Chapter Twenty-Two
Rhune
I navigate us through the castle, quiet and careful to keep my gaze ahead of me and not on the woman unraveling my carefully constructed restraint.
The stone beneath my boots feels unsteady tonight, though I know it isn’t. It’s the weight of too many lies pressing down at once.
I’ve spent years breaking laws in silence. Visiting her night after night when I had no magical need to feed, unlike the others. Falsifying each entry in the dream logs with practiced ease.
While she was getting ready for the ball, Myren—the Dromin responsible for tracking dream connections—sought me out.
He’s begun asking too many questions now that I’ve suddenly stopped showing up for feeds. I diverted him with a half-truth about shifting to nightmare-feeding, a carefully timed misdirection, but I can tell he’s growing uneasy.
If he ever uncovers the truth, I’ll be dragged before the Council—title or not. My involvement in Elysia’s dreams and nightmares would be seen as a violation of the highest order. They’d claim I influenced her and manipulated her path to being queen.
My upper lip curls at the absurdity of it.
Sorryn would love the chance to remove me from the equation entirely, and I can’t allow that.
Who knew my early pining over a random woman I was assigned one fateful night would lead me here? Especially when all I was attempting to do was keep up the facade that I had to replenish my magical reserves.
We arrive at the ballroom doors and I give the guards lining the walls a strict nod that they may open them. I keep my spine straight, hands folded behind my back, and my jaw clenched as she moves to stand at my side.
Allowing myself to glance at her out of the corner of my eye, I watch her tug her bottom lip between her teeth and bite down as she gazes at the heavy double doors.
She’s nervous.
I can hear the quiet rustle of the crowd inside, the soft notes of stringed instruments playing beyond the doors.
Her head swings toward me, lips parting to say something, but I quickly avert my gaze. My heart pounds within my chest, waiting for the beautiful sound of her voice that I’ve committed to memory.
It haunts me now, the two worlds clashing in reality.
I told myself after the first week of feeding off of her dreams that I needed to let go. That I couldn’t continue to break our laws for a human I didn’t even dare to reveal myself to. The weeks bled into months and eventually into years.
The doors swing open, saving me from whatever she wanted to say.
The herald announces her name in a booming voice that echoes through the gilded hall: “Our new queen, chosen by the Goddess’s will. Queen Elysia from Edritch.”
She’s hesitant at first and I let myself watch as she steps forward. Her shoulders dip slightly, and her steps are small, like she’s trying to put off fully stepping into the room for as long as she can, but then I watch it happen … that quiet shift I’ve seen only in her sleep.
She lifts her chin as her shoulders draw back and she walks forward. As if she is daring the universe to give her its worst.
She walks like the light of the sun trying to pierce through a storm, soft yet unyielding.
The silk of her gown whispers across the floor, and the crown atop her head catches the light with every measured step. But it’s not the dress or the glow of the room that steals the air from my lungs.
It’s the strength it takes to walk into that room, after everything she’s been through. What I had to watch her endure from the temple as the High Priestess laid waste to the humans who trusted us with their greatest offerings.
I’d struggled to watch, yet Zayvin had forced me to with a silent, steadying hand to my shoulder.
Now, here she is, walking into a room full of elves in a world she doesn’t recognize, who will smile and lie. To try to claim her as their queen, as if the Court of Nightmares has no chance.
My hands curl into fists behind my back. They don’t deserve her. No one does.
Least of all me … but still, I can’t look away.
I move to the shadows inside the ballroom doors as she continues forward. I stand with my shoulders squared and arms crossed in an attempt to appear unbothered. Just another guard. Just another figure in the corner, forgettable in a sea of glittering gowns and robes.
She hesitates at the threshold, eyes scanning the vast, gold-drenched room like she’s looking for enemies already. Quiet strength and defiance pour from her.
It undoes me in ways nothing else ever has. Nothing prepares me for the quiet ache that builds when I look at her, knowing I can’t reach for her like I did in the privacy of her dreams and nightmares.
Not ever again.
She’s not the woman from the dreams I watched anymore—she’s the Queen—and I’m just the glorified guard cursed with knowing the way her soul tastes in the veil of sleep.
The only elf reckless enough to shield her mind from others when she dreamed, even when it meant skirting the edge of treason.
I blocked them from reaching her … every single Dromin who tried to pull power from her while she slept.
I was drawn to her long before I understood why. I never planned to reveal myself. Never believed she’d be chosen for the selection, let alone stand in this room in my world.
She crosses the floor toward Sorryn, and I feel the tension coil through me, squeezing my heart. He’s already smiling, flawless and rehearsed. He reaches for her hand with all the charm of someone who’s never had to fight for anything in his life.
I want to rip it away before she can touch him, but she takes it quickly. I notice her initial wariness of him seems to be fading and my jaw grinds at the idea.
I’m supposed to be her safety. The one she trusts.
He guides her up the dais like he’s presenting a rare jewel, and the court erupts in applause. From my post, I see the pride on his face, but beneath it there is a flicker of triumph. His gaze cuts toward mine, and for a heartbeat, I see what he’s really thinking.
This is his victory … that he won again.
The vow binds my tongue from slandering my brothers, but no vow forbids me from breaking his bones. From spilling his blood and breaking him down if he so much as bruises her spirit.
I force myself to look away at the rest of the room. To breathe. To remember that I am not a king courting her.
I am not hers.
The applause fades as the music swells. I watch her get passed from one noble to the next, each offering a dance, each drinking in her presence like it’s their right.
My jaw clenches with every turn of her body, every strained smile, every moment her shoulders sag more beneath the weight of their attention.
Sorryn doesn’t even look for her, too busy laughing with nobles and Council members while she’s left to endure the court alone.
I tell myself not to interfere. To let the dances end, to let her endure this with her head held high like she always does. She doesn’t need me.
Yet every time she’s passed from one pair of hands to another, my restraint slips further.
I watch her smile. It’s small and tight, the kind that doesn’t reach her eyes. I watch her try to keep her shoulders back and her head up as if she’s not retreating mentally. The nobles swarm around her like moths, all charm and pretense, trying to bask in her light as if they’ve earned the right.
They haven’t.
Her gown ripples like water with every turn. Her crown catches the light, making her seem untouchable, otherworldly. Yet … she looks like she’s about to shatter.
Sorryn doesn’t notice. Or maybe he does, and he simply doesn’t care.
My hands are so tightly curled, I feel my bones will shatter. My jaw aches from the tension lining my entire body.
It’s been too long. She’s danced with seven different elves now, each one taking just a little more from her light. My legs move before I realize I’ve made the decision.
I cut across the ballroom floor in a straight line, dodging dancers without apology, my gaze fixed on the one place it’s always anchored—her.
She’s with a new partner now that I don’t recognize, with his hands just a little too low on her waist. Her smile is gone but as she sees me approaching, her eyes widen slightly. Relief flickers there.
The male turns as I reach them, a question forming on his lips.
I don’t let him speak.
“Get out of the way,” I say, voice low but firm, and I don’t give him the chance to argue. I take her hand in mine and step in, leading her away before anyone can protest.
She doesn’t resist and we move into the rhythm of the dance, but I don’t care for the steps. My only goal is to put space between her and everyone else.
Her chest rises and falls with shallow breaths, and she doesn’t look up at first, keeping her eyes on my chest. I feel the shift in her, just slightly. It satisfies in a way it shouldn’t, feeling her body relax into me.
A beat passes between us.
“I didn’t think you’d step in,” she says quietly.
I shouldn’t have. Every instinct told me to stay back. To let her learn, let her choose, let her forget.
However, the moment her body slumped beneath another stranger’s hands, I knew.
There are things I will never be allowed to say aloud, but this is part of my duty. Her safety. This I can do.
“I am just doing my job,” I murmur, drawing her in as we turn beneath the gilded arches of the ballroom. “His hands were far too low.”
She doesn’t answer and I don’t press her to.
The music swells around us, light, delicate, and orchestrated to keep the mood festive, but none of it reaches me as she finally looks up at me. The entire room fades away until it’s only her.
Only the feel of her hand in mine, the way her fingertips tremble just slightly, the way her gaze lingers.
We move together in silence. It’s not practiced or polished, but it’s easy and comfortable.
The silence stretches long, but it doesn’t strain.
It wraps around us like something meant just for us.
A world all our own carved out from the chaos of the court.
Her eyes hold mine, questioning and steady, like she wants to speak but doesn’t trust what might spill free.
For a fleeting moment, everything disappears.
There’s no crown, simmering war between courts, or duty biting at my heels.
There’s only her.
Only her devastating beauty and the terrifying calm that settles inside me as we hold each other’s gaze.
My hand tightens just slightly at her waist and her breath hitches. I feel it … that pull that’s been there since the first time I found her soul in a dream—wild, aching, and brilliant. It coils low in my chest, a feeling that has terrified me yet held me in its rapture for years.
She opens her mouth and a breath escapes.
“Your Highness,” Sorryn says smoothly, clearing his throat from the edge of the dance floor.
The spell snaps like brittle glass around us.
Elysia flinches, breath catching as if waking from a place where she never meant to linger. Her hand slips from mine quickly, almost guiltily, before she turns from me without a word.
Maybe this was a mistake.
Sorryn’s smile sharpens as she nears, his gaze locked on mine over her shoulder. Triumphant and possessive.
He thinks he’s already won her hand, providing this extravagant ball for his hand-picked guests to fawn all over her. Like the previous queen he wooed into his web of lies.
I stay where I am, jaw clenched, spine straight, letting the weight of my stare settle heavily between us. As soon as her hand slips into his, they turn and head back toward the dais, where two thrones await.
The second she settles into the golden monstrosity, when she lifts her gaze across the ballroom, through the glittering crowd and dancing nobles, she finds me.
The hope in her eyes is gone and so is the brief glimpse of her desire.
What’s left is blank and distant. A careful emptiness that feels like the mirror of everything I’ve shown her since she arrived.
She’s doing exactly what I told her to do … forget me and let go.
So why does it feel like something is being torn from my chest as I watch her slide her hand into Sorryn’s without him offering this time.
The music swells and the crowd spins around me. I remain frozen beneath the chandeliers, nothing but a guard at the edge of her court.
Such a pretty little dove, in such an ugly, gilded cage.