Page 14 of Of Blood & Bone: The Young Queen

“Only the king may wear the symbol of the eagle,” Ailish informs me.

He proceeds to drink heartily from his goblet and as he does so he turns to face the doors and I let out a shocked gasp. It's him! The warrior from my dream is standing only a few feet away from me. As much as I had a sense of familiarity when looking upon him moments ago, I can hardly believe my eyes and I stand rooted to the spot.

He stops drinking and slowly removes the goblet from his lips. His eyes dart from side to side but the rest of his body remains immobile. It's as if he's listening for something, and even though I think he couldn't possibly have heard my gasp, I hold my breath all the same and don't move a muscle.

He stays like that for at least a minute, then raises the goblet to his lips and announces to the empty room, “And now you’re hearing things, you crazy bastard.” He then proceeds to drain the goblet and refills it yet again.

At this rate we won't have to use the Nightlily vapors on him, I observe,as he is going to drink himself into a stupor.

I slowly release my breath and continue to stare at the man before me, the flesh-and-blood version of the warrior from my dream.

How can this be?I ask myself. How can a man from a dream be made flesh before me?

However, as I stand in the shadows and continue to stare open-mouthed, I have to admit there is one crucial difference between the man from my dream and the man standing before me. As impossible as it seems – as all this seems – the flesh and blood version is even more breathtaking.

I close my eyes for a second and shake my head. Despite the very real evidence before me, I can’t help asking myself if it is really happening. However, just as I ask myself the question, the memory of his lips on mine from my dream floods my brain and I feel a rush of molten heat move through my core.

I open my eyes to find him looking straight at the shadows in which I stand. I catch my breath and say a silent prayer he doesn’t see me. Sounds of life from the courtyard below float up to the terrace – a woman’s laugh and a man’s shout, the soft clop of horses’ hooves on the cobblestones, and the general chatter of the castle’s residents going about their business. Then a baby cries and the prince’s attention is drawn away from the shadows in which I hide and to the sound of the child’s cry.

He looks off into the distance, at the dark sky beyond the battlements of the terrace, and his handsome face twists into an expression of agony. Then, in one swift movement, faster thanI’ve ever seen any man move before, he is through the doors and halfway to the edge of the terrace.

I have a split second to decide what to do – remain in position, stay as still as a statue and hope he doesn’t discover me, or follow my initial instinct and jump further back into the shadows? It turns out a split second isn’t long enough to override one’s fight or flight instinct and before I’ve even had any time to think about it, I jump back. This would actually be fine and there might have been a slight possibility of remaining undiscovered, except for the large candle holder I collide with. I desperately try to grab it, but it falls to the stony terrace floor with a clatter that echoes around the walls, announcing my presence just as surely as any fanfare.

“What in the gods…” I hear from behind me as a large hand lands on my shoulder and spins me around.

I instantly reach for the dagger concealed in my clothing and at the same time the prince is looking upon my face, my dagger is at his throat. I also raise my left hand over my shoulder as a sign to Kes and Ailish to remain hidden.

His expression is transformed to one of shock.

“By all the stars, who are you?” he exclaims. “What is going on here, and how in the devil did you get onto the king’s terrace?”

For a moment I am speechless. Not only is this not part of the plan and therefore I’m not sure how to respond, but his eyes have me transfixed. They’re a deep green, like the rich moss that grows on the ancient stones in the foothills of Valensia, but they’re filled with so much raw intensity, I find I’m temporarily mesmerised.

“I said, who are you?” he repeats, in a slower voice. “Do you understand me?”

I’m just about to answer him when I spy a flicker of movement from the side of my eye and I realise what he's doing,asking me a question to divert me from his real intention. I squeeze the dagger tighter to his throat. “Ah-ah,” I say with a shake of my head. He ceases all movement, but his eyes burn like two bright fires of green.

The plan had been to render him unconscious with the nightlily vapors and then lower him down the outer castle wall to the waiting Khaleeni. We would then carry him back to the copse where the horses are hiding and all make our way as quickly as possible back to Ardvalla. My intention is not to reveal who I am and my plan for him until I have him safely installed in the Khaleeni camp. That way, if we are discovered as we make our way through Ellerban and he is rescued, at least nobody will know who I am. Of course, that is presupposing I escape any attempt to rescue him. Should I be captured, then I presume I will have to reveal my true identity to try and obtain clemency, not just for me but also the Khaleeni.

However, for reasons I will never understand – maybe a sense of destiny, maybe the fact he is much bigger than I had imagined or maybe because he has bespelled me with those green eyes, I decide to change the plan. His sheer bulk means lowering him unconscious over the castle wall will be difficult and time-consuming and it is imperative we get away from the castle as quickly as possible. Also, if I have dreamed of him, there is a remote possibility he may have dreamed of me. Therefore, there's a slight chance he might be amenable to my plan to extract his seed and, if it’s healthy, to make him my king. It's a long shot, but in this moment, where I'm holding my dagger to his throat, I consider it one worth taking.

“I am queen Elinor of Ardvalla, and I wish you to accompany me back to my realm where your seed will be tested, and if it proves healthy then I would like you to become my king.” Even as I say the words I can't quite believe them myself. It would seem I'm not the only one.

He says nothing but continues to stare at me, his eyes still burning with a fierce intensity and his face completely unreadable. Then, much to my surprise, he closes his eyes and releases a heavy sigh. I have to admit this wasn't quite the reaction I expected, and I press my dagger even closer to his throat, suspicious as I am that he is up to some form of trickery. I'm just considering how I must be close to drawing blood when his eyes open again and he starts to laugh.

“So, it's true,” he says in a low voice, “I really have lost my mind.”

This isn't quite the response I expect.

“I beg your pardon?” I ask, puzzled.

He looks from me to the hand holding the goblet of wine. “Or else this wine is the sorcerer's work, but by the gods I could swear you are real.”

With that, he throws back his head and laughs and I am completely taken aback.

“Excuse me,” I declare, “which part of this situation do you find funny, exactly? The fact I am a queen or the fact I am a queen with my dagger to your throat?”

My words only serve to inflame his laughter even more, to the point where he is shaking.

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