Chapter 17
Maeve
This wasn’t how I pictured my evening going.
The pale-green walls of my kitchen suddenly feel too close, too confining as I sit rigidly in my wooden chair. Across from me, the elven woman's perfect posture makes my own spine ache in sympathy. Or perhaps it’s just the tension.
The air is thick enough to slice with a knife as she sits there, like the mere fact of being inside my house will leave a stain on her perfectly tailored dress.
She arrived unannounced and unexpected. I'd been preparing seedlings for my garden when a soft knock at my door revealed this ethereal creature on my doorstep.
The contrast between us couldn't be more stark, her in deep-blue velvet with intricate silver embroidery that catches the afternoon light streaming through my kitchen windows; me in faded jeans and a faded t-shirt that I wear for gardening.
That was twenty minutes ago.
"More tea?" I offer, desperate to break the uncomfortable silence that has fallen between us.
"No, thank you." Her voice carries a musical lilt, but I don’t miss the condescending undertone that goes along with it.
The afternoon sunlight catches on her elaborate silver-blond braid, making it shimmer as if lit from within. Next to her, I feel unruly and unkempt with my wild copper curls. I have to resist the urge to smooth them down.
“How do you know Lorian?” I ask, desperate to fill the uncomfortable silence.
"Lorian and I have known each other for many years," she answers with the thinnest of smiles. "Most families in the High Court have."
She's been speaking in these vague terms since arriving, dancing around her actual relationship with Lorian, offering me tidbit answers without revealing anything of substance.
"He never mentioned someone might be visiting." I pause, realizing I still don't know her title or even her full name. She introduced herself simply as Karanda when she arrived, offering no explanation for her unexpected visit.
"No, I don't imagine he would have." Her smile doesn't reach her ice-blue eyes. "High Court elves tend to be discreet around outsiders."
Outsider. Is that what I am to him?
My fingers tighten around my mug of tea, the ceramic warm against my skin. The scent of chamomile rises with the steam, mingling with the omnipresent smell of the herbs hanging from my kitchen rafters and the faint aroma of the bread I baked this morning.
I open my mouth to continue asking questions when I hear the front door open. Relief floods through me at the familiar sound of Lorian's footsteps in the hallway.
Finally, I’m going to have some answers.
"Maeve?" he calls softly from the living room.
Something flickers across her perfect features, anticipation perhaps, or satisfaction?
I’m not sure. Lorian appears in the doorway, and the air seems to crystalize around us.
His tall frame fills the entrance, but it's his face that catches my attention.
The color drains from it as his eyes lock on Karanda.
His mouth parts slightly, and for the first time since I've known him, Lorian Reizenhart appears completely at a loss for words.
The temperature in the room seems to drop several degrees. My visitor rises with theatrical slowness, her movement fluid and deliberate, like a dancer performing for an audience.
"Lorian," she says, her voice soft but carrying an undercurrent of undeniable hostility, "I've come to bring you home."
I stand quickly, my chair scraping against the wooden floor. The sound is jarring in the tense silence.
"What is she talking about?" My voice comes out squeaky like a mouse. “You’re leaving?”
“Duchess Karanda.” Lorian inclines his head in her direction, ignoring my questions. “You should have announced your visit in advance.”
Duchess?
My heart pinches, and when I look down at my hand, it’s trembling. What’s happening?
“Who is this woman?”
The woman answers before Lorian can, her eyes never leaving his face.
"I am Duchess Karanda Nurenbatin of the Elven High Court," she says, each word precise and measured. "One of Empress Palantia’s official envoy."
The Empress of the Elven Court’s official envoy, sitting in my kitchen? That may explain the woman’s cold shoulder and expensive attire, but it doesn’t explain why she’s here for Lorian.
Or why she’s here at all. Unless she’s that duchess. The one whose boy died.
My gaze goes from Lorian to the duchess in succession as my rapid heartbeat drowns out everything except the sound of my own blood rushing through my veins.
Lorian remains completely still, his face a mask I can't read. This isn't the man who laughed with me over pink glitter, who whispered my name like a prayer as we made love. This is the formal, distant elf doctor I first met. Or someone else, someone even more remote.
Someone out of my reach.
The duchess retrieves an ornate wooden scroll case and hands it over to Lorian. He accepts it without a word, his expression made of stone as he opens it and retrieves a parchment sealed with blue wax.
“By express order of Her Imperial Majesty, you are summoned to return to court.” There’s a satisfied lift of her lisp as she watches Lorian like a hawk, but her voice is smooth like the velvet of her dress. “Effective immediately.”
I look at the scroll, then at Lorian.
"What does it mean?" I hate the hint of panic in my voice. “This can’t be serious. You don’t have to go anywhere you don’t want to go.”
Lorian says nothing, his posture rigid, his eyes fixed on the scroll as if it might explode.
“I'm sorry if you had other expectations, dear.” The duchess’ gaze shifts to me, cold and dismissive. “Perhaps Lorian didn’t explain his duties to the court supersedes any… let’s call them distractions, shall we?”
The way she says it makes my skin crawl. What is she insinuating? I bristle, straightening my spine.
"What Lorian does and where he goes is none of your business." My voice shakes with suppressed anger. "And he doesn’t have to obey to anyone, empress or not."
The duchess ignores me completely, turning back to Lorian as if I hadn't spoken at all.
"Her Imperial Highness has decided your exile has lasted long enough," she says with cold precision. "After all, your family has been petitioning for your return since the day you left."
My breath catches as understanding dawns. My eyes dart to Lorian's face and what I see there sets a dagger of ice between my ribs.
“Lorian,” I call his name and I see his shoulders tense. Still, he refuses to look at me. “Please tell me she’s lying.”
He was always going to leave? I can’t believe it. I’ve been so stupid. So gullible. And to think I fell in love with him.
His expression gives me nothing, but the tension in his jaw speaks volumes. The duchess’ words hang in the air between us, heavy with implication.
"The summons is nonnegotiable," she continues, each word falling like a stone. "You would be stripped of your title without remediation if you dared disobey."
I wait for Lorian to refuse, to fight, to stay. To say anything at all. To choose me, like he said he would. The seconds stretch into an eternity of silence.
The duchess gathers her gloves and an expensive shawl from the back of the chair, her movements elegant and unhurried.
"You may say your goodbyes to your human friend," she says without looking at me. "I'm sure she'll get over you soon enough. Humans are such fickle creatures."
The casual cruelty of her words steals my breath. I stand frozen, eyes fixed on Lorian, waiting for him to look at me, to speak to me, to contradict her.
The duchess moves toward the door, clearly expecting Lorian to follow. He remains still for one heartbeat, then two.
"I will explain everything to you as soon as I can."
His voice is formal, distant. Not the voice of the lover I shared a bed with, not the voice of the man who claimed me as his True Mate. He doesn't meet my eyes as he turns to follow the duchess, who already sits in the back of her luxury car.
"Lorian, wait." The words escape me before I can stop them. "You can't just leave."
He pauses in the doorway, his back to me, shoulders tense beneath his crisp shirt.
Lorian finally turns to face me, and for a brief moment, I glimpse something raw and agonized in his eyes. Then it's gone.
"I'm sorry, Maeve."
He follows the duchess without another word. I hear his footsteps in the hallway, then the front door opening and closing with a soft click that somehow sounds more final than a slam would have.
I stand alone in my kitchen, surrounded by the warmth and color of my home, now feeling cold and hollow. My pulse rings in my ears as reality crashes down around me.
He's gone. Just like that. No fight, no explanation, no real goodbye.
My hand finds the edge of the table for support as my knees weaken.
The pain builds in my chest, a physical ache that threatens to overwhelm me.
My fingers curl around the edge of the table until my knuckles turn white, as if holding on tight enough might somehow ground me in this new, broken reality.
A single tear slides down my cheek, then another. Outside, birds continue to sing in the garden as if nothing has changed. The late afternoon sunlight still streams through the windows, catching dust motes in its golden glow. The clock on the wall ticks steadily onward.
And inside my chest, my heart shatters into a million pieces.
"You said I was your True Mate," I whisper to the empty room.
The words hang in the silence, unanswered.