16. Chapter 16
R en’s boots echoed through the halls of the palace. She could still hear Kaelin’s infuriating voice rattling around her skull like a wasp in a bottle.
She needed out . Not more training, not more lectures from the fae guard commander, Ivan, or silent glares from fae who regarded her like she was dirt tracked across their polished floors.
Ren wasn’t surprised. That barely concealed contempt came as naturally to them as breathing. But it was annoying all the same.
She let the weight of their stares roll off her shoulders, though the effort cost her more than she’d admit.
Gods, Ren wished she could be far from this suffocating place, somewhere on a ship, with salt spray in her hair, heading for some nameless coastal village where nobody knew her name and nobody cared enough to look twice.
But that was a dream. She had to remind herself to take this day by day, to choke down the bitterness and endure.
This was temporary. It had to be. Still, when would she hunt her first creature?
Talen hadn’t said a word about it. She hoped it would be sooner rather than later; maybe she could pry the details out of Talen before long.
A grim reminder, too, of why she trusted no one because trust was just another word for giving someone a blade and daring them not to use it when your back was turned the other way .
Ren paused as she came to the stables. The soft whicker of restless horses came between wooden walls, and the golden light of sunset spilled in through the wide barn doors, casting everything in a warm, honeyed glow.
A bronze-haired wood elf mucked out one of the stalls, raking fresh dung into a bucket.
Like most of his kind, he carried the lean build of one shaped by forests and long days beneath the boughs.
The wood elves were a fae bound to nature, their homes hidden within living trees or caves.
Renowned as archers, hunters, and druids, they thrived on agility, stealth, and harmony with the land.
It was a sharp contrast to the high elves of Vaelaran.
Where wood elves bent to the rhythm of untamed forests, high elves flourished in rigid order – structured courts, sophisticated traditions, and a court law to keep its subjects in obedience.
Two fae races born of the same root, but shaped into entirely different worlds.
Relief stirred in Ren’s chest when her gaze landed on a familiar figure. Elira leaned against a wooden beam, her long crimson coat half-unbuttoned, a flask dangling from her gloved fingers. She sipped lazily from it, her eyes fixed on the fading sun like she hadn’t a care in the godsdamned world.
Ren didn’t know Elira well, not really. But in a place where every glance felt like a warning and every smile a trap, Elira was the closest thing she had to solid ground. Maybe it was the sarcasm, or the way she never looked surprised when Ren spoke her mind.
“Didn’t realize I needed a familiar face until I saw yours.”
Elira turned, and recognition lit her features. She raised a brow at the sour look on Ren’s face. “Let me guess. You met the royal family?”
“Said three words and managed to piss me off with all of them. I need a drink. Or some chocolate.”
Elira gave a weak laugh. “If it makes you feel better, I’m sure I’ve managed to annoy at least half those at the forge without even trying.”
“Join the club. Membership includes cheap wine.”
A slow grin spread across Elira’s face. “Lucky for you, I know just the places. Vaelaran has a chocolate district.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Fae don’t kid about chocolate.” Elira tucked her flask away. “Let me show you what indulgence tastes like in this ridiculous city.”
Elira and Ren made their way back through Pyraelia.
Lanterns swung from iron hooks above the streets, their amber glow painting pools of gold over cobblestone slick with fallen leaves.
Laughter drifted from every corner, mixed with merchants calling their last sales, minstrels tuning their lutes beside crackling bonfires.
Pyraelia was alive in celebration, the autumn harvest nearing its peak; garlands of crimson and orange leaves twined around doorframes, and bundles of grain stood proudly beside every stoop as offerings for the season’s bounty.
Children darted through the crowd with sticky hands clutching toffee apples, and somewhere a woman’s voice rose in song, carried by the crisp autumn wind.
It was dark by the time Elira and Ren reached the heart of Pyraelia, and the town still hummed with life. Ren stepped through the carved onyx doorway of The Bitter Kiss, and it was like crossing from warmth into temptation.
The air was warm and perfumed with spiced cocoa, roses, and something darker. Candlelight flickered along the walls. Music curled through the room, a mournful violin that sounded like heartbreak dipped in sugar.
Elira shrugged off her coat, her eyes scanning the tables of gossiping nobles and lounging fae.
A massive two-tiered chocolate fountain shimmered at the center of the room, dark and white streams intertwining. Guests dipped fruits and edible jewel-dusted confections into the flowing decadence.
A fae male stood upon a small velvet-draped stage, framed by crimson curtains.
His bow danced across the violin with fluid grace, coaxing out a sound that unfurled like shadow at dusk.
Hair the color of sunlight on snow spilled over his shoulders in loose waves, and his violet eyes glinted beneath lashes too perfect to be fair.
“Careful,” Elira murmured. “You’ll fall in love twice in this place. First with the chocolate. Then with the woman who serves it.”
That was when Sorrena Vire appeared .
She glided across the floor without sound, as if the shadows themselves parted for her.
Her skin was dark and lustrous, a canvas for the cascade of silver curls that spilled down her back, each coil shimmering.
She wore a gown of sheer black silk and a veil of the same color, covering her eyes but not her lips.
“Two new souls,” Sorrena purred. “What will it be tonight, darlings. Pleasure, memory, or madness?”
Elira leaned one elbow against the velvet-lined table, lips curling into a grin that Ren recognized as trouble dressed in charm. “Why not all three? We’ll take the best sampler you have. Three truffles, each laced with your finest magic, and wine to match.”
"A brave choice. Or a foolish one. But those are often the best kinds.”
Ren raised a brow at Elira as Sorrena glided away. “You’ve done this before?”
“Once,” Elira shrugged. “I lost a bet and nearly married a river spirit. But I woke up in my own bed, so it worked out in the end.”
Ren snorted. “That still sounds better than dealing with Kaelin. Gods, she is infuriating. It’s like she was born to get under my skin.
Always smirking, always knowing exactly what to say to make me want to throw her off a balcony.
And of course, she’s got the perfect hair, perfect dresses, perfect way of making me feel like a fool every time I open my mouth. ”
Elira chuckled softly, shaking her head. “At least she notices you. My master tore into me for meddling with one of his forges, and I’ve been smithing my whole life. But being a woman in a man’s world means I get to prove myself three times over before anyone takes me seriously.”
“Sounds like we both need a drink.”
“Or two,” Elira agreed with a rueful smile.
Ren let out a groan, dragging a hand down her face. “How is it only day one, and she’s already crawled so far under my skin I can’t stop thinking about her?”
Elira tilted her head, a sly smile tugging at her lips. “I hear the princess heir is a sight to behold.”
Ren froze for a fraction of a second, frowning as if she could physically swat the thought away.
She huffed, crossing her arms. “I mean, sure, the princess would be pretty if you’re into that sort of thing.
Blondes aren’t really my type. And that scowl she gets when she’s pissed off?
It’s like she’s eaten something sour. She’s really not that much to look at. ”
Elira’s brow arched, amusement sparking in her eyes. “You’re getting defensive.”
Ren shot her a sharp look. “I’m not defensive.”
“Uh-huh,” Elira said with a grin. “Relax, I’m only joking.”
Ren muttered something under her breath and looked away, but the warmth creeping up her neck betrayed her far more than she’d like.
Before Ren could reply, a female dryad server glided forward.
She stood tall and willowy, her moss-green skin kissed with golden undertones.
Long tendrils of ivy and willow leaves cascaded over her shoulders, some twisting gently around her arms, others blooming with tiny pale blossoms that hummed with magic.
Ren had only seen one dryad before. A surly male who once chased her out of a glen for stealing fruit and singing off-key when terribly drunk on ale from a nearby tavern.
But this one was beautiful in a way that made Ren feel like her voice was too loud and her boots too muddy to be in the same room.
The dryad offered the obsidian tray lined with velvet. Three truffles glistened like jewels, each paired with a crystal glass filled with shimmering wine.
The server gave a small bow and murmured, “Please enjoy.”
As the female dryad wandered away, Elira sliced one of the sugared truffles cleanly in half. “Haven’t seen a dryad before?”
Ren grumbled under her breath, “I have. Just… not like her .”
Elira shot her a knowing look as she reached for her first glass. “Eat slow, sip slower. Fae wine doesn’t always play nice with mortal blood.”
Ren hesitated, her fingers brushing the glass. Ren raised a brow. “And the truffles?”
“Choose carefully. They don’t just taste sweet; they may show you something. Past, future, truth… sometimes all three.”