The Elf Witch |Book 1|

Chapter 22

Servants moved to the side, and a man stepped out––there could be no mistaking him.

He held himself like a regal king, commanding all the attention around him. He didn't need to prove himself or flaunt his power to earn respect. His jaw worked as he took in the crowd.

One weapon sat on his hips—a black wand.

His magic signature encircled his head in tight faint swirls of power, and while he didn't have as much as she thought an Heir would, he had to be well-trained.

Tanyl and the Queen strode forward, exchanging formal greetings and bows, conversation too faint for even her to hear.

When the Niflheim Heir smiled and laughed, the image of him in her mind cracked more. His eyes didn't match his genial countenance. She'd hoped for a hulking brute with little training and brains to step out of that coach. He was a hulking brute, but the predatory way he inclined his head hinted at his true cunningness.

Imani chewed her bottom lip, trying to hide her unease.

While the royals exchanged pleasantries, another man slinked behind the carriage.

No one else seemed to notice him. He was a primarily faceless man in the shadow, recognizable only by the malice emanating from his magic signature and a serpent smile of arrogance and venom.

But he tugged on her awareness, demanding her attention. Caresses of silken magic spread around her, circling, murmuring a hello, a warning, or a promise. More alarming, it pulled on her glamour. Impolite didn't even begin to describe this intrusion—and she felt sure it was from this man.

Voices whimpered and writhed, needing, wanting, and projecting a visceral, raw flurry of yearning around her. Need. Need. Need.—

—A frightening wholeness settled in her at the delicate brush of power. The ease of her subjugation scared her most of all. As the whispers built, an invisible force in her chest rapidly spread down her midsection like fire. An aching need twisted inside her core, tightening low and deep.

In theory, all kinds of elves possessed similar compulsion magic. But, while she'd never experienced it before, she'd made others feel this way. Probably worse.

"Is that some member of the Niflheim court?" Imani asked Esa through gritted teeth.

Esa tore her eyes from the Heir. "Oh him? That's the youngest prince. Sixth born. Or maybe seventh? I can never remember."

Show yourself, she demanded silently in her head, already knowing what breed she'd see when he did.

Finally, the man—the elf—moved from the shadows to greet the Queen. Immediately she could see the two princes were related. Both had the same black hair, golden skin, and graceful demeanors. They even stood the same.

Although she'd expected it, Imani blatantly stared at him.

An elf was still a rare sight indeed.

His stoic profile swept over the crowd with chilling indifference. The opposite of his charming brother, he didn't bother with the feigned smiles. She had no idea how he remained inconspicuous and aloof for the entire exchange with Queen Dialora.

He was a powerful witch. Strong enough that she almost missed the illusion he used to hide his appearance. A layer of spells surrounded him—a glamour—and she had to assume it was what made him unobtrusive to almost everyone here.

This unmated male wasn't expecting a female elf, though, and she could sense him right away.

He was tall like an elf but broad-shouldered like his shifter brother. The elf raked his hand through his messy, beautiful hair, and a few inky strands fell across his strong brow. But, while silky and full, he kept it parted to the side and brushed it back off his face, looking well-tamed. Perfectly controlled, except for the few waves rebelling—wildness fighting for freedom. Another swift movement of his hand put them back.

The habit told her this supposed savage took care of his appearance. Interesting.

Several soldiers dismounted around the princes, flanking them.

"What must it be like to be constantly relegated to the shadows like that?" Imani murmured to Esa as people exited around them.

"A bunch of fools rules this kingdom. I'd sooner give the King access to our witches over Kiran."

Blinking in surprise, Imani instantly found him vastly more remarkable than his brother. If Esa considered him more dangerous than one of the most powerful men in the world, Imani took notice.

Until now, people had only referred to him as the Snake Prince or some variation. Hearing his name for the first time, she seared it into her mind.

Esa moved inside, but Imani remained rooted to the balcony.

Kiran trailed behind his brother, utterly unassuming, his face still revealing nothing. In his brother's presence, he altogether disappeared, walking in measured steps behind with his hands clasped casually behind his back. His very presence demanded attention just as much as the Heir—so why was he hiding?

But he was anything but casual.

The almost imperceptible way his eyes shifted and how he moved conveyed a subtle but calculated approach. This prince acted with purpose. Doing nothing by accident, he stood exactly where he wanted to be—in the shadows.

Prince of Snakes, indeed.

The Heir ran his hand over his hair—exactly like Kiran had earlier. As he walked inside, Imani wondered what form his crown would take when it formed.

Off to the side, the elf lingered. Then, with a wrinkle on his forehead, the prince raised his head to watch the birds while the servants and soldiers bustled around him. Unlike the blank stares from the mindless soldiers around him, Imani felt the prince thinking, a storm of thoughts in his head.

No one paid him any mind at all, though.

Low in the sky, several crows circled above the royal caravan, scouting and scenting their next meal, likely a rodent in the gardens. The birds flew mere yards from the crowd, and the strange prince spared more than a glance for the beastly animals—more than he did for the Queen and Tanyl. Perhaps his kingdom was so void of light that birds were rare?

The crowd thinned even more, exposing her presence further.

But she couldn't look away, needing to understand him more. Suddenly his attention snapped to her for the first time.

A terrifying jolt shot through her entire body at the connection.

The bastard didn't look away like most people would, either. Instead, he studied her, an unreadable look creeping over his face.

Unwilling to break contact, Imani clenched her jaw and held his gaze.

Everything was perfect about him except for his disturbing unnatural eyes. Like his brother's, one shone bright mossy green, like rolling hills of trees and life.

The other was pure, unyielding black. Not only was the iris discolored, but—his entire eye looked black with no white. Dead. He had to be half blind. And there was something dangerous in the depths. A genuinely dark magic emanated from it—a magic she didn't understand.

What caused such horrendous disfigurement? Kiran had given her no reason to yet, but something deep inside her said she should fear this man.

He smirked for the first time, but it did not last long. In the next second, he broke contact and strode inside.

Whatever kind of elf he was, it was wicked.