Chapter 3
“Why?” Savin’s roar echoed across the courtyard.
Ellieth tried not to flinch— and not to open her mouth to defend her actions. She had given the man her reasons the moment she arrived, and— tediously— nearly every hour since, as the sky faded from blue to red-gold to deep purple. The stars twinkled above them now, icy and exquisite over the peaceful little courtyard. Tiny waterfalls of heated water steamed into the cold air, and the hot springs themselves beckoned. Everything about this place was designed for relaxation, comfort, contemplation… which was presently being interrupted by an hours-long screaming match. Ellieth sincerely hoped that there were no other patrons here seeking the guidance of the monks. They would surely not be finding the peace they sought. Contempt heated her blood. Did Savin truly not care for anyone else?
The answer to that should have been obvious when he ran out on their wedding.
“Tell me something.” Her voice was cool, calm, and far more elegant than she felt at this moment. In fact, she was fighting not to feel like a drab little nothing. She drew her shoulders up. “Are you intending to renege on the marriage as soon as you’ve used our soldiers in your war?”
“You go too far, madam.” His face was as cold as winter.
“Do I? Because it seems you are unwilling to consummate this marriage. So tell me, Your Highness, are you unwilling to perform your duty?” Ellieth’s voice trembled. “Are you so disgusted by me that you cannot bring yourself to do what every royal couple has needed to do for millennia?”
Much to her surprise, he gave a snort of laughter.
“False modesty does not become you,” he informed her shortly.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Can you truly be unaware that half the court desires you? You are a sensation, Your Highness. I think your coloring is likely to inspire a great deal of… very tiresome copycats.” He sighed and ran his fingers through his black hair.
“So your court desires me. That tells me nothing of you.”
He looked away, jaw clenched.
“You do not even have to desire me,” Ellieth fairly snapped. “I promised you that I would leave you in peace when this was done, and I will. God above knows, there are enough royal marriages that produced no heirs. But I will not have anyone say this was not done.”
“And who would know?” he asked her sardonically.
“Given that you left the wedding ceremony itself and came here, I imagine everyone knows!” She was yelling back now; her hands balled into fists.
Much to her surprise, he stopped dead.
“I hadn’t thought of that.”
“You…” Her voice trailed off. “You hadn’t thought of that? What did you imagine they were thinking, then?”
“I needed to consult with the monks,” he said, his voice clipped. “I hardly thought at all about what the courtiers might be thinking.”
“And you could not have waited one night?”
“No.” He looked back at her, eyes flat. “I could not.”
“What on earth could be so urgent?”
“I prefer not to discuss it.”
So it was to be one of those marriages. Ellieth released a slow, shuddering breath, and sat on one of the benches, folding her hands in her lap to stop them from shaking. She had failed. She had been given her one chance, and she had failed— not from her skill in numbers, not from her diplomacy, but when she failed to strike a man with desire.
Was there any way back? She had only until the conclusion of the war to win his heart. She twisted her fingers together and tried to remember to breathe. She must focus. She must find a new way.
“Are you…” His voice was confused. “You look… frightened.”
“Of course I’m frightened.” Ellieth forced the words out from between numb lips. She turned her face away to the snow-covered ground, and when she turned back, she gasped to see him standing by the bench. He moved so quietly that she had not even realized he was still in the garden with her.
“Why?”
“Because I need your goodwill to save my people,” Ellieth said without preamble.
“What? From whom?”
“Oh, come now, surely there is no need for niceties between us.” It was refreshing, after so much of his coldness, to put some acidity into her own words. “You know your kind could crush us the moment the dragons are defeated.”
He flinched.
“What is it?” Ellieth asked him, her train of thought derailed by what looked remarkably like fear. She had never seen such a warrior struck down by terror before.
“It is nothing. Do you truly believe we would harm you?”
“You tried to rule us for centuries,” Ellieth told him sharply. “Do you think we have forgotten? Have you forgotten?”
“Elfhame does not turn on its allies,” he said simply. “Have your borders been threatened since the first alliance?”
“No, but—”
“No buts. Your kind are safe until you violate the terms of our peace.”
He was, she sensed, telling the truth. Which meant…
“I’m here for nothing?” Ellieth whispered. She could not tell if this was better or worse, given the circumstances. Perhaps better… if it did not make her feel unwanted on yet another level.
“You thought…” He sat heavily on the bench. “You thought that you could only secure peace with a marriage? That is why the marriage was a part of the accord?”
“Of course!” Ellieth said, stung. “That is how politics works. Only by blood can accords be made certain.”
“You have spent the past centuries believing we would turn on you the moment the Dragon Wars were done?” His voice was rising.
“I… yes.”
“I cannot believe this.” He tipped his head back. “And that is why you came here after me. That is why you insist the marriage must be consummated.”
That, and the thought gave her an undeniable shiver of pleasure. She bowed her head to disguise the blush in her cheeks.
“Would it be so terrible?”
“Yes,” he said softly.
“What?”
“I…” His voice trailed off, and he met her eyes with a look of vague panic.
“Yes?” She was going to throttle him if he couldn’t at least bring himself to be civil.
“Please, forget what I said. My Lady, please.” He stood and backed away from her.
Before she could think about what she was doing, Ellieth shot her hand out and grabbed his. He tugged at it, but she held firm.
“My Lady?”
“Your Highness.” She dragged with all her fragile might, knowing she could never match the strength of an Elven warrior. She could only bet that he would be disinclined to struggle with her, not wanting to make a scene.
Much to her surprise, it worked. He thudded back onto the bench, making the collapse look graceful as only an Elf could.
“Why?” she demanded of him softly. “No lies. I may never be your beloved, I may never be the bride you wanted; but at least let us be honest with one another.”
“Honest?” He looked away. “You do not know what you ask.”
“Clearly not,” Ellieth said softly. “I have not understood a single action of yours since we met.”
“Ellieth.” His voice was unexpectedly warm as he spoke her name.
“Yes?” She looked back to find his face far, far too close for comfort. Her breath caught.
“Believe me that if circumstances were… different… I would be the husband you wanted.”
“I don’t—”
“Let me finish.” His voice was soft. “This marriage was not my choice, but the moment I saw you; I desired you. When I saw you with the court, I knew you would make a fine queen. And when you tracked me down here…” A hint of humor appeared in his dark eyes. “I saw that you were more than a beauty. Ellieth, someday I will be the husband you deserve. I swear to you, this marriage will be real… if you wish it.”
“I wish it.” Was she a fool to admit as much? Ellieth leaned forward, tentatively.
“I cannot.” He drew away from her, and swallowed when she took hold of his shirt. “Not yet. Ellieth, you must leave this place. When all is settled, I will return to Elfhame. To you.”
Her mind was dizzy with contradictions. He looked, for all she could tell, like a man struggling with his own desire. And that gave her an idea. He had seemed alternately polite and brusque, warm with kindness and abrupt… flushed with desire, and yet cold to her. It was a mystery. That was what had drawn her, even if she could not admit it to herself at the time: not shame, not diplomatic necessity, but the puzzle of how he could seem to want her and then turn her away. Ellieth tilted her head to the side and then reached out, biting her lip, trailing her fingers down the side of his neck and inside the collar of his shirt.
“What are you doing?” His eyes drifted closed, and his breath came short.
“Kiss me,” she whispered.
He hesitated for one agonizing moment, and her breath came short— and then he pulled her close, roughly, his lips coming down on hers while she gasped in surprise. Her palm flattened over his chest, and she could feel his heart racing. Her head tipped back and her lips parted, and Ellieth gave a faint sigh of pleasure.
When he shoved her away, she nearly sprawled onto the ground she was so surprised.
“What…”
“You have to leave.” He pointed behind her, his skin growing pale. “Now. Right now. Go.”
“What?”
“Go!”
But it was too late. As Ellieth stumbled back, fury beginning to ignite in her blood, she saw his head wrench back, his frame go rigid. Was he growing taller?
Surely he could not be— and just as surely, he was, stretching toward the sky. In horror, she watched talons curve, sharp and wicked, from his fingertips. Wings sprouted at his back, and his face changed slowly, a snout growing where before there had been the clear, aquiline Elven features.
The black dragon swung its head to her, roared its fury, and leapt into the sky. With three flaps of its wings it was gone, taking flight over the valley— and Ellieth was alone, sobbing her fear into the palm of her hand as she cowered in the snow of the courtyard.