A Deal with the Elf King (Married to Magic Book 1)

by Elise Kova

  Slowly, awareness comes into focus. It’s not quite like seeing, but more like my awareness sharpening the world around me. I am within a cocoon nestled deep in the roots of the redwood throne. I am in the dark spot I previously could not see within, trapped in a cage of gnarled roots.

  Everything stretches out from here. Everything originates from this spot.

  The seed, I remember reading another queen call it in a journal. From this seed, the life of Midscape is sustained. This is the seed of the tree that nourishes the world of wild magic. The Fade creates the borders, but without the seed it would be an empty vessel.

  The first Human Queen and Elf King worked together to make the Fade. The rogue thought wanders through my head as if someone whispers it to me.

  Hello? I try and ask.

  Silence.

  I try and reach out to the world around me, but am met with nothing. Yet my hands seem to touch everything. In this murky place of primordial beginnings, I see a hazy image.

  A woman with a crown, reaching forward. Planting…

  Planting? Planting what? Have I seen this before?

  The heartroot remembers.

  Remembers what?

  But the fleeting images are gone, and with them exhaustion follows in their wake. I must stay focused on my task. The echoes of a thousand queens exist in this dark void and I cannot allow myself to get lost among them.

  Magically, I tap into the great roots that prop up Midscape. I feel the same cries from across the land. But they are less hungry and demanding this time.

  They know I’ve returned, I realize. The plants, animals—life itself on Midscape knows the queen has returned to attend them. They are not screaming into the void of a seemingly endless winter, but making their needs known so that summer can break over a world still waking.

  Fine, I relent. Take what you need.

  As soon as permission is given, I feel the tendrils worm underneath my flesh. They dig into me with an inevitable violence. I grit my teeth against the pain. It’s numbed as the world begins to drain the magic within me from my marrow.

  Enough, I try and demand. That’s enough.

  But Midscape does not listen. This unnatural world is needy, and hungry. More, more, more, it seems to say. Everything is out of balance and it doesn’t know when to stop.

  Enough!

  The vines tighten around me. I can’t get a word out. They writhe within me. They will tear me apart in this dark and lonely place.

  All at once, the invisible tendrils release themselves. My lungs are my own. My mind is free and exists only within my own head.

  I’m pressed against something solid and warm. Two roots still cling to me but—no, they’re not roots. They’re arms. I blink up in the dim light of the throne room.

  Eldas is all I see.

  He cradles my shaking form against him; his embrace is the only thing keeping my bones from rattling apart. I want to thank him, but I’m too exhausted. Talking is hard. Thinking is hard.

  “You did well,” he murmurs. My head rests against his shoulder by the crook of his neck.

  “Was it enough?” I rasp.

  “It was enough. You are more than enough.”

  I hope so. My eyes flutter closed. It feels like enough. This once-cold world is now warm. In the back of my mind, I realize I know this sensation. I’ve felt it once before.

  He held me like this when he hardly knew me after the first time I sat on the throne. The vague thoughts slip between my fingers, as much of a victim to the overwhelming darkness as I am.

  I wake in my bed several hours later.

  Dawn has broken, painting the room with a watercolor brush of periwinkle and honeysuckle hues. I feel as though I’ve run a marathon. Not that I’ve ever done such a thing in my life before. But I watched my classmates do it in Lanton and it looked exhausting.

  As I push myself off the bed, a chorus of popping and snapping in my bones wakes Hook. He whines and eagerly jumps up to my face. Wet nose, hot tongue, and warm breath is my greeting party back to reality.

  “It’s good to see you too,” I say softly, running my fingers through his dark fur. “Sorry for worrying you.”

  Once Hook has been reassured that I’m not dead—despite how my body tries to claim otherwise—I swing my legs off the bed and make an attempt at standing. I ache, and just walking to the bathroom has me winded. It’s not as bad as the first time but I still can’t imagine doing this regularly. I already have to suffer each month because of my womanly body. I wouldn’t like to suffer each month, or more, because of my magic.

  A soft sigh disrupts the quiet and I pause, looking toward my bedroom door. There’s shifting in the main room. Hook’s ears twitch, but he’s already settled back at the foot of the bed, only raising his head when he realizes I’m not coming back. I bat away the idea of some thief or fae assassin rummaging through my things. If Hook doesn’t deem the sound a threat, or even worth investigating, then I won’t be worried.

  Soundlessly, I slip into the main room. There, on my richly upholstered settee, is a cramped-looking Eldas. His long legs are tucked against one end, knees hanging over the edge. A thin blanket I found in the back of my closet and had out as a complement to the lush velvet of the furniture is draped over him. It’s comically small, almost like the lanky man is using a napkin to keep warm.

  Padding on light feet, I sneak back into the bedroom.

  “Move, Hook,” I whisper and yank at the duvet folded at the foot of the bed. I haven’t needed it for warmth since Hook took up residence with me. “Move.”

  He whines and relents.

  I drag the blanket back to the main room. The fabric whispers over the carpet and Eldas stirs, muttering in his sleep. Gravity threatens to pull the duvet from my tired fingers, but I hold fast, waiting for him to settle once more. Carefully, I situate the blanket over him.

  Eldas shifts slightly, but doesn’t wake. His eyes don’t open until a good hour later. I’m leaning back in my desk chair, journal in my lap, feet propped up against the desk as I stare intently, deep in thought. There’s something on the edge of my mind. Something I remember reading that connects with…

  I hear him stir and glance over my shoulder. “Good morning,” I say.

  “Good…” He blinks sleep from his eyes, rubbing them.

  “Good?” I repeat with a small grin. Tired and slightly vulnerable is not a terrible sight to see first thing in the morning. The tangerine glow of the late dawn kisses his skin, making him look more man than ethereal creature of wild magic and death.

  “Goodness…your hair.”

  “What’s wrong with my hair?” I raise a hand to my yet-to-be-combed tresses, the grin slipping into a frown. The last time I even thought of my hair was when Luke commented on how he wanted it to be long again.

  “It’s like fire in this light,” he murmurs.

  “Fire head. Yes, I’ve heard it before.” I close the journal and sigh, dropping it on the desk harder than I intended. “All throughout grade school. Don’t make the fire head angry, smoke might come out of her ears. The fire head—”

  “You look like a goddess,” Eldas amends. “I would not change a single thing about you, Luella.” My traitorous heart skips at his words. Then, as if remembering himself, he clears his throat and sits upright, the blanket pooling around his waist. “Where did this…”

  “My bed. You looked cold this morning,” I answer the unfinished question. It seems Eldas has a hard time forming complete thoughts first thing in the morning, and there’s something surprisingly endearing about the fact.

  “I’m used to the cold.” He chuckles darkly. “Ice king, they’ve called me.”

  “Good thing you have a fire queen, then.” The words leave me before I can think through what exactly I’m saying. A flush rises to my cheeks.

  “Oh, and why is that a good thing?” He stands, lips quirking slightly. I don’t answer, tongue heavy and gummy in my mouth as Eldas approaches. “Will you keep me warm
?”

  A single eyebrow arches and somehow that is what sets me aflame. I purse my lips together, trying to think of something witty to say. Trying to prevent my nerves from making me say something stupid. Trying not to remember the feeling of those smirking lips on mine.

  I thought we had agreed, more or less, to not go down this route after some drunken missteps?

  “I think I already did.” I point at the blanket that’s now on the floor.

  “Oh, right.” He chuckles. “Of course.” Do I hear a note of disappointment in his voice? Surely I’m imagining it. Eldas studies my face as I will the blush to cool. “You’re flushed; do you have a fever again?”

  “No, I’m fine.” I stand quickly, a little too quickly as the world sways. Eldas catches me with a steady hand.

  “You’re not.”

  “I am.” I touch the back of his hand lightly. I want to tell myself it’s just to reassure him. But, in truth, I want the shock that shoots from my fingertips straight into my chest whenever I touch him. I want the feeling of him there with me, in me. In me? My mind sputters.

  “Let me take you back to bed.”

  You’re not helping, Eldas! I want to shout. “Thank you, but I’ll be all right. I don’t need your help.” I fumble over my words, trying not to think of every implication he certainly doesn’t mean.

  The trance is broken. As if realizing his hand was still on my person, he quickly jerks away. Eldas speaks as he hastily folds the duvet. A king folding a duvet is a sight worth leaning against my desk and watching. Especially as the broad muscles of his back strain against the thin tunic he’s wearing.

  “Well, you should continue to get what sleep you can to gather your strength. Tomorrow you’ll be meeting with the finest seamstress in the city.”

  “I have plenty of clothes.”

  He pauses and gently sets the duvet on the settee. When he speaks again, he doesn’t look at me. “She will be measuring you for your coronation gown. It is the honor of the top seamstress to clothe the queen for the event.”

  “I see…” I murmur.

  “Of course, she doesn’t know you intend to be gone by then.” Eldas turns and the broad back I was just admiring now has become like an icy wall that I will never be able to scale.

  “Eldas, I—”

  I don’t get to finish before he closes the door behind him. The sound rings in my ears louder than the silence that crashes down on me in his wake.

  Chapter 27

  The seamstress sets up a makeshift salon in the castle. She is now one of the “elite few” who’s able to see me and has, by my understanding, been intensely vetted by Eldas. It’s hard to believe it’s now been over a week since the attack. In some ways, it still seems like yesterday. I’m still jumping at every sound and movement in the corner of my eye when I round corners. In other ways, it’s like an eternity.

  Rinni escorts me to a room with large windows that overlook Quinnar on three sides—almost like a closed-in balcony. Here, the seamstress has set up three tables under each window, yards of fabric, lace, and jewels glittering in the sunlight. I’m directed to stand on a pedestal in the center of the room as Rinni and Hook stand guard outside the door.

  The seamstress steps around me. She flicks her fingers and invisible ice is dragged over my skin as measuring ribbons unfurl down my arms and legs. I do as she instructs, holding out one arm and then the other. The measurements are endless and it gives my mind time to wander beyond the window panes.

  Quinnar is getting dressed up like a spring maiden. Heavy garlands of wildflowers plucked from the fields that my room overlooks have been magically woven across awnings, balconies, and porches. Minstrels have begun walking the streets, standing on benches surrounding the central lake and belting their songs.

  It’s a joyous veneer on a dying world. The throne was less aggressive but somehow more exhausting than the last time. Its toll is less physical and felt more in the recesses of my magic—a hollowing out of the powers I have.

  My power—the last power of a long line of Human Queens—is diminishing, and I fear for this world if Eldas and I don’t end the cycle.

  I frown at the thought.

  “Apologies, Majesty, did I prick you?” the seamstress asks, looking up from the muslin she’s draping over my body.

  “Oh, no, I’m fine.” I force a smile. I had been frowning at the realization that I’ve begun to care for this world—not just in the way that I care for anything living. No…I care for it deeper than that. Perhaps it’s the throne, or perhaps it’s Eldas, but I’m beginning to care for Midscape as though it could be a home to me.

  I stare out at the statue of the first Human Queen, kneeling before the first Elf King, and can’t help but wonder if they will someday make a statue of me—the last queen. There’s no way to be certain that I am the last… But a nagging inkling whispers with certainty that I am. One way or another, the Human Queens will end with me.

  What would you do? I wonder with an aching heart, wishing the first queen could hear me. If only you could guide me…

  “Your Majesty!” the seamstress squeaks as I step off of the pedestal, interrupting her work. Muslin falls from my hips.

  “I’m sorry, just a moment, I need a better look at something.” I quickly cross to the windows, staring down at the statue.

  From this vantage, I can see details that are hidden by the queen’s hands when standing at ground level. Nestled in her cupped hands is a sprout. I was right—she’s not kneeling before him, she is burying something. And that something is a plant.

  “When was that statue built?” I ask.

  “Excuse me?”

  “The one in the center of the lake, when was it created?”

  The seamstress hums in thought. “I’m not rightly sure. It’s always been in Quinnar. Perhaps by the second or third Human Queen.”

  One of the first five queens—someone whose journal I’m missing. “If it’s that old, how are the details still preserved?”

  “I believe the Elf King tends to it.” She motions back to the center of the room. “May we resume, Your Majesty?”

  I go back to the pedestal, mind whirring. The sculpture was an early creation, when the throne was young and the memory of the first queen was fresh. Is there a meaning hidden in it? Or is it truly just to honor that early queen? Those questions lead me to wonder what it might actually be depicting… Is it the creation of the Fade, or redwood throne, perhaps?

  My thoughts continue to spiral around what I’ve read in journals, searching for a link to this revelation of the statue’s true nature. I might be reading into it too much. But I must find a way to break the cycle. That’s the only solution. If I don’t, Midscape will be in danger.

  Then, I return to Capton and everything I’ve ever wanted.

  But what do I want?

  “What do you want?” the cheery seamstress echoes my thoughts.

  “I’m sorry, what?” I blink back to reality. She motions to the table of fabrics.

  “For your dress, Your Majesty. What do you want? Silk, or velvet? Or perhaps chiffon? I think jewel tones for your complexion but I want to make sure I incorporate your opinion. After all, a woman’s natural beauty is enhanced best by her own confidence.”

  She would lay an egg if she knew that what would enhance my confidence best would be a sturdy pair of canvas trousers and some kind of breathable shirt or tunic that I didn’t mind getting absolutely filthy.

  “I trust your judgment,” I say, finally.

  Her face falls slightly. “Are you…are you sure? Is nothing I brought to your liking? Because if it’s not I can—”

  “No, they’re wonderful,” I interject. I hadn’t meant to offend her. “Let’s see…” I step down to run my hands over the fabrics, settling on one as light as air. “This one, whatever color you think is best, but this one.”

  “Oh, fae-spun silk.” She practically purrs as she runs her fingers over it. “You have good taste, Your Majesty.”
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  “I’m glad to hear it.” I laugh. But a thought crosses my mind at the mention of something being fae made. “I hear the fae are good craftsmen.”

  “The fae are skilled at their looms, yes. But the elves are the best craftsmen in the land.” She preens.

  “Oh, of course. On my side of the Fade there is nothing more valuable than elf-made goods.” I smile and she continues to relish in my praise. I’m hoping I have her enough off guard to seize another opportunity. “I’ve heard a good deal about the things fae can make…especially things for celebrations.”

  “Like faerie mead?”

  “And more, I’ve heard.” I’m not sure how to approach this casually and can already tell I’m overplaying my hand.

  A shadow crosses her face, but she brightens it with a forced smile almost immediately. “You honor us all that you’re taking an active interest in all the inhabitants of Midscape.”

  “It is my role as Human Queen.” Just when I’m about to give up on learning anything more about glimmer, she surprises me.

  “I’m not sure what you heard, Your Majesty…” The seamstress keeps her head down, writing notes in a ledger she brought. “But I…”

  “You?”

  “It’s not my place.” Her pen pauses.

  “Please, tell me,” I encourage. “This is still a new land to me. I have much to learn.” Not a lie in the slightest.

  “I would suspect you might have heard something of the like from the young prince Harrow.” I don’t need to confirm the fact; my silence is enough to prompt her to continue. “Please be careful, Your Majesty. Those of us in the cities have seen the prince’s recent…dalliances. Especially since the arrival of the fae delegation.”

  “Such as?”

  She shakes her head. “I shouldn’t have said anything. Forgive me, Majesty. Please, if you might…if in your immense kindness you spare mentioning I said anything to the king?”

  “I assure you I won’t,” I say hastily, trying to put her at ease. “But I do need to know as I am living in the same castle as Harrow. Please, tell me if there’s anything I should be aware of?”