Greetings all! Long time no see yes?<g> This piece is a little different to the fare I usually write, and I hope you like it. kiwisun@ihug.co.nz

This story was written especially for an exceptional birthday girl Ashley.

Happy Birthday Ash!

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"Ah the beginning, a wonderful place, indeed, to start such a fairytale.

'Once upon a time…' and all it's trappings make for an excellent way to begin the weavings of a passionate portrait of fantasy and beauty.

And much like all those fairytales one sees printed upon pages over time, this one, too, begins in such an enchanted place, a Kingdom no less. But unlike those fairytales you have been privy too before, this fairy tale you shall never see bound within a book and sitting upon a library shelf. No. For this tale, is not only rare in it's telling and to whom it is told, it is also…absolutely true."

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The Princess Child

By Knightraven

Once upon a time, a long, long time ago, there lay a great and splendid Kingdom. It spread far to the north, and far to the south as far as the land meandered until it reached the great ocean at its feet.

Donlaith was a prosperous land, bustling with life and commerce. Travelers and merchants alike coming from far and wide to sell their wares and to seek the exotic trade that awashed the villages and towns.

To the north lay the largest and most elegant castle in all the Kingdoms combined. Its towering walls and turrets standing proud, protecting its precious inhabitants from any who would wish them harm.

It was one of the residents of Donlaith Castle that sat quietly in a quiet courtyard away from the daily bustle of the servants and soldiers constantly roaming the palace halls.

The sun shone warm and brightly over the young Princess Ashleiah as she sat upon the edge of the bubbling fountain, intently reading from the leather bound manuscript cradled in her lap.

Her beauty, shone as fierce as the sun, her light brown locks falling about her face to be idlely swept aside.

Her delicate fingers carefully turned each page, and each page was examined and drawn into her keen and sprightly young mind, absorbing every morsel of the fantasy so wonderfully being woven within her mind.

So intently was the sweet princess reading of handsome knights, and the princesses they saved, she did not hear her maid approach and startled as a hand touched her shoulder.

The book fell with a thud to the stone floor and immediately her maid bent to retrieve the valuable text.

"My Lady, you know the King does not approve of such readings," the young woman scolded her lightly.

"Yes, Lila, I am quite aware, thank you." Ashleiah bit, almost yanKing the book back into her own hands, holding it closely, protectively to her chest. "But father does not understand romance and the excitement of such tales," she said with a certain distain of her father's views about her most favourite past time.

The young maid, barely 16 summers old herself, twice that of the proud child before her, curtsied and submitted to her chastisement, a small smile crossing her lips as she saw the slight blush cross the young lady's cheeks. Every woman, no matter her station, desires a knight to sweep her from her feet and love her for eternity. The hand-maiden sigh wistfully and went forth announcing the reason of her presence.

"M'lady, I have come to tell you your meal is ready to serve."

"Thank you, I shall be along in a moment." Ashleiah waved the maid away and promptly sat herself back down on the fountain's wall and opened the book once again.

"I just have to know how Sir Peter saves the beggar princess from the dragon…" she whispered, turning the pages in the book to the place she had been before being so rudely distracted.

"Ashleiah!" a booming voice resonated about the courtyard walls. The princess dropped the book in her lap yet again, only this time it was the dimming light and cooling air about her that startled her back to reality.

Her father strode across the flagstones and came to a halt before her, towering over her, his hands perched on his hips, his proud chest jutting forward from his luxurious robes.

"Young lady, your mother has been awaiting your presence for a half hour. And she found it necessary to pester her King until he threw his hands in the air and came to retrieve his daughter himself!" he boomed.

"I am sorry father," Ashleiah said, rising to her feet and curtsying the large man before her. She could tell right away that he was not as angry as he proclaimed with his manner, and a small smile escaped her bowed head. It grew as she saw it mirrored upon the lips of the King.

"But you test me, child," King Mael smirked, his tone filled with love for his only daughter, as he brushed his large hand over her small delicate head to drop to her shoulder to help steer the errant child toward the castle and to her impatient mother.

"Now go and ready yourself my daughter. The guests are to begin arriving at any moment, and your mother is fretting that you are not yet ready to received them."

"Oh but father…" the young girl sighed.

"No, Ashleiah, this feast is in your honor. It is your duty to be present."

Mael watched as his daughter sighed once again, her shoulders falling in her displeasure.

"Yes, father," she a quested quietly and begin a slow shuffle inside. Mael stopped his daughter with a commanding, but gentle, hand.

"Come," was all he said as he took his daughter under her shoulders and hoisted her onto his back, her legs wrapping around his waist and her hands around his neck. He smiled and felt his heart lighten as a bubbling giggle burst from her lips, and he strode them both toward the royal chambers.

"Here you are, Wife!" the King announced as they entered their private rooms. His daughter slid from his body and to the floor before him, an appropriate air of repentance holding her young form as she bowed her head and clasped her hands before her.

"Forgive me mother. I lost track of the time."

"Yes I am quite sure you did, child. Now go bathe, and ready yourself quickly," her mother glared at her sternly, though her scolding gentle.

Ashleiah quickly moved into the neighboring chambers that were her own and was quickly surrounded by hand-maidens, removing her clothes and guiding her toward the bath, in order to ready the princess in record time, least they bear the wrath of their Queen.

"My wife, the King crooned as he walked to the mother of his child and slipped his arms about her waist. The soft smile which crossed her lips was reward enough and the hand which rose to caress her fair fingers down the side of his jaw to his lips, urged him to take her own reddened flesh within his own and kiss her tenderly.

"Was this such a wise idea husband?" she asked him quietly.

"Tis tradition my Queen, as well you know. She has reached the age of betrothal. As my heir, her husband to be from this day forth, will also be groomed to take his place at her side to rule Donlaith after we have passed into the next realm."

The Queen pulled gently away and turned toward the window and the fading light beyond, sighing as flames spurred to life to light the way of their bounty of guests.

"Kira. Wife…." Mael slid his strong arms about her wonderfully rounded form and rested his chin upon her dark locks. "…I promise, only her soul mate shall be chosen. If he is not with us tonight, then we shall keep searching until we do find him."

The Queen sighed again as she leant back into his embrace.

"Very well, husband," she turned to him, her hands flat against his chest. "But if the council insists on her mate being chosen tonight, I expect you to make your intentions on the matter very clear."

"Understood, my Queen." Mael kissed her hair and pulled away, moving to finish readying himself with all his royal trappings and garb.

The Queen turned from the window and brushed her hand over her husband's back as she passed into her daughter's chamber to hurry everyone along. The guests had begun to arrive.

"Mother I do not wish to get married," Ashleiah pouted as maids hurridly tied ribbons with great skill and practice and pulled fastenings to her elegant dress of sky blue and gold.

"You are not marrying him tonight, my daughter, as well you know. But when you come of age, you shall. Just as your father and I were married."

"But mother…"

"No buts, child. Your husband-to-be must be chosen and raised and groomed in our ways, just as you have, and shall continue to be."

"But what if I do not like him?"

Kira paused from her fussing with her daughter's braids and moved to take the girls young face in her hands, bending to draw their eyes to meet.

"If you do not like him…he shall not be chosen, my love," she whispered.

Ashleiah felt her lips move upwards in small relief at her mothers words and sincerity.

"Very well…But mother, he has to be as tall, strong, handsome and as smart as me!" the princess demanded, her hands on her hips.

"We shall do our best, my daughter," the Queen laughed quietly as she took note of her princesses arduous request. "Now come daughter, it is time to join your father and our guests. And I believe young Lord Cavan shall be attending the festivities tonight."

Ashleiah sighed. Why her mother thought she liked Cavan was beyond her…he was nothing but a horrible boy.

"Yes mother," she sighed and stood tall as a wreath of wild flowers was placed upon her hair and she was led out to where her father was waiting for his women.

Standing tall as he lowered himself from the carriage which had brought him within the castle walls, his natural aristocratic bearing taking shape in his shoulders and the set of his jaw, brought forth a flurry of groomsmen and servants to tend to his belongings and escort him toward the main entrance of the great hall.

"Welcome, M'Lord," a concierge bowed his head and took the invitation handed to him. He glanced at the contents and beckoned the man forward. "Thank you, M'lord. Please follow me."

The stoic Lord nodded and moved behind the much smaller man and entered the hall where many guests had already arrived in all their splendor.

"Announcing his Lordship, Lucien Lacroix, representing Queen Catherine of Gaelan!" The mans voice resonated about the grand chamber and Lacroix began his journey down the cascading stairs and into the menagerie of Royalty, Lords, Ladies and an unseeming torrent of young boys and their respective parents.

Lacroix inwardly scoffed as every eligible male in the combined Kingdoms appeared to be here all eager with the chance to claim the throne of Donlaith. He found himself breathing deeply of the royal blood that wafted over his senses.

As attention drifted away from his arrival, he continued his idle stroll through the chattering masses.

Dressed in an unusual black upon black ensemble of poets shirt, and breeches, draped snuggly by a tunic of equally fine cloth, yet a darker still, shade of black, shimmering as the finely embroidered design shifted under the torchlight as he moved about the room. Hundreds of warm-blooded souls reached out and tantalized his senses.

Feeling the hunger within him build deliciously, the ancient vampire cast his eye about in search of his meal.

"Stand still, Cavan!" the ancient heard a shrill, even in its hushed tone, batter his sensitive eardrums. Wincing, he turned to seek out the source of his irritation. His eyebrow raised, and lips quirked as he discovered the rather unappetizing vision of the twisted and indignant features of one of the many colorfully, and rather over dressed, Ladies, pulling unmercifully upon a young boys arm to pull him back to her side.

This woman was perhaps one of the few types of woman he quite adamantly detested. Other than her far too thin frame, the gaudy and poor constructed ensemble of her gown, make up and layer upon layer of accessory, it was her 'higher-than-thou-and-shame-to-all-those-beneath-my-greatness' poise of her personality. Time upon century he encountered such persons regularly, most usually within such a hierarchial gathering as this.

Donlaith was, indeed, a prosperous and inviting Kingdom, even to one such as himself, who often prefered to hunt upon the pitiful mortals in the less fortunate realms, where their disappearances was often either ignored, or often went completely unnoticed at all. But this place called to him. It's castle a sight unto itself, worthy of the long, and at times, precarious journey.

His place within the court of Queen Catherine gave him opportunity to weld his need for command and power of those beneath him, and of course, a standard of living to which he was much more inclined to bear.

Lacroix began a lithe prowl toward the most annoying woman, and who he assumed was her son, intending for his first meal of the evening to be a public service as opposed to merely quenching his hunger.

Frozen in his tracks, however, as the blast of trumpets with the royal salute, brought instant quiet to the great hall and all bodies and eyes turned toward the grand staircase, lined with footmen and the royal guard of honor.

The royal announcer stepped forward as the trumpets ceased their call.

"His majesty King Mael of Donlaith, Queen Kira and her royal highness, Princess Ashleiah!"

He cried, giving special announcement to the young princess on the honor of her betrothal.

Lacroix felt his features soften slightly as the vision of the young girl presented itself. Her small, yet proud manner, holding her chin high yet with dignity as her blue and gold gown shimmered under the light of the hundreds of candles and flaming torches about the room. As the royal party reached the bottom step, the congregation moved as one, the Lords gracefully bowing and the ladies lowering themselves in curtsy, with respect to the King and the royal family.

Lacroix bowed elegantly, but his eyes remained forward never leaving the form of the family as they moved to take up their places upon their thrones.

Once seated, the masses rose from their submissive positions and waited for the King to rise and speak.

"Ladies, Lords, honored guests," King Mael began, his deep masculine voice resonating about the great hall, holding the rapt attention of every soul, both living and undead, with every word.

"Today we have gathered on this wondrous occasion on the 8^th anniversary of the birth of my daughter and first born, Ashleiah. On this night a young man will be found and brought within the castle walls to be raised and taught the ways of royal life and be prepared to join my daughter in ruling over Donlaith for the next generation to come."

"He shall be a special child, one who is not only compatible with my daughter in mind and body, but he must be in soul as well."

"If he is not found tonight, then we shall feast and celebrate well, and continue the quest of searching the Kingdoms and beyond until we do."

"Rejoice, my friends, and be merry, for tonight we celebrate!" Mael's voice boomed loud and triumphantly over the crowd and a deafening explosion of applause burst from the gathering.

With a cue from the courtier, the trumpets rose once again and burst a brief salute before the room was filled with the sounds of excited chatter and the melodic tones of the orchestra coming back to life.

Ashleiah sat as a proper princess should, her hands crossed daintily in her lap and feet together beneath her flowing gown. And perched on the edge of her throne, her back straight and shoulders level, she gazed out over the crowd, trying to recognize any of the young suitors whose families sought to find their place within the royal circle.

She grimaced as she heard the shrill, demanding tone of Cavan's mother, even though she were clear half way across the great hall.

She wondered often if Cavan had sprung from this woman's loins at all. She was not as young as one might expect of a lady with her first and only child. Ashleiah watched as her playmate of many years shifted uneasily and pulled at the tightness of his dress tunic. She smirked as she clearly saw the uncomfortable poise of the 11-year-old boy she usually new dressed more as a pauper than the lordship status he had attained at birth after the untimely death of his father, Lord Ruthlor of Hulgrier.

Cavan had been first brought to her as a young child, along with Greta, her best friend and her younger sister Lauria, of the house of Cardiff. They were chosen to provide company and learning companions to the princess, and in return be honored with royal tutorage for the duration of their compliance and favour of the King and Queen. Ashleiah pursed her lips, somewhere between distaste and thoughtfulness, as she looked Cavan over in his finery. He was alright, she supposed, but he was a boy….and boys were annoying idiots. If she could have her way, she would never subject herself to such a silly tradition as betrothal.

Ashleiah sighed at the unfairness of it all and looked into her lap already more than ready to return to her chamber and to her favourite book.

The courtier announcing their first candidate broke her revere and she rose her chin in time to watch a haughty boy move up onto the assembled platform, accompanied by his equally self-important father, ready to present his offspring to the King for inspection.

She watched as her father politely, yet firmly asked the boy questions, before nodding and sending for the next offering. The princess suddenly felt a sense of sympathy for her parents as they were subjected to judging what appeared to be over one hundred eager candidates, many of whom were important allies within and from beyond Donlaith. Diplomacy was greatly apparent and she watched as her father remain neutral as he listened and probed the young boys for further information, without divulging his like, or in some cases she guessed, was his extreme dislike.

Meanwhile, the gathering of almost five hundred people, began to sip the wines and brews, and feast upon the copious amounts of food spread upon table after table down one side of the hall.

To another side sat the orchestra, their music beautifully floating upon the air, and as a lively tune began, several guests moved onto the quickly clearing center of the room and began to move in swirls of colour as they danced gracefully about the floor.

The young princess watched the couples with envious rapture, wishing her own Sir Peter would come to claim her hand forever, rescuing this princess from the recesses of this dull and unappealing life.

Ashleiah sighed, her small shoulders rising and falling gently restraining the hardy motion she wished to ensure her parents saw, but she knew her public performance before such a gathering must be impeccable, and especially today when all eyes seemed to be constantly gazing toward her. The princess sighed once again.

Such rich pickings, the vampire thought. This must be what it was like in regards to that saying...now how did it go…ah yes…like a virgin in a chocolate shop. Lacroix chuckled quietly, he was far from being a virgin, and such a wealthy gathering was not uncommon to him at all, after all, he had spent the best part of the past five years within a royal court himself. However, there was something sweet about the mortals of Donlaith. Sweet, succulent, the bitter taste of strife and hardship far less palatable within these well nourished beings of both body and soul. Lacroix ran his tongue over his upper teeth as they began to ache with the need to bite into one of these lovely morsels.

A young man brushed past his shoulder. The touch, and strong scent of his blood almost sent his fangs through his lower lip, only a thousand years of control pulled them back and kept the irredesant glow of gold from his eyes. Quickly, Lacroix fell into step behind the mortal, young, yet old enough to not be an eligible candidate for the honored princess. He was prey.

King Mael cast his eye toward his young daughter as an audible sigh escaped from her lips. He could not help the quirk of his lips turning in a small proud smile. His young lady was beautiful, and shall only become more so as she matures into a young woman. She shall break many a heart

when she finally weds, swarting any rivals for his daughters hand. After all, he had won his wife's hand….or perhaps it was more along the lines of her deciding he was the one and took him. A quiet chuckle rumbled the King's sword-hardened chest at he more than pleasant memories of what seemed so long ago, yet only yesterday. He turned to discover his Queen watching him with her own smirk and light in her eyes that never failed to send a rush of warmth through his body. Their hands touched for a brief moment before the boisterous ramblings of a enthusiastic young boy demanded their attention once again.

Cavan pulled at his tunic neck yet again. The stupid thing was too small. Did his mother not realize that he grew?

His mother stood beside him cackling to some lord or another, and if they managed to elude her grasp then he would have to stand the torture of listening to her critic the other Ladies and boys waiting for their audience with the King and Queen. Of course, his mother thought that he had a hand in because he had been chosen as playmate for the princess, but he knew better, if Ashleiah did not find her soul mate to marry and share the throne, then she shall rule alone. It was the way of Donlaith. Even at his young age, he knew the strength of such an alliance. The potential instability of a warring royal family was reduced to all but none purely by insuring the family was bound so completely by something as pure and simple as love. But Cavan knew all too well that love was never as simple as it sounded.

He pulled again on his tunic and once again felt his hand slapped away from the action by his mother. Cavan sighed, and cast his eye up toward the ever nearing platform and the beautiful princess sitting properly upon her throne. Cavan sighed at the exquisite sight bathed in blue and gold and the flicker of the torchlight. Perhaps she would see to look toward him for a moment? he hoped wistfully. Preferably without the pursed look of distain she usually gave him. He did not wish to further anger his mother with his sudden burst of laughter if she did. But when she did finally cast her eye briefly over him, the forlorn look in her eyes caught the breath in his chest and he had to restrain himself from just striding to the stage, taking her hand in his and escaping from this nightmare. His shoulders rose and lowered with yet another sigh in unison with the princess, and together they set to surviving the evening.

Ashleiah sighed as she heard, then saw, the imposing persona of Cavan's mother waiting one boy away from Cavan's turn before her father and mother. She wished everyone would just go away. Her eye met Cavan's, and she saw the displeasure. At least she wasn't the only one suffering, she thought with almost pleasure at seeing her tormentor shifting with discomfort in his dress tunic and buckled shoes. All that boy ever did was pull on her hair and snatch her book away, making her chase him through the castle until she caught him and slapped him enough for him to release his prize. He would always be laughing as he rolled on the ground taunting her. He was forever telling her he was going to marry her. Her marry Cavan!? Never.

Just as her vision was about to blur into another fit of boredom, she saw him. Her breath caught in her throat, and butterflies turned her stomach from the first moment she saw him move into view as he emerged from the west alcove.

Her eyes widened and she craned her neck to watch the tall figure move amongst the crowd.

Ohh. Ashleiah felt as though she had just seen Sir Peter himself. Swathed in black, his hair cut short, as many knights were inclined to do, and…oh my…so handsome.

Cavan watched as Ashleiah suddenly took great interest in something behind him. He turned and followed her gaze to a man slowly moving across the hall.

He pursed his lips and his frown turning from one of puzzlement to one of envy and a great sense of protectiveness. Who the hell was he? Cavan thought harshly. A familiar hand slapped the back of his head to gain his attention and force his gaze back to the stage. His mother grabbed his wrist and pulled him harshly up onto the platform to formally present him to the Royal family.

The Princess stared with helpless adoration for the swarthy and aristocratic poise of the handsome stranger across the great hall. She wondered who he was. She guessed he must be a guest from afar, as his attire and manner were, although quite proper, a little foreign. He must be an important man, she thought. The way he held himself and gazed upon the lords and ladies of the court, was with a sense of dominance, yet without the pompous overbearingness that the Lady Ruthlor exuded with every breath she took.

Without warning the tall man turned and locked his gaze with hers. Ashleiah felt her pulse quicken and leap to her throat, her eyes widened and a small intake of breath parted her lips.

Running his thumb over the corner of his mouth and bringing it to his lips, savoring the last taste of this most recent meal, Lacroix moved back into the crowd of revealers.

A flush coursing the length of his back warned the ancient vampire that he was being observed with more than just a passing glance. Turning nonchalantly, he saw two pairs of young eyes avidly following his every move.

He cocked an eyebrow as he recognized the boy and more importantly the horrendous woman slapping the child about the head and dragging him toward the King.

Lacroix took the young princesses watchful gaze within his own, captivated by her innocence and rapture with him.

Sighing, he had seen that look of desire before, it brought back memories he would rather bury forever. Even still, the patriarchal stirrings within him rose to the surface as he gazed upon this young girl, so much like his lost daughter. Few regrets did he carry in his life as an immortal, but the wasted years of his daughters life, where he could have loved and raised her with more morality that the girl had ever done so, growing up within the walls of a brothel. Sighing again, he felt a small smile escape as he felt the young boys gaze bore into him once more. A young body with an old soul, that one, Lacroix thought, recognizing the traits in the boy. It would not surprise him in the least to return in twenty years to see this child and the young princess draping the thrones before them.

However, in the meantime, he did not appreciate the overt attention the pair were giving him. Tearing his gaze from the children, Lacroix moved gracefully, the crowd parting in its usual manner before him, further across the hall and beneath the row of great arches gracing the eastern side of the expansive room. Here, he was out of the direct line of sight of the children yet keeping them within his own view. Unwittingly, he found himself drawn inexplicably to the children and the next two hours were spent observing the pair.

An unhappy princess he could tell. The sighs every few minutes, and an almost blatant disinterest in the stream of candidates parading before her. Though Lacroix suspected the King and Queen had endured quite enough as well.

As the queue of boys grew shorter, and one by one they were all carefully scrutinized and categorized, he decided there was only perhaps three or four candidates for the young princesses hand, but he knew without doubt already, who would one day share the throne with the lovely young girl. Of course, it was now up to the King, the Queen, and court full of stuffy old councilors to decide the final outcome.

The night wore on, and as the interviews finally subsided, the orchestra found a new lease of life, and more food and drink was paraded into the great hall.

King Mael sighed with subdued relief, glad he only had to do such a chore once in his lifetime.

He looked to his wife and smiled as her attention drifted to the dancing couples floating about the room.

The music was wonderful, lively and the guests began to relax a little more as everyone now absorbed themselves in the fine fare and the release of the nervous tension held by many of the candidates. Merely standing before the imposing King was nerve-wracking enough, but to be personally scrutinized by the man was more than some families could bear. There had been more than one or two visibly shaking fathers, mothers and sons paraded before him that night. But now it was over and he discovered an irresistible urge to take his wife's hand.

"Come, my wife. Let us dance." He smiled, and as it was returned, they rose as one and moved down the plush stairs, and the dancers paused and made way for the royal couple.

Ashleiah watched her parents move as one about the great hall, dancing wonderfully, with such grace and poise. She sighed, wondering if she would ever find such a husband as her father was to her mother.

"Ashleiah?" came a voice beside her. She turned to see Cavan standing with his hands clasped behind his back.

"Would you like to dance?" he asked quietly. Ashleiah sighed and pursed her lips.

"No, thank you, Cavan."

Cavan frowned and pursed his own lips in frustration, his hands moving to his hips without thought.

"Why not?"

"Because I don’t want to dance with you," Ashleiah replied tersely.

"Why not?"

"Because you are just a boy," she said with the usual distain she spoke to him with.

"Well you just a girl, Ashleiah," he replied with an equal tone. Cavan glanced about the room, following the princesses gaze as she appeared to be searching for someone.

"He isn't going to ask you to dance, Ash," he told her snidely.

Ashleiah opened her mouth in shock that Cavan even had any idea what she was thinking.

"You don’t know anything, Cavan Ruthlor. Now go away!" she hissed, giving the boy a small shove.

Cavan huffed his indignation and stomped back to where his mother stood waiting and dared to glare at the woman. It had been her 'persuasion' that had prompted him to ask the princess to dance in the first instance, and from the titter of muffled laughter from the boys about him, he now looked a fool for his attempt.

Lacroix quirked his lips as he witnessed the feisty exchange between the two children. He had fully intended to depart once the interviews had been completed as it was custom to remain until the process had been completed. However, he found himself being entertained enough by the young princess and her willing suitor. Perhaps he would remain just a little longer.

Several minutes later with the princess appearing despondent, her small sighs now becoming heavier and more obvious to those around her, he made a decision.

Ashleiah caught her breath once more as she saw the debonair Lord walk into view. The crowd seemed to part before him, allowing him graceful passage. When her gaze locked with his, she realized that he was making a direct path toward her.

Her eyebrows raised in slight panic and she quickly glanced to her father, then to Cavan, who had also noticed the trajectory of the tall stranger.

Lacroix approached the royal platform and with a graceful bow to the King, he shifted toward the princess and bowed once again, this time lower and with a little more elegance.

Ashleiah stared at the hand he held out toward her, frozen to the seat of her throne.

"My Lady. May I have the great honor of asking you to join me for this dance?"

The princess gasped and her lips hung ajar, her eyes wide with exhilarated shock, her heart racing.

He was asking her to dance? With her? Now? She saw a soft smile form over the strangers face, and all she could do was nod and place her hand in his.

Somehow she managed to rise to her feet and descend the stairs, his large hand gently holding hers high as they stepped toward the parting crowd and onto the dance floor. A quick glance to her parents saw her father's eyebrow raised, and a small smile upon her mother's lips.

Suddenly the world around her burst to life again as she smiled at the lord, now holding both of her hands, ready to step them into the stream of dancing couples. Her apprehension floated away and she took a deep, steadying breath and gave the lord a small nod to signify her readiness.

With great ease and grace he lead them both in a sweeping twirl amongst the dancing colors of opulent cloth swirling about the great hall of Donlaith.

The music cast a wonderful rhythm over her, and the endless days of lessons moved her feet in the necessary pattern to follow her shining knight in graceful movement across the floor. For the longest time all she could see was the abundance of colour enveloping this handsome man dressed from head to toe in magnificent black. She wished this moment could last forever.

But as the music crescendoed and came to a rapid halt, applause pattered about the hall and the man escorted her back toward her seat.

As she seated herself once again, she smiled as he bowed and kissed her hand.

"My dear, you are a most lovely vision and dancer. If only I were a much younger man…" he said, his voice deep and smooth. "I thank you My Princess." And with a final smile, the man in black swept back into the crowds and was gone.

Ashleiah sighed and giggled slightly as the excited butterflies played wonderfully within her.

This was quite possibly the best birthday she had ever had.

King Mael huffed a smile as he watched his daughter swoon over the Lord Lacroix. As he watched his daughter dance, a discrete question had brought the dark man's name forth a moment later. It was only by chance that he had seen the young Lord Ruthlor also avidly watching his little girl. An eyebrow had raised as he recognized the jealous scowl upon the young boys handsome face, his blonde curls almost a flame with his fury. Mael had motioned his wife to take note of the boy and together they shared a glance toward each other. A small smile pulled his wife's lips in a gesture of knowing. This, in turn, caused the King to frown slightly and purse his lips. His wife had apparently known young Cavan's feelings for their daughter well before the events of this night.

"Wife? You have something to inform me of?" he leant toward the Queen and asked.

"Oh husband," she returned, her tone light and playfully teasing. "If you opened your eyes now and then to the love blossoming around you, you, too, would have seen Cavan's interest in our daughter long ago." Kira paused and turned to glance at her husband before returning her gaze to the object of their attention.

"But then it seems fitting that I recognized the feelings within him. For it was I who had those very same feelings toward you, my King."

The pair shared a smile as their hands moved together, entwining together. Mael leant across the distance between them and gently kiss the lips of his bride that he could no longer refrain from taking within his.

If his daughter found but a mere morsel of the love he shared with his wife, he will be happy beyond reason, knowing his daughter, too, would live a happy and fulfilling life.

With a sigh upon his lips, King Mael of Donlaith caught a glimpse of the dark clothed Lord Lacroix ascending the steps to retire from the gathering. He locked his gaze for a brief moment and nodded his respect and well-being to the man. And as the night swallowed the stranger, he received the strong sense that this would not be the last Donlaith saw of the Lord Lacroix. No, not at all. In fact, he believed his family was going to learn much more about this enticing, and mysterious, man over the years to come.

The music drew the great King back to his guests and after a deep settling breath, he let the atmosphere and festivity wash over him, and he could do nothing but smile as he watched over his people below celebrating with him the love he had for his cherished family.

>>>>>>>>>>>><<<<<<<<<<<

The tall, stoic vampire, placed his wine glass delicately upon his desk and shifted forward in his chair, his reddened lips pressing gently against the microphone.

"And that, dear listeners, is the beginning of the tale of the Princess Child. And now, it is time for me to bid you goodnight, my dears. Sweet dreams….and most of all…good hunting."

The End.