Page 90 of Black Sea

I approached the sentry in white armor guarding the narrow archway to the palace’s other areas.

The elf, with short, messy raven hair and light irises, tapped her pike’s shaft against her lightweight breastplate. “Your Highness,” she greeted me.

“To what quarters was the King of Men taken?” I asked her without preamble.

The blood drained from her face as her eyes widened slightly.

Initially, I believed she couldn’t respond and felt ashamed for not knowing such crucial information.

But then.

Then I understood the reason for her discomfort.

Amlach was not in the palace.

A burning fury swelled in me, and I pushed the guard aside more roughly than I meant to as I passed under the arch and left the courtyard.

I streaked across the small bridges over streams and through the forest trees, which blended seamlessly with the surrounding buildings. The grass rustled under my low shoes, and the flames of torches or braziers hissed as I moved past.

Located in the lowest section of the palace grounds and carved into the mountain, the prisons had been built by my ancestors when the first humans had arrived in the Lands of the East to imprison the most savage among them and teach them how to live peacefully with our people. Since then, they had remained unused for thousands and thousands of years.

Until now.

Two soldiers stood at the entrance, their pikes crossed to block the passage.

“Get out of my way,” I roared as I marched in quick time. “Or I’ll do it.”

They uncrossed their spikes just before I reached them.

I descended the uneven steps carved into the ground, my elven eyesight allowing me to see clearly even in complete darkness. I moved down the corridor, where moss grew between the cracks of the rocks so damp that they dripped water.

Amlach was in the last of the five cells to my right, a miserable candle flickering to keep him company along with the insects on the walls. He had already jumped up from the mat on the stone bench leaning against the wall when I stood in front of the cell door.

“Nauriel,” was all he said, firmly yet kindly.

Keeping my eyes on him, I wrapped my hand around one of the bars and tugged with such force that dust and small pieces of stone fell from the ceiling.

“Please, let me explain,” Amlach coaxed.

I glared at him before pulling harder on the bars. The old lock burst open with a sort of explosion. Immediately, I stepped into the cell and slapped Amlach so hard that he teetered and extended his arm just in time to avoid hitting the bars with his face.

He exhaled sharply through his nostrils and shot me an irritated glance behind the hair strands that had fallen over his face. “I told you you wouldn’t look at me the same way again.”

His teasing tone only increased my anger. “You lied to me,” I said in the common tongue.

He ran the back of his fingers across his cheek—his skin was already bright red beneath his beard. “You never asked me who I was. It was you who claimed I was the commander of the men’s army. It didn’t even cross your mind that I could be their king.”

“Because each King of Men I have encountered throughout the ages has always stayed in the back and never fought directly in battle,” I retorted.

“I’m not like my predecessors.”

“No, you’re just a liar.”

Amlach stared at me with such intensity that I felt crushed by the powerful emotions colliding inside me.

Before I knew it, I reached out to uncover his ear. He immediately tried to stop me, but I grabbed his wrist to block him. In response, Amlach gripped mine with his free hand and attempted to force me to lower my arm.

But now I was stronger than him.