Page 84 of Forged in Cursed Flames (Crown and Crest 2)

We arrivein Revalane six days before the wedding is scheduled to take place.

Audra’s captain drops anchor in a harbored area where the wilds of the marsh meet civilization, located in a district outside the city that Lyredon says residents refer to as the Lagoon. It’s an upscale area, with ornate boats anchored in the calm water.

Dinghies transport passengers between the boats and the pier. Built on stone courtyards above the water, a nearby collection of restaurants, shops, and lavish inns beckon travelers inside, promising drink, refreshment, and rest.

We won’t be visiting them today, however.

“Wear your hair down, and no one will realize you’re human,” Audra whispers, keeping her voice low so a bored group of women on a nearby boat won’t overhear her. She fusses with several strands to make sure my ears are covered. “Thanks to your eyes, you look perfectly elven.”

Soon, we will make our presence known—but not yet. First, we must sneak Ayan to the safety of Audra’s family estate.

Though my heritage is easy to hide, the men in our group are more difficult to disguise. Even with his hair covering his ears, Lawrence is a little too muscular to be mistaken for a High Vale, and Henrik is human through and through.

Bartholomew’s hair is too short, and Pranmore…well. There’s no hiding his antlers underneath the cloaks Audra offered the others before we arrived in the harbor.

The nearby women duck their heads close, and they gossip and giggle as they steal glances at the Woodmore elf.

“Ignore them,” Audra says to Pranmore. “You are with me, as my honored guest, and therefore very welcome in Ferradelle and its capital city.”

Pranmore nods, but the discomfort doesn’t leave his face.

“Oh, I almost forgot. I have something for you.” From a pocket in her gown, she miraculously produces Pranmore’s journal.

Or rather, it vaguely resembles his journal. The cover is filthy, and the leather is cracked. It very much looks like it took a dip in the brackish water of the marsh.

“Most of the ink washed away, but I did a recovery spell,” she apologizes. “It’s not perfect, but I saved a good portion of it.”

Pranmore stares at the book, dumbfounded. “I thought it was lost.”

Audra presses the journal into his hand. “I recovered it after I discovered how precious it is.”

“Thank you,” he says softly, flipping through the warped pages. As he scans the words, his eyes become misty. “Truly.”

Audra nods, looking quietly pleased until our neighbors’ conversation intrudes on the moment.

“He’s positively vulgar,” one of the women says, her voice just loud enough she certainly intended Pranmore to hear.

“Do you think he must stoop through doorways?” another titters. “Can you even imagine?”

“I’d have them surgically removed if I were him,” the first proclaims. “How humiliating to walk around like that.”

The bored High Vale harpies cackle, thinking they’re terribly funny, and Audra shoots them a venomous look.

Immediately, they flap their hands about their faces, pretending the day is very hot and that they were minding their own business the entire time.

Pranmore stares at his journal, looking pale.

“Ignore them,” Audra commands. She then flashes the gawking women a pointed look, stands on the tips of her toes, and brushes a kiss over the Woodmore’s cheek. “They’re simply jealous I found you first. Walk with me. Let’s see if we can make them green with envy.”

Properly scandalized, the hoity-toity women’s jaws drop.

Audra laughs to herself as she links her arm through Pranmore’s and tugs him toward the waiting dinghy. In a befuddled state, the Woodmore allows her to lead him.

“What about me?” Lawrence says. “I’m nervous, too. Do I get a kiss?”

“Don’t hold your breath,” I say to him, trying not to laugh.

Grinning at Lawrence’s brush-off, Ayan offers me his arm. “Shall we join them?”

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