prepared at our fingertips. We’ve grown soft and never foresaw a threat rising against us, especially from within.”
“Do you challenge me?” he asks.
She bows her head. “To challenge you would only mean more sidhe blood spilled. You are the Archmage. What is your command?”
“We will open our city to the human refugees,” Kaladan replies. “They will walk freely in our streets, and we will mingle with them.”
“Then we are all doomed to become saldaka ,” she replies. “The High Court has fallen. We are the Exile Court.”
Prince Kaladan steps towards her over his father’s body and strikes her once on the cheek. “Never say that. If all are saldaka, then none truly are.”
Meiri turns away from the window. Adrenaline shoots through her limbs, and she breathes in excitement. Can she walk freely now? Her prince will come for her again, and they will… what? Rule together? From fisherman’s daughter to slave to elf queen. No one had ever risen so high. Thoughts of Lord Keeva and the other rulers of Fairholm who raided the lake villages fill her with newfound anger. Kaladan will take in the human slaves and refugees. Living as pets to the elves is better than the abuse of human masters, or starving in the wilds. But can she live by the side of the elf prince, one who has killed so many? His soul has rotted and is no better than Lord Keeva’s now. Maybe worse.
“Magic of aggression. How human.” Grief shakes Tomoril’s words. “I have always loved his wisdom…” Tomoril turns from the window. “But has his love for your beauty replaced his love for wisdom? I must trust my prince. I must believe he sees more deeply than me.”
She clutches her hand to her chest and slumps against the wall. I must be careful.
14
The door opens and Prince Kaladan enters the room. Meiri stands quietly, doing all she can to keep her composure. Her emotions threaten to tear her heart open. Part of her shrinks away in disgust from the man who murdered so many in her name. From the man who killed his own father. Thoughts of her own father come unbidden to her mind, and she launches herself at the Archmage, pounding his chest futilely with her fists.
“Monster!” she cries out, angry tears falling over her cheeks. She wants to run past him and break free. But there is another part of her that ignites under his gaze. She wants this magical force of nature standing in front of her to overwhelm and consume her being. In that moment, he is everything terrible in the world, the living embodiment of the fate that has dominated her life. In that moment she recognizes the futility of resisting him, but not just him, of the unfeeling universe. But here, embodied in this elf prince, fate wants her. And now that fate has a face, with lips she can kiss and breath she can touch, she sees fate might have something to offer in return. She swoons and falls into his arms.
He holds her tight. He breath is ragged, and he whispers in tormented fervor. “I have done as you asked,” he said, “and even more.” She can hear the echo of her own soul’s war in his voice: desire, despair, anger at fate, and excitement all melting into a thick cord of passion.
“It’s safe to leave these rooms?” she asks softly. “I want to walk through the woods again and feel the open sky on my face.”
He picks her up in his arms, showering her face with kisses. He lays her on the bed. “Hush,” he says. “I will never let you leave. You are too precious a thing. But I will visit you every night.”
His worship intoxicates her. She wants to tell him no, but her heart thuds against her throat. It doesn’t matter, her mind’s indignation over the transgression of dominating her so completely, because it is the same domination that excites her so. Her irritation dissolves before her body’s overwhelming desire that he touch her deeply.
He whispers into her ear, “I will save your people. I will bring the lake village folk here where
“Do you challenge me?” he asks.
She bows her head. “To challenge you would only mean more sidhe blood spilled. You are the Archmage. What is your command?”
“We will open our city to the human refugees,” Kaladan replies. “They will walk freely in our streets, and we will mingle with them.”
“Then we are all doomed to become saldaka ,” she replies. “The High Court has fallen. We are the Exile Court.”
Prince Kaladan steps towards her over his father’s body and strikes her once on the cheek. “Never say that. If all are saldaka, then none truly are.”
Meiri turns away from the window. Adrenaline shoots through her limbs, and she breathes in excitement. Can she walk freely now? Her prince will come for her again, and they will… what? Rule together? From fisherman’s daughter to slave to elf queen. No one had ever risen so high. Thoughts of Lord Keeva and the other rulers of Fairholm who raided the lake villages fill her with newfound anger. Kaladan will take in the human slaves and refugees. Living as pets to the elves is better than the abuse of human masters, or starving in the wilds. But can she live by the side of the elf prince, one who has killed so many? His soul has rotted and is no better than Lord Keeva’s now. Maybe worse.
“Magic of aggression. How human.” Grief shakes Tomoril’s words. “I have always loved his wisdom…” Tomoril turns from the window. “But has his love for your beauty replaced his love for wisdom? I must trust my prince. I must believe he sees more deeply than me.”
She clutches her hand to her chest and slumps against the wall. I must be careful.
14
The door opens and Prince Kaladan enters the room. Meiri stands quietly, doing all she can to keep her composure. Her emotions threaten to tear her heart open. Part of her shrinks away in disgust from the man who murdered so many in her name. From the man who killed his own father. Thoughts of her own father come unbidden to her mind, and she launches herself at the Archmage, pounding his chest futilely with her fists.
“Monster!” she cries out, angry tears falling over her cheeks. She wants to run past him and break free. But there is another part of her that ignites under his gaze. She wants this magical force of nature standing in front of her to overwhelm and consume her being. In that moment, he is everything terrible in the world, the living embodiment of the fate that has dominated her life. In that moment she recognizes the futility of resisting him, but not just him, of the unfeeling universe. But here, embodied in this elf prince, fate wants her. And now that fate has a face, with lips she can kiss and breath she can touch, she sees fate might have something to offer in return. She swoons and falls into his arms.
He holds her tight. He breath is ragged, and he whispers in tormented fervor. “I have done as you asked,” he said, “and even more.” She can hear the echo of her own soul’s war in his voice: desire, despair, anger at fate, and excitement all melting into a thick cord of passion.
“It’s safe to leave these rooms?” she asks softly. “I want to walk through the woods again and feel the open sky on my face.”
He picks her up in his arms, showering her face with kisses. He lays her on the bed. “Hush,” he says. “I will never let you leave. You are too precious a thing. But I will visit you every night.”
His worship intoxicates her. She wants to tell him no, but her heart thuds against her throat. It doesn’t matter, her mind’s indignation over the transgression of dominating her so completely, because it is the same domination that excites her so. Her irritation dissolves before her body’s overwhelming desire that he touch her deeply.
He whispers into her ear, “I will save your people. I will bring the lake village folk here where
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