Page 37 of How to Claim A Shadow King

“The ruin in the Elder Forest?" She looks from Aveline to me as understanding dawns on her face. Her slim fingers clutch at her throat, and Aveline's expression darkens in what looks to be embarrassment. "I didn't know anyone lived there.”

“I've just moved in." Aveline’s cheeks are bright pink again, her eyes nearly glossy.

If she cries again, I don’t think I could bear it.

“And I’m glad to have her,” I say fiercely, and Aveline blinks twice, then stares up at me in something like gratitude.

"Of course you are, dear," the elf responds, staring at me in a new way—not fear, exactly, but recognition. "My people have stories about you."

"Oh?" I ask.

"Yes." She drops into a deep curtsy, and I feel shadows slithering down my back as embarrassment curls through me, unexpected.

"You'll protect us from what's coming, won't you?"

"He will," Aveline says hurriedly, clearly dismayed by this encounter—which is, of course, adorable.

"And you will too, won't you?" she asks Aveline. The elf presses my gold pieces back into my hand. "I cannot take your money for this.”

"My bride would like new clothing," I tell her, confused. "We are happy to pay."

"Your money is no good here.” The elf starts to curtsy again, and I make a strangled sound. "I will make her what she wants, and that is the least I can do for what I know you will be providing to me and to the Wild Oak Woods."

"Please take the money," Aveline says, looking discomfited by the idea of having this woman work for free.

"I cannot," the elf insists, smiling at Aveline.

"All right, well, how about this?" Aveline says, clearly still uncomfortable, but her eyes set in an expression that I've grown to know all too well—one that says she is not about to back down. "Take the gold and give me more than you normally would. Can we at least agree upon that?"

The shopkeeper gives her a long look, then breaks into a smile. Pocketing the gold pieces she tried so hard to drop back into my hands, the elf says, "That we can do."

I follow behind the elf and Aveline as they discuss fabrics and weaves and colors, and Aveline is happier than I've seen her.

"Do you make boots?" I interrupt, thinking back to how injured her feet were last night.

"I don't make shoes, sir," the elf says, shaking her head.

"Please," I ask, "call me Malakai."

The elf looks positively scandalized when I tell her to use my name and her expression has me almost smiling. When I catch Aveline's eye, she too looks as though she's about to burst into laughter.

It does something, unlocks something deep inside me, to know were both thinking along similar lines—that this elf’s behavior is deeply absurd to us both.

For once, for the first time of many, I hope, we’re united.

"We’ll make sure that she has some footwear to match. For boots, I can recommend Todrick down the way," she says, jerking her chin. "You see the round stucco shop down the way with a thatched roof and the wooden beams? His shoes are some of the best in these parts. He's an excellent cobbler, but be careful what you say to him," she tells Aveline seriously. “He is a sensitive sort, Todrick is.”

I can tell Aveline wants to ask more questions, but the elf simply grins at her and motions her to leave the minute her stomach begin to growl again.

"Off with you two. Your garments should be ready by the end of day."

"The end of day?" Aveline says, staring at her in consternation. "How in the world will you be able to finish all of that by the end of day?"

The elf swirls her hand, and I catch the faint hint of burnt cinnamon on the air, the telltale smell of an elf's magic.

"I have my ways, my dear," the elf says, patting her on the shoulder.

Aveline just stares in wonderment.