.:Carsona's Queen:.

I was trembling with disgust as I stared towards the great doors into the Gods' Temple, knowing that beyond that decorative wooden barrier, down that long, lonely aisle, stood the man who I had just realised I hated more than I could have ever have imagined possible. I'd arrived back from Igorance, only to find that my betrothed had been called away to his own land, where a violent rebellion had broken out due to tax rises. For almost a month no word of King Bacall was heard, and my father was thrown into a terrible rage at the mere sight of me: I'd chased him away, Papa accused furiously; now he would never see the back of me! But then, just after I had been frantically praying for the occurrence of the womanly bleed after its second month of absence, the King of Carsona rode up to the gates of the palace. He was not denied entrance, and my father very nearly ran to him with opened arms.

It was my turn to turn and run. For almost four weeks, I spent all of my time dodging messengers calling for my attendance in meetings between my father and Bacall. When the two kings finally started hunting for me themselves, I removed myself to the palace attics, appearing just before dinner, and disappearing straight afterwards complaining of a terrible stomach ache or faintness. Of course, after reports of my reported daily vomiting, Papa and Bacall were all too eager to let me be. Then I mustered the courage to bring myself before the kings and agree to the marriage – my fears had been confirmed.

Barely a week later, and today was my wedding day, my fate as Queen of Carsona almost sealed – what I wouldn't give to be able to throw down the crystal cup in my hands and flee from the palace, racing towards the city and my freedom! I looked at the empty cup, my mouth feeling parched. With one sip of this cup, I would become a prisoner, yet I didn't have a choice. I was eighteen, a hated Princess, an embarrassment to my family, and secretly pregnant with the illegitimate child of a renegade Dark Knight, one of the world's most terrible Black Magic cults. The look that would appear on my father's face if I was so kind as to inform him that he would soon be a grandfather didn't bear thinking about! At least my marriage to Bacall would be cast out of the window – as I'd heard him say to my father the night before, he only wanted an unspoilt virgin bride.

If I wanted a virgin groom, I'd have to look elsewhere, I thought to myself, then sniggered. Bacall's manhood has been used so many times during his life, by now it probably has all the beauty of a shrivelled, moulding prune!

"Your Highness, please?" one of the attendants hissed, as I let out an undignified snort of laughter. "The congregation might hear you!"

"Give the child her laugh," one of my bridesmaids scolded – I had no idea who any of my bridesmaids were, save for three of my half-sisters, but they seemed to want to keep out of my way. "There is such a thing as wedding jitters! Let her have her giggle – what would the two kings say if she started laughing during the service? Let her get her nerves out of her system now."

But I didn't have time to get it all out of my system. Without a moment's warning, the sound of trumpets sounded, and suddenly the doors into the temple swung open. A sea of faces turned towards the back of the high-vaulted room, their faces a range of expressions: awe, sympathy, adoration, admiring, fear, and hatred. Harte stepped up to me, having been waited for my entrance in the temple proper. He smiled bravely as he laid his hand on my shoulder. I smiled as I let my brother lead me down the aisle towards my future-husband, though my hands still grasped the crystal cup.

"I suppose it is to late for me to beg you to run?" Harte whispered, barely able to keep the strain from his voice. "Bacall is a good ruler for Carsona, but he's a terrible man for my baby sister."

I looked up towards the temple's altar, where the Speaker of the Gods was standing, and before him... My mouth turned dry again, throat tightening as though a clamp had been forced over it. I could feel Bacall's dark eyes on me, and it was then that I realised that for a man that was literally about to become my husband in a few minutes, I had never taken into account his features. The first time I'd met him I'd been kidnapped by Myron and the Dark Knights, and then I had been so taken by the renegade that I had never thought to think of Bacall.

I raised my eyes and studied his face as I neared him, and felt myself start. He really was a very striking man: tall and burly, with a face that looked like it had been carved by the gods themselves! His nose was perfectly straight, his lips full and curved into a proud smile. His dark eyes were large... Like a cow's, I thought abruptly, then coughed to hide my snort of laughter. So he was handsome! But Harte's words to me of his cold nature, and Myron's of his flirtatious ways, made his looks seem harsh to my eyes. I cast my eyes to the floor as I walked, wishing the day were over.

Harte paused by Bacall, bowing slightly. His eyes were as hard as stone as he embraced my cheek gently, then he turned and walked over to where our stepmother, siblings, his wife and sons all stood to watch, their faces eager. Even my father was standing to witness the marriage. At least this service is short, I thought, as I turned to face Bacall. I would hate for Papa to get a cramp from standing for too long.

The Speaker of the Gods stepped forwards, raising his hands as he called upon our various gods to give their blessing to our union, the uniting of our two countries, our children, blah-blah-blah... I lifted my chin and let the words wash over me, gazing into Bacall's eyes. He returned my stare, the air about him almost radiating with smugness. Then he coughed, and nodded to the cup in my hands. After an encouraging nod from the Speaker, I realised to my horror that I'd missed my queue. I quickly raised the crystal glass, allowing Bacall to empty his small bottle of wine into it.

"With the drinking of this blessed wine, so the uniting of King Bacall and Princess Eloryn in exchanging of this drink opens doors to the exchanging of their love." Bacall drank deeply before handing me the cup; I dared not hesitate in drinking – the disgrace on my family would be unbearable. I sipped generously, then lowered the glass. As I did so, my mind went numb with the sickening realisation – I was now Bacall's lady. Queen Eloryn of Carsona.

The congregation had burst into wild cheers and enthusiastic applauding behind us, as though having just witnessed the finest play ever to have been written. As the Speaker took the cup and bottle, Bacall took my hand in his own cold hands and kissed my fingers, holding my gaze. I shuddered involuntarily as his tongue touched my fingertips briefly, but the touch was gone before anyone could notice his inappropriate action.

"My lady," he said quietly, as the trumpets sounded out above the toiling of the great bell above the temple. "You have made a poor, selfless king happier than any commoner in either of our motherlands."

"My lord King," I returned, but I did not give him a compliment. His own had burned my heart. "I look forward to our life."

King Bacall smiled back, then turned towards the congregation with me at his arm. For the first time in my life, I was presented before a people as a Queen. I studied their faces with a fixed smile on my face, but secretly all I wanted to do was force my fingers into my mouth and bringing that wretched wine back up into the open. But there was someone other than myself that I had to think of, for their protection. And I could not allow them the shame of my actions to haunt them during their own lifetime.

You'd best be grateful to me, I thought to the child I knew was within me even at that very moment. I found you a father who will protect you and make sure your life is cushioned as possible. But it is not the man I would have chosen, not if I'd had any say in the matter.

With one last curtsy towards my father, Bacall led me away down the aisle toward the main doors and beyond, where a glorious feast had been prepared in our honour. Tirrius would soon be rid of its cursed Princess for good.

"My dear, you look tired," Bacall commented as he looked from his seat opposite my own, peering over the book in his hands. "What is wrong? Is something not to your pleasing"

I smiled as humorously as I could, but I knew Bacall could see through my look for the frown that appeared on his face. We'd been travelling by carriage over the land for almost four days now, with only short breaks for luncheon, before we invaded some poor, rich noblemen's household for supper, rooms for the night, and breakfast the next morning. I felt like some cheep little whore, being so desperate, but I could scarcely keep the question from rolling off my tongue as I smiled.

"My lord, does it not...trouble you that we have not consummated our marriage yet? It has been four ---"

Bacall grinned sinfully as he held up his hand to silence me. "Nay, Eloryn, it does not. I thought it would be nicer for you if I expressed my love in our own palace, back in Carsona." Everyday I waited would be an extra day for my child to grow a little stronger within me – I needed to have sex with Bacall before it was too late, but the foolish man had refused all my advances! "You will not regret the wait, my dear, I can assure you of that! I am...experienced, as I think my reputation will have reached even your pretty ears." His eyes glinted as he misinterpreted my sudden dash for speaking as an act of some type of modesty on his behalf. "Do not worry, Eloryn. You are not the first woman to have begged me to follow them into bed!"

And I doubt I'll be the last, I thought, surprising myself with the venom. "Bacall, a woman has needs. Surely you must have them, as well?"

"Quite obviously," my husband replied smugly. His eyes roamed my body for the umpteenth time that day. "And it pains me that I cannot give in to you, my dear, but I have decided that we will wait for our arrival back in Carsona. I want any child of ours to be sired within the walls of my palace, and not in some snobby duke's shack."

I sighed bitterly to myself, glaring out of the window with no other idea of how to make Bacall come to see sense. I could pounce on him right there and then? No, this was too public: I met the eye of the mounted solider out of the window and smiled politely.

The next noblemen's home? I cringed at the memory of my last attempt to seduce my husband just the night before – it had gone pretty well to begin with, and I had managed to coax the man into removing his shirt while pressing my embarrassingly bear self up against his chest as I'd kissed him with what I hoped he'd have thought of as willing passion. But when I began undoing his trousers, the biggest, egotistic womaniser-King ever to have been born on the earth pushed me away, and thanked me kindly for the sweet taster of what lay in store for him! For the love of all magic, I was throwing myself at him! And he wasn't responding!

Now I know how Myron felt, I thought sulkily, fighting an instinct to pout. I shouldn't have refused any of his advances. Maybe if I hadn't, Bacall wouldn't be refusing mine. Then I realised just how stupid my thoughts were growing, and surrendered myself to pure and utter boredom as I stared out onto a bleak, dismal countryside that seemed to be mocking me. No matter how far was travelled, or for how long, nothing on the horizon seemed to change. It was as though nature itself was damning me to an eternity of having to wait for Bacall.

My eyes flickered shut against the world, and as I fell asleep I heard my mind screaming desperately over and over again, begging and pleading for the dream to arrive. I hoped my mouth was not screaming as well.

Myron! Myron! I must speak you with, Mryon, please! Myron! I know you can hear me, even if you won't dream of me! Myron, talk to me! Myron!

Queen Heldrida pushed her dazzling green hair back off her face as she observed herself in a large, gold-plated mirror. Her elegant face and sensual lips made her as desired by the men in her country of Ronash as Bacall was desired by the women in Carsona. But all the time, her eyes kept flickering to the young man who paced the floor behind her, cursing and muttering furiously as he rubbed his head with trembling hands. Finally, the witch-queen could take no more, and Heldrida snapped her fingers. The young man stopped pacing to look at her.

"Myron, have I ever told you how terribly distracting your presence can be?" the woman asked softly. Her voice sounded like the purest water flowing gently over tiny crystals. "You look troubled, my love. Tell me, is it that girl again?"

Myron's crystal blue eyes filled with hurt at the words 'that girl', obviously angered that Heldrida had guessed so well. "Yes. Eloryn keeps trying to contact me, but I...I can't face it. I can't face her!"

"Oh, I do so love a distressed Myron," Heldrida teased, turning away from the mirror to face the young man herself. "Did I ever tell you how cute you are when you frown?" Myron's frown turned into a scowl of annoyance. "So you bedded the girl, Myron – what of that? So your brother is now calling for your blood – what of that? You are safe here. If you don't wish to talk to the girl..."

"I'm embarrassed, Heldi!" Myron complained desperately. "She's the only person I've ever really loved, and I... I can't believe what we shared! I'm terrified that she was just using me, that she doesn't really---"

Heldrida waved Myron's words away with a snort of disbelief. "You fool, boy! If Eloryn only wanted to get a bit of pleasure out of you, so what? It's not anything you haven't done before."

The rage in Myron's eyes burned like fire. "I love her! I'd kill myself rather than have her laugh in my face!" Then he realised that he'd raised his voice against the queen, and lowered himself to his knee. "Majesty, I don't know what came over me! I'm just... I... I won't ask for forgiveness, not after what you've done for me."

Myron heard his old friend sigh sadly, and her skirts whispered besides him as Queen Heldrida knelt next to him. She smiled gently as she raised Myron's head, kissing him on the cheek – more of a sisterly embrace than that of one between old lovers. "No, Myron. It is I that should be begging forgiveness from you."

"What do you mean? You know I don't like it when you say things like that – you're tricks are tedious and often quite deadly." The witch-queen hung her head, and Myron was horrified to see the woman was crying. "Heldi? Heldi, what's the matter?"

"Myron, don't!" the witch-queen snapped, pushing Myron's arms away from her as he tried to comfort her. "You're right: my tricks are deadly! Because of me, your own brother wants you dead! It's all my fault! I just wanted you to be happy, after all the joy you gave me!"

Myron stared at her in horror. When he spoke, his voice was low and deadly, like the warning hiss of a poisonous snake about to strike at its prey. "What?"

"I s-saw you, Myron, in a dream," the witch-queen said mournfully. "When we were together, in the old days, I had a vision in a dream that you would kidnap Princess Eloryn. She was pretty, intelligent, caring – she was everything I wanted for you in a woman. There was also a potential for her to love you, Myron, to truly love you – that was something I couldn't give you. My heart and yours were never meant to be."

Myron rose to his feet stiffly, his eyes narrowed as he glared down at Heldrida. "I still don't understand," he said softly. "Eloryn and I---"

"Dreamt of one another," Heldrida replied, standing herself. She raised her chin, observing Myron with calm eyes that were suddenly void of tears. "I erased all memory of dreams from both yours and her mind – an easy task for someone like me – and then I made you two dream of one another. It is all you two shall ever dream of. The night after I cast my final spell, you, Myron, confessed you could no longer return with me to my rooms, and I was glad: you could not love me any more, not when you were suddenly seeking someone else." The look on Myron's face was suddenly unreadable. "And now I see how stupid and selfish I was. You met Eloryn, fell in love, made love, and now the two of you are broken because of my actions."

"I could die because of what you did," the man suddenly accused.

"I know. But at least you found love, Myron – the path you chose, tricking women so freely and selfishly, would have made sure you would never be happy. Can you truly blame me for finding you your one true love?"

Myron looked at Heldrida. Then he started to laugh and laugh and laugh, until he turned and flung himself into the warm embrace of the nearest armchair. "She calls for me every single night! Every single time she falls asleep, she screams for me, and I can hear her now, even when I'm awake! Eloryn won't leave me alone!"

"Lovers can be rather persistent," Heldrida admitted dully. "Do you think maybe you should answer her?"

Myron fought the last of his laughter away, spluttering into his fist as he did so. He shook his head. "No. I always complicate things for her."

"You won't be able to resist her call forever, Myron."

"I know," Myron said, then grinned. "She'll drive me insane if I try."

Pirate - More trouble! XD

martini the brave – Thanks for the research! I couldn't remember where I'd described him!!!!

The Faery Dreamer - Hope this explained previous hic-up ok!

Jon - Dare I bother? Oh all right then! Thank you!

Everyone else, hope you enjoyed too! Llamas, Ginger-Bizkit!