Chapter 37: The Great Elven Sauna Experiment

The air was damp and heavy with the perfume of moss and rain. I inhaled deeply, letting it fill my lungs. We were back in Liraen.

Behind me, I heard it: two sharp intakes of breath, followed by identical sighs of relief. Serine and Aelith, breathing in the forest like it was the sweetest wine. I glanced over my shoulder and smirked. Three months without fresh air had left them both soft and sentimental—one girl trapped in a fog-choked wasteland, the other an elf who hadn’t touched her own woods since leaving them. They looked like children stumbling home for winter holidays. Adorable. Distracting.

But I didn’t have the luxury of playing along. Not now. Not when time was pressing against my skin, whispering urgency through every bone in my body.

“Aelith,” I said, my voice edged with authority. Rare for me. I don’t like using it on my little adoptive family. But sometimes you need the crown, not the smile. “I am still the queen of the elves of Liraen, am I not?”

Her answer came swiftly, firmly. “Yes, my queen.”

“Good,” I said. “Then we enter the palace with some dignity this time. I intend to see our business finished quickly.”

The group nodded, even Serine, though she clutched Arkanthos’ skull to her chest like it was some oversized doll.

So we climbed the path toward the palace. Aelith led us with perfect poise, Splinterbutt lumbered behind her like a skeletal bodyguard, and Serine and I rode astride Cluckles—the monstrous skeletal chicken, still the best inside joke I’ve ever played on the world. Cassian took the rear, ever the brooding guardian, his stormy eyes scanning for threats that weren’t there.

It didn’t take long for the elven sentries to spot us. Trumpets blared, fanfares echoed through the trees. “Ah yes,” I muttered under my breath, “music to my inflated ego.”

The gates opened without resistance, the great arch of marble and wood welcoming me home with all the pomp and circumstance of a fairy tale. If only fairy tales mentioned the undead chicken, the skeletal commander, and the drunk necromancer queen who hated half the songs sung about her.

Three elves hurried out to meet us almost immediately.

Our little procession halted, all eyes flicking to me, waiting for the royal word. Naturally.

“Well, well. Hello, elves Extra One and Extra Two,” I said brightly, waving a hand in their direction. “Apologies, I don’t remember your names—and don’t bother telling me right now. Save it for later. Serine cares much more about political trivia than I ever will.” I tilted my head toward Serine behind me. Both elves managed to look simultaneously offended and thrilled that their queen had spoken to them at all. The duality of elfhood—tragic and hilarious.

My eyes slid past them to the figure hovering behind, gaze cast downward with studied disinterest. “Elyndor,” I called. “Finished my little assignment, have you?”

The half-elf’s eyes lit up, his composure crumbling as he rushed forward with uncharacteristic enthusiasm. “Yes, my Queen!” he said, almost glowing. “It was no simple task—we had to work day and night, gathering the finest mages of the realm to—”

“Yes, yes, I’m sure it was all very dramatic,” I cut him off with a flick of my wrist. “What matters is that it’s done. It is done, yes? Because we can’t waste another second. It needs to be tested. Now.”

Elf Extra One—ah yes, the advisor, that was his particular flavor of elf—spoke up smoothly. “Everything has been prepared, my Queen. We anticipated your arrival within the timeframe specified.”

“Perfect,” I said, smiling like a cat with feathers stuck to its whiskers. “Then let’s not waste any more time.”

And without further ceremony, we swept into the palace.

The royal reception hall was packed, elves crammed shoulder to shoulder, all wide-eyed and breathless at the glorious return of their queen. Honestly, the dramatics of it all could’ve fueled an opera.

In the center stood what I had asked for: a massive box, three—maybe four meters tall—bleeding magic from every seam like a wound that refused to close. Perfect.

The three elves halted before it, Elyndor stepping forward with a flourish that was probably rehearsed in a mirror. His voice wavered despite the act. “How would you like to test it, my Queen? Shall we set it aflame? You mentioned it must withstand extreme heat…” He trailed off, fear creeping into his words. He already dreaded seeing his precious creation shattered before my eyes.

“No.” My voice cut the air clean. “Everyone—move aside.”

The ones who traveled with me didn’t need a second invitation; they scattered back as far as the walls allowed. They’d seen me test things before, and nobody enjoyed being within blast radius.

The elves, of course, hadn’t a clue what was coming. They still clung to their silly notions of protocol, of pomp and reverence. Poor, naive things. They hadn’t yet learned that my version of “testing” rarely involved anything polite.

I began gathering energy into my palms. The air thickened, heat rolling off me in waves, until even the closest elves finally understood that yes—standing near me right now was a horrible idea. They scattered belatedly, eyes wide, robes dragging behind them.

And then there it was—the high-pitched squeak from Elyndor. The so-called “king” of the elves. I nearly laughed out loud. That man couldn’t lead a squirrel, let alone a kingdom.

I let the power swell inside me, enough heat and fire that I was fairly sure I could incinerate half the forest in seconds if I let it slip. And then, without ceremony, I hurled it into the open box. The flames roared to life, a tidal wave of energy bursting outward before collapsing in on itself, sealed inside the chamber.

Naturally, nobody rushed forward to close the lid. No one was that stupid.

So I strolled forward myself, completely calm, as the box glowed white-hot with my magic. The elves whispered, some screamed, all of them staring as though I were about to reduce myself to ash. Poor darlings. If they only knew how much power I still had left—if they truly understood—half of them would lose control of their bowels on the spot.

Without hesitation, I shut the lid.

The effect was instant. The heat vanished, the air cooled, and the hall returned to its gentle, wood-scented normalcy.

“Good box!” I announced, grinning and flashing a thumbs-up directly at Elyndor. He blinked like an owl caught in torchlight. I strode toward him, clapping him on the back with all the mock affection I could muster. “If it holds until nightfall, you’ll have outdone yourself, you half-baked elf.”

His face twitched. I didn’t care.

“Now—let’s drink!” I declared, throwing my arms wide. “I expect a feast worthy of your Queen. And lots of wine. Buckets of it.”

The hall erupted in cheers, applause, and whistling. They loved me. Or feared me. Same difference.