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“Oh?”
“We’ll have to talk somewhere private, but yes.” We reach the end of the tunnel, so Carleah and I step aside as the elves stroll through, followed closely by Salma’s group. Though their skin is still pale, I note the brightness of their eyes compared to only a few hours ago. Is it possible some of their magic returned, too?
“Salma.” Affree steps out of the crowd that has gathered, arms held wide, a smile on her face.
Salma freezes in place, anger flashing over her expression. “How dare you greet me as though we are old friends.”
Affree stops and drops her arms, her gaze darting left and right before settling back on Salma. “We are old friends.”
“We were,” she all but growls. “Until you sent me to die in Dead Man’s Land so you could take my place on the council.”
Carleah’s expression shifts, and the energy between the two elven women charges. Salma’s people stop staring at their new surroundings and, instead, focus on their leader. Hands grip spears more tightly, knuckles turning white.
Even the dwarves have stopped working around us, all of them waiting for what comes next.
“That is a dangerous accusation,” Affree replies.
“It’s the truth, and you know it.”
Affree smooths the front of her robe. “I came for you.”
“You may be who ordered the elves to come, but it was Carleah pulling the strings. Was it not?” She looks to Carleah and me. “Her expression tells me everything I need to know.” Salma shifts back to Affree. “Do not fret, Affree. I’ve no intention of taking your place. As it stands now, my alliance is no longer with the elves. My people and I stand with the Queen of the Third Realm.” Once again, her gaze finds Carleah. “And only her. Our weapons are yours, Your Highness.” She dips her head, bowing, and every single one of her people does the same.
Carleah stares at them, her gaze wide.
“To the queen!” Salma yells, her voice echoing around the walls of the cavern.
“To the queen!”
My gaze rises to the dwarven king, who stands on a set of stone stairs watching down. Even he smiles softly and drops his head toward Carleah.
I pull away, and drop my head as well, pressing a fist to my chest. “To the queen,” I say, grinning at her as pride swells in my chest.
Every elf and dwarf around us does the same, dropping their heads in a bow. Everyone, that is, save for Affree.
* * *
The moment we’re alone, I pull Carleah in and press my lips to hers. The armor I still wear is a thick barrier, but I’ve been desperate to feel her. To breathe her in.
“What was that for?” she asks as I pull away.
“I love you.”
She smiles. “I love you, too.”
Satisfied for a moment, I set my sword aside and begin removing my armor. “So, tell me what you couldn’t tell me earlier. What did the dwarven king want with you?”
“To tell me he wasn’t going to send his people with me,” she says.
I pause, hand hovering over the buckle on my side. “What?”
Carleah laughs softly and steps forward to help me with some of the buckles. “He told me it was not his war. And I reminded him that I need only leave the door open into Dead Man’s Land for him to feel different.”
Shock radiates through me, overshadowed only by my pride. “I imagine he didn’t care for that.”
She helps remove the plates covering my chest and back. “He did not. Though I think it gained some respect between us because, shortly after that, he said I could call him by his first name.”
“Wait.” I remove the rest of my plates then sit down on the edge of our bed, my hands holding her waist as she moves to stand between my legs. “How did you go from he won’t help you, to you calling a centuries-old king by his first name?”
