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"You said you had no idea that Rhyma used your land as a route to attack one of my villages, that the idea is abhorrent," I answer, barely keeping myself from grabbing around his throat and squeezing the life out of him.
"Oh." He clears his throat, taking a swig from his drink. I watch in disgust as a drop of the dark red liquid seeps out the corner of his mouth and onto his vest. It's barely past breakfast, and already, he's had the servants bring him several carafes of wine. "Well, yes. Abhorrent. I have no reason to align with such animals."
If there is one advantage to this monstrous thing on my head, it's that I can roll my eyes, and no one is the wiser except Maren. From her conversation with Tirriel, she looks at me and raises both brows in humor, laughing at my expense.
My Elva stands in the corner, lost in conversation with the witches. Her eyes dart between them, back and forth and back again and again, doing everything in her power to keep up with their conversation. Her ability to make friends with the strangest of people leaves me puzzled. The witches never attend the socializing part of these stupid meetings.
Of course, it's been the same people every time since we began this years ago. The Rhymans never bothered to send anyone to speak with us, only sending missives as if this whole thing was beneath them.
I can't help but wonder what changed this year to make them send someone. Part of me wonders if Elva created the position herself just so she could have an excuse to learn more about everything in this world. A smile pulls at my lips because she absolutely would do that.
That smarmy shit Tirriel apparently gets tired of waiting for Elva to finish her conversations with the Eyes, reaching a hand out to tap on her shoulder. The second he touches her, her whole body tenses almost imperceptibly, but even from here, I can see the discomfort in her posture before she smooths it, turning with a beaming smile.
I can't quite hear what she's saying to him, but I can only imagine that he's telling her, 'You must be the Elva I've heard so much about' while his gaze obviously traverses her frame. 'No one told me that Rhyma was sending their most beautiful.'
And she's going to be all 'That's highly inappropriate, Your Highness. I'm here on merit alone, Your Highness' and 'You must respect me, Your Highness.'
Instead, she lowers her head, looking up at him through her lashes with a small smile, reaching her hand out for him to kiss it. Which he does for far longer than is necessary. When he's done drooling all over it, he takes that hand and tucks it into the crook of his elbow to guide her away from the witches.
Her gaze darts up to mine, only for the briefest second, a challenge in her eyes a-fucking-gain. While Maren might flirt with her just to get a rise out of me, and Colm is just a boring old man who loves attention, Tirriel means it. He would bed Elva in two seconds if given half a chance to do so.
He seats her on a couch that certainly shouldn't be considered enough space for two people, only one who wanted to lounge comfortably. With all the inhuman grace of a predator cat, he sinks into the seat beside her, resting one arm behind her on the headrest. With the other, he runs a hand through his deep red curls, ruffling them before signaling to a staff member, Sai, to bring the two of them something to drink.
When they do, Elva gestures Sai closer rather than take the drink, whispering something to them. Very few people left in this castle are still living, breathing mortals, and I'm tempted to cut that number even lower just to know what she asked them.
After handing Tirriel his beverage, the server hands their tray off to one of the staff, who is perfectly undead and under my control, vanishing into the hallway. I debate following them, wondering what kind of order she could have made that would encourage them to leave their station.
While, yes, they were all told by Raya to fetch anything Elva required, what could she possibly need right now?
Just as I ready myself to follow them, the most beautiful sound I've ever heard rings out. For a moment, I think the Syrens are here to destroy my castle.
But no, it's just Elva laughing at something Prince fucking Tirriel said. All around me, even directed at me, conversations continue, but all I can do is stare at her and wait for more of that lovely, infuriating sound. What did he say that was so fucking funny?
Only moments later, the servant returns with a very familiar-looking cup in their hand.
Elva brightens, nearly jumping out of her seat to grab the hot drink from the servant. As she does, I watch her perfect mouth form a thank you, and a grin finally makes its way onto my face.
Coffee.
She asked them for coffee.
Such a simple thing, and yet, knowing I introduced this thing into her world that she loves so much fills me with... joy? Pride? Perhaps I'm unfamiliar with both in this context, but either way, it feels good to be the source of her smiles.
Until she continues smiling even while looking at Tirriel rather than the drink in her hand.
Stuck in place, I watch them. For no less than 25 minutes, I remain motionless, wordless, lifeless myself, just watching them. I see every time he lifts a hand to paint her a picture of whatever fucking story he's telling. I see her lift her free hand to place on her chest as she throws her head back to laugh at it. I see him staring at her thighs as if he could see right through her dress.
I blink my eyes rapidly to stop the twitching, but it doesn't work even the slightest bit.
What the fuck.
Who is this person? Where is my Elva? This beautiful little doll, this little charade, is not the woman who has possessed my thoughts for the last few days. This is...
Now, it all makes sense. This is how she got her position. Easy smiles, batting lashes, demure touches. She's all but conning them into trusting her. She had to have done this back home, convincing them all that she's capable of charming anyone. First Maren, then the witches, now Tirriel.
She is packed to the brim with charm, and yet, all I've received is her sharp bite and wicked tongue. Two very different emotions war within me. First, I'm fucking pissed. I want all of those smiles. The laughs. The easy conversation. All of it.
And second... well, I suppose I enjoy that perhaps she can't be this fake persona with me. Whether it's fear or something else, I break her facade and make her be herself more than any of them ever could. They get her stunning smiles, but her true beauty is mine to keep all to myself.
