Darkening
A/N: My first attempt at a drabble for Lloyd Alexander's Prydain series. This was inspired by a discussion on the "Bards of Prydain" forum on the nature of the canon relationship between two of the antagonists, the enchantress Achren and Arawn, Lord of Annuvin. It takes place during Achren's "ancient rule" long before the events in the canon storyline, when Arawn was Achren's consort, who "served her and did her bidding," before he betrayed her. It is rather dark.
Prompt: "I know, too, of the blood sacrifices you demanded, and your joy at the cries of your victims." –Gwydion, The Castle of Llyr
Characters: Achren, Arawn
Words: 500
Disclaimer: I do not own The Prydain Chronicles by Lloyd Alexander.
(Originally posted 12/19/13.)
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She sat at the mirror, brushing thick waves of golden hair back from her face. She leaned in to examine her image more closely. Above the scooped neckline of the red velvet gown, her skin was still smooth and unlined. It would be several months before she needed to renew the spell. Nodding with satisfaction, she set down the filigreed silver brush.
There was a tapping at the door. Before he even entered, she felt it: a tingling down the length of her body, the deep dark thrill at his approaching presence.
"My Queen." He swept into the room, black eyes like jewels drawing her gaze.
He was not handsome, she mused, but the mere force of his personality was so compelling she could not look away. "My love."
She gave him her hand to kiss, but he bent forward and brushed his lips over her throat. She could not help but shiver. What was it about this man that rendered her so weak and trembling? He was gaining too much power over her. She really should do something about it. Banish him perhaps. Or possibly send him on another military campaign. She ignored the pang at the idea.
He raised both hands, dripping with an ornate chain of rubies. "A gift for you, my dear." He clasped the heavy gold necklace around her throat, his long, cool fingers skimming over her pulse point. She felt the weight of his gift on her neck, the metal like a collar, chill against her skin. "Mmmm," he murmured, "I love rubies; they glow like drops of blood." His voice lowered and deepened. "Let's decree another sacrifice tonight." His mouth vibrated against her ear. "I'm in the mood for… something dark."
"Another, so soon?" She fingered the blood-red stones, gazing at his head of black hair contrasting with her pale skin in the mirror. "The people will revolt."
"Nonsense." His hands slipped down her sides, caressed the tops of her thighs. "You are a goddess, my love. Your power is so great that no one dares defy you. Why should you not take whatever pleases you?" His hands tightened on the fabric of her dress, and he slipped his leg between hers, twining around her like a snake. She shuddered.
"What is it about you and death?" she asked, making her voice light and playful. "I still don't think the sacrifices serve a useful purpose."
"Come now," he whispered. "Don't tell me you haven't come to savor them; the pitiful cries of the weak as they tremble at your command, the delicious moment when the light dwindles from their eyes, the knowledge that another life has been snuffed out merely for your amusement?" He stroked her and she arched in the chair, moaning.
She turned away from her face in the mirror and with a gesture extinguished the oil lamps. As darkness shrouded the chamber, she fell against him, quivering as though sweet poison ran in her veins.
In the dark, he smiled.