Page 6 of A Serenade To The Elf Queen
“Will do,” he replies, giving her his winning smile. Bubbles of warmth envelop me as I take his offered hand. The red-carpeted pathway muffles our footsteps as we walk in complete silence.
“I want five minutes tonight,” I try to bargain, once we are far enough down the hall.
“We agreed on three.”
“Four minutes, please.”
“We’ll see.” Aelfric chuckles, adjusting the black strap of his eyepatch over his short clipped blonde hair. His injury is a constant reminder of the horror that befell my sister and her company. Eirik ordered a demon to gouge Aelfric’s left eye right out of its socket.
A wave of grief washes over me, twisting my insides. It’s been twenty years since Aerin was cruelly taken from me, but it feels like it was just yesterday. The blinding pain never ceases. Darkness begins to claim my vision at the haunting memory.
Aelfric pulls me into his arms. “Remember when we were kids, you made an endless list of the places you wanted to visit?” His breath ruffles my hair. “Count them.”
“The giant libraries in Darvan Mountain, the Orc fish market of Myrkheim, the fields of roses in Avalon.” Air returns to my lungs with every recount.
I feel his hand stroking my back, anchoring me back to the present. “Breathe, Rhianelle.”
I let the feeling of his body and his warm sage scent engulf me as I slowly gather myself. Bright sunlight greets me the moment I open my eyes. Aelfric has brought us to the window. If I squint, I can see the tall walls of the Atlas from this distance. Nothing can bypass those walls or the powerful magic created by our Elders.
Not fae. Not wyverns.
As long as I stay here, nothing can ever harm me. But that’s the thing, I do not wish to remain in Aelfheim. My heart longs to wander into the strange regions across the realm.
“I want to see them all,” I mutter quietly to his chest.
Aelfric strokes my hair softly. “One day, I’ll take you to those wonderful places.”
Empty promises. None of those childish dreams will come true. We both know I’m shackled to the throne.
If there is truly somewhere I’m destined to go, it will be the Palace of Bones in Avalon, where I will kill Eirik Bloodhound. But I can never outsmart the Fae King, not even in my dreams. It is always he who arrives at my doorstep to burn down this kingdom—it is always my head that rolls.
Until last night…
Try as I might, I can’t recall the face of the warrior who rescued me. All I can remember is the feeling of being in his arms. I’ve never felt so safe.
“I have something for you,” Aelfric says, breaking my thoughts.
Something in my chest caves in at the gift in his hand.
Rowan berries.
Aerin and I never missed collecting them on Merafall. I look up to him and see the grief rippling those cerulean eyes. Of course, Aelfric misses her too.
“I’m alright now,” I say, pulling away reluctantly to continue our journey. I take one last look at the horizon, wondering what it’s like outside the walls. I bet the air is different. My left foot protests when we pick up our pace. I don’t want to be late today of all days.
Fear strikes me the moment I glimpse the tall, lean elf lingering at the holy chamber entrance. Dark tribal tattoos of the Kashran clan cover his hands. They extend all the way to his arms and neck underneath the immaculate dark emerald suit that not even the Aldarelfs could afford. A male who bleeds power and dominance. Not one guard dares to question his presence even though he is banned from walking the halls of the palace.
My uncle turns towards me, and I do my best not to react. On the left side of his face, Rainer Wiolant is one of the most beautiful elves in all of Aelfheim. Old, mighty, and powerful warrior blood of the Völundr run in his veins. But the upper half of the right side of his face, behind the obsidian mask, is completely disfigured and wrinkled like raisins.
Tallula once cried at the mere sight of him.
He earned the disfigurement a decade ago, torched by an orc general when he tried to avenge Aerin.
Rainer doesn’t so much as look at Aelfric. His attention is entirely focused on me. I see the displeasure in his eyes.
“Is something wrong?” I ask, unease coiling in my gut. It’s unusual for my uncle to let any emotion slip away. Something is rattling him today.
“Clayborne is here.” I hear the silent rage in that tone. “Things may be a bit difficult with that stubborn fool in court.”
