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24 THARAN

The Great Elven Hall sparkled with the light of a thousand fire sprites dancing around giant crystal chandeliers. Elegant tapestries lined the walls. The smell of roasted meats and wine filled the air. Elves chatted with one another, flinging their heads back with laughter while holding golden chalices. All in attendance wore their finest attire---tailored jackets and low-cut dresses, donning glittering diadems. Tharan’s crown of antlers sparkled in the gilded light. Elves danced and ate as a string band played a cheerful tune.

Arendir, Elowen, and their twenty children were waiting when Tharan arrived. Each wore an intricately designed tailed overcoat embroidered with the seal of the Alder King.

Arendir stood, offering Tharan a seat next to him on the dais.

“Come, my child. Sit next to me. I have prepared a wonderful selection of elven women for you to choose from.”

Tharan swallowed hard but took his seat next to his grandfather, who was preparing a spread of assorted meats and stews on a long oak table.

Sumac and Hopper took their places at the far end of the table next to two of Arendir’s younger children. Their hair was a fiery red and their faces were painted with freckles. They had the same green eyes as Tharan. He was drowning in a sea of eyes like his, and it made his skin crawl. Were these “wonderful women” going to be related to him somehow? Would he be expected to procreate with his half-sisters or nieces?

His mother put a loving hand over his, and he couldn’t help but grimace. Part of him wondered if it would’ve been better if she had died. That way he wouldn’t have to deal with the reality of who she truly was: a woman who reproduced with her own father.

“You look so handsome,” she whispered in his ear. A necklace of black pearls dangled around her neck, leading to a dress of black satin. Her skin glowed with the Elven Breath like a light lit from within. “I have what we need. I will bring it to you tonight.”

“You look beautiful as well,” Tharan said, pouring himself a glass of wine. Shit. Now, he would have to stay in this Trinity-forsaken place another night.

Arendir clapped his long, spindled fingers, and the music promptly stopped.

“Tonight, we celebrate my grandson, Tharan Greenblade, Master of the Wild Courts and king of the Alders.”

The crowd clapped, and Tharan bowed his head in reverence.

Arendir continued, “Now, please make way for the potential brides.”

The crowd parted, and a carpet of red and gold unfurled itself. Six elven women paraded down the aisle. Each wore the same low-cut silver gown adorned with diamonds. Reaching the base of the dais, they kneeled so their bosom was presented to the royals above. A veil of delicate lace obscured their faces and hair. Were they concealed to hide faces like his?

An uneasiness settled over Tharan.

“These are the finest women my kingdom has to offer. Each one from a noble house. Each one a proven producer.”

Tharan’s stomach turned at the word, but he smiled at his grandfather convincingly. He needed to act interested if he wanted to get out of there alive.

“Number one,” his grandfather said.

The woman rose and removed her veil, revealing golden-blonde hair and blue eyes with a button nose—attractive by any measurement. How old were these women? Elves lived for an eternity, but unlike the sylph, their age eventually showed on their skin. This woman did not have a wrinkle to be seen. Was she young, or had they figured out a way to stem the corruption of time?

The woman smiled.

“Vansyra from the Kingdom of Eden. Not far from your realm. She has already given birth to two children and would be honored to grace you with more,” his grandfather said enthusiastically.

Tharan nodded. The woman gave him a hopeful smile and stepped back into line.

“Next,” Arendir called, and the woman beside her stepped forward, pulling her veil as the previous woman had done, revealing dark umber skin and amber eyes with lips so lush any man would be tempted to kiss them. “Marise hails from Eryndor and carries her third child.”

Tharan’s eyes flitted to the woman’s bulging stomach. “Whose children do they bear?” he asked louder than he intended to.

“It does not matter,” Arendir said with a smile. “All that matters is they will be ready to give you a child once the bond is complete.”

Tharan suspected their little experiment was happening in more than just the capitol.

The third woman stepped forward. Hair of copper cascaded over her ample bosom. A single tear snaked its way down her cheek as her verdant eyes met Tharan’s.

“Callini from Occid, who has given us four children already. Quite the match. Her father controls a fierce army.”

Tharan swallowed the bitter taste in his mouth. “But what about their children? Who will care for them?”

“I forget you are a stranger here, Grandson. They will be cared for as all those of royal elven blood are by the nannies and teachers we assign to them. They will be shaped and molded into erudite scholars and fearsome warriors. Some may even be chosen to be mages. The highest honor a female elf can have. Besides being blessed as a mother, that is.” He said the word as if it were a title and not a person.

How deep does their little test go? How long had they been perfecting it? Perfecting their bloodlines. And what did this mean for the future of their race? His eyes flitted toward Arendir’s children. They did not appear inbred, but he had not heard one of them speak. Could the purity of magic and blood have warped their minds? He didn’t want to stay and find out. He wanted to leave as soon as he could.

Tharan downed his wine and smiled politely as Arendir introduced the rest of the women. His head swirled. Elven wine was known to be strong, but he did not expect it to be this strong.

Arendir looped an arm around Tharan’s and hauled him to his feet. With his vision blurred, he looked desperately for Hopper and Sumac but couldn’t focus enough to find them in the spinning ballroom.

“Now, why don’t you get to know these ladies more? We can discuss your choice in the morning.” He led Tharan down the marble steps of the dais, where the women waited with open arms.

Tharan looked back at his mother in desperation, but she only smiled. Glee flickered in her green eyes. Had he been tricked again, or was this something he could easily get out of? The women did not seem particularly fierce, but you never knew with elves. They looked docile but could be deadly underneath.

The women led him up the twisting spiral staircase to another wing of the castle overlooking the city. Tharan tried to spot any exits, but his head felt heavy and light simultaneously. The women laid him on a bed of satin and poured him another goblet of wine.

Only the redheaded one did not join in.

“We’re so happy to meet you,” the blonde one said. Tharan couldn’t remember her name. His pulse beat in his ears. He smiled politely at her.

“Water. Please, I need some water,” he said, his voice harsh like gravel in his throat.

The redhead, Callini, rushed over with a carafe of water and handed him a glass.

“Drink. The wine is strong.”

The other women hissed and shushed her.

“What’s going on here?” Tharan asked after he chugged the entire glass and the redhead poured him another.

“We’re here as a sampling,” the blonde woman said, dropping her dress to reveal her naked body. “You are to have your pick of us.”

“I… I can’t,” Tharan said, sitting up straight. “This isn’t right.”

The blonde knitted her brow. “You have to. I can’t go back to fucking my relatives. I can’t go back to that life.” Her blue eyes were full of desperation.

Tharan shook his head, trying to get rid of the fog surrounding his mind.

The other girls chimed in, “Please, please, please pick me.”

“Pick me, Lord Tharan. I will be good. I promise.” Every word dripped with desperation. Every word a plea for a bit of kindness.

Tharan threw up his hands.

“I can’t do this with any of you. It’s not right, and I’m not some stud to breed you.”

“This is our only hope of escaping a life of bedding our relatives,” the pregnant woman said, crawling toward him.

Tharan’s heart broke for them. They just wanted to escape the nightmare they’d been forced into. Focusing, he tried to clear his head. “Stop, all of you.”

The women stared at Tharan.

“I will not be bedding any of you tonight.”

An echo of disappointment rippled through the women. Some started crying, others let out a sigh of relief, and the redhead said nothing.

Tharan forced his thoughts to straighten through the fog. He needed to get out of here, but he also couldn’t leave them. They were desperate for a way out, just as he was. What other choice did he have but to take them with him? This would not bode well for his kingdom’s relationship with the elves, but he’d rather die with a clean conscious than live knowing he could’ve helped them and didn’t.

“We’re going to get out of here—all of us. You can live in the Woodland Realm or wherever you choose, but we must be quick. Can any of you hold a sword?”

The redhead and the pregnant woman nodded yes , while the others shook their heads no .

Tharan let out a sigh. “Well, two is better than none.”

Tharan rose, his head wobbled on his neck, but he fought past it. They needed to get out of here.

He cracked the door. Two guards stood watch outside. Quietly he shut the door again. Turning to the women, he whispered, “If you want to leave, now is your chance, otherwise, stay here.”

The women nodded, putting on their clothes.

Tharan cracked the door again.

“Uh, excuse me. I’ve chosen, could one of you tell the king?”

The soldiers exchanged knowing glances and one left to tell the king. When he was out of sight, Tharan looped his arm around the other guard’s neck, squeezing until the guard sank to his knees. He quickly picked up the soldier’s sword and tucked it into his belt, signaling for the women to follow him.

They snuck down the stone stairs as quietly as they could, making sure to check around corners. It seemed everyone was in the throne room.

Tharan didn’t know where he was going, but away from his grandfather was their best bet.

They trekked through the massive palace until they came to a hallway filled with windows. Tharan peered out only to see frantic guards below running through the crowd, searching for something… searching for them.

His chest tightened, clearing his head that bit more, and he signaled for the women to duck down as low as they could to avoid being seen through the windows. Footsteps came from around the corner. Tharan held his breath. He was a trained swordsman, but how many were there?

Laying himself flat against the stone wall, he signaled for the women to stay still.

The footsteps grew nearer.

Tharan sucked in a breath. There were at least two of them. Two he could take on.

He raised his sword into the air before darting around the corner to bring it down upon the unsuspecting guard. But when he went to strike, he was met with Sumac and Hopper.

“What in the Trinity is going on in here?” Sumac said, dodging Tharan’s attack.

“I could ask you the same thing.”

Hopper t’sked. “Well, obviously they know you’ve escaped.” He tossed Tharan his curved sword. “They’re looking everywhere for you.”

Tharan twisted the smooth handle in his grip, remembering the feel of his weapon. Before signaling to the women to follow him. “We’re taking them with us.”

Sumac and Hopper rolled their eyes.

“You don’t always have to be the hero,” Hopper said. “We can leave people behind. We have no allegiance to these women.”

“But they need our help,” Tharan said, tossing his sword to Callini. “Follow us, protect the other women.”

She nodded, adjusting the grip on her sword. Callini cut the long skirt from her dress and proceeded to do the same for all the women.

“We can run faster without them.”

Tharan nodded.

“Sumac, you go first. Where is the rest of the Hunt?”

“They should be guarding our envoy. Others will still be guarding your chambers.”

“Very well. You go ahead with Hopper and the women and get everything ready for our escape. I need to get something.”

“Don’t risk your life on something stupid.”

“Trust me,” Tharan said, giving Sumac a devilish grin.

“Let’s go, ladies!” Sumac whisper-shouted as she ushered the women down the hallway.

“Seriously, don’t do anything too risky,” Hopper said before following the women.

“Go!” Tharan said.

Taking one last look behind him, he saw a hoard of elven soldiers approaching Sumac, Hopper, and the women. Sumac and Hopper could handle themselves; he needed to make it back to his chambers before they were raided.

Sumac’s sword clashed against elven steel, but one by one, she dispatched them. Her adamant weapon cut through each as if they were nothing but a training dummy. Chest heaving and face covered in blood, she fought her way down the staircase until none remained.

Tharan headed toward his guest suite. His mother may have betrayed him, but he had made a plan just in case. Of course, he hadn’t factored in the harem of women he was supposed to bed, but that was only a minor inconvenience.

On padded feet, he snuck through the castle teaming with guards, setting traps for anyone following him. Trip wires from his vines and poisonous flowers made excellent deterrents.

The halls of the ancient palace twisted and turned in no discernible direction. Tharan hoped he was going the right way. None of the cold corridors looked familiar. He tried to remember how the servant had taken him the previous night, but everything was foreign. He continued to run until he came to the room with the statue of Eris. He could find his way to his quarters from here.

Elven soldiers entered the room from the opposite entryway. Their legendary armor, light as air but as hard as dragon scales, glimmered in the firelight of the torches lining the room.

An arrow whizzed at him. Tharan called upon his power, and his skin fizzled with electricity. He caught the arrow midair just before it collided with his face.

“Idiot!” one of the guards called. “We need him alive.”

Tharan made a run for it, releasing a cloud of poisonous gas. The elves choked, falling to their knees. He let out a breath of relief before disappearing down the stairs toward the guest wing.

Rounding a corner, he met his Hunt clashing with elven soldiers, their sabers rattling through the stone corridor. Ducking low, he snuck into the servant’s entrance. Two servants huddled in the corner of the kitchen, holding one another.

“It’s okay,” Tharan said, looking toward his chambers. “Is anyone in there waiting to ambush me?”

With wide eyes, they shook their heads frantically.

Tharan gritted his teeth.

“Are you lying to me?” He held the point of his sword under the chin of the woman who had served him breakfast earlier that morning.

“No,” she whispered.

Tharan lowered his blade.

“Get out of here.”

The two scrambled away while Tharan positioned himself to enter the chambers, aware an ambush could be waiting for him, despite the maid’s assurance.

Bursting through the door with his sword raised, fully prepared to land a skull-crushing blow on his nearest foe, all he was met with was an empty room.

“Huh,” he said, lowering his sword, slightly disappointed he wouldn’t be splitting the head of an elven soldier. Blades clashed outside the doors. Tharan moved through the suite until he reached the entryway. “Ah-ha,” he said, swiping the invitation with Arendir’s seal still intact.

“Don’t do this, my son,” his mother’s soothing voice said from across the room.

Stunned, Tharan looked up to see his mother’s silhouette standing in the light from the balcony. The kohl around her eyes smeared from tears.

“Is anything you told me true?” Tharan yelled over the sounds of battle growing closer to the doorway.

She moved closer, falling to her knees.

“Please, my darling boy. Whatever you are planning. It is not worth it. Stay here with me. In time, Arendir will trust you and let you leave.”

Tharan’s eyes widened at the woman he knew as Mother in title only.

“You’re all mad here.”

“Desperation makes madmen of us all. You don’t know what it was like in the north. Mountains of ice. White as far as you can see.” She stared out into the distance, looking but not seeing.

“Get off me,” Tharan said, pushing his mother away.

“Nothing good will come of this. Some things do not want to be found, my child. Remember that.”

Soldiers broke through the door. Tharan turned, raising his sword just as an elven guard lowered his. The sound of steel on adamant clanged through the chamber. Tharan gritted his teeth, kicking the soldier as hard as he could. The man stumbled backward. Thinking quickly, Tharan pulled a dagger from his bandolier and buried it in the sliver of exposed skin on the man’s neck.

A look of shock crossed the man’s face, and blood gushed from the wound. Falling to his knees, he collapsed into a heap on the floor, staining the white marble red.

Tharan looked back where his mother had been but only an empty balcony met his gaze.

“My King, we must go,” one of the Hunt said, pulling her bloody sword from a still twitching elf.

Tharan chuckled, thinking about Aelia’s debacle with the Undersea queen as he stepped over dead elves.

“Sir?” The soldier cocked her head at him.

“It’s all so fucking hilarious, isn’t it?”

“My Lord? Did you hit your head? Do you need a healer?”

Stilling himself, Tharan said, “No. Let’s get out of here. Sumac and Hopper should have a carriage waiting for us.”

Tharan and the two guards fled down the nearest stairwell toward the carriage house. He prayed to Illya that Hopper, Sumac, and the brides had made it out. Knowing the skill of Sumac alone, he had no doubt they left a trail of slaughtered elves in their wake.

Tharan and his guards cut through the onslaught of elven soldiers until they reached the grand entrance of the palace, where banners displaying the king’s seal hung from the rafters.

Not a soul stirred. Something was off. Arendir wouldn’t let him walk out of here without one last fight. He signaled for his soldiers to flank him. He scanned the room for a hint of a ward or charm set to detonate if they crossed it, but he didn’t see anything.

Cautiously, he stepped forward, taking each step as if it could be his last. The hairs on the back of his neck pricked. Something was off.

Out of the corner of his eye, something shimmered. He turned to look but saw nothing. His heart leapt into his throat when he turned again to see Arendir standing in front of him. His long white hair was braided in battle fashion down his back. His white robes were replaced with light silver armor.

“You didn’t think I’d let you go that easily, did you?” His evil cackle echoed through the hall. A row of soldiers wearing the bronze helmets of the Breathless Guard, the elves’ most fearsome warriors, assembled behind him. Each one carried a long tungsten spear.

“You can’t be serious. I am the Alder King. Let me go, or my kingdom will have no choice but to attack. And judging by what I have seen here today. Your army is not up to the task.” Tharan readied his sword.

“I do not need to attack you to get what I want,” Arendir said, motioning for a soldier to bring something… someone, forward.

He threw his mother on the ground in front of Tharan. Her lip was bloodied, the makings of a black eye already purpling. “Tharan, do as he says, please!” She fought against the man’s iron grip.

“What is this?”

“A bargain. Stay here, father children. I only need a few. Then you may go back to your beloved forest.”

Tharan’s stomach twisted. “And if I don’t?”

The ancient king narrowed his eyes. “Then I’ll kill your mother and force what I need out of you.”

Tharan’s power twitched under his skin. The sound of growing thorns echoed through the hall as feral plants wrapped themselves around the men, sending thick thorns into their soft flesh.

The soldiers cried out in pain, but it was too late for them. Arendir could bring them back with his breath, but would he give up his youthful glow for these warriors, or were they expendable like everything else?

The vines twisted and constricted like the snakes of the desert. The sound of crushing bone brought bile to the back of Tharan’s throat, but he couldn’t stop now. There was no room for mercy here.

“Enough,” Arendir said. Motioning for the man threatening Elowen’s life to release her.

She scrambled to her feet and ran to Tharan.

“Thank you,” she said.

Tharan pushed her away.

“You are both vile beings who deserve each other. I came here seeking an ally to help me save this continent we call home, but you can’t look past your selfish desires for purity and power.”

Tharan took a step toward Arendir, who stood stoically at the grand entrance. The light of the fresh snow illuminated him like the gods of old. He grabbed Tharan’s arm as he passed. “You will regret crossing me, boy.”

Pain seared into Tharan’s bicep, but he did not wince. He would not show these people an ounce of weakness. “I am no boy. I am the Alder King, and if you do not remove your hand, I will send you to meet your goddess sooner than you expected.” A green flame flickered in Tharan’s eyes.

Arendir flinched and released him.

Tharan walked out of the palace. Adrenaline coursed through his veins. Part of him wanted to look back. Part of him wanted to forget this place forever. At least they had a lead on the Well of Eris… if his mother could be trusted.

Tharan and his guards met Hopper and their envoy by the stables.

“Thank the Trinity, you made it. We were starting to worry,” Sumac said, opening the carriage door.

Tharan climbed inside, where the six women sat holding one another. Worry etched across their faces.

“Take us to the nearest portal. Let’s get out of this nightmare.”

The carriage sped off into the snowy night.