The Sacred Bond

“It seems as though you have something of an infestation problem.”

Isla Lorange, a well respected Elfin Bounty Hunter, nods at the greasy haired and smelly man laying on the couch. The man she has come to see, her boss, rolls his eyes and tosses a sack of golden coin on the table.

“Don’t worry about good ole’ Glen here,” Harold says, glancing at his companion with a look of disgust. “He’s one of the best snitches we’ve got.” Isla eyes the disheveled mess with curiosity.

“And you’re giving him free room and board for information?” Harold doesn’t bother answering the question. He taps the table top twice with his knuckles, dismissing her from the apartment. With a dramatic sigh, she does so, making sure to collect the gold that she had earned with the criminals she’d brought in earlier that week.

The streets smell of rotting trash and excrement, which isn’t all that surprising on the southeast side of Belvian. The nobles and hierarchy aren’t overly concerned with the welfare of the elves, faeries, phoenixes and other magical folk in their city. Shoving her money into the inner shirt pocket, she begins her walk home. It’s only two blocks, but she keeps one hand on her gun to be on the safe side.

One can never be too sure of whose been watching and whose waiting in or around any alcove. Her footsteps seem louder than usual on the cobbled stones. Her eyes flickering to and fro, watching for any signs of mischief. It’s barely eleven at night and the streets have mostly emptied, with the occasional passerby striding swiftly home. A carriage awaits outside of the dusty old bar about halfway between Harold’s and her place. An elf dressed entirely in black at the reins. Her brows raise, recognizing the quality of the clothes and carriage itself. Someone important must be frequenting the bar and maybe the girls upstairs. It wouldn’t be the first time that some nobleman’s son found himself in a whore house, even one that has only faerie and elfin women.

Ducking her head, she continues on, deciding that it really isn’t any of her concern. She’d already had a long enough day, tracking the thieves whose faces had been plastered all over Belvian for stealing from the Prince himself. She had dropped them off to the palace, instead of the police precinct. Why should the coppers take the credit for something she’d done? The guards on duty had been surprised to see her with the job done. And she had been irritated by the limited view of men. Human men, to be precise. They always seemed to forget that women of the fae were stronger than them. Were much faster as well.

It’s as her thoughts become peevish, that she realizes there are a second set of footsteps not too far behind her. And had been since the bar. “Shit,” She mutters angrily, pulling her hood over her dark hair. Instead of reaching for her gun, her right hand grips the knife behind it.

Her steps slow as she pretends to bend down to pick something up from the ground. Whoever the person is, their footsteps grow even quieter and then silence. Her breath slows as she listens, her hand gripping her knife tightly.

Then suddenly, a hand closes around her arm painfully and she is being yanked upward. Without missing a beat, she jams her right elbow into the attacker’s chest.

“Oof—“

Her knife comes up and is pressed into his throat, enough to spill blood. Eyes flashing, Isla stares at her assailant with a grim expression. “Who are you and what do you want?” The man is tall, taller than her by a foot, but she can’t make out his features. He is wearing a hood of his own and it casts a shadow over his face.

“I have heard word that you are the best bounty hunter in Belvian,” A deep voice murmurs quietly, so low in fact, that she has to lean in to hear him. Eyebrows furrowed, she stares dangerously. What is he playing at? “I’ve come to ask you to collect a certain someone for me...”

“You have a funny way of asking me to do a job,” Her voice slips into the accent of the old country as she sizes this man up. “I don’t have any time for games.” She releases him finally, cleaning her blade off on her pants. He places a hand to his throat, showing a flash of his lips, which are slanted upward in a smile.

“If only this were one,” He pulls a large bag from his pockets, jostling it so she can hear the gold coins rattling within. “My employer is desperate for the man to be caught. He is in possession of something that is worth more than both of our heads.”

“And who be your employer?” Isla inquires, curiosity keeping her in place. The man does not reply, at least not at first. In the brief silence it takes him to answer, Isla already has her own.

“That information is not nece—“

“Well, then my answer be no.”

With a nod at the stranger, she turns and begins to stride away. The sounds of blubbering meet her ears, as though he can’t believe she had the audacity to deny him.

“Wait!” The call is louder than their exchange had been, but still low enough not to attract any attention. Smart. Pickpockets would come without hesitation if they knew the size of his purse.

Turning, she places her hands in her hips with an expression of impatience. “Look, sir,” She says with a sigh, “I am not in the habit of doing things for people who want to remain anonymous. Others would gladly do whatever you ask; however, I learned my lesson long ago. The follies of men never cease to amaze me.”

“And the follies of the fae don’t?” The man can’t help but to ask, his tone isn’t argumentative per se, but he seems to be searching for something. Isla can feel her guard coming back up as she regards him silently.

While it was true that humans made her more weary, other fae did as well. They were no saints and she wasn’t likely to forget that anytime soon. She had been raised by a bastard and treated like trash by a human one as a young elf. It didn’t really matter what race a person was. They were all alike. Both in the good and in the bad.

“The fae don’t tend to hire me,” She says truthfully, “unless it’s a family searching for a child. I know it’s not my normal work, but obviously I’m good at finding.” She can’t say why she told this stranger that, but something about this whole thing is intriguing. Otherwise, she’d have left right away. Too fast for him to follow. Nodding at her words, he steps closer. Close enough that he can whisper without anyone hearing. The streets may appear quiet, but she knew well enough that there were eyes always watching.

“The Prince himself has heard of your work,” He whispers urgently, “he needs you to find an elfin man by the name of Barok DeLein. He is in possession of an heirloom that the Prince requires.” Intriguing.

Tapping her finger against her lips in thought, her eyes unfocus as she considers taking the job. It obviously paid well and to do something of this magnitude for the Prince himself, could well keep her fed and clothed. He would probably put her first in line for any job needed doing as long as she caught the guy. Which she absolutely would, because that’s who she is. “Do you have a written page of this agreement with his signature?” She asks, knowing that she needs some kind of proof that this man is not pulling her leg.

“I do not; however,” He says quickly before she can turn him down a second time, “I do have this ring—“ he lifts his hand up to the light so that she can see it glimmering gold. “—and it has a royal seal.” She can’t help but to lean in, thinking her old master would strike her down for showing weakness. Sure enough, upon the top of the ring is a red signet with the royal coat of arms engraved. “That way you at least know I am who I say I am.” Confused now, she peers up into his face, irritated throughly that it is still cast in shadow.

“You must be very high up indeed to be wearing a royal ring,” She says, her voice barely above a murmur. He may have forgotten where they stand, in the depths of the southeast side, but she has not. “And what fine clothing...” Her voice trails as she registers the fact that his robes were made even better than the nobles she’d seen down this way before. Without thinking, her hand reaches out to touch the fine material, but is stopped by his hand grabbing hold of hers.

And that’s when the world seems to tilt on it’s axis. A warmth spreading from his body to hers and she is aware of a tingling sensation in her chest. Her gasp is mirrored by his and a faint glow seems to come from their joined hands.

“No...” His whisper is horrified as the realization of what this is hits her. She’s bonding. Bonding with a human? Without thinking, her other hand is pushing back his hood and glowing golden eyes stare back into her own. Dark wavy hair is pulled back from his face, and a chiseled jaw that she’s seen before from a distance.

“Y-your Highness,” She wants to scream, but her own common sense won’t let her. Yanking her hand from his, the light disappears, but the connection between them is unbroken. His horror at being bonded to a mere Elf echoes in her own body. “I knew you couldn’t be a servant, but I had no idea...”

“Silence,” His voice ringing with command, further separates them as she swallows her words. Her head bends automatically as she drops to her knees. Several feet pound the pavement, her chin lifting and hands quickly reaching for her weapons. They are my men. The Prince’s own thoughts reverberate through her head and she winces at the disgust in his tone. Her own shock has yet to wane.

“She has agreed to the job,” He says softly to the first man to reach them. “We just go.” Without another word to her, they all leave without a sound. Within seconds, she is left kneeling in the middle of the empty cobbled street.

Her thoughts are scattered as she tries to make sense of what just happened. It was well known that the royal family was not entirely human. They had married into Elfin and Faerie royal families, but with the New Age things had changed. The worlds of the fae had fallen and with it, their royalty. The leaders of men had begun to marry only their own race. Prince Nicholas has to be the first of the royal family to bond in hundreds of years. His eyes, a telltale of Elfin blood, had glowed. What in the world?

A yearning in his gut to return to the Elfin Bounty Hunter, made him want to hurt something. Or someone. Most likely his own father, because there had to be a mistake. He could not have bonded with her. It can’t be possible. Biting his lip, he exits his carriage once they’d safely arrived at the palace doors. His guard are silent, their own looks of shock on their faces. They had seen and heard everything and his head is too much of a mess to address it. What can he truly say? He knows that they wouldn’t dare repeat the events and he had not meant for it to happen, obviously. Bonding is an old thing that use to happen over hundreds of years ago when royalty had been equal parts human and fae. But, according to all history books, they had bred that from their lines.

Obviously, he is not as human as he’d thought. And seeing as he is the mirror image of his father, he can only assume the Queen of Belvian had not given birth to him. His eyes, which had been glowing gold earlier, are luckily back to their un-exotic blue. And he had known they were glowing, because he could very clearly picture his own face in her mind. Even now, with miles between them, he can still sense her! Isla. That is her name. Isla Lorange. Damn everyone who had said to seek her out!

“Nicholas!” His father appears from his private study, a broad smile on his handsome face. At the age of three and forty, he remains remarkably youthful. Only a line here or there and one or two gray hairs show his age. “Did you find her?” At the mention of the woman, he freezes, his heart nearly pounding out of his chest. Even his own father had pointed him in her direction. He couldn’t have known, right?

“Yes, and she has agreed to track Barok.”

“Knew she would.” King Devon nods emphatically, and gestures for his son to follow him back into the study. “Tell me, is she as beautiful as they say?” The words, before would’ve never earned more than an eye roll, but now, it is all Nick can do not to wring his father’s neck.

Of course, the Elf woman had been beautiful. With skin glowing ivory, golden eyes, and raven colored hair. Even before the impromptu bonding, he had known she was beautiful. All fae women are.

“Yes, but I have something else to speak to you of,” His words are polite, belying the roaring in his ears. The pounding of his heart, so loud he’s positive that his father can hear it. “May we go into your office?” King Devon now looks mildly concerned, his eyes narrow as he gestures for Nicholas to follow him.

The door shuts behind them and they are alone in the large study that also is used as a library. Books, their covers glistening from the light of the fireplace, are upon shelf after shelf. Each bookcase going to the very ceiling. His father’s desk, a large oak, is beside the fire with papers stacked neatly atop it. Nicholas remembers that as a child, he use to sit and watch his father work. Treaties had been made from this desk.

“What’s going on, son?” Nick turns to find his father already sitting in one of the plush chairs that make up a sitting room of their own. “You seem out of sorts.”

“My mother, she wasn’t Queen Angeline, was she?”