A Deal with the Elf King (Married to Magic, #1)(23)

I nod. Something about her mannerisms reminds me of sweet old Mr. Abbot, and my heart aches. I never got to say goodbye to him or any of my other patients. The thought of all the people I’ve left behind—people who needed me—has my eyes burning. I nearly weep and beg for Poppy to stay as she pulls away and leaves. Willow follows behind, giving me one last wary glance.

“So, you’re the Human Queen. We’ve been waiting all this time for…you?” Harrow assesses me the second we’re alone. Even though Willow’s potion is beginning to kick in, I don’t even bother trying to shift straighter. It’s impossible to be intimidating while lying in a bed.

“Apparently,” I say dryly.

“Given your show on the redwood throne, I think the fact obvious.” He walks over slowly.

“Glad we could clear that up. Is there anything else I might help you with?” I narrow my eyes up at him.

His navy eyes flash a glacial blue in response—something I have come to associate with the Knowing. He just tried to find my true name, and I shudder to think what he might have done with it. Harrow scowls and looks to the labradorite ring on my hand. I ball my fingers into a fist. I didn’t expect the enemies Eldas mentioned to be inside the castle.

“My brother, detailed as ever and perpetually good at ruining my fun.” Harrow sighs. “Well, get up.”

“What?”

“I said, get up.”

“You can’t—”

“Can’t what?” He arches his eyebrows. “Order you? What will you do about it? Do you even know how to use your magic?”

I purse my lips.

“You’re not the only one who wears a crown in this castle.” He taps the iron circlet on his forehead for emphasis.

“No, I’m not. Eldas does as well. And his crown is far more impressive than yours.”

Anger flashes through his eyes, so fast I almost miss it. But it’s quickly cooled by laughter and replaced with wicked amusement.

“Good, you’re not a wet rag. It’d be boring if you were. Now get up; I’ve agreed to let a few honored members of your court get a sneak peek of their new queen.”

“Your court can rot.”

His eye twitches. “Get up or I will make you.”

“Get out of my room.”

“Or what?”

He’s right. I have no idea how to use my magic. And even if I had a way to contact Eldas, I doubt he’d be on my side, or care about my plight. He was the one who had me sit on the throne without warning and then washed his hands of me after. I’m alone here.

“I thought so.” His smile widens. He turns to my bedsheets and his eyes flash again. The sheets wrap around me like a cocoon and I am hoisted into the air. I fight against the constricting linens but they’re too tight. My arms are trapped; my legs are rail straight.

The magic alight in Harrow’s eyes fades as he puts me down, upright, in front of the closet. The sheets fall harmlessly in a puddle around my feet.

“Will you get dressed on your own? Or do I have to make your clothes dress you? Your call.”

With one last glare at him, I try to march into my closet with as much dignity as my exhausted body will allow.





Harrow calls this place the lunch nook. Which is an inappropriate name since the room seemingly has nothing to do with lunch or nooks.

It’s large. Of course it’s large. Just as grand as everything else here.

Gilded mirrors line the wall to the right on entry, reflecting off the heavily curtained windows that overlook the city to the left. There are five tables spread throughout the room, four smaller ones set for four people and a large center table set for six.

This is where three people sit. All of them promptly ignore the tower of cakes and snacks in the center of the table to face me.

“Don’t let me distract you.” I approach ahead of Harrow and grab one of the glistening fruit pies off the top tier. “I’m not nearly as fascinating as this food.”

“We wholeheartedly disagree.” A woman with straight black hair to her waist leans forward, placing both elbows on the table.

“Perhaps we should take her at her word. She surely has the authority on how interesting she is.” A brown-skinned man adjusts his thick spectacles and takes a sip of tea from the dainty cup before him.

The third doesn’t raise his eyes from the book he’s reading.

Harrow sits and kicks up his feet onto the vacant chair. “Your Majesty, meet my friends. Jalic is the fine specimen of a man with the glasses.”

Jalic rolls his eyes.

“Our strong, silent type is Sirro,” Harrow continues.

The man looks at me through his long lashes and waves of brown hair. He must ultimately decide I’m less interesting than his book, because he eagerly returns to it.

“And last, but certainly not least, is the loveliest acrobat in all of Lafaire, the one and only—”

“Ariamorria,” she finishes with a snaggletoothed grin. “But call me Aria. Charmed to meet you, Your Majesty.”

“Yes, the pleasure is mine,” I lie, and stuff the small pie in my mouth. I was expecting the taste of cherry. I was not expecting it to be also laced with some kind of pepper so hot steam comes out of my ears. As quickly as the cake went in my mouth, it comes back out. I spit it on the floor and fan my tongue.