Chapter 5
Where Plans Fail, Charm Prevails
AN 1218 (AZ 1455) - Spring
Castle Notos, Maximilion, Notos
Mab could not survive another year of captivity. Long had she been aware of the effect it was having on her mind, but during the previous winter, her carefully guarded dignity was broken. She always strove to convey herself as nothing but the First Queen of the Faeries even in chains, but with the spirits' waning power during the cold winter months, she reached her breaking point. A madness took hold of her and she made the most unbecoming spectacle of herself, screaming and clawing at the walls until her fingers bled. She was bound to a bed for two weeks until Rowland could return to the city. She was then taken to a nymphs' pool deep within the mountain to heal and once she was herself again, she was brought back to the palace. She was able to bear the months that followed, but she feared a return of the madness. She had to do whatever she could to gain her freedom at last.
She had to wait for the next time Rowland was in the city. When the Moonchild came to serve her nectar, Mab told her, "I would speak with Rowland."
"What is it?" the Moonchild asked.
"That is for his ears only," Mab replied. "I insist on it."
"I'll tell him your wishes," the Moonchild said.
Were she any less committed to her duty, the Moonchild might have ignored her, but she would faithfully relay to Rowland what Mab had said and Rowland, for the sake of his own humor, would come to hear what she had to say. He was not quick about it, though. Making her wait was all part of his strategy, surely.
When he did make an appearance, Mab promptly said, "I would speak with Rowland alone."
Rowland nodded to the Moonchild and said, "Go on. It'll be fine."
The Moonchild was wary but obeyed without question. No doubt she would remain within earshot, but that would make little difference. If all went according to plan, there would not be time enough for her to interfere.
Infuriatingly perceptive for a human, Rowland seemed to know Mab was plotting something, yet feigned obliviousness.
"And what can I do for you, my lady?" he asked.
As if he did not know.
"The men in iron have left this land," she began, "the monsters from the East have been slain. Even those near to you who meant treachery have been exposed and laid low. What more remains for you? You have won. Release me."
"My victory isn't complete," Rowland replied, "not yet. Until that day comes, I may still have use of you."
A flash of anger swept over her, but she held her tongue. Hasty words would do nothing to move him. No matter how hotly her anger burned, she could do nothing to him. She had to work on his will in another way, a way that was repugnant to her, but there was no greater shame than what she had done in the grip of the madness. Not even this.
She changed her demeanor. The proud First Queen of the Faeries was set aside. Only a woman remained. Softly, meekly, she placed her hand on Rowland's chest and said in a low voice, "I never did thank you for what you did for me... when I was out of my senses. You could have left me to my madness, yet you carried me in your own arms to the nymphs' pool to restore me."
Rowland said nothing. He neither accepted nor rejected her. She could not gauge if he was receptive or not. She had to press on.
Moving closer, she rested her head on his shoulder and continued, "There are ways a woman can show her gratitude. The Fae have arts your kind cannot even imagine, experiences deeper and fuller than anything you could know."
She rattled the shackle on her wrist.
"Release me from these chains and I shall open a new world to you."
Even among the Fae, men were men. The temptations of the flesh were all but impossible to resist. How else could her husband fall under the spell of her hated rival? Rowland was a mere human, far more a creature of the flesh than any Fae. How could he resist?
She sealed her offer with a kiss. It was a human gesture she had observed, one that appeared to be quite effective at bonding one to another. It was unfamiliar and uncomfortable. The taste of his lips and heat of his breath were repulsive to her, but she had to overcome her revulsion to bend him to her will.
As with before, he did not seem to accept or reject her, not at first. Had she miscalculated? Was the divide of races too great? Unthinkable though it was, might she be as repulsive to him as he was to her? Did this entire gambit only serve to prove that the madness still had a hold on her?
As her head swam with doubts, she vacillated on whether to abandon the effort or to press on. Before she could make that decision, though, a sudden change went over Rowland. He took hold of both sides of her head and returned the kiss, forcefully. Without letting go or breaking off the kiss, he drove her back into the nearest wall. She had never experienced a passion like this, not even in the long-forgotten days when she and Oberon were still young. It filled her with a mix of fear and excitement. What a different breed these mortals were.
Did this mean she had successfully seduced him? She had to keep her wits about her. The moment she was free of the chains, she would send Rowland to his fiery grave and make her escape.
Yet her miscalculation ran deeper than she anticipated. Rowland reached down with one hand and took hold of her wrist. Lifting it up, he broke off their kiss, looked her right in the eyes, and said, "I like you better in chains."
She was so certain she could bend him to his will that she never imagined that he would take what was offered without freeing her. His mind was not so dulled by desire that he could not see this. Nothing was stopping him before, but whatever restraint held him back then was gone now. She had sacrificed the last of herself and would gain nothing. It was a thought too bitter to contemplate, but she would have little else to think about when it was over.