Betrothed

For Declan, Bridget, Patrick and Connor

In memory of Marla Daphne Maria

We love, we learn, we flit on by,
A light, a breath, a sigh.

Through narrowed eyes, the king beheld the woman kneeling before him. He stood tall despite his injured pride—shoulders squared belying the tangle within. His heart, once pulsing with love for her, was now nothing but an imitation of the real thing, a dried-up mockery re-plumped with rage. The air hummed with his fury. It sizzled and snapped around him, causing every living creature close by to flee. Even the leaves on the trees in the nearby forest trembled and shrivelled on their limbs before falling scorched to the ground.

He kept her still with his power, though there was no need—she dared not move. She’d never known such anger in him, never realised the possibility of it, let alone suspected that he could direct it at her. But she should have. Such anger is born of passion and she had inspired in him a passion of a different kind. At the recollection, a wave of longing swept through her, overcoming her fear of him for a moment. When she’d made her choice there had been a great physical distance between them but, in his presence, there was no one she wanted more.

‘Forgive me, my king,’ she whispered as she gazed up to him.

He looked deep into her eyes. They were mirrors of the heavens; many times he’d told her so as he’d kissed the corners of them. But the sight of her eyes now, the tears flowing freely, only angered him further. He raised one finger and, with the release of a minuscule portion of the power from within him, she crumbled to the ground.

‘Forgive you? Why would I? You have betrayed me. Worse, you have deceived me. I offered you everything.’ He paused and his next words were laced with bitterness. ‘I offered you myself.’

She gripped his ankles, pleading. ‘I love you, my king.’

‘And yet, you are married to another.’ His eyes were black and dangerous as they kept hers captive.

‘You know the connection I share with him,’ she whispered.

But her king did not know that connection—had no way to understand it, and was enraged anew that she would mention it. He shot a blast of temper from his hand that sent her hurtling across the courtyard, among flying stones and grasses torn from the ground. She whimpered as she landed in a heap, her hip connecting with one of the boulders in the circle surrounding them.

‘And what of the bond you both share with
me
?’ he raged. ‘Are you so foolish to believe I will allow either you or your husband to keep it?’

Her whole being clenched with terror. She could not have foreseen he would make such a threat. ‘
No
,’ she cried, and ignoring the jagged pain in her hip, she crawled back to him. She clutched at his ankles, finding that link with his eyes again, begging with her own. Then bending low, she pressed her lips to his bare feet, kissing and kissing, stroking his heels with gentle fingers. She prayed that the tenderness they’d once shared would be enough to save her life and that of her new husband.

Please, Majesty, I beg you not renounce us.
She spoke to him only with her mind, a gift he’d given her, proof of his commitment. But he took it from her now. She felt a snap deep inside her head, something broken, and her telepathy with him was gone. ‘My king, I will give you anything if you allow us to keep our allegiance to you.’

‘What could you give me now that I would want?’ He stared down at her, his face free of emotion.

‘I would give you myself.’ Hope flared in her eyes as she slid soft hands up his thighs.

‘You would forsake him?’ he asked, allowing the caress, relishing her fingers as they brought fire to his heart.

‘Yes, my king, I would. I will. I made a mistake. Please, forgive me.’ And then, trembling at the liberty she was taking, she reached for his hand, took it into both of hers and brought it to her lips, waiting.

‘I am king. I can have whomever I wish. Do you suppose I would accept you as mine after you have been lover to him? You do not know me at all.’ He withdrew his hand from hers and with it went her hope. But he was quieter than before; her offer had gone some small way to appeasing him. ‘My subject, you may keep your husband and you may both keep your allegiance to me.’ He watched her for a moment and she realised that his face was too still, too calm; the heat in his eyes had grown cold. Deep in her belly a tremor began and a cry rose up inside of her. She swallowed hard. ‘But there will be a price for your treachery,’ he finished.

She was shaking now, her whole body vibrating with it and she thought she might collapse. ‘What price, my king?’ Her words were no more than thin whispers. She kept her eyes on her king and her hands pressed to her heart as she waited to know her fate.

I was lost in the dark again, captured in a shroud of silent black pressing close and stealing all my senses. There was only his voice—inside of me but distant and as deep and seductive as purple velvet. ‘Marla, where are you? It is Leif. Come to me.’

The voice wrapped around my mind and tugged at my soul. I wanted nothing but to know its owner. I stumbled through the dark, struggled to find a way through, but like every other time, it was impossible. So I stopped, relinquished the fight and became still. The blackness remained as I focused all of my attention on the voice.

‘Please, Marla, I know you are near. Come.’

For what might have been the hundredth time, I wondered who this Marla was, why she never answered. How could she possibly resist? I pushed my mind towards the voice, gave myself to it until it claimed me entirely. To my surprise, the darkness began to shift, to lighten; colours were breaking through. Sounds too: the rustle of leaves, birdsong, water tumbling over rocks. And there were scents—rich and earthy: moss and something sweet.

Then the darkness was gone and I found myself standing in a sparse patch of otherwise dense forest. Sunlight pierced the canopy, adding splashes of gold to the carpet of green and brown. My gaze ran up through the trees, tracing trunks and branches. The lush foliage gleamed like emerald and went on forever, the uppermost leaves brushing a sky the same blue as the lavender my mother kept in little pots on our balcony.

I turned a slow circle. A river meandered throughout the trees. I wandered closer to get a better look, kneeling on one of the rocks peppered along the bank to peer into the water. I imagined if I jumped in, touched the bottom with my toes and stretched my arms above my head, the water would still be well above my fingers. Despite its depth, the river was so clear I could see the detail of the myriad stones at the bottom. Some were like pebbles, polished and smooth, in browns and mauves and dull yellows, others were like jewels and lay on the riverbed like upside-down stars. I wanted to dive in and grab a handful, so I dipped my toe in the water to test the temperature. It was cool and I’d just about made up my mind to jump in when the flowers that grew among the rocks captured my attention. They were so pretty, layers of crimson surrounding a deep blue bud. I picked one and examined it. The petals felt like silk and shone as though the sun was trapped inside. I poked the centre and at once the bud opened with a little popping sound and the most gorgeous scent wafted out. I dropped it immediately—the fragrance could only mean danger for me. At any moment I might start wheezing and break out in hives. But then it occurred to me that no matter how real this felt, I had to be dreaming. So I retrieved the flower and sniffed. It was summer in petals.

For the first time in forever nothing hurt and the prickle that called my skin home was gone. I examined my arms and legs, lifted my . . . What was this? A hospital gown? I lifted it to investigate the rest of me. There was not a rash or rough patch in sight and my whole body shone. I had to run and squeal. So I did, all through the forest, winding my arms around tree trunks and twirling, my hair flying out behind me like a pale cape. Then I stopped because
he
was calling again: Leif, his voice deep and rich and drifting through the forest towards me.

‘Marla, where are you?’

I knew it was me he called and I couldn’t believe I’d only just realised it. I turned and peered in the direction of his voice, noticing for the first time the splashes of light woven into the darkest parts of the forest. I saw movement in the trees.

He appeared.

A silver-gold aura came from him, lighting the shadows, fading and then vanishing entirely when he stepped into the sunlight. I stood silent and still, waiting. But when he was close, I couldn’t stop the gasp that escaped my lips. I’d never met him or even glimpsed him but I knew him. He came to me smiling, his arms stretched wide, palms up in welcome.

He wasn’t speaking English but somehow I understood him when he said, ‘Marla, beloved, you have come.’ I was utterly hypnotised, a girl confronted by her idol. I couldn’t have looked away if I wanted to. Nor could I move. He was magnificent: well over six feet, powerfully built and wearing nothing but faded jeans low on his hips. His dark brown hair swept around his face and neck, like he’d just been caught in a wind storm in the most luscious way possible. And his eyes, the exact same shade as his hair, remained locked to mine as he waited for me to speak.