Love & War
Chapter 3

Elliot

“Pardon?” The small woman in front of me is shaking hard. I don’t know if it is from fear or the cold. Probably both.

Why isn’t she wearing a cloak?

She is only wearing the purple and copper elven dress from before. Her bleeding legs peek from the slits in her gown. On her right arm, there is a large black bruise. For whatever reason, this gets my blood boiling. On her left, there is a golden cuff of some kind. Her big green eyes are sad.

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

What is this feeling? Oh! Oh no. It’s her. The woman from the forest. I’m almost positive.

“I need you to marry me,” she repeats in a quieter tone. Is she losing her resolve? Why would she want to marry me?

“And just why would I do that,” I ask, setting my sword to the side. She bites her bottom lip and looks me in the eye.

What reason could she have? What happened to this beautiful girl? Wait. No. Stop it.

“It would be mutually beneficial. If we wed, by law you would be king of the fae kingdom.” Her gaze drops to the floor.

“And why would I want the glitter shit kingdom?” I almost laugh. She cringes like I have struck her. I feel a small pang of guilt.

Why should I care about this rapska? Or her sad eyes. Or her injuries. Stop it, Elliot.

“Think of how beneficial our resources could be to your kingdom. Medicinal access, clean water, and trade for example,” she fidgets with her gown.

Do I make you nervous? Interesting. But she’s not wrong.

“And what would be in it for you?” I ask, narrowing my eyes.

Status? No. She’s already a princess. Is this a joke? It has to be.

“I would not have to go through with getting married to the Dragon-Kind prince. And you could divorce me later.” A strange look crosses her face.

I wouldn’t want to marry that slimy toadstool either. But divorce? Out of the question.

“I can’t divorce you without just cause. That’s not what my people do,” I say. She looks down for a moment then meets my gaze.

“Then you can kill me. It would be better than what I am returning to,” her bottom lip quivers and she fidgets with her hands. She looks like she could cry at any moment.

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

Stop it!

“And just why would I kill you?”

She can’t be serious. The look on her face tells me otherwise though. What the fuck?

“Because you are the Fae slayer. The infamous Banamaðr. Cut my wings from my back and add them to your collection. Do with me as you wish,” she says clenching her fists to her sides.

I look at her from head to toe. She looks so fragile and sad. Something in my chest aches. I can see tears brimming in her eyes.

What is this feeling? And what did she call me?

“I only slay those who need to be slain. And you do not need to be slain, you need to be cherished,” the words fly from my mouth without me thinking about them.

What am I saying? What is this?

“It would truly be a kindness to me if you did. Please consider my proposal,” she looks down. I press my lips into a thin line and cross my arms.

“And how do I know you’ll be true to your word?” I nearly laugh. The blood from the cuts on her legs falls to the ground in droplets. Is she anemic?

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

She takes a deep breath and raises her hand to the golden cuff on her arm. I raise an eyebrow as she takes it off of her arm. I watch as two large emerald wings unfurl from her back. They had a unique jewel-like pattern and almost shimmer against the light of the flame. She holds out the golden cuff to me. Beautiful.

“I, Illiana Katherine Glennwood, hereby pledge my body and soul to you, Elliot Gabriel Cottonwood. So shall it be,” She says as her hands shake.

She’s serious. She is this desperate. Why do I have the inclination to accept?

“I accept your pledge. And I accept your proposal,” I say taking the cuff from her hand.

I walk over to her and place the cuff back on her arm. Her wings disappear just as quickly. I reach around her to my spare cloak and drape it around her shoulders. She looks taken aback for a moment before looking down.

“Thank you, Banamaðr.”

“Why do you call me that? Do you know what it means?” I stand in front of her looking down at her face. She is beautiful and I feel something around her. Which is why that nickname hurt that much more.

“Banamaðr means executioner, slayer, or killer. That is how you are known. What would you rather have me call you?” She bites her bottom lip, avoiding eye contact.

“You can just call me by name. Elliot- or Maður. As you are to be my wife within the next few hours.” I watch her face tinge pink. “Now, stay here. I will go make the necessary preparations.”

She nods and doesn’t dare move from where she stands. I scoot my stool over beside her. I look down at her legs again. The blood streaks have started to crust over.

“Sit down and let me see your legs. You’re bleeding,” I point to the stool.

She sits down and pulls my forest green cloak tighter around her. It might as well be a blanket, it is so big on her. She tucks the middle fabric between her legs and the other fabric falls to either side of her legs. Her pale legs are crisscrossed with cuts from running through the field. Just to get to me. I go over to my sleeping bag and backpack. I pull out a white cotton shirt and my canteen of water.

I kneel on the floor in front of her and place her left foot on my knee to get a better look at her injuries. They aren’t too deep. Just shallow cuts. Washing her legs off will take care of the majority of it. I open my canteen and wet the edge of the shirt before using it to wipe her leg. Her face is almost glowing red. I clean both of her legs up then stand.

“Thank you,” she almost whispers.

“You don’t need to thank me. Now, stay here. I will return in a moment,” I say before exiting the tent.

I am doing this. Where is that Seer’s tent?

Our tents are set in a V formation. At the center is my father’s tent. On either side of him are guards. Then to the left is my tent.

To the right must be- Ah-hah!

I dart over to the tent and clear my throat just outside the door. The Seer, an exiled Magi by the name of Syrafin, pushes through the fabric folds. An older woman shorter than the Fae Princess emerges. She has tightly wound salt and pepper curls poking in every direction. Her darker complexion almost glows under the moonlight. Her brown eyes are fogged over blue. Folded in her hands is the silver ceremonial ribbon.

“I’ve been expecting you, Elly Welly. I have the ribbon. Let us go to your bride and then to the Sycamore. We have much to do before midnight,” Syrafin turns her head in the direction of my tent. I hold out my arm for her, to which she shakes her head.

“I may not have my sight, but I am not blind.” Syrafin gives me a toothy grin. I shake my head and smile.

“Lead the way then.” She walks in front of me in the direction of my tent. She chuckles to herself and turns her head towards me.

“Taking an arrow to the knee. I didn’t think I would live long enough to see the day. Not after that Engelina woman,” she pauses, “I’m glad you’re rid of that wart.”

“So there is a Sycamore not far from here-” I run my fingers through my hair.

“I am well aware. The one behind your tent. Prepare your bride and I will meet you there,” Syrafin holds her shriveled hand up waving in the direction of my tent. I give a small smile.

“Okay. We will be there shortly.” I watch as Syrafin walks by my tent and toward the woodland.

I’m doing this.

A sob from my tent causes me to stop short. My breath feels like it gets caught in my chest.

Is Illiana crying? Why? Is this not her idea?

I frown and push back the fabric of the door to my tent. She is still sitting where she was before. Her head is in her hands and she clutches my cloak tightly around her. Her shoulders shake with each silent hiccup. There’s an odd pain in my chest. It looks like she has thrown her tiara across the tent. Her hair is a little disheveled.

Go to her.

Before I realize what I am doing, I am already on my knees before her. I hesitantly lift her chin so she is looking at me. Her tear-streaked face and swollen eyes send a pain through my chest. I don’t like seeing her like this. At all.

“What’s wrong, Illiana?” Her name rolls off of my tongue. She wipes her eyes and shakes her head.

“It is nothing. I’m okay. Are we ready?” She sniffles and her attempt to put on a brave face fails. I see right through her.

“I will not marry you if this is not something you truly want. I will not be that kind of man,” I frown. Her eyes widen and she trembles.

“I need this marriage to happen. I am ready,” her voice is quiet. She looks down to the floor. I frown.

Is this the best option for her?

I stand up and dust off my pants. She looks up at me and I extend my hand. She brings her tiny, shaking hand to mine. I wrap my fingers around hers. Her hands are still cold to the touch. I smile at her as she stands from the stool.

“Please keep the cloak on. It’s cold outside and I don’t want you to get ill.” I fasten it around her with my free hand. She looks up at me almost shocked. Her emerald green eyes glittering against the firelight. She takes my breath away.

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

I pull her into an embrace. She tenses up in my arms. I hold her for a moment before lowering my head to her ear.

“I will not hurt you. I swear it to the gods.” I whisper.

I hold her for a moment more before letting her out of my embrace and stepping back. I can’t read her expression. The least I could do is reassure her that she is safe by my side.

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

I extend my hand again and she slowly takes it, clutching the cloak with her other hand. I lead her to the tent’s entrance and hold back the fabric for her. She cautiously walks out before me. I hold out my hand once more to her. She takes it again. Less hesitantly this time. I smile down at her. She is chewing on the corner of her bottom lip but holding her head high. I look forward to the woodland. In the distance, there is a faint blue glow.

As we get closer to the Sycamore, the glow grows brighter. Syrafin is standing at the base of the trunk. Blue glowing flame-like wisps are floating two or three feet from the ground. Balls of fire no bigger than the palm of my hand leading from either side of the Sycamore tree to form an aisle. Illiana looks up at me briefly before looking straight ahead.

“Illiana. Are you sure this is what you want? This is your last chance to turn back. You will be by my side always after-”

“I am sure, Elliot,” she cuts me off. I give her hand a slight squeeze as we approach Syrafin.

“Syrafin. We wish to be wed.”

“With the snap of my finger so shall it be,” Syrafin says as she snaps her fingers in front of us.

It sounds like the wind gets knocked out of Illiana. There is a faint lavender glow circling the area, clashing and blending with the blue glow at the same time. Illiana stumbles and knocks into my side. I catch her and help her steady herself.

“Are you ok?”

“I am fine. I apologize for my misstep,” Illiana pulls away from me.

Syrafin turns to Illiana with a ribbon in one hand and a crow’s feather in the other. Her eyes look different. The blue that clouds them over is now a soft lavender to match the glow around us.

“I need the two of you to hold hands now. It’s time to start the ceremony,” She stares in our general direction.

I hold out my hand. Illiana slowly places her hand in mine again. Her hand is tiny in comparison.

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

Syrafin slowly wraps the ribbon around our hands, tying us together.

“With this ribbon, your souls are bound.” Syrafin places the feather on top of our hands vertically. “With this feather, you shall sign in the blood of your convergence as one in marriage.”

With another snap of her fingers, the feather plunges itself through our hands with a sickening tearing sound. Syrafin reaches down and plucks the feather off of the ground before closing it into one of the back pages of a giant leather book that seemingly appears out of thin air.

It is done.

Syrafin unties our hands and as soon as she pulls the ribbon off, it disappears before us. Looking over to our hands, there is no blood or any kind of mark to show where the feather went through our hands. Illiana looks at Syrafin and raises an eyebrow before looking up at me. She looks a bit shaken up. I look down to meet her gaze and smile at her. Syrafin clears her throat and the wisps disappear. Everything is back to normal.

“The two are now one. It is so.”