Alessandra’s attire had been a statement, she’d said, and it had had an effect, based on the humans’ gasps in their shrine. Or perhaps arriving in full armor on horseback with all one’s weapons was not the marriage custom here.
But she hadn’t stopped. Her arm had remained wrapped around his, and she had proceeded down the aisle. Whatever statement she’d been making, it hadn’t been a refusal. Nothing good, but… not a refusal.
They hadn’t spoken the entire ride to the palace, and hardly at all during the feast. Instead, they had just danced, then eaten the humans’ food silently while the guests had drunk themselves into a stupor.
And then… this.
Riza had been right; even if both he and Alessandra had been unwilling, this ceremony had needed to happen. As right as she was, everything inside him right now didn’t care.
There would be a woman in the next room, his new bride, with whom he would have to consummate this marriage. His likely unwilling bride.
To do so would be—
Dishonorable. Unconscionable. Vile.
An answer. He needed to find an answer.
A door clicked shut in the other room. Alessandra.
He stared at his own door. How long had it been? He shouldn’t have left her to be the first one out. He should have awaited her.
First, they’d exchange gifts, and then—
He eyed the long, flat wooden box on the nearby table. There had been no way to know whether she was a skilled archer or not; if she was, she’d appreciate the Nozva Rozkvetan rosewood bow, and if she wasn’t, he’d teach her everything she needed to know. But would she like it?
With a deep breath, he rolled up his sleeves, tucked the box under one arm, then opened the door.
In the scant candlelight, she stood on the other side of the room, wearing a long, flowing red sheer nightgown that pooled on the floor, with a wrapped parcel in her delicate hands. She wore jewels on her fingers, wrist, ears, and around her neck in a ruby-encrusted golden necklace. Her hair was loose and voluminous, a warm brown like rain-dampened cypress bark, a shade lighter than her dark eyes. The nightgown hung by thin, delicate straps, leaving her long, elegant arms bare.
He suppressed a shiver. Every part of her looked so soft. There was no hardiness to her, just give… Give that would have never survived the difficult conditions in Nozva Rozkveta, nor any queendom in the Deep for that matter, if she were on her own.
But now she had him. Together, they’d survive anything.
She moved to the window, as far away from the hovering group of humans as possible, and he joined her. Nearly shoulder to shoulder, he looked out at the dark city with her, glittering with lights as far as the eye could see, beneath a starry sky.
What could he say to her?
Mati had ordered this. He trusted her completely, had pledged his allegiance to her. Whatever she ordered, he would do.
And Alessandra, she had orders from her father, too, didn’t she? Neither of them wanted this, but for the sake of the peace, they had to show a united front.
Just before the dance tonight, the way she’d gone rigid in her chair—something had angered her. Made her livid. She’d had that wild look about her, like a volodara about to go berserk, and he hadn’t been certain whether his touch would quell that wildness or unleash it.
One of the humans in the group cleared his throat impatiently.
“Alessandra,” he whispered, placing the box on the ample windowsill, and she peered down at it, eyebrows raised, then eyed him. “Accept this gift as a token of my commitment.”
With a soft smile, she grazed the length of the box with a fingertip before gently flicking open the brass closure. She lifted the lid, revealing the deep reddish-brown Nozva Rozkvetan rosewood short bow. Her eyes flashed bright as reverent fingertips smoothed over the wood. “It’s beautiful,” she breathed.
“Only the royalty and kuvari of Nozva Rozkveta are permitted bows of our rosewood. Its perfect balance of density and strength make it the most sought-after bow wood in the land.” Or at least it had been two thousand years ago. “Do you know how to use a bow?”
A light blush. “Papà forbade it. I’ve only attempted it once, and I can’t say I was very good.”
“If you wish to learn, I will teach you,” he said, brushing the rosewood. “I will always do my all for you, and that includes helping you hone skills to hunt for and defend yourself, should you ever need to.”
For a moment, she didn’t move, didn’t speak, just watched the bow with a dreamlike intensity, and then finally she nodded, breathing in lengthily as if awaking. “Thank you. I’d love to learn, Veron.”
It would be something they could do together while they got to know one another. Perhaps, in time, they’d be friends.
She extended her own wrapped parcel to him brightly. “This is for you.”
By its shape, it was clearly a book. About what? He accepted it and cut through the twine with a claw, eliciting a gasp. Her hand covered her wrist, but not before he glimpsed a hair-thin scratch. Fresh, recent—
No. Had he—?
He hadn’t meant to, but at the feast, or—
When I helped her out of the carriage.
“Alessandra, did I—”
“It’s fine.” She grinned, beamed. Forced it.
By Deep and Darkness, he’d hurt her. He hadn’t even known, and he’d caused her injury. “Forgive me, I—”
Only her eyes indicated the direction of the human officials, and she gave the slightest shake of her head.
So she didn’t want them to know about this. If the humans found out, they might call him—and all dark-elves—dangerous. Violent. Incompatible with human society.
All dark-elves had claws, their look and sharpness a point of strength. A clawless dark-elf would be like a toothless lion, weakened, devalued, seen as lesser—something any child of Mati’s could not do, so as not to reflect poorly on her or Nozva Rozkveta.
But Alessandra—
Smiling, she nodded toward the parcel. “I hope you like it, but if—”
He drew away the paper wrapping with a rustle, revealing a thick tome. A Modern History of Silen. Well, he could certainly stand to learn what had transpired in two thousand years of stone slumber.
On the title page, in elegant calligraphic script it said, To Veron: Silen would be honored to create history with Nightbloom as these final pages are filled with the peace we will forge together. Aless
These final pages? A thrill wove through him as he glanced up at her sparkling eyes and turned to the back of the tome. Of its thousand pages, perhaps two to three hundred were blank at the end.
He huffed his amusement softly. A thoughtful gift. She intended for him to write in their peoples’ shared history into this Sileni tome, a symbolic gesture. The last time he’d written in a book, it had been sketching with Ata, as he’d taught him about the sky realm and its exotic flora and fauna, before Ata had—
“It was newly transcribed,” she said, eagerly thumbing the gilded pages, “and the bookmaker left space to continue recording, just like in the copy my mother gave me.” Her eyes brightened. “Actually, the latest Magister Trials from a few weeks ago were just added, and only this edition—maybe only this first new transcription—has it. The Emaurrian candidate, in the second trial, she looked the Grand Divinus in the eye, and, well, you’ll see, but—”
He grinned at her over the tome, and she bit her lip. So books excited her. A lot. Something they could share. “Thank you. I look forward to filling up these remaining pages.”
As she reddened, another throat-clearing came from the councilors. They were beginning to grate on his nerves.
Alessandra glanced over her shoulder, then back at him. “It’s time,” she said quietly. Gravely. They left the bow and the book together on the windowsill.
Steeling himself, he offered her his hand, and with a swallow, she took it. He ignored the crowd as he escorted her to the curtained bed, pulled aside the ether
eal fabric, and helped her up. She sat stiffly, her olive skin pebbled against a chill, and fidgeted with the sheer red fabric of her nightgown. He didn’t look at it too closely, didn’t dare, especially when she seemed so nervous.
But that wasn’t what tonight was about, for either of them. It was about trust. They had both been ordered into roles they’d never desired, and for the sake of the peace, for the sake of their peoples, they wouldn’t buck these roles, even if they were neither attracted to one another nor in love. So they had to build trust, a friendship, a partnership. If any of this was to succeed, those bonds would be crucial between them. And at least a foundation.
She would have every honor, and more. She would have everything she needed, everything she wanted, anything on this earth that he could provide.
There was a washbasin nearby, and he took it—and a towel—to the edge of the bed, placed it on the floor by her feet. She eyed the basin curiously, and another human in the group cleared his throat again.
Alessandra lowered her gaze.
By Deep and Darkness, not only were these humans to witness this “consummation” they demanded, but they intended to hurry it along, too? And to interfere? Such blatant disrespect, for him, and worse, for her. The night of the Offering, the acceptance, was private. A time when a couple calmed after feasting and games, comforted one another, affirmed their vows in private—and, if they so chose, made love. It was a sacred moment for two, and two only.
Another throat clearing. “Your Highness, if we could—”
“No.” He speared the elderly little human with a glare and strode to the exit doors. Enough was enough.
He pulled them open, then gestured to the humans. “Out. Now.”
They all stared at him, then exchanged glances with one another.
“Your Highness,” the same human objected, “it is this kingdom’s custom that—”
“It is not my custom, nor that of my people, nor was it part of the marriage agreement that this ‘consummation’ be witnessed. Leave. Now.” He stood firm, his glare at them unwavering, steeling through his uncertainty.
Mati knew the full details of the agreement; he didn’t. She had told him what he’d needed to know, and she hadn’t mentioned this specifically. It was possible he was wrong.
But he had to try.
One by one, the group of humans trickled out into the hall, until only the one who had spoken remained. The little man stared back at him defiantly.
Whispers came from the hall. “What will he do to her?” one asked. “Perhaps we should call a healer,” another suggested.
Veron didn’t break eye contact with the little man. This was the sort of idiotic ignorance they aimed to defeat. And as much as he wanted to defeat it right in its bulbous nose, defeat it until it shrieked in fear and then fled, instead he took a breath.
Finally, he closed the distance between them—the man cowered—and baring his teeth, Veron shoved him out into the hall, where Riza and Gavri were posted. He shut the doors on the whispering gossip and wide eyes, and turned the lock.
A cough came from the bed.
He turned, and Alessandra was observing him over the rim of a wine goblet as she drank.
“What will you do to me, dark-elf prince?” she mocked with a nervous laugh, then took another sip before setting the goblet down. “Will you chop me up into little pieces and eat me? Will you skin me alive and wear my hide?”
He shook his head, and a grin rent free. “I don’t know. Perhaps we should call a healer.”
Another nervous laugh. Hopefully he could put her mind at ease.
He moved back to the bed, back to the basin. Her curious gaze followed him, the mirth still glimmering there as he lowered to a knee and rolled up his other sleeve. He gestured to her foot. “May I?”
She frowned, a small, puzzled one, but nodded.
Silky fabric brushed against his fingertips as he lifted the hem of her nightgown, baring her feet. They were narrow, small, unblemished, as if she hadn’t ever walked barefoot on the stone. Perhaps she hadn’t.
He gently bathed one in the warm water, smoothing his hands against her too-soft skin.
She shivered, then smiled. “Is this a dark-elf custom?”
“It is.” He patted her first foot dry, then grasped the other delicately and repeated the process. “On the night of the Offering, it says to a bride, ‘I am not too proud to serve you. I will never be too proud to serve you. It is my honor and pleasure.’”
She held her breath as he poured water onto her skin from his cupped hand. Slowly, sluggishly, she blinked. “Things are quite different where you’re from.”
He laughed. He could say the same to her. The outlandish things that had happened today alone could fill an entire tome. “Different… in a bad way?”
She shook her head. “Just… different.”
After toweling her other foot dry, he set the basin and towel aside. She moved over in the bed, and he went to the hearth and put another log on the fire.
His heart pounded as it never had. It wasn’t fear, exactly, as he’d had lovers before this and knew what happened between a man and a woman. This was required for her human kingdom to acknowledge the marriage.
But no part of her was anything like a dark-elf woman, not ferocious, nor intimidating, nor dangerous. No claws, no fangs, no muscle nor combat prowess to speak of. Was human lovemaking anything like the fierce, raging, unrestrained madness that was a night with a dark-elf woman?
There had been a gleam in her eye, when she’d taken off the white cloak in the abbazia, that could have rivaled that of any queen of the Deep. Heat flushed in his chest. That look had been ferocious, yes, but fleeting. Then the wildness smoldering in her at the feast… as her fists had clenched tightly enough to break.
But to her, he was little better than a beast, wasn’t he? Nothing like a human man. Not someone she desired nor envisioned herself with.
There were no witnesses here. Not anymore. Would it really matter if this consummation happened?
With a silent exhalation, he turned back to the bed, offered her what he hoped was a consoling smile, and joined her, careful to keep his distance.
He sat next to her as she lay deathly still, barely moving but to breathe. Staring up at the bed’s canopy with intense focus, she looked as though she were preparing herself mentally for an amputation.
He suppressed a laugh. No, he really oughtn’t laugh at her when she was making such an effort to bear this indignity. “Alessandra, I do not share their”—he nodded to the door—“expectations for this night. You need not fear me.”
Only her eyes moved in his direction, wide and a chatoyant tiger’s-eye brown. “But the consummation—”
“Is not a custom required by my people.” He kept his bearing loose, open, unthreatening.
She blinked, her breath coming faster, harder, shifting that sheer red fabric of her nightgown in folds. “Then you don’t wish to”—she closed her eyes—“to…”
“No.” He watched the tension melt from her body. “This arrangement is new to both of us.”
She sat up, leaned her back against the pillows, and nodded, bunching up the covers at her chest.
“Neither of us wants that tonight, but I don’t mean to close the door on this, either. I want you to know that I’m open to your wishes, and that you shouldn’t fear rejection should you express them to me.” Now that they’d made the Offering to each other, she would never be heartsore with him, ever, not if he could help it.
She reddened. “But you don’t find me desirable?”
Raising his eyebrows, he looked away. She’d asked that directly? Admirable, and… difficult. “You’re intelligent and bold, but we only just met yesterday. I am yours and yours alone, but this… will take some time.”
She laughed. “So then you don’t.”
“I don’t need to ask you the same.” He hid a smile.
She slapped the duvet. “You’re the first dark-elf I’ve ever seen f
ace to face!”
“So then… you don’t.” It was his turn to laugh.
She waved him off and sighed. “Good. I’m glad we cleared the air.”
“So am I. Trust is the one expectation I have,” he answered.
A long silence. “Veron, I… There are many things I want to discuss with you, but I don’t wish to offend you. Well, to offend you more than I already have.”
He huffed. It would take more than a style of clothing to offend him. “You haven’t. And you can discuss anything with me.”
She bit her lip, stroking the duvet. “Maybe after Bianca’s wedding?”
That was in three days. It seemed as though she planned to attend.
There was only one problem: he was under strict orders from Mati to leave with her tomorrow. “Alessandra, we… we can’t stay.”
Her eyebrows drawn together, she stared at him. “What?”
“We’re scheduled to leave tomorrow.” Had her father not told her about the schedule for the Royal Progress? The famine in the queendoms?
She threw off the covers and knelt on the bed, angling to face him. “Veron, my sister is marrying in three days. My sister.”
“I know,” he said gently, but even so, her eyes were widening, glistening. “I’m sorry, but—”
“It’s my sister’s wedding. I can’t—won’t—miss it,” she said with a vehement shake of her head.
“I cannot disobey a direct order, Alessandra.” No matter how much he wished she could stay. “Not even for this. And we have a strict schedule—”
“Please,” she said, her voice breaking. “I’m begging you. I can’t miss her wedding—I can’t. She and I, we’ve always been the closest of all my brothers and sisters, and she’s in love with him, Veron. This will be the happiest day of her life, and you and I are moving away. I have to be there, please, just for her wedding, so could we just delay our departure, just a little, shift the Royal Progress arrangements, only until after Bianca’s wedding, and—”
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