At Saebellus’ declaration, the other council members had turned toward the queen as well, their eyes wide, their lips parted in alarm. What she displayed was a mirror of their own shock and repulsion. She seemed to struggle to find words, her mouth opening and closing as her mind seemed to burn for a response.
Sellemar saw the one-eyed council member lean forward, his brows knit tightly as he regarded Saebellus coolly. Saebellus’ eyes shifted away from Sellemar toward the Noc’olarian male. “I am Lord Valdor,” the Noc’olari informed him. “If you recall, we served together briefly before my troops were recalled to take care of an inner rebellion. I knew you as a good male—but your recent actions lead me to believe that you are quite the different individual. Whatever the reasons for your actions—and I suspect they are driven by the war with the sirens—they have cost the lives of tens of thousands. What will you do if Elvorium is given to you?”
Stoic and withdrawn, Saebellus blinked slowly, taking a deep breath as though Valdor’s question was unworthy of a response. He turned, armor plates grating softly against one another. “Do with it as should be done. The laws I give it shall be my own. They are superior to what your self-centered brothers have devised. Either you will give me the city or I will take it. Once again, it is the council’s decision for how many must die to reach the inevitable result. If you agree to this willingly, I shall spare your lives. That is the only reprieve you will receive. Refuse, and every head of this council shall be paraded through the streets on the golden platters from which you dine.”
Sellemar could see the council ripple uncomfortably. Ilsevel put a hand to her mouth in anguish.
“Saebellus, please,” she began.
The warlord turned to face her, his face growing expressionless. “You have the opportunity to spare the lives of your people from further injury. Wed me and I promise no harm shall come to this city.”
Ilsevel looked at her father, her expression outwardly anxious, yet for the first time Sellemar could catch the steadiness of her composure. He narrowed his eyes. What was her end goal?
She turned back. “I—”
Saebellus cut her off. “Do not look at your father, Ilsevel. He is a traitor to his own blood. You know what he did to your brother.”
Sellemar caught a flicker of hatred in Ilsevel’s eyes as she glanced back toward her father. He could see her struggling to mask it and was finally forced to avert her gaze.
What was he talking about…?
Saebellus locked eyes with Nilanis. The El’adorium stiffened, his eyes shifting anxiously to the other council members. “I appointed your son as my captain when we rebelled. Fearing that your name would be tarnished by the ‘traitor’ in your family, you had him assassinated and dared claim my army killed him ‘when he tried to resist our rebellion.’ When I find the murderer, you will kill him slowly before me and you will leave his head on your gates as a testament of your crime. And you will never take it down.”
Sellemar’s brows raised in abhorrence that Nilanis was so self-serving as to hire the murder of his own son. It was no surprise now the visible hatred that had flickered through Ilsevel’s features. And now… He could see the hatred of the warlord evident across Nilanis’ face—his pursed lips and narrowed eyes did not try to hide it. Sellemar glanced quickly to Ilsevel for a reaction, but whatever expression she had worn had been quickly masked by pain and plight.
For a moment, there was merely silence as Saebellus allowed the rest of the council to remain focused on Nilanis, to squirm in their unspoken questions. Then he turned back to Ilsevel. “Even your father will be spared if you agree now.”
“Your Majesty, you mustn’t give in to him,” Heshellon spoke forcefully, cutting off her response. “This city shall not blame you for refusing!”
Ilsevel shook her head heavily, hanging it down, as though torn with the weight of her decision.
It sickened Sellemar to see the agreement written on most of the council’s faces as they regarded one another, so desperate for their own lives that they did not attempt to object further.
“What about the council?” Mikanum suddenly spoke up. The others turned sharply toward Saebellus, all silently asking the same question.
Saebellus regarded them icily. “The council shall remain as is. I shall not touch you. If you surrender to my terms now.”
Sellemar could see Ilsevel remain standing, head still lowered in what he supposed was meant to be conflict.
He leaned back, regarding the council cynically but carefully. Valdor and Heshellon seemed most conflicted about her agreement. Mikanum seemed hesitant. As for the others… He scowled. Even Nilanis seemed all too eager to cling to his wealth and life.
With each of the elven cities practically independent and the number of truly skilled soldiers minimal at best, it would take weeks to gather a decent force and weeks more for an army to arrive. By then, Saebellus could easily fortify himself in an advantageous position. As for the rest of the elven races, their forces were either insufficient in size or incompetent in battle—thanks to the rules and regulations the council had burdened the nation with in an attempt to ensure peace.
And by banning the Lithri, the Malravi, and the other elven races from the council, those races were not likely to offer any assistance in their time of need.
Elvorium was, in all honesty, without much hope now that the gates had been opened. His eyes narrowed as he withdrew in thought. No, Elvorium was stronger than that…! If the council lifted the ban on Jikun’s troops, they could probably hold the city until the sea and Ruljarian people arrived as reinforcements. Potentially, that would be enough to resist. Even if Saebellus built a fleet, the sea and Ruljenari were far more experienced on water than Saebellus could ever hope to be. If he fought them, like a leaf in the ocean, their sheer familiarity with sea-based battle would swallow Saebellus into the depths. What would be left of his troops could be defeated by the other races.
The determination to resist coursed through him. They could do it and he could lead them…!
Sellemar opened his mouth, but then hesitated. His gaze slid back to Ilsevel, who was staring up at Saebellus from her still-downcast face, eyes burning with intensity and triumph. No. Even if he voiced his plan, he knew what Ilsevel’s choice—perhaps even her plan—would be. His futile opposition, he knew, would lead him to wherever Erallus was now…
Ilsevel suddenly raised her head. “I shall do this. Please, council, I cannot bear the thought of your lives, or those of our people, being placed in any further danger. Or to see your livelihoods wasted away in defense of the city only to have your reward at our loss be the decapitation and defamation of your heroism… No. I shall marry Saebellus.” Her eyes met his fiercely. “I shall accept your terms of surrender.”
Saebellus’ bowed his head slightly, a wry smile on his lips. Yet, Sellemar did not see triumph in it. For the first time, there was a hint of humility. And at the same time, a dangerous, self-appointed importance that so held his own attention that his false smile was nothing but obvious. He was torn in a performance of fierceness for the council and becoming overcome with his own thoughts, oddly comfortable in Ilsevel’s agreement and already faltering to put on an act.
Sellemer grimaced. Perhaps this but further revealed that Saebellus had already settled into his position as king before he had even arrived in the city.
The warlord raised his head, his voice echoing solidly across the hall. “Then I shall give my troops permission to enter the city.”
The council remained silent, their bodies stiff, even in compliance. Whether they perceived his change in behavior, Sellemar could not tell, but his lips pursed in aversion. Saebellus would not keep his word for safety for the council. There was something personal involved here between Ilsevel and the warlord—Ilsevel would not simply have exchanged one king for another.
So then… what was the gain?
Sellemar looked back toward Ilsevel, her carefully composed strength a pillar of hope f
or the foolish council members that clung to it. How carefully she had chosen her words about the council’s lives and wealth. That was all she needed to pull their strings.
Chapter Forty-One
The soft rays of sunlight filtered through the sheer curtains of the balcony. There they dimmed, edging cautiously forward and out across the wide, tiled floor to peer over the side of the large bed. Ilsevel shifted, moaning softly as she awoke, her body still aching from the force with which Saebellus had bedded her. She opened her eyes, blinking back the bleariness, and focused on the figure beside her.
Saebellus’ black hair was wild about his head and he seemed oddly comfortable in the cool morning air, the silk sheets only rising to his firm stomach. She imagined he had spent far too many nights on the hard ground, encamped in Sevrigel’s wilderness. He was already awake, eyes staring up into the canopy of silk above them, seemingly lost in thought.
Ilsevel curled up further into the bed’s warmth, pressing her forehead against his thick shoulder. “Good morning, my love,” she whispered, slipping a hand from the covers to run along the definition of his upper chest. “What captures your thoughts?”
Saebellus started slightly, catching her hand in his firm grip. She inhaled sharply in discomfort and his grip loosened. Without turning his face to her, he stoically slid her hand from his body, dropping it away beside him.
“Saebellus…” she spoke reproachfully, sitting up and letting the covers fall from her bare breasts.
He turned, and Ilsevel could see the hint of desire in his eyes, even as he attempted to mask it. He smiled faintly, taunting her with his self-control. Yet he leaned forward, locking her lips in a long, deep kiss. She felt her heart rate quicken.
Saebellus pulled back and Ilsevel attempted to match his controlled expression. He seemed to enjoy toying with her desires as much as she enjoyed having him follow through. She saw the lust flicker in his eyes and smiled inwardly, reflecting on her triumph. She had won again.
“Where are you going today?” she asked as she watched him begin to dress. He was quick about it, donning simple clothes and no armor. He pushed his crown carelessly to the side on his chest of drawers as he reached for his sheathed blade.
Saebellus pulled the silk across his chest, fastening the centermost button and turning toward the door. He attempted to fasten the rest as he went. “To take care of the rest of Jikun’s troops.”
Ilsevel cocked her head, aware of how her hair slid down across her shoulder. She reached up to brush it back slowly, watching his eyes trail along her body. “What do you mean by that?”
Saebellus opened the door, holding it ajar with his foot. Ilsevel could catch the disinterested glance of Vale as he looked inside, watching as he turned his attention back to Adonis. She wondered how long they had been waiting for him. Saebellus fastened his last button below his throat. “Jikun’s soldiers shall assimilate into my army or they shall be executed.” He stepped out into the hall, letting the carved doors fall closed with a quiet thud.
She still heard his apathy echoing through the chamber even after he had left. He would do as his habit and rank required, but his voice was weary.
Ilsevel looked over to the chest of drawers where his crown lay teetering on the edge and his phoenix necklace from their wedding ceremony lay across the ground, barely protruding from a pile of clothes. She smiled slightly. He was nothing like Hairem. There was no royalty in his blood, no mask of behavior, no devotion to the other elven races, no humility, and no compromise. And yet, the war had taken its toll on him—she could see how the long years of conflict had eroded his intransigent hatred, had carved an ache in his soul for intimacy and warmth. In his loneliness, he could not resist her.
He was exactly what she needed.
She swung her legs from the bed, stepping lightly down and shivering as her bare feet touched the cold floor.
“Galandra!” she bellowed, grabbing her silken night dress and tossing it over her head. Where was that handmaiden? Alvena had always been clinging to Hairem’s side like an incurable disease.
The door flung open and a skinny young Sel’ven ran in, eyes wide with concern as she closed the door behind her. “Yes, Your Majesty?!”
Ilsevel heaved a sigh. “I told you to wait until Saebellus leaves, and then you enter. Who just left?”
“Saebel—the king,” Galandra quickly corrected herself.
Ilsevel nodded. “Yes. So what do you do then?”
“Enter…”
Ilsevel tossed the girl her brush. She had no patience these days. The kingdom had just fallen into her hands and she did not have time for reminding servants of their basic duties. She crouched down and began to dig through her drawers, not waiting for Galandra to assist her. She heard the female creep cautiously up behind her and touch the brush to her hair.
Ilsevel pulled out a dark red dress, the garment made of silk but lined at the sleeves with thick, white fur. She smiled to herself. Yes, this would do. After all, she had an impression to make today.
She took her time in preparation. ‘Let the council wait for me,’ she thought indignantly.
“Is this braid suitable for today, Your Majesty?” Galandra asked.
Ilsevel turned her head slightly, rolling her eyes in disgust. “No. Again.”
She looked back at her reflection, watching the strands of hair fall loose from her braid. When she had arranged her capture with Saebellus, she had not believed that things would have come together so perfectly. From the corner of her eye, she could see the place where Hairem’s body had lain as he breathed his last; it was unmarked by his death, as though it had never happened. But oh, it had, and Saebellus was now her king. And without any hesitation, Saebellus had dismissed the power of the council into her hands—something Hairem would have never done! Whether he so easily parted with the power from a lack of interest in the position or from deference to her was momentarily inconsequential. The authority was firmly in her grasp, and she now had all the time in the world to bend Saebellus’ loyalty completely to her will.
She had known he would submit to her from the moment she had glimpsed that lust-filled desire in his eyes—that loneliness that had taken its toll as his war raged on endlessly. But she had brought life back to him; he was hungry for her vision. Hungry for her enthusiasm. And more than he desired to end the war, he desired her.
And she had just begun.
How easily Hairem had fallen for her information about Saebellus’ attack… and how pridefully Jikun had led his troops to their demise. Even as she reflected on that victory now, a chill of delight crawled up her spine. She stood, pulling her half-finished braid from Galandra’s hands. “That is fine,” she said, impatience rising within.
She had one last task to do before the council to seal her reign. Just one.
Galandra stammered her apologies as Ilsevel walked briskly to the door. The queen opened it, leaning out to the guard on her left. “Rulwen, bring the item I requested to the council’s chambers. Wait outside the doors. I will call you when I am ready.” She passed him, hearing the footsteps of the second personal guard fall into line behind her.
Yes, just one last task.
*
As she moved up the steps of the council’s chambers, Ilsevel could hear the muffled sound of their raised voices. The consistent bickering grated on her, causing her to purse her lips until they turned white. The fools!—did they ever cease?!
The guards before her opened the chamber’s doors, bowing their heads respectfully as she passed.
Inside, the council hardly acknowledged her. They were enveloped in their own personal concerns, grappling to be heard over one another. She could grasp the content of their discussion, however: Saebellus’ troops were everywhere, spread out across the city streets and dotted along the city’s walls. And they were in fear.
“At this rate, even our homes will be filled with soldiers. An elven city has never been so occupied by a military force!” Mikanum spoke resen
tfully, stiffening in offense.
Ilsevel could hear the rare murmur of agreement.
“My concern,” Cahsari began, interlocking his fingers, “is the fact that he has seized half of all our wealth to pay for accumulated war costs against Jikun and the kingdom. He said he would leave the council alone. I hardly see this as a follow-through to his promise.”
Fildor scoffed, reclining in his chair and flicking a strand of brown hair behind his ear. “Traitors do not keep promises.”
Ilsevel turned her attention to the one male in the room who was withdrawn and silent, standing to the side stiffly, leaning away from the other council members as though this removed him from their inclusion. She found herself smiling slightly, watching his emerald eyes flick from face to face. He said nothing, but she could sense the tumult of thoughts racing through his mind, the tension pulling at his lean, muscular frame. She narrowed her eyes, studying his face. Who was he?
She would find out—whether he told her willingly or she had to force it from him. ‘He will not keep secrets from me,’ she thought indignantly, stopping before her throne. She pivoted, facing the council silently for a moment. They seemed to notice her then, the noise quieting as she raised her hand. She noted that every eye lingered upon the empty throne beside her, no doubt surprised that Saebellus had refrained from accompanying her.
But the council was her business. As was everything else in the city. She owned Saebellus and thus owned Sevrigel. She smiled wryly.
“Your Majesty,” Valdor began, bowing his head respectfully to her, his one eye rising to meet her own. “I am pleased to see you looking so well. You bear the concerns of this entire city with you. You are a strong lady. We honor you.”
Ilsevel let her smile soften. Hairem had chosen this male correctly. He was not like the others—not full of deceit and corruption. He would be obedient. Or like Hairem, he would die.
Kings or Pawns (Steps of Power 1) Page 45