Page 105 of A Serenade To The Elf Queen
Thirty-six enemies.
I see the shift in the shadows of the trees first. One of them is a marksman. He’s aiming straight for the Elven Queen. The creature may be a skilled archer but he is too slow for me. I stand beside her in a heartbeat.
The three arrows pierce straight into my back instead of finding their target in her.
“Svenn?” Rhianelle’s eyes round with surprise. Chaos erupts through the envoy within seconds.
“We’re under attack!” One of the elves shouts, “Protect the Queen!”
The forest around us moves, coming to life.
I dart straight towards the three hulking figures in the bushes. The sight of my new enemies raises my eyebrows for a moment. It’s my first time seeing what I assume are the orcs of Myrkheim. They’re taller than a mounted rider, with ashen skin and sharp canines in their lower jaw. Otherwise, they seem surprisingly similar to these elves. I wrap my hand around the necks of two, snapping them like twigs. The remaining orc flails helplessly beneath my feet.
“My wife is pregnant with our kit. I have a family.” Kheirall’s pendant whirrs to translate his plea. “Have mercy.”
I stare down at him. Terror brims in his eyes when he recognizes I do not have a soul or the conscience to grant him his request. I give him the dignity of a quick death.
The one who made the attempt on the queen’s life screeches and tries to flee. He manages to walk five steps before Eyepatch’s blade lands in his back. The knight retrieves his weapon without feeling. He grimaces over the stain, cursing, “Bandits.”
My eyes whirl to Rhianelle standing in the open. The elite, black-armored warriors around her have disbanded to chase after the remaining assailants.
Fucking hell.
They’re leaving her completely vulnerable. It seems that the girl has the worst of luck when the rustling trees suddenly part with the appearance of another orc, far bigger than the others. There is no semblance of sanity in the beast’s eyes, as if he has traded it all for enhanced strength and size. His choice of weapon is a simple tree trunk.
“Over here!” Rhianelle calls to the hellish monster. She’s drawing him away from the unicorns and wounded elves. This unbelievable kindness and naivety—she will be bludgeoned underneath his massive club.
Every sinew of my muscles clench seeing her in harm’s way.
Wait—What the fuck am I doing?
This is a chance to get this over with. Rhianelle’s death is my aim and sole purpose of following the elves. The beast inside pleads for me to rescue her. I feel my body tightening, ready to rip the orc into pieces.
Enough,I fight against the instinct.
The urge to save her is so strong that it nearly chokes me to stop it. I dig my nails into my palms to resist it. If she wants my aid, then let that first command come.
The queen evades the attack on her own to my surprise. She did it almost too easily. I chalk it up to luck, but she does the same thing on the second strike.
Jolts of lightning go through me when the monstrous orc brings down his weapon with another earth-shattering smack.
“Nel!” An anguished cry tears from my throat. There’s an agonizing, thick sensation burning in the pit of my stomach. I want to vomit. The thought of having a single hair on her head hurt is unbearable. I move to help her just as Rhianelle emerges from the dust unscathed.
She has escaped the overwhelming odds yet again.
The orc drives another heavy hit followed quickly by another, thinking that he has the upper hand. He doesn’t realize theattacks are slowly tiring him out. I realize I was just as foolish and mistaken as the creature.
Rhianelle Wiolant is not some helpless damsel. These are the movements of someone who has had years of training. Each step she takes is smooth and laced with grace. She leaves an opening over her left side.
I see it for what it is.
A trap. One calculated move and the monster falls right for it, slamming his weapon to the ground.
Everything transpires in a blink of an eye.
I completely stop breathing as the Elven Queen launches into the air. Her dainty foot lands on the club like a butterfly perched on a flower. This silence and speed are the kind possessed by the reaper himself.
An angel of death.
