The Light of Elysium

54 - Dark games

Elissa's PoV

The softest velvet I've ever encountered flows over my body and trails behind me; a dark blood red colour. Morpheus sent me the dress to wear for dinner and I have to begrudgingly admit that he does have excellent taste.

My heart flutters like a caged bird and each step towards the high table feels like a step closer to a date with the devil. When I reach the dais, Morpheus is there waiting. I accept his outstretched hand and drop a deferential curtsy. "My king."

He steers me towards Nero, who is stood with his back to us, engaged in conversation with my cousin. Good. They can have each other.

Luck is not on my side for Nero turns to face us. His gaze slides appreciatively over my body leaving me feeling sullied.

Morpheus gestures to Nero. "I believe you are already acquainted with Lord Nero."

I have to bite back a sharp retort and glance up at the king; a smile is playing upon his lips as if he is amused by my rancour. My mood is not improved when I'm placed between the two of them at dinner.

Almost as soon as they we seated, Nero places a hand over mine. "You are wearing my favourite colour."

What I'd like to do is stab the offending hand with a fork, instead I have to compromise by glaring at it. When he does not get the hint, I pull my hand free and ignore him.

"My princess, I would be most honoured if you would visit me at Castle Corinth."

Hell would have to freeze over before I could be induced to return to that place. I turn my head stiffly towards him and my voice is devoid of any warmth. "I'm afraid I find your hospitality somewhat lacking."

"Next time I will offer up my bed to you." His expression leaves no doubt as to his intent.

I almost gag. The thought is certainly enough to ruin my already poor appetite. To make matters worse, tendrils of Nero's power reach out, moving insidiously against me. It causes my own power to shift, unsettled like a caged beast.

When a hand lands on my knee, I glare at Nero only to find that both of his hands are cradled around his glass. I look to Morpheus for an explanation and there is something unreadable in his silver gaze. Is this some twisted attempt to psych me out?

He begins to converse with Nero without removing his hand; the weight of it is heavy and hard to ignore. I'm in a quandary because I don't want to make a scene. I reach for my glass and take a cautious sip because elven wine is heady stuff. I recall the time I visited Darish's home and apparently ending up in the canopy of a tree. Tonight however, my nerves need bolstering.

Decisively I slip my hand under the table, lift Morpheus's hand and deposit it on his own leg. His response is too quick and somehow I find my hand upon his thigh, trapped under his hand.

He continues his conversation with Nero as if nothing is amiss, and if that wasn't uncomfortable enough adds his own power to the mix. The combined pressure from both of them grows palpable, constricting even, to the point of being unbearable. Is this some bloody test? I do not care for elven mind games.

My power responds, rising up and lashing out in an angry wave. The glassware on the table shatters, the candles flare with foot-high flames and several elves audibly wince in pain. The pressure on me reduces and I can breathe easier again, however my hand is still stuck. Conceding, I lean toward Morpheus and whisper, "Please release me."

Bringing my captive hand to his lips, he kisses it. "As you wish, my princess."

From his smile, I'm not sure that whatever game is afoot has not just moved into more dangerous territory.