A Serenade To The Elf Queen (Elven Fantasy Romance #1)

Prologue Rhianelle

Ceremonious beating of war drums fills the cold night air. It’s the summons for the Wild Hunt. Every beast and wyvern screeches with excitement at the death call. I can almost hear the rampant hunger in that rumbling.

They have come to feast.

“The fae will be here soon,” the knight beside me whispers low, his rough face rife with concern.

I remain where I am on the battlement, my gaze falling northward where streams of enemy forces darken the horizon.

Far across the sea of dwarves and orcs, the fae army of Avalon has come to join the battle. They come riding monsters that rose from the deepest bowels of hell. I swallow the burn behind my throat.

“You have to leave now before it’s too late, Your Highness,” the nameless knight urges me again.

“Save yourselves! It’s the Gajii!” A tower guard screams hysterically before running for his life. I don’t blame him for abandoning his post. Anyone would have been intimidated at the sight of the giant woolly mammoth. No spears or arrows can pierce through the dwarven made armor covering its body.

As if a single one of the monstrous beings wasn’t deadly enough, the fae have brought eleven of them on this assault.

“I will not abandon my people,” I say to the knight before he can tell me to escape again. We have not finished evacuating the civilians. I need to buy time for the defenseless elderly and children. It’s all I can do for them now.

I descend swiftly down the staircase to join the army below.

My eyes fall on the golden-haired warrior, Commander Gerailt Clayborne as he prepares for a siege.

His handsome face remains undaunted, even in the face of this inevitable defeat.

He gives a silent nod of understanding to me as I blend among his soldiers.

I might have smiled at him if I could unsee the horde that was coming for us.

Nothing but death awaits us beyond this wall.

The thumping of hooves and war cries grows thunderous.

The Gajii’s tusks crash into the Atlas shield like battering rams. For a moment, it seems like the magical barrier weaved into the stones by the Elders might last. Our last glimmer of hope is quickly snuffed by the seventh strike.

An ear-deafening sound vibrates through the air followed by a crack on the wall.

I cover my head from the crumbling debris, narrowly evading the colossal creatures’ stampede.

The command from the mage rider on top of its neck is loud and clear. “Leave no one alive.”

Waves of the mighty dwarves and orcs crash upon us like rabid wolves through the opening. I draw my sword and shield high as they clash on us with brutal force. Our fight is equally matched until a fae general charges through the flames on his ferocious steed, followed by a dozen of his companions.

He sunders the Astrea’s temple in half with just a single swipe of his blade. The male cares not for the innocent lives that are lost. I finally understand why the Elders call them the Savage Fae.

Their arrival tilts the scale of battle instantly.

“Retreat!” I shout to anyone who can hear me. My voice is easily devoured by the wailing and chaos of battle.

I know each one of the slain faces on the ground. Aldarelfs, the palace guards, my handmaidens. Death makes no exception.

The orcs and dwarves continue their ruthless sacking of the capital, turning the city into cinders. I kneel to the ground, staring at my burning home in despair.

There’s no one left around me.

My gaze rises to the heavens. Are the gods listening to the desperate plea of the people? The sky is as scarlet as the streams of blood that color the ground.

Through the drifting embers, I see a black wyvern with wings wider than the rest of its kind scaling the giant clock tower.

The doom bringer of legends—the Nythe.

My heart hammers wildly at the glimpse of its rider, a fae male warrior clad in steel-black armor. His long, dark hair snapping against the night wind as he gazes upon the bleeding ground below him.

Eirik Bloodhound. The Fae King of Avalon, Eternal Ruler of the Seven Realms.

He closes his eyes, relishing in the screams of terror filtering through the night and the hell he unleashed upon my kingdom. His bloodthirsty creatures continue shredding the buildings into rubble, snatching up my people with their talons and gobbling them whole.

Like an eagle, Eirik’s eyes focus on me through the chaos.

No.

Flashes of the horrors he will inflict on me flood into my mind. I can’t let him catch me. I sprint as fast as I can, fighting against snapping teeth, fangs, and claws.

The Nythe’s roar shudders the realm, announcing its prey.

The sea of monsters parts as I storm my way down the streets. I race pass the ruins of the Atlas wall straight for the tree line. If I can lose him among the towering oaks, then there’s hope for me yet.

“Mother! Father! Rainer!” I cry out for my family.

The monstrous wyvern is nearly upon me. My legs grow heavier with each stride, but I have to keep going.

“Aerin!” I scream for my warrior sister to rescue me.

They’re closing in fast. I can feel the creature’s hot breath on my skin.

“Aelfric! Darstan!” I call for my knights.

No one comes for me. Nothing can save me from him.

Another rising snarl resounds as the wyvern sails closer, its leathery massive wings beating and gliding to land. The deadly gust of wind almost topples me off my feet.

There’s no running from him now.

Eirik dismounts from his beast gracefully. Everything about him is disgustingly majestic, from his armor to the fine obsidian cape that flows behind him.

“Rhianelle Wiolant.” His voice is both lovely and vicious at the same time.

I force myself to meet his gaze. He pulls his heavy sword from the scabbard on his back. The movement is smooth, easy, and lethal. I know I have no chance of winning against such a formidable opponent. Still the stubborn part in me raises my blade in defiance.

“Let’s finish this,” I say, trying to conceal the tremble in my voice. I hold my sword steady, keeping it pointed at him.

Eirik’s power surges, rallying to attack.

He bares his teeth with a snarl as he launches himself at me.

I parry his heavy hits blow by blow. Each impact of his swings makes my hands go numb.

Weariness is slowly sinking in. Either he’s too strong or I am too weak.

My long sword shatters at the force of that final strike.

He slams his fist directly into my gut. I taste bile and blood in my mouth as I stumble to the ground. I crawl away from him desperately, gritting my teeth.

“Not so fast, elven rat,” he hisses low. A kick lands to my chest. A harder one on my shin, completely shattering my bone. I try to rise, but Eirik slams his blade to pin my cloak to the ground.

Tears sting my eyes, not from the pain but the humiliation. I am a warrior of Volundr. The least I can do is die without a cowardly wound on my back. I turn around slowly to face him.

He tilts my chin up with the tip of his boot. The steel bites coldly against my skin. I close my eyes, ready to welcome his final strike.

“Beg for your life, wench,” the Fae King demands.

I have no luck for an easy escape to the afterlife. Eirik plans to play and drag out my suffering. My breath hitches as I look into his cold, soulless eyes. There’s not a drop of mercy in his rotten heart.

“Do it.” The smile on his impossibly beautiful face turns cruel. “Just like your sister did before I ripped her head off.”

Lies.

Aerin would never falter and cower before him.

But I may.

I’m so tired and scared. Every single muscle and bone in my body hurts. I don’t want to suffer a painful death. I shut my eyes and open my mouth. Except the words that come out are not a plea for my pathetic life.

A prayer. To the seventy-seven holy gods and goddesses of Aelfheim.

Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me.

It’s embarrassing.

I should be the one to kill the Fae King. Instead, I am reaching out for a miracle, for a knight in shining armor. No matter how shameful this is, I keep calling to the heavens.

Save me.

Someone. Anyone.

As always, my prayer goes unanswered. I close my eyes and wait for the cold embrace of death.

But it never comes.

I run my hands over my body. Everything is intact. Eirik’s sword did not pierce through my gut. I open my eyes and lift my head to look at my foe. He stares at me with a confusion that mirrors my own. His lips part with a silent scream as he lowers his gaze to the gaping hole in his chest.

The Fae King’s limp body falls to the ground. A feral shriek grits from the Nythe at the sight of its master before the creature too is silenced.

The ferocious wyvern lays headless on the ground, decapitated. I blink at the gruesome sight before me.

Someone answered my prayer; or something.

A man stands in the darkness of the night with Eirik’s beating heart in his hand.

I fight against the blinding pain for a glimpse of him. I can’t quite see his house sigil. The warrior is only clad in his leather breeches. There is no way of telling if he is an enemy or ally.

A fae? An elf?

I honestly don’t care.

The man turns to me, his eyes solemn and intent, like a predator sampling his prey. There’s a chance that this male may kill me too.

I take in a shuddering breath as he crouches next to me.

He runs his callused hand over my thigh to assess my wound.

I don’t flinch at his touch, not even as he rips the leather covering my leg.

The stranger speaks to me in a language I do not comprehend but my heart seems to understand the meaning.

“You are safe.” I hear the male say. “But this is going to hurt.”