Chapter 12 | The Tale of Two Kingdoms

Warin and Emmae didn't leave their bed the next morning, or the next one, or the one after that. They left only to stoke the fire, to eat, and to relieve themselves, before returning to the warmth of the blankets and a lover's arms. When on the fourth day they finally arose, happy, dazed and incredulous, they each knew every inch of the other's body, and though neither said anything, they were deeply in love.

The first thing Emmae did was start heating washing water for them over the fire. The first thing Warin did was start building them a bigger bed.

Every day, Warin would head out to inspect the trap lines, for food and for furs, leaving Emmae to take care of the cottage. When they finally could be in each other's presence of a night without tumbling passionately onto the nearest surface, Warin made her a rocking chair. They would sit companionably by the fire as she sewed him new clothes, and he finished her boots and moved on to rabbit fur mittens so she could join him outside in the cold now and again. Every once in a while, Warin would think of what he needed to do to lift Emmae's spell, but it meant leaving her alone for weeks in the dead of winter while he made an uncertain search. She would smile at him over the table,and all thoughts of leaving her were out of the question. It would wait, he decided, until after the snow melted.

Warin had never been so happy in his life, and if Emmae had, she didn't remember it.

Autumn turned to winter, and winter to spring. The pile of furs in the shed was high, and supplies were low; Warin would have to go trading soon to the nearby towns. As they dug through the cupboard one morning taking inventory not long after Pagg's Day, they saw they'd finally come to the back of it.

"Nothing for it," said Warin. "It's time to go into town. We're almost completely out of grain and oil, and I should like some new spring butter. And you!" he said, picking Emmae up and swinging her around, "you deserve ribbons for your hair and a bolt of linen for your summer dress, and maybe even a pretty little ring for your finger, hey?"

She laughed. "A ring for my finger, sir? Will you take me to wife, then, a girl with no people or even a proper name?"

"If you would have me," he said, pulling her close.

"I have you every night!" she said, kissing him. "Of course I would have you as my husband."

"Once we find your people you may change your mind. You may turn out to be some great lady."

"I don't care if we ever find my people. If I had any people who cared about me, they'd be looking for me by now. They'd have found me by now." Something in the cupboard caught her eye. "What's this?" She pulled away from him to examine an old and ornate set of silver candlesticks, a silver wine pitcher and a great silver tray, black with tarnish and hiding in the back of the cupboard.

"Ah, those were my inheritance from my grandmother. I've kept them out of sentiment and just in case I needed to sell something for food. I dislike them. Keep them in the cupboard, please."

"Can I come into town with you? Please? I don't remember what a town is like, and it sounds exciting!"

Warin paused. How could he explain how dangerous it would be for her, without telling her about the enchantment? "It's just a widespot in the mud, nothing exciting about it. I'm going to do our business, turn around and come back. I'll be gone two days, that's all. No--no begging. I won't change my mind. I'll have too much to do to conduct our trading without worrying about someone stealing you away from me."

The next day was the first fine day of the spring. The air was chilly but fresh. Warin left the cottage early for one last gathering trip through his forest; certain kinds of rare medicinal mosses and mushrooms grew near the cottage, and Warin could get almost as much for a handful of moss as he could for a fine pelt.

"I will be gone until quite late. I expect you to have your chores finished when I get back," he teased.

Emmae laughed. "I shall have them done, sir, and more!" She kissed him goodbye so sweetly he nearly didn't get out the door, but eventually he tore himself away and headed into the woods, turning back once to see her smiling in his doorway.

As he disappeared down the trail, Emmae turned back into the house. She bound up her lustrous hair in a kerchief, tied on her apron, and set to work. She opened all the windows to the warming spring air and swept the cobwebs from the cottage rafters. She aired the bedding, started their supper, and dusted the little cottage until not a speck of dirt lurked anywhere.

Finally, she turned to the cupboard. She took out the fine silver pieces inside, all black with tarnish. Why keep them shut away unpolished, she thought, it made no sense. She rubbed and rubbed until she laughed to see her hands turn black and the silver wink and shine in the sunlight. Quite beautiful, really, she thought, Warin will be pleased when he sees them all cleaned up. Satisfied, she put the candlesticks and pitcher on the mantel and the tray atop the cupboard.

When Warin returned from the woods that night, he found the cottage meticulously clean, his supper waiting on the hearth, and Emmae sound asleep with her head on the table. He smiled to see her hands were red from work-no more a pampered girl, but a woodsman's woman--and he stroked her hair away from her face as he had the day he'd found her.

Emmae raised her head sleepily and smiled up at him. She stood and pulled him close. "I missed you," she murmured into his mouth as he kissed her.

"And I missed you, Emmae," he answered. He moved to her neck, where he knew his kisses and bites would make her shiver in his arms.

"Aren't you hungry?" she whispered, as he unlaced her bodice.

"Oh, yes," he replied, his hand already at her breast. He set Emmae on the table and pushed up her skirts, slipping his other hand up her thigh as he did to stroke her. He smiled as her eyes half closed with pleasure, and gasped when she cupped him in her hand. Warin caught both of her wrists, pinned them on the table, and pushed inside her. She wrapped her legs around his waist and groaned. He moved until she cried out his name, then he took his own pleasure with a shout. Warin clung to her, kissing her still-trembling lips and whispering endearments as she wiped the sweat from his brow with gentle fingers.

Atop the cupboard, the newly-polished silver tray reflected their still-joined bodies in the firelight.

In a castle far away, high in a tower, sat a Prince of Tremont. His eyes were a hard brown, and his long wavy hair and beard were nearly black. His face was all angular planes but for his mouth, which was full and sensual. Overall it was a cruel face, for all the promise of his lips. "Well, well," said the prince to himself. He stared into the mirror he held in one hand, and sipped from the cup of wine in the other.

"Prince Hildin?" said a blond young man at his elbow. He refilled the prince's cup.

"My brother--your cousin," answered Prince Hildin. "He has forgotten himself in more ways than one." The prince gestured towards the mirror with his cup. "See for yourself, Gill."

The page peered over his lord's shoulder into the mirror. He could see the prince dimly in the glass, and his own reflection--softly curling golden hair framing a clean-shaven face not long out of boyhood, and leaf green eyes whose sharp intensity conflicted with the overall gentleness of his face. But more clearly he could see two figures, a man and a woman at a table in a small cottage, seen as if from a short height. The man he recognized as Prince Warin, his master's older brother and his own cousin; the woman he didn't know.

Gill watched as Warin kissed the girl and sat her on the table top, opening her bodice. He pushed her skirts up to her waist as she wrapped her legs around him. The two of them made a delicious contrast. She was soft, plump, rosy curves, he was hard, brown, lean lines, and the sight of them moving together was hypnotic.

Gill drew in a sharp breath. The prince chuckled and stroked the back of his page's thigh. "Beautiful, isn't she?" said the prince. "I wonder that he risks a woman-a companion of any kind. I wonder where he found such a one as her. And more," he said, retrieving his wine cup, "I wonder that he's allowed a mirror in the house. Perhaps he's finally surrendered to his vanity. Or perhaps he's inviting us to his home, wherever that is? To meet the lady of the house?"

Prince Hildin propped the mirror on the table in front of him, shifted the wine cup to his now-free hand and returned to stroking Gill's thigh. In the mirror his brother was saying something to the girl as they made love on the table. "Pity we can't hear them," the prince said softly. At a sound from Gill, the prince looked up. The page's hands were flexing around the bottle of wine he carried, and he watched the couple in the mirror with hooded eyes. His hardening cock made a clear outline against the soft fabric of his tunic. "Why, Gill, I believe you're enjoying this."

"I'm sorry, your highness," the page said huskily, dropping his eyes to the floor immediately.

"Don't be. Come, you can see better from here," said the prince with a sly smile, patting his knee. The slender young man placed the wine bottle next to the mirror and sat in the prince's lap. "Enjoy yourself all you'd like," Prince Hildin said as his arm encircled the page's waist. "I intend to."

Gill leaned into the prince, one hand reaching down between their bodies. He kept his eyes on the mirror and caressed his master's hardness. Hildin's hand drifted from Gill's waist under his tunic to the fastenings of his hose, freeing him. "Show me your need, boy," muttered the prince. Gill took himself in hand and began to stroke, but soon Hildin replaced Gill's hand with his own. The page grunted and thrust up into the prince's fist, eyes never leaving the mirror. "You like her, don't you? You want those sweet titties for yourself."

"Yes," grated Gill.

"Well, then, we shall pay a visit to my brother, and we shall discover who this girl is," said the prince. "This is obviously more than a casual encounter, there's some emotion involved. And she's no village slut, that much I can see already. In fact, it may be that my brother intends to return to my father, noble bride in hand, to take back his birthright. And we can't have that."

In the mirror, Warin threw his head back and collapsed into his woman's arms. In the prince's arms, the page tensed and relaxed in time with the hand wrapped around his length, until he too cried out, spent and panting. Gill slipped out of the prince's lap and took his master into his mouth. The images in the mirror stayed entwined, kissing and caressing one another. "As pretty as that picture is," Hildin murmured as he stroked Gill's hair, "I intend to alter it."