Soul Forge (Book One of the Soul Forge series)

**Trigger warning - assault**

“Lord Horthan,” Elda gasped, backing away. “I came here to get some peace before making my decision.” He stalked her until her back met the wall, moving close enough that their chests touched. Elda’s heart rapped out a short staccato, and his eyes flickered to the pulse thrumming at her throat.

“You came out here unchaperoned? My my, that was foolish,” he chastised, his voice a low hum. His beast stared out of those disarmingly beautiful eyes, reaching out to take a strand of her hair between his fingers. Her stomach churned when he took a deep, hungry sniff, savouring her scent.

“I felt faint,” she babbled, trying to edge away from him. “My reasoning wasn’t what it usually is. Excuse me, my Lord. I’ll return to the hall now.” Horthan pushed her hard against the stone, a jolt of pain shooting through her back.

“You will stay,” he growled, his nose dipping to the junction between her shoulder and her throat. He inhaled deeply, his lips almost touching her skin where a Shifter marked their mate.

“Let go of me!” she gasped, struggling against the iron grip of his large fingers when they wrapped around her thin wrists. His free hand began to rove over her bodice, uncaring when she grimaced and squirmed away.

“Now, Princess,” he continued in that same slippery tone. “You and I both know that I own you. I don’t take orders from my property.” His lips found her throat. The sensation of his tongue grazing her skin made bile rise up inside her with enough vengeance to leave her dizzy. Anger and shame coursed through her, fuelling her muscles. She slammed a knee into his groin and wrenched her hands out of his grip, taking satisfaction from his pained grunt.

For a fleeting second, she had hope, but the few metres between her and the door were too far.

A hand knotted in her hair and yanked. She staggered back with a pained yelp, smacking into his solid chest before he shunted her forwards and threw her back into the wall. Her cheek stung when it collided with stone, arms trapped behind her. His hands folded round her wrists like manacles, claws extending from his fingertips to bite into her skin.

“I think I prefer you facing this way,” he snarled, a growl rumbling through his chest. “I’ll remember that when you’re in my bed.” Her muscles locked in place, every self defence technique she knew evaporating from her brain in an instant. She was a mouse caught in the claws of a hungry lion.

His lengthened fangs grazed her throat, raising goosebumps. Her tremor worsened when he growled, preparing to pierce her flesh and seal her fate. The faintest sound of lips parting set her heart pounding. A tense second passed with no bite, and then there was abrupt emptiness behind her, her hands no longer bound by the beast.

She whirled, just in time to see a hooded figure hurl him at the opposite wall. The Shifter hit the stone and dropped, landing in a crumpled heap on the ground. The stranger drew a black sword from the sheath at his back, pointing the wicked blade at Horthan’s jugular.

“Leave,” the newcomer commanded. His voice was smooth and resonant, sliding over Elda’s skin like warm honey. His back was to her, her vision almost completely filled by his broad shoulders. A growl rippled through him when the Falkrynian stayed on the ground, revealing that he was neither human, nor elf.

“Who are you?” Horthan demanded.

“If you don’t move in the next three seconds, I will slit you open from your neck to your groin, you snivelling waste of flesh,” he warned. Horthan moved like someone had branded him, scrambling to his feet and retreating without a word. He looked back and shot a meaningful glare at Elda, a promise that he’d make her pay in a much worse way later on, and then he was gone.

The stranger sheathed his sword and turned to face her. Elda was acutely aware that, once again, she was alone in the hallway with a man she’d just met. She flinched away from his gloved hand when he reached out to touch her face. He paused, head tilting.

“You’re hurt. Let me see.” This time, she tried not to pull away, stiffening at the soft leather of his glove as he turned her face to the side with the lightest of touches, revealing a scratch at her throat and a bruise blossoming on her cheek.

The shadows beneath his hood were so thick, they could only be magic, his face remaining hidden even when his head dipped to look down at her bleeding wrists. He unfastened one of his gauntlets and removed the glove beneath, revealing a hand covered in strange, stark black markings swirling across his knuckles and up towards his wrist.

The stranger turned his hand over so the palm was facing upwards, waiting for her to move. She hesitated, but eventually she took it. When his fingers closed around hers, she felt a cool wave of magic spread through her, reaching right up to the tips of her pointed ears and then down to her toes. It sought out the source of her pain and swept it away, making her feel like she’d submerged herself in a freshwater stream.

It retreated again like a coastal tide, leaving her light headed and buzzing with its afterglow. The stranger let go of her quickly, slipping the glove and gauntlet back on with practiced hands, unmindful of the blood now welling up on his wrists. She looked up to the darkness beneath his hood, straining to see any glimpse of his face beneath.

Music drifting from the banquet hall tore Elda from her stupor, her eyes straying back to the side door in a panic. She’d been gone long enough now that someone was bound to notice, and her fate still waited impatiently on the other side of that small wooden door.

“Thank you,” she mumbled quickly, curtseying to the stranger. “I shouldn’t be out here without a chaperone. I appreciate your help, sir.” She gathered her skirts in her hands and dashed back into the crowds before he could utter a word.

“There you are!” King Hrothgar exclaimed when she made her way back to her seat. “I was beginning to think you’d run off.” His tone was light, but the pinched lines around his eyes were anything but humorous.

“I needed a moment,” she replied, leaving out the part where that moment was ruined by a predator. “I promised I’d help our people, and help our people I will. I was just overwhelmed.” She glanced down at her wrists, studying the unblemished skin and wondering who, or what, had saved her in the hallway. Even the blood was gone, though she didn’t recall him wiping it away.

A loud clap from her father jerked her attention back to the banquet. He got to his feet and clapped again, the sound echoing off the vaulted ceilings until every eye in the room was on him.

“Are there any other introductions to be made?” Hrothgar asked, surveying his guests. When silence followed, he nodded. “Alright then. It’s time for the suitors to give their formal pledges. Anyone who does not state their intentions now will not be heard later.”

Elda sank into her chair, wishing the ground would swallow her whole when the four suitors lined up. Horthan leered at her, the sight of his yellow eyes taking her right back to the altercation in the corridor. She looked away before she could hyperventilate, clenching her skirts in her fists to try and control the tremors running through her fingers.

“I am Lord Rhydian Horthan of Falkryn,” the Lion Shifter called out, his voice ringing out as clear as a bell. “I state my intentions to wed the Princess.” He puffed out his chest, his smile sickeningly smug. “In exchange for her hand, I offer my army and naval fleet in its full capacity.”

Elda shuddered, trying her best to drown out the rest of his pledge. It was hard, especially when he mentioned bearing ‘strong male heirs’ to continue the bloodline. By the end of his speech, her head spun so much she had to grab the table to avoid toppling out of her chair.

Two of the further three pledges were on a similar vein, promising riches she didn’t need and children she didn’t want. The only suitor that didn’t mention impregnating her was Artan, the human King of Valdren. He was soft spoken, with kind blue eyes, a full beard and well-worn laugh lines that proved he was quick to smile. She believed her time with him would be more comfortable than any of the others. If only he were formidable enough to rival Horthan.

“Thank you, gentlemen,” Queen Meridia said with a dazzling smile, rising gracefully to her feet. Elda’s stomach knotted. “How honoured we are to know there is such interest in an alliance with our fair city.” Her usually pinched features were softened by makeup, her severe bun traded for thick, dark curls cascading down her back. “The Princess will now consider your pledges. Please take some time to-”

“Your Majesty.” A voice rose above the crowd, cutting off the Queen and eliciting a gasp from the guests. Elda knew that voice, deep and smooth as honey, its resonance settling deep in her chest. She turned to find its owner.

Everyone was looking at the black clad male suddenly standing in front of the dais. He looked the same as he had when he threw Horthan at the wall, except this time, there was no heavy hood concealing his features. Elda’s jaw dropped open.

“What’s the meaning of this?” the Queen asked, frowning.

“Forgive my interruption. I must ask the engagement proceedings to be halted.” The gasp that fluttered around the room was much louder this time. Elda’s stomach lurched strangely. Standing before her was a man she’d only read about in books. A man famous for slaying monsters she could only imagine in her worst nightmares.

He was tall and striking, with broad shoulders accentuated by the black pauldrons fastened to them. Dark runes were etched into his skin, peeking out from the collar of his armour and winding up his throat. Elda couldn’t stop staring at him. His jaw was sharp enough to cut glass, his face so perfectly constructed it almost hurt to look at. Startling white hair was pushed away from his face and set to one side. A few strands escaped, falling perfectly over his forehead. Dark brows knit together behind those strands in a sharp contrast to the pale white. His high cheekbones were swept by the long, dark lashes that framed his eyes.

And what eyes they were. Deep, stormy crimson irises, set within a sclera and pupil so black they seemed bottomless. Light flickered within the redness, banking and ebbing in a constant pattern. Standing before her was Sypher, the Saviour of Valerus, and he truly was as handsome as the legends described.

“Soul Forge,” the King greeted, getting to his feet as Meridia sat slowly back in her throne. Elda stared unabashedly, too overwhelmed to bother controlling her expressions.

Sypher dipped his head respectfully. “It’s good to see you again, King Hrothgar.”

“You too, old friend,” the monarch nodded. “What brings you here to disrupt our banquet today? You never responded to the invitation, so I assumed you weren’t coming.”

“I wasn’t intending to, but the Spirits have decided otherwise.” Sypher turned his eyes on Elda, his scorching gaze burning right through to her soul.

“What business is important enough to pull you away from the valleys?” Hrothgar asked curiously.

“The selection of the newest Keeper.” The room rattled with exclamations of shock and unrest, none of which seemed to bother the Soul Forge in the slightest.

“Alright, quiet down now,” the King called out, silencing the sudden chatter. “The new Keeper is in this room?” Everyone looked at Elda’s father, fully expecting him to be the one selected.

“She is. The Spirits have chosen the Princess.” The hall was so silent she was sure everyone could hear the sudden, thunderous racing of her heart trying to smash its way through her ribs. Every eye was on her.

“The Spirits have chosen Elda?” Hrothgar echoed.

“They have. The engagement must be stopped so I can begin her training as soon as possible,” Sypher insisted, his eyes flicking between the look of disbelief on the King’s face, and his small elven daughter, clinging to the edge of the table like it was her lifeline.

“Unacceptable!” Horthan bellowed, stepping forwards to stand beside the Soul Forge. “Whatever training the Princess needs can begin after the wedding. Bring the wedding date forwards if you must.”

“Lord Horthan, to delay a request from the Soul Forge is an insult to him and to our creators,” the King pointed out. “What the Spirits have asked-”

“Is irrelevant.” Everyone gasped when Horthan spoke over the monarch in his own palace. “To decline the suitors now, after inviting all of us to your city and having us travel for days, is an insult and a slight against each of the kingdoms in attendance. This alliance is a tradition that has been upheld between kingdoms for hundreds of years, and to break tradition now would be an invitation to war.”

The room went silent once more, Horthan’s threat hanging in the air like a bad smell. Hrothgar ground his teeth. He looked like he wanted to tear off the Falkrynian’s head, but the silence was broken before he found a fitting insult.

“Alright then,” the Soul Forge nodded, and the small flicker of hope Elda hadn’t realised she was nursing sputtered out like a dying candle. Even being chosen as Keeper couldn’t stop her being tied to Horthan.

“Good, now can we get back to-”

“If you want to do this the traditional way then so be it,” the legendary soldier continued, cutting the Shifter off the same way he’d cut off the King. Elda’s eyes widened. The Saviour smiled, the expression anything but friendly. “My name is Sypher, Saviour of Valerus and Soul Forge to the Spirits of this world. I state my intention to marry Princess Elda.”