Page 22 of Blood and Thorns

Yet he hasn’t, and that alone is remarkable. Could it be simple necessity? Or is there more?

I sink lower into the water, the steam curling around my face.Focus on the mission,I remind myself.Focus on training, on not dying.

But that persistent spark remains, fueling questions I can’t ignore. Could I truly become something more than a powerless human thrall? His words echo:“If you want to be more than a victim, fight for what’s yours.”

I’m so lost in thought that I nearly jump when a soft rap sounds at the outer door of my quarters. I freeze, heartpounding.Who would knock? And didn’t Vaelorian say no one should enter without his permission?

Quickly, I scramble out of the bath, water sloshing. I wrap a thin robe around myself and hurry to the bedroom. My hair drips onto the carpet, and I curse under my breath, dropping into a crouch to rummage for the wooden dagger Vaelorian issued me for practice. It’s tucked inside the chest near the foot of the bed. Clutching its handle, I step cautiously toward the main door.

The knock comes again, accompanied by a muffled voice: “Miss Valeria? I have a delivery.”

A delivery? My tension eases somewhat, but I remain wary.Could be a ruse.I unlock the door, keeping the dagger concealed behind my hip.

Standing there is a young human woman dressed in plain livery—House Draeven’s crest embroidered over her left breast. She’s clutching a small basket covered with cloth. At the sight of me, damp hair plastered to my face and brandishing a hidden blade, she takes a nervous step back.

“I—I was sent by the kitchens,” she stammers. “Lord Vaelorian instructed we ensure you have proper meals. This is your midday fare.” She lifts the basket timidly, as if to prove she’s not a threat.

I exhale, a mix of relief and embarrassment. “Oh. I... sorry.”

She offers a hesitant smile, glancing behind me at the lavish suite. “I wasn’t sure if you’d be here. Some of us were told you’d moved from the lower floors.”

I tuck the dagger behind my back more discreetly. “Yes, that’s right. I, uh, I’m Valeria.”

Her smile widens a fraction, though it remains cautious. “My name is Malina. I was a servant at the old courtyard wing until Lord Vaelorian’s steward assigned me to deliver trays to yourchamber. I’m to serve as your runner for small errands, if you need anything.”

A runner. So I have an attendant now, albeit part-time. The notion feels surreal. I shift, conscious of my wet hair and minimal robe. “I appreciate it. You can just set the basket on the table. Then you’re free to go.”

Malina nods and enters with tentative steps. She places the basket gently on the small writing desk, eyes darting over the opulent furniture. “This is quite the room,” she whispers.

I clear my throat. “I’m still getting used to it.”

She nods, but I sense the question burning in her mind:Why would a human get such a suite?No doubt rumor is spreading. I can’t afford to feed speculation, so I don’t elaborate.

She lifts the cloth covering the basket, revealing a bowl of broth, a chunk of fresh bread, sliced fruit, and a carafe of water. Simple fare, but leagues above what most humans in the dark elf territory or even lower-level House Draeven thralls receive.

“Thank you,” I say, gentler now. “You can leave it. I’ll be fine.”

Malina offers a small curtsy, but curiosity still shines in her eyes. She hesitates, then blurts, “Is it true you work directly for him? For the prince?”

A swirl of nerves tightens in my stomach.The prince.I haven’t heard Vaelorian called that out loud, but it makes sense—his mother is the Matriarch, effectively the queen of House Draeven. Which would make him a prince, of sorts.

“I... yes,” I manage. “I’m performing certain tasks for him.”

She nods, fiddling with the edge of her apron. “If you ever need anything from the kitchens or around the fortress, just send word. I’ll come right away.”

“Thank you, Malina. That’s kind. But do be careful.” I meet her gaze, wanting to warn her that this is not a safe place. “Someof the Vrakken don’t like humans wandering without direct orders. Keep your head down and avoid unnecessary attention.”

She exhales, relief and fear mingling in her eyes. “I’ll do my best.”

With that, she leaves, quietly shutting the door behind her. I wait a moment, listening to her footsteps fade, then turn the key in the lock again.

I eat quickly, aware that the bread and broth will restore some energy after the punishing drills Helrath put me through. My body aches from head to toe, and my scalp is still damp. I exchange the robe for a fresh set of clothes—another House Draeven tunic and fitted leggings. The black fabric is comfortable, though every time I see the swirling crest embroidered along the neckline, I’m reminded I’m essentially wearing the banner of predators who once terrorized the world above.

Finished with my meal, I settle onto the plush chair by the window. Outside, the angle of the sunlight indicates we’re nearing late afternoon, that liminal time when the sky shifts from bright gold to dusky rose. House Draeven is busy below; I see soldiers drilling in the courtyard, flitting about with inhuman speed.

My thoughts wander to Vaelorian’s last words.“Fight for what’s yours.”He might see me purely as a strategic asset, but there’s no denying the subtle glances, the tension that coils whenever we stand too close. Could that ever shift into something more? I dismiss the notion with a shake of my head. I have enough to worry about without daydreaming of improbable alliances of the heart.

Instead, I pivot to practical matters: the infiltration mission that looms in my future. In the library, I’ve read numerous accounts of dark elf court structures, but reading alone won’t be enough. I’ll need to refine my mannerisms, reacquaint myselfwith the labyrinthine etiquette that determines who outranks whom. One misstep—offering a direct compliment to a Khuzuth or failing to bow at the correct angle—and they might suspect I’m more than a simple servant.

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