"The same girl you insulted and hurt not twenty minutes ago? Who is the only woman in all of Biston who wouldn't be satisfied with your noncommittal interest? She's had better offers from better men." Phil looked down on him as if Erick were a worm that had wriggled indoors. Something that should be squashed and wiped away.

He'd never earned Phil's disdain before. Erick's insides writhed, wounded. "What do you mean, better men?"

"Men who would thank and appreciate her. She saves your life, yet leaves here crying. That girl loves you and you treat her like dirt. I understand that she was too young before and you couldn't wait for her. But now, why? Why would you choose to believe a fantasy when she's better than anything you can imagine? Don't use your mother as an excuse. They aren't the same. But if you continue to hurt Eleanor, they will be."

He failed to see the difference. Darkness swirled around both. Their spells and wrath burned him, a stark contrast to his lover's innocence. "She isn't Violet. You couldn't prove it."

"Not yet. But that doesn't make it wrong."

"Ellie would be better off with Reiley. He can give her what I can't." Why didn't Henry see that?"

"She wants you. Always has. I've never seen her look at anyone the way she looks at you, even now. Didn't you wonder why Henry sent her away to the country?"

"For her health."

"Because you hurt her when you took women to your bed."

She was a fourteen-year-old child then. "Her crush has worn off by now." She hated him and he wouldn't have it any other way. "Just send out the letter and post the reward."

"Yes, Your Majesty," Phil growled and left.

Age had made the man grumpier and all the more stubborn. How long would he be fixated on this?

Chapter Thirteen.

December 25, 9544 AR

Valetta, Biston

Their silver eyes shimmered in the sunlight from the window as they followed her movements. Expressionless, they never truly reacted to anything she did. She could strip down completely nude and sit spread-legged but they wouldn't lift a silver eyebrow. Their eyes would glow but beyond that-nothing. Their chiseled faces, devoid of any color, seemed more like cold marble than flesh.

Marilyn poured another cup of tea from her chipped red kettle. Green, ancient symbols marked her tea set but she had no idea what they meant. Steam carried the scent of jasmine and some spice from East New Pangaea. Supposedly, elves loved tea. Though she pretended to savor every sip of the bitter brew, the elven guards never asked for a cup. Awful stuff. It somehow left her throat dry.

She forced a swallow and asked, "What did you do before this?" They never responded to anything from her lips.

Marilyn felt around their mind shields. Not a seam to slip through. She pushed a little harder.

One actually flinched. "Don't," he warned.

If she tested them any further, they'd use whatever means necessary to pacify her, under the excuse of orders. But the racist sadists enjoyed it. Why else would unbound elves their age volunteer to hold her prisoner? Judging by the dark color of their robes, they had to be at least five hundred years old. Elves dressed according to their station and skill. Only masters of elven kings' magic wore black. To go that long without orgasm must be torturous. Most unbound elves their age scoured New Pangaea in desperation for their fated one.

Their repertoire of spells probably dwarfed Marilyn's. She'd stupidly abandoned her training for Raulin. But on the coldest night of winter, would she be stronger? She had human blood in her, maybe enough to break an elf on an icy night. A tiny butterfly seemed to tickle her belly at the thought.

How strong were the elven guards?

If she chanced it and failed, they'd kill her. Marilyn crushed the tiny butterfly and set her teacup down on the bright red tablecloth. Gold wizard symbols of cups, wands, pentacles, and swords glowed on the smooth fabric. A memento of Marilyn's favorite lover, the one who'd rescued her from Raulin. She hadn't loved the wizard but he'd never hit her and oh could he could last for hours. Amazing body.

Footsteps sounded at the base of the tower. Too early to be Phil. He never came in the daytime. However, his thoughts grew louder with each step up the spiraling staircase.

His plan had soured. She knew it would.

The elves opened the door and Phil stepped inside. His brow lowered to create columns of creases on the bridge of his nose. Peppery bristles sprayed out from the hardened line of his lips. He'd have seemed angry if not for his slumped shoulders. Broken.

A burning ache in her chest urged her to hug him and stroke his hair but she forced air into her lungs to squelch it. "Have you finally given up on your protege?" There was no saving Erick, yet Phil had naively clung to the idea of good in every person. "I told you so."

"He's your son," Phil snapped and slammed the door closed behind him.

Her mind stalled for a brief moment. Phil had never taken that tone with her before. "What is that supposed to mean?" Her gut clenched, expecting what came next.

"It means show him some compassion. If you had just..." Phil grimaced and tugged at his hair.

She knew it. She knew Phil blamed her for Erick's flaws. "Say it."

He growled in frustration and dropped his fists to his side, shoulders squared. "I'm not here to talk about that."

"No, let's talk about it." Marilyn rose with the teacup clutched between her shaking hands. Tea spilled over her fingers. "Say it. Tell me what an awful mother I was."

But he had the nerve to ignore her. He spoke instead to her guards. "Would you please send a message for my king to yours?"

Heat flushed through her face to boil the blood in her head. "You son of a bitch. Fate dealt me a lousy hand. I played what I was dealt. You can't see what I see when I look at him." She slammed her hand down on the table.

The kettle wobbled and its lid rattled, yet the jerk didn't even look at her.

"What is the message?" One of the cold elven guards actually responded to Phil.

Oh, how she hated elves. "You don't say a kind word to me for ten years but a human asks you a favor and you suddenly know how to talk?"

Phil crossed his arms over his chest and turned away from her, to the elf. "My king wants to know if yours will lift his sanctions. King Frederick would like to learn elven magic."

"I will ask," the elf said but didn't leave. He closed his eyes, as if he could send the message telepathically.

No one could send a silent message that far.

"Why would Erick even ask that? Erick can't cast spells. He's too weak." Phil's hard gaze flicked to her for a brief moment and she saw why.

Delusions.

Laughter bubbled up her chest and nearly doubled her over. "Is he really that stupid?" The boy had always been slow but she'd never guessed to such a degree.

"Fear is not the same thing as idiocy," Phil yelled. His upper lip curled up in an expression she'd only seen on her late husband. "You hurt Erick. You did to him what Raulin did to you."

"I never raised a hand to my son."

Phil rolled in his lower lip and turned away from her.

"He said I did? I never hit him." How dare he accuse her? She wasn't like them. "No. You didn't. You used magic in place of a fist."

Red flashed in her head. "Get out." She hurled her teacup at him but missed. The damned cup shattered on the door.

He ducked and should have screamed at her but didn't. He moved between her and the guards. Palms up in submission, Phil blurted apologies. "I shouldn't have said it. I'm sorry. I wasn't there. I can't pretend to know what you went through."

But her heart pounded in her tight chest. She couldn't look at him. Bile rose in her throat and she wanted to spit it at him. "You think you're so much better than me. What do you think you're doing to your niece? You might as well hold her down for him to take his shots. Let her go. She doesn't deserve this." Marilyn motioned to her prison. "She should choose her life, not you, not her father or that elf mother of hers. This isn't right and you know it."

"They're fated. There's nothing wrong with helping them see that, especially if it gives you the future you want too."

"I don't need you or them to get what I want. Get out of my prison."

Phil swallowed and looked away. "You're just upset. You don't mean that. I shouldn't have said what I did. It wasn't fair to you."

Nothing could erase what he said from her mind. "No, I mean it. Get out. I don't want to see you again."

One of the elven guards interrupted, "His Majesty, King Andraste, says no. Should I write the response for your king?"

He couldn't have sent the message that far. They couldn't be that strong, not on mortal land. Was this a trick to convince her she couldn't break free? Had Phil set this up?

The elf smirked at her. "No and I am stronger than you on the coldest winter night, regardless of your tainted blood."

Marilyn jerked with tension. Needles of pain stabbed into her neck and back. He'd read her and she hadn't even felt him. What else did they know? Dark secrets hid in the back of her mind. Had the elves seen?

Erick groaned and forced himself up. Earth, he ached all over. The little demon had managed to sting nerves he hadn't realized existed. Every motion hurt as he dressed.

After he tied his shoes, the door burst open.

"Did you send it?" Erick asked and turned around, expecting to see Phil.

Instead, Reiley stood in the doorway, boots spread wide, face red. "Your councilor has informed me that Eleanor's father will not agree to our transaction. What do you intend to do about it?"

There was nothing he could do. Henry was the power behind his throne. All of Biston's army would follow Henry anywhere, not Erick. "We can still do business but my oath-brother's daughter is out."

"Are you not king? Do you not make the decisions here?" Reiley yelled. His fist swung down dramatically.

"I love my oath-brother. I won't cross him." Henry had protected and cared for him as if they shared blood. "If there's nothing else I can offer you, then you best walk right back out that door."

Reiley turned about and Erick's chest emptied. The bastard called his bluff. Earth, he needed this deal.

But the foreign king didn't leave, just yet. He grumbled over his shoulder, "You will regret this weakness. She will be mine with or without your oath-brother's consent."

"Are you threatening me?" Erick rose to his feet. "If it's war you want, I'm more than happy to oblige." Both shaky, begrudging alliances to the Western River and Gildon would finally be tested. They'd probably fall apart, all for a girl Erick wanted nothing to do with.

Reiley didn't answer. He left, heels clicking down the stairwell.

"This day just keeps getting better and better," Erick mumbled. How could it get any worse? If his mother escaped from the tower. That would be the icing on this foul cake.

He'd have to call Henry back from vacation early, with war approaching. Silver lining, Henry would take his demonic daughter back to the country, at least.

Erick followed Porter's king down the stairs, though he didn't hear his steps anymore. Would the arrogant bastard have the gall to steal Eleanor on his way out? Shit. Erick skipped two steps at a time down the stairwell but couldn't catch up. He ran through the hall toward Ellie's room.

Henry would kill him if he lost the brat.

A door swung open in Erick's path and momentum threw him into it. Hands thrown out, he protected his face but his elbows and knees cracked against the heavy wood. Curses flew from his mouth as he crumpled to the floor.

Phil lifted him to his feet. "What are you doing?" Phil grumbled. The wrinkles on his face seemed to have multiplied. His eyes had reddened and sunken, as if he'd received hurtful news but there wasn't time to talk about it.

"Reiley," Erick panted. "He's leaving."

Phil blinked and his brows lifted, smoothing out the deep crows feet. His tone rose slightly. "Maybe you should check on her. In a bit." But Phil gripped Erick's shoulder, seemingly to keep him from going. "Porter's king can't steal Eleanor in broad daylight without an army and I didn't see any waiting outside. She has some spells. And her guards will protect her when they have to. So you can spare me a few minutes." Phil's normally strong voice broke several times. Whatever he had to say couldn't be good.

Erick swallowed, expecting news of a death or loss. But neither fell from Phil's mouth.

"Here." Phil handed him a letter sealed with an elaborate elven symbol. "I sent your message through an elf. He wrote down the response."

"They can do that?" Could Eleanor communicate telepathically that far? Earth, he didn't want to know the depths of her evil.

Phil blew his nose into a wet handkerchief he'd retrieved from his sleeve, like he did during allergy season. "The ancient ones can."

So someday she could. All the more reason to be rid of her. Erick broke the wax and inhaled a deep breath. This could be it. The thought lifted him taller. No more scraping by. He unrolled the response.

One word marked it in flowery script. No.

That was it. No explanation. No understanding. Just no. They hated his line for crimes that weren't his.

"Ask Eleanor."

"Why would they say yes to her?"

Phil's swollen eyes narrowed. "Because Eleanor is fourth in line for the Western River's throne. Anre is Andraste's sister," Phil said as if this were obvious, as if Anre had ever mentioned this.

That made everything much simpler. Why hadn't they told him earlier? "Why can't I just ask Anre?" Not much better. But the nagging woman didn't hate him.

"She isn't Biston's queen," Phil snapped. "She can't keep you from repeating Biston's mistakes."

"Neither is Eleanor." Erick's gut boiled and steamed his chest. "I'm nothing like my mother. I've never wielded magic against another. When have I ever murdered for kicks? I'm not a full hybrid."