KINGDOM OF LIES

ANNE HALE
CELESTE KING

PROTHEKA PUBLISHING
 Copyright © 2024 by Celeste King

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 CONTENTS

Dedication
The World of Protheka
1. Kathleen
2. Kathleen
3. Draknir
4. Draknir
5. Kathleen
6. Draknir
7. Kathleen
8. Draknir
9. Kathleen
10. Draknir
11. Kathleen
12. Draknir
13. Kathleen
14. Draknir
15. Kathleen
16. Draknir
17. Kathleen
18. Draknir
19. Kathleen
20. Draknir
21. Kathleen
22. Draknir
23. Kathleen
24. Draknir
25. Draknir
26. Draknir
27. Kathleen
28. Draknir
29. Kathleen
30. Karul

Preview of Lich’s Love

Vanessa
Calias
Books in The World of Protheka
 DEDICATION

Fake it till you make it…

Especially when there’s a hot dark elf on the line
THE WORLD OF PROTHEKA
 1

KATHLEEN

I used to love the dawn. As a child, I’d slip out while

everyone else was asleep and watch as it slowly washed
away the black, bringing light back into the world and
chasing away all the monsters that stalk the dark corners of
the night. I’d feel safe, and that hope had returned.
Now I fear it. The monsters are real, you see, and the
dawn only draws them out. The dawn light now illuminates
the horror that is my life.
Every morning I wake, I wait. For the sound of the steps,
the ringing of the bell. Each day, I hope they might forget
about me if I lie still enough, quiet enough. But they never
do.
Just like now, I’m still, each breath muted and slow. I
pull the damp blanket over my head, hoping they don’t call
my name.
“Kathleen!” I hear the voice of the Village Chief from the
yard call out.
I better not keep them waiting, and I don’t want
Grandma to wake, so I pull myself out from under the
blanket. Apart from grabbing my cloak from the stool,
there's no need to change. It smelled. It was damp as usual.
I have no other clothes than those I work in. I’ll maybe
remove my shirt on warm nights, but it was as cold today
as it was last night.
I stumble out of the hut, glad to be free of the damp air
that chokes me in the place Grandma and I call home. I
drink in the fresh air like a glass of cold, pure water.
“You’re late!” he barks at me, his pinhole eyes
penetrating my soul.
“Sorry, sir,” I say. I only know him as sir. I don’t care to
know him at all, but what I care about doesn’t matter here.
He walks toward me; his movements are awkward and
lazy, and I can smell his breath long before he reaches me.
He stops close to me, and I watch his eyes as they scan
across my breasts and feel a coldness run down my spine. I
pull my cloak tight across my chest. “Dripir,” he says with a
grin that exposes his rotten teeth.
Of course, it is the dripir. When is it not the dripir? Even
slaves have a hierarchy, and I am at the bottom of that shit
pile.
“Again?” I ask before I can help myself. I really shouldn’t
question it, but sometimes my emotions get the better of
me.
He moves closer, “We is a democracy here, all is fair and
voted, and you were voted dripir.”
I can see him take pleasure in his statement. He smiles
and sniffs.
“You should grow your hair out,” his tongue snakes out
from between his tight lips. “Gives a guy something to grab
on to.”
I instinctively raise my hand and run it through my short
hair as if protecting it from the disgusting thing in front of
me.
“Now, go,” he says, and I notice his hand rising,
expecting to slap my ass like some mule that refuses to
work. Before he can, I hurry off. I feel him watch me as I
go.
 “Nice tits, though,” he hisses after me.
I discard the words as soon as they reach my ears and
make my way through the village toward the dripir pen.
The village looks as ugly as ever today. It’s all rotten
huts and the stink of urine and shit. I notice the others at
their work already, mending weapons for the dark elves,
patching up their clothes, and cooking underway for lunch.
“Dripir again?” I hear a shout from the cook house. I
turn and watch as the others snigger. How could other
humans relish such a thing as this? It is beyond me now. I
think they are beyond human now, subhuman. The elves
have made sure of that and take great pleasure in it.
“Watch, you don’t turn your back. They’ll eat a little
thing like you in one gulp!” Another voice adds much to the
amusement of the others.
“Or hump you,” another adds.
“Leave the girl alone. Works twice as hard as you fat
assed lumps,” a lone voice of an older woman scolds them.
And I do because I must. My bones ache, and I smell
worse than the dripir they force upon me. But, for
Grandma, I must keep going. If I don’t, we starve, she
starves, and I can’t ever let that happen, so I accept the
metaphorical shit they throw at me, wipe it off, and keep
going.
And there they are. I stand looking into the dripir pen
and the muck that will be my day, another day. It's best to
feed them first. Hungry dripir are angry dripir, but dripir
busy with eating give me the time and peace to clean out
their shit.
The smell is godawful, and it sticks to you like tar. I long
one day to be out of these clothes. I dream of a dress, clean
and white. Lying on crisp fresh grass, the sun warming my
body. The smell of wildflowers scenting my hair.
I have a secret, a place where I can go. I have found this
spot by the river that no one knows, where I can feel free
and, most importantly, clean.
 I will go there this evening, far from the stench that is
this place.
I feel a nudge of a wet nose on my leg and turn to see
the dripir I call Mister looking up at me.
“Well, hello, Mister,” I tell it, and it grunts a reply and
hobbles off. It's a pity this poor thing will soon end up in
the belly of a dark elf. The soldiers love their dripir; it’s a
disgusting sight to witness them eat. I don’t care much for
dripir anymore, and even if I did, humans rarely see it in
the merger rations they give us.
“Girl.” I hear a shout from behind me. It is Will, one of
the other slaves. Another pain in my backside. He knows
my name but somehow refuses to call me by it.
I ignore him.
“Girl!” I sense the irritation in his voice, and I enjoy it.
But I must be careful not to push too far, so I turn.
“Yes?” I ask.
“You’re needed to help bring in the firewood,” he states.
Really? I’m exhausted, hungry, and unsure if I have the
strength. I stare at him and say nothing. I can’t risk telling
him where to shove his firewood as much as I want to.
More work is the chance of more food, and I have to make
sure Grandma is fed.
I have noticed her go downhill this last while, her cough
has grown thicker and more violent, and I fear the worst,
so her strength must be kept up.
“Coming,” I say, biting my tongue yet again.
“Quicker,” the wiry little shit demands, storming off.
I climb over the fence. “Until tomorrow, little dripir.
Don’t shit too much tonight, please.”
I follow Will to the woods and wish the day would end.
I’m so tired.
“I can smell you from here, girl,” Will calls out without
looking behind. “Maybe I should start calling you ‘dripir
shit.’ Would you like that, girl?” he says, laughing at his
shitty joke.
 “Maybe I should call you ‘little cock,’” I whisper to
myself. I’ve heard the other girls talk.
He stops at the wood edge, and I catch up.
“This needs filling,” he says, pointing at a large basket.
“After that, you can take it down to the wood sheds,” he
instructs me. “Don’t take too long. Light is fading, and you
don’t want to be in these woods after dark. Bad things play
here.”
With that, he turns and heads back to the village
whistling, pleased with himself.
It takes me about an hour to fill the basket. My back
aches from bending over, and my eyes are heavy with
exhaustion. One last push, I tell myself as I begin to drag
the heavy basket down the hill to the woodshed.
It is evening now, a few hours until dark, so if I hurry,
the river can still be mine.
“Whore!” the coarse voice of Clara, the Village Chief’s
wife calls out. The birds shake the branches as they flee her
wrath. But I can not.
“I told you before to stay away from him,” she spits the
words at me. I have no idea what she is talking about.
“I didn’t, I haven’t,” I plead to her. I see the anger in her
fat red face and know there is no way out of this that will
be good.
“I’ve seen the way you act around my Oliver, sticking
your tits in his face like some strumpet!” she yells at me.
“I’ll teach you, you little taura, seize her!”
I stand dumbfounded as two slaves appear and grab me
by my arms. I notice others appearing out of the woodwork,
wondering what is happening.
Clara storms off back to the courtyard of her ample
house, “Bring her here,” she orders the two slaves. One of
them seizes the moment to grab at my breast. His nails,
long and sharp, dig into my flesh as he gropes.
There’s nothing I can do. I’m too weak to resist fighting
back and long for someone to rescue me. As they drag me
closer, I see Clara holding a large wooden paddle.
“Please, no,” I beg, “I have done nothing wrong.”
“Bend the little bitch over my knee,” Clara instructs
them as she seats herself on a large black stool and slaps
the paddle against the palm of her hand.
The two slaves twist and bend me over her thick thighs.
I can smell her rancid tights, and I catch a glimpse of the
crowd that has gathered. The excitement in their eyes
revolts me as Clara pulls my skirt up, bearing my ass to the
hungry spectators.
“I’ve done nothing….” I feel the dirty rag pushed into my
mouth before I get a chance to finish.
“Little bitch, Clara is going teach you a lesson,” she
hisses at me.
I hear the dull sound of the paddle hitting my buttocks
before I feel the pain that surges through my body. I
scream into the dirty rag, and the tears swell in my eyes as
the second hits.
Then, the third and the fourth.
 2

KATHLEEN

C lara tossed me to the ground like a chewed-up chicken

bone. The pain I am feeling is unbearable. I’ll stay here.
“Let that be a lesson to you whore,” Clara said and spat
on me.
I could feel the cold air biting at my backside, and
realizing it was still exposed, I pulled down my dress as
best I could. I can feel the fibers crawl across the open
wounds that now grace my ass, and it hurts.
I turn my head, my cheek rubbing against the gravel,
and through the tears in my eyes, I can still see them
staring as if I am some freak here for their entertainment.
“Get this lot back to work. Show’s over,” Clara says to
the groping slave beside her.
“Right you lot, you heard Miss, back to it,” he shouts. I
hate him. I hate Clara. I hate this place and everything my
life has become.
“Fancy me some suru for tea,” I hear Clara remark as
she disappears into her house.
I feel a breath on my neck and then a voice, “I’d offer to
rub your ass better if you weren’t so ugly and smelt like
dripir shit.”
 And with a final insult, I feel a slap on my ass, and the
pain soars back through me, and I can’t help but cry.
“For your trouble,” the other slave says and drops my
food ration for the day wrapped in a stained piece of
yellowing cloth beside me.
I must get up, but not until they have gone. So, I wait, I
breathe, and try to rid my body of the pain, the exhaustion
from my eyes, and the memories from my mind.
I hear footsteps approaching and look up to see one of
the slave women kneeling beside me.
“It doesn’t get any better,” she says, and I recognize her
voice from earlier, the one that stood up for me at the cook
house. “Best you get yourself home.”
And with that, she leaves. I suppose the best advice she
could offer, seen as helping me, would only bring her
trouble, and who around here needs more trouble?
Now, I sense I am alone. I slowly raise myself from the
ground to my knees. I won’t be able to sit properly for a
while. I look at the cloth on the ground and pick it up.
Unwrapping it, I find a dirty piece of hard bread. All this
trouble is for that meager scrap. But, at least Grandma
Maud will eat tonight. I’ll get by with a nibble or two. I
think about her, and the tears return, glad no one is around
to see them. I cry a little harder because of that.
I get to my feet and brush off the fresh dirt from my
dress and cloak. There’s already enough caked-in muck. I
don’t need any more weighing me down. I’ve got enough
weight on these young shoulders that will take a lifetime to
shrug off.
The light is fading, but today, out of all these days, I
need the river. I need to cleanse myself. Yet, the pang of
guilt for Grandma is always present, but I don’t want to
upset her at the sight of me. If I hurry, it will be okay.
The village looks just as bad, bathed in the twilight light
as he does in any other light. I think only flames would turn
it into a pretty sight. I make my way to the village square.
I’m sure it might have been beautiful once, but now it is a
haunted mess. I pass near the stocks that sit at its center,
which always have a resident these days.
“Psst!” A frail figure of an old man, its latest guest, calls
out to me.
I turn and feel sorry for him. His face is bruised by the
past time of punching whoever is in the stocks the soldier
elves like to partake in after a drinking session.
“Give us a kiss?” he says.
“What?” I reply. Is that the only thought in his mind
right now?
“You’re ugly, but you’ll do,” he giggles.
“Oh, fuck off,” I say, I’ve had enough for one day. I move
quickly away from the bag of rotten bones that he is.
“What about a wank then? I'll settle for that,” he calls
out from behind me.
I feel like going back and kicking him in the balls. I feel
the anger so thick inside me that I almost do. But who
needs more trouble around here?
I make my way from the square, leaving its dead trees
and broken picket fences behind, and take the small road
that leads towards the river. That’s when I hear the rattle
of their carts.
I pull my cloak across me and lower my head at the
expectation of the approaching elf soldiers that have begun
to appear around the bend up ahead.
Gods, I hate them, vile creatures, that relish in the
torture and misery they seem to think they have the right
to inflict upon us. I need to be careful.
I move as close to the edge of the path as they rattle
toward me. I see the human slaves that pull their cart, their
faces thin with punishment and exhaustion. I watch as one
of them stumbles.
Then, the crack of a whip.
“Get up, you bastard,” one of the elf soldiers shouts.
 The fear creeps into my stomach as they get closer, I
must keep my head down, don’t look up, don’t make eye
contact.
“What have we got here?” I hear one of them say. I keep
moving.
“Would ya really want a piece?” another one of the dark
elves says.
I feel their eyes upon me. I turn on my ankle slightly,
almost losing my balance, but manage to regain it quickly.
“Nah, rather fuck a dripir,” one of them says.
“She smells like one!” another adds, and they begin to
cackle collectively.
And their interest in me is over. I leave them behind,
and they leave me. Ugly is how they see me, and ugly I
must be. The clothes I wear I may hate, but they protect me
also. They keep me hidden away.
As I continue my journey, with the occasional pang of
pain from my buttocks, it’s not long before it all changes
and life and color seem to return. Slowly mind. Much like
the dawn of my youth, the further away from the village
you get, the grays and rotten browns turn to bright greens,
and the scent of evergreen replaces the smell of piss.
In the distance, I can hear the river as I come to the
little path that will lead me to it. I follow it and marvel at
the bright color of the brushes that line it. I can hear birds
in the trees signing me a path as the light fades, painting a
new world around me.
I love the smell of fresh, cool water. It fills my nostrils as
I reach the river's edge. Here, for me, is peace as I look
around to ensure no eyes are in the brushes or behind the
rocks that protect me here.
I know I am safe here, but I always like to double-check.
I remove my cloak, ensuring the piece of bread is safely
placed upon it. Then, my skirt slowly over my ass the best I
can, but the material catches, and the pain once again
returns with a vengeance.
 “Argh,” I can’t help but cry out. There’s a sickness in my
stomach, and I steady myself against a rock until it passes.
Then, I remove my shirt and find myself naked under the
twilight.
As I approach the water's edge, the air feels good, cool
but not cold. I pause for a second and stare at my reflection
in the water.
My body is thin and bony. My face is frail and worn. I
wonder how anyone could ever look upon me as beautiful
and desirable. I imagine what the touch of kindness and
love would feel like, the warmth and musk of another being
holding me close and safe against their body.
I fear I will never know these things, but I have the river
to embrace me for now. So I enter it and feel the cleansing
tingle of the water surrounding me.
How beautiful to have it lift the smell and muck from my
body. Tend carefully to the wounds inflicted on me.
I swim backstroke, letting my hair dip below the surface
of the water. Then I turn, letting my breasts and head sink
into the water, and I open my eyes unto another world. A
world beneath, away from hardship, pain, and unkind
voices that chase me daily.
I stay beneath until the need for air brings me to the
surface. I notice the twilight has turned darker, but I still
must try to wash my clothes.
I lift myself from the water. I don't want to leave, but I
know I must. I lift my dress and shirt and return to the
water. I drown both until the dirt and horrible scent have
left them, take them out, wring out the water, and place
them on one of the rocks.
I go over to lift my cloak, letting the water drip from my
naked body and the cool air dry me. Then I see it, and my
heart sinks.
A small suru sits upon my cloak beside the piece of
bread where I placed it.
 “No, no,” I whisper as I tense up my body and try to
move slowly towards it. Then, a twig cracks beneath my
feet, and I freeze.
I stare at the animal, and it stares at me. We are locked
in time for a second, frozen and unsure what to do next.
It decides before I do, quickly snaps the bread into its
mouth, and darts off.
“Fuck,” I cry out and quickly grab my still-wet clothes
and struggle into them. I can’t lose that bread. I must not
lose that bread.
I scan the undergrowth and see it stopped, the bread
still in its mouth. I dart towards it, but it shoots off into the
wood before I reach it.
I have no choice, I must catch it. Grandma’s life depends
upon it.
 3

DRAKNIR

I don’t care much for company when I eat. It’s

personal. It’s just the way I’ve been put together.
nothing

The dripir is tough, and I don’t quite like the stew that
clings to it. Humans lack the skill to understand the finer
things in life. And a good stew requires such skills.
The others don’t question that I eat alone, and I respect
them for that. I try to finish the last of the dripir but end up
emptying it into the ground. That’ll do.
I walk over to the ragged hut where the rest of the elves
eat and toss my bowl into the sink for washing, not by us, of
course. That’s what we have humans for.
“Joining us later, Draknir?” Killen asks me.
“What’s the sport tonight?” I reply.
“There’s an old one in the stocks. We’re having a bet,
ten daler for the first one that throws a dagger through his
eye from fifty paces,” Killen says.
“Maybe,” I reply, but I have no interest. Old men aren’t
sport to me. Give me an orc, a wild beast, and now you’re
talking. I’ll leave them to it.
I leave them and walk towards my lodgings. This place
stinks; the sooner we leave, the better.
 But it’s the life of a miou. Our caste, the second-highest,
is an honor, a privilege. Many dark elves wish to be us,
rich, skilled, and smiled upon by the gods. I wouldn’t trade
it for the world.
“Draknir!” a voice calls out through the fading twilight. I
turn to see an elf whose name I can’t recall, but out of
politeness, try.
“Ah. Trakin, what can I do for you?”
“It’s Parkerus, actually,” he tells me with a nervous
smile.
I couldn’t have been further with that one, but he has
taken it well.
“Accept my apologies, Parkerus,” I tell him.
“Captain wants to see you,” he says.
“Thank you. I will go now,” I say, “By the way, the boys
have a good bet going this evening.”
“I heard,” he grins as he takes a dagger from his belt
and proudly holds it up. “Belonged to my father. Never
misses.”
Confidence rarely lacks in a dark elf. Even the lowest of
our kind are held in higher regard than the humans we use
for labor.
“May the Deceiver guide your blade,” I tell him, and he
hurries off with a pleased look.
I have no idea what the captain wants to see me for,
maybe a ticket out here, something more deserving. I’ve
watched many with much lesser talents than me rise
quicker due to their connections.
But that has never held me back. Every promotion I have
made has been out of merit and not through some rich
uncle who is fucking the General’s wife. And probably when
the occasion arises, the general as well.
The captain’s quarters are close to the village chief’s
house, most likely so he can keep an eye on him and his fat,
red-faced wife. I care for neither; they are the worst that
humanity has to offer, and that bar is low indeed.
 I see the light is on, and the captain is home, so I go to
the door, knock, and wait. It’s not long before I hear a voice
from within that I know as the captain.
“Come in, Draknir,” he calls out. He knows it’s me
because I don’t waste time, and orders are to be obeyed. I
turn the handle of the wooden door. It creaks as it opens,
and I enter.
The lit fireplace in the corner of the captain’s study
illuminates the room. The table against the wall has several
maps, and a desk in the center is crowded with letters and
a bottle. The captain takes the last from his glass in his
hand as he greets me.
“Always trouble at the top, Draknir, always trouble at
the top.” He takes another swig from his glass but realizes
it’s empty. “Drink?”
I nod. It might calm the rage of the stew in my stomach.
The captain lifts the bottle on the desk, realizing he has
only one glass, and calls out. “Horus!”
A tiny, portly human appears in the room as quickly as a
flash. I note that he looks well-fed for a slave.
“How may I be of service, my captain?” he announces.
“I need a glass, Horus.”
“Right away, my captain,” Horus says, slipping out of
the room with a bow.
“Good chap, a little odd even for a human.” The captain
laughs.
Obliged, I do as well. It’s a matter of seconds before
Horus appears back in the room with another glass. He
carefully places it on the desk and bows out of the room
again. The captain pours me a drink and hands it to me.
“From Milthar, the Minotaur might be a loathsome
beast, but they know how to make good wine. I have a
contact there. If you ever need a case of two, just let me
know. All on the hush-hush, of course.”
I take a mouthful of the wine and immediately
understand what he is talking about. The flavors of
wildflowers and sunbaked oak fill my mouth.
“Excellent choice, Captain, it is quite exquisite,” I tell
him. He is pleased with that.
“Now, to business, look, I have a letter here. Damn, the
post takes forever to get here, so I apologize on behalf of
our useless elves at HQ,” he says, handing me an open
envelope.
The handwriting on the envelope I immediately
recognize. Even after all these years, I know that it’s his.
My father. The man who discarded me as a boy. He left me
an orphan. And sent my beautiful mother into servitude.
I’m not even sure I have any wish to read it. I play with
the envelope in my hands, crumple the edges, and take a
large swig of the wine, emptying the glass.
“May I have another?” I ask the captain.
“Of course, my boy, fill your boots. I’ve got a cartload of
this stuff fresh off the boat,” he declares.
He takes my glass, pours the wine, and hands it back to
me. “Are you going to read it?”
“I’d rather not.” There’s not much my father could
possibly say that I’d ever want to hear. I’m of half a mind to
toss the letter in the fireplace and watch it burn.
The captain opens the letter and scans it right in front of
me. His sharp eyebrows rise.
“Your father would like to recognize you as his son
formally. He’d like you to return to the fold and take up
that position by his side. Put the past behind you and look
to the future. In a nutshell, my dear boy,” he states matter-
of-factly.
I ought to have burned it. The nerve of my so-called
father curls my mouth with anger. “That, well, is certainly a
turn-up for the books.”
“I thought as much, so I am going to speak candidly
here, Draknir,” his tone has changed, sober and careful.
I swallow my rage and try to look interested. “Thank
you, sir.”
 “I’ve heard things. Someone in my position is always
privy to, well, the freshest whispers in Orthani,” he
explains.
“I have no doubt your ear is trusted.”
“It would appear that your father has suffered a loss
recently, of which his sorrow must be acknowledged,” the
captain says.
I don’t give a shit about my father’s so-called sorrow.
“Jasper.”
“Yes, your brother.”
“Step.”
He shoots me a look. “It seems that Jasper was set to
marry a wealthy, noble elf lady who would benefit your
father greatly. However, without a son, that house of cards
will quickly tumble.” The captain raises his eyebrow.
“I understand completely,” I say, crumpling the letter
with my fist.
“If you choose to go, Draknir, I will make the necessary
arrangements for you,” he says.
“I understand, sir, but that will not be necessary,” I say,
standing up. A smile forms on the captain's face.
“Home is not always where we expect it to be, my boy,”
the captain says.
I close the door behind me, and immediately, as the
thought of my father consumes me, the anger rises within
me. I think of the letter my mother left me, of the years that
he stole from me, and I run as fast as I can. All I can think
of is murder.
A pack of worgs snarl as I approach. They’re lean.
Hungry and desperate. Saliva drips from their fangs, which
are longer than my fingers.
They really picked the wrong fucking day for this. We
both snarl at one another, and I raise my sword, bringing it
down with savage swings. I relish in my strength at the
demise of the stupid beasts foolish enough to get in my
way.
Then I hear a scream nearby. I stop and listen.
And I wonder what creature that could be.
 4

DRAKNIR

M yscreams.
steps slow as I head toward the source of the
Heading through the brush, I move forward,
the grumbling sounds of a struggle make themselves
apparent as I approach the scene.
What I find would be almost comical if it wasn't so
serious.
A small, dirtied human is rolling around on the ground,
attempting to wrestle food from a small beast. There is
blood spattering this person, a woman, I'm assuming. It's
hard to tell. The beast's small sharp claws reach out and
gash the woman person again, a piercing shriek of hurt and
frustration emits from her furrowed face.
Who is this person? And why on earth is she in such a
state?
Her appearance immediately fills me with disgust. She's
reduced herself to stealing a measly piece of bread from
this small, unthreatening beast.
I let out a frustrated sigh and watch her, the
determination and stubbornness only serving to irritate me.
The bread is ruddy and as tattered as she is. By Maws,
there's even dirt on it. My mouth turns up, wrinkling my
nose at the unappetizing display.
 "Pathetic," I mutter as my stomach churns at the soiled
woman, and her desperation for such dirtied food.
My eyes zero in on her as she is too preoccupied with
her plight to have even noticed my presence. Her thin small
frame is covered with reddened claw marks and a mixture
of fresh and drying blood.
Underneath the blood are thickened older scars like the
deep cutting remnants of the tail end of a whip. She's the
most disappointing thing I've seen today, and yet,
something within me blooms and lingers with a nagging
tug.
"Such is the fate of a weak human," I mutter to myself
with disdain, trying to shake this inexplicable pull that is
compelling me to stay.
As the woman continues to struggle with the small
animal, I watch with a mix of pity and frustration. Her
clothes are in tatters, her skin sallow and bruised from
what looks like years of hardship and abuse.
The smell of desperation wafts off her like a foul wind,
mingling with the scent of sweat and fear that clings to her
everywhere. Her hair is short matted, the struggle with the
beast rubbing sweat and dirt into her scalp.
She growls through gritted teeth as she tries to pry the
bread away from the tiny beast's sharp claws, but it's clear
she doesn't have the strength or agility to win this battle.
The sound of tearing fabric fills the air as the beast digs its
claws deeper into her palms, drawing blood that stains the
dirt-encrusted fabric even further.
The dirt itself seems caked onto her body like a second
skin, evidence of countless hours spent scrounging for food
and survival in this unforgiving land. The woman's eyes are
fierce but wild, clouded with hunger.
There is something else there, a depth I'm unprepared
to see. Despite her ferocity, there is a softness about her.
My nose wrinkles at the wayward thought.
A softness? Gods, what is wrong with me?
 I shake the thought off, but an unwanted sense of
empathy weasels its way out of the fortress that I force any
notion of unwanted emotion into.
It's pathetic really how far someone can fall just because
they lack the right positioning in the caste. I take a step
forward, trying not to cringe at the sight of her mangled
hands. I'm not sure if it's the talk I just had with the
captain, but the pang of pity grows as I think of my mother
and her death while giving birth to me. She was helpless
much like this woman and my father left her on her
deathbed and married another.
The beast squirms away, but she holds tight, their
gruesome tug-of-war continuing under my unmoving gaze.
"What is happening to me?" I groan, rubbing my hand
down my face.
I take a step forward, drawn by an invisible force pulling
me towards them both. The woman's breath is ragged from
exertion. A gut-wrenching thought strikes me: maybe if
someone had helped my mother when she needed it most...
I don't allow myself to finish the thought.
I scoff, these newly surfaced emotions are proving to be
annoyingly inconvenient.
I watch as she gives a mighty tug on its tail, finally
managing to pin it against a nearby rock. It growls
menacingly at her, baring its teeth in warning before
lunging forward once more; she braces herself for impact
but doesn't let go.
Without thinking, I draw my bow and notch an arrow in
place, aiming directly at the creature's head. It lunges
again and this time, she manages to keep it pinned down
long enough for me to fire. The arrow sinks deep into its
skull with a sickening thud, silencing its cries instantly.
The woman hurriedly releases her grip and falls
backward onto the ground, panting heavily as she stares at
me in disbelief. Her eyes are wide and filled with fear,
 "You need to leave here now," I say plainly as if the
entire situation hadn't even occurred. “This forest is filled
with worgs.”
The woman cowers and scrambles backwards, hastily
snatching the bread from the dirt where the creature
dropped it. Her back is pressed against the rock, the prized
piece of bread is clutched to her chest, and she stares at
me like I’m about to devour her.
I glance down at my tunic and see that the blood of the
worgs I slaughtered is splattered across my clothes.
"I'm not going to hurt you," I say, unsure what this need
to comfort her is. She continues to stare at me, wide eyed
and unmoving.
Why isn't she running?
With an annoyed sigh, I look at her in utter disbelief.
"I said, you need to leave. It's dangerous here," I gesture
widely to the area surrounding us.
The look she gives me in return is enough to rattle my
resolve. Her soulful brown eyes look at me, into me, with
an innocent sense of gratitude. It’s as if she can see into my
soul, that and the purity of her gaze unnerves me. I can't
take the sentimentality of the moment.
"You need to leave!" I roar, my voice echoes in anger
into the woods around us. My chest tightens and I ball my
fists at my sides. If I successfully intimidate her, she
doesn't show it.
She nods slowly, still staring at me with those eyes that
see too much, and scrambles to stand up. Her knees protest
the sudden movement, but she manages it anyway,
wobbling as if she might fall over any moment.
She quickly scurries away before stopping for a brief
moment.
"Thank you," she says, turning to face me. Her eyes hold
me in the depth of their knowing gaze for the briefest of
moments. Without another word, she turns away from me
and runs. I watch her disappear among the trees until she's
just a blur of brown and green.
The quiet that falls over me is deafening; all I can hear is
the sound of my own heartbeat.
I'm struck with the foreign sense of concern. I’ve never
concerned myself with the needs of strangers before, but I
can’t help wanting to know how she came to be in this
state.
Perhaps I should have helped her instead of trying to
scare her away.
I shake it off with a hollow sigh.
We'll never cross paths again.
 5

KATHLEEN

T he sun has already set by the time I get home, and I've
begun to fret about my grandmother. The last thing I
want is for her to have been worrying about me.
As it is, that is probably unavoidable at this point. It’s
late, my clothes are incredibly dirty. One look at me, and
she’s going to fret.
I let myself into the home we share, expecting to find
grandmother waiting, but a quick glance shows me she's
nowhere to be found. My heart quickens in pace as I try to
swallow the swells of panic rising into my throat.
“Gran?”
Where could she be?
My palms feel clammy, and my mouth is dry. I quickly
wonder if she might have gone to look for me, but that's
unlikely as she has problems walking.
"Grandmother?" I call out timidly again. Fear threatens
to claw its way from my chest.
Another look around the room has my heart sinking, a
swooping panic dips to the bottom of my stomach, I see feet
sticking out around the corner to the hall.
"Grandmother!" I shriek, fear threatening to consume
me as I run to where she rests on the floor, motionless.
 I grab her hand, but she is cool to the touch. She's still
breathing, but her breaths are shallow. There is a large
wound on her head, and blood is pooling onto the floor
around her in a sickening puddle. Quickly, I run out of the
house.
“Help!”
The wind is sharp and bitter, stinging my eyes as I sprint
barefoot in the dirt. My grandmother's blood has dried on
my hands. It feels like a heavy weight that I can't shake. I
had no idea what to expect when I found her, but this is
beyond anything I could have imagined.
I rush into Mathilde's home, praying she's there. The
door creaks open slowly, and I am met with familiar scents
of lavender and baking bread. Mathilde stands there, her
brow furrowed with concern. "Kathleen, what’s happened?"
Her kind eyes take in my dirtied and disheveled state.
Her eyes widen at the sight of the blood on my hands.
"Kathleen?" she asks, fear rising in her voice as she
dries her hands on her apron.
I gasp for air, my chest heaving from the exertion of
running. "Grandmother... she's hurt." The words tumble out
in a frantic rush. "I found her unconscious when I got
home. She has a big wound on her head, and she isn't
waking up."
"Let me grab my bag," she says, hurriedly disappearing
down the hallway.
When she returns, Mathilde grabs my arm gently but
firmly, and follows me outside back to my house. Mathilde
is friends with my grandmother, her only friend, actually.
She has a bit of medical knowledge and knows first aid. I'm
hoping her knowledge is enough to help my grandmother.
Mathilde follows me back to my grandmother's house,
her healer's bag clasped tightly in her hands. As we rush
inside, I lead her to where my grandmother still lies
unconscious on the floor.
 Mathilde's breath hitches when she sees the severity of
the wound on grandmother's head, but she steels herself
and gets to work examining her.
"This looks bad," Mathilde says grimly. "She's lost a lot
of blood. I'll need to stitch up the gash, but even then, there
may be damage beneath the surface that my basic skills
can't fix."
She rummages through her bag, pulling out needles,
thread, and various vials of liquid. As she begins cleaning
and closing the wound, I pace anxiously.
"Is there anything you can give her for the pain and
swelling?" I ask. I have a frenetic need to help and can't
stop pacing and wringing my hands.
Mathilde shakes her head. "My usual remedies won't be
enough for a wound like this. She needs dark elf medicine,
something like a healing potion,"
I look at my grandma, the panic tightens in my chest.
Her skin is pale, and she's been cleaned of the blood, but
she's still asleep. From what Mathilde is saying, without
dark elf magic, she’s likely to stay that way.
How am I supposed to find dark elf potions? And what
do I do to feed her. My stomach clenches at the sight of
her. She looks so close to death. My mind wanders to the
elf in the forest.
"What do I do?" I ask Mathilde, the feeling of defeat
threatens to spill from my eyes.
Mathilde's expression is grave as she meets my eyes.
"I'm afraid there's little we can do without elvish medicine.
Your grandmother has lost too much blood." She sighs
heavily, her shoulders slumping.
My heart drops into my stomach like a stone. I look at
my grandmother's still form, her skin ashen, the ugly gash
on her head now neatly stitched but still angry and red. She
looks small and frail there on the floor, a far cry from the
lively woman who raised me.
 "But we have to do something!" I cry, hot tears spilling
down my cheeks.
Mathilde sighs again. "Without the proper medicine,
even the most skilled human doctor would be of little use.
Her injuries are too severe." She gestures helplessly to my
grandmother. "I'm afraid she may only have a few days left
at most."
I shake my head vehemently. "No. No, I can't just let her
die!" I run my hands through my hair, mind racing. There
has to be something, some way, to save her.
Without thinking, I rush out the door and sprint out of
the house. I arrive breathless at the chief's home hoping he
will have a solution. I pound desperately on the carved
wooden door.
"Please, I need help! It's an emergency!" I call, but none
comes. My plight seems hopeless as I slump to the ground.
My fear for my grandma and fear of being ignored mix
together in a desperation I've never before experienced.
After what feels like an eternity, the door swings open,
and the chief's wife regards me sternly. "What is the
meaning of this disruption?" she demands.
She holds a whip in her hand, and I cringe at her harsh
look. My voice is ragged as I plead my case, tears
streaming down my face. My heart races as I try to catch
my breath. "Please, I need your help."
The woman raises a brow and steps closer, examining
me closely before crossing her arms over her chest.
I fall to my knees before her, words spilling out in a
torrent. "Please, my grandmother is hurt. She's
unconscious and bleeding."
The chief's wife looks down upon with disgust, her nose
scrunches, and her mouth sets in a disapproving grimace.
She idly swings the whip, making me flinch at every flick
that zips across my vision.
"Our healer says only elvish medicine can save her now.
I beg you, does the chief have access to such medicine? I
will do anything to obtain it, anything at all." I try again,
begging this woman to find it within herself to offer me
some kind of assistance.
The chief's wife looks at me with an intimidating kind of
hatred, threateningly toying with the whip in her hand.
"Please," I sob.
She regards me coldly. "Groveling will get you nowhere,
girl," she sneers. "The chief does not waste elvish medicine
on peasants."
I look up at her, desperation in my eyes. "Please, I'm
begging you. My grandmother raised me, she's the only
family I have left."
The woman scoffs. "What do I care about your sniveling
grandmother? Begone from here before I take this whip to
you!"
Tears stream down my face as I cower. The chief's wife
glares at me, whip poised to strike.
"Please," I cry again, desperation floods my voice.
"I warned you," she snarls.
The whip comes down slashing through my hands. The
pain stings as my skin is cracked open with a second
lashing. She cracks the whip through the air again.
It feels like fire lashing against my already battered
skin. With each crack comes another wave of agony - this
time burning pain on top of everything else.
The chief suddenly appears in the doorway, likely drawn
outside from my sobs.
"That's enough," the chief says firmly, stepping between
me and his wife. She scowls but lowers the whip.
The chief regards me with exasperation. "We cannot
help you, child. The elves do not share their medicines, not
even with us."
I stare up at him, stunned. "But you're the chief! Can't
you ask them, plead with them to make an exception?"
He shakes his head. "The elves care little for our human
troubles. Even if I begged, they would not bend."
 "There must be something!" I cry desperately. "My
grandmother is dying! She’s…she’s hit her head somehow,
she’s bleeding…"
The chief looks down at me cowering beneath him. Pity
and disgust cloak his features.
"We have no healers here who can treat such grave
injuries, neither elf nor human. Especially not for someone
so old. You’ll need to accept that this is her time."
I sink to the ground and weep. My only hope dashed. My
beloved grandmother's fate seems sealed.
"Now go home, don't come back here again," the chief
says with dismissive authority.
He drags his scowling wife back into the house, her
protests and insults falling on deaf ears. The door closes on
me and any hope I possess for saving my grandma.
The chief's cold dismissal cuts through me like a knife,
but I cannot give up hope. There must be something I can
still do to save my grandmother's life.
I drag myself up from the ground, tears still streaming
down my face, and stumble away from the chief's home.
 6

DRAKNIR

M ygaze
feet drag as I trudge wearily back to the base, my
is caught by the sight of the captain sprinting
towards me. His boots pound against the ground, with
every rushed step.
"Draknir!" he calls me. He appears hurried and
flustered.
The captain comes to a stop in front of me, his face
flushed with urgency. "We have a situation," he says.
My heart quickens as he speaks.
"What kind of situation?" I ask.
He pauses to catch his breath.
"I have been looking for you all over, someone is here to
see you. He says he's your family's head servant, a butler."
I scoff. Family? What family? Does my father really think
that he can just undo years of neglect with a damned
letter?
"Tell him I’m busy,” I snap, then, catching the look in the
captain’s eyes, add, “Please. Sir.”
“I’m not your messenger, boy.” The captain has a lot of
leniency for me, but the trace of irritation in his eyes warns
me not to push him. “Tell him yourself.”
 The captain leads me to where my father’s hired help is
waiting.
As we approach the butler, I can hear his voice getting
louder and more agitated. It's clear he's upset about
something. The captain stands aside, allowing me to come
face-to-face with the man.
He's dressed in fine attire, not unlike what one would
expect of a butler, but there's an air of nobility about him
that speaks volumes. His silver hair is impeccably styled
and his posture is perfect.
I hate him.
"Jori, this is Draknir as requested," the captain says
addressing the servant.
"I bring you a message of great news Draknir."
"I read the letter my father sent,” I scoff. “I burned it.”
The butler – Jori – keeps his face impassive. It makes me
want to scream, to shake him by his fine silk lapels. To do
anything that might make my father’s man flinch.
"You should be happy, Draknir," the butler says, his
voice sharper than I would have expected from someone of
his station. "The noble dark elf clan of Hora has recognized
you.” He pauses and takes a deep breath before continuing.
"As you may have read, they wish to acknowledge you as
their own." he says with a noticeably forced smile.
I roll my eyes, but before I can respond, the butler
launches into a tirade that I don't have the patience to
listen to. I grit my teeth, allowing him to finish his high and
mighty speech. as my mind races to try and make sense of
it all.
What use am I to my father now, just because his
firstborn died? If he needs an heir so badly, he could just
find some wretch on the street and pass him off as an
unclaimed son. The man would hate him less.
Jori the butler is still rambling on about blood and honor
and all that taura shit. The captain smothers a yawn. "Your
father has granted you the opportunity to raise your caste,
to join centuries of–"
"Are you finished?" I bite out, my blood rising with
warmth beneath my skin.
The butler balks, offended.
"You need to leave from here. I'm not interested." My
patience is wearing thin for such pretentious conversation.
The butler's eyes widen in disbelief, his face reddening
with anger and frustration. "You dare to disregard your
heritage? Your duty?" he asks incredulously.
I can feel my anger rising again. "I don't know what
game you're playing, but I have no family and certainly no
noble lineage," I growl, unable to hide my frustration.
“None that I claim. If it was so important to my father, he
might have raised me and my mother out of the gutter
years before now.”
"You are a dark elf of the Hora clan! Don't you
understand the significance of that?" the butler says and
throws up his hands in exasperation.
"No. You can take my place for all I care!" I roar, unable
to abate the rise of frustration.
The butler simply responds by narrowing his eyes in a
condescending glare.
The captain clears his throat nervously, shifting his
weight from foot to foot. In private, he’s not a fan of the
strict caste system, but criticizing it in public is a different
matter.
I cross my arms over my chest, feeling the leather armor
straps digging into my skin slightly. "I don't see anything
special about being a part of some high-and-mighty clan
who thinks they're better than everyone else just because
they have money and power," I spit angrily.
"It is an honor!" he barks.
"You need to leave now before I drag you out myself." I
say through gritted teeth. "A servant like you has no
position in a soldier's camp," I spit at him in disgust.
 "It's not about money or power," the butler says, his
voice raised now.
Without hesitation, I grab him by his flashy robes and
begin to drag him to the gates.
"It's about tradition! Duty! You should be honored to be
recognized by your own kind! You are most ungrateful" he
yells, attracting a crowd of eyes I could do without. His
heels dig into the dirt, kicking up a cloud of dust as I drag
him forth.
"I am the servant of a noble, and it is an affront to my
master's dignity to be treated this way," the butler yells as I
drag him through the dirt. His feet scramble for purchase,
slipping and sliding as the grip I have on his robes leaves
no room for support.
I yank the butler through the camp, hearing the scuff of
shoes and his grunts in protest. The soldiers part ways to
avoid being trampled by the two of us, glancing at each
other in confusion and amusement. Some chuckle under
their breaths; others shake their heads in disbelief.
The captain tries to keep up with our pace but
eventually gives up, leaving me to forcibly escort the butler
away from the camp. His protests grow louder as we reach
the gates, becoming more desperate as he realizes he won't
be able to sway me from my decision.
We reach the gate and I push him roughly out of the
large looming entrance to the camp.
He lays in the dirt defeated, his robes a crumpled mess
around him. His once polished demeanor has been reduced
to dirt scuffed and tattered. I feel no remorse, his pompous
outbursts and pretentious berating has left me with little
sympathy for his situation.
He looks up at me with an arrogant glare.
His smug expression falters at my lack of reaction.
Good. Time to put him in his place. "I hold no ties or debts
to your employer. Return to him and say I have refused this
supposed 'honor'. Now leave, before you overstay your
welcome further."
The butler kneels before me, desperation written on his
face. I have dragged him out to rid him of his purpose but
see only a man at his wit's end.
Despite my desire to be done with this interaction,
something within me has been slightly enticed to hear what
he has to say. I can't shake the pull, much like the one I felt
with the slave woman in the woods.
With an exasperated sigh, I meet his defeated eyes.
"Speak, servant, before my patience ends," I say sternly.
He takes a shuddering breath. "House Horas' young
master has fled before fulfilling a crucial marriage contract
to a more powerful and most ruthless clan."
“Fled? I thought he died.”
“He said he would die before marrying his intended. And
we’ve tried to find him, but we can’t.”
I stiffen at the news. "That doesn’t sound like my
problem."
"You carry Horas blood, you must take the master's
place – wed per the contract's terms, become noble and
secure the alliance." His voice breaks with fear. "If I cannot
present a new groom by the given deadline, if the contract
is not upheld, House Horas will be slaughtered, and even
you will not be spared."
 7

KATHLEEN

T he dark, dirty steps in front of me shine from the rain. I

hesitate.
Is this really my only choice? To sell myself?
I take the first step, just as the doors barrel open and a
boisterous man swaggers through. His arm is slung over
another's, and the two of them can hardly wobble their way
down the stairs as one slurs their way through a story.
"An' I told the bitch 'Fuck off! Love if you want a tip, you
shoulda at LEAS' given a smile!'. You 'ow what she did?
Raised a hand to me! Right whore had to comp my service
and got fired!"
The two men cackle as they push past me, neither of
them bothering to even notice I was there. The stench of
liquor and grime wafted behind them, and I covered my
nose as I watched their bodies fade away in the darkness.
Is that what I'm going to have to deal with?
My thoughts are interrupted by a hoarse, loud voice
hollering down those same stairs on which I hesitate.
A man shouts at me from the top of the stairs, his dark,
line-scarred face illuminated by the flickering street lamps
that cast his wide grin in sharp contrast. His large,
muscular frame leans against the sturdy wooden door
jamb.
The man, well dressed for his position, bellows, "What
the hell are you doing down there?!"
With a start, I realize I've been daydreaming. I shake off
the daze and climb the stairs, my heart now pounding in my
chest. I silently pray. I need to help my grandmother, and
to do that, I need money.
To get money, I need…this place.
I reach the top of the stairs, my breath coming in ragged
gasps, and stumble onto the large, ornate entryway. Inside,
it smells like sex and cheap perfume. The man, a doorman,
it seems, laughs heartily, a deep, resonant sound that
echoes off the high ceilings.
"What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?" he
asks, clearly amused by my curious plight. "You can't just
come waltzing up to the door like that, you know!"
I swallow hard, feeling a blush burn in my cheeks,
wondering just how to explain my situation. The doorman
crosses his arms, raising an eyebrow as he looks me up and
down, his gaze landing on my tattered clothing and the dirt
that streaks my face.
"Well, well," he drawls, a grin playing on his lips. "You
look like you're about as out of place here as a fish out of
water."
I bite my lip, my nerves getting the best of me. "Maybe I
made a mistake," I mutter under my breath.
The doorman chuckles, his mirth only exacerbating my
unease. "Do you, now?"
"I'm here," I said, my voice trembling. "For the position."
I pray he won’t laugh at me, at my audacity, my
desperation.
He raises an eyebrow again. “You’ll need to be more
specific. Our girls specialize in lots of positions here.”
My stomach roils at the leer in his tone. “Please. I…if I
could just speak to someone inside?”
 "You didn't even think about cleaning yourself up first?
The madame won't even take a look at you in the sorry
state you're in." He doesn't move to step out into the cold,
but the door starts to close behind him. "We have standards
you know, much higher than your hygenic routine,
obviously." He chuckles to himself, and I feel a pit in my
stomach start to grow. I bite back the tears threatening to
well up in my eyes, and beg for another chance.
"Please! I'm a virgin!" I see his face screw into a
mocking position, and he clasps his hands together. “Isn’t
that worth a bit of money?”
"Love, haven't you seen the women in here? They're
beautiful. We can't have raggedy dolls off the streets
lowering our customers' expectations. Sell yourself on a
corner, you'll have better luck there." He wrinkles his nose.
“Maybe.”
The door opens back up behind him, and he waves me
off as he slips behind its wooden frame. All at once, I feel
my heart drop. I slouch, my legs threatening to break under
me. But I steel myself. Wiping the cold rain from my face, I
back up.
I grit my teeth. I won't let fate dictate how my life will
turn out.
As I walk away from the building, I notice a figure
lurking in the shadows. He seems to be watching me
intently, and I feel a shiver of fear run down my spine. I
quicken my pace, not wanting to draw his attention, but he
follows me. I try to lose him in the maze of alleyways, but
he keeps appearing around every corner.
I know I have to face him. I stop and turn to confront
him, my heart pounding in my chest. He is tall, with a
rough, unkempt appearance, and his eyes seem to hold a
fiery intensity.
"Who are you?" I ask, my voice shaking.
 He smiles, revealing a set of yellowed teeth. "I'm your
savior," he says, extending a hand. "I have something that
can help you."
I hesitate, and he uses that opportunity to lunge toward
me. With a yelp, I stumble back, and take off sprinting. I
know these alleys like the back of my hand, their weaving
tunnels guiding me closer and closer to my home. I don't
know how long it takes, but I finally lose him in the maze.
Panting, I straighten my back, and begin to walk towards
the small cottage that I call home.
The rain beats down on me, cold and unforgiving, but I
ignore it.
In the distance, I can see a soft flicker of light through
the heavy rain clouds. It's the familiar glow of the elf base
camp.
That elf in the forest – could he be based there? I don’t
know why I’m so convinced he might help me. Maybe the
cold and rain and desperation have finally done my sanity
in. But something tells me he might.
He helped me once.
I quicken my pace. I can't help but feel a glimmer of
hope, a small spark of courage that burns brightly in my
chest. I break out into a small jog, weaving through the
darkness of the alleyways, the rain pounding against my
skin, but I don't care. I'm not about to let my grandmother’s
slip away.
As I approach the gates, I can't help but feel a sense of
foreboding. It's a strange feeling, a knot in my stomach that
twists and turns, as though I expect something bad to
happen. I tell myself that’s just the normal expectation for a
human around elves. Something bad usually happens.
“You here to see the captain?” An elf in a uniform tilts
his head, looking at me skeptically.
“Yes.” I clear my throat. “Sorry about my appearance.
The rain…”
 But he’s already waving me through. I might not be
much of a beauty right now, but at least I don’t look like
any sort of threat.
Inside the camp, I search the crowd for the man in
particular I can't seem to set eyes on. There's no one
outside. The rain must have sent them all in. I stare up at
the sky, it's dark clouds warning me to go home before I
catch a chill.
Instead, I defy the rain, and settle down with my back to
a tree. I have a clear view of the entrance, and if he passes
through, I won't be able to miss him.
As the night deepens, the air grows colder and heavier
with every passing moment. My body trembles, seeking
warmth that it can't quite find. The steady rain against my
skin has numbed me, but I don't dare move. I can't risk
missing him..
As the hours pass, I feel a sense of desperation creeping
in. With each merciless droplet that falls from the sky, it
feels as though I'm being pelted with tiny daggers. But still,
I hold my ground.
Finally, as the first streaks of dawn begin to break
through the darkness, I see him. In the distance, he walks
beside another, taller elf. They are animatedly talking, and
I strain my ears to hear. My eyes stay glued to my quarry,
and I step forward as I wish him to notice me.
 8

DRAKNIR

I storm out of my quarters into the cold night. The stench

of smoke and unwashed bodies assault my senses.
Torches flicker dimly against the dark canvas tents, muted
conversations drifting on the crisp air of night. In the
distance, the towering pines of the ancient forest beckon,
where I hope to find solitude.
Fuming from the butler’s insensitive words, I stalk past
patrolling guards. Their crimson eyes follow my hurried
pace—the mindless thuds of weapons striking the ground
grate on my nerves. I have to get away from here.
“Draknir? Where are you going?” I hear the low,
rumbling voice of a man I’d much rather not talk to now. I
wave off the soldier with a simple flick of my wrist, ducking
off the path.
My father’s entourage will be here in a week. One week,
until I’m confined to a woman I don’t know.
I need to flee into the night, and fast. My mind races
with plans of flight as I head for the back gate, keeping to
the shadows to avoid detection. I long for the solitude of
the ancient forest, to clear my troubled mind with a long
run under the pale moonlight.
 But before I can slip unseen into the dark forest, a small
figure blocks my path. I halt abruptly, then roughly shove
aside the human girl. But she clings desperately to my leg,
causing me to stumble.
It's her – the timid human female I spotted last night
wrestling a scrap of bread from the jaws of a suru near the
river. She looks up at me with wide, pleading eyes
brimming with tears that reflect the glowing moon, her
gaunt face etched with desperation.
As the human girl kneels pathetically before me, I take
in her bedraggled state. Her dress is caked with mud, her
hair hanging in ragged clumps, soaked from the rain. Angry
welts and bruises mar her pale skin. She has the look of
one who has been mistreated and cast out, like a stray
batlaz.
"What happened to you?" I ask bluntly, scowling down at
her battered form.
"I—I was looking for work, but they threw me out into
the street," she stammers, avoiding my gaze.
"What kind of work?" I press.
She hesitates, her cheeks flushing. "I...I tried to apply at
the brothel nearby. But they took one look and rejected me
straight away."
I snort in disgust. Only the most desperate human
wenches sell their bodies. This girl must have fallen far to
consider such degradation. Still, the scorn in her voice
reveals a spirit not fully broken.
"And you think a dark elf will offer you refuge?" I sneer.
"We do not pity your kind."
Desperate tears fill her eyes. "Please, my grandmother
will die without medicine! No one else will help us..."
Her raw despair gives me pause, stirring up memories of
my youth begging on the streets, hungry and alone. This
girl's wretchedness touches something deep within me I
thought long buried.
Did my mother have to beg like this?
 I grab her arm and haul her roughly to her feet.
"Cease your pathetic sniveling," I command, fighting an
unwanted pang of empathy. "I will procure this medicine
you seek, but you must swear an oath to repay this debt."
Hope flickers across her battered face. "Yes! I vow to do
anything you ask. You have my oath."
I search her eyes for any dishonesty but find only
earnestness. In truth, she reminds me too much of my
desperate young self. With a curt nod, I turn toward
quarters, yanking the bedraggled girl along behind me.
"What ails your grandmother, girl?" I ask bluntly.
The girl hesitates. "I...I'm not sure exactly. She took ill
so suddenly. Her breathing turned raspy, and she grew
weaker by the hour. She fell and hit her head. Our local
healer says she can do nothing.”
I scowl down at her. "Then how do you know she
requires medicine? Old age takes many eventually."
"Please sir, she's all I have left," the girl begs
desperately. "I will do anything to ease her suffering, even
just a little."
I grab her arm and haul her roughly to her feet. "Enough
sniveling. Take me to the old crone, I will assess if she can
be treated."
Hope flickers across her battered face. "Oh thank you,
kind sir! Please hurry, this way." She tugs at my arm
eagerly.
We have not gone far when a voice calls out from the
shadows. "Draknir! Where do you creep off to with this
human wretch?"
I turn to see Rathnor emerging from the darkness, his
scarred visage twisted in a sneer. The hulking warrior falls
into step beside me, eyeing the girl with disgust.
"This does not concern you, Rathnor," I say tightly. "I go
where I please."
He barks a harsh laugh. "Not for long. Enjoy these last
days of freedom before your bride arrives. The captain’s
told all of us about your prissy little visitor earlier." His
meaty hand descends on my shoulder. "We cannot have our
prince consorting with vermin."
I shrug off his touch. "Have care how you address me," I
warn, eyes flashing. "My choices are not yours to make."
The girl cowers behind me as Rathnor crowds closer.
"You always were soft on humans," he spits. "I should gut
this wretch for befouling you with her filth."
My blade is at his throat before he can blink. "You forget
yourself," I snarl. "Begone from my sight."
With a final glare, Rathnor melts back into the night. I
sheath my weapon and turn to the trembling girl. "Come.
Before I change my mind."
Am I really sticking my neck out for this girl?
The girl glances back nervously as we leave Rathnor
behind. "Thank you for sparing me, my lord. You show
great mercy."
I scowl in the darkness. "I do as I please. Your fate was
never his to decide."
Still, her gratitude kindles a faint ember inside my
hardened heart. When did I last hear words of thanks? This
waif sees some shred of light in me yet.
Hard as I try to cling to old hatreds and hurts,
something in me stirs, like a long-dormant seed finally
sprouting toward the light. Try as I might deny it, this
chance encounter has awakened echoes of who I used to be
before the harshness of life burned away the best parts of
myself.
She wisely keeps her head down, not wanting to draw
the ire of any who would punish her presence here.
As we step outside the gates, I pull my cloak tight, wary
of being spotted with this human, but compassion stirs
within me against my hardened instincts. To ease an old
woman's suffering reflects no weakness, I tell myself,
though uncertainty looms as the girl leads me into the
unknown night.
 "You have a good soul, dark elf. I will not forget what
you have done this day." Her soft words weaved through
the evening, carrying us closer to her home.
 9

KATHLEEN

“A
re you willing to do anything to save your
grandmother?” the dark elf asks.
Am I willing to do anything? I am more than willing to do
anything I can to save my grandmother's life. She lays
wounded and unconscious, and every moment spent
pondering my next move is keeping me from being able to
help her.
And dark elves don’t do good deeds for free.
So, am I willing to do anything? Yes.
"Yes," I say cautiously. I watch him with wide eyes as
shivers of uncertainty wrack my entire body. I am putting
everything on the line and gambling my nonexistent cards
to the hands of a dark elf stranger.
"And you are sure about this?" he asks cautiously.
"Yes, I am the surest I've ever been," I say, and while the
words are true, there is a part of me that is understandably
hesitant to accept this stranger's offer.
I'm not sure if it is my body he'll want or my time.
Whatever it is, I’ll give it tenfold if he can help my
grandma. I just hope he won’t ask for too much. I can't say
that to him though for fear of him changing his mind
because I truly don't have much to offer.
 He eyes me warily; his face is determined and roams
over my tattered appearance. He pauses to meet my frantic
eyes with an all-consuming stare. The intensity of his dark
eyes sends a ripple of intriguing fear surging through my
body.
"Are you willing to sign your life away to me in exchange
for a healing potion?" He poses the question directly, never
breaking eye contact. He waits stoically for me to answer.
I nod eagerly, barely giving myself a moment to consider
what he is asking of me. My life to save my grandmother is
an easy trade. My heart races knowing that luck is finally
on my side today. There isn't much I wouldn't do for my
grandma, she's all I have.
"Then be my slave and pretend to be my mate," he says
with an authoritative air of suggestion.
My brows raise in surprise. I'm not sure if I heard him
correctly.
His mate? Is that what he just said? I don't even know
his name.
His offer hits me like a punch to the gut, I feel the blood
drain from my face. I can't fathom what that even means,
or how that would be possible. My nerves are chaotically
buzzing, the lump in my throat accompanies the
lightheadedness that overcomes me.
"So will you? Be my slave and help me? I am willing to
help you in return," he reiterates his stance.
I pause and turn away, giving myself a moment to
process what he's asking. I know I don't have much time to
gamble with his promise of help for grandmother, but the
finality of what he's proposing isn't at all lost on me.
My breath hitches slightly as he says the word, and I feel
myself growing cold all over. A dark elf's slave. It sounds
so... final. So... permanent. But if it means saving my
grandma's life, then I'll agree. "I-I'll do it," I stammer,
wondering what this dark elf has in store for me.
 "Very good," he says slowly. He appears to be pleased
with my answer, and it scares me. What could he possibly
need a pretend mate for? And a lowly human girl at that?
I watch him as he appears lost in thought, clearly
mulling over whatever this situation of his is before he nods
with a satisfied expression. He meets my eyes, and I see
something lurking beneath the surface.
There's trouble laying there, something is weighing on
him. I look away before I can offend him, but I can feel the
truth. He too is in trouble.
He shifts, breaking my stare and reaches forward, his
fingers brushing against my wrist gently as he pulls out a
small parchment and ink from his pocket. The parchment is
cold and rough against my skin as he presses it into my
hand.
A chill runs through me at his unexpected touch, but I
resist the urge to pull away. I take a deep breath and begin
to read the contract; it's written in the dark elf language
that I don't understand.
"What does it say?" I ask tentatively, my voice wavering.
"It binds you to me as my slave and prevents you from
being able to betray me," he says simply, his voice husky
and low. "You are mine now."
I nod slowly, swallowing hard as I dip the quill in the
inkpot and scrawl my name on the bottom of the page
without a second thought. My grandmother's life is worth
more than anything else to me. Although, I'd be lying if I
said signing my life to a contract I can't understand doesn't
fill me with a nervous fear.
He can do whatever he wants to me now.
As soon as the ink dries on the parchment, he takes it
back from me and places it away. His eyes look me over,
roaming from top to bottom before he lets out a
disappointed sigh.
"It is done, but you aren't passable," his mouth turns
down in a frown that oozes with annoyance.
 I ought to be relieved. I usually am, when both human
and elf men find me undesirable. But coming from him, for
some reason, it stings.
It is as if my appearance is an inconvenience. Which, I
suppose it could be, but it doesn't mean I'm unaffected. I
am still a person with valid feelings, or at least I was, now I
have put myself at his mercy.
I look myself over, taking in the dirty state of my skin
and clothes, a feeling of inadequacy rolls through me.
"Passable for what?" I struggle to ask.
"I need you to look decent before I bring you to face that
insufferable butler." I try to keep up but his words become
mumbles as he turns away from me, folding his hand under
his chin in thought.
A butler?
He paces, talking out loud. I am unsure if he is talking to
me, but I watch as he speaks, his demeanor unsettling,
making me feel shakier than before. He’s clearly working
through an obstacle, and I’ve landed myself right in the
middle of it.
"If I show up with a mate, he won't be able to do
anything, and that young master will have to marry the
dark elf girl."
Frowning, I watch as the dark elf turns his back on me.
He seems so sure of himself, so in control. It's unsettling
and yet... exhilarating at the same time. The air around him
crackles with power, making my skin prickle as if charged
with electricity.
I don't know what he wants from me, but I'll do anything
to ensure my grandmother gets that potion. I've learned
that the dark elves have their own ways of doing things -
harsh but effective.
As he begins to pace the light catches on a beautiful
gleaming necklace he wears, his boots pad softly against
the grass, and I can't help but notice how tall and broad he
is. He towers over me, a powerful figure of danger and
mystery. He exudes power and confidence and is almost
eloquent in his speech.
A sudden thought occurs to me: what does he mean by
"mate"? Is it truly just for show? Or will I be expected to
uphold duties pertaining to mates? I can’t rationalize the
kind of expectations I might be held to. My heart beats
faster at the thought of being claimed by this strange
creature who could snap me in two if he wanted to.
"What is your name?" I impulsively blurt out,
interrupting his muttering.
He stops speaking and turns to me, closing the distance
and looking me in the eye in an unnerving stare.
"Draknir," he says plainly. "And you are?"
"Kathleen."
"Okay," he says, clearly unimpressed.
"Look Draknir, I don't understand what you were saying
just now, or what you need from me, but I promise I will do
whatever I you require...but do you think we could give my
grandmother the potion first?" My heart pounds against my
ribs in hope that he'll say yes. I can feel my face frozen in
fear, my eyes wide as he ponders my question.
Draknir looks at me with a raised eyebrow, his dark eyes
glittering in the light of the setting sun. He seems to weigh
my request for a moment. Then, he sighs deeply and nods
his head once. "Very well, I have a potion with me that may
work. We’re required to keep basic healing potions with us
on base."
I swallow my anger. Every elf on that base has a healing
potion, not to mention whatever they have in storage, and
humans are just meant to fend for themselves.
At least he’s helping Grandma now. For a price.
We start back towards my house. Draknir's strides are
long and purposeful. The breeze carries with it a spicy
scent that reminds me of warm bread cooling on the
windowsill after being pulled fresh out of the oven,
intermingled with the earthy musk of forest dirt and fallen
leaves.
I try to keep up with his pace but find myself stumbling
over exposed roots and rocks hidden in the underbrush. My
heart is pounding in my chest as I struggle to keep up, my
breath coming out in quick gasps. I don't know what to
expect when we get back to my house, but I trust Draknir -
for now. Maybe it's because he holds the key to saving my
grandmother's life, or maybe it's something else entirely.
As we approach my house, my stomach does a nervous
flop. The closer we get, the quicker my heart beats hoping
that Draknir's healing potion will help.
I hadn't expected him to agree to help my grandma
before I'd had a chance to prove my loyalty to him. I am
still in disbelief that he was actually willing to help me
seeing as he was my last and only hope.
 10

DRAKNIR

A sthewevillage,
make our way to her small hut on the outskirts of
I can't help but take in my surroundings. The
ramshackle buildings and dirt roads give off a sense of
poverty and struggle. It's a stark contrast to the grandeur
and luxury I am used to.
How do these humans survive in such conditions?
It makes the orphanage I grew up in look like a palace.
The air is thick with the smell of burning wood and the
sounds of chickens clucking and children playing. My shoes
sink into the soft earth beneath me as we navigate through
the unpaved paths, lined with makeshift homes and
dilapidated structures.
It's clear that life here is not easy, but there is an
unmistakable sense of community amongst these people.
Despite their humble living conditions, they seem content
and happy. It's a humbling experience for someone like me,
who thought I’d known what it was like to be poor.
"So tell me about yourself," I say, trying to learn more
about my fake mate. I’ll need a few details to make this
look realistic.
"I take care of the dripir." She winces. “They’re meaner
than you’d think.”
 I smirk. The mousy little human is a complete mess. But
I suppose it’s kind of endearing…
"I see..." That certainly tracks. "Sounds like hard work."
“Only when they bite or try to escape. It would be easier
if they weren’t so hungry, but there’s not always enough
feed for them.”
We pass by the central well where women wash laundry
and chat. A few children run by, kicking a leather ball and
laughing.
As we round the bend, a charming stone church comes
into view, its steeple reaching towards the bright blue sky.
The thatched roof cottages, with their colorful flower boxes
and neatly trimmed gardens, seem to bow to its grandeur,
despite the shabby exterior. An elderly priest stands on the
steps, his broom still in hand as he watches us curiously.
Beside me, the young girl speaks animatedly about her
grandmother and their daily routine in this small village.
I suppose it’s not without its charm.
The deeper we traverse, the more I’m struck with
resilience and determination in the face of poverty. People
making the most of what they have, adoring their meager
lodgings in flowers.
Perhaps I judged them too harshly.
The road stretches on ahead, leading us past endless
fields of wheat. Each stalk glimmers like gold in the gentle
breeze that rolls through the countryside.
Farmer's carts, heavily loaded with hay, apples, and
various livestock, trundle along at a leisurely pace.
In the distance, the mayor’s lodging rises above the rest,
the fields and industry all centrally located around him, the
living conditions greatly improving.
In the shadow of his villa rests a shock of small cottages,
nearest to the stables.
We make our way down the winding, narrow lane that
leads to Kathleen's cottage… I have walk-in closets that are
bigger…
 The walls of the cottage are made of dilapidated stone,
with tall weeds surrounding the walls. In the distance, a
goat bleats from a small pen, adding to the rustic…. charm
of the place.
Everything here smells like animal shit.
"This is where my grandmother and I live," Kathleen
says with a grimace, leading me towards the front door. I
survey the homely little cottage in utter bewilderment. It's
a far cry from the grand estates and lavish manors of my
elvish kin.
I've never had a true home or family after my mother
died. The military barracks have served as my closest
approximation of a home, but even they cannot compare to
this small dwelling.
My eyes are drawn to the sight of Kathleen's
grandmother lying motionless under thin, threadbare
blankets. The air is thick with the musty scent of decay and
fear as another frail, elderly human scurries away at our
approach. These creatures are so weak and timid, it's a
wonder they survive at all.
I can see the worry etched on Kathleen's face as she
tends to her grandmother. Despite the conditions, it is clear
that she cares deeply for this woman. As her supposed
"mate," I should make some effort to assist in any way I
can.
Slowly, an elderly woman hobbles out from the single
room. Her back is hunched and her steps are careful, as if
any sudden movement could be too much for her frail
bones. As soon as she spots me, her eyes widen in fear and
her mouth forms into a small 'o'.
"A dark elf!" she gasps, clutching tightly at the edges of
her shawl. "Oh heavens, what are you doing here?"
I scoff in annoyance at her reaction. "I'm here with
Kathleen, of course."
 The woman's grip on her shawl tightens and she takes a
few hesitant steps backwards. "I-I must be going," she
stammers, avoiding eye contact with me. "Kathleen, be safe
my dear." The smell of warm bread and herbs fills the air
around us, masking her fear and unease.
Kathleen reaches out a hand pleadingly. "Wait Mathilde,
please don't go! He's not going to hurt us."
But Mathilde is already scurrying out the front door as
fast as her old legs can carry her.
"I'm sorry about that," Kathleen says sadly. "She's just
scared because she doesn't understand."
I wave a dismissive hand. "It's nothing new. You humans
fear what you don't understand."
Kathleen looks down, discomfort clear on her face. I
probably should have held my tongue, but it's the truth.
These humans see me as a monster, nothing more.
I shrug. "It's nothing new. I'm used to humans cowering
in fear from me."
Kathleen frowns slightly.
"You humans are so weak and fragile," I continue
callously. "I could crush one of you with a single hand if I
wished. You fear us because you know we are superior in
every way."
Kathleen's eyes widen and she takes a small step back
from me. I see a flash of apprehension cross her face.
She clears her throat, trying her best to look brave. "The
healing potion, please?"
I stare down at her frail, elderly grandmother lying
unconscious on the bed. With a sigh, I decide to be frank.
"The healing potion will only do so much for her condition.
It may mend her wounds, but her body clearly needs more
than magic right now. She's weak from injury and
malnourishment. This old human needs proper care and
nourishment or the potion will be useless."
Kathleen's face falls at my words. I press on gently, "The
potion cannot provide the ongoing care she needs. Her
human body is different from an elf's. She will require
constant attention to regain her full strength."
Kathleen looks up at me, eyes glistening with tears.
"What should I do then? I don't know how to help her get
better."
I go silent for a few moments, contemplating the
situation. This young woman has shown resilience and
devotion beyond what I expected from a human. Perhaps I
can put our arrangement to some real use.
"As we are to be 'mates,' it is expected that I provide for
your family," I finally say. "We can bring your grandmother
to stay in my home. There she can have the care and
medicine she needs to recover properly."
Kathleen's eyes widen in surprise. "You would do that
for us?"
I nod. "It will reinforce our ruse."
Kathleen's eyes fill with gratitude. "That would be so
kind of you. My grandmother and I would be forever
thankful."
"It’s not about being kind.”
It’s just practical. All for my benefit.
Kathleen smiles through her tears. My chest feels oddly
warm at the sight.
 11

KATHLEEN

I am overwhelmed with disbelief when Draknir offers to let

my grandmother and me move into his home. I am
humbled by his kindness and quickly agree, knowing it is
the only way to get my grandmother the care she
desperately needs.
How is he going to make me pay for this? I don’t even
care.
He immediately sends his impeccably dressed servants
to collect our belongings. They move with grace and
precision, carefully packing up our meager possessions as
if they were priceless treasures. The townsfolk stop and
stare in awe as the procession makes its way through the
bustling streets. Whispers follow us, filled with envy and
curiosity at our sudden change of fortune.
The shrill voice of old Mrs. Potts, our neighbor from next
door, echoes through the quiet street.
"What's happening, Kathleen?" she calls out, her tone
filled with curiosity and concern.
"We're moving to a new home," I reply, feeling a bit self-
conscious under her gaze. "It's for my grandmother's
health."
 Mrs. Potts shakes her head in disbelief, her wrinkled
face creasing even further. "To the estate of the elf lord?
Have you truly lost your wits, girl?" Her disapproving eyes
bore into me as she waits for an explanation. The warm sun
beats down on us and the scent of freshly mown grass
tickled my nose.
I take a deep breath before responding, trying to choose
my words carefully. "He says he can help her get better." I
can’t help but feel a flutter of excitement at the thought of
leaving this place, even if I might be going somewhere
worse.
“Don’t you know what elves do to girls like you?”
Nothing worse than what the men try here.
After the last of our belongings are loaded, I go back
inside the little cottage one last time. Despite the life we
have here, there have been good memories here, thanks to
Grandma.
She’s going to get better.
I leave the cottage without turning back, and find that
the entire neighborhood is out now, all of them staring and
whispering and gossiping. I smile weakly and keep walking.
Let them think what they will.
All that matters is Grandma’s recovery.
I sink into the plush cushions of the luxurious carriage,
feeling the gentle sway of its movement as it begins to roll
forward.
Looking out the window, I watch as my childhood village
slowly fades from view. The run-down homes, the sickly
looking people, the piles of dripir shit that have always
been a part of my life already feel unfamiliar and distant.
It's a strange mix of emotions — excitement for what lies
ahead, but also a sense of loss for the home I am leaving
behind. It was a hellish place, but I at least I knew it. I
knew how to navigate the local politics, how to dodge the
chief’s wife when she was in a temper.
 I don’t know anything about the world I’m walking into
now and even less about the man taking me there.
As we travel further away, I can't help but wonder how
long it will be until I see these familiar sights again.
Or if I will ever see them again.
Yet there is also a thrill of excitement inside me.
I’m being whisked away to a new life of comfort and
privilege. For the first time in as long as I can remember
the future is filled with hope and possibility.
With these dizzying thoughts in my head, I watch the
only world I've ever known disappear from view.
It doesn’t take long until the carriage pulls up to an
imposing stone castle, the likes of which I've never seen
before. Draknir himself is waiting outside, looking utterly
regal and elegant.
When I step down gingerly from the carriage, he takes
my hand and presses a light kiss upon it. "Welcome home,"
he says warmly.
I blush, painfully aware of my dirt-smudged dress and
messy hair. This place is fit for royalty, yet here I stand
looking like a scruffy peasant girl.
Some of the fancily dressed elf servants turn up their
noses at my shabby appearance and my cheeks burn in
embarrassment. I can’t help what I look like.
But Draknir keeps hold of my hand and leads me inside,
head held high. "Come, I will show you to your chambers so
you can refresh yourself," he says.
I relax slightly, grateful for his gracious manner. Though
I feel out of place, his kindness reminds me that I belong
here now, at his side. This castle is to be my new home.
I'm astonished when Draknir has not one but three
servants meticulously tend to Grandma, settling her into an
elegant bedroom. More servants whisk away our shabby
bags and boxes, handling them as if they’re actually worth
anything.
 "Let me show you to your chambers," Draknir says,
leading me up a grand staircase.
He guides me to a room he says is directly next to his
own. As he opens the ornate door, I gasp audibly. The room
is finely furnished and utterly opulent, fit for royalty. Silk
curtains, plush rugs, a canopy bed — it's overwhelming.
I turn to Draknir in disbelief. "All this for me? But you're
just a soldier...Are you a noble?"
His face does something complicated before it smooths
back into the impassive mask he usually wears. "I've served
dutifully for many years. My role afforded me nice quarters
and a strong wage, which I rarely spent. This lifestyle still
surprises me sometimes as well."
I take in the lavish room again. After a life of poverty, I
feel like I've stepped into a dream world. That Draknir has
lived this way for so long is astonishing.
"Well, it's absolutely beautiful. You're too generous," I
say sincerely.
He squeezes my hand. "Nothing but the best for my dear
mate."
He’s only teasing, but I blush, both thrilled and nervous
to be living a life once beyond imagination. I’m glad he
doesn’t seem to notice.
After getting settled, Draknir informs me we need to
make my slave contract and vows formalizing our pretend
relationship.
"No one must know about our arrangement," he warns
gravely. "Mates are sacred unions; we will face severe
consequences if anyone discovers this is a ruse."
I gulp nervously but nod in understanding. I'm agreeing
to this, but I have no choice.
Draknir leads me to his private study. He presses a
hidden switch, and a concealed door in the wall swings
open. Apprehensively, I follow him into the dark passage
beyond.
 We enter a small room containing only a table and two
chairs lit eerily by a single crystal ball ensconced in the
wall. It feels secretive and ominous.
"We can speak freely here without any risk of being
overheard," Draknir explains.
I shiver, anxious about what I'm getting myself into. But
one look at Draknir's kind eyes reassures me somewhat. We
will seal our forbidden arrangement in that hidden space,
eternally joining our fates together. There's no going back
now.
The dim glow from the crystal ball casts ominous
shadows across Draknir's face as we sit at the lone table.
He explains I must sign a magically binding contract to
become his slave.
"You will be required to obey me unconditionally," he
says seriously. "And you can tell no one about the true
nature of our arrangement, or there will be dire
consequences."
I swallow hard but nod in understanding. I have no
choice but to agree to his terms.
"In return, you will be paid a monthly salary," Draknir
continues. "You are still my mate in the eyes of all, and will
want for nothing."
This lifts my spirits considerably. I've never had my own
money before. And despite technically being Draknir's
slave, I will live a life of comfort and security.
We outline the contract ensuring my utter obedience
and secrecy. The whole thing makes me nervous, but the
salary alone is a dream come true. I sign the mysterious
document there in that shadowy room, binding myself to
Draknir and trusting our fates to each other.
"As insurance of our arrangement, your grandmother
will remain here with us," Draknir states.
I'm shocked. "You would keep her in your own home?"
Draknir shakes his head. "She must stay where I can
protect her. No harm will come to either of you, as long as
you uphold your loyalty to me."
I reluctantly press my thumb against the contract,
sealing the deal in blood. The document then magically
disintegrates before my eyes.
Draknir stands abruptly, looking me up and down. "First
things first...you need a bath."
I flush, suddenly self-conscious of my dirty peasant
clothes and messy hair.
"We have an image to maintain, after all," Draknir says
with a twinkle in his eye. "Can't have my lovely mate
looking anything less than immaculate."
 12

DRAKNIR

I ring a bell for my head butler and issue a firm command,

instructing him to assist Kathleen in preparing for the
day. The old elf's eyes widen in surprise, his wrinkled face
showing a mix of shock at my decision.
"She is to be treated as the lady of the house from now
on," I declare with authority. "See that the other servants
attend to her every need."
I can see the wheels turning in his mind as he quickly
begins to plan out the arrangements for Kathleen's new
role in our household. The thought of this frail and timid
girl taking on such a position must be overwhelming, but I
have faith in her and know that she will rise to the
occasion.
As for myself, I cannot wait to see how she will embrace
this new role and make it her own.
The assembled staff gasp and whisper among
themselves, their eyes wide with shock. But I stand tall and
meet their gaze with a steely determination. "You will serve
and obey her just as you do me. Is that clear?"
The butler's voice trembles slightly as he responds, "Y-
yes, of course, sir." The rest of the staff quickly scurry away
to prepare a lavish bath and find suitable attire for
Kathleen, their new mistress. The air is charged with
anticipation and uncertainty, unsure of what this
unexpected turn of events will bring.
“Well? Get a move on, the lady doesn’t have all day.”
“Right, very well, of course sir,” he replies, bowing out.
I know tongues will wag about my mysterious new mate,
but let them talk. I can already hear the whispers and see
the curious glances directed at my new mate, but I pay
them no mind. Maintaining our illusion is all that matters.
The grand doors of the dining hall swing open thirty
minutes later, and a freshly bathed Kathleen gracefully
enters. My eyes are drawn to her immediately – and I am
frozen in place.
Her skin has been scrubbed clean, giving off a radiant
glow that catches the light. Her short hair is pulled back,
showcasing the delicate bone structure of her face. The
elegant dress she wears drapes perfectly over her willowy
frame. But it is her eyes that captivate me. Clear and
innocent, they radiate goodness and warmth.
The elegant dress she wears highlights every curve of
her slender frame, making her appear even more delicate.
In the eyes of most elves, she may be considered plain,
but to me, her delicate features exude a fragile beauty that
stirs protective instincts within me. I am overcome with the
urge to shelter her from any harm.
Despite her vulnerability, she carries herself with a quiet
grace that demands respect. It is clear now why her
devotion to her grandmother runs so deep – she possesses
a capacity for love that must be guarded at all costs.
As Kathleen catches my gaze, she smiles shyly and I am
taken aback by the transformation in both her appearance
and my own feelings. No other woman has ever struck me
so profoundly.
I take a long, cool sip of water, willing it to calm my
racing heart. My mind feels like a tangled web, caught in
the spell of this scrawny human girl before me. I scold
myself for acting like a fool, but there is something about
her that has captured my attention. Summoning all my
composure, I gesture towards the lavish spread laid out
before us.
"Eat," I say with forced nonchalance. I can feel my
cheeks flush with irritation, but I mask it behind a forced
nonchalance. I don't want her to see how flustered and
annoyed she's made me.
The table is adorned with ornate silver platters,
overflowing with mouth-watering delicacies. The scent of
herbs and spices waft through the air, tickling my nostrils
and tempting my taste buds. Despite my frustration, I can't
help but appreciate the effort put into this meal. But my
focus remains on her.
She takes my offer and fills her plate obediently. I can't
help but notice how thin she is beneath the fine dress. Her
delicate frame is marked with the signs of hardship, etched
into her young face.
"Bring more food," I order the servants. Kathleen's days
of deprivation are over.
In my ruse, I will ensure she is properly nourished and
tended to. And when the charade comes to an end, I will
repay her for her efforts.
A man's integrity must be upheld.
Despite my best efforts to remain composed, my
thoughts are a tumultuous whirlwind. How can this fragile
girl have such a profound effect on me? I steal glances at
her as she daintily savors her meal. Against my own
desires, I am inexplicably drawn to her, consumed with the
urge to protect and provide for this captivating creature
fate has placed in my care.
Despite the frantic pace of my thoughts and the
thunderous beating of my heart, I make a conscious effort
to savor every bite of the decadent meal spread out before
me. Across from me, she tentatively pokes at her food with
her fork, clearly uncomfortable with the array of unfamiliar
utensils.
I do my best to maintain an air of composure as we dine,
but my eyes are continuously drawn to her, studying her
every move. She seems unsure and hesitant as she clumsily
navigates through the elegant cutlery, clearly not used to
such luxurious dining. I break the tense silence with a soft
question.
"What are you doing?"
She looks up at me, her delicate features twisting into a
frown. Her eyes dart nervously around the table before
settling back on me. "I-I...I'm not sure."
The vulnerability in her voice tugs at my heartstrings,
which just pisses me off even more. With a sigh, I push my
plate away and rise from my seat. "Making a fool of
yourself is what you’re doing."
She flinches back, and I sigh. “I didn’t know any of this
shit either.” I force myself to soften my voice.
She looks puzzled at that, but I stand behind her and
guide her hands to the various forks and knives before she
can ask any questions. I’m not in the mood to talk about my
past, not with it lurking near my doorstep. As I reach
around her to adjust her grip, the heat radiating from her
body is almost palpable. A tantalizing warmth that comes
as a shock.
My heart suddenly pounds against my chest like a wild
animal trying to escape its cage. I frown, taken aback by
the strong physical reaction coursing through me. Her
nearness affects me profoundly, stirring up unfamiliar
desires I never knew existed.
Feeling flustered and out of control, I pull back abruptly,
placing some distance between us. "You will learn quickly,"
I manage to say in a gruff voice, my body still humming
with energy. Returning to my seat, I avoid her intense gaze
as I struggle to regain my composure.
 What has come over me? No woman has ever elicited
such disconcerting responses from me before. Taking a
deep breath, I try to calm the racing beats of my heart as I
take a sip of my drink in agitation. There is so much about
this beguiling creature that still puzzles and intrigues me.
"You must learn such skills yourself," I say abruptly.
"Study how the butler handles the cutlery and etiquette. He
will guide you in noble manners befitting your new station."
Kathleen's expression shifts, her wide eyes conveying
surprise at my sudden change in demeanor. I push my
nearly untouched plate away with a frustrated grunt, my
appetite vanishing as quickly as it had come.
"I have pressing matters to attend to," I declare with a
hint of irritation in my tone. "Elfred will be your guide in
navigating the intricacies of aristocratic society."
"T-thank you, sir. For everything..." she says, her cheeks
starting to flush. I try to imagine what it's like from her
perspective to be experiencing this.
And it makes it worse.
Much worse.
"Y-yes. Of course. Now tighten it up. You need a lot of
practice..." Her face starts to twist like I just struck her and
I stop myself. It’s like I hurt her without even trying. Why
can’t I just keep my mouth shut? "Nevermind."
My movements are quick and abrupt as I rise from my
seat, the need to flee before succumbing to rash actions
overwhelming. With a curt nod of my head, I spin on my
heel and make a swift exit from the elegant dining hall,
eager to escape the stifling tension that lingers behind me.
My heart races erratically as I hastily retreat to the
sanctuary of my study, seeking solace and a momentary
respite from the overwhelming thoughts that plague me.
My mind is in disarray since crossing paths with this girl,
leaving me feeling out of control and consumed by a
mysterious situation I cannot fully comprehend.
 I must take back the reins of my emotions and unravel
this perplexing… problem before it consumes me
completely.
 13

KATHLEEN

T he venison stew and wine before me are divine — the

finest fare I've ever tasted. Each bite is a burst of
flavors, rich and succulent. The tender meat falls apart on
my tongue, accompanied by a smooth red wine that
enhances its taste. I can't help but feel grateful to Draknir
for this bounty, his generosity knows no bounds.
However, as I devour my meal, I can't shake off the
unease that lingers from his abrupt departure earlier. His
presence always stirs up unfamiliar emotions within me.
Even the slightest touch from him, like when he helped
adjust my grip on the silverware, sends shivers down my
spine. But I refuse to let these flustered feelings ruin such a
delectable feast. The array of mouthwatering dishes spread
out before me provides a welcome distraction. Each dish is
a work of art, with vibrant colors and complex flavors that
make my taste buds sing. This is truly the most sumptuous
dining experience I have ever had.
By the time dessert arrives, I'm enraptured by the array
of cakes, pastries and exotic fruits. The dessert plates are
laid out in front of me, my eyes widening at the sight of the
decadent cakes, pastries, and vibrant fruits. The rich aroma
of honeyed wine fills the air, and I take a sip, savoring how
it perfectly complements the sweetness of the confections.
Any tension I had been feeling earlier has now melted
away.
After the hearty dinner, I make my way down the
winding hallway to Grandma's room, filled with a mix of
anticipation and worry for her recovery. A young woman,
with long flowing hair and piercing blue eyes, is already
there tending to her needs. She greets me with a warm
smile and introduces herself as Elvira, the nurse assigned
to care for Grandma. Relief floods through me as I see how
gentle and attentive she is with my grandmother.
I offer to take over the care duties, wanting to do
everything in my power to help my beloved Grandma
recover. Elvira graciously steps aside and watches me with
kind eyes as I go about preparing fresh linens and
administering her medication. The scent of lavender and
chamomile fills the room, calming both my nerves and
Grandma's.
As I finish up, Draknir appears in the doorway – tall and
imposing yet his eyes hold a softness that puts me at ease.
He gently places a hand on my shoulder and says, "You
need not exhaust yourself further. Elvira will tend to your
grandmother's needs - you have more important matters to
focus on now."
I start to protest – Grandma is my responsibility! But the
sincerity in Draknir's eyes gives me pause. He truly cares
about preserving my energy and status here. "Very well," I
acquiesce. I give Grandma a parting kiss. "Rest and get
stronger," I whisper to her.
I follow Draknir out. He is right – I have a new role to
inhabit now. Securing our future means leaving some
duties behind. It hurts, but my priorities must evolve to
meet the challenges ahead. I will find ways to still support
Grandma while adjusting to this new life.
"Can you read?" he says, his voice breaking the silence
like a whip cracking through the air.
 His question hits me like a shot in the chest. I feel my
cheeks flush with embarrassment.
"I cannot, sir," I stammer out, unable to meet his gaze.
His expression softens and he nods thoughtfully. "That
simply will not do. I'll take it upon myself to teach you
letters, and my butler will see to your etiquette and
manners."
I'm taken aback by this unexpected offer. "You wish for
me to learn to read?" I ask, unsure of what to make of it all.
He nods decisively. "Yes, it is quite important."
The butler chimes in with a respectful response. "Of
course, sir. We will ensure she receives a proper
education." As if on cue, he produces a pen and paper from
his pocket.
And just like that, my fate is decided – I am to become a
proper lady under their guidance. It fills me with both
excitement and trepidation. But as I look up at my new
mentor's kind face, I know that I am in good hands.
The butler nods in response. "Very good sir."
Joy and nervousness swell within me. Nobody has ever
seen anything more in me than a dripir slop girl. And
Draknir himself will be my writing master! We will be
spending many hours alone together. The thought leaves
me both thrilled and anxious about what could develop
between us.
"I would be honored," I say, hoping my voice does not
reveal my inner turmoil.
“I’m sure you are… not like you have any choice.” What
awaits us during our private tutoring sessions? I tremble
slightly, eager yet afraid to find out.
"We shall begin your lessons tomorrow. But for today, I
wish to spend time acquainting myself properly with my
future mate."
I nod, assuming he means continuing our tours and
conversations.
 "The wedding will take place three days from now at
noon," he adds matter-of-factly.
I gasp in shock. "Three days? So soon?"
Draknir smiles wryly. "Indeed. We must make haste
before any obstacles arise to prevent our union."
“Obstacles?”
“Yes, but do not concern yourself with that,” he takes
my arm and begins walking me.
I swallow hard and nod. His estranged relatives could
ruin everything if given the chance.
"For now, we should become better acquainted, and
ensure our backstory aligns," he continues.
Draknir offers to give me a tour of the estate. I accept
nervously. Strolling the halls arm-in-arm will certainly
bring us closer, but my heart flutters wildly at the prospect.
As we stroll through the tranquil palace gardens,
Draknir begins opening up about his early life, reciting the
facts plainly and efficiently.
"My father is from a noble family, but I…do not know
him well. He wishes to press me into a marriage I do not
want," he states neutrally, yet I detect a flicker of sorrow in
his eyes.
“And your mother?”
“Is dead.” His voice is short. “I didn’t know her well,
either.”
He goes on to tell me how the soldiers raised and
trained him. He became a military recruit by the tender age
of nine, desperate to find purpose and belonging.
My heart aches for the lonely boy behind the stoic
soldier. I shyly take his hand in a gesture of comfort as we
walk. To my surprise, he does not pull away.
Draknir continues unraveling the threads of his past
matter-of-factly, but I listen with growing empathy, even
though his dry recitation of facts seems to expect none. His
has been a life devoid of love or family – until now.
 It’s a strange thought that a dripir slop girl and her ill
grandmother might be the closest to a family that he’s ever
come, and even that’s all a lie.
It must be very lonely to be him.
As Draknir leads me through the grand rooms,
furnishing details about his youth. "I excelled in all forms of
combat training," he brags. "Mastered swordsmanship by
thirteen. None could rival me."
I listen with interest as we walk. Draknir's arrogance
masks a deep longing for connection. His skill and drive to
succeed come from wanting to prove his worth, I realize.
"The other recruits envied my talents," he continues.
"Not that they would dare challenge me – I could thrash the
lot!"
I have to stifle a smile at his bluster. His swaggering
confidence contrasts with the gentle way he guided me
earlier today.
"You are unlike other elves I have known," I observe.
"You showed me kindness in the forest, when no one else
cared."
“I cannot abide needless suffering when I have the
power to prevent it.”
His words reveal the compassion underneath the
bravado. He is driven by more than just ambition. I see
goodness in him that early hardship could not erase.
Whatever happens, I will remember this.
Just then, Draknir stops and frowns, scrutinizing me
critically. "You are slouching. A lady must stand tall, like
so–"
He boldly grasps my chin and tilts it up at a haughty
angle. Then he presses a hand into my back, forcing my
shoulders straight.
"Keep your bearing noble and proud," he instructs
sternly. "Not hunched like some vagrant."
I flush, both embarrassed and indignant. How dare he
manhandle me so! Yet I bite my tongue, not wishing to
provoke his temper.
"There, much better," Draknir declares, satisfied. He
offers his arm to resume our tour.
As we walk, I seethe quietly. Just when I thought him
capable of tenderness, his arrogant ways resurface. I must
learn to abide by his moods if we are to maintain our
façade.
For now, I keep my chin aloft and back straight, playing
the poised lady despite the vexation simmering within.
Draknir is not the only one who can mask true feelings
beneath a façade.
Just then, his butler Elfred hurries over, face grim.
"Pardon the intrusion, sir, but Captain Hayes urgently
needs to speak with you. He says it is a serious matter."
Draknir's expression becomes sober. "Very well. Convey
my apologies for cutting our time short, dear lady. We shall
continue soon."
Before leaving, Draknir leans in and presses a soft kiss
to my cheek.
"We must be ready to perform if the captain demands
proof," he whispers close to my ear. His warm breath sends
tingles through me.
Up this close, I smell Draknir's rich, masculine scent and
feel the brush of his beard stubble against my skin. The
unexpected kiss makes my heart flutter wildly.
I give a dazed nod, still flustered when he pulls away.
"Of course, my lord."
What should I do if called upon to act the smitten mate?
I have no experience with love's charades. As I watch
Draknir's retreating figure, I frantically try to imagine how
a woman hopelessly in love would behave.
But the lingering imprint of Draknir's lips on my cheek
muddles any practice. Already he has a power over me
beyond my control. I press a hand to my face, praying I can
convincingly feign a passion not yet fully realized between
us.
 14

DRAKNIR

I lead my mentor through the grand halls of my luxurious

estate. The sound of our footsteps echo off the marbled
floors and ornate walls, lined with portraits and tapestries.
I beckon Captain Hayes to follow me into my private study,
a quiet oasis amidst the bustling estate.
The intricately carved oak door swings open with a soft
creak, revealing the warm glow of flickering candles and
the scent of sandalwood lingering in the air. As we step
inside, a servant appears, pouring two glasses of rich
amber liquid from a crystal decanter.
The fire crackles and pops in the grand stone fireplace,
sending comforting waves of warmth and the rich scent of
burning wood throughout the room. I take a slow sip from
my drink.
The room is filled with an air of old-world elegance, with
intricate tapestries adorning the walls and towering
bookshelves overflowing with leather-bound volumes. The
sound of gentle piano music fills the air, adding to the cozy
atmosphere as we settle in for a long-awaited reunion.
"I received a summons," Hayes responds dryly with a
small sip of his liquor, his eyes glinting with curiosity as the
amber liquid swishes around in his glass. I take a fortifying
gulp from my own drink, savoring the rich aroma that fills
my senses. “Rumors are running rampant that you’ve fallen
for some human girl? Or perhaps her grandmother.” He
laughs. “The things men talk about when there’s no
fighting to occupy them. Anyhow, I assume you’ve decided
to agree to your father’s request and become his legal
heir?”
"No," I say, leaning in closer to Hayes. "I intend to marry
the human girl, Kathleen, in just three days' time." The
firelight dances across our faces, casting shadows on the
walls of the grand hall where we sit.
Hayes nearly chokes on his drink, his eyes widening in
shock. "Marry her? Have you lost your mind?" His voice is
laced with disbelief and confusion.
I take a deep breath before answering, knowing my
words will only add to his shock. "I may have, but not for
the reason you would think. Please believe me, my friend, I
would never deceive you. Our bond runs deeper than mere
duty."
A flicker of understanding passes through Hayes'
features, softening his expression. We have been through
thick and thin together, our loyalty and friendship
unbreakable.
“You have been my mentor and father figure since I was
a young recruit,” I continue, my voice filled with heartfelt
gratitude. “But this union with Kathleen is the surest way
to secure my freedom. I implore you to have faith in me
now.”
My superior's brows furrowed in concern as he leaned
back in his ornate chair. His gaze bore into mine, searching
for any signs of hesitation or wavering resolve.
“This marriage is a dangerous gamble, my boy. Are you
absolutely certain you want to bind yourself to this girl
forever?” he asks, his tone laced with worry and caution.
I meet his gaze steadily, resolute in my decision. The
words spill from my lips, confident and unwavering.
 “I have no desire to be a pawn for that wretched noble
family claiming to be mine. I need no one's power or
wealth.” The thought of being controlled and manipulated
by those who seek only to exploit their ties to my supposed
title fills me with disgust and determination. "This marriage
may come with risks, but it is worth it if it means true
freedom from the clutches of those who would use me for
their own gain."
He leans closer, talking in a lower conspiratorial tone.
"If this ruse is discovered, the punishment could be
execution! Mating vows cannot be undone or transferred
easily."
"I am prepared to take that risk. Once Kathleen and I
are bonded, none can force their will upon me again. I will
not be a substitute groom for someone’s political schemes."
"You are playing with fire, my friend. Marriages last
eternities among our kind – you would be chained to this
human girl until death."
“I am very much aware, thank you. But at least it’s my
decision. My woman. I will not become a puppet.”
He finishes the rest of his drink, and I pour him another.
"Think carefully, the risks are immense if your ruse is
exposed,” he finally continues.
"I am prepared to pay the price, whatever it may be. My
only prospect now is securing freedom on my own terms."
“Come now, an eligible officer like yourself could have
your pick of brides. Why bind yourself to this unknown
girl?"
"I never aspired to marry at all. I trust no one but
myself,” I grunt. “You should know this better than anyone.
"And yet you would yoke yourself to a human you barely
know?"
"Kathleen has willingly bound her life to mine. That
vulnerability and sacrifice make her trustworthy in a way
no elf could be. With her, I take a chance on something
real."
 He considers this for a moment, as if trying on the
words. "Your logic is dubious, but I cannot fault your
determination. So be it, the die is cast,” he finally replies,
with a snort of laughter.
"Thank you, my friend. With you as witness, I fear no
risk."
“Well well, let’s not be so dramatic. I’ll do what I can,
but please don't put me in a bind. I have a family to care for
as well, you know.”
“I know,” I say, taking his rough, calloused hand in mine
and clasping it tightly.
“I promise to stand by your side, through both good
times and bad.” His deep voice carries a sense of loyalty
and determination that fills my heart with gratitude.
"I know this seems madness," I say, taking Captain
Hayes' rough, calloused hand in mine and clasping it
tightly.
His deep voice carries a sense of steadfast loyalty and
determination that fills my heart with gratitude. This
stalwart soldier has been like a father to me since I was a
fresh recruit. I would be lost without his wisdom and
support.
Captain Hayes nods slowly, his dark eyes glistening.
"You have grown into a fine officer and honorable elf. I am
proud to call you friend."
We sit in contemplative silence for a moment, hands still
joined. Then the captain gestures to the pipe on my desk
with a wry smile.
"Come now, let's light up and sit awhile, as we used to
when you were but a brash youth."
I chuckle and pass him the pipe, then light my own. We
puff contentedly, reminiscing about days gone by and
musing over where the years have gone.
We puff on our pipes in comfortable silence for a while.
Then Captain Hayes speaks up reminiscently and gets a
mischievous glint in his eye.
 "Remember that wild celebration after we crushed the
orc invasion in the east? You drank so much spirits that
night you jumped atop a table and bellowed you were the
'scourge of all orcdom.'"
I flush with embarrassment. "Gods, I hoped you had
forgotten that display."
Hayes guffaws. "The sight of you, pissed as a whelp,
challenging imaginary orcs to come fight you stays seared
in my mind."
We share a hearty laugh. It feels good to recall simpler
times before duty and destiny weighed so heavy.
The captain's expression turns thoughtful. "You have
truly grown into a formidable leader since those early
antics. I suppose we all must leave such follies behind
someday." Hayes chuckles, shaking his head. "Yet some
follies are worth repeating. Like that bonnie barmaid who
caught your eye at the celebration."
I cough, having forgotten that ill-advised romantic tryst
in a drunken haze.
"You were so keen on charming her that you fell straight
off the stool while propositioning the poor girl!" Hayes
says.
I cover my face, groaning. "Clearly, I was not at my most
graceful."
We laugh again, but then Hayes grows serious once
more. "Jests aside, be cautious, my friend. The heart often
wants what reason would reject. Guard yours closely."
Memories of our past adventures flood back as we sit in
the dimly lit room, surrounded by the sweet scent of smoke.
Across from me, Hayes looks wistful as he remembers our
days as mentor and mentee. "I never could have gotten
here without your guidance," I say earnestly, grateful for
his presence. "You were the mentor I needed."
Hayes nods, his eyes reflecting a mix of pride and
nostalgia. We continue reminiscing about old exploits and
the bond we formed through them.
 But time passes too quickly, and before we know it,
Hayes rises reluctantly to leave. He clasps my shoulder
tightly, giving me a reassuring look. "You'll do right by that
girl, I've no doubt."
I grasp his arm in return, feeling a sense of strength and
determination with him by my side. "With you at my back, I
fear nothing, old friend."
 15

KATHLEEN

S itting across from the formidable figure of Captain

Hayes, I can feel my hands twisting nervously in my lap
beneath the elegant tablecloth. The air is heavy with
tension, and even the crackling fire seems to flicker
uneasily. The slaves scurry about, laying out each course
with precision and grace.
The first course arrives, a display of small, intricate bites
that I struggle to comprehend as food. They are arranged
on delicate china plates, each one a work of art in itself. As
I fumble with the unfamiliar utensils, I can't help but feel
out of place at this lavish dining table. But then again,
everything about this encounter with Captain Hayes feels
foreign and unsettling.
My heart pounds against my chest like a hammer, its
rhythmic thuds threatening to break through my ribcage.
Anxiety courses through my veins, making me feel
lightheaded and dizzy. What if he doesn't like me? His
deep-set eyes bore into mine, their intense scrutiny sending
shivers down my spine. My palms grow clammy with sweat
as I struggle to maintain composure.
I frantically search my mind for any shred of etiquette
training I may have received in the past, but my thoughts
are jumbled and chaotic. I can't remember where to place
my napkin or how to properly hold a utensil. Panic sets in
as I realize how ill-prepared I am for this sophisticated
meeting.
I desperately search for something to say that will
convince him of my worth. But as I open my mouth, no
words come out. Fear grips me like a vice, rendering me
helpless. This is the most terrified I've ever been in my life.
But I have to try. Summoning all my courage, I stammer
out, "It's an honor to meet you, sir." The words rush out too
quickly, too forced in their delivery.
Hayes merely arches an eyebrow, his expression
unreadable. Then, in a moment of nervous fidgeting, I
accidentally knock over my wine goblet. The deep red
liquid spills out, flowing like a small river onto the pristine
white floor. Hayes makes a dismissive snort and my cheeks
burn hot with humiliation. I quickly right the glass,
avoiding his piercing gaze. As I quickly right the glass,
trying to clean up my clumsy mistake, I can only pray that I
haven't completely ruined our meeting with my
awkwardness.
A trio of maids, their skirts swishing as they hurry,
scurry to clean up the wine I spilled. My cheeks flush with
embarrassment as I watch them work. Captain Hayes
stares at me, his gaze sharp and scrutinizing. I can feel it
burning into my skin and I keep my eyes downcast, unable
to meet his intense gaze. After what feels like an eternity,
he finally sighs and his stern expression softens into a small
smile. He turns to Draknir, his eyes conveying some
unspoken message that I cannot quite decipher.
An entire conversation, filled with unspoken words and
subtle gestures, passes between Hayes and Draknir. I try to
read their expressions, but they reveal nothing to me.
Anxious, I shift my gaze between them, wondering what is
being exchanged in their silent communication.
 Finally, Hayes gives Draknir a barely perceptible nod,
which is returned with equal understatement. Something
unspoken has been agreed upon between them. My heart
races with desperate hope that it bodes well for our future.
As they exchange cryptic looks, I can see the deep bond
between soldier and mentor. And yet, I am still an outsider
in many ways. I fidget with my napkin, praying that I have
not jeopardized our chances and waiting nervously for their
verdict on me.
As we sit in silence, the captain suddenly breaks it with
his sharp voice, drilling me about how Draknir and I came
to be together. "Tell me, child," he demands, leaning in
closer, "what was it that first drew you to Draknir?" His
intense gaze never wavers as he awaits my response.
I scramble for believable stories of love at first sight,
recalling our first encounter in the woods and exaggerating
the details to highlight Draknir's bravery and charm.
Desperately trying to sound infatuated, I regale him with
tales of noble rescues and handsome appearances. "Yes," I
declare dramatically, "it was an immediate connection!"
Hoping my performance is convincing enough, I study the
old man's face for any signs of doubt or suspicion.
But Hayes continues digging deeper, testing the
authenticity of my infatuation with this man I barely know.
"And what do you find most appealing about Draknir's
character?" he prods.
"I-I... He's a great man, the best man I've ever met."
Again with that derisive snort.
If I fail then Grandma's doomed.
Captain Hayes continues his intense questioning over
the multiple dinner courses. "Come now, all couples have
their quarrels," he remarks. "Surely you have clashed over
some matter?"
I strain my mind, searching for the perfect response.
With exaggerated affection, I reply, "Darling, we have
never had a single disagreement! It must be true love
indeed."
Beneath the table, Draknir gives my hand a pointed
squeeze and interjects, "Ah, but there was that small
difference of opinion regarding the wedding decorations.
You were quite insistent on those garish ornamental doves
if I remember correctly." He raises an eyebrow
suggestively in my direction. His rich baritone voice fills
the air like honey, smooth and alluring.
"Oh yes, of course!" I reply quickly. We share a loving
smile that feels terribly forced.
Hayes watches this exchange skeptically. I prattle on
about how quickly we resolved the fictional spat, hoping to
convince him of our supposed domestic bliss.
Just then, the captain turns to Draknir with a dubious
look and raises a skeptical eyebrow. "Doves for wedding
decor? That seems rather sentimental for a hardened
military man like yourself."
I freeze nervously, realizing our fictional disagreement
revealed more about my girlish romantic notions than
Draknir's tastes.
But Draknir smiles calmly. "What can I say, Captain?
Love changes a man. I'm happy to indulge my dear
Kathleen's wishes on our special day."
He takes my hand affectionately and I blush as if thrilled
by his willingness to compromise.
Captain Hayes still appears unconvinced but doesn't
push the matter further. We steer the conversation to safer
waters and I breathe a quiet sigh of relief.
This subterfuge is more exhausting than I anticipated.
But we have survived Hayes' interrogation thus far.
Perhaps our act is working. I take a fortifying sip of wine.
The night is still young...
As the evening winds down, Captain Hayes fixes us with
a serious look. "You two managed well enough tonight. But
this deception will take considerable work."
 My hand trembles as I clasp onto Draknir's tightly
beneath the wooden table. My heart races as we wait for
the captain's verdict on our performance.
"Your stories are passable but lack natural chemistry,"
the captain says bluntly, his voice cutting through the
tension like a sword. "Your gestures of affection feel
staged, forced. If you wish to truly convince others of your
love, the connection must be visceral, undeniable."
Draknir nods thoughtfully, his brow furrowing in deep
contemplation. "We shall keep practicing until we find that
authenticity," he vows, determination shining in his eyes.
"Thank you for the candid critique, my dear friend."
Captain Hayes sighs. "See that you do. This will be
difficult to pull off. But you must make your tale
irrefutable."
He levels us with an intense stare. "No one observing
you together should have any doubt that your bond is true
and unbreakable."
Just when I am feeling despair over the immense
challenge ahead, Captain Hayes' expression softens.
"Yet it may not be entirely without hope," he adds
gently. "I sense genuine affection beginning to bloom
between you two."
My face goes flush at his words and my heart flutters
unexpectedly. Could he discern some real feeling amidst
our act?
"Focus on what drew you together, that spark of
something more," Hayes advises wisely. "Fan that fledgling
flame into a burning fire that cannot be denied."
I sneak a glance at Draknir and find him looking at me
thoughtfully. I desperately cling to this small glimmer of
hope as we make our way through the nerve-wracking
dinner.
Every moment feels like walking on a tightrope, trying to
maintain a facade of fondness that could potentially
blossom into something real.
 It's an impossible feat, but I hold onto it with all my
might. As we finally leave the captain's presence, I feel a
sense of doom settling in. But then Draknir surprises me by
turning to me with a wide, genuine grin. "I don't think I've
ever seen the captain so pleased and overjoyed," he
remarks, his eyes sparkling with mischief and excitement.
Despite my doubts, a spark of hope ignites within me once
again.
I give Draknir a bewildered look. "Pleased and
overjoyed? He barely said three words all dinner!"
Draknir chuckles. "Come now, you must have noticed
how chatty and talkative he was. Why, I've never heard the
man prattle on so!"
I stare at Draknir blankly, certain he and I attended
different dinners. The captain I encountered was terse and
skeptical from start to finish.
"Chatty? He asked about three questions in total and
glared at us the rest of the time!" I exclaim.
Draknir just laughs and nudges me playfully. "You have
much to learn about Elven culture. And your memory must
be fading, my dear. No matter - let us celebrate that
rousing success with more wine!"
He steers me enthusiastically toward the wine cellar as I
shake my head, but can't help giggling too. I know Draknir
is just joking to lighten the tension. And I'm happy to play
along if it means recapturing some levity after that ordeal.
 16

DRAKNIR

K athleen and I sit in my private chambers, the flickering

candlelight casting dancing shadows on the walls. We
sip on a rich, velvety wine to unwind after the taxing
dinner. As the drink warms her, Kathleen's tense shoulders
relax and she begins to open up to me about caring for her
ailing grandmother.
I listen with rapt attention as she describes selflessly
tending to the elderly woman - preparing nourishing meals,
providing companionship, and maintaining their modest
home. The love and dedication that pours from Kathleen's
words stirs a deep sense of admiration within me. Despite
facing hardships, she remains steadfast in her commitment
to her family. It is a true testament to her strength and
resilience.
The wine seems to have a magical effect on her, making
her talkative and lively. Her laughter rings out like a
symphony, a sound that is both melodic and unrestrained.
It's a side of her I've never seen before, and I am drawn to
her even more, eager to prolong our conversation with
amusing military tales and shared laughter. As she speaks,
her face lights up with joy, each vibrant expression
revealing the depth of her emotions.
 "The thrill of traveling to new places with the army must
have been quite an experience," Kathleen remarks
wistfully. As she listens with rapt attention, her eyes light
up with curiosity and a hint of longing. "I've never even
ventured outside of our small town."
"The initial excitement fades quickly on long, grueling
marches in the freezing rain," I reply with a knowing smile.
Memories of being saddle sore for weeks flood my mind as
I recount the hardships endured during those journeys.
“The biting cold, relentless winds, and endless stretches
of rugged terrain were enough to dampen any sense of
adventure,” I say, searching her eyes and finding I have her
complete attention. “But still, there was a certain sense of
camaraderie and pride that came with serving alongside
my fellow soldiers.”
She nods gravely, seemingly to take note of my every
word for safe keeping, asking questions to clarify key
points when necessary. On the high notes, her laughter
rings out like a bell, filling the room with its infectious joy,
her eyes sparkling with fond memories as she shares
amusing childhood anecdotes.
"Grandma was beside herself when I came home
covered in mud and my dress torn from climbing trees!"
she chuckles, her smile widening at the memory. “But that
wasn’t enough to stop me. It never was.”
“I could only imagine. Remember how I met you?”
She chuckles cutely. “Oh I do seem to have the habit of
getting myself in… situations.”
“Situations? Is that what we’re calling them?” I can't
help but chuckle at the carefree exuberance in her eyes
and the way she flings herself into every adventure. The
tense atmosphere of dinner fades into a distant memory as
we engage in this lively exchange, the weight of our
worries lifting off our shoulders for just a moment. Her
unrestrained joy fills the manor with its infectious energy
as we trade tales and reminisce about old memories. Her
laughter echoes through the room like a symphony, and I
can't help but smile at her boundless spirit.
But after everything, how is she still so bright and lively
and free? The more I get to know the young woman, the
more of an enigma she becomes. Yet, the joyous sound is
music to my ears.
When have I ever found another's laughter so
enchanting?
As the night progresses, I am struck by how much I
enjoy being in her company. Her presence is like a warm
embrace, enveloping me in her genuine and unassuming
nature. She speaks from the heart, her words bubbling up
with raw emotion and sincerity. In the soft glow of
candlelight, her features are illuminated, and I can see the
kindness and selflessness radiating from within her.
Despite her reservations about our arranged marriage and
the deception we must play to secure her grandmother's
care, Kathleen is resolute. Her determination to do
whatever it takes shines through in every word she speaks.
It only serves to make me admire her even more.
Time seems to slip away, lost in the comfort of each
other's company. The night air is filled with the sounds of
crickets chirping and gentle rustling of leaves. But amidst it
all, Kathleen's voice remains steady and unwavering, a
beacon of strength and hope in an uncertain world. I find
myself increasingly impressed by Kathleen's fortitude and
determination. Though human, she demonstrates
remarkable resilience and bravery. When she commits to
something, Kathleen has a stubborn streak that sees it
through despite all obstacles. I saw that stubbornness first
in the forest, when she refused to relinquish a scrap of
bread even after being mauled.
She has fixed her mind on saving her beloved
grandmother. She has boldly bound herself to a stranger,
willing to upend her whole life for the sake of family. Her
bravery takes my breath away.
My respect for this young woman grows exponentially.
She has shown more backbone than many a soldier under
my command. I was wise to bind her to my side, for
Kathleen's mettle will be needed in the trials to come. At
one point in our relaxed conversation, Kathleen catches me
gazing at her with a small smile.
"What is it? Why do you look at me so?" she asks
playfully.
My eyes widen in surprise, my muscles tensing
reflexively. As a warrior, I have always been focused on
honing my skills and mastering the art of combat. Emotions
like love and tenderness were foreign to me, unimportant
in the grand scheme of things. But now, sitting before this
woman who radiates warmth and kindness, I am suddenly
aware of a gaping hole in my knowledge. "I...beg your
forgiveness if my gaze was uncouth," I stammer, berating
myself for staring so openly like an ignorant fool.
Kathleen's smile widens, her eyes sparkling with
mischief. "No need to apologize. I'm simply curious as to
what caught your attention." Her words are laced with
subtle flirtation and I can't help but feel a flutter of
something new and unfamiliar stirring within me. “It is
certainly not… uncouth? Tell me, do you find me pretty?”
Flustered, I grasp for words. How can I explain thoughts
and desires so foreign to me? I who have only known
hardship and violence am undone by basic fondness. "Pay
no mind at all, more wine?"
“You do, don’t you?” she teases. “It’s okay, I think you’re
pretty too.”
Do I actually like her in a romantic sense already? The
notion seems absurd – we barely know each other and this
relationship began as pure pretense. I cannot deny her
lyrical laughter and captivating smile make my pulse
quicken. And I feel irrationally pleased just to be near her
bright spirit.
Perhaps I am falling for this fascinating creature after
all, though it defies all reason and sensibility. We come
from different worlds and are bound by necessity, not
choice.
"How I envy your carefree childhood roaming the
countryside," I remark after another of Kathleen's stories.
"Military drills and discipline left little time for play."
Kathleen's response is filled with warmth, her voice
laced with genuine kindness. "Well then, we must find more
opportunities for leisure together," she says with a smile.
I let out a soft chuckle, feeling the tension in my
shoulders begin to melt away. "I shall have to reacquaint
myself with relaxation. But I have no doubt that your
companionship will make any diversion most enjoyable."
The thought of spending carefree moments with Kathleen
brings a sense of excitement, like a child on the verge of an
adventure.
As she gives me a playful nudge, her warm hand lingers
on my shoulder. "See, you're learning the art of leisure
already!" Her bright laughter fills the air and I find myself
wishing for the night to last forever, enveloped in our own
little world and unbreakable camaraderie.
“Well I’ve always been a fast learner, and I seem to be in
the presence of a master.”
“Mhm!” she chirps.
The world seems to slow down in these precious
moments, as if time itself is taking a break from its
constant ticking. But as the sky becomes a canvas of pinks
and oranges, I know that this magical night must come to
an end, leaving only memories and a longing for more
moments like this.
Her eyelids grow heavy and eventually close, her body
curled up on the soft settee. I gently drape a warm blanket
over her, not wanting to disturb the peaceful scene before
me. Yet propriety demands that I carry her slumbering
form to her own chambers, despite my desire to let her rest
here in this moment of serenity. The room is filled with a
soothing stillness broken only by the sound of her gentle
breathing. With tenderness and care, I lift her petite figure
and navigate through the halls towards her private
quarters, feeling like a guardian angel watching over a
sleeping cherub.
As I lay her gently in bed, my eyes linger on her peaceful
features. The soft curve of her cheek, the gentle rise and
fall of her chest with each breath, the way her hair
cascades across the pillow like a golden waterfall.
“See you tomorrow, Kathleen,” I whisper, fighting an
urge to brush her hair back from her cheek.
 17

KATHLEEN

T he next three days are a frenzy of wedding preparations,

with every moment filled to the brim. Draknir and I are
swept up in a whirlwind of meetings with the priest,
tastings of cakes and wines, and endless tasks to ensure
that our special day will be perfect.
But amidst all the chaos, Draknir never fails to make
time for our daily reading and writing lessons. These
moments together are like precious gems, each one adding
to the sparkle of our love.
In his presence, I feel relaxed and carefree, able to let
go of all my worries and just embrace the joy of being with
him. Each passing day, our bond grows stronger and
deeper, like roots reaching further into fertile soil. He
makes time to teach me how to read, showing a gentle and
patient side I never knew was possible. As I struggle with
my letters, he calmly takes hold of my hand, guiding it with
a gentle touch. A wave of warmth and comfort courses
through my body, sending pleasant shivers down my spine.
"Well done," he whispers softly, his voice full of approval.
His hand then moves to my shoulder, giving it a reassuring
squeeze. My heart flutters wildly at his casual touch,
causing a rush of emotions to flood over me.
 For some reason his approval means everything to me.
Other moments reveal our rapport too – the subtle
exchange of secret, knowing smiles across the dinner table,
strolling hand in hand through the vibrant gardens and
chatting amiably about our hopes and dreams. With each
step we take, I feel his reassuring grip on my arm, melting
away any lingering doubts or worries. Slowly but surely,
the awkward strangers of our first meeting transform into
familiar, not exactly sure what we are, but we're united by
a strange bond that grows stronger with each passing day.
The day of the wedding arrives in a flash. Draknir is
sequestered, as custom dictates we cannot see one another
until the ceremony. A flurry of servants arrive and awaken
me in the morning, their footsteps echoing off the marble
floors, to help me prepare for my wedding. They bustle
around me, fussing over every detail of my appearance - my
hair, my makeup, my gown. As hours pass by in a blur of
primping and preening, my nerves build with each passing
minute. The weight of the day begins to settle on my
shoulders.
Finally, I am fully dressed in an exquisite gown and veil,
carefully selected by Draknir’s servants. I stare at my
reflection in the ornate mirror, scarcely recognizing myself.
The once simple girl from a small village is now
transformed into a princess fit for a king.
I can hardly believe it - in just a few short hours, I will
be bound forever to Draknir, a man whose wealth
surpasses even my wildest imagination. My heart races
with anticipation, my mind swirling with a tumultuous mix
of emotions. Trepidation, excitement, and longing all churn
within me, threatening to overwhelm my senses.
But despite it all, I can't help but feel an intense thrill at
the thought of what's to come - after all, this is the
beginning of my new life with Draknir.
As the maids fix my hair and makeup, I catch the eye of
Lynne, a kind older elf who helped me those first days.
 "Oh Lynne, I'm positively trembling! Do you think I'm
ready for this?" I confess anxiously.
Lynne gives my hand a comforting pat. "It's only natural
to feel nervous on your wedding day, dear. But I've seen
how close you and the master have grown. Your love will
see you through."
I manage a shaky smile. "I hope you're right. It's all
happening so fast!"
Lynne's voice is a soothing balm, calming the nervous
flutter in my chest. "Hush now," she says gently, her hand
resting on my shoulder. "Just follow your heart. You and
Draknir were fated to walk this path together."
She carefully arranges the veil around my face, her
skilled hands smoothing out any wrinkles and tucking it
securely into my hair. Her smile is warm and reassuring.
"There, you make the loveliest bride. Now come, your
groom waits with bated breath." As we make our way
towards the ceremonial chambers, the sun casts a golden
glow over the trees and a light breeze carries the sweet
scent of wildflowers. I inhale deeply, filling my lungs with
the cool, crisp air and feeling a sense of calm wash over
me. The late afternoon sun casts a warm glow on the
manor, highlighting the vibrant colors of the trees and
flowers around me. I take in my surroundings, grateful to
be exactly where I am meant to be at this moment.
But before I can fully embrace this next phase of my life,
I have one last stop to make.
I enter Grandma's room, the faint smell of lavender and
medicine filling my nostrils. She lays in her bed, still as
pale as ever but slowly healing from her illness.
"Everything is happening so fast," I confess, taking her
hand into mine. "We're getting married now. Can you
believe it? A slop girl like me in a dress like this..."
She seems to stir a little, as she always does, but the
medical staff tells me it's likely nerves. "I just don't know.
I'm still so nervous. It's all too good to be true. How could
we ever go back to the slums after living like this?"
As I sit by her side, taking her limp hand in mine, a tidal
wave of emotions surges through me - hope for her
recovery, longing for our close relationship to return, and
guilt for being here when my own life is moving forward
without her.
Is this wedding a blessing or betrayal? I quietly whisper
my thoughts to her, hoping she can hear and understand
them.
My steps falter as I walk down the aisle alone, my mind
consumed by dark thoughts and doubts. But then I see
Draknir waiting at the altar, his imposing figure radiating a
sense of solemnity and strength. Despite everything, a
spark of joy ignites within me at the sight of him, his
presence acting as an anchor, grounding me to the present
moment. His gaze reflects a mixture of tenderness and
apprehension, mirroring my own feelings.
Together we stand on the precipice of forever, prepared
to take the leap.
At this moment, doubts no longer matter.
All I know is that our fates now run together, for better
or worse.
Draknir gives my hand a gentle squeeze, a simple
gesture that means everything. No matter what comes, we
will weather it as one. With him beside me, I feel bold
enough to embrace any future.
Lost in the moment, I gaze up at Draknir and offer a
tremulous smile. His eyes lock with mine, filled with
unexpected tenderness. The look pierces my soul, making
my heart flutter wildly like a feather caught in a storm.
The priest's solemn words fade into the background. I
have ears only for the cadence of Draknir's breathing, the
warmth of his palm pressed against mine. We stand
anchored together amidst the swirling forces around us.
 As we make our vows, my cheeks grow warm, a blush
creeping across my skin. Strange new feelings blossom
within me though we barely know one another. Perhaps
this is what it means to fall in love.
"Draknir, do you take Kathleen as your eternal mate, to
have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for better or
worse, for all your days?" Captain Hays kept to his word
and is officiating this wedding.
“To the end of my days and beyond,” he says, squeezing
my hand. And for a moment, I feel like he means it.
He turns toward me and my heart feels like it’s going to
leap up my throat. "And Kathleen, do you take Draknir as
your own, to honor and cherish, forsaking all others, for all
eternity?"
"I...I do." My voice trembles but I meet Draknir's gaze
unflinchingly.
This is our leap of faith.
Just as Draknir is about to kiss me, the temple doors
slam open. A group of imposing dark elves stride in, led by
a severe-looking man with cold eyes. Draknir's body tenses
in front of me.
"Seize him! The wedding must not proceed!" the leader
barks. His men move toward us menacingly.
Draknir swiftly pushes me behind him in protection.
"You are not welcome here. Leave at once!" he commands,
eyes blazing.
The intruder sneers. "We have come to bring Draknir to
his true bride. This farce ends now!"
I reel in shock. True bride? Was this Draknir's motive all
along? Before I can react, Captain Hayes storms over
furiously.
"How dare you disrupt this sacred ceremony! Remove
yourselves immediately or face consequences," the captain
thunders.
"Continue with the ceremony!" Captain Hayes
commands sharply.
 Draknir turns to me and cups my face in his hands.
Before I can react, his mouth claims mine in a searing,
passionate kiss. All the fear and chaos evaporate, replaced
by an intoxicating rush of desire. I cling to him, moaning
softly as our tongues meet. My knees nearly buckle from
the intensity.
We break apart, both breathing hard. Vaguely I hear
someone say we’re not really mates. The gravity of those
words cuts through the haze.
I am now Draknir's, irreversibly until death.
But he is not wholly mine – a part of his heart remains
locked away.
 18

DRAKNIR

A sand
the wedding ceremony concludes, I am livid with anger
betrayal at the intrusion of these outsiders. How
dare they disrupt such a sacred and intimate ritual?
With righteous fury, I shout, “You should be captured
and punished for this audacity. This is my wedding day!”
“Morta,” a tall, pale-skinned elf sneers. “This guy really
thinks he can capture and punish us.”
Mora, a menacing figure who appears to be the leader of
the group, blusters and boasts, his voice dripping with
threats. "Do you not know who sent us here? It was your
own esteemed father! And yet you have the nerve to
imprison his envoy?"
His words only fuel my rage, as I vow to make them pay
for their insolence and disrespect towards our traditions. A
sneer curls my lip as I scoff at his words. "He is no family of
mine," I spit out, the bitterness dripping from my voice.
"And nothing excuses interrupting a wedding. I am well
within my rights to have them arrested."
With a snap of my fingers, my loyal men spring into
action to drag the intruders away. As I watch them
disappear from the venue, a dark satisfaction settles in my
chest. Captain Hayes follows close behind them, looking
concerned.
Before I can even take a moment to breathe and process
the recent events, Captain Hayes returns with Morta and
the rest.
“What is the meaning of this?”
“We can’t hold them.” He reluctantly informs me that,
despite our best efforts, the powerful nobles have
demanded that we release the prisoners. “We received a
letter from a powerful Duke, Draknir. We have to set them
free.”
I feel a sense of defeat wash over me as I realize that
their influence is too great for us to resist.
Shortly after release, Morta, with his seemingly ever-
present smugness, begins to question the abruptness of
this marriage between myself and Kathleen. His sharp eyes
pick up on suspicious details that only add fuel to his
accusations. "Even cursory investigation shows that you
had no lover prior to this," he sneers. "This must be some
sort of ploy or manipulation." He seems to take great joy in
contradicting me. As if this is all just a big game.
A game he doesn’t often lose, if his freedom from jail is
any indication.
“Some of us know the meaning of the word discreet.”
My anger rises at his insinuations but I hold my tongue,
knowing that any response would only further incriminate
me in his eyes. I glare at him stonily. "My reasons for such
discretion are none of your concern. The ceremony is
complete and cannot be annulled."
They have no choice but to concede through gritted
teeth. But this conflict is far from resolved. Just as I am to
taste victory, Morta makes one final outrageous claim.
"Under ancient custom, we are entitled to verify the validity
of any dubious union! We must bear witness to this
marriage's full consummation before any opposition
ceases."
 I stare at him in disbelief.
Witness the consummation?
Is he mad?
"That is outrageous and obscene. I refuse such a vulgar
demand," I snarl back.
The stern expression on Captain Hayes' face stops me in
my tracks. His usually jovial demeanor is replaced with one
of grave concern. "I fear we have no choice but to
acquiesce, as distasteful as it may be. If we do not, they will
never cease their relentless pursuit of the legitimacy of
your marriage." My heart churns at the thought.
How could I subject my beloved Kathleen to such
humiliation?
The mere idea sickens me.
But the alternative could mean putting ourselves
directly in the crosshairs of influential nobles, risking
everything we have fought for. My fingers curl into tight
fists, the knuckles whitening from the pressure.
I am torn between two evils - debasement or danger?
Every option feels like a betrayal to someone I care
about.
My mind races, searching for another way, any other
choice that doesn't involve causing harm to Kathleen. My
thoughts are muddled and I struggle to come up with an
alternative plan. The weight of responsibility weighs
heavily on my shoulders as I try to find a solution.
With a heavy heart, I inform Kathleen there's nothing I
can do. "It is an unthinkably vile request. I wish I could
shield you from this, but refusal may endanger us both," I
explain regretfully.
Kathleen's eyes widen with shock and dismay, her
delicate brows furrowing in disbelief. "But...lay together in
front of others? How could anyone agree to something so
vulgar?" I grimace, feeling the weight of her distress heavy
on my conscience. "The witnesses would be few – only
Morta and one or two others. But even that is
unacceptable. I swear to you, my dear, I will find another
way. You should never have to endure such humiliation."
My heart aches at the thought of Kathleen being forced into
such an intimate and public display, her dignity and privacy
stripped away in front of strangers. The very idea makes
me shudder with disgust, determined to protect her from
any potential harm or embarrassment.
Kathleen quivers, her petite frame seeming even smaller
as she cowers in fear. My heart aches at the thought of
causing her distress. With no good choices left, I must
devise a plan to spare her from the humiliation of being
debased in front of others.
"If I must," she says, tears rolling down her cheeks. "I
will do what's necessary to secure our love."
I know deep inside what she really means is she will do
anything to keep her Grandmother safe.
"Kathleen, I am so sorry," I say remorsefully. It is the
first time I have apologized to anyone, but I feel nothing
but guilt for putting her in this position when I know she is
unready.
A tumultuous river of tears cascades down Kathleen's
cheeks, carving salty trails against her ashen skin. Each
drop seems to hold a lifetime of pain and heartache. As the
harsh reality sinks in, she whispers feebly through
trembling lips, her voice laced with despair and
resignation, "What other choice do I have?" Her words
hang like a heavy weight in the air.
"There is no other choice..." I say, as it suddenly dawns
on me. My heart aches at the sight of her helplessness and
distress. This gentle, innocent woman deserves none of the
trauma I have brought upon her. The weight of guilt settles
heavily on my shoulders as I watch her crumble before me,
her fragile state like a delicate flower wilting under the
harsh sun.
Seeing her anguish, I realize the truth – I care for
Kathleen deeply. More than just fondness or desire, I
believe I have genuinely fallen in love with her, though it
seemed impossible.
Perhaps these blossoming feelings should frighten me,
but I welcome them. Kathleen has awoken tenderness and
protectiveness I never thought possible. I know now I
would do anything to save her from harm.
Kathleen's tear-stained face, filled with fear and
desperation, remains etched in my mind. I cannot bear to
see her suffer such disgrace.
With a deep breath, I steel myself for what comes next.
My eyes meet Morta's cold, calculating stare. His demand
is repulsive and beneath us all.
"I will not allow this crude spectacle to take place," I
declare firmly. "I refuse your demand." The tension in the
room is palpable as we both stand our ground, locked in a
silent battle of wills.
Morta sneers. "Then you prove this union is a fraud!"
The captain looks dismayed by my reckless provocation,
but I stand firm. "I challenge you to a duel then. We will let
the gods decide. And I very much assure you I in fact will
be smiled upon. When I win, you will cease these baseless
claims against my marriage."
A palpable tension descends upon the scene. Morta's
mouth twists into a cruel, calculating smile, sending shivers
down the spines of those around him. "So be it," he hisses,
voice dripping with disdain. "Prepare to be cut down for
your insolence!"
The captain frantically pulls me aside, his eyes filled
with worry and urgency.
"Have you lost your wits?" he whispers urgently. "You
endanger everything with this reckless ploy!"
The weight of his words hits me like a freight train,
causing my heart to race and my palms to sweat. But I
stand firm in my decision, knowing that it is the only way to
bring justice and peace to our troubled kingdom.
 My hand tightens around his shoulder, the fabric of his
cloak bunching in my grasp. "There is no other honorable
path." My voice betrays my determination to protect
Kathleen's dignity and secure our future.
He studies me intently, gray eyes scanning my face for
any sign of hesitation or doubt. Finding none, he nods
grimly, understanding the gravity of the situation. With his
support, I know my course is set - there is no turning back
now. I will defeat this threat or die trying. Kathleen's honor
is worth any risk.
I take a deep breath and grip my sword tightly, the
weight of it a comfort in my hand.
It is time to fight for our fate, to defend what is rightfully
ours.
 19

KATHLEEN

P andemonium explodes in the chapel as Draknir, his eyes

blazing with fury, challenges Morta to a duel. The
soldiers, who moments ago were quietly standing guard,
now leap into action with weapons drawn and faces
contorted in rage.
The air crackles with the sound of angry shouts and
threats of violence.
Draknir's voice cuts through the chaos like a blade.
"Enough! This matter will be settled honorably in single
combat outside."
The crowd roars with excitement, eager for bloodshed to
ensue. I am caught up in the frenzy, my emotions swirling
as I struggle to process how this sacred wedding has
devolved into such chaos at lightning speed.
Before I can orient myself, we are gathered in the
courtyard. Draknir stands tall and focused, sword glinting,
as Morta snarls curses across from him. This deadly contest
will dictate everything – our future balances on a knife's
edge.
My palms sweat and my heart hammers madly. Yet
strangely, I feel sure Draknir will prevail. He must, or all is
lost. As the duel begins in earnest, the crowd's roar fades
to a murmur. Time seems to slow, all my senses focused
only on the fierce dance unfolding before me.
As Draknir strides confidently into the garden arena, his
jaw set with determination, I feel a knot tighten in my
stomach. "Please, don't do this," I cry out, my voice barely
above a whisper. My heart races as I frantically try to come
up with a way to save him from the impending danger.
"I-I will acquiesce to their demands, if it spares you." I
plead, tears streaming down my cheeks. The thought of
giving in fills me with shame and despair, but I cannot bear
the thought of losing Draknir.
His expression softens at my words, but he shakes his
head resolutely. "No, my love. I cannot let you sacrifice
your dignity for my sake." He gazes at me with a mix of
love and concern. "What kind of mate would I be if I didn't
protect you?" His words pierce my heart, reminding me
once again why I fell in love with him in the first place.
Across his blooming garden, Morta's sneer turns to a
scoff. "The lady has some sense at least! Yield, and this
beastly affair can end."
But Draknir remains steadfast and unyielding before
him. His broad shoulders square off against Morta's smaller
frame as he declares firmly, "I will never yield when her
honor is at stake." The tension in the air is thick and
palpable as the two men stand locked in a battle of wills,
each one fighting for what they believe is right.
Their duel begins before I can protest further. All I can
do is watch helplessly, praying with every fiber of my being
for Draknir's victory. Swords clash and feet move in a fluid,
almost hypnotic rhythm. My voice catches in my throat,
unable to protest or intervene as I watch helplessly. Every
fiber of my being is consumed with the desperate prayer
for Draknir's victory. He must prevail, for the consequences
of defeat are too dire to even imagine.
My fingers clench tightly around the soft, silk fabric of
my wedding dress, the tension radiating through my body
like electricity.
The clash of steel rings out violently as the duel
commences, the harsh sound piercing the hushed crowd
like a blade slicing through flesh. Draknir and Morta circle
each other like two predators, their eyes unblinking,
muscles coiled in anticipation of the first move. The air is
heavy with the smell of sweat and adrenaline as the two
warriors prepare for what could be their last fight.
With a guttural cry, Morta charges, his sword slashing
ruthlessly. Draknir parries the savage blows, skirting away.
They trade thrusts and feints, sinewy bodies twisting and
lunging with brutal speed.
Sweat flies off Draknir's straining arms as he wields his
blade desperately to counter Morta's frenzied attack. His
face twists into a ferocious snarl, all concentration bent on
surviving the next lethal strike.
Morta fights like a beast, never relenting. He seeks to
overwhelm Draknir through sheer merciless aggression.
My heart lurches as inch by inch, he forces Draknir back,
teeth bared in anticipation of the killing stroke.
With a well-timed feint, Morta breaks through Draknir's
defense, landing a vicious cut to his shoulder. Draknir
staggers, blood spraying, barely keeping his grip on the
sword. The crowd gasps. Morta swoops in for the finish.
"No!" The anguished cry is torn from my throat. This
cannot be the end!
Morta laughs, toying with him, stepping forward with his
guard down and opening a deep gash across Draknir’s
thigh. He sinks to his knees with a grunt, momentarily
stunned to see his own blood pooling beneath him.
For an instant, his eyes seem to gaze far beyond the
garden feasting on his blood, glimpsing the clearing beyond
the path all warriors must walk sooner or later. I can
almost make out the darkness hovering at the edge of his
vision, beckoning him toward oblivion.
No! It cannot end like this.
 But Morta, smelling triumph, circles closer for the
killing strike.
My desperate cry echoes through the air, but Hayes only
shakes his head with a sad expression. “The duel must run
its course now, no matter what happens.” The crowd, all
adorned in their finest clothes, watches on as if this is just
another event in high society.
As I see Draknir waver under Morta’s skilled attacks, I
rush to the edge of the temporary killing grounds. My heart
pounds in my chest as I plead with him, "Please yield! I will
do anything they ask!" Tears threaten to spill from my eyes
as I struggle to keep my voice steady. The scene before me
feels like a nightmare, a twisted and cruel game being
played out for the entertainment of others.
Let him live, even if my dignity is forfeit.
At my words, lucidity returns to Draknir's eyes. With
sudden clarity, he smiles gently and shakes his head.
Some inner fire reignites within him.
Slowly, agonizingly, he drags himself up, bloody but
unbowed.
Awe and hope surge wildly within me at the sight.
“Never… for your honor I will always fight.” He gets up and
once more resumes his guard. At first, he fights
desperately, bleeding and giving ground before Morta's
ruthless onslaught.
But as Morta arrogantly presses his advantage, seeking
a fatal strike, something shifts within Draknir. A dark and
dangerous calm descends upon his features, his eyes
narrowing with intense focus. With a calculated movement,
he adjusts his stance and raises his sword in front of him.
His lip curls.
Every action is deliberate, every ounce of energy
carefully conserved. Morta charges forward with reckless
abandon, but Draknir's sword deflects each blow with ease.
The sound of metal on metal echoes through the air.
 Draknir's expression remains composed, focused only on
his opponent's next move. He parries Morta's increasingly
frustrated strikes with an eerie, fluid grace.
I watch spellbound at this transformation – it is as
though some otherworldly force guides Draknir's steps
now. Morta's rage makes him careless. Sensing this,
Draknir waits with coiled patience for the perfect opening.
At last the chance presents itself – a wild horizontal
slash leaving Morta's torso exposed. With surgical
precision, Draknir drives his sword home, then wrenches it
free in a spray of crimson.
I quickly cover my eyes, trying to block out the
gruesome scene before me. But despite the violence and
chaos, I can't help but feel a surge of elation and pride as
the crowd erupts into cheers around me. Ignoring the rules
of tradition and propriety, I run towards Draknir with
reckless abandon. I reach him just as he collapses from
exhaustion, his body covered in blood and sweat. Without
hesitation, I wrap my arms tightly around him, feeling the
warmth of his body against mine.
"Thank you," I whisper, my voice trembling with
emotion. In that moment, all of my relief, gratitude, and
budding love for this brave warrior pour out in that
embrace. The smell of iron and sweat fills my nostrils, but it
only adds to the intensity of the moment.
At first, Draknir holds his shoulders stiff, unaccustomed
to such unabashed displays of affection. But as the warmth
of my embrace seeps into his skin, he gradually relaxes,
tilting his head to press his bearded cheek against mine.
His arms encircle my waist tentatively, as if unsure of how
to respond to this sudden surge of emotion. I feel his heart
racing and his breaths coming in ragged bursts, mirroring
my own tumultuous feelings. In this raw, vulnerable
moment, we are simply two souls stripped of any pretense
or facade. Without thought, I turn my face towards his,
yearning for more connection with this man who has
captured my heart.
Sensing my need, Draknir meets my lips in a gentle kiss.
Every fiber of my being seems to awaken. I melt into him,
all my doubt burning away like morning mist.
This feels right – no artifice or coercion, but a pure
connection.
We stay lost in the kiss until cheers penetrate our haze.
 20

DRAKNIR

T he kiss is unlike anything I could have expected. She is

sweet and tender, her mouth is a warm welcome for the
feelings I'm just now noticing exist within my chest. Should
I be in love with her already? By gods I don’t care. She
opens for me, blossoming into the kiss as her shyness melts
away.
"Kathleen," I say, my voice rougher than I intend. The
rumbling gravel of my voice surprises me. The kiss has left
me heady as I speak against her lips, my breath comes in
pants.
She gazes up at me, her brown eyes wide with a mix of
fear and something softer, warmer. Her breath hitches, and
I can almost taste her anticipation.
"Draknir?" She's unsure, hesitant, and gods, it makes me
want to shield her from every shadow in this accursed
place.
I lean down, my decision as resolute as steel. "This is all
worth it," I murmur against her lips before I kiss her once
more.
The world narrows to the press of her mouth against
mine, soft and yielding. She kisses me back, her hands
finding their way to my shoulders, clinging to me.
 I drink her in, the feel of her lips, the scent of her hair,
the warmth of her body pressed against mine. It's too fast,
too soon. I want to take my time, but now that I’ve got my
hands on her, now that I can taste her, I can’t stop. Not
when it comes to her.
We break apart, breathless, and everything comes back
into sharp focus—the watching eyes, the murmurs, the
tension of a thousand unspoken thoughts.
"Enough!" My voice cuts through the gardens, silencing
the whispers. I stand tall, despite the ache of old wounds
and the fresh ones that sting my skin. "By the laws of our
lands and the rites we've just undergone, we are wed. But
don't think for one heartbeat that I'll let any of you watch
the proof of our consummation."
Outrage meets my declaration. It buzzes like a hornet's
nest disturbed, a cacophony of shock and anger. I don't
care. Let them be outraged. I'm not some beast for their
entertainment.
"Privacy is our right," I continue, meeting each glare
with defiance etched into my features. "You will respect it,
or answer to me."
They know I mean every word. I've spilled blood for less.
As the crowd begrudgingly disperses, I turn to Kathleen,
my chest tight. Gods, what am I doing? She's so delicate
beside me, so out of place in this world of iron and blood.
"Kathleen," I start, my voice a low rumble, "if I've
overstepped⁠—"
"No," she interrupts, her voice small but certain. "You
haven't."
There's a courage in her eyes that fans the flames of my
respect. I've seen men thrice her size with less bravery. I
nod once, fiercely proud of her, and fiercely protective.
"Come," I say, offering my hand. "Let's leave this place
behind.”
One of my father’s men lets out an angry scoff, a sound
laced with contempt as he eyes me, his glare as sharp as
the knife he's been known to wield. My body is a canvas of
bruises and cuts, a testament to battles fought and barely
won, but it's the look in his eyes that tries to cut deeper
than flesh.
"Men," he barks, turning on his heel with a swirl of his
dark cloak, "we're leaving."
I watch them go, their heavy boots kicking up dust that
mingles with the dying light. They leave like a storm
receding, and I can't help but feel relief mixed with a sour
twist of victory. It's fleeting, this moment of peace, as the
weight of what comes next presses down upon me.
I want Kathleen more than I’ve wanted anyone.
But it’s…difficult. I’ve never cared for anyone else
before. It’s overwhelming. Never in my life have I been
more frightened. I love Kathleen, but I could lose her.
I’ve never had anyone to lose before, not since my
mother.
Nightfall comes uninvited, swift, and cloaked in shadows
that mirror the thoughts racing through my mind. Dinner
with Kathleen is a quiet affair, the silence punctuated by
the clink of silverware and the crackle of the hearth. I
sense her tension, mirroring my own, as the space between
us fills with an electric charge, unseen yet undeniable.
The thrum of want rumbles through my body at a pace I
could not have anticipated. When I propositioned Kathleen,
the emotions I am experiencing weren’t a thought in my
mind. It's fitting that the lack of these feelings is the very
reason I have never found a mate.
"Kathleen," I say, voice rough like gravel, "this night... it
doesn't have to be what they expect. I—I stopped them
from watching, yes, but if you're not ready⁠—"
Her eyes, wide and luminous, lock onto mine. There's a
universe within them, swirling with emotions I can scarcely
read. She nods, and I'm left wondering if she truly
understands the magnitude of my words.
 We ascend the stairs to the master bedroom, each step
heavy with the weight of duty and desire. The door shuts
behind us with a decisive click, sealing us away from the
world and its prying eyes.
"Draknir," she whispers, her voice a tender note in the
silence. "I..."
"Shh," I reply, stepping closer. "No words are needed,
not now."
The room is still, save for our breathing, a rhythm that
syncs and separates as we stand on the precipice of
something intimate and unknown. I am a warrior, sculpted
by strife, yet here I am, filled with trepidation at the
thought of a simple touch, of crossing the chasm between
obligation and want.
"Are you certain?" My question hangs in the air, a plea
for assurance, for a sign that my desires are not one-sided,
that she too feels this pull, this need that goes beyond duty.
In response, she closes the distance, her warmth
radiating against my skin. Her courage astounds me, a
flame that refuses to be snuffed out by the darkness of our
circumstances. And with that, the last barriers crumble,
and we are simply two souls reaching for connection in a
world that has offered us little kindness.
"Draknir," she begins, her voice a threadbare whisper, "I
know what is expected." Her gaze flicks down, then back to
mine, a silent struggle scribed across her features. "You
can,” she pauses, her mouth struggling to form the words
she wants. “Command me.", she says after some hesitation.
"No," I whisper fiercely, closing the distance until I can
feel the hesitant heat of her breath. "It's not about
commands. Not this. You must want it, as I do."
Her brow creases in disbelief. "You want this?" The
question hangs wrapped in innocence.
I nod. A simple gesture, weighted with the gravity of a
thousand wars yet fought. She's so delicate and small. A
fearful thought intrudes upon my need.
 What if I break her?
"Kiss me." Kathleen whispers, the certainty of her voice
spurs the pounding of my heart against my ribs.
"What?" I ask, her question breaks me from my
thoughts.
"I said kiss me. Like you did before." She breathes
against my mouth, her voice a tether that binds me to the
here, the now.
For a moment, all I can do is stare. This woman,
Kathleen, who should be nothing more than another
responsibility, another task on my endless list, dares to defy
the roles we've been given. She stands before me, not as an
object to be protected or a token to be displayed, but as a
force unto herself, demanding to be seen, to be heard.
A growl rumbles deep within me, a primal sound that
feels both foreign and familiar. It's the sound of chains
breaking, of orders being questioned. I step closer, close
enough to feel the swell of her breasts against my chest.
Our breath mingles in the space between us, creating a
tempest that could sweep away the foundations of
everything I know.
I pull her to me, resting my hand on her lower back. She
timidly presses her body into mine, tilting up her face to
look in my eyes. There is a nervousness in them, reflecting
my same hesitation back to me. But I also see the want, I
possess looking at me through her eyes.
I dip my mouth to hers, slowly brushing her lips against
mine. She inhales sharply and I pause, giving her the
chance to back out. When she parts her lips in invitation,
it’s all I can do to stop myself from devouring her on the
spot.
As our mouths meet, the world narrows to the point of
singularity. There is no camp, no duty, no looming threat—
only the taste of her lips, the press of her body against
mine, and the shared breath of two souls entwined in a
dance as old as time itself.
 "Draknir," she says, and there's an edge to her voice,
one that doesn't belong to the shy creature who's looked
after her kin with such quiet tenacity. This is someone new,
someone daring.
Her taste is intoxicating, a mix of fear and courage, and
it lights up something primal within me. The room fades,
the sounds of the camp beyond these walls dim, and all that
exists is the feel of her body pressed to mine, the heated
exchange of kisses that speak louder than any words could.
As we kiss, the warmth of her lips consumes me. Her
small hands find their way to my waist, tentatively tracing
the fabric of my tunic before sliding upwards to grip my
shirt. She pulls me closer, and I can feel her breath against
my neck as she moans softly.
Her tongue darts out to trace the seam of my lips, and I
part them willingly, welcoming her inside. I press my body
against hers, feeling the soft curves that make up her
figure mold against mine. It's as if we were always meant to
fit together like this; our hearts beat in unison as we kiss
deeper yet again.
Her fingertips glide up from my waist to grasp at my
shoulders, digging into the skin lightly as she loses herself
in the moment beneath us. A soft whimper escapes from
her throat as she runs her nails down my spine, leaving
goosebumps in their wake – awakening something within
both of us.
 21

KATHLEEN

"K
athleen," Draknir breathes against my mouth, his
heart thundering against my chest.
He pulls away slowly, looking down. His eyes are blown
with desire. I feel it too, but I’m hesitant.
"I'm nervous." I say, my voice shakes and I can feel my
cheeks heat with embarrassment. I have spent my life not
being good enough, and this is yet another obstacle
between me and others.
"Don't be afraid, I’ll be gentle. But," he pauses holding
my gaze, "we don't have to do this.”
"It's not that," the words come out slowly and feel thick
in my mouth. "I've never done this before. With anyone."
I lower my head, the shame burning behind my eyes.
"Kathleen," he says, lifting my chin to look at him. "We
can go slow.”
"Will it hurt?" I ask in a small voice.
"If it does, you can tell me to stop at any time."
"Kiss me," I say for a second time tonight.
His lips meet mine, tentatively at first, like he's afraid
that if he presses too hard, he'll break me.
His fingers intertwine with mine, guiding them up to
rest on his chest. His heart beats strongly beneath my palm
as I sink into the feeling of being so close to him.
Our kiss deepens, and I taste the sweetness of his
tongue as it glides against my own. A soft moan escapes my
throat as I lean in closer, our bodies melting together into
one. He cradles my face gently, tracing the outline of my
jaw.
We pull away slowly, panting slightly, catching our
breath. Draknir looks into my eyes with such tenderness
that it takes my breath away all over again.
"You’re so beautiful," he whispers softly before lowering
himself back down to nibble at my neck playfully. Heat
pools low in my stomach. I feel the need to press my thighs
together, the throbbing at the juncture is ramping up with
every kiss.
"Draknir," I breathe. These sensations are new to me. A
searing warmth spreads across my cheeks and chest melts
down low to my core.
He slowly backs me to the edge of the enormous bed
and lifts me effortlessly, his mouth never leaving mine. I let
out a soft moan as Draknir eases us back onto the soft,
plush bedding.
He continues to kiss me, his tongue gently pushing past
my lips as I open up to him. His hands roam down my back,
tracing the contours of my spine before cupping my bottom
and pulling me closer.
His taste is exhilarating.
I can't help but arch into him as he trails kisses down my
jawline and along the side of my neck. I gasp when he bites
gently on my earlobe, sending tingles through my body. He
nips at the tender flesh making me squirm under him in
anticipation.
His hand travels up my thigh, slowly as we kiss
passionately. My head starts to spin from the overwhelming
sensations - his lips brushing against mine, his scent filling
my nostrils with each breath I take.
 The bed shifts as he hovers his weight above me,
reaching down to slowly remove my clothing. "It's okay," he
whispers, his words hold a strangled grit to them.
I relax, allowing him to undress me. I've never been this
bare before in front of someone who actually seems to care.
"Gods," he whispers, as his eyes roam hungrily across
my body. I stifle the urge to cover up and reach up to help
him undress.
I can't help but to eye the bulge in the front of his pants,
as his entire length springs free a soft gasp escapes me. He
eyes me knowingly, and dips down to trail soft kisses down
my body. The sensation ripples through me, warming with
building desire. My center throbs needily, as Draknir's
kisses tease between my thighs.
My skin tingles under his touch. He trails hot, open-
mouthed kisses back up my body nipping at my breasts
causing my nipples stiffen and peak. His breath catches at
the sight, and I blush bright red under his gaze. Trembling
slightly, I close my eyes, waiting for what comes next.
His lips find one of my hardened nipples and he kisses it
gently before sucking it into his mouth, eliciting a soft
moan from me. He lets a hand travel down to cup my other
breast, squeezing it gently, teasing the nipple between his
thumb and forefinger. His warm breath cools as he returns
downward, kissing and licking a path towards my stomach,
causing goosebumps to rise in its wake.
I arch into him with a whimper as his tongue brushes
against my entrance. My legs instinctively fall wider to give
him better access. Despite my nervousness and instinct to
clamp my legs closed I'm eager for more of his touch. He
nuzzles his face into the crook of my thigh, sending shivers
down my legs as he peppers soft kisses there too.
The mix of sensations is new. My nerves tingle and I’m
assaulted by emotions pinging from ear reddening dread to
desire.
 He slides his palm across my folds, and I become aware
of the accumulation of slickness that allows a testing finger
to slip inside. My walls tense around him as I tense at the
unexpected intrusion.
"Relax, Kathleen, I’ve got you." He breathes a sharp
breath, "You're so wet," the strained gruff sound of his
voice elicits a whimpering moan from me as he slips
another finger inside me.
As Draknir's fingers sink deeper within me, I feel every
bit of the intimacy and vulnerability wash over me. He
looks up at me with hooded eyes, his gaze set ablaze with
lust. It fills me with a desire for something I don't have
words for.
The sensation of being touched by him is both
exhilarating and terrifying but I can't help but want more.
His tongue flicks against my sensitive folds, causing
goosebumps to rise in its wake.
"Draknir," I breathe headily. "I want... I need more."
I whimper, unsure of what it is I'm asking for. My voice
is hoarse with need as he continues to tease me like this.
He smiles against my skin, reveling in the power he has
over me. He moves to press against me once again in a
deep kiss that leaves me breathless before pulling away to
look into my eyes.
He trails kisses down my jawline and neck until he
reaches the valley between my breasts where he takes a
hardened nipple into his mouth once more sending waves
of pleasure coursing through me.
"Please," I moan, a desperate need for a fullness I've
never experienced threatens to consume me.
Draknir's face breaks into a sensual grin as he hears my
plea. His hand gently guides his cock toward my entrance,
teasing the sensitive folds of my pussy with the tip. The
head of his cock pushes against me, and I gasp softly,
feeling the burning warmth of his skin against mine.
 He holds still for a moment, letting my inexperienced
body get used to the sensation before he begins to push
inside slowly. With every inch that disappears into me, I
feel a new wave of pleasure course through my veins. The
stretch is unexpected but not unwelcome; it only heightens
the sensations building inside me.
As he slides deeper, I bite down on my lip to stifle the
moans that threaten to escape. His hips meet resistance
from my tightness, but he doesn't stop. He slowly pushes
further into me until he's buried deep inside.
My eyes roll back in pleasure as I feel him fill me
completely. His thick length stretches my walls and forces
me to accommodate him, making room for more. He lets
out a long breath as he bottoms out, his hips meeting mine
perfectly.
He grinds against me slowly, teasing both our nerves
with exquisite friction. His free hand holds onto my hip
tightly while the other runs through my hair, pulling gently
as if guiding me to look into his eyes.
"Is this, okay?" he asks, his voice comes out clipped with
restraint as he stills waiting for me to answer.
I take stock of my body and the sensations coursing
through. I clench down around the thickness of his shaft
and feel him twitch inside me. His eyes widen in response
as a lustful smirk overcomes his face.
"I want it. I want you; I need..." I pause not knowing
what to say.
"Don't worry, I know," he says gently, but his words
come out thick with lust. With that, he begins to move in a
rhythm, slowly at first, and I savor the feeling of him taking
me as his own.
His free hand cups my cheek as he gazes down at me,
watching my face contort in pleasure. My eyes roll back
into my head, and he groans.
“Look at you,” he murmurs, breath hitching.
His control snaps.
 He slides out almost completely before plunging back in,
hitting that spot inside me that sends shivers through both
of our bodies. I gasp and arch my back off the bed as he
does it again and again, each time driving me closer to the
edge. With every thrust, my walls clamp down on him, and I
can feel our hearts beating together.
“Yes," I moan, unable to hold back my climax any longer
as he reaches into me so deeply. My nails dig into his
shoulders as I feel myself melting around him, and my hips
buck up against his.
The feeling of being filled, claimed, owned by him is
unlike anything I've ever experienced before. His heavy
breaths mix with mine as we both lose control together. My
walls clamp down on his shaft, and I can feel his cock
throbbing as he fills me, finishing with a feral growl before
dropping his head into my neck, his warm pants tickling my
sensitive skin.
 22

DRAKNIR

I enter the dimly lit chamber, the walls echoing with the
silence of a freshly sealed secret. The priest stands before
me, his fingers wrapped around the vial I've just handed
him. It's a vile duty, this proof of consummated love
demanded by tradition and my relentless family.
"Is this truly necessary, Draknir?" His voice is a whisper,
almost lost amid the creaks of the wooden floor beneath
our feet.
"More than you know," I reply, my jaw set. "Without this,
they will never cease their hounding."
Gods know I do not need any incessant hounding.
Especially not with the newness that is developing between
Kathleen and me. After our night together, I’m looking
forward to some down time with her.
I have a month of leave from work for our honeymoon,
and I intend to make the very most of it pampering
Kathleen the way she deserves. The marriage contract of
my supposed nobility is not a thought in my mind when I
think of what I have created for myself in its avoidance. The
memory of the intimacy we shared is seared in my mind, a
constant reminder of the way she makes me feel.
 The scent of incense lingers in the air, mingling with the
distant dampness of earth that always seems to pervade
these stone confines. I can feel the weight of a letter to my
father in my pocket, its edges pressing into my thigh—a
missive filled with words that are both a shield and a
sword.
"Must we degrade love to such... transactions?" The
priest's question hangs between us, but I have no answer
for him—only the action I must take.
"Take it to the capital," I instruct, my tone brooking no
argument. "Ensure it reaches my family's hands."
He nods, solemn and resigned, tucking the vial away
with a care that borders on reverence. He understands the
stakes, the precarious game played for acceptance and
peace.
"Your family will be satisfied," he assures me, but the
comfort of his words feels hollow. Satisfaction, at what
cost?
My mind wanders, pondering if they will honor my
marriage to Kathleen. Will they still come for me? Or have I
truly ridden myself of the nagging reminder of my father's
transgressions that led my life to its current position?
As the priest turns to leave, my gaze drifts to the
window where moonlight filters through, casting elongated
shadows across the room. There's a bitterness creeping up
my throat, a taste like iron and regret. Kathleen doesn't
deserve this scrutiny, this invasion of our private moments
turned spectacle for prying eyes.
I make my way home. Home. To her, where I am finding
solace in her company. These feelings are so strange to me,
Uncharted, but not entirely unwanted. My mind whirls with
newness. I find myself content in the way my heart and
body have begun to long for the touches of her soft skin.
"Is it done?" Kathleen asks as I walk through the door.
She is sitting at the table, a cup of steaming tea in her
hand, worry etched into her smooth features.
"Yes." I close the distance between us to grasp her face.
I press a gentle testing kiss to her forehead before
withdrawing as the contact sends a buzz down to my groin.
She looks up at me, her eyes searching for something to
anchor her to her reality.
"What do we do now?" she asks shyly.
"I could teach you the dark elf language," I say offhand.
I'm not sure what I am supposed to do with a mate past the
ceremony and consummation.
"I would love that." Her eyes flicker with excitement.
I open an ancient tome that I’ve enjoyed over the years.
Now, it sprawls open before Kathleen, its pages a maze of
dark elf script that she traces with eager fingertips. She’s
ensnared by the challenge, her lips moving silently as she
deciphers each glyph.
"Draknir?" Her voice is a thread of curiosity in the dimly
lit chamber we've claimed for ourselves. "What's this word
here?" She points, and I lean in, the scent of her—the
earthy aroma of human life—fills my senses.
"Val'shar," I reply, my tone clipped. "It means
'endurance'."
"Appropriate," she muses with a smile that doesn't quite
reach her eyes. The irony isn’t lost on me—the word
mirrors my own existence, a testament to surviving against
relentless tides of prejudice and conflict.
"Very," I acknowledge, my gaze lingering on her face,
absorbing the subtle expressions that dance across her
features.
"Draknir," she chides, catching me staring, "you're
supposed to be helping, not just watching."
"Am I now?" My retort is more gruff than intended, a
defense mechanism against the softening of my edges. "I
find your determination... intriguing."
"Is that so? Or are you simply bored without your sword
in hand?"
 "Perhaps a bit of both," I admit, the words coming out
sharper than they feel. But there's truth in them—I am a
soldier, born and bred for combat, not idle repose.
"Then let me make it interesting." Kathleen challenges
me, her eyes sparkling with defiance. "Teach me something
only a warrior would know."
"Like what?” I scoff, the notion absurd. “How to wield a
blade? You're more likely to cut yourself."
"Maybe," she fires back, undeterred. "But I'm not afraid
to learn."
"Bravery or foolishness?" I quip, but there's no heat
behind it. We spar with words, a duel of wits rather than
steel.
"Both," she says with a smirk. "Isn't that what being a
soldier is about?"
"Careful, Kathleen," I warn, though the corners of my
mouth betray me, turning upward ever so slightly. "You
might start to sound like one of us."
"Would that be so terrible?" she asks, and for a moment
the question hangs between us, heavy as a warhammer.
"Perhaps not," I concede, my defenses crumbling like
the walls of an ancient fortress long-sieged. The realization
strikes—a month away from duty, a respite from the blood
and battle cries, and here I am, still fighting. Only this time,
it's not against an enemy—it's against the unexpected joy
found in simple moments like these, teaching her, watching
her.
"Good," Kathleen beams, returning her attention to the
book. "Now, what's this symbol?"
"Hope," I answer, and the word feels foreign on my
tongue, though not unwelcome. "In our language, it's
'Tal'ren'."
"Hope," she repeats, savoring the syllables. "I like that."
"Me too," I confess, and in that admission, I find a shard
of peace amidst the turmoil of duty and longing, a fleeting
truce in a lifelong war.
 During our honeymoon period, Kathleen also tends to
her grandmother.
"Let me help you," I say, sliding my hands around her
grandmother's frail body.
"It's really okay," she protests with a smile.
"I just want to help you," I smile back, taking in her
delicate form. She's not weak by any means, I just feel
compelled to do things for her to lessen her load.
We spend our days calmly enjoying the harmony that
has been building between us. The days are not devoid of
embrace. I find myself looking for excuses to touch her;
sometimes it’s to brush a stray hair from her face, other
times, it’s a guiding hand on her lower back. At night I
explore every contour of her supple form.
As we delve deeper into the ancient dark elf language
together, I can't help but marvel at Kathleen. She may be
human, but she’s unyielding. Her brow furrows with
concentration as she studies the intricate symbols, a soft
hum escaping her lips each time she pronounces unfamiliar
words. Occasionally, she'll pause to ask me questions, and I
find myself savoring these moments like rare nectar. Our
voices flow together, our minds entwined in a dance only
the two of us understand.
After lunch, when we finish studying, we head over to
take care of her grandmother. Kathleen takes her hand
gently. Her skin is like worn parchment, creased with age
and wisdom. With meticulous care, we help bathe her and
open her windows facing the garden where the sunlight is
warm on our skin. The scent of lavender fills the air as the
breeze rolls in.
I enjoy the solace of night the most. We sleep together,
spending each night exploring each other's bodies. A
feeling has begun to hang over me, the overwhelming
sensations of which threaten to explode from my chest in
words I don’t know how to conjure.
 As the night falls softly around us, Kathleen tucked
neatly into the crook my arm, our skin glistens with a sheen
of sweat from the passionate lovemaking that's left my body
craving hers. I feel a pang of longing deep within my chest.
I know I should say something about my feelings, but the
words won't come out; they're lost in a sea of need and
desire that seems to overtake me every time she's near.
I rationalize that it's okay if I don't speak up just yet, we
are bound together forever, surely it's okay if I hold off for
a bit.
One morning, two weeks later, changes everything. My
butler comes rushing into my study with wide eyes and a
trembling voice. "The patient, she has awoken," he
exclaims breathlessly. I nod curtly and rush past him
towards Kathleen's grandmother's chambers.
As I round the corner, I can hear muffled sounds coming
from inside. The conversation sounds tense, and there is a
commotion rumbling from behind the closed door. I quickly
rush over and push it open.
 23

KATHLEEN

A sigh of relief escapes my lips as I watch Grandma's

chest rise and fall with each steady breath. It feels like
she has been teetering on the brink of life for an eternity,
but I am alerted she is asking for me, awake and alive! My
heart leaps with joy and I rush to her bedside, grateful that
the chaos of the wedding preparations can be forgotten for
a moment.
But the moment I approach her, her voice becomes a
rusty knife that slashes through my joy. Her once warm and
kind eyes now burn with accusation, piercing through me
like daggers. "You...married that monster?" Her words
hang in the air like a thunderous storm cloud, casting a
dark shadow over the room.
My stomach twists with guilt and regret as I frantically
search for words to justify my decision, but none seem
strong enough to break through the storm of her anger and
my body only reels back in shock and dismay.
My mouth hangs open, unable to form words.
How could she possibly know about my secret? She has
been unconscious this entire time, how can she have any
knowledge of my actions? "I-I had to, for your sake."
 But Grandma's face twists into an angry mask as she
struggles to rise from her bed. Her wrinkled hands grip the
sheets tightly, nails digging into the fabric. "Ungrateful
wretch!" she spits at me, her voice dripping with venom.
"Your grandfather and I raised you better than this! How
could you cavort with those vile beasts who slaughtered our
kind? Have you no respect or loyalty for your own blood?"
Her eyes flash with fury as she glares at me accusingly.
Her hateful words are like sharp knives, piercing
through me and leaving deep wounds. I try to speak, but
her interruption is swift and sharp. "Please, Grandma," I
implore, "try to understand–" But she cuts me off with a
scathing tone.
"Understand?" she spits out, her vitriol evident in every
syllable. "You have betrayed not only your own kind, but all
of humankind itself with your sin!"
I reach for her, desperate for some sign of love or
understanding, but she pushes me away with unexpected
strength in her frail frame. It feels like my entire childhood
of love and security crumbles into dust before my eyes.
"I should have died rather than live to see this disgrace!"
she declares bitterly. "How could you turn your back on
your own people?" she demands, face mottled with rage.
"Lying with the enemy makes you a traitor!"
I flinch as her words pierce through me like a thousand
sharp needles, each one laced with venom and accusation.
My heart races with disbelief as I hear such hatred spewing
from the mouth of my once kind and gentle grandmother.
"He's not like them!" I beg, my voice trembling with
desperation. But her mind is made up, consumed by her
unforgiving loathing for him. "Let me prove it to you.
Without him, you wouldn't be alive right now... You would
have been dead, and I would have had to work the streets,
is that what you would have preferred?" My words fall on
deaf ears as she continues to spew her poisonous
accusations, oblivious to the truth that lies before her.
 She looks as if I just slapped her. "How dare you speak
so brashly to your grandmother. What has he done to you!
Foolish child, you betray your own kind! And for what! A
pretty dress!" Grandma hisses, her eyes blazing with anger.
In a fit of rage, she grabs a nearby cup and hurls it at me.
“I wish I would have died rather than suffer this disgrace!”
I barely have time to duck as the cup shatters against the
wall behind me. Shocked by this sudden outburst of
hostility from my once loving grandmother, I can only stand
there, shaking and bewildered. “Thank the gods your
Grandfather isn’t around for this farce!”
She starts to assault me. Throwing everything in reach, I
duck and defend what I can, but part of me feels like I
deserve it.
Like I betrayed both her and the family.
Maybe it is all my fault...
With a sudden rush of movement, Draknir appears,
drawn by the commotion. He acts quickly, shielding me
from any more projectiles that may come our way. His
strong arms wrap around me, and I feel the comforting
warmth of his embrace. But his protective gesture only
fuels Grandma's fury as she continues to berate him with
her shrill voice. "What is going on here? What is the
meaning of this!" He doesn't look angry, but like he needs
to command the situation quickly.
"Do not come near my granddaughter, you terrifying
monster!" she yells, her face flushed with rage and fear.
The air is heavy with tension and adrenaline as we stand in
this chaotic moment. “What did you do to her! Vile beast!”
"Grandma! I swear to the gods of the old and new, it's
not like that." I move closer to her hoping to quell the
situation, but it's like she's a stranger to me.
This isn't my Grandma.
My Grandma would never say these things to me.
My eyes well up with tears, blurring my vision as I stand
before the woman who raised me with love and kindness.
Now, her gaze is cold and filled with accusation, treating
me as an enemy.
How did our relationship come to this dreadful impasse
so suddenly?
Each hurtful word she speaks feels like a sharp dagger
piercing my heart.
I leave the room crying and lock myself in my quarters.
I try to help Grandma see, but she only gets worse by
the day, her outbursts and declarations growing more
extreme by the day.
I find solace in retreating to the sanctuary of my own
room.
The familiar scent of lavender and vanilla surrounds me,
calming my troubled mind.
But even within these walls, I cannot escape the weight
of the strained bond between us.
There's nowhere I can escape.
The once bright and lively halls now feel suffocating,
filled with tension and resentment. I am adrift in misery,
torn between my love for Draknir and my grandmother's
unrelenting hatred towards him.
Each day drags on with a weight that seems to grow
heavier by the hour, burdened by the strain of our broken
family ties. I feel hopeless.
Trapped.
If she doesn't accept me, what was this all for?
Am I just to be a slave now devoid of any free will?
But on the sixth night, Draknir's worried expression
reflects in the dim candlelight of my bedroom as he comes
to me.
"Kathleen," his voice is gentle but concerned. "Please
speak to me. You have been distant for days – are you
unwell?" His eyes search mine, searching for answers and
understanding in the depths of my troubled gaze.
He approaches with a silver tray, carrying a feast of my
favorite foods. My stomach growls in response, but I push
down the urge to give in. It's been ages since I've left the
confines of my room, and the thought alone makes me
shudder.
The once comforting walls now seem to suffocate me,
leaving me feeling trapped and powerless. My stomach
growls with hunger, a reminder of my neglect to eat. Guilt
weighs heavy on my chest as I see myself as nothing but a
failure.
How can I face the man who has given me everything,
only to crumble at the first sign of trouble?
I don't deserve his food.
I don't deserve his pity.
I'm his slave. Nothing more.
As I lay in bed, unsure of what to do. The smell of his
cooking fills the air, but I can't bring myself to take a bite.
How can I enjoy this meal when I know I don't deserve it?
His eyes are full of pity and it makes my stomach churn
with guilt.
Am I really just a slave to him?
Is that all I'm worth? Despite my shame, I can't help but
feel drawn to his outstretched hand.
How can he when I am the one who has let him down?
Why does he even care?
My inner turmoil tears at me as I struggle to find the
words to explain.
Unable to meet his gaze, I find my eyes glued to the
floor, avoiding any contact with him. Shame fills every inch
of my being as I realize how much I've let him down.
His hand reaches out towards mine and he clasps them
earnestly, a look of genuine concern etched across his
features. "You cannot hide from me, dear one. Tell me how
to ease your burden," he says softly.
What’s the point… I’ll just tell him what he wants to
hear.
I’ll be his little slut, because that’s probably what he
really wants.
I start to pull down my top.
 24

DRAKNIR

I nherangrandmother's
effort to give Kathleen the time she needs to process
cruel rejection, I have given her space
over the past few days. My longing for her must wait, as
repairing and tending to our family bonds is of utmost
importance.
Yet with each passing day, my frustration and concern
only grow as Kathleen continues to withdraw into herself.
She speaks little and rarely leaves the comfort of her own
chambers, finding no solace even in my presence. It is as if
a dark cloud has descended upon her, shrouding her in
sadness and isolation. But as the days pass with Kathleen
retreating further into herself, frustration and concern
mount within me. She barely speaks or leaves her
chambers, taking no comfort even from my company.
Her emotional distance unsettles me more than I
expected. These newfound feelings between us are still
tenuous – will her grief snuff them out before they can truly
ignite?
I know I cannot force intimacy while she is so
distraught. Yet the urge to confront her avoidance gnaws at
me.
We have not shared a bed in a week.
 I miss her keenly and it bothers me greatly.
How can I remain strong from her when I miss her so?
Left to my own devices, I attempt to clear my head with
familiar pastimes - meticulously polishing and maintaining
my armor and weapons, poring over ancient military texts,
and relentlessly training in the sunlit courtyard. But no
matter how hard I try, concentration eludes me. My mind is
consumed by memories of Kathleen's withdrawn, mournful
face. Our once-blossoming affection now feels like a wilted
flower, neglected and starved for attention.
I grip the hilt of my blade and begin to sharpen it with
swift, practiced strokes. The metallic scent of the
whetstone fills the room as I prepare for what must be
done. I can no longer passively wait for this estrangement
to mend itself; it will only fester and worsen.
Polishing a dent from my breastplate, I decide to
confront the issue directly and honestly. Kathleen deserves
my full devotion, not just convenient pretense. I must bare
my heart if there is any hope of winning hers back.
I make my way to the overgrown woods behind the
estate, axe in hand. Hard, physical labor often helps order
what exactly I will say to her.
With my trusty axe, I make my way through the
overgrown woods behind the estate. The air is thick and
humid, buzzing with insects and the scent of damp earth.
With each swing of the axe, it bites deep into the tough,
weathered log with a satisfying thunk. The sound echoes
through the silent woods, accompanied by the occasional
rustle of leaves or scurrying of small animals. I settle into a
focused rhythm – chop, split, stack.
As sweat soaks my brow, revelations take shape.
What I feel for Kathleen goes beyond casual fondness or
convenience. I want all of her – not just fleeting moments of
happiness, but a true partner who shares joy and pain
equally.
Another log splits in two under my swing.
 The crackling sound echoes through the quiet forest,
mixing with my labored breaths and the rustle of leaves
underfoot.
As I clear away the debris, I am reminded of the journey
Kathleen and I have taken together. Every step has been
filled with discoveries - both joyful and painful. To truly
understand who she is, I must embrace every facet of her
being. Even in her current state of grief and despair, as
difficult as it may be, it is a vital part of what makes her
real and whole. Tenderly clearing away pretenses and
masks, I am left with the raw truth of who she is.
With my emotions settled, I neatly stack the firewood. It
is time Kathleen and I talked openly, without barriers or
artifice.
Our future depends on it.
I knock tentatively on her chamber door. "Kathleen?
May I enter?" No response comes.
I cautiously push the door open, careful not to make a
sound. The room is cloaked in darkness, but I can just make
out the outline of her figure sprawled across the bed.
"Kathleen?" I whisper, my voice barely audible in the
quiet room. Again, there is no response, but I pick up on
the subtle rise and fall of her breathing, indicating she is
"Darling?" I repeat softly, my voice carrying a hint of
uncertainty. The room is shrouded in darkness, but I can
hear the faint sound of her breaths, revealing that she is
awake. My feet tread carefully across the carpeted floor as
I make my way towards the bed. Our distance has stretched
on for far too long, and tonight will be the night we resolve
this.
Sitting on the edge of the mattress, I reach out to touch
her shoulder. She flinches but does not pull away. Heart
heavy, I murmur, "Kathleen." My voice is gentle like I'm
dealing with a wounded animal. "Please speak to me. You
have been distant for days – are you unwell?”
There’s no response.
 Her breathing remains undistributed.
"You cannot hide from me, dear one. Tell me how to ease
your burden," I say softly.
“I’m fine… leave me alone,” she says, her voice so small
and mousy and frail.
“You are not fine, if you are to be my mate you will take
care of yourself.”
“Am I not pleasing, my lord?” she says, rolling over.
There’s black bags under her eyes, her features slightly
sunken in. She starts to unbutton her sleeping top and
suddenly starts disrobing provocatively. "Isn't this what you
want from me?" she asks bitterly.
I quickly avert my eyes. "Nay, this is not at all what I
want between us." I expected a vulnerable truth, not this
hollow seduction.
But Kathleen continues peeling off clothing. "Come now,
do I not look pleasing enough?" Her tone is sharp, mocking.
I grasp her wrists firmly. "Do not play such games. Talk
to me plainly!"
She tries wresting free from my grip. "What more could
you want? I have given everything already!"
"Enough pretense, Kathleen! Speak your true heart!" I
shout, patience fraying.
"I am only being what you wanted - an obedient mate!"
she yells back.
"I want a partner, not a slave!"
"A slave is all I am! You yourself made the contract!"
She hurls the bitter words, the room ringing with
accusation and hurt.
"Please, just talk to me as your true self," I implore,
softening my tone.
Kathleen's eyes glisten. "I don’t know my true self
anymore," she confesses brokenly.
My frustration melts away, heart aching at her anguish.
I fold her into my arms.
 "Then we will find it together," I murmur. "No more
false fronts between us, agreed?"
Finally, unable to contain herself any longer, she
unleashes a torrent of words. They spill forth
uncontrollably, the weight of her conflicting emotions too
heavy to bear any longer. "I struggle to reconcile the deep-
seated hatred my Grandma holds for your kind... with the
intense and undeniable feelings I have for you! I am left
with nowhere to go with nobody to talk to... she is the only
family I've ever had. This is tearing me apart... what do I
do?"
Her raw admission stuns me silent. Seeing my shock,
Kathleen continues desperately, "Yes, I confessed love for
an elf! Are you satisfied now, my lord?" Sobs wrack her
slight frame.
I pull her into my arms, letting her weep bitterly against
my chest. My own eyes grow hot with tears, but I bite them
back. "Hush now, do not torment yourself so," I soothe once
her sorrow begins ebbing. "Your grandmother is unwell -
her cruelty is the disease speaking, not her. She raised you
with love."
Kathleen looks up at me searchingly. "Then you are not
angry that I have fallen for you?" she whispers.
I smile through my own tears. "I could never be angry at
you for returning my love." I kiss her tenderly, wishing I
could absorb all her pain.
I'm grateful to hear Kathleen confess she has fallen in
love with me. Before this distress, she never voiced the true
depth of her affection.
Unable to stop myself, I capture her lips in a fierce,
passionate kiss mid-sob. She freezes, then melts into me,
returning my ardor with equal desperation.
When we finally separate, foreheads touching, her tears
have ceased. Cradling her face, I whisper the words buried
deep in my heart:
 "I love you too, Kathleen. I have for longer than I
realized."
She lets out a small gasp, eyes shining. I kiss her
tenderly once more.
"Whatever comes, we will face it together," I continue,
voice husky with emotion. "You don’t need to bear any
burden alone again."
Kathleen's head nods slowly, her trembling lips
stretched into a bright, radiant smile. She nestles back into
my embrace, seeking refuge from the world in my arms.
I wrap myself around her, enveloping her in a protective
cocoon. Our bodies mold together seamlessly, two puzzle
pieces perfectly fitting into place. Right now, holding her
close to me is all that matters. The softness of her hair
against my cheek, the warmth
I’ve never loved anyone or anything as much as the
sweet fragile little thing in my arms.
 25

DRAKNIR

T he morning after our tearful reconciliation, Draknir

urgently sends for a renowned healer. The elderly elf
arrives in a flurry of vibrant robes and sparkling silver
jewelry, his face lined with wisdom and concern. With
quick, precise movements, he brings out his bag of tools
and kneels beside Grandma's bed. His fingers move with
practiced grace as he checks her pulse, listens intently to
her breath, and runs gentle hands over her forehead and
temples. Every movement is deliberate and purposeful, his
focus solely on the woman lying before him.
"Sudden shifts in personality may indicate damage to
the brain," he explains solemnly. "She will require round-
the-clock care and medicine to manage the symptoms."
The words hit me like a physical force, threatening to
knock me off my feet. My legs tremble and threaten to give
out, but thankfully Draknir's strong arm wraps around me,
providing a sense of stability and support.
"Is there any chance she could make a full recovery?" I
manage faintly.
The healer's gaze is filled with both sympathy and
sternness, his eyes conveying a sense of urgency. "With
diligent treatment, we may see some improvement. But at
her age, complete restoration is unlikely."
As he turns to leave, a wave of despair washes over me
and I dissolve into tears once again. My worst fears have
come to fruition - the grandmother I knew and loved may
be forever lost to me.
Draknir simply holds me close, letting me cry myself out.
When it passes, he takes my hands firmly in his. "We will
get through this," he vows. My anchor in the storm...
My heart splinters knowing there is no cure for
Grandma's altered mind. The potion healed her body, but
cannot mend whatever damage lies within.
"There must be something you can do..." I plead.
"No cost is too great, I will compensate you for all of
your time."
"I admit my knowledge of the intricacies of the human
brain is limited. Elven medicine concentrates on physical
ailments rather than mental. But his jaw sets determinedly.
"I will scour every medical tome until I understand this
affliction fully. There may be an elven treatment or herb
that can help restore balance to her mind."
A tiny spark of hope flickers faintly through the
overwhelming grief that consumes me. In the midst of
darkness, Draknir's tireless dedication gives me strength to
carry on.
He also happens to have found us the best healer in all
the land.
As we turn to leave, Grandma's face contorts into a
storm of anger at the sight of me with Draknir. Her eyes
blaze with fury and her mouth spews out harsh names and
curses before we hastily make our escape.
"Perhaps it's best to give her some time alone," Draknir
says soothingly as we retreat from the venomous words.
"The healer will be back shortly with potential treatments."
The atmosphere is heavy with tension, thick and
suffocating. My heart beats wildly in my chest as we hastily
escape from the chaotic scene behind us. Despite the
barrage of cruel words she hurls at him, he remains stoic
and silent, refusing to retaliate or even utter a single
unkind word towards her.
I can feel the tears pricking at the corners of my eyes as
I remember my sweet grandmother, her once vibrant spirit
now twisted and broken. The sight feels like a knife to my
heart each time. But I hold onto the slim chance that
medicine may restore some of who she once was.
Despite the overwhelming anguish and sorrow, the
knowledge that I do not bear this burden alone brings a
small sense of relief.
After the distressing visit, Draknir takes my hand and
leads me out to the gardens behind the estate, his eyes full
of concern. As we step through the threshold, a wave of
color and scent envelops us in a warm embrace.
In every direction, the air is alive with movement as
vibrant flowers sway gracefully in the gentle breeze. Each
petal seems to carry its own unique color, blending
seamlessly together to create a mesmerizing display.
A riot of vibrant colors burst from every corner, with
flowers of all shapes and sizes blooming in perfect
harmony. I can't help but kneel down to inhale their sweet
perfume, feeling like I've stepped into a fairytale.
"When did you do all this?" I ask in wonder, kneeling to
inhale their sweet perfume.
"I had the gardeners transplant them recently, so you
could have somewhere peaceful to retreat to," Draknir
explains, looking pleased by my reaction.
I throw my arms around him, overwhelmed with joy.
Only weeks ago, this very ground had been stained with
blood during the fateful duel. But now, thanks to Draknir's
thoughtfulness, life and beauty bloomed here. The vibrant
colors of wildflowers and lush grasses painted the
landscape, filling it with renewed hope and vitality.
 His voice is hesitant, his sharp features softened by a
look of uncertainty. "Humans enjoy flowers, do they not?"
he asks, glancing at me with curiosity. His maid Eliza must
have told him about our fascination with these delicate
plants.
I can't help but laugh, my eyes brimming with happy
tears. "Yes," I reply, nodding fervently. "They bring joy, I
love them. I always dreamed of having a beautiful garden
to visit when things became too difficult… and now…” The
swell of tears stop the words in my mouth.
A sense of tension releases as Draknir's touch lingers
gently on my cheek. His warm palm caresses my skin,
bringing a small smile to my lips. "I wished to bring some
light back to your eyes, my love," he says softly.
I turn to embrace him tightly, feeling his strong arms
wrap around me in a comforting embrace. "And you have.
Thank you, my dearest," I whisper.
Draknir holds me close, basking us both in the warm
rays of the sun. The gentle breeze rustles through the
flowers surrounding us, creating a serene atmosphere. "I
love you, Kathleen," he murmurs into my hair.
"And I love you, Draknir."
I give in to his embrace, melting into his strong arms.
The weight of the world lifts off my shoulders as I am no
longer alone in this battle. In this moment, it is just the two
of us, hand in hand exploring this garden right out of the
fairy tails of my youth.
It's hard to believe this is my life now.
As we roam, my eyes are drawn to a curved stone bench
nestled under the graceful willow tree. The branches gently
sway in the breeze, casting an ever-changing pattern of
light and shadow on the ground. I eagerly sit on the cool,
smooth surface and Draknir joins me, his shoulder serving
as my comfortable pillow.
We sit in comfortable quietude, the sweet melodies of
birds trilling around us. The warm rays of the sun envelop
us, casting away any trace of tension or worry on the soft
breeze. My mind is at ease as fingers run idly through my
long hair.
I close my eyes, features smoothed into an expression of
utter peace.
I've never felt so safe and content as I do in this
moment, nestled in his lap. The closeness of his body
radiates through me, melting away any worries or fears
that lingered before.
An impulsive gesture from him surprises me as he bends
down to press a soft, tender kiss to my forehead. My eyes
flutter open, meeting his gaze filled with such
overwhelming love that it steals my breath and leaves me
speechless. No further words are needed between us as we
simply bask in the warmth.
"How did you know I needed this?" I ask, feeling tears
prick at the corners of my eyes once again.
Draknir brushes them away with his thumb before
responding, "Because it's my job to know you better than
yourself, my mate." His words send a surge of warmth
through me. I can't resist leaning in for another kiss.
Our lips meet sweetly, each movement filled with love
and adoration. The soft press of his mouth against mine
sets off fireworks in my chest. I feel myself melting into the
kiss, letting go of any worries or doubts and just basking in
the moment with him. As we break apart, his eyes meet
mine and
As we break apart, we are both smiling widely.
The troubles lurking beyond will keep. But right now, we
have found a small slice of heaven together.
The first respite I’ve had in days.
The soft fabric of his shirt, the warmth of his skin
against mine, the tender way his fingers trace shapes on
my back - every touch is like a soothing balm on my
stressed body.
 The warm sun sinks into the horizon as we lose
ourselves in each other's embrace, time slipping away
unnoticed. Only the growling of our stomachs breaks the
spell, and Draknir rises from the bench with a fluid grace,
beckoning for me to join him.
With our fingers intertwined, we make our way back to
the castle, the soft crunch of gravel under our feet
accompanying our leisurely pace.
 26

DRAKNIR

A sbutI resume my duties after a brief absence, I cannot help

confess to Captain Hayes that I have fallen deeply in
love with Kathleen. His eyes twinkle with amusement and
he lets out a knowing laugh. "Ah, it was only a matter of
time before you became smitten with her. But be careful
now – she is a virtuous woman, far too good for the likes of
you."
A rueful grin spreads across my face as I shake my head.
"Too true, my dear friend. An angel like her has no business
consorting with the likes of me."
Hayes lets out a hearty laugh and claps a hand on my
back. "She's a fine match, though I'll never understand
what she sees in a rogue like you." His voice is filled with
genuine admiration.
I can't help but chuckle at the captain's playful teasing.
"Truly, I am blessed beyond measure to have won her love,"
I reply with a wide grin.
Hayes' own smile widens. "Indeed. So what comes next
for you two?"
As I ponder his question, my thoughts drift to Kathleen.
"I wish to make things proper between us after everything.
 Hayes strokes his beard. "Have you considered a
wedding in the human custom? It may help heal wounds."
I look at him in surprise. "A human ceremony? I know
little of their esoteric little traditions."
"It is quite moving to behold," Hayes explains. "Makes
the union feel truly sacred and cherished in a way that’s
special and unique to the race."
I nod slowly, intrigued by the notion. "A fine idea. It
would bring our house honor to embrace her human roots.
And you would help me to learn their rituals?"
Hayes claps my shoulder. "Gladly. Let's celebrate your
love in a way she will understand."
"So for a human wedding, you'll be needing a ring to
exchange vows with," Captain Hayes explains as we head
into town.
My eyes go wide. "A ring?”
"Come, let us venture into the village to start preparing
for this wedding," Captain Hayes declares, clapping me on
the shoulder.
I readily agree, curious to learn more about these
human customs. We saddle our horses and set off down the
forest road. "So tell me, how does a human ceremony differ
from our elven ones?" I ask Hayes as we ride side-by-side.
He rubs his beard thoughtfully. "Well, for one there is a
focus on the couple's emotional devotion, not just spiritual
and legal binding. The rituals emphasize affection and joy."
I nod, intrigued. "Strange. But it sounds quite
meaningful and beautiful?"
Perhaps a human wedding can help heal the painful
start of Kathleen's and my union. A fresh start, joining in
her cherished tradition. Hayes smiles knowingly. "You may
just shed a tear yourself when you behold your bride."
“I should highly doubt that.” But I grin at the prospect.
"Well, let us find a smith to forge those rings then!" With
Hayes guiding me, I feel ready to embrace this new
chapter.
 Hayes chuckles and puts a hand on my shoulder. "Calm
yourself, you do not commission a blacksmith for a wedding
ring."
I blink in surprise. "No smith? How would one obtain a
proper human ring?"
"From a jeweler of course," Hayes explains patiently.
"They will have selections of finished rings ready to
purchase."
"Ah, yes, of course. my mistake," I reply, a bit
embarrassed by my ignorance. "Jeweler, yes that makes
much more sense.”
Hayes smiles and nudges me. "You may know much
about fighting, but still have much to learn… But we will
manage."
We draw our horses to a stop in front of the village
jeweler's shop, a quaint establishment nestled on the
bustling main street. As we dismount, I instinctively crouch
down to avoid hitting my head on the low doorway.
"Greetings!" calls the diminutive shopkeeper cheerily. I
try to make myself smaller, feeling out of place hunched in
this delicate space. The captain puts a hand on my
shoulder. The little man's eyes widen comically as he takes
in my imposing warrior frame.
“We are looking for a wedding ring.”
I offer an awkward smile. "A wedding! How lovely!" he
exclaims, clapping his hands together. "Well, you have
certainly come to the right place. I have a beautiful
collection of rings that will surely please your lady."
He leads us to a display case filled with an array of
rings, each one more exquisite than the last. My eyes widen
in awe at the sight of them – sparkling diamonds,
shimmering emeralds, and deep blue sapphires.
"Feel free to take your time and browse," the
shopkeeper says with a smile.
I nod gratefully and begin to examine each ring
carefully. I want it to be perfect for Kathleen.
 After much consideration, my eyes settle on a delicate
rose gold band adorned with a single sparkling diamond in
the center.
"This is the one," I declare confidently, pointing to the
ring.
Hayes nods in approval. "It is indeed beautiful. And I
must say, rose gold is quite rare among our kind."
The shopkeeper beams proudly. "Ah yes, it is a special
piece indeed. It was created by a skilled jeweler who
passed through our village many years ago."
I cannot contain my excitement as the shopkeeper
gently places the ring into a small velvet box and wraps it
up for me.
I’m excited.
The amount I've changed and opened up in the short
time I've known my mate...
I guess that's why they say it's meant to be.
I never believed any of that until now.
As we exit, I breathe deep in relief. Hayes chuckles at
my obvious discomfort within the ornate shop.
"All is well. On the battlefield again soon," he jokes. I
laugh too, more at ease under open skies. But for Kathleen,
I would endure a thousand jeweler's shops without
complaint.
That night, I lead Kathleen out to the moonlit gardens
where I told her I love her. Stars twinkle above like
scattered diamonds, the soft glow of the moon casting a
dreamlike haze over everything in its path, turning
ordinary flowers into ethereal works of art.
She is the most exquisite work of art.
But she is more than a work of art; she is the
embodiment of beauty and grace. My perfectly imperfect
mate, every curve and flaw and line a masterpiece to
behold.
I guide her to a secluded alcove, framed by an
abundance of fragrant blossoms that she loves so dearly.
The soft petals brush against our skin as we enter this
private haven. Trembling with nerves, my heart racing in
anticipation, I sink to one knee before her.
My perfectly imperfect mate.
Her eyes go wide, hands rising to her mouth in surprise.
Heart pounding, I present the velvet ring box.
“Kathleen," I begin, voice husky with emotion, "From the
first moment I saw you, some deeper instinct told me our
fates were meant to entwine. At the time, I thought it was
bad, let's be honest you were a mess..."
She laughs and playfully hits me. "But somehow you
showed this old warhorse that he did in fact have a heart...
along with the capacity to love and all the rest..."
I cradle her small human frame against mine. "Though
the path has been difficult, my love and devotion have only
grown."
Kathleen's eyes glisten with tears in the soft glow. I
press on, her hands in mine, my heart racing with
excitement and love. I gaze into her bright, beautiful eyes
and ask the question that will bind us together in the
human tradition: "To honor you, and celebrate the blessing
you are in my life, Kathleen, will you marry me?"
Tears of pure happiness well up in her eyes like
sparkling jewels, threatening to spill over as she nods
eagerly, unable to contain her overwhelming joy. "Yes!" she
exclaims, the word bursting from her lips with such force it
seems to echo through the night. She pulls me into a fierce
embrace, her arms wrapping tightly around me as if she
never wants to let go. "A thousand times yes!"
All around us, the world melts away and colors seem
more vibrant in the moon and starlight.
Our kiss is a perfect moment.
She completes me in ways I never even thought
possible.
And for her, I want to start the rest of life together right.
Anything for her.
My love.
My true mate.
 27

KATHLEEN

T woOnly
weeks.
fourteen days until the day of our human
wedding, and yet it feels like a lifetime away. The time is
flying by in a whirlwind of preparations and excitement. My
mind can hardly process the fact that this is actually
happening… despite my humble beginnings, I am suddenly
thrust into a world of luxury and opulence. Every moment
is filled with primping and pampering fit for royalty.
Draknir, my beloved groom, spares no expense in ensuring
that our wedding will be nothing short of perfection.
Anticipating the wedding, Draknir assigned me an entire
entourage of lovely elven ladies to help me prepare,
effectively doubling the handmaidens at my service.
Though initially feeling out of place with such pampering, I
soon found myself embraced as a sister by the kind elf
maidservants. The sweet elf maidservants treat me as one
of their own.
Finally, I have female friends to whisper and giggle with!
We are like carefree girls again, laughing and gossiping
endlessly about dream weddings, handsome men, and the
latest fashion trends as they help me prepare for each day.
I can hardly recognize myself in the mirror, transformed
from a mud-stained peasant to a radiant bride. Each day
brings new excitement as the wedding draws nearer.
From dress fittings that make me feel like a princess to
indulging in menu samplings and attending music
rehearsals, I am able to make all of the decisions. Me, the
forgotten dripir girl now living out this fairy tale with every
breath I take.
At first I felt out of place, a mere peasant girl suddenly
living a princess's fairy tale. But Lena, Rona and the other
girls welcomed me warmly, swiftly helping me learn the
ways of the higher caste of society.
At times, I have to pinch myself to make sure it's not just
a dream. But the genuine smiles and warm embraces from
my dear friends reassure me - I have finally found my place
in this world. My impossible fantasy has become a reality,
all thanks to unwavering love.
We pass endless hours giggling over gown sketches,
sampling cakes, debating floral arrangements. With their
doting help, I feel myself transform from a cautious
wallflower into a radiantly confident bride.
"Oh Miss Kat, you look simply beautiful!" Lena gushes
during one final dress fitting. We all tear up, hugging
tightly.
In just two days' time, I will walk down the aisle to the
love of my life. Surrounded by loved ones, I know this is
exactly where I belong.
"Oh Miss Kat, this lacework on your gown is just
exquisite!" exclaims Lena, one of my elf handmaidens, as
she assists with my dress fitting.
I beam at her. "Lena, your eye for beauty astounds me
as always. However, would I have chosen fabrics and
florals without you?"
"It will be the most wondrous wedding in the whole
kingdom!" Lena declares excitedly.
"And you're next!" I tease her.
She blushes. "No! You really think so!"
 Rona, another handmaiden, dabs at her eyes. "We are
most overjoyed for you, Miss Kat. You will be the most
radiant bride!"
I embrace them, my heart overflowing with gratitude.
"You dear girls have made this process magical. I don't
know how I can ever repay your kindness."
Lena's gentle fingers playfully arranging delicate baby's
breath in my hair, Rona's soft humming as she meticulously
stitches shimmering sequins onto my slippers keeps me
firmly rooted in the present moment, banishing any
lingering doubts or fears
Amidst the whirlwind of wedding magic, a pang of
sorrow remains that Grandma is too frail to attend the
ceremony. Her health improves daily with treatment, but
she still needs more time before leaving the care of the
finest healers in the land.
As Lena delicately places the flowers in my hair, I can't
help but feel a pang of sadness. "I wish grandma could see
this, share this day with me," I confess to her.
"I know, darling," Lena says soothingly, squeezing my
hand as she finishes the floral arrangement. The colorful
petals contrast beautifully against my dark hair. "She’d
want you to be happy."
"I think so too..." I manage a bittersweet smile. "And
you're right. She'd tell me to enjoy every moment."
I shall savor each second of this fairytale – for both of
us. I only hope Grandma will continue recovering so we can
visit her soon, show her the woman I have become thanks
to the man who saw my potential when no one else did.
And when the long-awaited wedding day arrives, it is
amidst happy chaos.
The hushed chapel fills with admiring gasps and smiles
as all eyes turn to the radiant bride. Sunbeams through
stained glass bathe the space in ethereal light.
Under the flower-woven arch stands my beloved, his
eyes shimmering with adoration and awe as he gazes upon
me. My heart races in time with his as he takes my hands in
his, his touch sending electric sparks through my body.
This is the moment we pledge our lives to each other.
His voice, deep and husky, fills the air as he speaks his
vows: "My dearest Kathleen, you have breathed life into my
soul, awakening a light I never thought possible. I vow to
always cherish your tender heart, nourish your unbounded
spirit, and hold each moment we share as a precious gift."
His emerald eyes never leave mine as he makes these
promises, and I know in my heart that every word he says
is true. He is a completely different man than I met that
fateful day.
And I'm a different woman.
Tears threaten to spill down my cheeks as I steady
myself to respond:
"My love, you saw worth in me when no other would. I
vow to stand by your side through anything life could throw
at us, I will ease your burdens… My heart is your home,
now and forevermore."
Our earnest words hang in the air, intertwining our
hearts and souls in a binding promise. As we stand before
each other, surrounded by loved ones and the beauty of
nature, time stands still. Every word is spoken with such
weight and emotion, as if our very existence depends on
them.
The rest of the ceremony passes in a blur, but my focus
remains solely on my beloved standing before me. His
presence lifts me up and sets me free, filling every corner
of my being with love and joy.
A smile spreads across my face, unable to contain the
joy bubbling inside me as the normally stoic and serious
Draknir takes my hand and leads me onto the dancefloor.
To my surprise, his movements are fluid and graceful, a
natural dancer emerging from within him.
With every step, he exudes confidence and mastery,
guiding me smoothly through spins and dips that leave me
breathless. As an elf, he moves with the innate elegance of
his people, effortlessly.
Draknir, my beloved betrothed, has taken on many roles
throughout our whirlwind engagement – fierce protector,
gruff commander, cautious ally. Standing at my side, he is
the prince from my childhood fairytales come to life. With a
mischievous grin and sparkling eyes, he expertly twirls me
around the dance floor as I laugh breathlessly in his arms.
In this enchanting scene, I feel cherished and alive, like a
princess in her own fairytale. The once hard-edged soldier
has shed his armor becoming a dashing gentleman just for
me.
Our guests admire Draknir's flair and finesse. But I see
something deeper - for once he feels joy and freedom, far
from duties and burdens.
Our union is finally fulfilled, on our own loving terms.
We are now united for life, facing whatever lies ahead
hand in hand.
 28

DRAKNIR

O ur footsteps resound through the ancient stone castle

halls as I carry my new bride into my opulent chamber
to consummate our marriage. The weight of her in my arms
feels light and precious, like a delicate feather fluttering
against my chest. After the grandeur of our wedding
ceremony, we are finally alone in this secluded haven. The
room is dimly lit by the glow of the moon peeking through a
narrow window, casting long shadows on the ornate wood
furnishings that adorn the space.
"So this is home now," Kathleen remarks softly.
"Our home," I confirm, pulling her into an affectionate
kiss. She smiles against my lips.
My bed dominates the room, an enchanted veil of
midnight blue silk draped over it, beckoning them to lie
down together.
I gently place her in bed and begin to unfasten her
wedding dress as she shivers slightly, her legs tightening
and writhing. She opens her legs for me, her hands drifting
to her soft needy sex.
With practiced ease, I remove my own clothing and join
her on the bed. The silk sheets feel cool against our heated
bodies as we entwine ourselves in each other's arms.
 Her skin is like velvet under my touch as I explore every
inch of her with my lips and hands. Our breaths mingle as
we kiss hungrily, unable to get enough of each other. She
responds eagerly to my touch, arching her back and
pressing herself closer to me.
I feel her hands roam over my chest, tracing the muscles
that ripple under my skin. My own hands trail down her
sides and over her hips, eliciting a soft gasp from her.
I take my time teasing every curve and dip of her body,
igniting a fire within us both. Her moans fill the room as I
bring her to the brink again and again.
Our kisses grow more urgent, our bodies moving closer
together until there is no space between us. Our hands
greedily explore each other's bodies, igniting sparks of
pleasure with each touch.
As we continue to discover each other's desires, our
breathing becomes ragged and our movements more
frantic. We shed the last remaining barriers between us
and give in to pure passion.
Finally, unable to resist any longer, I enter her slowly
but with purpose. Her body welcomes me eagerly as we
move together in perfect rhythm.
I feel her nails digging into my back.
I know that she is close to her release and I am
determined to make it unforgettable.
With each thrust, I hit a spot deep inside her, causing
her to gasp and moan.
Our rhythm becomes frenzied as we lose all sense of
time and space, caught up in the intensity of our
lovemaking.
Her body begins to tremble beneath mine as I whisper
words of love and pleasure into her ear. "I'm going to cum!"
she announces, like she's both surprised and excited by the
revelation. But I won't let her reach that peak yet.
"Not without my permission!" I demand, flipping her
over onto her tummy. I take her from behind, my hands
gripping her hips as I thrust into her with a steady rhythm.
She moans and gasps with each movement, unable to
control herself as she gives in completely to the pleasure.
Her labored gasps fill the air, each one a sharp reminder
of the pleasure coursing through her body. She arches
against me, every muscle tense with desire as she begs for
more. Her words are laced with desperation and need,
adding to the already intense sensations that consume us
both.
Our bodies are entwined, every inch of skin alive with
longing and passion. I can feel her pulse beating quickly as
I kiss her throat, our breaths mingling in the warm air
around us. My name escapes from her lips like a prayer, a
mantra of ecstasy as she pleads for release. The world falls
away and all that exists is the raw electricity between us,
igniting every nerve ending and driving us towards the
ultimate climax.
Answering her desperate plea, I deliver a crisp and
stinging smack to her supple, bouncing posterior. The
impact sends waves of fiery sensation rippling through her
body, causing her delicate flower to contract and squeeze
around me in pleasure.
With each subsequent strike to her juicy rear, she
grasps onto me tighter, urging me to keep going. I am more
than happy to oblige, pushing her closer and closer towards
the peak of ecstasy.
Her movement is accompanied by shudders and
trembles as I continue to thrust into her, my own desire
building with each passing moment. The air is ripe with the
scent of our passion as we surrender ourselves to this
moment of pure bliss.
The sweet, high-pitched squeaks of her delight only fuel
my own desire, and I can feel the warm wetness of her
juices leaking out. "Don't even think about it," I growl
playfully, teasing her with my hands and lips as I explore
every inch of her body. Our bodies move faster, her small
frame pressed tightly against mine as I pound into her. It's
like a dance, but one that leaves us both breathless and
exhilarated.
This intense pleasure is unlike anything I've ever felt
before, and every thrust only makes me feel more alive.
I can feel the sweat glistening on our skin as we move
together, our bodies slick with desire and pleasure. She
arches her back, pushing herself even closer to me as we
reach new heights of ecstasy.
I can't help but admire her beauty, her hair spread out
around her like a halo and her eyes closed in bliss. I am
grateful for every curve and every imperfection that makes
her unique.
And with each release of those gourmet squeaks and
squeals from my mate, I know she is enjoying this just as
much as I am.
"Mine," I grow between gritted teeth.
Our combined moans fill the room, a sweet harmony of
pleasure and passion. We are lost in a world of physical
ecstasy and overwhelming emotion, every touch and
movement bringing us closer to the edge.
"Please, Draknir, may I come?" The desperation in her
plea only adds to the intense sensations coursing through
us both. Every inch of our skin is alive with desire and
longing. "I need it! Please! Please!"
I feel the walls of her innermost self clenching tightly
around me, instinct signaling her impending climax. Each
thrust sends waves of pleasure coursing through her body,
a response to my own movements as we both reach
towards the ultimate release.
"Come for me, my mate," I growl, my voice dripping with
lust and unwavering authority. The air is charged with a
potent energy, every fiber of my being pulsing with raw
desire. "That's it, good girl. Come."
"I'm coming!" she calls, her body trembling and
convulsing as waves of rapture crash over her. I can feel
her climax budding, her muscles contracting tightly around
me as she reaches the pinnacle of pleasure.
"Good girl," I whisper, my voice thick with arousal as
she continues to writhe beneath me. "Such a good girl for
me."
Every thrust sends shivers of pleasure through my body,
building up to an overwhelming sensation. The feeling is
almost blinding as it courses through me, starting from the
root of my sex and radiating outwards.
The sound of her moans only heightens my own arousal,
triggering my own release.
I succumb to the overwhelming sensation of ecstasy
coursing through my veins and feel it rising from deep
within me, a powerful force that demands release.
With one final thrust, I explode inside of her, releasing
shot after shot of white liquid that coats her walls and fills
her with my essence. Shot after powerful shot of milky
white liquid coats her walls, fulfilling its purpose with each
surge.
The pleasure rocks her body, nearly blinding in its
intensity as it explodes inside of her. She drips down my
length, coating me in a warm, sticky mess that ignites
every nerve ending in my body. I can feel the slickness
sliding over me, connecting us in an intimate way. It's as if
our bodies were made for this purpose, to fit together like
puzzle pieces and create such intense pleasure and
satisfaction. My senses are overwhelmed with the heady
scent of our union, mixing with the sounds of our ragged
breaths and moans. This moment is all-consuming,
devouring us both and leaving us trembling in its wake.
We collapse onto the bed, holding each other tightly as
we catch our breaths.
There are no words needed. Our bodies have spoken for
us and we are now one in every sense of the word.
As we lie there in each other's embrace, I realize that
this is just the beginning of our journey together. There will
be many more nights like this one, filled with love and
desire.
But for now, all that matters is that we are finally
husband and wife, bound together in a bond that cannot be
broken.
As dawn breaks through the window, I hold Kathleen
close to me as we bask in the afterglow of our union. A
sense of contentment washes over me knowing that she is
now truly mine.
Our journey as mates has only just begun.
 29

KATHLEEN

S ixsunidyllic months have passed since our wedding. The

shines brighter, the stars twinkle more brilliantly,
and love glows stronger. I am three months pregnant with
our first child, and life could not be more perfect.
Draknir, my dear husband, dotes on me as the baby
grows. He reads to my belly every night, his deep voice full
of love and wonder. He brings me flowers, cooks for me,
and makes me laugh with his silly antics. We take long
walks in the woods, hand in hand, marveling at the beauty
of nature and our love for each other.
I never thought I could be this happy. I never thought I
could find someone who completes me in every way. But
here I am, with my soulmate, starting a family together,
and it feels like a fairytale.
People say that nothing is perfect, that there are always
ups and downs. But in these blissful moments, I refuse to
believe it. Life may throw us challenges and obstacles, but
with Draknir by my side, I know we can conquer anything.
And I can't wait to see what our future holds.
With each passing day, I feel an even stronger
connection to the precious life growing inside of me. Every
gentle kick and flutter fills my heart with overwhelming joy,
knowing that this little being is a result of the boundless
love between Draknir and I.
Placing my hands on my growing belly, I am filled with
awe and gratitude at the thought of the unconditional love
and happiness that awaits us as a family. Each moment, no
matter how small or mundane, is cherished because it
brings us closer to the arrival of our precious baby. This
journey is a beautiful one, and I am grateful for every
single moment shared with my loving partner and our
growing miracle.
This morning, he softly awakens me with a gentle touch,
his warm breath tickling my ear. "Come love, I have a
special surprise for you," he whispers, his eyes sparkling
with excitement.
Intrigued, I let him guide me along, one hand lovingly
cradling my growing belly. Throughout this miraculous
time of pregnancy, Draknir has showered me with hidden
treasures and surprises every day. What could it be today?
My mind races with possibilities as we make our way
through the quiet halls.
We enter the sitting room, my heart beating with
anticipation and excitement. And there, sitting on the
velvet-covered couch, is my dear Grandma. Her face lights
up as she sees me, a radiant smile spreading across her
features. "Oh, my darling girl!" she exclaims, her arms
opening wide in welcome.
Without hesitation, I rush into her embrace, tears
streaming down both of our faces. "Grandma!" I cry out,
unable to contain my joy at seeing her again after so long.
"You're really here, it's really you!" The room feels warmer
and brighter with her presence, like a ray of sunshine
breaking through the clouds.
I haven't talked to my real grandma in months.
After long months of treatment and recovery, she has
made the hard journey and is nearly fully recovered just in
time to see our first born come into this world!
 As I reach out and clasp Grandma's delicate hands, then
Draknir's strong ones, a wave of joy overwhelms me. My
family, finally reunited after so much strife, stands together
in this moment, stronger than ever. I feel a sense of peace
wash over me, knowing that we can weather anything life
brings our way.
"Oh, Grandma, how I have missed you!" I cry out, unable
to hold back tears as I cling to her.
Standing before Grandma, her wrinkled hand gently
pats my tear-streaked cheek. Her warm smile fills me with
a deep sense of love and pride. "My darling girl," she says
with genuine admiration, "look at the fine husband you
have found." In that moment, surrounded by my loved ones,
I feel truly blessed and content.
I can't help but laugh through my tears, nodding in
agreement. "Yes, he is truly wonderful." My gaze drifts
back to Draknir, who gazes back at me with a soft, adoring
expression.
Grandma takes both of our hands in hers, bringing them
together in a symbol of unity and love. "This house is filled
with such love," she declares, her voice filled with emotion.
"We have so much joy ahead of us. If only your
grandfather was here to see this." The warmth and love in
her words surround us like a comforting embrace.
As the months pass by, each day seems to blend into the
next with a sense of joy and eagerness. My belly swells with
our unborn child, a physical manifestation of the miracle
taking place inside me.
As my swollen belly nears its full term, Draknir's
apprehension about becoming a father becomes palpable.
One night, while our bodies lay entwined in bed, he finally
finds the courage to confess his fears to me.
With his arms wrapped tightly around me, his voice
quivers with emotion as he whispers against my neck, "I
want to be the best father for our child."
 I turn to face him and place my hand on his warm cheek.
The soft light of the setting sun casts a golden glow on his
strong features. His eyes, usually fierce and determined,
now reflect a rare moment of vulnerability and uncertainty.
My heart swells with love for this man beside me.
"Draknir," I say sincerely, "you already are an incredible
partner and I have no doubt that you will be an amazing
father. And the fact that you are even worrying about it,
thinking about the best man you could be says everything.
Your past doesn't matter, only your future."
He smiles at me, his eyes sparkling with love and
determination. He pulls me even closer, wrapping his
strong arms around me. "Thank you for believing in me," he
says softly before placing a tender kiss on my forehead.
The next week, Draknir surprises me with a romantic
babymoon at the beach. As we wander along the shore, the
rhythmic sound of waves breaking against the sandy
shoreline serenades us. The warm sun beams down on our
skin and the soft, powdery sand cushions our steps. We
walk in contented silence for a while, drinking in each
other's presence and the tranquil atmosphere of the beach.
Sea birds call out overhead, adding to the symphony of
nature surrounding us.
It feels like time has slowed down just for us, as we bask
in this idyllic moment together.
Draknir suddenly halts and swiftly draws me towards
him, a mischievous glint twinkling in his eyes. "Do you
recall the day we first crossed paths?" he asks, his voice
laced with amusement.
A fond smile spreads across my face as I reminisce on
that fateful day, when this man had swooped in and saved
my life. "How could I ever forget? You were my gallant
knight in glistening armor."
His lips pull up into a gentle smile, revealing his dimples
as he leans in closer to me. His warm forehead presses
against mine, and I can feel his breath on my skin. "And
soon, we'll be bringing a new life into this world," he
whispers, his voice filled with awe and excitement.
Tears spring to my eyes, blurring my vision as I look up
at him. The love and happiness radiating from his words
fills my heart to the brim. "I never would have thought this
would become my reality," I confess, overwhelmed with
gratitude and joy.
Gently, he reaches up and brushes away a single tear
that trails down my cheek with the pad of his thumb. His
eyes are soft and full of love as he speaks to me. "I know it
hasn't been easy, but I wouldn't change a thing," he says
sincerely. "You have been worth every struggle and
moment of uncertainty."
As we near a lively row of brightly-colored shades,
Draknir suggests we take a break and rest for a bit.
I never thought this would be my life.
The dripir caretaker living like royalty.
I'm madly in love and our little family is only just
starting.
I don't know what I did right to deserve this, but every
day I come to terms with it a little more, the lifestyle of the
upper echelons of society very much agreeing with me.
 30

KARUL

"D
arling Karul!" a voice lilts through the air, as sickly
sweet as venom laced with honey. "You're looking
absolutely dashing tonight!"
Oh, for fucks sake, anyone but her.
I turn to Lady Sylthia, her gown an elaborate confection
of silk and lies. Her breasts heave, threatening to pop out
of her dress at any given breath. "One must dress the part
when attending the comedy of the court," I reply.
"Indeed," she titters, fluttering her fan. I know she does
not have the wit to understand.
I have no idea why I agreed to come here tonight.
Already, my skin is crawling at his very presence.
I look at him, my father. Surrounded by his circle of ass-
licking advisors, he's the picture of regal authority. I long
for all this to burn and hope I am the one that strikes the
match.
"Your father seems in high spirits tonight, Karul?"
Sylthia says.
"He does," I say through a forced smile.
“Such a powerful elf. When I think about how powerful
he is, it makes me go weak at the knees,” she says. Her
very presence makes me go weak elsewhere.
“I’m sure it does,” I reply.
“You remind me of your Father, do you know that?” She
says.
“Thank you for bringing that thought across my mind,” I
grin at her. Her breasts begin to heave at an alarming rate.
“Forgive me, I do get carried away at parties. I do like to
dance Karul. Do you like to dance?” she asks with a flutter
of her eyelids.
My patience has run thin too quickly this evening, “My
dear Sylthia, as much as you would desire me to dance you
into the gardens, bend you beneath a statute of the
Hedonist, and plow you until you pass out, I really must
refrain,” I tell her watching her checks turn a deep pink.
She coughs and catches her breath, “Maybe our paths
will cross later?” she says.
“Maybe,” I tell her with my focus firmly on my Father. I
barely notice her scuttle away, flicking her fan as she goes.
My eyes are drawn to the monster still.
I watch as he laughs at something one of his lackeys
whispers. His eyes flicker over the crowd. My hand
clenches at my side, the only outward sign of the storm
raging within.
I am Karul, son of an idiot lord and no man's pawn. And I
need a drink.
"Another," I command the human servant who tends the
bar. A silly-looking fellow with a chin too large for his face.
I knock it back in one.
“Another,” I demand. And knock it back further still.
"Your health, Karul," a noble sneers as he passes, his
toast dripping with insincerity.
I raise my glass and smile like I have been taught to do.
"To the end of all things," I mutter under my breath.
Perhaps now is the time.
I deserve my revenge for what he has done. He thinks so
little of me he wouldn’t notice me creep beneath his feet
and set my vision in motion. The pillars of my father's
legacy crumbling around his feet.
“Karul, my fellow!” I know the voice. It’s Astor, one of
those dickheads you meet at university you hoped would
die before you had the chance to bump into them ever
again.
“Astor, how goes it?” I ask with no time for how little
these elves stay the same, locked in time, just getting fatter
and more prosperous.
He pats his belly, “I’d say rather good, wouldn’t you?”
he coughs as he laughs, grabbing my hand and forcing me
to pat the mound of greed attached to his front.
“When’s it due?” I ask him. Which, of course, he finds
hideously funny. I look disgusted as the snot escapes his
nose and splashes to the floor.
“Funny as ever, Karul,” he says, “I’ll give you that,
always the joker you were.”
The fucking joker?
“You must stop by sometime, but in the meantime, I
must mingle, Father’s orders,” I tell him.
“Course, course, he’s an important man. It must be hard
being chalk to his cheese?”
That cuts deep. “Sorry?”
“Such a brilliant and respected lord, it must be hard
following in such footsteps without the, ah, necessary
facilities?” he seems to have enjoyed saying that.
Keep your temper, Karul, he’s not worth it.
“I always remember that night we all went to that ball.
Remember, the girls from Lady Salva’s were there as well.”
I say.
“Oh yes, how could I forget? That’s where I met my…”
I cut him in his tracks, “There was this girl, Julia. I think
her name was, to be honest, I can’t really recall. I was too
busy fucking her to ask her name,” I let out a loud false
laugh and watch his face drop with delight.
“My wife? Julia, that was the night we met.” he shutters.
 “Me too,” I say, leaving him to his bloated belly and
newly broken ego.
I move from the bar and settle amongst the rest, leaning
against a marble pillar. My ears scan their conversations
until I find one that might take my fancy.
“Oh, him, I hear he likes it in ladies' underwear,” a voice
exclaims.
They all, of course, laugh.
"Oh, I have one. Did you hear about Loras?" A voice
adds. "He is no less than a miou, falling for a human
woman, can you imagine?"
My ears prick up at the mention of a miou, warriors
esteemed almost as much as they are feared. I edge closer.
My movements are silent, a predator among sheep.
"Preposterous," other noble scoffs. "Purchasing a human
is one thing, but to fall in love? It's beneath us, beneath an
elf."
Their disgust is palpable, a foul taste on the tongue, yet
it plants a seed in my mind.
I turn away, allowing the notion to simmer within me.
My father has consistently underestimated the power of
emotion and the chaos it can sow. Perhaps it's time he
learned just how devastating it can be when harnessed by
the right hands—my hands.
The crystal chandelier above casts a constellation of
light across the polished marble floor. With each step, I
take an echo in the grand hall. The nobles around me are
nothing more than stars already dead, their light hollow
and fading. Another sip of strong liquor burns its way down
my throat as I let their laughter disappear into the
background.
"You boy," a drunk voice slurs near me, "you look like
someone with the weight of the world on his shoulders."
“You look like someone who should be asleep in bed,” I
reply.
 “And indeed, I should, but I can’t find a single soul to
lead me to it,” he laughs.
“I can call you a human. They have added benefits. You
can slit their throat as they read you a bedtime story,” I
say.
“Ah, humans, I once loved one, you know,” he drunkenly
confesses.
“Really?” I say, intrigued.
“She was the most beautiful creature I have ever set
eyes on. In fact, every time I close my eyes, I see her. It’s
only when I open them that she disappears. It’s only when I
have my eyes open that I need a drink to help me close
them again.” he says as tears swell in his eyes.
I have never heard an elf speak in such a way about a
human. He must be mad, like that miou.
This is all too much of a coincidence. There are forces at
play. Guiding my way.
“You see, my boy, we elves may think we know
everything and control everything, but I have a secret for
you. The one thing we do not fear can turn us to dust. Look
at me. I was once a powerful and most cunning elf. How,
you may ask, did I become such a feeble being? A human
did this to me.”
It hits me like a hammer to the head. Can I harness this
power that has wrecked this dark elf?
I reach over and touch his shoulder, “Get you safe to bed
and dream.”
“Wise words, my boy. To dream is to live,” he tells me as
he staggers away.
And the rush of potential courses through my veins, a
heady mix of anticipation and malice. Humans, pitiful
creatures, though they may be, have an uncanny knack for
survival. That tenacity could be harnessed, twisted to serve
my ends. A human who could get close to my father earn
his trust, only to betray him when he least expects it. That
is just one delicious thought.
 There will be more such thoughts to come.
The room spins around me, not from the liquor this time
but from the intoxicating allure of my forming plan. I need
a human, yes, but not just any will do. They must be
cunning yet broken, strong yet vulnerable—the perfect
vessel for my vengeance. I can already envision the chaos
they will sow, the seeds of distrust they will plant.
Tonight, I am no mere spectator at this insipid ball.
Tonight, I am the architect of destinies, the sculptor of
fates. My father's foolish dismissal of me shall be his
undoing—for I am not the naïve boy he believes me to be.
No, I am his shadow, the embodiment of his greatest fears.
My resolve is iron; it courses through me like a thousand
storms. My hunger for revenge blazes within, a beacon that
refuses to be extinguished. He has underestimated me for
the last time.
"Let them play out their game," I murmur to myself,
feeling the weight of my destiny bearing down upon me.
"For I am about to play a far grander one."
And with that final, silent vow, I turn from the revelry,
my senses honed, my mind razor-sharp. The night is young,
and my fun has only just begun. Let them laugh and dance
in their ignorance. For soon, it will all come tumbling down,
and I will stand triumphant amid the ruins.

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 PREVIEW OF LICH’S LOVE

Keep reading for an exclusive sneak peek at one of

Celeste’s best sellers!
 VANESSA
ONE YEAR EARLIER

The words, words that I can never say out loud, rip through
my head violently.
This is going to be impossible.
I have to stop myself from shuddering in front of my
mother, who is looking at me with her usual critical eye.
My mother sits in the middle of the small living room of
our tiny house with her hands folded in her lap.
This is going to be impossible.
I want to say the words out loud. I am dying to say the
words out loud.
My mother speaks then as if she read my mind. Maybe
she did. Or maybe she sees the pure desperation on my
face.
“You failed?” she spits. “You failed again?”
I lower my head. My two younger siblings, who are in
the other room, go quiet.
My face grows warm, and I wrap my arms around my
chest. I am thin enough that my arms could practically
wrap right around my body if I was a little more flexible.
“Well.” My mother shifts in her chair. She looks smaller
and grubbier than usual. “There’s nothing to say about it,
except that you will have to go back to the training center
tomorrow and try again. I am sure that Pashchar will let
you in, no matter how pathetic you have been so far.”
“Yes, Mother.” I keep my head bent, my voice low and
respectful. ***
I am hungry. I am always hungry.
And I am cold, even though New Solas is warm, as it
always is.
I am walking from the human village in the west of New
Solas, to the north of the city where the xaphanian training
center is based.
I approach the base of the hill that leads out of my
village, and I sigh as I stare up the length of the hill.
“I pray that I make it,” I mutter to myself. The prayer
feels empty but it is one that I say every day, anyway, no
matter how empty or useless it feels.
I pray that I make it.
I am not only praying to get up the hill. I am praying
that today is the day.
I am praying that today I get through the xaphanian
trials. I am praying that today, I get my wings.
Because I am not quite sure what I will do if I don’t.
I have been trying to gain my wings since I was
eighteen. It has been a brutal trial trying to gain my wings,
which has caused so many broken bones, scars, and burns.
Trying to gain my wings has broken me over and over
again.
But maybe today is the day.
I pray that I make it.
The walk up the hill is treacherous. I haven’t eaten since
yesterday evening. This morning, there was only enough
bread for my mother and my younger sister.
My brother and I allowed them to eat. My father was
passed out drunk so I’m not sure he even noticed that he
hasn’t eaten in days.
 My brother will be fine. He works on the docks, and
they’ll take pity on him there, so he will probably have a
semi-decent lunch.
But I won’t.
It’s your own fault. If you had just worked harder, if you
had just earned your wings, you would be living a good life
right now.
As a human in New Solas, trying to earn xaphanian
wings, trying to become one of those beings, is one of the
most sought after achievements ever.
Gaining your wings means you become one of the
xaphans. It means unlimited wealth and recognition.
It means you get power.
It means you never have to worry about anything ever
again. It means your family is taken care of.
And very, very few humans have ever actually
accomplished this.
Most humans who try to gain their wings are irreparably
damaged and disabled in the process, and quite a large
percentage of humans die trying to gain their wings.
It takes me half the day to get to the xaphanian training
center.
I am dizzy and cold, and my throat is painfully dry when
I get there. I am shivering and bile rises in my throat as I
approach the doors.
I can’t keep doing this. My thoughts are almost frantic
as I slow down. My breath hitches in my throat and my
stomach, empty as it is, turns several times.
I can’t keep doing this. ***
I arrive home close to midnight.
My father is nowhere to be seen when I walk in, and
both my siblings are asleep.
But my mother is awake.
Maybe she’ll let me stop today. Maybe today she’ll let
me give up. I can probably get a job at the docks, or as a
servant. That will help us out financially.
But I dread asking my mother this. I dread asking her to
give me permission to stop.
I dread asking her for help.
She has wanted me to gain my wings to get us out of
poverty since I was a child.
This is the one thing she wants me to do for her. And if I
give up, I’ll disappoint her beyond measure.
But today was another disastrous day. Today I barely
had the strength to lift my body off the ground.
Today, the xaphans in charge of the training, including
Pashchar, just laughed cruelly at me.
Why won’t she let me work, instead of forcing me to do
this futile exercise? This thing that will never result in
anything?
I know that at some point in her youth, before my
mother met my father, she also tried to gain her wings.
She also failed several times.
She met my father then, who at the time was a young,
successful dockworker.
She thought that my father would bring us wealth
through his connections with the xaphans and the gorgons.
But humans never get anywhere on Aerasak. Especially
not on New Solas.
My father became a drunk very early in their marriage,
and his drinking became worse after my mother gave birth
to me.
And then my mother had her accident after the birth of
my youngest sibling.
And her life, as she put it, was over.
“How did it go?” My mother’s voice is sharp and
unforgiving when she speaks to me. There is not a hint of
kindness in it.
She already knows what my answer will be. I wouldn’t
have come home if it had been a good day.
“Mother.”
 She remains completely unmoved as I fling myself to the
ground, kneeling next to her chair and sobbing. My chest
rattles as I cry silently.
“Please. I cannot keep doing this. I cannot go on. Please.
It is going to kill me.”
She inhales heavily. When I look up at her, her face is
blank.
“Vanessa, do you really think that giving up is an option?
Do you really think you have a choice? Look at us. Look at
how we’re living. Gaining your wings is the only way for us
to get out of this.”
“I can get a job.” I sniff and try to wipe my tears away. “I
can work. That will bring the money in.”
My mother’s face twists angrily.
“You want me to continue living in this hovel? You want
me to continue living among these degenerates?” She
gestures at the front door, pointing towards our neighbors.
“I deserve a life of wealth and prestige!”
She raises her voice, and I shiver at the anger in it.
“My life ended when I gave birth to you! You owe me
this! So don’t you dare give up! Or just don’t come home!”
“Okay,” I say as calmly as I can after I have stopped
crying. “Okay. I’ll try again tomorrow.”
My mother breaks into a pleased smile and pats my face
softly with her wizened hand. I try to lean into her hand,
but she pulls away too quickly, and I nearly fall over.
“Make me a cup of tea.” She shifts in a chair, and I do
not miss the way she grimaces in pain.
I nod obediently and stand up, even though my right leg
is aching from today’s exercises.
As I go about and make the tea, using an old teabag that
I stored away for my mother a few weeks ago, I search my
mind for ways to get through the trials.
You heard her. You don’t have a choice. You’ll just have
to get through it.
 After I hand my mother her cup of tea, I head up to the
attic where I sleep every night.
Before I collapse into my bed, I examine my new
wounds. I have a gash on my arm that stopped bleeding
several hours ago. Now it is simply covered in dried blood,
and an ugly blue-green bruise has spread around the edges
of the gash.
I also have several cuts and scrapes on my face.
I sigh as I get into bed. I will bathe in the morning. For
now, though, I have to figure out a way to get through the
trials.
For now, I have to figure out a way to gain my wings and
become a xaphan.
Without dying first.
 CALIAS
PRESENT DAY

“I fucking hate these journeys.” I growl the words as waves

crash into the boat I am on.
The gorgon who is manning the vessel lets out a gruff
laugh but quiets down when I let out another low growl.
I left Ikoth this morning against my better judgment for
my usual trip to New Solas. A lot of my business is based in
the xaphanian city, and after nearly fifteen years of running
my family business, I am used to the journey.
That doesn’t mean you have to like it.
What makes this journey worse is that I had business
with Ikoth’s king last night. King Vag’thimon has become
particularly tetchy since the xaphans declared their
intention to expand their military base on New Solas.
This damn ceasefire isn’t working. Why don’t we just go
back to war and end things?
My thoughts are as tetchy as King Vag’thimon’s tone
was last night as I think about our relations with the
xaphans.
The boat docks at Glebe’s port as the sun is setting, and
I groan loudly as I lift my heavy body from the small,
cramped seat and walk to the waiting carriage.
 I hate the xaphans, like all demons do. I hate doing
business with them, even though New Solas is one of the
most prosperous cities in Aerasak. And I hate being sent on
what could be called an espionage mission, to scope out
what they are doing with their military endeavors.
When the ceasefire was first signed, most of Aerasak
sighed with relief. The war had been long, brutal, and
bloody. And frankly, the only ones who hadn’t been
materially or financially affected by it were the xaphans.
The ceasefire helped the rest of Aerasak recover, and
things have been better.
But everyone knows that the xaphans do not mean to
remain peaceful for long. And that fact is even more clear
now that they’ve decided to expand their military base.
My driver pulls away from the ports immediately, and
we head through Glebe’s main city to the outskirts.
This is another reason why I hate traveling to New
Solas. It is so godsdamned long.
To get to New Solas by tomorrow, we’ll have to travel
over a mountain pass called The Ridge, which connects the
two continents.
“At least this thing is bigger than my seat on the boat,” I
say as I shift in my seat in the carriage.
The driver says nothing as we head up the gravel road
that leads to The Ridge.
I fall asleep, which is not something I allow myself to do
often, but I am exhausted.
When I open my eyes, the sun is rising and the carriage
is trundling into New Solas.
I can feel the physical change on the road as we cross
from Glebe into New Solas. The road becomes smooth and
even, and the sound of wheels grinding over gravel falls
away.
I squint as golden light bursts into my frame of vision.
 I always forget how much the xaphans like their gold, I
think to myself and snort as we roll down a hill and through
a beautiful suburban neighborhood.
I cannot help but think of my hometown in Ikoth, Nyxia.
Nyxia is a tiny town at the base of one of Ikoth’s
volcanoes. It is a lush, beautiful village that thrums with
life.
What I love about Nyxia is that it isn’t a big city like
Sarziroch or New Solas. It is a small, quaint village that
thrives economically and has no need to line its streets with
gold to make a point the way New Solas does.
This trip will be over soon. Just get through it as
peacefully as you can and then go back home.
My driver drops me off at one of New Solas’s premium
hotels. I drop my bags off and head straight to the ports. I
feel refreshed after sleeping in the carriage, and I just want
to get this over and done with as soon as possible.
“Calias, you big bastard!” The voice, gruff and loud,
calls out to me the minute I step onto the ports.
I turn wearily as my friend and business partner,
Dhymhi, walks up to me.
“I should have known you would be here,” I say as I
shake his hand.
I am not unaware of the way nearly everyone is looking
at me as Dhymhi and I speak. I am taller and larger than
everyone on this port. I am even taller and larger than
Dhymhi, who is a gorgon and is over six feet tall.
You shouldn’t have worn the cape, I think
exasperatedly.
I have always been an imposing figure, but as I have
grown older and allowed my hair and beard to grow out, I
have been likened to a monster.
Dhymhi and I talk as we walk from the ports to the
markets. I nod at several of the traders who have stands at
the market. All of them work for me.
 They straighten up and stop chatting, smoking, or
drinking, and focus on the business in front of them. They
know that there will be consequences, horrible
consequences, if they do not meet their daily targets.
I might try to avoid New Solas as much as possible, but
the city brings in good business, which I cannot ignore.
“Did you get the new shipment in?” Dhymhi asks me as
we walk to the part of the market where the slaves are
sold.
“Yes,” I murmur as I keep my eye on one of my slave
traders. “They came from Vesnios, correct?”
“Yes. Some xaphans wanted to buy it, but considering it
was a shipment of dried pilna flowers, I didn’t want to sell
it to them.”
“Of course not.” I turn my attention back to Dhymhi.
“We don’t need the xaphans in control of the drug trade.”
My voice is sharp, and Dhymhi stiffens.
I soften my voice as we continue to walk. Everyone
around us gives us a wide berth.
“Well, the Unseelie bought it. They won’t sell it,”
Dhymhi says after the slight awkwardness between us has
passed. “Knowing them, they’ll probably snort it
themselves.”
I let out a dry laugh. “That would be like them.”
We come to a stop in front of another slave trader’s
table, one who does not work for me.
And that is when I see her.
She is in a large cage, huddled up to another woman, a
pregnant woman. She is human, with the largest, darkest,
most vivid blue eyes I have ever seen.
The world comes to a halt. My world comes to a halt.
Because suddenly, all that exists is her.
She’s filthy, is the first coherent thought in my head
when I finally start to think again.
 Because she is. The human girl who has so quickly, so
intensely, caught my attention, is covered underneath
layers of grime. Her body, painfully thin and bony, is
covered in bruises.
Her hair, which I am sure is beautiful, is matted and
almost gray.
“I want her.” It’s the first thing I say, interrupting
Dhymhi who is still speaking about the dried pilna
shipment.
“What?” he asks me, his voice confused.
“Her.” I point at the human girl, who isn’t looking at me.
“I want to buy her.”
Dhymhi looks at her carefully and then turns doubtful
eyes to me.
“You want a human girl? Who looks like that?”
“She’s stunning.” I breathe the words. I cannot take my
eyes off her. Her beauty aside, there is an aura surrounding
her. An aura of frailty. An aura begging me to take care of
her. “And I want her.”
“Well, I suppose there’s no accounting for taste,”
Dhymhi says slowly, thoughtfully.
Dhymhi, who would fuck anything that moves, cocks his
head to the side. As if he is considering her.
A streak of uncontrollable anger flares through me at
the thought of Dhymhi with her. With my girl.
My human girl.
“Don’t even think about it,” I snap, and the venom in my
voice carries all the way to the table next to us, sending the
patrons of the table fleeing.
“She’s all yours.” Dhymhi raises his hands in surrender.
“But are you sure you want someone like that? She looks
like she requires a lot of work. Look at her. She’s limping.”
We both watch as the human girl moves around the
cage. Her right leg drags behind her, and she winces with
pain when she sits down in a corner of the cage.
“She needs me,” I murmur.
 “She won’t be any good.” Dhymhi knows it is futile to try
and talk me out of it. Out of her. But he tries anyway.
“You’ll spend more money fixing her up than you’ll ever get
back from her. If you want a plaything that badly, then get
one of those nice ones over there.”
Dhymhi jerks his head eagerly towards a pretty, plump
woman who is staring suggestively at us.
“You have money. You can spend it on her if you want
to,” I bark at Dhymhi. “But I want her. She is mine.”

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