Bound to the Prince By Deborah Court
Prologue
Deep in the night, an elven prince lay by a lake, sound asleep.
Dreams wove their way into his peacefully resting mind, dreams of days long past, when he was a young knight living at his father’s court. King Bres of the Tuatha Dé Danann had attached great importance to his son’s education and insisted that Elathan was to be treated the same as any other warrior in his service, for he should not grow up to be pampered and weak. After all, Prince Elathan’s royal duty would be to defend Fearann, the lands of the Fae, and make sure that no human would ever cross the magic boundaries.
However, the king didn’t treat his son equally to the rest of the young warriors. Bres had commanded that Elathan should train harder and longer than any of the others. The prince exercised with his weapons from the first ray of light until his body gave up and he broke down, totally exhausted. If he stopped fighting too soon, claiming to be tired, his teachers had been instructed to chain him to the wall of the armory and flog him until streams of blood ran over his back.
His wounds were to be treated by fairy healers afterwards, so he could continue his training the next day. Endless lessons in warfare alternated with hard physical exercise, with no time left for activities the prince had enjoyed so much previously. Elathan loved to ride his horse through the vast old forests surrounding the king’s fortress, and he liked to spend time with his beloved young cousin, Lady Ailidh.
Even in the prince's dream, her name caused a surge of pain to rip violently through his soul. This pain had become an old friend over the years, visiting him frequently when he tossed and turned in his bed in the dark of night, finding no rest or peace at all. Ailidh had been born only days after Elathan, the heir to the throne.
Queen Aeval had died giving birth to the prince; a difficult pregnancy and the exertion of labor that lasted almost two days had proved too much for her frail body to bear. Before she bled to death, the queen had kissed her son and named him in the presence of her ladies. “The strong one. Elathan.” Sometimes, in his dreams, the prince could still recall his mother’s voice whispering his name.
Ailidh's mother, the king's half-sister, did not survive the girl's birth, either. So the two children were raised together, fed by the same nurse and brought up by the queen's former ladies-in-waiting. Since their earliest childhood, the boy and girl had been inseparable, and when they were apart, each of them knew where the other was. They communicated in their own language, and always seemed to know what the other was thinking. Seen together, the cousins looked impressive, almost like siblings. They had the same proud, regal posture, alabaster skin and amber eyes. Yet the prince's hair was the pale golden color of winter moonbeams, while Ailidh's was midnight black.
Elathan was stronger and wilder than his delicate cousin. He hurt himself very often during fights with other boys or by climbing trees that were too high for him. If he was beaten for his disobedience afterwards, Ailidh would cry, as well. The children even shared their pain. Their minds were connected in such an intense way that it frightened Elathan's father, who one day decided that it would be best to separate them.
When the king’s servants entered their nursery, the children clung to each other, crying, already sensing what would happen. They were torn from each other’s arms, and their screams of agony echoed throughout the old halls of the fortress for hours, until they eventually died away. At first, their pain was devastating. But with time they found secret ways to meet, in darkened alleyways or unoccupied chambers. They used to stand in each other’s arms with their foreheads touching, sharing their thoughts. It was only these occasional meetings that gave Elathan the strength to endure the cruel education the king had chosen for his son.
Fueled by his inner pain and loneliness, Elathan’s love for his cousin turned into a deeper, darker feeling over time. He used to lie awake at night, despite his exhaustion, thinking of her, imagining that one day, when he ruled the realm, she would be forever at his side. But Elathan knew that the immortal Bres would have to be killed by his enemies before the heir could claim the throne; and the prince's love for his father was too great to wish for such an occasion. So he was content to serve his people as a warrior prince. Defending them and keeping their lands safe would be his eternal duty.
One day when the cousins met, Elathan kissed Ailidh, but the chaste meeting of their lips suddenly turned into something more passionate. He hadn’t planned this; never would have dared to dream about it. He just longed to get closer to her, feeling like a part of his soul had been ripped away when the king had ordered their separation. But he also realized that he wanted her, to possess completely. His whole life’s purpose was to be dedicated to taking responsibility for others, sacrificing his own needs. For this one time only, he had wanted something for himself; something precious that he wouldn’t have to share. Yet he knew it was wrong, and he would never touch her again – not like this.
Horrified, Ailidh had fled the room. She didn’t ever come back to their secret meetings, but he kept waiting for her. He needed to talk to her just one more time, and beg her to forgive him. Night after night he roamed the dark corridors of the old castle, looking for any sign of Ailidh. When she didn’t come, he began to seek comfort in the arms of female servants and chamber maidens which pleased him well enough, though it didn’t comfort him or make him forget his pain.
He missed her mere presence at his side. Even worse, she had shut her mind against him, so he couldn’t sense her anymore, didn’t know where she was or what she felt. He despised himself for having tainted their pure, innocent love with his forbidden desire. For the first time in his life, the prince was utterly alone. He did not know that it would stay this way for centuries to come.
When he finally realized that Ailidh would never come back to him, he continued his training with a newfound strength, eager to fight real battles where sweet death would eventually find him. Soon, the opportunity he had been waiting for arose. Humans were attacking the boundaries of the realm. King Bres summoned the prince to appear at court. As Elathan knelt down before his father’s throne and respectfully bowed his head, the king spoke the words that the prince had secretly been hoping for.
“My son, your time has come to prove that you’re worthy of being a true knight of the realm, defender of the Tuatha Dé Danann. You will lead the army to meet our enemies at dawn. Do not show them mercy, for they will have no mercy for our people.” He nodded slightly, so the prince arose and climbed up the few steps to the throne. There he kneeled down again. A servant brought a golden chest adorned with the royal seal and opened the lid, holding it out to the king. Bres took a dagger from the chest, made of gold and richly decorated with gemstones. Then he looked into his son’s eyes with the silent order not to move or show any sign of weakness. Elathan didn’t see any regret in his father’s face, no plea for forgiveness for what he was about to do.
The king stretched out his hand and started to cut the royal signs of initiation into his son’s unmarred body, slowly dragging the sharp blade over his chest - elven runes, marking him as the sole true heir to the throne. Elves, especially the young ones, healed too quickly, and the king knew this very well. The cutting didn’t just scratch the surface of his skin, but dug deep into the prince’s flesh, so he would bear the scars forever.
Elathan didn’t even flinch, but stared right into his father’s eyes. Noticing the unwavering coldness there, he tried to block out the searing pain from his mind. He was strong. He knew he could endure this with dignity. His father had never shown him any sign of love, not once praised him, no matter how hard he trained to succumb to the king’s wishes. Blood ran over his chest and dripped down to the cold marble floor. The throne room was so quiet now that those present heard the sound of it, like raindrops falling from the leaves after a thunderstorm.
But then, unexpectedly, Elathan felt a rush of pain that wasn’t his own. Ailidh. She was not here, but he could feel her cringing, falling down to her knees. While she shared his torture, he knew that she felt the invisible blade cutting through his skin. Ailidh had dropped the inner shield she had erected to block Elathan’s mind out while he was searching for her.
No. He didn’t want her to bear his burdens anymore. He was too weakened to cut the connection between them right now, but he could take the pain from her, and suffer it along with his own. Elathan entered his cousin’s mind, joining with her so all she felt was occupied by his senses. Then he pushed her to the edge of their shared consciousness. “No,” she whispered in his thoughts, but he ignored her, concentrating on the pain they both felt while the king cut snake-formed lines all over his upper body. The doubled pain was overwhelming. It possessed his whole being and turned him into a primitive creature, wanting to cry out and kill the one doing this to them both. It took his whole willpower not to cringe or step back to escape the sharp dagger.
Yet Elathan stood perfectly still, showing no sign of distress while the king slashed him over and over again. Then, with a long, final cut, the deepest of them all, Bres suddenly drew his blade across his son’s face, slicing from one cheekbone to the chin. A painful gasp escaped Elathan’s lips, he couldn’t help it. Blood streaming out of the gashing wound, he stiffened, not wanting to give Bres the satisfaction of deeming him weak. When the king returned the dagger to the waiting servant, the prince allowed a part of the pain to return to Ailidh, knowing she could take it now. “We are even, my sister,” his devastated mind told her. “I’ll go to war now. You will be free soon.”
* * * * *
For three days and three nights the elven prince fought in battle, leading his army against the human invaders. Thousands of humans fell, as they couldn’t compete against the elven warriors' fighting skills. Victory seemed near, until the humans brought forth new deadly weapons the elves had not expected - catapults hurling enormous rocks through the air, destroying the elven lines.
But Elathan refused to give up so easily. He thought about a new plan of action. A part of the elven army pretended to retreat, only to attack later from the other side of the mountain. Elathan and his guards assaulted the human army directly, setting out to burn down the war machinery they so detested. The elves had long since achieved the skills to build such weapons, but declined to use them, for they thought it cowardice if a warrior didn’t fight his enemy face-to-face with his own hands.
At dawn the prince and his men set out to resume the fighting, when a soft, female voice called out to him in his mind. “Elathan,” his cousin whispered, “stay behind today, I beg you. Your death is waiting for you out there. I saw it.” Elathan knew that Ailidh’s gift of second sight was usually unfailing, but he didn’t answer and mounted his war-horse, riding off to the enemy lines. It was there, amidst battle later that day that his stallion was hit by an arrow. Falling down, Elathan rolled aside to avoid being crushed under his horse. He hit his head on a stone and lost consciousness for a short time.
When the prince opened his eyes again, he noticed a huge catapult in the distance, flinging a deadly rock in his direction. Then, all of a sudden, Ailidh was there at his side. To his surprise she wasn't a hallucination. Her eyes were full of love and fear when she grabbed his wrists with both hands and dragged him away over the stony ground, using all her strength. At the same moment the giant rock crushed down right beside them, leaving the air filled with smoke and dust.
When Elathan could see clearly again, he found his cousin’s delicate body lying under the heavy stone, unmoving and at a strange angle. She looked like a broken doll. Only her head and part of her back were visible, a pool of blood slowly spreading out under her. Ailidh's eyes were wide open; her lifeless stare leaving no doubt that she was gone forever.
At first, the prince couldn’t comprehend what had happened, so he knelt down at her side and tilted his head, searching her face for a reaction. When none came, he took her hand tenderly in his, trying to enter her mind. But there was nothing, not even the solid wall keeping him away from her.
Nothing, only silence.
Elathan felt a terrible pain rising in his soul, threatening to tear him apart. It dawned on him that Ailidh had deliberately separated her mind from his just before the rock hit her, cutting the invisible bond that held them together. So she had known what would happen and didn't want him to save her. After what she had told him before battle, he had been certain to die today. Ailidh had deliberately taken his place.
Elathan was still trying to understand what had occurred when he heard deep, ragged sobs, not realizing that they came from his own chest. The elven warriors, finally having driven their enemies away and basking in their victory, turned around when they heard their beloved prince cry out his agony to the heavens. When they joined Elathan, they found him crouched over Lady Ailidh’s shattered body.
Laying down their weapons, one after the other knelt down in a circle around the royal cousins, weeping with their prince. They had never seen him cry before, not even when he was beaten half to death at his own father's command. Now, Elathan's newly scarred face was a mask of pain, but his eyes were burning with hatred for the humans who took her from him. Raising his eyes to the heavens, he swore to the gods that he would have his revenge on every mortal who ever dared to cross his path.