CH 2 - The Queen and I

The forest seemed endless. Without landmarks or a watch, Logan had no idea how long he walked the winding, shadowed trail. It was hard to judge the movement of the sun through the thick foliage above but it hardly seemed to have moved at all and yet, it felt like hours had passed. Plus, he was getting tired, which seemed odd. He couldn’t recall ever feeling weary in any dreams before now. Of course, no other dream had ever felt as strangely real as this one did.

The only change he did notice was the temperature. Bit by bit, the air was beginning to cool off. Eventually, he began to see his own breath. Then leaves began to glisten beneath a light coat of frost.

His journey through the forest finally ended, rather abruptly, at an oval-shaped hole in an ancient-looking stone wall. A sheet of weeping ice blocked the opening. He could see a reflection on its shining surface of a broad-shouldered, dark-haired man in faded jeans and a black t-shirt. The man reflected in the ice had his mother’s green eyes and the burnished skin tone, square jaw, and strong nose of his father’s people.

Molly Flynn. That was his mother’s name and his father was... John. John Proud Bear.

Logan reached out to feel the cold, wet surface. As his fingers touched the ice, he heard a sharp crack and watched as ragged fissures shot through the ice. Small spiderweb cracks rapidly spread, popping and snapping in jagged lines until the entire sheet of ice suddenly collapsed in a splash of frozen shards. He watched in amazement as the chunks of ice quickly melted into water and vanished into the ground.

Cautiously, he ducked and stepped through the opening. On the other side was what appeared to be, quite literally, a moment frozen in time. Creatures of all sizes, both magical and mundane, sat against trees, lay on the grass, or curled up on each other beneath a glittering sheen of ice. Stout badgers, lovely nymphs wreathed in silk, and fat, ugly gnomes lay scattered on the ground beneath a cathedral-like arching roof of tree limbs. The tree trunks were perfectly aligned across the clearing in pairs, just as columns would be in an old church or the great hall of a castle. He looked up at fat, little squirrels, brightly plumed birds, and tiny, winged faeries that lay curled up on the high branches.

And everything was covered in a thin, crystal-clear rime of ice. The entire glade sparkled with the cold, silver beauty of moonlight. Logan could see their frozen faces. All eyes were closed. Whether in death or dreams, he could not say.

Moonlight? Logan blinked and looked up. Sure enough, the light of the day was suddenly gone. The full moon hung low and large in a field of unknown stars that hung like diamonds in a black velvet sky.

As he stepped in for a closer look at the shining scenery, the frozen grass beneath his foot cracked. Another step. Another pop of broken ice. Looking back at his footprint, he saw ice falling away from healthy, green grass.

Logan looked around in awe at all the little details his imagination was creating. Bending down over one of the squat, little, gnome-like creatures, Logan could see the wrinkles on its swarthy face and all the little gray and black hairs in its eyebrows.

What a crazy dream!

It was then that he noticed the throne at the far end and the woman sitting there between two snarling wolves seated to either side. The ice around her was clear as glass. Logan’s breath caught in his throat.

“Beautiful” was an inadequate word. Unlike every other creature in the glade, her eyes were open beneath the ice. Long, silky hair the color of the night sky framed her oval-shaped face. Skin the color of fresh milk. Perfect, cupid bow lips were the pink of a young girl’s blush. A gown hung from naked shoulders to drape her body in folds of what looked like glittering, blue smoke. Across her brow was a crown of silver, shaped into vines. Sunlight glittered off of leaves made of pure amethyst and berries of polished ruby.

Logan stepped closer. Ice popped and cracked. He did not notice.

Three stone steps led up to her throne. Logan stopped with one foot on the bottom step. It felt ... wrong to get any closer.

Crack. Pop. Fissures spread out through the ice beneath his foot and up the stairs, spreading and reaching and growing until the first jagged break touched her slippered foot.

Logan flinched and covered his eyes as the entire hall exploded in a glittering shower of shattered ice. The hall rang like a bell as countless frozen particles rained down around him. A thousand cold kisses landed on his arms and in his hair.

When he dared to look up, it was into swirling eyes of midnight blue. Eyes that were now looking back at him. Her lips curled into a faint smile. Her hair now moved around her bare shoulders as if caught in a gentle breeze. One long, perfectly manicured fingernail slowly rose to point at his chest.

“Who has woken Maeve, queen of the Twilight Court?”

Logan swallowed a gasp of surprise and fell back to stand on the grass. He could almost feel the rich contralto of her voice like a soft breath against his skin. “My name is Logan...” Grandfather Bear’s warning sprang to mind. A moment of panic bubbled in his gut before a name rose out of the fog of his memory. His mother’s maiden name. “ ... Flynn.” Because it seemed appropriate, he offered a clumsy attempt at a bow. “Logan Flynn, Your Majesty.”

The two wolves flanking her snarled in silent, watchful menace. The queen slowly rose to her feet with the effortless grace of a swimmer gliding through water. She practically floated down the stairs. Her scent wafted over him; night-blooming Jasmine.

All around Logan, the entire court was now moving about as well. All of them sank down to kneel or bow before her. Not a trace of ice remained. Even the chill in the air was fading.

“Very good,” she purred. “Let us have a better look at you, mortal spirit.”

Logan was surprised to see how tall she was. At six-foot, two inches, Logan was used to seeing the tops of people’s heads. Not so the queen. They were nearly eye-to-eye.

And what eyes! This close, Logan could see the color changing and swirling through every shade of blue like a slow whirlpool. It was hypnotic. Logan had to look away to shake off the sensation of falling.

Her laughter sounded like crystal chimes dancing in the wind. “You have woken us from our long sleep and for that, we are grateful. How have you done this, spirit?”

Something in the tone of her voice caught Logan’s attention. Beneath the queen’s honeyed words, behind her breathtaking allure, was the subtle, but unmistakable, sound of speaking to someone of lesser status. He had heard it before, many times in his life.

Vague memories bubbled up to the surface. A lovely girl with an evil heart and cruel words in high school. The dismissive voice of a higher-ranked officer. A stranger calling him “half-breed”.

That subtle tone of inherent superiority sent cracks through the glamour she had woven around him, like thin ice cracking beneath his boot. Logan straightened his shoulders, looked into her hypnotic eyes, and smiled. Her ethereal beauty was still breathtaking but he was no schoolboy to act the fool over a pretty girl. Respect and polite consideration, he was happy to give. Fawning devotion, not so much, especially in his own damned dream!

“As to how I cannot say ... Your Majesty, though I am happy to have helped. The only thing I can say for certain is that I am no spirit. I am a man.”

Surprise flickered across her perfect face. Queen Maeve took a step back and gave Logan a long, appraising look, from his feet to the top of his head. Her hand rose, palm out toward him. “ I feel it from the heat of your skin. The beating of your heart. The blood pumping through your...” her eyes glanced downward. “ ... body.”

Logan wasn’t certain how he felt about being viewed like a slab of meat but if that’s the way it was going to be...

Two can play that game, he thought.

Delicate looking, blue silk slippers encased the royal feet. Her gown of glittering, blue smoke was a wonder, revealing nothing but hinting at everything. Behind that gauzy shield were long legs, a narrow waist, and an hourglass figure. Shadows danced in the cleft between her thighs. The swell of high, firm breasts was plainly visible against the fabric. Her neck was a slender column of flawless, pale skin.

“You are a bold one.”

Logan tore his gaze away to look into her eyes. He couldn’t tell if it was anger or amusement he was seeing. Some vague sense of warning tickled at the back of his neck but he dismissed it. There was no danger in dreams.

“I have heard that about myself,” he replied with a slight bow.

The queen smiled. The crowd burst into soft titters of amusement and approval. All gathered seemed to take his gesture as a graceful and gallant acknowledgment of the queen’s attention.

“You have awoken us and we are feeling generous,” she declared. “How may we show you our appreciation, mortal man? Name your desire.”

The temptation to spout off something cute and sarcastic was his natural instinct. Words sat on his tongue, ready to fly out of his mouth. World peace. A pony. A moisture farm on the planet Tattoine.

After all, it was just a dream. Might as well have some fun with it.

Why then were the hairs standing up on the back of his neck? Why did he feel a tension in the air not so different from...