The Sorceress of Belmair

“Agreed,” Dillon responded, “but I am more curious as to why they are being taken. There is something wicked here on Belmair.”

Having completed their tour of the islands, the dragon returned them to the royal castle where she once again condensed herself into a smaller size. “Let us now feast,” the dragon said. “And afterward your father and I will preside over your mating with Cinnia. How are you getting along? She is a charming girl, isn’t she?”

“She is spirited, much like my younger sister Zagiri,” Dillon noted. Then he told Nidhug and the prince of his attempts to charm Cinnia, and of how she had rebuffed him.

“A kitten into a viper.” Nidhug chuckled. “The naughty girl, but I am quite enchanted that you turned the viper into pink snowflakes, Your Majesty. It is obvious that Prince Kaliq has taught you about women, as well as magic.”

“Do not women possess a magic of their own that is to be courted?” Dillon asked her with a smile.

The dragon rolled her beautiful eyes, and her eyelashes fluttered coquettishly. “I am, for the first time, envious of a human female,” she said.

Her two companions chuckled. They entered the Great Hall of the castle. It had a high ceiling with beams carved and gilded with both gold and silver, as well as painted in red and blue. The arched windows lining the hall on both sides were recessed into the stone walls. The glass in them was clear with designs showing pastoral scenes in stained glass. Beautifully woven silk and wool tapestries hung on the gray stone walls between the windows. There were three great fireplaces in the hall, one on either side of the chamber, and the third behind the high board. The floors were slabs of gray stone.

The hall was empty but for Cinnia, who waited for them before the high board. She was garbed in a simple loose purple silk gown with a boat neckline and flowing sleeves. A thin chain of gold links decorated with pale amethyst crystals sat upon her hips. Her long black hair was pulled back into a single strand. She looked both fragile and strong at the same time. Kneeling before Dillon, she said, “I bid you welcome home, Your Majesty. The meal is ready at your command.”

Dillon raised her up. “Do not kneel to me again, Cinnia. If it is Belmairan tradition that a wife kneel before her husband, it is a tradition that I will not continue. You are a great sorceress, and you are my wife. I mean to make you queen.”

Her green eyes lit up with joy, but then the happiness faded away, and she shook her head at him. “I would be nothing but a consort if Your Majesty desired it, but I would have no authority even over our household. In Belmair, all is the king’s.”

Dillon turned to the dragon. “Is this a tradition that is written in stone?” he asked.

“Nay, it is not. But it has always been done this way,” the dragon answered him.

Dillon considered, then said, “As I am not Belmairan born, but am now nonetheless the undisputed king of Belmair, could I not make this change, and allow others to understand this is my way of honoring Cinnia, the great sorceress of Belmair, who is now my wife? Whose help I will need if I am to govern wisely and well?”

“There will at first be a certain amount of grumbling,” the dragon replied, “but I believe that to honor Cinnia as your first official act as Belmair’s king would quickly be seen as respecting Belmair and its traditions.”

“Then I shall do it,” Dillon said. He turned to Cinnia again. “You understand that the final word in all things but the household will be mine?”

“I do, Your Majesty! Thank you!” Her green eyes were shining now.

“And you will call me by my name when we are in private, or in an informal setting?” he asked smiling at her.

She nodded. “I will, Your…Dillon.”

“Then it is settled, and now please see that the meal is served. Our guests and I are hungry,” Dillon told her with a grin.

Taking her arm, he escorted her up onto the dais and seated her to his left at the high board. The prince sat on his right, and the dragon to Kaliq’s right. Cinnia signaled the servants to begin serving the meal, and Dillon watched, amazed at the separate menu of foods brought to the dragon. When the meal had concluded, and Nidhug had consumed the final of her eight sherry-soaked whipped-cream cakes, a minstrel came into the hall and sang for them. A serving woman appeared and whispered something into Cinnia’s ear. She nodded.

“It is time for me to go and prepare for our formal mating ritual, my lord,” she said rising from her seat. “You will be sent for when I am ready.” Then before he might speak she hurried away.

“What preparations will she make?” Dillon asked Nidhug.

“She will be thoroughly bathed so her body is pleasing to you,” the dragon replied. “The ritual consists of you coupling with her before witnesses, in this case the prince and me. Once you have been joined none has the right to separate you. This is why I prevented Dreng from arriving tonight. Your father accepted you as his successor. She accepted you for her husband, and as her king. You took Fflergant’s last breath. Now the last thing to be done is the joining. Once that is accomplished the deed is done, you will be king of Belmair until the last of the purple sands in your life glass is gone to the bottom. From the looks of the glass, that will be many years hence, Your Majesty.”

“If she is to bathe, then I should like to bathe also,” Dillon said, but the dragon shook her head.

“Nay, not until afterward. Cinnia’s body must be imprinted with your natural scent so it will always recognize you,” the dragon explained.

“Belmairans have sensitive skin,” the prince explained to his son. “Once her skin has been imprinted by yours, it will always recognize you even if you scent yourself.”

“How odd,” Dillon murmured low. Then he said to Kaliq, “What other little surprises are in store for me?”

Kaliq shrugged. “I have never lived in Belmair,” he replied.

“Is Cinnia a virgin?” Dillon asked the dragon.

If a creature could looked shocked, Nidhug certainly did at the query. “Of course!” she exclaimed. “Why would you think otherwise?”

“It is not a requirement in either Terah or Hetar that a girl be a virgin on her marriage. That she cleve to her husband once she is, is expected,” Dillon said. “I ask because a virgin would require more gentleness, more care, than a girl who has experienced passion a time or more. Is she aware of the differences between bodies male and female? Does she have any idea of what to expect?”

“Aye, she knows what is required,” Nidhug answered him. “I have taught her myself. Knowledge she has. Experience she is lacking.” The dragon chuckled. “Again, I must express my envy for my pupil. Your father’s prowess as a lover has extended even here to Belmair. I can but imagine what his son, and the son of a faerie woman, is like.”

“For Cinnia’s sake,” Dillon asked his two companions, “can you render yourselves invisible if you must be within the chamber? I have made love to women in my father’s hall surrounded by his brothers and their women. But this will be her first experience, and I think she should be put at her ease as much as possible.”

“Are you as fierce with your opponents as you are tender with your wife?” the dragon wondered aloud.

“I am,” Dillon surprised her by answering.

The serving woman now returned, and going directly to Dillon said, “Your Majesty, my lady awaits your coming.”

Dillon arose and followed the woman out of the hall. He was interested to see that they traveled along a well-lit corridor, at the end of which he saw a large oak door. The serving woman stopped and pointed before turning about and hurrying off back down the hallway. Dillon saw no knob upon the door, so putting out his hand he silently commanded it to open. The door remained shut. Interesting, he thought. And then he smiled. “Open for King Dillon, and in future always recognize my hand upon thee, or my footfall as I approach thee.”

The door swung open, and Dillon stepped into the chamber. It was a circular room with a stone floor and a glass ceiling that came to a witch’s peak. There was but one piece of furniture in the room, an enormous oaken bedstead hung with gold and red tapestried curtains. The pillars of the bed were carved around with grapevines. The headboard, though half-hidden by goose-down pillows, showed a stag and a doe as they ran through a forest. The wood canopy had a glass top that allowed those in the bed to gaze up through the glass ceiling to the night sky.

“Are you going to take off your garments?” Cinnia asked him.

He had been so intrigued by the simplicity of the chamber and the intricacy of the bed’s carvings that he hadn’t looked to see if she was in the bed. She was, sitting up, a scrap of silk covering her breasts.

“Have you ever seen a naked man?” he asked her as he began to strip off his clothing. He let it drop to the floor for there was no place where he might lay them.

“Nidhug has shown me pictures,” Cinnia said. “But, nay, I have never seen a naked man not in a book. Are Hetarians different from Belmairans?”

“Since we come from the same root stock originally, I do not think so,” he said. He was fully naked now, having kicked his soft felt shoes off. He turned so she might look at him. “What do you think? Am I the same as the men in the book?”

“You are bigger,” she replied.

“How?” he asked her.

“All over,” she said. “You look very strong, my lord.”

“I am. I have been trained to be not just one thing, but many. My grandfather was a great swordsman, and my mother is famed as a warrior, as well.”

“We rarely fight here on Belmair,” Cinnia told him. “We are a peaceful folk.”

“Peace is the better route,” he agreed, “but sometimes you must fight to protect what you hold dear else it be taken from you. I prefer the use of magic to solve problems, but I have also been trained to be a warrior by the same Shadow Prince who trained my mother before me. If I must fight, I can.”

“Have you ever fought?” she asked, curious.