We stepped out of the library together, the heavy doors closing behind us with a soft, resonant thud. Evangeline walked a half-step ahead now, her posture relaxed but still carrying that effortless grace. The scent of roasting herbs and slow-cooked meat had already begun drifting through the halls, dinner, as promised.
My stomach gave a low, impatient rumble that had nothing to do with monster flesh for once. Progress. She glanced back at me over her shoulder, lavender hair catching the lamplight like spun moonlight. ''You're quiet. Thinking about all the books you're going to steal when no one's looking?''
I snorted. ''Tempting. But I'd rather not start an incident with your father on day one.''
''Wise choice,'' her lips curved in that small, knowing smile again, the one that always made me wonder exactly how much she could read from my face. ''Come on. The dining hall is this way.''
We turned down another wide corridor, footsteps muffled by thick runners. Wall sconces flickered with steady magical flames, casting long shadows that danced across portraits of stern Ashwood ancestors. I kept my gaze level this time, matching her stride instead of trailing behind.
The pull toward her was still there, but I didn't let it turn me into a gaping idiot. Not now. Not when every glance felt like it carried more weight than I was ready to acknowledge. The smell grew stronger as we approached a set of double doors already standing ajar. Warm light spilt out, along with the murmur of voices and the clink of silverware being laid.
I could hear Count Ashwood's easy laugh somewhere inside, probably charming the staff while they finished setting the table. Evangeline slowed just before we crossed the threshold. A woman stepped out from the doorway at the same moment, as though the house itself had summoned her.
She was tall, taller than Evangeline by half a hand, and built with the elegance that elves seemed to carry like a birthright. Long clean lines from shoulder to hip, slender and almost fragile-looking until you notice the coiled strength beneath the poise, thanks to her Fifth Circle aura.
Her lavender hair fell straight and fine past her waist in a silken sheet, pinned back on one side with a simple emerald clip that matched the faint, luminous glow of her eyes. Those eyes were the same light blue as her daughter's, but deeper, centuries looking out from a face that refused to show more than thirty summers.
Pointed ears rose through the hair, adorned with tiny silver hoops. She wore a deep emerald gown that draped like mist over water, clinging lightly to her narrow frame before falling in soft folds to the floor. The cut was modest at the neckline yet somehow more revealing for its restraint; every movement hinted at the elegant bone structure beneath.
She stopped short when she saw us. Her gaze flicked first to the younger woman, softening with familiar warmth, then slid to me. The air seemed to thicken. ''Mother,'' Evangeline said, surprise flickering across her face before she smoothed it away.
She dipped into a small curtsy that looked more habit than deference. ''I didn't know you'd returned already.''
I spotted her mother, who tilted her head, studying me with open curiosity. No bow. No, Your Highness. Just a slow, appraising sweep from boots to face, lingering a heartbeat longer on my eyes than felt polite.
''So this is the Devourer Prince,'' she said.
Her voice was low, melodic, carrying the faint accent of deep forest speech, old elven cadences that hadn't been common in Verona for generations. ''I expected… more.''
I blinked. Then laughed before smiling at the older Elf, revealing my sharp teeth, shocking her. ''They're there.''
Evangeline had told me about her parents on the way here, so I was prepared when I eventually met them. One perfect silver brow arched. ''Polite company would not walk so close to my daughter with quite so much intent in his step, boy.''
Heat crawled up my neck, not from embarrassment exactly, but from the sudden awareness that she'd clocked every careful inch I'd kept between us. Evangeline's cheeks pinked again, though she hid it behind a quick cough. ''Mother,'' she said, a touch sharper now. ''This is Prince Arthur. Arthur, my mother, Countess Elyndra Ashwood.''
Elyndra. Of course. The name rang some distant bell, old stories of an elven sorceress who'd married into the Ashwood line decades ago and somehow made it work. Full elf longevity meant she could have watched the kingdom's founding and still look like she'd stepped out of a moonlit glade yesterday.
The older Elf inclined her head, just enough to acknowledge royalty without grovelling. ''Welcome to our home, Prince. My husband speaks highly of you. My daughter.''
She glanced sideways at Evangeline, lips twitching. ''Has mentioned you more than once since the merchants started bringing rumours of the new version of yourself to Tidewater.''
Evangeline made a strangled sound that might have been a protest or mortification. Her mother's eyes returned to me, sharper now. ''You carry a changed core. I can taste it from here, something ravenous, something that does not belong in a prince's skin.''
She stepped closer, close enough that I caught the scent of cedar smoke and night-blooming jasmine. ''Tell me truthfully. Are you here to protect my family's lands… or to devour my daughter?''
The question hung between us like a drawn blade. I met her gaze without flinching. ''My only interest in your lands is to set up a fort to gather supplies and recruits for the Ninth. Also, I'm taking back Bleakmarch and everything the kingdom lost with it. As for your daughter.''
I let the words hang for half a heartbeat, then gave the smallest shrug. ''She's the only thing in this house I actually want to keep close. Not devour. Just… keep.''
Evangeline's breath caught audibly beside me. Elyndra studied me for several long seconds, light blue eyes unreadable. Then the corner of her mouth lifted, not quite a smile, more an acknowledgement of something she hadn't quite expected. ''Bold. And honest. Dangerous combination.''
She tilted her head slightly toward Evangeline without breaking eye contact with me. ''You've chosen poorly if you think I'll make it easy for you.''
''I wouldn't want it easy,'' I said.
Elyndra let out a soft, almost amused breath. ''Good answer.''
She turned smoothly toward the dining hall doors, gesturing with one elegant hand. ''Come. Dinner waits, and my husband grows restless when the wine breathes too long without him.''
Evangeline exhaled quietly as her mother glided ahead of us. She shot me a look, half apology, half something warmer, softer, and unmistakably flustered. I just shrugged, falling into step beside her again, careful to keep the distance respectful.
''Think she likes me?'' I muttered under my breath.
The lavender-haired beauty's lips twitched, though her cheeks were still faintly flushed. ''She didn't turn you into a tree. That's practically a love letter from her.''
We stepped into the dining hall together, the long table already set with gleaming silver and crystal, candles floating above it in soft golden orbits. Count Ashwood stood at the head, beaming like he hadn't just overheard his wife grill a prince. Servants moved like shadows, pouring wine.
Elyndra took her seat moments later. Evangeline slid into the chair beside her father. I was guided to the seat directly across from her. That's when her mother's eyes met mine over the rim of her goblet as she lifted it in a silent toast. I raised mine in return, my gaze sliding to the Half-Elf's smile across the table.
Her gaze met mine briefly before she looked down at her plate. This was going to be interesting. Following that, the dinner had settled into a comfortable rhythm, plates mostly cleared, the candles dimming to a softer glow. Conversation drifted between border reports and lighter stories from the Count's younger days.
Evangeline's foot had brushed mine under the table once, accidental or not, and the brief contact sent a spark up my leg. Elyndra noticed but said nothing, only sipped her wine with that unreadable stare. The dinner drifted into its second half the way good dinners often did, the tension softening beneath good food and better wine.
Servants moved quietly around the table, clearing plates and replacing them with new ones as if they were part of the furniture. I noticed the candles floating above the long table had dimmed to a warm amber glow, their light reflecting softly off polished crystal and silver around us.
Count Ashwood told a story about a winter patrol gone wrong somewhere along the northern treeline, complete with exaggerated hand gestures and a laugh that filled the hall. Evangeline listened with the long-suffering patience of someone who had clearly heard the story before.
Her mother watched everyone, not obviously. Not rudely. But her pale blue eyes missed nothing. I caught her gaze over the rim of my goblet once. She raised it slightly, the ghost of that earlier almost-smile returning. I returned the gesture and took a sip. The wine was good. Deep and dark, with the sort of smooth finish that suggested they didn't skimp on the stuff.
At some point under the table, Evangeline's foot brushed mine once again. She didn't look up from her plate, but the corner of her mouth twitched. I didn't move my foot away. A moment later, the contact vanished. Across from us, Elyndra took a sip of her wine and watched the exchange like a cat watching two mice pretend they weren't in the same room.
Eventually, the plates were cleared again, leaving only glasses and a final tray of fruit and cheese between us. Count Ashwood leaned back in his chair with a satisfied sigh. ''Gods,'' he said, patting his stomach lightly. ''If every diplomatic meeting ended with a meal like this, the kingdom would be a far happier place.''
Evangeline rolled her eyes faintly. ''You say that after every dinner.''
''And I mean it every time.''
That's when I noticed the older man's gaze drifted across the table and settled on me. He studied me for a moment over the rim of his glass before setting it down with a quiet clink. ''Prince Arthur,'' he said. The tone had shifted just enough that I straightened slightly in my chair. ''I suspect my wife has already conducted her own... evaluation of you.''
Elyndra didn't look up from the slice of pear she was cutting. ''I only asked questions,'' she said calmly.
Her knife slid cleanly through the fruit. ''And he answered.''
Theo barked out a laugh. ''See? Efficient.''
The older man pushed his chair back slightly and stretched his shoulders with the creak of leather. ''Still,'' he continued, glancing toward the tall windows where night had fully settled over the estate grounds. ''I'd like a word of my own before the evening gets away from us.''
His eyes returned to me. ''Just the two of us.''
Beside him, Evangeline's posture shifted a fraction, but I set my napkin down beside my plate and rose from the table. ''Of course.''
As I stepped back from the chair, Evangeline's foot nudged mine under the table again. This time, it was very much deliberate. I glanced down briefly before looking back at her. One lavender eyebrow lifted ever so slightly. Good luck.
Across the table, Elyndra noticed the exchange. Of course she did. Her eyes followed me as I stepped away from the table, pale and thoughtful above the rim of her goblet. Count Ashwood stood and clapped his hands once. ''Right then.''
He gave Elyndra a quick pat on the shoulder as he passed behind her chair. ''Try not to terrify the prince while he's here, my love.''
''I make no promises,'' she replied without missing a beat.
Theo chuckled and motioned for me to follow. We stepped out of the dining hall and into a quieter corridor, the sounds of servants and soft conversation fading behind us as the doors closed. The manor felt older at night. Not in a bad way, just settled. The kind of quiet that came from generations of people living and dying under the same roof.
Magical lanturns burned along the walls with steady blue flame, illuminating old portraits, hunting trophies, and shelves filled with weathered books. The older man walked with the easy confidence of someone who had spent his entire life in these halls. After a short walk, he stopped before an oak door and pushed it open. ''Welcome to the heart of my bad habits.''
His study looked exactly like I expected it to. A wide desk dominated the far side of the room, buried beneath tidy stacks of parchment and sealed letters. A few comfortable chairs sat near a low table where a glass decanter of amber liquor waited beside two thick crystal tumblers.
But what caught my attention immediately was the map. It covered nearly the entire stone wall to the right. The western borderlands, the edge of Verona. Bleakmarch.