Day Eight and a Half
Dear Diary,
When we last left my life, I was about to fight Lazare, the Protector of the Summer Elves.
That doesn’t happen.
Instead, the back doors of the meeting hall swing open. Prince Darius marches into the room. Even from a distance, there’s no missing how the firm angles of his face are tight with rage. Dare wears his black body leathers and silver crown. A fur-trimmed cloak flows off his wide shoulders.
“Calla is under my protection,” calls Dare. “No magic touches her.”
If I had a gold coin for every time Dare announced this to the council, I’d be a rich pixie. Before, worry had been coiling inside me. Now that knot of anxiety loosens as a massive yelling match begins. This is familiar stuff. And, if I’m being honest, it’s also more than a little entertain
