Page 3 of Wed to the Dark Elf

My knees nearly buckle. One of the dark elf lords? Their kind are said to be ruthless and cruel. None who venture into their domain return. Fear rises in me like bile. The priest's satisfied smirk tells me he finds this match exceedingly suitable.

"Lord Blak will arrive in three days' time for the ceremony. You'd best prepare yourself, girl." With that he sweeps from the room, leaving me clutching the scroll like a death warrant.

Three days. Three days before I am bound forever to a monster. Anguish threatens to choke me. How could the fates be so cruel? This marriage will be my doom. Unless...

A desperate plan forms in my mind. Perhaps I could flee the temple, make a life on my own however humbly. The rhozari planes to the east have nomad tribes...I could join them, disappear into their numbers.

But even as the wild thoughts take shape, my shoulders slump in defeat. Where would I find food or shelter? The nomads care nothing for beggar girls. Beyond the temple walls lies only hardship and despair for my kind. At least here I have a roof, a bed, enough to eat. Out there I would be dead in weeks, if not taken by slavers first.

No. My fate is sealed. In three days I will meet the monster I am bound to. I can only pray his heart is not as cold and harsh as the mountains he hails from. With slow steps, I return to my dormitory. The other girls cluster around, buzzing with questions, but I brush past them and climb into my bunk, pulling the covers over my head. Sleep does not come, my mind spinning with dark imaginings of the future in store.

The next days pass in a haze. I go through the motions---work, meals, sleep---feeling hollow and adrift. Lena tries her best to keep my spirits up, but her encouraging smiles slip when she thinks I'm not looking. She knows as well as I that this match does not bode well.

On the second day, Katia appears in the laundry yard, smiling wanly. A necklace of sparkling gems adorns her throat, finer than anything we have seen. I hug her gently. "I wish you every happiness." She thanks me, but there is sadness in her eyes.

That night I cry myself to sleep, mourning the carefree girl I will never be again. Tomorrow I meet my fate.

Morning comes too soon. I scrub myself head to toe in the bathing room until my skin is raw. The servant women bathe me in sweet oils and perfume, then dress me in the fine white linen gown of a bride. I hardly recognize the hollow-eyed girl staring back from the bronze mirror.

At last, they lead me to the receiving chamber and bid me wait. My knees knock together as tremors wrack my body. Any moment the dark elf lord will walk through that door. When he takes me from this place, I will never return. I stare longingly at the open window, briefly entertaining visions of escape. Futile, I know. Even if I slipped these walls, I would not get far on foot in this dress.

Heavy footsteps sound outside, then the door creaks open. I spin from the window, heart in my throat as a tall figure strides in. He wears leather armor covered with intricate metalwork. A longsword and axe hang at his hip, and a billowing cloak of white fur drapes his broad shoulders. But it is his face that roots me in place, unable to tear my gaze away.

His skin is midnight blue, inset with sharp cheekbones and a strong jawline. Long white hair spills down his back in a braid, though from the front he looks completely bald. His pointed ears stand out, pierced with onyx studs that match his glittering black eyes. Those eyes assess me now, keen and calculating. My knees wobble.

He steps further inside, pushing the door closed. The click of the latch seems to seal my fate. I clench my shaking hands, unsure what to do or say.

With slow, purposeful steps, he approaches me. His eyes glint in the torchlight, seeing through me, weighing my worth. I suppress a shudder at the power emanating from him in discernable waves. This is a warrior not just in body but in spirit. A leader of his people, demanding obedience.

He stops mere inches away, towering over me. This close, I can see each angle of his exotic face, the way his pupils constrict then dilate strangely, with vertical slits like a cat's. His ears twitch and swivel as if sampling the very air around us. Alien. Other. I shrink back, heartbeat thundering in my ears.

A smile twitches his full lips. "So you are the bride fate has chosen for me." His voice is low, a pleasant rumble. He reaches out and grasps a lock of my hair between his long, clawed fingers. I tense, frozen. With delicate care, he rubs the strands contemplatively. "Strange that they match me with a human waif. Still, the priests insist you are my destiny."

I find my voice shaky but resolute. "If the fates have bound us, my lord, then I am yours." The oath brings bile to my throat, but I force it down. My fate no longer belongs to me.

He drops my hair, eyes intent on my face. "What do you know of fate, girl?"

The question catches me off guard. Does he doubt the priests' blood tests too? I realize suddenly how bizarre this entire ritual must seem to him also. It is little consolation that we both find ourselves trapped by forces beyond our understanding.

I lift my chin. "I know nothing of fate or destiny, my lord. I am a humble girl. I go where I am led." I didn’t add that I have no choice in the matter unless I want to run away and face death worse than whatever this dark elf could give me.

He studies me a moment longer, as if puzzling out a complex problem. Then he turns abruptly for the door. "Come. It is time."

My stomach drops, but I smooth my expression into calm acceptance. With slow steps, I follow him from the chamber to face my destiny.

CHAPTER3

Vamen

The girl trails behind me as I stride through echoing temple halls. Iris Flemming. A delicate thing, barely reaching my chest. Her flaxen-colored hair spills down her back, a stark contrast to her pale skin. She keeps her gaze demurely lowered, though I can sense her quaking.

I too feel the wrongness of this moment. A human bride to a dark elf lord seems blasphemous. Yet when I look at her, an inexplicable resonance hums through my blood, as if she belongs at my side. I clench my jaw. The priest’s magic, nothing more. I cannot afford fanciful thoughts about fate. My duty lies with my people. Iris is but a pawn in my quest for peace on this planet.

We enter a towering chamber lit by braziers. Rows of carved wooden benches line each wall. At the far end stands a stone altar draped in violet cloth. The priests gather there, black-robed and solemn-faced. Hundreds have wed here through the ages, human and monster alike. The ancient rites bind all races. Tonight they bind me.

Music swells from reed pipes as we walk the aisle, a haunting ceremonial melody. Iris’s hand rests feather-light on my forearm, trembling. I fix my gaze straight ahead, ignoring the searching glances from the assembled priests. Their magic of blood tests and rituals brought us to this pass. Now they will reap the fruit of their conjuring. For better or worse.

We halt before the altar and bow our heads as the High Priest begins the invocation, his reedy voice echoing off the vaulted ceilings. The lyrical Elvish words rise and fall like a spell, calling on ancient gods to witness the ritual. I tune out the arcane verses, sensing Iris fidgeting minutely beside me. She smells of anxiety, some herbal perfume failing to mask the stink of fear. I wonder if she will bolt for the doors. But she remains still and silent, head bowed. Braver than she appears.

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