White Stag (PERMAFROST #1)

Chapter One: Masquerade

AN: Hi guys! I did a little bit of editing on this chapter! Nothing major so you shouldn't  be confused, I just thought I'd let y'all know!

Chapter One:

Masquerade

The first thing I learned as a hunter was how to hide. There was a skill in disappearing in the trees like the wind and merging into the river like stones, masquerading yourself as something you weren't was what kept you alive in the end. Most humans didn't think the masquerade was as important as the kill and most humans ended up paying for it with their lifeblood.

Here, as the only mortal in a hall of monsters, I was very glad that I was not most humans.

I kept my steps silent and back straight as I passed beneath the white marble pillars. My eyes flickered around me every so often, counting hallways, retracing my steps so I could escape in a moment's notice. The Erlking's palace was treacherous, full of twists and turns, stairways that led into nowhere, and places where the hallways dropped to gaping chasms. According to Soren, there were also hollow spaces in the walls where one could slink around unnoticed to the mundane and monstrous eye but hear and see all that went on in the open world. The lair of a King, my thoughts turned bitter. I dared not say it out loud in case someone was watching. But beside me, Soren sensed my contempt and made a sound deep in his throat. It could've been in agreement.

From beside me, Soren examined his king's palace with the usual contempt; cold, biting, calculating eyes that took in everything and betrayed nothing. His lips turned down in a frown that seemed almost etched permanently into his face; sometimes I forgot he was capable of other expressions. He didn't even smile when he was killing things; as far as goblins went that was a symptom of chronic depression. He lifted his bored gaze at the gurgling, choking sound coming from his right and it took all my willpower not to follow his gaze. When I felt the subtle whoosh of power transfer from one body to the next, my fingers twitched to where I slung my bow only to remember too late that it was left at the entrance to the keep to coincide with ancient tradition.

A scream echoed off the cavernous halls as we made our way to the great hall were everyone gathered. It sent chills down my spine with its shrillness before it was abruptly cut off. Somehow, that made me shiver even more. Ancient tradition and custom aside, nothing could stop a goblin from killing you if that was what they desired. My hand reached for my nonexistent bow again only to be captured by cold, pale fingers.

Soren's upper lip was curled but his voice was low and steady. "The next time you reach for a weapon that isn't there might be the last time you have hands to reach with."

I yanked myself away from his grip and suppressed the urge to wipe my hand on my tunic like a child wiping away cooties. "Don't look so excited, someone might get the wrong idea."

He raised a fine, white eyebrow at me. "I don't look excited. I'm scowling."

I bit back a sigh. "It's sarcasm."

"I've told you before, I don't understand it," he said.

"None of your kind understand it," I said. "In another hundred years I'm going to lose my understanding completely."

Another hundred years. It hadn't hit me yet, not until I said it out loud. Another hundred years. It had been a hundred years since my village was slaughtered, a hundred years since I'd become a plaything, then a slave, a hundred years in Soren's service. Well, ninety-nine years and eight months, anyway, but who's counting? The scars on my chest ached and the hollow spot where my right breast should have been burned. The four months where I'd belonged to another were not something I liked to think about. I swallowed as my throat went dry. But Soren isn't Lydian.