Chapter 3

The army of Nova Britannia, both Fay and Human forces, had been mobilized and every bodily sound man over the age of seventeen had been drafted into the army and given a sword. Rowan wasn't happy about the draft and he had his reasons, but the council voted on it and even as Queen I didn't have the power to undo the decision. Rowan did the best he could by leaving the men least skilled in battle behind to guard the castle so that they wouldn't be slaughtered on the battle field. I watched Rowan address the army in the hour before they left, as I stood on the ramparts above them. He didn't say much but by then he didn't need to. Everyone knew the story. In those few days since our ride to the city it had been repeated so many times I'm sure even the walls had come to understand it. It was all that anyone talked of. They knew Rowan's part in it and he was even more well loved for it than before. He had already been, to them, a man who loved his home and family enough to go above and beyond in his fight for peace, but who now loved the strange girl he'd found in the forest and made his wife, so much that he would do even more. He would help her finish the revolution she'd been conceived to start, and expose his Fay blood and wear it like a badge of honour. It turned out that nearly a third of the Human army had at least some Fay blood, and that another sixth or so were somehow connected to the Fay. Those who had been living hidden lives breathed a sigh of relief. Not that I'm saying everything was perfectly easy as these things took place, they weren't, but the Fay were glad to stop hiding and the humans were so generally appreciative to have allies that for the time being differences were overlooked and those who had been loyal to Queen Sulamith would abide by her wishes.

The rows upon rows of armed soldiers stood in wait on that overcast morning. Sometimes I would see their faces turn up towards me where I stood with Raphael, Nimue, the chancellor and other members of the court in the cold damp wind. Rowan, astride his big black war horse, bellowed at the army, “Whatever was different between us four days ago doesn't exist anymore! Lets show this pretend prince and the scum who would follow him what we're made of!”

The roar that went up from that army was so loud that I could feel it with my fingertips, then I stood and watched as they filed away from me. My brothers. My friends. My husband. Rowan sat for several minutes looking up at me before kicking Snicker Doodle into a trot and taking his place at the head of the army. I stayed there quiet, still, completely motionless as my heart was caught in a crushing grip in my chest. I felt Nimue's fingers close around mine and as the wind blew colder and harder I remember Raphael stepping forward and sheltering us with his wings. It happened several times that year and each time was the same.

That first battle was a victory for us but only by a very narrow margin. Cole didn't come home. Mikail and Nuriel often served as messengers, taking turns flying by night, back to the city. I remember Nuriel kneeling in front of my black haired sister, as she stood there in her nightgown, I remember him telling her gently that her love was gone. I spent many hours sitting with Nimue as she cried in my arms, trying not to think too hard about what she was going through. There were endless council meetings and it didn't take them long to figure out how much I hated bickering. I wished so much for Fenna. I missed her but the roads had gotten far too dangerous for her to be able to come to me. I had Morgana, Sarah, Nimue, Yuka, and Arariel with me which was truly a blessing as the Ladies of the court could be a little like popular girls at a high school. Fenna and Nessa were so unaffected and natural. It didn't take me long to realize that the other rich families in Nova Britannia didn't raise their daughters the same way. Some of the things that Rowan had said to me when we'd been getting to know each other made more sense now, especially his comments about rich men's pampered daughters. Although not all of the court ladies were like that. Ingrid and Heather were truly sweet and without calculation or venom. Their openness and curiosity lead them to form friendships and attachments in the non-Human camp almost from the start. Ingrid was teaching me how to sew and how to play the harp and Heather, another one of those six foot tall stunning Celtic redheads, had formed an almost immediate attachment with Mikail. Mikail's wings and hair were blue black, his long lashed eyes like deep pools and his skin was deep bronze. You can imagine what he looked like next to a milky skinned redhead. They were very beautiful together. I tried not to stare. But the other ladies . . .? Well let's just say that I while I seemed perfectly able to handle council meetings and cranky politicians, I was sometimes taken aback by how ill equipped I was to handle catty gossiping women, and oh how the gossip did fly. They were curious about me and I understood that. I understood that they would talk about me. I was new, and I was mysterious, and I was the Queen. But there was one thing that topped off the awkward factor, and that was the fact that Rowan was mine, and he was devoted to me.

I remember one night early in our time together, lying in bed completely blissed out, looking at him, his eyes holding mine with their warm dark fire. His hair loose, dark, making shadows on his beautiful face as he smiled at me trying to lure me in.

“You're not as new to this as I am, are you?” I asked him and his smile turned just a little bit sheepish and he laughed.

“Not quite,” he chuckled. “It's a little bit embarrassing actually.” And he told me about life in the King's Castle and the 'ladies' there. “It's not entirely that they mean to be the way they are, but there is a lot of competition amongst those families and they place pressure on their daughters to make good matches. I'm from a good family, I'm the Captain of the Army, my grandmother is the head of the council and apparently I'm not too hard on the eyes. I constitute a good catch and sometimes, if a girl thinks she has a chance with someone she'll take a risk and sneak into his bed at night in the hopes that once a man has had a taste of what she has to offer, that he'll ask her to be his.” Rowan looked a bit uncomfortable but told me anyway, “I was never quite sure how to deal with it. Sometimes it's hard to resist a soft body and warm arms. It depended on the girl. If I knew she had been pressured into it by her parents I would send her away as nicely as I could, and usually with a bee in her ear about waiting for someone she actually cared about. But if it was a girl with a reputation,” he made a face then asked me, “Do you know what I mean by that?” I nodded. “Then I figured that as long as I made it clear, before anything happened, that she shouldn't expect any promises or commitments from me, that it was her choice whether to stay or go. Sometimes they stayed,” he shrugged, “but they were the ones turning up in my bed. It wasn't the other way around. And a handful of one night stands hardly constitutes real experience.”

“Did you ever get anyone . . .” I trailed off not entirely sure I wanted to know.

“Pregnant?” Rowan finished.

I nodded.

“Not that I know of. Although I obviously can't say for sure. I always tried to pull out, which I know isn't a guarantee, but the girls . . . they planned these things. They would never pick a day during their fertile phase to try sneaking into someone's bed. It's one thing to risk your heart or your honour, but risking a pregnancy? No.” Rowan shook his head again.

“So if you could have had any girl, then why me?” I asked him. I was smiling. I was just playing, hoping he would say something dashing and try to lure me in again.

He was lying there propped up on one elbow, eyes twinkling merrily. “It's because you make me look tall,” he said flippantly.

I put my hand on his chest and shoved him and he laughed as he let himself fall back onto the pillow. But then he looked over at me, ran the backs of his fingers down my cheek and his expression softened. “It's because I love you,” he told me and I melted completely. No luring necessary. I was his.

But . . . the Ladies? They could really get under my skin especially with all of the men away for weeks at a time fighting to protect us. I would pace the corridors alone, save for Raphael who loathed my habit. I paced, nauseous, worried, my hands moving restlessly over the small curve of my belly and I would pass a sitting room. I could hear them gossiping. I know that it comforted them. It was normal for them, but it wasn't my way.

One afternoon as I passed an alcove while walking softly and soundlessly in a hall, Raphael leaning against the end of the corridor, my grumpy resigned protector. I could hear two women speaking to each other. It was a hushed relaxed conversation. They spoke easily, as if confident that no one was there to hear them, and if it wasn't for my obsessive hall walking, there wouldn't have been.

“What do you suppose she has that I don't?” It was Bridget. Rowan had warned me about her. She was pretty enough, with a perfect Barbie doll body and nice skin, but years earlier, Rowan had learned the hard way to stay away from her, or more accurately, to keep her away from his bed.

“I don't know why you're even bothering to compare yourself to her,” Heidi. Less vicious, insipid as hell. “You're her polar opposite. He obviously has a taste for . . . well . . . women who aren't like you,” she said lamely.

I leaned against the wall outside the drawn curtains and listened. I picked up a bad habit of eavesdropping, living in that castle. Raphael, curious as to what had caught my attention, tiptoed towards me and I raised a finger to my lips.

“She's a strange, quiet, little, creature.” These words could be spoken in such a way that the described could come across as sweet, quirky and endearing, but the way Bridget spoke the words was as if she had just found something creepy under a log.

Heidi said, “I know what you mean. I can't imagine what he sees in her, and after you gave yourself to him he really should have asked you. Do you suppose he asked her because of her position?”

“Don't be silly,” Bridget snapped. “We've all heard the story. He had no idea she was the queen and neither did she.”

“Oh, well then,” Heidi again. “At least you'd already lost your virginity to someone else. It's not as if you wasted it on Rowan.”

Raphael and I exchanged looks.

There was a disgruntled silence from the other side of the curtains before Bridget gave an explosive sigh and said, “I wonder if she was a virgin?” The tone was absolutely snarky.

This was where I lost my inhibitions and, driven by irritation and a desire to put Bridget in her place, I opened the curtains and said with a bright smile, “Just to set the record straight, one; I was a virgin. Two; Rowan likes to be the pursuer, not the pursued. And three; I make him look tall.”

I said all of this as smugly as I could to the shocked, gaping, dismayed, five foot ten inch tall Bridget, then I walked away smiling, thankful for probably only the second time in my life to be only five feet tall. The icing on the cake was Raphael doubled over laughing as I walked away then following after me staggering and gasping as he held his sides. I didn't have any problems with Bridget after that.

Life on the whole though, was grim. I think that at first, Raphael felt that he was missing out somehow by not leaving to fight with the rest of the army, and that his remaining behind as my bodyguard would be seen as cowardice. That was until the first assassination attempt. The castle was well guarded and not just by the drafted men who Rowan had left behind but by several Glaistig and by the barrier, similar to what was used to keep the strongholds hidden, but an elf managed to slip through by slitting the throat of one of the Dryads who had been maintaining the barrier, then creeping slowly through the castle. Getting past Raphael was hopeless though. He has elf radar. He said he can feel them coming. There were a couple more attempts that had Raphael on edge and gave me trouble sleeping, but once the enemy drew the conclusion that getting to me would take significantly more resources than a single assassin, they laid off. Raphael, though, was glad he'd stayed behind. Despite that, Raphael and I had a strange relationship. It could be uneasy and we drove each other a little crazy sometimes. If Raphael and I had ever had a time that was ours, it wouldn't have lasted. We would have been like Italian lovers. Always fighting, always yelling, and throwing each other's clothes out the window. It would have been beautiful and passionate, and the love would always be there, but the relationship would have crumbled. We could both see it and it made life easier in a way.

Rowan was gone from mid October until just before the winter solstice. While we had won the first round it was not a decisive win and my Darling Uncle—this was Liam's name for him and he said it with such bitterness and venom that it was hard not to adopt the term—saw that our win was not as decisive as it could have been and changed his strategy, bringing in illegally sourced weapons from the other world and switching to guerrilla tactics. Rowan withdrew our forces and adapted quickly—although not as quickly as he thought he should have—and while we took a blow we managed, by a thread, to maintain the upper hand. We had an advantage by then and that was magic. I was right in the end, about the Angels' secret. It was the source of the elves magic and from the time the secret was told onward the elves began a gradual decline. In a matter of weeks they were no more magical than lumps of rock. Now they were simply men with black hearts. No more enchanted weapons, no more charms to drive the men they were fighting insane. No more swarms of spell cast bees on the battle field, but now they had guns and bombs and they were nearly as bad. Luckily they were unable to procure enough weapons to outfit their entire army and without the ability to cross the threshold between the worlds they would eventually run out, but still . . . It left me more terrified for Rowan than ever. Magic, he could handle. He was unbeatable with a sword, but bullets? He'd taken one before. If the elves had gotten a chance to enchant the weapons before their power had faded they would be twice as deadly. We didn't know then if the elves prior enchantments would fade with their abilities gone.

At the end of November after one of our spies, Nessa of all people, delivered a crucial piece of information, we were able to land a major blow; find and destroy their cache of weapons and take out their base of operations. We used one of their own bombs to do it by enlisting the help of a munitions expert that Flanagan found for us in the other world. Malik had to fly it in and Nessa was supposed to be there to help him plant it before they got out together, but something went wrong with that part of the plan. We don't know what happened and we never will. They never made it to the rendezvous point, but the bomb went off.

Rowan came back to the city along with most of the army. Seamus' army was scattered and a storm had hit that was unlike anything that Nova Britannia had ever experienced before. The temperature must have dropped to nearly minus ten degrees Celsius and feet of snow fell. The winds were so high that even the angels couldn't fly. No one could fight in that weather. It had never before been so cold in those parts. I waited, holding my breath as my stomach tied itself in knots.

It was terribly cold the day the army returned. I couldn't see them through the heavily falling snow from my vantage point up on the ramparts, and I remember driving Raphael crazy as I ran down and up the stairs from the ramparts to the courtyard and back again as their estimated time of arrival drew near. Suddenly a shadow was emerging through the blind of snow flakes as the army rode up and Rowan was outside the gates giving orders to the exhausted soldiers. I headed for the stairs and ran down to the courtyard, but the doors weren't opening yet, so back up I ran again. I was frantic. I think that all of the people watching must have questioned my sanity as Raphael once again followed me up the stairs complaining. “For a pregnant girl who vomits at least twice a day you sure do have a lot of energy. Can't you just wait in the courtyard?”

“I can't, Raphael. I just want him to be here now and I can't stay still.” I reached the ledge of the ramparts, looked down, saw that the gates were being opened, and turned again and ran down the long spiral staircase. I remember the colour of the silk and velvet dress I wore. It was red. Like cherries, like blood against the snow that was falling. I ran out into the courtyard and kept going through the gates dropping the heavy wool shawl I'd had pulled around me. My slippers were wet and my fingers cold. The wind lifted and whipped my hair. The sun was setting, resting on the horizon briefly, and shining below the clouds, turning the heavily falling snow gold and turning the world, for the briefest moment, into a beautiful place once more as I ran to Rowan. He was passing the reins of his horse to a squire and he turned and saw me just before I reached him. It's a profound thing to see someone else's need and love for you in their eyes, to see their relief at having you back written in their look, and reflecting back at you, your own need, love and relief. He held me so tightly as the sun slipped away. I could feel his armour digging into me and feel the prickle of his unshaven jaw against my brow, but to be close to him . . . to be in his arms . . . I cried out, loudly, the fear and worry that I'd been holding in, and he stroked my hair and kissed my face as if no one was watching. “My love, my love,” he whispered. Then becoming aware of the world again, and that it held more than simply love and relief he said, “Lets go in, you must be freezing.”