Thalion’s arrow embedded itself into the tree trunk, just below the thirty previous shafts that had already been loosed. With inhuman speed, he nocked another, pulled his arm back, and released. Again and again he let the arrows fly. His arms moved automatically, without conscious thought. The elf’s eyes never wavered from his target. With the release of each arrow, he attempted to distract himself from the pain and frustration that was eating away at him.
Cyn had left him. She’d flashed right in front of him, leaving him standing alone, wondering. Now Thalion questioned whether they even had a future together at all. Had he been wrong to tell her that he would only accept all or nothing? Had he pushed her away for good? It didn’t matter. Thalion would wait forever for her, if necessary.
The elf prince nocked another arrow but then lowered his bow. He realized that repeatedly shooting a tree wasn’t helping his situation. Thalion needed a better distraction, something that would keep him from obsessing over the absence of his lover and the unanswered questions she left in her wake.
“My prince.” A deep voice rumbled from behind him.
Thalion pulled his bow over his head and let out a deep breath. He pushed away the emotions that were driving him mad and turned to face the leader of his army.
“Trigdin,” Thalion said by way of greeting and then waited for the other elf to speak.
“He’s asking for you,” the warrior told him. His head bowed and his shoulders slumped forward. “He says it’s getting close.”
Thalion knew why Trig suddenly looked as though someone had broken his best blade. He too was in pain over the news. “Take me to him,” the prince said, his cool voice detached, hiding the turmoil swimming inside of him.
There were two horses tethered to a nearby tree. Trig must have brought one of the horses with him because Thalion had come to the practice grounds on foot. There were no saddles or bridles. None were needed. Years of training with the animals, as well as an innate understanding of the natural world, including its animals, rendered such things more of a hindrance than a help for the elves or the horses. The two elves untied their mounts and deftly hopped onto the beasts’ backs, then pointed them toward home.
After ten minutes of riding, the pair turned down a well-worn dirt lane about a half mile from the castle. Tall trees lined either side of the path, their branches reaching across the open space as if trying to embrace one another, creating a canopy of leaves that cast shadows upon the riders. The short road came to an end after only a quarter of a mile. A small but well-cared-for house sat at the end of the lane. Thalion had been here before, many times, but for more joyous reasons. As he dismounted his mare, he stared at the structure with its high-pitched roof, blue shutters, and red door. A porch swing hung just to the left of the front door and two flower pots stood on either side of the entryway, though only dried soil rested in them now. The flowers that had once bloomed there were long since gone, just like the she-elf who had loved and found joy in them.At one time, the house had sung with the voices of happy visitors and flourished under the care of two elves deeply in love. Now, it sat derelict, neglected by the remnants of that once happy couple—the man that was left behind.
“Should I stay?” Trig asked. The pinched look on his face made it clear that he was hoping Thalion would say no.
“Go,” the prince told him. “Get some rest. You’ve been with him for a week. I will take over from here.”
Trig frowned. “I can send someone to watch him for you tonight.”
Thalion shook his head. “No. He is one of my subjects and a very close friend. Sentara would have my hide if I did not care for him. If she were still here, of course,” he added, as he felt past sorrow fill his insides, making his body seem unnaturally heavy. The elf prince didn’t say anything more as he turned and walked toward the red door. With each step, he could feel his own heart beginning to splinter because of what he was about to face. He feared he might be facing his own future if Cyn ultimately rejected him.
Without bothering to knock, Thalion opened the door and let his eyes adjust to the dim lighting. After he few moments, he followed the short hallway to the last door on the right, which was resting slightly ajar, and pushed it the rest of the way open.
“You aren’t the one dying,” said a scratchy weak voice, “but you look like you’re on your way to the gallows.”
Thalion shook his head at the man who had aged so much over the past year. “You speak boldly to your prince, old one.” The man lying before him didn’t look a day over fifty, but a year and a half ago, before he’d lost his mate, he hadn’t looked a day over twenty-five.
“I speak like a man who has nothing to lose,” Reeve grumbled in response.
“I’m sorry,” Thalion told his old friend gently. “She should not have died.”
Reeve laughed but it was humorless. “You’ve already apologized too many times. And, yes, she should have.”
The prince’s eyes shot up.
“Why are you looking at me like that? I didn’t say that I was glad of it.”
“Then what are you saying?” Thalion asked, truly wanting to know what would cause a man to say such a thing about his mate.
“Dying is a part of living. Our long lives, practically immortal, bring us more pain than any human will experience in their blink of an existence. We are not blessed. We are fools. Death is what makes life worth living. It is the knowledge that we won’t always be here to hold the one we love. There will not always be one more kiss, one more night, one more chance to tell those we love how much they mean to us. Death keeps us from becoming selfish, greedy, entitled charlatans that take everything they have for granted. It grants us peace when we lose the one who holds our heart and soul because we know we will one day follow them. Without death, we are nothing more than a spectator, always watching but never truly participating.”
Thalion sank down into the chair beside Reeve’s bed as the weight of those words fell on him. Part of him knew his friend’s words were somewhat distorted because of the grief he was feeling, but the rest of him knew that Reeve spoke truth. Death was a luxury that didn’t come easily to the elves. Sickness wasn’t a concern for them. Most wounds that would kill a human would only slow an elf down. A fae blade could do the trick. Its powers stopped the regenerative ability that all the elves possessed. But something else was even more deadly—a broken heart. Unlike the wolves, elves didn’t die instantly when their mates passed on, at least not literally. But when one of his kind lost their mate, the grief could, and most often did, render them broken beyond repair. The remaining elf craved the companionship of his other half and couldn’t stand facing eternity without her. It was at that point that an elf would, quite literally, will themselves to die.
Reeve let out a long sigh and then turned his dead eyes on Thalion. “Enough of my ravings. What of you? What of that cute, little fae you’ve been pining after for two centuries?”
“You are on your way out of this life, and you want to talk about my romantic entanglements?” Thalion asked, his brow raised and a slight smile on his lips.
“The dying get to talk about whatever in seven hells they want. Quit stalling and tell me why you have not claimed that female yet.”
Thalion’s mouth slammed shut, and he felt his heart beating painfully in his chest. Reeve simply waited. He’d always done that—asked a question and then stared at you as though he had all the time in the world to wait for your answer. Thalion rubbed his face and leaned back in the chair before finally speaking. “I have claimed her. I have made it clear that I want to bind myself to her. But she says she can’t give herself to me completely. She can give me her love and her heart, but she cannot bind her soul to mine.” The pain those words had caused him the first time he’d heard them came back in full force. Thalion knew that monogamy among fae was rare. They were flighty, fickle, and weren’t generally nurturing or sentimental. All this, coupled with their immortality, caused the fae to be unable to commit to a monogamous relationship. That had changed completely when the Great Luna deigned to cause mating between fae and werewolves. But how would a pairing between a fae and elf even work? He had no answer to that question. He wondered if Cyn’s fae nature precluded her from having the same type of attachment to him that he had to her. Maybe it wasn’t in her genetic makeup to bind her soul to another, unless the Great Luna intervened.
“You do not think there is one of our own kind meant for you?” Reeve asked him.
