Ensnared

The hunting blind smelled of juniper and old magic.

Vili Elegast crouched in the crook of an ancient oak, his white hair pulled back in a leather thong, the tips of his pointed ears catching the faint hum of the barrier-spell he’d woven three hours earlier. The portal shimmered twenty paces ahead—a ripple in the air like heat over sun-scorched stone, except this heat led to the mortal realm. Through it, he could see a cobblestone street, a row of shops with painted wooden signs, a girl locking the door of a bakery.

Her.

Sylvie Van Diest.

His father’s words from that morning still curdled in his stomach. “The decree is clear. You will ensnare a human woman. You will share your life force. You will produce an heir, or the Elegast line ends with you.”

Joralf had delivered the ultimatum in the throne room, his white braids coiled like serpents over his shoulders, lilac eyes unblinking. Helenia had stood beside him—tall, raven-haired, demure in a way that Vili recognized as performance. Her blue eyes had tracked him the way a hawk tracks a rabbit.

“Helenia is suitable,” his father had said. “She’s already been ensnared. She understands our ways. She wants this.”

“She wants a crown,” Vili had replied.

“Then give her one.”

But Vili had spent eleven thousand years on this earth, and he’d learned that obedience without conviction was just cowardice wearing a prettier name. He’d told his father he would find his own mate. His own way.

Which was how he’d ended up here, crouched in a tree, watching a human woman wipe flour from her hands onto her apron.

She wasn’t supposed to be beautiful. That hadn’t been part of the criteria. But the afternoon sunlight caught her hair—long, blonde, spilling over her shoulders like honey—and something in his chest tightened.

She was small. Delicate. Five feet tall if she stretched. Her hands were tiny, her feet in their worn leather boots even tinier. But her body…

Vili’s mouth went dry.

Curves that defied proportion. A waist he could span with two hands, hips that flared like the neck of a viola, and breasts that strained against the linen of her bodice in a way that made his thoughts stutter. Her face was a painting brought to life—porcelain skin, a nose like a button, lips the color of crushed pomegranate seeds. And when she turned toward the portal, as if sensing something amiss, her eyes caught the light.

Green. Not emerald. Not jade. The color of sunlight through spring leaves.

She was a hybrid.

He could sense it now—the faint shimmer of elven blood beneath her human exterior, sealed and dormant, like a locket no one had ever opened. She probably didn’t even know what she was.

“Forgive me,” he murmured, and triggered the trap.

The barrier-spell collapsed inward, folding space like a letter. One moment Sylvie was on a cobblestone street in the mortal realm. The next, she was stumbling through the portal, her feet landing on moss and fern, the air around her suddenly thick with the scent of wild magic.

“What—”

She spun, eyes wide, the bakery key still clutched in her fist.

Vili dropped from the tree. He landed without sound, his boots touching the forest floor with the practiced silence of a warrior who’d stalked things far more dangerous than one small woman. But when Sylvie’s gaze found him, she didn’t scream.

She threw the key.

It struck him square between the eyes.

“Ow—”

“Who are you?” Her voice was higher than he’d expected. Clear. Steady. Not the voice of someone who’d just been kidnapped across realms. “Where am I? What did you do?”

Vili rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I can explain.”

“Explain faster.” She’d already grabbed a fallen branch, holding it like a club. Her knuckles were white. Her breathing was quick, but her jaw was set. “Where’s the door? The—the thing I came through. Put it back.”

“I can’t.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

“Both.”

She swung the branch. He caught it.

They stood there, frozen, the branch between them like a bridge. Up close, her scent was overwhelming—bread flour and lavender and something underneath that made his pulse throb. Her green eyes searched his face, and he watched recognition dawn. The pointed ears. The pale skin. The plum-colored irises.

“You’re an elf,” she breathed.

“Yes.”

“Those are real.” She wasn’t asking. “Elves are real.”

“Yes.”

“And you just—” She yanked the branch, but he didn’t let go. “You just kidnapped me.”

“Ensared,” he corrected, and immediately regretted it.

“Oh, well, that makes it sound much more civilized.” Her voice dripped sarcasm. “My apologies. I thought I’d been abducted against my will, but apparently I’ve been ensnared.” She jerked the branch again. “Let go.”

“If I let go, will you hit me again?”

“Yes.”

“Then I’m not letting go.”

Sylvie stared at him. He stared back.

She was even more striking in the elven light—the soft, perpetual twilight of the Silverwood that made everything look like it was underwater. Her skin seemed to glow. Her lips, slightly parted, were the color of crushed berries. And her body, gods help him, was a monument to curves. The swell of her hips, the dip of her waist, the way her breasts rose and fell with each sharp breath—

“Stop looking at me like that,” she snapped.

“Like what?”

“Like you’re trying to decide what to eat first.”

Vili released the branch. She stumbled backward, caught herself, and brandished it again.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said.

“You dragged me out of my world. I think we’re past the ‘not going to hurt you’ stage of this relationship.”

“Relationship?”

“Don’t.” She pointed the branch at his face. “Don’t do whatever that was. I’m not staying here. I don’t know what you want, but I’m not—I’m not whatever you think I am.”

“You’re a hybrid,” he said quietly. “Half-elven. Your powers were sealed at birth, but you carry elven blood. That’s why I was able to ensnare you. This spell only works on those with elven heritage.”

Sylvie went very still.

“That’s impossible,” she said. “I’m human. My parents were human. I’ve lived in the same village my entire life. I bake bread for a living. I’ve never—there’s nothing magical about me.”

“Your eyes,” he said.

“What about them?”

“They’re green. Sparkling green. No human has eyes that color.”

“That’s ridiculous. Lots of humans have green eyes.”

“Not like yours.” He stepped closer, and she didn’t back away. That was something. “Not with that shimmer. You’ve probably noticed it yourself. The way light catches them differently. The way people stare.”

Her lips parted. She had noticed. She’d noticed her whole life—the way mirrors seemed to hold her reflection a beat too long, the way candles flickered around her when she was angry, the way she could sometimes feel things before they happened. A customer’s order before they spoke it. The exact moment bread was done baking without checking.

“What do you want from me?” Her voice was smaller now. The branch lowered an inch.

“My name is Vili Elegast. I’m the crown prince of the elven realm. And I need your help.”

The branch hit the forest floor.

---

The palace was carved from living crystal.

Sylvie had stopped trying to understand the geography of this place approximately two hours ago. The forest had given way to a city of spiraling towers and arched bridges, all of it grown rather than built, as if the elves had sung the stone into shape. Everything glowed faintly—the walls, the floors, the air itself. It made her feel like she was walking through a dream.

Or a nightmare. She hadn’t decided yet.

Vili walked beside her, a full head and a half taller, his white hair catching the ambient light. He’d explained the curse on the way here—the lycans, the infertility, the decree that allowed elven males to take human mates. He’d explained that hybrids like her were capable of bearing female elves, that her sealed elven power would be restored the moment she stepped into this realm, that she would live as long as her husband lived.

He’d explained that he needed an heir.

He hadn’t explained why he’d chosen her.

“You could have picked anyone,” she said as they crossed a courtyard where fountains flowed upward instead of down. “Why me?”

Vili didn’t answer immediately. A pair of elven guards in silver armor saluted as they passed, their eyes—one pair green, one pair gold—lingering on Sylvie with undisguised curiosity.

“I was supposed to choose Helenia,” he finally said. “My father’s preference. She’s already been ensnared. She’s familiar with our customs. She’s… suitable.”

“Suitable.” Sylvie tasted the word. “Is that what you’re looking for? Suitable?”

“No.” He stopped walking. Turned to face her. The courtyard was empty now, the fountains singing a soft, crystalline song. “I’m looking for someone who will choose me back. The ensnarement binds us for life. It shares my soul with my mate. It cannot be undone. I won’t bind myself to someone who only wants a crown.”

“And you think I might want something else?”

“I don’t know what you want.” His plum-colored eyes held hers. “But I know what I felt when I saw you through the portal. I’ve lived eleven thousand years. I’ve never felt it before.”

Sylvie’s heart hammered against her ribs. “That’s either very romantic or very terrifying.”

“It can be both.”

A door opened behind them. Sylvie turned to see an elven woman with deep plum hair and dark purple eyes gliding across the courtyard, her waiflike body draped in silver silk. She wore no crown, but she didn’t need one. Authority radiated from her like heat from a flame.

“Mother,” Vili said, bowing his head.

Queen Oillill Elegast stopped a few feet away, her gaze sweeping over Sylvie with an expression that was impossible to read. Then, slowly, she smiled.

“So,” the queen said. “You’ve brought a hurricane into our house.”

“I prefer to think of her as a very small gale,” Vili said.

“I’m standing right here,” Sylvie muttered.

Oillill’s smile widened. “Yes, you are. And you’re lovely. What’s your name, little storm?”

“Sylvie Van Diest.” She curtsied—or tried to. She’d never curtsied before. It felt like a sneeze that involved her legs.

“Sylvie.” The queen tested the name. “Pretty. I’m Oillill. That’s a mouthful, I know. You can call me Ollie if you prefer. Everyone does.” She took Sylvie’s hands in hers—warm, soft, surprisingly calloused for a queen. “You must be terrified. I’m sorry for that. But I’m not sorry you’re here.”

“You’re not?”

“My son is stubborn. Wise, but stubborn. He needs someone who will argue with him.” Ollie’s purple eyes flicked to Vili, then back to Sylvie. “Helenia agrees with everything he says. It’s exhausting to watch.”

“Mother.”

“Hush. I’m making friends with your future wife.”

Sylvie pulled her hands back. “I haven’t agreed to anything. I haven’t even agreed to dinner.”

“Good.” Ollie nodded approvingly. “Don’t agree to anything until you’ve seen the library. It’s the best part of the palace. And the gardens. And the baths—definitely the baths.” She linked her arm through Sylvie’s. “Come. I’ll give you a tour. Vili, your father wants to see you.”

Vili’s expression tightened. “Does he.”

“He knows about the ensnarement. He’s not pleased.” Ollie’s voice was light, but her eyes were sharp. “I’ll keep your little storm safe. Go.”

Vili hesitated, his gaze finding Sylvie’s. Something passed between them—an unspoken question, an equally wordless answer. Then he bowed and strode away, his white hair trailing behind him like a banner.

Ollie sighed. “He’s a good man. The best. But he’s been alone for a very long time. That makes you brittle, even if you don’t realize it.” She squeezed Sylvie’s arm. “Now. The baths.”

---

The elven baths were carved into the living rock beneath the palace, fed by hot springs that smelled of minerals and jasmine. Sylvie had been given a room—a suite—with ceilings that glowed like starlight and a bed large enough for six people. She’d been given clothes—a gown of emerald silk that matched her eyes, soft as water against her skin. She’d been given food—fruits that tasted like memory, bread that melted on her tongue, wine that made her head hum.

Now she was alone.

She sank into the steaming water, letting it rise to her chin, and tried to think.

Elves were real. She was half-elven. A crown prince had kidnapped her because some ancient curse meant pure-blood elven women couldn’t have babies, and she—a baker from a village she’d never left—was apparently the solution to a royal succession crisis.

She laughed. It came out slightly hysterical.

The door to the baths opened.

Sylvie tensed, sinking lower in the water, but it wasn’t Vili who walked in. It was a woman—tall, athletic, with raven hair that fell to her waist and blue eyes that cut through the steam like blades.

Helenia Thompson.

“So you’re the baker,” Helenia said, her voice cool and measured. She wore a robe of midnight blue, her tan skin a stark contrast to the pale elves Sylvie had seen so far. “I thought you’d be taller.”

“I thought you’d be prettier,” Sylvie heard herself say, and immediately wondered if the wine had been stronger than she’d realized.

Helenia’s eyes narrowed. Then she smiled, and it was the most dangerous expression Sylvie had ever seen. “Pretty is a tool. Power is the goal. You’ll learn that, if you stay.”

“Who says I’m staying?”

“The ensnarement says.” Helenia knelt by the edge of the pool, trailing her fingers through the water. “You’ve already been pulled into our realm. Your elven blood is awakening. Even if you went back to the mortal world now, you wouldn’t be the same. The seal is broken. The power is coming.”

Sylvie felt it. She’d felt it since the moment she’d stepped through the portal—a hum beneath her skin, a brightness at the edges of her vision, a sense that the world was suddenly more than it had been.

“What do you want?” Sylvie asked.

“Originally? The prince.” Helenia’s smile didn’t waver. “But I’m adaptable. There are other elves. Other opportunities. I’ll find my way.”

“Then why are you here?”

“To give you a warning.” Helenia leaned closer, her blue eyes glittering. “Vili Elegast is the most powerful elf in this realm. His hair is white—do you know what that means? It means he possesses all the abilities. Warrior strength. Fire manipulation. Water control. Plant mastery. Light and energy. Magic and telekinesis. Earth and terraforming. And love.” Her voice dropped. “He can make you love him. He can make you feel things that aren’t real, want things you shouldn’t want. The ensnarement shares his soul, but it also shares his power. And white-haired elves haven’t been born in ten thousand years. No one knows what the full extent of his abilities might do to a mate.”

Sylvie’s skin prickled. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I want you to understand what you’re getting into.” Helenia straightened. “If you bond with him, you’ll be tied to him forever. You’ll share his life, his power, his bed. You’ll bear his children. And if you try to leave, the bond will pull you back. It’s not a cage, exactly. It’s more like… gravity.” She turned toward the door. “Enjoy the bath.”

Then she was gone, and Sylvie was alone with the steam and the silence and the hum of power waking beneath her skin.

---

Vili found her in the gardens three hours later.

She was sitting on a bench carved from moonstone, wearing the emerald gown, her damp hair drying in soft waves around her shoulders. The garden was alive with bioluminescent flowers that pulsed gently in the twilight, their light painting her skin in shades of rose and gold.

She looked like she belonged here.

“My mother told me where to find you,” he said, sitting beside her. Close, but not touching. “She said I should apologize.”

“For the kidnapping or the ensnarement?”

“Both. Neither.” He exhaled. “For not explaining it better. For springing it on you. For telling you that you’re a hybrid when you’d spent your whole life thinking you were human.” He paused. “For the key.”

Sylvie touched the faint bruise between his eyebrows. “That part was my fault.”

“I startled you.”

“You kidnapped me.”

“Ensared.”

“I’m going to throw this bench at you.”

Vili’s mouth twitched. “You could try. The benches are rooted into the mountain.”

“Then I’ll find something else.”

They sat in silence for a moment. The flowers pulsed. Somewhere in the distance, an elven song rose and fell like breathing.

“Helenia came to see me,” Sylvie said. “In the baths.”

Vili’s expression didn’t change, but the air around them grew heavier. “What did she say?”

“She told me about your hair. Your powers. She said you could make me love you.” Sylvie turned to face him, her green eyes searching his face. “Is that true?”

He didn’t lie to her. That was the first gift. “The power of love is real. Red-haired elves possess it. They can amplify existing feelings, deepen bonds, enhance desire. But they can’t create love where there’s nothing.”

“And you have white hair. All the powers. Including love.”

“Yes.”

“So you could amplify feelings.”

“I could.” He held her gaze. “I won’t. Not unless you ask me to.”

Sylvie’s heart was beating too fast. The hum beneath her skin was louder now, a chorus rather than a whisper. “Why should I believe you?”

“Because I’m asking you to choose me.” Vili’s voice was steady, but his hands—large, calloused, resting on his thighs—trembled slightly. “The ensnarement brought you here, but it didn’t bind you to me. That requires a ritual. A sharing of life force. It can’t be done without your consent. If you say no, I’ll return you to the mortal realm. You’ll keep your awakened power. You’ll live a long, long life. But you won’t ever see me again.”

“And if I say yes?”

“Then I’ll spend the rest of my existence making sure you never regret it.”

The world seemed to hold its breath.

Sylvie thought about her life before this—the bakery, the village, the quiet predictability of days that bled into years without distinction. She’d never felt like she belonged there. She’d always felt like she was waiting for something, someone, some door to open.

A portal had opened instead.

“What would the ritual involve?” she asked, and her voice was steadier than she felt.

“The sharing of my life force happens during…” Vili hesitated. “During intimacy. The bond is forged in pleasure. It’s why the ensnared couples mate for life. The experience is… profound.”

Sylvie’s cheeks flushed. “You’re saying we’d have to…”

“Yes.”

“And that would bind us together? Forever?”

“Yes.”

She should say no. She should demand to go home, back to her bakery and her cobblestone street and her ordinary, safe, predictable life. She should run from this man—this elf—who’d torn her out of her world without warning.

But the hum beneath her skin was singing. The flowers were pulsing in time with her heartbeat. And Vili Elegast, crown prince of the elven realm, warrior of eleven thousand years, was looking at her like she was the answer to a question he’d been asking since the dawn of time.

“Show me,” she whispered. “Show me what it would be like. What you would do. I’m not saying yes. But I’m… considering.”

Vili’s eyes blazed.

He stood slowly, offering his hand. She took it, her tiny fingers disappearing in his grip, and he pulled her to her feet.

“There’s a place,” he said, his voice rougher now. “Private. Sacred. Where elven couples go to… begin.”

“Begin what?”

“Everything.”

---

The Chamber of Bonding was hidden beneath the palace, accessible only through a door that responded to royal blood. Vili pressed his palm against the crystal wall, and it melted away, revealing a room lit by floating motes of light that drifted like fireflies.

The floor was covered in cushions and furs. The walls were carved with scenes of intertwined bodies—elven couples, their forms abstract and graceful, frozen in acts of passion. The air smelled of sandalwood and honey.

Sylvie’s pulse hammered in her throat. “This is…”

“A lot,” Vili finished. “I know. We can leave.”

But she didn’t want to leave. The hum beneath her skin had become a roar, a hunger she’d never felt before. Her elven blood was waking, and it wanted something.

It wanted him.

“What happens now?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Vili stepped closer. He was so tall, so broad, his presence filling the room in a way that made her feel both tiny and safe. His hand rose to cup her face, his thumb brushing the curve of her cheek.

“Now,” he murmured, “I kiss you. If you want me to.”

“And if I like it?”

“Then I kiss you again. And we see where it leads.”

Sylvie’s breath caught. “Helenia said you could make me feel things that aren’t real.”

“I won’t use my power.” His plum eyes held hers. “I swear it. Whatever you feel—it will be only what’s already inside you.”

She believed him.

She rose onto her toes, her hands braced against his chest, and pressed her lips to his.

The kiss was soft at first. Tentative. A question more than an answer. But then Vili’s arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her against him, and the question became a demand.

His mouth moved against hers with a hunger that made her knees buckle. She’d been kissed before—brief, fumbling things with village boys who tasted of ale and inexperience. This was different. This was a man who’d waited eleven thousand years, who’d poured all that loneliness into a single kiss, and she was drowning in it.

His tongue traced the seam of her lips. She opened for him, and the taste of him—honey and something wilder, something ancient—flooded her senses.

“Vili,” she gasped against his mouth.

“Say it again.” His voice was wrecked.

“Vili.”

He lifted her like she weighed nothing, carrying her to the center of the chamber, lowering her onto the furs. The floating lights drifted closer, as if curious, casting soft shadows across his face.

He knelt over her, his white hair falling around them like a curtain. His hands—those large, calloused warrior’s hands—trembled as they found the laces of her gown.

“Tell me to stop,” he said hoarsely. “Tell me, and I will.”

Sylvie reached up and pulled the leather thong from his hair. The white strands spilled over his shoulders, brushing her skin, and she felt his power humming in them—a symphony of abilities, a thousand colors wrapped in white.

“Don’t stop,” she said.

The gown came undone.

Vili peeled the silk away like he was unwrapping a gift he’d been waiting millennia to open. When her body was bared to him, he went still.

“Gods,” he breathed.

Sylvie flushed, suddenly self-conscious. She knew what she looked like—tiny, curvy, her breasts too large for her frame, her hips too wide. The village women had always said she was “unfortunate.” The village men had stared anyway.

But the way Vili was staring—like she was sacred, like she was the first sunrise after ten thousand years of night—made her feel something she’d never felt before.

Beautiful.

“You’re perfect,” he said, and his voice cracked on the word. “Every inch of you. Perfect.”

His hand found her breast, and Sylvie’s back arched. His palm was warm, rough at the edges, and when his thumb brushed her nipple, a jolt of pleasure shot through her body like lightning.

“Oh—”

“That sound.” Vili’s eyes darkened. “I want to hear it again.”

He lowered his mouth to her chest. His lips closed around her nipple, and Sylvie cried out, her fingers tangling in his hair. He suckled gently, then harder, his tongue tracing circles that made her squirm beneath him.

The hum beneath her skin was screaming now. Her elven blood was awake, hungry, reaching for him like a plant reaching for light.

Vili’s mouth traveled lower. He kissed the swell of each breast, the valley between them, the curve of her ribs. When he reached her stomach, he paused, pressing his forehead against her skin.

“I can feel your power,” he murmured. “It’s waking. Reaching for mine.”

“What does it feel like?”

“Like music.” He lifted his head. “Like a song I’ve been trying to remember my whole life.”

He continued downward. His hands parted her thighs, and Sylvie’s breath hitched. No one had ever touched her there. No one had ever seen her so exposed, so vulnerable.

Vili’s gaze was reverent. “May I?”

She nodded, not trusting her voice.

His mouth found her center.

Sylvie’s world shattered.

She’d never imagined anything could feel like this—his tongue parting her folds, finding the sensitive bud at her apex, circling it with a precision that spoke of eleven millennia of experience. Her hips bucked. Her hands fisted in the furs. A sound escaped her throat that was half-moan, half-sob.

“Please,” she begged, though she didn’t know what she was begging for.

Vili’s tongue moved faster. Two fingers slid inside her, curling, searching, and when they found a spot that made her vision go white, he growled against her flesh.

“That’s it. Let go. I’ve got you.”

The pleasure crested. Sylvie screamed his name as the wave took her, her body convulsing, her elven blood singing so loudly she thought the whole palace must hear it.

Vili gentled her through it, his tongue still moving, drawing out every last tremor. When she finally stilled, gasping, he rose above her, his face glistening with her pleasure.

“That,” he said thickly, “was only the beginning.”

Sylvie reached for the laces of his trousers. “Show me the rest.”

He stripped quickly, efficiently, and when his body was bared to her, Sylvie understood why the old stories always described elves as beautiful beyond mortal comprehension.

He was a sculpture brought to life. Muscles carved from marble, shoulders broad enough to block out the world, a waist that narrowed to hips that made her mouth water. And his cock—thick, long, curving slightly upward—made her thighs clench with want.

“We don’t have to go further tonight,” he said, though his voice was strained. “The bond can wait.”

“I don’t want to wait.” She pulled him down to her, wrapping her legs around his hips. “I want to feel you. All of you.”

Vili positioned himself at her entrance, the head of his cock pressing against her slick heat. He held still, trembling, his forehead pressed to hers.

“If we do this,” he said, “the bond will begin to form. You’ll feel me inside your soul. It won’t be complete until I share my life force—until my seed takes root—but it will start tonight. There’s no going back after this.”

Sylvie looked into his plum-colored eyes—eyes that had seen the rise and fall of civilizations, eyes that had waited for her across eleven thousand years—and made her choice.

“Then don’t let me go back,” she said. “Make me yours.”

He pushed inside.

Sylvie’s body stretched to accommodate him, a fullness that bordered on pain but never crossed into it. Her elven blood flared, easing the way, and she felt something click into place in her chest—a key turning in a lock that had been waiting her entire life.

Vili groaned, his body shuddering. “I can feel you. Inside my mind. My soul. Oh—”

He began to move.

Slowly at first, each thrust a deliberate, devastating plunge that filled her completely. His body was a furnace above her, his hands gripping her hips with a possessiveness that made her feel claimed and cherished in equal measure.

“You’re mine now,” he said, his voice raw. “You’re mine, and I’m yours, and nothing will ever separate us. Not distance, not time, not death itself.”

Sylvie clung to him, her nails raking his back, her body meeting his thrust for thrust. The pleasure was building again, different this time—deeper, more intense, like a storm gathering on the horizon.

“Vili—I’m going to—”

“Yes.” He drove harder, deeper, his rhythm faltering. “Come with me. Let the bond take hold.”

Her climax hit like a wave. She felt herself clench around him, felt his answering groan as he followed her over the edge, felt the hot pulse of his release flooding her body.

And then she felt more.

A door opened in her mind. Through it flooded his presence—his thoughts, his memories, his emotions. Eleven thousand years of loneliness, of duty, of quiet desperation. And beneath all of it, a love so vast and immediate that it stole her breath.

I didn’t use my power, his voice said inside her head. This is real. This is you. This is us.

She felt his wonder, his disbelief, his overwhelming relief. She felt his desire for her—not just her body, but her stubbornness, her fire, her refusal to be cowed by a world that had just turned upside down.

I feel you too, she thought back at him. Your loneliness. Your hope. Your…

Love, he finished. Yes. It’s yours. It’s all yours.

They lay tangled together, their bodies still joined, their souls intertwined. The floating motes of light drifted closer, settling on their skin like blessings.

“What happens now?” Sylvie whispered.

Vili kissed her forehead. “Now? We face my father. We deal with Helenia. We navigate a court that’s going to have a great many opinions about the baker-princess who’s stolen their prince’s heart.”

Sylvie’s laugh was weak but genuine. “And then?”

“And then we make an heir.” His hand settled on her stomach, still flat beneath his palm. “Eventually. When you’re ready. But for now…”

The chamber door melted open.

King Joralf Elegast stood in the doorway, his braided white hair gleaming, his lilac eyes fixed on the scene before him. Helenia stood at his shoulder, her blue gaze glittering with something that might have been triumph.

“So,” the king said, his voice cold as a blade. “You’ve gone and bound yourself to the baker.”

Vili pulled Sylvie closer, shielding her body with his. “I have.”

“Then you’ve made your choice.”

“I have.”

Joralf’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Good. Because the council has decided that if you’re to take a commoner as your mate, she must prove herself worthy of the Elegast name.”

Sylvie’s heart stuttered. “Prove myself how?”

The king’s gaze met hers, and she felt the weight of twenty thousand years settle on her shoulders.

“The Proving,” he said. “A series of trials designed to test an elven bride’s strength, intelligence, and loyalty. If you succeed, you’ll be accepted as Vili’s mate and future queen. If you fail…”

He didn’t finish. He didn’t need to.

Helenia smiled. “Good luck, baker.”

The door melted shut.

In the silence that followed, Vili’s arms tightened around her. “I won’t let them hurt you.”

Sylvie pressed her hand to her stomach—the place where his seed was already taking root, where the first threads of an heir might already be weaving themselves into existence.

“It’s not me I’m worried about,” she said. “It’s them.”