There was no part of me that desired this vow, but because of Eldirard, I was skilled with a blade, I could read languages in fae, mortal, and ancient elvish. I had been nurtured and fed and given a home.
I tightened my hold on his arm. “I won’t disappoint you.”
The sea fae palace was wide and open. Most rooms had grand, arched beams framing the ceiling, and wrought iron chandeliers speckled in moss from the damp air carried endless tallow candles with strange blue fire.
From a raised dais to one side, the Ever King and Queen stood. The sea king kept his familiar venom. His harsh, fiery eyes flashed in mistrust, but the queen held my gaze, even offered a gentle smile.
I looked away. Our brief interaction during the battles did not mean I mattered to fae folk. I’d do well to remember they were not truly pleased with me being here.
I was in this palace as a pawn of war to be played for their benefit, not mine.
As hosts of the negotiations, the sea folk would observe, but that was the extent of their role.
Attention went to the long, black oak table in the center of the hall. Blue satin ran the length, and decanters of wine and amber ale were arranged with drinking horns of all sizes.
Inside, my heart beat like it might be trying to snap free of my ribs. Outside, my face was as ice—cold and biting.
The steward ushered my grandfather to one side of the table. There, already seated, were several of his guards. Elven folk were all lean andlithe warriors. Dokkalfar were diverse in their skin tones, but most of the shadow elven boasted some shade of blue to their eyes. Some rich and royal, others like Cara, so shockingly pale it looked like the irises were frosted.
The guards rose to greet their king. Gold hilts with black onyx stones marked their blades, all symbols of the inner Natthaven court.
Differences between us and the alver clans were stark. Without the chaos of battle and the numbness of my affinity shadowing my thoughts, each opposite trait was clear.
Alvers looked mortal, their ears oddly curved. They did not keep their hair silken and long over the shoulders like elven warriors. Instead, rugged knots and braids were styled in their hair, and a few wiry beards covered chins.
Men and women stood behind the table, dressed in furs and leather, tunics without a distinct emblem, and wore scuffed, sturdy boots.
Were they guards? They seemed to be trying to look the part, but appeared more assassin than anything.
None of the strange assassin-guards were as intimidating as the gazes studying—nomemorizing—my every movement.
The alver king and queen and the two princes.
One of their sons nearly fell beneath my blade, and now I would be vowed to the other.
The sea queen wove her fingers together, a show of nerves, or perhaps Livia felt as suffocated by the tension as me.
“King Eldirard, Skadi”—she dipped her chin toward me—“Allow me to introduce House Eriksson.”
“We’ve met, Livie,” said my nightmare prince. With his strong jaw, his chestnut hair, tied half up on the sides, he appeared so different than his ruse as a drunkard. “But I suppose she ought to meet her future in-laws.”
I schooled my face into stony indifference, but faced the king and queen as though it were simply an instinct.
The king was a handsome man, but his jaw pulsed with untamed rage. His hair was dark as soil after rain and his eyes were a collision ofgold and emerald, as though molten ore spilled in through one side and stained the true shade.
The queen was pale with a dust of freckles over her nose and hair like a crimson flame. She combed her eyes over me, taking me in, a groove of concern on her brow.
Wise to be worried with a woman like me joining her house.
“Let us get this over with.” The alver king’s voice was rough and low. Direct, no disguising his disgust.
Doubtless they did not approve of such a bloodline as mine uniting with their precious son. I was inclined to agree.
The queen placed a hand on her husband’s arm. “Have it known this was not our decision and we are against it.”
My grandfather scoffed. “Alliances bring peace and power. Together, we will achieve that. Skadinia has accepted her burden, and I was under the belief your son took the burden for reasons much the same.”
Burden. The title every bride yearned to be given for her vows.
