It was a dream.
The music was of flutes and pipes. It came from nowhere, and at the same time from everywhere. The air shimmered and crystal motes flowed through the light mists. The floor was a vast expanse of marbled light blue and lavender, the walls a creamy white. The ceilings reached to an eternity of black with the swirls of stars and moon dust.
Brianna stood at the end of the ballroom, feeling out of place in her sweeping nightgown of maroon silk, her dark brown waves of hair tousled, her wide eyes still heavy from sleep. Her arms were bare, and so were her feet, but she didn't feel cold. She watched as beautiful men in dress tunics and gorgeous women in ball gowns danced to the music that no human hand could have played.
This has got to be a dream.
Suddenly, the music stopped and the waltz ended. The dancers had cleared a path from where Brianna stood to the other end of the room, where a tall man had watched her. As if pulled by forces unknown, she found herself taking a step, walking forward, her eyes trained on the man, too far away to see, yet too near for comfort. The closer she got to him, the harder her heart beat in her chest, the harder it was for her to breathe. And when at last, after a lifetime of waiting, they stood before each other and she lifted her face to look at him. She wanted to stagger back. The heartbreaking beauty of his face had twisted at her heart. He was perfect. His nose was high, his cheekbones aristocratic. His full mouth was soft and firm and sensual and invited a woman to lose all thought in her head. His thick hair was short and neat, rain-straight and night black, and fell to his temples with the softness of silk. And his eyes... his candle flame eyes were soft but powerful, framed by curled eyelashes too long and thick to be a man's. Brianna had to struggle to bring air back into her lungs as she lost herself in those eyes. He studied her, then he smiled a slow lazy smile, the effect of which was more devastating that his eyes. "Brianna," he said, his voice soft and soothing, drawing her forward through dreams, through mists, through time. "I have been waiting for you."
And when his lips met hers, there was nothing for her to do but to surrender, to cling, to rejoice, for here was power, and glory, and love.
At last, at long last, she would wait no more.
Brianna turned and murmured in her sleep, lifting her hand to touch his cheek only to find out that it was her pillow she was holding. She blinked awake, and shot up from bed.
It was real. It had to be real. Her lips were still tender, still tingled, her body, still heated. It couldn't be a dream.
She lay back down and stared wide-eyed into the darkness, hearing the echoes of flutes and pipes.
~~~
Through the cloak of dreams, Prince Finnian stood, watching her. He had waited a thousand lifetimes for her, what was the harm of waiting for a little longer when she was so near?
Haenlan's hand touched his shoulder and he turned his head to look at his consort. "It is she, isn't it?" she asked with in a quiet voice that was laced with regret that she had valiantly tried to hide.
Finnian looked at the soft woman that was Haenlan, with golden blond hair and eyes as quiet blue as his was bold. She shimmered. Her beauty would have driven a mortal man insane. They had spent lifetimes together, as friends, as lovers, yet there had never been love, the burning passionate love that Haenlan had felt for Finnian, and that Finnian now knew he could feel, for Brianna. He touched her cheek, not knowing what to say. He had the most beautiful of the faeries, yet his heart had yearned for a mortal. "Haenlan," he started.
She lifted a finger and touched his lips. "No," she said with a sad smile. "I had known this day would come, and I am ready," she told him, touching his cheeks with the tips of her fingers. "Go to her, my lord. I shall enjoy watching you woo a mortal."
Finnian smiled, and her heart broke. He bent his head and kissed her gently, and her heart shattered. Then he was gone.
~~~
Brianna lay on the blanket she spread over the grass outside the cozy little cottage she had rented in an isolated grassland in the west of Ireland. She had wanted peace and quiet and breath-taking beauty and she had had those in endless supply since she arrived. Her book was moving as it should; her heart was finally finding its balance again. But there were the dreams, the disturbing dreams of faeries dancing in forts, and full moons and blue flame eyes, and kisses that strengthened and overwhelmed. She sat down in the middle of the red and white checked blanket (of course, it had to be read and white), then filled her lungs with delicious air. Her eyes trained beyond the stone wall to the emerald slopes, to the sapphire water of the sea, and felt contentment she had not felt through the success or the money that had been her life. Here, she thought, was home.
Delighted, she switched her laptop on, and spent the afternoon in the company of the people inside her head.