Page 9

Rowan had only seen him shed the calm and become the Bloody Elf once in her life. It had been when she turned to him for help in cutting the monthly visit deal with the Coven.

She had brought him along for reassurance, more for the use of the calm energy he oozed than the rage he carefully kept tucked away within himself, but when Cherry attempted to entrap them in a more strict agreement, he lashed out and sent the guards accompanying the witch to emergency treatment as a warning.

As disturbed as she had been to see that side of her father, his blood-thirst was effective in securing a fair agreement.

He tapped her arm lovingly. “Hello, kiddo. You smell…like the sea?”

Rowan grinned down at him. “I took a little dip on my flight here.”

Annabelle Dahl, her mother, had her black hair done in complex braids. Beads and hoops shone through strands. A practice fromher birthplace that she’d passed on to her daughters. She was in a cotton wrap dress with a frilly pink apron Rowan had once gotten her as a gag gift. Annabelle loved it so much that she wore it to every family dinner, even if it wasn’t her turn to cook.

“Flight?” Her mother’s eyebrows furrowed as Rowan dropped a kiss of greeting on her forehead. “With your wings?”

Rowan shook her head, “No. Flight with my magic.”

Axel, her second eldest sister, narrowed her eyes. “Magic flight? I thought you were supposed to be using the bare minimum outside of your work.”

She was still in her military uniform, a forest-green, silken tunic embroidered with gold. Her collar had her commander insignia, a golden tree with five branches shining in the low candlelight. Thick curls braided away from her face, much like their mother’s, Axel’s tension set on her shoulders.

The most adept of the Dahl sisters in combat, both in strength and strategy, their father had employed her abilities to lead the intelligence division of his army, often sending her and his field division leader to take care of foreign enemies if things needed to be strong-armed. More nosy than overprotective, she asked uncomfortable questions without so much as a flinch.

On Axel’s left, Rowan’s eldest sister, Lexine, had her own white hair let down. It fell past the middle of her back in soft waves that asked to have fingers running through them by simply existing. She had donned a simple pink sundress that draped over her heavily pregnant belly, and she beamed at Rowan as she raised her hand when Rowan approached her and patted her hair. “Well, that explains the windswept appearance. Hun, will you go get Rowan a hairbrush?”

Rowan’s fingers slid through her hair before she conjured her own brush.

Lexine’s husband raised an eyebrow, already halfway to standing.

His black hair was a fluff of curls that Rowan had once run her hands through in childhood and swore that’s what clouds should have really felt like. Initially, the son of a Stable Master, Rowan’s close friendship with the man had lulled the royals and the common folk into a false sense of security that even if the friendship blossomed into something more, the Stable Master could not touch the throne with Rowan’s fourth in line status.

Black-haired elves were rare in the Eastern Elven Kingdom. Superstitions painted them as ominous signs, even though their queen was also raven-haired.

When Rowan left for Spellcasters Academy, she’d asked her family to look out for her friend. Lexine found she enjoyed the company of the crass man so much that she decided they were to be married the next year.

Atlas didn’t fight back. He’d spent their pre-teen years confiding in Rowan that Lexine was his dream woman, though he dared not approach. Years later, Rowan found it nauseating to be around the insufferable lovebirds for more than a couple of hours.

The relationship had sparked outrage and calls for Lexine’s removal from the succession. Axel and Rowan extinguished the worst of the threats, particularly those that put violent plans to assassinate the heiress and her lover into action.

Critics of the relationship soon sang a new tune as Atlas and Lexine established new relations with foreign lands that broughtmore opportunities and gold to the common folk of the Eastern Elven Kingdom.

“What’s changed?” Her mother’s patience had run out. Not that it was long to start with.

“Well,” Rowan began, as she curled her arms around Zeva, the second-youngest, who sat across from Lexine and hadn’t torn her eyes from the book she’d been reading as Rowan said her hellos.

Her white hair was in a messy bun she had streaked with aquamarine dye, much to their father’s disapproval. She wore a pair of jeans, an oversized hoodie, and a pair of new sneakers Rowan was sure cost as much as Lexine’s high-end heels. Her collection of glasses was as extensive as Rowan’s collection of daggers.

“I am officially free.”

Zeva, who’d dropped her book and was trying to escape the playful chokehold by nibbling on Rowan’s forearms, froze her attempts.

Zeva’s superpower was her intelligence. Last time Rowan had checked, the woman had a dozen degrees from universities all around the world. They varied as much as her interests, and had taken her on expeditions all over the world. Whether it was an architectural dig or a scientific discovery, Zeva just wanted to learn new things all the time. She wasn’t shy about sharing what she learned. She had helped Rowan master some of the more challenging spell works and through the summers held seminars to ensure the children of the Eastern Elven Kingdom all had equal access to education.

She was the first to react after Rowan’s declaration. “Free?”

“One of the late Elder’s last requests was for the Coven to leave me alone. I can use my magic without restraint now!” Rowan clarified. “I just flew here to test the limits, and no one stopped me.”

“Really?” Lexine gasped.

“Does that mean I can have a tag-along flight?” Axel grinned.