Chapter 31 Svenn
The queen of elves exudes a clear air of confidence as she leads the cavalcade on her golden stallion. There is no trace of the crying girl I comforted in my arms on our wedding night. Trotting around her are a dozen masked elves dressed in black.
The chains on my wrists rattle. The curse bearer’s lilac eyes were glazed with tears when she placed the binding on my hands, almost as if she was hurting for me. I can still feel her delicate fingers tugging the manacles loose so they would not bite into my skin.
That kindness in her face is genuine. The psychotic witch is a master of deception but even she can’t fake that.
None of this makes sense. The Rhunhraefn should have devoured her by now.
I stare at her for a beat longer. She is truly something else to behold. From the way her golden skin glows in the daylight, and the gentle way she tucks a wayward strand of silver hair behind her elongated ear.
I remember how her expression changed every time I thrust, how her lips puckered as she called my name passionately, begging for—
More.
Shit. I pick the worst of times to have a flashback. I banish the thought quickly. The wind must be conspiring against me as it blows her scent in my direction.
She smells so good.
It’s intoxicating. Distracting. And then there’s her blood. I am used to the constant thirst.
But by the devil, Rhianelle makes me feel like a newborn vampire. My throat burns at the memory of the sweetness rolling down my tongue, and the sweeter taste of her—
What am I doing?
I’m an idiot for lusting over Lilith’s chosen heir.
She’s mine.
My inner beasts growl. I chase them back to the dark corners of my mind. There are so many emotions warring through me. I don’t need them to complicate things. Not for what I’m about to do to Rhianelle.
I came here to finish her.
One of the elven guards in silver armor shoots me a disapproving look. Something noticeable must have changed in my expression. I challenge his one-eyed glare with my own death stare.
Eyepatch is unfazed.
He’s not the only one unsettled by my presence. Every single one of these elves is afraid.
I can massacre this entire procession easily without fuss. I debate with the idea for a moment. Why wait when I can kill them all now?
The curse bearer turns her pretty little head in my direction as if she can read my mind. I feel a strange tug in my chest over the look on her face.
One of the knights canters his horse next to mine, interrupting my thoughts. His red hood and cloak are a stark contrast to his blonde hair. I send him a dark look. One he completely misses and takes as a sign to speak freely.
“We haven’t been properly introduced. I’m Garrett,” he says with a cat-like smile. “Apologies for trying to rip your neck open the other night.”
I ignore him.
“I’d like to thank you for what you did,” he continues, scraping a hand through his golden hair. “For saving my queen from that punishment.”
I glance at the carriage carrying some of the injured elves. The compulsion to skin them alive rises.
Red opens his mouth again. “It’s going to be a long ride to Aelfheim. Do you wish to hear a story?”
I wish he would shut his mouth. His voice is grating on my frayed nerves.
“Come on, you’ll like it.”
I grind my teeth. The fucker doesn’t seem to read the hostility in my eyes.
“It’s about a girl who lives in the woods among the gods and monsters.”
My impatience with Red grows. I hear the pulse beating underneath his flesh. It is so easy to end it. I tear my gaze from Rhianelle momentarily to face him. A frown wrinkles the blonde knight’s features. Something is bothering the elf.
“This path… It’s perfect for an ambush,” Red mutters to himself.
So, he’s not entirely stupid after all.
Elves’ sense of smell may be keen, but they are not hunters. Not like I am. I close my eyes to listen to the wind.
The stench in the air is from something unfamiliar.
Five, seven. No.
Thirty-six enemies.
I see the shift in the shadows of the trees first. One of them is a marksman. He’s aiming straight for the Elven Queen. The creature may be a skilled archer but he is too slow for me. I stand beside her in a heartbeat.
The three arrows pierce straight into my back instead of finding their target in her.
“Svenn?” Rhianelle’s eyes round with surprise. Chaos erupts through the envoy within seconds.
“We’re under attack!” One of the elves shouts, “Protect the Queen!”
The forest around us moves, coming to life.
I dart straight towards the three hulking figures in the bushes.
The sight of my new enemies raises my eyebrows for a moment.
It’s my first time seeing what I assume are the orcs of Myrkheim.
They’re taller than a mounted rider, with ashen skin and sharp canines in their lower jaw.
Otherwise, they seem surprisingly similar to these elves.
I wrap my hand around the necks of two, snapping them like twigs.
The remaining orc flails helplessly beneath my feet.
“My wife is pregnant with our kit. I have a family.” Kheirall’s pendant whirrs to translate his plea. “Have mercy.”
I stare down at him. Terror brims in his eyes when he recognizes I do not have a soul or the conscience to grant him his request. I give him the dignity of a quick death.
The one who made the attempt on the queen’s life screeches and tries to flee. He manages to walk five steps before Eyepatch’s blade lands in his back. The knight retrieves his weapon without feeling. He grimaces over the stain, cursing, “Bandits.”
My eyes whirl to Rhianelle standing in the open. The elite, black-armored warriors around her have disbanded to chase after the remaining assailants.
Fucking hell.
They’re leaving her completely vulnerable.
It seems that the girl has the worst of luck when the rustling trees suddenly part with the appearance of another orc, far bigger than the others.
There is no semblance of sanity in the beast’s eyes, as if he has traded it all for enhanced strength and size.
His choice of weapon is a simple tree trunk.
“Over here!” Rhianelle calls to the hellish monster. She’s drawing him away from the unicorns and wounded elves. This unbelievable kindness and naivety—she will be bludgeoned underneath his massive club.
Every sinew of my muscles clench seeing her in harm’s way.
Wait—What the fuck am I doing?
This is a chance to get this over with. Rhianelle’s death is my aim and sole purpose of following the elves. The beast inside pleads for me to rescue her. I feel my body tightening, ready to rip the orc into pieces.
Enough, I fight against the instinct.
The urge to save her is so strong that it nearly chokes me to stop it. I dig my nails into my palms to resist it. If she wants my aid, then let that first command come.
The queen evades the attack on her own to my surprise. She did it almost too easily. I chalk it up to luck, but she does the same thing on the second strike.
Jolts of lightning go through me when the monstrous orc brings down his weapon with another earth-shattering smack.
“Nel!” An anguished cry tears from my throat. There’s an agonizing, thick sensation burning in the pit of my stomach. I want to vomit. The thought of having a single hair on her head hurt is unbearable. I move to help her just as Rhianelle emerges from the dust unscathed.
She has escaped the overwhelming odds yet again.
The orc drives another heavy hit followed quickly by another, thinking that he has the upper hand. He doesn’t realize the attacks are slowly tiring him out. I realize I was just as foolish and mistaken as the creature.
Rhianelle Wiolant is not some helpless damsel. These are the movements of someone who has had years of training. Each step she takes is smooth and laced with grace. She leaves an opening over her left side.
I see it for what it is.
A trap. One calculated move and the monster falls right for it, slamming his weapon to the ground.
Everything transpires in a blink of an eye.
I completely stop breathing as the Elven Queen launches into the air. Her dainty foot lands on the club like a butterfly perched on a flower. This silence and speed are the kind possessed by the reaper himself.
An angel of death.
She shoves her rapier straight through the orc’s neck. There is a flicker of hesitation in that strike. It is only for a moment, but a moment is long enough for the orc to shift position slightly and for the queen to hit the jugular instead of the carotid.
Blood splutters from the ogre’s severed vein. He lifts his massive weapon frantically, throwing Rhianelle high towards the sky. I can tell she’s planning to dive down and ram the rapier straight into the orc’s skull.
Her stance when she decided to face the pale demon finally made sense. She wasn’t suicidal or trying to sacrifice herself. Rhianelle Wiolant does not rely on brute force. She uses her opponent’s strength against them.
But I don’t share her confidence that the thin ceremonial sword she wields is going to do much damage to the orc’s thick skin. I have no interest in letting her take that risk. Not when the beast is flailing randomly with a neck wound. Most of all I want her to finish this dance with me.
I dash forward and smash the creature’s skull to the ground.
Rhianelle lands gracefully like a feather into my arms. It’s like the moment is suspended in the fabric of time. There is no one else in the universe but us.
“He’s dead…” she muses. Her eyelashes blink slowly as she studies the mess I made on the ground. “I could have handled that myself.”
“I know. I got impatient,” I reply, stepping away from the bloodbath. I can’t take my eyes off her. The Elven Queen’s returning gaze is mesmerizing and almost hypnotic.
Shit… I’m losing it.
“You can put me down now,” she says softly.
“No.”