A Deal with the Elf King (Married to Magic, #1)(66)

“But Harrow… Our mother has always been soft on him. He was the one son who she could cling to the longest. She dotes on him; Father did too. And I…”

“You resented him for it,” I finish.

“Yes.” Eldas presses his eyes closed and buries his face in his hand. “I was the heir to all of Midscape, and I envied my little brother.”

“You didn’t have it easy.” Sorrow wells in me. It’s as though I’ve finally penetrated through the overwhelming wall of permafrost that surrounds this man and caught something real, something warm—pain. “You couldn’t go out. You were the heir from the moment you were born and groomed as such. Your father was in a complicated situation between your mother and his queen. Being between him and her and Alice couldn’t have been easy—”

“Alice was my savior,” he interrupts. “Without her, I would’ve gone mad.”

“Oh.” All his past mentions of Alice take on new meaning.

“She was good to me. My mother knew that I was destined to be king and that destiny would take me from her. From the moment I was born she handed me off to the wet nurses and washed her hands of me.”

Family dinners flash before my eyes. I can still hear the echoes of my parents tucking me into bed, assuring me that there were no monsters lurking in the corners of our attic. I remember the first time my mother took me out into the fields to show me what she knew of herbs and plants. Her wails as I left fill my ears and the sight of my father’s red eyes flash before my eyes.

Did Eldas hate me then? Did he hate me for the family I had that he was denied? Did he rip me from them so callously because of spite?

The questions sting my tongue as tears sting my eyes. It’s likely true. I should likely hate him all the more now.

But…I don’t. I can’t. Something in me is shifting now that I’ve seen him like this and know what I know. It’s shifting more than it did from kisses against a wall. I may never be able to look at him the same way again.

Maybe I don’t want to. I feel for him deeper than I ever expected and I don’t dislike it.

“Alice took pity on me when no one else would,” he continues, oblivious to my turmoil. “She was the best thing I had. And I mourned her death daily for far too long.”

Just like I mourn your departure when it hasn’t even come to pass—I can almost hear the unspoken words and I wonder if I’ve fabricated them entirely.

“Eldas, I—”

“Where is he?” A curt voice cuts through the air as the door to the main room snaps open. Speaking of mothers… “Where is my darling boy?” A woman with sharp features and eyes just as cold as Eldas’s storms in, curtains fluttering behind her. I wonder if part of the reason why she couldn’t tolerate Eldas was because of how much he looks like her. “What have you done to him?”

I blink, realizing her attention rests solely on myself. “What? Me?”

“You come into this castle and have caused my sons nothing but torment,” she scolds and rounds the other side of the bed. “You’re not even supposed to be in the East Wing. Keep to your side, queen.” She says queen like an insult.

“I—”

“Mother, Luella has been helping Harrow,” Eldas says curtly, standing from the edge of the bed. “Without her—”

“Without her my baby boy would not be in this turmoil; just look at him.” She smooths away Harrow’s dark hair from his sweat-slicked face.

I want to pity this woman. I want to find sympathy for her as I have for Eldas. I try and imagine myself in her position. She’s in effect the mistress of the former king with no real title. From the first moment she pursued a relationship with Eldas’s father, she must have known her firstborn son would be taken from her. I try and reach deep for compassion, but her murderous glares in my direction make it very hard.

“You know what Harrow will need next,” I say to Eldas. “If you need me or have questions, you know how to find me.”

“Yes, thank you, Luella.” The way he says it leaves no doubt that he means it.

“He will not have anything that girl has made.” The woman glares at my nightstand of supplies.

“Mother—”

“She is, what? Eighteen?”

“Nineteen,” I correct calmly.

“A child. Get Poppy.”

“I am unable to do that,” Eldas says coolly. “I have sent Poppy away on an important mission that will take at least two months still; and I will not call her back. So if you wish for Harrow to receive care you will allow Luella to—”

“Poppy’s grandson. Even that mouse of a man would be better than her.”

I see Eldas’s hands tighten behind his back to the point that his knuckles are paper white. The muscles in his jaw tense. But his eyes are full of sorrow and longing, even as he speaks with all the bitter ice I’ve ever heard the man muster.

“I am the king, and what happens in my castle is my sole discretion.”

“‘Your castle.’ You do not lord over me. I am your mother.”

“A shame you have failed to ever act like it.”

“Eldas.” I touch his elbow lightly, trying to snap him out of this.

“How dare you speak to me that way.”