Chapter 17: Chapter seventeen

Kyrian stalked into the room, paying me no heed as he entered the bathroom. He resembled an angry feline, hissing and spitting under his breath as he yanked off his clothes. 

The dark haired woman stretched out beside me on the bed stared at the door my concubine went through with wide eyes, her lips parted on breathy gasp. 

“My moon-”

I pressed a finger to her lips, silencing her as I listened to the sounds of crashing, and banging in the bathroom. Something had unsettled my star, so much so that he did not greet me when entering the bedchamber as was proper. 

“It would seem my little star is not in the mood for company today, sweet one.” I consoled, stroking my finger over the woman's flushed cheek before trailing it down her neck, and across her collarbone. “Perhaps another time.” 

Thick lashes lowered over cornflower blue eyes as a pout formed on her lips, but the pretty goalkeeper from the Knattleikr team didn’t protest as she rolled out of the bed, and padded softly to the door. I watched her go, admiring the curve of her ass, and the red marks that were evidence of our indulgence whilst awaiting my concubine. 

Entering the bathroom I leaned my hip against the vanity, gazing at the Álfr  sulking in the tub. Fragrant steam curled around him in a thick haze, filling the room with the scent of citrus and mint, while foamy bubbles covered the surface of the water, disrupting my view of the tantalizing body I knew to be submerged within the water.  

“You seem troubled, my star.” 

“That woman accosted me in the hall.” He spat, his lips pinched together as he sank lower into the water, concealing more of his body.   

This was not the first time Selina had approached my concubine, and it would seem her attempts were growing more bold with the lack of punishment for her actions. Little did she know I was keeping a silent tally of all her transgressions. 

I uncrossed my arms, moving to sit on the edge of the tub. “She is of use, however if you desire her gone, I shall have her fed to the Garmr.” 

“I can suffer her attentions for a while longer, it would not be the first time I have endured such.” He conceded with a sigh, faint creases appearing between his eyebrows as he met my gaze. “Although I would request she be prevented from touching me in the future, her mægen is nauseating.” 

“She touched you?” My fingers clenched on the edge of the tub. “Tau did not prevent her?” 

He shook his head, slumping lower in the water until it covered him up to the shoulders. “She managed to grab my arm before Tau, and Izem intervened.” 

“It would seem they require further training,” I said, twisting around to look at the bathroom door as I called for my Víðarr. “Helma!” 

“I heard, my moon.” The woman called back through the open doorway. “I shall arrange an additional escort, and training for the Ljósálfar.” 

As I turned back to Kyrian a wet, soapy arm curled around my waist, tugging me into the water. I allowed him to pull me onto his lap, our mægen entwining as we reclined in the warm water. Leaning my head back to rest on his shoulder, I gazed up at his beautiful face. 

Contrary to his earlier ire, mirth now danced within his golden irises. “Apparently she cannot understand why I allow you to touch me,” Kyrian nuzzled my cheek, his words carrying a hint of mockery. “She said your figure is so large, and unfeminine it must feel as though I am touching another man when I fuck you.” 

“I believe that is a first for me,” I mused, trailing my fingers through the bubbles. “I have been mocked for having breasts that are slightly larger than the average Álfr, but never for having a figure that could be mistaken for a man.”

It was a petty thing to pick on considering there were other Álfr women in court with breasts larger than mine who received no such insults. 

Kyrian hummed low in his throat, the sound vibrating against my neck. His hands left my waist, moving upwards to cup my breasts. “I find it doubtful any male would have mocked you for these.” 

I tilted my head to the side, mouth twisted into a wry smile. “No, I don’t believe any have.” 

“Did you send away our entertainment, or is she waiting for us in bed?” Kyrian asked, his gaze drifting to the open door. 

“I sent her away,” I said, settling back against his firm, damp chest.

He relaxed against the back wall of the tub, moving his arms into a more comfortable position around me. “Then we need not rush, and can enjoy our bath.” 

Kyrian pressed a kiss to my shoulder, nipping and sucking as his hands dipped over my thighs. I moaned, leaning my head back to rest in the crook of his neck.

 “I never thought to find such a compatible lover among the Ljósálfar, let alone one with Seelie blood added into the mix.” I murmured, peering at him through heavy lidded eyes. “Who could have known they knew how to indulge themselves so thoroughly.”

Kyrian smiled, his fingers tracing out lazy patterns on my skin. “What makes you think that Seelie, and Ljósálfar don't know how to indulge?”

I wrinkled my nose as I recalled all the Seelie nobles I’d met in the past. “The few I’ve encountered have been rather prudish when it comes to flirtations or indulgence, they’re always prattling on about purity, honor and tradition.” 

“It depends on the individual I suppose,” he hummed, brushing his lips over my ear and nibbling on the pointed tip. “The Ljósálfar are almost as indulgent as the Dökkálfar, they simply keep their pleasures private, as do the Seelie.” 

“And yet you were not opposed to indulging your pleasures before all on the dais earlier,” I teased. 

I felt his body shift behind mine, his shoulders rising and falling in a shrug. “Part of the reason the Seelie and Ljósálfar are so private is the fact that our choice in pleasures say a lot about us as a person, and it may reveal more than is wise to disclose in public. As your concubine, if anyone attempted to shame me for the pleasures I indulge in, it would be counted as an insult to you, thus I am without fear of such occurring.”

“They can’t use it against you if you are not shamed by it. Desire exists. There is no denying that. All beings want- be it for food, sex, or power. There is no shame in that.” 

 

“No- no there isn’t.” He agreed, his chin resting on my shoulder as we fell into quiet contemplation. 

When the water lost its warmth, I was reluctant to leave the bathroom. Midday was upon us, and I needed sleep, but I found myself not wanting to let Kyrian go. The desire to have him remain was unexpected, as no lover had remained in my bed for more than a short nap since my former concubine Branok attempted to drive a dagger into my chest whilst I slept. Yet here I was, wishing to keep Kyrian with me in spite of the dangers that might bring. 

After we clambered out of the bath, Kyrian pressed a gentle kiss to my lips, and walked towards the door, a towel slung low on his hips. 

Stay. The word sat on the tip of my tongue, but went unspoken as he left my bedchamber. I wasn’t the only one who needed sleep, Helma did as well, and she would not retire from her position if Kyrian remained at my side. 

As the hours dragged on, sleep refused to take me into its embrace. Instead I lay in silent introspection, using the time alone to organize and structure my thoughts. There was much to be done, old alliances needed to be re-forged, power restored.  

I laid motionless for hours, processing every facet of information gathered since Lady Isabel showed up at the townhouse. Eventually thoughts of Lady Isabel brought painful memories of another red haired woman to the forefront of my mind. 

Hot tears crept down my cheek as I thought of the beautiful Aos sí who had the misfortune of bringing me into existence. If only she’d left when faðir offered her freedom. She could have left Svartálfaheimr after my birth, returning to her home as a wealthy and respected woman, free to wed any she desired. Móðir knew remaining would mean her death one day, yet for me she stayed, and for me she died. 

Part of me wondered if faðir knew the truth of that night, if Helma had divulged to him that móðir had glamoured herself, and taken my place whilst I hid, buying time for reinforcements to arrive- reinforcements that never came. 

That night there had been no Ríkrtungl or Ástugrtungl in residence to send reinforcements from the main palace, for they were in Nidavellir attending the funeral rites for the former Konungr of the Dvergr. Those left in charge of the main palace were Norell’s people, and were content to turn a blind eye to the goings on in the Smártungl’s palace. 

Closing my eyes, I took several deep steadying breaths, wrapping a metaphysical chain around my emotions. That is what it meant to be Smártungl, what it meant to be a moon of Svartálfaheimr. I had little choice but to swallow my pain, and cage all emotions that could be used as a weapon against me. 

A heavy weight settled onto the bed, and I cracked open an eye to peer down at Æsa as she settled alongside me. 

“You know you’re not allowed on the bed.” I reprimanded gently, reaching out a hand to stroke the dark canine’s head where it laid next to my thigh. 

The impudent Garmr closed her eyes, ignoring me as she feigned sleep. At least one of us would be able to rest today. I sighed, my thoughts could not be stilled. They carried on in defiance of the calming techniques mastered during early childhood. 

***

As the sun began its descent, a gentle knock at the door preempted Maitane’s entry into my bedchamber. The elderly Húsvættir moved with an unhurried stride as she drew back the curtains surrounding my bed, and scowled down at the Garmr who was drooling all over the sheets. 

“Lady Dagmar has arrived,” she announced, irritation coloring her tone as she swatted at the Garmr, forcing her off the bed. “She is currently engaged in an argument with Klæða Sorcha over the allocation of duties.” 

“Dagmar has seniority,” I said through a yawn as I followed Æsa’s lead and tumbled inelegantly out of bed. I’d almost forgotten how troublesome a retinue of hefðarkonur could be. 

As I slid my arms into a loose silk robe, I glanced over my shoulder at Mai. “Has Sorcha mentioned if any of my previous hefðarkonur are still in residence at my palace?” 

“They have all departed to take new positions.” Mai answered, the press of her lips and deep set wrinkles around her eyes showing her displeasure. 

Hand pressed to my mouth to conceal a yawn, I left the bedchamber to find my golden haired concubine sitting in the gathering room of my quarters. 

Kyrian’s gaze flitted to me briefly as I approached the chaise he sat on. “My moon, come see what they’re saying on the Mímir.” 

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“Oh? What is it this time?” I sat beside him, looking over at the mirror which showed three familiar Dökkálfar women. 

“Third systir is to marry the Konungr of Nidavellir,” Kyrian said, running a hand through his short curls. 

My lips parted as I found myself momentarily at a loss for words. The Ljósálfar, and Dvergr were forming a marriage alliance? 

“I almost pity the fool for accepting her,” Kyrian chuckled, leaning forwards to pluck a handful of grapes off the platter of fruit laid out on the table before us. “I wonder if his treasury is as poor as rumors claim? Third systir is a spoiled child who enjoys her luxurious lifestyle, and will not be pleased if there is no coin to spend.” 

“I suspect it is.” I said, wrinkling my nose at the grapes he held. “The previous Konungr had a taste for opulence and indulgence, but lacked the skill or foresight to properly manage his kingdom's finances. The current Konungr is no better- they are heavily indebted to Svartálfaheimr and other allies.”

Seeing my expression Kyrian set down the grapes, and picked up a bushel of sparkling Glóabær.  

“Mhm, I’ve heard much the same.” He hummed thoughtfully, glancing back at the mirror where the Dökkálfar talk show hosts were discussing the upcoming wedding. “I suspect faðir will have paid a great deal of coin to secure this marriage.”

“I am sure he did,” I said with a wry smile. “However even if he were to empty Álfheimr’s coffers, it would not be enough to repay Nidavellir’s debts.”    

“Do you think your faðir will seek to prevent the marriage alliance?” 

I allowed him to press one of the sparkling berries between my lips, and lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “That is not something I am privy to. Although, the Dvergr are the best choice where Svartálfaheimr is concerned. You informed me when you arrived that the your potential marriage partner was one of the Æsir royals, and between the two kingdoms Nidavellir is better option politically.” 

Between the Dvergr or Æsir, it would be preferable for the Ljósálfar to be allied with a kingdom where we had our own connections. The Æsir, and Dökkálfar were not exactly on friendly terms due to our alliance with the Jötnar. 

Kyrian slouched against the back of the chaise, his gaze vacant as he stared at the talk show hosts. “Faðir is no doubt hoping this alliance will prevent Álfheimr falling completely beneath Dökkálfar rule.” 

I flicked a glance at him out of the corner of my eye. He spoke so casually of his kingdom's fall, no sadness or regret for what would come. Either he was more skilled at concealing emotion than I was at reading it, or he truly held no such feeling towards his home. 

“Segun will be no puppet,” I said, keeping an eye on him as I spoke. 

He nodded, his lips curling upwards. “No, he won’t.” 

My eyes narrowed as I caught a hint of fondness in his tone.“He is the one who sent you, isn’t he?” 

Kyrian inclined his head. “Second bróðir is the one who informed me of the Ástugrsunna arranging my marriage to the Æsir, and suggested an alternative that would further solidify ties between the two future rulers of our kingdoms.” 

 It was thanks to years of elocution lessons that my face didn't show the annoyance I felt at that knowledge that I had missed an opportunity to barter with Segun before taking Kyrian as my concubine. 

“And if I refused you?” Bitterness coated my words as I thought of the blue diamond carcanet that was currently in Segun’s possession. Surely Kyrian would have been worth that treasure at the very least.  

“If I failed to seduce you, I brought a suitable dowry to garner your interest.”

Placing a hand on his leg, I dug my nails into his upper thigh. “What dowry?” 

Kyrian grinned, plucking the last Glóabær off the vine and tossing it into his mouth. “I’m keeping it for rainy day, as the humans say.” 

Lips pressed into a tight line, I glowered at the golden haired concubine. “He gave you my diamond carcanet, didn’t he?”

“Does your faðir know you lost a royal heirloom in a card game?” He teased, a mischievous sparkle in his eyes.

“Of course he knows,” I huffed, crossing my arms over my chest. “He was at the table when Segun tricked me into gambling with it.” 

The second glory of Álfheimr took great pleasure in taunting me over the loss of my necklace every time he visited Svartálfaheimr, and unfortunately for me, as the Ástugrtungl’s nephew, he was invited to most court festivities, though he only attended a handful of events each year. 

I studied Kyrian’s face as he turned away from me, the upward quirk of his mouth, and shaking shoulders telling me he was smothering a laugh. 

“You’re not giving it back, are you?” 

He shook his head. “It’s my bartering tool.” 

I sighed, threading my fingers through my tousled hair. “Wear it then, at least that way I can pretend it is back in my possession.” 

Faðir had taken me into the royal vaults as a gift for my eighth cycle celebration, allowing me to choose a single piece of jewelry from within. I’d chosen the wide choker style necklace for the blue diamonds that matched my eyes, and Kyrian wearing that same carcanet would help solidify his status as my star, and show a level of favor. 

A knock prevented us from any further conversation as Dagmar, and Sorcha entered the room. Their faces were filled with contempt as they dipped into a low curtseys, each attempting to sink lower to the ground than the other without losing their balance or appearing inelegant. 

“Were you successful in your negotiations with the leipreachán, Meallán?” I asked Sorcha as the pair stood with painstakingly slow movements, neither wishing to be the first to fully rise out of their curtsy. 

The Pixie’s expression brightened, her delicate wings fluttering in response to her joy. “My moon, the leipreachán has agreed, and requested a time to meet with you so he can measure your feet.” 

I nodded, already suspecting it would be so. “Have him come to the enclave this nótt to take his measurements.” 

“Meallán-” Dagmar spoke the name softly, her brows creasing together.  “My moon, if I may?” 

Dagmar looked at me for permission to speak before continuing, and I gave a nod of approval. 

 “I believe I am familiar with the leipreachán you speak of, and I do not recommend you commission his services.” 

“Oh?” I titled my head, arching a quizzical brow at the purple haired Álfr. “Why is that?” 

“My moon, there were rumors which spread through my uncle, Ard Tiarna Cináed’s fief some time ago of a leipreachán who was cast out of the cobblers guild for certain- ah, proclivities.” 

“Dagmar,” I shook my head, giving her a look of disappointment. “It is no secret the leipreachán have a sexual appreciation for feet. I would expect a Dökkálfar such as yourself to be more accepting of these things, we are not a race who shames people regarding the manner in which they seek pleasure.” 

She inclined her head. “Indeed we are not, my moon, however typically the feet leipreachán seek their pleasure with are on living beings. The leipreachán, Meallán, was found to have a vast collection of magically preserved feet from a variety of races.” 

“And?” I prompted, looking at her expectantly. “I am still waiting for you to tell me why I should not commission his services. Do you not have personal items that are used to indulge your needs? This is no different to that, or to the trophies a hunter keeps.” 

 Dagmar’s cheeks flushed pink. “It is not his proclivity that is the issue, my moon, but the fact that he is no longer a member of the cobblers guild. They could take offense that you would use his services, and refuse to accept your commissions in the future.” 

“Mhm,” I hummed, tapping my finger against my lower lip. “The only reason for expelling him was his foot collection?” 

“I believe so,” she said.

“Sorcha, you saw samples of Meallán’s work, correct?” I asked, looking over at the anxious looking Pixie who nodded. “What did you think?” 

“His craftsmanship is on par with that of Lady Maple, the royal cobbler,” Sorcha said, glancing over at Dagmar. “Who is also not part of the cobblers guild.” 

“They weren’t exactly accepting of her choice of marriage partner, were they.” I questioned, sarcasm dripping from my voice. 

“No they weren’t.” She agreed, her arms crossed firmly over her chest. “A Pixie was not seen as a suitable husband for the guild-master’s daughter.” 

Dagmar’s lips parted, and she quickly brought a hand up to her mouth as she looked over at Sorcha. Watching her reaction, I realized that Dagmar’s expressive responses weren’t due to her lacking the skill to school her features into a courier's expressionless mask, but were instead carefully cultivated to convey that belief. It wasn’t perfect, but she did better than most courtiers who attempted that particular method. 

“Do you have any other concerns regarding the leipreachán, Dagmar?” 

She shook her head, dipping into a short curtsy. “No, my moon.” 

“Sorcha, ensure that Meallán is aware that I shall consider bringing him along to Svartálfaheimr should he prove himself worthy.” I said, a smile curving over my lips as I added the next condition. “Provided he doesn’t try cutting off my foot to add to his collection.” 

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