Page 1 of A Cursed Bite (Bound to the Enduar #1)

ARLET

One year ago…

T here are bad decisions, and then there’s ’I agreed to charm a foreign sovereign with my human allure in order to win his support in the upcoming war.’

Before dread can burrow under my skin, I see the faces of my loved ones, and my nerves cool from bright embers to brittle charcoal. The crystals glowing overhead banish the creeping darkness of my path and illuminate the guards escorting me to the Elf King's chambers.

It will be fine. He’s friendly. This evening won’t end in tragedy. You are perfectly capable.

But I twist my fingers. I’d never been totally at ease with men, and this would be the first night I would be mostly alone with one since…

I shake my head, distracting myself.

Though I have never met King Arion, my closest friend, Estela, has painted a portrait of an elf who is aloof, cold, and maddeningly hard to read.

One might ask why a weaving woman would be dealing with a foreign official.

When Estela and I walked into Enduvida with a trading caravan a few months ago, we were the first human women to ever visit. It shocked us all to learn that Estela, the woman close enough to me to be my sister, was King Teo’s mate. This meant she was goddess-destined to marry the king of the trolls.

It was a stroke of luck because the enduares, once called trolls, may be the only people with enough honor to see the gift of our matehood as not something to be exploited, but cultivated upon principles of choice and consent.

In a world where the larger, magical races thrive, humans are on the cusp of emerging as a people with a modicum of sway.

I volunteered to meet with a foreign official, though I have no experience in such matters because the elves only agreed to negotiate with the enduares for one reason. Their birthrates are also dropping, and they wish to see if they, too, might be blessed to mate with my kind.

Estela and I are the only human women in this city, and her wedding ceremony will be tonight at the Festival of Endu, the celebration of the Enduar Gods.

That left me to bear the weight of my people’s future for an evening.

Two months ago, I’d been a slave shackled to a loom, weaving until my fingers bled to produce the finest clothes for the giant court, and now, I stand tall.

Free.

I was free to stop weaving when I was weary, free to speak my language openly, and free to make precarious choices that both strengthen my freedom and propagate freedom for others just like me.

It is a miracle for someone like her to be raised up as a sovereign and show the world we are equals. It is only right I do my part.

So here I am. Nervous. Overwhelmed. On my way to win over the elf king, potentially be mated to him or one of his guards, and to prove that my people are worth fighting for. Nothing improper is meant to occur. I will simply accompany him to the festival... and yet, sweat collects in my palms and my heart races.

The city of Enduvida buzzes with life. A small choir gathers near the bright red temple in the middle of the cavern, their voices rising toward a massive blue crystal in the ceiling that concentrates sound. This focused note is then carried by smaller crystals scattered throughout the cavern, weaving a tapestry of melodies across the open space.

Several tall white structures of murky citrine encircle the pulsing red Ardorflame temple, adding to the vibrant scene.

Dioses míos, it’s a beautiful sight.

I smooth my hand over the beaded bodice of my pale pink dress as I hurry down the twisting stone corridor of the palace’s east wing.

The Enduar Palace is one of many structures within the massive cavern, and, as with everything under the mountain, parts of it connect directly to the cave tunnels. Sneaking a glance at the two tall, blue hunters on either side of me, I take a deep breath to steady my smile.

They were quiet. Friendly. I liked them well enough.

Joso is on the right, with bright, silver hair that is woven into three plaits that form a thick braid, a style only worn by men and mated women. His square jaw would be severe if he didn’t constantly smile at everyone who passes. He wears armor, with a tail flicking behind him.

All the troll men and women have that tail—an added appendage that extends from the base of their spines and then finishes in one tuft of hair the same color as the locks upon their head. I’d seen them used for practical things like picking up objects, but I’d also seen them used for fighting and affection.

Usually, when it was flicked like that, it showed someone’s conflicted anger.

Joso is worried for you.

Butterflies take flight in my belly.He’s been kind to me since I arrived, but I am still sorting out my feelings. He is the first man I’ve flirted with in a long time.

As for Lothar, the Lord of the Hunters standing on the left, he's harder to read. His broad shoulders make him imposing and he often wears a frown, but his tone remains caring. It is challenging yet for me to gauge the exact ages of these folk, but his paternal way speaks to me, so I choose to see him as a gentle, middle-aged man. Maybe even nurturing a family I hadn’t had the pleasure of meeting yet.

The thought soothes me.

Before I came to live under the mountain, the beings inhabiting the underground city had been a chill-inducing horror story whispered around fires in the slave pens. The fires were lit to keep the huddled masses from freezing, and the stories were told to keep us in line.

Both worked well enough. In fact, I’d feared being brought to Enduvida. I didn’t want to be anywhere near the bloodthirsty monsters who’d ended The Great War by unleashing a volcano upon their enemies—and the land itself. The king who’d made the order, Teo’s father, possessed an indiscriminate rage. Millions died, including his own people. Only three hundred trolls survived.

The west has known nothing but sorrow since, but humans have suffered the worst. Even before the war, we had no gods, short lives, and little magic to defend ourselves. Once, giants enslaved us to build their towering cities. Now, only our spoken language remains—our last fragile tether to what we once were.

While I wouldn’t call the trolls harmless, they were not nightmares. They were not anything like the giants. I was more than glad to make my home alongside them.

“I will not leave your side, not even for a second,” Joso declares as we round another corner.

“Thank you,” I respond with a grin of my own. “Both of you, really. It is kind of you two to accompany me this evening.”

Lord Lothar grunts. “Remember, they want to be sold on the idea that some of you might be willing to help their kind bring forth a new generation.” He pauses, his broad shoulders pulling back as he frowns. “That doesn’t mean you should feel pressured. Remember?—”

I wave my hand, cutting him off. “You will be there to help me divert unwanted advances. I am not worried.”

I definitely fucking was, but he didn’t need to know that. I could withstand feeling uneasy.

Lord Lothar inclines his head, pleased.

As we turn the corner down the gilded hallways and move into the dimly lit area where guests of the crown stay, my throat tightens.

Reaching up to touch my hair, I ensure that the massive pile of wavy auburn locks twisted atop my head hasn’t come loose just as Joso looks back at me. My stomach flips when he gives me another lopsided smile. I wonder what he sees.

I am paler than most humans—especially after weeks underground—though my skin still retains the natural olive hue of my ancestors. Among humans, deep, unblemished skin is prized, rich and dark like polished mahogany, smooth as woven silk. I am neither.

My skin is a shade too light, an unfortunate quirk of fate that made my freckles stand out even more. They dust my nose and cheeks like spilled dye, stubborn marks that never fade, no matter how much I stay in the shade.

I'm average-height for my people, neither as slender as a silver thread nor as curvaceous as a winding riverbank. In most senses, I would consider myself just… somewhere in the middle.

But here, among the enduares, it doesn’t seem to matter. Not because they find me beautiful, but because I am as foreign to them as they are to me. Their deep blue bodies, their elongated canines and sweeping tails, make human concerns about complexion and symmetry laughable. To them, I imagine I am just a strange, pale thing—not flawed, not perfect. Simply other .

But then, Joso cuts back into my thoughts.

"You look beautiful. Everything is going to be fine," Joso says softly, as if he could sense the unease I’d denied just moments before.

My heart stutters again, and I preen with the compliment.Beautiful. I wasn’t usually beautiful for men.

"You are kind," I say, grateful.

A year ago, I would’ve turned down any advances from a potential partner, one of the reasons I liked the enduares was because they did not see the salvation my people offered as something to be taken advantage of, like our labor had been for so long.

These people cultivate relationships with their romantic partners in a way I’d never witnessed. They aren’t regular marriages, like the one I almost had with my first love, Daniel, back in the giant capital of Zlosa; they are a joining of souls.

That is something I craved with unwavering devotion. I cannot survive being made to feel small again, and I do not share myself easily.

From my understanding, their version of matehood is meant to be healing, both physically and emotionally.

Thanks to the goddess-blessed gem they have put in my chest—the Fuegorra—life is not only made possible under the mountain where the sun’s rays don’t reach, but it is extended for my kind.

Instead of fifty or sixty withering winters, it was presumed we would live several hundreds of years along with the enduares.

And not only that… but I would be given a chance to have what I had failed at in my old life. A family.

When Joso looks at me, there are no tell-tale signs of the goddess Grutabela choosing an 'other half' for me, but the Wise Woman had explained that these things didn't have to be instantaneous.

The attention is welcome. But now is not the time for distractions.

The greatest gift the weaving mistress back in the giant capital had given me was the ability to read so I could make patterns. I was a quick learner; I’d been able to pick up the enduares’ unique form of writing easily.

I know that when I see the king, I must do my best to impress him. I will greet him with ‘Your Majesty' and use the formal versions of common phrases. Hopefully, the morning I’d dedicated to intense study would prove helpful.

Joso stops before we turn into the space before the Elven King's suite and takes my hand.

"Remember what I said when I came to retrieve you? The elvish folk can be brutal. I'm here to serve you," he reassures.

I look between him and Lord Lothar, who nods his head, and I feel safe . A beautiful, brilliant safety that radiates from the space between my heart and lungs and fans out around my ribs. Something I’d been robbed of in my old life that was given freely here.

I push onto my toes, taking Joso’s hand, and kiss his cheek. The texture of enduar skin is more akin to a very fine suede than supple flesh. As our hands slide together, I can feel how the ultra-short coat is soft to the touch in one direction, while slightly abrasive in the other.

He squeezes my arm, and my breath stutters.

"I remember,” I say.

A purple blush highlights his sharp cheekbones. His face grows as luminous as the crystals dotting the ceiling of the cavern. "Thank you."

Then, I break away from both of them, curving around the hallway and catching sight of the elves. They stand taller than humans, like the enduares, but they have skin tones much more akin to my kind—an entire spectrum of black, beige, and white.

Living wood, they were called in one of the scrolls I'd read. Each has one body part carved from a massive elder tree that gifts them magic from their gods at birth, though nothing like that is visible. In fact, I’d wager it’s far too personal to display outwardly, though they didn’t seem to be ashamed of referencing this unusual practice in casual conversations.

The guards’ faces are sharp and pointed. They have elegantly angled noses, gaunt cheeks, almond eyes, and highly arched eyebrows above shining pupils in every shade. Apparently, their long fingers were impossibly adept at handling any piece of machinery the enduares allowed them to touch.

As my finely crafted shoes clack against the stone floor, the guards don’t so much as turn to look at me.

Perhaps they don’t want to risk a wrinkle in the shiny fabrics strapped around the shoulders of their leather armor.

My eyes catch on the cloth, and I think of the few samples they brought as gifts. That fabric is beautiful, more luminous than stone silk, but seemingly as tough as steel. It won’t be easy to cut through a cloth like that.

Moving into position, I dip my head.

It’s all right, Arlet. You are all right.

A voice rings through the hallway when I open my mouth to greet them and request an audience with their king.

“FIRELOCKS!”

Strong and guttural, but definitely masculine. My shoulders creep up toward my chin at the sound, and I grit my teeth, not wanting to turn back.

"Arlet!" the shout comes again.

The elven guards tighten their grips on the wooden handles of their short swords as they cast us annoyed looks.

“Forgive me. Just a moment,” I say quickly and turn to see the only unsavory part about living in enduvida.

Lord Vann, personal advisor to the Enduar King, wears a scowl as he charges toward me. I glare at the large, mountainous man with skin as blue as the cloudless sky in summer.

I can see the muscles in his forearms rippling as if he were preparing to strangle me. His silver braid flows freely behind him, and his steel-grey eyes flash as he crosses the distance with alarming speed.

"What the fuck do you think you are doing?!" he demands.

I huff up at him. "Stop yelling,” I grit out. “I’m about to meet with the king. Do not ruin this.”

Vann's jaw muscles tense, and he lets out a growl. “The walls are thick. He won't be able to hear anything, and his guards don't seem to care."

He jerks his head toward the men in front of the door.

The one who had glared at me earlier lifts his chin in an impetuous smirk. "This is not our first time visiting the trolls. We are well acquainted with your barbarity."

The other huffs a laugh, and I watch the blue men around me cast sour looks in return.

I step toward Vann, determined to get him out of here. Fast.

"King Teo, the man you answer to, told me that it would benefit us all if we made a good impression on the elves," I say firmly. “And he didn’t ask, I volunteered .”

The first time I met Lord Vann, I was caring for Estela after a serious injury. He came to the door, demanding to see her, but I refused, as she was still asleep. As her best friend, there wasn’t a chance in the bubbling mouth of the hottest volcano that I’d let someone near her in a vulnerable state.

He called me and all the other humans that’d come with me ungrateful, as if we hadn’t taken up positions to help after being treated for medical conditions. I myself had spent my first week here training on enduar sitting looms, volunteering with the children, and helping to heal his future queen out of gratitude.

When I told the Wise Woman Liana to make him leave, he didn’t like that, and he’s been a burr in my side every since.

Sadly, not everyone shares my bitter feelings. Apparently, he is something of a war hero among the enduares. Some call him, ‘The Cleaver’, in reference both to a long, wide blade that cut through ten thousand foes and the fact that the king, who had fought at his side, was called, ‘The Butcher of Giants.’

The brute shakes his head. "There are other ways to make a good impression. For one, let him observe you from a safe distance during the wedding ceremony.”

I blink. This is the same man who insulted me for the color of my hair, something I had always been tormented over, and bit me when I tried to tend to his wounds after he’d nearly died. Rallying my composure, I flash him a saccharine-sweet smile and decide to spew a bit of my own venom.

"Why, Lord Vann, it almost sounds like you care."

He sucks his teeth. "What will you do when one of them grabs you and presses a knife to your throat? You come from humble means, so I'll explain this slowly: just because we seek them as allies doesn't mean they are friends."

Ugh, fuck him.

“Humble means? I can read twice as well as you.” Pinching the bridge of my nose, I sigh. This always happens when we’re together, and no good comes from his incessant need to bicker. I turn my head to look at Joso. "Can you take Lord Vann away?"

"Firelocks, stop this," he starts as Joso moves toward him with an apologetic expression.

“No,” I bite back. “For the first time in ages, a few leaders see that my people hold power.”

I don’t want that power to be rooted solely in our ability to preserve other bloodlines, though I do long for a family of my own. No, I dream of more. A future where we thrive, where our history stands beside the great societies of the world. I believe Estela’s wedding is the first step. The first real, lasting change.

No one will ruin that tonight.

"She knows what she's doing," Joso says firmly. “And we did get our orders from the king.”

Vann grinds his teeth, turns, and then storms away like one of the children I help at the school. But not before he calls over his shoulder, "If none of you will recognize the insanity in an unarmed human spending an evening with the same man who used to collect the teeth of his enemies during the war and wear them , then I will just wait to clean up the mess."

I watch him disappear around the bend of the grey stone studded with golden geometric carvings and let my shoulders fall back to a normal height.

He might be the only man I’ve ever met that makes me feel so vexed, and yet, he leaves me, surprisingly, unafraid.

Taking another breath, I turn back and walk up to the elvish guards. The nerves mount once more, but I face the things that frighten me without hesitation. I dip my chin to my chest as I sink into a shallow curtsy.

My brief study on elven culture revealed that they appreciate the feminine art to such salutes—similar to my old giant masters.

"Good evening. I've come to request an audience with His Majesty, King Arion.”