Page 56 of The Divine Shallows
“Where do you think you’re going?” Finnor’s gruff voice shattered the silence of the marble corridor, his tone more demanding than questioning.
Elowyn spun around to face him, her worry morphing into anger as she met his gaze. With clenched fists, her aura radiated with fury as she realized how Finnor discovered her presence.
“I do not answer to you.” Her eyes were blazing like embers.
Finnor let out a weary sigh, running a hand through his tousled, snow-white hair. Moon-inked scales shimmered on his skin, catching the light of the sconces. He was dressed haphazardly in a loose tunic and leather pants, looking as if he had just rolled out of bed.
“Where are you going?” he repeated, his voice unchanged.
“The kitchens,” Elowyn replied, truthful enough. “I was hungry.”
“Then why are you wearing a common cloak?” Finnor countered.
“I’ve given you enough answers,” Elowyn’s lips tightened into a thin line.
“I’m not stopping you,” Finnor replied truthfully. “I don’t intend to control your life. I just need to know where you’re headed so I can fulfill my duty as your feyguard.”
“Was tethering my soul against my will notfulfilling your duty enough?” Elowyn struck back. “Just tap into the pits of your abominable soul and find me through the tether. At least that way you’ll spare me the effort of speaking.”
“I know you don’t understand why I did it,” Finnor muttered thickly. “I did it to protect you. Why can’t you see that? It’s not uncommon for Eternal Tethering spells to be bestowed on royalty. There’s a reason it only requires the Goddess’ blessing and a willing fey. Your bloodline and succession to the throne are crucial to the prosperity of Eriden. To Neramyr.”
“Why don’t you understand that I never wanted this?” Elowyn’s voice rose. “The throne is Elyria’s to inherit by birthright. It should’ve never been stripped away from her. You’ve served this kingdom for longer than I’ve drawn breath, yet you know nothing about it.”
Finnor’s expression hardened. “Regardless of how it happened, you’re a Crown Princess of Neramyr, Elowyn. This is the fate dealt to you by the hands of the moon and stars. It’s what’s right and just.”
“Have you no rationality of your own? You recite those words with such credence as if you intend to be a martyr for the moon. Will you shepherd a crusade against me if I suggest that the Moon Goddess was wrong for not marking Elyria as an infant? What if I told you that Eriden is a kingdom fueled by spite?”
Elowyn took a domineering step toward Finnor, causing his jaw to twitch with displeasure at her approach.
“Lest you forget, I am not the only daughter of Eriden. The folk of this kingdom treat their firstborn princess with bitterness, with acrimony and malevolence... Am I to believe that the foundation on which your beliefs lie are truly righteous? As your morals rest on their benevolent pedestal, where do they retreat to when the folk of Eriden scorn and maltreat their eldest princess?”
Finnor’s expression remained indecipherable as he glared back at Elowyn. Silence sealed his lips, yet she did not relent from her verbal tirade against him.
“You are plagued with the belief that the stars and moon are faultless; you trust that there are no fates that are flawed, but you’re wrong, Finnor. If you would’ve opened your mind and listened to me, instead of obeying the king’s every whim, you might have understood that. What you did to me was detestable. You claim your duty is to protect me, but I will never forget how you stood there unshaken as I was withering away under my father’s hand.” Elowyn’s words were laced with ire at each enunciation. “Underyourhand.”
Finnor’s expression crumbled at her final words. He regarded her with culpable eyes, guilt stricken. Though he seemed prepared to speak, he ultimately remained silent, an allegory of unspoken regrets locked behind his lips.
Elowyn shifted her gaze to one of the arched windows, cursing softly as she noticed the sun beginning to rise.
“I’m leaving,” Elowyn announced, turning on her heel. The encounter had left her appetite soured. “Don’t follow me.”
Finnor reclaimed his voice, his tone determined. “Tell me where you’re going.”
Ignoring his incessant inquiry, Elowyn summoned a portal. With purposeful strides, she crossed through the moonlit archway, her destination fixed in her mind as she disappeared into the feylight.
The Temple of Caenabasked in the gentle morning glow of the sun as Elowyn emerged from the fading feylight archway. She knew she was running late. With a quick scan of her surroundings, she found the temple deserted, devoid of any fey. Her heart raced as she hurried up the ancient stone staircase towards the antechamber. One question dominated her mind: was he there?
Pushing open the massive doors of the temple, usually left ajar, Elowyn entered hastily, herfootsteps echoing on the marble floor.
Her eyes landed on a hooded male figure sitting on a bench with his head hung low, hunched over with his elbows resting on his knees. At her approach, the male lifted his head up and Elowyn recognized the locks of claret-red hair that remained untucked under the hood. Relief flooded her as her heart quickened at the sight of him.
“Elowyn,” Draeden murmured her name on his lips as his golden irises lit up with relief. His handsome features fell into a dimpled smile.
“Draeden,” she whispered back, a smile lighting up her features.
“I was worried you wouldn’t come,” he admitted, rising from the bench, and closing the distance between them in a few swift strides. With a gentle embrace, he brushed a kiss against her cheek.
Elowyn laughed softly, returning his affectionate gesture. Each moment with Draeden seemed more magical than the last.
