How to Love Your Elf Page 2

  Only once had she encountered any. A few months ago, three elfin envoys had crossed the border to the nearby Eberoni encampment, and there, they had demanded the return of their princess, Gwennore.

  At first Sorcha had been struck by their handsome looks and elegant demeanor, but their snooty attitude had quickly annoyed her. And when Brody had overheard them calling Gwen a half-breed and a pawn, Sorcha had realized that beneath their pretty exterior, they were ugly, two-faced bastards. Luciana and Leo had been relieved that Gwen was far away at Draven Castle, so they’d been able to send the nasty elves back home empty-handed.

  Now, as Sorcha watched the approaching horsemen, she focused on the four men wearing dark cloaks, their heads hidden with hoods. Who would wear a hooded cloak in the summertime? Maybe an elf, who was hiding his pointed ears so no one would know who he was?

  After all, most people here hated elves. The Norveshki had lost too many loved ones in the war with Woodwyn. That would explain why this group had a military escort.

  Her gaze narrowed on the second flag. Brown. The flag of Woodwyn boasted a tall green tree on a brown background. A strong gust of wind whistled down the river valley, unfurling the flags once again and blowing the hoods off two of the men. Sorcha gasped. They had white-blond hair, just like Gwennore. And the brown flag had a green tree in the middle.

  She jumped when a horn suddenly blasted from the southeastern tower. The guard there was alerting the castle.

  “What is it?” Dimitri demanded as he and Annika dashed toward her.

  “Elves.” Sorcha motioned toward the horsemen as, once again, fear for a loved one clawed its way into her heart. “What if they insist on taking Gwennore?”

  Annika frowned. “They can’t have her. She’s our queen.”

  Dimitri waved a dismissive hand. “They just want to talk. We’ve known about them since they crossed the border two days ago.”

  Annika’s mouth dropped open. “And you never thought to share that with me?”

  “Well, I . . . I’d better tell Silas that they’re here.” Dimitri ran to the stairwell.

  “I’m not forgetting this,” Annika yelled as he disappeared from view. “I can’t believe he didn’t tell me.”

  Sorcha huffed. “I didn’t know, either. You would think Silas would keep us informed of this sort of thing. After all, we’re his heirs.”

  “Men,” Annika muttered.

  “Well, I’m relieved you can still get mad. I was afraid marriage had turned you into a meek lamb.”

  Annika snorted, then pressed against the battlements to study the elves. “The two in front have the white-blond hair of the River Elves, so they must hail from the area around the Wyn River. They could be from Wyndelas Palace, where the king of Woodwyn lives.”

  “That would be Gwen’s grandfather?” Sorcha asked.

  “We believe so,” Annika replied. “When Dimitri’s uncle went to Woodwyn as an envoy, we think he may have had an affair with the king’s daughter, and Gwennore was the result. Since she’s half Norveshki and our queen, there’s no way we’ll let these envoys take her.”

  Sorcha watched as Dimitri and a group of soldiers strode from the southern gate to meet the elves. “Where do you think Silas and Gwen will talk to them?”

  “The Great Hall, most probably.”

  “Then, let’s go.” Sorcha headed for the stairwell.

  “Wait a minute.” Annika scooped a dagger off the floor and slid it into her boot. “They won’t allow us in there.”

  “But I have to know what’s going on. I have to . . .” The fear in Sorcha’s heart tightened painfully. Good goddesses, she was so sick of feeling useless whenever her sisters were in danger. “I refuse to be left out!”

  Annika’s eyes lit up. “The minstrels’ balcony. I know a secret way in.”

  They could hide there and hear every word. Sorcha ran to the stairs. “Let’s go!”

  * * *

  Sorcha was grateful she was wearing a shirt and breeches as she sprawled on the wooden floor of the minstrels’ balcony at the far end of the Great Hall. The balcony was usually accessed by a staircase in the Great Hall, but Annika had shown her a hidden staircase that originated in a nearby waiting room.

  After blowing out the candle they’d used to light the dark stairway, Sorcha and Annika had hurriedly closed the balcony’s thick, velvet curtains. Now, they were lying on the floor, peeking under the curtain’s hem and between the wooden slats of the balustrade.

  The afternoon sun was streaming through the long westward-facing windows, illuminating the large, rectangular room and cooling it with a mountain breeze, but up here in the balcony with the curtains drawn, it was dark. And hot.

  “What’s taking them so long?” Sorcha adjusted the belt buckle that was digging into her stomach.

  “Silas and Gwen must be putting on their finest clothes. And they probably sent for their crowns,” Annika whispered. “They’ll make the elves wait.”

  Sorcha wrinkled her nose. She hoped the elves had been told to wait outside in the courtyard, where it tended to get hot and stuffy at this time of day. “We’re Silas’s heirs,” she grumbled. “He should have invited us to this meeting. I’ll be letting him know how aggravated I—”

  “Sorcha.” Annika sounded impatient. “You’re still too naïve. I guess it comes from growing up in a convent. But this is strategy.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Silas doesn’t want the elves to know what his heirs look like. It will keep us from becoming easy targets.”

  “Oh.” Sorcha swallowed hard. Her cousin had a point. If she was going to be useful, she needed to be smarter. And stronger. And if she was going to survive as the heir to the throne, she would have to be wary and suspicious of almost everybody. Completely the opposite from the convent. “I’m glad I have you, Annika.”

  Her cousin gave her shoulder a squeeze, then lifted the curtains a bit more to peer down into the room.

  The curtain and floor were dusty and made Sorcha’s nose twitch. “I’m afraid I’ll sneeze.”

  “Don’t you dare.” Annika handed her a handkerchief. “Here, hold this against your mouth and nose.”

  Sorcha pressed the lavender-scented cloth to her nose as a creaking noise reverberated below. The doors were being opened. Footsteps sounded on the stone floor and a low voice spoke in Norveshki. It was Dimitri, giving orders. Only two elves had been allowed in, the two with white-blond hair. The other two, who had been tasked with carrying the flags, were most probably servants.

  Sorcha couldn’t tell much about the elves as they crossed the hall, since she was seeing them from the back. With their hooded cloaks gone, their fancy clothes were now revealed—blue velvet tunics over cream-colored silk shirts and cream-colored leather breeches. That had to be hot, she thought, although they didn’t show any sign of discomfort. They were tall, as tall as Dimitri, but whereas he moved like a wildcat stalking his prey, the elves were as smooth as a pair of swans gliding across a cool lake.

  Dimitri instructed them to stop a good six feet away from the dais and to move to the left. They set down two parcels encased in blue silk, then stood, facing Dimitri.

  Now that Sorcha had a side view of them, she could see they were not the same envoys who had come to the Eberoni camp. But they were equally as handsome, damn them.

  Hopefully, the Telling Stones had not referred to either of these men. One was shorter and looked quite a bit older than the other with strands of silver gleaming in his hair. Sorcha glowered at the younger and taller elf. He was as pretty as Gwennore. She was tempted to run down there and mess up his hair.

  They were just too perfect. No wrinkles in their elegant clothes, even after a long journey. Not a single smudge on their flawless complexions. Like Gwennore, these elves had black eyebrows, which made a stunning contrast to their white-blond hair that fell to their shoulder blades like silk curtains. Side braids kept their hair back from their noble brows, which were decorated with circlets
of gold.

  The elves had no weapons on them, so they must have been disarmed before entering the Great Hall. But they didn’t seem at all intimidated by Dimitri, who glared at them with a hand resting on the hilt of his sword. Another sheath was strapped to his thigh, the jeweled, golden handle of a vicious dagger clearly on display.

  “You are in Norveshka, so you will be expected to speak Norveshki,” Dimitri announced.

  The elves gave him a bland look, then the older one spoke quietly in perfect Norveshki, “We did not come to speak to you.”

  Sorcha gritted her teeth. Arrogant bastards.

  The door creaked again and more footsteps sounded. She pressed her face against the railing and spotted Silas and Gwennore, walking arm in arm toward the dais, followed by Aleksi Marenko, a captain in the army, who was as fiercely armed as Dimitri.

  Sorcha couldn’t help but smile at how radiant Gwen looked in her sparkling gold gown. Silas was quite dashing in his army uniform. They were both wearing their newly crafted crowns.

  They stopped briefly in front of the elves, giving them a slight nod of their heads. At least the elves were well mannered enough to bow. But it seemed to Sorcha that they were bowing more to Gwennore than to Silas.

  Her brother helped his wife step up on the dais; then they both took their seats on the gold, jewel-encrusted thrones. Aleksi positioned himself next to Gwennore’s throne, where he eyed the elves with suspicion.

  “Your Majesties.” Dimitri bowed to Gwen and Silas, then added, “General Caladras and his son, Colonel Griffin Caladras, extend greetings from King Rendelf of Woodwyn.”

  Silas gave the elves another nod. “I bid you welcome to Norveshka.”

  The elves bowed slightly, and then the general spoke. “His Majesty, King Rendelf, asked me to congratulate you on his behalf. He was quite impressed by your quick and successful ascension to the throne.”

  Silas’s eyes narrowed.

  Sorcha winced. Silas wouldn’t have become king if his older brother hadn’t been killed by the Chameleon. Since a spy had been caught trying to cross into Woodwyn, it was very possible that the Chameleon had been working with the elves. Silas even suspected the Chameleon might be an elf.

  “Thank you,” Silas replied curtly. “I trust your king wishes to continue the truce between our two countries?”

  “Of course.” The general motioned to Gwennore. “We would also like to congratulate you on your marriage to our beloved princess, Gwennore.”

  Sorcha wadded the handkerchief in her fist. Beloved, her ass. The general had to know that Gwen had been rejected as a babe and shipped off to the convent.

  Gwennore looked tense but was doing a good job of keeping her face blank.

  “Our Majesty, King Rendelf, has sent a wedding gift. We hope it meets with your approval.” General Caladras untied the knot at the top of the bigger parcel, then let the blue silk fall into a puddle around an ornate box of carved wood inlaid with pearl.

  As the general opened the lid, Dimitri stepped close to check what was in the box. Then he stepped back, his hand tightening on the hilt of his sword till his knuckles turned white.

  The general lifted out a sculpture, carved entirely of wood. “Not to sound overly boastful, but I believe this piece proves that the craftsmen of Woodwyn are the best in all Aerthlan. It is magnificent, yes?”

  It was an exquisite dragon, delicately carved and polished to a lustrous gleam. A pair of sparkling rubies marked its eyes.

  Sorcha swallowed hard, and next to her, Annika hissed in a quick breath. Was this genuinely a present, or were the elves hinting that they knew the true nature of the Norveshki dragons?

  As a member of the royal family, Sorcha had been told the secret, that a few male descendants of the Three Cursed Clans were capable of shifting into dragons. Silas, Aleksi, and Dimitri could, along with about a dozen others. For centuries, it had been Norveshka’s most closely guarded secret.

  The three dragon shifters below grew very still.

  Silas’s mouth thinned; then he nodded. “It is, indeed, a work of art. Thank you.”

  “I’m delighted you’re pleased.” The general’s voice dripped with sarcasm as he returned the dragon to its box. He unwrapped the smaller parcel to reveal a small flat box of polished wood. “And this one is for our very own Princess Gwennore.”

  “She is a queen,” Silas corrected him. “Our queen.”

  “Of course.” The general opened the box to display the contents. “Woodwyn also has the best silversmiths. This necklace was made especially for you, Your Majesty.”

  “It’s quite beautiful. Thank you.” Gwennore accepted the open box.

  “It was designed by your own mother,” the general continued, and Gwen’s hands flinched slightly. “She is thrilled at the prospect of seeing her beloved daughter once again.”

  “Who is her mother?” Silas asked.

  “You didn’t know?” The general exchanged a smirk with his son. “Princess Jenetta, of course.”

  “How would we know who she was?” Gwennore asked quietly. “She sent me away when I was two months old.”

  “And it broke her heart!” The general placed a hand on his chest. “She was a victim, too, in that dreadful mess. Not only was she forced to part with you, but she was sentenced to seven years of solitude in the white tower.”

  Gwennore grew pale. “My . . . mother was punished?”

  “Yes. But now that Princess Jenetta is heir to the throne, His Majesty greatly regrets his decision. He no longer blames his daughter. She simply fell prey to the seduction of that insidious foreigner, Lord Tolenko.”

  Annika hissed in another breath at this blatant insult to Dimitri’s uncle.

  With a muttered curse, Dimitri took a step forward, but Silas lifted a hand to stop him.

  Gwennore’s cheeks flushed as she snapped the jewelry box shut. “Do not insult my father. It is bad enough that he met an untimely death while in your country.”

  “I understand.” The general bowed hastily. “Your loyalty to your father is commendable.” He removed a letter from his tunic. “I hope it will not deter you from reading this letter. Your mother wrote it.”

  Gwennore accepted the letter, her face growing pale once again. “I will look at it later.”

  “Of course.” The general nodded. “Your mother and grandfather are extremely eager to see you. His Majesty is not well, I’m afraid, so if you would please visit them at Wyndelas Palace—”

  “Too far,” Silas interrupted.

  “We would make sure she was comfortable on the journey,” the general told him. “After all, she is our princess.”

  “It is too far,” Silas repeated, leaning forward. “I cannot allow our queen to venture that far into what was enemy territory only a few weeks ago.”

  The general stiffened. “Surely you are not suggesting we would do harm to our own beloved princess.”

  “We will be happy to meet Her Majesty’s family at the border,” Silas said.

  The general sighed. “As I said, King Rendelf is not well. His health is too precarious at the moment to undertake such a long journey.”

  “My wife is not up to a long journey, either,” Silas countered. “She is now carrying our future heir.”

  Sorcha gasped. Gwennore was with child? And this was how she found out? Annika nudged her, and Sorcha winced, now realizing that Gwen’s gaze had shot up to the balcony for a brief second. Elves had notoriously good hearing, and even though her gasp had been muffled by the handkerchief, Gwen had still heard. Even the younger elfin colonel turned his head slightly.

  Gwen coughed as if to draw their attention to her. “What you fail to understand, General, is that I have no desire to meet my grandfather, not when he had my father executed and my mother imprisoned.”

  The general’s hands fisted for a few seconds before he relaxed them. “Then we will meet you at the border.”

  “Excellent.” Silas stood. “We will make arrangements. As for now, no doubt
you wish to rest after your long journey.”

  He and Gwen stepped off the dais and, followed by Aleksi, they sauntered across the room and out the door.

  “I will escort you to your rooms,” Dimitri told the elves.

  “If you don’t mind, we’re extremely parched after our long journey,” the general murmured. “Would you be so kind as to bring us some wine?”

  Dimitri’s back stiffened at being treated like a servant. “There are refreshments in your rooms, but since you’re unable to endure your discomfort for a few more minutes, I will have a servant tend to you in the waiting room.” He motioned toward the door. “This way.”

  The general and his son followed Dimitri out the door.

  After the door slammed shut, Sorcha scrambled to her feet.

  “What an ass,” Annika muttered. “Did you hear how he talked to my husband?”

  “Come on. We have to hurry.” Sorcha used her gift as one of the Embraced, snapping her fingers to make a flame and light the candle. Then holding up the candlestick, she slipped quietly down the secret staircase.

  “We can’t leave this way,” Annika whispered as she followed behind her. “We’ll end up in the waiting room where the elves will be.”

  “We’re not leaving.” Sorcha reached the ground floor and held a finger to her lips to warn her cousin not to talk.

  Annika joined her next to the exit, and Sorcha quietly set down the candlestick and blew out the flame. Then she pressed an ear to the thick canvas that served as a hidden door.

  The waiting room was small, its walls covered with wooden paneling. Numerous paintings of former kings and queens lined the walls, and one portrait, a large floor-length one, had a hidden latch, so that it opened like a door. With just the canvas separating Sorcha from the waiting room, she could hear every word said inside.

  “A servant will attend to you soon,” Dimitri announced. “A guard will remain outside this door, so please make yourselves comfortable.” The door was shut firmly.

  “Comfortable?” the colonel grumbled in Elfish. “In this dark and dreary little room? No windows, just these hideous portraits to look at.”