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He was speaking her language, but his words made little sense to her. He spoke as if he was making her a generous offer, and perhaps in his elven mind, he was. But Cera knew that she had only two good decades left in which she might bear children. And by the time she was in her middle years, her marriage prospects would have been few even among humans. Without her youth and ability to bear children, she would have nothing to offer an elven husband.
A silence fell between them, during which she turned Isael's words over in her mind. The more she did so, the more she interpreted them less as an offer and more as a threat. What he was really saying was, 'Bear me a son before you grow aged, or I'll cast you aside to wither in irrelevance.'
A flurry of emotions buffeted her, but it quelled quickly. It never served her to bemoan her fate.
"I understand, my lord."
"You may call me Isael, if it pleases you."
"I'd rather not," she said, with all of the politeness she could muster.
In her mind, he was Isael. A great man, perhaps, but still a man. And despite what the stories said, she doubted he had ever dueled a god or that he could control the wind.
She would not let any familiarity creep between them. It would be far too easy for her to be drawn in by his beauty and majesty. She would wield his title to keep him at bay, and in her mind she would carry the image of him from her memory. His scowling, disapproving visage would be her shield.
"Very well," he said, giving no indication of how he felt about her small defiance. "Then, shall we begin?"
The Ritual
Cera nodded her acceptance, but made no move to stand or remove her robes.
She was by no means ignorant to what happened between a man and a woman. It had been ten years ago, the morning before she'd first met Isael, that the queen mother had sat her down and explained what would be expected of her.
At the time, Cera had listened in silent mortification at the graphic description of how the elven lord would put his heir inside of her. After a lengthy discussion of blood and pain, the queen mother had then gone on to give herhelpful adviceabout childbirth. By the time Isael's arrival had been announced, Cera had been near to fainting in terror.
But following his rejection, which Cera had then taken with equal measures of grief and relief, she'd learned a great deal more. For a start, she'd learned that the queen mother had been far from an authority on reproduction or childbirth. Her father's mother—never to be called 'grandmother'—had been practically a child when she'd been hastily wed to the aging, heirless Ateran king.
They'd shared a bed only once before he'd passed, leaving her widowed and carrying the presumptive heir to the throne. Her son's birth had been difficult, the trauma of it only compounded by medics that had been instructed to extract the heir by any means necessary. The king's birth was still hailed a miracle, even half a century later. Having given the realm a monarch, the queen mother had been all too happy to devote the rest of her life to religion and chastity.
Over the years, Cera had inadvertently uncovered evidence that contradicted the things that the queen mother had told her. Such as when she'd happened upon one of her maids in the throes of passion with a castle guard. She'd been pleading for mercy, but not due to the 'brutal lancing' that the queen mother had spoken of. The maid had been crying out in ecstasy, as had her partner.
In the months that followed, as Cera had aided her maid in hiding her increasing waistline, she'd learned that carrying a child could be a beautiful experience, even under the most daunting of circumstances. And childbirth, although harrowing, also held a certain magic at its end.
None of this was to say that Cera looked forward to any of it. She could have done without it all, living the life of a spinster, free to spend her years haunting libraries and growing fat on sweet cakes. And through Isael's offer, that could yet be her fate. But first, she would have to endure whatever pains or pleasures awaited her within the decades spent as his concubine.
Isael's hand lifted from the arm of his seat, and just as quickly, Cera lifted her own hand. She held it flat between them in a halting gesture, even before her question had fully coalesced in her mind.
"If... You said what would happen if I couldnotbear you an heir. But what if I do? What then?"
Isael did not immediately answer, and to Cera's surprise, a small crease formed at his brow line.
Had he not considered the possibility that she would give him a son?
When he spoke, his words left Cera equally bemused.
"What would you want?"
"What would I want?" She said, repeating his words in a drawl. "I don't understand."
He shifted, his hand falling back down to grip the arm of his seat. "In return for giving me an heir, what would want?"
It was on the tip of her tongue to ask him what he'd be willing to give her, but she refrained. He had created an opening for her, and she wasn't about to squander it.
"I want the same deal you offered me before. I'll stay in your lands, but in a position of honor, where I can live out my life pursuing my own interests."
"That is all?"
Cera wet her lips. "If I should bear a daughter, she would be mine. To raise and care for as I see fit, and you cannot send her off as my father did."
