Chapter 15
Elle
Two days after the dream-kiss we didn’t talk about, we finally left the glade.
The Wild Hunt had withdrawn—not gone, but waiting at a distance like wolves who knew their prey would eventually leave the sheep pen. Nimor could move again, though he still flickered between solid and shadow, sometimes mid-sentence.
We traveled on foot through the Thornwood, keeping to hidden trails the Sage knew.
The bees had scattered after the chase—Bryx said they’d find their own way home, that Kevin would track him down when things were safer.
For now, we walked in tense silence, everyone hyper-aware of the Hunt’s horns echoing in the distance, never quite close enough to engage but never far enough to forget.
“There’s a settlement ahead,” the Sage finally said on the second evening. “Thornhaven Hollow. Neutral ground, markets, relative safety. A place to resupply and plan.”
What they didn’t mention was that Thornhaven had a tavern.
The Nectar Nook squatted between two massive trees like something that had grown there by accident—all curves and organic architecture, windows that glowed amber with promises of questionable decisions.
The sign above the door featured a beetle in what could generously be called a corset, holding a tankard and winking.
“Oh no,” I said flatly. “Absolutely not.”
“Too late!” Bryx exclaimed, already through the door. “I need alcohol and poor choices!”
I followed reluctantly, Kaelren a silent presence at my back.
The interior was exactly what the sign threatened—a riot of color and light, bioluminescent lanterns hanging like jewels, tables carved from twisted roots.
The space was packed with patrons of every variety: Root-marked fae playing cards in shadowy corners, Bloom-touched merchants haggling over drinks, what looked like a group of forest sprites doing shots that glowed an alarming shade of green.
Music thrummed through the walls themselves, making the floor pulse with bass that I felt in my chest.
The servers were Florakith—seven-foot-tall beings with skin like flower petals, wings that sparkled with pollen, and outfits that were more suggestion than clothing. One glided past our group, leaving a trail of sweet scent that made my head spin.
“Is this a brothel?” I asked.
“It’s whatever you pay for,” Peeble said from my shoulder, already examining a menu made of pressed mushroom. “But mostly it’s just aggressively flirtatious.”
A Florakith host appeared, all smiles and calculated charm. “Table for…?” Their eyes swept over our ragtag crew with obvious interest.
“Eight,” Kaelren said curtly.
“And would you prefer intimate or… exposed?” The host’s smile suggested they already knew which would make us more uncomfortable.
“Back corner,” Sarnyx said before anyone else could answer. “Away from the windows.”
The host led us through the crowded tavern, past tables where deals were being made and romances were being negotiated, to a large round table tucked into the far corner.
It was partially hidden by a support beam grown from living wood, offering some privacy while still giving us clear sightlines to both exits.
Kaelren immediately claimed the seat with the best view of the room, back to the wall. I slid in beside him—safer than sitting across where we’d have to look at each other—and the rest of the crew arranged themselves around the table.
Kaelren hadn’t said a word since we entered. He sat like a storm cloud, arms crossed, jaw tight. Every time a server looked his way, his marks flared with irritation.
“Relax,” Vashael purred from across the table, clearly enjoying his discomfort. “They’re just friendly.”
“They’re predatory.”
“Pot, meet kettle,” I muttered.
He shot me a look that could have frozen fire, but before he could respond, our server arrived. She was devastating—lavender skin that shifted to pink at the edges, eyes like midnight, and a smile that promised trouble.
“Well hello there, sweetlings,” she drawled, leaning one hip against the table in a way that made her filmy skirt shift dangerously. “First time at the Nook?”
“Unfortunately,” Kaelren said flatly.
She laughed, a sound like wind chimes. “Oh, I like the grumpy ones. They’re fun to crack.” She leaned closer to him than necessary, giving him a view that would have made most men forget their own names. “Let me know if you need anything. Anything at all.”
“We’ll start with water,” he said, voice like ice.
“I’ll have whatever’s strongest,” I said, partly because I needed it, partly because his obvious discomfort was amusing.
“Ooh, adventurous,” the server said, straightening to look me up and down with obvious appreciation. “I have just the thing for you, sweetling. It’ll make you forget all your troubles.”
“Perfect. Bring three.”
The server sashayed away, and Kaelren’s glare could have powered a small city.
“What?” I asked innocently.
“Three?”
“I’m thirsty.”
“You’re reckless.”
“You’re annoying.”
“Children,” Sarnyx interrupted, sharpening one of her thorns on the edge of the table. “Can we have one evening without you two eye-fucking or fighting?”
“We’re not—” Kaelren and I said in unison, then glared at each other for the synchronization.
Thank goodness the drinks chose that minute to arrive. They were mesmerizing, something that glowed purple and tasted like bad decisions. I was halfway through my second an hour later, warm and buzzing, when I excused myself to find the bathroom.
The Nectar Nook’s facilities were predictably bizarre—a carved alcove with a door made of woven vines and a mirror that showed me looking slightly more attractive than I actually was. Flattering enchantments, probably. When I emerged, he was waiting.
“Did the garden grow you just for me?” the man said, blocking my path back to the table. He was handsome in that obvious way—all sharp cheekbones and artful stubble, shirt open enough to show geometric tattoos that pulsed with their own light.
“That’s a terrible line,” I said, trying to step around him.
He moved with me, still blocking. “Is it working?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Then let me try another.” He leaned closer, and I caught the scent of honeywine and something darker, more predatory. “You look like someone who appreciates danger.”
“I look like someone trying to get back to her table.”
He laughed, hand landing on my arm. His touch was warm, confident, possessive in a way that made my skin prickle. “I’m Fenric. And you’re the human everyone’s talking about.” His fingers traced up my arm, getting bolder.
“People say a lot of things they don’t understand.” I tried to pull away, but his grip tightened slightly.
“They also say you’re with the failed prince.” His eyes flicked toward our corner table, where I could just make out Kaelren’s dark silhouette. “But he seems… distracted.”
I followed his gaze to see one of the Florakith servers practically draped over Kaelren’s chair, laughing at something Bryx had said. Kaelren looked like he wanted to commit murder, but he wasn’t moving away. My chest tightened with something ugly and irrational.
“We’re not together,” I said, the words tasting bitter.
“Perfect.” Fenric’s hand slid from my arm to my waist, pulling me slightly off balance. “Dance with me. Just one song.”
“I should get back—”
“They won’t even notice you’re gone.” His other hand found my hip, and suddenly we were moving toward the dance floor whether I’d agreed or not. “Come on. You look like you need to forget about brooding princes for a while.”
The alcohol and his insistent pulling made it easier to give in than fight. The dance floor was crowded, bodies pressing close in the dim light. The rhythm was hypnotic, compelling, pulsing up through the floor and into my bones.
Fenric could dance, I’d give him that. He moved like water, confident and smooth, pulling me into the rhythm until I forgot to be self-conscious. His hands started at my waist but grew bolder with each song—sliding lower, pulling me closer, fingers spreading possessively across my lower back.
“You’re beautiful,” he murmured in my ear, close enough that his lips brushed my skin. “Especially the marks. They make you look wild.”
“Wild?”
“Untamed. Free.” His hand slid even lower, just above the curve of my ass. “Like someone who doesn’t follow rules. Someone who takes what she wants.”
I should have stopped him. Should have pushed away. But the alcohol made everything soft-edged, and some petty part of me wanted Kaelren to notice, to care that someone else was touching me.
“Smooth talker,” I managed.
“When properly motivated.” He spun me, then caught me against his chest, both hands on my hips now, holding me flush against him. His fingers traced the edge of where my marks disappeared beneath my clothes. “And you’re very motivating. I bet those marks go everywhere, don’t they?”
“That’s—”
His hand slid up my side, thumb brushing the underside of my breast through the fabric. “I’d love to find out. There’re rooms upstairs. Private. Comfortable.”
“I don’t think—”
“Don’t think.” His lips were at my ear now, his hand growing more insistent. “Just feel. Just—”
Fenric suddenly wasn’t there anymore.
One moment he was pressed against me, the next he was flying backward, slamming into the wall hard enough to crack the living wood. Kaelren materialized from the crowd like violence given form, carved marks blazing black, corruption spreading from his hands in visible waves.
“Kaelren!” I stumbled forward, but he was already moving.
He had Fenric pinned with one hand around his throat, the other—oh gods, the other held a knife. Not one of his throwing blades, but something crueler. A Root-touched dagger that made the air around it taste like rot.
“Touch her again,” Kaelren snarled, and his voice was barely recognizable, “and I’ll feed you to the Root piece by piece. Starting with the parts that touched her.”
“Kaelren, stop!” I tried to grab his arm, but he shook me off without looking away from Fenric.