Chapter 5
The little cottage of riven stone was quite small, by its outside appearance, though it had large windows that were hardly proportionate to such a small house, yet as the Sorcerer led the Swan Queen within, she looked questioningly at the sorcerer's marble countenance, a savage, proud countenance speaking of wealth, and breeding, as well as of intellect. It was a beautiful countenance, if harsh, with the arrogance of kings, or maybe a few dozen of them, and guarded as well as bastions and a moat might guard a castle. The sorcerer only stared down at the Queen, her delicate profile glowing like moonstones in the faint light, so beautiful that it was hard to imagine that anyone could be more beautiful, and her shivering form that dragged his cloak for a pace or more on the grassy banks.
There was a silent communication between the Queen who was imprisoned and the sorcerer who was of stone, that was sharply ended as Eriol led her into the cottage.
"Dry yourself off and put some clothes on, for God's sake. You may order the Unseens." Was the Queen's only brusque order, as he strode into another room. Tension yet crackled in the air as sheet lightning might, and the air was thick with it. His orders were dully followed.
Swiftly as a swallow, the Unseens placed a sumptuous banquet upon an oaken table, the midnight version of a midday meal. Breads of varying texture, aromatic cheeses, joints of lamb doused liberally in spices, the finest chilled fruits, fresh crisp greens tossed with olive oil, decked the table atop a fine white damask tablecloth embroidered richly in gold, and large napkins of the same damask, but embroidered with no lavish gold swirls, but simply a tiny silken rosebud.
The Swan Queen ate nothing but a piece of fruit and a slice of coarsely ground wheat bread with sweet butter. A thin slice. The Sorcerer, this being the first occasion that he had to dine with her privately, scowled darkly at her across the table in candlelight.
"You do not eat enough. You will waste away. Is this the sickness of girls from the fashionable courts, of eating little until their complexions are green with malnourishment?"
The swan too, glared formidably. She said nothing, but the sorcerer stood in a fluid, dangerously graceful motion to stride over and stand over her. He stared down at the half consumed slice of apple, the barely touched piece of bread. He was not pleased.
"You are trying to starve yourself to death as a form of defiance, Lady Queen?" His voice was dark and scathing. He knelt at her side, as she sat with her back ramrod straight, and refused to look at him.
"I do not wish for you to die, my Queen." He came closer, so close she could feel the heat of him radiating into her through her silk robe. His voice was not demanding now, not harsh, nor rude, but infinitely caressing and gentle. Such change she had never seen. He was breaking slowly.
"Stop pretending to ignore me. You know you cannot, my dear Queen. Admit it for the truth that it is." And yet she would not look, breathing shallowly and erratically. She stood slowly, and asked to leave. There was an anguish in his eyes. All was unmasked, lost beyond regaining.
"I have watched you from afar." He whispered.
"May I retire, my lord?" The Lady Swan was turned slowly by warm hands whose heat penetrated her only article of clothing, turned in an infinitely tender manner.
"No you may not." Was her answer, but she had no time for rebuttal, as a passionate, tender mouth covered hers. She struggled hard, but he held her fast in his embrace, and soon as if by magic, she lay limp and indolent in his encircling arms, as his hands moulded her form. They the both of them moaned softly, lost in each other, as they took more from each other. And more. And more yet.
A blazing inferno consumed them, borne of the darkness in which they had resided for so long. And so thus it was unleashed, this strange, powerful force called love.
The little cottage of riven stone was quite small, by its outside appearance, though it had large windows that were hardly proportionate to such a small house, yet as the Sorcerer led the Swan Queen within, she looked questioningly at the sorcerer's marble countenance, a savage, proud countenance speaking of wealth, and breeding, as well as of intellect. It was a beautiful countenance, if harsh, with the arrogance of kings, or maybe a few dozen of them, and guarded as well as bastions and a moat might guard a castle. The sorcerer only stared down at the Queen, her delicate profile glowing like moonstones in the faint light, so beautiful that it was hard to imagine that anyone could be more beautiful, and her shivering form that dragged his cloak for a pace or more on the grassy banks.
There was a silent communication between the Queen who was imprisoned and the sorcerer who was of stone, that was sharply ended as Eriol led her into the cottage.
"Dry yourself off and put some clothes on, for God's sake. You may order the Unseens." Was the Queen's only brusque order, as he strode into another room. Tension yet crackled in the air as sheet lightning might, and the air was thick with it. His orders were dully followed.
Swiftly as a swallow, the Unseens placed a sumptuous banquet upon an oaken table, the midnight version of a midday meal. Breads of varying texture, aromatic cheeses, joints of lamb doused liberally in spices, the finest chilled fruits, fresh crisp greens tossed with olive oil, decked the table atop a fine white damask tablecloth embroidered richly in gold, and large napkins of the same damask, but embroidered with no lavish gold swirls, but simply a tiny silken rosebud.
The Swan Queen ate nothing but a piece of fruit and a slice of coarsely ground wheat bread with sweet butter. A thin slice. The Sorcerer, this being the first occasion that he had to dine with her privately, scowled darkly at her across the table in candlelight.
"You do not eat enough. You will waste away. Is this the sickness of girls from the fashionable courts, of eating little until their complexions are green with malnourishment?"
The swan too, glared formidably. She said nothing, but the sorcerer stood in a fluid, dangerously graceful motion to stride over and stand over her. He stared down at the half consumed slice of apple, the barely touched piece of bread. He was not pleased.
"You are trying to starve yourself to death as a form of defiance, Lady Queen?" His voice was dark and scathing. He knelt at her side, as she sat with her back ramrod straight, and refused to look at him.
"I do not wish for you to die, my Queen." He came closer, so close she could feel the heat of him radiating into her through her silk robe. His voice was not demanding now, not harsh, nor rude, but infinitely caressing and gentle. Such change she had never seen. He was breaking slowly.
"Stop pretending to ignore me. You know you cannot, my dear Queen. Admit it for the truth that it is." And yet she would not look, breathing shallowly and erratically. She stood slowly, and asked to leave. There was an anguish in his eyes. All was unmasked, lost beyond regaining.
"I have watched you from afar." He whispered.
"May I retire, my lord?" The Lady Swan was turned slowly by warm hands whose heat penetrated her only article of clothing, turned in an infinitely tender manner.
"No you may not." Was her answer, but she had no time for rebuttal, as a passionate, tender mouth covered hers. She struggled hard, but he held her fast in his embrace, and soon as if by magic, she lay limp and indolent in his encircling arms, as his hands moulded her form. They the both of them moaned softly, lost in each other, as they took more from each other. And more. And more yet.
A blazing inferno consumed them, borne of the darkness in which they had resided for so long. And so thus it was unleashed, this strange, powerful force called love.