The elven king shifts in his throne at that, leaning forward.
Draven gestures to me, his smile charming, though I see the tension in his shoulders, his wings. “But does she seem all that dangerous to you? We are merely two people, brought together by fate. This angered King Altair. But the rumors of her becoming some … Forsaken One are nothing more than jealousy over my unwillingness to let her out of my sight. Take the words for what they are—rumors and lies.”
Do not make eye contact,Draven’s voice unspools into my mind, and I realize how low my guard has dropped in the king’spresence, as if whatever power he holds has been quietly smothering my mental wards. He is by far the biggest danger here. I lower my eyes and look at his hands. There are so many rings on his fingers, but I don’t recognize the emerald gleam of Seithr, the Kingmaker.
The elven king’s attention turns to me.
His voice is sharp as a scythe as he speaks again. “I’m inclined to disbelieve the seraph king’s warning, if only because Altair can be so droll, seeing threats in every shadow. But know this … if I find that you’re lying, or that you or your pet have any inclinations to deceive or threaten me, I will not hesitate to act. King Silas and the others may have convinced themselves that your changeling kind are part of us, worthy of our crowns, but I have not forgotten where you hail from. You were raised as royalty because of the card that chose you, not by skill or blood right. At least my heir fought for the right to bear my titles, but all I see when I look upon you is a rebel scab who got very lucky. Do not test that luck here.”
Draven’s eyes burn red, the silence unnaturally thick.
“Husband!”
The entire room’s attention shifts to the elven queen as she wanders into the hall. Her skin is as dark as his is pale, her face too perfectly proportioned to feel real, eyes wide and doe-like, lips full and pouty. Her braided hair shines, and I envy the perfection in them. She looks absolutely mortified and the king merely shifts in his chair, one leg crossing the other, frowning as he leans heavily against one arm like a sulking teenager.
The queen clears her throat, her voice tense. “Forgive our king, he has been most strained recently due to the toxic drake roaming our hills. Please, you must be weary from all this political talk. I would be more than happy to show you to your rooms before the feast tonight.”
Draven gives the king one last heated stare before nodding to the queen. I walk quickly to match the pace of his longer strides. Passing a thought his way, I eye him apprehensively.
What a prick.I pause, stewing on my thoughts, scratching the claim mark on my neck.Do all the immortal royals know your parents were rebels?
He was there the day of my Selection. He’s been particularly vocal about his disgust of changelings and was the last to choose one as his heir. The prince of Alfheim was forced to fight in a trial for his place, and he’s a cruel prick, just like his king.He pauses, fuming, then suddenly adds,Keep your guard up, Rune. Elves have magic, too, even if it’s not as complex as our own.
I follow his lead, but I feel the elven king’s eyes on my back.
24A Feast for One
The Lovers card represents not only love but duality, choices, lust, and trust.
WE’RE SHOWN A HALLWAYof bedrooms, ending with a beautiful, two-story apartment for Draven, reserved for royal guests. The living room contains a large wall of windows that looks down upon the busy citadel below and gives a view of the cavernous kingdom beyond. Everything is accentuated by organic elements, as though carved from nature—light wooden floors, expansive floor-to-ceiling windows, soft earth-toned fabrics, and rounded walls.
The queen wears a bland but polite smile as Draven’s guards move into the room, searching through it, as though looking for hidden traps. Draven keeps his hands in his pockets.
“I apologize again for my husband’s tone,” the queen says.
Draven just nods, the embodiment of nonchalance, though a hint of crimson touches his eyes. But I can’t help but admire her quiet authority and confidence, so in contrast to her husband.
“I’ll send attendants before sunset to guide you to the feast. Please make yourselves at home in the meantime.”
“Could we receive a map of where the zenith is located?” Draven drawls. “Just in case we decide to leave sooner than expected.” The bite in his tone is unmistakable.
I pinch his arm. The king was an ass but it’s no excuse for Draven to take it out on her. I’ve never tolerated punishing women for the behavior of the men around them. She seems to notice my silent reprimand, the tension of her puckered forehead softening as she looks between us.
“I can arrange for you all to collect the zenith tomorrow, instead of in a few days,” she allows.
Draven grunts an acknowledgment.
The queen smiles at me and then leaves us.
Scorpius turns to Draven, running a hand through his blond hair, his body wire-tight. He leans forward. “Their king needs to watch his tone.”
“You going to teach him?” Fable cleans her nails with a small knife.
“Let me, and I will.” Scorpius doesn’t take his eyes off Draven.
Zara and Malik are on the other side of the room, whispering in a way that reminds me of an assured cat ignoring an eager puppy.
“You’re baited too easily. I’m more interested in what other lies he’s gotten so far from the seraphs, not a pissing contest.” Draven folds his arms. “He may have insulted changelings and myself, but the last thing we need is an elf-seraph alliance. We need them on our side if Altair decides to start a war, so for now we play nice.”
