True Hate and True Love Chapter Twelve, a fairy tales fanfic

Chapter Twelve –

The Dark Lord and the Princess:

A Conversation of Utterly Wicked Intent

She was started from her deep, concentrated train of thought by the swoop of gigantic wings on the air, and the sharp, feral, ragged shriek of a dragon: a huge, black dragon, split the night air. Slowly, she rose to her feet: silk slipping down into place about her, and stared out the window with blank, unreadable eyes.

He had come for her.

The flames in the torches that had been placed about the room quivered, then suddenly sparked and burned brighter, before sinking into a ruby glow that was barely there. Elowyn was abruptly aware of how the shadows seemed to come alive, and slither and slide, like snakes, around her. There were so many of them – it was so dark that she could hardly see…

A voice came from behind her, seeming to emanate from and center itself in the doorway that led down to the stairwell. It was a voice that, frightening enough for her to realize, she knew well – a voice that was not quite tenor and not quite baritone, but velvety and dry: full of wit and cynicism and sarcasm, and elegant, speaking each word, each syllable, with refinement and clarity.

"Join me for a walk in the twisted woods, Princess?"

A tall, shadowy figure was suddenly there, walking in a slow, meandering circle around her, and she could feel a pair of eyes gazing at her, moving up to her head, then down to her feet, taking in her glittering raiment. She stood still and put on the usual expression that she utilized when dealing with him. It. She felt as if she'd just had an awful, disgusting memory when she thought of him.

"There aren't any woods in this sickening lair of yours, Lord of the Darkness," she said, speaking clearly and coldly to the shadows. "There is only a big, gray wolf that I intend to avoid at all costs, for he is a loathsome creature."

Then a hand came out of nowhere, molding itself around hers: fingers gloved in the smoothest black leather that she had ever seen moving to twine themselves with hers, and she looked up, slowly: ever so slowly raising her head, sliding her gaze from the two hands to a slender waist – a torso – then a muscular chest – broad shoulders – neck – shadowed face. Again, she could only barely make out his features, so darkened was the room, but she could also see that his head was perfectly shaved, skull bereft of any hair whatsoever.

She also caught sight of the occasional gleam of a pair of violet-gray eyes from within those shadows, and it didn't matter to her whether she could really see him or not – he could, in all likeliness, see her perfectly. So she sent him the most venomous look she could call up from the depths of her soul.

A delighted chuckle came from her companion, and the hand raised itself, and hers, until both had pillowed themselves against his chest: her palm flattened onto the cool surface of what felt and looked like some very hard and shiny black leather of some sort.

"Ah yes, but since the wolf is the only guide who might take the princess safely through the treacherous forest…" came the voice again: a cloak of nearly transparent, shimmering red material was whisked around her shoulders, seeming to come out of thin air, and the gloved fingers moved to tie the golden fastenings on the front of it.

Elowyn couldn't help but counter—

"Only to deliver her into the domain of his true sovereign, the ghoul sitting in her cavern at the other end of the wood? I think, dark one, that the princess would prefer to take her chances with the treacherous forest…"

Then there was silence for a moment.

Darkly, with more than just a hint of menace, "Then the princess would not live to see the light of day again, for the forest is far more twisted, far more malicious and toxically evil, and far more diabolical than she could ever imagine."

The last five words were said with a deliberate, cold punctuation that sent chills up and down her spine, nearly paralyzing her on the spot with fear. This was a Dark Lord she was dealing with – not just some craven knight; she knew that now.

She couldn't simply snap off at him whatever she wanted to say, not if she wanted to even have that chance to escape that the Antari had promised her. This newest nemesis of hers was far more dangerous, far more lethal than a viper and far more undying and lasting a foe than any corrupted wraith, than she could imagine.

Would she ever be able to truly escape him?

* * *

The revelries at Dranthiris-Ankhar whirled into being: a horrid cacophony of movement and noise, composed of hundreds of bodies knotted together into one huge, dark mass; and the palace itself was lit by a disturbing, blood-red glow, making it seem as if it was an immense volcanic stone that ever-living, evil fires burned inside of: sending off a dull humming noise from without, pulsating with mind-breaking noise from within.

Every wing of the fortress, every room, seemed to be filled with the guests of the Dark Lord: from banquet hall to ballroom, the chaos went on. And in the underworld-like structure that was the throne room, the festivities had centered, as the masses gathered in mind-breaking chaos about their Dark Lord's seat there.

With cold, unreadable eyes of a truly strange and unearthly hue of silvery gray, Jaedin watched the tumult: aloof and unresponsive in his black throne. Beside him, reclining on the shining floor of the dais that the throne rested upon, was a figure that the dark court of Sytherria had never before met, save in the words of rumor—

Princess Elowyn of the faeries: the child of prophecy.

The bedlam around her was truly disconcerting, even for an adventurous free-spirit like herself; for even Elowyn had never ventured into one of the dark courts, because of the rules that her parents had made for her, in order to protect her from just this – being kidnapped and held prisoner by some party of the Dark Realm, who would do almost anything to get its hands on her because of the ancient prophecy. But here she was, and there was no way that she could get out, until the captain of the Antari gave her his signal…and, as it was, she really didn't want to venture into the horde of fiendish costumed figures that she now saw before her.

Right now, playing the part of the Dark Lord's pretty little doll was the only choice that she had – her only way of knowing that she was safe. Safer, at least, than she would be had she gone out into the midst of those guests.

She eyed them warily.

Just then, she felt her captor's leg – which she was somewhat leaning against, in a vain attempt to conceal herself in the shadows beneath the throne – move against the bared skin of her back. She sat up straight, trying to hide her disgust at his touch. His wry voice murmured down to her, through the pandemonium—

"The princess has no wish to join the banquet, I take it?"

Staring off into the tangle of twisting and swaying bodies, with black kohl-rimmed eyes that shone bright behind their makeup, she replied, "No, she doesn't."

Faintly amused, "And I wondered why they found it all so hard to believe that I saw you as far more interesting than any other lady at my court – how can it be any more obvious? Even when you look like them, it is impossible to tell that you are anything but one of them. They are all the same, princess – can't you see it? They are all of the same mettle, of identical thought and will and desire…each would like to be queen of a realm, and there is no effort in their attempts to disguise which exact realm they would like to be queen and sovereign of…"

Fingers came under her chin then, as he leaned forward and gazed long and searchingly into her face: his own features so heavily obscured by shadows that she could not see him.

He murmured, for her ears and hers alone: "But you…you, Princess of the Faeries…I know what you are, and who you are, and if I would have to go through each world in the universe and destroy everything in my path to at last attain what I most desire…"

You would not hesitate for a moment.

He was trying to mesmerize her again – to lull her into that black void where there was no thought but for that of him. She knew full well that his powers had the ability to reach her, to touch her and even drive away any thought of her own free will, of her own mind, but only if she let him. She also had a great power: and that was the strength of the Light within her, which could drive back the darkness, once she had called it to herself.

She had this power, and he knew it.

The only way that he would ever force her into giving in to his will, they both well knew, was if he could take total control of her mind – if he became her master.

Oh, scheming sprite, how evil your ways will be, once you unleash them!

Elowyn reached up, moving her hand from its resting place on the floor, and draped her fingers onto the elegant wrist that was just below her chin; raising her eyes, she looked once more into the gleaming eyes of her captor, and let a faint curve come to her lips: a smile that hinted at hidden secrets, and more than her words were saying…

"You do indeed deeply desire something, don't you…" she murmured.

Then, she stood, slowly rising to her feet before him; she leaned over him, placing both hands on the armrests of the throne, bending her head to whisper into his ear.

Her voice a low and throaty whisper, she concluded, "But will you ever have it? Will you ever be able to hunt it down, as the rapacious wolf that preys in the darkened, twisted woods might – will you ever gain that which you would give your soul to possess…?"

In a sudden flurry of glittering gold and jewels, spinning silks and veil, the ruby lights glancing upon her as she moved, she stepped away and spun out: graceful sandaled feet flicking across the mirror-like black onyx floor.

She turned: beckoned.

Evil little sprite – are you certain of what you do?

The spirit of the room took over her actions and behavior: she became one with the music that whirled around her, moving out onto the floor where other black-garbed figures spun about. A song, strange and nothing like she had ever heard before, ran through her head, and she let it take her along with it, carrying her into the depths of the shadows.

This is fire you are playing so glibly with…

Beware…now you are wicked as well…beware…

You are falling.

And she was – the shadows were all about her, and she was melding into them, dancing within the flickering darkness where faces did not exist and anything could find her…but was falling really falling, when she had meant to?

Then she felt a presence near her: a pair of eyes that had focused on her, and her alone. She turned around, lashes gradually easing up from her vision, unveiling the sharp, untamable depths of sea green that rested beyond them.

A figure stood a little ways off from her: tall, muscular, garbed in sinister black and gold, features hidden by the shadows that slid in between them, and then away again. Elowyn paused, her silken skirts swirling around her as she ceased to move, and stared back. Be careful, Elowyn: this is flame that you are playing with…

He held out his hand.

The entire dark court came a complete standstill, everyone turning to watch – what would happen now? Then…

Full, painted lips curving, the faery princess twirled in: stepping directly into the embrace of the dark form who stood before her, looking up and back over her shoulder so that their gazes met; their hands entwined, assuming a dance pose – and then, after a single moment longer of complete pause, they began the dance again, together.

Moving as one across the floor, spinning away and then returning to one another again, glorying in and then rejecting, dipping and lashing out, the Dark Lord and the faery princess flung all thought of who and what they were far away, for those few precious moments: entranced by only each other.

Ríth-Anstarinaor n'et Sytherria…who would have imagined…

Gray eyes, gazing into hers: a presence on her mind – This is what you have wanted; do you see it now? This is all you've ever wanted…

Music, pounding in her head.

Shadows, giving in, treachery of the darkness.

Giving in – surrender…but of whom?

Outburst.

* * *

Elowyn felt her dark companion's arms go rigid, tightening around her, as she whirled to face the one who had just attacked her. She raised her hand, taking it from his, and put it to her cheek, upon which she could feel five lines of pure, stinging fire. Then she looked up, shoulder blades brushing against the black-armored chest of he who stood behind her, and stared, with widened, incredulous eyes, at her assailant.

An alto-toned and silky voice hissed at her, like a snake.

"So, has it now come to this," it said, dripping with venom, and malicious spite, "Suddenly, the Dark Lord has not only forgotten who he is, but his precious little prisoner also loses beyond sight or recall the truth of her own self. How is it that she dares stoop to such deception?"

More than just a slight ripple of anger went through Elowyn; the dark magic of the moment before had now been broken, shattered into a million pieces like a fallen mirror, and now reality returned: she was standing there, in the middle of the shadow-filled court, in the arms of her captor, as both of them faced the Sytherrian lady who now stood before them: venom-tainted flames of rage and dire jealousy radiating off of her.

The figure of the Dark Lord moved: stepped around her, although his hands never left her. He was tall – so very tall, Elowyn thought – how could she have not noticed that before? She could barely see around his straight, slender back, and those broad, powerful shoulders and arms, to the form of the lady who had raked her talon-like nails across Elowyn's cheek, unable to contain her jealous fury. There was a deadly silence in the air for a moment.

Then – "My lord cannot continue in this. Does he not remember who she is?"

In a calm tone that was so steady and so cold that it was utterly menacing, the reply of, "Remembrance is a much overrated thing, milady…I would caution you not to disgrace yourself any further."

And he turned back towards Elowyn, dismissively.

There was a shriek of some indescribable emotion: envy, ire, and heartbrokenness all in one, along with a thousand less tangible others, and then, suddenly, that other black form was hurling itself at her, full intent to tackle and maim in its bearing.

Elowyn caught the arms of the other woman with her own, grabbing the bracelets just above the wrists, and whirled around, so that the ample silks of her gown formed an effective shield around her bared skin. But this was not enough – even in the presence of her Dark Lord, the tigress was undeterred. She launched herself at Elowyn again; the two went down, a full-scale royal catfight ensuing.

Snap!

The hands of the Sytherrian lady had found their way to the silver chain that was around Elowyn's neck – the necklace with the crystal pendant that was her only tangible link to her long-dead parents: infinitely precious and irreplaceable in her eyes – and yanked. Instantly, the fragile silver clasp gave way; the two rivals broke apart; the necklace fell to the floor.

Elowyn stared at her attacker: her face suddenly becoming devoid of all emotion, blank as an untouched canvas. She felt the gloating regard of her assailant upon her, as she stood there, watching – completely full of triumphant, exulting spite.

A dark shadow fell over her, but she paid it no heed.

"No." was all she said: disbelief and heartbrokenness in her voice.

Wordless with grief, she knelt to the floor, picking up the necklace in both hands, cradling it in her palms; she stood, her gaze still never leaving the face of her attacker—

And then, suddenly, a grip of iron clamped down upon her wrist!

She felt herself forced to turn around, whirled once more into the arms of her captor, whose eyes burned down into hers, seeing all and knowing all, or so it seemed…

"Come with me," the inescapable voice said: commanding.

But Elowyn had come back to reality, out of her depths of grief, and now she remembered her plan…and saw just how awful a mistake she had just made. She hadn't convinced him, by her power to move him into joining her in her dance, that his powers weren't as great as he had made them out to be; that she could control him as he had tried to control her. Not even the jealousy of another, who also desired his devotion, could distract him – could make him see anything other than his own self-created truth. No, indeed: now, she had only lost herself in a far greater, far darker labyrinth…for in those gray eyes, she saw a will that would not be denied.

Oh Fates – help me…

She stepped back, moving away from him.

Then, another struggle began – once more, between captor, and the imprisoned; and when it at last became apparent that she wasn't going to do as he told her to without a time-wasting argument and struggle, the Dark Lord simply resorted to uninhibited force. He stooped; an arm went around the back of her knees, whilst another snaked its way around her waist and shoulder – and Elowyn felt herself lifted simply off her feet!

The throne room began to move away, to recede from her vision, and she realized that he was carrying her out of it.

NO! No no NO!

Elowyn fought back, struggling within his arms, but those arms were undefeatable.

She simply could not get away.

Now, the halls of Dranthiris-Ankhar passed before her, black and red: glowing with a light that reminded her, once again, of blood. A huge set of doors loomed before them, and swung open at the silent command of their master.

They entered an enormous room lined with pillars, a room that on the floor of which had been detailed a black and white star of marble and granite: fiery rubies set in all of its points, sending their glare up to the ceiling far above their heads. Jaedin carried her a few steps further before loosening his grip, and then he dropped her onto the pillow-mounded silken couch that sat low on the floor below them.

Elowyn fell into it, and immediately moved to scramble back, away from him, clearly remembering all too well the last time that she had allowed him to get that close to her—but he went, instead, to the huge doors, stopping at the thresh hold. Seven black-robed, grim figures appeared then, out of the shadows, and the figure of the Dark Lord spoke to them: his voice terse and abrupt, with a more of a rasp to it than ever before, ragged, and uneven. Elowyn knew that she should have run, if she could have – but there was no hope of her escaping now, for she somehow knew that he had brought her into the most impenetrable wing of his fortress, and for reasons that she could only imagine.

So she remained where she was.

"The words that are to be said within this room are to be kept enshrouded in darkness – no one is to speak of them again unless I command it. It is on pain of death that you disobey."

And the seven figures melted back into the shadows again.

Jaedin turned towards her, standing still before the wide-open doorway.

* * *

In the hazy scarlet shadows, she could just barely see the outlines of his features: at last giving her a slight hint of what his face might look like. Moving slowly – ever so slowly – he walked towards her, hands clasped behind his back, and she could feel his gaze on her own face, roving over her features, reading her, it seemed.

Suppressing a shudder, she mentally ordered herself to stay calm – although she shied away from him at the same time.

"Don't come any closer to me," she commanded, glaring at him.

Jaedin, however, continued to move towards her, although he paused when she had said those words, silent for a moment, and then made a placating gesture with his hands.

"I won't hurt you, princess," he said, his voice soft and gentle, thoroughly convincing – but not to her. "I will allow you to suffer no harm at my hands, nor at those of anything else in my entire domain…unless you force me to do so."

And, with that said, he took a seat – on the far end of the couch, not as close to her as he might have been, but still a world too close for her.

Elowyn regarded him with loathing and revulsion in her eyes, and defiance.

"Simply hearing your voice is enough to torment me," she replied, coldly.

There was a pause, and then she heard him move. He was sitting closer now, and she heard him sigh: wistfully, in a way that reminded her of theatrics, however vaguely, and gloved fingers touched down on the back of her hand, running gently over her skin.

"We don't have to be this way…" he said, even more softly.

"It can be no other way, Lord of the Darkness."

This reply was so icy, so utterly frigid that it would have stung to the heart anyone who heard it. Jaedin, though, was indeed a lord of the darkness, and such words merely intrigued him. He gazed at her even more intently; but Elowyn, seeing that he was about to speak, put out a hand and held him away from her, her face rigid and cold.

"No," she said. "No more of your mind games. I won't let you win over me."

But he reacted strangely to this – with a smirk etching into the corners of his mouth, curving his full lips, he leaned forward again, until their faces were mere inches apart. Breathing his words so softly that she could only just hear them, he told her, "Ah yes, Princess…but it isn't so much winning as it is giving in…"

Gloved fingers moved to her hairline, running themselves through her hair: lightly, deftly, and, at the same time, somehow causing the fire of those five scratch lines on her cheek to cool, and disappear, taking away the pain. She closed her eyes, fighting against him. Seeing, however, that she was struggling to remain in control of her own conflicting emotions and thoughts, he pressed on: still soft and tender, but inescapably—

"And you accepted it, didn't you, Princess? You were happy to have me there with you, you were happy to be in my arms…until you remembered."

She shook her head, wanting to escape, to get away from him, from the thoughts that he was calling up from her memory, from the sound of his voice. But, still, it kept beating into her head, relentless and cruel, steadily growing louder, more insistent.

"And then you gave yourself to the light again," he whispered, knowing that he was beginning to hold sway over her, "and it washed you clean, leaving me vile and base in your eyes: twisted and malformed, hideous as any hunchback. But you longed for that reality again, even as you drove me from the deepest parts of your mind. You knew what you truly wanted to be then…for the reality of it was at last unhidden, revealed by the shadows."

Her eyes opened again, their bright colour startling in the darkness, and she stared at him, fully and unhesitatingly. Unafraid.

"Only they were fantasies that you had created – phantoms of a wish that was truly yours."

Again, the knowingly wicked, maddening smirk.

"Perhaps…to an extent," he said; then, suddenly, his voice became more desperate, more serious, as he told her, "Listen to me now, Princess – our time may soon run out. She is coming, and I do not yet know when, or what she plans to do with you once she has you before her. All that I am certain of is that I will do as she commands me…no matter what her bidding may be…for what is a knight without his queen?"

His fingertips had moved down from her hair to curl underneath her chin, drawing her face up until it looked directly into his. Elowyn unconsciously let her eyes slip halfway closed, and she gazed at him from beneath her lashes.

"What must I do then, dark knight?" she asked.

The shadowy face looked down at her: its expression longing, intense in its concentration, and almost, she suddenly realized, through her disorientation, tender. Towards her.

"You must either go willingly into whatever Fate has in store for you…" he replied; his voice trailed off, and she was assailed by a terrible, cold fear, for then he said, "Or you may accept me. Accept my realm and all that is within it, Princess – everything that I can give you: as well as myself. Don't turn away from me again, Elowyn."

His hand cupped itself now around her cheek, gently but firmly forcing her to look at him, into his shining eyes, before she could look elsewhere. The gray eyes were now frightening in their intensity, and she could not avoid their gaze …

"Don't try to run from me again – this may be your last chance."

"And what kind of a chance is it?" she whispered back, bitterly, running her restless fingers – those of her free hand, which he did not hold captive in his own – over the silver chain and pendant that she held in it.

Think of them – think of your freedom. He will not give it to you; do not believe him.

She gestured at the wide-open doorway, which seemed to bear some sort of odd – ironic – portent to the situation. It was open, clear for escape…but beyond it lay dangers that she could not fathom, shadows that she might not be able to escape.

"What kind of an offer is it that you give to me now, Dark One? The opportunity to choose the cold embrace of death, or to walk behind iron bars and allow their gates to clang shut after me – to forevermore hold my soul within a chill, dark prison: a cage? Is this what you urge me so glibly to accept?"

Jaedin shook his head: slowly, gravely, and spoke, his tone still almost tender, in spite of the scorn with which she had just addressed him.

"Elowyn, Elowyn…" he said. "I could not ask of you to surrender yourself into such torment as there might indeed be waiting for you at the hands of my lady…not when I could prevent it from happening – when I hold at least the power to give you a choice."

She writhed away from him again, from his seeking caresses and silky words, and finally managed to get up – off of the couch – and put some distance between them. Seeing that he made no immediate effort to stop her, she bolted towards the door, taking the two steps that were required to bring her out of that room, into the hallway beyond it…and, likewise, into the midst of the Antari warriors who stood guard there. She couldn't very well stop now – but she couldn't very well move, either. She froze. The silver chain in her hand glinted as she stood there: facing him, and its gleam was strangely foreboding, in the hazy red light, but neither of them took any notice of it.

Hearing her words, and seeing her movement, Jaedin's face became black and hard in expression. Now he stood as well, and told her, in a firmer, darker tone, walking towards her purposefully—

"There are things worse than a cage, princess of the faeries. I offer you the chance to live – and such a chance is not to be so lightly spurned. To walk the paths of the undead…"

At this, he trailed off: having hardly the will within his own soul to speak of what it would be like for her to tread such a path, to become a formless wraith, as he had once been.

Then, whispering, "Oh, Princess – such a star, fallen from the night sky to the earth and embodied in touchable form…its light should not be so vilely, so cruelly snuffed out. Don't you see? I would give you anything – anything in the world, my life's blood itself – anything, do you hear me? I would do whatever you wanted…I could even make you forget…"

"Forget…" she murmured.

"Everything," was his only reply.

Then, he came forwards, closing the last possible gap between them and folded his arms around her – and without apology or preamble kissed her. She did not struggle this time – not for long, at least. This time, she let him embrace her; she let his arms lock around her so that she was protected in their encircling depths. She could feel that her heart was pounding, and she knew that his was too. But was it with fear, or with realization…or something else? A wave of emotion assailed her, and she submitted to it, holding onto him as if nothing else was there for her to hold onto: no, only him…

Then, he drew back, just enough for her to raise one hand between them, and now he allowed her to trace her fingertips along his features. Her lips parted, just ever so slightly, as she tried to summon up a picture of his shadowed face within her mind.

A broad, high forehead, she felt, and that smooth shaven skull, utterly bereft of any hair whatsoever; a strong, squared jaw line, flawlessly chiseled cheekbones and chin; a straight, prominent nose, with wide, long-lashed eyes and sweeping brows, just above it…and last – finally – the lips that grazed against her fingers, one by one, as she ceased their movement, allowing them to rest there. She felt him kissing each one. She looked up at him, quickly.

"Who are you?" she murmured to him.

He didn't answer.

Instead, he leaned down and kissed her, again. Elowyn slowly, carefully, moved in his arms: her hand, as if of its own accord, rose to his neck, and then slowly passed over his head. Softly, Jaedin murmured to her, saying something – calling her something, the sounds of the syllable velvety and familiar – speaking in some tongue that she did not know, whispering endearments to her, as her hands continued to assist her in her embracing of him…

But in those very hands, she held the crystal pendant, and the silver chain that he had now completely forgotten…

Suddenly, at all once, an explosion of revulsion and twisted pain – Jaedin's entire frame stiffened against her, as he drew back, his features contorted in agony, as if he had just been burned with a white-hot flame, making what sounded like a hiss of extreme shock and torment. Then the lights in the room went out, plunging her into blackness, and he went completely limp and motionless in her arms, collapsing to the floor.

Elowyn stood back, and stared, emotionlessly.

All was silent and completely pitch black around her.

Instantly, her conscience returned to her, to reprimand her roundly for what she had done: for the sake of escaping, she had just shared an embrace with the very person, the creature, who would kill her, and all those she loved, within a heartbeat, if he did not get his way! This was what she had been forced into.

The form of her dark companion was still lifeless; when she put her hand to his chest, she felt his heartbeat, faint beneath the hard black armor that he wore. It mattered little now, though, that he still lived or breathed. She didn't know why he had reacted so suddenly and so strangely to her touch, but all at once, she knew that she couldn't, and didn't, care.

Her promise from the captain of the Antari – Rákkhed – had proven true. The lights had gone out, all over Dranthiris-Ankhar, and now she must move quickly to make her escape. At long last, she would be free.

Free from you, Lord of the Darkness.

And she ran from the room, with never a glance behind herself.

* * *

Moments later, however, the dark figure that had fallen prone to the cold marble floor stirred and slowly raised his head. He was alone; she had left him, a maddening, pounding pain was in his head – he rose to his feet, swaying unsteadily.

His quarry was fleeing him…but the chase was only just about to begin.

* * *

A/N: Ohhhh dear, now she's really made him mad. And what is with him anyways – what made him fall over right then and there? Can Elowyn evade him long enough for the Antari's promise to be fulfilled? Does she really even want to leave…? All this and more to be explained in the next chapter – read on! The adventure continues!

PS – thanks to all who have reviewed so far. You all make my day!

Rosethorn: You've returned! Oh, gads-be-gracious, I luv you, dahling! A question though…who is Ardeth-Bay? I was completely blanking out on that… And yes, I shall get the index to you. I hope it will prove most helpful. (And yes, Kates does love balls – I guess that that can't be so very obvious to anyone, can it… *winks*)

DarkSlytherinAngel: Well, if you'd like to see my story here published, I'd like to see yours in print too. It really is quite wunnerful…and Christina and Elowyn seem as if they might get along well, I think… Yes, the Antari are modeled after the Madgi from The Mummy, but until I get this made into a movie, perhaps we can all just keep that a secret among us here on fanfiction.net… ^_~

Grayfalcon: Mmm…love Mercedes Lackey. That's all I can say…does it answer your question in any way? ^_^ *grins* Do I use 'digress' a lot…? I have to admit I do indeed like that word…but if I use it a lot, it's bound to get annoying, even to me. I shall have to keep my eyes peeled for any further usage…

Raal the Sword Master: YES! You've returned! I was getting to miss your reviews…and having the ability to get on-line only once a week is horrid…and so is FFN for that stupid overload problem that it seems to have – it's kept me from updating a couple of times. Oh well. Glad you're back, and hope this story is as enjoyable to you (and everyone else) as its predecessors. And no, we didn't hear much about Elowyn in Wings of the Heart…now, though… *smiles deviously*

Riene: Thank you for your great long reviews! You are good at that, did you know… Anyways. Glad you liked the dream scene – I thought you would. But I think I have a little escapade coming up in the next few chapters that you will enjoy even more…

Furthermore, I am currently trying to prod Jaedin into saying that he's sorry for creeping you all out…he's very reluctant, but I'm working on him. Oh, and does anyone want to try and guess who I've "cast" as him? You might be surprised, and you might not, when it's finally revealed. The description of his current appearance more than hints at it…

(But I'm still keeping the whole thing a secret, but soon you'll know…soon, my friends, very soon…)

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PS – thanks to all who have reviewed so far. You all make my day!

(But I'm still keeping the whole thing a secret, but soon you'll know…soon, my friends, very soon…)