Chapter 3 Svenn #2
Rhianelle wraps her arms around Coral’s neck. The beast goes impossibly still, gentle as a lamb. The creature that just demolished a chicken becomes soft as silk under my wife’s touch.
“Aren’t you perfect?” Rhianelle whispers. “Of course you are.”
Coral purrs and nuzzles into her silver hair.
Rhianelle turns to Siofra. “When do you return to the capital?”
“I will remain here a few more days. The warmth is good for me.” Her gaze drifts toward the hills. “Then I will travel north for the birth. Darstan worries about the journey. But he worries about everything.”
Her husband is right to be anxious. The roads are long and the borders unsettled.
I would have offered to take her through the shadow path.
It would be faster. But no one truly understands what crossing shadow does to something as fragile as an unborn child.
Coinneach is an ancient fae. Old magic does not always care for innocence. I won’t gamble a child’s life on it.
Rhianelle reaches for Siofra’s hand briefly. “Send word when you leave. I’ll have extra guards escort you.”
“Thank you, Your Highness.”
Siofra excuses herself, moving back toward the manor with slow steps. We settle on the stone bench near the field. Coral curls at our feet like an oversized, scale-covered cat.
Rhianelle leans against my shoulder. “Thank you for bringing me here.”
Always, little fawn.
Coral chirps and flops dramatically onto her side before bounding off to play in the field.
She watches Rhianelle from the corner of her eye.
The wyvern never strays too far. They’re bound in some quiet, sacred way like the wyvern riders of Avalon.
When Rhianelle speaks to her, Coral hums. When Rhianelle smiles, Coral mirrors it in her eyes.
“I need to tell you something,” I say quietly.
Rhianelle stiffens against me.
“I’m joining your war commanders in the southern borders.”
“Svenn—”
“Your enemies need to die.” I keep my voice level. “Every last one who threatens you.”
“No,” she says. “I do not want you to go.”
“Rhianelle—”
“There must be another way.”
I reach for her hands, covering them with my own. “The threats against you are multiplying. They tried to kill you at Tavan. If this goes on the entire southern region may fall. They will send more heads of your people.”
She flinches and closes her eyes. A single tear slides down her cheek. I reach up to brush it away, but she catches my wrist.
“I can’t ask you to kill for me.”
“You’re not asking.” I wait until she opens her eyes. “I choose this, Rhianelle. For your safety.”
I watch her carefully. Her hands tremble beneath mine.
“You’re not a weapon.” Her voice breaks slightly. “You don’t have to fight for me. Stay. Please.”
The desperation in her tone cuts deep. But I’ve made my decision.
“There is no peace while they hunt you like prey,” I say quietly. “Your hope for diplomacy is admirable. But hope doesn’t win wars.”
Her expression doesn’t clear the way I expected. Instead it clouds further. Her hands clasp together in her lap. She opens her mouth to respond when movement catches her eye.
Lord Clayborne emerges from the manor house, his expression grim as he approaches across the field. He carries something in his hand. A dispatch case bearing the royal seal.
“Your Highness.” He bows to Rhianelle. “Forgive the interruption, but this arrived by urgent courier.”
Rhianelle takes the case with trembling hands. She breaks the seal and reads the parchment. Color drains from her face.
“What is it?” I ask, though I already know it’s nothing good.
“The southern region. Ravenrock has fallen.” Her voice is hollow.
“It’s worse than we believed.” Clayborne’s jaw tightens. “The rebels are fortified. They’re stronger than they should be. Someone is feeding them Asterdust.”
“Asterdust?” Rhianelle mutters.
The Aldarelf inclines his head. “Confiscated stores have been found in two outposts.”
“Can Mavren help us?” she asks.
“The Orc King’s hands are tied, Your Highness.” Clayborne pauses. “The rebel clans don’t answer to him anymore. Possibly haven’t for months. There are also rumors of a rebel leader. Someone the clans are rallying behind for Asterdust.”
Rhianelle and I exchange a look.
Akaloth. The one who took Blaire and sent us elven heads on my wife’s nameday.
Mavren can no longer contain them. The Orc King’s authority over the rebels has collapsed and he knows it. Worse, the fae have no interest in restoring order. Rebel orcs bleeding Aelfheim’s southern border suits them perfectly.
“Can Ravenrock be reclaimed quickly?” Rhianelle asks.
“Not without cost,” Clayborne answers. “But if we wait, they will entrench further.”
The wind shifts through the wheat. Clayborne’s gaze drifts south, toward lands none of us can see from here.
“The Courts of Nightmare benefit from our instability,” he says carefully. “They need not lift a blade. They only need to let us exhaust ourselves.”
The Aldarelf bows once more and retreats toward the manor, leaving us alone in the field with Coral.
Rhianelle looks at me with those lilac eyes. “The elven council are recommending a full military response. They want me to authorize a campaign to take back what we’ve lost.”
“I will handle the rebels,” I say firmly. “I’ll join your war commander and ensure victory for your kingdom.”
“We’ve discussed this and my answer is no.” She shakes her head. “I won’t send you to war. I can’t lose you.”
I step closer to her. “You won’t.”
She grips my hand. “I still hope for peace. There must be a path that doesn’t require more bloodshed.”
“That’s a beautiful dream, little fawn. But it won’t stop the arrows from coming.” The words are harsh, but necessary.
“If we can cut the supply of Asterdust—”
I cup her face, forcing her to meet my eyes. “The rebels won’t stop because you hope for peace. They’ll stop when they’re dead.”
“Svenn.” The argument drains out of her voice. What’s left is quieter and harder to bear. “Please. Don’t go.”
She rises on her toes. I meet her halfway and her soft lips land against mine.
The kiss starts soft, promise and plea combined.
Her hands slide into my hair and she deepens it.
I understand exactly what she’s doing. This is the moment she decides to stop arguing with words.
Little fawn is using every advantage she has.
I can’t even be angry about it.
Her tongue lashes mine and it’s like lightning rolls from the tip of my tongue to the tip of my cock.
Then something shifts. The warmth of her pulls something awake beneath my skin.
My teeth lengthen before I can stop them.
The hunger rises, slow and dark, the monster recognizing what it wants.
I need to pull back before it gets any further.
Stop. I tell myself. Stop, stop, stop—
But it’s already too late. My hands tighten on her waist with more force. The bond inside me snarls. Take her, now.
Rhianelle gasps against my mouth. I taste her fear. It should stop me. Instead, it makes everything worse.
Shadow chains erupt from the ground.
They wrap around my wrists, my ankles, my throat. The Rhunhraefn curse holds me completely immobile. Darkness binding darkness. They yank me to my knees.
My breath hitches. The chains know me. They constrict exactly where it hurts the most.
“Oh gods, Svenn, I’m sorry!” Rhianelle drops beside me, her hands fluttering helplessly. “I didn’t mean—”
“It’s alright,” I manage, though the chains are tight.
She’s already working to dispel them, her fingers glowing with that soft light. “What have I done?”
“You did nothing wrong.” I fight against the urge to struggle. “This is exactly what you should do if I lose control.”
“But I hurt you—”
“You protected yourself.” I meet her stricken gaze steadily. “Do not apologize for using power that keeps you safe.”
The shadow chains dissolve at her command. I remain kneeling for a moment longer, using the time to wrestle my nature back under control. My grip loosens and the predatory intensity fades.
The Rhunhraefn is the most powerful curse in existence and Rhianelle has withstood its influence longer than most curse bearers. Her control of it slipped, just for a moment. If she loses her hold on it the way the others lost theirs, I’ve accepted that. When the day comes, I won’t fight it.
Coral whines from across the field, sensing the danger. She presses closer to Rhianelle protectively.
“Svenn?” Rhianelle’s voice is small.
“I’m fine.” I rise to my feet, steadying myself.
“Are you still going to leave?” she asks.
“You know I have to do this,” I say, the admission heavy in my voice.
She searches my face for a long moment. Then her shoulders slump in defeat.
“I hate this,” she whispers.
“I know.”
“If you go...” She takes a shaky breath. “Promise me you’ll come back.”
“I promise.” The vow settles into my bones. “I’ll come back to you. Always.”
She studies my face for another heartbeat, searching for some argument that might change my mind. But we both understand what must be done, however much we wish circumstances allowed for different choices.
She rises on her toes and kisses me once more. The kiss is soft and brief. When she pulls back, her eyes are wet.
“How long?” she asks.
“As long as it takes to make you safe.”
Rhianelle doesn’t speak. She just turns and walks to the wyvern, wrapping her arms around Coral’s neck like the creature is the only real thing left in the world. “Be good, Coral. We’ll visit you again soon.”
I watch her for a moment, memorizing the way the sunlight catches in her silver hair. The way Coral rumbles soothingly beneath her touch.
Then I move to create the portal home.
Coinneach responds immediately. The shadow peels away and forms the familiar archway of darkness.
“Ready?” I extend my hand.
Rhianelle nods. She takes my hand. Together we step toward the portal.
“Coral, no—” Rhianelle starts, but it’s too late.
The ridiculous creature has already launched herself at the closing portal. Her pale white scales catch the last sunlight as she barrels through like an oversized bat. The portal warps around her bulk. I have to quickly adjust the shadows to accommodate her unexpected passage.
We tumble through into Rhianelle’s bedchamber.
My wife comes out gracefully while I maintain the portal’s stability.
Coral crashes through with all the elegance of a drunken bear.
The wyvern knocks over a side table and sends a vase rolling across the floor.
She somehow manages to get her tail tangled in the curtains before finally coming to a stop.
“Coral!” Rhianelle whispers sharply, her lilac eyes wide with worry. She rushes to untangle the creature from her curtains.
The wyvern looks immensely pleased with herself. That peculiar expression she gets when she thinks she’s done something clever. Her tongue lolls out slightly as she pants from the exertion.
“You can’t be here. You’re a fae creature. If anyone sees you in the queen’s private chambers…” Rhianelle’s delicate hands work to free Coral’s tail while simultaneously trying to assess what damage has been done to her room.
The wyvern, oblivious to the concern she’s causing, nuzzles against Rhianelle’s shoulder with enough force to nearly knock her over.
“Perhaps it’s not such a terrible thing,” I say, moving to right the overturned table.
Rhianelle turns to me. “Svenn, she’s a fae wyvern. In the elven queen’s bedchamber. During a war with the fae.”
“I’m leaving soon to reclaim those fortresses.” I keep my voice steady despite the way my chest tightens at the thought. “You’ll need protection while I’m gone. Who better than a creature that adores you?”
Coral, as if understanding she’s being discussed, waddles over to Rhianelle’s bed and attempts to climb onto it. The frame creaks ominously under her weight.
“She’ll cause trouble…” Rhianelle protests weakly. Though I can see her resolve wavering as Coral’s large eyes turn to her with that pitiful expression the beast has mastered.
“She will,” I agree, moving closer. “But she’s here to keep you company.”
The wyvern has now successfully claimed half the bed, looking remarkably satisfied with her conquest. Her tail swishes once and knocks over another carefully placed ornament.
Rhianelle sighs, pressing her fingers to her temples. “Tallula and Lenna are going to think I’ve lost my mind.”
“Let them think what they will.” I catch her hand, drawing it away from her face. “You’re their queen. If you want to keep a fae wyvern as a pet, who’s going to tell you otherwise?”
“The Council. The Elders. Every noble in court—“
“The war gives them weightier concerns than your choice of companions.” I brush a strand of silver hair from her face. “Besides, she followed you here. Try sending her back now.”
We both look at Coral. She has wrapped herself in Rhianelle’s finest blanket and appears to be settling in for a nap. Her contented rumble fills the room.
“If she practices that trick near Clayborne’s outer fields, we may owe the lord a new harvest,” I remark, eyes on Coral.
Rhianelle blinks at me. “Svenn, Coral would never burn his lands.”
But her lips press together as she considers how dry the fields are this season. One spark and one shift of wind. That is all it would take.
“I would rather not test Lord Clayborne’s forgiveness,” I add.
Her shoulders soften, just slightly. “All right.”
She leans into me for a moment. I breathe in her scent, memorizing it for the lonely nights ahead. Coral’s snoring has already begun.
“When do you leave?” Rhianelle asks quietly.
“Tomorrow at dawn.”
She nods against my chest. Her hand holds on tighter.
I wrap my arms around her and let the moment stretch.
What I don’t tell her is that I need this as much as she fears it.
The eclipse is coming and I feel it in my bones, the slow erosion of the leash I keep on myself.
I won’t let the bond become the thing that hurts her.
Distance is the kindest thing I can give her right now.
Being away will be good. For both of us.
I’ll do what is necessary.
Even if it feels like tearing my heart from my own ribs.