A Jewel to the Crown (Raivh and Lilytania)

“Yah!” he bellowed, whipping his stallion’s flank as he gave a harsh flick of the reins, sending the beast hurtling forward in a massive stride. The horse’s sleek black fur, dampened by sweat, glistened against the hot sunlight overhead. All around them rode powerful men, covered from head to toe in thick chainmail and armed with swords and bows, some with nothing at all, but it was these men who had taken the most lives today and who held their heads the highest. Magicians, sorcerers; the best in the land, and kin to the young prince, for his grandfather was a mage. Hooved feet clattered over stone as they neared the castle in all of its medieval glory, riding right up to the front gate and letting out shouts to be let in. Their duty in battle was complete for the time being, and now it was time for rest.

Swinging his legs over his mount’s back, the prince landed solidly on his feet while the horse stomped away, snorting and flaring its nostrils, its alert ears swiveling back and forth. “Well done, Geoffrey! You were splendid in battle, nephew!” his uncle’s voice boomed. The last words the young knight wanted to hear were how well his father’s brother thought he fought; Geoffrey was well aware of his prowess with both swords and spells. As the older man hopped down from his steed, Geoffrey stalked on, a cape with his father’s crest flapping behind him. Word had reached him that should he return safely, the king had a gift for his son, a wife. Geoffrey wanted nothing to do with a woman; they were useless creatures, worse than dogs.

“Father!” Geoffrey shouted, his deep voice echoing off the walls of the dining room. A large stone table stretched around the area, and already soldiers and honorary guests of the king were seated around it. “I will take no wife!” Geoffrey approached on swift feet, his expression collected all except for his furrowed brow, revealing the prince’s distaste and defiance. The king, sitting with his most trusted men, stared at his son with a composed countenance. When the prince halted before him and dropped to a knee, head bowed, the king then rose.

He lifted his hands in the air and glanced around the room, scanning the curious eyes of the gathered guests. “My son speaks in such a manner only because he knows not what beauty his bride possesses!” A low, rumbling chuckle ran through the hall, and the prince gritted his teeth. “Rise my son. If you will not have her for your wife, at least have her serve you. You may change your mind. She is as beautiful as the finest jewels. Bring her out!”

“Father,” the prince ground out through clenched teeth, rising to his feet.

The elven princess slayed one knight to have another come at her with a spell. She kept countering the spells with her own magic, but she was still young in her kingdom's terms; she had yet to learn all of the spells that would prove effective in battle. Princess Isabella had been attacked in her own castle by spies. She was trying to keep them from getting to her father, trying to keep them from letting more soldiers from the enemy kingdom inside her castle walls. She wouldn't let them. She was a valiant fighter, even for a princess. The standards for an elven princess were different than for a human princess.

Isabella cried out as her shoulder was slashed by a sword. In her distraction, she was hit by a spell that knocked her to her feet. The young woman was soon taken down, her hands tied. She kicked and struggled, but the men just laughed and hauled her up, dragging her right out of her own castle doors. The battle was not supposed to be here. It was supposed to be along the boundary between the two kingdom. An attack on the castle was entirely unexpected from what the war had been like recently.

She was put up on a horse and taken all the way to the boundary. Another knight took her, and rode her at breakneck speed to the enemy palace. She wasn't stupid enough to try jumping off of the horse. She had not realized how close the palace was. Her emerald eyes stared up at it as they rode closer. Once inside, she was grabbed and taken down to a cell. She wasn't told anything, and if she asked questions, she was laughed at. She huffed and slumped against the wall, her hands still tied, as she tried to plot a way out of this place.

Several hours later, a guard came down and grabbed her. The princess struggled and screamed, thinking she was being taken out to her execution. A swift slap calmed her down, but she still jerked against the guard's grip on her arm. Her fiery red hair fell in her face, and she growled as she was taken upstairs. She could soon hear voices, and a pair of grand doors stood before her. The guard pushed through, into the throne room. She growled, spotting the prince of the kingdom. Her face would show her anger. He had killed her people. He had worked at taking down her kingdom. The young princess struggled violently, trying to escape. She had heard the king's words. She wouldn't be given to this man. She wouldn't be a gift. She held herself at high value. The elven women were more valuable in their societies than human women were in theirs. She wouldn't serve him.

His eyes stayed the princess’s bitter glower, reading into her anger with a grand bit of ease. She was livid, the evidence written over her slender face. Her fiery tresses attracted the prince’s gaze second, before his father spoke. “To him! Bring her to him!” Geoffrey’s eyes darted to a guard looming behind the young woman, and he watched as she was shoved forward yet again, into him. He caught her with a grunt, hands impulsively going to her hips. His fingers dug in, kneading soft flesh. Unconscious of his actions at first, his grip firmed on her, and he shoved her back at the guard, watching as the burly man snatched her wrist so she couldn’t flee.

“I said I do not want her! What is there to misinterpret, father?” Leering at his king, he glanced to the girl, aware that she desired him no more than he desired her. It was a mutual feeling between them, despite being enemies. “What good would an unwilling wife do me anyway? She would be likely to slit my throat while I sleep!” The prince flared his nostrils, scowling at his father when the king waved his hand for the guard to take the princess away.

“Lock her in my son’s chamber. Keep an eye on her and see that she doesn’t escape,” the king commanded, scratching beard and turning his attention back to the prince once the woman had been carted off. “If you strike fear into that maiden’s heart, my boy, you will not have to bother your mind with such thoughts. If a wife is not what you want of her, very well. But she is your gift, and now your responsibility.”

Geoffrey’s lips twitched up into a snarl, and he growled, “She is my damnation!” Storming from the suddenly and eerily silent room, he made headway for the guard that had taken off with the princess. When he found them, he slipped a strong hand around her elbow and wrenched her away from the guard, who placed a hand on the hilt of his sword. “Stand down!” The man jerked to attention, doing as commanded, and the prince strode off with the young woman.

Opening the door to his bedroom, he thrust her inside. “What is your name,” he huffed, pacing in front of her after closing the door. Never before had he taken the time to learn the titles of enemy royalty. “Tell me before I am obliged to draw my sword and remove that pretty head of yours!” His anger was out of his control, and he fisted the golden, jewel-encrusted hilt of his sword. A portion of the metal blade slid from its sheath, and his grip tightened.

Isabella grunted as she was shoved forward into the prince's arms. She spat in disgust, struggling away as he kneaded at her hips. She suddenly felt herself falling back into the guard's arms. Thankfully, the man caught her. She gasped and looked back at him ungratefully, pulling herself fully to her feet and growling quietly. She hated beige manhandled. She looked around the room, then at Geoffrey, her gaze icy.

She heard the king, and she shook her head in disgust. If that prince didn't want her, and she didn't want him, she didn't see any reason why she would be given to him. Why give a man a present he does not like? He will only neglect it. She cried out, screaming and fighting as she was led back out into the hall.

As soon as the young princess was in the hall, she stomped on the guard's foot. He released his grip for just a moment, and that was all she needed. She darted off, the guard in quick pursuit of her. He was stronger and faster, and he quickly caught up to her before she could get somewhere where she could use a spell that would help her escape. Isabella glared at the guard, not ceasing her struggles.

She felt a new hand on her arm. She turned her head to see the prince there, starting to lead her off. She cried out and thrashed, not liking the idea. He was too easy to anger, and she knew he didn't want her. She stumbled down the hall and into his chambers. The elven princess whirled and bared her teeth at the man. "Isabella, and I demand that you release me!" she cried. She wasn't about to stay here. She would find some way to escape, not to become a servant. "You can't hold me here."

Holding her there was the last of his intentions, but neither was setting her free. It would be better to lock her in the dungeon and let her rot than to release her and allow her to flee back to her kingdom. He donned a smirk and strode toward her, the heavy metal boots he wore clanging against the ground until he came to a halt. The armor was hot, especially in the summer heat. Perspiration coated his brow in a slick sheen and dripped down into his brow, rolling into his eye and biting him with its salty sting. He blinked against the irritating feeling and reached out, snatching her up by the front of her garments.

“You would do well to hold your tongue, princess, before I cut the venomous snake from your mouth,” he snarled, eyes flitting about her face, scrutinizing her appearance. She was a beauty, and he had no doubt that the red-orange tint to her hair had seeped into her brain, burdening the woman with crazy thoughts and the explosive anger she displayed. Hauling her up off her feet, he brought her face closer to his own.

A smirk curled the edges of his lips, patience wearing thin. “If father insists I keep you, then I may as well use you to test my spells.”

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Isabella watched him carefully, hesitantly taking a step back and eying him. She swallowed and stood her ground after one more shaky step, hoping to show that she wasn't afraid of him. She could smell him as he approached. She growled, grunting as she was hauled up by her dress. She didn't like the close proximity, and she cringed as she smelled the rank smell of his sweat and musky clothes. She growled at him. The elven kind were so much more clean and health-conscious than the silly humans. Isabella liked to bathe every day. Any water sprite that dared come near her would be shot down with a spell anyways.

"I don't have to hold my tongue. My tongue will run freely. I am a princess." She wasn't like human women, who were more to be seen, to be bred. She growled and struggled as her feet left the ground. She could feel that he was much stronger than her, even without any spells. She kicked and grunted, trying to find a way to get purchase on the ground. The young princess didn't like to be so vulnerable like this. "I'm not a toy you can do what you please with!" she cried. She didn't want to be a test dummy for spells. "Don't touch me!" She kicked at him, hoping she got him in a weak spot. She needed down. She could feel some of her dress ripping more than it already was. "Let me down!" she demanded, her voice sounding more and more royal as she spoke. She had a sort of air about her that made it seem like she thought the world was hers.

Tolerance was something he lacked, and the anger coursing through his veins heated his face and ears. This woman allowed more fire to escape from her mouth than she did sense in her brain, which he didn’t doubt she enjoyed to use. A smirk curved the corners of his lips as his hold on her dress tightened, indifferent to tearing the dress from her slender, elegant frame. He dodged her swinging legs, keeping a hold on her but pushing her out, away from his body. His brow furrowed as her last demand rang out, shrill and grating on his nerves.

Without haste he lowered her to the ground, leering at her as his rage continued to boil and sour in his gut. Once her feet were on the cold, stone floor, he was quick to strike. Thwack! The sharp slap echoed in the room, even as he lowered his hand to join the other at the front of her dress, crumpling the fabric yet again.

He dampened his lips with a slow swipe of his tongue, and a tilt of his head later her back was pressed against the wall. Her body was fitted flush and full-length against his. Nose to nose, he growled into her face. “You are nothing in my father’s kingdom.”

“And nothing equates to a servant.” Jaw taut, he angled his head to the opposite side, looking at her eyes instead of into. “In your case, someone who will endure my magic, no matter how excruciating a spell I desire to bestow upon you.” Jerking her to the side, he hauled her into the air once more and stared up at her, trying to instill the first ounce of fear into her. “Is that understood, wench?”

Isabella could see the anger and frustration in his eyes, and she didn't stop. She didn't care. She held onto the belief that he couldn't hurt her, that her royal blood would protect her from his gluttony and abuse. She screamed and kicked, and when he set her down on the floor, she found herself suddenly staggering. It took her a few moments to process the stinging in her cheek. It at least shut her up for just a moment, if only that. Before long, she was rambling again. "You can't do that to me!" she cried. She gasped in surprise as he lifted her again and pinned her against the wall. The young woman grunted and struggled, shaking her head as she tried to find some way of escape.

"I'm not a servant!" Isabella cried. She kicked against him, trying to get him to drop her and let her go. "I'm an elf. I have my own magic. You think I won't use that against you?" She didn't know of any way to halt someone's magic, and she hoped he didn't have some way to do so. "Let me go." She squirmed more, trying to gain purchase on the ground as he held her. She clenched her fists and twisted, hearing her dress rip even more so.

Her squirming and repetitive commands were becoming more than irritating. She was as stubborn as a dragon without a desire to be extricated from its cave; and even had the fiery attitude to boot. As she prattled on, demanding to be let go, his anger built and built. His eyes fell to the tear in her dress as more of the stitching split. A wicked grin curved the edges of his mouth up, parting his lips and revealing his teeth as his stare locked with hers again. Without so much as a warning, he shoved her forward, propelling her smaller body toward the bed. An elf with magic of her own; well, that could be taken care of. Stalking toward her, he gripped the collar of her dress and a gave an unhesitant pull, ripping the fabric straight down to her belly.

On impulse at seeing the very soft, feminine flesh, his nostrils flared, and he was unable to control his male nature. Rushing into a kiss, he clamped his mouth over hers as his left hand restrained her by the wrists. Eyes open, he stared into her face. His right hand was on the move, and the moment it found one glorious, full breast, it closed around the supple mound above her heart. A ring on his index finger began to glow and heat and he firmed his grip on her breast, digging his fingers into her flesh and pressing closer to her heart. Abruptly he jerked his mouth from hers.

“I don’t think you’ll possess any magic for me to worry over soon,” he growled at her tauntingly. He kept her pinned to the bed with his weight and hold on her wrists, one hand still covering her left breast. “And if you continue fighting, I’ll be sure you have no dignity left either, princess.”