"Do you not wish me for your wife?" Rhiannon asked him in all innocence. "I have watched you for some time now, and as I have, my love for you has grown," she continued. "We of the Fair Folk do not believe in being coy. That is a trait of Cymri women. We are open, and time is precious to us. To waste time is to us the greatest sin. I love you, Pwyll of Dyfed. I would be with you forever. I would be your wife."

His head reeled. This was a king's daughter. And not just any king. Dylan of the Fair Folk's daughter! She wanted him for a husband! The most beautiful maiden he had ever seen wanted him for a husband! Bronwyn. Her name slipped unbidden into his head. Everyone had always assumed that he would wed Bronwyn of the White Breast. Even he had assumed it, and yet he did not love her. Of that he was absolutely certain. It had simply seemed politic to marry Cynbel of Teifi's daughter. Particularly as there was no one else who seriously took his fancy. Until now. Yet he had made no promises to Bronwyn publicly or privately. There was no betrothal between them.

It was an incredible honor being offered him, but he found himself a little afraid. There had been stories of men and women of the Cymri beloved of the Fair Folk. Few of those tales had ended happily, he recalled nervously. Rhiannon was so very beautiful. Far more beautiful than any maiden of the Cymri, and with that beauty came a sweetness that would surely disarm his own people, easing any fears they might have of this exquisite magical maiden. Pwyll suddenly realized that he had loved her at first sight. He did indeed want Rhiannon for his wife. No other would do, and yet…

Rhiannon sensed his concern. "You think of the others from our two different races who have loved. None were husband and wife as we will be," she told him.

"Why were they not wed?" he asked.

"Because those of my race would never give up their ways for the Cymri that they loved. I will. I shall become one of you on the day that you wed me, Pwyll of Dyfed. We will live happily forever. In exchange for my hand in marriage, you must give me but two things. I would have your complete love, and I would have your complete trust. Do you think that you can give me those two gifts, my lord? Think most carefully on it before you answer."

"Nay, Rhiannon, there is nought to think about!" he cried passionately. "For love of you, my dearling, I could conquer the world!"

"If I have your love and your trust, Pwyll, I have the only world I desire," Rhiannon told him seriously, and then she laughed happily. "If we are agreed, my handsome Cymri prince, then I must go. In one year's time you will come for me at the same grassy mound where we first met. On that day I will take you to my father's court and we will be wed. Then I will return home with you to Dyfed forevermore."

He caught her hands in his, touching her for the first time, and was surprised at how vibrantly she pulsed with life. "If time is so precious to you, Rhiannon," he begged her earnestly, "why must we wait a year to wed?" She was so fragile and delicate a creature that he could feel the life force pumping through her very fingertips.

She drew him near and, looking into his eyes, said, "Time among the Cymri is different than it is for the Fair Folk, my love. Alas, there are other considerations to our marriage. It is the custom of my people that a woman has the absolute right to choose her own mate. So I have chosen you, but I will have to overcome the objections of my family and my people. You see, Pwyll, I am not merely a king's daughter. I was chosen by my people to be my father's successor one day, for we Fair Folk fade from the earth eventually, even as do the Cymri. When I wed with you, I must give up my rights as a member of my kind.

"There will be much distress and unhappiness at my decision. My people will need time to decide upon another heir to my father's place. I believe my younger sister, Angharad, is far better qualified to be the next reigning queen of the Fair Folk than even I. I must work to convince my people of it. They in turn, as is their right, will seek to prevent my going. That is why you must be certain, Pwyll of Dyfed, that you are capable of giving me your complete love and your complete trust no matter what happens in our lives. To wed you, oh prince, I must give up my heritage. I do it gladly for my love of you! Is your heart as brave and can it be true?"

He was stunned by her revelation, and humbled too. This incredibly beautiful maiden, chosen by destiny to be a queen, was willing, nay she was eager, to give up everything she knew and held dear simply to be his wife. "Ahh, dearling," he sighed sadly, "I fear I am not worthy of you."

"Do you love me, Pwyll of Dyfed?" she asked him quietly.

"Aye, Rhiannon," he answered without hesitation, and knew in his heart that he spoke the truth.

"Then surely," she told him, "there is nothing that can prevent our marriage or destroy our happiness."

And at that moment a little breeze blew through the clearing, ruffling the golden leaves of the beech trees even as Pwyll drew her into the deep comfort of his arms. He bent only slightly, for she was practically his own height, for all her delicacy. He touched her lips with his in a gentle, reverent kiss; but Rhiannon's soft mouth kissed him back with a fierce passion that both startled and pleasured him, and bespoke other delights to come.

He held her against him, an arm about her supple waist, his other hand caressing her silvery-gold hair which felt like thistledown beneath his roughened fingers. Her kisses tasted like strawberries to him, and he could not remember a time in his life when he had felt so happy, so fulfilled, so at peace with himself and the world about him. And everything he felt and sensed, Rhiannon felt and sensed too.

"Dearling," he murmured against her ear. "I will never cease to love you. Ever!"

The mauve mists swirled suddenly about them. A raven cried in the sky above. Remember! The sensation of his arms was gone, and she heard a voice calling her once more.

"Rhiannon!" It was Angharad's voice.

"Rhiannon, my daughter." It was her father who now spoke to her.

The mists cleared and she found herself in her father's hall, her family about her, looking unhappy and disturbed.

"Oh, Rhiannon! How could you do this to me! I do not want to be queen of the Fair Folk! Really, I do not!" Angharad protested. She rubbed the pale pink silk of her gown between her thumb and her forefinger as she was wont to do whenever she was distressed.

"You are the perfect choice, Angharad, though you be young," Rhiannon soothed her sibling. "You will be a great queen one day. I know it, and I will be so proud of you."

In an uncustomary burst of emotion, Angharad threw herself into her sister's arms and sniffled. "Don't leave us, Rhiannon! I beg you do not leave us! I fear for your safety amongst the Cymri. Though some like Pwyll accept us, most do not. No matter how hard you try, you will always be a stranger among them. An object of curiosity and suspicion."

"Nothing matters to me," Rhiannon replied, "but that I be Pwyll's wife and the mother of his children, dearest little sister. I know that this all came as a shock to you, but you are simply not used to the idea yet. It has been assumed our whole lives that I should one day follow our father as ruler of the Fair Folk of this forest, but it is not to be. I always believed that my fate lay elsewhere."

"I do not want to be queen because I do not want all the responsibility that goes with it," Angharad said petulantly and with perfect logic. "To be Trystan's wife and the mother of our children is the only fate I desire."

Rhiannon laughed merrily. "It would never be enough for you, Angharad, and in your heart you know I speak the truth. You are one of those creatures who was born to mother the world. Our people will one day thrive under your rule. As for your Trystan," and Rhiannon chuckled, "he is so proud of you that if he does not dissolve in a burst of pure happiness, I shall be quite surprised."

Angharad could not resist a smile at her sister's words. It was true. Trystan was more than proud of her. He was adoring, and he had begun to fret that perhaps he was not a fit husband for a future queen of the Fair Folk. It would take all her powers of persuasion to soothe his fears, but soothe him she would, for she loved him, which surprised many. Like all races, the Fair Folk had their share of those who were wise and those who were not so wise. Trystan fit into this latter category, but Angharad knew what others did not. She knew that her beloved was kind and loyal and true. And he had a most marvelous sense of humor. Nonetheless, it seemed disloyal to her entire family, she thought, to take Rhiannon's place. "For all your words, sister," she finally said, "I am not happy with this decision you have made. To be queen of the Fair Folk will not be an easy thing."

"It is your duty now, my sibling," replied Rhiannon in that quiet voice of hers which all knew meant the discussion was ended. "The council has agreed, and so have all our people. Oh, Angharad! You are really far better suited to this office than I ever was. You are strong and sure in your ways. I am a risk taker who would follow her heart. No queen of the Fair Folk should be that way."

Now it was the sisters' mother, Cornelia, who spoke up. "Why can you simply not take the Cymri as a lover?" she asked her daughter. "That is what our people have done in the past. Why must you wed him and give up everything?" Her beautiful face showed great concern.