“You going to talk to your uncle, Ev? I don’t like the sound of this. Something is off. I can feel it.” He lets me out of the headlock, his jaw set and his tone serious.
“I know. My gut is telling me to stay far away, no matter what anyone says, even if it’s coming from Caddox.”
After we chat a bit longer about what I should say, how I should phrase it, and how I could get it to my uncle without it being intercepted, we part ways. Doyle heads off in search of breakfast, and I in search of a pen to scribble my note with. News travels fast within our tight knit group, but I also know they won’t say anything to the higher ups at MECA.
“Come in!” I look over my shoulder as I pack my clothes back in my overnight bag.
The door creaks open. Axel stands there with one shoulder against the door jam.
“S’up, Ev.” He nods and closes the door behind him.
“Doyle talk to you?” I ask.
“Yeah. That the letter right there?” He tilts his chin towards the letter clutched in my grip.
I look at the folded scrap of paper in my shaking hand. The questions asked in this letter could lead to my death, my mother’s as well. I throw my shoulders back and thrust the letter toward Axel. I level my gaze with his. My shaking fingers won’t uncurl no matter how much I want them to.
He wraps his fingers around the letter, his other hand on mine, and pulls it from my grasp with force. With the letter in his hand he turns and walks out of the room.
He knows what to do and how to get it into the right hands. I just have to trust that whoever he uses to get that letter to my uncle can’t see through paper and read the message.
With nothing left to do for the moment, I get started on my day. MECA usually frowns upon full-fledged guards walking around hungover in front of the cadets. Shortly after getting out of the shower and finding some food to calm my rolling stomach, I return to my room. I stop when I spot the note on the night stand. The paper’s thick and a round glob of wax with the royal crest on it seals it closed.
Ever,
I assure you no harm will befall to you whilst you are in the Light Elven Kingdom. Your mother believes Cashel would make a great match for you. See you soon, darling.
Truly,
Uncle Caddox
One word stands out like a glaring warning. Darling. Caddox always calls his me his little elfling, not darling. My mother calls me darling. And he has never included uncle in his letters before, always just his name. My mother must have intercepted the letter. But how? How could she have gotten this when I sent it to Caddox in the hands of one of Axel’s contacts?
One thing’s for sure—my ass will be staying far away from the Light Elven Kingdom. Something is off, and until I know what, I’m staying out of the line of that wildfire.
I’m not one for frills and dresses anyways, so fuck ’em.
CHAPTER
THREE
The more I ask around from my contacts within both the Light and Dark Elven Kingdoms—even calling in the few favors I have on the Goblin Kingdom side of things—the more I don’t like the situation of the upcoming festival. Something isn’t right. And my mother is determined to get me there by any means necessary. She even sent over a gown a few hours after her departure. While interesting in its uniqueness, it isn’t really my style or my color. Chartreuse, who the hell is she kidding?
Doyle and I are sitting in a cracked red booth in the Broken Keg Pub just outside the city limits of Indianapolis. When it comes to dangerous activities involving any of the Fae, digging up information is usually on the top of the list, so an extra set of eyes is always welcome. The Broken Keg is primarily a Fae pub, where Light and Dark elves can mingle with goblins and other magical creatures without consequences and politics getting in the way. Between the Seelie and Unseelie courts, the two different elven courts and the goblins, and too many more to name, shit gets complicated fast in the world of Fae politics.
The goblins are lucky. They don’t have a light or dark side. They are just Goblin. I envy Doyle and Kirin that freedom. Doyle is eyeing a pretty goblin to my left. I yank on his ink-black ponytail.
He huffs. “Remind me why I am here with you again?”
Doyle calls me a cock block under his breath and I laugh. My laughter dies slowly as eyes from around the room look my way.
“Because you owe me for saving your ass from that chick the one time. What was she? A harpy?”
He cringes, shoulders hunching as his mouth turns down into a severe frown.
“One word: clingy. Like stage five clinger. Yeah, you’re welcome.”
“But why here? This pub is an Unseelie favorite, and there are only a few goblins, including that sweet little number over there.” He tosses a dazzling smile her way.
“Because sanctuary is offered here for any flavor of Fae, and people talk as they travel through here. I intend to hear it all. Never know what could prove useful.” I jab my finger on the table, driving home my point.
“Yeah, yeah, all right fine. I will go grab us more drinks and chat up the bar keep.” He stands, moving quickly for someone so huge.
Leaning back over the booth quickly, he mutters low so only I can hear, “Don’t look now, but you seem to have caught the attention of someone in the far right corner.”
I scan the room as subtly as possible. I lock eyes with a pair of stunning sunset orange and deep autumn red ones from across the room. My breath catches. His hard and handsome face is turned my way, his sensuous mouth quirked. His arrogant nose accentuates his unforgiving jaw. His masculine hands rest on the beat up surface of the table in front of him as he meets my gaze. He’s obviously part goblin from the sheer size of him. His thick and muscular shoulders taper off to arms the size of small tree trunks. He’s covered in markings of the Goblin Royal Guard and others I’m unable to make out in this lighting.
I tilt my head. Is he going to try to pick a fight with a MECA guard? The tinkling sound of the hoops decorating my left ear easily give away my position. He turns his head slightly to respond to the goblin sitting to his left and I catch a glimpse of his ears. Pointed at the top. I sit back hard in my booth. That’s odd. As subtly as possible I do a double take. Nope, still pointed. He must be old then, born before the declaration that forbid the coupling of light elves and goblins and any children they would produce. That’s the only logical explanation.
He turns back around to continue our staring contest, and I catch the hue of his skin under the dim light hanging above their table. Deep golden skin with an emerald green shimmer to it. Interesting.
Our staring contest ends when Doyle slumps roughly into our booth. He slides my tumbler across to me. His wide shoulders now blocking my view of those captivating eyes.
Doyle quirks his brow. “What’s up with that?”
“What?”
“You’re staring at him like he’s a pole you want to dance all over, Ev.” Doyle hikes his thumb over his shoulder with a chuckle.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I was just checking out who they are.” Deny, deny, deny. “They might know something.” I take a sip of my Jameson. “You clock their markings?”
“What markings?”
“The Royal Guard markings?” I frown at him, eyebrows drawn, wondering how he missed them.
“I think you’re seeing things.” He rubs his forehead and blinks. “There is no way they are active then. They are either retired or on assignment because they don’t generally leave the walls of the Goblin Kingdom unless the king is about.”
“You recognize any of them?”
“The one you were having a stare down with has the look of the Captain of the Royal Guard, but there is no way he would be here without the king.” He tilts his head. “Although strange shit seems to be happening within both Kingdoms lately, so who knows? Maybe he’s on vacation.”
“Fae-cation,” I blurt out, snorting at my own cleverness. “Well, only one way to find out.”
I get up from the b
ooth and start walking their way before my bravado disappears in a cloud of smoke. I hear Doyle cursing behind me followed by the sound of his hulking footsteps.
I saunter up and search the surrounding booths for any backup. No one looks remotely threatening in the immediate vicinity.
When I stop in front of their table, all conversation halts and three sets of dual-colored eyes turn to me. I focus solely on those the colors of autumn leaves. His hair is a lighter shade of chestnut than I thought. It brushes the back of his neck and covers the tops of his pointed ears and falls to just below his chin. It looks soft under the glow of the light above the table. A scar that cuts across the top of his cheek to just above his right eyebrow gives him a more dangerous vibe than before.
“Well, hello there. To what do we owe this pleasure?” The goblin to the right of him gestures for me to take a seat.
His easy going attitude and charming smile encourage me to be at ease. Not likely when they could each snap me like a twig if they wanted to.
“Let’s start with names, shall we?” I introduce myself and Doyle in turn.
Their gazes zero in on us at the mention of our last name. We both adopted the last name Leath early on—me to keep out of politics, Doyle because he didn’t know his surname.
“I’m Darrow Fitzpatrick,” Mr. sexy eyes says. “Most call me Dare. To my right you have my brother Dax Fitzpatrick, and to my left my other brother, Dagan Fitzpatrick.”
“Dare it is then.” I nod, making sure to stay alert and ready for any sudden movements.
Beside me, Doyle tenses, and not for the first time, I wish we could talk to each other telepathically. He knows something. Too bad I don’t know as much about goblin names or politics as he does.
“So again,” Dare continues, “to what do we owe this pleasure?”
Might as well get right into it. I hate beating around the bush, and from the looks of them, they probably do as well. “I have a few questions. I’m hoping you three are willing to answer them.”
“Is that right, little álainn?” Dare raises his eyebrows, seemingly amused despite the tensing of his companions. “And what information could we possibly have that you would want?”
“I’ve been hearing a lot of talk lately that something is going on in the Fae Kingdoms. My absentee mother wants me to marry some dude, and I want to know why this is suddenly so important.” I sit back, taking a deep breath after that rant, my eyes narrowed on their faces, waiting for any tells. Cute though, that he called me little lovely. Not.
“Sounds like a personal problem, little elf.” Dagan sneers at me from the left, his mouth snapping closed as Dare issues a chilling glare in his direction.
“Listen—” I begin.
“I’ll tell you what, little álainn. You tell us your real surnames, not the ones you took on when you came under the protection of MECA, and we’ll tell you what we know.” He raises one dark brow.
I look to Doyle. At his nod I reply, “Ever McElva, and Doyle doesn’t know his surname, honest.”
The intake of breath from all three of them puts me on high alert, ready to bolt from my chair at a moment’s notice. I grip the edges of my seat and hope my reaction isn’t noticeable.
“McElva as in the reigning king of the Light Elves?” Dare asks.
I lean back, crossing my arms and tilting my head to the side. “His sister is my mother, actually, not the king himself, why?”
“Well, little álainn, looks like we might have some information for you after all.”
I arch one eyebrow. I had little hope they had anything of use for us. Looks like I was wrong for once.
“Stop with the lovely, would you?” I snap, narrowing my eyes at his knowing smirk. “Let’s have it then. I haven’t got all night, gents, and my whiskey is getting low.”
“Are you aware of who your father is, Ever?” he asks me in a surprisingly gentle tone.
For the love of the goddess! Like he isn’t the first Fae to speculate or be sure that they know who my mysterious father is.
“That would be a negative. Do you know who he is?” I gasp, clutching both hands to my chest, pretending to be hungry for the information and pleading with him to share it with me.
He isn’t fooled. Nor does he look amused. “Sarcasm isn’t becoming, little álainn.” He shakes his head at me. “What would you say if I told you your father is the Goblin King’s favorite advisor, Tore MacDouglas, who is also the son to the previous Goblin King?”
I laugh. “I’d think you’re bat shit crazy!”
The previous Goblin King lost the throne to Teag Fitzpatrick in a duel to the death after he attempted to start a war between the Goblin Kingdom and the Light Elves. If my history lessons were accurate, this happened shortly after the Light Elven Declaration was made. I’m surprised to hear his son was allowed to live. Goblin society is rumored to be cutthroat, and any threats are dealt with swiftly and brutally.
Both Doyle and I are in hysterics at the thought that my uptight mother would break the greatest law and couple with a goblin, let alone have a child with one. A royal goblin at that! I wipe the tears from my eyes, still chuckling, and look at them. They’re not smiling.
Slowly, I straighten back up in my chair. “You’re serious?”
“Does he look like he makes jokes often?” Dax asks, tilting his head toward Dare.
I size him up and snicker. “No.”
No way was my mother with a goblin. She hates that I am leath cine. She’s made that clear with her actions my entire life. She has always told me to stay away from goblins, telling me they are dishonest brutes. Honestly, I have no problem with them, and get on better with them than I do elves. They’re down to earth, have great senses of humor, and are generally accepting.
“As I was saying”—he pauses momentarily, as if daring me to interrupt him again—“it was recently discovered that Tore fathered a child to a high elf after the Light Elven Declaration that banned any couplings between the two.”
“And you think I’m that child?” I ask dubiously. “Have you met my mother?”
“No, I haven’t, but I have met your father, and you have his eyes.” He points at my dual-colored eyes and shrugs.
“Don’t goblins usually have red, orange, yellow, or brown eyes?” I point at my own azure and lilac eyes that are nothing like anyone of my mother’s house. “Obviously mine are none of those colors.”
“Tore is half elf. His father favored elven wives, as our father did. Thus his eyes are of elven colors.”
“And I’m supposed to what? Jump for joy at this supposed news? Do you know what this could mean for me? I could be hunted and killed.” I ramble on, my heart pounding hard in my chest. I look to Doyle for support.
He’s staring hard at the three goblins with a frown. “So the stories were true then?”
“What stories?” I cry, looking between Dare and Doyle. “You can’t seriously believe any of this shit, Doyle… R-Right?”
“Sorry, Ev, but I think they might be onto something. It’s the only thing that makes sense as to why your Mother would suddenly want to marry you off and keep you within the Light Elven Kingdom. If he was looking for you, he would never find you there. She must have heard rumors that he was looking for a child he sired, and it spooked her.”
I shake my head, gesture to Doyle to stop talking, and head to the bar. I need a drink. Maybe like two doubles together. Do they do that? A quadruple? Maybe just the bottle will work.
Fuck. This can’t be real. My head is spinning with different scenarios as I tell the barkeep to pour more whiskey into my glass. I throw it back faster than he can pour it. My gaze is unfocused as I try to sort through all the possible ramifications. I rub at my arm and pull my hair out of my pony tail. I run my hands through the curly strands, detangling a few knots. Yanking it harshly through my hands, I pull it back up into a tight pony tail. The pain of my hair pulled so tightly back gives me a bit of clarity.
I feel Dare come up behind me.
He leans against the bar next to me. Each warm breath tingles the back of my neck as he cages me in. He gestures for the barkeep to stop providing me alcohol, and I protest, losing the battle.
“Traitor,” I grumble under my breath, giving the barkeep a reproachful look.
I turn my head up to face Dare and the room spins.
“Listen, you can’t just drop a nuclear bomb on me like that and expect me to not freak out.” And not to get drunk while I sort it out. “That’s just unreasonable.”
“You always drink this much, little álainn?” He gestures to my glass, amber liquid still filling it a quarter of the way full.
“No, actually, I don’t. I hate the way it makes my head feel fuzzy. But you wouldn’t know that from the week I’ve had so far.” I lean into his warmth and let his use of lovely slide for now.
Goddess, he smells like wet leaves after a thunderstorm, earthy and uninhibited. With each breath, I inhale his scent and it wreaks havoc with my senses. Electricity runs through me with each touch of his skin on mine. The intensity of it is mind numbing.
Doyle walks up to us, Dax and Dagan following closely behind him.
“I should get her home,” Doyle says. “She has a lot to process, and this won’t be easy on her.” He gives me a grim smile, the crinkles at the corner of his eyes softening his harsh face.
With that look alone, I know that he’ll be there for me while I sort this shit out. That’s what real family does. They support each other through all of the hard stuff. Even if they annoy me while doing so.
“I can still hear you, asshole. I’m not deaf, just tipsy.” I give him a mock scowl. He knows I hate it when people talk about me like I’m not there.
“Until it is confirmed, if she is who we think she is, she must be kept safe. She stays with us.” Dare’s large hand comes to rest on my shoulder, keeping me pressed against his massive chest.
I struggle to pull away from his warmth to give him a piece of my mind. My heart hitches at the thought of putting distance between us.
“Bro, have you met her? She isn’t going to let you take her anywhere, let alone into the Goblin Kingdom. She’s also the best fighter the MECA has, and you don’t want her to use her abilities. Trust me on that one.” Doyle shudders.
Mark of Truth (Wicked Kingdoms Book 1) Page 3
