Chapter 2
“And he didn’t even come back?” Allina demanded.
“No,” Ellieth responded tonelessly. “He didn’t come back.”
“You’re only making your sister feel worse,” their mother said sharply.
Ellieth sighed and went to the window, staring out at the gorgeous valley that was spread out below them. The Elves had tamed it all, from the precise clusters of trees to the perfectly manicured gardens of iris and roses and tulips, all somehow growing together in an explosion of color.
It should have been a wonderful day, and Ellieth only wanted to bury her face in her hands and sob. Diplomatic urgency, she wanted to say— if she failed to charm her husband, she was leaving humanity open to another Elven war, and she could not allow that to happen. There was so much pressure on her, and there had been no time to acclimate to the changing of her fortunes. Her former betrothed, the Archduke of Ferredh, had looked almost as shell-shocked as she had last night; persuaded by Ellieth’s mother to withdraw his marriage proposal, he now stood as one of the most eligible bachelors in Terrestra… with the throne no longer within his grasp.
And Ellieth faced a marriage not with a young man she had known since their shared childhood, but with a man three centuries old—who seemed to hate her. There had been no time to consult with Ellieth to gain her consent, and she could only assume that the same applied to Savin— whose father was still locked in the war chamber with Ellieth’s father, both too busy even to attend the marriage of their children.
This was not how she had imagined her wedding, she thought, biting her lip, and the thought made her feel like a child. Surely she was old enough not to expect true love from her marriage.
But her husband, her mind whispered, had not even shown her basic courtesy.
The door chimed, and Ellieth’s heart leaped. She whirled— and hoped that her face did not fall too obviously when she saw not her husband, but another Elf, his black hair in an elaborate set of braids and his clothing a deep blue that set off his skin to perfection.
“Your Royal Highness,” he said, bowing deeply. His smile was warm. “Prince Dorel t’Lorien, at your service.”
Savin’s younger brother. Ellieth dipped into a curtsy, hoping that her own smile did not betray her uncertainty. Had she met Dorel last night? There had been so many new faces…
“Good morning, Your Highness.” She came up without wobbling, proud of the steadiness of her voice. He did not need to know that she had been on the brink of tears before his arrival. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”
“A most… delicate… matter, I am afraid.” He looked gravely over at Ellieth’s mother and sister, bowing to them as well. “Might I ask for a few moments of privacy?”
“Of course,” Ellieth’s mother said smoothly. She steered Allina out of the room, one hand tight on her younger daughter’s shoulder as the girl looked over her shoulder, wide-eyed, at Dorel.
Ellieth could understand her fascination. Dorel was the very picture of masculinity, as tall and well-muscled as his brother, his eyes and full mouth an echo of Savin’s. His smile was easy and open, if his eyes were grave.
“Your Royal Highness, I must apologize. I fear I bear bad news.”
“Oh?” Ellieth tried to keep her voice light. “Do not apologize, Your Highness.”
“Ah, how can I not? This is not the sort of thing one should be telling a bride on the day after her wedding.” His forehead furrowed, and he looked away from her for a moment. “I fear… I fear my brother has departed.”
“Departed?” Ellieth blinked. The words hit her like a wave, and yet she could not seem to make sense of them. “What do you mean, departed?”
“He has left the court for the mountain retreat of E’lessiell.” Dorel’s words were soft, his black eyes kind. “My Lady— Your Highness— I am so sorry.”
Ellieth turned away, her heart pounding. Shame was burning in her cheeks, and she could feel tears pricking at her eyes. She wiped them away angrily, furious that her brother-in-law should see such a thing.
Brother-in-law. He was not even that, not yet. Until the marriage was consummated, she was nothing to the t’Lorien family— a pawn without a Prince.
There was a faint stirring of hope. Perhaps Dorel did not know. After all, who would? Everyone had clustered in the Hall last night, drinking and dancing. Would anyone realize that Savin had never come back to Ellieth’s suite of rooms?
“Why has he gone?” Ellieth asked. She focused her eyes on the mountains at the far end of the valley, snow-capped and rising into a perpetual haze of clouds. Sunlight played on their slopes.
“He did not say, Your Highness. I truly regret that I was not able to persuade him to stay. I followed him from the ceremony,” Dorel said softly. “But he said he had business to attend to.” When Ellieth froze, she thought she heard him move closer. “Your Highness… I am sure he will return soon. The court says—”
“The court knows?”
Horror.
“My Lady, it is impossible to keep secrets here.” The touch of humor in his voice made her feel like a child. “There is always someone who stands to profit by telling stories. There were those who bet their fortunes that you would enchant my elder brother.”
“And those who bet against it,” Ellieth said quietly. She knew how courts worked; why had she thought that Elfhame would be any different?
“For sport alone, I assure you,” Dorel said. He moved to stand at her side, and she saw him smile down at her before she looked away hastily. His voice was soft. “Who could believe that even a man as cold as my brother would not be enchanted by such a lovely bride?”
“Thank you.” His kindness was too much. Ellieth’s fingers curled into fists on the windowsill. She did not say that she was a laughingstock. Etiquette would force him to deny it, but they both knew that it was true. Worse, she was a liability, and laughingstock or no; she had only one course of action available to her. “Would you call my servants, please?”
“My Lady, come to the wedding breakfast with the court.” He turned and took one of her hands in his own. “Surely my brother will return before long, but until then the t’Loriens shall do all in their power to make sure you are amused and adored and the toast of the court.” He raised one eyebrow. “May I suggest something in white? Truly, it makes you look radiant.”
Ellieth blushed at his regard. She had never been told that Elves were so free with their affections— and from Savin’s comportment, she would never have expected.
“I’m afraid I cannot,” she said, withdrawing her hand from Dorel’s. This was most inappropriate; she was sure, and more to the point; she had no intentions at all of appearing in front of the court to be mocked. “I must go to E’lessiell.”
“I beg your pardon, Princess?” His face flickered.
“My place is at my husband’s side,” Ellieth said, trying not to flush. And in his bed. The sooner the business was done with, the sooner she could leave Savin in peace, to hate her. She would withdraw here, and he could stay in the mountains for all she cared; the distance would make it easier to hate him.
“Surely, my Lady…”
But within the hour, Ellieth was riding out of the court, Dorel’s pleas ringing in her ears. She was resplendent in white, waving to the assembled Elves with as much good humor as she could manage, and doing her best to ignore the hidden smirks of the high-ranking Elves. As her white horse trotted down the broad avenue towards the mountains at the end of the valley, she lifted her head and narrowed her eyes. Prince Savin might hate her. He might regret to be married to a lowly human. But he was not going to elude her. She knew her duty.
When she swung down from her horse at last, it was five hours later and she was weary, sore, and ill-tempered in the extreme. Even the elegant wooden temples and steaming hot springs around her could not soothe her temper. Ellieth chafed her cold hands and looked around herself, frowning. E’lessiell was indeed lovely, but that was hardly an excuse.
The slam of a door reverberated through the courtyard, and she did not need to turn to know that her husband was striding across the stones to meet her. Defiant, Ellieth lifted her face to look at the mountain peaks above and tried not to tremble as he stopped at her side. She could feel the heat of him, trembling in the air between them.
God help her; it made her knees weak. She tried not to swallow.
“Why,” he asked her, his voice clipped, “are you here?”
“There is unfinished business in the marriage contract,” Ellieth told him plainly. At last, she turned her face to his, and saw his black eyes wide with shock. “Perhaps you have forgotten, Your Royal Highness, but I have not. Fear not.” She felt her voice go as wintry as the breath crystallizing in the air. “As soon as our business is concluded, I will return to Elfhame and leave you in peace.”
He looked very far from amused. He looked disheveled, she saw, his hair escaping from its long queue down his back, and his shirt crumpled at the neck. For a moment, they stared at each other, and she could have sworn she saw emotion moving deep in his eyes. Then he went cold.
“You should not have come,” he told her.