Chapter 29: Table Manners Are Overrated Anyway

It had been a few hours since we’d been shown to our chambers. Everyone had dropped their things like they were planning to stay the night. Everyone except me, of course—I left only the bare minimum. Serine noticed, of course she did. She always noticed. But she didn’t say a word. Smart girl. She knew better than to ask questions when the answers would just make her sleep worse.

By the time night fell, Elyndor was waiting in the grand dining hall. It wasn’t crowded—just a handful of tall, elegant elves who managed to make “looking down on us” into a competitive sport. Every gaze followed as we entered, their noses tilted so high I half expected one of them to trip over their own chin.

Aelith, glowing as always, escorted us in. A pageboy cleared his throat, puffed his chest, and announced us like we were royalty, which earned exactly zero applause.

And then there was Elyndor. The same timid, chatty carpenter who once looked ready to kiss my boots after Cinabar… had apparently swallowed a wardrobe and exploded into sequins. He stood at the head of the table in absurdly gaudy robes, all velvet and jewels, like a magpie had vomited on him. Raising his goblet, he proclaimed with all the gravity of a bad actor:

“Here she is—Rissa, the great mage who saved my reputation and the honor of all elves in Cinabar! To her!”

He drank. The elves pretended to drink. Aelith smiled and lifted her cup in my honor.

I smiled too, raised mine politely, and—shock of all shocks—did not drink.

Serine’s eyes flicked to me immediately. Cassian’s followed. Oh, they knew. If I wasn’t drinking, something was up. But bless them both, neither said a word.

We were seated near Elyndor’s ridiculous throne-chair, Aelith at my side, pouring wine like some devoted attendant. The hours stretched. Elyndor babbled about politics and woodcraft in alternating breaths. Serine and Cassian grew stiffer by the minute. And me? I leaned back, played the part of the merry drunk, and made Aelith my favorite victim.

Every time she filled my goblet, I made sure the wine went elsewhere—a servant’s tray, another cup, the table. Serine noticed. Cassian noticed. No one else did. And so I upped the act, letting my laughter ring too loud, my gestures grow loose, my flirting spill out like honey.

“Aelith, darling,” I said, resting my chin in my hand, “do you know you’re wasted pouring wine? You should be writing sonnets, inspiring ballads, toppling kingdoms with that smile.”

She laughed softly, shaking her head. “And you aren’t lovesick yourself?”

“Oh, sunshine,” I sighed theatrically, “I’m terminal.”

Cassian nearly choked on his bread. Serine’s fork clattered against her plate. I didn’t miss a beat.

Aelith leaned closer, teasing. “If this is your charm when drunk, I can’t imagine how unbearable you must be sober.”

“Seven times worse,” I promised, fluttering my lashes. “And if you don’t believe me, I’ll compose terrible poetry on the spot. Truly awful stuff.”

“I’d love that,” she whispered back. “Terrible poetry is my favorite kind.”

I kept up my little drunk act, slurring, giggling, swaying in my chair, while my eyes never left Serine and Cassian.

Minutes bled into hours. The air in the hall grew heavy, thick with incense smoke that clung to the throat. Elven flutes and harps shrilled louder, until the melodies turned from sweet to almost suffocating. And the longer I looked at Aelith, the prettier she seemed—radiant, like some gilded idol they’d placed at my side to distract me.

The showtime bell rang in my head.

“Aelith,” I murmured, leaning against her shoulder, hiccuping for effect, “what do you say you and I—hic—slip away somewhere before I die of boredom?” I raised my goblet and let the red wine slosh dangerously close to her gown.

Her lips curved, still playful. “Of course, Lady Rissa. The balcony, perhaps? A little fresh air?”

Perfect.

I let her half-carry me out of the chair, draping myself over her like the drunk fool she thought I was. Over her shoulder, I shot Cassian a look. He caught it—steady, watchful. He was ready.

But Elyndor’s voice cut across the hall like a blade of glass.

“CATCH HER!”

Too late, sunshine.

I moved faster than the order left his lips. One twist, one brutal lock, and Aelith was on the floor, gasping against my arm where it crushed her throat, her elbows bound by my grip. The golden princess of this little woodland circus, brought down in a single breath.

Chairs toppled, goblets shattered. Spears, bows, and staffs came up as if we’d rehearsed this panic a thousand times.

I didn’t raise my voice. I didn’t need to.

“Elyndor,” I said, calm as ice. “I couldn’t care less about your little blonde jewel here. Truly, I don’t even know why I grabbed her—maybe because she’s soft, maybe because she’s beautiful. Or maybe just because it annoyed me that you thought you had the upper hand. But don’t you dare think she’s what’s keeping me from leveling this entire palace.”

The storm inside me answered, raw and alive. Magic thickened around my skin, snapping like a storm tether barely held back. The elves felt it—every one of their pointed ears twitched, their pupils shrinking to pinpricks. They knew. The forest itself hummed with me.

More soldiers flooded into the hall, their boots clattering against marble and wood alike. Not elven guards this time—no, these carried the insignia I knew too well.

The Holy Order.

And at their head, the pint-sized nightmare herself: Myrrin.

I didn’t even need her to speak; I could feel her presence prickling against my skin, a blade honed sharp and humming for blood.

“Oh, Myrrin,” I purred, tightening my grip until Aelith’s feet scrabbled weakly against the polished floor. Her breath came in choked gasps, her eyes rolling as she fought for air. “What a delightful surprise. Forgive me for not bowing this time—it’s just, my hands are a little full. But hey, when you’re ready, we can always reprise that almost-pornographic alleyway scene we shared. I still get the occasional wet dream about it.”

The insult cracked like a whip through the hall. Elves stiffened. The Order soldiers shifted, their discipline tested by the weight of my words. And Myrrin… ah, her jaw tightened, her hand drifting toward the blade at her hip, every inch of her body radiating that lethal, coiled fury.

I pressed harder. Aelith’s throat collapsed under the strain of my arm, her lips parting in a strangled wheeze. Another heartbeat, maybe two, and she’d pass out completely.

“Two months of humiliations,” she snarled, eyes wild with obsession. “But now… I finally have you.”

She lunged like a coiled viper—but Elyndor’s sharp command cut through the tension.

“No! This isn’t the deal! No casualties! She has the heir!”

Ah, I thought, naturally. The universe loves me. That gorgeous, barely-conscious elf in my arms had played a game way too dangerous, and now the results were my kind of fun. My darker, chaotic side lit up like a bonfire.

I tightened my grip on Aelith just enough to make her squirm but not fall. “Oh, Elyndor,” I purred, voice all honey and knives, “you’ve made deals with fanatics. I won’t judge. I’d have sold my own grandmother for half these odds. Convenient, isn’t it?”

I could feel it—every nerve, every hair on my arms charged and buzzing. The energy I’d been building for what felt like an eternity was finally ready. My fingers tingled, my stomach clenched, and yes, the delicious, chaotic thrill of impending chaos made my grin stretch wider than any human should manage.

I lifted the arm that had been wrapped around Aelith’s neck, letting her finally draw a shaky, grateful breath. “There,” I murmured, voice almost sweet. “See? I can be nice… when I feel like it.”

Then, with a flick of my wrist, I pointed toward Cassian and Serine. Serine’s eyes widened in that I know exactly what you’re planning way—but it didn’t matter. My focus was absolute. With a shimmer of light and a pulse of raw magic, I teleported them both out of the room in an instant.

The dining hall fell silent. Not really silent—more like a tense, rattled stillness. Dozens of elves and Holy Order agents stared at me, eyes wide, weapons poised, hearts clearly racing under perfectly disciplined chests. And there I was. Alone.

Aelith, still half-recovering from my grip, crouched slightly, eyes wide with a mixture of awe and fear. I could almost hear her thinking: What the hell is she?

I rested my hand lightly back on her shoulder, not threatening her this time—well, not too threatening—and tilted my head at the soldiers. “Look at me, little cherubs. I’m bored, I’m very, very dangerous, and you are all so… predictable. Truly, I had hoped for a little more entertainment tonight.”

A shimmer of my aura pulsed through the room, enough to make the polished marble floors quake and the carved wooden panels groan. They could feel it—the subtle, insidious pressure of a nature magic so raw it made even the most disciplined elves hesitate.

“You’re all thinking the same thing,” I said softly, letting the words drift like smoke through the hall. “She can’t possibly—” Oh, yes I can. “She’s just one girl—” Not just. “She wouldn’t dare—” Dare? Oh, I dare, dears.

I leaned down slightly, whispering in Aelith’s ear, just loud enough for her to hear: “Relax, sunshine. This is the fun part. Everyone gets scared, I get to play, and you… well, you just look pretty while I do it. That’s your role tonight.”

Her lips twitched, almost a smile. Good. She was playing along. Perfect.

I straightened, letting my power simmer, just at the edge of combustion. “Now, darlings,” I called to the elves and fanatics, voice calm and mocking all at once, “if anyone moves, thinks, or blinks the wrong way… let’s just say it will not end well for you.”

And with that, the room froze. Every weapon stayed mid-air. Every heart skipped a beat. I was the storm in their midst, and they knew it.