Chapter 10
Nate
Unicorn’s Rest sounds like the name of a tavern straight from a fairytale, not a place called the Nightmare Realm, but I’m not arguing semantics when a unicorn-shaped fountain welcomes me inside with red wine instead of water.
Each window is tall, narrow, and fitted with stained glass so fine it could rival the grandest basilicas. Built of smooth gray stone, the building resembles traditional Victorian churches, and it’s large enough to fit at least a dozen long tables.
Instead of the warm glow of the candles I’d expect in a place like this one, the interior is dominated by the eerie green light of vapor-like flames burning both in massive chandeliers made of animal bone and small torches attached to the walls.
As Tristan leads me inside, along a celestial mosaic embedded into the floor to resemble an elongated carpet, our feet soon move in tune with the lively melody flowing from a fiddle-like instrument played by a young girl standing on a barrel in the corner.
Vines sprouting violet flowers grow out of large pots by some of the walls and climb the stone, adding a bit of warmth to a space that instead of echoing with Gregorian chants smells of stew, bread, and beer.
I cross my fingers for something vegan, or at least plant-based, but my hopes shrink when I note a disconcerting amount of skull and bones—both animal and…
human—partially obscured by the thick leaves.
This place is every goth’s dream, but I’ve never been much into the morbid side of things.
I yelp when a short yet very slender woman steps in front of me in a dress featuring numerous bat-shaped cutouts and a neckline that’s close to revealing both her nipples. I swear I can see the edge of one already.
“Welcome to Unicorn’s Rest, Ser Human, Ser Nightcloak,” she says cheerfully. “What do you require?”
Only now it really sinks in that she’s an elf.
They all are. From the musician to the crowd playing dice and the man mumbling something as he scrubs the floor, they all have pointy ears, bright eyes, and most are on the slender side.
High cheekbones also seem to be a common trait, and not one person has a beard.
I’m so overwhelmed by my surroundings I’m struggling to take it all in, but Tristan is taking care of me like he promised.
“We will dine, we will merry, and we’d like your finest room as well.” Tristan flashes her a bright smile.
It’s not lost on me that a lot of faces are turning our way, curiosity painted all over them. Are people like me that rare in these parts?
I pinch myself, because of course they are. But the fact is that elves don’t seem so physically different from the average person where I’m from.
Unless what I’m seeing here is not a representative sample of the Nightmare Realm’s population.
Every single person within sight could be a model.
Are they better looking, because they’re elves, or because they’re rich?
The clothes most of those gathered here wear are variations of thick velvet and intricate lace, with a bit of tailored leather thrown in for good measure.
All in dark colors with some jewel tones and sparkling adornments, which seem made to underline just how well-off they are.
I’m starting to feel painfully underdressed in my puffer jacket and hiking boots.
There’s no doubt that this is an expensive tavern, not some shoddy place where you have to watch your purse.
Just as that thought passes through my head, I spot a man with lips that seem to stretch a bit too far across his cheeks. But the hands on him?
Definitely those of a professional hand model.
Am I spiraling?
“Very well, now define finest room, ser,” the girl says, showing Tristan her empty palm in a gesture that’s apparently universal across all the realms.
“One with its own bath tub.” Tristan puts a jangling pouch in her hand, leaving me to wonder how much he’s spending here.
How rich is he? He’s a prince, and while I knew that, it’s only now dawning on me that he probably doesn’t have to work.
I’ve been so wrapped up in how stunning he looks, how funny he is, or how sweet his compliments are, that I didn’t think much about his other assets.
As the girl chats to him about any other amenities we might need, my eyes drift to the large skull mounted above a stone bar decorated with sparkling crystals.
At first glance, it appears to have once belonged to a horse, but my chest fills with heat when I take note of the massive horn growing out of its forehead.
A unicorn. Was it… hunted down? I have so many questions.
“I will go arrange everything. Are you comfortable staying on your own? You’re free to order any drink.” Tristan strokes my arm and gives me a quick kiss. It confirms that he’s not ashamed of being seen with me, a human of the male variety and someone else’s ‘promised’--
“Should you be kissing me in public?” I whisper in panic. It’s not like we’re in a frat house and able to say what happens in the human realm, stays in the human realm. There could be repercussions for our… dalliance.
Tristan shrugs. “News doesn’t travel that fast. And if questioned, we’ll just deny it.”
“That simple?”
“That simple,” he says with a grin and gives me another peck on the lips.
I feel a bit silly when I smile at him like a love-struck teen. “Don’t be long.”
The nod he offers looks almost like a bow, and butterflies once more swarm inside me until I have to look away or risk embarrassing myself by grabbing his hand. My heart melts when he takes the duffel bag with Lady out of my hands with tenderness.
I’m such a sap.
My feet take me past the unicorn fountain of dark crystal, all the way to the counter, where a handsome elven man is busy polishing frosted glasses in all shades of red.
“Welcome to Unicorn’s Rest. What can I help you with?” he asks, placing the glass on the shelf behind him. He then puts both of his wiry hands on the countertop and leans toward me. A tattoo’s peeking from under his shirt, but it doesn’t move like Tristan’s.
“I’m here with Prince Tristan. He told me to order something to drink.”
My words hang in the air while the elf watches me expectantly, before finally cocking his head. “Have you only just arrived?”
I hate not knowing what I’m doing.
“Yes. I… would like to try the most popular thing, as long as it’s vega—” I stall when the man frowns. “Not made with animal products.”
The bartender drifts off with his gaze to the shelves filled with bottles and vials as if this is some kind of laboratory. “Certainly. I will make the ‘popular thing’, and something special, on the house. You are his ‘promised’ I understand?”
Voice gets stuck in my throat, because what am I supposed to say after I’ve just kissed Tristan in public? I don’t want to be seen as anyone’s side piece.
I shrug, letting the bartender interpret it in any way he wants. “This is such a lovely place. I always loved unicorns. It makes me feel a bit sad for this one,” I say, pointing out the skull.
The bartender grabs a glass and starts expertly making a concoction for me.
“Oh, don’t be. He chose this spot as his place of rest, hence the name.
The founder of this tavern, Sohan of the Stormy Gates, had a special connection with the beast from a time when the unicorn saved his daughter years prior, so when its time came, it arrived here to take its final breath in Sohan’s lap. ”
“That’s… a beautiful legend,” I say softly, but the bartender frowns.
“It’s no legend. My wife is Sohan’s granddaughter.”
Oh, so this is one of those worlds where elves have unnaturally long lives, which means… what, that Tristan, and my ‘promised’ will watch me grow old and die while they remain in their prime?
I shudder just thinking about it but take a sip of the drink which turns out to be light, a bit sweet, but also fruity. The closest comparison I can think of would be raspberry.
“That’s delicious!” I exclaim as someone sits on the stool right next to me. They’re a bit too close for comfort, since many other chairs are vacant, but I’m the stranger here, so I choose to ignore them and focus on my drink.
“I thought he’d choose someone more impressive,” says a voice as smooth and rich as the finest chocolate.
I don’t want to engage in whatever this is, but when the bartender pulls away, leaving me alone with the stranger, I shift to the left, to create that bit more personal space, and finally grace my surprise companion with attention.
He’s so stinking gorgeous I can’t bring myself to speak for several seconds, but I did come here with a prince and can’t allow someone to look at me as if I’m a piece of used chewing gum stuck to their foot.
“Do I know you?”
The elf’s skin is a brownish lavender, his hair—black as crow feathers and styled into elaborate plaits, and by the time I see the fine cut of his doublet and the heavy rings adorning his fingers, I feel like a beggar at the feet of my better.
The elf extends his hand to me, and I’m not sure if I should shake it or kiss it. “Amrath. And I will say it myself before you hear word of it, as you definitely will. Yes, I am Tristan’s former lover.”
My jaw drops, and I glance at the bartender, seeking aid, or at least confirmation that this eerily handsome man is someone I should hear out, but the worker’s hiding behind the shelves, and my personal experience in hospitality tells me he’s avoiding my gaze on purpose.
With no help coming, I shift in the chair to face him and nod. What should I say?
Oh, he didn’t mention you?
No, that’s mean girl kind of talk, and I’m nice.
Also, far less of a catch than this guy, especially in my plain jacket and sneakers. Could I not at least still be wearing the cloak? That would have felt like getting to wear your high school boyfriend’s varsity jacket.
“Hi? I’m Nate…”