Three weeks has it been, since the lille prinsesse fell into my lap, her rage and spirit intoxicating, her passionate words enough to cause me to turn her, the first I have turned in five centuries, to pledge to stand at her side as she rules. Much has she learned since then, and learns more every day. Soon we will be ready to leave the caves, and bring all Doom to their knees at Romelle's feet. Even now, she can near hold her own against me, so long as I do not invoke my greater strength, and I have taught her only those things I learned in this lifetime, at the Academy.
It is a crime of the highest order, what has been done to her. Such an exquisite woman, the likes of which I have not seen in untold centuries, and her blood would sell her to a monster as broodmare, and the monster cast her aside simply because she is not another woman. I harbor no illusions that I am anything but a monster myself, but that . . . that is truly reprehensible on all sides. Romelle is truly magnificent, in body and mind, far too much so to be wasted as an empty-headed bedroom toy.
As I watch her practice with her new short sword and dagger, getting used not only to the weapons but to her new strength and speed, I am reminded of the shieldmaidens that fought at my side so long ago, when the Decarabia were the elite warriors of the Viking nation. Were I to believe in such a thing, I would think her one of them reborn. But no; she is a warrior in her own right, with enough motivation for a thousand battles. And she will set this galaxy ablaze; I merely hand her the torch to light the waiting inferno.
Her warmth at my side, together with her heady scent of honeyed spice, pulls me from my thoughts. "I think that went well," she murmurs, her soft smoky voice sparking desires in me I thought long buried. With a surprising effort, I focus on her.
"Ja, it did, lille. You learn most quickly." Her face lights up at my praise, as always—damn those who raised her without any such words—and I continue, "I think perhaps next week we can begin our raids, thinning the guards out before we attack the Castle itself."
"Lotor is mine," she growls intently; the words and the wave of determination coming off her make me shiver, but I ignore it. "Promise me, Sven; I get to kill the rapist bastard."
"My word as Decarabia," I swear, not pointing out that the vow in no way precludes me from. . . hastening the loathsome prince's appointment with Hel.
Romelle edges closer to me, determination fading, a vulnerable look on her face. "You won't leave me, will you? Ever? I don't want to be alone again."
What heart I have breaks at her words, and I drape my wing over hers, drawing her into an embrace. "I cannot promise ever, prinsesse; it is far too infinite a thing for our people. I promise you to stay at your side as long as I can, and my leaving, should it happen, will not be done lightly." I hesitate, then kiss the top of her head. She startles, still unused to positive attention, then relaxes against my side, one slender arm slipping around my waist.
"First we secure Doom, then. . . . Pollux or Arus?" she asks coolly, staring out into the darkness. I can feel the tension in her though, the need to avenge herself on those who sold her, who were supposed to be her staunchest protectors.
"Your choice, min prinsesse." I choose my words carefully. "Arus will not be so easy a target, and it might be best to have more than just Doom at our backs before we go there." What I cannot yet admit to her—can barely admit to myself—is that in spite of all, I miss those I called brother, if but for a moment, and truly wish them no harm, though I know I will never trust them to fight at my side again.
She nods against me. "You're right, of course." Then her voice drops so low even my enhanced hearing has trouble picking her words up. "What would I do without you? I would have died alone at the bottom of that pit. I need you, want you. . . and that frightens me. I don't know that I like it." Without another word, she's gone, vanishing back into her living quarters.
I've taken two steps to follow her when her words sink in, stopping me in my tracks as I realize . . . I want her too, need her as I have no other in all my millennia. And that brings back a near-forgotten memory of a conversation with my mother, when I was about to come of age:
"One thing you must understand, and remember well, my Sventachar." She turned from the window of our keep, gazing at me with the intense grey eyes I inherited from her. "Many partners do the Decarabia have in their time; their nature and charisma makes them nigh-irresistible when they so choose. But. . . only one will ever be their mate, if indeed they are lucky enough to find a mate."
"How will I know, Mamma?" I really wasn't interested in a forever mate; after all, I was barely a century old, and more interested in getting with as many girls as my immortal stamina and charm would net me. But I had to pay attention to Mamma, and asking questions served the purpose well.
"According to your father's manuscripts, her scent and presence will intoxicate you like no other ever has or will." Mamma looked wistful for a moment; she WAS NOT Pappa's mate, and he had made it quite clear to her before he was slain. "You will desire her greatly, and she you; you will be willing to kill if she but asks it of you."
"So, so," I whisper to myself as I shake off the memory. "The little prinsesse is my mate? I do not think that will please her much." But it is a thing we need to discuss, and so I set off for the cave she claimed as her sleeping quarters.
Much to my surprise, she isn't there. Nor is she in any of her other usual spots. I am not too worried; I would know if she had left the caves. Still. . . it is unlike her to vanish so completely. I wander into my own quarters, pondering where she could have gone. . . and look up to see her in the center of my bed, covered only by her wings. Gud i himmeln, what a sight. Scarlet and gold wings against blonde hair and creamy skin. . . . my blood is on fire, and my pulse racing, if I had one. "R-Romelle? Little prinsesse, what are you doing?"
"I want you to make me yours," she murmurs, looking down at her lap. "I don't want to be hurt again, I. . .I just want someone who's kind. And you've been kind. Please, Sven? Show me what I've missed?"
I have to sit down—as far from her as possible—and tell my body no, it is NOT going to take her right here and now. "Oh, my Romelle . . . what you ask. You ask more than you know, and I must explain it to you." Quietly I explain the concept of mates to her, telling her everything I can remember Mamma telling me so long ago. Finally I run out of words, and look at her helplessly, waiting for a reaction.
Her blue eyes are wide, and the combination of hope, fear, and attraction coming off her very nearly snap what control I have. "Y-you think I'M your mate? ME? Sven, I can't be; y-you don't want me, not really. I'm too young, I'm horrible in bed, Lotor said so, and-"
I cross the space between us in a blink, silencing her with a finger to her lips. "I care nothing for what Lotor told you. Of course he would say such things; you were not his darling Allura. And—" I smile gently at her. "Lille prinsesse, any woman is too young for me. Age bothers me not; we have eternity. So. . . Ja, you COULD be my mate. I am certain of it. But . . . it is your choice, Romelle. I will not force it upon you."
A small hand cups my cheek; I close my eyes and lean into the touch. "You really want me? You—you LOVE me?"
"As I have no other in all my time. . .elske," I answer her softly, hesitantly calling her beloved for the first time and realizing just how much I mean it. "But you must know; if you accept this, it is forever. There is no breaking it, but by death. What I think and feel, you will know, always; so, too, will I know your thoughts and emotions. Be sure, lille prinsesse."
I suddenly find myself with arms and lap full of naked blonde former princess. "I am. Sven, these last three weeks. . .no one has ever made me feel so wanted and cherished. I want more of that. I never want to be alone again. I want. . . I want you to teach me, show me how to love you. Please?"
It would take a far colder heart than mine to refuse that plea, especially when it comes with tear-filled blue eyes. "As you wish, min elskede, my beloved." I kiss her, slow and gentle, one hand cupping the back of her head to guide her in the kiss, stretching us out on my bed as it ends. "To you I give all I am; my body, my heart, my mind. My love to nurture and heal you, my desire to warm you, my strength to protect you." A nip of my fangs, and the dark blood wells from my wrist; Romelle instinctively mirrors my actions and holds her own delicate wrist out to me. A taste, and we heal each other. With trembling hands she removes my clothing, and as we begin the most timeless dance known to any race, our shared desire reflecting between us, inflaming us, I claim my mate, she claims me.