Page 12 of The Shadow Fae Rhapsody (Elven Fantasy Romance #3)

Chapter 11 Svenn

I need something to wear to the ceremonial feast. I don’t know who else to turn for matter such as this, other than the healer who has tailored all my clothing.

The blonde-haired seamstress answers the door at the third knock. I humbly ask her for an evening attire, something that will not bring shame to little fawn.

She does not question me at the request. “Come on in,” she invites with an unruffled calm.

The lance leaning behind the door next to the coat rack tells me she is more than just a healer and a seamstress.

Her movement is regal and proper as she leads me straight to a wide fitting room at the back of her chamber. I’m certain little fawn chose to mirror this noble lady’s countenance as part of her High Elf mask.

A mild amusement gleams in her eyes at the sight of my reflection in the large oval mirror. That’s about the most emotion I get from her so far. She gestures to the clothing mounted on the wall. “The Queen left you this.”

Of course Nel would do that.

As the lady leaves to allow me the privacy to adorn my new attire, I can’t help but regret the way I refused little fawn’s wish this morning. She truly wants me to be there.

The suit fits me perfectly like a second skin the moment I slip into it. Smooth velvet Stygian material makes up the fabric, interlaced with a dark crimson undertone.

Shadow dripped in blood.

I know it looks good because the seamstress offers me her second emotion for the day the moment she sees me.

Pride.

“The queen designed it herself weeks ago,” she says, beaming as if her own daughter had made it. I touch the unique silver embroidery lining the cuff of my sleeve. It reminds me of Rhianelle’s hair. The lady notices something in my face and gives me a knowing look.

I excuse myself politely, hating to spend a second longer without Nel’s company.

“You’re not coming to the dinner celebration?” The question leaps out of my mouth spontaneously as I step out of the room.

The polite lady stills at the door and stares at me. She then gives me a smile that does not seem to reach her eyes. “No, I no longer attend these gatherings. I’m still mourning the death of my husband and son.”

This is why I don’t bother doing small talk with people. I quickly offer her my condolence and my gratitude for the suit.

“Send my regards to the Queen,” she says before closing the door. I think I glimpsed a hint of light entering her eyes at the final mention of Rhianelle.

I stride down the passageway, wondering if I had actually hurt the sad healer’s feelings. If the husband and son had died recently, then I might have actually behaved like a true asshole. I don’t have long to ponder at the thought when I run into Shade, walking in the opposite direction.

He is sporting a black suit, elegant and appropriate for the occasion, instead of his usual fighting leathers. His unruly grey hair is brushed and smoothed to slick perfection. The only thing recognizable in his appearance in the demonic mask covering half of his face.

The guy pivots and starts stalking behind me silently. I am almost certain he lost his direction to the dinner hall. Any other day, I would have driven him away, but I’m late.

Bright green banners hang along the corridor and a deep viridian heavy rug carpets the floor. They stretch all the way to the other end. Wesley’s worn castle appears to be resuscitated to life by the wealth poured into the decorations and paintings courtesy of the Wiolant’s fund reserves.

I have travelled to Rhianelle’s homeland in Volundr, a place not only rich in culture and an opulence of natural resources but also of knowledge. The mystery that remains in my mind is, why the fuck was my wife left starving in the forest as a child, boiling rocks into potatoes?

“So you decided to come after all.”

I recognize that voice immediately. Rhianelle’s knight is clad in his usual black armor and red hooded cloak. He must be on duty tonight.

“Is he your friend?” Shade asks. His voice is suddenly closer than it was before. The guy is standing right next to me.

Red approaches us and answers for me. “I think I’m growing on him.”

He definitely is. Like a goddamn fungus.

“But I will still stake him without question if he hurts Rhianelle,” he adds, smiling brightly.

I exhale a long, hard breath and continue my walk in the company of two of the most insufferable bastards in the city. The gods must have damned me to this purgatory because I disappoint Nel this morning.

“Does your friend have a name?” Shade asks me again after we manage several steps. Sometimes I’m baffled by some of the childish things coming out of this grown-ass elf’s mouth.

“His name is…” I pause.

For the life of me… I do not know.

“Ask him yourself.” I brush him off.

Red narrows his eyes in suspicion. “Wait. You don’t know my name?”

“You can call him Red,” I mutter underneath my breath, irritation edging on my nerves.

“A nickname. The two of you truly are friends,” the assassin concludes, toying with a flower wreathe in his hand.

This fool…

“What is that?” I ask him, gesturing to the elegant garland of roses in his possession.

“Two girls asked me to give this to the queen,” the mercenary says simply.

“Her handmaidens? Tallula and Lenna?” I’m making an effort to remember Nel’s little circle.

“Yeah…” he drawls, handling the precious thing carelessly.

If this rose circlet is vital to complete her dress or whatever, then we need to get there as soon as possible. The night is important to Rhianelle. I take the flowers from him and hasten my pace.

“You know the girls’ names, but not mine?” Red sounds genuinely disappointed. “That is cold. Do you even have a heart?”

He should have checked that fact before he threatened to stake me earlier. But a sudden notion moves through me, pulling my steps to a stop.

My two companies also halt, whirling to look at me with their eyebrows raised. For several heartbeats, I just stand there staring back at them.

“If I ever betray her, it’s right here,” I say, giving them the specific direction to the space between the fourth and fifth left ribs. No matter which form I take, the weak point remains the same. “Make sure you have a sleek enough blade to go in between the bones.”

It’s complete insanity to reveal your weakness to your potential enemies, a skilled assassin, and an elite knight. But there might come a time when I need them to stop me from hurting Rhianelle. This regard for her wellbeing is not something I’ve felt for anyone before. Not even for myself.

Staking will not end me, but it can subdue me long enough to give them time to figure out their next move. This revelation is useless because Shade merely stares back with a bored look in his eyes. But understanding enters Red’s face. It gives me hope. The guy is first and foremost, loyal to Rhianelle.

“Duly noted,” the knight says casually.

He chatters ceaselessly with the assassin on our journey. His talk may seem harmless and empty, but I recognize the pointed queries. It’s his job as part of the Queen’s security. I ignore the two as I would an annoying housefly.

I think by the end of their conversation Red has likely concluded that something is definitely unnatural with Shade. The guy is as unreadable as a rock. He’s more like Rhianelle’s ginger stray who shares its brain with other strange orange cats. Today is just not his day to own a brain.

A soft music flows in the court chamber, though no one is dancing. This cavernous hall is the largest in the keep, but with thirty-three delegations from all of Aelfheim, along with the local nobles and their respectable knights, moving through the crowd becomes quite a challenge.

Several guests cast terrified glances at me but most of them have their attention glued to the centre of the hall. My eyes are immediately drawn to the girl they are celebrating today.

“As King Casimir the brave once said, only through peace and stability can we grow.” The sweet sound of Rhianelle’s voice fills the air. She has practiced that speech over and over in front of the mirror.

I hate that I have missed half of it.

I feel my body unclenching with ease as I drink at the sight of the Elf Queen. Her silky dark emerald dress highlights every delectable curve I’ve memorized since our wedding night. A black stag horn tiara rests on top of her head, along with sparkling jewelry on her neck and ears, accentuating her soft lilac eyes.

Rhianelle is the forbidden fruit, and I want to devour her.

My gaze falls on the wedding band on her finger, so out of place with the rest of her attire. A simple rattan twig from the forest floor that I twirled into a ring. Still, Rhianelle wears it with pride. She deserves so much better. Far more than I can give.

“The benefits of a possible trade with Avalon, Darvan, and Myrkheim outweigh the spoils of war. Let us let go of the past and forge a new future together,” she finishes with a soft smile to her courtiers.

The hall erupts in cheers and applause. These warmongering idiots only care for one thing more than glory.

Gold.

My smart girl has them figured out. I marvel at this strict calm side of her, standing tall among these commanders and war generals.

Maybe I’m a sick fuck because I’m torn between trapping that beautiful girl for my own or showing her off to the rest of the world until every soul bows at her feet.

Vlad and Bas would feel right at home in this court, but I feel painfully out of place amongst these nobles and politicians.

Shade starts pulling at his collar, clearly uncomfortable in his fine attire.

“Cut that out,” Red hisses at him. “It’s just a few more hours.”

The thought that these two are just as miserable as me in the occasion brings me a small amount of solace.

“You look beautiful.”

A voice catches my ears. I filter most of the distant conversations in the hall, but this one seizes my hearing instantly because it’s directed to my wife. Rhianelle smiles demurely at the elven lord who gave her that compliment.

The feral beast in my chest stirs from its slumber.

Mine.

“Excellent speech earlier, Your Highness. It was truly moving and inspiring,” the male adds, drawing closer to her.

A fierce flame rages in my chest, and I begin thinking of ways of ending the elf. Their discussion is innocuous, something about merchandise and dealings. They can talk about the weather and I’d still want to kill him. She lets out a small laugh at his jest. Not quite genuine, but still melodic to me.

I hate the way his words fill her ears, Coinneach whispers.

Fucking stop , I snap at him. Nel is trying to win allies in the council.

But she’s ours , he whines, retreating into the shadows. You’re losing her.

My gaze collides with hers.

I didn’t think it would be possible, but Rhianelle’s face seems to shine brighter when she sees me.

I hate that Shade was right. She wants me here. For whatever reason.

The girl almost runs to me, but another council member halts her march, vying for her attention desperately. It’s a good thing the old guy is proclaiming his loyalty to her because otherwise I would have snapped his spine.

One by one, the lords, the ladies, and the nobles of Aelfheim declare their fealty to her, promising their swords. Something stirs in her sparkling eyes at their pledge. I recognize it for what it is because this is something she has given me.

Hope.

Pride swells in my chest as I watch them honor her. She has succeeded in whatever it is she’s trying to do.

I catch her stealing another furtive glance at me while entertaining her guests. Maybe she misses me as much as miss her, or maybe she’s afraid I might slaughter the nobles in the hall.

Tempting… but I won’t, little fawn. Not if it meant never looking into those eyes again.

Pssst psst psst.

Red starts calling me like he would a cat. I avoid the urge to rip his throat.

Too many witnesses , I remind myself as I walk over to him. The knight cocks his head to his left.

An audience has formed around Shade and three noble ladies.

“Why is the Nightwalker here? It’s unfair that the killer gets to walk freely while pieces of my aunt have not been found,” a short blond-haired elven girl in a black, backless dress cries to him.

Shade lifts his shirt to show her a healed scar on his abdomen.

“The Nightwalker didn’t kill your aunt. This is the creature’s bite-mark on me,” he reveals to the flocking assemblage. “As you can see, the puncture doesn’t match the vampire’s teeth-marks.”

“He’s been showing that proof to at least four other people already,” Red mutters, shaking his head. Apparently, the knight summoned me here just to share this embarrassment.

The assassin is trying to clear my name. I supposed that is something…

One of the girls touches the mark over his abdomen curiously. “It really is too wide for a Nightwalker’s fangs,” she marvels in awe.

The receptive audience murmurs among themselves, agreeing with her statement.

Shade nods and adds, “Then again, the vampire can easily shape shift.”

This fucking guy. Whose side is he on?

“The Grimsbane is correct.” A deep, smooth voice commands the attention of the crowd. Eyepatch appears in his silver armor, his blue cape spilling over his shoulders. “The vampire is innocent. Dangerous he may be, but he is not responsible for the episodes of killing that have been happening in Windhaven. I have in my hand a piece of fur and claws taken from the killer.”

Murmurs and gasps follow his disclosure.

Eyepatch’s expression remains neutral as he briefs the monster’s nature in extensive detail. “The fae call them Starweavers, humans named them Chupacabra.”

“A large rodent that lives by the river,” Shade whispers from my left.

“That’s capybara, you idiot.” Garrett sighs.

The nobles move on to listen to Eyepatch’s insight and the Grimsbane’s embarrassing display from earlier is all but forgotten.

Red whispers something low, knowing that I’m the only one who can hear him. “Two gentlemen will introduce themselves shortly. Both are servants of Bran, God of the Underworld.”

The elves have deities for almost everything. The Goddess of Abundance and Fruits, the God of Beginnings and Endings, the Keeper of lost things, and the list goes on.

“The older guy is the Head Priest. It’s a minor temple, but his support could mean a lot for Rhianelle,” the knight alerts me again.

As soon as he finishes his words, the males arrive with their wine glasses in hand. There is nothing remarkable about the elves, from their short-cropped black hair to their bland face. The grand clothes they adorn are no different from the other nobles in this room. Their stocky bodies, however, are built more like warriors than monks.

“If it isn’t the young Lord Clayborne,” the younger elf greets in a tone clipped with a strange accent I’ve never heard before among the elves. He removes his gaze from Red and turns to me. “I don’t believe we are acquainted. I am Taron of Taurham. May I introduce you to the honorable Lord Rivtarr of Aetherlow.”

He gestures to the older male and Red nods respectfully. I do the same.

The lack of response from us prompts Taron to add, “Centuries ago, the Nightwalker infestation had become too much for the humankind to handle and they sought our help. Lord Rivtarr once led the Vampire Hunting Division in his younger days. Perhaps you’ve heard of him?”

I have not.

I keep my face neutral over his remark.

“We did hunt every last one of his kind,” Rivtarr finally speaks, swirling the wine in his glass. “Have you ever created a progeny?”

I have slit someone’s throat for lesser insolence, but this nasty bastard is important to Rhianelle’s cause.

This is her night. I will not ruin it.

“No, it’s too much hassle.” I deign an answer.

The truth is, I never have the desire to enslave someone to my will the way Lilith did to us. I do not want the attachment, nor will I doom another being into this wretched existence.

“I heard they’re like heirs and children to your kind,” Taron chimes.

“They are,” Rivtarr cuts in to answer for me. “I once made a Nightwalker spill all his information by threatening to kill his creator. You see, the one who made them is like a parent to the young vampires.”

“I’m guessing you killed them both at the end of your questioning session,” Taron says with a dry laugh.

“Of course,” Rivtarr replies flatly.

The vampires they’ve tortured are descendants of Ruth or Vlad. I know several of them that were truly vicious and brutal. But most were simply young, forcefully turned, and might not have deserved their cruel fate. I quell the urge to remove the priest’s head from his spine.

Red recognizes the souring conversation and tries to steer me away. But I can’t move. Not when my beautiful wife is wading her way to us with a crease in between her brows. Her presence immediately quells the dark wrath boiling within me.

“What is going on? Explain yourself,” Rhianelle demands to the priest coldly.

It’s rare that I hear the tone coming from her.

A queen’s voice.

“We were just discussing how vampires are an abomination to the human race. A curse,” Rivtarr remarks easily. This condescending way in which he talks to his queen makes me want to rip his tongue out. My control starts to crack and a damper of my power slips through the fissure. The nobles and folks with enough sense start retreating to the corners of the hall, their survival instinct taking flight.

Rivtarr calls in one of the helpers with a wave of his hand. He demands for his cup to be filled. “Their curse is so foul that it is said that they could not eat normal food. One of them described it as tasting like dirt. This eventually becomes my best method of extracting information from them.”

The vampire expert smirks, offering me his chalice. “Care to give us a show?”

I bite down a snarl.

Rhianelle steps forward, but Eyepatch is lighting fast and he snatches the goblet from the dickhead.

“Lord Rivtarr, I must stop you right there,” the knight says, a muscle in his jaw twitching.

“What are you doing, boy?” the priest asks sharply.

“The vampire is the Queen’s consort. Therefore he goes under my protection,” Eyepatch replies in a calm voice. “If this can harm him, then I will not let it—

“It’s fine,” I say curtly.

I take the damn cup from the knight and drink it in front of the elven aristocrats.

The entire chamber goes still. Even the music stops.

I grab another glass—the damn bottle from the server and drain half of it.

I stare straight at the priest the moment I am done.

“Those vampires were making an absolute fool out of you.” I say, teeth gritting. “Anything else you’d like to test?”

Scarlet stains the priest’s face from embarrassment. “Oh well, we just need to check if the Nightwalker’s loyalty is to Aelfheim.”

He should know I am far worse than anything he claims. My hand twitches as he keeps on belittling her.

“Enough of this,” Rhianelle snaps, stepping between me and the Head Priest. “Do not speak of him that way.”

I love that she doesn’t hesitate to defend me. Her fiery anger makes Nel look like an angry cat. I want to hold her so badly, scratches and bites be damned.

Rivtarr pays her no heed.

“This is a test to see where his allegiance lies.” The priest shrugs. “He is bound to a traitor’s house after all.

A small change in the line of Nel’s face. “What do you mean by that?”

“Don’t you remember?” he asks, his voice rising in pitch. “You still owe seventy-seven strikes to the gods. Until you fulfill that punishment in the capital, your status in the eyes of our temple is no different from a tavern wench.”

The disrespect.

I fucking lose it.

Shadows stir in the room as Coinneach brings them to life.

Taron sees the threat to his master and strikes me with all his might. The impact of his punch has no more effect than striking a boulder. I push him aside with little effort.A crack filters through the air as his body slams to the wall.

Rivtarr stares at the cleric’s unmoving body and begins running. Big fucking mistake. The Lord of Night, Ysendral catches the priest easily and envelopes him in his ribbons of shadows.

I can practically feel the fear leeching through each of his labored breaths. It’s sickening and disgusting.

“Stop this! Remember who you serve!” he screams.

“I do not serve Aelfheim,” I answer the bastard. The atmosphere becomes stifling and heavy, crackling with violence.

“I’d be perfectly content on draining every single soul in here. It’s a shame you all taste like piss,” I tell him, my snarl rattling the glasses in the hall. “Remember this, the only thing keeping me from killing all of you is your queen.”

“That pathetic bitch is no queen of mine—”

Let me cut… Snip, snip, Coinneach whispers, morphing his shadows into a pincer. Cries of anguish and horror resound in the chamber when he eventually removes the priest’s tongue.

The Night Lord is vain and inventive with his torture. He plans to shred the priest from limb to limb next.

The rest of the elven nobles are staring at the scene with wide eyes, some running for their pathetic lives. Maybe I should end them too just for the fuck of it.

They mean absolutely nothing to me.

From the corner of my eyes, I see Red and Eyepatch trying to control the crowd, Tall One struggling to keep Nel from me.

Why the fuck is he handling her that way? The first emotion that rises in me is anger. It quickly abates when I realize he is shielding her from the gruesome sight.

From me.

Coinneach is not finished with Rivtarr. He holds the priest’s tongue with the tip of his wispy fingers, opening his mouth to swallow the thing like it’s a delicacy.

I look around at the scared faces around me. Revulsion and horror have replaced the awe they had for Rhianelle at the beginning of the evening. They are reminded once again that their queen is married to a beast. Everything she worked for is eclipsed by my outburst.

I toss the fucker and his tongue across the room and leave.