The elves had no weapons on them, so they must have been disarmed before entering the Great Hall. But they didn’t seem at all intimidated by Dimitri, who glared at them with a hand resting on the hilt of his sword. Another sheath was strapped to his thigh, the jeweled, golden handle of a vicious dagger clearly on display.
“You are in Norveshka, so you will be expected to speak Norveshki,” Dimitri announced.
The elves gave him a bland look, then the older one spoke quietly in perfect Norveshki, “We did not come to speak to you.”
Sorcha gritted her teeth. Arrogant bastards.
The door creaked again and more footsteps sounded. She pressed her face against the railing and spotted Silas and Gwennore, walking arm in arm toward the dais, followed by Aleksi Marenko, a captain in the army, who was as fiercely armed as Dimitri.
Sorcha couldn’t help but smile at how radiant Gwen looked in her sparkling gold gown. Silas was quite dashing in his army uniform. They were both wearing their newly crafted crowns.
They stopped briefly in front of the elves, giving them a slight nod of their heads. At least the elves were well mannered enough to bow. But it seemed to Sorcha that they were bowing more to Gwennore than to Silas.
Her brother helped his wife step up on the dais; then they both took their seats on the gold, jewel-encrusted thrones. Aleksi positioned himself next to Gwennore’s throne, where he eyed the elves with suspicion.
“Your Majesties.” Dimitri bowed to Gwen and Silas, then added, “General Caladras and his son, Colonel Griffin Caladras, extend greetings from King Rendelf of Woodwyn.”
Silas gave the elves another nod. “I bid you welcome to Norveshka.”
The elves bowed slightly, and then the general spoke. “His Majesty, King Rendelf, asked me to congratulate you on his behalf. He was quite impressed by your quick and successful ascension to the throne.”
Silas’s eyes narrowed.
Sorcha winced. Silas wouldn’t have become king if his older brother hadn’t been killed by the Chameleon. Since a spy had been caught trying to cross into Woodwyn, it was very possible that the Chameleon had been working with the elves. Silas even suspected the Chameleon might be an elf.
“Thank you,” Silas replied curtly. “I trust your king wishes to continue the truce between our two countries?”
“Of course.” The general motioned to Gwennore. “We would also like to congratulate you on your marriage to our beloved princess, Gwennore.”
Sorcha wadded the handkerchief in her fist. Beloved, her ass. The general had to know that Gwen had been rejected as a babe and shipped off to the convent.
Gwennore looked tense but was doing a good job of keeping her face blank.
“Our Majesty, King Rendelf, has sent a wedding gift. We hope it meets with your approval.” General Caladras untied the knot at the top of the bigger parcel, then let the blue silk fall into a puddle around an ornate box of carved wood inlaid with pearl.
As the general opened the lid, Dimitri stepped close to check what was in the box. Then he stepped back, his hand tightening on the hilt of his sword till his knuckles turned white.
The general lifted out a sculpture, carved entirely of wood. “Not to sound overly boastful, but I believe this piece proves that the craftsmen of Woodwyn are the best in all Aerthlan. It is magnificent, yes?”
It was an exquisite dragon, delicately carved and polished to a lustrous gleam. A pair of sparkling rubies marked its eyes.
Sorcha swallowed hard, and next to her, Annika hissed in a quick breath. Was this genuinely a present, or were the elves hinting that they knew the true nature of the Norveshki dragons?
As a member of the royal family, Sorcha had been told the secret, that a few male descendants of the Three Cursed Clans were capable of shifting into dragons. Silas, Aleksi, and Dimitri could, along with about a dozen others. For centuries, it had been Norveshka’s most closely guarded secret.
The three dragon shifters below grew very still.
Silas’s mouth thinned; then he nodded. “It is, indeed, a work of art. Thank you.”
“I’m delighted you’re pleased.” The general’s voice dripped with sarcasm as he returned the dragon to its box. He unwrapped the smaller parcel to reveal a small flat box of polished wood. “And this one is for our very own Princess Gwennore.”
“She is a queen,” Silas corrected him. “Our queen.”
“Of course.” The general opened the box to display the contents. “Woodwyn also has the best silversmiths. This necklace was made especially for you, Your Majesty.”
“It’s quite beautiful. Thank you.” Gwennore accepted the open box.
“It was designed by your own mother,” the general continued, and Gwen’s hands flinched slightly. “She is thrilled at the prospect of seeing her beloved daughter once again.”
“Who is her mother?” Silas asked.
“You didn’t know?” The general exchanged a smirk with his son. “Princess Jenetta, of course.”
“How would we know who she was?” Gwennore asked quietly. “She sent me away when I was two months old.”
“And it broke her heart!” The general placed a hand on his chest. “She was a victim, too, in that dreadful mess. Not only was she forced to part with you, but she was sentenced to seven years of solitude in the white tower.”
Gwennore grew pale. “My . . . mother was punished?”
“Yes. But now that Princess Jenetta is heir to the throne, His Majesty greatly regrets his decision. He no longer blames his daughter. She simply fell prey to the seduction of that insidious foreigner, Lord Tolenko.”
Annika hissed in another breath at this blatant insult to Dimitri’s uncle.
With a muttered curse, Dimitri took a step forward, but Silas lifted a hand to stop him.
Gwennore’s cheeks flushed as she snapped the jewelry box shut. “Do not insult my father. It is bad enough that he met an untimely death while in your country.”
“I understand.” The general bowed hastily. “Your loyalty to your father is commendable.” He removed a letter from his tunic. “I hope it will not deter you from reading this letter. Your mother wrote it.”
Gwennore accepted the letter, her face growing pale once again. “I will look at it later.”
“Of course.” The general nodded. “Your mother and grandfather are extremely eager to see you. His Majesty is not well, I’m afraid, so if you would please visit them at Wyndelas Palace—”
“Too far,” Silas interrupted.
“We would make sure she was comfortable on the journey,” the general told him. “After all, she is our princess.”
“It is too far,” Silas repeated, leaning forward. “I cannot allow our queen to venture that far into what was enemy territory only a few weeks ago.”
The general stiffened. “Surely you are not suggesting we would do harm to our own beloved princess.”
“We will be happy to meet Her Majesty’s family at the border,” Silas said.
The general sighed. “As I said, King Rendelf is not well. His health is too precarious at the moment to undertake such a long journey.”
“My wife is not up to a long journey, either,” Silas countered. “She is now carrying our future heir.”