Bow Before the Elf Queen

With the moon piqued at its highest, Layala’s back pressed against the cold stone, the sharp edges biting into her flesh as she lurked in the inky darkness. Somewhere in the distance a water drop hit every three seconds. Plop… plop… plop. The musty smell of mold from lack of fresh air and sunlight penetrated her senses. Hand sliding against the rough stone for guidance, she took painfully slow steps, careful to not make a sound. The knife in her hand from the dinner tray the maid brought up seemed to grow heavier as she neared the outlined orange light of a secret door ahead.

You can do this. Her breath moved slowly past her lips with an intense control she’d trained for, making no sound. You can do this.

Thane’s room was easy to find. Aunt Evalyn had her memorize the layout of the castle, from a map she kept from when she worked there, including the servants’ passages. She spent a few hours navigating them, putting what was on paper to what was in front of her to ensure a quick escape. She even found the queen mother’s and princess’s chambers, unguarded and with no safeguards. They hadn’t prepared for an assassin in their midst.

Fingers brushing the crack where the light from inside the room penetrated the dark passageway, she pressed ever so gently making the servants’ entrance grind lightly, stone against stone. Intensely still, she waited for movement, for an alarm, a sign that he heard but only the crackling of fire greeted her.

If they get you to the castle, you will likely only get one chance at them, Aunt Evalyn said during her training. Take it. Take it for your parents. Take it for you. This was the only way to be free.

Opening the door hidden behind a framed picture wide enough to fit her body, she peeked her head out. She expected more grandeur from the elf king, more pompous and ornate gaudy decor. Not that it lacked in beauty but the bare simplicity of the cream-colored dresser with only minor details, etches of ivy leaves on the front of the drawers, and the plain framed ivory mirror across the room surprised her. A painting of a rearing white dragon near a high waterfall. A single fireplace with a bulbous silver vase on the dark wooden mantel.

The dim firelight created long shadows and hidden corners, but there in the center was a massive four-poster bed with silken coverlets of navy blue. In the middle lay the shape of Thane beneath. Two large rugs from pelts of white wolves sat on the ashen stone floor at the foot of the bed and to the side where the master would set his bare feet down.

Layala listened to his breathing.

Steady.

Slow.

Rhythmic.

A sign of slumber. Carefully, she stepped across the floor, heart booming like the black clouds above a tempest sea. Hand slightly trembling, she stood over him, finally getting to see his face. He wore no shirt, revealing his muscular upper torso and chest. From what she saw there wasn’t a single scar on him… so he didn’t mark his flesh with the number of kills. What rumors in Briar Hollow were actually true?

Her gaze moved to the fullness of his lips, accentuated in this light, as was the perfect smoothness of his warm ivory skin and the shadows from his sharp cheekbones. Maker, he was beautiful. His long, wavy dark hair partially swept across his face.

Her eyes widened. It was him, the mysterious elf who’d sat before her at the Smoky Dragon back in Briar Hollow. The male with charm and an easy smile. She thought he reported her, but it was Thane all along. How had she not seen it before?

Kill him, Layala. This is your chance. Your chance at ending the bloodshed. Your chance at justice. Your chance at freedom. But she hesitated to put the knife to his neck. If so many things she heard weren’t true—was this a mistake?

His eyes opened. Her stomach lurched. In her panic, she tucked the knife behind her back. What do I do now?! Barely able to breathe, she pressed her free hand against his chest, leaned down and her lips crashed into his. A rush of energy shot into her—a strange exhilarating sensation she never felt before. She grew more confident he was distracted when his mouth moved in perfect sync with hers. Her tongue swept over his teeth and his body stiffened in surprise.

Pressing the sharp edge of the knife against his throat, she froze. Maker, why couldn’t she just do it?

He jerked away from the kiss, staring at her. “I wouldn’t do that.”

“Give me one good reason not to.” Why did she hope he had one?

The pale emerald green of his irises almost glowed in the darkness. No wonder he wouldn’t let her see his face fully before. No one else would have eyes such as these.

No plea, no argument came from him. Could he not think of a single reason to save his own life?

She pressed the blade until blood beaded up around it. “Any last words?”

A smirk pulled up at the corners of his mouth. A smirk. Layala almost jerked away at his strange reaction. Did he wish to die? Why wasn’t he afraid when she held his life at the point of her knife?

Eyes sparkling in the starlight shining from the skylight above, he searched her face. “If you kill me, you’ll die, too.”

Her hand flinched, but she steadied again. “I’ll be out of here before your guards even know you’re dead.”

“Indeed you might slip away, if you weren’t already dead on top of me.”

Her eyebrows furrowed. Was this a trick? Some sort of strategy to live? “Speak plainly, High King.” She spit his title like a curse. The light sweat on her palm made the blade handle slick. She needed to end this before she slipped up and was forced to use her magic.

“Our lives are linked, Layala.” She hated when he said her name. It made him more likable, harder to kill. “If I die, you die.” His tone held no malice, as if they were speaking about the spring weather over a cup of tea.

“You’re lying.” He must be. The ritual mate spell that was supposed to force their marriage wouldn’t include that. Would it?

“I’m not.” His voice held strong, not a single waver or inflection of untruth. His large hand wrapped around her wrist that held the knife, but he didn’t push her away. Yet she knew he wasn’t about to be put down like an animal. He would fight back.

They stared at one another, waiting to react, to make a decision. Was he lying or not? She would never get a chance like this again. He wouldn’t leave himself vulnerable to her attack a second time. In fact, if she let him go now he’d have her locked up in a cell or perhaps chained to her room to keep up appearances. It wouldn’t do to have his betrothed in the dungeons. He’d poison her to keep her magic at bay forever. She’d be a caged bird. It was now or never.

A heavy knock slammed the door three times. Layala’s pulse thrummed as she pressed down. Thane pushed, bucking his hips and tossing her over him onto her back. The full force of his weight pressed her into the bed, and his legs wrapped around her outer thighs. One hand held her left arm against the pillows and the other pushed against her knife hand. She fought with all her strength against him, willing the blade to end him, but he was a force much like the tearing winds of the Sederac Mountains. His muscles were taut, veins bulging in his bare skin. Grinding her teeth with the effort, her arm trembled from fatigue.

“Fennan was right about you needing to be tamed.”

“Piss off.” She pushed even harder, fighting him with all her strength. He slammed Layala’s hand into the headboard. She yelped and dropped the blade; the clang of it hitting the floor echoed.

Three more booming knocks. “Highness, your betrothed is missing.”

Thane glanced at the door. Layala threw her forehead into his chin. His teeth clacked together hard, and he reared back. “Missing is she,” he growled. She shoved him in the chest and slid out from under his weight. Rolling off the bed, she stood, knees bent, hands up in a fighting stance. With her chest heaving up and down, she glanced about the room looking for another weapon. A candlestick was the closest thing, but it wouldn’t get the job done. She’d have to get to the other side of the bed and around Thane to get the knife.

“Sire, are you well?” The guard’s voice grew in concern.

“I’m fine. I’ll be out in a moment to look for her,” Thane shouted at his guard, and slid off the bed.

She took a step back… Look for her? Why not bring his guard running in here to grab her? He swiped for her. She ducked, drove her fist up then punched him in the side of his cheek. Head snapping to the side, he turned back with a snarl. “Don’t you dare do that again.”

She kicked hard at his shin; he stepped back and grabbed her left wrist. She slammed her elbow down, breaking his hold and kneed him hard in the upper thigh, barely missing his male parts. His nostrils flared, and he took a few steps back. His eyes trailed down her form then back up, assessing her.

“You know how to fight.” They slowly started to circle one another in the small space.

“Of course I do,” she bit out, fists up. “I’ve had the threat of you looming over my head all my life. The prince and king who would use me as their weapon. Well, I won’t be used by anyone.” Layala darted for the bed. Ducking under his swooping arms, she dove onto the covers. He grabbed her ankle and she kicked to break free then slid across the mattress and picked up the knife.

From the other side of the large bed, he smiled as if this was but a game. “Put the knife down.”

She raised the weapon, taking aim for his heart. With a snap of her wrist the blade soared for Thane. He leaned to the side and it embedded in his left shoulder. Damn… she only succeeded in angering him. With a grimace, he reached up and tore it loose. Blood spilled in a small stream down his arm when he charged her. “That was a mistake.”

She back peddled until she hit the wall. On the table to her left was the candlestick. She flung it as he advanced; his forearm blocked it, and it hit the ground with a thunk. Heart crashing into her ribs, she threw up her forearms and braced herself for a blow that was sure to come. She closed her eyes but instead of a hit she felt big hands wrap around her wrists. She took the chance he’d given her and went for the groin, only to hit his knee. He flung her around and threw her on the bed and was on top of her in a breath, pinning her down again with his weight. Gritting her teeth, she clawed at his face and raked her nails across his cheek. He grunted and folded her arms across her chest and pressed down hard, pinning her fully.

“Stop,” he commanded.

Squirming and struggling, Layala wanted to scream, but it wouldn’t do her any good. No one would take her side. They’d punish her for attempting to assassinate their king. She had no other choice now. The hum of her magic cooled her skin as she readied it to curl the ebony tendrils.

“I’ll make you a deal,” Thane said.

She stilled her body and magic, the power waiting to escape. Thane breathed heavily. Sweat glistened on his bare chest. “Deal?” she whispered.