Crown of Iron

Chapter Seven

gown of translucent golden fabric clings to her form as she walks, the hem whispering as it brushes across marble tiles. Her feet lead of her of their own accord, and she is distantly aware that they are bare, bound only glittering gold chains adorned with countless small rubies. Her hair is loose, free from it's usual pins and ties, left to be draped back over her shoulder, chestnut coils untamed and wild.

She starts in surprise as a cold hand grabs her by the wrist. "I was wondering where you had snuck off to," a voice whispers in a low voice, teeth grazing the shell of her ear. "Your mother really does throw the best of parties."

Anya turns but before she can say a word, the stranger's lips are on hers. They taste of winter nights and heady, intoxicating spices, and she is caught off guard by how much she leans into their ministrations.

But her heart drops when the stranger steps away and she realises the identity of the man standing before her.

Elias' silver-grey eyes sparkle with mirth at her shock, a smile gracing his lips. "Surprised, my love?"

"I..." she stammers, trying to collect her composure. Words escape her, unable to find a single thing she could say that would be nearly adequate.

He is dressed in robes seemingly cut of the night sky itself, constructed out of a dark, midnight blue fabric that shimmers beneath the magelights. Upon his brow, he wears a crown constructed of ivory-white antlers. "I missed you," he murmurs against her throat, backing her up against a nearby column. "Where did you disappear to, hm? These affairs are so dreadfully boring without you by my side."

There's something different about him. The aura that normally shrouds him is different now, and it is like she is seeing him through a shimmering vein of water that distorts his image. His skin is beyond radiant, bordering on glowing, and his teeth are a little too white, a little too sharp. The colour of his hair shifts, like oil on dark water, with every movement.

She presses a hand to her eye as her head begins to throb in a pain so fierce it leaves her knees weak. "Where are we?" she manages to mumble between gritted teeth. "I don't..."

Elias cups the side of her face. "My love? Are you ill?"

You're as cold as ice, she thinks, dizzy and faint. Why does looking at you hurt?

She is distantly aware of Elias escorting her to a settee beneath a window. She does not recognise the landscape that stretches out below them. Towers of a pale white-yellow stone reach into the sky, all sharp angles and impossible arches seemingly supported by the air alone.

This isn't how it happened.

The thought strikes her suddenly, though she does not know whence it came.

Anya turns to look at Elias, the pain behind her eyes emerging once again. She clenches her jaw so tight she fears she might shatter her teeth from the force. Who are you, really? sits on her tongue, but no matter how she tries, they will not escape her lips. Instead, not entirely of her own volition she says, "I had just started to miss you."

Her voice is... not her own. It's colder, prouder, and it carries with it a level of certainty she'd only seen in Lady Cara. It is full of pure, unadulterated power—knowledge that she is untouchable and bows to no one.

"Mm, I imagine," Elias hums, brushing a lock of hair away from her face. "I shall never be free of them. They follow after me like lost children."

She does not of whom he speaks, but she nevertheless finds herself nodding in sympathy. "You are ever so popular," Anya says, laughing in a way that is not entirely her own. She does not know where the words come from, only that she cannot stop herself from saying them. "How do you even have time to spare for little old me, hm?"