Chapter 17 - Warm Queen
Wrenora
The first thing I noticed was that there was an actual fire happily flickering in an elaborate stone fireplace.
A mound of soft blankets was piled over me, and all I wanted to do was snuggle deeper into them and savor the warmth.
Instead, I was assaulted by visions of elves in battle and blazing pain.
I ran timid fingers over my arm where I’d been shot. No pain. Not even a bandage.
I’d been completely healed.
I shivered at the memory of Prince Callan’s calm voice as I was lulled into a chaotic state of unconsciousness by the motion of his horse.
He had taken me the rest of the way to Dyga, which meant I was at the royal palace.
I sat up, the world spinning for a moment as my head adjusted to being upright.
I shouldn’t be here. No humans were allowed at the royal palace by edict of the king.
The room was empty aside from the sofa I was lying on, and two chairs crowded around a small, low table.
Dark wood paneling covered the walls, adorned with tapestries of forests and fae creatures.
The curtains were drawn, but soft daylight snuck between the panels of heavy fabric, splaying across the floor in a shimmering kaleidoscope of pale blues and purples.
The golden light from the fire gilded everything in the room with a decadent warmth.
I pulled the blankets back to find myself dressed in a dark blue gown made of the softest material I’d ever felt.
My arms were bare, which allowed me to inspect my wound.
There was nothing but a tiny, dark scar.
I’d been healed, cleaned, and changed? My cheeks burned with embarrassment, hoping the prince hadn’t been present for all of it.
There were vague visions of him holding me against his warm chest, his hand on my thigh. But that couldn’t be. He would never be so close to a filthy human without his armor.
My eyes dragged down my arm until they landed abruptly on the pale patches of flesh around my wrist.
No shackles?
No shackles.
My shackles were gone. They’d been removed while I was unconscious. I lifted my arms in front of my face to make sure I wasn’t dreaming, the distinct lack of weight noticeable.
“I wondered when you’d wake.” The soft female voice startled me.
I flinched back on the sofa, pulling the blanket over me as if to protect me from the pale figure making her way across the room toward me.
“I’ll send for Callan. He wished to be notified as soon as you woke.” She stood before me, hands clasped in front, a demure expression on her beautiful face.
She looked exactly like the prince, with gorgeous icy-gray skin and white hair. Her eyes were the same shade of pale lavender, with a thin nose and full lips. She was willowy, her pointed ears peeking through her hair. I scrambled to my feet and stumbled into a clumsy curtsy.
“Your Grace...”
“None of that, dear.” She waved at a servant standing like a statue against the wall. They immediately ducked out the door. “How are you feeling?”
I couldn’t stop staring, unable to find my words.
I was standing before the queen. The queen of the elves.
She was as beautiful as the stories said.
The elegance with which she moved made everything around me seem sharp and temporary.
Her gown of soft purple silk shifted with each breath she took, the tiny gems embroidered in the fabric twinkling in the firelight.
She was a far more ethereal version of Prince Callan.
It was clear that he’d obtained at least his looks and mannerisms from his mother.
Perhaps his cold brooding was from his father, because this woman exuded warmth and friendliness.
After a long moment, I remembered she’d asked me a question, and heat crept back into my cheeks as I stumbled to answer. “I’m...I’m fine. Completely healed.”
She smiled sweetly. “Wonderful. We were worried with how long you slept after the poison was removed.”
We? But who else would care in this place?
She reached and tucked a stray curl behind one of my ears. “Callan was reluctant to leave your side, but I shooed him away.”
Callan. His voice had been frayed and desperate, lodging itself somewhere deep in my memory.
“Just fucking heal her.” He’d been demanding with the mage healer.
Then his voice changed. He had changed, the thread in my chest pulling taut at the memory.
“Wrenora...” My name from his lips was the last thing I’d heard.
His voice had been so soft, only for me. A plea in the dark.
My gaze snapped back to the queen’s. I’d been lost in my thoughts again. “Is he...”
“He’s perfectly fine, dear.” She reached her hand forward.
“He’s a hard one to hurt, what with the armor to protect his flesh and the icy demeanor to protect his heart.
” She tipped my chin up with her index finger, her skin so much warmer than I’d expected.
“Your eyes are the most incredible shade of brown I’ve ever seen.
Spun with gold. Most extraordinarily beautiful. ”
I swallowed hard at the thought of this woman finding anything about me beautiful.
The queen took a breath to speak again, but the door to her apartment flew open, a familiar silhouette storming through it.
His hair was wild around his shoulders, his face mask pulled under his chin.
Genuine concern was mapped across his expression as he crossed the room in long, hurried strides.
He stopped short beside his mother, his lavender eyes never leaving me.
“See, my son? I told you she’d be fine.”
His throat bobbed, the muscles in his neck tightening.
His eyes made an arduous journey down to my feet and back to my eyes as my cheeks burned hotter.
Like a door being slammed on my fingers, the emotion drained from his face, and a cold indifferent mask hardened his glare.
He relaxed, his stance taking on the persona of the terrifying prince who found me polishing the floors of his fortress when a thrall wasn’t to be on the upper levels.
“...icy demeanor to protect his heart.”
“Good.” He turned his glare on his mother. “We can ready the frost phoenix.” He turned away, as if all he needed was to see I was alive with his own eyes—that his precious imbuing mage had lived through her ordeal.
The queen winked at me with a knowing smile. “Like I said, icy demeanor,” she whispered.
“What’s that?” Callan asked as he spun back.
“Nothing, dear. Other than I’d love for you to sate your appetite before the journey.”
He hung his head for a moment before he folded his arms.
“Every minute we spend in this place is a minute more that he could burst through those doors.”
“I assure you, you’re under my protection here. And when’s the last time you’ve eaten?”
A muscle twitched in Callan’s jaw before he turned and left without another word. The queen watched him leave, but it was me who flinched when he slammed the door to her apartment.
“Now then,” she said as she turned back to me. “Time to find you something appropriate to wear.”
All the breath slipped from my lungs in a rush when I realized the queen intended for me, a human slave, to attend a meal with her and her son.