Page 13 of The Ballad of the Vampire Prince

Yes, but I need to do this.

“I’ll crawl if I have to,” I say with a small sigh.

I walk to the dresser to put on the earrings and jewelry. For a moment, I catch him marveling at my body through the mirror. That’s impossible. The man has just made it clear that he wants nothing to do with me.

Walls of bricks, not of straw.

I force my eyes to look elsewhere. They fall on the map of our realm on the wall. Svenn has charted all the places he has been to in meticulous detail. He crossed the orc fish market yesterday. I’ve always wanted to see the busy harbor in Myrkheim.

I’m envious of his wings.

I’m also anxious about them.

Because whenever he leaves, I’m always scared he may never come back.

I recognize the heavy, controlled footfall. Darstan is here to retrieve me for the meeting.

I turn on my heels and head straight to the door. The stupid yearning in my chest tells me to steal one more glance at Svenn.

His dark eyes lock with mine. I feel myself almost cower beneath that stare.

“I’ll see you tonight then,” he says.

Those simple words shouldn’t raise any flutter in my heart, but they did.

And I loathe him for that.

“Siofra will be here soonwith the item you requested,” Darstan whispers to me as we walk to the council chamber at the lower southeast wing of the keep.

“Thank you.” I crane my neck to look at him.

My knight’s brown hair is trimmed short, highlighting his sharp jaw and harsh features. He hardly cares for his appearance, but I think he shaved today in anticipation for his wife’s arrival.

I like this soft side of him when it comes to her.

At seven feet tall, Darstan has one or two inches on my husband. Yet, somehow Svenn’s presence is much more terrifying and intimidating.

Aelfric is waiting at the entrance to the council, standing tall and handsome in his silver armor. His short-cropped hair is the palest shade of yellow. He stares down at me for a long moment through his right eye.

“Is something wrong?” I ask the knight.

He fiddles with the black eyepatch covering his left eye, taking his time to answer me.

“The Aeonian has a new messenger, Lord Sylas Duvall,” he finally says with an intense look on his face. “Be careful.”

“I will.” I manage a smile to my knights despite the heavy feeling of doom penetrating my heavy chest.

Darstan pushed the enormous cedar door and I keep my pulse steady. I slip into my High Elf mask as soon as I enter the council chamber.

Silence accompanies my walk as I take my place at the end of the grand long table. The furniture is stretched over a quarter of the room’s length with enough space to accommodate the thirty-three delegations from each region of Aelfheim. I don’t know where they managed to find a tree large enough to make this refined piece.

My heart catches when I move past the Lords of the western frontier, seasoned warriors who fought alongside my mother in the freezing mountains of Norath. All the ambassadors at the table are hardened elves, some have been around before the Age of Conquest.

“Welcome, my queen,” Wesley, Lord of Windhaven greets me warmly. He is immaculately dressed in a black coat and vest, with his darkened auburn hair styled back. Despite his easy manners, I see the dark stubble shadowing his jaw that was not there a week ago. Another sign of strain I put on the lord by bringing Svenn here.

I look at each face on the long table that stares back at me.

Pity? Disgust? I can hardly tell. High Elves are excellent at masking their emotions. A few pious ones do offer their prayers to the gods when they see the invisible Mark of the Blessed on me.