75
The large oak doors of the throne room closed slowly behind us. Araton turned halfway toward me, as if to say something, but, unable to look me in the eye, he gave up and walked to our parents, who sat on the two raised thrones at the back.
Alone, I tried to hold the gazes of our long-silver-haired druids and the old, black-skinned witches, who, standing in two lines, respectively in their light and dark robes, had created a tunnel leading to the rulers.
“Come forward, Princess Nauriel,” Queen Aloiv urged me, standing to my father’s right.
Her throaty voice resonated so loudly that the wrought-iron-floral-decorated windows on the three walls of the high-star-vaulted-ceiling hall slightly vibrated.
Outside, the forest was tinged with the violet hues of twilight as the first nocturnal animals began to poke their heads out of their burrows, their small eyes captivated by the bright glow of the flames in the many braziers lining the room’s perimeter.
I advanced across the gray marble floor with my head slightly bowed, letting the front locks of my hair fall to the sides of my face and partially hide its monstrosity.
No one commented on my appearance as I walked past, and somehow, that silence seemed more judgmental than a whisper.
When I reached the steps, I took a deep breath and looked up stoically.
Father looked as if he wanted to set fire to the Lands of the East to flush out Mornon the Abomination and make him pay for how he had reduced me.
Instead, Mother stared at me as if petrified, her eyes wide and filled with sadness and a sense of guilt so great that I had to repress the urge to throw myself into her arms to assure her she was not responsible for any of this.
It was entirely my fault.
Standing at her side, Araton placed one hand on her shoulder, and she squeezed it to find the strength to stay still on the throne of stone and wood.
Behind me, elves and witches gradually assembled in a semicircle, blocking all escape routes. The darkness within me started to stir, and I instinctively became alert.
The Queen of the Witches shared a tense glance with my father, who then gave a slight nod to allow her to proceed.
She moved to the top steps, her expression harder than granite. The magic of her ancestors, flowing through her, imbued her with an aura so powerful that she seemed indestructible. Her flat nose’s nostrils flared as she took a deep breath, clasping her hands on her lap.
“Are you absolutely certain,” she began in a stern tone, “that Mornon the Abomination is the mate the elven Spirits have chosen for you?”
Hearing Mornon and mate in the same sentence made my skin crawl. And at the same time, it inflamed me. Trying to keep my voice flat, I answered, “Yes, I am.”
“Why?”
I glared at her. “I feel it in my soul,” I retorted.
But she couldn’t understand what it meant. Witches carried love in their hearts, like humans, and could only enjoy it during their few years of life. The elves, on the other hand, bound their essence to their mates so they would become one and remain together even in Rest.
Her eerie, round eyes scanned me from head to toe. I sensed her power sound me out, and the evil within me bared its teeth like a beast.
“The enemy is inside your body,” the witch said with bewilderment. “Even at this distance, we can catch its putrid blood coursing through your veins, more impetuous than the sea.” Her full lip curled in disgust, accompanied by the indignant buzzing of the elderly witches. “How is this possible?”
“He . . .” I remembered him towering behind me in Master Roxior’s thermal bath, squeezing my breast tightly with his big hand while the fingers of his other hand slid between the lips of my sex.
“He did it when we were in the Lands of the West. He . . .” I recalled licking the cut in his palm, brutally pressed against my mouth, and swallowing that thick, hot, copious liquid as if it were divine nectar, craving more and more.
“He poured his blood into me. And . . .” I remembered him absorbing all my light with every grasp, every kiss, every bite.
“And he took mine inside himself. I . . .” I saw myself lost in his magnetic gaze and existing only for him, at the mercy of every new sensation he made me feel.
“I never sensed it because we elves lose all supernatural abilities once outside the Lands of the East.”
The sovereign gave me a shrewd look. “Are you sure, Your Highness?”
“Are you calling me a liar, witch?” I growled between my teeth, in a too feral voice.
A voice that was not mine.
A voice that seemed to regurgitate shadows and flames.
Gasps and murmurs rose in the room as my parents and Araton stared at me, their expressions nothing short of shocked.
I wished to apologize to Queen Aloiv for speaking to her disrespectfully, but I felt as though an invisible muzzle was silencing me.
The woman looked at me as if she had just confirmed a theory. “We’re afraid you let him do it.”
“How dare you even imply it . . .” I hissed, taking a menacing step toward the stairs.
“And we think,” she continued emphatically, “that you are under a powerful spell cast by the Abomination, leading you to believe he is your mate.”
I had to dig my fingernails into my palms until I felt small pangs of pain, restraining myself from doing anything rash. “There is no ongoing spell on me,” I declared with ostentatious control. “I would sense it.”
“Would you?”
I thought back to the fact that I should have felt Mornon’s darkness wandering within me once I re-entered the boundaries of the Lands of the East. I should have felt the black magic that was concealing my contagion. Instead, all I felt was the intensification of my desire for Amlach.
The Queen of the Witches was right, then.
I was unable to recognize the enemy’s influence over me. I was a puppet he could play with as and whenever he wanted.
I was at his total mercy.
And I couldn’t allow it.
Frozen and helpless, I looked at each member of my family, their pity almost bringing me to my knees.
“Your Highness.” Queen Aloiv lifted the purple skirt of her dress, its blue highlights catching the light as she descended the steps and stood before me, a trace of compassion in her unyielding expression.
“That filthy creature’s power is beyond our wildest imagination.
We must understand how strong his hold on you is before deciding how to act to protect the Crystal and all of us.
” She extended her hands to me, palms up. “Let us in.”
Darkness seethed in my veins like volcanic lava. I struggled to ignore the anger radiating within me, and, almost as if I were making an immense effort, I placed my hands on the woman’s. They were soft, slightly wrinkled, and a bit slippery, as if she had anointed them with spiced oil.
When she squeezed my hands, her eyes rolled back, revealing only the sclera, starkly white against her ebony skin. The same thing happened to the elderly witches, who later tilted their heads back, like their queen, and began chanting in their ancient language.
I felt their power engulfing me and huddling around me until I was permeated. It was cold and hissing. It was like a vine that drove its thorns into every single cell of my body.
I felt invaded without any kindness, inspected with the ruthlessness of a greedy gold prospector who dug and dug and dug until his nails broke.
The darkness within me roared, biting into the witches’ magic. They tried to resist, and the queen crushed my fingers as her voice rose an octave or two.
The next moment, I sensed them smash down the gates of my mind without any regard.
And I didn’t like it at all.
I didn’t like how they rummaged through my thoughts, how they observed every moment I’d spent with Amlach, how their power began to screech as they forced my memory to recall our first time, how their voices grew harsher and higher-pitched when they stumbled upon the memory of the violent intercourse Mornon and I had just a little while ago.
I didn’t want them to see it. I didn’t want them in my head. I thought they only wanted to verify how much evil was cruising inside me, not that they would violate me that way.
I tried to pull away from the Queen of the Witches. Made physically more powerful by the magic, she tightened her grip, her voice now so thunderous it deafened.
I wanted to say stop. I wanted to scream.
Instead, subconsciously, I found myself asking for help with my thoughts.
And he answered my call.
Keep those filthy hands off my mate, Witch Queen.
She let out a terrified cry at the same time the elderly women did, then immediately released me, recoiling as her eyes returned to normal.
I had the distinct impression that Mornon was right behind me, his warmth so tangible it enveloped me in a protective embrace. So relieved to no longer face the scrutiny of all those stares alone, I tried to lean on him, but my back met only air.
I lost my balance slightly, and Mornon’s warmth dissipated, causing me a sense of abandonment that left me furious.
Queen Aloiv stared at me as if I were the most monstrous creature she had ever seen. “He is in her mind,” she announced, her voice cracking with panic. “So deep-rooted that there is almost no line between where she ends and where he begins.”
The old witches agreed in indignant whispers, retreating in fear until they formed a second semicircle behind our druids.
“We have never seen such a connection, neither among elves nor among our kind.” The woman looked at me with contempt. “The enemy’s darkness wanders within you as if you were his abode, and you offer no resistance.”
I flushed with embarrassment and shot my family an anguished look. “That’s not true,” I said with all the resolve I had in me.
But then I recalled that my stiletto blade did not slice Mornon’s carotid artery. I remembered that I hadn’t been able to kill him.
That I hadn’t wanted to.
“You enjoy it,” the Queen of the Witches continued.
I remembered the immense pleasure of having Mornon inside me and feeling complete, the way I had moaned because of the force of his thrusts and the roughness of his hands on my body.
“You feel it yours.”
I recalled the violence of how I had kissed him as his thrusts quickened, sending me into ecstasy, and then how I’d tenderly cherished the tips of his ears with love.
“You’re its servant.”
“I am his,” I snarled abruptly, shutting her up with a threatening step forward. “And he is mine.”
The collective gasp that arose in the hall was like a bucket of freezing water, making me realize the atrocity I had just fervently stated. Scared of myself, I looked in despair at my parents and Araton. They were so dismayed that my eyes filled with burning tears.
“She is corrupted,” the elderly witches declared in unison.
I slightly shook my head, tears streaming down my horrified face.
Queen Aloiv garnered the courage to frame my cheeks with her hesitant hands and searched my gaze.
“Not entirely,” she said after a few seconds, visibly relieved.
She slid her fingers along my biceps, then gave them a resolute, meaningful squeeze.
“There is still good in you, Princess. But if you let him get you on his side, it will be the end.”
My expression darkened. “I will never choose to follow him.”
The woman let her arms fall with a sigh. “Yet in that temple, you did not kill him, by your own admission.”
A groove deepened between my brows. “I tried.”
“You couldn’t,” she countered, almost in tolerance.
A suffocating silence fell over the hall, broken only by the music of the flames dancing in the braziers.
My father straightened on the throne and drew a solemn breath. “Can you help her?”
I impulsively took the Queen of the Witches’ hands, my face set with both determination and distress. “Please. He can’t win. I can’t let him.”
She exhaled loudly through her nose and withdrew her hands, stepping aside to speak to my parents as well. “There are only two things we could try,” she said austerely.
“As in?” my brother asked, with a veil of both hope and circumspection.
The sovereign watched me intently. “We might attempt to break your bond with the Abomination.”
I tried to keep a straight face. However, the evil within me rebelled ferociously. “How?” I demanded.
“Forcing your union with another elf.”