Page 108 of Soul Forge

Nox hit the ground outside the gates with a grunt, taking a few stumbling steps forwards. Once her rider dismounted, she pawed at the ground and bobbed her head. Julian bent and rubbed his hands over her legs, kneading the twitching muscles until she nickered at him. Gira slipped off Sypher’s back and landed in a crouch, wincing when he hit the ground.

“I’ve forgotten how to bend my knees,” he groaned, stooping to massage his own legs. Elda was frozen and had to be helped down from Atlas’ back by the hand. Reiner refrained from making a remark, her own teeth chattering after the chilly flight.

The Soul Forge landed lightly, tucking his wings in and taking down his hood. Elda blinked, doing a double take when she realised he was looking at her for the first time since leaving Riordan.

“Prince Falmyr will be expecting us to behave like married royals. I may need your help with the etiquette,” he admitted, his face carefully blank.

“Of course,” she agreed, then cast her eyes over their companions. “Can you three find somewhere at the local inn for the night? King Crixus has strict rules around visitors even when he’s away from the kingdom. Only royals can stay in his palace overnight.”

“Sure we can,” Julian grinned. “The ale in this city is excellent. Come on, shifter. Let’s get you some alcohol to warm yourblood.” He slapped Gira heartily on the back, then threw a wink at Reiner. “I doubt a good drink will do you any harm either.”

“Moron,” the valkyrie muttered. Elda watched her turn to round on Sypher. “You.” His head tilted. “You follow every rule in that palace. You listen to Elda, and you bring her out unscathed. You are grateful for Falmyr's hospitality, and it is an honour to be in the same room as him. He is not a vain, simpering idiot tonight. He is not the suitor you beat out for Elda’s hand tonight. He is aroyal. Do not upset Falmyr with your attitude.Am I clear?”

The Soul Forge nodded. Reiner turned on her heel, following the vampire through the gates and into the city. She nodded at the guards, confirming her name before disappearing behind the moonstone wall protecting Cenet. That left Elda and Sypher standing alone outside. When she opened her mouth to speak, he strode away.

“Who goes there?” the soldier guarding the gate asked, straightening his back, one hand straying to the sword at his hip. He wore the golden armour of the royal guard, accented with moonstone studs at the joints. Elda took her hood down and lifted her chin, flashing the guard a demure smile.

“Princess Elda Gild and Prince Sypher Gild of Eden, sir,” she replied. “We apologise for our quiet arrival. Our visit was quite unexpected. Please send word of our presence to Prince Falmyr at once.”

“Of course, Your Grace. Right away.” The guards bowed low, then one left to send word, the other beckoning them inside the gates. “Were there more travellers on the road, my lady?”

“Not that we saw.”

“Then I shall close the gates. They reopen at sunrise if you need to be on your way.” She nodded her thanks and began walking, Sypher falling into step beside her. Staying true to his behaviour throughout the day, he remained stoic, his eyes fixedfirmly on the path they walked. Elda couldn’t find the words to break the silence, so she scowled and led the way to the palace.

By the time they reached the bridge crossing the huge lake in the centre of the city, the message had reached the palace, and the intricate gates were wide open to greet them, the palace steward standing at the opening. His foot tapped rhythmically against the ground, but neither Elda nor Sypher made a move to hurry up, continuing their silent, measured pace.

The palace was as beautiful as the rest of the city, all white moonstone and intricate detail. The frames of every window were carved to resemble vines heavy with luscious flowers – swathes of wildflowers, tulips, bluebells, roses, lilies, hydrangea, and more dripped from every sill, all constructed from perfect white stone. More moonstone flowers burst from the spires of the towers and crept up the walls, turning the entire palace into a perfect white oasis.

A glass dome rose high up towards the night sky like an enormous diamond had been placed right on top of the palace, its faceted windows shattering moonbeams across the surface of the water. The windows of every room were faceted the same way, designed for beauty rather than practicality. Elda imagined the light show when the sun hit it in the morning would be spectacular.

“Greetings, Your Grace, Soul Forge,” the steward said, bowing low enough that his pale blue tresses swept the ground. When he straightened up, his hair fell to his chest in a long, smooth curtain. His features were sharp, narrow lilac eyes surveying Sypher. He didn’t bother to look at Elda. “This way. The prince is expecting you.”

The princess swallowed down the anger his snub sparked, breathing through her nose. The fae didn’t treat women of royal blood with any more respect than the elves did, from her experience. It stung, but the steward wasn’t worth the possibilityof being thrown out of the palace if she pulled him up on his behaviour. They needed access to the mountains, and that only came with permission from the prince.

So, Elda followed him under a pearl archway coated in more delicate carvings, designed to mimic a cherry blossom, and through the verdant gardens with perfectly manicured hedges lining the walkway. The path beneath her feet sparkled with every step, inlaid with gemstones and flecks of mica. The steward escorted them to the palace doors, none of them speaking a word. Sypher still didn’t look at Elda.

“Ah, how wonderful to see you, Your Grace! And with the new prince, no less!” Runiel’s voice floated through the foyer of the vast palace like a wind chime, tinkling ahead of him as he descended the stairs. It was the same as it had been at the banquet, soft and lyrical, and it took her back to their dance. He’d been respectful enough, keeping his hands where they were supposed to be, unlike Horthan.

Today, he wore the finest silk robes of pale gold, decorated with lilac threads and gemstones that accentuated the deep violet of his eyes. They spread out behind him with each step he took down the grand staircase, framing every inch of his beauty in gold. There were still tinkling bells in his hair that rang softly whenever his head moved, and his steps were as graceful as they had been when he swept her around Eden’s banquet hall.

“Prince Falmyr, it’s a pleasure to see you,” Elda beamed, plastering on a smile and curtseying to him. It was much easier to do without the voluminous skirts her mother forced her to wear. Sypher followed her lead with a respectful bow.

“The pleasure is all mine, my beauty. My heart still aches at losing your favour at the banquet.” He pressed a hand delicately to his chest. “Do tell me, what brings you both to my home so suddenly?”

“My purpose,” Elda replied, clasping her hands in front of her. It was easy to recall the rigid etiquette she’d been raised with, her speech slipping back into its old formal lilt with little effort on her part. She tried to ignore the phantom grinding of stone in her ears. “The Spirits have brought us to the Weeping Mountain.”

“I see,” he nodded. “How odd. That mountain is off limits to the public, Your Grace.” His violet eyes strayed to the steward lingering in the doorway. “Ragnor, have the kitchens bring out the evening meal early for me, would you? Our guests have travelled far and are deserving of something to replenish them.”

“As you wish, Your Eminence. Shall I show the guests to their room?”

“No need, I’ll show them.” Runiel smiled, his eyes twinkling in a way that made Elda nervous. She watched him sweep an arm out, his intricate robes swishing as he moved. “This way, my friends. We can talk over dinner.”

“I’m not wearing that.” Sypher scowled down at the outfit on the bed. It was as ostentatious as the robe Runiel had worn to greet them and the exact opposite of anything the Soul Forge would pick out.

“You must.” Elda shrugged. “It’s part of the etiquette you said you needed help with.”

“Why does etiquette dictate what I wear?”

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