Page 38 of Elven Oath

It made me see her in a different light. Strong, fierce, and unexpectedly tied to my world in ways neither of us fully understood yet.

The gates opened to welcome us, and as we rode into the courtyard, the familiar scent of stone and earth greeted me. But it wasn’t just the place that felt different. I felt different because of my new wife. I felt an odd sense of possessiveness watching her dismount, as if some instinct within me recognized her as more than just my bride. She was mine in a way that couldn’t be described with words.

My mother, the Queen, was already waiting for us. Regal and calm as always, she stood tall, her dark hair cascading over her shoulders like a waterfall. Her golden eyes sparkled with warmth as she looked at me, but they quickly shifted to Vevina.

For a moment, I see the briefest raise of an eyebrow as she observes the way Vevina smiles at me as I help her down from our mount. But then, her lips curve into a knowing smile.

"Welcome, my son," she says, her voice rich and commanding. "And you must be Lady Vevina. I am Queen Eira."

Vevina bowed her head slightly, clearly still uncertain of her place here. I watch as my mother’s gaze softens as she pulls Vevina in for a small hug. There was no hesitation in her warmth toward my new wife. Perhaps she could see what I had started to see.

"Take her to rest," my mother says, waving her hand toward the waiting attendants. "She must be exhausted. We’ll talk more later, dear."

I watch her go and immediately feel a strange sense of longing. I wanted her by my side, not separated by walls. It was a ridiculous thought, one I quickly pushed aside as Falkor, Drago, and I made our way to the council chamber.

My advisors had already gathered, waiting for updates. As we recounted everything that had happened; the attacks, the wizards, the revelations about the bond between Dragons and Elves, I could see the worry on their faces.

The mention of wizards especially caused a stir, but none of them could remember the last time the Dragons had encountered that kind of magic. It had been long before even my mother’s time.

After our meeting, Falkor suggested we check the library for more information. "There’s something we’re missing," he says, his brow furrowed. "This can’t be the first time wizards have meddled with us."

Our library was a vast, ancient place filled with dusty tomes and forgotten knowledge. The archivist, Eldrin, greeted us with a nod, and when we told him what we were looking for, he disappeared into the depths of the old stacks. Moments later, he returned with a leather-bound journal, worn from centuries of handling.

"This belonged to your ancestor," Eldrin says, handing the journal to me. "Your great-grandfather several generations back. He wrote about the war with the Elves."

Taking the journal from him, I feel the weight of history in my hands. As I flip through the pages, the words seem to jump out at me, recounting all of the events of the war. How it had all started, the tension that had built over the years, and finally, the moment that had sparked the conflict.

There, in my ancestor’s handwriting, was the story of a mysterious man who had kidnapped the last Dragon Princess born of a mate bond. The Dragons had assumed the man was an Elf.

After all, who else could have had the power to challenge them? The Elves had denied it multiple times but war had erupted between our peoples. A war that had nearly wiped out both races.

As I read further, something clicks in my mind. The way my ancestor describes the kidnapper. The way he fought, the strange magic he used. It wasn’t Elven magic at all. It was something darker.

"Wizards," I say aloud, my voice grim. "It was wizards who took her. Not Elves."

Falkor and Drago exchange glances. "Are you sure?" Drago asks, his voice tense.

I nod, my mind racing as I piece it together. "It matches everything we’ve seen. The magic, the attacks. These aren’t Elves. The wizards have been manipulating us all this time, turning us against each other."

The realization sends a chill through me. The war that had torn our races apart had been based on a lie. And now, the wizards were back, trying to finish what they had started.

"We need to warn everyone," Falkor says, his voice urgent. "If the wizards are working with this new race, the humans, they could wipe us all out."

But as the weight of our discovery settles in, my thoughts keep drifting back to my wife. She had wielded magic during the battle, magic that even she hadn’t known she possessed. And now, with this new knowledge, I couldn’t help but wonder if there was something more to her. Something deeper, tied to the ancient bond between Dragons and Elves.

I close the journal, my resolve hardening. We had more enemies than we had ever realized.

“We need to confirm it.” Drago says, breaking our silence.

“How do we do that?” Falkor asks.

“The prisoner we brought back with us. I watched him closely as we made our way to the castle. He’s definitely not an Elf nor a Wizard.” Drago says.

“Human.” I say through gritted teeth and Drago nods.

With a nod to Eldrin, we make our way to the dungeon. The dimly lit corridors wind beneath the castle like a serpent. Falkor and Drago flank me, their expressions grim.

The heavy iron door creaks open, revealing the stone chamber where the prisoner is held. He is shackled to the wall, his face pale and drawn, yet his eyes still hold a defiance that makes me wary. There’s very little we know about humans.

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