Page 25 of The Nymph King

Ellisar made them wait in their chambers for over half an hour after they’d finished dressing before calling them to the meeting room.

Imani spent every minute remembering the cruel smile she had seen from her window the night before, the ease with which he discussed killing a king, and the casual certainty that he could defeat Kiran again.

Now he was making her wait.

Perhaps another person would have called that scheduling, but Imani called it a power play.

Despite never having officially met him, she had already decided the elf was horrifying and infuriating. Again, it reminded her of someone else she knew.

Esa put a hand on her shoulder. “Even if he is making you wait on purpose, don’t give him the satisfaction. Elves like games. Ignore it.”

The pixie’s hand remained on her shoulder a second too long, and Imani shrugged it off. Comfort was one thing. Pity was another, and she hated that she couldn’t tell which one Esa was offering.

The possibility of it being pity made her skin prickle.

She did not want her friend looking at her and seeing someone who needed to be soothed. Imani had to appear strong—to be strong—and she didn’t want comfort. She wanted answers.

“Then I will play games right back at him once he deems our time worth as much as his own,” Imani hissed, unable to hide the irritation in her voice.

Just as she finished, the door opened, and a servant entered. “The High Sentinel will see you now.”

Exchanging glares, Esa and Imani lifted their dresses and stood to follow the servant.

A servant led them out of the south guest wing and into the estate’s central portion. They crossed a long gallery overlooking the inner gardens, descended a shallow flight of white stone stairs, then passed beneath an archway into a broader corridor lined with large paintings and closed doors. Beyond the windows to Imani’s left lay the front lawns and the road they had entered from. The deeper they went, the farther they moved from the private rooms and into the part of the estate clearly meant for governance.

The maid leading them prattled on about the paintings, but Imani paid little attention. She was entirely focused on her plan to get the upper hand on the High Sentinel.

If the wait was meant as disrespect, then he clearly didn’t believe her yet.

At the end of the hallway, the space widened into a small antechamber dominated by a sweeping set of double doors adorned with dark wooden inlay. Two guards stood on either side, and the muffled movement of several people came from beyond them.

With a creak, the servant cracked open the door to a room filled with High Norn elves, both men and women.

The room was expansive, with high, ornate ceilings and tall windows running along one side. A council table dominated the chamber, surrounded by enough chairs for several dozen people, though some of the High Norn had chosen to stand at the edges rather than sit. Maps of Essenheim and the Draswood covered one wall, while another held shelves crowded with ledgers and rolled documents.

Ellisar occupied the largest chair at the head of the room, big enough for two people, and crossed one leg over the other as he lazily watched Imani and Esa make their way down the carpeted stretch, their dresses held up, wands in hand.

The difference between him and Kiran hit her acutely. In a scene like this, her heartmate would pretend she didn’t exist, but Ellisar reminded Imani of Magnus, who’d watched her keenly when she’d entered his Throne room all those months ago.

Ellisar barely moved, but his magic did not need movement to announce itself. The instant Imani stepped inside, her own signature reacted to his.

While no one could see his magic, she sensed the invisible pressure surrounding him, broad enough that her instincts registered it before she consciously understood why. Her own magic signature reached out and tested his boundary, then recoiled from the sheer density of energy occupying the space around him.

Only occasionally did the air nearest his shoulders betray anything physical at all, wavering faintly for a heartbeat like heat rising from sun-warmed stone, then returning to normal.

He was rumored to be a twelve-mark, and in this moment, she believed them.

The High Sentinel regarded her with cold curiosity, his head tipping down as he studied every inch of Imani—her beaded slippers, her sapphire-adorned dress, her blue eyes, and the crown on her head.

She had met the powerful High Sentinel of the Nymphs before when she worked for her grandmother’s magic business, but this one did not act like the nymph High Sentinel.

Indeed, Ellisar did not bother with glamour like many others. His obvious Norn features only made the force surrounding him more concerning.

Their eyes met and locked. A strange flutter rippled through Imani’s core, as if a magic deep inside urged her to run. This elf had a beautiful face, yet somehow, he made it look threatening. Short silver-blond hair, longer on top and shaved at the sides, with broad shoulders. A full, lush mouth remained unsmiling, and his cerulean eyes, which could practically swallow you whole, watched her shrewdly. His appearance struck her with a sudden familiarity that hurt more than she expected. She had been away from Vathis long enough to forget what it felt like to look at someone and see home written so plainly across his face. She wondered what he looked like when he laughed.

He wasn’t laughing now.

Both Esa and Imani curtsied respectfully, though once Imani had her throne, she’d curtsy to no one. Right now, she didn’t have that luxury.