Chapter 25
ARLET
“Walk with me,” Arion says.
He offers his arm, and I accept it because not taking it would send a much louder message. He escorts me from the room and then guides me to a smaller study close by.
“Thank you for coming, my lovely bride,” he says gently.
The corridors are quiet. The smell of soap and resin still hangs in the air where that of blood should. They’ve cleaned overnight.
This study is paneled in dark wood, the fire low. There are no guards, or better yet, no witnesses. He closes the door, unthreads our arms, and crosses the floor to pour crimson wine into two crystal cups.
“I would be the first to congratulate you on your poise today,” he says. “The night I met you, you were so forward. So demanding. It is truly something lovely to see how much you’ve molded yourself to please me. Do not think I do not appreciate it.”
I watch him carefully. He seems more unguarded than at any of the other times we have spoken together. There are a lot of responses on my tongue—some are sharper and more pointed than others—but I decide against each of them.
Acceptance will be my goal from today forward.
“I am glad to please you, my king.” Blood roars in my ears.
“There is something truly beautiful about a woman who learns to submit. It is what you were always intended to do. And to observe it happening while the court watched you nearly took my breath away.” He passes me a cup, smile sparkling. He looks younger, lighter. “Do you know what they saw today?”
“Your Majesty?” I ask, not sure exactly where he is going with this.
His mouth tilts. “They saw what I am capable of. You have been beautifully prepared, we have powerful allies, and we won against the opposition last night. You might say you are my good luck charm.”
He places the goblet on the desk, and then reaches toward an ornate chest. He presses against several seals with his long, pointed fingers, and they begin to unlock, opening for him.
“I wanted to show you something before we are wed.”
I stand utterly still as the clicks and creaks stop, only for the doors to swing wide and reveal a glowing blue orb.
“This is the tracker you brought to me,” he starts. “It shows me that the Cumhacht na Cruinne is still with my sister… and that my sister has been under the mountain with your trolls.”
I blink.
He smiles. “My father once promised me, when I was young, that he would find the artifact for me and I would usher in a new era. Then my sister killed him, took his magic, and I have been fighting for my right to power ever since.”
He closes the case.
Where is he going with this?
“You have witnessed the magic that can eviscerate our enemies.” He turns back to me, smiles, then picks up his goblet and takes a drink.
I follow suit. I don’t know what to say, but when Arion watches the crystal press to my lips, he looks hungry.
His eyes drink me in. “Did you think I wouldn’t realize when your troll friend had arrived?
That he came here, to the palace, last night? ”
My skin goes cold all over. “What are you talking about?”
“Do not lie to me, Arlet,” he says sharply.
My skin flushes red. Last night, I felt so much fear and longing, and now the numbness returns.
“Did you see him?”
Lie, woman. Lie.
“No.”
“I could have you killed,” he starts.
No, he cannot, Cursed One answers.
Why not?
Because you are the key to his power.
I don’t quite know what she means, but I look directly at Arion. “I swear I did not see any troll.”
Arion watches my reaction. He is silent for a long while.
“Good. Fortunately for you, we have come too far to turn back. So… The day after tomorrow you will stand beside me,” he says.
“They will cheer, they will kneel, and every bowing head will erase a little more doubt. If you try anything, I will raze the mountains. If I see that troll again, I will kill him.”
Vann—no. I can hardly breathe.
Then he begins to circle me, slow and deliberate.
“Never forget: You are mine now,” he says.
“Fear not. Though my words are strong, I can be merciful. I will be a kind lover to you. I admit, I may not always have been with my past brides.” He reaches out and brushes his fingers over my jaw.
I fight back the urge to recoil, knowing that part will not change, no matter my discomfort.
“I have…dark tastes at times, though you might enjoy them.”
I swallow as my heart rate increases. Dark tastes. Two words that zing through my skin like a knife. These weeks without food, after traveling and then endlessly preparing. There has been no arousal, no desire for intimacy. Perhaps touch and comfort, but sex?
The only moments I have even considered it are when I let my traitorous mind wander back to stolen seconds with Vann.
He stops behind me. His breath is hot against my neck, and then he grips my hips through the silken fabric of my gown. His hands are cold. Strong. “I will teach you to take me. We could even start right now.”
I keep still. Freeze.
“Should we not wait until after the ceremony? I know that purity is prized—”
“There is no difference if you give yourself to me right now or in two nights,” he murmurs, releasing me momentarily to reach over and trace his fingers from my shoulders to my neck. “Though I might spare you if you promise to never see or speak with another troll again.”
I swallow hard.
“I swear it.”
He turns me around, cups behind my head, and then draws my lips to his. This is not the same branding sensation I have endured before. He does not seek to destroy me with his lips alone.
It feels wrong, but I can bear it, I suppose. He guides me, as if I have not kissed others.
The sudden contact works almost like instinct. I cannot help but imagine it isn’t Arion kissing me at all, but Vann. My mind forces me out of the now and into a fantasy where the man who indulged me so wholly is before me once again.
Without thinking, I open my mouth further and groan. It isn’t Arion at all who brushes his tongue over the seam of my lips, and I don’t part them for him. It is the Enduar with a poet’s heart and a warrior’s mind who pulls me tighter, wedging his thigh between my legs as he begins to move.
The heat of missing the man I’d considered my sky comes on quickly. My eyes burn, and my throat aches, and…Arion misinterprets everything.
He takes the arch of my back as a reward for his good technique.
Suddenly, I am pushed against the wall, and the fantasy is shattered.
A growl erupts from the Elf King’s throat, low like metal groaning under pressure.
He looks to the ceiling, eyes fluttering closed as he traces his hands up the contours of my body possessively.
Then he steps back, roughly wiping his lips with the cuff of his long sleeve. He doesn’t look upset; he looks half mad.
“You will like being my consort. You will enjoy my cock, it will be your reward for all of this, Arlet.” He moves back into view, studying me as if assessing the worth of an object.
“All you have left to do is give me as many children as your hips can bear,” he says. “I trust you. I think I see that your body will carry my legacy as easily as obedience.”
I nod once. “Yes, my king.”
He seems satisfied. “You will not fail me.”
“I won’t.”
All I can think of is what he made me swear. There is too much I don’t know—too much I cannot predict.
He picks up the cup he had poured and brings it to my mouth. He presses it to my lips, feeding it to me, and then removes it and licks away the drop that begins to fall beside my lips.
Silence, save for the soft crackle of the fire. Then his voice again, lower. “Arlet—”
There is a knock on the door.
He sets his cup aside, as if I haven’t just watched some primal part of him come undone moments before. I feel off-kilter, even though the wall behind me is a steadying force.
“Duty calls. You will dine privately tonight and tomorrow. Take the time to relax and sleep. The ceremony will be long and the night even more so.”
I bow my head, clenching my unsteady hands. “Anything you wish.”
Another sly smile. A few thoughts flicker through me, reminding me that even though I am in the largest city I’ve ever been in, with more people than I can fathom living around me, my life has never been smaller. It continues to divide and subtract until all I am left with is this: memories.
Once the door opens, I see the new lady-in-waiting. Vesilane. She stands beside a few lords and her father, Castien. I slip from the room, and she places her hand on my back.
“Would you like to rest?” she asks brightly.
I nod, and she takes me back to my room.
Waiting outside my door are Merlina and Eslina, the two surviving maids. They do not speak to Vesilane or me as we arrive, but they guide me into the space, help me change for rest, and then let me be.
The room is quiet. Too neat and tidy.
Soon, everything changes. I should savor the present.
Why can’t you tell me more? I demand of Cursed One.
Because of the magic that binds me to you. Because of Arion’s control.
Why would Arion use dark magic at all?
She hesitates.
Arion no longer worships Doros, despite what he might say. He hasn’t for a while.
I pause, looking at my reflection in the mirror across from my bed.
Then who does he worship?
Cursed One is silent for a long moment. For a while, I don’t even think she will respond. And then, she says a name that sends chills up my spine.
Abhartach.
Just like the giants, he mingles with the demon god. The soul-stealer who seeks the dead to create an army and enslave the living.
Isn’t Abhartach also your master? I ask.
Cursed One never responds.
When my meal is brought, I retrieve the bag of herbs Thorne had given me the night before. I consider not taking them. But then find myself pouring them into the tea.
It is the best action for now. I cannot let myself hope for something that can never be.