The corner of my mouth twitches. “Can’t I?” I know she’s right, but I’m enjoying this time, this bond between us, just for a while. It helps me to feel needed, feel worthy. If these people only knew how far I’ve fallen. How powerless I’ve become. I am not worthy of the sacrifice Eloise made to free me from Valeska. My blood is the only payment I can give her. I’m not anxious for her to learn how little she actually needs me.
She tips her head. “Damien…”
I blink slowly. I’m sulking and she knows it. “Would you like me to get you a glass?” My voice is heavy with resignation.
“No. The people here need every drop.” Her brow furrows as she scrutinizes my face, trying to sort out my thoughts. I hide them behind heavy steel walls. My self-loathing is my damage to repair. She’s done enough for me. “You did a good thing today hunting this for them.” She points her chin toward the stag.
Warbill is carving the beast and passing the meat around the tavern. Laughter and the raucous sound of frivolity are deafening in the round room. A closet is opened. Instruments are pulled out and placed into the hands of three men and a woman. A few scales and odd notes later, the hollow rhythm of drums melds with the thrumming of strings, the dulcet tones of a bone-carved keyboard, and a voice singing about sunrises and fields of crimson wheat.
A few couples begin to dance. I wonder how long it’s been since Bolvet was properly fed.
“I only did what my brother should have done a long time ago.”
“Warbill says they’ve been cut off because they won’t bend the knee to Nevina.”
I wince. So that’s it, why the men can’t hunt or buy what they need. Every time they leave this village, they risk prosecution. Now Tempest’s words make sense. Brahm hasn’t brought peace to everyone in Stygarde. To some, he’s brought ruin. But the last thing I want is to worry Eloise. She came here with me because I promised to make her a princess. She came to find a home and the safety I owe her after the danger she survived. And although she swears she doesn’t need a castle or pretty dresses, she deserves them. She deserves everything.
Admitting that my brother and his elf wife are intentionally starving their own kingdom over an unsworn oath would ruin everything. Even admitting it to myself would mean I might have a responsibility to my people. I refuse to go there. It would open the door to considering that instead of making a home for her, we would once again find ourselves fighting a war.
I won’t do it. This entire world can burn to ash for all I care—Bolvet and all the villages like it. It has nothing to do with us.
“Damien, did you hear what I said? Warbill thinks?—”
“I heard you, but… If all they need to do is bend the knee, maybe they should do it.”
“What?”
“I’m just saying that swallowing their pride seems like a better option than starvation.” The words sound harsh even to my own ears.
Eloise makes a face that’s somewhere between a cringe and a grimace. “You yourself said how difficult it was to accept a dark elf on the throne. Cultural differences die hard. It’s on Brahm’s shoulders to find a way to ease his people into this change.”
“You don’t know what he did or didn’t do,” I say, but even as the words leave my mouth, I know that Brahm wouldn’t have a clue how to handle the public relations of making a dark elf his queen.
“Look,” Eloise says, “when I was working with the queen and the other royal women on plans for the Harvest Festival, it was clear that Nevina hasn’t put forth any effort to reach out or understand shade culture. I think Bolvet has their reasons for doing what they’ve done. I think there’s probably more to this than just simple pride.”
I look up from our whispering match at the shades who are spinning around the tavern, smiling brightly. “I think today is not the day to broach that particular subject.”
The corners of her mouth twitch down. “True.”
“You know what it is the day for?” I slant her a playful smile.
“What?” Her lips flatten into a straight line.
“Dancing.” I tug her off her barstool.
“Damien!” She squeals as I spin her about the room. My hand settles in the small of her back, the silky feel of her new dress giving me some amount of pleasure. At least I can afford to dress her like a princess, even if I can’t give her the title. Voices and laughter bubble louder as we turn around the bar. And Eloise gives herself over to it, seeming to forget her earlier concern with my brother, with the kingdom. She spins and laughs and allows me to pull her closer.
This is what I want. This is the joy she deserves.
“Can I cut in?” Ariadne appears beside me.
“Of course,” Eloise says with a laugh before I can think of an excuse. Warbill is standing behind her, more than willing to take her hand and pick up where I left off. Ariadne steps closer, filling the space Eloise has vacated.
“Thank you for this,” she says as we start to turn. “You saved lives today.”
“You’re welcome. Thank you for the dresses. Eloise seems pleased.”
Her face falls. “Dresses? Of course, I’ll make the dresses. But surely that’s only the beginning of why you came today. How do you plan to challenge the elf for your father’s throne? How can we help? Warbill was once umbrae, but he and our other men are weak. It may take time to get them organized. You should ask for their allegiance today, while they’re fed. I know they will do whatever you ask, should you say the word, but it will be easier with a full belly.”
