Page 61 of Revenge of the Elf Lord

She met his understanding gaze. “I’m so nervous about seeing my parents. Before my quest, they were a bit protective, and I’m terrified they won’t see me as an adult, able to make my own decisions—and you. What if they don’t accept you?”

Cyran smiled and tucked a strand of her black hair behind one ear. “I can hold my own, nín gilgalad. Let’s go and greet Hel and Émilien. Even out here, I feel their apprehension beating at me.”

Slipping her hand in his, she led him up the broken pathway, through the massive metal door, and into the Great Hall. Glancing around the dark room, the emptiness washed over her. “It’s as if nothing has changed. When I was a child, I hated this spot. To a five-year-old, it was very spooky.”

His chuckle skittered over her chilled skin. “Well, thisisthe World of the Dead. Very fitting, if you ask me.”

“I was only five! I had no understanding of living or dead. I loved playing with the wolf guardians, watching the never-ending battles, and walking through the villages in the Forever Lands. They were magical. I even had several ghostly friends I played with every day. Yet, these dark rooms in this part of the Hall terrified me, especially at night or during storms.”

“There are storms here? Who knew.”

“I did. Because of the difference in the atmosphere here, they are fiercer than in other worlds. Mother explained that they were more severe here because we were close to Ginnungagap and Muspelheimr.”

She thought back to those long-ago lessons, hearing her mother’s voice in her mind. “The void of Ginnungagap is unstable—a northern land of ice and rime with constant rain and gusts. The void is in constant flux because it is the magical creation realm of all Nine Worlds. The southern end is Muspelheimr, which is fire and lava.”

“So, the friction between the two regions causes destructive weather events here in Helheimr,” Cyran said.

“Yes.” She turned her head to look up at him. “Is there anything you don’t know or understand?”

He tweaked the tip of her nose, then kissed away the light sting. “Yes, my heart. There are many, many things in this vast multiverse I don’t comprehend. I believe that’s why I’m always trying to learn everything I can.”

She smiled. “I like that about you.”

His smile widened. “You’re still stalling.”

She exhaled. “I know.” She straightened her shoulders. “Fine. Let’s face the wrath of my parents. I’m sure they are furious with me for not returning home sooner.”

The farther into the castle they traveled, the darkness lightened. When she turned down the hallway to her mother’s throne room, she was surprised to find it bathed in golden light and decorated.

A beautiful rug in shades of silver and pale green lay over the cold stone floor, and the fresh paint scent still lingering suggested that the walls had recently been painted in a soft green—so unlike her mother. To her knowledge, Hel only liked being surrounded by shades of black and white.

Glancing up, exquisite chandeliers were spaced along the ceiling as if directing them to the throne room. “This is…breathtaking,” she whispered. “Considering how it looked when I was a child. Then, the entire castle was decorated like the front rooms we just walked through.”

“Thisisnice,” Cyran agreed as they reached the golden door of the throne room. “I think Émilien has had some influence on the décor.”

With one finger under her chin, he tilted her face to his. Holding her breath as he leaned closer, he pressed his lips to hers for one beautiful but brief moment before pulling back a few inches. “Are you ready?”

“With you by my side, yes.”

Cyran opened the door and pushed her inside in time for her to see her mother whirl around, her ice-blue eyes glowing. Her wide smile lit up her beautiful face. With her blue-black hair in a thick braid and twisted into a figure eight on top of her head, she made the perfect queen.

Hurrying across the room, Shalendra threw her arms around her mother’s neck and just held her, breathing in her soft floral scent. Thick arms surrounded them as her father’s woodsy scent blended with Hel’s. Shalendra was home.

“I missed you both so much.” She relished her parents' squeezing embrace as they held her between them. “As much as I love this group hug, I can’t breathe.”

Émilien chuckled and stepped away, giving her long black braid a gentle tug. “We missed you too, daughter.”

She would never get used to seeing her father as an elf. His long, wavy blond hair was pulled back and tied in a long ponytail, but, like her mother, his sparkling green eyes were the most striking difference. As a werewolf, his eyes had been black. He was breathtakingly handsome.

“Why didn’t you, at least, send word that you were all right? We were worried sick about you.” Her mother’s chin shook, her eyes filling with unshed tears.

“I’m sorry, mother, but so many things happened on my quest?—”

“Yes, yourquest,” Hel muttered. “I think I need to have a long and not very nice discussion with Freyja about her decision to send you on that quest. She should have discussed it with me first.”

“Us,” her father added.

Hel waved one hand in front of him. “Yes, yes…us.”

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