Into the Darkwood: A Dark Elf Fantasy Romance Trilogy (The Darkwood Chronicles)

by Anthea Sharp

  Despite his sorrow over his father’s death, Owen seemed to take comfort in her company. He showed her the parlor full of musical instruments, the study, the balcony behind the gardens.

  Lastly, he took her to the vaulted library of Castle Raine, full of enough books to lighten anyone’s mood. Captain Crane watched, arms folded, as she explored the banks of shelves, running her delighted fingers over the spines of the books: fat volumes, slim tomes with elegant embossing, squat histories, tall books filled with enticing pictures. Finally, smiling, Owen drew her away.

  “I’d no idea you’d find the library so fascinating,” he said.

  “I am somewhat of a scholar back home.” She couldn’t tell him that this room, packed with so much knowledge of the human world, made her dizzy just contemplating what she might learn. Had she the time.

  But that was another life—one she could not live.

  He slanted a glance at her. “And will you tell me where home might be?”

  “Yes.” She looked over at the brooding captain of the guard. “It there a place where we might speak privately?”

  Owen nodded. “I’d been planning to show you my secret hideaway next.”

  “That sounds intriguing, as long as it’s not in the cellar. I think I’ve seen more than enough of the underside of the castle.”

  He shot her a wry look. “As have I. No, I’m taking you in the opposite direction.”

  As promised, he led her up several staircases and down a long hallway, Captain Crane trailing them. At the end of the hall, Owen stopped in front of a heavy door with a rounded top that reminded her of the arched doorways of the Hawthorne Palace.

  He turned to his guardsman. “I request that you remain here, captain.”

  “I’ll come with you, my lord—”

  “Let me rephrase.” Owen gave the captain a stern look. “I require you to remain here. We both know this is the only door leading in or out of the tower.”

  Captain Crane’s expression darkened. “If you insist—but only if I clear the area first. Wait here.”

  He loosened his sword then pulled the door open. Instead of leading into another room, stone steps spiraled up the circular wall. She and Owen waited while the captain strode up them, soon disappearing from sight.

  He returned shortly and gave Owen a terse nod. “Don’t stay too long, or I’ll come up and get you.”

  “We’ll descend when we’re ready.” Owen’s voice was steel, and Anneth smiled to herself to see him winning the battle of wills with his captain.

  Without waiting for Captain Crane’s response, he stepped into the round stairwell. She joined him and peered up, realizing they stood at the base of one of the turreted towers of the castle.

  “Are you afraid of heights?” Owen shot her a glance. “I should have asked earlier.”

  “Not at all.” She grinned at him. “As a child, my brother and I dared one another to see who could climb highest in the trees near our palace. I usually won.”

  “I’d like to meet your brother someday.”

  “Oh.” She paused with one foot on the stair. “But you have. I introduced you.”

  “You did?”

  “Yes—you met Bran the other night.”

  “Wait.” He blinked with astonishment. “Bran is your brother?”

  “Of course. Didn’t I say so?”

  “No.” He let out a sharp laugh. “No, you didn’t. He’s your brother.”

  “Who else would he be?” She stared at him in confusion.

  “Come.” He caught her hand, elation dancing in his eyes. “The view from the top is amazing.”

  Anneth was slightly winded by the time they gained the top of the tower. It was enclosed in rough stone, but two windows were set in the walls. Owen pulled her to the first, which looked back over the castle. She recognized the small green squares of the kitchen garden and the long run of the great hall, opening to the wide courtyard.

  From there, the road began. It ducked under the portcullis and wound out through the trees, and she glimpsed the cottages of Little Hazel beyond.

  “It seems so long ago since I first came up that road,” she said. “I arrived by donkey cart to attend your ball.”

  “I saw you,” he said, turning toward her and leaning his hip against the windowsill. “I was watching all the prospective young ladies come into the great hall. And you caught my eye.”

  “Probably because I’m so tall.” She gave him a mock frown.

  “That is the only reason,” he agreed. “Your grace and humor and smile have nothing to do with it.”

  She felt her cheeks heat and looked away.

  “Anneth.” He leaned toward her. “Where are you from?”

  When she remained silent, he reached into the pocket of his tailored coat and pulled out the slipper she’d left behind, the night she’d fled the ball.

  “You have it!” she exclaimed.

  “I do—and I was hoping it would provide a clue to who you really are.”

  He lifted it and turned it back and forth, studying the pattern. The beads caught the sunlight, sparkling with a blaze of color.

  She shook her head. “The slipper’s not mine, I’m afraid. I only borrowed the pair for the night, as I didn’t have anything to wear except my boots.”

  He lowered the slipper, one brow twitching up in question. “It doesn’t seem you were very well prepared to attend a royal ball. I wonder why?”

  So. Now they came to it.

  Anneth let out a sigh. “I didn’t know you were having a ball. I didn’t, in truth, know much about the current state of affairs in Raine. Except that it was inhabited by humans.”

  He tilted his head at her. “By… humans?”

  There was only one answer she could give him.

  Slowly, still holding his gaze, she spoke a quiet rune of banishment and let her illusion fade.

  His eyes widened. The slipper fell from his hand, landing on the floor with a slap as his attention darted to her mouth, her pointed ears and claw-tipped fingers, then back to her eyes.

  For a tense moment she waited for him to push her back and shout for Captain Crane to come dispatch the monster that had materialized in her place. At the very least, she expected him to shudder and turn away.

  Instead, he leaned closer. So close she could feel the warmth of his breath.

  “So the stories are true,” he said softly. “The Darkwood holds magical creatures… What are you, Anneth?”

  “I am a Dark Elf.”

  “You’re rather frightening looking.” His gaze grew intent. “And also very beautiful.”

  For a long moment they stared, unmoving, into one another’s eyes. The depth of Owen’s regard left her trembling and breathless. Then, slowly, he closed the distance between them.

  Their lips met, and a shock of sensation flashed down to her toes. It was too sweet, too strong—too impossible to bear. With a sharp inhalation, she drew away.

  “Why aren’t you afraid of me?” she asked.

  “I saw your face, once,” he said. “In the dungeon. I thought it a trick of the light.”

  “There’s more I must tell you.” She glanced out the window. “My people do not actually dwell in the Darkwood, but in a world that can only be reached through an enchanted gateway deep in the forest.”

  “Extraordinary.” His brows drew together. “It seems unbelievable—except that you are sitting before me, and the night we defeated the Athraig, I witnessed magic with my own eyes. What is the name of your world?”

  “Elfhame. And my parents are the rulers of the Hawthorne Court.”

  “So, despite looking human, all of you are actually Dark Elves? Bran, and your man Ondo, and Mara?” He shook his head. “I never would have guessed it.”

  “Actually…” She swallowed, hoping she wasn’t about to put the Gearys back in danger. “Mara is human.”

  His gaze sharpened. “What is she doing with the Dark Elves? Does she know what you are?”

  “Of c
ourse she does. She’s married to Bran.”

  Owen let out a soft, incredulous laugh. “I wager that’s quite some tale.”

  “It is. One that’s long in the telling.”

  “What are you all doing here? You said you had no idea I was giving a ball, or what you’d find in Raine. Did the others? Did Mara?”

  Anneth pressed her lips together and stared out the window again. “Mara is from the village yonder. I took shelter with her family when I arrived in your world, and the royal emissary assumed me to be part of the family. Had I known what attending the ball would set in motion…”

  She let out a breath. It left a soft mist on the window glass, blurring the scene beyond.

  “You wouldn’t have come?” he asked, a vulnerable note in his voice.

  “No.” She turned back to him, trying to engrave his features in her memory. “For then I wouldn’t have met you.”

  They stared at one another for a long moment.

  “But you did come,” he said softly. “More importantly—will you stay?”

  The question hung in the air between them, an impossible, fragile thing. She was afraid to speak, to breathe, for then it would be broken, and all their possibilities gone.

  “Your highness.” Captain Crane’s voice echoed up the stairs. “Is all well?”

  Frowning, Owen turned away from the window. “Yes,” he called back. “We’ll be down soon.”

  When he looked back at Anneth, she knew what her choice must be.

  “I can’t stay,” she said, trying to keep the misery from her voice. “I don’t belong in your world.”

  She recalled how desperately unhappy Mara was dwelling in Elfhame. There was every chance that she would not, in fact, remain with Bran, but instead choose to live in her own world, among her own people. Anneth could not fault her.

  Indeed, faced with the identical choice, Anneth’s decision was the same. It had to be.

  “Are you certain?” Owen asked, his voice catching.

  She looked toward the curving staircase. “Captain Crane would never accept me. Nor would your people. I would be seen as a monster.”

  Instead of answering, he pushed away from the window.

  “Captain, attend me,” he called down the stairwell.

  “Wait.” Anneth raised her hand to her face. “What are you doing? Let me recast—”

  “No.” Owen returned to stand before her. “My soldiers saw extraordinary magic performed the other night. Bolts of blue fire, the invading Athraig falling into an enchanted slumber, then disappearing into thin air. Strange and marvelous things, and yet they have all taken it remarkably well. There’s been no fear, no worry, no awkward questions. It makes me think that perhaps you are meant to be here.”

  Captain Crane’s footsteps grew nearer, and she glanced apprehensively at the curving stairs, waiting for him to appear.

  His head cleared the stairwell. Catching sight of her, he paused for the barest moment, then continued up into the room.

  “Captain Crane,” Owen said, “may I introduce her highness, Lady Anneth…” He shot her a questioning look.

  “Luthinor,” she hastily supplied.

  “Lady Anneth Luthinor, princess of the Hawthorne Court of Elfhame—the land of the Dark Elves.”

  The captain’s eyes narrowed, but he made her a formal bow. Straightening, he scrutinized her face.

  “Well,” he said brusquely. “That explains a great deal.”

  When he said no more, she tilted her head. “Don’t I appear strange to you?”

  He shrugged. “I can’t say, my lady. You’re exceedingly tall, that’s for certain.”

  Confusion twisting through her, she turned to Owen.

  “Magic,” he said simply. “If you’re welcome in this world, then you will be seen as belonging.”

  Mouth dry, she looked from him to Captain Crane. Could it be true?

  “What if your subjects fear me? What if—”

  “Trust.” Owen took her hands in his. “My mother told me not to fear the future, but to embrace it. No matter what happens. I’m not certain I could stand a future without you in it, Anneth. Once more, I’ll ask. Will you stay?”

  Tears hot in her eyes, she nodded.

  “It won’t be easy,” she whispered.

  He gave her a crooked smile. “The best things never are.”

  37

  Despite his projected assurance, Bran couldn’t help the nerves clenching his stomach as their party rode out from Castle Raine to the village of Little Hazel.

  He was going to meet Mara’s family.

  Despite the mortal illusion he wore, he feared they would find him unworthy, at best. And despise him utterly, at worst. Which would give Mara that much more reason to leave Elfhame behind forever.

  The day was bright, the air warmed by the fire of the sun. The road was edged with sweet-smelling grasses that riffled in the breeze, gold and green. Dust rose in soft puffs from beneath their horses’ hooves as they traveled, two by two, away from the hulking stone walls of the castle.

  He and Mara rode in front, followed by Anneth and Owen, who were giving one another small, secret smiles that solidified his suspicions that they had come to an understanding. Behind them came Ondo and Captain Crane. The soldier had insisted on accompanying his king into the Darkwood when Owen had announced his intention to accompany them to the gate. And finally, two guards brought up the rear. They would take the extra mounts back to the castle once the Dark Elves and Mara stepped through the doorway.

  Bran was more than ready to return to the graceful white arches of the Hawthorne Palace, the soothing, violet-tinged shadows cast by the moons of Elfhame—yet he suspected he would miss the vivid, brash human world.

  Especially if it was where Mara chose to dwell.

  He glanced to where she rode beside him, and found her watching him, concern in her clear-eyed gaze.

  “Try not to worry,” she said softly. “My family will accept you.”

  He gave a nod, unwilling to speak his fears aloud.

  Mara guided them around the edge of the village, as their little procession would surely invite speculation. Not to mention the risk that some curious child would follow them into the forest. All too soon they left the cluster of whitewashed buildings behind, and the road turned toward the Darkwood and the handful of homes built on its periphery.

  And then they were there.

  Mara pulled her mount to a stop in front of a two-story cottage with gleaming multi-paned windows and bright red flowers planted about the front stoop. No sooner had they dismounted than the door banged open and a young woman raced out.

  “Mara!” she cried, enveloping her sister in a fierce embrace.

  “Lily.” Mara smiled widely. “Is everyone home? Are you well?”

  “Of course!” Lily stepped back. “We only hid in the forest for a few days. We were more worried for you, and for Anneth.”

  Lily rounded on Bran’s sister and hugged her, too. Then, a bit more subdued, she turned to Bran.

  “Are you the prince?” she asked.

  “I am.” He gave her a solemn bow. “Pleased to meet you, Miss Lily.”

  She blushed and curtsied, then scanned the rest of the group. When she saw Owen, she dipped him an even lower curtsey.

  “Your majesty,” she said. “Welcome. Oh, won’t Mother be in a tizzy.”

  “I will not,” said an older woman, stepping out through the front door. “But I will certainly offer them tea, if they so desire.”

  “Thank you, Mother.” Mara gave her mother a brief hug. “I know you weren’t expecting a gaggle of royalty on your doorstep this morning.”

  “Perhaps not—but I expected you’d show up soon. Which is why I hid the honeycakes from Lily last night.” Smiling, Mara’s mother held the door open and bowed to the group. “Please, make yourselves welcome.”

  Mara took Bran’s arm—perhaps worrying he might run away into the forest if she didn’t hold on to him. While he might have
the urge to do just that, he tried not to frown as she pulled him into the house.

  Bran tried to take it all in with a glance. This was where his beloved had grown up, after all.

  The kitchen and eating area lay to the left of the door, a cozy living room to the right, furnished with slightly threadbare armchairs and a couch. Despite the lack of grandeur, the space was warm and inviting. Bright rugs were spread over a spotless wooden floor, and a vase of meadow flowers adorned the table.

  A man with a fringe of sandy hair stood waiting to greet them, with two people who could only be the twins Mara had spoken of.

  “Is Pansy here?” Mara asked her mother.

  “No, we had thought it best she stay in Meriton. Just in case.”

  Nobody mentioned that alternative outcome: a kingdom in turmoil from the Athraig takeover.

  The room grew crowded as Anneth, Ondo, Owen, and Captain Crane followed them into the cottage. Mara’s mother bustled about, directing the twins to bring over a bench from the table, and seating the guests.

  “Lily,” she said, nodding to the ball of orange fur ensconced in the green armchair, “remove your cat from the best chair at once, if you please.”

  Lily went to scoop up the creature and cuddle it beneath her chin.

  “Your majesty, please sit.” Mrs. Geary attempted to brush the stray hairs from the chair, then offered it to King Owen.

  Captain Crane, looking every inch the royal guardsman, went to stand behind his monarch.

  “Your kitten has grown,” Mara said, smiling at her sister.

  “Her name’s Marigold.” Lily stepped over and held the cat up for Bran’s approval.

  It yawned, showing very sharp teeth, and he eyed it warily. The creature resembled the great felines of Moonflower, in miniature. Yet, despite its size, he’d no doubt that even such a small thing could inflict plenty of damage, if it so desired.

  “Are you afraid of her?” Lily blinked at him.

  “No,” he said stiffly.

  “There are no housecats in Elfhame,” Mara said, running her fingers over the feline’s back. “Perhaps we ought to bring some with us.”