Page 16

The moon is high in the sky when we decide to make camp, and despite the absence of any patrols throughout the day, we decide against lighting a fire.

Even though we are in the southern part of Greythorne’s province, it is still much further north than Valensia and therefore considerably cooler, especially at night.

I have some concern for the prince’s comfort as, unfortunately, when planning his abduction it seemed we planned for everything except a cloak to keep him warm.

I grab a spare blanket from my pack and head over to where he is sitting beside the cart with the two young soldiers.

“How are they doing?” I ask.

“Hanging in there,” he replies. “The travelling, especially over this bumpy terrain, isn't doing them any favours.”

I give a small nod, showing I am in agreement with him. “At least we covered more ground today than we initially thought possible. All going well, it will shorten the journey considerably for them.”

I hold out the blanket and offer it to him. “Apologies, when we planned this mission it seems we hadn't planned for you being without a cloak.”

He takes the blanket. “This mission? You mean abducting me against my will?”

I feel my cheeks redden with embarrassment and I'm forced to look away from the sudden anger burning in his eyes.

“I suppose you could call it that,” I reply, my voice unsure.

He lets out a derisory snort. “Suppose? You suppose you could call it that? In the name of all that’s sacred, what else could you call it?”

He rises from the rock he has been sitting on and wraps the blanket around him. I don't respond to his question.

“You sneak into my castle, subdue me with vapours and throw me in the back of a cart. Now, tell me, what do you Ardvallans call that?”

His considerable bulk is towering over me at this stage and I know he is trying to use his physical prowess to intimidate me, but all it serves to do is rile me.

As an Ellerban prince, I’m sure he has participated in more than his fair share of raids and abductions so he needn’t get all high and mighty with me.

I stand my ground as he inches even closer and force myself to look up into his fiery green eyes.

“We call that abduction, same as you Ellerban, only we don’t partake in it as often as you.

The Ellerban have quite the reputation throughout the realms for conducting raids into neighbouring realms and abducting who they please.

So you can hardly complain when someone decides to turn the tables and abduct one of you. ”

He takes a step back and looks at me as if he has misjudged me.

“I'll have you know, I've never taken anyone against their will in my life,” he announces, and an air of indignation hangs over him as surely as the blanket that sits upon his shoulders, “but be that as it may, what is it you want of me?

I recollect back at the castle you saying you want my seed and, if it proves good, you wish to make me your king.

However, I'm starting to think this was a hallucination I experienced as a result of the vapours your henchwoman overpowered me with.

I can't imagine why an Ardvallan Queen would need the seed of an Ellerban prince, much less why she would need to make him her king when she has any number of Ardvallan lords to choose from.”

The anger that filled his eyes earlier has now been replaced with puzzlement and confusion and I feel a twinge of remorse at my actions.

However, I quickly remind myself he is Ellerban and despite what he says, if the situation were reversed I doubt he would hesitate to do as I have done.

However, I feel he at least deserves a proper explanation as to what is going on, but I decide to stick to the facts and leave out the part about my dream and the strange sense of familiarity I experience whenever I’m around him.

He obviously thinks the situation is crazy enough that it only makes sense if he hallucinated it.

“You did not hallucinate,” I inform him and I pause, wondering how best to explain my situation.

“So you’re telling me, a beautiful queen appearing before me, telling me she desires my seed and wants to make me her king, was not just a fanciful flight of my imagination?” he asks before I can say anymore.

I hear his words but my mind focuses on the part where he said I was beautiful.

He thinks I’m beautiful!

My heart flutters inexplicably at this revelation.

No man has ever said this to me before, apart from those like the Grand Master who were simply using empty flattery to try to gain my favour.

However, this prince is not trying to gain anything from me and that's what has set my heart aflutter, he genuinely believes me to be beautiful.

My heart beats erratically and a flush spreads across my cheeks as I answer, “No, it most certainly was not a fanciful flight of your imagination. I said those things. I am in need of a man to make my king but it cannot be any man. I need someone who is a prince or a king and he must also have a healthy seed.”

His eyes go wide with surprise and then just as quickly they narrow in suspicion.

“You have many lords in Ardvalla, why can't you make one of those your king? Why does the all powerful queen of Ardvalla need me?”

I had expected him to have some questions about the situation, but what I hadn't expected is the feeling of embarrassment and the tinge of shame I feel upon having to answer them. I realise now a part of me had foolishly expected him to be flattered by my proposal. Deep down I had stupidly believed that whereas he may initially have been outraged at being abducted, he would ultimately be pleased, if not downright honoured, by my proposal. I’ve become so accustomed to being an object of desire and the vessel of others’ ambitions that I didn’t give any serious thought to the possibility of him rejecting my offer.

The pink flush of my cheeks deepens to crimson as I answer him.

“Ardvalla is in crisis and has been for some time.

Our birth rate is in decline due primarily to the men of Ardvalla producing poor quality seed.

My grandmother introduced a process called the Harvesting, which any lord who wishes to seek my hand in marriage must go through.

It's a process whereby their seed is harvested and then tested. Should their seed prove healthy then they may put themselves forward as a prospective suitor.”

He raises his hand. “Stop. Stop right there. Do you mean to tell me the rumours are true? That this harvesting process of which you speak is real? And the lords of Ardvalla willingly submit themselves to participate in it?”

The expression on his face is one of incredulity, and I feel slightly affronted at the inherent judgement in his tone. From what I've heard of the Ellerban they have enough peculiar customs of their own, and Prince Ronan is in no position to judge those of Ardvalla.

“My grandmother considered it necessary to introduce this process to ensure the lineage of the Royal House. I can assure you, every lord who has gone through it has done so willingly in the hopes he may become king. They seem to think it a small price to pay. Unfortunately, none of them have succeeded.”

His eyes widen in surprise. “What? None of them?”

I shake my head. “No. None of them.”

“How many have been harvested?”

“Seventeen so far.”

“So why don't you just keep going until someone passes the test? Why go to the trouble of abducting an Ellerban Prince?”

“There is increasing dissatisfaction with the harvesting process.

Back in my grandmother's time there was very little risk of any of the lords not passing the test and being humiliated. However, now there is a very slim chance of any lord succeeding, which means practically all of them who submit themselves for the Harvesting end up being humiliated. Unfortunately, one lord in particular did not take the results very well at the last Harvesting. He denounced the process and demanded my hand in marriage, threatening war if I declined.”

He raises a questioning eyebrow. “Greythorne?”

“Yes. This is why I need a prince or a king to make an offer of marriage, as under Ardvallan law their offer supersedes that of a mere lord, even a highborne Ardvallan lord.”

He lets out a low whistle. “So that’s where I come in?”

“Yes.”

“So, when you said you must submit to Greythorne you meant submit in the physical sense?”

I lower my head and look at the ground, unable to look into his eyes as I say in a low voice, “Yes.”

“By the gods you are in a nasty position,” he muses. Then he does something that takes me completely by surprise. He places a finger under my chin and lifts my head up until my eyes are looking into his. He doesn’t say anything but continues to look into my eyes as if searching for something.

“There’s something else,” he says. “Something you’re not telling me.”

I try to turn my head, to look away and escape his probing gaze, but he holds my head firmly in place.

“What is it you aren’t telling me, Queen? Why me?”

I stare into his eyes and for a split second I consider telling him about my dream and the moonstone which ultimately led me to him.

However, I know how outlandish that all sounds and I fear sounding like a young, impressionable maiden who has spent too much time in the company of shanakees and seers.

I need him to take me seriously and see me as a queen, so I lie, or at least I tell a version of the truth.

“I have heard tales of the Ellerban men and their, erm... prowess. I know your population is healthy and growing, so I decided my greatest chance of success lay in your kingdom.”

His hand falls away from my chin and he tilts his head back and does another thing I don’t expect.

He laughs. Apart from the drunken outburst of laughter on his terrace, his manner has been so intense and angry since we abducted him that I had even wondered if he was capable of normal laughter, but, oh, how wonderfully he laughs!

Rich, deep-throated chuckles fill the air around us and they land upon me like waves of joy.

I find myself smiling and when he next looks upon me, his eyes bright with mirth, a feeling of warmth moves through me, as if a part of my soul has found its way home.

“You may be young, Queen,” he says, still chuckling, “but you’re a canny one for sure. I just hope you don’t regret your decision. I think the gods weren’t acting in your favour when they called my brother away from the castle last night, as that left you with me as your prince.”

His words puzzle me, but I don’t have any time to think about them as a low moan emanates from the cart and both I and the prince dash in its direction to see which one of the soldiers is awake and in need of assistance.

“Aaran, all is good, don’t strain yourself,” the prince soothes the young blond-haired soldier. “It’s I, Prince Ronan, you are in good hands and being cared for. What is it you need?”

Aaran squeezes one eye open and manages to grab the prince’s arm. “Prince Ronan,” he croaks, “is that really you?”

“Aye, it is really I,” the prince replies. “I’ll get you some water and some elixir for the pain. Then you need to rest. We have a long journey ahead of us, but rest assured I will watch over you and Barra every step of the way.”

Aaran uses what little strength he has to tighten his fingers around the prince’s arm, then his hand falls away and his head lolls to the side as he slips back into unconsciousness.

However, I notice this time the corners of his mouth are upturned into a hint of a smile.

It’s obvious the presence of his prince has brought him great comfort, and I’m touched at the bond these men so obviously share.

The prince trickles some water over Aaran’s mouth and then looks up at me. “Can you find the Ellerban wench and procure some elixir from her?”

I nod. “Yes,” and go in search of Ailish.

When we return I find him clasping Aaran’s hand and speaking to him in what I presume is Bawnish.

I ask Ailish to translate and she tells me he is telling Aaran they are safe and travelling with the Queen of Ardvalla and not to worry, whoever did this to him and Barra is marked for death by his sword.

I can’t help wondering how he will feel about this when he discovers it was his own brother who put these men in this state.