“It is time, Celeste. Get ready and meet me at the courtyard.”
And so it begins.
We ride to the Sentinel surrounded by the allied forces.
Desperate determination, faint hope, and mind-numbing terror clash inside me like the waters of three oceans. If Dairell is to be trusted, then I simply have to give in to the pleasure awaiting me at the hands of these three gorgeous males. After the Ritual is completed, I will be a normal human. Maybe then the Dark Prince’s possessiveness will melt like snow in the sun, and he will allow me to return home. Back to Cathy and Jasmin, to my mother, who probably hasn’t even noticed I am gone. I will say goodbye to this delirious dream I have lived in this last month.
But this is the most optimistic version, the outcome I hope for. The official plan. No one can foresee what will happen with so many variables at play. Maybe my arcane power is not enough to change a thing, and all we would achieve is bait all Siphons of Faëheim to the Underworld? Or perhaps it will all work out great, and then the Dreadful One will decide that he doesn’t want to part with his human toy?
I’ve heard them discussing the possibility of a massive swarm of Siphons attacking us, lured in by all the magic. The prince himself suggested raising wards and keeping the Siphons trapped in the Underworld to save the rest of the realm. This idea raised many eyebrows; everyone in the room was surprised by Dairell’s selflessness. Everyone but me. I knew about the guilt he was carrying around for ages, the suspicion that this all resulted from his failure to restrain his mother’s lust for power. I knew the lengths he was ready to go to to make things right and the shelter he offered runaway slaves.
“If I could give my own life to make it right, I would do it in the blink of an eye.”
We slow down, and I see the leviathan outlines of the Sentinel. Hazy silhouettes swarm the ghostly forest. The soldiers and mages have secured a perimeter around the tree.
Glowing orbs float around the mighty trunk. A luxurious canopy of airy fabrics stretches over a magnificent low bed, screens granting some privacy from the troops patrolling the dead forest.
The bed is massive, covered with tempting satin sheets. Large enough to fit four, I think, and shudder with horror and anticipation. Suddenly, I feel light-headed.
Dairell wraps his arms around me, his warm touch grounding me and helping me off the horse. I arrange the pleats of my risqué dress, raise my chin, and prepare to head to the tree. He grabs my hand and squeezes it in reassurance, a spontaneous act so unlike him.
“Celeste, I—”
Something in his voice makes me freeze. I recognize that sound of longing and desperation, I heard it just a few days ago from Cyrell. Turning around to face him, I see this powerful, winged warlord hesitant. His shoulders hang, carrying the weight of a mysterious pain. For an instant, I think he will grab me, fly away with me, and damned be the Ritual, damned be all Faëheim. Is this what I want?
“I… I admire your courage. You are the most precious thing I have in my life.” His voice breaks and his eyes well, yet he reins himself in quickly. “It’s time. The others are waiting.”
I follow him with a sigh. My mind replays Cyrell’s words over and over: Remember that I am the only one who offered you a choice!
Have I made a grave mistake?
It’s too late now.
The grass around us and the silver bells seem to be thriving, little sparkles of hope. Green leaves cover the vines closest to the Sentinel. Life is blossoming in the little oasis around the tree. An oasis we have created.
As we pass, the foliage moves despite the complete lack of draft, as if the plants watch us with unnatural curiosity.
Diaphonus and Tarcyll are already expecting us, tall and heartbreakingly beautiful, dressed in matching outfits: flowing silk shirts and soft dark leggings, bare feet, hair braided up. The casual elegance of their clothes cannot conceal the blades strapped over their arms and thighs. They have come prepared, and for an instant, I see them for what they are: deadly creatures of light and shadows roaming the borders of the realms.
I literally salivate, enthralled by the inked images on Tarcyll’s skin, glowing faintly in the magic-saturated surroundings, captivated by Diaphonus´ golden hair, glistening in the cool light of the wisps. They welcome us, their faces solemn, yet I notice the burning need in their eyes. Will they still crave me after all magic is drained from my body?
I try not to think, not to feel. Instead, I focus on my seductive walk. Probably, I look comical, but it works. Their eyes are ablaze. Diaphonus parts his lips and licks them, leaning on Tarcyll's shoulder to steady himself. The spy crosses his massive, tattooed arms at his chest and smiles devilishly.
Oh my.
We enter the area, shielded by the silk screens. The tangled branches of the Sentinel above make it appear like a cozy treehouse, like one of those luxury eco hotels advertised on social media.
The priest reassuringly squeezes my shoulder when I join them. No words are needed. Tarcyll hands me a gilded chalice with a wink.
“I know you don’t like wine, Celeste, but this is a strong one. A special one, it will help.”
Taking the chalice, I look at Dairell, who nods encouragingly. I empty it in two gulps, feeling the intense, fruity liquid burn its way down to my core. Warmth spreads in my body, and I am suddenly less concerned.
The world around me fades into a kaleidoscope of sun-kissed skin, heavy-lidded glimmering eyes, razor-sharp fangs biting lush lips, and glossy hair strands casually tucked behind pointy ears. The three males surround me, and I am trapped between walls of rippling muscles, heat, and lethal power. They tower over me, and it’s intimidating, but in a way that awakens the pulsating need between my thighs. I wonder if the drink or the magic inside me responds to their closeness and heat, and I bite my lip in anticipation.
Tarcyll trails the outline of my back. “I have always wondered if you can take three of us at the same time,” his husky voice resonates in my ear, and my knees give in.
“We will try to be gentle,” the high elf whispers, snaking his arm around my waist. His voice, dripping with dark desires, promises otherwise.
