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“The Crimson court has not taken human slaves for centuries. That is why there are no other humans here.”

“And what does your father think about my perceived role as your personal slave?”

“My father agrees it is necessary.”

“Necessary?” The word tasted bitter on her tongue. “Why is it necessary?” Anthea turned her eyes on him, her heart pounding in her chest. His patience was wearing thin; she could see it in the way his lips thinned and his gaze hardened.

“I advise you to keep your mouth shut in my father’s presence.” Endreth had crossed his arms on his chest.

“And why is that?” she asked, turning back to the shelves and moving further away from him to examine an object that looked like a compass on a different shelf. She could feel him watching her every move. Reaching out to touch it, Anthea gasped—her hand was suddenly encased in a firm grip. Endreth was at her side, his fingers wrapped tightly around her wrist. It had all happened so quickly, so silently, she’d barely had time to react. His face was stern as he held her hand away from the compass.

“Enough.” He let go of her wrist. “Enough questions. It is time to go.” The prince turned and moved toward the door of the study. She was left staring after him, her heart pounding in her chest and her wrist throbbing from his grip.

Shaking her head, Anthea quickly closed the distance between them, not wanting to earn another reprimand. She couldn’t shake off the unease that settled in her chest. If Endreth could move that fast, that silently, she would never see him coming if he decided to strike.

Endreth’s study had been impressive, but the king’s study was something else. Shelves made out of white wood reached up from floor to ceiling, each one brimming with an assortment of vast collection of meticulously arranged books and ornate trinkets, glowing artifacts, and bizarre instruments she couldn’t begin to identify. The room itself was bathed in the ethereal light pouring in from three large arched windows facing the moonlit sea outside. A rectangular table sat in the center of the room, the pale wood gleaming under the lights of two crystal chandeliers. Several chairs, each intricately carved and padded with plush, cream fabric, surrounded the table. At the back of the table, a map was affixed to the wall. The parchment was large and detailed, bearing the contours of different lands divided among several emblems, each representing an elven house. Alongside the emblem of the Crimson court at the south-east of the map, Anthea could distinguish five others.

King Endoral Silvarthiel’s presence dominated the room. His hair, reminiscent of the setting sun, streaked with gray, fell neatly to his waist. The king’s eyes were a striking blue like his younger son’s. There was a sense of ageless wisdom in his gaze that defied conventional aging. His attire was nothing short of impeccable—a regal light gray tunic, adorned with the emblem of the Crimson court, worn over perfectly tailored black trousers.

Anthea, following Endreth’s advice, had first addressed him as my king and bowed her head in a show of respect. She had opted to remain silent after that, choosing to observe rather than engage. Endreth had stayed close to her—his presence, though not overtly threatening, was enough to keep her on edge. It seemed he had chosen his position strategically—within arm’s reach, ready to act at a moment’s notice should she dare to overstep.

Endoral pinned Anthea with a contemplative gaze before finally addressing her. “So, you are the human who mysteriously appeared in my son’s bed in the middle of the night?”

“I assure you, it was certainly not by my own choosing . . . My King.”

“Have my sons informed you of the expected conduct for humans in Isluma?”

Anthea studied his posture, his expression—the king had a good poker face. His question hung in the air—it felt like a test. He was studying her reactions, gauging her understanding of her predicament. Anthea lowered her eyes and shook her head. Men liked to educate. So she let him.

As if on cue, he began outlining the expected behavior of a human slave. His words filled the room, painting a picture of absolute obedience and deference to the elven populace. Anthea, playing her part, nodded at the right moments, kept her reactions neutral, hoping her face betrayed none of her actual thoughts—she would play the meek little human, she would play it until she found a way to get back home.

Endoral continued, “In public outings, you will only show complete submission to Endreth. You are to behave as an obedient servant.” He clasped his fingers on his back. “You should feel honored to be in this position. Not many can claim to serve a prince or have such a high station. Show your appreciation and act your part well.”

“Oh, I feel lucky indeed, My King.” No sooner had the words left her lips than she felt a firm hand at the small of her back. Endreth didn’t say anything, but the pressure of his hand was a clear reminder of his proximity.

Endoral’s gaze, having been fixed on her until that point, now shifted to Endreth. His eyes, cold and calculating a moment ago, softened at the sight of his son. Turning back to Anthea, he said, “You may find my words difficult to believe, but you are fortunate, Anthea. There are far worse elves in this realm than my son.”

She felt a shiver run down her spine at the implications. She didn’t wish to contemplate what far worse meant in this context. Swallowing the lump forming in her throat, she forced out a nod.

“Now, I wish to witness this immunity to our magic you purportedly possess.”

Endreth turned her toward him, murmuring, stretching out his hand. A thin veil of a silver mist swarmed around his fingertips. The energy pulsed in the air, illuminating the prince’s angular face.

The magic dissipated once it reached her.

“You see, father,” Endreth said, withdrawing his outstretched hand. “It doesn’t affect her.”

“Indeed,” the King of Crimson stroked his chin thoughtfully. “This could prove to be quite . . . useful.” He let the words hang in the air. “If it is true then—” His gaze returned to Endreth. “It could even be worth the disgrace of having you associate yourself with a human bed slave.”

Endreth merely nodded, his face impassive, but Anthea noticed a flicker of annoyance pass through his eyes.

“Useful? What do you mean by useful, My King?”

The elven king didn’t answer her; instead he turned his attention to a stack of papers strewn across his desk. His fingers ran over the scrolls, as if he was searching for something particular among the sea of documents. Without looking up, he gestured dismissively. “Endreth, take her away. Teach her to hold her tongue,” he added, his voice edged with annoyance. “Your act of submission, girl, does not hold up well. You had better learn to play your part convincingly, or we might have to force it upon you.”

Anthea swallowed hard, finding Endreth’s eyes—a stern warning reflected in the blue depths.

“Of course, Father.” Endreth gave her another hard look. He turned on his heel and strode out of the double doors, she quickly falling into step behind him. She didn’t dare to look back at the king, his last words echoing ominously in her mind.