Chapter 3
Everyone showed up either early or precisely on time for the evening festivities, the grand onyx ballroom with its warm candle lights floating on grand chandeliers already filled with curious eyes and anxious, quiet chatter.
The dragon shifters have already arrived.
There aren’t many of them, but the separation is clear.
The king wouldn’t want too many of them gathered here at once, lest they decide to make a bold move.
They congregate in one corner of the grand ballroom toward the front, while over one hundred elves fill the rest of it.
It’s not as if none of us have seen a dragon shifter since the end of the war, but we haven’t seen more than one or two here at a time.
Travel to Torrynth is a bit trickier than other regions.
We don’t trade with them much, so they’ll usually only come for political matters, then be on their way.
Torrynth is deep in the south, past the Deadlands.
I’ve personally never seen one of them up close.
Until recently, that is. And he was very close.
The air is thick with tension and a touch of unease.
But as I look around, I realize they’re really not so different from us.
Aside from the subtle glowing appearance that many of their eyes seem to hold, their darker clothing with a different type of fabric, slightly taller statures, and their round ears.
Even the smallest of them are slightly taller than an average-sized elf.
Then again, maybe they simply brought all of their largest, most formidable warriors to intimidate us.
As I study the crowd with an innocent curiosity, I feel that unexplainable feeling that comes when a set of eyes is focusing intensely on you.
After only a moment, my eyes lock with the asshole dragon’s from across the room.
He’s standing among them, even taller than most of them with his arms crossed and an almost bored look on his face.
He doesn’t react in the slightest when our eyes lock, so I don’t either.
He simply holds my gaze, and though nothing changes in his features, I feel a challenge in his stare.
I hold it for a moment, letting him know that I won’t be intimidated by him, then look away, trying to mask my curiosity with indifference.
I suppose his threat to keep an eye on me wasn’t so empty.
As King Nerion makes his entrance, I check to see if the dragon’s attention is still on me. It’s not. He’s watching the king with an intense, scrutinizing stare. I guess the king is an even bigger enemy than me.
He wastes no time settling in his seat on the dais above everyone, clearing his throat in preparation for a speech.
“My friends,” he begins in a loud, steady voice.
It’s commanding, powerful. “Today marks quite the momentous day in our history. As you know, for the first time in hundreds of years, the dragons, with their highest-ranking officials among them, have been invited to stay in the kingdom. I ask that you treat our guests with respect while they are here. Their stay will span many weeks, and this ball is meant to start off their visit with a proper welcome.”
His eyes shift to the dragons, and I don’t miss the threat in his eyes.
An older male as tall as my stalker gives a curt nod, and I can tell immediately that he is their leader. Lord Taevis Vaelor. It’s in the way he carries himself, along with his expression.
The king clinks his golden chalice with a knife, signaling the end of his speech. It was a bit lackluster, if I do say so.
The crowd begins to disperse, spreading throughout the extensive ballroom.
The middle of the floor empties out for dancing, but most of the elves opt to retrieve drinks first. Many stand on the edges of the room behind onyx columns, looking unsure, mistrusting.
A band begins to play their instruments at the front of the room, and far less people begin to dance than what is typical of a normal ball.
People are on edge tonight. Or, perhaps, they’re more interested in observing our foreign, unfamiliar guests.
“My lady.” A voice very close to my ear makes me jump. Okay, perhaps I’m on edge myself.
I spin to find a male with neatly styled black hair and bright green eyes beaming down at me, his white smile almost blinding. An elf.
One who smells like pleasant trees.
“Sir Greenwood. You startled me.”
“Apologies, my lady. And I told you to call me Adrian.”
“Adrian. Sorry.” I’m not sure why it’s so hard for me to call him by his first name.
Of course, I did sort of grow up with him, but he was a few years older than me.
He attended different classes. Had a separate friend group.
I crushed on him from afar as a girl, but lately, he’s finally been paying me special interest.
“It’s okay.” He grabs my hand, placing a gentle kiss on the back with his very pink, smooth lips. “Save me a dance later?”
“Of course.”
“For now, I have some business to discuss with your father, unfortunately.”
“Duty calls,” I say with a polite smile.
With one last glance back at me, he strides off into the crowd, and I turn, on a mission to find some pink wine.
It’s made from bittersweet hazeberries, and it tastes divine.
Hazeberries are so named because it’s said they didn’t exist until after the curse settled over us.
With the limited sunlight that trickles in through the thick, dark haze, strange things started growing, while others disappeared completely.
Our climate was forever changed. Another reason the elves remain in power over the whole land—verdant magic allowed us to grow our own fruits, vegetables, and more without the direct sunlight that was lost.
The wine helps me get through nights like this with some sanity.
After one or two glasses, I’ll most likely be out on the dance floor, frolicking with whoever is within my reach, but leaving with no one.
It fills you with a sense of euphoria, even on your worst nights.
But it can be addicting. I tend to stay away from the stuff except for on special occasions.
Many elves have succumbed to the addiction, forgetting about reality and living in a dreamlike state.
I stumble upon a beverage table that not only holds a spread of drinks and snacks, but also my only friend, Meela. She stands in front of it, weighing her options.
“Pink wine, obviously,” I say as I stop beside her. I reach out and grab my own glass. She grabs a different one.
She rolls her eyes as she faces me. “Ugh. I prefer to be broody and miserable, actually,” she drawls, finally meeting my gaze with her dark brown eyes.
“Suit yourself,” I say, holding my glass out to hers.
Her glass holds a black liquid. Nox wine.
Miserable stuff. My first sip just a year ago had me gagging with its burning, sharp flavor, and I swore the stuff off forever.
Plus, it does make you rather gloomy. And usually, kind of horny.
I don’t know why those two would be paired together, honestly.
Or why anyone would willingly subject themselves to that.
Seems like it would make for a strange night.
But I wouldn’t know about such things. Meela, on the other hand, disappears early with a different specimen every single time she drinks it.
But she never looks particularly happy about it, even though it’s always voluntary.
“So, what do you think?” Meela ponders as we stroll through the crowd to our usual spot. Now that everyone has spread out, we don’t have to fight through so many bodies.
“About?”
Another eye roll from her. Most people are put off by her gloomy attitude and bluntness, but I’ve known her since I was a baby. She has a good heart, under it all. She just doesn’t like to show it, for whatever reason.
“Our visitors, obviously.”
“Oh. Yeah. I don’t know, honestly. I haven’t decided.
” I leave out the part about my new stalker.
Meela and I have known each other since birth, but we have many secrets between each other.
We both know it, but we never bring it up.
Why? I don’t know. That’s just the way it’s always been, and I think it’s more my doing than hers.
I’ve always been on the secretive side, ever since I was young.
I still consider her my closest friend, though. I’d trust her with my life.
“Well, I think they’re harmless,” she admits as we take a seat on our cushioned bench in a dark corner, hidden partially by black shiny pillars. Eventually, we’ll go our separate ways for the duration of the night.
From here, we sit back peacefully and watch people interact. The dragons seem to split up, dispersing into smaller groups. I don’t see the asshole, but I have a feeling he’ll make himself known eventually.
“Captain Greenwood asked me to dance.”
Meela scoffs. “Why do you insist on calling him that?”
“Adrian,” I correct myself.
“He’s awful,” she murmurs, taking a sip of her onyx poison, gazing at the crowd.
“He’s beautiful,” I say lightly, honestly.
“Yeah. A beautiful asshole.”
“He’s nice. Why don’t you like him?”
“I don’t know.” She shrugs. “It’s just a vibe I get. And he’s a kiss-ass do-gooder. He’s probably beyond boring in bed. Please don’t put yourself through that.”
I catch a glimpse of his perfect black hair from across the room.
His muscles strain through his dark green tunic, and his thighs are powerful and strong underneath those brown pants, I can tell.
How could he be bad in bed? The mere sight of him gets me…
frazzled. Not that I’d know a whole lot about such things.