Chosen By the Dark Elf King (Once Upon a Fairy Tale Romance #9)

Chapter 1

VIVIENNE

The throne beneath me is as uncomfortable as the company. I shift, adjusting my green silk gown. The bodice is embroidered with delicate golden filigree, emphasizing my slim waist and royal poise, and my red hair is braided with pearls and emeralds to match my eyes.

It’s a complete waste of effort. Because every single one of these so-called suitors is an intolerable bore.

On my right, my father, King Edric of Aryndale, radiates proud patience, though his grip tightens on the armrest of his throne every time I open my mouth.

On my left sits my older brother—Aldric. He gives me a pointed look, reminding me that I should be on my best behavior. Because this weekend, I must choose a husband.

I shudder at the thought. I know that I must marry.

I’ve known it my entire life. My parents needed an heir, so they made a bargain with the Goblins.

They would have a son to inherit the crown, and a second child—a daughter that would be wed to the Goblin King if she is still unmarried by her twenty-third name day.

I’ll be twenty-three in a few months, which is why Father invited every eligible king, prince, and lord from near and far. Unfortunately for him, I’m not thrilled about any of them.

I hate that my choices consist of powerful men who want me for my title, and a dowry the worth of a small kingdom… or a monster who considers me something due to him in payment for a bargain.

I've seen what marriage does to some women. Even ones who thought they were choosing freely. It was different for my mother. She and Father were a genuine love match, but that is the exception, not the rule.

Every man in this room sees a crown when he looks at me. A political alliance… an heir-bearer. Not one of them has asked me a single question about who I am, what I think, or what I want. They present their assets like merchants at a stall, waiting for me to select the most favorable transaction.

And if I select none of them, if I fail to choose before my twenty-third birthday, I won't be choosing at all anymore. The Goblin King’s bargain will choose for me.

That thought lives in my chest like a cold stone. I push it down, the way I always do, because if I let myself feel how frightened I actually am, I won't be able to sit here and smile like a prize waiting to be claimed.

So I don't smile. I sharpen instead. It's the only weapon I have.

I’ve always known I’d have to wed to meet the terms of the Goblin deal, but I’d hoped I could at least marry for love. Even so, I haven’t given up. Maybe my father is wrong about the terms of the bargain. Surely there’s a way to escape this fate I never asked for and definitely do not want.

Sighing heavily, my gaze sweeps over my suitors. The High Elf Prince Veldren of Wyndemere is all flowing golden hair and angular arrogance. He tips his chin up as if he’s already won.

“Princess Vivienne,” he says, voice rich and smooth, “my kingdom is strong and wealthy. If you choose me, you shall have the finest gowns, the most exquisite jewels, and most importantly, the pleasure of a husband whose beauty is unrivaled across the realms.”

Ah, there it is. The High Elf Prince is known for his vanity. And while he isn’t exaggerating about his appearance, surely I cannot be expected to marry a husband who finds himself more attractive than me.

I blink at him, then glance at my father.

His expression is neutral. But beneath it, I can see the familiar frustration beginning to stir.

He was so upset when I rejected Prince Theron last month. The entire kingdom has been waiting for me to choose a husband.

Well, they’ll just have to wait longer. If I must be bartered, I will not make myself easy to claim. Let them think me impossible to win. It’s better than being owned.

“Tell me, Prince Veldren.” I tilt my head to study him. “If I married you, would I need to commission a second mirror for our chambers, or do you plan to spend all your time gazing at yourself in mine?”

The entire room falls deathly silent, and someone chokes on their wine.

Prince Veldren stiffens, his ethereal beauty marred by a twitching brow. “I assure you, Princess, I am not that vain.”

I sigh dramatically, waving a dismissive hand. “No need to lie, Veldren. It’s clear you love yourself far more than you could ever love a wife. Next.”

Father mutters something beneath his breath that sounds suspiciously like “for the love of the gods.”

The next suitor steps forward, a towering Bear shifter king, all broad shoulders and thick, braided hair. King Rorik of Vardheim. He looms above me, his fur-lined cloak shifting as he bows.

“Princess,” he says, his deep voice rumbling like distant thunder. “I seek a strong mate, a queen with fire in her blood. You will bear my heirs, rule at my side, and—”

I hold up a hand, cutting him off as he speaks to me as if he’s offering me a position to be filled instead of treating me like a person to be known. “Apologies. Rorik, was it?” I wrinkle my nose. “You smell like damp fur and wet stone. I’d rather marry my father’s warhorse.”

A horrified gasp ripples through the crowd.

King Rorik’s jaw tightens, his nostrils flaring.

Father presses a hand to his forehead.

I don’t even blink. If Rorik can’t take an insult, how in the stars does he rule a kingdom?

“Next,” I say sweetly.

A Wolf Shifter Prince steps forward. “Princess, if you would only—”

“No.” I stand abruptly. “Absolutely not. I refuse.”

Father shoots to his feet. “Vivienne!”

“I’m done.” I sweep my skirts in a sharp turn. “None of them will do.”

I march toward the exit, my heels clicking against marble. I round a column and slam into a solid wall of muscle. I gasp, stumbling backward, but before I can fall, a hand shoots out, grasping my elbow to steady me.

I look up, ready to snap at whoever dared get in my way, and freeze.

The man before me is not dressed in finery like the others. His gray-blue skin is streaked with dirt, as if he has ridden hard for days without rest. His armor is scratched and dented, his dark tunic bearing no sigil, no sign of status.

His pointed ears peek up through short-cropped hair that’s shorn close on the right but longer on the left, falling past his sharp jawline in a straight, ink-black wave.

He has a lean, muscular build with broad shoulders. He’s much taller than me. The top of my head doesn’t quite reach his chin.

He’s a Dark Elf soldier. Warmth flushes my cheeks as he stares down at me with piercing blue eyes. Even travel-worn and dust-streaked, he’s… unfairly handsome. The kind of handsome that makes a woman forget her own name, if she’s foolish enough to let it.

There’s something in his gaze. Not admiration or surprise, but… recognition. Like he has been searching for something and just found it.

I tip up my chin, determined not to appear like some vapid maiden whose head is turned by every gorgeous man she sees.

“Watch where you’re going,” I snap, yanking my arm free.

“Apologies, Princess. I—”

“Ugh,” I scowl, brushing imaginary dirt from my sleeve as I wrinkle my nose. “You reek of travel. Did you even bathe before you came here?”

One of his companions gapes, while the Dark Elf simply stares at me.

Behind me, Father catches up, breathless. “Vivienne—”

“That’s it!” I throw up my hands. “I refuse them all.” I whirl on the gathered suitors, all still watching in stunned silence. “Not a single one of you is worthy of me. Not the preening peacock, not the walking fur rug, not the fleabag mutt,” I declare, pointing at each in turn.

The Dark Elf studies me, his lips twitching.

Oh, for gods’ sake. I spin back to him. “And certainly not you, soldier.”

The entire room falls silent, tension thick in the air. Father closes his eyes, shaking his head as he mutters something under his breath about asking the gods to give him patience.

And the Dark Elf soldier, watching me with those glowing blue eyes, does something no one else does. He smiles. His lips curl up slightly at the edges, revealing sharp canines that lend a lethal edge to his striking features.

Heat flickers low in my stomach before I force my gaze away from him.

“Vivienne.” Father’s stern voice cuts through the silence. “I need to speak with you. Now.”

Dread fills me as I follow him into the throne room.

Father slams the doors closed behind us, and spins back to face me. “What are you doing?” he demands.

I lift my chin. “Speaking my mind.”

“You are sabotaging this,” he warns. “Every single one of them.”

“Good.” The word comes out harsher than I intend, but I don’t take it back. It’s easier to be the stubborn princess who mocks her suitors than to admit I’m afraid of what happens if I don’t… of losing my freedom.

His jaw tightens. “Vivienne, you know you must marry.”

“You say that as if it’s fact.”

“Because it is,” he replies exasperatedly. “Because of the Goblin bargain.”

I flinch, despite myself, even as I scramble for an excuse. “Father, you don’t know for certain the terms of the bargain still hold. What if it’s wrong?”

“It isn’t,” he says sharply. “And you know it isn’t.”

Silence stretches between us.

He exhales, dragging a hand through his hair. “Do you think I enjoy this? Do you think I enjoy parading you before men who see only your dowry and the protection it offers them?” He shakes his head. “I am trying to give you choices, and you are burning them to the ground.”

“Because none of them want me,” I counter. “They want what I come with.”

“You don't know that. Many of them are decent men. The Stag Shifter, Prince Theron, was a good one, but you refused to even consider him.” He sighs heavily. “Sometimes I wonder if the Goblins used their magic to give you that stubborn streak… if they thought it would benefit them should you turn away every suitor, so you’d still be unmarried when the bargain comes due.”

He scrubs a hand roughly across his face. “But in truth, I have only myself to blame. After your mother died, I indulged your every whim because I wanted you happy, even though I was warned it would only spoil you.” He gives me a pointed look. “Which it did. And rather thoroughly, I might add.”

“I’m not spoiled,” I counter, and one of Father’s guards snorts, but quickly covers it with a cough. I narrow my eyes at him before turning my attention back to my father. “Is it wrong to want a marriage on my own terms?”

“It is if you’re being unreasonable,” Father counters. “When you know the alternative is marriage to the Goblin King himself.”

My jaw tightens. Even though my mind insists he’s right, my heart stubbornly refuses to listen.