58
The next morning, I lifted the skirt of my pale aquamarine dress, with golden floral decorations and flowing sleeves that taper into pointed shapes on the backs of my hands, as I descended the natural steps of the dungeons.
“Good morning, Elf,” Amlach greeted me in his usual cocky tone.
I froze at the door of the cell, already open, feeling my vagina throbbing just at the sound of his voice.
I sighed in relief when I saw a large tray on the thin mattress, with plates cleaned down to crumbs, grateful that my father had someone bring him a hearty breakfast.
And not only that. Amlach no longer wore Rubra’s purplish robe but a knee-length royal blue shirt, topped with a matching tunic, featuring semi-rigid shoulder pads and gold embroidery, and fastened at the waist with a large leather belt.
I also looked at the dark trousers peeking out from under the tunic and tucked into the brown boots. Eventually, I refocused on his face, searching for something . . . Spirits, I didn’t know what. Just something.
“Did you sleep?” I asked him, trying not to let my desire show.
Amlach neared until he invaded my personal space. “Did you?” he shot back, his eyes dancing mischievously.
His manly scent curled beneath my nose, bringing back memories of my lustful dream, and I had to squeeze my eyes shut to stop myself from looking at him the way I had while he licked me mercilessly.
Amlach gripped my chin lightly with his thumb and forefinger, tilting my face upward to focus my attention. His eyes darkened as he looked over the thick blonde braid wrapped around my head like a crown, decorated with floral hairpins that matched the aquamarine gem embedded in my tiara.
“Don’t put your hair up anymore,” he ordered in a low tone.
I tucked his hair behind his ears, gliding my fingers over the tips. He inhaled deeply, caught between irritation and ecstasy, his jaw clenched so tightly that a muscle in his cheek twitched.
“Why?” I whispered.
He traced my lower lip with his thumb. “You know why.”
Because he loved to touch them.
And he loved to pull them. To dominate me.
I remembered how he had tugged at them in my dream, tilting my head as he pleased while he possessed me with his fingers in that rough and intoxicating way.
And I couldn’t hold myself back anymore.
I tied my hands behind Amlach’s neck and pulled him closer to claim his mouth . . . but the soldiers’ voices caused me to whip my head toward the dungeon entrance.
Amlach’s lips ended up on my cheek and parted to leave a wet kiss that reminded me of how he had licked me between my legs, making me gasp. I felt his satisfied smile, then he softly rubbed his nose against my cheekbone and stepped back just as two guards appeared at the bottom of the steps.
The elf who wasn’t carrying a heavy pair of shackles swallowed nervously as I glowered at him. He barely raised his chin to meet my gaze, his sweaty hand slipping subtly along the pike’s shaft. “The prisoner has been summoned to the garden of Their Majesties, Your Highness,” he announced in Elvish.
“The prisoner,” I said with peppery sternness in the common tongue as I left the cell, “is the King of Men. And he will not be chained.”
The second soldier tried to protest. “But, Highness, he—”
“I shall escort His Grace myself,” I declared on a whim, in a tone that left no room for objections. “Go back to the palace.”
The young guards looked at each other uncertainly, then bowed and left.
Soon after, Amlach came up behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist, one hand just below my breast, and the other pressed on my lower belly in a possessive way that made me shiver against him.
“Easy,” he whispered.
I put my hands over his, trying to absorb his warmth to fight the fear that had suddenly gripped me. “Let’s go.”
Amlach walked to the palace with an expression of amazement, admiring the towering evergreens, the small bridges and walkways over the crystal-clear waterways, the steps carved on steep paths, the shapes of the temples and small stone gazebos scattered among the trees, and the fauna that coexisted peacefully with us.
My parents’ private garden was behind the compound.
It was like a clearing on a steep slope, always bathed in sunlight, with retaining walls that not only looked decorative but also protected the soil from water erosion.
Stone and wooden steps wound through the lush grass, and a small waterfall with a pond flowed from side rocks, in whose cracks brightly colored flowers and plants with long, narrow leaves grew.
My family was waiting for us at the top, gathered in the large, ornate wooden gazebo.
Amlach stood beside me, reaching out his hand to help me up the steps with a gallant gesture. He responded with a mocking half-smile to Araton’s deadly glare, gave me one last gentle stroke on the knuckles with his thumb, and then let me go.
“Your Majesties,” he said, bowing. “Prince,” he added with a simple nod.
A beaming smile stretched my mother’s rosy lips as she moved away from her mate to approach Amlach.
Clad in white and gold like Father, she represented the purest light.
Her hair was longer than mine and lighter in shade, a shimmering veil of defined, silky waves.
Her blue-green eyes were so intense that they seemed capable of reading minds, and the oldest among the elves claimed that her aristocratic beauty surpassed that of any previous queen, even Calien’s.
“At last, we meet, King Amlach,” she said in a velvety voice, in the common tongue, extending her hand with pale, slender fingers.
He demonstrated his familiarity not only with our language but with our customs, too, by not leaning forward to kiss her knuckles. Instead, he gathered her hands and gave her a deep nod. “It is an honor, Your Majesty.”
Impressed like the rest of us, Mother withdrew her hands and looked at Amlach with a slightly sly expression. “Now I understand many things,” she said cryptically, casting a knowing look in my direction before returning next to her mate.
Neither Amlach nor I could help but glance at each other sideways, my arm brushing against his.
“Spirits,” Araton cursed in Elvish. He sat on the circular bench, his dark gray clothes making him the only somber note in the lush garden. “Can you at least show a shred of decency and not stay so close to him around our parents?”
“Araton!” Mother exclaimed in indignation, staring at him as if she couldn’t believe her own son was capable of such hostility.
“Mind your manners, Araton,” Father warned him, refusing to switch to Elvish, although Amlach did understand it. “Or you can leave.”
My brother rolled his eyes, crossed his legs, and folded his arms over his broad chest, clearly biting his tongue to stay silent. His gaze met mine, and we engaged in a silent duel that heightened the tension under the gazebo.
Amlach shifted his weight from one leg to the other to hide his arm touching mine again, calming my anger. Then he clasped his hands behind his back and spoke to my parents in that charming, diplomatic manner of his that had enchanted the Masters of Rubra.
“As I already explained to the prince, Your Majesties, the princess and I don’t stay so close on purpose,” he said. “They kept us chained together, even during the fights. We had to learn to become each other’s shadows to survive.”
Mother rested her hand on the ones Father held on his lap, still visibly shaken by what I had faced in the Lands of the West.
“Yes,” Father replied heavily. “Nauriel told us everything.”
Amlach shot me a swift, mocking glance, aware that I hadn’t revealed everything. I tried to focus on the embroidery on my father’s tunic to avoid blushing.
“And we are immensely grateful to you,” Mother added, “for doing your best to protect her, Your Majesty.” She briefly locked her sorrowing gaze with her mate’s, then looked back at Amlach with an expression of profound, nearly reverent gratitude. “Immensely.”
Amlach peered down at me so piercingly that for a moment I forgot we weren’t alone.
“We protected each other,” he replied, with the ghost of a knowing smile on his lips.
“As if it were written that you were to meet on that battlefield,” the queen continued, her voice rising with passion, watching us as if we were pieces of a puzzle coming together before her. “And face together the trials that the Spirits have placed in your path.”
“Please . . .” Araton muttered in Elvish, his voice thick with contempt.
Father sliced him a glance so stern that my brother looked away.
“I agree with the words of my queen, King Amlach,” Father then said.
“In good conscience, I cannot ignore this curious plan of the Spirits, nor your incredible regard for my daughter, despite your dislike of us elves.” He paused intentionally, then took a solemn breath.
“Therefore, after grave consideration, I have decided to give you a second chance.”
Amlach tensed up dangerously. “A second chance,” he echoed through his teeth.
Father stiffened as well, widening his shoulders in a fruitless attempt to become taller than Amlach. “We once again offer our croplands in the Glawar plain to you.”
“And we promise you,” Mother added firmly, “that our druids and the most skilled witches will work day and night tirelessly to uncover what evil has taken hold of your kingdom.” She fixed her gaze on Amlach.
“We will find a cure.” Then she looked at each of us, resolute and confident. “All of us, together.”
Amlach’s long silence sent a cold shiver down my spine. He was about to reject my father’s proposal again. I sensed it. Suddenly, it became clear to me that he expected my father to give him Calien’s Crystal, after all he had done to keep Roxior from turning me into a prostitute.
Before I knew it, I found myself standing before him, resolute.
“Amlach, please. If you don’t accept, your people will abandon you.
They’re already abandoning you. And soon, there won’t be any humans remaining in the Lands of the East.” I moved closer without thinking.
“Set aside your pride. Save your people.”
Save yourself.
He looked down at me, his expression so unreadable. Impenetrable. As if he had built an ice wall between us.
Slowly, he dragged his hard stare to my father. “And what if I refuse? Again?” His tone turned challenging. “What if I ask once more for Calien’s Crystal, which would surely save the Kingdom of Men?”
I curled my lips in anger, my fingers tingling with the urge to punch him in the stomach to clear his mind and make him reason.
Father responded to Amlach’s defiant look with one full of regality. “You will be executed on the banks of the Glawar, in front of your people.”
I shut my eyes, biting back the instinct to cover my ears.
Father continued, “To humans who will seek help, asylum will be granted in our kingdom. Those who will refuse to leave their homes will soon die along with the land.”
“Or we could send him back to Rubra,” Araton suggested in Elvish. A grin formed on his face. “It looks like he was very loved there.”
I whipped my head toward him, my eyes flashing. “Over my dead body,” I snarled, with a voice that didn’t belong to me.
Too feral.
Too lethal.
“Nauriel!” Mother exclaimed, surprised by my reaction, her gaze darting from me to Amlach before meeting the king’s gloomy stare.
I ignored my parents’ concern and my brother’s disdain and turned back to Amlach, grabbing him by his leather belt in a fit of desperation.
“ Please,” I whispered vehemently, batting my lashes in an attempt to ward off tears.
A muscle in his cheek twitched as he clenched his jaw tightly. He looked so deeply into my eyes that I felt him slither into my mind.
“I have seen my subjects choose a life of slavery in Rubra and smile enthusiastically under its scarlet colors, grateful for its abundance,” he said stiffly, addressing my father but refusing to shift his attention away from me.
As if I were the only thing that mattered.
“Grateful that their children will never suffer hunger and thirst again.” He drew a significant breath and looked up at my father. “I accept your offer, King Erech.”
I let my head loll against my chest, my forehead almost brushing against his body, with a sigh of relief.
“And?” Father said, trying him.
Amlach was forced to yield even further.
“And I promise you that I will never dare to attack your kingdom again, nor merely threaten it.” He gazed at my mother and offered an almost charming smile to ease the tension.
“I am a young, still inexperienced king, but I am a quick learner.” He nodded firmly at my parents. “You have my word.”
Father exhaled a discouraged breath through his nostrils. “Unfortunately, King Amlach, I’m afraid your word is not enough.”
“Father!” I snapped, offended that he didn’t trust Amlach.
“Sister!” Araton silenced me in Elvish, leaping to his feet.
“Calm yourselves, my children,” Mother commanded, distressed to see us so fierce with one another.
Father paused briefly to let his mate’s warning sink in for Araton and me, then looked at Amlach with seriousness and announced, “This new alliance between elves and men must be formalized through a union.”