Chapter 24 #2
Resting his forearms against his thighs, Ellisar lowered his voice while the court continued dancing and chatting around them.
“I already have power, Imani. I have had it for years. I have armies that answer when I call, a council that listens when I speak, an estate large enough to house people I rarely see, and more responsibility than I know what to do with some days.” A ghost of a smile tugged at his lips.
“I am not lying awake wishing someone would give me another title.”
A small laugh tore from her. “You may be the first male elf I’ve ever met who could say that convincingly.”
“I assure you, another title would only mean another meeting.”
She gave him a wary look, caught off guard by its dryness.
Sitting up again, Ellisar watched the dancers instead of the rulers clustered around them. A glint shone in his eyes that hadn’t been there moments before. “What I want is considerably less impressive.”
Imani pursed her lips, waiting for him to continue.
“A home that stops being a seat of government when I close the door,” he added.
The admission was so honest that she almost thought she had misunderstood him.
She opened her mouth to reply, but Ellisar continued, undeterred.
“I would like to eat a meal someday without someone putting a map beside my plate. I would like rooms where people come because they want my company, not because they need my approval. I would like someone who argues with me because she thinks I am being an ass, not because three border agreements depend on which of us wins.”
Her nose scrunched. “That last one sounds remarkably specific.”
“It does.” The same glint shone in his bright blue eyes, so earnest it made Imani shift in her seat.
“I want a family,” he said simply. “A real one. A household that has nothing to do with alliances or succession once the doors are closed.”
Ellisar spoke as if wanting such a thing required no defense.
“I had stopped believing that was something I would ever have,” he added. His fingers briefly brushed the sleeve covering the faded heartmate brand at his wrist. “I no longer intend to make that assumption.”
Imani remembered the pale mark beneath the fabric. She died.
An ache built in her chest, and she rubbed it without thinking. “And you think all of this gets you there?” she asked, motioning subtly toward the court.
“No.” Ellisar sighed, glancing toward the tall windows and the darkness beyond Stralas. “This is what stands in the way of it.”
“What does?” The question tumbled out before she could stop it.
“The Fabric is failing,” he continued. “Our borders are unstable. Kiran is preparing for war. Lochheim is pushing into territory it should not be able to reach. I can defend a city. I can command an army. None of that matters if the world beneath those things stops holding.” His jaw flexed.
“I do not want children born into a realm where the ground can split beneath their feet because we were too occupied fighting over crowns to repair what was breaking.”
She bit her lip at his bluntness.
Children.
Not heirs.
Not a legacy.
Children.
Imani looked down at their hands resting only inches apart between the two chairs.
Until now, she’d thought Ellisar’s interest in their mating was what every powerful man wanted.
Leverage, permanence, and consolidation.
Even when his actions contradicted that explanation, it was easier to believe he wanted what she represented than to consider that he might want something from her that couldn’t be measured in territory.
“You’ve thought about this,” she whispered.
“For years.”
“And you never wanted more?”
“More what?”
“Power.”
Ellisar tsked. “Power is work.”
A startled laugh escaped her before she could stop it. “You make ruling sound like bookkeeping.”
“You’ll soon learn that much of it is bookkeeping.”
“You’re ruining monarchy for me.”
“I thought Tanyl had already done that.”
Imani stared at him for half a beat before a wicked smile spread across her face. “Fine. That was almost funny.”
“Almost?”
“Don’t get ambitious.”
His mouth finally curved before he settled back into the chair. “I want enough of it to protect what is mine,” he said. “I have no particular desire to spend my entire life accumulating things that require constant protecting.”
They fell into silence. Around them, the music continued while nobles drank themselves silly and danced beneath the chandeliers.
It was almost disgusting how quickly they forgot the violence that occurred, but Imani had always known the Essnheim court was vicious and pragmatic.
No one would defy the true queen when she declared the party would continue.
Ellisar seemed lost in thought, and Imani let her mind wander as she imagined a house where people waited for him because they loved him.
Then, she imagined a house where people loved her.
A lump formed in her throat.
Ellisar picked up his Drasil and twirled it between his fingers. Magic pulsed from it.
As a Norn elf with a wandlore brand, he could handle any wand without issue. She was sure he’d calibrate it the first chance he had.
“We have to make the realm safe enough for that future first,” he said, almost as if he was thinking out loud. “Which means whatever is happening to the Fabric becomes our problem whether we want it or not.”
As he spoke, her view of the throne diminished, victory more burdensome.
The room, the crown, the power she had just claimed—all of it shifted in her mind, stretching beyond the walls into something vast and pressing.
Responsibility grew into a real weight, no longer just an idea but a solid force reaching far beyond her.
She realized its true magnitude, and retreat was no longer an option.
The exhilaration vanished as quickly as it appeared, leaving only the pressure underneath.
The monarchy didn’t care that she'd taken it, only what she would do next.
Ellisar looked ahead, yet his voice softened slightly to maintain the intimacy of the moment. “If you aim to rule,” he stated firmly, “you will need to hold more than just a throne. We need to repair the Fabric as well.”
She bristled. “I don’t need a catalogue of my problems right now, Ellisar. Let’s just enjoy the rest of the night,” she said through slightly gritted teeth.
He nodded. “I know. I’m sorry. I just don’t want you to get complacent.”
“Never.”
They fell into silence again. Imani straightened her posture despite her aching shoulder, anchoring herself in the seat, in her magic, her decision, and her next move. If conflict was imminent from Kiran or Lochheim, she wouldn’t wait for it to arrive—she would face it first.