Page 85 of King of Immortal Tithe (Darkmourn Universe 2)

“If they turn their back on what I have to say, then they, much like Claria, will seal their own fates.”His response was cold and honest, but it did not scare me.

I cared little for Faenir’s family and the lack of kindness they had shown me, apart from Myrinn, who had been nothing but supportive; Haldor, Gildir and Frila had shown no loyalty to Faenir. I hoped that changed… for their sakes.

I pressed my forehead to Faenir’s, delighting in his proximity. Inhaling, I took him all in, breathing in his scent of sandalwood and feeling the soft brush of his dark hair which tangled in my fingers.

“I can tell something plays on your mind,” he said.

“Only that you will be forced to leave me tomorrow.”

Faenir’s lip brushed closer. “It will not take me long.”

“I do not want you to leave me. Ever.”

“Oh, darling.” Faenir pressed his lips to mine. The touch was so soft, so gentle that if I did not watch him, I would never have known his lips were upon mine. “I will never leave you.”

“What if I die?” I asked, not needing to tell him when or how soon it would happen. “You are an elf. Immortal and powerful. I am still a human, and my demise will come far sooner than yours.”

A shadow passed beyond his eyes, darkening the gold until they glowed like embers in a hearth. “I command death. It has been my curse. For as long as I control it, I will never let you leave me.”

I smiled. “How lucky I am to have found you.”

“I hate to correct you, my darling, but it was I who found you. And I vow to never lose you… not in this eternity or the next.”

Grief played with me as though it was a hound, and I was its bone. I drowned in the emotions; each wave was both anger and sadness, denial and clarity, not one moment was the same as before.

I closed my mouth upon Faenir’s and felt calm. In contrast, the storm outside of Haxton seemed to grow restless. A bolt of lightning flashed throughout the room, highlighting everything so clearly.

Pulling free from him, against my want or better judgement, I spoke, “Not that I wish tonight’s supper away, but the sooner it is over, the sooner I can take you away and feast upon you for dessert.”

“With promises like that, I would gladly skip the meal entirely.”

I smiled into him, and he into me. “It will be worth the wait.”

“Darling,” Faenir whispered, fingers gripping tighter into my skin. “I have no doubt. Come, let us not keep our revered guests waiting a moment longer.”

29

The food laid across the elegantly dressed table was left untouched. Wasted. I felt guilt for ignoring Ana’s hard work, but the thought of eating was displeasing. Not a single person reached for a fork or knife. Instead, the six of us clung to the goblets of sweet wine as though our lives depended on it. I could not decide if the lack of feasting from Faenir’s cousins was because of an abundance of mistrust or a display of blatant rudeness. I guessed the latter, as they each had no problem with draining their goblets and refilling them without question. If they would have believed the food to be poisoned or tampered with in any way, then they would have left the wine as well.

“It would seem that even the weather is against your union,” Gildir said, smiling into the rim of his glass; he revelled in the tension that sparked through the air in the dining hall, toying with it as though it was his to command.

A clap of thunder sounded beyond the walls as though the storm had called out with its agreement. And Frila giggled softly at her brother’s comment, giving him a side-eyed look, wolfish grin contorting her face from one of beauty to beastly.

I could not draw my attention away from the red scratch marks that flexed down the side of his face. No one had made a comment about the scratches, but I sensed everyone had seen them. Shifting my focus elsewhere, I studied the rest of his appearance. His moss-toned cloak was draped across his chair. The tunic that he wore had been rolled up over his elbows which rested—without manners—upon the table. He made me feel overdressed in my obsidian jacket with the threading of embroidered silver stars across it.

“I care little what nature has to say,” Faenir replied, his deep voice rich in darkness. “It is not her support I require. It is yours.”

“Support?” Gildir replied, focusing more on the swirling of red wine that spun in the glass he whirled. “I was wondering why you requested for us to visit. Did you think some old wine and dull company would gain our seal of approval for your union?”

Only minutes into the meal and I already wanted nothing more than to throw the wine at him. I grinned to myself at the thought. Faenir seemed to sense my wishes as his hand laid across mine where it rested upon the table; his touch spoke a thousand words.

“That is not why we are here,” Myrinn replied, scowling at her brother. “You understand our laws. Grandmother is the only one who can bless the Joining. Can family not simply be family?”

Gildir glanced towards the empty chair that sat at the head of the table. “Disfunction is the groundwork for any family, Myrinn, you should know that. So, do you wish to get to the point in why you persist with this Joining so we can get on with our lives?”

“Faenir needs our support,” Haldor spoke up, offering me a sympathetic look. “It would seem you have made your mind up, Gildir. Which if that is the case, then care to explain why you are here?”

“Why are we all here?” Frila countered, voice light and sweet, but expression pinched in contrast. “Haxton is a miserable place. I wish nothing more than to leave it and never look back.”

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