Page 92 of A Serenade To The Elf Queen
“He’s great—” I stop myself from falling to Kheirall’s bait.
He gives me another honeyed smirk. “So, where is he?”
“I think he’s trying to find you.” More like hunting him.
“Good thing I didn’t come home last night. Slept over at Lola’s coven,” Kheirall says, stretching like a lazy cat.
A crow swoops down and sings its report to Kheirall. He strokes the bird’s head and dismisses it. “Yeah, he’s in my castle now. Let Ragnar deal with him,” he says with a low chuckle.
I don’t understand how the demon is not taking this seriously. I can still remember the death rattle he made when the vampire tore his collarbone. His wings still sag a little loose.
A sudden guilt fills my chest over the violence that followed Svenn’s release. “Let me have a look at that.”
The demon’s expression changes slightly into something tender. “Save your energy for the long ride home, sweet queen. I will heal.”
I feel a shiver from him when my fingers touch the inside of his delicate wing. Demons have a higher core temperature than elves, almost feverish.
“Sit still. I need to focus,” I say, channeling whatever blessings I have left. I’m a terrible healer, but his ligaments are slowly mending with the favors from Anastarros.
Kheirall sets his gaze on my wrists. It’s a shame I can’t exactly tell the thoughts camouflaged behind those lenses.
“Hey, you used my wedding gift,” he says with a smile that is nearly angelic. “The rope wasn’t meant for you, love. Vampires sometimes get out of control when they feed or fuck.”
“Please listen,” I say, lowering my head closer to him to whisper. “Can we annul the marriage?”
“The human part? He arches a dark brow. “Easily done. But I thought there are no take backs for your Arawynn bond.”
“Is there any way you can reverse it?” I ask, my lips trembling. “Whatever was transferred to me isn’t just some ordinary binding spell.”
I finally commandeer the Demon Lord’s full attention and he takes off the silly dark glasses. Kheirall presses his hand against my belly over the marking.
His eyes go entirely white.
My knights step forward to defend me. Aelfric is seconds away from digging his sword into Kheirall’s throat.
“Stand down. It’s fine,” I tell Aelfric and Darstan. They both sheath their weapons at my command and step back.
Kheirall looks as if he’s about to hurl his stomach contents.
The Demon Lord curses low under his breath. He slams his key to the ground, creating a force field around us. The air buzzes with electrical energy.
“Queen Rhianelle,” Kheirall exhales, his face darkening. “This is a terrible mistake.”
I know. I know. I know.
“That creature is not merely an old vampire. Your Svenn was not turned.” I watch the audible swallow of his throat. “He is one of the Strigons, the True Sires of all vampires.”
Like Ruthvenn and Vlad. The Princes of the Nightwalker Empire.
“That’s not the worst of it all.” Kheirall’s voice turns ominous. “It would mean the curse we moved to you is the Rhunhraefn. The first black magic practiced on the face of this earth.”
I’ve seen the ritual through that strange dream. Five mortal souls who were damned to suffer their eternity as the living dead.
“Careful, Your Highness. A curse that powerful is known to influence the bearer,” the demon mutters darkly. “The thing is trying to inch its way into you. Can’t you feel that?” Wispy black tendrils of the Rhunhraefn are moving towards Kheirall from my stomach. “Look. It’s even reaching out to me.”
I slap the curse to snap out of it.
The Demon Lord’s breathing goes still as he looks at me. “What are you?”
