A Deal with the Elf King (Married to Magic, #1)(77)

“Your kidnapping was performed by a rogue fae group—Acolytes of the Wild Wood—that’s trying to claim the fae throne. They’ll do anything to show their power…except exposing where their leaders hide,” Rinni says.

“And Harrow has always been trouble. His illness is hardly more than a night of too much indulgences.” Eldas sighs with a note of finality. I want to scream. I don’t know how else I can spell it out for them.

“I don’t think Harrow’s—” I don’t get to finish before Eldas keeps speaking.

“Now what is the second thing related to the throne?”

I hadn’t come here for this. But after what I heard, I can’t ignore it. “I need to sit on it again.”

“Luella—”

“Now.” I lock eyes with Eldas and see apprehension tempered with what I’d dare say is admiration. “I overheard the discussion. Your people need fertile fields and forests filled with game.”

“You’re still too weak.”

“I’m strong enough.”

He takes a step forward and his hands release from his back to scoop up mine. I’m shocked he’s touching me in front of Rinni. The tender expression on his face is one I never thought I’d see in the daylight, and certainly not around others.

“I can’t risk something happening to you.”

“For the sake of Midscape?” I smile weakly.

“For…” He hesitates. I wait expectantly, but whatever it is he intended to say, he’s not going to be forthright with it. So I retreat to where the topics are safe—our responsibilities.

“This is my duty,” I say softly. His eyes widen slightly. “As much as looking after Capton, it is my duty to look after Midscape.”

“Very well, but sit for only a little,” he relents.

I give a nod and he releases my hands. I brush past him and I think I see him twitch, as though he’s resisting the urge to reach for me. Something in me aches for him, to allow Eldas to envelop me in his arms so that I can leech whatever strength I’m able.

But I don’t stop.

I head right for the throne and brace myself for the pain that’s about to follow.





For two weeks, I dance with the throne.

I wake and take breakfast in my room as I try and read through the journals. But by the second week, I’m too tired for reading. Eldas begins to eat breakfast with me as well, reading nonstop. I wonder if he’s compensating for my fatigue. He never says much—as though he knows I am too tired for pleasant conversation—so I hope he somehow knows I am grateful for his silent, reassuring presence.

On the days that I am strong enough, I return to the laboratory. Willow expresses worry for my sunken cheeks and the slowly lengthening shadows underneath my eyes. But I make no complaints.

I don’t want anyone to know just how empty the throne is leaving me. I can hardly trust Eldas with that truth. Every time I am honest with him, his expression darkens, and I can almost see more worry blooming in the grim gardens of his mind.

No matter what, I make sure I am strong enough to keep good on my promise to Harrow, crafting jars of teas and powders to help with his constitution. As I suspected, he was in worse shape after the night with Aria. But he’s defensive the moment I try and even make a pass at the topic.

I never find out if he gave in to glimmer again.

At the end of the second week, I lie in bed awake, staring up at the ceiling. My skin is too heavy. My joints ache. My hair has lost its luster.

The throne is killing me. It is making up for what I don’t have in magic with my life itself.

“There has to be a way to stop it,” I whisper into the air. “I have to stop it.”

Repeating that mantra, I free myself from the warm covers of my bed and shuffle out to my desk. The journals are spread across every flat surface in the main room of my apartments. Notes in both my and Eldas’s script scribbled between them. But there’s nothing useful there. We’ve been through them countless times now and have found nothing.

I think of the statue, of the first queen who made the redwood throne and helped make the Fade. If only I had her journal—or the journals of those who came after. Perhaps I’d be able to piece together the final part of this grand picture I’m missing.

Then, an idea strikes me.

A knight is posted at my door. I vaguely recognize him from the legion that came to collect me from Capton. Rinni has been pulling people from her core squadron to guard me whenever she cannot due to duty or necessity—like sleep.

The man startles at my presence, but dips his head.

“I’m going for a walk,” I declare. “Hook, stay here and guard the room.” The wolf obliges and the guard follows behind me as I lead us to a large hall occupied by ghosts.

I stare at the tarps placed over every piece of furniture purchased by the past queens. Someday, my desk, my chair, the small table, and the settee Eldas slept on will be neatly stacked in here and covered like forgotten tombstones. Moonlight streams through the high windows of the ballroom. Where the light lands is washed bone white. Where it doesn’t is shrouded in an eerie gray.

The knight stands at the entrance as I wander into the maze of furniture. Around halfway through, I grab a fistful of fabric, yanking it off. Dust rises in a plume and I cough.