Fairy Tale

by Thalia

Rhiannon, the only daughter of the King and heiress to the kingdom of Ganymede, fell in love for the first and last time of her life when she was sixteen winters old, and never told a soul.

It was after one too many lessons in manners and grace, a half-dozen too many trials before the strict and thready-mouthed Madame Enid, the deportment tutor, that she'd flung down the heavy rulebook and ran, most unladylike, from the classroom. With all of youth's rebelliousness and caprice she'd uttered the incantation to vanish from the castle, craving fresh air unadulterated by the scent of dead flowers and crushed petals.

Of course, the moment of irritation had passed abruptly when she'd reappeared in the middle of the forest, completely lost. She'd been in the woods about the castle grounds, to be sure, on her pony and with an entourage, but they were tame-- the deer ate out of her hand, the trees looked a bit too perfectly trimmed. And these woods were wild and shadow-dappled. Perhaps she should have paid more attention to spell-casting lessons, but they always tended to come after deportment, and she always begun the lesson in a foul mood.

She would likely have ended up walking in circles for hours had it not been for the bucks.

There'd been a rustling in the bushes behind her, and as she turned, she'd seen a full-grown buck with shiny antlers and a glossy brown pelt pawing the ground with its graceful front legs. Fascinated by the creature's size and grace, she'd taken a step closer... and then an unseen arm grabbed her around the waist and yanked her unceremoniously out of the way-- not an instant too soon, and Rhiannon watched, wide-eyed, as the buck charged towards another one that she'd completely not noticed behind her, their antlers clashing.

A moment later, her heroic rescuer let her go, and Rhiannon turned around, her gaze locking with blue eyes the colour of a twilight sky. Tall, broad-shouldered, wearing a plain brown broadcloth cloak a shade darker than his chestnut hair and a tunic the colour of summer foliage, he'd nodded politely, but it wasn't a bow and for some reason, she appreciated it.

"Thank you for that," she said simply, not introducing herself or her title. "I'm not too familiar with these woods, I'm afraid."

"You're welcome, lady," his voice was rich and smooth, washing over her consciousness like honey, and it held a tinge of an exotic accent that she couldn't quite place. "I have never seen you in this forest... or I would have remembered you."

"Where are we then?" she asked. There were no road signs, no paths... only trees and ever-darkening skies, purple with sunset through the branches.

"My woods, which extend for twenty acres in each direction," he told her, and at her look of distress, laid a hand on her arm. "I can afford you lodging for the night if you wish, milady. And if you wish, in the morrow I can see you home."

Something in his eyes and the way he spoke made her trust him implicitly and with a nod, she placed her slim hand in his larger, sun-browned one, and sealed her fate.

-*-

His name was Niell and he didn't tell her much about himself when he'd shut the door of a small cottage with a thatched roof behind her back and led her to a couch covered with silvery wolf skins. Strings of garlic and squashes and corn hung from the roof along with hams and pheasants and rabbits, and as the night wind picked up, he started a fire and made her stew in a battered black cauldron.

It was simple and hearty and tasted like honesty and freedom, and Rhiannon liked it better than any number of delicacies that came from the royal kitchens. Her couch faced the window and she sat, rapt, watching the moon rise and the stars twinkling high overhead.

"You may have my bed, milady," his honey voice broke through her musings, and she started. It was proper, of course, but she didn't feel as though she deserved any special treatment. When she protested, though, he simply smiled and shook his head and pulled her up from her seat, wrapping an arm around her waist and giving her a gentle push into the bedroom. She should definitely have protested-- there was no need for him to touch her-- but she only felt breathlessness at the warmth of his hand on her back and the tickle of his breath against her hair. It only struck her as odd later, when she was curled up on top of a feather tick, covered with a bearskin blanket, that for a woodsman he was terribly courteous and soft-spoken... no less than the gentlemen at court, and that was with her garments mussed beyond repair and her hair a blowsy mess.

Her last conscious thought was that his was true etiquette-- not the perfect curtsey or the most graceful way to hold a champagne glass. She'd never felt more like a princess.

-*-

In the morning when she awoke and strode out of his bedroom, she found him untying a hammock from between two trees, his long hair damp with dew. It was warm once again, and she greeted him shyly. In the sunlight he was golden-skinned and handsome enough to be a warlord from the thrilling adventure tales that she read in secret.

It was the first time that morning that she'd ever bathed in something other than a marble tub filled with perfectly warm water and a storm of rose petals, the first breakfast that she'd eaten with her bare hands, burning her tongue and laughing as she bit into bread roasted over open flames. She asked him all about himself, but on that subject he was reticent. Perhaps she should have persisted, but it was only too easy just to listen to him tell stories of this kingdom-- Estrellis. She'd heard of it in lessons-- a neighbour kingdom with whom Ganymede was in the midst of diplomatic agreements.

It was after breakfast that he'd whistled a birdlike tune into the depths of the woods, and with the sound of cantering hooves and a whinny, a silken-maned filly the colour of coal with a star on her forehead stopped in front of him. Niell turned to Rhiannon with a faint smile.

"I promised to see you home, did I not?"

The journey started out seemingly at a leisurely pace, warm wind whistling through her hair and rustling through the leaves. He steered the horse with sure hands, his chest warm and solid against her back, and she was sure that the reason her heart was beating faster was the brisk canter of the horse. They passed through quaint towns and windy meadows, stopping every once in a while so that Vega could rest and browse. Her handsome, enigmatic woodsman picked her a bouquet of wildflowers sweeter and lovelier than hothouse orchids and toasted her happiness with spring water in a cup made of birch bark. They passed through the border of Ganymede just as the sun was setting, and by the time they arrived at the capital city, the moon had risen once again, and now the time seemed to fly too fast, the beautiful starlight cold and desolate to her eyes.

He gently lifted her from the horse and took her proffered hand, laying a courtly kiss on her knuckles. She didn't draw back after a moment, feeling the sting of unexpected tears in her eyes, and it was after several tries that she finally managed to paste on a smile. "Goodbye."

"Goodnight," he returned, as though it wasn't truly farewell after all.

Rhiannon watched him ride away in the chilly starlight, his long hair flowing in the wind, the sound of galloping hooves softening until horse and rider disappeared into the distance altogether, and felt a lurch in her chest. She returned to the castle to frantic and thankful parents who were so glad to see their wayward daughter back unharmed that there was no talk of punishment for her impulsive recklessness... but the Rhiannon who'd left Ganymede in a fit of pique wasn't the Rhiannon who'd returned.

-*-

It was two years after Rhiannon had fallen in love that her heart broke, and once again no one knew.

The initial trade and diplomatic negotiations that had just commenced the year that she met Niell were now to a summit, and it happened to coincide with her eighteenth birthday and coming of age that Ganymede and Estrellis officially declared themselves allies.

To formalize this alliance, King Lorcan of Ganymede and King Aeolus of Estrellis betrothed their heirs to each other.

For two days after the declaration was made, Rhiannon refused to come out of her chambers, all pleas from the maids ascertaining that Prince Orion of Estrellis was reputed to be kind and handsome and clever falling on deaf ears. Of course it would be too late now to tell her parents that there was only one man in all of Estrellis that she wanted to marry-- one whose 'palace' was half the size of her bedchamber, with eyes like cloudless skies and hands browned by the sun. She raged and stormed and shooed away the handmaiden assigned to prepare her for the welcoming ball for the Estrellis royal family.

It had been after an hour of threats and shouting that she finally allowed Trina to garb her in the forest green ceremonial robes and veils, brush the tangles out of her auburn hair and set the gem-studded crown on her head. Rhiannon remained stubbornly silent, her mouth in a thin, churlish line as she took step after stony step down the main staircase as the herald announced her arrival into the Great Hall.

At the end of the room, standing next to her parents, were a handsome old couple who could only be the King and Queen of Estrellis... and standing a few feet to the side was a tall young man wearing deep sapphire garments that echoed the blue of Estrellis' royal crest. Rhiannon's eyes widened as they locked with familiar blue ones, and then her face lit up with disbelieving joy as she dashed across the room, crown falling askew and hair coming loose as she threw herself into her handsome woodsman's arms.

"'Niell' in our language means 'royal'," Prince Orion explained when they finally pulled apart to breathe. He was smiling down at her, his tanned hands resting intimately at the small of her back. "It is Estrellic custom that for two years before their ascension, crown princes must live alone as commoners to get a better understanding of the lives of their subjects." Rhiannon merely nodded, her eyes sparkling like emeralds, tracing her fingers over the planes of his face. She felt nothing but freedom-- giddy, wide-open happiness that knew no bounds.

"I thought I'd said goodbye," she remarked breathlessly, and he chuckled then, drifting a fingertip down her cheek.

"You did, milady... but I did not."

She remembered. "I'll never call you anything but 'Niell'," she whispered, and in supreme disregard of the rules of royal courtship and the dictates of propriety, in full view of the court, she leaned up and kissed him again.