Page 2 of Princess of Elm (Warriors of the Fianna #4)

The feasting hall was a sight to behold, a splendorous affair filled with flowers in vases and hanging from the rafters.

Gilded cups adorned every seat and embroidered cloths covered the tables.

Cormac couldn’t remember there ever being a feast quite like this one in the halls of Caiseal.

Despite his trepidation at the appearance of their parents, he looked forward to seeing his elder sister and brother again, and at the prospect of such a fine feast to come.

Cormac’s father Cahill was one of a long line of kings of the Kingdom of Connachta, north of the Kingdom of Mumhain, where he and his brothers lived as foster children of Brian.

Cormac’s mother, Enat, also hailed from a prestigious family further to the north.

Cormac didn’t dislike them. Indeed, as any young son, he loved his parents and wanted only their approval.

Until he came to live with Brian, that was.

The stark difference between Brian and his own father resonated with Cormac more and more as he grew into a man. Brian was the sort of man he wanted to become, not his cold, distant, and ill-tempered father.

When the family arrived, they asked for a private audience with their three sons.

Cormac entered Brian’s solar first, struck by how different his siblings looked since he’d seen them last. Teague had the same dark hair that all of them shared, but he kept his long and tied away from his face—that much had not changed.

But his shoulders were broader than their father’s, his face sharper, all traces of his childhood long gone.

Beside him, Dunla, the eldest, could have been their mother twenty years earlier for they shared the same heart-shaped face, high cheekbones, and piercing blue eyes.

Diarmid rushed toward their mother, who pulled him into a rather short hug.

He then tried to go hug their father, but Cahill placed his hands on his youngest son’s shoulders, turned him around, and shoved him over toward his sister, who eagerly embraced her youngest brother.

Dunla seemed more happy than nervous, surprising for a bride who was about to wed a man nearly twice her age.

At least she’d met Brian before, but Cormac imagined that she’d never considered him as a potential husband.

Cormac would speak to her later of her true feelings on the matter.

“Well?” Cahill demanded of his sons. “How have you been? Are you treated well?”

“Aye, very well,” Conan replied, shifting his feet anxiously.

Cormac didn’t feel the need to speak just yet.

Several exchanges of niceties passed before their father asked for everyone but Cormac to leave the hall, dismissing his youngest children rather coolly considering the length of time they’d spent apart.

Diarmid had been away only a year, but to a boy of eight it felt an eternity.

Conan had been gone nearly as long as Cormac at his twelve years of age.

“As I’m certain you’re aware, I expect you to return home with us after the wedding,” Cahill announced.

Cormac had not been aware, but he nodded his understanding. A knot wrenched in the pit of his stomach like a fist squeezing his insides as he thought about leaving Caiseal—his home—behind.

“That’s all.” His father waved dismissively.

Cormac nodded again, taking his leave and finding his brothers to get started on their new studies, putting the conversation with his father from his mind.

The following day was the wedding. Cormac remembered little of it, for the wedding was not the memorable part. It was the reception afterward that stuck in his mind like a thorn in his skin, digging deeper and deeper until it festered.

That evening started out as well as not.

Dancing and merriment, the sounds of laughter and singing and music filled the night air under a glowing half moon.

The night held a chill, but the proliferation of bodies and exuberant dancing kept Cormac too warm to wear his cloak.

He stood on the fringe of the celebration, watching his two brothers dance happily with the first girls they could ensnare to do so.

He shook his head as he watched them gleefully sweeping across the center of the courtyard.

Bright colors, loud noises, and laughter were the things Cormac remembered most when he thought back on that night prior to the fight.

In the midst of the celebration, a commotion broke out. Shouting and clattering and then silence.

Cormac hurried along the edge, toward the shouting.

He shoved his way through a ring of onlookers that had formed around the two kings, Brian and his father.

His brothers appeared beside him moments later.

All of them—Teague, Conan, and Diarmid—stood slack jawed, watching Brian and their father shout at one another, red-faced and furious.

“If we sit and do nothing, we’ll lose the whole of the island, Cahill!

The incursions of the Fin Gall have only worsened in the past years, and I tire of watching them drive their spike of death further into the heart of éire.

Malachy stands by and does nothing! You may not be willing to take a stand and fight, but I am, and others are as well. ”

His father shouted so angrily that Cormac could hardly make out the words, but he understood that his father strongly disagreed.

“I will not stay in the house of a traitor to the king,” Cahill spat at the end of his tirade, enunciating each word through gritted teeth.

“If you will not take advantage of an opportunity for all the kingdoms to unite against a common enemy and cease this bickering amongst ourselves, then I cannot help you,” Brian growled.

“I will not resort to blows at my daughter’s wedding.” Cahill’s voice went eerily quiet. “But you and I, we are finished.” He turned, finding his four sons—Teague, Cormac, Conan, and Diarmid. “Let’s go. Now.”

Teague did as he was told, walking to stand beside Cahill without hesitation.

Cormac’s feet stood rooted to the ground beneath him.

He agreed with Brian. The Fin Gall were raiding deeper and deeper inland.

Entire villages had been massacred. And they were spreading and settling, setting up outposts so they could continue driving further toward the heart of the island.

Brian was right. If they did nothing, then there would be nothing left.

No place seemed safe from their raiding.

Cormac knew that his future, and even that of his brothers, would depend on his next move. They always did as he did, thinking him older and wiser. Clearly, they weren’t privy to his thoughts, for if they saw his mind now they would know that he floundered like a landed fish.

This moment would be a turning point for the rest of his life. His dinner threatened to burst from his belly. The blood drained from his face, but he stood firm, shaking his head in the face of his father’s anger.

“We stay,” Cormac declared, “and we fight.”

“Then you are no sons of mine,” Cahill spat, turning on his heels and pulling their mother and Teague out with him.

Cormac’s heart tore in two as he watched them walk away, wondering if his brothers would ever forgive him.