Chapter 22 #2
The Bind on Kaelen broke. He sagged onto his knees with a choked cry. Blood streamed from dozens of punctures, staining the blue tunic to black. The vine at his neck constricted, and he wheezed, veins standing livid at his temples.
Richard couldn’t breathe. Kaelen. Kaelen—
The knight snarled and planted a boot on the marble.
Then the other. Body quivering and dripping blood, he forced himself upright.
The vine around his chest squeezed, and the crack of a broken rib echoed, accompanied by Kaelen’s strangled shout.
But even so, Kaelen stood, chin lifting, eyes finding Galdran through a haze of pain and locking on with an incandescent hatred.
“Keep your filth—” he rasped, blood trickling from where the thorns dug into his throat, “from my king.”
You fool. Richard’s heart wrenched. Will you never learn?
“Enough.” Richard kept his tone nonchalant as he addressed Galdran. “Leave him be and cease your tantrums. I know you are upset you were not invited to the ball.” He extended his right hand, palm up. “If you wanted to dance, you need only have asked.”
Galdran’s eyes widened with clear delight.
“Oh,” he breathed. “My beloved.”
He clicked his fingers, and the vines around Kaelen crumbled to dust. Kaelen dropped to a knee, gasping, in a growing pool of his blood. The Bind snapped into place, and his shudders ceased.
Galdran crossed to Richard and took his hand in a cool grip. The elf’s other hand settled on Richard’s waist, and the touch sent a ripple of revulsion through Richard that he stifled.
“Let me teach you, Lumethain, the dance of my people,” Galdran murmured, guiding Richard’s other hand to his own waist.
Music emanated from the air itself. Strings, at first. High and keening. Then, the gentle chords of the harp followed a choral hum.
Another gift, Richard supposed. Music? A strange magic for a tyrant.
Galdran stepped forward. Two steps back. A quarter-turn. Galdran guided him through a spiral, their joined hands rising, then folding inward.
There were no lifts or pivots. Instead, the dance flowed like water, circling, pooling, ebbing and surging. When the strings swelled, Galdran pulled Richard close, and when the harps heightened, they drifted apart, hands still knitted.
Richard memorised the pattern within the first two rotations. Step, step, spiral. Draw close. Retreat. Step, step, spiral.
“You learn quickly,” Galdran said. “Most stumble for an age.”
“I have had dance tutors since I could walk,” Richard said.
They danced through the small clearing. Galdran’s thumb traced a circle beneath the corset’s hem, and nausea welled in Richard. The last time Galdran had held him, his hand had not remained at the waist.
“I have missed you.” Galdran beamed. “The months without your company stretch too long.”
“Will you not cease this obsession?” Richard snapped. “A war encroaches. People will die. Hundreds—thousands, on both sides. Does that not concern you?”
Galdran’s brow creased. His gaze shifted over Richard’s shoulder, and he nodded at Vikram’s still figure.
“Your Majesty,” Galdran called pleasantly. “My apologies for this temporary interruption.”
Vikram’s eyes, Richard noticed, were the calmest in the room.
Galdran tugged Richard through another spiral. The music dipped low, mournful, and their chests nearly touched.
“You are no mere obsession.” Galdran smiled.
“For much of my life, I have endured horrors. Once, I wondered how much cruelty could be thrust upon me. For I have suffered, Lumethain. Centuries upon centuries of it.” He clasped Richard’s hand tighter.
“But I see now the great gods always meant to give me recompense. I knew it the moment I saw you in the witch’s scrying bowl.
You are my gift for reaching the other end. ”
The conviction in Galdran’s voice almost made Richard recoil. The elf believed his words. He truly believed it.
“If bloodshed worries you so, will you not surrender?” Galdran sighed.
“There need not be wasteful deaths. My people only seek to live under open skies again, to feel the sun, and to walk in forests absent of Rot. Surely you understand.” He inclined his head, lips thinning.
“No doubt my court will be displeased with the lack of vengeance, but even they would appreciate—”
“Strange,” Richard said. “This is the second time.”
Galdran faltered mid-step. “The second time?”
“The second time you have mentioned your court’s opinion. You speak as though they are a leash around your neck.”
Something like fear seeped through Galdran’s eyes. It vanished in a blink.
“All kings must manage their advisors,” Galdran said lightly. “It is no different from you and your High Council.”
“No.” Richard scoffed. “My High Council listens to me, whether they like my decisions or not. For I am their king, and they obey.” He raised a brow. “But you speak in deference to your court. Worried, are you, of their opinions? Are you not king, Galdran?”
The music stuttered to a stop.
“Such talk bores me.” Galdran drew the dance to a halt. “I should like to see our Lumeron.” He reached for Richard’s collar—
Richard caught his wrist. “No.”
Galdran glowered. The air hummed, and behind the elf’s shoulder, the bodies of Ardenians were all too clear. One click of Galdran’s fingers would result in their deaths.
Lowering himself into a deep bow, Richard pressed his lips to the elf’s knuckles.
“Every guest”—he straightened—“should know when they have overstayed.”
His heart pounded as he met Galdran’s eyes. Please. Please—
The glower transformed into a smile. Slow, and terribly fond. Galdran raised Richard’s hand in turn and brought it to his lips. The kiss lingered.
“Then, I would not wish to displease my beloved,” Galdran murmured.
Light exploded from the elf’s body—a blinding whitish gold—and Richard threw up an arm against the glare. When he lowered it, Galdran was gone.
And chaos erupted.