Chapter 23 #2
Alora eyes narrowed and she tugged her chin free from his grasp. “And you wouldn’t keep me here if the light hadn’t already refused you.”
For a moment, he simply stared at her, the air thick with tension. Then, to her surprise, his lips curved into a slow, dangerous smile.
“Careful, Alora,” he murmured, leaning in enough that his shadows brushed her skin. “You might find my temper is not the only thing that burns.”
“Well, I wouldn’t know, would I? It’s too dark here to see anything of real merit.”
Their gazes met and held as if they both knew what she was truly referring to was him.
He hid behind a wall of mockery and indifference, feigning to care for nothing at all. Or perhaps he truly was so pompous and cared for nothing his own evil and voracity.
“I called to you out of desperation,” she continued. “I needed to save my kingdom. Then I needed to save myself. But marriage… marriage is not freedom. Not when you have me buried in the heart of your mountain.”
Rune’s mouth thinned. “You will have as much freedom as you wish. Here with me.”
Alora groaned. “Why do you want a mortal bride? You could have any female in your court. There were plenty of beauties there. Clearly ones who hunger for you the way your court hungers to eat me alive!”
Rune smiled, unbothered. The shadows poured more wine into his goblet while he lounged lazily like a king in command of every inch of his domain.
Frustrated, Alora pressed on. “You do realize I will grow old, don’t you? All mortals die one day, I likely sooner than you would expect.”
That wiped the smile from his face.
“And I am not obedient, Rune. I am stubborn, loud, and difficult. I was raised as a spoiled princess who is used to extravagance, who throws fits when denied.”
He smirked faintly, shadows curling through her hair, like ribbons. “As queen of my court, you have the right to demand anything you desire. Whatever you wish will be yours. As you will always be mine.”
Alora blinked, stilling beneath the intensity of his gaze.
“Do you think me so easily swayed by your feeble argument?” His voice dipped low.
“I know everything there is to know about you. I know you’re half-fae, and that your father cast you into exile in the Midlands, where even they would not accept you.
You grew up in the woods in a dilapidated cottage, alone.
I know how deeply you long to be chosen, bending to every order, hoping one day to be seen and recognized as significant to someone. ”
Her chest tightened painfully, her eyes burning with anger and humiliation to have all of her truths laid bare.
“You are significant, Alora.” Rune took her chin, making her meet his gaze. “To me. I will give you the freedom to seek, to command, to demand without being punished for it.”
She searched his gaze, finding it genuine for once.
“There is nothing I will deny you,” Rune continued, “except the right to leave me.”
Alora glowered.
Of course. No matter his pretty words, she was still his property.
“How can I be your queen when I am made to feel like a captive in my chambers?”
He chuckled and took a drink. “Very well, if you do not fear my demons, then I will allow you to walk the castle so long as the Harbingers accompany you on your persistent wanderings.”
Because he knew she would find a way to meander even without his permission.
“And I want a weapon to protect myself from your kind,” she blurted next, since he was being lenient. “Made of Nightstone.”
Rune arched an eyebrow at that. “The Harbingers are enough.”
“You said I could demand anything.”
Sighing, he pressed on his forehead as he softly groused, “Abyss take me…”
“I want a knife, Rune.”
“Very well. Once you have learned how to master it.” He placed a finger on her lips before she could argue. “You must train to use weapons first, little bird. Then you may have as many pointy blades as you desire after you have proven how to use them.”
Alora growled, “I can prove it now, if you would like.”
“Temper, temper,” Rune chuckled. “I cannot have my delicate bride hurting herself.
She rolled her eyes. At least he hadn’t said no. “As for what I came to discuss, tell me what it will take to save Argyle.”
He leaned back in his chair, wine swirling lazily in his goblet. “Patience,” he said. The edge of a smirk touched his mouth, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “The affairs of mortals take time.”
Shadows flickered at the edges of the balcony as if restless under the strain of their discussion.
“What is taking so long?” She frowned. “You are a god, are you not? You know magic in ways mortals don’t. You must at least know how to break a simple curse.”
Rune’s eyes narrowed slightly, a hint she had provoked his pride.
“Ah, but you see, this is no simple curse. The magic woven through it is powerful. Ancient.” His tone darkened on that word, dreadful and cautious all at once.
“Nonetheless, to break a curse is the same as breaking any great spell. You must kill the source or the one who made it.”
The one who made it…
Then someone had cast the curse, but the question was who. She had suspected Rune at first, but the way he described it dispelled that belief.
Ancient, he’d said.
The word weighed on Alora’s mind. She searched his face, reading the way his eyes didn’t quite meet hers, the faint crease between his brows he tried to smooth away with a sip of wine.
A curse that even a god hesitated to name? Her stomach knotted. Whatever dark magic had swallowed Argyle, it wasn’t normal sorcery, and Rune’s evasiveness told her he’d seen it before.
“What are you not telling me?” she murmured.
“It will take some time to find the answers,” Rune continued as if she had not asked. His fingers idly threaded through her hair, but she could see through his charm. “Meanwhile, relax and enjoy the luxuries your title gives.”
“You always do this,” she snapped.
Rune arched a brow. “Do what?”
“Distract. Deflect. Pretend like everything is a joke while the rest of us bleed for answers.”
His smile didn’t falter. “I have never been fond of bleeding.”
She twisted in his lap, trying again to rise. But he held her in place, not forcefully. But enough to make her feel the weight of his demand.
“If you know something, tell me.”
Rune chuckled, amused as if she were a child demanding the moon.
“There is no need to fret over it, songbird.” His gaze drifted lazily toward the horizon where Argyle lied.
“Why mourn a kingdom that cast you aside? Mortals are dust given breath. Repugnant weeds that grow, wilt, then rot, and they call it living.”
He sneered, lip curling.
“They breed like a disease, choking whatever soil they touch with greed and piety, then beg the Heavens to save them from the corruption they plant themselves.” His eyes flicked back to hers, molten and unreadable. “Perhaps it is kinder to let them perish.”
She growled. “Rune—”
He caught her chin between clawed fingers, tilting her face up, smirk deepening. “If you insist on rescuing your precious mortals, then have patience. The curse will break in due time.”
“Time?” Alora echoed, pushing his hand away.
“My people don’t have time. You might enjoy wasting it lounging about, indulging in wine and depravity, but I’m not one of your little pets to entertain yourself with when you deign so.
I am speaking of real lives! Clearly, such trivial things you care nothing for.
I came here hoping you would help me.” She cut off with a sharp breath, fighting the lump in her throat.
“But all I see is a vain, selfish creature so desperate to be adored that he cloaks himself in illusions.”
Rune’s fingers paused in her hair.
“You’re a charlatan who wears a mask like armor,” Alora snapped, the words continuing to spill form her mouth. “Is it because the truth is too monstrous to look at? Or are you afraid no one could ever love what lies underneath?”
The world around them stilled.
And there it was. A crack in his perfection.
Not enough for the others to see, but palpable in Rune’s stillness, in the tiny flex of his jaw. The way his eyes, for the first time, didn’t gleam like rubies, but dulled like dying embers left in the dark.
The quiet that followed was absolute.
Even the shadows didn’t dare move.
Then Rune chuckled softly. The sound was dry. Harsh.
“Ah,” he murmured, looking away. “So, you do bite. My poisonous little bloom.”
She swallowed, uncertain. “I didn’t mean—”
“Oh, but you did,” he said, voice quieter now. “And you are not mistaken. I have worn many faces, Alora. Some more beautiful than others. This one was chosen for you.”
Rune finally met her eyes again, and this time, there was no smile. For a moment, she saw the weight behind the crimson. Something old, and tired, and full of self-loathing.
Then the mask slid back over his features.
He patted her thigh and stood with effortless grace, setting her gently on her feet.
“Well,” Rune said, voice smooth once more as he gave her chin a final caress. “This was a pleasant evening. We must do it again sometime, shall we?”
Then the shadows wrapped around him, and he vanished.