Chapter 23
I’ve always been quite a talented actor.
But I still never lived up to my father’s expectations, even as his only surviving son. I’ve already offered my blood to our Oath, sealing my loyalty forever to the throne, so he can never fully be rid of me. Not unless he was prepared to receive punishment equal to treason.
The Perri Oath is forged with magic and blood, allowing anyone with Faundor blood to control us with a simple command.
As soon as Xavelor discovered my identity, he made it a priority to keep me in line.
There are many things I was forced to do against my will, beyond aiding the prince in his escapades.
If the stories of Xavelor bedding elves riddled Ramiel, he would blanch to hear about his more gory conquests.
Thankfully, I won’t have to tell him anytime soon. Having this stroke of freedom without bondage is the biggest breath of fresh air I could ever ask for. Almost ten years of compulsory obedience to a cruel prince have made me desperate for the luxurious freedom I now live in.
The freedom I now have to share with an elven girl bearing immense hatred for me. But it’s understandable. Our people have been conditioned to despise one another for the past thousand years, when the alliance between fairies and elves was dissolved during the War of Undying.
As the story goes, the elven queen had abandoned the fairy king on the battlefield, breaking the carefully preserved peace between our people.
Moments later, their Sanvira used the opportunity to slay him, and we lost our honor forever, becoming prey for these hellish creatures with indecisive pupils and a whorish tendency to lust after anything with even a glimmer of magic murmuring inside it.
It was at that moment the first Perri fairy groveled at Arioch’s feet, begging to serve his lineage instead of falling to the mercy of the elves who betrayed our king.
Even as the son of a duke, I am constantly reminded that the elves will never stop until they’ve obliterated every last one of us.
Missives are constantly delivered to the duchy and to me, as the heir of the estate.
They chronicle the horrendous slaughters of fairy tribes in Aldorin, begging for aid from the duchy.
But my father is loyal to the staying hand of the king, and knowing their camaraderie, I doubt the duke has ever mentioned the pleas of his brethren living in the magical forest. To him, we are unrelated in every aspect.
Ether had made it clear that should the chance arise, she’ll take great pleasure in running me through with the closest weapon she can get her hands on.
A phantom pain stings my left shoulder, where the elf had easily cracked the joint of my wing. While I don’t harbor as strong a loathing for her as she does for me, the anger simmering beneath my skin is alive and thick like the venom of a woodland beast.
There are many things about the elves to detest, but the worst of all is their concept of love. The elves love because of their beloved goddess, not because they find true solace in one another. They’re magicked, placing no value on the lives and loves they deem beneath their own.
They raided many of our villages, stole the young females, and slaughtered them for their magic, like animals. Tossing their bodies aside after stripping them of what they’d considered valuable, their eluviams.
The longer I am around Ether, the more I begin to understand why our kind hates hers so much.
If it weren’t for her calling my name desperately moments before, I would assume it was she who inflicted the wound upon the prince’s body. I still haven’t cleared her of the possibility.
My lips curl as I hover over Ramiel’s mangled and swollen arm, punctured by some kind of beast. I can’t help imagining one of my people lying in his place, breathing shallow breaths, not knowing what hit him.
If I’d been a moment too late, would he still be alive?
If he’d died, what would have become of me? Would my father punish me, like he’s sure to do as soon as he sees me again? He has yet to scold me for failing to protect Xavelor. What if he discovers I’m unable to save another prince?
My anger has a short leash, and my grip on it is loosening.
The puny thing next to me cradles her arms around her chest defensively. A shadow haunts her darkening eyes.
“Move,” I growl between gritted teeth. She stares blankly at the prince on the ground, lost. Her mindlessness awakens my tamped-down fury.
I can’t bring myself to nudge her away, though, because that would require a physicality I do not care to partake in.
“If you care about the prince or your life, move .”
As my words register, she steps aside to allow me a closer look at his body. Thanks to my years of experience fighting alongside an injury-prone soldier, I know a thing or two about medicinal remedies. Along with my pouch of elixirs, I always carry salves from the castle apothecary’s stores.
I reach into the bag, my fingers shaking with fear that one wrong decision could cost the prince his life.
“What are you planning on doing? I didn’t call you here to?—”
“You called me here, so now you can leave the rest to me,” I snarl. She huffs, but remains silent.
I’m painfully aware that magic scarcely stirs at my center.
Thanks to our residence’s proximity to the castle, away from the magic of the forest, my family has found other ways to craft magic that can serve the throne.
Upon his inheritance, each Perri duke is given the knowledge to craft our one-of-a-kind elixirs.
Instead of channeling magic in our eluviams, we act as vessels for dark magic.
Neither of these has been necessary in my service to Ramiel thus far.
Ether has a strong magical center. I’m sure she can sense mine is much weaker. But her calling me to help can only mean she feels inferior. She’s probably still unable to access her well of magic, thanks to the elixir I’d given her almost a week ago.
She watches me closely as I scrutinize his arm. It turns purple under the sun, blood still oozing from the four little volcanoes rising along his forearm. His eyes remain shut, his expression pained.
“What in the seven hells happened here?” I breathe through clenched teeth, not looking at her.
“It’s not my fault. He went after it on his own,” she responds, walking around to Ramiel’s head. “And he’ll be fine, he’s just adjusting. To…you know, magic and everything.”
She kneels next to me. Something about the way she perches reminds me of the elf we’d met in Aldorin. He didn’t aggravate me nearly as much, but he also hadn’t been as hostile as she is toward me. Could these two really be that close?
“Went after what?” I finally ask as I retrieve two containers of healing salve from the satchel.
“We both know Ramiel isn’t trained to fight.
” I pop the lids off each and set them next to me.
One is pale and almost gone. The other is red and clearer, but stings like the seven hells.
“Isn’t it your job to teach him how to do that, by the way? ”
She says nothing. Curious, I look at her. She appears to be genuinely offended.
“I could throw the same accusation at you. Isn’t it your job to protect him?” she huffs.
I raise a brow at her. She wrinkles her nose.
How charming.
“Instead of pointing fingers, let’s focus on the matter at hand, hm?” I deflect. Then, with a grumble, my words escape me before I can rein them in. “He never should’ve been hurt like this. How could you let him fight that…that grotesque thing?”
“You don’t think I tried to stop him?” Ether raises her voice now. Her eyes flash down to my alignment of remedies. Her lips twitch as her eyes turn crimson. “You think your sappy fairy garbage will heal a klopse bite?”
Ah, so he’d provoked a klopse… The creatures are notoriously known for their fatal bite. So that’s what that heap of black fur is. At least she took care of it.
My teeth grind together.
My hands freeze.
If another prince dies in my presence, can it still be disguised as an accident? No, the king hadn’t been happy when he heard how Xavelor met his death. I’d barely escaped his wrath, thanks to the promise I made to care for his second son. “He’s nothing to worry about,” the king had said.
This is a development I hadn’t predicted.
What a pain.
I ignore the elf’s slander and press my fingers into the soft healing ointment. The stuff works wonders on humans, makes them believe it can cure the incurable. It smells of mint and cardamom to hide the stench of valerian root.
I dig out a generous glob, slide my hand under the prince’s bloated arm, and suspend the dollop of paste over the deepest part of the wound. Warm, gushing liquid covers my fingers from his arm’s underside.
My throat tightens.
The klopse has bitten through bone.
How could she let this happen?
When I look at her, her eyes are glassy with worry and fixed on Ramiel’s slow-rising chest. Since when did she care for him so deeply?
“Did you at least remove the damned creature’s eluviam?” I ask through clenched teeth, my irritation showing.
Ether laughs, but it’s all bitterness and no mirth. “What, you think I’d leave it behind or take it for myself?” She nods to Ramiel, her face reddening a shade. “I... I gave it to him.”
I rake my judgment over her, checking for signs of dishonesty—elves can lie, I’ve learned. At most, it takes a toll on them the more they do it. She seems to be in the clear, though, skin growing rosier by the second.
Her reaction can only mean one thing; she’s transferred the energy in the most efficient way possible. By mouth.