Crown of Blood and Ruin: A romantic fairy tale fantasy (The Broken Kingdoms #3)(5)

At the door of the longhouse, Klok bid the men farewell. He noticed me and tipped his head in a greeting. I returned his smile, wishing he’d stay until I was inside. With Valen gone, some of the folk were a bit bolder in their words toward me.
Of course, I’d never mentioned it to the king. Valen had enough to fret over than a few harsh words aimed at me.
Holding my breath, I did my best to duck my head and slip through the doorway without drawing any notice. But fate was fickle, and certainly held no love for me.
A thick, muscled arm shot out in front of me, blocking my way. “Where are you going, de h?n?”
“Stave.” I lifted my chin. “Let me pass.”
“Into my king’s chambers? A Timoran? You must think me mad.” Stave was one of Crispin’s men. He stood two heads taller than me. His beard was rough and braided. A tapered point to his ears gave away his proclivity to magic. Basic earth fury, but he knew how to handle a blade. Brutally so.
I didn’t doubt his loyalty to Valen. But I didn’t doubt his hatred of all things Timoran either.
“I grow weary of this,” I said, voice harsh. “You would not dare speak this way to his consort if the king were here. Now move aside.”
“I’m tasked with protecting the king,” Stave whispered. “And I plan to, Timoran.
“Stave?” Relief filled my chest. From around the corner, Casper appeared, a plate of nuts and berries in his hands. The water fae had severe points to his ears, and his eyes reminded me of a stormy sea rather than a starlit night. Most believed him to be part nyk, not only Night Folk. He popped two nuts onto his tongue, eyes flicking between us. “What’s going on?”
The entire Guild of Shade, with the addition of Ari, Kari, Brant, Siv, and Mattis, served Valen as his inner council.
As a show of respect for Casper’s position, Stave dipped his chin and pulled back his arm from my path. “Nothing. Simply wishing de h?n Elise a good night.”
Casper narrowed his eyes. “Lady Elise, is what I think you meant.”
Stave’s face twitched, but he nodded. “Of course.”
Casper pushed the thick door open. “Elise, allow me.”
“Thank you, Casper.” I didn’t look at Stave as I passed, but when Casper closed the door shut at my back, I slumped against the wall.
The reluctance to accept me was getting worse. As Timorans, Kari and Brant dealt with their own prejudice, but since Brant held strange foreign magic in his blood, the fae of Etta seemed to accept the former ravens more readily.
Stave did not touch me, but this was the first time anyone had been so bold as to say they did not want me near Valen.
I shook away the disquiet and stripped free of my sweaty tunic.
The royal longhouse was large enough to hold an impressive gathering. A stone inglenook heated the hall. The long table was always ready with ewers of ale and bread. But the back room is where I spent most of my time. It was private. A place where Valen could simply be him, and I could simply be me.
At the table, I traced my fingers across the opened parchment, smiling. I missed Junius since she’d returned to the Eastern Kingdom, but we’d sent missives to each other over the months. To know she’d returned to her Alver folk and her husband brought a swell of warmth to my chest.
Still, it would be nice to have her talent of tasting lies with us now. Stave came to mind. Would he betray Valen? No. Not in war. Not in the rebirth of Etta.
But killing his consort to make room for another? I had no doubt if one were to give the man a knife, he’d ask where I wanted the first blow?
This missive, though, stilled my heart like a dead weight in my chest when I first read it.


. . . The Storyteller is returned to the West. I don’t understand the child’s joy at returning. The place, Raven Row, is more a slum than Skìtkast, and when you come to see us someday, you will understand why I am repulsed.
Elise, I’ve thought a great deal about what you last wrote, about the child’s prediction. I didn’t give it much thought, until I returned to my folk. Frankly, I’m embarrassed I did not think of him sooner.
I know an Alver who fits what Calista described. A breaker of night and fear. Elise, he lives here in the East. We call him, Nightrender . . .

To know someone, one of these Alvers had magic like Calista predicted in her trance before she left our shores was unnerving. I shook my head. Truth be told, I didn’t know what to think about this Nightrender.
Your battle ends when his begins.
Calista said the words before she left Ruskig. I didn’t know if it meant we needed this Alver, but to know he existed was . . . confusing.
What battle would he face? How would ours end?
I folded the parchment again, desperate to stop thinking of blood, war, battles. For a moment, I wanted to slip into a calm. Behind the fur draped over our bed chamber, I filled the wooden tub with fire heated water. Rose oils and moonvane petals added a bit of healing for the nicks and scrapes from sparring.
As I soaked, laughter nearby sent chills dancing up my arms. Stave kept close. I was certain he and his companions would drink well into the night simply to keep me awake. Then, the moment Valen returned they would bow and show respect as if they kissed my feet.
Perhaps I should say something about his blatant disrespect.
No. If I was to stand at Valen’s side, then I needed to learn how to manage disruptions like petty resentment for being Timoran on my own.
I drew strength from thoughts of Lilianna Ferus, Valen’s mother. Her journals hinted at a bit of upset when she was chosen to take vows with the Night Folk king. As a Timoran, Lilianna found her place in Etta. She was loved and wise.