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“Queen Melantha,” the stranger hissed. “I need to speak with you.”

The voice was not the guttural, troll’s version of the language they shared with the elves. Instead, it was elvish, and such a perfect elvish that Melantha could barely pick out the faintest trace of some foreign accent. She only heard it because she was looking for something wrong.

“I am...”

Melantha did not wait for him to explain further. She lunged and managed to catch his wrist, touching his skin. She shoved her magic into him.

“Wha...” The stranger only managed the one syllable before he slumped, collapsing onto her legs across the bed.

Melantha sat up, staring at the figure pinning her to the bed with his weight.

The door opened, sending a shaft of lamplight pooling into the room. Rharreth stood in the doorway, holding a lamp high. His gaze swept over the room, catching first on her, then on the man sprawled on the bed.

In the light, Melantha got her first good look at the man who had invaded her room. His brown hair had a slight curl to it, and it was cut short enough to reveal his rounded, human ears. He was vaguely familiar, though she could not place him.

What was a human doing here in Kostaria?

Carrying the lamp, Rharreth hurried inside, shutting the door behind him.

Melantha gripped the edge of the blanket over her, only now realizing she was dressed in a thick, flannel nightdress that was not hers. And she had a strange man lying across her bed. “This is not what it looks like.”

“This appears to be a human spy who was attempting to make contact with you, but you knocked him out with your magic.” Rharreth set the lamp on the bedside.

“Then, it is what it looks like.” Melantha smoothed her fingers over the blanket, staring at the human rather than at Rharreth. Would Rharreth think she had been spying for Tarenhiel all this time? Would it make him doubt her? “But, I promise you, I have not been spying for Tarenhiel or Escarland. I do not know who this is or why he was trying to talk with me.”

“I know you are not a spy.” Rharreth’s response was quick. Trusting.

Melantha breathed out, the tension relaxing from her shoulders.

“Besides, I also recognize him.” Rharreth picked up the man by the back of his shirt and deposited him in one of the chairs by the fire. “This is Prince Edmund of Escarland. I have heard rumors that he’s involved in their intelligence office. How long will he sleep?”

“Um...” She had not been thinking of anything besides knocking the intruder out when she had shoved her magic into him. Flexing her fingers, she concentrated on the pulse of her magic. “For a long while. I was thinking more about defending myself than any finesse.”

Rharreth’s craggy face creased in a wider grin than she had seen on him since the coup. His dark blue eyes glittered with respect and approval.

He sat on the edge of the bed and traced the back of his hand along Melantha’s jaw before digging his fingers into her hair, sending tingles down her back. “You are amazing, Melantha. Even as you were succumbing to the cold, you had the sense to set your magic to healing yourself even after you fell asleep. It saved your life, not to mention all your fingers and toes.”

Melantha leaned into his hand, resting one of her hands on his chest, the fabric of his shirt warm beneath her fingers. “If I had been a troll, I would not have fallen asleep from the cold. I could have kept going. I would not have—”

“Don’t talk like that.” Rharreth’s fingers tightened at the back of her neck, still buried in her hair. He leaned closer until their faces were only a few inches apart, his breath soft against her face. “I asked for this marriage of alliance because I saw the fire in you, and it drew me. I thought you might be the one elf who had the fire to survive in Kostaria. But, I fell in love with you for your softness and compassion. I love your magic, and the way that you make me believe that, together, we will be able to heal my kingdom and its rift with yours.”

“Rharreth...” Melantha breathed his name, tracing her fingers up his chest to his neck.

He trailed light kisses along her jaw to her cheek, murmuring in her ear, “I love you because you are an elf, not in spite of it.”

Then he pressed his mouth to hers, and she dug her fingers into his tangle of thick, white hair.

This was love. So much better than the cold, emotionless relationship she had with Hatharal a hundred years ago. Hatharal had just wanted her for her title, her position.

But Rharreth loved her for herself. For both her fire and her compassion. With him, she could be fully herself, without fear, without holding back.

Freedom. Farrendel had told her that he had found freedom with his human princess. Melantha now understood what he had meant, now that she tasted the freedom of loving and being loved for herself.

And, with every breath in her, she would do her best to gift that same freedom to Rharreth. She loved him for his unwavering sense of honor that was tempered by the kindness that drove him to do his best for his people.

She pulled back from Rharreth to press her own line of kisses on his jaw. “And I love you. I love your kingdom and your people. I know we are headed for Tarenhiel, but Kostaria is my home.”

He needed to know that she was not pining for her homeland or her people. Not anymore.