Page 4 of A Cursed Bite (Bound to the Enduar #1)

ARLET

One year ago,

I hold my breath as one of the elven guards extends a graceful hand, the color of an oak wood plank, then grasps the door handle, and twists. He slips inside, and I hear murmured elvish filter out from the open metal door. I don’t make out any of the phrases.

While I wait, Joso returns from having escorted Lord Vann away, and he and Lord Lothar observe from the shadows.

The door is pushed open further, though I am not invited in.Instead, the king steps out.

He’s two heads taller than me, and I look up at him, mesmerized by the otherworldly beauty. A part of me wants to shrink away.

His skin is pale gold, and his hair is so blond it is almost white. His sharp, high cheekbones cast shadows upon the lower planes of his face, and one pointed ear is decorated with a simple chain. He holds his broad shoulders perfectly straight, and his silver-stitched tunic comes to a tapered waist. A deep green cape flares out behind him, and a silver crown is laid across his brow.

I muster all the strength and grace I possess and smile. "Your Majesty, it is an honor to be in your presence. Please accept this gift.”

My hand slides into the pocket on the side of my dress to retrieve the emerald-studded silver necklace wrapped in a silk cloth given to me by one of the enduares.

King Arion gazes down at me with the full force of his carved beauty. My cheeks heat under his inspection and I worry. His skin is perfectly unblemished, the opposite of mine. Did I look lowly and plain?

Though the gift is outstretched in the space between us, his crystal-green eyes don't move an inch.

" Human . Your name?" he asks, and his melodic voice is cold as ice shards dangling from evergreens.

I smile softly and dip my head once more. "I am called Arlet, Your Majesty."

He makes a clicking sound with his tongue. "No surname?"

I shake my head. “Humans have no need for them.”

Or better yet, we have lost our traditions around them.

He says something lyrical in elvish to his guard, and they smile in response. The same elf who opened the door retrieves the pouch from my grip unceremoniously.

Then the king holds out his massive hand. The sleeves of his tunic come to a tapered point on the back of his palm, and his bejeweled fingers point toward me.

"They told me you would escort me to the wedding. I am ready when you are," he says sharply.

I stare at his offering a moment longer, wondering exactly how I am meant to take his arm. Do I put my hand atop the king’s? Would I thread my fingers through his?

Maldita sea , I curse in my mind. Not enough time to read.

He shifts impatiently, causing his sleek, metallic silk to rustle, and I reach out, weaving my hand through the crook of his elbow. His brows draw together, and I'm sure I've made a mistake, but then a slight curve of his mouth causes the tension to ease. He places his hand over mine. Though perfectly smooth, his skin has a waxy, unyielding quality, like varnished timber.

"Exceptionally soft flesh, though you’ve got so many unfortunate sunspots,” he says in the common tongue. Then he says something I can't make out in elvish.

I look up at him, feeling sheepish again, and cursing my lack of time to learn more about him and his languages. Of course the elves wouldn’t like marks. They are… perfect.

We start to move, but I feel more uneasy than ever.

“Do you think me soft because I am not cut from the living wood?" I ask, trying to draw upon the knowledge I had gleaned from the scrolls.

He looks down at me sharply. "How do you, a human, know anything about that?"

I bite my lips together. He sounds like Lord Vann. But I was not ignorant because of my birth. I took the chances as they were awarded to me and excelled in the areas where I was allowed to blossom.

Without letting the irritation leak in, I smile.

"I very much love to read," I say.

He makes an approving sound this time.

"The humans I have encountered do not possess such an affinity for the written word,” he smiles to himself. "Or perhaps, the carved word.”

An apparent jab against the enduares, but I maintain my calm.

“They use ink and write into scrolls. It’s a nice language, enduar.”

He nods thoughtfully.

“Are all humans so forward?” he asks after.

A small trickle of sweat slides down my back. I don't like feeling like every inch of me is open to his scrutiny.

“No, My King, we are quite varied. In form and personality,” I respond.

He nods again.

“It is your custom to be forward,” he observes.

His tone isn’t cruel, but it grates against my nerves. It’s almost exactly what Daniel had drilled into me day after day—that I was annoying.

“Perhaps I shall be forward as well,” he says, stretching his lips into the first grin I’ve seen from his people. His teeth are blunt, like a human’s, with notable regular canines, unlike the enduares.

My stomach drops. Before I can respond, he says.

“I have not seen other humans in the giant court covered in so many interesting marked patterns. Were you forced to work in the sun?”

Measuring my breath, I say, “No. I weave, My King. This is a mere misfortune of my blood.”

He tuts. “Fragile things, you humans. Did they present you to me because you have exceptionally virtuous qualities? Or because you are just some sort of soft, virgin sacrifice?”

I trip over a slight inconsistency in the floor’s stone, and Arion tightens his grip, as if steadying me. I glance back at Joso and Lothar and see them glaring at King Arion with the force of a thousand suns.

And yet… they don’t speak up.

I banish the thought because I can genuinely say I understand. This isn’t about my honor. It’s about saving as many lives as possible. Though, it’s probably for the best that Lord Vann is far away.

Instead, I scramble to conjure up a response.

“I—”

Well, hostia , how was I supposed to tell him that I wasn’t a virgin? Granted, I’d only ever been with my previous partner, Daniel, but Arion is a king. He’s likely been entrenched in the narrow rhetoric of women’s importance being manifest in their purity and fertility since he was a boy.

He doesn’t know any other way. I can’t fault him for that. Especially because the enduares need allies. Having allies means having troops. Troops equal more straightforward victories. Victory will result in a heaping serving of sweet freedom for my fellow humans.

“Hmm, so quiet now. Perhaps slaves rut each other like animals in the night?” he interrupts my thoughts.

I choke on my inhale. My heart skips a beat.

Don’t get angry. It won’t solve anything.

I can survive a night of discomfort for the greater good. King Teo promised me I would not be forced into anything inappropriate. And even with King Arion’s massive, rude mouth spewing rotting bile, I didn’t feel unsafe, necessarily.

I smile and do something I almost never do. Lie. “King Arion, though I have never known a man, I am sad to say this isn’t a virgin sacrifice so much as a moment for you to see my people. Perhaps you will find the enduares worthy of a rekindled allyship and that will inspire you to realize us humans are worth a future that is very different from our past.”

The elf continues to smile at me. “Why do you waste so much time thinking and reading when you could be home, rearing a child?”

My heart drops into my stomach. Memories return faster than I can keep up.

A child…

I would gladly be at home with a child. Tears prick at my eyes, but I never let my smile falter.

“I have been quite busy,” I say sweetly.

He nods. “Yes. Well, are you not quite old?”

“I’m nearly thirty. Not so old for my kind.”

He purses his lips and nods. “Thirty autumns is still considered a fresh babe for the elven folk—though I’m sure the conversion doesn’t carry. Regardless, this has been most informative.”

In the absence of a decent response, we continue to the festival in an awkward silence.

Thankfully, we emerge from the tunnel and it’s easy for the discomfort to swept away quickly. When we arrive at the ceremony, the room’s beauty takes my breath away.

The Festival of Endu unfolds before us, a breathtaking spectacle of light, jewel tones, and intricate song. Thousands of crystal lanterns, each glowing with a soft inner radiance, float above the revelers like a sea of suspended stars. Their lights refract against the cavern’s high ceiling, casting prismatic reflections onto the carved stone walls.

The massive blue focusing crystal hums, casting out the sound of the choir to another crystal at the top of the cavern, which is then projected to thousands of red, blue, and pink quartz formations along the cavern’s ceiling. The layered tunes stem from the small groups of singers stationed at each of the festival’s four main thoroughfares.

The people of Enduvida are alive with celebration. Dancers clad in gossamer fabric weave intricate patterns around the towering Ardorflame temple, their steps precise, their movements as fluid as water. Flames of red and gold flicker at the temple’s pinnacle, fed by a sacred molten magic that never dies.

I spot the section reserved for us to sit, but instead of guiding my ward, I pause the procession and turn to gaze at the handful of stalls that line the main avenue.

“Delicacies and crafts, Your Highness. Mostly enduar, but one of the humans has taken up a position cooking. I’m sure they would appreciate a visit,” I say briefly, gesturing behind me.

He casts me a sidelong glance that makes me squirm. King Arion seems like a man who walks through life unburdened by sentiment, unmoved by tradition, and utterly indifferent to the weight of others' expectations.

He agrees through a long breath.

“Very well.”

My back begins to ache from keeping my spine straight, but I hurry over eagerly.

The scent of spiced fruit and roasted meats wafts through the streets, mingling with the heady perfume of crushed amber scattered along the walkways.

“I remember the enduar markets of my youth,” Arion says unexpectedly. “There was a great deal more shouting among the locals back then.”

I smile up at him as he picks up a turquoise chunk carved in the shape of a snake curled around a flower.

The enduar on the other side of the stall, Flova, bows slightly.When he catches sight of the carving, his brows furrow.

“King Arion, it is an honor, but—” Flova starts, only for the elf to interrupt him.

“This is an interesting piece. Don’t you think?” he asks me.

I inspect the stone. It was pretty, but I don’t like serpents.

“Yes, it is lovely,” I say softly .

Arion smiles again, then glances back at Flova, who is still looking slightly confused. “What is the currency down here these days?”

“There isn’t one, Your Highness,” Vann’s voice says from behind. “Less than three hundred enduares live in Enduvida, with around eleven humans sharing our space. We have no need for shouting our wares. No need for money. This is all a gift, provided by the hard work of those around you.”

Whipping around, I look at him in shock.

Please behave , I attempt to break the laws of nature and say to him through my mind.

King Arion assesses him for a few moments.

“You’re the king’s lapdog, yes?”

Vann smiles, saccharine sweet. “Advisor.”

“The Cleaver, wielded by the Butcher of Giants,” Arion says cooly.

I tighten my fists, and somehow, King Arion notices.

“Lord Veryl, forgive me, it seems we are making the human uncomfortable,” Arion continues.

Before Vann can correct his name, the elf reaches out and tucks the stem of the flower behind my ear. The serpent’s head rests on my temple, and I reach up to touch it.

I almost remove it, but don’t out of respect.

“Here. A gift. Obsequio , in your native tongue I believe. To make you feel better,” he uses his waxy fingers to trace the shell of my ear. “Ah, it looks like they are starting. Shall we?”

I hardly have time to look back at Vann, eager to make sure he doesn’t do anything brash, as I am guided back to our seats.

The time passes quickly, and the conversation is quiet while I sit there.

Soon, Estela and Teo enter, dressed in complementary shades of blue. They are beautiful. A stunning pair—clearly meant to be together.

Watching Estela pledge her life to a noble king—a man devoted to giving the best life to her and their now joined people—momentarily makes me forget who sits at my side .

Tears slip down my cheeks as ancient rites weave their souls together, binding Teo and Estela in a magic that seems older than time itself.

I am so happy that it is her to take the first step in a new, exciting future. She had no easy life as the fully human daughter of an old Giant King’s consort. After Daniel cast me out of our shared dwelling, she took me in.

“It was a small thing,” she used to say. But it meant everything to me.

Things were uncertain right now, but I lived with this unshakeable belief the world would get better. And when they did, gods-willing, she would still have him.

The divine power surrounding this joining would bless them with children.

I want that.

I want the goddess to smile on me and heal my womb so I could have a family to raise up in a new age of human equality. To have a child that would be raised in the beauty of a crystal cavern, full of kind people caring for each other ,instead of the harsh life of a moldering home in Zlosa would be a blessing.

It would be a treasure to have someone look at me the way King Teo looks at Estela. In his eyes, it is as if the entire world hinges around her.

Suddenly, a very different time returns to my mind. A time when the wedding ceremony was called a casamiento a la usanza. It was a bond formed after a couple successfully conceived a child in the breeding pens and wanted to live together to raise the babe.

There were no promises made. No priestess. No rings.

Simply the act of moving one’s meager things into a shared dwelling.

When I’d arrived, Daniel had made the bed look so nice. He brought a few flowers, and laid them on the cracked windowsill.

I was prepared to raise a child back then, when the world threatened to tear humans apart.

Now, I knew how much better it could be. If my body was fixed, and I was blessed with a child, I would give them a warm, safe home knowing their parents would fight for them fiercely. They would never have to wonder over their place. They would never have to wait to be chosen. I would give them a home filled with love, and work my damnedest to give them a life worth living.

Swiping bittersweet tears off my cheeks, I look to the side to see a glaring grump seated in direct sight.

Lord Vann is on the other side of the temple in a section unobstructed by citrine columns, watching Teo and Estela with his arms crossed, leaning back in his chair. His mouth turned so far down I almost laugh. His eyes find me, and watch me staring.

I bite my lip, and look away as the ceremony finishes.

Everyone moves, cheers, and shouts loud enough to shake the cavern, and then the festival starts as the happy couple slips away.

The Elf King is silent, only moving when I do. We find ourselves back down at the stalls, though I am not left alone this time. I breathe easy as Lord Lothar introduces him to the various displays.

When the time for dancing starts, King Arion draws me close.

“Be with me, my dear. I enjoy how much you smile, like a pleasant flower opening her spotted petals for me to gaze upon,” he says low. “I find you… appealing.”

My heart doesn’t sing at the words. I feel strange. Sweaty.

We dance a little longer, then he says, “I know I have been forward with you, but I wanted to see your character. Some women snap when they are spoken down to, but you are not so sensitive as to take offense. You are clearly loyal. These are marvelous qualities in a woman.”

I peer up at him. Before me is a man who doesn’t care for little things and is indifferent to the small details I have spent hours combing through to ensure a successful evening educating him on humans.

“Thank you, My King,” I say.

Then he cups the back of my neck, leaning down.

“This has been a most educational experience for me. Consider me convinced,” his unyielding lips brush against my ear.

For a second, my soul soars. This had gone much better than expected. King Teo would be pleased. My people would have a second chance.

I grin, about to thank him, but he puts distance between us.He starts pulling me away from the other enduares dancing. My heart gallops as he takes me to the shadowy space in front of a tunnel.

“Your Highness, we should—” I start.

He whips around and the breath is stolen from my lungs. This isn’t good.

“There will come a time when—” his voice is lost in the sound of laughter and chanting from the celebration. I lean forward, trying to piece together the missing phrase.

Then I hear, “For now, just watch.”

My brows draw together as my gaze snaps back onto his face. What is he talking about?

King Arion grins, slow and sharp, like he knows something I don’t. His hands wrap around my shoulders holding me in place. It’s forceful, and he tightens his grip when I squirm.

A scream rips through the cavern, followed by the thunderous crash of stone splitting. My head snaps toward the entrance just as the massive tunnel leading to the exit fills with movement. There are two giant warriors, bare-chested, and wearing hardened leather chausses to cover their legs. One has brown hair, while the other has pale, orange-red hair, tied behind his head.

The enemy.

Each swings his axe in a brutal arc, cleaving through two enduares before anyone can react. Blood sprays across the cavern floor, the coppery scent thick in the air. My breath hitches. My feet refuse to move.

The Elf King doesn’t flinch. I try to twist out of his grip but his hold is tight. When I try to speak, he puts a hand over my mouth to silence me. Tears start to leak out of my eyes.

This is too similar to another memory. My body locks up. Terror is icy. I haven’t been so afraid in a very long time.

“Just a little longer, Arlet.”

His two personal guards step forward, bows already drawn, their arrows glinting in the light of the cavern. They don’t fire. Not yet. They remain poised, unreadable, waiting. The ten other elven guards spread out along the periphery, bows raised but fingers unmoving on the strings.

My heart slams against my ribs.

“Why aren’t you helping?” I demand, and Arion laughs.

A roar splits the air—deep, furious, unmistakably enduar.

Vann, The Cleaver.

I take in the chaos just in time to see him close the distance between himself and one of the giants in a terrifying burst of speed. His braid flies behind him as he twists his body, his cleaver flashing in a clean, deadly path.

The brown-haired giant bellows in pain as his axe falls to the ground, along with his severed hand. The floor trembles under the force of his howl, and Vann doesn’t hesitate—he lunges, a second blade sinking deep into the man’s side before he can recover.

It is the first time I’ve ever seen Vann so deadly, and it takes my breath away—makes me afraid.

Despite how he fights, destruction falls on the city that had been so beautiful just a little before. My perfect, new home.

Tears fall from my eyes. They are cold against my clammy skin.

The elves continue to hold their ground, though everyone else is darting away, looking for shelter in homes and caves leading away from the main cavern.

It all happened so fast. Fear and the king’s arms have frozen me to my spot. I look up at him, eyes wide and tremble. It’d been so long since I felt so small.

I open my mouth to speak, but am abruptly cut off.

“Now you know what I do to those who have wronged me. Keep my gift close,” the king whispers in my ear, releasing me. He takes the stone flower from the spot where he’d tucked it, and hands it to me, “Now run, little flower. While you still can.”

Panic surges up my spin, from my belly to my neck. I turn to run—then stumble as I dart from the tunnel’s entrance. I run past one elf, then another. My heart gallops—their bows are at the ready.

But they don’t shoot. When I draw closer to the Enduar Palace, I search, frantic .

Where are Teo and Estela? They’d disappeared after the festival.

I lose sight of myself, and slam into a solid chest.

Warm, strong arms wrap around me, and I look up to see Joso. His hair is streaked with dust, and his jaw is clenched so tight that it looks painful. But the firmness of his touch, the tightness of his grip, is exactly what I need right now. It awakens some part of my peculiar brain, something that cowered under Arion’s grip. This is pressure plus safety. Trust. This is good.

“I’m so sorry,” he bites out. His grip tightens around me, protective, urgent. “We need to get you to safety. It will be all right. You will be all right.”

And then he whisks me away as the cavern continues to ring with the screams of the dying.