Page 1 of The Daughter of the Scarred Elf

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If there wasone thing Kolfinna was sure about as she stood outside the throne room, it was that she had made a deal with a demon. She hated that the Royal Guards, Hilda, and every other person who wanted her imprisoned or dead—which was probably the majority of the country—had driven her into a corner. And although she didn’t particularlylikeSijur Bernsten—the man she had tradedfifteen yearsof her life in exchange for his help—she sure as hell hoped he kept his end of the bargain.

But was it even worth it?

Kolfinna shot down that small, niggling thought in the back of her mind. She didn’t have the luxury to think about anything other than her potential doom. She couldn’t think about what it meant to be Sijur’s soldier, or what it meant to be rune-marked with their deal stamped in gold on her wrist.

Just thinking about it made Kolfinna absentmindedly touch her wrist where Joran, the fae male she had met yesterday, had placed the rune. She had been awed to find the glowing rune still there when she awoke that morning, albeit slightly dulled from the night before and softly shimmering.

One of the guards to her left shifted on his feet. She recognized him. Just two weeks ago they had fought Ragnarökin the throne room. And now he wouldn’t even meet her eyes. He probably thought she was guilty. That, or maybe he had witnessed her attacking the Royal Guards promptly after defeating the majority of the attackers that day. Or maybe he thought she was just another heartless fae ready to kill whenever she felt like it. It was hard to tell.

Save for Kolfinna and the two guards, the hallway was empty. She couldn’t even hear what was going on beyond the gilded doors. Were the nobles and the king discussing how to end her?

She slipped her hand in the pocket of her pants and grazed the crumpled paper she had read, reread, folded, and unfolded a hundred times since she had gotten it that morning. Without thinking better, she snatched the paper from her pocket and stared at the elegant, hurried strokes.

I’m sorry I can’t be there for your trial today, but I know you will be fine. Stay strong.

Blár Vilulf

He had sentanother note at the beginning of her house arrest, which had simply stated that he couldn’t visit her but that he would try to help. Neither note reassured her because how was it reassuring that her most influential and powerful ally wasn’t going to be by her side while she faced the king, the hunters, Hilda, and everyone else who wanted to condemn her as a criminal?

The painful sting of disappointment and betrayal burned her chest. She had thought that she and Blár had shared precious moments together. Like when they ran across that frozen lakea few weeks ago, and they had laughed and laughed on the icy surface, their breaths misting out in front of them. Or when they danced at the ball, their bodies flush together, their gazes trapped on each other. Or even after the battle two weeks ago at the palace, where he had held her weakened body. When he had wiped her tears. When she had shown that vulnerable side to him, and he had shown such tender care.

But apparently, none of that mattered because he couldn’t even be bothered to be here for her today, when she truly needed him. When she truly neededallies.

It hurt that she wasn’t important enough for him to stand by her side when she needed him the most.

Kolfinna’s fingers inadvertently traced the smooth lines of his name. Whenever she ran her fingers over the dried ink, her buzzing nerves seemed to calm a tad. It was pathetic how despite the cutting pain in her heart, he had that effect on her.

Kolfinna folded the paper and tucked it back in her pocket. She could think about the betrayal later. She could ask him about his feelings about her—if she was the only one who felt this connection and attraction. She could face him and ask him why he hadn’t been here with her, but she first needed to make it out of this trial.

She really,reallyneeded Sijur to keep his end of the bargain.

Right as she was thinking that, the gold-embossed door to the throne room creaked open and a blond guard waved her forward. “They’re ready for you,” the woman said with a frown at Kolfinna’s Royal Guards uniform, with its scarlet cape, silver-accented white pants, and silver-buttoned shirt.

Kolfinna could practically hear the woman say, “You won’t be wearing that uniform for much longer.”

She rubbed her clammy hands over her thighs.It will be fine, she told herself. Sijur would help her like he promised, and then she’d be free.

As she made her way through the doors, every step shot her heart rate up until she was almost dizzy. Light bathed the room, making the throne seem even more golden and regal. King Leiknir sat upon it, drumming his jeweled hand against the armrest, his dark gaze set on her. In front of him was a small box-shaped stand with wooden railings, and in front of that was a court-styled seating arrangement with at least two dozen people.

The dents she had remembered were on the crumbled walls had been hastily covered with white sheets. The broken pillars were partially repaired, but there were clear cracks and missing chunks here and there. The most damaged tiles had been replaced, but the new tiles didn’t match the older remaining ones that had been charred by fire and lightning. Even though the tiles had likely been scrubbed for hours, they weren’t restored to the old ones’ original luster. And, as much as the king liked to pretend the battle two weeks ago hadn’t ruined the room, the evidence was clear to see.

He probably didn’t want to show that Ragnarök had damaged the royal palace to the extent it had.

Kolfinna instantly found Hilda Helgadottir within the crowd of nobles sitting in their cushioned, velvet seats. Her graying blond hair was pulled back into a tight bun, further accentuating her harsh features, and those hawkish eyes were pinned on Kolfinna as if they had found their prey.

It was suddenly hard to breathe. She wasn’t in the throne room anymore—she was in a windowless cabin with an array of sharp and serrated weapons lying on a table in front of her. And Hilda was there, running her wrinkled fingers over the leather ends of a whip.

Kolfinna blinked the memory away and swallowed down the nausea clawing up her throat. She forced herself to ignore thesudden rush of emotions flooding her—the anxiety, the fear, the need to flee.

Breathe.

In and out.

In and out.

Somehow, she didn’t crumble under the weight of those oppressive eyes or those harsh memories.

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