"Why, another should be chosen to be its prince, dear child. Probably your own father, Cynbel." He chuckled. "Dyfed's survival does not depend merely upon me, but you are sweet to believe it so, Bronwyn," Pwyll finished.

Now there were murmurs of dissent within the hall as some considered Bronwyn of the White Breast's words, and others supported their prince's decision to seek out the magical maiden again to apologize. Pwyll let them chatter for a time. Then he raised his hand for silence.

"I am still Dyfed's prince," he said quietly, closing the matter to any further discussion.

The following afternoon Pwyll eagerly spurred his beautiful white stallion into the deep forest that surrounded his small castle. Finding his way back to the grassy mound, he dismounted to await the return of the maiden. He could not even be certain that she would come, and yet in his heart he felt she would. She did not, however, nor for eight days after that, when he kept watch. On the ninth afternoon, just as he was about to give up in despair, the maiden rode forth from the tangle of forest into the clearing and past Pwyll. He stared after her open-mouthed, but then as his initial surprise subsided, Pwyll leapt upon his horse and galloped after her.

Rhiannon's heart was beating wildly. She had done a most brazen thing that first afternoon, as Angharad had later scolded her; but it had been worth it! It had not been the first time she had seen the Prince of Dyfed, although she had not known at first that he was a prince. Twice before, alone, she had spied upon him. Each time was like the first time when she had come upon him quite unexpectedly, schooling a horse in a meadow on the edge of the wood. Her heart had contracted most painfully in her chest that first time, and each time thereafter when she laid eyes upon him. This afternoon was no different.

Pwyll of Dyfed was even more handsome up close than he had been at a distance. His hair was as black as a raven's wing. He wore it clubbed back as the Cymri were wont to do. About his head was a band of gold which only served to accentuate the darkness of the hair. He was as fair-skinned, however, as she herself, but the color of his eyes she could not ascertain. She had never gotten that close to him. Besides, upon that fateful afternoon when she had first shown herself to him, she dared not stare. His features were strong but for his mouth, which had a softness about it. Still, she longed to kiss that mouth.

Pwyll hurried his horse after Rhiannon, keeping the same gait at first, and then spurring his horse into a gallop. There was no horse in Dyfed who could outrun Pwyll's, yet to his amazement, his straining animal could not lessen the distance between them, though the maiden's mount never appeared to increase its speed. Pwyll burst out laughing. This was powerful magic indeed. He slowed his panting beast almost to a halt and called out to the girl ahead of him, "Maiden, I beg you to stop that we may speak. I must know who you are!"

It was a mad thing to do, and she knew it. To play hide and seek with this Cymri was one thing. To become involved with him was not wise, but nonetheless, Rhiannon drew her own mount to a stop. When she turned about, it seemed to Pwyll that there had been no distance between their horses at all.

She smiled at the prince and cast a look of sympathy at the panting charger with its sweating, heaving sides. "Poor beast-ie," she crooned to the horse and, reaching out, stroked his neck. Then she looked at Pwyll, saying, "You did not have to chase me over half the forest if you wanted to speak with me, my lord. I would have stopped before if you had asked, Pwyll of Dyfed."

He was enchanted by the incredible sweetness of her smile, the lilting tone of her voice. Then it dawned upon him that she knew his name. Of course she knew his name! "Who are you?" he asked her, feeling both elation and despair even as he asked.

"My name is Rhiannon. I am the daughter of Dylan and Cornelia, rulers of the Fair Folk of this forest." Her voice was melodious; clear yet soft. "Why did you pursue me, Pwyll of Dyfed? I am told that you have returned to this place for many days now."

"I wanted to apologize for offending you," he began, wondering who had told her he had returned here.

"Offending me? How?" she asked him, amused.

"Are you not the guardian of this grassy mound upon which I danced?"

For a moment Rhiannon stared at him in surprise. Then, unable to help herself, she burst into laughter. The merry sound was that of water tumbling over stones in a stream bed, and he was not in the least offended that she found him funny. "My lord of Dyfed," she finally managed to say as she struggled to regain control of herself, "those grassy mounds have been here since time began. Even we of the Fair Folk do not know their true origins. It is really I who must apologize to you, for, knowing the superstitions held by the Cymri, I decided to play a jest upon you when I saw you dancing upon the mound the other day. I knew that should I appear before you without speaking and go silently about my way, you and your Cymri huntsmen would think it some great magic connected with the mound. My sister, who was with me, scolded me quite roundly for it, I might add."

"Then you are not angry with me?" Pwyll said, relieved.

"Nay, my lord, and I hope you are not angered with me," Rhiannon replied sweetly.

He shook his head. "I am not angry, princess. It is only just, however, that I claim a forfeit of you for your most mischievous behavior," he told her boldly. " 'Twas not fair to tease a mortal so."

A faint rose colored Rhiannon's pale cheeks. She looked directly at him and said, nodding, "You have the right, prince."

Staring into the most incredible pair of eyes that he had ever seen, Pwyll could not speak for a long moment. Surely it was enchantment. Never before had he beheld eyes the deep, rich color of woodland violets, but her eyes were precisely that color. He was quite happy to drown in their bottomless depths.

Rhiannon's thoughts were strangely similar. As he gazed into her eyes, she saw his for the first time. They were the same wonderful deep blue shade as the sea off the island where her maternal grandfather ruled. To Rhiannon they were the most beautiful eyes she had ever beheld. At that precise moment in time she knew why it was that she had sought him out. She loved him. She did not know why she loved him. Indeed, she did not even know him, but she loved him. Of that she was certain. She loved him and she would love him forever.

The silence between them seemed long, but finally regaining her senses, she gently encouraged him. "What would you have of me in forfeit, my lord of Dyfed?"

"Your company, princess," he said simply. Then dismounting from his own beast, he lifted her down from her horse.

The touch of his fingers about her slender waist seemed to burn through her delicate clothing to her sensitive skin. She shivered. His boldness was exciting, for boldness was not a trait amongst her own people, who were more controlled. Rhiannon watched in silence as he slipped the reins from both their animals over the branches of a rowan bush to keep the horses from wandering. At last she said softly, "Would you like to walk? There is a pretty pond nearby that I could show you."

"Aye, lady," he replied simply, and, taking her dainty hand in his large one, he let her lead him.

They walked through the forest. The sun slipping down through the trees crowned the tops of their heads with golden light and warmed their shoulders. At first they said little. Then at last they reached the pond. It seemed to Pwyll that there was no source for the pond's water, and yet it was filled full with liquid so crystal clear, he could see its sandy bottom and the little fishes swimming in it. He could not remember ever having been in this particular part of the forest before. Or had he? Nothing seemed quite familiar to him. A frightening thought suddenly bloomed in his brain.

"Are we in my world or yours, lady?" he asked her half fearfully. He knew, as did any sane man, that the portals separating different worlds were ofttimes invisible. Had this magical creature led him astray? Had Bronwyn been right?

"My lord," Rhiannon said quietly, "it is all one world in which we live. It is merely a matter of seeing not simply with one's eyes, but with one's heart as well. Often we do not see the most obvious things because we are either too busy or think we are. Or, and this I think a great sin, we do not want to acknowledge that which is before us, for it may be a more complex solution than we can willingly admit. How much easier to accept the obvious."

He did not fully understand her, but he felt somehow reassured. "Where do you live?" he asked. "Is it a near place, or in some distant spot?"

"My father's castle is here in this forest," Rhiannon replied.

"That cannot be!" Pwyll cried. "I know this forest! I have hunted in it since I was old enough to sit on a horse. It is mostly a wild and impenetrable place."

"Have you ever seen this pond before?" she asked him.

"Nay, I have not," he answered her.

"And yet this pond has been here all along," she told him with calm logic. "You do not know this forest at all, my lord. You have never before seen this pond because you have not looked carefully enough. So it is with my father's castle. You have not seen it because you have not looked for it. I will show it to you one day, Pwyll."

"When?" Suddenly he was eager to explore these new worlds that Rhiannon was opening up to him.

"On the day you come to claim me for your bride, Pwyll of Dyfed," came the startling reply.

"What?" The word sounded foolish to his own ears, but Pwyll could not remember ever having been so surprised in his life as he was now. Among the people of Britain he was a well-known and highly respected ruler. He was no backward fool. He ruled over a land of seven distinct and separate regions, each with a minimum of a hundred farms and villages. While his father had still ruled Dyfed, Pwyll had gained a reputation as a mighty and valiant warrior, fighting for justice in other lands. He thought he was long past the point where someone could surprise him so completely. Yet this beautiful maiden, whose name meant "Great Queen," had startled him totally.

"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."