Page 21 of Bartered by the Shadow Prince (Bargain with the Shadow Prince #3)
Spilled Tea
ELOISE
N othing good can come of this. I am to meet with Nevina, Odette, Tempest, and Eudora one more time to finalize the details of the Harvest Festival.
They’d been working on this for weeks before I arrived and hardly needed my input when last we met, although I was more than happy to help guide Nevina toward supporting the holiday.
The ladies of New Stygarde have been attending harvest festivals since their childhoods.
No detail has gone unexamined, I’m sure.
Which makes me wonder what Nevina really wants from me today, especially considering the tension between us last night.
Last time, I was able to sway her to host the festival by stroking her ego, telling her that the festival will make her come off like the benevolent regent she is.
So far, she’s gone along. At the end of the week, thousands of shades from all over Stygarde will make the pilgrimage to the castle for feasting, dancing, and worshipping the goddess Thanesia.
The villages of the west will enjoy a much-needed meal.
And although it isn’t a permanent solution to their suffering, it will go a long way toward bolstering their spirits.
So, when Roslyn comes to my door to lead me to Her Majesty’s meeting, I’m braced for anything.
I’m also insanely uncomfortable. I forced myself back into one of Nevina’s loaner dresses, this one a hideous shade of powder blue that is completely wrong for my coloring and strains against my curves, in order not to offend her with my shade-crafted dress.
After last night, I don’t want to piss her off any more than I already have.
As reluctant as I am to admit it, I didn’t realize how dangerous Nevina was until last night.
I thought she answered to Brahm. But what I saw at the dining room table was a king who was at the mercy of his queen, maybe even a little afraid of her.
I almost wish I didn’t recognize the signs: the way Brahm’s face betrayed his empathy for Bolvet, while Nevina’s face betrayed her delight at their suffering.
Brahm glanced away when confronted with the issue, his jaw twitching as he ground his teeth.
While the king backed Nevina up, my intuition tells me it was only because he had to.
Brahm might be king, but he’s not the one calling the shots.
Which means I’m walking a fine line today. If I want Nevina to follow through on all that’s been planned for the Harvest Festival, I may have to make her believe that I’m still on her side. I don’t want her to punish all of Stygarde because of something I did.
Roslyn opens the door to Nevina’s sitting room, and I enter and perform a low curtsy.
Instantly, I notice the lack of fresh air.
Unlike the other rooms of the castle, there are glass windows here, closed windows that leave the space stuffy and humid.
With some effort, I ignore the suffocating effect and approach the low table at its center.
The ladies of New Stygarde sit in gilded and delicately ornate chairs that circle a tea service, the sketch of the sacrifice they’ve been planning beside the pot.
A copy of the invitation that was sent out last week rests on top, facing Nevina.
“Please join us, Eloise. We’re just about to get started. Waiting on our final guest.” Nevina raises her teacup to her lips and drinks through a conspiratorial smile.
Final guest? I look around the room, but no one seems to be missing.
Only one chair remains empty, and I lower myself into it.
Tempest perches on her chair beside me, ready for anything.
Her eyes widen a little as they meet mine.
Odette pauses her contemplation of her tea to search the room as well.
Her dark brows knit and her nostrils flare when she finds us all here.
Beside her, Eudora swallows hard, the motion of her throat even more evident in her gaunt state.
Her eyes are positively huge in her skull, and she hides the trembling of her hands by clasping them in her lap.
“Everyone is here,” I say softly. “Who are we waiting for?”
Although Nevina’s gaze flits to me, she doesn’t respond to my question, only offers that weird smile.
Her lips press together, the ends of her mouth curling upward.
It’s the smile of a mother who’s lured her child to the doctor’s office with the promise of a surprise, when really they’re there for a vaccine.
It’s the Grinch’s smile before he steals all the Christmas lights off every house in Whoville.
The door opens again, and there is a collective inhale from the three shades in the room.
I have never seen the man who appears in the doorway before, but there is no question in my mind that he’s a dark elf.
He’s tall. Tall like an NBA player. Tall to where you question the perspective you have of the room.
If I had to guess, I’d say six foot six, but he’s also built narrow like Nevina, which makes him appear even taller.
His slender build is nothing compared to the chill that courses through the room at his presence, putting all the shades on edge.
“Eloise, allow me to introduce you to my father, Adril Entrydal, king of Willowgulch.”
Unsure what is expected of me, I follow Tempest’s prompting and stand and curtsy. Adril’s gray eyes cut like steel through the room and land on me, raking over me like he’s assessing a prized steer.
“This is the vampire?”
“The one and only,” Nevina says with a tip of her head.
“Rise,” he says in a voice on the edge of demand.
The cold slide of his icy gaze passing over me once again gives me full-body chills.
I rise from my curtsy, as do the others, and I follow their lead again as they return to their seats.
My muscles remain poised and tense. All my instincts tell me to run.
His riding boots thunk on the floor as he crosses the room to an open area next to Nevina and sits in a chair that is rushed under him by a blurry-eyed servant.
I wonder if he indeed rode a rabble beast here, as his fitted tunic and riding pants suggest, or if the garb is just for show.
As if dressing more commonly could take the edge off the ice storm that is his presence.
I don’t know where to look or what to say. I don’t want to offend him by asking why he’s here, but why the fuck is he here ? And why didn’t Nevina warn us he was coming?
“I have great news,” Nevina says with a shake of her blond head for emphasis. “For the first time in the history of Tenebris, the citizens of Willowgulch are going to participate in the Harvest Festival!”
The room grows quiet enough I can hear Tempest’s racing heart. No one moves. It’s as if all the air has been sucked from the room.
Odette is the first to speak in her rich, resonant timbre. “Elves don’t worship Thanesia or celebrate the harvest as we do. Will they have any interest in the event?” she asks diplomatically.
“No, of course we don’t believe in your fairy tales,” Nevina says with a laugh, causing the shades in the room to noticeably tense.
“But as this will be the first time we host a festival since the alignment of our two kingdoms, I thought it would be more than appropriate that we open our doors to elves as well. I mean, why shouldn’t they be invited and partake in the festivities? ”
Tempest clears her throat. “But the festival is in seven days. We’ve planned everything for the capacity of the courtyard. If we add elves, there won’t be room for the shades who have RSVP’d.”
Nevina shrugs cooly. “It’s true that some shades will not be able to attend, but I have a solution for that as well. Actually, Eloise gave me the idea last night.”
Oh no. No, No, No, No.
“Eloise reminded me that some of the villages have yet to bend the knee to New Stygarde or offer their tax to the kingdom. I will give them a chance to do both of those things at the festival. If they are in good standing with my house, they may participate in the festival. If not, they shall not attend or partake in the festivities.”
Eudora looks like she might collapse. “Please, my queen. My people just want to worship their goddess as they have for hundreds of years.”
Nevina’s expression hardens as if she’s carved from ice. “Then they will do what they should have done decades ago and fall in line.”
I swallow down a lump in my throat, thinking of Bolvet and the villages like it, how they’re already starving. How sadistic it is to take this from them too.
“Nevina,” I say softly. “I thought part of the reason you wanted to host the Harvest Festival at the castle was so that the citizens of Stygarde could see what a compassionate queen you are and to prove to them you were worthy of their rule. Perhaps this festival isn’t the time to force the issue.
Couldn’t we wait until afterward to encourage their compliance? ”
Adril stares down his nose at me with a tight-lipped grin as if he finds it positively delightful that I’d even ask such an inane question.
The queen’s cold blue eyes level on me. “If they wish to worship their god in my house, they will kneel before me first . I have spoken. The decision is made.”
I stare at my fingers, tangled in my lap, and try not to explode.
What she’s doing is cruel. Shades believe that Thanesia is responsible for the bounty of the land.
These villages are starving. They need their land to be fertile and abundant if they are to survive.
I don’t know if Thanesia is real or not, but I do know the power of belief.
I can’t imagine the psychological toll this will take on the west villages.
“I’m curious,” Adril says suddenly in a voice that sounds like he’s holding back a laugh. “What part of my daughter’s demand do you find unpalatable?” My eyes snap up to meet his cold gray ones, and instantly, I hate this man.
“The required sacrifice of a child,” I snap. “Where I come from, enslaving children is a major red flag. It’s evil.”
Tempest nudges the side of my leg with her own under the guise of crossing her legs. I know I’m not being a good minion right now, but I can’t let this go.
“Hmph,” Adril says. “And ruling a kingdom of individuals who previously wanted you dead without requiring any assurance of their loyalty is naive, weak, and ineffectual. Restitution must be made. Would you offer yourself in exchange for the children’s freedom?”
Nevina’s head snaps around to glare at her father.
It takes me a hot minute to figure out that he’s not joking.
He actually wants me to say if I’d offer myself up as a slave so that the villagers could bend the knee without paying the tax.
As much as I believe in justice and freedom, I won’t harm myself or my relationship with Damien for people I’ve never even met. Still, I try to be diplomatic about it.
“I am mated to a shade,” I say softly. “I am not my own to offer in exchange for anyone’s freedom.”
He snorts. “Then perhaps you should let the villages decide what they are willing and unwilling to do. As for my daughter, she will not be bowing to anyone, least of all the expectation that she be good and fair and loved. No, lady, my daughter will be feared as all elf queens before her. Her patience has been tested long enough.”
The way he stares at me, unblinking, unsettles me. But I don’t back down. I hold his cold, cruel stare until everyone else in the room begins to shift uneasily.
Finally, I say, “No one is asking the queen to bow. I’m asking the queen to lead.”