Chapter 7 #2
I nearly choke on my nerves. “No, you can’t go. Elves…” I shake my head. “There’s only one reason why elves are ever summoned to the castle. And it’s never under positive circumstances.”
She flinches as if I’ve scratched her.
“What do you mean? The Sanvira knew my name, my age, my proficiencies…”
“Exactly,” I say, clenching my fingers into a fist. “They always watch for the strong ones. The ones who pose the greatest threat. The ones with the greatest potential. And then…” I gulp down the rest of my sentence, hoping she understands the unspoken context.
Thank Arioch, it seems she does. Her eyes fade to a turbulent swirl of red and black, settling on a deep purple that must be tied to her thoughts, emotions, or perhaps a reaction to my warning…
I never knew elves’ eyes change color according to how they feel.
Could Bernadette have skipped a lesson in our history books?
“If being at the castle puts me in danger, why should I go with you?” She crosses her arms and stiffens an eyebrow. “You’re no better than the traitor who was taking me to my demise, isn’t that right?”
“I—”
Yeah, she’s right. Would I be able to protect her? I can’t even shoot an arrow straight, let alone keep a whole magical being away from the king’s watchful eye.
“You would be wise to follow us, lest you get caught in another”—Ronan clears his throat, and I can’t read the emotion in his brown eyes as he finishes with a snarl—“ brawl .”
The elf glares daggers at him, then those mysterious irises incline to meet mine. “I like my chances.”
I sense her movement before she’s able to turn on her heel and leave us.
As though having a mind of its own, my hand whips forward and secures her elbow, spinning her close to me.
Her expression is full of alarm as she bares her teeth, her canines on display for us once more.
The hatred in her eyes sends a slick heat to the base of my neck.
“What the seven hells do you think you’re doing?” she hisses.
I don’t know how I manage to remain calm, because internally my heart crashes in my ears. Slowly, my hand slips down her forearm and rests on her wrist. I guide it to my face, then close my eyes. A deep breath in, then out.
She needs to know I’m someone she can trust. Someone that isn’t trying to trick her or demean her.
I have to let her unmask me, as a show of good faith. Bernadette may scold me later for dropping the charade Xavelor had been so great at upholding, but in this moment, it feels worth it.
When I guide her hand to pull the mask down to my chin, she gasps.
“So the rumors were true.”
I open my eyes uneasily. She’s gaping at me, her irises now a bright shade of golden brown. The most normal color I’ve seen among the flurry of rainbow emotions she’s had in our fleeting moments together.
I clear my throat and smooth the mask over my nose, concealing the rest of my face. It doesn’t matter if anyone sees my identity, as long as they also didn’t catch sight of the ring, which I’m now carefully concealing in the sleeve of my cloak.
But she knows. She’s already made her conclusions about me.
Even so, I push the words out. The words that hurt so much, that might get me into trouble later. That will no doubt haunt me forever.
“What rumors?”
Her cheeks flush, and her eyes twinkle. A complete change in her demeanor, like a smack to the face as she purrs, “Revealing yourself to an elven maiden, claiming to have fallen for her at first sight? Don’t be so modest, Your Highness .”
There it is. The accusations I’d heard the servants mutter whenever my brother returned from his journey. Of marks on his skin from pointed teeth, where his conquests staked their claim over him. I try not to wince as I assume ownership over these rumors.
Ronan chortles from my side. “Indeed, he is. Which means he can protect you from whatever plans the king had for you originally. Give you better work to do, even.”
She glares at my white-haired companion, her irises confused between shifting to red or remaining their shimmering shade of liquid gold.
“If you don’t mind my asking, Your Highness , what is in it for me?” Her eyes rake over me as though searching for my wealth, for what sort of compensation she should request. “Your people have oppressed mine for far too long. I don’t owe you anything.”
I raise a brow at her, though I’m immediately ashamed of doing so, because she’s perfectly right.
My fists clench at my sides.
I can’t let her go, as wrong as it is to keep her.
“Is that what you think? That I’m asking you to train me because I’m a heartless human who wants to control your people?
” Her jaw ticks, but I continue anyway. “That is far from the truth. I’m asking you to train me because…
” I bristle at my own words. “I need your help. If I am not triumphant in a few months, the kingdom may fall to ruin. You and your people will be affected as well. I swear to you, if you agree to help me, I will keep you and your people safe.”
My fists relax when she blinks away. Have I said the right thing? I don’t mean to threaten her or hurt her. I’ve never had to earn trust before, not really. Am I doing it right?
I also won’t be able to pay her, I realize with another pang of guilt. No one can know an elf is within Arioch. I push away the possibility of that happening.
After an inward debate that plays across her dark eyebrows, she gathers herself with a sigh. Her posture has relaxed, and her body fully faces me as she silently reaches a hand forward, palm up.
I receive it, then begin my descent to a kneel, as I’ve been trained to do for greeting ladies of foreign and domestic court. But the little elf beats me to it.
She’s much shorter than I am, so she meets the ground first, bringing my fingers to her lips.
She kisses my knuckles, then peers at me through long, dark lashes.
Her hair spirals around her in braided vines.
In this light, I can tell she’s dyed it; the black isn’t natural.
Strands of yellow have started to grow from her roots.
My heart bobs in my throat, unused to the severity radiating from her entire being.
“I am Ether Malaphon, a protector of the village Nwatalith, East of the Separation,” she says heavily, like the words are an oath. Something rages in her golden eyes, and then her expression softens, weakens.
The Separation divides elf territory from fairy territory, though Arioch is not involved in their complicated politics.
Tribe leaders created the boundary, and it is upheld by the youngest and brightest. By the look of her muscular form, Ether could easily be one of those important youths.
Her sculpted features and the way she carries herself aren’t what I’d classify as “youth,” though.
Rather, she’s probably much older than I.
“Rise,” I say, heat stinging the tip of my tongue. It isn’t often I hear such a formal introduction directed at me. For a second, I wonder how she’d learned such a tradition, but then I shake my head. It would be rude of me to assume she has no knowledge of etiquette.
Ether obeys, her eyes leaving mine briefly. She brushes her braids over her shoulder, then stands with her chest puffed. Her arm cuts stiffly over her body, and her fist steadies above her heart. A salute.
“At ease,” I say dryly. She relaxes, and the edges of her lips seem to be battling to stay stoic with the rest of her features. Her eyes remain golden.
“Why the sudden change of heart?” Ronan asks.
The elf drops her respectful facade and growls at my aide.
Ronan clicks his tongue and quirks an eyebrow, unintimidated. “Admit it. You’re wooed by the prince’s dashing good looks.”
“That’s ridiculous!” she yells a bit too loudly.
Heat flares along my neck, but it quickly disappears when I remember that my brother, whose face was to never be revealed to the public until his coronation as king, has been rumored kingdom-wide to be irresistibly handsome.
And she thinks that’s me.
I ought to be flattered, but I am not.
“Let us go, then. I’d prefer to return before morning,” I huff. I toss a glance at Ronan, wordlessly ordering him to retrieve our steeds. “Would you prefer to ride with me, with my aide, or walk to the castle?”
She thinks for a moment, distracted briefly by movement in the town behind me. Her eyes follow whatever it is, then snap back to me, and her mouth curves into a disarming smile. It’s sheepish, almost. Her cheeks darken a shade.
“I’ll walk, thank you,” she murmurs.
I glance at the blackened feet in front of me.
Of course she’s probably never worn shoes before.
Elves must have little use for them when climbing trees and walking on rough terrain.
The harshness of the earth has hardened the calluses on her soles, making her feet stronger.
The muscles in her legs also seem well-trained.
It takes me a second to realize the embarrassing amount of time I’ve spent scanning her small frame. I turn my head away in shame, and also to hide the warmth tickling my ears.
“Let me know if you get tired. I have room on my saddle,” I say quietly. Her arrowlike ears twitch and the tips of them turn pink.
The clopping of hooves brushes over the silence now hanging between us. Ronan must have been waiting for the perfect opportunity to interrupt the awkward air. I offer him a silent prayer of gratitude.
“Now, kiss .” My aide snickers.
With a grimace, I revoke my gratitude and replace it with a curse.