21. Chapter 20 Rhianelle
Chapter 20 Rhianelle
A smile curves my lips at the sight of the butterfly shaped bottle of salve on the wash counter. Svenn has been leaving me these foreign souvenirs he got from Avalon and Myrkheim. I’m rich with all kinds of soaps and scents now. Some I keep like a trophy, some I gave to Tallula, Lenna, Siofra, and Lady Deirdre.
I peer behind the bath chamber door carefully. Svenn is perched on the windowsill in nothing but his leather pants. I’m beginning to think he has a skin affliction to fabrics, an illness the Hlaryan elves called allergies.
His eyes are fixed on the page of the book in his hand. Watching the vampire read is one of the most fascinating things I’ve ever seen. Sometimes he would flip the pages after one or two seconds, and other times he would dwell on a single page for hours.
Tallula and Lenna surprise me this morning by bringing me a lovely new gown with a shimmery topaz outer layer. The neckline plunges boldly to the curve of my breast, far lower than I’m comfortable with. I know this dress is definitely something Svenn would call ‘prey-like behavior.’
I slip out of the dressing partition, pretending to pick up the parchment from the long table. My instinct is telling me I’m being watched.
I know that… But I silently count to sixty before I lift my gaze to him. My heart goes into a fatalistic free fall. Svenn is looking at me like a wolf who happened across a deer in the forest.
Yes, this is a dangerous, delicate game I’m playing. One that requires me to bet my life on it, but it’s worth it. Because in this brief moment in time, he is mine. I understand that I can never fully have him.
I am a Curse Bearer, Lilith’s heir.
But I know I had just stolen his heart right at this moment. Even if it’s just for one second.
I walk past him slowly, knowing he’ll pull me into his arms. He grabs my waist faster than anticipated, hauling my body against his.
I release a slow breath and inhale deeply.
His familiar scent fills my lungs as I lay my head on the hard ridge of his chest. There is nothing soft about him. His muscles and body are as hard as granite. He pulls me closer, his body heat mingling with mine.
“You’re wrinkling my dress,” I feign a protest.
“You know what would happen the moment you wore it,” he growls to my hair.
The man knows me too well.
Days have gone by and his theory is proven to be true. The bond is appeased by physical interaction. I loop my hands around his neck, wiggling to a more comfortable position. This is normal and natural for us now.
I feel safe and secured in his arms, like nothing bad can touch me here. Not Eirik and his wyverns, not the Aeonians and their wicked schemes.
I’m never leaving this spot. It feels right, like I have always belonged here.
This feels like home.
Sometimes I pinch myself to make sure that this is not a dream. Svenn is holding me without the blinding hate that tore us apart.
I smile when he holds me tighter.
Too tight.
It’s almost as if he’s trying to engrave himself underneath my skin. But his roughness doesn’t bother me at all. I love the way he touches me, like I’m his. And he is mine.
I tell myself that I can have this forever, that I can have him forever. My desperate, wretched heart believes my lie.
“I need a bite.” I always ask him for permission first.
His lips curve in a small smile. “Where would you like to bite me this time, little fawn?”
“The wrist.”
“Are you sure?”
I want to bite his thigh, his chest, his stomach, and his…
“The neck.” I settle safely.
He tilts his head in offering. I weave my arms around his shoulders, then I go in for the kill and sink my teeth into his skin. He tastes like ocean salt and citrus. It’s delicious.
“Take what you need from me.” His voice is a cross between a whisper and a groan.
I love his breathy exhales, the feel of his hand combing through my hair, urging me to bite or to suck harder.
Once I’m satisfied, I look at my teeth marks on his skin. I once brought a wet towel to wipe his skin afterwards. Svenn gave me a spine-chilling look as if I just insulted him.
Leave it, he growls. I never dared to clean up after my bites again.
I like leaving my mark on him. It satisfies a deep, dark part of the bond. Of course, the bruising heals almost instantly. It’s fleeting, just like my time with him.
“Would you like to bite me?” I offer in return.
“No,” he replies curtly, shifting his eyes to his book again.
The last time he drank from me was in the fae forest. I get worried sometimes when he’s been too long without blood. I open my pouch of biscuits to feed him. These days, I always keep spare snacks.
Maybe if I can get him accustomed to normal food he won’t have to hunt again. I smile when he takes them from my fingers. Svenn never refuses them. He does take a long time chewing them, though.
I love how naturally he holds me while he’s reading. Sometimes I can sneak a soft kiss on his shoulder when he’s too focused on his book. My hand wanders to the firm ridges of his abdomen. I keep petting him there, but I’m not quite brave enough to go lower. I make sure all my touches are careful and mindful, so I don’t hurt him. Svenn no longer flinches to the Rhunhraefn, but I don’t delude myself with the truth.
He will never want you.
I shake the Vulture’s word from my head and continue stealing comfort and warmth from Svenn like a little thief.
This is enough.
It should have been enough. But I want more. Lately I’ve been having fearful thoughts that he would fly away and never return. I get restless especially when he is gone for quite some time. What if he meets a faraway fae princess and falls in love?
Knowing that Svenn is no longer tied to me by the bond scares me further. He can leave me whenever he wants to now.
“Have you finished the books I brought in yesterday?” I ask nervously.
“Yes, this is the last one. Help me turn the page, sweetheart,” he mutters.
I do as he pleads, keeping my face from reacting to him calling me his sweetheart. I love all of his endearing terms for me. Wife, darling, and even little fawn.
“I will ask Lord Wesley for more grimoires from his library.” I try to sound casual.
Praise the heavens that the keep has quite a magnanimous collection. I don’t want Svenn to get bored and fly away. I’ll do anything to get him to stay.
He kisses the top of my head. “Thank you, Nel.”
It does feel sneaky luring him into staying with me in this way, but I have no other hands to play. He buries his face in my hair, breathing me in. Is he that happy with the promise of more books?
I look up to find him staring at me with an intense look in his eyes. “Let’s choose them together. I want to know the ones you like.”
My heart flutters at the request.
I blink with disbelief. Is he serious?
The ones I like are the banned books that Blaire hid from the head priestess, or the human and fae smut that Garrett reads. I know I’m taking too long to give him a response. Svenn is finally showing interest in me. I want to seem like a normal, sane person.
“I like classical literature and philosophical books,” I say calmly. My brain quickly conjures the sophisticated ones that Aerin and Aelfric read. “The Pandorium Occult, the Ivory tablets, the Halifax tomes, and the Zephyr codexes.”
Svenn raises one dark brow. “There is a new, small bookstore over the lower district. We should visit after your meetings.”
My heart dances in my chest at the invitation… but wait.
Gods and goddesses above…
Svenn is asking me out. This must be what people would call a date. Before I make a fool out of myself, I better confirm. “Do you want us to go together?”
“Yes,” he replies plainly.
Now I begin to truly panic. Svenn wishes to court me.
A date… Heavens above.
I hate that I don’t have Blaire to ask about it. I want suggestion cards on what to talk about. I need clear indications of the do’s and don’ts. Should we hold hands? Do I kiss him by the end of the date?
The most important question of all:
“What should I wear?” I mutter absently before I can stop myself.
Yikes.
That question was not meant for his ears.
He gazes heavenward out the window, then shifts his eyes to me. “Something warm. It’s looking to be a damn cold night.”
I exhale slowly. “All right. Definitely not this dress then?”
“You can wear whatever you please, Nel,” he muses, running his hand over the fabric on my thigh. “I’ll simply gouge the eyes of any soul who dares to look at you wrongly.”
I forgot I’m going on a date with a Strigon. I don’t want a bloodbath on our precious moment, so I say, “I think I’ll wear something comfortable.”
Svenn grins over my answer, revealing dimples that are almost as lethal as his fangs.
“Come here.” He draws me closer toward him.
My heart is battering in my ribcage at this sudden turn of event. It slowly settles down as I bask in his presence. I want to stay here until it’s time for our date, but I don’t want to be late for the council meeting.
“I have to go now,” I whisper to his chest.
He makes a clicking sound with his tongue. “Five more minutes.”
I oblige.
A long beat passes and Darstan’s footsteps are getting closer.
I wriggle out of his hold reluctantly, fighting the temptation to stay in his arms forever. A groan of protest leaves him as he removes his hand from my waist.
I quickly wear my vest and stride towards the door. My mind is still in disbelief that Svenn would take any interest in me. A date seems improbable and impossible for someone who causes him so much suffering. I take another look at him in case he changes his mind.
“I’ll see you tonight, Nel.” He smiles at me, and I watch the way it lights up his entire face.
I swallow nervously.
“I promise I won’t be late,” I say, before closing the door.
Heavens above. I can’t believe it.
I touch my face and actually pinch my cheeks.
This is truly happening. I’m going on a date with my husband.
It’s just a trip to the bookstore. But svenn wants to spend time with me. I’m giddy just thinking about it.
Darstan arrives and lifts a brow at my flustered appearance. “Are you having a fever, Your Highness?”
I clear my throat. “I’m fine.”
I’m practically weightless as I walk towards the council hall, floating in my happy pink bubble. If Darstan notices the happy skips and my humming, he says nothing.
Aelfric is waiting for me by the door as usual. I see a bewildered expression on his face, but I read nothing into it. Once he pushes the large cedar door, despair sinks deep in my heart. I’m back to the dark reality of trying to stop a war and a murderer on the loose.
I move to the end of the table and stop in my tracks. My usual spot is occupied… with a chair.
No, not a chair… a throne.
The design is simple, yet majestic and elegantly made. Its monstrous presence appears to feast on every light in the room. No one dares to take their place on the pure obsidian seat.
“Something arrived for your Nameday,” Seneschal Kearne says with a hint of amusement. The noble hails from V?lundr and is no stranger to extravagance and wealth, but even he appears impressed. He gives the throne another appraisal before smiling at me. “Perhaps your uncle remembered your Nameday after all.”
Years ago, I might have believed it was Rainer. My uncle loved to splurge on pretty dresses for me and Aerin as he once did for Mother. But Rainer never bothers with it now. Not unless it’s for theatrics or some ulterior motive.
It’s so massive, it has three steps for me to climb on. I settle down on the throne and immediately recognize the woodwork… This is Garrett’s craft.
But the carvings and the art…
A symbol of power, dominion, and immortality. I look at each beast and entities designed on the throne. One catches my eye instantly. A reaper, waiting to steal everyone’s soul.
Oh gods…
This is a gift from my husband.
The realization snatches my breath away. I remember telling him about my cramps… His gesture touches the deepest part in my chest, down to my core. I struggle to keep my High Elf mask for a moment.
I pat the wolf on the throne’s right arm. Maybe it’s just in my head but I can almost feel Svenn’s comforting warmth through the seat. It’s like he’s with me in the council chamber.
I have your back, little fawn.
I safeguard this precious feeling in my heart.
Duvall arrives, briefly glancing at my new position on the high throne, but says nothing. The council resumes its endless debate on wars and taxes. Time passes quickly today knowing that I have a date by the end of it.
I have a date. I have a date. I have a date.
I just need to pretend I’m brave and strong for a few moments longer.
Lady Eilidh stares curiously at a parchment, before presenting it to court. “I find it incredibly strange that the bandits are requesting gold and silver. Our currency is practically useless in Darvan, Avalon and Myrkheim.”
“My sources are telling me they’re planning to use it to buy Asterdust,” Lord Nemarion states with a tight expression.
Duvall’s sharp gaze move to the warrior. There is an intensity in his eyes that I haven’t glimpsed before. “We have not produced Asterdust for centuries. That is one bold imputation to make.”
I swear Lord Nemarion’s golden face pales a little at that stare.
“We should ask King Mavren. He’s been dealing with the orkan rebels for years,” I suggest to the council members.
“How do you propose we do that?” Duvall asks, letting his question drawl into silence. “Do you perhaps wish to write a letter to the orc king?”
I walk right into that one.
Something cold settles in my guts when I hear laughter from the members of the court. I don’t bother noting who did.
It has become something of a court’s jest. I retreat into a memory of that fifty-year-old joke, the reason why I only have three Royal Knights instead of thirty-three like my mother and the sovereigns before me.
Eighteen years old is young, even by human standards, but Aerin had crowned me as queen. I was a scared broken girl whose family was just murdered in the name of the Archon. I locked myself in the room in my tower for days.
One night, Blaire scaled the walls and snuck into my bedroom and said, “You’re the queen now. You can change things. Have you heard about the tale of Lady Siofra?”
I shook my head and she immediately poured a story. “She was the lady of Celestria. Everyone managed to evacuate safely before the invasion but she was captured by Myrkheim. The tales of the orcs from the priestesses are all horrific.”
“What should we do?” I asked my friend.
Blaire’s determined eyes met mine. “We tell him to free her.”
So, we wrote a letter to the orc king.
Hello, Mavren,
Please return Lady Siofra to us.
Rhianelle Wiolant, Queen of Aelfheim.
After I signed it using the royal seal, we forced Blaire’s chubby pigeon to deliver it for us.
Nothing happened after that. We continued with our lives as usual.
But seven days later a giant albatross arrived at the court bearing Myrkheim’s coat of arms.
Dear Rhianelle Wiolant of V?lundr, Queen of Aelfheim,
I hope this letter finds you well. We have grown fond of the Lady of Celestria. If you insist upon her return, it is by our tradition that you must defeat and bring back an Auroch from Elysian.
Sincerely, Mavren Aeldrath Malgorth.
That single letter erupted an uproar to the court. Apparently, there should not have been any direct contact between our kingdoms. It was a desecration.
I was called the traitor queen. The challenge itself was a mockery.
The Auroch is an impossible creature to kill, even with the strength of ten people. If I hadn’t answered the challenge, then my Royal Knight must have done it in my stead.
“Others shouldn’t have to be punished for serving under a foolish queen,” the Aeonians had decreed.
And so all thirty-three Aldarelf withdrew their noble sons from their service as my Royal Guard.
Rainer hosted a competition or a calling of sort for those who wish to be my Knight. Only one person answered the summon.
A bastard son of a miner. Darstan.
It was basically a death mission. My uncle was sending him to die.
My mind returns to the council room as I stare back at Duvall. That remark he made was to remind everyone in the room of my foolishness fifty years ago.
But I’m no longer afraid as I stare at the Aeonian’s messenger dead in the eye. Foolish my letter may have been, but Darstan returned home victorious.
“It’s not a bad idea,” Lady Eilidh suddenly says, to my surprise. “If I’m being honest, Lord Chavasky has been trading lambskin and wool with Myrkheim for years now. It’s good business.”
“I see no harm in sending a word,” Seneschal Kearne agrees.
Then one by one the council members express their willingness to form new relations with our neighboring kingdom. The sudden change of air is good.
Lord Baldar braces his muscled hands on the long table. “I heard Eirik Bloodhound managed to trade some of his fruit fairy prisoners with fae wine. I can’t see a reason why we can do the same.”
“Who will pay that absurd bounty?” Duvall asks, his voice straining as members of the council turn on him one by one.
“V?lundr offers to bear the ransom amount,” I announce.
“It’s three thousand chests of gold and silver now,” Duvall mutters, propping his head on a hand.
“No matter the price,” I say confidently. Rainer cares little for wealth these days. So do I.
“Very well,” he says easily.
The council votes in agreement unanimously, and just like that, Blaire is coming home. My heart swells in my chest.
“I also volunteer to lead the envoy for the bounty.” I do not alter my focus from the messenger’s blue eyes as I say it.
“No one sends their precious queen on a measly treaty plan,” Duvall says, carrying the voice of the six masters controlling him. “You are too valuable. The Valorians will do it in your stead.”
The Aeonians have no problem shoving me in front of a vampire to secure an Arawynn bond. Garrett’s stories never paint the Valorians in a good way. I’m done playing their games.
“I will go myself,” I insist.
“Is there a reason you could not trust the Valorians?” Duvall counters.
“Of course, I have faith in our Holy Knights.” The lie slips easily from my mouth.
“Speaking of faith, how well do you trust the vampire in the tower?” His voice gains a cruel edge.
I trust Svenn with my own life.
“I trust him,” I say calmly.
“Fair enough. He’s your husband,” Duvall says in dismissal. “But what of the rest of you?”
Anger threatens to break into my artificial High Elf grace. I know he’s baiting me and I’m falling for it.
The silence in the chamber grows lengthy and uncomfortable.
“We have no proof it was him,” Wesley finally says, his voice strained.
Nemarion sighs heavily. “We can’t exclude the possibility of the Nightwalker’s attack either.”
“One hundred and thirty-five deaths are far too many to do absolutely nothing.” Lady Eilidh shakes her head.
Their accusation does not sit well with me.
A cruel smirk curves Duvall’s lips. “I propose we lock him.”
He wants Svenn to be put in a cage?
“Let’s put it to a vote then,” Kharlis of Vorathil raises the motion.
All of them agree to imprison Svenn. Even Lord Wesley and Seneschal Kearne.
“It’s just a test,” Duvall says, staring into my eyes venomously. “If he is truly House Wiolant’s pet, it shouldn’t be a problem for him to be detained for let say… a week?”
I feel numb. It’s a good thing I’m sitting down, otherwise I would have crumbled.
Kharlis waves a hand to parchment in front of him. “I present to you the Aravill pen invented by our Tluryan elves. We used that to keep the lion shifter we captured from the fae border.”
“No,” Lord Wesley says firmly. “If we do this, my guards will watch him. You will have your proof then.”
“It’s a good enclosure. You can display him at the centre of town—”
“I do not tell you how to run your affairs. So do not tell me how to run mine,” Wesley cuts his suggestion short, warning him with a glance.
I fold my hands into my lap to hide my trembling fingers.
The council wraps up quickly after their decision to imprison Svenn. Lord Wesley and Aelfric are the last ones to leave.
There is sympathy in my knight’s eyes. He releases a measured breath. “The vampire will understand.”
“I’ll arrange for his accommodation to be as comfortable as possible,” Lord Wesley promises. “Take your time to break the news to him. Once you’re ready, send word to my guards and we’ll take him in.”
I linger in the room long after everyone has left. I guess I can’t blame the council members for their desperation. We have a killer in our midst. I stare at the map splayed on the table.
Something catches my eye instantly.
Shade was right.
Either the killer has a dual personality, or it’s two different individuals. If I exclude the trajectory of the Valorian’s death out of the picture… I’m starting to see the pattern now.
Dear gods.