darken the King’s features. He then took that as a cue, and promptly placed his fist in Urlian’s face. One solid punch knocked the whelp onto his arse, while blood streamed out of his nose, to drip onto his expensive clothing. Urlian raised his head up a tad, and then fell slack as consciousness escaped him.
Turlough turned to Manann, and with a wide smile on his face he asked, “There cousin, do you not feel better?” He winked before picking up the prone and limp body of the Elf, turning on heel, and marching to the Viscount’s chambers to dispose of him.
Manann stood with a tired look upon his handsome face. No one could hear him, for none were in the room with him, but softly he said, “No, not at all. I wish it were my fist that destroyed his prettiness.”
Thank you for reading! If you’d like more of the story, help yourself to the rest of the posted chapters: