Dream Trysts: A Sleeping Beauty Story (Passion-Filled FairyTales Book 4) (9 page)

King Edmund was furious. Hilly hadn’t thought to ask if Blissa had discussed this with her husband. She’d just assumed Blissa had. Wrong assumption. They were still in Blissa’s private chambers, and the queen lay asleep on her bed as Edmund paced the room.

“I thought you knew, Edmund,” Hilly said.

He glared at her and said. “Knew that my wife planned to go into some dangerous enchanted sleep?”

“It’s to help Briar Rose,” Dwennon said. “I don’t foresee any danger.”

Edmund turned his hostile glare toward Dwennon. “You also foresaw that sending her to you for sixteen years would save her and you were wrong, so forgive me if I’m not jumping for joy at your predictions.”

Dwennon looked down, his stoop becoming more pronounced.

“Edmund, we’ve done everything in our power to help Briar Rose,” Hilly said, standing closer to her husband, and patting his back.

“And now you’ve sent Blissa into an enchanted sleep,” he shouted, then squared on Hilly. “When I ask you to rouse her, you tell me it’s too dangerous. If it’s so dangerous to rouse her, why did you send her into it?”

Hilly sighed and prepared to explain again the need to find Rose’s James, how Blissa had been unable to contact her daughter in regular dream sleep. But before she could start, there was a pounding on the chamber door.

“Your highness,” called a voice on the other side.

“I asked not to be disturbed,” Edmund called.

“I know, sire,” the voice called through the door. “But it’s an emissary from the Kingdom of Jastenland. They are seeking your help. The king and queen say their son James has fallen into a deep slumber similar to the princess Briar Rose.”

The three of them all looked at each other and Edmund rushed to the door, swinging it open. “Quickly,” he said. “Take me to him.”

* * *

Edmund, Dwennon and Hilaria all heard the tale of the messenger from Jastenland. The night the prince had fallen ill, he’d told his valet he planned to go to Edmund’s kingdom to meet the returned princess. He said he would take her as his bride. Edmund thanked the messenger, and asked he stay overnight, saying he’d consult with the fairies, and perhaps be able to return a message of solution for the royal family of Jastenland.

Once the messenger had gone, Edmund spoke freely with Dwennon and Hilaria. “What do you think it means?” the king asked.

Dwennon took in a breath, and gripped his cane tighter. “It means what we suspected is true. She has been interacting with him in dream sleep. It’s probably how she met him, though it’s almost unheard of for fairies to pull humans into dream sleep. Generally, human minds have trouble entering the dream state of another.”

“But somehow Briar Rose did it?” Edmund asked. “Somehow she pulled Prince James into a dream sleep and they’ve been communicating this way for how long?”

“Years,” Dwennon murmured, still astonished.

Hilly nodded. “You remember, she asked us so long ago if she could find other people, human children in dream sleep, and we’d told her, no.”

Dwennon nodded. “I guess we were wrong. Though, she is a Halfling. Maybe she dreams on a frequency most fairies don’t. One that also reaches humans.”

Edmund sighed. “But what does it mean now? Why is the boy unable to wake?”

“Because she pulled him into an enchanted sleep,” Dwennon said, a fearful look taking over his face. “She’s in an enchanted sleep. She won’t age. She won’t require nourishment. But he’s not. She simply pulled him in, and he can’t wake until she lets him go.”

Hilly, worry also plastered on her face, crinkled her eyebrows and said, “But what if she doesn’t realize she’s in an enchanted sleep? If she doesn’t realize yet, she may not let him go. And if she doesn’t let him go, he will die.”

Edmund’s eyes widened. “Die?” he spat. “He can’t die. He’s our only hope of breaking her from this sleep. If he dies, she will stay asleep a hundred years.”

Rose lay her head on James’s chest. Usually, she loved the way she felt protected, warm and loved in his arms. She loved the feel of his soft chest hair pressed against her face. Listening to his steady heartbeat made her feel like all was right with the world.

Only today, his heartbeat seemed less steady. Not uneven, but slower than usual, and his chest moved up and down slowly, rather than the healthy vigor she’d become accustomed to. And that seemed so odd, that she’d become accustomed to anything, given how recently they’d become intimate. But she had become accustomed to it. James, the thick wad of rippling muscles, and deft hands, vigorously making love to her, savoring her body, making her quiver beneath him. And in those hours afterwards, he’d be completely invigorated. But more recently, after a vigorous session of toe-curling ecstasy, he would have a burst of energy, followed by lethargy, the way he was now.

They were lying together on a blanket in the meadow. James’ chest was bare, but he wore his knickers, and Rose wore only a light camisole made of cotton that cut off mid-thigh.

James lifted a hand and stroked Rose’s cheek. “Make love to me again,” he said.

Rose shook her head. “You’re too tired,” she said. “You need a nap.”

“No,” James said adamantly. “I need to make love to you. It gives me strength.”

As he said it, Rose realized he was right. It did give him strength. But why was he so weak? She looked up at the sun. Still morning. It seemed like it had been morning for such a long time.

Only, it couldn’t be. She and James had been together often here in her dreamscape. She thought back on it, counting in her head the number of times they’d found solace in each other’s bodies since she pulled him in. She scrunched her eyebrows together. That couldn’t be right. That was way too many.

James’s head lolled to the side, his eyes closed.

“James,” she said.

He groggily opened his eyes, smiled at her. He looked delirious. Something wasn’t right. “What is it, my love?” he asked.

“How many times have we made love?”

He raised an eyebrow, and then giggled. Rose stared at his odd behavior. James closed his eyes and she saw his lips moving as he counted. “Twenty three times,” he said, then quirked his lips to the side curiously. “That does seem like a lot. Though, I think an even twenty-four would be better.”

That number was impossible for one night, yet the sun always set at the end of the night. It’s how they knew when to wake up. Only, the sun hadn’t budged. It was morning. Always morning now. She looked at James. He seemed happy, with that satisfied smile perched on his lips, but everything about him was off. He looked pale, he barely moved, his skin was pallid, and his normally muscular body was thinner. The muscles weren’t so well defined anymore. He hadn’t always been this thin, had he? He lay there, stroking her arm, his eyes closed, and his breathing so, so soft.

This was wrong. Something was wrong. She didn’t know what, but she knew it was something. James wasn’t supposed to be here. She had pulled him here and she wasn’t supposed to. He had to go home.

“James,” she said. He opened his eyes to look at her. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” he said.

She gave him a soft kiss, closed her eyes, and concentrated everything she had on sending him away. “Now go home, James,” she said. “Wake up!”

She opened her eyes and he was gone.

* * *

James felt like he’d been beaten. Like a mob of angry men had beaten him. Every inch of his body ached, and throbbed. Never in his entire life, even when he’d been bested by his swordsmanship instructor with the hilt of the sword shoved in his gullet to make the point, had he ever felt so awful. He couldn’t even open his eyes, they felt so heavy, but his ears were open. He wished he could close them.

There was an awful, low monotonous moaning that was driving him mad. The noise sounded like something was dying, and it wouldn’t stop.

“James, can you hear me,” a voice called. James realized it was his mother. She was here with him. Where was here, anyway? The last thing he remembered was being with Rose at the Crystal Pond — not the real one, but the one of their dreams. Just the thought of it brought a smile to his face. And he felt it, because he’d tried to smile and his face started hurting.

The moaning had stopped, and he realized now that it had been he who was moaning. Yet something about his mother’s voice, about his awareness of others around him, had stopped him. Somehow cleared his head. He opened his eyes and saw his mother’s thin face, staring at him. Beside her stood his father, and beside him stood Peter. They were all here. Why?

“What happened?” he asked, his voice emerging as a hoarse whisper.

His mother, tears in her eyes, leaned over him, a hand reaching down and touching his chest. He realized his arms were at his sides and he was lying flat on a bed. She sniffled and shook her head. “We don’t know. Cook said you had a girl with you and came and got a picnic basket. When you came home, you said the next day you planned to ride to Epesland to welcome the returned princess. Only, the next day came and you never came down from your chambers. We sent a servant to rouse you and no one could. You seemed harmed in no other way, only you couldn’t be roused.”

His head was spinning and his body ached, but he tried to piece together what his mother was saying, what he remembered from his dream. Rose had told him things didn’t seem right, that the sun was wrong. He’d thought she was mistaken, but the last thing she’d said to him had been to go. And then he’d awakened here. “How long have I been asleep?”

“Two weeks,” his father said.

James’ eyes widened. Two weeks. That was impossible. He tried to sit up. He wanted to understand to get more information, only his head swam. “How?”

“We don’t know,” his father admitted. “We think it may have to do something with the princess you hoped to see. She’s been cursed — to sleep a hundred years.”

Rose! All his thoughts turned to her. It couldn’t be. Cursed to sleep a hundred years. Is that why the sun was a morning sun always? Would it be that way for fifty years? And the time, the time in the dream seemed like only a few hours. Only a few, lazy, hazy hours with Rose, but it had been two weeks. But that was impossible. “Why do I feel so awful?”

“Because you haven’t eaten or drunk in two weeks,” his mother answered. “We don’t know how you survived it at all, and you were close to the brink today, but thankfully you awakened. You took some sips of water then, and the doctor gave you some warm broth, but I don’t know how much you remember. You seemed very weak.”

He remembered none of it. But two weeks without sustenance was probably enough to do that to a person. Rose. How would she live without sustenance? She would die. He needed to get to her. He needed to break the curse. “I need to get well,” he said.

His mother smiled encouragingly, his father nodded, and Peter stood silently watching. James didn’t plan to say anymore to them, but he knew he had to get well soon, and he had to hurry, for he needed to get to Rose. He had to save her.

The messenger from Jastenland was not pleased to be told he was heading back, without his night of promised rest, but Edmund felt it best that they get someone to Jastenland immediately. Dwennon had agreed to ride with the messenger to see what he could possibly do for the boy. Sometimes fairies sucked into dream sleep could be roused if spoken to by an oracle. Though, it was rare.

Hilly would stay at the castle to monitor Blissa and see if she could send a message to her, a message that explained to Blissa that Rose needed to release James. Only, Hilly was dubious this would work. It was clear she’d only agreed to even try because of Edmund’s unrelenting requests. Hilly could see why Maurelle wasn’t fond of Edmund or his human insistence that as king, he deserved the utmost deference, even from fairies. Though Hilly wasn’t willing to punish Blissa and Rose because of Edmund’s human ways.

Dwennon was saying his goodbyes to Hilaria when a sudden wind entered the chamber, and before them, Eldred materialized.

Stooped and startled, Dwennon took a step back, then a smile found his face. “Eldred,” he said. “What are you doing here?”

“I foresaw your journey,” the young man said. “I thought I could be of help.”

Dwennon stared at the young man before him. Even though his body was young and vigorous, only a third of Dwennon’s age, his spirit seemed as feeble as Dwennon’s bones felt. “And what does Maurelle think of this offer?”

Eldred shook his head. “I asked her to forget her vengeance and to say yes to my request of many years ago, the one you thought I’d have success with. Alas, even a great oracle such as yourself was wrong, as she hasn’t agreed. As such, I could stay no more. I could help her no more when her cause is so unjust. I cannot peek definitively into my own future, but what I could see of hers showed me that I could not be happy if I stayed.”

Dwennon nodded. “I am sorry I was wrong,” he said. “So many years ago now, it was that I told you that she would come to your way of thinking, eventually. I spoke, I suppose, more from my desire than my sight. I wanted nothing more than for her to find happiness.”

“As did I,” Eldred said, sorrow in his voice. He took a deep breath, and spoke. “Let us speak of this no more. Instead, let us travel to Jastenland. I think I can be of help. I’ve brought fairy stones. I fear we are needed urgently.” He turned to Hilaria. “Did you prepare a healing poultice?”

Hilaria stared at him, eyes wide. She hadn’t. She wasn’t sure why, but it had never occurred to her to do so. For James to wake, he would need Rose to release him. But even after she did, he would be in poor condition. His body would be weak. A healing poultice would get him on the road to recovery much quicker, and allow him to return to break the spell.

Hilly shook her head. “No, I haven’t,” she said. “But I will. I’ll need a bit of time to do it, though. At least a couple of hours.”

Eldred nodded. “Of course.”

* * *

King William received the visitors in the throne room. To him they were odd traveling companions, an elderly man and a young man in his prime. They had appeared rather quickly, claiming to be from Epesland and sent to help the prince. Only, King William’s messenger had probably just arrived that day, so he wasn’t sure how they could be here so quickly.

They had just been led in by a servant, and the younger man, with a swath of dark black hair, olive skin and dark eyes, dressed in a black traveling cloak, stepped forward. “Your highness,” he said, reaching into the cloak and pulling out a bag. “My name is Eldred, and this is my associate, Dwennon. We have been sent by King Edmund of the kingdom of Epesland in response to your emissary, who sought help with the prince’s illness. We believe, if we can see the prince, we might be able to pull him from this unwakeable sleep and help his body heal after so long with malnourishment. We have a special nourishing poultice we can administer.”

King William pressed his fingertips together firmly, then spoke. “How did you arrive here so quickly? It is a three days journey.”

Eldred nodded. “Sire,” Eldred said. “I have a letter bearing the seal of King Edmund. It explains more.”

The man stepped forward, pulling a sealed envelope from his cloak, and handing it to the King. William opened it and read the letter. He stopped a couple of times, looking up wondering if this were real. Fairies and magic and an enchanted sleep. That had been the rumor, but he’d chalked it up to folklore and common people who believed in magic and witchcraft.

“You expect me to believe this?”

Eldred shrugged, and said politely. “We expect the king to do whatever is necessary to rouse his son.”

William stared at them a moment, then said. “My son has already awakened. He did not say what caused his sleep, though I scarcely believe he knows. Tell me what is in this poultice, and how it might help him heal better than my own doctors.”

Eldred turned to Dwennon, the two sharing some secret communication, and then Dwennon spoke. “It is a special blend of herbs that help the body receive nutrients more easily. I take it now that your doctor has suggested the prince only eat liquids?”

The king nodded. Dwennon continued. “With this poultice, he will be able to eat heartily tomorrow and regain his strength more quickly.”

King William felt weary of these visitors. He didn’t intend to let them give his son mystery concoctions, but he also didn’t intend to offend neighboring rulers. That had definitely been the seal of King Edmund. He smiled and said. “I’d like to consult with my doctors before administering anything to my son. Since he is so weak, you’ve journeyed so far and it’s late, I’ll prepare sleeping quarters for you and you can rest until morning.”

Dwennon nodded, smiled softly, and said. “That sounds wonderful, your highness. Wise and kind all at once. When you see your son, though, please do tell him that Rose’s Uncle Dwennon would like an audience with him at his earliest convenience.”

* * *

James had made the servants prop him up on pillows, even though he didn’t feel like sitting up. His head swam and he felt like he might tip over. He would have seen no one, which his father had suggested, except that he knew Rose’s uncle had to have answers. Perhaps he held an explanation of what had happened. He even claimed to have a cure to help James recover more quickly. Though James had promised his father that he would not eat or drink anything these strangers gave him.

His father was not a particularly distrustful man, but he was wary, especially of people from Epesland. While King Edmund was generally viewed as good-spirited and peaceful, his father had been a warmonger. He’d conquered a neighboring kingdom and was said to have attempted to overthrow a magical realm. Only he’d failed and was murdered. Edmund’s aunt had ruled in his stead until he came of age. And shortly thereafter, he married Blissa and had ruled evenhandedly.

“Edmund seems fair,” James’ father had said. “But one never knows what lurks beneath, and it seems doubtful the ruthlessness of Errol could simply have skipped his only child.”

Had he been feeling better, James might have replied, “The way your ruthlessness has passed over me?” Only the effort of speaking made his mouth and throat hurt, so he simply watched his father and said nothing. Except when his hoarse throat whispered, “Rose’s uncle — see him, please.”

His father had immediately said James was too weak, that he needed rest, but he’d been adamant, croaking out, “See him now.” After a bit of bluster and a diatribe on the duplicity of Errol, James’ father relented and left the room, promising to return with the uncle shortly.

It had probably been ten minutes now, and James was starting to wonder if he shouldn’t have just let the old man see him in his utterly miserable state. Lying on a bed, his skin aching, and every part of his body tinged with pain. He wasn’t even sure why. Lack of food should have made him tired, not pained.

Just as the thought occurred to him, there was a knock at the door, and a moment later, it opened. James’ father entered, followed by a stooped old man with white hair and a cane. They walked over to James, and stood by his bedside.

“As you can see,” King William said. “My son is still very ill, and I’m not sure you can do much visiting with him.”

The old man smiled and said, “I will do most of the talking.”

“Father,” James said, the single word blistering his throat. His father looked at him expectantly, so despite the pain, James whispered, “Leave us, please.”

King William looked as if James had just said something blasphemous. “Son,” the king said. “ Someone should stay with you.”

James shook his head. He knew he needed Dwennon to speak with him in full confidence, in fully privacy. His father looked as if he might resist, as if he might say he was the king and he intended to stay, but after a moment he nodded, patted his son’s hand, and said, “The guard will be standing just outside the door. Call if you need anything”

James nodded and watched as his father left the room. The old man then moved closer to the bed, standing right in front of James. He was wearing a cloak, and he reached inside and pulled out a small bottle with a cork in it. Despite his age, he adeptly uncorked the bottle and proffered it. “You’ll feel better if you drink this,” Dwennon said. James looked at it wearily. He’d promised his father he wouldn’t drink anything, but his body felt such misery, the prospect of anything that could heal it made his mouth water. But he also didn’t know this man. Could his father be right? Could it be a trick?

Dwennon seemed to sense his reluctance and said. “Rose needs you, and she needs you sooner rather than later, so please drink it. It’s not harmful. My wife, Hilaria, made it for you. It will take away the pain and allow your body to recuperate in the quickest possible fashion.”

Rose needed him. That was really all the man needed to have said. The rest was somewhat reassuring, but he felt confident that Rose was in danger and he needed to get well to help her. Through intense ache, he took the bottle, lifted it to his lips and downed it. There hadn’t been much in the bottle, and the liquid tasted sweet like honey, but also fiery. It burned going down, so much so that he winced after he’d swallowed.

But then, almost as if by magic, his throat felt soothed, as did the rest of his body. Where there had been aches and pains, there was now peace. It was as if this potion had wiped away all the ills from him. And his hunger pains, which the doctor said could not be satisfied, lest he vomit it all up, seemed to subside.

“How did it do that?” James asked.

Dwennon smiled, then took a couple of paces to grab a chair in the corner, pulled it up to James bedside, and sat down. “It’s a bit of herbs and medicines and a sprinkle of magic,” he said. “You should feel well enough for us to speak now.”

James nodded. He did feel well enough to speak. And he was glad. “What’s happened to Rose? Is it the curse?”

Dwennon nodded. “Yes, she will sleep for a hundred years unless she receives a kiss from her true love.”

“Then, we should go at once,” James said, sitting all the way up, then pushing his legs over the side of the bed and standing. That’s when he felt light headed, as if he might fall.

“Sit down,” Dwennon said. “My wife is a healer, and she was able to provide medicine to reacclimate your body to the waking world, but you still need to gain strength through food and real rest. We can’t go until you’re strong enough.”

James sat, his lightheadedness decreasing pronouncedly with that action. “How long until I’m strong enough?”

Dwennon breathed out. “Probably three to four days,” he said. “But it’s crucial that during that time you don’t try to contact Rose. You may get stuck again.”

James stared at the old man. “What happened to me, anyway? My parents are clueless, and I know that somehow I was with Rose, the way we used to be, but also that it was different.”

“Rose’s mother was a fairy,” Dwennon said. “She was a princess in her kingdom, and was supposed to inherit the realm. Only, she fell in love with Prince Edmund, and she chose to give up her fairy powers in order to marry him.”

“Why did she have to give them up?”

“Because it is forbidden in our kingdom for fairies to have relationships with men. When fairies mate with men, in the hours following their time together men grow stronger, incredibly strong compared to other men. They grow as strong as fairies. This strength has never been a huge issue among couples who marry. But when Blissa, Rose’s mother, was a child, her aunt began having relations with King Errol, Edmunds father. He convinced her he loved her, when all he wanted was the strength their dalliances afforded him. He also wanted to rule the fairy kingdom. He wanted to enslave our women so that they could improve the fortune of his armies. He brought a small cavalcade of men and hoped to overthrow King Roldan, Blissa’s father. Radella sacrificed her life to ensure that wouldn’t happen, and Roldan forbid the mating of humans and fairies. Blissa, not wanting to overrule her father’s decree, abdicated her throne and her powers in order to marry Edmund. The next in line was Radella’s daughter, Blissa’s cousin Maurelle.”

James narrowed his eyes. “But wasn’t Rose cursed by an evil fairy named Maurelle?”

Dwennon nodded, closed his eyes as if his thoughts pained him. “Maurelle is Blissa’s cousin. Rose’s cousin, too. But Maurelle has never forgiven Blissa for marrying the son of the man who murdered her mother. As much as we have tried to convince Maurelle that each man be judged for his own, she can see nothing but her mother’s dead eyes when she looks at Edmund. She cannot forgive, and that led her to curse Rose.”