Chapter 21
Chapter twenty-one
The leaf's magic flickered like a dying candle, twenty minutes at most remained.
Briar took the ancient steps two at a time, moss flaring in bright green bursts where her fingers dragged along the wall.
Her lungs burned, her thighs screamed, but she couldn't slow down.
Thomas knew about golden flowers. Someone who understood, who'd studied the marks, who might have found something.
Footsteps echoed somewhere above. Briar pressed herself against the wall, and the leaf's magic stuttered. For a terrifying moment she felt visible, exposed, before it steadied. Ten minutes left.
The footsteps passed. She waited until silence returned, then ran.
She burst from the servant's stair into a main corridor, forcing herself to slow to a normal walk. Even invisible, running would create disturbance. The warmth in her chest pulsed with her racing heart, but underneath her exhaustion, something else burned—hope. Tiny and dangerous, but real.
Her door appeared just as the leaf's magic died completely, the silver veins going dark in her palm. Two seconds later and she would have materialized in the corridor.
She locked the door and leaned against it, chest heaving. The bath would have to wait. She needed to prepare for dinner, for whatever game Eliam was playing with Lord Malachar.
The silver dress lay where she'd left it.
In the afternoon light, the gradient from bright silver to deep pewter seemed to shift and move, creating an effect that was ethereal rather than revealing.
The sheer layers would hint at her form without exposing it, the dramatic sleeves adding an otherworldly quality.
As she lifted it, a knock came at her door.
"Enter," she called, expecting a servant.
Thaine filled the doorway instead, his expression unreadable. "His lordship requires your presence in the Blue Hall." His eyes tracked over her still in her emerald day dress. "You have ten minutes to prepare. Lord Malachar has arrived with his full entourage."
"The Blue Hall?" She'd never heard of it.
"His lordship says to remember your lessons." Thaine's tone carried weight. "All of them. Especially about showing nothing they can use."
The warning was clear. This wasn't just dinner, it was a test.
After Thaine left, she changed quickly, hands steady despite her racing thoughts. The silver dress transformed her into something between mortal and fae, neither claimed nor free. The marks Eliam had left were visible but seemed artistic rather than crude against the ethereal fabric.
She thought of the morning's training, his hands positioning her, teaching her to move without exposing weakness. The memory of his desperation when she'd called him home warred with Thaine's warning. Whatever happened in the Blue Hall, she needed to be the stone wrapped in silver he'd described.
The corridors Thaine led her through were unfamiliar, grander than her usual routes. Sound drifted toward them: voices, laughter, the clink of crystal.
"There are others?" Her steps faltered.
"Lord Malachar travels with twenty courtiers. Did his lordship not mention?" At her silence, Thaine added, "Best behavior, little rabbit. Lord Malachar has particular appetites, and his lordship will be watching how well you've learned."
The double doors loomed before them. Through the warmth in her chest, she felt something from Eliam, control held like armor, but underneath it, a tension that matched her own.
Thaine pushed the doors open.
Twenty faces turned toward her. Fae in elaborate court dress, jewels glittering, wine glasses paused halfway to lips. The conversation died instantly.
But it wasn't crude hunger in their eyes, it was curiosity. The silver dress made her look like something from legend, beautiful but untouchable, marked but not broken.
"Ah," Eliam's voice cut through the silence from the head of the table. "Perfect timing."
He looked resplendent in formal court attire—a fitted black doublet with silver buttons carved like tiny thorns running down the front. The high collar framed his jaw, and intricate silver embroidery traced patterns of bare branches across the shoulders and down the sleeves.
His black leather pants were tucked into tall boots polished to a mirror shine, and a chain of silver thorns draped across his chest, marking his rank. The antler crown seemed more prominent tonight, casting dramatic shadows in the candlelight.
He was every inch the Forest King holding court.
His eyes met hers for just a moment, and she caught something there, a warning, yes, but also something else. Through the warmth, she felt his careful control and underneath it, that same desperate need from the morning, ruthlessly suppressed.
"Come," he commanded, voice revealing nothing.
She moved through the room using the liquid grace he'd taught her, letting the warmth guide her movements.
The dress flowed like water, the dramatic sleeves creating an impression of something not quite solid.
She was performing, just as he was, both of them playing roles while that warmth pulsed between them, secret and hungry.
A figure rose from Eliam's right—tall, white-haired, draped in layers that seemed to shift between gray and white like winter storm clouds. His outer robe was nearly translucent, worn over a fitted silver tunic and pale leather vest adorned with chips of ice-blue stone.
Multiple shimmering chains of different lengths hung from his neck, each holding pale blue crystals that caught the light like frozen tears.
Where Eliam's style was sharp and controlled, Malachar wore his power loosely, carelessly, as if he might shed or add layers based on whim. When he smiled, it was all predator.
"So this is your latest acquisition." Lord Malachar moved toward her with fluid grace. "The rumors didn't do her justice."
He intercepted her before she reached the table, circling her slowly. His presence was different from Eliam's. Where the Forest King was dark earth and growing things, Malachar was frozen lakes and killing frost.
"Such fascinating marks," he continued, stopping behind her. "Still fresh, I see. How thorough of you, Eliam."
"I've always believed in attention to detail," Eliam replied, voice carefully pleasant. But through the warmth, she felt his rage at another male so close to her while exuding such thinly veiled intentions.
"Indeed." Malachar completed his circuit, pale eyes studying her face. "She seems different from your usual pets. There's something about her that's almost—" He paused, tilting his head. "Luminous."
The warmth pulsed nervously. Could he sense it somehow?
"Briar," Eliam said, drawing her attention. "Pour our guest some wine."
She moved to the sideboard, using every lesson about moving without telegraphing emotion.
As she leaned to pour for Malachar, his fingers trailed along her bare arm.
The touch made goosebumps prickle across her skin, she wanted to slap his hand away but she forced herself to remain still until the glass was full.
"Such warmth," he murmured. "One forgets how hot human blood runs. Like touching summer itself."
She kept her expression neutral as she pulled back, using every lesson about giving nothing they could exploit.
"Tell me," Malachar continued, though his voice carried to the entire table, "do all your pets dress so ethereally? Or is this one special?"
"Briar dresses as pleases me," Eliam's tone remained pleasant, but the temperature dropped a degree. "As is my right."
"Of course. Your rights in your own domain are absolute." Malachar's gaze lingered on her. "Though one wonders what inspired such an interesting choice. Neither your colors nor entirely neutral. Almost as if you're displaying something without quite claiming it."
The observation was too sharp. Around the table, courtiers watched with avid interest.
"You seem remarkably invested in analyzing my choices, Malachar." Eliam's smile was sharp. "Perhaps you should focus on your own domain. I hear the border disputes have been... challenging for you lately."
A ripple of tension passed through Malachar's entourage. One of his courtiers started to rise, but Malachar raised a lazy hand, stopping them.
"Indeed they have been," Malachar agreed without shame. "Which is why I've come to propose a mutual arrangement. Your forests border my winter reaches. Together, we could settle these disputes definitively." He smiled. "Unless you prefer to remain isolated in your sovereignty."
The threat was elegantly delivered—cooperate or face potential enemies on multiple borders. Eliam's expression revealed nothing, but Briar felt the warmth pulse with his controlled anger.
"We'll discuss your proposition after dinner," Eliam said finally. "In private. For now, enjoy my hospitality."
The next hour was a careful dance. She moved around the table, serving, feeling eyes track her movement but few dared touch. Malachar's courtiers were bold but careful, testing boundaries without quite crossing them. But Malachar himself grew more pointed with each cup.
"I notice you mark her quite extensively," he said during the fish course. "Is she so prone to wandering that you must claim every inch?"
"She's spirited. It requires proper handling."
"Spirited." Malachar's laugh was like breaking ice. "Is that what we're calling it? In my court, we find other ways to ensure loyalty. Less crude, more—" He paused, eyes finding Briar again. "Permanent."
The threat hung in the air. Eliam's smile never wavered, but Briar felt his control fracture slightly through their connection.
"Different methods for different courts," he said mildly. "Though I've heard your methods sometimes result in losses."
"True. Humans are so fragile. They freeze so easily." Malachar's attention returned to Briar. "This one seems sturdier than most. There's something about her that's quite unique."
The glass in Eliam's hand cracked.