“That’s a comforting thought,” I mutter dryly, while visions of fae assassins creeping into my room late at night and slicing my throat flood into my mind.
“Having the tribesman here will help with that too. He will be a distraction,” Naril comments, sounding excited at the prospect of more drama for him to watch. “Besides, he’s made it clear that if anything were to happen to you, there would be war between our people.” His voice changes as he says this, holding a note that tells me he has no idea why Tor might have any interests in me. “The last thing we need is another war.” I don’t think I’m supposed to hear this last bit since he mumbles it quietly to himself, but thanks to the acoustics of the stairwell, I hear him.
My heart thuds painfully in my chest. “Tor said that?” My words are whispered, but Naril nods his head and Eldrin makes a disgusted noise behind me.
“Yes, he was very insistent. He had it in writing, an order from his high chief,” Naril continues, and I can’t help but frown.
“Why would the mountain tribes care if I’m alive or not?” I ask, confused. I can understand why Tor is trying to keep me alive, but the high chief of a tribe that I’ve never met? It makes no sense.
“No idea, and I don’t really care. I just enjoy having that bit of eye candy around,” the elf in front of me comments lightly, and I can’t help but laugh. Naril is so different from his surly brother, who I can feel staring daggers into the back of my head.
So, with my mind full of confusion and contradictions, I continue to climb down into the depths of the palace, hoping that Eldrin doesn’t get fed up with me and push me off the cliff.
I stare at myself in the mirror, not recognising the figure that looks back at me. This is becoming a common occurrence for me, and if I’m not careful, I’m going to become vain—or develop a complex. The latter seems more realistic at the moment as I turn to admire the dress I’m in.
Once we’d met some of the sea elves in their cave-like rooms carved into the rocks beneath the palace, the twins brought me back to my quarters. Naril had wanted me to stay with them longer, feigning that Vaeril had told him to keep me busy all day, but I’m beginning to think he enjoys spending time with me. He finds my human views and the way I speak amusing, and although he thinks he’s better than me, I do like him. Perhaps we could be friends after all. Eldrin continues to be a mystery to me, quiet and sulky one moment, then demanding and rude the next, and I just couldn’t deal with that anymore today, so I requested they take me back to my rooms.
Any plans I had for a quiet evening alone were scuppered when a knock sounded at my door not even ten minutes after I had returned. Maids piled into my room, carrying boxes and reams of fabric as they started setting up. Vaeril’s orders apparently.
“You look beautiful,” my maid, Lillia, tells me, as she smooths the fabric on my shoulder tentatively. She’s still terrified of me, but I think we’re beginning to make progress. “Is—” She begins quietly, cutting off as I glance at her in the mirror. Smiling slightly to encourage her, I wait silently, knowing I will scare her off if I speak now.
Gathering her courage, she tries again. “Is it true you’re part elf?”
Well, that could explain why she feels more comfortable around me. All of a sudden, I’m not just the scary human, but part elf too.
“Yes.” My reply is simple, too simple really, but her resulting smile makes me glad I didn’t tell her the truth—I don’t know. I don’t know who my parents were, so it’s purely speculation that Jaonos was my grandfather. However, the evidence that I’m at least part elf is stacking up—my unusual ability to sense, amplify, and break spells, and the bond between myself and Vaeril. He also believes that’s why the sprites, imps, and kelpies respond to me, because of the wood elf heritage.
A knock at the door has her scurrying away to see who’s come to see me. I’ve learned not to follow her to the door, it just makes her nervous, so instead, I continue to stare at the stranger in the mirror. The pale skin on my face has been brushed with a fine powder, smoothing it out and hiding the dark marks under my eyes, which have been lined with kohl. A pale rosy blush was applied to my cheeks, and a pink gloss to my lips. My usually straight, dark hair has been pulled up into a bun, with just the two curls hanging down to frame my face. A chain of tiny golden leaves has been woven into my hair, glistening in the light as I turn my head.
It’s the dress, however, that I can’t stop staring at. For someone who has spent her life in dirty shifts that barely cover her, I am certainly being spoiled now.
Soft, pale pink fabric falls beautifully to the floor from a small golden band that sits just under my bust. Above the band, the fabric folds and pleats over my breasts until it is pinched together on each shoulder by a small golden band, creating a deep V-neckline. At the back of the shoulders, loose flowing fabric hangs down behind me like a cape, attached to two golden bands on my wrists. I’m grateful for the golden bands as they cover my slave marks, and I’m sure it was Vaeril who thought of that touch as the dress is completely sleeveless.
“Alina.” The word is spoken as a whisper, but as I turn from the mirror to face the elf walking through the doorway, I can’t fight the blush that flushes my cheeks. “Clarissa…” He trails off as he seems to lose his words, his eyes trailing over my face and down the length of my dress. I don’t miss his gaze lingering around the deep neckline of the gown, but he quickly looks up at my face again. His expression confuses me and isn’t one I’ve seen on him before, but it looks something akin to wonder. Feeling self-conscious under his regard, I reach across and fiddle with one of the bangles.
“Thank you for the dress, it’s beautiful,” I murmur, running my hands over the soft, flowing fabric. It hangs all the way down to the floor, covering the hideous scars on my ankles, but the toes of my golden sandals poke out as I walk.
“It suits you. You look like a fae.” He takes another step closer until he’s within touching distance. His voice has deepened, and when I glance up, I see his eyes have heated, making the bond in my chest flip in pleasure. Flashes of memory from yesterday assault me, of before Tor arrived and how close we were to sealing the bond between us.
Reaching up to touch my rounded ears, I feel a flash of uncertainty. “Not fae enough.” My words are quiet as I think of the queen. I could be full fae, but she would always hate me because of my connection with the humans.
Not to mention how close you are to Vaeril, she’s jealous, my inner monologue points out, but I think there’s more to it than her wanting him romantically. In her head, Vaeril belongs to her, but he was taken by the humans, and then when he returned, human in tow, he was different, no longer the Vaeril who belonged to her completely.
“I see the servants have heard about your fae heritage,” he comments lightly, his light touch brushing the gold leaves in my hair before tapping on the golden band at my wrist.
“I don’t understand,” I say breathlessly, his slight touch awakening something within me.
“The leaves,” he explains, watching my face carefully. His supernatural hearing picked up on the hitch in my voice and the quickening of my breath. “You’re part wood elf,” he reminds me. “They’re making their claim on you.”