Page 230 of The Daughters of Avalon
The Lord of Shadows
Prologue
LLANRHOS, WALES, 547 A.D.
The tribes were all at war, brother scheming against brother…
The Dragon Lord of Anglesey sat beside his queen, watching a party of dancers as he brooded over the state of his realm.
So, it seemed, men no longer needed whips nor chains to sway the masses. All they needed was a bit of gold and a lot of empty promises.
The Romans might be long gone but having left behind their jeweled yokes to be donned by the people of Wales, the weight of their harnesses now grew heavy. For love of those winking jewels, the free all remained oppressed, patting their sated bellies as they toasted from sour casks ofvin.
Now, the worst had come to pass…
But all was not lost. The spirit of the world was alive and well. It was here, in this hall, in every turn of the dancers’ lithe bodies, and if anything hardened his cock, it was this: Against the taming of a nation, there was a certain beauty to be found in the old dance. Amidst their graceful motions lay passion and truth, a raw honesty that fired his spirit and stirred the blood. In every revolution the dancers made, he spied the Goddess face ofthe moon and heard the voices of thefaefolksinging bard songs to the wind. It stirred a song in his own blood that made him long to strip to his boots and howl at the moon.
Alas, these were times for the changelings—those who would convert, or those who would create. But sadly, not for the ones who would cleave to the Old Ways. Still, he resolved to enjoy it while he could.
TheGwyddon, orwise one, clad in her fine white robe (to symbolize purity and light), twirled at the center of his hall, whilst twelve young disciples danced about her in a circle…
One dancer stood out amidst the rest—Sanan, his nephew’s young bride. With her soft pink lips and her darkly burnished hair, the girl was striking, but, like her betrothed, there was a certain falseness about her that made Maelgwn feel she could be anyone’s for the taking—even his, if he so desired…
It was that come-hither look in her jade eyes—a sultry glance that roused him, even against his will.
She dipped, then spun, raising her hands in thanksgiving to the Mother Goddess, only with a backward glance to the throne, smiling a smile intended only for him.
“You like her?”
Maelgwn slid his wife a careful glance. “Sanan?”
Nesta nodded, and he swept away the notion, no longer willing to sew his seed indiscriminately. Together they had created a beauteous daughter, and he still had one son by a previous marriage. “She’s too young,” he said.
And, besides, there was too much strife in his kingdom to steal his nephew’s bride and then lie abed like a sated boor. The last thing he needed was to become a fat, happy emperor like those he’d despised.
“Mael,” she said gravely. “I have not conceiv?—”
“It matters not,” he said firmly. “I am well pleased with the daughter you gave me and my son. What more could any man ask for in life?”
“Only think on it,” she argued. “What if something should happen to you? Einion?—”
“She. Is. Too. Young,” Mael persisted, and though his tone brooked no argument, his wife was not so easily silenced. Her temperament, like herfaekind, was wild as the wind.
“Maelgwn, please… you know that Igraine cannot inherit these lands, nor I?—”
“Nay!” he snapped, and still, she persisted.
“Itmustbe someone. So much as I loathe the thought of sharing you, my sweet husband, youmustconsider a new bride. Sanan comes from a good line.”
“She is promised,” he told her, and Nesta laughed without mirth.
“To your nephew? What has the fool ever done save to pit himself against you?”
Silence.
Because it was true.
And yet, Maelgwn hadn’t any stones to throw, because he too, in the name of these lands, had slain his uncle—for Wales.
