Page 6 of Wed to the Dark Elf

Inside the stone halls, the air hangs still and gloomy, lit only by flickering torches. Vamen guides me to a chamber warmed by a small hearth. He gestures to a high-backed chair near the fire. “Sit, try to warm yourself. I will have your things brought up.”

I perch gingerly on the chair’s edge while Vamen busies himself building up the fire. Soon rich furs are draped around my shoulders, and a cup of something hot and fragrant is pressed into my hands. The drink spreads its nourishing heat through my core, chasing away the deathly chill. A serving girl appears and begins unpacking my sparse luggage in the bedchamber beyond. Home.

Vamen stands before me, dark and imposing. “I have duties to attend, mistress. Anything you require, ask the servants. We will speak again at the evening meal.” He sweeps out without another word, the door booming shut behind him.

Alone with my thoughts, I take stock of my unfamiliar surroundings. The bedchamber holds just the essential furnishings—bed, wardrobe, vanity, hearth—but all exquisitely carved from black wood. Heavy drapes cover the narrow windows. I note no door accessible from this room. Am I confined here, kept separate?

Unease prickling my skin, I move to test the main door leading out to the hall. To my surprise, it opens easily. Guards eye me with curiosity as I peek into the corridor, but make no move to stop me. I am not a prisoner then. Yet where would I possibly go? Already I feel like a trespasser in this alien world.

With no other options, I let the serving girl draw me a hot bath and afterward dress me in a fine gray gown apparently meant for the lady of the house. The fabric is softer than any I’ve worn before, if still neutral and plain by their standards.

The girl leaves and returns with a lunch of crusty bread, smoked meats, and more of the revitalizing hot drink. I eat alone, listening to the mournful wind outside. My earlier wonder at the snow has been replaced by dread for this bitter realm I must now survive. And what of my new husband. We shared a single kiss at the wedding and nothing since. Lena and I found old books in a library long forgotten of tales on Earth before the Shift. Love stories that made ones heart beat fast and cheeks flush with pink. My honeymoon was nothing like that. Only bitter icy air with a harsh stranger. I wonder if he could ever show me kindness.

Come evening, the maid returns to lead me to the dining hall. My breath sticks in my throat as we enter the cavernous room and all eyes turn my way. Vamen sits at the head table on a raised dais. He motions me to the empty seat at his right hand. I keep my eyes low as I take my place beside him, painfully aware of the curious scrutiny from the assemblage of armored elves filling the tables. I stick out like a bright lamp in a very dim room, looking like fresh meat and a curiosity for many who have never seen a human before.

Beside Vamen sits a powerfully built elf with long white braids and a stern face. Vamen performs brief introductions. “My lieutenant, Althir Stormblade. And this is Iris, lately of the human realm, now my bride by the priests’ dispensation.”

Althir's piercing silver eyes bear into me. He inclines his head politely if not warmly. “Greetings, mistress. Few of our kind take human wives. You are...an uncommon match.”

I shift, unnerved by his doubtful tone, but Vamen changes the subject, for which I’m grateful. Serving plates and goblets are set before us, and we fall quiet as we eat. The rich venison stew and spiced wine settle my queasy stomach somewhat. Between bites, I sneak glances at Vamen, still finding his exotic visage arresting. He catches me looking once, and I quickly avert my gaze. Did I detect interest in his stare?

After the meal, minstrels play reed pipes and stringed instruments at the hall’s far end. The music is haunting, evocative of wind moaning over bare stone. Vamen offers me his arm, and I take it dutifully, ignoring the considering looks cast our way as he leads me from the hall.

Back in my rooms, the fire has burned down to embers. Vamen adds a fresh log, staring into the growing flames. We stand awkwardly on opposite sides of the hearth. Two strangers linked by irrevocable bonds yet separated by culture. The gulf between our worlds has never felt so vast.

Vamen breaks the heavy silence first. “I hope you found your meal acceptable.”

“Yes, my appetite has quite returned, thank you.”

He nods. “It is late. You should rest.” He moves toward the inner door but pauses, looking back. "This marriage is...unexpected. But you will be cared for here. Until we grow more accustomed.”

I smile. “Nothing like the present to become acquainted or accustomed to each other, as you say.” I’m nervous, but also can’t ignore the warmth fanning through my belly.

"Iris, I am as new to this as you are. I want to be a good mate to you. If I ever do anything that hurts, just tell me."

He sits beside me after discarding the remainder of his clothing. Oh! His body, thick with muscles, causes heat to flood into my middle. I gulp and pull the blanket up, my body naked under it, and tremble with fear and excitement. His body shines with bulging muscles in the flame light, dark skin stretching over his sheer strength. He leans in to me, offering a sweet smile.

"I'm new as well." I look down shyly. His hand moves the blanket from my hands, lifting back and seeing me fully for the first time.

"What should I do first?" He asks, his innocence surprising. He's the Dark Elf Lord of the Northern Mountains and he's asking me what to do.

"Kiss me?" I ask softly, wanting his lips upon mine. He smiles wider and leans in, pressing his mouth against mine, tongue sliding between my lips. Vamen's tongue feels divine as he slips it into my mouth, a deep, purring groan vibrating from his chest.

I reach out and stroke his arms, moaning into his kiss. Vamen gently rests his hand upon my breast and gives it a soft squeeze, a deep purr rumbling from his chest.

"Are breasts sensitive?" He breaks the kiss and murmurs.

"Only when they are touched," I reply timidly. "But sometimes, when a woman is excited, her breasts can become tender."

"Excited how?" His fingers gently knead my flesh.

"When she desires." I whimper softly, feeling Vamen's touch move between my thighs. He pets the downy tuft of fur then strokes his finger up and down my slit.

"Desires what?" His breath is harsh and hot.

"Touching. Kissing." I moan as Vamen kisses me again. His finger dips inside and I mewl against his lips.

"Sex?" He growls.

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