The next morning, Warin rose before dawn. He packed the great pile of pelts into a huge bundle, and Emmae helped him shoulder it. "Don't cry, I won't be gone long, sweetheart," he said, kissing away her tears. "I will be back late tomorrow night, with ribbons and a ring for you."

"I will be waiting, however late you are," said Emmae. She walked with him to the edge of the forest and watched him disappear down the path to town. Hugging herself close against the early chill, she walked back into the cottage, dried her cheeks on her apron, and took up her sewing on the hearth, already lonely.

Once the sun was fairly up, it turned into another beautiful spring day. Emmae gathered up the linens Warin had left behind and her own things and headed down to the stream that ran near the cottage. She washed their clothing in the clear water, beating and scrubbing it on a rock Warin had shown her for the purpose, until the dirt was out and the clothes were fresh. She wrung them out as dry as she could, and then took them to the lavender bushes that grew in a low hedge near the cottage. Emmae spread them out on the bushes in the sun to dry, as Warin had taught her.

Stretching her back, she looked around the little clearing and spied a clump of daffodils growing wild under the trees. Smiling, she picked three of the bright flowers to bring inside, and walked back into the cottage. She crossed the threshhold and dropped the blooms in shock.

A handsome young man stood by the cottage hearth. His eyes were green and amused, his hair was golden, and he held his slender form gracefully and proudly. The young man smiled and said, "Don't be afraid, girl. My prince and I will not hurt you."

"No," came a voice from behind her, "there's no need for you to fear us, my dear." Emmae turned quickly and there in front of the door stood another man, taller, a bit older, darker. He looked so much like her woodsman that for a moment, Emmae wondered if it wasn't him. But where Warin's eyes were warm, the eyes of this man were cold, dark fire. His voice held all of Warin's deep soothing tone, but she heard only command and no comfort in it. To her horror, she felt a flush begin in her cheeks.

"I am Prince Hildin, brother of your...your husband?" the man said. Emmae shook her head and took a step back, coming up against the blond youth behind her. He took her by the arms gently but firmly. "Not your husband? I see," smiled the prince, coming closer. "Ah--and this is my page, Gill."

Emmae began to breathe faster. She could feel her body responding to these strange men, against her will--just as she had that first night with Warin. What was happening, and why couldn't she stop it? Her eyes stung with tears.

"Don't cry, pretty maid," said the prince. He wiped a tear from her cheek and put the finger in his mouth. "Gill, I believe this lovely child is enchanted. She tastes of magic. Taste for yourself." Emmae felt lips and tongue upon the nape of her neck and just stopped herself from moaning aloud.

"I believe you are correct, your highness," she heard the page say close to her ear.

"Magic?" said Emmae through her tears. "I have no magic!"

"Oh my dear," smiled the prince, "I have enough magic for the two of us. As does my brother, Prince Warin."

"Prince--my Warin is a prince?"

"And a powerful magician, as are all the men of our line. Poor girl," he said with all the sympathy of a snake for a mouse, "did he put a spell on you?" He tilted her chin up to look into his eyes. "And he never told you who and what he was. I'm very disappointed in my brother."

"Warin would never put a spell on me!" Emmae cried. The blond young man laughed softly and nibbled on her ear; her eyelids fluttered and she gasped in surprised pleasure.

"Are you so very sure of him? How did you come to him?" the prince said, moving closer.

"He found me, in the woods. I have no memory of how I came to be there, or who I was before."

"And you never suspected enchantment?" the prince whispered against her lips. He slipped his hands around her waist.

"I--" Poor Emmae could neither breathe nor think. If the page behind her weren't holding her firmly, she felt sure her legs would fold underneath her. She burned with desire for both men, and the shame of it was almost more than she could bear. She closed her eyes and sobbed, and the prince swallowed her cries as he kissed her. She felt the hands of the page move from her arms to cup her breasts, and then she felt a strange lassitude come over her. She looked down to see a silver ring on her right hand that hadn't been there before, and then fell into unconsciousness.

"I've put her to sleep. It won't do to carry a struggling girl through a reflection," said the prince as Gill scooped her up gently. "We must get back through the mirror before my brother returns--oh! It's not a mirror, it's our grandmother's silver service! How funny! I didn't notice when we arrived."

Prince Hildin walked to the hearth, waited for a bright flame, snatched it into a wand, and began writing on the table top. The letters burned and then faded into a glow against the wood. He dismissed the wand, and fetched the silver tray from its perch atop the cupboard, setting it against the wall. "After you," he gestured. Gill bowed slightly, his arms full of girl, and put his foot through the tray. He and Emmae seemed to turn to liquid; their forms swirled into the tray like water through a straw and were gone. Prince Hildin took one last look round the little cottage, curled his lip, and followed.

Hildin swirled into the unused room above his chambers through a tall cheval glass, and took his bearings. The room was paneled in dark wood, with no apparent door; a window faced west, covered with shutters against the afternoon sun. Gill had drawn back the bed curtains and placed the girl on the broad mattress; now he moved quickly to the cheval glass and turned it to the wall. "I will make sure this is removed immediately, your highness," he said to Hildin.

"Be sure it is, and be sure all reflective surfaces in the Keep are covered or safely put away," said the prince. "Tell the staff some nonsense about a quarrelsome lord threatening to come by mirror and kill the king, that sort of thing has actually happened before. I want my brother to return when I'm ready for him, not before. As ill as our father is, I am likely to be king very soon. I should hate to have Warin showing up before the coronation. In the meantime," he said, looking down at the insensible Emmae, "we'll have ourselves some entertainment at my brother's expense. My favorite kind."

At his master's gesture, Gill sat down on the bed beside Emmae and began undressing her. "I wonder who she is, your highness," he said as he tugged at her bodice.

Hildin took her small hand in his and examined it. "Her hands are not those of a peasant--these are signs of unaccustomed work--nor is her complexion. My guess is that she is a rich man's daughter who ran afoul of some common magician, perhaps a rival merchant's hireling. I suggest we find out."

He pulled a light wand from the candle burning at the bedside, and traced golden sigils in the air above her. Hildin studied the glowing silver answer. "Hm," he frowned. "Not at all what I expected. It's a spell, but I can't read it. Gill, leave off playing ladies maid and go fetch the Teacher."

Gill reluctantly touched a spot on the wall. A hidden door opened, and he left the room, returning with a tall, elegant figure in long black robes. The Teacher glared at the prince, and looked sorrowfully down on Emmae, who now lay naked on the bed. "What do you want?"

"She's enchanted."

"I can see that. Your highness," the Teacher added reluctantly.

"Tell me about this spell. I suspect my brother's hand."

The Teacher sighed. "Your father's last sensible order was for me to do your bidding, to a point. Unfortunately, your request falls under that command." The Teacher pulled another light wand from the candle and traced in the air, as Hildin had done, observing the figures gravely. "Prince Warin didn't cast this. This is women's magic--very old and strong magic at that. Emotional magic. There's only one person I know who could have cast it." The Teacher stared at the fading symbols. "It can't be broken, at least not by me. Very possibly it can't be broken at all. It's a kindling spell of some kind, meant to spark another's emotions within the enchanted."

Gill watched, fascinated, as Emmae's breasts rose and fell with each breath. As the color in the boy's cheeks rose, so did the color in the girl's, until she rubbed her legs together and moaned in her sleep.

Hildin smiled. "And I think it's fairly clear which emotions the spell is forcing upon her. Thank you, Teacher."

"What are your intentions toward this girl?"

"None of your concern, but when I'm through with her you can have her for yourself if you want."

The Teacher grew several inches in height and glared again. "If your father knew--"

"But he doesn't, and he won't. We both know he will never awaken again." The Teacher's pale gray eyes glittered with rage. Hildin just laughed. "Get out." The Teacher keyed the magical lock with a thumb and swept out.