by Everly Frost
“Your old friends want to see you.” He runs his fingers through my hair, brushing my shoulders, making my skin crawl. “But first you need to get dressed.”
He retrieves a dress from across a chair next to the door. When he returns, he says, “This is for you.”
He holds up a garment that resembles the kind of dress that females in the Major elven Houses wear to big events. And I mean big events. Like Major House weddings or the appointment of a new Elven Commander. The last Elven Commander appointed was Pedr Bounty. His appointment happened soon after I became the Storm Princess and I still remember the stir I caused when I refused to wear the dress that the most senior Elven Commander, Elwyn Elder, presented to me—somehow I knew even then that I couldn’t accept their gifts or be seen to owe them anything.
In typical Howl style, the dress plunges low at the front but its structured shape tells me there’s a corset under the bodice. The material is fine silver, satin, long, with silver filigree and pale gemstones in a floral pattern to the waist where the material streams outward.
“This too.” Hanging around his wrist, dangling like a bracelet, is a tiara that sparkles with white diamonds.
I eye both the dress and tiara with increasing concern. He said I was meeting old friends. I thought he meant Baelen and the Phoenix. Now I’m not so sure.
He looks very pleased with himself when he says, “You can’t get into this dress on your own. You’ll need help.”
It doesn’t take a genius to see where he’s going with this. It seems this is make-Marbella-strip month. Howl has mauled me enough that I’m not surprised. What does surprise me is that I’m not afraid of him. It’s an unexpected realization. I’ve spent the last month deep underground surrounded by fierce gargoyles who have proven that they are loyal to each other and willing to help each other, despite what Howl has done to them. Despite the threats the guards pose on a daily basis, they’ve never used their bone lashes. Of course, the gargoyles haven’t given the guards any reason to take violent action, but even so I find myself holding a shred of hope and faith for the first time.
I take a moment to consider my options—fight Howl, which will inevitably lead to him using his new Heartstone and all sorts of other unpleasantness or swallow my pride and save my fight for later. Just when I decide that a fight is worth it, Howl clicks his fingers and the two females race back into the room.
I guess he didn’t fancy himself a handmaid after all. He hands the dress to them and draws up a chair at the other side of the room to watch.
The first female immediately instructs me to put my arms down at my sides. I’m not sure how that’s going to work—I still have a robe and underwear on. But I do it anyway. She and the other female hold the dress high above my head and slip it over me, robe and all. As I suspected, it contains a corset. But the pleasant surprise is that with the back fully unlaced, the dress itself turns into a screen around me.
The two females hold the dress in place as I wriggle around inside it removing my shirt and bra and then my long pants.
Huh. Take that Howl. No peep show for you. He seems amused, rather than disgruntled, stretching his legs out in front of him, lips curled into a half-grin as he watches me struggle not to reveal anything. Something has made him extra happy today. I should probably worry about what that is.
I decide to distract him with talk just in case his mood changes. “No chains this time?”
“No,” he says. “You already know what’s at stake.”
The two females stiffen slightly before returning to the task of tying me into the dress. Howl’s threat hangs in the air. The last time I was here, Howl threatened to kill Carmen and Gilda if I stepped out of line. I don’t know these new females very well, but they could be the wives of any of the gargoyles I met in the mine.
“I do,” I say, more for their sake than his.
They pin the tiara to the top of my head and last of all, hand me a pair of flats. Thank goodness, no heels this time. The corset makes up as a torture device, pushing my breasts up so they’re in danger of popping out.
When I’m fully dressed, Howl lurches upward and flicks his head to the door. I thank the females before following him out. As we walk, Howl drops beside me and then slightly behind, resting his hand on my lower back in a possessive gesture.
When we exit the building, Cassian paces at the guard line. His wings are angled forward and his boots stamp the turf. On the surface, he appears impatient, but as I pause on the balcony, I sense… fear?
For himself or me?
His eyes meet mine across the distance. Agonized. Desperate. Flicking to Howl and back to me.
Fear for me.
Surprise shoots through me as his gaze assesses me, checking my status, searching for signs of abuse. I hold myself high and aloof to disguise my shock at his concern. I glide down the stairs after Howl. The other guards are well trained and don’t spare me a second look as they walk in a line on each side of us, but Cassian takes up a close position behind me.
The sun is well up in the sky now but a breeze helps keep me cool. It looks like we’re headed to Crimson Court, but then Howl changes direction, leading me along a wide pathway that ascends through a thick forest of trees.
A palace looms in the distance, built partially into the side of the mountain, eerily camouflaged against the dark gray rock. As the pathway winds through the thinning trees, the palace catches the light in different ways making it look like it conforms into the mountain itself.
Rows of guards stand watch outside it, peering at us as we pass through the wide open door but none of them follow us inside. Even the guards who came with us file off before we reach the door. As Howl leads me through hallway after hallway, it’s difficult to gauge the sheer size of the structure. It must have taken all of Howl’s ten-year rule to build it.
Finally, we stop inside an anteroom facing a large wooden door elaborately decorated with the silhouette of a golden panther. Howl squeezes my waist and tells me to wait with Cassian before he disappears inside. Voices—mostly male—float out before the door closes again.
Cassian catches my arm, his question sharp and urgent. “Did he scent you?”
Scent me? That thing the gargoyles do when they inhale? Before I lost my power, Howl literally inhaled the storm into himself whenever he had the chance, but he has no reason to do that now. “I don’t think so.”
“Don’t let him.”
“Why?” I tilt my head back, trying to figure out why he’s so unsettled. The night before, he’d told me a secret about the Storm. Something only he knew. Now I wonder what new secret he’s keeping… “What aren’t you telling me?”
“Your storm power hid it before. But if Howl catches your true scent…” He releases my arm, resuming his former position at my elbow as footsteps sound on the other side of the door. “He’ll kill you.”
The wide doors swing apart and Howl fills the opening, spreading his wings in an elaborate gesture. I can’t see them yet, but I sense people in the room behind him—a large room—along with an expectant silence.
The half-grin that Howl has been wearing for the last half an hour widens into pure delight. Shudders shoot down my spine at the sight. In the space of one breath, Cassian has told me Howl will kill me and Howl has appeared wearing a grin that drips with malice and anticipation.
“Little doll,” Howl says, “Come and see your old friends.”
He sweeps his wings aside, revealing two males standing at a distance behind him. They are regal in robes that meet the floor, their lips stretched into smiles while their cold eyes are daggers. The last time I saw them, they’d killed Baelen and were trying to take my storm power.
Howl leans into me. “I think you know Elwyn Elder and Pedr Bounty. They came to see whether you’re dead yet.”
34. Marbella Mercy
I never ever thought I would see elves in Howl’s palace. Maybe in my worst nightmare, they would be here as prisoners. But that they’re here as gu
ests to see firsthand Howl’s imprisonment of me is beyond my greatest horror.
The world spins, the contents of my stomach shift, and I suddenly lose the ability to breathe. The room is lined with equal numbers of Howl’s guards and elven soldiers, all dressed in armor. Each Elven Commander is joined by a small entourage of elves—advisors and personal staff—casually clustered behind them, sipping from glasses of wine.
Further inside the room, an enormous table filled with food takes center stage. Serving staff wearing the Slave Station uniform wait patiently at the other end of the room and near them are the females from Harem Hall, dressed more demurely than the last time I saw them. Now they wear long dresses, not transparent this time.
The two Elven Commanders move only to speak, while for me, everything is spinning.
“We thought she would be in chains,” Elwyn Elder says, clearly unhappy about my unbound state. I wonder if Howl has told them I lost my powers—if not, it would explain why they are uneasy about me being free.
“And not quite so well dressed.” Pedr Bounty’s eyes narrow. He was always the bulkiest of the Commanders—broad-shouldered and imposing.
“I like to dress her up,” Howl says, pushing me into the room. “You don’t need to fear anything from my little doll. She’s learned to be compliant.”
Howl’s condescending attitude slams my spinning world to a complete stop. The one thing this bastard is good at, is making me focus. I fight the urge to smash his nose in and show everyone just how compliant I am. Strategically it’s better if the elves believe him. The less they fear me, the more complacent they will become.
I recognize some of the elves in the entourage. One in particular, I don’t count as an enemy.
As the Elven Commanders move aside for Howl, Eli Elder steps directly into Howl’s path. Maybe he doesn’t realize he’s in Howl’s way. Or… maybe he does.
He bows his head to me. “Storm Princess,” he says, reverting to the customary way to greet me. “Are you well?”
“I am well, thank you Eli of the House of Elder.”
“I’m glad to see it.” His eyes are crystal blue, not quite as brilliant as Cassian’s but just as intelligent. He’s lean, tall, an elegant fighter. I saved his life once—and he saved mine. He steps aside before Howl has a chance to get really annoyed, bowing to the King, although he hides a quick glance in my direction. I have to find a way to speak with him. He could have information about what happened to my family, my advisor Elise, and the females in my Storm Command.
I definitely don’t think it was Howl’s intention to give me hope, but for the first time I can see a lifeline back to Erawind, even if it’s only in the form of information.
One other person waits at the far end of the table. The former High Priestess isn’t dressed anywhere near as elaborately as I am. A simple, but elegant robe covers her frame and she waits quietly for Howl’s order to sit.
He takes the seat at the head of the table with the High Priestess opposite me on his left. Elwyn Elder sits beside me and Pedr Bounty is next to the High Priestess. It forces them to lean across us to speak to Howl and I suspect he takes perverse delight in making them uncomfortable. The advisors are next, followed by their entourage. Eli ends up much further down the table and Cassian takes up position standing guard in the space behind Howl and me.
As lunch progresses, the steady stream of food and alcohol is nauseating. I don’t touch my drink and I pick through the food. After a month of eating gruel, most of it is too rich for my stomach and will only make me sick.
After what seems like the third dessert, Howl waves Cassian forward. “Take the Priestess and make sure our guests enjoy dancing in the next room. I have business to discuss with the Elven Commanders.”
I scoot my chair backward, ready to follow Cassian and the others, but Howl’s palm slams onto my arm. “Not you, little doll.”
He curls his fingers around my forearm and I flinch and try to hide the pain as he squeezes until I drag my chair awkwardly back into place.
“I apologize, King Howl. You gave me a party dress. I was confused.”
The door closes and I’m suddenly alone with Howl and the Elven Commanders.
“You see,” Howl says to Elwyn and Pedr. “She just needed to be tamed.”
Pedr leans back in his chair, appearing relaxed. “We thought we would be celebrating your wedding by now, Howl.”
A growl replaces Howl’s smirk. “It turned out that my chosen bride wasn’t a widow after all.”
He’s still gripping my arm and the topic of conversation hasn’t relaxed him. My skin burns and my eyes water.
“You’re hurting her,” Pedr says, but it’s a statement of fact. There’s nothing in his tone that suggests Howl should stop.
“The Princess has learned that I can hurt her whenever I want.” He continues gripping my arm as he angles toward a door on the opposite side of the room. It’s not the one the guests left by, but is smaller and narrower. The heartstones resting on Howl’s chest flicker for a moment as he uses his power to open the door without moving.
A large golden object floats out through it, at first appearing flat, but as the full object emerges, it becomes a golden cage, tipped on its side like a coffin.
It’s Baelen’s cage. As it comes to a stop where I have a full view of it, Baelen floats inside the cage, suspended and completely still.
But there’s something wrong about this picture: where is the Storm? The last time I saw her, she couldn’t move beyond a hundred paces of him. I search for her in the shadows of the door Baelen came from. It’s close enough that she could be hiding there. A puddle of silver is all I can see. It could be her or it might be a trick of the light.
The Elven Commanders jump to their feet, but not in fear. Eagerness to see Howl’s prisoner is written all over their greedy faces.
“Yes, yes,” Howl says. “But don’t get too close to him. The bars are there for your protection.”
When they’re done peering at Baelen, Howl calls them back. “We need to talk about our deal.”
More somber, Elwyn and Pedr settle back into their seats.
Howl finally lets go of my arm and feeling returns to my fingertips, the sudden rush of blood a different painful sensation. He’s left a conspicuous red mark all around my skin.
He rubs his chin. “Our deal,” he says. “As you well know, I killed Rordan Rath and you were supposed to kill the gargoyles that escaped my lands.”
I close my eyes as I digest this new knowledge. Baelen’s father died a year ago. I didn’t have a chance to speak to Baelen about it and the details of his father’s death were always kept from me. All I was told was that he’d died carrying out his duties.
Elwyn becomes defensive. “His son returned and got in our way.”
“Well, as you can see, his son is no longer a problem.”
Elwyn smiles. “Then you’ll be happy to know that we recommenced our eradication efforts.”
The gargoyles on the border? Dead?
“There aren’t any gargoyles left on our side of the border, so you have nothing to worry about.”
Howl’s fist hits the table. “There are! There is a female, little, with golden hair. She has a mark on her hip depicting the sun rising over the mountains. I want her back.”
He’s talking about the High Priestess Talia—the new High Priestess who is hidden in the mountains with Llion’s children.
“Our intelligence tells us—”
“I don’t care what your intelligence tells you. She’s there. I want her brought to me.” The heartstones begin to glow again. “Or we will have a problem.”
Elwyn isn’t as worried as I thought he would be. The air crackles around him, his form shimmering at the edges, a force bleeding into the air where he sits. It’s sorcery. It has to be.
The Elven Commander I killed, Gideon Glory, was infected by sorcery, the same evil magic that the last Elven King dabbled in. When I left Erawind, only Gideon Glory appeare
d to be infected but now both Elwyn and Pedr openly stink of it. It makes my skin crawl even more than Howl’s power. Howl’s power comes from heartstones, but sorcery derives its power from death.
Howl exhales, relaxes, bringing the tension in the room down a few notches. He says, “You will continue to look for her.”
“Of course.”
“Then let’s talk about the future. What do you want?”
Elwyn flicks his head at me. “Her. Dead.” Then at Baelen. “Him too.”
Howl taps his fingers together. “That’s a big ask. I’ve grown rather fond of her.” He tangles his fingers into my hair, gripping the back of my neck. “What if I offer you an alternative?”
“I guess we will consider it.”
“Baelen Rath buried deep in the heart of Mount Lightsworn. My miners have retrieved the heartstone from that mountain and there is now a deep tunnel that will be collapsed in a week. I can bury him under a mountain of rock.”
“Very well. What about her?”
“I will marry her.”
What?
The Elven Commanders scoff. “That doesn’t address our problem. What about her power?”
“It’s gone.”
Their raised eyebrows say they don’t believe him. “Prove it.”
“Show them, little doll. Show them what you can’t do.”
I’m still stuck on his announcement that he’s going to marry me. His demand only filters through when he repeats it. Show them I don’t have my power? How can I show them something I don’t have?
Howl launches upward but instead of grabbing me, he strides to the door. Music and voices wash into the room as the door opens and closes again. He drags one of the female slaves back with him. Five strides into the room, his hands close around her throat. She chokes, tries to scream.
“One twist and I’ll break her neck. Show them, little doll.”
I leap from my seat. “I can’t show them something I don’t have!”
Tears stream down the female’s face. Howl’s grip closes so tight the sound strangles in her throat and stops. She can’t even whimper.
