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I LOOKED AROUND ME. It was the most beautiful forest I had ever seen. The leaves sparkled, each one giving off a glow like so many tiny fireflies. The grass murmured beneath me, rolling like waves over the earth. Everything was alive, moving. I could smell lavender and honeysuckle in the air. And everything had a sound, a song. The leaves had their song, and I could hear it – the gleeful, light bursts of a pitch pipe. The bark had a song, and I could hear that too – deep, powerful bass notes. The wind had a song – the trills of a piano sonata – and I could hear too the song of the clouds, slow and melismatic. And the songs came together, too, into a great symphony of sound, and somehow the sound had color, too, because I could hear the colors, and I could see the smells. Somehow my senses had been scrambled, overwhelmed by the beauty of the forest. My dreams were nothing like this. Nothing, not even the most unbridled flights of my imagination, could ever have compared to his.
And then I realized how I had gotten here; I remembered Kian, forcing me up the stairway, forcing me to leave Logan, with his hand clasped over my mouth and his ears deaf to my struggles.
Beautiful fairy prince or no fairy prince, I wasn't about to let anybody carry me anywhere.
And so I bit him.
It was the first thing I thought to do – the first bit of flesh I could grab – so I sunk my teeth into his hand and began kicking wildly. He jerked his hand out my teeth and glared at me – I saw where my teeth had left a gleaming, silver stain upon the whiteness of his palm – and tried to restrain me. I closed my eyes, trying desperately to remember the self-defense tricks I had learned in my mother's Female Empowerment classes. Knee to the groin. Fingers to the eyes. My limbs shot everywhere, trying to find his weakness, some way to hurt him, to get away...
My mother's tricks, however, had been designed for human attackers. Kian gracefully dodged every blow I tried to land at him, vanishing and reappearing behind me, parrying me with the slightest feint to the left, a block to the right. At last I rushed straight towards him, my heart banging against my chest, my cheeks flushed with rage.
“Oh no you don't,” I cried.
He caught my wrists and twisted my arms around, until I was facing away from him. I could feel his breath upon my neck as he whispered in my ear.
“Are you going to stop struggling?” he asked me.
“Not until you tell me what's going on!” I cried, feeling almost out-of-breath.
But it was no use. He held me fast and firm.
I had dreamed of this moment often, dreamed of his hands on me, his lips so perilously close to my neck. Even at that moment, I could not deny that part of my weakness was psychic – an innate submission from the deepest cloisters of my subconscious. But I wasn't prepared to let my instinct take over. Nobody, not even Prince Kian of Feyland himself, was going to kidnap me and get away with it.
“Fine,” I said at last. “Now, tell me what you want and let me go. And apologize.”
“For what?”
“For grabbing me like that.”
“Princes don't apologize,” said Kian. I turned to look at him, flushing with anger. I had thought he was merely being arrogant, but he seemed genuinely confused. Then his expression changed. “You don't have to worry about your friend. I know that must have frightened you. But the Pixie won't drink his blood. Pixies don't like werewolf blood.”
“Werewolf blood?” I sputtered. “But Logan's not...” I recalled his eyes when I had told him of the Pixie, his strange response to my intimations of supernatural occurrences. He had believed me, hadn't he – hadn't he taken everything more seriously than I had myself? I was too tired to resist. It didn't seem that much stranger than anything else that had happened today.
“But of course, you already knew that, didn't you?”
“Of course not!” But before the words were out of my mouth I knew that perhaps I was lying to myself. That connection I had always felt with Logan – the way he smelled of the forest, the way I felt so comfortable showing him my paintings of Feyland. Perhaps I had always sensed that he, like me, was touched by magic. I smiled grimly. On a far less philosophical note, there had to be some explanation for him choosing to hang out with a loner like me over Clariss and her ilk.
I had, however, far more pressing issues to consider, not least among them the safeguarding of my own life.
“Are you going to drink my blood?”
I thought of Clariss, who squealed with sensual glee at the thought of attractive young vampires, and often sighed over films depicting bloodsucking fiends in romantic entanglements of girls of my age. She was welcome to Kian, I thought. I certainly wasn't interested in being murdered before I turned seventeen.
He considered. “You'd be a delicious treat for plenty of species in Feyland,” he said. “The Pixies would have you for breakfast. I'm afraid, however, that I'm far more keen on Fairyfruit wine than on the blood of the innocent, if I haven't offended you.”
Was he teasing me? There was no sign of a smile in his eyes.
“Only animals like Pixies drink blood. Fairies are far too civilized for that.”
“So – you're almost human!”
He looked somewhat offended. “I think you'd better say that humans are almost fairy.”
“I'm afraid I wouldn't know.” I stiffened. I wasn't in any immediate physical danger, but I wasn't particularly interested in being overly polite to the man who had just kidnapped me.
“Surely you haven't forgotten what it was like at the Courts?”
I thought of my dream. “No, I've never been here before,” I said. I certainly wasn't prepared to give away any more information than was strictly necessary.
I could tell he didn't believe me. “Really, now?” he said. “Haven't you ever dreamed – say – once or twice, of a place you couldn't describe? Of a place you couldn't quite put your finger on – but that was more familiar to you than your own home, your own bed?”
I couldn't lie to him; he could see right through me. “Yes,” I said at last. “As long as I can remember I've been having dreams. But that was all it was. A dream. I don't know why I'm here.”
“Was it a dream?” Kian began pacing down the length of the forest. I saw the grass respond to his approach, and part – making a path in the dense underbrush. I gaped.
“Maybe you thought it was a dream,” Kian continued, breaking the spell of my distraction. “But you were here – living here – once. In your childhood. And then in your dreams – coming back to visit. You and I played in the Summer Court, with my sister Shasta. We hid oranges and bid each other find them. We splashed in the fountains and tried to chase phoenixes – we never caught any; phoenixes are wily birds. We even learned the dance for our wedding.”
“Our wedding? I was a child!” (And yet I could not help feeling somehow that I had always known this. I had painted him – over and over again. It almost made sense...I forced the thoughts out of my head. Delano the Pixie had almost hypnotized me into attraction to him. Why should I be so sure Kian wasn't doing the same?)
“Our parents arranged it,” Kian shrugged.
I thought of my mother arranging my wedding and laughed. She was a firm believer that women should remain unmarried – and unhindered – as long as possible, and explore as many different avenues of romance in the meantime.
“I doubt my mother would have gone in for that,” I said.
“Oh yes,” Kian said. “Yes, your mother Raine, and your father the Summer King.”
I put the issue of my mother's philosophies on marriage aside for a moment. “The Summer King?” I burst out laughing. “That's ridiculous! I don't even know what a Summer King is?”
“More or less what it sounds like,” said Kian, with a somewhat exasperated expression. “The Summer Court is ruled by a Summer King.”
“Well, yes, I got that much...so I’m a..a real princess?” I tried shoving Kian playfully, forgetting myself. “Get out. That’s the most ridiculous...”
“And I am Kian – the Winter Prince – the son of the Winter Queen.”
I stopped him. “That makes no sense,” I said. “Winter and Summer are seasons. How can you rule a season? Wouldn't that mean that your family and my family take it in turns?”
He shook his head. “Not in Feyland. In your world, seasons are times. In my world they are places. One where it is always summer. One where it is always winter.”
I had questions about how exactly Feyland existed relative to the earth, and how this fit in at all with my basic understanding of physics, but somehow I felt this really wasn't the time.
“And the Summer King is a fairy.” Kian continued.
“So I'm a fairy.”
“Don't be stupid,” said Kian. “You're a half-breed.” There was a faint note of contempt in his voice.
“A half-fairy, then,” I said, my voice rising. “And I don't see what's so wrong with that.”
“The fairy part is rather more pressing,” he said. “If you were just a human I wouldn't have had to go through all that trouble to get you.”
“What, am I late for our wedding?”
“We're not engaged,” said Kian, shortly.
“But I thought you said...” I wasn't quite sure why I was protesting. Surely I should be relieved...instead, I felt vaguely insulted.
“That was before the War of the Seasons,” Kian said. “We have broken off diplomatic relations with the Summer Court. Our marriage contract has been rendered invalid.”
He took my hand. For a moment I thought he was being kind. Then his grip tightened.
“So I'm afraid you are now my prisoner.”