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THE DARK ELF’S SECRET BABY
CELESTE KING
PROTHEKA PUBLISHING
Copyright © 2023 by Celeste King

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 DEDICATION

This book is dedicated to Kaylee, Emily, Taylor, Jordon, Melanie, Jamie, Jennifer, Hannah, Donna
and the whole “Project Protheka” family. Thanks for believing in the world.
 CONTENTS

Books in The World of Protheka

The World of Protheka

1. Layla
2. Kerym
3. Layla
4. Kerym
5. Layla
6. Kerym
7. Layla
8. Kerym
9. Layla
10. Layla
11. Kerym
12. Kerym
13. Layla
14. Kerym
15. Layla
16. Kerym
17. Layla
18. Kerym
19. Kerym
20. Layla
21. Kerym
22. Layla
23. Kerym
24. Layla
25. Kerym
26. Layla
27. Kerym
28. Layla
29. Kerym
30. Layla
31. Kerym
32. Kerym
33. Harper
Preview of Mated to the Dark Elf
34. Amelie
35. Kral Ishiraya
36. Amelie
37. Kral Ishiraya
 BOOKS IN THE WORLD OF PROTHEKA

Orc Warriors of Protheka Series

Mates of the Burning Sun Clan Series
Dark Elves of Protheka Series
Thoruk’s Prize: A Monster Romance
Naga’s of Protheka Series
Minotaur’s of Protheka Series
Demon’s of Protheka Series
Vampires of Protheka
Gargoyles of Protheka
THE WORLD OF PROTHEKA
1
 LAYLA

I drop my pickaxe at the mouth of the mine as I step into the open air, the metal tip clanking against
the countless pickaxes beneath it as it falls. The setting sun glances off of the snow capped tips of
the mountain range around us, stars beginning to wink into existence in the sky.
After a few steps forward, I reach the small stand where one of the dark elf overseers sits, taking
inventory of the product we bring back to the surface from the mines. I shrug off my bag and hand it to
him, watching as he rummages through it and pulls a chunk of kirialite out, his eyes glimmering as he
beholds the raw stone.
The dark elf gives me a curt nod before sliding a handful of tickets to me. They never give us real
money, of course, as it could be used to formulate some type of escape, but these tickets are as good
as currency within the camp.
I grab the tickets off the table and return his nod, turning away and letting a small sigh slip through
my lips as I start on my way home. Camp Horizon isn’t a bad place to be as a human, and if I’m being
honest with myself, I rather enjoy the predictability of my routine.
Wake at dawn, to the mines just after sunrise, work until sunset, and on the way home at twilight.
The same location, same activity, and same schedule, every day but holidays.
The dark elves aren’t as bad here as they are on the other continents, either. Sure, there are some
who are too quick with their whip and take too much of an interest in the human women, but the vast
majority are rather apathetic.
My steps fall rhythmically as I walk down the path from the mines toward the village square, the
footsteps of the other miners around me creating a strange, drum-like beat, accented by catches of
quiet conversation. It isn’t long before the squat little cabins of the village square begin to peek into
view from behind the massive tree trunks of the surrounding forest.
People mill about in the loose gravel streets, moving from vendor to vendor after their work day
and collecting various supplies and food for the coming week. A handful of dark elf guards lean
against the walls of scattered stalls and cabins, watching with thinly veiled boredom as the humans
move about. The camp is almost peaceful- at least, as peaceful as any dark elf run settlement can be.
The camp is separated into different quarters, which also helps to keep the peace. The dark elves
largely stay in their quarter, situated to the west of the main village square, and the humans stay in
their eastern residential quarter. The mines lie to the north, and the road into Camp Horizon sits to the
south, along with the warehouse where all of what we mine is stored and cataloged.
I sigh, wiping my soot-covered hands across my face. No, Camp Horizon isn’t the worst place to
be, but the work is hard. And I know, deep down in my bones, that I want something more.
 A stray, chilly breeze sweeps up the path from the village, carrying with it the decadent scent of
fresh nimond bean rolls. The baker in town, Marshall, always seems to be making something with the
spices he trades for with the dark elves.
I half-believe he’s managed to stay out of the mines almost solely because of the confections he
creates in his little kitchen. I follow my nose to his small shop, the cabin radiating heat from the ovens
within and enveloping me in its sweet, yeasty scent as I cross the threshold.
“I already know why you’re here,” Marshall calls teasingly over his shoulder, not even needing to
turn around to know it’s me. This is another bit of my routine, although my trips to Marshall’s bakery
are far less frequent than I’d like, only happening on a weekly basis.
“Then it’s a wonder you aren’t more prepared,” I rib back, leaning on the counter with a small
smile. Marshall clucks at me as he turns around, producing a small box tied with twine and giving me
a lopsided grin.
“How could I ever forget my favorite customer?” He teases as he hands me the box. I roll my eyes
but give him a warm smile as I accept it, the heat radiating from the bottom of the box soothing my
aching hands.
Marshall and I chat about our days as I tuck into the nimond bean roll right there in the shop,
Marshall recounting an order from one of the dark elves while I stuff my face between laughs.
This gentle camaraderie is another reason I can’t imagine leaving Camp Horizon- there are so few
places where humans are allowed to simply be, to form relationships with one another without being
punished or watched constantly.
Wiping the crumbs from my face, I reach into my pocket to produce a ticket, but Marshall is
already shaking his head at me.
“No, no,” he says, backing up a step. “You’ve repaid me with conversation, that’s all I need. Save
that ticket for your family.”
Ah, shit. My family.
I throw an alarmed look outside the bakery to find that the sky has darkened past twilight and let
out a string of curses under my breath, earning a laugh from Marshall.
“At this point, they should expect you to be late,” he jokes as I hurry toward the door. I fling him a
crude gesture as I rush outside, the sound of his laughter following me out into the cold night.
I pull my sweater tighter around me as I begin to trudge up the path. I’d move faster if I weren’t
already thinking about the way Amara’s eyes will inevitably skate over me, sizing me up and always
somehow finding me lacking.
My cousin is perfect, in every way. The golden daughter, strong and smart and capable, and while
I know Leandra and Jethro love me just as much as they love Amara, I can’t help but still feel like an
intruder sometimes.
My parents brought us to Camp Horizon right after I turned ten. At the time, they told me it was
because they wanted to be closer to my father’s brother, saying that it was so rare for humans to have
extended family and that we should be more grateful, and find ways to spend more time with them.
Now that I’m older, I understand the real reason they fought so hard for us to get here.
The continents are a dangerous place for humans, especially human women, and even more so for
the pretty ones. I’ve never thought of myself as particularly pretty, but I know now that what I think
holds little bearing on the way things actually happen.
My parents got us out of Orthani as fast as they could, bringing us here to work the mines and
escape the more cruel treatment that runs rampant in the continental cities. For the first few years,
everything was perfect.
 My aunt and uncle and cousin took us in, and we lived together as a family. The cabin we shared
was always warm and full of laughter and conversation, even when Amara pulled my hair or took my
favorite doll. I was allowed to work at the tailor’s shop until I was 12, mending clothes until I was
big enough and strong enough to work in the mines.
It was only a few days before my thirteenth birthday, when I was supposed to start in the mines,
that the collapse happened.
To this day, I don’t know what really happened. It could’ve been something as simple as the
wrong stone being taken out, or perhaps the planet shifted deep down and the tunnel in the mountains
closed because of it. I don’t know. All I know is that my parents kissed me goodbye that morning
before heading into the mines, and then a few hours later, the earth swallowed them up.
The dark elves didn’t even bother trying to unearth the bodies.
I shiver, only partly from the cold, as the eastern edge of the village comes into view. The path
winds through the last of the shops and up a small hill, and on the other side, is my home. And the
only family I have left.
Despite the fact that it’s late, and knowing that my family is more than likely already worried
about me, my footsteps slow to a halt. I do nothing but stare at the crest of the hill, the last stragglers
of the villagers pushing past me on their way home.
It’s not that I don’t want to go home, at least not necessarily. My head just feels too full of thoughts
to bear Amara’s judgemental gaze or Leandra’s lecturing on finding a husband, however well-
intentioned.
Whenever Leandra mentions finding a nice, human man to settle down with, I never seem to be
able to find the heart to tell her what I really think. The only thing Amara and I seem to agree on these
days is our lack of interest in marrying off any time soon.
I understand why Leandra pushes the subject, of course. She wants her family to stay close, wants
to be able to play a hand in mine and her daughter’s life for years to come, and I can’t bring myself to
dash her dreams.
While I know I want more for myself than what I have right now, regardless of whether or not
Camp Horizon is one of the best places to be as a human, I’m just not interested in any of the human
men here.
I’m not ignorant to the sneaky glances some of them give me, both at work and in the village, but I
just don’t find any of these men… appealing.
Movement sounds from behind me, far enough away that I almost don’t turn toward it, until the
husky voice of a dark elf calls my name.
“Layla!”
Oh, shit.
2
 KERYM

L ayla whirls toward me, her dark curls bobbing with the sudden jerk of motion. I can’t help the
smirk that rises to my lips as I see the panicked look on her face before she realizes it’s me, a
laugh nearly breaking free when her features relax slightly and she rolls her eyes.
Layla steps toward me hurriedly, her eyes darting around for witnesses as she hisses “That’s not
funny, you scared me!”
The laugh that had been building in my throat shakes free as I look down at her and give her a
wink.
“You like it,” I murmur softly, earning another eye-roll, although she’s unable to hide the small
smile playing across her full lips. My fingers itch with the desire to brush across them, to feel her
soft, tanned skin beneath my hands. I’ve waited long enough for her.
The rest of the village is quiet, but that’s no reason to be sloppy. Before she can react, I grab the
crook of her elbow and pull her into the alley behind us, pinning her to the wall with my body weight
as I drop a searing kiss to her lips.
Surprise renders her unresponsive for a moment, her human senses struggling to catch up to my
elven speed. As soon as her mind catches up with her body, however, her lips part beneath mine,
returning my kiss with every bit of hunger and passion.
I can’t get enough of her.
Layla’s tongue darts from between her lips, brushing against the seam of my mouth in equal parts
question and demand. I groan, opening my mouth against hers and letting our tongues tangle together.
I don’t think I’ll ever be able to get enough of her.
Ever since I first spotted Layla last year, I haven’t been able to control myself. Dark elves take
human slaves and play things all the time on the larger continents, especially in the bigger cities, but
Layla is so much more than that to me.
When I first arrived at Camp Horizon, I was an eager, untried, bright-eyed soldier, intent on
making his way through the ranks. Miou soldiers never stay in Camp Horizon too long, finding the
camp boring and lacking any real way to move through the ranks.
Soldiers pass through here in rotations, using the camp as a stepping stone to bigger and better
positions once they gain enough experience to warrant transfers to more exciting, opportunistic
locations.
But the second I found Layla, I knew I wasn’t going anywhere. It took nearly no time at all for me
to be head over heels for the woman. I don’t care that she’s human, and I don’t care what beliefs or
opinions others of my kind hold- she’s everything to me.
 My ambitions within the ranks of the miou, my dreams of becoming a Lieutenant and proving my
worth to my family, all feel childish as my lips move over Layla’s. Nothing, no victory or rank or
recognition, could compare to the way she makes me feel.
Layla breaks our kiss first, the both of us breathing heavily as we stare at each other. Her warm
brown eyes twinkle in the stray spears of moonlight. It’s all too easy to forget my responsibilities
when I’m with her, to cast aside all of the things I know I want. In this moment, right now, I only want
her.
“How was work?” I breathe, falling into our usual, playful routine. Layla loves her routines, and I
love that about her. I especially love throwing a wrench into it every now and again, especially if it
means that I get more time with her.
Layla grins and gives me a playfully casual, one-shouldered shrug.
“It was work,” she responds. “How about you, how was work?” I mimic her reaction, loving the
way her smile grows wider.
“It was work,” I reply. Neither of us acknowledges what we know is coming. Transfer season is
on the horizon, and Layla is all too aware of the ambitions I hold so closely to my heart. They’re
certainly not unusual ones, especially for guards who choose to be stationed here for at least a brief
time, but my case is made all the more unusual by my family.
Phonipe and Kunardah Torsys, power couple of the decade. My father is well known for his
position among the miou ranks, being an influential player in Vhoig among the nobility. My mother
was his chosen prize, the beautiful and talented daughter of another strict, traditional miou family.
My older brother, their first son, is everything they’ve ever wanted him to be. The perfect soldier
in shining golden armor, with his perfect mate and perfect life. He was stationed in Camp Horizon for
a time as well, before leading armies and earning prestige through his victories.
My parents have always wanted me to be the same, to uphold our honorable family name. They
waste no opportunity to tell me as much, to push me harder and farther, pointing out all of my
numerous flaws and missed opportunities for success.
In some ways, I guess I can’t really blame them. Salnath created an expectation that I don’t know
if I’ll ever live up to, and given the social expectations of my dear family, it’s no wonder that they
expect only the best from me.
Too bad I’m little more than a disappointment.
With transfer season coming up, my father has sent countless karasus with messages on where I
should be transferring, what I should be doing, and the like. Just like every year since my first at
Camp Horizon.
And just like every year before, I have no intention of following his orders. I won’t leave Layla, I
don’t know that I could even if I wanted to. I’ll simply have to find a way to become a lieutenant in
Camp Horizon, even if it means usurping the current camp lieutenant so I can take his position.
There’s only ever one lieutenant here at a time, intended to lead us and run this camp and our
sister camp on Zerva, hence why no other miou have lingered here for too long. That’s no problem to
me, however.
Our current lieutenant is a drunk, and I have no issue with gunning for his job, no matter how long
he’s been in his seat. Especially if it means I can stay close to Layla without my family breathing
down my neck.
Another problem with transfer season, and another problem Layla and I never speak about, is that
there will be new guards entering the fray. Guards that are eager to make a name for themselves, who
will keep a closer eye on things. Those who might notice the two of us sneaking off together and
cause trouble.
It wouldn’t be the first time a dark elf has been caught with a human, of course. It’s generally
accepted as part of the perks for this job by some of the more uncouth miou, but my family would take
less kindly to finding out about any sort of dalliance of mine, especially with a human woman.
I can only imagine the position it would put Layla in.
I realize too late that Layla and I have just been standing in silence in the quickly dimming light.
There’s a certain sadness in her gaze, something distant that I can’t quite put my finger on. I can’t help
but wonder if she’s thinking of the coming transfer season, too.
“Stay the night with me,” I breathe as I hold her gaze. Layla’s face shutters instantly, her eyes
dropping mine as they dart toward the mouth of the alleyway.
“I’m already late, my aunt and uncle are going to worry. They might even send Amara out after
me,” She says, avoiding answering my question directly. She can’t bring herself to truly say no- she
wants to come with me, we both know it.
“You know Amara won’t find us,” I retort, dropping my face into the warm crook of her neck and
drawing my nose lightly across the sensitive skin. Layla shivers beneath my touch, her head dropping
back slightly in welcome.
“We could get caught,” Layla argues, although her voice is feeble and lacking any real conviction.
I graze my teeth lightly over the peek of her exposed collarbone, a purely male swell of pride
blooming in my chest at the strangled noise that slips from her lips at the contact.
My obsession with Layla and the looming, ominous feeling of transfer season aren’t the only
reasons I’m so intent on making room to have her to myself, although they certainly play a part. No,
there’s another reason everything feels more urgent now, every stolen second feels weightier.
Layla’s 24- marrying age. Most human women tend to get married even earlier these days, their
lifespans shorter and more pressing on Protheka than they ever were on their home planet. I see the
way the men in the village eye her as if she’s some prize to be won, as if she could ever be anyone’s
but mine.
The idea of another man with Layla, of her marrying or his hands skating across her curves, fills
me with rage. I drown the feeling, unwilling to let my darker nature ruin a perfectly good moment as I
withdraw from Layla’s neck and find her eyes.
“We’ve never been caught before,” I say with a grin, my voice rough with my overwhelming
desire for her. Layla’s cheeks flush scarlet as her eyes dip to my lips, only making my smile grow
wider. She wants me nearly as bad as I want her, a fact that will never cease to make smug
satisfaction ripple through me.
“But my family-”
“I’ll send word,” I interrupt her, my hold on myself growing weaker with every passing second
her little body is pressed to mine. “I’ll tell them you’ve picked up an extra shift. You’ll be safe with
me, I promise.”
“I know,” Layla whispers. It’s all the permission I need as I twine my fingers between hers and
tug her down the alleyway, leading us toward the dark elf quarter.
3
 LAYLA

M y heart hammers in my chest as we step out of the alleyway. Kerym drops my hand
immediately, cold air swarming in to take the place of his warm grasp. I try my hardest to
keep my eyes on the ground, arranging my body to look every bit the part of a scared, docile human
woman following in the footsteps of her dark elf master.
A part of me rages against the idea of anyone seeing me and thinking me weak, or worse, thinking
of Kerym as one of the more lewd miou around the camp, but it’s a necessary evil. None of the human
men in camp may hold any appeal for me, but Kerym is no mere human man- and if I want to continue
to see him, secrecy is just a part of the equation.
I chance a glance up at Kerym, who walks a few steps ahead of me. His spine is ramrod straight,
the taut muscles of his back and shoulders rippling beneath his uniform as he sets a lazy, relaxed pace.
His long black hair glints in the starlight, brushing across his shoulder as he leads me through the
village square. Fiercely pointed ears part his hair on the sides, the sharp tips protruding occasionally
as he moves. Even without being able to see his face, warmth pools between my legs. Kerym is a
force to be reckoned with.
Feeling my eyes on him, Kerym looks at me over his shoulder, his violet eyes sparkling as they
meet mine. He gives me a wink, heat sprinting up my neck and flushing my cheeks as I look back at the
ground again.
I don’t know how he has this effect on me, but I can’t deny that I like it. Kerym makes my knees
weak. Every time our eyes meet, I feel more naked than I know how to describe- it’s not as if he’s just
seeing me with the absence of clothing, but with the absence of pretense, of physical form. It’s like
he’s staring into my very soul.
Kerym makes a sharp turn, striding down another dark alley leading west, taking us closer to the
little cabin he occupies in the dark elf quarter. Glancing around to make sure no one is watching, I
follow, darkness swallowing me as the height of the surrounding buildings shuts out the moonlight.
No sooner am I in the alley than I feel Kerym’s body pressed against mine, his supernatural speed
and strength crushing the air from my lungs as his hands wrap around the backs of my knees, lifting me
off the ground and pressing my body into the wall.
“Keep looking at me like that, and I won’t be able to wait until we’re home,” he says roughly
against the bare skin of my neck, his tongue lashing from between his lips and tracing a sizzling trail
across my pulse. My breath catches in my throat, and my hips grind mindlessly against the heat of him
through his pants.
“Maybe I don’t want you to wait,” I breathe, arching into his touch. The challenge I’ve laid before
him glints in his violet eyes, and for a second, I think Kerym very well might take me against this
wall. Instead, he exhales sharply through his nose, setting me back down.
“Walk faster,” He says roughly. Before I can think better of it, I reach out, grabbing his thick length
through his pants. Kerym hisses as my palm wraps around him, going rigid beneath my touch and
bringing a feral smile to my face.
“Make me,” I whisper, before darting back out into the village path. Kerym growls throatily from
the alley, well aware of what I’m doing. Teasing him will never stop being fun, and I know he won’t
do anything where people can see us- he has no desire to get caught together, not if he values his
reputation and standing within his family.
A part of me almost wishes he didn’t care so much, that he’d decide being with me isn’t
something to hide or be embarrassed about, but I quickly shoo those thoughts away. I’ve been down
that road too many times, and while I’ve never outright voiced my feelings on the matter to Kerym, I
can see the guilt he feels over it shine through.
Letting that spiral run rampant will only ruin a perfectly good night. Kerym and I could never be
together, not in any meaningful way. He’s a dark elf, with a powerful miou family and even more
powerful ambitions to rise in his caste.
And I’m just a human.
Besides, if my aunt and uncle found out, there would be hell to pay. I doubt either of them would
be truly angry, but I’ve seen the way some of the women are treated by the other humans after word
gets out about them being with dark elves, consensually or not. It’s taboo, and wrong- their kind has
enslaved and tortured our kind for centuries now.
To be with a dark elf, much less fall in love with one, is a betrayal of the worst kind.
You’re not in love with him, I remind myself roughly as Kerym falls into step once again ahead of
me, his shoulders wound tightly. It’s just… fun. That’s all this is. A way to blow off steam.
Even as I tell myself that, I still can’t deny the feelings that bloom in my stomach any time Kerym
is near. It’s not just simple desire, or even just comfort- there’s something about Kerym that speaks to
my soul in a way that no one else ever has.
I can’t help but wonder sometimes if he feels that way, too.
In between our trysts, when we’re in bed together or find a quiet moment to simply be, we talk
about the world around us. Knowing what Kerym hopes to do with his life, knowing how hard and
demanding his family is, I understand why I would never fit into the picture even if Kerym did see me
as something more than just another human woman.
Kerym feels things deeply, and seems genuinely perturbed by the injustices of Protheka. We’ve
spent countless hours dreaming up a new world, a Protheka where humans are liberated and dark
elves are free of the constraints of the brutal society they’ve built up around themselves.
No, I don’t think he sees me as just another human. Despite his background, Kerym is nothing like
any of the other dark elves I’ve come across and heard about, especially the noble ones. He cares so
deeply about the people around him, the world around him- even if he doesn’t love me, I think he at
least on some level respects me.
Maybe not as an equal, because he is a dark elf after all- but I believe he at least respects me as
another living being.
I shake my head, trying to rid myself of the thoughts swirling in my head. It does me no good to
linger on the things I can’t change about my life. I enjoy spending time with Kerym, whether that time
is spent laughing and talking, or… not talking.
The sparkling lights of the west quarter begin to come into view as we duck down another alley,
Kerym making a grab for me that sets me squealing and giggling before I slip through his fingers and
back out onto the path. I can see the feral beast beginning to wake in his eyes, his frustration and need
only growing each time I playfully deny him.
I love the power I have over him- I love knowing I can make him feel so hungry for me. It’s one of
the few times I feel truly in control, and I have no intentions of letting him off easily.
As we approach the dark elf quarter, Kerym gets bolder, squeezing my ass in the middle of the
path and making me jump. I giggle nervously, swatting his hands away as he gives me a lopsided grin
before we duck down another alley, circling around to the back of his housing block.
This time, as soon as we’re encased in darkness, I take off in a mad sprint, knowing how it will
rile him up to not be able to catch me or steal a kiss before we’re inside.
“Layla,” Kerym warns, his voice thick with desire. I only laugh in response, not slowing my steps
in the slightest. We both know Kerym could catch me in a heartbeat- his elven abilities easily
overshadow my measly human ones, but I think he likes the chase.
In a world where everything is either handed to him or out of his reach entirely, I think he finds it
cathartic to test his patience and abilities. I know I do.
Suddenly, I’m slamming into a solid mass right in front of me, the force nearly sending me
sprawling to the ground before an equally solid arm is wrapped around my waist, keeping me on my
feet and pressed tightly to the mass before me.
It takes a second to realize I’ve run straight into Kerym, who must have sprinted ahead and around
me with that damned elven speed.
“Caught you,” he rasps as I find his piercing violet eyes. I pout playfully, shoving lightly against
his chest.
“No fair, I want a rematch,” I say, pushing out my lower lip. Laughter dances in Kerym’s eyes as
he slowly relinquishes me from his hold, dragging the broad expanse of his hand over the small of my
back and the curve of my ass as he releases me.
“Then a rematch you will get,” He replies, his deep tenor hardly above a whisper. “I’ll race you
there.”
I take off in lieu of a response, knowing that I’ll need all of the headstart I can get. I hear Kerym
laugh and curse lightly under his breath before following after me, our footsteps echoing off of the
empty streets as the twinkling lights of his cabin come into view ahead.
Our race isn’t the only reason I’m so excited to see his back porch.
4
 KERYM

W ith every step we take, it gets harder and harder to control myself. I don’t want to have to
hold back but with Layla, she makes it impossible. Her deep brown eyes draw me in, like the
thickest, richest chocolate. And that laugh! Every time she giggles it’s music to my ears.
The second I get Layla into my home, my careful facade of control snaps. I can’t keep myself from
covering her in kisses and stroking everywhere my fingers can reach. I know she’s probably tired and
hungry after her time in the mines but I need her right now.
Of course I’ll feed her and let her rest.
After I take my fill.
Pushing her against the wall, I thrust my tongue into her mouth, holding her head in my hands as I
dominate her mouth. Layla reaches out and yanks my vest off my shoulders. I tangle my fingers into
her wild, curly brown hair and pull her head back as I kiss her harder.
“Gods, Kerym,” Layla gasps out. “Fuck me!”
“Oh, I will, my little fire,” I growl, moving away so I can tear off her corset vest as quickly as
possible. Once it’s off, she’s left in her dress and shift, breasts hanging freely in front of my face. I
dive in and grope them, bringing them up to mouth at them through the fabric.
“Oh yes!” she cries out, grabbing fistfuls of my black hair as I pinch and tease her nipples with my
teeth. I’ve been waiting to get my mouth on her all day and it seems she’s been feeling the same way.
Her leg wraps around my waist, the heat from her core now placed directly against my already
overheated groin. My cock strains at the fabric of my trousers, barely able to contain my lust.
“Kerym,” she pleads, whimpering as I suckle her tit, laving it with my full attention. She’s
desperate for me.
“Patience,” I murmur, continuing my assault on her breasts. I want her now but I want to sample
all the dishes before I go in for the main course. My hands move down to grip her buttocks, squeezing
and kneading the curves as I press myself against her. Layla gasps out again and yanks on my hair,
which only spurs me along.
“I’m going to devour you, little fire,” I tell her in a warning. She giggles and winks at me.
“Promise?” she asks in a low, seductive voice. I groan and lift her up so her thighs wrap around
my waist so I can carry her off to the bedroom.
Once inside, I drop her onto the bed before pouncing immediately and throwing myself on top of
her once more. She reaches out and rips my shirt open and I tear her dress off in a rush, wanting to
feel naked skin against skin.
Once we’re freed from our garments, I pull her legs apart and yank her down the bed so I can
kneel in front of her and taste her straight from the source. My tongue flicks over her clit rapidly, in
just the way that she loves the most.
With strength only borne from spending all day with a pickaxe in hand, she grips my hair again
and pulls me against her so my face is flush with her cunt, nose rubbing against her swollen bud. She
bucks against me wildly and keens, high pitched and needy.
She wants to ride me and I’m happy to oblige.
Shifting us around, I move so I’m the one laying on the bed and she lowers herself over me.
There’s always this hesitancy that she has at first, like she’s afraid of crushing me. I yank her down in
one swift motion though, disabusing her of that notion. If I were to die this way, I go out in a blaze of
glory.
“Sit,” I growl, directly into her throbbing pussy. She squeals again and obeys, rocking herself
against me.
Her body weighs nearly nothing compared to me so I don’t understand why she hesitates at all
when it comes to this. I want to experience every bit of pleasure I can wring from her. This thing
between us, this unlabeled thing might not last but I want to enjoy it while it does.
“Yes, yes!” I hear her moan. The pleasure coils in my belly. I love how vocal she gets when
we’re fucking, it’s so primal and urgent and devoid of pretense. There is no race or class between us
like this, just pure need.
Layla is grinding her pussy against my face with abandon now and I thrust my tongue into her
sopping wet hole, swirling in vicious circles until I find the spot that has her arching her back and
digging her nails into my sides.
“Fuck!” she curses. She’s beautiful and tiny next to me but she’s easily the fiercest human I’ve
ever met. She curses with abandon and isn’t afraid to show her stubborn side, which is what attracted
me to her in the first place.
My tongue continues thrusting up into her, curling against her soft walls as she ruts against me,
losing herself to the pleasure I’m giving her. It isn’t long before she’s shaking apart above me,
trembling and gushing slick as she cries out my name.
It sounds good on her lips, I think as I move our positions and pull her on top of me to sink her
down onto my waiting cock. She hisses as she takes me down, wrapping around me so tightly. This is
bliss. Every moment with her body feels like floating in the cosmos.
I want to stay here forever, I decide, as she begins to work herself up and down my length, taking
me so nicely.
“Good girl,” I say as I slap her ass. “You’re so good to me.”
She lets out a guttural moan. “Kerym,” she calls out. “That’s it, right there. Deeper!” she orders,
reaching up to pull my lip between her teeth, dragging me down with her as we kiss and I press
deeper inside her.
“Fuck,” she curses again. “Fuck! Gods!”
“Yeah, that’s right,” I tell her, teasing her a little. “I’m your god and I’m here to bring you the gift
of pleasure.”
Maybe I’m being a bit irreverent but what have the gods ever done for me, anyway? I press her
harder into my mattress, grinding my cock into her as we kiss and lick into each others’ mouths, the
passion rising between us to a frenzy.
“Then consider me your most ardent and devout follower,” Layla purrs. “And show me the
wonder of the cosmos.”
I sink my teeth into her lip, biting down hard enough to draw blood as I grip her hips in my hands
and pull our bodies flush, determined to draw her to climax once again before I find my own release.
Looking down into her eyes, I wonder why it can’t be like this always. I lose myself in them for a
moment, imagining waking up to this every day, this beautiful, sexy woman.
She pulls me out of my daydreams abruptly though, squeezing her legs around my hips, matching
me thrust for thrust. “Feels good,” she grunts, digging hands into my back, nails raking down my bare
skin. There’s sweat dotting her brow and her skin is glistening with a sheen of it.
I feel her walls massage around me again and her cunt throbs as she approaches her second
climax.
“Come for me,” I order her. “Come for me, little fire. Come apart on my cock.”
“Yes!” Layla screams out, clenching tightly around me, so tight it feels as though she’s trying to
strangle me. Her body quivers as she comes undone and I reach down and kiss her hard, letting myself
get carried away now that she’s reached her peak.
I pound into her with abandon, my own climax hitting me with the force of a heavy boulder.
“Gods!” I curse as I come apart inside of her. She laughs and kisses me back, stroking warm
fingers over my cheeks and the nape of my neck.
“Am I to be your god now, Kerym?” she teases.
“We can be as gods to each other,” I tell her, making her laugh harder as we curl up together,
recovering from the vigor of our lovemaking. “And together we shall rule over all others, superior to
them in every way simply for how attractive we are.”
Layla is laughing so hard she’s nearly in tears. “Gods, Kerym. We have such a good time together,
don’t we?”
“Yes,” I say, rolling over to capture her in my arms with another kiss. “And I’m going to show you
even more of a good time, little fire.”
She stops laughing, eyes flashing dark with danger and seduction. “Prove it,” she says,
challenging me. She’s got a fire inside that draws me straight in, like a papillion to a flame.
5
 LAYLA

T hough he captures me in his arms, I know we’re both too tired to go again straight away. We’ve
had a long day, the both of us. Instead of going for round two, Kerym pulls me down into his
arms to press his lips against mine, lazily tracing the seam of my mouth with his tongue until I part it
for him.
His tongue slips inside, tangling with mine in a slow, sensual dance. I open my mouth wider and
lathe my tongue over his, fluttering it to massage against his larger one. It feels incredible to kiss him
and to be in his arms.
We lay there for a while, just kissing and cuddling until the hunger pangs make themselves known
again.
“Going to feed you,” Kerym says, sitting up after my stomach lets out a loud, protesting growl.
“Your stomach is growling too damned loudly. It’s distracting!”
He pretends to be irritated but I know he’s joking. I sit up, watching as he stands and stretches out,
my eyes never leaving him.
The man is just so attractive. It’s unfair. He’s broad shouldered and muscular, looking every bit
the warrior that he is.
He’s got lush, thick, long black hair and fiercely pointed ears. His dark gray skin contrasts with
his vivid violet eyes, which sit above a sharp nose and full lips. Kerym is also so tall that I feel like a
babe in the woods next to him.
For lack of a better term, he’s a hunk. I stare at his muscular backside as he leaves, still naked
from our prior romp. The way his back muscles flex has me weak in the knees. And his ass is a sight
to behold.
“Come back soon,” I tell him, waving him off. He turns, flashing me a smirk and heads to the
kitchen. I lay back on his comfy sheets and snuggle into his pillows.
My eyes close and I start to drift off as I wait for him to return.
After a while, he comes back into the bedroom with a hearty bowl of daen stew. “Here,” he says.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t even let you get a proper meal in before I jumped on you.” He looks a bit
sheepish and I reach for the bowl, taking a spoonful of the warm, hearty soup. “Let me feed you and
give you a bath to make up for it.”
It’s not like I held back either but I’m more than eager to agree to a warm bath. I take another
spoonful and close my eyes, savoring the taste of the food. Kerym is quite the cook.
The stew disappears in a flash and I hear the sound of the tap running in Kerym’s bathroom, the
promised bath starting to tempt me more than staying in bed. When it’s ready, Kerym comes to find me
drifting in and out on top of the covers.
“Hey,” he says, poking me in the side. I yawn and look up at him. He growls, pushing me again
and I pretend to be too tired to move.
“Fine,” he says, scooping me into his strong arms and carrying me to the large tub. He deposits me
into it and I settle against the back.
After a moment, he joins me and settles into the tub as well, facing me. His gray skin glistens from
the humidity in the air and I watch, entranced, as droplets roll down his broad chest, down to the v in
his abdomen before disappearing into the water again.
What is it about being with each other that makes it so hard to control our lust? I can’t stand
watching him lay there with that smirk on his face. All I want to do is throw myself at him.
“Gods,” I surge forward and capture his lips with mine. “You are sinful.”
“Then indulge with your god,” he says, daring me. His voice is so deep and velvety, luring me in.
I’m hypnotized and I find myself falling into his arms once more, kissing him as I run my hands all
over his chest, tracing the abdominal muscles with my fingers, feeling them bunch and flex under me.
“Be careful what you wish for, little fire,” Kerym warns me. “You’re playing a dangerous game.”
“The way I see it, I win either way,” I retort, loving the way my challenge sends lust flaring in his
gaze.
He growls again and attacks my lips with his, lifting me so I’m sliding down onto his cock once
more. My eyes flutter closed as I take him into me, relishing the sensation of him filling me up.
There’s so much passion and heat between us, but we have fun too. Like now. I start giggling
when he blows a wet raspberry onto my shoulder before biting down. “You’re silly,” I tell him,
staring into his eyes.
It’s times like this when I think I might be in love with him. When it’s just us, we’re relaxed and
happy and feeling good...but the trouble is that I don’t know if he feels the same. We can’t be together.
He’s a dark elf. I’m a human. He’s got ambitions, plans, desires that having a human mate would keep
him from.
It’s better if I don’t think about my feelings too closely, if I just kept them to myself a little longer.
I need to just let things flow the way they are. To live in the moment. It’s easier for both of us if I
don’t worry too much about what might happen and just focus on how good it feels to be with him.
“Hey, you in there, little fire?” Kerym asks, pulling me from my thoughts. I blink rapidly, focusing
my attention back onto him and the feeling of his cock carving out a space inside me.
“Yes,” I tell him, moving to blow my own wet raspberry into his skin. “Right here. Right with
you.”
“Good,” he rocks his hips upward and it drives all thoughts from my head. “Must not be doing a
good enough job if you’re distracted. Gonna have to make sure you’re only focused on me.”
He makes good on his promise, digging his fingers into my ass, spreading my cheeks as he pulls
me down onto his cock even deeper, emptying my head of everything but the man in front of me and
the sensation of his cock inside of me.
He starts moving faster, dragging his cock against my inner spot so it sends sparks lighting up my
spine. His mouth moves over mine, biting down on the same spot as before, creating a pulsating throb
of mingled pain and pleasure. He knows exactly what I like and how I like it. That’s why this
arrangement works for us.
The water is cooling off around us but I couldn’t care less as Kerym moves his fingers down to
stroke over my clit while his tongue delves into my mouth. Gods, I just don’t want this to end!
I’m hungry for him, desperate for his touch, gone for his cock. I’m a veritable slut for this man. I
spread my legs and he takes me even deeper, if possible.
Our bodies rock together in a steady rhythm, not as fast and frantic as before but there’s still a
note of desperation in our tempo. Kerym pulls me flush to him, so close I can feel his heart beating in
his chest. The water makes movement fluid, though we’re both still sweaty from the humidity of the
room.
“I’m close,” he whispers in his low voice. My eyes roll back in my head as it washes over me
and I feel the waves of pleasure along my core that tells me I’m getting closer as well. His fingers
never stop moving, twisting, tweaking, stroking and teasing my clit with a ferocity that has my orgasm
slamming into me, almost out of nowhere.
One minute I’m still climbing the peak, the next I’m tumbling over the edge, free-falling. It’s
glorious. Kerym works me through before his hands move, gripping my hips roughly as he stiffens and
fills me with his come.
“Layla,” he breathes my name into my neck. “Gods.”
We’re a sticky, sweaty mess again and we’re supposed to be getting clean. The irony is so funny
that I start laughing again. “Look at us. You just apologized for being unable to hold back but look at
me. I practically threw myself onto your dick the second you climbed into the bath.”
He chuckles as well, bending down to give me a soft peck on the lips. “You know I’m irresistible.
I am a god, after all.”
“My god,” I tease. “My own personal deity.”
“That’s right,” he says, puffing up his chest. “And you need to remember your place, puny human.”
“My place is beneath you,” I tell him, biting my lip and lowering my lashes.
“Insatiable little brat,” he growls, nipping and licking at my neck.
I may not know what I mean to him, but I know that Kerym likes having me around. And I like
being around him. For now I just want to enjoy the time we have together, for however long it lasts.
6
 KERYM

W hen I wake the next morning, Layla is already out of the bed. I roll over into the warmth of
her spot and pout. “Hey,” I call out to her, watching her in the bathroom. “Come back to bed.
It’s too cold to be up.”
“I can’t,” she says, cleaning her teeth. I stretch out and sit up, turning to put my feet on the floor.
It’s cold and I’m already regretting it but I’m determined to pull her back for another round. We fell
asleep not long after finishing our bath so we didn’t get a chance last night.
Pulling her by the arm, I start tugging her from the basin but she swats me away, rolling her eyes.
“We can’t,” she repeats herself. “I have to get ready for work. I’m going to be late if I don’t hurry.”
“I can cover you,” I offer. “Find some excuse...” I trail a finger down her arm.
“Kerym,” she protests. “I’m already going to get the third degree from my aunt and uncle for not
coming home last night. I can’t risk getting in trouble for being late to my shift in the mines as well.”
“Don’t you want to stay?” I ask, pretending to pout, trying to get her to give in.
“Yes, but you need to go to work too,” she reminds me. “Now go get dressed.”
I ignore her, heading to the kitchen instead. I need to make sure she’s got something to eat before
she heads off. Working in the mines is tough, difficult labor and it won’t do if she’s got nothing in her
belly.
I crack two eggs into the pan and feed more fuel into the cast iron stove, turning the heat higher.
As soon as they’re done cooking, I bring the plate directly up to Layla, who’s already dressed.
“Thank you, Kerym,” She says, scooping up some of the eggs while I quickly clean up and change
into my work clothes as well. I put on a black and gold brocade vest over a button up shirt and brown
and cream pinstripe trousers. I’m pulling on my sturdy boots when Layla gasps, hearing the
grandfather clock in the hall chime the hour.
“Go!” I tell her, pushing her towards the stairs. We hurry down and I all but shove her out the back
door.
I watch her off, something stirring painfully inside as she hurries towards the mines. She’s
dressed in the clothes she wore yesterday. A black corset vest over her white shift and plain brown
dress, a thick sweater swaddled around her shoulders to help fight off the chill of the mountains.
Sturdy. Comfortable for working long, exhausting hours.
It isn’t right. She shouldn’t have to work so hard. But this is the life we lead.
I wish I could at least be there to protect her but I can’t do that in my current position. I was
stationed at the camp a year ago.
That’s when Layla and I first met. I think I was taken with her the moment I first saw her, standing
there, arguing with one of the overseers. I marched over and demanded to know what the issue was.
“He’s risking one of the girls down there, insisting that she venture into a tunnel because she’s
smaller but there’s a danger because she’s new and scared,” Layla says, brow scrunched in
frustration. “I think we should send in someone more trained but he’s being dripir-headed about
it!”
“This stupid human won’t obey my orders!” the elf yells. “Do what I say or you’ll be
whipped!”
She is so tiny. Her head barely clears my chest but she stands there with her hands on her hips,
scowling and giving the overseer what-for without any fear.
“You know, if we lose a human who just started, it won’t look good,” I tell him, trying to
maneuver the situation carefully. “And there will be so much paperwork...we might lose half a day
just cleaning it up if she panics and has an accident.”
“Fine,” the overseer she was arguing with concedes, looking irritated at both of us. “Who
would you send in the little brat’s stead then?”
“I’ll go,” she volunteers quickly. “I’ll explore the tunnel and see if it’s worth opening up.”
“Right then,” I turn to the overseer. “Is that satisfactory?” He scowls and walks away, clearly
ready to be done with the whole thing.
“Thanks.” She turns to me, looking me up and down. “I’m Layla Whitlock. You must be new
here. Vikro is one of the more stubborn ones. He’s always ready to send the humans into danger if
there’s a chance to find a new ore.”
“Kerym Torsys,” I tell her. “I don’t believe in needless danger. I think that the outcome should
be weighed against the risk before taking action.”
“You’re different,” Layla says, eyes crinkling in the corners as she smiles. “I’ve never met a
dark elf like you.”
“You likely won’t,” I tell her. “I know many of my kind can view humans as mere cogs in the
wheel but if even the smallest, most seemingly insignificant cog is damaged, the entire wheel stops
working.”
“Interesting,” Layla bites her lip as she takes me in. I can’t stop staring myself. Her tan skin is
glowing, despite spending all her days in the mines, and there are freckles scattered all across the
bridge of her nose and a few on her cheeks. I want to reach out and touch them, trace them and
find out just how far down her body they go.
“And you’re right,” I add, trying to distract myself from my inappropriate thoughts. “I am new
here. I’m from Vhoig,” I tell her. “I’m here to work as a guard.”
“I’ll be sure to keep an eye out for you then,” Layla says, turning back to head deeper into the
mines. “Nice to meet you, Kerym.”
I watched her walk away and knew at that moment I was smitten. It didn’t take long for us to keep
“accidentally” running into each other and our friendship progressed into something physical not long
after that.
We agreed to keep it quiet. Layla knows her family wouldn’t approve of our dalliance and as for
me? I know it can’t be anything more than what it is. So for now, we’re content in keeping things
between us strictly physical.
I’m also afraid of what the other dark elves would do to her if they were to find out. They might
retaliate against her out of spite. It’s not exactly forbidden but it's looked down on for dark elves and
humans to be together.
The only thing I can do is to keep an eye on her while I patrol her sector. Which is what I’m going
to be doing today, just in case someone says something to her about her wearing the same clothes as
yesterday, or anything else.
Things are calm for a while but inevitably, someone is going to do something to get under my skin.
I just know it. Layla is pretty and smart and fierce and naturally every man in the vicinity is drawn to
her, elf and human alike.
I’m patrolling when it happens. One of her fellow human men gets a little too close for her
comfort. Roy Jenkins is a tubby, weak-chinned human with buck teeth and bad breath, and has been
harassing Layla to spend time in his cabin for weeks now.
She always tells him off but he’s persistent. I see it happen from the other end of the sector. Roy
waits until she’s busy before dropping a pinch to her backside, causing her to let out a tiny yelp. He
smirks, as though he’s gotten away with something. And to the naked eye, he has.
If she yells out, the overseer might not intercede, or worse, might add to her trouble, so she’s
forced to swallow her rage down and walk away.
Some men just need to be taught a lesson in respect, apparently. I don’t want Layla to think I’m
fighting her battles for her, or for it to be obvious that I’m fighting on her behalf so I wait for the
opportune moment to get Roy alone.
It happens about an hour later. Roy has come to the water drum for a break and I just happen to be
patrolling the area at the same time.
When he walks up to the drum, he happens to trip over my boot and land face first into the drum. I
hold him there underwater as he sputters and fights, trying to free himself.
“You slimy little casein,” I whisper in his ear. “Do you not think I see the things you do to the
human women you work with? You’re pathetic. Many of the elves here wouldn’t care if they knew but
I do. I don’t abide by taking advantage of those weaker than you. If you ever touch another of them
again on my watch, I’ll beat you until you’re a bloody pulp. Understood?”
Roy gasps for air and nods, eyes bulging out of their sockets as water streams down his face.
I might not be able to protect her directly, but I do what I can.
7
 LAYLA

T he second I arrive at work, I’m all but ambushed by my cousin. “There you are!” Amara says,
her voice rising. “Where were you last night? What were you doing? Are those the same clothes
you were wearing yesterday? You know, you really shouldn’t be sneaking around like this!”
I know deep down I love my cousin, but she’s just so prissy. I brush her off, refusing to answer
her questions. “I was out,” I tell her flatly.
“Out?” Amara asks. “Is that all you have to say for yourself? You show up in the same clothes you
were wearing yesterday and all you say is you were ‘out’?”
“Come off it, Amara,” I snap, grabbing my pickaxe and heading into my assigned sector. “You
don’t get to be preachy. I know you used to sneak around with Sam Marshall.”
“That was like ten years ago!” Amara protests.
I shrug. “Well, am I wrong?”
“Layla!” Amara screeches. I throw her a scathing look, not wanting the whole sector to know my
private business. I’m an adult, I don’t understand why Amara is so judgmental about my comings and
goings.
She shuts up but I know she’s dying to ask still. I ignore her and avoid her for as long as I can,
even if it means getting cornered by Roy Jenkins yet again in the tunnel.
He pinches my backside and I have to stop myself from hauling back and slapping him. If I
retaliate, he could complain to the overseer that I harmed him and I risk getting punished. At least he
disappears before morning break.
Reluctantly, I rejoin Amara’s group after our all-too-brief mid-morning break. “So,” she says,
starting back up on me the second she sees me. “Is it a boy that’s been keeping you away at night?”
she asks, light teasing in her voice.
“What? No!” I say, almost too quickly. I have to shut that line of thought down right away. She
doesn’t need to know about Kerym, or what we do together. Not only would she not understand, I
think she would tell me off for being with one of the dark elves.
“I’m not out with a boy,” I tell her firmly. “So get that idea right out of your head. And don’t go
spreading it around that you think that either,” I add. I don’t need rumors circulating. Especially if they
might end up getting back to Kerym.
If he thinks I’m going around telling everyone my business, he might get angry and upset with me.
He wouldn’t want others to know about us. He’s always been firm that this is just a physical thing,
just two people giving into animal desire.
Even if it feels like it’s starting to be more than that for me.
 But Kerym has ambitions. He wants to rise in the guard ranks and become a Lieutenant one day.
Shacking up with a human wouldn’t fit those ambitions. His family would never approve, either. From
what I’ve heard, they’re very traditional and conservative-minded.
It hurts to know that Kerym has already decided he can’t be with me but at least I get this time
with him. Being with him has been so special and it’s made me feel so good. If I can’t have forever, at
least I have right now.
And I won’t let anything take it away from me. Especially not annoyingly nosy cousins.
“You know you can tell me if it is a boy, right, Layla?” Amara asks. I scoff.
“No way. If I was seeing someone, you’d be the last person I would tell. You’re too nosy and
gossipy for your own good.”
“That’s not true!” she protests. “You can trust me. Do you not trust me?” Her lower lip wobbles.
Shit.
She looks hurt. She better not cry. I don’t want to attract any more unnecessary attention.
“Amara...” I say, reaching out to put a hand on her shoulder. “It’s not a guy. I just...sometimes I need
some time away. Some time to myself.”
It’s not totally a lie. I do need time to myself, away from my aunt and uncle. And away from her.
She probably means well but she’s bossy and it can feel stifling living with my family. They mean
well but I’m an adult now and some days I just need space.
Aunt Leandra wouldn’t understand though. She envisions me and Amara marrying one of the men
from the camp and settling next door, on either side. So we can all be together as one big happy
family.
I suppose that’s the likeliest outcome though, isn’t it? It’s not like I could be with Kerym. He can’t
be with me. Couldn’t take me as a mate. I’m destined to either live my life alone or take a human
husband, one of the miners, and continue this meager existence here, at Camp Horizon.
Sometimes when I’m busy working, I allow myself to indulge in the fantasy of what it might be
like to be mated to Kerym. Just as a way to pass the time. I dream that he’s a lieutenant, like he
dreams of being. He’s in charge of the whole camp. And I’m his mate.
We have two...no, three children. And I get to stay at home and raise our babies while he has a
cushy desk job. Neither of us have to live a life of hard labor. Neither of us have to worry about
sending our children to the mines.
It’s a nice daydream but it’s not realistic. Some day Kerym will leave to pursue the next stage of
his career. And I’ll be stuck here.
Will he even tell me before he leaves? I wonder if he’ll tell me when he puts in for his transfer.
Someday he’s going to get an opportunity he can’t pass up and that will be the end of our time
together.
I’m not naive enough to think that I can have the fairy tale. I’m a human mine worker. There’s no
happy endings here.
“I understand needing time to yourself,” Amara says, pulling me from my thoughts. “But you
should just tell us instead of sneaking off,” she says.
She steers us deeper into the mine shaft. “Where are you even going? Do you go to the woods? Be
careful out there. Don’t let any of the dark elf guards catch you. You know that some of them are
extremely strict about where we can go. If you’re not careful they might catch you and whip you.”
She really is such a busybody. I wish she would get off my back. “I’m careful,” I tell her through
gritted teeth. “I swear I’m always careful. If they haven’t caught me by now, I’m not likely to be
caught anytime soon.”
 I am careful. It’s just that I also have a dark elf guard at my disposal should anyone catch us.
“I just want you to be safe,” Amara says. “You don’t know what it’s like...” she shakes her head.
“Nevermind. You’re lucky you haven’t been caught yet but please be more careful. And maybe stop
sneaking around if you don’t have to?”
I don’t want to get into a fight with her but I’m not about to agree either. I compromise. “I’ll be
careful and I promise not to go out again unless I take precautions.”
Amara seems a little less than thrilled with this but probably understands that I’m not about to
stop. I’ve always been extremely stubborn, even more so after my parents died. I know my aunt and
uncle love me but they’d live and die in this camp if they could. They don’t feel the need to want for
more. They feel as though they have a perfectly fine life.
Uncle Jethro is a blacksmith, he repairs the mining equipment and Aunt Leandra is a seamstress
assistant in the shops. They feel like they have it better than most. Even though Amara and I work in
the mines, Aunt Leandra hopes that the two of us will find respectable men to settle down with and
have babies.
I don’t want that though. I want better for myself. Amara always seemed to me to be content to go
along with their plans too. I don’t think she has ambition outside of the camp.
It’s not like I need some grand life to be happy. Don’t get me wrong, I know that I could be happy
leading a relatively ordinary life. It’s just that I don’t want the only thing I ever see in my life is the
inside of kirialite mines and the four walls of my cabin.
We get back to working, the silence stretching between us. I know this isn’t over. Amara is likely
to ask me more questions, to poke at my story more. But at least for now, I got her off my back.
I don’t know how long it will last but maybe I can find a better excuse in the meantime. At least
good enough to keep Amara from getting suspicious about Kerym. I can’t put his job on the line
because of me.
So I focus on working and try to put him out of my mind.
8
 KERYM

I manage to keep an eye on Layla throughout the morning but by mid-morning break, she’s
disappeared into another sector.
Instead, I decide to wait until the end of the day and try to pull her away so we can have another
night like last night. Just as she’s coming out of the mines though, I spot her cousin Amara hurrying to
meet her. Amara pulls her away by the sleeve of her dress and they stop by the water bucket to get a
drink.
They’ll probably head to their home cabin now. Fuck. I can’t even get near Layla right now, not
with the way Amara seems to keep a sharp focus on every person who even gets close to Layla right
now.
She’s probably suspicious. This is the third or fourth night over the past two weeks that Layla
stayed away from home all night long. She doesn’t usually stay over so often but we’ve been getting a
little lazy, a little bold.
I’m still watching them and I don’t realize it until Amara catches my eye and I blink, turning away
quickly. I can’t have our secret getting out.
My cheeks heat up and I realize what I’ve done, feeling silly for panicking. Amara is tiny, smaller
even than Layla. She’s not as fierce either. I have nothing to fear from her. There’s no way she could
somehow guess that the two of us have been spending time together just based on a lingering stare.
I’m just being paranoid.
Don’t get me wrong. I like Amara. I know Layla finds her annoying but Amara is much kinder than
Layla gives her cousin credit for. Amara has her overprotective side but it’s natural for the way that
she was raised around here.
Besides, I can’t be everywhere at once and where I can’t go, Amara can. She can be places with
Layla that I can’t access, can keep an eye on her more often than I can. I do the best I can but Amara is
there to cover me, even though she doesn’t know she’s doing it.
Layla is so stubborn and speaks her mind without thinking through the consequences as well. If
Amara weren’t there keeping an eye on her, she would end up in way more danger than she realizes.
It’s only because there are people looking out for her that Layla can get away with being as brash as
she is.
I watch as they continue to chat and argue with each other as they wait in line to get a drink before
heading back home. My eyes don’t leave them until they turn the corner and disappear from sight.
Layla is very lucky to have a family that cares about her as much as they do. Not that mine don’t.
They just show it differently.
 I’m interrupted in my thoughts when another guard comes over. “Hey, Kerym,” he says.
Pulling my gaze from the corner where she disappeared, I turn to see Zeymur standing in front of
me. “Keeping an eye on the miners?” he asks, glancing over to watch some of the last stragglers leave
the mines.
“Yeah,” I nod. “Just making sure everyone has left for the day.”
“Good. I think some of the humans try to linger so they can steal equipment,” he sneers. “I don’t
trust them.”
“What did you come here for?” I ask, redirecting the conversation.
Some of the guards are suspicious that I have too much sympathy for the human workers and I
have to tread a careful line between not showing too much sympathy and letting some of the worst
ones get away with being outright assholes.
“Ah, right,” Zeymur turns his attention back to me. “There’s a mandatory meeting in the briefing
room tonight,” he says. “You’ll want to be there.”
“Got it,” I say, nodding. “Do you know what it’s about?”
“No idea,” Zeymur shakes his head. “Going to the bar for a drink before the meeting. Want to
come?”
“Nah. I need to get cleaned up first,” I tell him. In reality I have no desire to sit around drinking
and talking shit about humans like so many of the guards seem to enjoy doing every night after work.
“See you later then,” he says, waving me off and leaving to catch up with a few of the other
guards.
Once I’m home, I wash up and make myself a pot of tea while I sit in my window seat, watching
the others move through the streets of the camp. Layla and Amara are probably home by now. I’m glad
that she’s safe.
It’s hard, sometimes. Watching her walk around looking so breathtakingly beautiful and not
grabbing her and dragging her home with me at the end of the day. But we agreed a long time ago that
this was a purely physical thing.
I can’t get sentimental now. I’ve been at this camp for almost a year. It might be time to put in for a
transfer, to move up the ladder to the next rung. If the opportunity arises, I can’t pass it up.
Which means saying goodbye to Layla—likely for good.
The sun starts to dip below the horizon and the grandfather clock chimes the hour. It’s time to head
to the base for the meeting.
Once I’ve cleaned up the tea things, I grab my cloak and pull it around my neck, heading out the
door for the meeting.
Zeymur and a few of his cronies are laughing and jostling each other as they leave the bar. He
waves and I wait for them to catch up to me. I’m not friends with them but they make decent company
when I don’t want to be alone.
“So have you heard the one about the human who couldn’t spell?” Zeymur asks. I clench my jaw
shut, refraining from playing into their stupid games.
“No, what about ‘im?” Lomas asks.
I don’t even pay attention to the punchline, tired of the stupid jokes. I’m not interested in the
human-bashing that goes on. They may be different from us but they are not inferior. It gets tiring after
a while. The stupid jokes, the innuendos, and worse are the ones who are outright cruel or vicious
towards the humans for their position in society.
It doesn’t matter to me. Humans and dark elves aren’t all that different. There are even rumors that
circulate around of humans in far off areas of Protheka who have powers like dark elves.
 Once we arrive, I pull off and sit with a few other elves who aren’t quite as crude and lewd as
Zeymur and his buddies.
One of them nods at me and I take a seat, the group of us waiting for the Lieutenant to arrive.
“Hello men,” he says, striding inside. Everyone goes quiet when he enters. No one is entirely sure
what the meeting is about so we’re all on tenderhooks, wondering if it’s bad news.
“I’ll get right down to it. There’s a new round of guards that have just been trained up and are
ready to take on their positions. Plenty of men available to take the place of anyone here who wants to
move on to a new spot. If you want to put in for a transfer, please let me know and we can see where
we’ve got space.”
This is good news. Many of us are from far away, some from Prazh and Oshta, or even as far
away as Liiandor. The first few assignments after training is over are usually to remote locations like
the camps or the remote mountains in Orthani.
Once you’ve built up a little seniority, you get better assignments and can move up the ranks to
become a guard captain or higher. My brother was gone for just under a year, to Prazh before he was
able to get an assignment back home and things started going up for him from there.
So it’s a big chance for me to prove myself. I certainly don’t love living on Tlouz. I would rather
be back home, or near my home. I miss my family.
But if I leave, I’m leaving Layla behind. I don’t know if she would want me to stay. She never
acted like she wanted anything more than what we’ve got.
Should I put my name down for a transfer? What will happen to Layla if I do? Would she even
miss me?
I stand in line, debating with myself as the others sign their name on the sheet. It seems about half
the guards are ready to move on from the mining camps. My mind races as I get closer and closer to
the front.
“Go ahead and sign your name down,” the Lieutenant says when I get to the front and am stuck
staring at the parchment.
I reach out my hand, then glance back up at him. “Do I get to choose where to go? I’ve been
enlisted for over two years now.”
“You’ll get some say in where you go this time,” he promises.
I stare at the signature line and finally make my decision.
9
 LAYLA

I lay in bed for a moment, trying to get my bearings. Last night, I managed to successfully avoid
questions from my aunt and uncle and get through dinner without being interrogated about my
whereabouts.
Hopefully I can figure out what to do at some point. I breathe in and out slowly but the scent of the
musty air seems to trigger something in me because I’m suddenly feeling nauseated.
Ugh! I try breathing through my mouth instead. Sometimes the dust in the air around here can kick
up colds or other minor illnesses. I just need to power through the morning so I can get to work.
When I stand up though, my nausea gets worse, immediately. I rush out of my room and down the
hall to the bathroom, bending over the toilet and releasing everything from my stomach into the basin.
I sit up, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand and feel slightly better, but not great. The
commotion must have roused my aunt because she knocks on the door and calls in, asking if I’m
alright.
“Hurry up in there little bunny, we’re going to be late if you don’t get a move on!” Uncle Jethro
adds.
“I’m fine!” I yell through the door. “Just the dust getting to me this morning. Go on ahead without
me. I’ll catch up!”
I hear Uncle Jethro shuffling around outside the door and I imagine he’s looking at Aunt Leandra
and shrugging. “You heard her,” he mutters. “Let’s go.”
“Oh hush, Jethro,” Leandra replies. “Go on then, you leave. I’m just going to check on her.”
There’s more shuffling noises and the door opens, Aunt Leandra coming inside, followed by
Amara. I groan internally. Of course Amara is sticking her nose in my business without reason. I’m
fine.
Everyone is just making an unnecessary fuss. My aunt comes and puts a hand to my forehead,
checking me for fever.
“You don’t feel warm,” she says, touching the back of my neck for good measure. “I wonder if you
picked up a stomach bug. Sometimes the water in the water barrel can make me queasy if they haven’t
cleaned it properly the day before,” she says, continuing to fuss.
Amara shoots me a look, narrowing her eyes. I know what she’s thinking. I knew I didn’t entirely
convince her I wasn’t sneaking around with a boy, but I had hoped I had at least thrown her off the
scent.
But it’s not possible. There’s nothing wrong with me but the nausea. I’m just bothered by the dust
in the air. That’s all.
 When she doesn’t find anything immediately wrong with me, Aunt Leandra waves Amara off and
tells her that they need to go to work.
“I’m going to send a healer to the house to check on you,” my aunt says. “You’re in no shape to go
to work today. I’ll get Amara to cover for you,” she adds.
Amara gives me a pointed look as she grabs her cloak. “I’ll make sure you don’t get in trouble,”
she says. “But I hope you feel better soon.”
I ignore the look and say goodbye to them, trying to wait for my stomach to settle. Once it does, I
rise and head back to my bedroom to lie down, feeling inexplicably tired.
The nausea is gone and I’m half convinced it was all in my head but all that side-eyeing Amara
gave me earlier is making me nervous.
I couldn’t be pregnant. Could I? What if I am? What will I do? Am I going to tell Kerym?
Before I can start panicking, the healer knocks on the front door.
Nicola is only a few years older than me and she got an apprenticeship with our retired healer.
She lives a much easier life than most of us.
Being a healer wouldn’t be so bad if you weren’t surrounded by sick people. At least it wouldn’t
be as hard work as mining.
“Hello Layla!” she calls, entering the house. She heads straight for my room, knocking as she
pushes the door open.
“Hey,” I sit up, the room spinning for a moment. “Sorry about this. I’m fine. I think it’s just the
dust.”
“No worries,” Nicola smiles. “You relax. I’m just going to check you over a bit.” She starts by
checking my forehead and shakes her head. “No fever,” she says. “Have you had any other
symptoms?”
“Just the nausea. And I’m a bit tired.”
“Okay,” she says. She’s so soft-spoken and kind. “Let’s just sit up for me, can you let me listen to
your heart beating?” she asks. She produces a strange contraption that looks like a fluted instrument
with a large end. Putting the large end at my chest, she listens from the smaller one.
“Sounds good. Nice and strong.” Nicola says after a few seconds. “So, I don’t think you’re sick,”
she says carefully. “But tell me, have you had your monthly visitor recently?”
I try to think back. “Maybe last month?” I say, not entirely certain.
“Right,” she stands back up and sits on the stool next to my bed. “I think that I know what’s going
on now. You’re pregnant.”
My head starts spinning again. The room seems to fade from view. Pregnant?
“It’s quite early on I think. You couldn’t be more than a month or so gone into your first term. Can
I ask...are you alright with this news? If this is news that you are upset by, I can help you.”
I stare at her, trying to understand. “Was the conception under less than comfortable
circumstances?” she asks gently. “If it was something bad, I have herbs for that.”
“No,” I shake my head, finally understanding. “The father is...is someone I care for. I want the
baby. But can you please keep this a secret for now?”
“Of course,” Nicola assures me. “I am very discreet. But you need to start thinking about what you
want to do if you’re going to keep the baby. Are you planning on telling the father?”
I think about it for a moment, trying to decide what I’m going to do but the thought of trying to
decide what’s right feels so overwhelming.
“I can’t even think about him right now,” I tell her.
“Okay,” Nicola nods. “I just want to know if it’s someone that you planned to mate with. If not, I
want to discuss your options. I have to tell you that in my personal and professional opinion, the
mines are no place for a baby, or for a new mom. I think you ought to consider your options now,
before you get farther along.”
I stare at her. She’s right. I haven’t even thought about that. How will I have a baby here in the
camps? I can’t raise a baby here! I don’t want my child to grow up in the same life as me, to be
worked to death in the mines.
I want more for them. For us.
“What can I do?” I ask, drawing my knees up to wrap my arms around them. “Is there something I
can do? Somewhere safer I can go?”
“Yes,” Nicola nods. “I can help you, if you want. There are places you can go that are less
strenuous than here. Or you can become an apprentice to someone in a different path. It’s up to you. If
you want to stay here, we can find a way to transfer you into working for a seamstress or for one of
the village cooks. You could take on an apprenticeship with the apothecary. It’s a little late for you to
take on a healer apprenticeship but it’s not impossible,” she adds.
There are so many options, so much I could do that isn’t in the mines. But at the end of the day, I’d
still be stuck here, in the camp. I’d be forced to watch the elves bully my child for being mixed race.
I can’t do that to him or her. There’s too much prejudice here. I need to get far away, somewhere
more accepting.
“I think I want to go elsewhere,” I say after thinking it over. “Can you help with that?”
“Yes,” she says. “I can find you another place to transfer to. Would you care if it was far from
here?”
“No, I don’t care where it is,” I tell her after a moment.
“Then it’s done. I have just the place in mind.”
Nicola and I discuss a few more things about the pregnancy and she stays to encourage me to get
something light to eat. She is doing such a good job at looking out for me that it almost feels like I’m
simply sick with a cold.
It hits me again though, out of the blue, after my light meal of eggs and toast. I’m pregnant. With
Kerym’s baby. Everything is going to be changing now.
I can’t even figure out what I’m going to tell him yet. Or if I am. I just need to focus on getting
through this morning. Just take everything one step at a time, for now.
Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
542
The period which witnessed the greatest inequality of fortunes
was the last century of the Republic and the first of the Empire.
543
It should be borne in mind that the clients of this period were
wholly different from the clients of the earlier times. The
relations of the early clients to their patrons were those of
clansmen to their chief; the relations of these later clients to
their patrons were the degrading relations of idle, needy
dependents to newly rich men without family traditions and
socially and morally wholly unfit for their elevation.
544
The History of Rome (1888), vol. ii, p. 524.
545
“The deepest feeling of Tacitus about the early Empire seems
to have been that it was fatal to character both in prince and
subject.”—Dill, Roman Society from Nero to Marcus Aurelius,
p. 29.
546
The Moral Ideal, 3d ed., p. 204.
547
History of European Morals, 3d ed., vol. i, pp. 332 ff.
548
Ibid. 3d ed., vol. i, p. 227.
549
“Men ceased to be adventurous, patriotic, just, magnanimous;
but in exchange they became chaste, tender-hearted, loyal,
religious, and capable of infinite endurance in a good
cause.”—Seeley, Roman Imperialism (1889), p. 33.
550
The Moral Ideal, 3d ed., p. 187.
551
About 40–120 a.d.
552
Dill, Roman Society from Nero to Marcus Aurelius, p. 64.
553
Dill, Roman Society from Nero to Marcus Aurelius, pp. 231 f.
554
Cf. Ibid. p. 232.
555
Stoicism is second only to Christianity as a moral force in
European civilization. “One of the most important expressions
of the moral sense for all time,” affirms Professor Clifford, “is
that of the Stoic philosophy, especially after its reception
among the Romans” (Lectures and Essays (1901), vol. ii, p.
108). Mahaffy declares that the Stoic philosophy, “above all the
human influences we know, purified and ennobled the world”
(The Silver Age (1906), p. 103). Denis thinks that it was
through Stoicism that Rome did most for civilization (Histoire
des théories et des idées morales dans l’antiquité (1879), t. ii,
p. 5).
556
Taken from Menander.
557
“One of the most emphatic as well as one of the earliest extant
assertions of the duty of charity to the human race occurs in
the treatise of Cicero upon duties.”—Lecky, History of
European Morals, 3d ed., vol. i, p. 240.
558
De Off. iii. 5.
559
Ibid. iii. xi.
560
Ibid. i. 16.
561
De Finibus, v. 23.
562
Meditations, vi. 44. This and the following citations are from
Long’s translation, 2d ed.
563
Ibid. iv. 23. The moral element in the conception of the
universal city must not be overlooked. There was implied in it
the idea of universal brotherhood, of the ethical oneness of
mankind. The creation and promulgation of this conception
was one of the great services which Stoicism rendered to
civilization.
564
Ibid. iii. 4.
565
Ibid. viii. 59.
566
This subject is dealt with by Lecky, History of European
Morals, 3d ed., vol. i, pp. 295 ff.; Bryce, Studies in History and
Jurisprudence, vol. ii, essay xi, “The Law of Nature.”
567
Bryce, Studies in History and Jurisprudence (1901), vol. ii, p.
143.
568
Sophocles, Antigone.
569
Commenting on the consequences of the inspiration of Roman
law by this doctrine of Stoicism, Lecky says: “To the Stoics and
the Roman lawyers is mainly due the clear recognition of the
existence of a law of nature above and beyond all human
enactments, which has been the basis of the best moral and of
the most influential, though most chimerical, political
speculations of later ages, and the renewed study of Roman
law was an important element in the revival that preceded the
Reformation” (History of European Morals, 3d ed., vol. i, p.
297).
570
History of European Morals, 3d ed., vol. i, p. 129. Lecky
instances (vol. i, p. 292) three ways in which Stoicism worked
for good in the Empire: (1) it raised up good emperors; (2) it
led men to engage in the public service; and (3) it rendered the
law more catholic and humane.
571
Dill, Roman Society from Nero to Marcus Aurelius (1904), p.
376.
572
“In the Stoic emperors ... we find probably the earliest example
of great moral principles applied to legislation on a large
scale.”—Clifford, Lectures and Essays, vol. ii, p. 108.
573
Public feeling in regard to the exercise of the patria potestas
had been slowly changing during the centuries. Seneca relates
(De Clem. i. 14) how within his memory the people furiously
 assaulted in the Forum a certain knight because he had
whipped his son to death.
574
“The alleviations of slavery by the imperial law are essentially
traceable to the influence of the Greek view.”—Mommsen,
Roman Provinces (1887), vol. i, p. 296.
575
“The majority of the free population had probably either
themselves been slaves, or were descended from slaves.”—
Lecky, History of European Morals, 3d ed., vol. i, p. 237.
576
Dill, Roman Society from Nero to Marcus Aurelius (1904), p. 3.
577
Lecky, History of European Morals, 3d ed., vol. i, p. 312.
578
De Clem. i. 18.
579
Tacitus, Annals, xiv. 42–45.
580
Manumissions were frequent even in Seneca’s time. Pliny the
Elder was a kind master, regarded his slaves as “humble
friends,” and manumitted many of them.
581
The client class of the imperial period was made up almost
wholly of freedmen.
582
It is surprising that while in the Stoic and other schools there
was, during these centuries, great advance in theoretical ethics
in various domains, in that of war there was no essential
modification of the views and feelings of the teachers and
leaders of moral reforms. In the whole range of Roman
literature and philosophy there are to be found scarcely any
expressions of disapproval of war. The attitude of the Roman
moralists in this matter appears to have been altogether like
that of the Greek philosophers. The right to wage war for
empire and for glory was taught even by Cicero, only such
wars, he insisted, should be waged more gently than wars to
recover property, to punish insult, or to avenge a wrong (De
Off. i. 12).
583
For the ethics of Christian persecution, see below, p. 324.
584
See on this subject Fiske, Excursions of an Evolutionist (1883),
pp. 238 ff.; Hardy, Christianity and the Roman Government
(1894), p. 17; Pollock, Essays in Jurisprudence and Ethics
(1882), p. 147.
585
Besides this main motive of the persecutions there were these
minor ones: (1) The teachings and practices of the new sect
offended the prevailing spirit of luxury and sensuality; (2)
families were divided; (3) the business of many, as that of the
silversmiths of Ephesus, was threatened (Acts xix. 24–41); and
(4) fear on the part of the government of the danger from the
growth of such a strong semi-secret organization as the
Church was becoming within the Empire (Hardy, Christianity
and the Roman Government (1894), p. 165).
586
“Upon the approach of Christianity humanity took a
consciousness more alert and sensitive, and during the first
three centuries of our era all the ideas, all the sentiments
which constitute morality developed on parallel lines and with
remarkable force in the growing Church and in expiring
paganism.”—Denis, Histoire des théories et des idées morales
dans l’antiquité (1879), t. ii, p. 145.
587
De Off. i. 25.
588
Meditations, xi. 18.
589
Ibid. vii. 36.
590
Ibid. ix. 9; cf. vi. 47.
591
Ibid. vi. 6.
592
Fragments, tr. Long, lxviii; cf. lxvii.
593
Meditations, iii. 4.
594
De Prov. i. 1.
595
Meditations, x. 21.
596
Ibid. ii. 11.
597
Ibid. xii. 5.
598
Ibid. ii. 17.
599
Arrian, Epict. ii. 14; quoted by Lecky, History of European
Morals, 3d ed., vol. i, p. 246.
600
Meditations, vii. 31.
601
Ethical Essays, v, “On those who are punished by the Deity
late.”
602
De Off. ii. 14.
603
Ibid. ii. 5.
604
Ibid. i. 7.
605
Ibid. iii. 6.
606
Ibid. iii. 4. Compare this expression of the ancient Greek and
Roman moral consciousness with that of the modern Japanese
(see p. 86).
607
Ibid. ii. 12.
608
De Clem. ii. 6. The trouble with this philosophy, as has been
said, is that if one does not feel pity for the sufferings of others
he will not be likely to help them.
609
Cicero, however, denied the right of self-destruction, and Vergil
mildly censured the act. See Æneid, vi. 434.
610
Discourses, i. 9.
611
Meditations, v. 29.
612
Ep. lxx; quoted by Lecky, History of European Morals, 3d ed.,
vol. i, p. 218.
613
De Prov. i. 2.
614
Zeno, the founder of the school, and Cato, its exemplifier in
active life, both committed suicide.
615
Compare the views on this subject of the ancient classical
peoples with those of the modern Japanese (see p. 85 and p.
86 n. 1.).
616
Glover, The Conflict of Religions in the Early Roman Empire,
3d ed. (1909), p. 67.
617
History of European Morals, 3d ed., vol. i, p. 324.
618
Paulsen, A System of Ethics, tr. Thilly (1906), pp. 111 f.
619
The cult of Isis when introduced into the Western lands favored
illicit love, but by the second century of our era it had, in its
new environment, become so far transformed as to be a true
moral force in society. “Sacrament and mystery lent their aid to
fortify the worshiper [of Isis] in the face of death, but, to derive
their full virtue, he must exercise himself in temperance, abjure
the pleasures of the senses, and purify himself for the vision of
God” (Dill, Roman Society from Nero to Marcus Aurelius
(1904), p. 583).
620
On this subject see Franz Cumont, Les Mystères de Mithra
(1892); English ed., The Mysteries of Mithra, tr. McCormack.
621
“It [Mithraism] is perhaps the highest and most striking
example of the last efforts of paganism to reconcile itself to the
great moral and spiritual movement which was settling steadily,
and with growing momentum, toward purer conceptions of
God, of man’s relations to Him, and of the life to come.”—Dill,
Roman Society from Nero to Marcus Aurelius, p. 585.
622
“On peut dire que, si le christianisme eût été arrêté dans sa
croissance par quelque maladie mortelle, le monde eût été
Mithriaste.”—Renan, Marc-Aurèle, 5me ed., p. 579.
623
“Isis and Serapis and Mithra were preparing the Western world
for the religion which was to approve the long travail of
humanity by a more perfect vision of the divine.”—Dill, Roman
Society from Nero to Marcus Aurelius (1904), p. 574.
624
Acts xvii. 29.
625
New to the multitude. Some of the Stoic philosophers, as we
have seen, held and taught this doctrine.
626
The Eleusinian Mysteries in Greece, and some Oriental cults,
particularly that of Mithra, imported into the Roman Empire,
made the participation in a blessed life beyond the grave
dependent upon moral purity of life on earth and through this
doctrine exercised a favorable influence upon morality (see p.
254).
627
This thought and conviction of the immortality of the individual
was, it is possible, in part the outcome of the decay of the
ancient city, whose fancied eternity had satisfied for a time the
instinct of immortality. But when some centuries had passed,
the “Romans sailed round the Mediterranean and recognized
that the cities of the past were not eternal, and with the same
waft of conviction came a compensating belief that eternity
was the heritage of every son of man. Immortality arose on the
horizon of the man, as its last glow faded from the city”
(Wedgwood, The Moral Ideal, 3d ed., p. 341). It was the same
in Judea; as immortality faded from the political horizon of
Israel, it arose on that of the individual soul.
628
Though the account of the fall of man forms the prelude of the
Hebrew Scriptures, the conception never influenced to an
appreciable degree pre-Christian ethics.
629
See Schmidt, The Prophet of Nazareth (1905), p. 322.
630
“L’humanité cherche l’idéal; mais elle veut que l’idéal soit une
personne; elle n’aime pas une abstraction.”—Renan, Marc-
Aurèle, 5me ed., p. 582.
631
History of European Morals, 3d ed., vol. ii, p. 8.
632
On this subject consult Hatch, The Influence of Greek Ideas
and Usages upon the Christian Church (1888), lect. xii, “The
Transformation of the Basis of Christian Union: Doctrine in the
Place of Conduct.”
633
“After the middle of the third century, ... Christianity may be just
as truly called a Hellenic religion as an Oriental.”—Harnack,
The Expansion of Christianity (1904), vol. i, pp. 393 f.
634
The change of emphasis from moral life to correct doctrine
took place during the last half of the second and the first half of
the third century. “Under the influence of contemporary Greek
thought, the word faith came to be transferred from simple trust
in God to mean the acceptance of a series of propositions, and
these propositions, propositions in abstract metaphysics”
(Hatch, The Influence of Greek Ideas and Usages upon the
Christian Church (1888), p. 310).
635
The Athanasian Creed, which by the end of the ninth century
was in use in the churches of the West as an authoritative
symbol and exposition of the Roman Catholic faith, says,
“Whosoever will be saved, before all things, it is necessary that
he hold the Catholic faith, which faith, except every one who
do keep entire and unviolated, without doubt he shall perish
everlastingly” (Philip Schaff, Bibliotheca Symbolica Ecclesiae
Universalis, vol. ii, p. 66).
636
Lecky, History of European Morals, 3d ed., vol. ii, p. 68.
637
“The virtues of the intellect, freedom and boldness of thought
and the power to doubt, the vital principle of scientific research,
are, in the eyes of primitive Christianity, worthless and
 dangerous.”—Paulsen, A System of Ethics, tr. Thilly (1906), p.
68.
638
Cf. Harnack, The Expansion of Christianity (1904), vol. i, chap.
v, “The Religion of Authority and Reason.”
639
See Paulsen, System of Ethics, tr. Thilly (1906), bk. i, chap. iii.
640
The ascetic movement was a reaction not only against the
moral dissoluteness of pagan society, but also against the
moral degeneracy which, before the end of the third century,
had set in within the Christian community itself. The Church
had become to a lamentable degree conformed unto the world,
and had lost much of that moral fervor which characterized it
during the first two centuries.
641
Alban Butler, The Lives of the Saints (the Fathers, Martyrs, and
other Principal Saints, compiled from monuments and other
authentic sources), 12 vols. (1854). Orig. ed. pub. 1754–1760.
642
“If you do any good beyond what is commanded by God, you
will gain for yourself more abundant glory, and will be more
honored by God than you would otherwise be,” was the
teaching of the Church respecting the meritoriousness of
ascetic practices. Cf. Newman Smyth, Christian Ethics (1892),
p. 313.
643
The “Dialogue” is of course a purely literary creation of some
monk. Oisin was not a contemporary of St. Patrick.
644
J. H. Simpson, Poems of Oisin (1857), pp. 42 ff. We have
reproduced only a small part of the poem.
645
History of European Morals, 3d ed., vol. ii, p. 34.
646
Westermarck, The Origin and Development of the Moral Ideas
(1908), vol. ii, p. 252.
647
Cf. Dante, Inf. xiii.
648
See above, pp. 175, 215.
649
Ireland was foremost in this missionary movement because
she was so given over to the monastic spirit. See
Montalembert, The Monks of the West (1861), vol. ii, p. 397.
650
According to Westermarck (The Origin and Development of the
Moral Ideas (1906), vol. i, pp. 565–569) charity took the place
of sacrifice in the primitive cults, and for this reason became
such a prominent religious duty in all the higher faiths.
651
Montalembert, The Monks of the West (1861), vol. i, pp. 397 f.
652
Lecky, History of European Morals, 3d ed., vol. ii, pp. 86 ff.
653
The Moral Ideal, 3d ed., p. 369.
654
See above, p. 245.
655
“The suppression of all religions but one by Theodosius, the
murder of Hypatia by the monks of Cyril, and the closing by
Justinian of the schools of Athens, are the three events which
mark the decisive overthrow of intellectual freedom.”—Lecky,
History of European Morals, 3d ed., vol. i, p. 428.
656
See above, p. 6.
657
Physics and Politics (1873), pp. 70 f.
658
“One may find ... the chief characteristic of the period of the
migrations in a complete uprooting of public morality, a
universal overturning of inherited conceptions of right and
wrong.”—Francke, Social Forces in German Literature, 2d
ed., p. 12.
659
Parliament of Religions (1893), vol. i, pp. 574 f.; consult also
Bryce, Studies in History and Jurisprudence (1901), vol. ii, p.
237.
660
Qur’ân, tr. Palmer (Sacred Books of the East, vols. vi, ix),
suras ii. 184–189, 212–215; iv. 90; viii. 40; ix. 5–14, 29; xlvii. 4,
and many others.
661
Ibid. suras ii. 149; iii. 151; ix. 113.
662
Sura xxiv. 33. The New Testament nowhere inculcates the
manumission of slaves, but the spirit of its teachings is
opposed to slavery, and the early Fathers of the Church
encouraged the emancipation of slaves.
663
Sura iv. 3.
664
Suras vi. 138, 141, 152; xvii. 33.
665
Suras ii. 216; v. 93.
666
R. Bosworth Smith, Mohammed and Mohammedanism (1875),
p. 204.
667
Ameer Ali, The Spirit of Islam, 2d ed., p. 283.
668
According to the principles of the Koran, though no Moslem
captive might be reduced to servitude, all non-Moslem
prisoners could, as spoils of war, be enslaved: “We make
lawful for ye ... what thy right hand possesses [slaves] out of
the booty God has granted thee” (sura xxxiii. 49).
669
“The recognition of the slave traffic by Mohammedanism has
been, and is to this day, a curse to Africa and a source of
disturbance to the world’s politics.”—Hobhouse, Morals in
Evolution (1906), vol. i, p. 307.
670
In an address. Cf. R. Bosworth Smith, Mohammed and
Mohammedanism (1875), pp. 59 ff.
671
Ameer Ali, The Spirit of Islam, 2d ed., p. 328. The author
maintains that Mohammed himself did not intend that his rules
should be binding for all time.
672
This teaching is one which does not show itself as a generally
recognized principle in the pre-Christian centuries, as does the
principle of love, or self-devotion to the common good, or
universal benevolence. “Christianity at its inception did not take
over this moral principle, ready-made, from any of the older
cults or cultures from which the Christian movement was in a
position to draw. It is not found, at least in appreciable force, in
the received Judaism; nor can it be derived from the classical
(Greco-Roman) cultures, which had none of it” (Thorstein B.
Veblen, “Christian Morals and the Competitive System,” The
International Journal of Ethics for January, 1910).
673
“Christian mores in the Western Empire were formed by
syncretism of Jewish and pagan mores. Christian mores
therefore contain war, slavery, concubinage, demonism, and
base amusements, together with some abstract ascetic
doctrines with which these things are inconsistent.”—Sumner,
Folkways (1907), p. 116.
674
For opinions of early Christian writers and the attitude of the
Church on the soldier’s profession and the rightfulness of war,
see Grotius, Rights of War and Peace, tr. Whewell, pp. 49 ff.
675
Harnack, The Expansion of Christianity (1904), vol. ii, p. 205.
676
See above, p. 277.
677
Throughout the medieval ages and down almost to our own
day these Old Testament records, misread, were used to justify
many of the cruelties of war, and other atrocities:

Plunder and pillage were supported by reference to the divinely

approved “spoiling of the Egyptians” by the Israelites. The right to
massacre unresisting enemies was based upon the command of the
Almighty to the Jews in the twentieth chapter of Deuteronomy. The
indiscriminate slaughter of whole populations was justified by a
reference to the divine command to slaughter the nations round about
Israel. Torture and mutilation of enemies was sanctioned by the
conduct of Samuel against Agag, of King David against the Philistines,
 of the men of Judah against Adonibezek. Even the slaughter of babes
in arms was supported by a passage from the Psalms, “Happy shall he
be, that taketh and dasheth thy little ones against the stones.”
Treachery and assassination were supported by a reference to the
divinely approved Phinehas, Ehud, Judith, and Jael; and murdering the
ministers of unapproved religions, by Elijah’s slaughter of the priests of
Baal.—Andrew D. White, Seven Great Statesmen (1910), pp. 85 f.

678
Lecky believes this to have been the main cause of the
transformation in the Church. “The transition,” he says, “from
the almost Quaker tenets of the primitive Church to the
essentially military Christianity of the Crusades was due chiefly
... to the terror and the example of Mohammedanism” (History
of European Morals, 3d ed., vol. ii, p. 252). But, as we have
seen, the transition was already nearly complete before the
rise of Islam.
679
In a portrayal of the character of the Scandinavians, the
Church historian Schaff observes: “Their only enthusiasm was
the feeling of duty; but the direction which had been given to
this feeling was so absolutely opposed to that pointed out by
the Christian morality, that no reconciliation was possible”
(History of the Christian Church, vol. iv, p. 110). Yet in the
important domain of ethics which we are here examining this is
exactly what did happen.
680
History of European Morals, 3d ed., vol. ii, p. 253.
681
Josiah Royce, The Philosophy of Loyalty (1908).
682
“So great, it is said, was the knights’ respect for an oath, a
promise, or a vow, that when they lay under any of these
restrictions, they appeared everywhere with little chains
attached to their arms or habits to show all the world they were
slaves to their word; nor were these chains taken off till their
promise had been performed, which sometimes extended to a
term of four or five years. It cannot be expected, of course, that
reality should have always come up to the ideal.”—
 Westermarck, The Origin and Development of Moral Ideas
(1908), vol. ii, p. 102.
683
History of European Morals, 3d ed., vol. ii, p. 272.
684
First printed in 1873, from MSS. compiled probably as early as
the twelfth or thirteenth century. There is an English translation
by Charles Swan (1877).
685
“There can be little doubt,” says Lecky, “that the Catholic
reverence for the Virgin has done much to elevate and purify
the ideal of woman and soften the manners of men” (History of
European Morals, 3d ed., vol. ii, p. 367). And so Professor
Nathaniel Schmidt: “The chivalry of the medieval knight from
which our modern treatment of woman so largely is derived
cannot be regarded as solely a product of Christianity, for it
has a deep root in the dreamy reverence for woman
characteristic of our pagan ancestors. Yet it would not have
become what it was but for the veneration accorded to the
Virgin Mary” (The Prophet of Nazareth (1905), p. 324).
686
See Curtis M. Geer, The Beginning of the Peace Movement
(1912).
687
Kluckhohn, Geschichte des Gottesfriedens (1857), p. 38.
688
This part of the week was chosen because these days had
been consecrated by Christ’s passion, burial, resurrection, and
ascension.
689
Hobhouse, Morals in Evolution (1906), vol. i, p. 314.
690
The last instance of an arrangement for ransom of prisoners
was an agreement between England and France in 1780. See
Hall, International Law, 5th ed., p. 414, n. 1.
691
One center of these reform movements was the celebrated
French monastery of Cluny. The influences which radiated
 from the cloisters of this convent had a profound effect for
centuries upon the moral life of Christendom.
692
See Sabatier, Life of St. Francis of Assisi.
693
History of the Inquisition (1887), vol. i, p. 266.
694
“There was need of the exaggeration of self-sacrifice taught by
Francis to recall humanity to a sense of its obligations.... The
value of such an ideal on an age hard and cruel can scarce be
exaggerated” (Lea, History of the Inquisition (1887), vol. i, pp.
260 f.). See also Nathaniel Schmidt, The Prophet of Nazareth
(1905), p. 325.
695
See above, p. 262.
696
“Ethics on the basis of authority becomes a mere legal
casuistry.”—Hall, The History of Ethics within Organized
Christianity (1910), pp. 296, 326.
697
“But meanwhile by alternations of Hebraism and Hellenism, of
a man’s intellectual and moral impulses, of the effort to see
things as they really are, and the effort to win peace by self-
conquest, the human spirit proceeds; and each of these two
forces has its appointed hours of culmination and seasons of
rule.”—Matthew Arnold, Culture and Anarchy (1875), p.
143.
698
It must be borne in mind that the spirit of the Renaissance was
at work long before the Renaissance.
699
In this there is substantial agreement among historians of the
Inquisition: consult Lea, The Inquisition of the Middle Ages
(1887), vol. i, pp. 236 ff.; Lecky, History of European Morals, 3d
ed., vol. i, pp. 98, 395 f.; Pollock, Essays in Jurisprudence and
Ethics (1882), essay vi, “The Theory of Persecution”; Catholic
Encyclopedia, vol. viii, article on “Inquisition.”
700
“The case for theological persecution is unanswerable if we
admit the fundamental supposition that one faith is known to
be true and necessary for salvation.”—Pollock, Essays in
Jurisprudence and Ethics (1882), p. 155.
701
Catholic Encyclopedia, vol. viii, under “Inquisition.”
702
Besides the doctrine of the criminality of misbelief, Lecky finds
a secondary cause of Christian persecution in the medieval
teaching respecting hell. That vision of the awful and eternal
torments prepared for misbelievers, he says, “chilled and
deadened the sympathies and predisposed men to inflict
suffering” (Rationalism in Europe, new ed. (1890), vol. i, p.
347).
703
Lea, History of the Inquisition in the Middle Ages (1887), vol. i,
p. 234. “The representatives of the Church were children of
their own age.... Theologians and canonists, the highest and
the saintliest, stood by the code of their day and sought to
explain and justify it” (Catholic Encyclopedia, vol. viii, under
“Inquisition”).
704
“It was strange that one almost swooning with pain should
have said the gentlest-hearted and truest thing about human
nature that has ever been said since the world began.”—
Gerald Stanley Lee, “Business, Goodness, and
Imagination,” Hibbert Journal for April, 1912, p. 651.
705
On Machiavellism see The Prince, and introductions to
different editions by Macaulay, Lord Acton, and Henry Morley;
Figgis, Studies of Political Thought from Gerson to Grotius
(1907), pp. 81–107; John Morley, Machiavelli (Romanes
Lecture for 1897).
706
It should be borne in mind that in Machiavelli’s age politics had
been secularized, that is, divorced from theology, and this with
the approval of most men. Machiavelli would now go farther
and separate politics and morality. This is Lord Morley’s
 interpretation of The Prince. He thinks we shall best
understand Machiavelli, yet without for a moment approving
his teaching, “if we take him as following up the divorce of
politics from theology, by a divorce from ethics also. He was
laying down certain maxims of government as an art; the end
of that art is the security and permanence of the ruling power;
and the fundamental principle from which he silently started,
without shadow of doubt or misgiving as to its soundness, was
that the application of moral standards to this business is as
little to the point as it would be in the navigation of a ship. The
effect was fatal even for his own purpose, for what he put
aside, whether for the sake of argument or because he thought
them in substance irrelevant, were nothing less than the living
forces by which societies subsist and governments are strong”
(Machiavelli, Romanes Lecture for 1897).
707
“Catherine de Medici, Philip II, Alva, Des Adrets, Tilly,
Wallenstein were simply incarnations of the Machiavellian
theories which ruled this period.”—Andrew D. White, Seven
Great Statesmen (1910), pp. 86 f.
708
Castiglione, The Book of the Courtier (1903), p. 22.
709
Ibid. p. 25.
710
Special emphasis was laid upon this virtue of courtesy in the
ideal of courtliness. And rightly so, for, as has been well said,
“To be courteous is just as much a duty as to be honest, for
rudeness rouses more hatred and bitterness than good honest
cheating.”
711
In many lives of this period there was a combination of the
ideal of the courtier and that of the monk. There is a fine
portrayal of such a character in Shorthouse’s John Inglesant.
712
See above, p. 276.
713
The best authority on this subject is Lea, Superstition and
Force, 4th ed., pp. 101–247.
714
See above, p. 304.
715
The last judicial duel in England was fought in 1492, but the
practice was not abrogated in Russia till 1649.
716
Ralph Barton Perry, The Moral Economy (1909), p. 34. And so
Thomas Cuming Hall: “The glory of Protestant ethics as
founded by Luther and developed by Kant is the autonomous,
democratic, unpriestly character stamped upon it” (History of
Ethics within Organized Christianity (1910), p. 527).
717
Culture and Anarchy (1875), p. 145.
718
History of European Morals, 3d ed., vol. ii, p. 370.
719
See below, p. 362.
720
On this subject see Andrew D. White, Seven Great Statesmen
(1910), chapter on Thomasius.
721
S. Alexander, Moral Order and Progress (1889), p. 391.
722
History of Rationalism in Europe (1890), vol. ii, p. 220.
723
History of European Morals, 3d ed., vol. i, p. 126.
724
The Approach to the Social Question (1909), p. 84.
725
Muirhead, The Elements of Ethics (1909), p. 232.
726
An Essay on Crimes and Punishments, tr. Voltaire (1793), p.
157.
727
See Sisson, “The State absorbing the Functions of the
Church,” International Journal of Ethics for April, 1907, p. 341.
728
“It won’t do any longer to lay the blame for poverty wholly upon
its victims. These cruel theories cannot face a growing
suspicion that poverty is somehow involved in the ethics of
distribution.”—Louis F. Post, in address; see The Public for
June 21, 1912, p. 593.
729
Lloyd, Man the Social Creator (1906), p. 135.
730
The most practicable proposal for the undoing of this ancient
and ever-augmenting wrong of private monopoly in land is that
presented with singular force and clarity by Henry George in
his epochal work, Progress and Poverty. His proposal is to
exempt from taxation industry and all forms of property save
land, and to lay upon land values, or, in other words, upon
actual or potential ground rents, a tax that would reclaim
practically the whole of these for society, and secure to the
public all future increments in land values created by
communal growth and enterprise. Since this tax is to take the
place of all other forms of taxation it has become known as
“the single tax.” Such a change in the tax system would
inevitably create a hardship in a few cases, but a hardship
almost infinitesimal as compared with that now inflicted upon
the many by the preëmption of the earth by a class. The reform
would undoubtedly, as claimed by its advocates, destroy
private monopoly in land, the root which nourishes most other
monopolies, and secure to all equal right of access to the earth
and its resources.
731
Dewey and Tufts, Ethics (1908), p. 162.
732
See Ira Woods Howerth, “Competition, Natural and Industrial,”
The International Journal of Ethics for July, 1912.
733
“We may fairly ask whether there is a single moral question of
any magnitude which intelligent and educated men would
answer to-day in precisely the same fashion as they would
have done before the publication of Darwin’s Origin of
Species” (Taylor, The Problem of Conduct (1901), pp. 57 f.).
See also Huxley, Evolution and Ethics (1899). Huxley
maintains that the “cosmic process” is nonethical and in direct
opposition to the ethical evolution going on in human society.
734
“The best is wanting when selfishness begins to be deficient”
(“The Twilight of the Gods,” The Works of Friedrich Nietzsche,