Chapter 48
VIVIENNE
Awareness slowly trickles back into my mind, and I open my eyes to an unfamiliar room. I blink several times as the fog of sleep slowly lifts away. Memories return in a brutal rush of Auren’s voice calling out to me, lashing out with his magic, desperate to reach me before everything went dark.
I push myself upright, my limbs feel a bit heavy and sluggish. The bed beneath me is carved from dark wood, draped in heavy fabrics that fall in deep, muted tones of green and brown.
My gaze moves across the room. Tattered and faded tapestries decorate the gray stone walls. Thick, thorny vines spill in from the windows, trailing across the ceiling and along the floor.
Fear moves down my spine. These are eerily similar to the vines from my nightmares. I pinch myself, hoping it’s only a dream, but it’s not.
The balcony is covered in more of the same vines and overlooks a courtyard. It’s in a severe state of neglect with dead grass and bushes and a few scattered trees, their gnarled branches stretching toward the sky like skeletal hands.
I’m not in Valethryn anymore. This must be the Goblin King’s castle.
I swing my legs over the side of the bed and press a hand to my chest, trying to steady my breathing. Auren will come for me. I know he will.
But until then, I need to learn more about my surroundings. Perhaps I can escape and possibly even find my way to a nearby town or somewhere I can send a raven to my husband, letting him know where I am and that I’m alright.
I cross the room to the door, and grip the handle to test it. I’m shocked when it opens without issue. Cautiously, I step into the corridor, searching for any signs that this is a trap.
The hall is completely empty. A fae light hovers further down, casting sinister shadows along the gray stone.
Thorned vines twist along the walls, coiling around pillars and creeping through cracks in the stone.
Some are thick and knotted, others thin and reaching, their sharp thorns glinting in the low light.
This place does not feel like a home. It feels like something built around pain.
As quietly as possible, I make my way down the corridor, my gaze darting from shadow to shadow as I search for an exit. Worry tightens my chest as footsteps echo in the distance and voices drift through the air.
I glance around the corner and see two Goblins dressed in armor. They must be guards.
One is a man with green skin and dark hair and the other a woman with purple skin and lavender hair. Like the Mountain Goblins, they look remarkably like Elves with their pointed ears, but the male has dark green bat-like wings tucked close to his back.
As they draw closer, I scan the hallway, searching for somewhere to hide. My gaze lands on a nearby door, and I quickly tiptoe toward it. The handle opens with a soft click and I slip inside, shutting it behind me.
Sweat beads my brow as I press my ear to the door, waiting and listening as their footsteps pass. Relief fills me as their voices fade.
“Well, this is an unexpected surprise.” The voice comes from behind me, low, smooth, and undeniably male. “I didn’t think you’d be awake yet.”
Paralyzing fear snakes down my spine, but I somehow force myself to turn around and find a Goblin standing on a balcony.
His skin is a deep, moss green, stretched over a broad, powerful frame.
His shoulders are wide, his posture relaxed but not careless, and behind him his dark green wings are extended.
Sharp talons extend from the leathery sails lined with vein-like patterns that catch the light before he quickly tucks them into his back.
His hands are tipped in dagger-sharp, black claws and his ears taper to fine points. His jaw is strong, his features harsh, yet undeniably striking.
My heart stops as his golden, cat-like eyes fix on mine with a predatory stare. They are the same eyes I’ve seen in my dreams. A crown of golden thorns rests upon his short, dark hair, the metal catching the dim light, each twisted point sharp and deliberate.
This is the Goblin King.
My pulse quickens, but I take a deep breath and push down my fear, locking it away where it cannot touch me. I am the Queen of Valethryn. I have faced danger before, and I will not cower.
“You’ve saved me the trouble of sending for you,” he says, voice calm and measured. “I am Branneth’thyr—King of Thornreach. But you may call me Branneth. And you must be Princess Vivienne.”
“Queen Vivienne,” I correct. “And I demand you return me to Valethryn at once,” I reply, forcing my voice to remain steady. “I’d like to leave here, immediately.”
He lifts one brow. “Yes,” he says, tone thoughtful. “I imagine you would.”
He doesn’t move or call for his guards. Instead, he watches me as though I am something small. But he is mistaken. And yet, for the first time since waking, unease settles deeper than fear.
His golden eyes settle on me… not curious or welcoming, but measuring. He doesn’t look like a man eager to keep me. He looks like one who is waiting. But I don’t know what for.