Page 1 of Wed to the Dark Elf
CHAPTER1
Vamen
The northern wind howls across the mountain peaks, biting at my exposed skin. I pull my fur cloak tighter, trudging through the deep snowdrifts. This is the domain of my people, the Dark Elves of the North. We are creatures of winter, hardened and tempered by the icy grip of these lands.
My fortress emerges from the swirling snow, imposing black stone against the white slopes. The banner of my clan, House Blak, flaps in the wind above the ramparts. I pass through the towering gates, the guards bowing as I stride by.
In the main hall, fires roar in great hearths along the walls. My captains and advisors gather around the long wooden table in the center, rising to their feet and clasping fists to hearts as I approach. I give them a curt nod and take my seat at the head of the table.
"Report," I command.
Captain Neroth steps forward. "All is well, my lord. Our scouts have seen no signs of the werewolf clans encroaching on our borders."
I scowl. Those savage beasts have been eyeing our lands greedily. We drove them back once before, at great cost. They will not find us complacent if they dare threaten us again.
The other captains give their reports. Our defenses are strong, supplies ample for the long winter ahead. I listen with half an ear, my thoughts drifting. I have guarded these lands since the Great Shift brought our kind to this strange new world the humans call Alia Terra. We carved out the Northern Mountains as our own and crushed any who challenged us. The humans forget this was their planet once. Now the monstrous races rule, humanity scrabbling in the dirt at our feet.
A scratching at the door interrupts the council. A page boy enters, clutching a scroll bound in black ribbon. He rushes to my side.
"A missive for you, my lord. From the Marriage Temple."
The hall goes silent. Marriage has been weighing on all our minds. Our race grows fewer each generation. I take the scroll, breaking the blood-red seal. A name leaps off the page, stark black ink on crumbling parchment.
Iris Flemming.
My destined bride, if the Temple priests are to be believed. I scoff quietly. A human girl, matched to me by some dubious blood test? Yet I cannot deny the importance of continuing our lineage. That is a ruler's duty, no matter how distasteful.
I raise my head. "Make preparations to ride for the Temple."
Murmurs break out around the table. I let them talk. There are no objections. They know better.
The ride to the Temple will be long and grueling. Not that the cold bothers me, but the human lands beyond the mountains will test even my endurance. I must make this journey, to collect my bride and return to my own kind.
The priests claim their blood test is infallible. That the DNA match creates an unbreakable bond, two souls destined for each other. I am skeptical anything could tether me so. But I will play along, secure the girl they have chosen, and do my duty to my people. That is all.
The next days are a blur of preparations---assembling provisions, readying my war destrier, IceStorm, checking weapons and armor. I refuse an escort. For this, I travel alone. Before I depart, my captains gather in the courtyard to see me off, their breath frosting the air.
Neroth clasps my arm. "Safe journey, my lord. The snows will be harsh this season."
I give a brusque nod. I have weathered worse. Swinging astride IceStorm, I survey my assembled warriors one last time. "Serve faithfully in my absence."
With that, I spur my stallion through the gates. His hooves spray powdered snow as we descend the winding mountain paths. Soon the fortress is lost from view, and it is only me and the wolf-howl of the wind. I do not look back.
The trees thin as I reach the foothills, replaced by exposed rock and scrub. The mountains give way to rolling plains. Days blur together in a haze of snow and wind. I ration my supplies carefully. IceStorm is tireless, bred for these climes. I doze in the saddle when fatigue sets in.
At night I make cold camps, no fire to alert unfriendly eyes. I keep my elven longsword close, though I have seen no one for days. Once I spot a chimneyed human town on the distant horizon and steer well clear. Their settlements are fortified with spiked walls now, bastions against the monsters that rule their world. I feel nothing but contempt for their weakness.
The land gradually turns green and lush, a jarring change from home. Foreign birds sing in the unfamiliar forests. The snow thins to patches on the ground. IceStorm snorts and tosses his head at the strange scents. I run a soothing hand along his frosty mane, and his muscles loosen. We are far from home, old friend, but almost there.
Finally, the spires of the Temple crest the horizon. My chest tightens at the sight. Here I will find the bride fate has supposedly chosen for me. I shake my head, banishing the fanciful notion. I do this for duty, not destiny.
Still...doubt nags at me. Could there truly be a woman whose soul will intertwine with mine? Born to stand at my side, bear my offspring, join our bloodlines? A human woman? Impossible.
I force down my questions as IceStorm passes under the soaring, intricately carved gates of the Temple. An acolyte in white vestments hurries to greet me. He bows so low his nose nearly brushes the tiles.
"Welcome, Lord Blak. We have eagerly awaited your arrival." His smile is all politeness, but his eyes hold distaste. As if I am something unpleasant he scraped off his shoe. I bare my teeth in an icy grin. Let the little zealot quake. He scurries ahead, leading me through columned halls lit with braziers, our footsteps echoing off the cavernous ceilings.
He guides me to an arched wooden door then bows again. "She waits within. I will return shortly for the ceremony." With that, he spins on his heel and hastens off, clearly glad to be away.
