The Warrior King

Eight

I was in heaven. The Warrior King (excuse me, Tristan) had me pressed up against him, with his gorgeous lips on mine. It felt like a dream. 

My eyes flew open. Of course, this was all a dream. I wasn't really at the Great Hall; I was in my bed at home on the farm dreaming about being at the Freedom Feast. Even though it felt so real, I had to prove to myself that I was indeed asleep and having the best dream of my life.

Gently, I moved back from the Warrior King (whose name obviously wasn't Tristan; that was just the name my sub-conscience had given to him). His eyes were now black with desire and he had a confused look on his face. Of course, he would want me since this was a dream, I reasoned. I should be able to validate that this was all in my head.

Placing my hands on his stomach, I felt his abs through the soft fabric of his shirt. My mind was certainly capable of creating the perfect man. I could feel his breathing getting ragged as I ran my hands up his chest. I could feel what felt like more scars and I frowned. His heartbeat became more rapid under the fingertips of my left hand, as my right hand reached up and traced the scar on his neck.

"f**k woman, " he cursed hoarsely, his hands tightening on my waist. I smiled. There it was; proof that this was a dream. It wasn't possible that I could have an effect like this on a man.

"That explains it," I said, no longer shy. I knew this wasn't real.

"Explains what?" 

"This. All of this. Obviously, it's all a dream," I laughed. 

"You think this is a dream?" the Warrior King asked, his tone flat. My confidence wavered. 

"Well, uh, yes, of course, it has to be," I stammered. "There's no way the Warrior King would actually allow me to touch him."

He pulled my body hard against his. I could feel his very warm, very REAL breath against my ear as he bent his head and whispered, "Believe me, this is not a dream and I very badly want you to touch me everywhere." Holy Mother of Miel. This was really happening. 

Tristan straightened up and tucked my hand into the crook of his elbow. "We need to get to camp,” he said as if he hadn't just been reducing me to jelly. We began to walk in the direction of his camp just outside the city fence. Silas fell into step next to me, practically silent. His back came up just past my hip and I placed my other hand on him, weaving my fingers through the soft fur.

We walked in comfortable silence, the three of us. Occasionally I would steal a glance at Tristan's face. He appeared calm and relaxed, his eyes continuously scanning our surroundings. 

It was about a five-minute walk from the Great Hall to outside the city limits. As we approached, the guards on duty snapped to attention. Tristan gave a curt nod and motioned to two pages who were standing just behind the guards. They were about thirteen years old and dressed in black pants and black shirts. One sleeve was gold and the other purple, their attire denoting their position. The boys rushed forward, bumping into each other, before giving Tristan low bows.

"Uther, Dresden, please bring Raoul and Shelby to my tent immediately, then bring two trays of food and drink. Afterward, dispatch a message to the castle for them to prepare to receive their new queen," he ordered. The boys stood rooted in their spots, mouths open, looking at me, then Tristan, then back at me.

"Queen?" one of them squeaked. He had flaming red hair and freckles covered his face. 

"Uther!" his counterpart hissed. Both boys stood up straight, saluted, and ran off to complete their tasks. The soldiers on duty had also heard the word "queen" and began to mumble amongst themselves. 

"As you were," Tristan barked and the men resumed their rigid positions. Tristan placed his hand on the small of my back and guided me through the camp.

Loud cheers and music came from the center of the camp. It was probably the bonded soldiers who chose to stay with the king until he returned home. We avoided the noise and stayed in the shadows until we arrived at a large tent. The flaps had been drawn back and Silas gently nudged me to enter. The inside was fairly plain with a sleeping mat, pillow, and a large pile of blankets on one side and a table with two chairs on the other. Along the back panel of the tent was a rack holding three of the largest battle axes I had ever seen. I knew they were the king's weapon of choice and I could see why. Up close they were huge and intimidating; intricate designs laid out in the metal made them almost seem like art but the light from a nearby oil lamp gave them a scary glow. 

Silas padded past me and dropped onto the pile of blankets with a wolfy huff. Tristan stood behind me and even though the night air was starting to get cooler, my hands were hot and sweaty. I discreetly wiped them on my dress before I took a step further into the tent. We both turned at the sound of footsteps behind us. 

A man of medium height and build dressed in regular clothing appeared. He had dark features, black hair pulled back, and a beard cropped close to his face. He radiated good energy and bowed deeply to Tristan.

"You wanted to see me your highness?" he asked. He had a slight lilt of an accent. Tristan nodded.

"Yes. Sasha, this is High Dominie Raoul,” he said. The High Dominie was the leader of the Dominie, magical members of the kingdom's religion. They served in each of the districts, responsible for rituals and ceremonies.  He was also the most powerful magical person, second only to the Warrior King. “Raoul, I would like you to prepare for my enlace," he instructed. Raoul looked from Tristan to me, smiling.

"Congratulations my Lord!" he said stepping forward to clasp Tristan's arm. "When shall we perform the ceremony?"

"Tonight."