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I jerked away from his hand, eyeing him with distrust.
“I’m not yours.”
“We’ll see about that.” His eyes flooded black until the whites were covered in darkness.
My heart pounded in my chest as I leaned back, feeling as if danger was lurking unseen around me like a predator in the night.
“What are you doing?” I demanded, scrambling up. “What magic are you casting?”
He blinked, his eyes flickering back to his usual dark bronze. “I wasn’t doing any magic.”
“Don’t lie to me. Your eyes changed color.”
“Ah.” He gave me an embarrassed shrug. “It’s a sign of powerful emotions. Svartál have eyes that switch colors when we are experiencing intense emotion. They only change when we are using our magic because it takes more mental fortitude to set an intention in stone or metal.”
He paused and stepped closer, his gaze steady on mine as if he was waiting for something.
“How does your magic work? What spells can you cast?” I asked, curious. It wasn’t like the Elves in the mines took a break from whipping us to explain the intricacies of their power.
“A secret for a secret. Tell me your name.” He said, throwing his arm over the sofa and settling in. For him, this was the middle of the day, though they’d woken early to take advantage of the sunlight to host their gladiator games. I’d been up for almost twenty-four hours and a yawn escaped me as I answered.
“Absolutely not.”
He grinned, apparently relishing the challenge.
“Fine. A secret for a favor.”
I raised a brow. “What kind of favor?”
“Not that. I’m not going to fuck you until you beg me to.”
“Never going to happen.”
“Then you have nothing to be afraid of.”
“I’m never scared.”
“Must be nice,” he muttered before going back to the subject. “What do you know about my kind?”
“That you’re colonizing assholes who stole our gods and immortality from us?”
“All true.” He agreed, grabbing a goblet of water. “We believed we were stronger than even the gods and we were right.”
I glared at him. “Prick.”
“Assuredly.” He took a sip. “My kind, the Svartál, isn’t the only kind of elf. Atar also made the Sálfar, our light cousins.”
“Where are they?” I asked, interested despite myself.
“Dead. Way before my time. Our history says there was a disagreement between us during the Godsfall and the Svartál killed them all. But not much else is known.”
“Not surprising.” I leaned further into the cushions. “What does that have to do with your magic?”
“Because after we turned on them, Atar cursed us and the Svartál couldn’t access the celestial metals anymore. Only the earthborn metals, like gold, silver, and the like, are within our reach now.”
Huh. It would explain why they couldn’t build massive monoliths like this castle anymore.
“What does gold do?”
