Page 34 of Plaything of the Dark Elf

Etheron

“Come on,” I say, taking Dalia by the arm and dragging her away from the carnage. She barely puts up a fight. On the way out, I lock eyes with one of my servants. “Clean up the mess.”

“What would you like us to do with the bodies, sir?”

“Feed them to the first batlaz pack you see, for all I care.”

I glance at Dalia. Her eyes are wide open, but her mouth is shut tight. She doesn’t even look at me.

She knows how cruel I can be to my enemies and I hope the image of my decapitated servants is still fresh in her mind. That’s how I treat the ones who don’t adhere to my rules. That’s how they end up. Dead.

Right now, all I want to do is take care of Dalia and make sure she’s attended to. I don’t like those bruises on her body or those deep circles underneath her eyes. She deserves sweetness right now and I plan to give that to her, whether she likes it or not.

And if she ever pisses me off like Meru and the rest of them, then the same fate awaits her. I hope it doesn’t come to that, but at least she knows what’s going to happen if she fights against my rule. There is no room for surprises

“How are you feeling? Would you like to bathe?”

Dalia doesn’t answer me. When I trail my hand against her arm, she gradually reacts by pulling her arm away and covering the spots where my fingers touched. She stares ahead blankly, unwilling to send me a look.

Patience. I must show her patience. She is in shock.

I clear my throat and smile. “Alright, then. I’ll have my servants attend you. I’ll also send the healer.”

Again, she doesn’t make a noise. I lead her into the bedroom. With one wave of my hand, three servants appear and start helping her change. Then, I wait for the healer to arrive and I watch as he inspects her wounds. He runs his hands just over her skin, and I watch his magic erase all the marks on her skin. But he hands me a bag of tea, murmuring that the extent of her injuries are bone deep.

The servants and the healer depart from the room simultaneously, leaving me alone with her. I approach her and she flinches, but I pretend not to notice.

“Are you hungry?”

Dalia clenches her jaw.

“Don’t worry. I’ll have the servants cook you a grand meal.”

I’m doing everything I can to make her feel better, but this feels like an impossible task. She’s not cooperating with me. Although she follows me through the mansion to the dining room and lowers herself into the seat I push out for her, she’s not all here. With her distant stare and deep frown, she’s impenetrable.

But I’ve never been one to give up on a good challenge.

The servants swarm out of the kitchen, carrying various dishes and serving them before Dalia and I. They equip us with utensils and napkins. I help Dalia place a napkin over her lap. In return, she sends me a scowl.

“What are you doing?”

“Helping you,” I reply. “I want you to enjoy the meal.”

“I don’t need your help.”

That’s difficult to believe. If I don’t help her, I doubt she will move a muscle. She appears disheartened. There’s no glimmer in her eyes. When I try to feed her some broth, she purses up her lips and sends me a look that’s darker than the night.

“Are you crazy?” Dalia hisses out, leaning away from the spoon. “Why are you treating me like a child? What is this?”

“What do you think? We’re having dinner together and I’m trying to spend some quality time with you!”

I allow the spoon to drop loudly back into her bowl. Its contents splatter across the table. She flinches and turns away. Realizing what I’m doing, I take a moment to close my eyes and deeply exhale through my nose. Relax. I need to calm down. This isn’t a big deal.

Reaching for my napkin, I place it on my lap and start enjoying the broth. Dalia, on the other hand, refuses to eat. Instead, she sits with her arms crossed over her chest and her eyes fixed to the table.

“You look very beautiful,” I say. “The healer did a great job in healing your wounds.”

She hums.

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