Cade (Alexander Shifter Brothers Book 2)

by Selina Coffey

  Small chance of that, she thought. Ellieth looked over the crowd. She should be pleased. The party was thus far an incredible success, humans and Elves at last beginning to celebrate with one another as liquor loosened inhibitions and lent a warm glow to the surroundings. One Elf after another came to the altar to offer her their fealty, children shyly telling her that she was beautiful, ladies offering the services of their tailors and gentlemen congratulating Savin heartily on this ethereal bride. The court, it seemed, was Ellieth’s to command.

  She could not say the same of her husband. The man hardly looked at her, his fingers tapping on his thigh impatiently. He seemed desperate to be anywhere else, and as the clinking of glasses began, humans whispering to their Elven counterparts just what this custom entailed, Ellieth saw Savin’s jaw tighten.

  She lifted her chin, suddenly furious. She was not to be made a fool of. Shining her most radiant smile on the throngs below, Ellieth raised her hand in a royal wave, and then turned to sweep a deep curtsy at her new husband. Her smile never wavered, but her eyes, as she came up, carried a challenge— and did she see the hint of a smile as he noted it?

  But he only clasped her hand in both of his, pressing his lips to her fingers, each in turn, and— turning her hand over— the tender skin of her wrist. The Elves, scandalized by public kisses, murmured their approval of the Prince’s restraint, and the Humans twittered at the romantic gesture. Ellieth swayed, the softness of his lips a perfect counterpart to the bolt of energy that shot through her.

  “My Lord…” She managed as he stood.

  “My Lady.” His eyes came up, chillingly cold once more. And then he turned on his heel and left his own wedding celebration, leaving Ellieth to stand alone before the crowd assembled.

  Chapter Two

  “And he didn’t even come back?” Allina demanded.

  “No,” Ellieth responded tonelessly. “He didn’t come back.”

  “You’re only making your sister feel worse,” their mother said sharply.

  Ellieth sighed and went to the window, staring out at the gorgeous valley that was spread out below them. The Elves had tamed it all, from the precise clusters of trees to the perfectly manicured gardens of iris and roses and tulips, all somehow growing together in an explosion of color.

  It should have been a wonderful day, and Ellieth only wanted to bury her face in her hands and sob. Diplomatic urgency, she wanted to say— if she failed to charm her husband, she was leaving humanity open to another Elven war, and she could not allow that to happen. There was so much pressure on her, and there had been no time to acclimate to the changing of her fortunes. Her former betrothed, the Archduke of Ferredh, had looked almost as shell-shocked as she had last night; persuaded by Ellieth’s mother to withdraw his marriage proposal, he now stood as one of the most eligible bachelors in Terrestra… with the throne no longer within his grasp.

  And Ellieth faced a marriage not with a young man she had known since their shared childhood, but with a man three centuries old—who seemed to hate her. There had been no time to consult with Ellieth to gain her consent, and she could only assume that the same applied to Savin— whose father was still locked in the war chamber with Ellieth’s father, both too busy even to attend the marriage of their children.

  This was not how she had imagined her wedding, she thought, biting her lip, and the thought made her feel like a child. Surely she was old enough not to expect true love from her marriage.

  But her husband, her mind whispered, had not even shown her basic courtesy.

  The door chimed, and Ellieth’s heart leaped. She whirled— and hoped that her face did not fall too obviously when she saw not her husband, but another Elf, his black hair in an elaborate set of braids and his clothing a deep blue that set off his skin to perfection.

  “Your Royal Highness,” he said, bowing deeply. His smile was warm. “Prince Dorel t’Lorien, at your service.”

  Savin’s younger brother. Ellieth dipped into a curtsy, hoping that her own smile did not betray her uncertainty. Had she met Dorel last night? There had been so many new faces…

  “Good morning, Your Highness.” She came up without wobbling, proud of the steadiness of her voice. He did not need to know that she had been on the brink of tears before his arrival. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”

  “A most… delicate… matter, I am afraid.” He looked gravely over at Ellieth’s mother and sister, bowing to them as well. “Might I ask for a few moments of privacy?”

  “Of course,” Ellieth’s mother said smoothly. She steered Allina out of the room, one hand tight on her younger daughter’s shoulder as the girl looked over her shoulder, wide-eyed, at Dorel.

  Ellieth could understand her fascination. Dorel was the very picture of masculinity, as tall and well-muscled as his brother, his eyes and full mouth an echo of Savin’s. His smile was easy and open, if his eyes were grave.

  “Your Royal Highness, I must apologize. I fear I bear bad news.”

  “Oh?” Ellieth tried to keep her voice light. “Do not apologize, Your Highness.”

  “Ah, how can I not? This is not the sort of thing one should be telling a bride on the day after her wedding.” His forehead furrowed, and he looked away from her for a moment. “I fear… I fear my brother has departed.”

  “Departed?” Ellieth blinked. The words hit her like a wave, and yet she could not seem to make sense of them. “What do you mean, departed?”

  “He has left the court for the mountain retreat of E’lessiell.” Dorel’s words were soft, his black eyes kind. “My Lady— Your Highness— I am so sorry.”

  Ellieth turned away, her heart pounding. Shame was burning in her cheeks, and she could feel tears pricking at her eyes. She wiped them away angrily, furious that her brother-in-law should see such a thing.

  Brother-in-law. He was not even that, not yet. Until the marriage was consummated, she was nothing to the t’Lorien family— a pawn without a Prince.

  There was a faint stirring of hope. Perhaps Dorel did not know. After all, who would? Everyone had clustered in the Hall last night, drinking and dancing. Would anyone realize that Savin had never come back to Ellieth’s suite of rooms?

  “Why has he gone?” Ellieth asked. She focused her eyes on the mountains at the far end of the valley, snow-capped and rising into a perpetual haze of clouds. Sunlight played on their slopes.

  “He did not say, Your Highness. I truly regret that I was not able to persuade him to stay. I followed him from the ceremony,” Dorel said softly. “But he said he had business to attend to.” When Ellieth froze, she thought she heard him move closer. “Your Highness… I am sure he will return soon. The court says—”

  “The court knows?”

  Horror.

  “My Lady, it is impossible to keep secrets here.” The touch of humor in his voice made her feel like a child. “There is always someone who stands to profit by telling stories. There were those who bet their fortunes that you would enchant my elder brother.”

  “And those who bet against it,” Ellieth said quietly. She knew how courts worked; why had she thought that Elfhame would be any different?

  “For sport alone, I assure you,” Dorel said. He moved to stand at her side, and she saw him smile down at her before she looked away hastily. His voice was soft. “Who could believe that even a man as cold as my brother would not be enchanted by such a lovely bride?”

  “Thank you.” His kindness was too much. Ellieth’s fingers curled into fists on the windowsill. She did not say that she was a laughingstock. Etiquette would force him to deny it, but they both knew that it was true. Worse, she was a liability, and laughingstock or no; she had only one course of action available to her. “Would you call my servants, please?”

  “My Lady, come to the wedding breakfast with the court.” He turned and took one of her hands in his own. “Surely my brother will return before long, but until then the t’Loriens shall do all in their power to make sure you are a
mused and adored and the toast of the court.” He raised one eyebrow. “May I suggest something in white? Truly, it makes you look radiant.”

  Ellieth blushed at his regard. She had never been told that Elves were so free with their affections— and from Savin’s comportment, she would never have expected.

  “I’m afraid I cannot,” she said, withdrawing her hand from Dorel’s. This was most inappropriate; she was sure, and more to the point; she had no intentions at all of appearing in front of the court to be mocked. “I must go to E’lessiell.”

  “I beg your pardon, Princess?” His face flickered.

  “My place is at my husband’s side,” Ellieth said, trying not to flush. And in his bed. The sooner the business was done with, the sooner she could leave Savin in peace, to hate her. She would withdraw here, and he could stay in the mountains for all she cared; the distance would make it easier to hate him.

  “Surely, my Lady…”

  But within the hour, Ellieth was riding out of the court, Dorel’s pleas ringing in her ears. She was resplendent in white, waving to the assembled Elves with as much good humor as she could manage, and doing her best to ignore the hidden smirks of the high-ranking Elves. As her white horse trotted down the broad avenue towards the mountains at the end of the valley, she lifted her head and narrowed her eyes. Prince Savin might hate her. He might regret to be married to a lowly human. But he was not going to elude her. She knew her duty.

  When she swung down from her horse at last, it was five hours later and she was weary, sore, and ill-tempered in the extreme. Even the elegant wooden temples and steaming hot springs around her could not soothe her temper. Ellieth chafed her cold hands and looked around herself, frowning. E’lessiell was indeed lovely, but that was hardly an excuse.

  The slam of a door reverberated through the courtyard, and she did not need to turn to know that her husband was striding across the stones to meet her. Defiant, Ellieth lifted her face to look at the mountain peaks above and tried not to tremble as he stopped at her side. She could feel the heat of him, trembling in the air between them.

  God help her; it made her knees weak. She tried not to swallow.

  “Why,” he asked her, his voice clipped, “are you here?”

  “There is unfinished business in the marriage contract,” Ellieth told him plainly. At last, she turned her face to his, and saw his black eyes wide with shock. “Perhaps you have forgotten, Your Royal Highness, but I have not. Fear not.” She felt her voice go as wintry as the breath crystallizing in the air. “As soon as our business is concluded, I will return to Elfhame and leave you in peace.”

  He looked very far from amused. He looked disheveled, she saw, his hair escaping from its long queue down his back, and his shirt crumpled at the neck. For a moment, they stared at each other, and she could have sworn she saw emotion moving deep in his eyes. Then he went cold.

  “You should not have come,” he told her.

  Chapter Three

  “Why?” Savin’s roar echoed across the courtyard.

  Ellieth tried not to flinch— and not to open her mouth to defend her actions. She had given the man her reasons the moment she arrived, and— tediously— nearly every hour since, as the sky faded from blue to red-gold to deep purple. The stars twinkled above them now, icy and exquisite over the peaceful little courtyard. Tiny waterfalls of heated water steamed into the cold air, and the hot springs themselves beckoned. Everything about this place was designed for relaxation, comfort, contemplation… which was presently being interrupted by an hours-long screaming match. Ellieth sincerely hoped that there were no other patrons here seeking the guidance of the monks. They would surely not be finding the peace they sought. Contempt heated her blood. Did Savin truly not care for anyone else?

  The answer to that should have been obvious when he ran out on their wedding.

  “Tell me something.” Her voice was cool, calm, and far more elegant than she felt at this moment. In fact, she was fighting not to feel like a drab little nothing. She drew her shoulders up. “Are you intending to renege on the marriage as soon as you’ve used our soldiers in your war?”

  “You go too far, madam.” His face was as cold as winter.

  “Do I? Because it seems you are unwilling to consummate this marriage. So tell me, Your Highness, are you unwilling to perform your duty?” Ellieth’s voice trembled. “Are you so disgusted by me that you cannot bring yourself to do what every royal couple has needed to do for millennia?”

  Much to her surprise, he gave a snort of laughter.

  “False modesty does not become you,” he informed her shortly.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Can you truly be unaware that half the court desires you? You are a sensation, Your Highness. I think your coloring is likely to inspire a great deal of… very tiresome copycats.” He sighed and ran his fingers through his black hair.

  “So your court desires me. That tells me nothing of you.”

  He looked away, jaw clenched.

  “You do not even have to desire me,” Ellieth fairly snapped. “I promised you that I would leave you in peace when this was done, and I will. God above knows, there are enough royal marriages that produced no heirs. But I will not have anyone say this was not done.”

  “And who would know?” he asked her sardonically.

  “Given that you left the wedding ceremony itself and came here, I imagine everyone knows!” She was yelling back now; her hands balled into fists.

  Much to her surprise, he stopped dead.

  “I hadn’t thought of that.”

  “You…” Her voice trailed off. “You hadn’t thought of that? What did you imagine they were thinking, then?”

  “I needed to consult with the monks,” he said, his voice clipped. “I hardly thought at all about what the courtiers might be thinking.”

  “And you could not have waited one night?”

  “No.” He looked back at her, eyes flat. “I could not.”

  “What on earth could be so urgent?”

  “I prefer not to discuss it.”

  So it was to be one of those marriages. Ellieth released a slow, shuddering breath, and sat on one of the benches, folding her hands in her lap to stop them from shaking. She had failed. She had been given her one chance, and she had failed— not from her skill in numbers, not from her diplomacy, but when she failed to strike a man with desire.

  Was there any way back? She had only until the conclusion of the war to win his heart. She twisted her fingers together and tried to remember to breathe. She must focus. She must find a new way.

  “Are you…” His voice was confused. “You look… frightened.”

  “Of course I’m frightened.” Ellieth forced the words out from between numb lips. She turned her face away to the snow-covered ground, and when she turned back, she gasped to see him standing by the bench. He moved so quietly that she had not even realized he was still in the garden with her.

  “Why?”

  “Because I need your goodwill to save my people,” Ellieth said without preamble.

  “What? From whom?”

  “Oh, come now, surely there is no need for niceties between us.” It was refreshing, after so much of his coldness, to put some acidity into her own words. “You know your kind could crush us the moment the dragons are defeated.”

  He flinched.

  “What is it?” Ellieth asked him, her train of thought derailed by what looked remarkably like fear. She had never seen such a warrior struck down by terror before.

  “It is nothing. Do you truly believe we would harm you?”

  “You tried to rule us for centuries,” Ellieth told him sharply. “Do you think we have forgotten? Have you forgotten?”

  “Elfhame does not turn on its allies,” he said simply. “Have your borders been threatened since the first alliance?”

  “No, but—”

  “No buts. Your kind are safe until you violate the terms of our peace.”

  He w
as, she sensed, telling the truth. Which meant…

  “I’m here for nothing?” Ellieth whispered. She could not tell if this was better or worse, given the circumstances. Perhaps better… if it did not make her feel unwanted on yet another level.

  “You thought…” He sat heavily on the bench. “You thought that you could only secure peace with a marriage? That is why the marriage was a part of the accord?”

  “Of course!” Ellieth said, stung. “That is how politics works. Only by blood can accords be made certain.”

  “You have spent the past centuries believing we would turn on you the moment the Dragon Wars were done?” His voice was rising.

  “I… yes.”

  “I cannot believe this.” He tipped his head back. “And that is why you came here after me. That is why you insist the marriage must be consummated.”

  That, and the thought gave her an undeniable shiver of pleasure. She bowed her head to disguise the blush in her cheeks.

  “Would it be so terrible?”

  “Yes,” he said softly.

  “What?”

  “I…” His voice trailed off, and he met her eyes with a look of vague panic.

  “Yes?” She was going to throttle him if he couldn’t at least bring himself to be civil.

  “Please, forget what I said. My Lady, please.” He stood and backed away from her.

  Before she could think about what she was doing, Ellieth shot her hand out and grabbed his. He tugged at it, but she held firm.

  “My Lady?”