FROST
Chapter 101: Elven Economies and Demoness Discounts

Chapter 101: Elven Economies and Demoness Discounts

The arrows finally stopped. For a moment, the woods fell into an uneasy silence, save for the sound of Caspian’s labored breathing and Seravine’s muffled whimpers—more from the emotional damage of nearly losing her favorite cloak than the actual battle.

Caspian lowered the glowing purple shield. The ancient sigils pulsed faintly before fading back into his skin like whispers returning to slumber.

"I think that’s it," he murmured, scanning the dense mist.

"You think?" Seravine hissed, peeling herself off his back where she’d practically latched like a panicked squirrel. "I’m too pretty to die this young. I haven’t even published my memoirs!"

"Please," Caspian muttered. "We all know you’d title it Touched by Royalty."

Before she could snap back, the mist ahead twisted, then parted—not like a breeze, but as if obeying a will of its own. From its folds emerged tall, slender silhouettes. Mist Elves, at last.

They were draped in gossamer armor, almost translucent in design, and each held a long, crystal bow curved like ancient calligraphy. Their skin shimmered faintly beneath the moonlight, dusted with silver specks that moved like drifting stars.

But all of them bowed slightly as the last figure stepped through.

He walked slowly, gracefully, like the wind had given him its rhythm and the mist had lent him its poise. His robe—crimson, adorned with golden threadwork shaped like falling leaves—fluttered around his ankles. His crimson hair was short, tousled, the color of fresh blood in sunlight. His eyes, glowing with an arresting crimson hue, locked instantly on Caspian.

The world paused.

"Ah! King Caspian. I thought I heard your voice," the elf said. His voice was melodic, a blend of velvet and steel, and each word floated like a note on a harp. "So it is true... the wind whispered your return, looking for a demon and a gem."

Seravine blinked, then leaned closer to Caspian and whispered, "Wait... you know this snack—uh, elf?"

Caspian’s shoulders tensed. "Sylvestes," he said under his breath, "He was a boy then. I never thought I’d see him again," his eyes narrowed. "And you knew it was I and yet you still decided to shower us your holy arrows?"

Estes took a step forward, shrugging. "Meh!" His eyes never leaving Caspian’s. "That’s what you get for promising you would return when the moon cried crimson. Where were you then? I waited for thirty-six years, you son of a—" Estes immediately pressed his fingers against his lips to stop himself from unleashing unholy words.

"Yeah, I say a lot of things," Caspian muttered awkwardly, scratching the back of his head.

Estes frowned, but there was something soft in the crease of his brows. "You also told me I was too young to follow you."

Seravine’s eyes widened. She looked between the two, then gave a quiet gasp.

"Ohhh my gods. You two had a thing."

Caspian groaned. Estes smiled.

"It was not a thing. It was a vow of longing wrapped in silence," Estes said poetically, then tilted his head. "Also, you look cold. Did your companion steal your cloak?"

"She did," Caspian replied dryly.

"She needed it for skin reasons," Seravine said defensively, adjusting the cloak like it was royal silk.

Estes chuckled—soft, golden. "Well then, I suppose the forest is warmer now with your return." He turned and gestured to his warriors. "Let them pass."

"But he’s royalty," one of the elves protested. "And she’s... suspicious."

"I’m right here," Seravine said.

Estes raised a hand, silencing them all. "He is a King, yes, but more than that—he’s part of this story still unwritten."

His gaze flicked to Caspian’s abs, then back to his eyes. "And besides, some tales are worth risking for."

Caspian cleared his throat. "Let’s just say I’m here for the gem and not the poetry."

Estes smiled again, this time with something unreadable behind his eyes. "And yet, poetry always finds you, King Caspian."

Seravine smacked Caspian’s arm and hissed, "If you don’t marry him, I will."

"For the last time," Caspian groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I’m married. With five sons. And a mortgage."

"And still hot as fu—" Caspian promptly slapped a finger over her mouth like he was silencing a bomb.

He sighed in relief, thinking he’d finally muted her. But then—slurp.

Caspian recoiled in horror. "Did you just—"

"Mmhm," Seravine grinned, lips still suspiciously shiny.

With the face of a man who’d just seen his dignity walk out the door, Caspian wiped his finger on the only available surface: the tiny scrap of fabric Seravine had the audacity to call a top.

She didn’t flinch. "I was saving that spot for glitter."

"We better go, Your Highness. My brother will be here in a while. You, two, might write another ridiculous history," Estes turned, his crimson robe catching the still air like flame suspended in time. "Follow me. The path you were heading on earlier leads to the most dangerous part of this forest. The King Asmaros might find and you know..."

Seravine suddenly elbowed Caspian’s ribs. "You had a thing with King Asmaros, too?" She grimaced.

Caspian rolled his eyes. "For the last time, woman!" Then he whispered. "Asmaros is my rival. That’s what he said. So everytime he sees me, he just jumps on me and bam! History!"

Seravine grimaced. "Right... You sure nothing to do with something though?"

"Or should I crack your skull open?"

"Please don’t," she grinned.

As they stepped forward, the trees themselves seemed to part, creaking faintly as if bowing to their guest. The mist no longer obscured but danced, curling around their legs like watchful spirits.

Estes looked at the other elves and nodded, signaling them to stay behind, before walking away.

"I didn’t expect the forest would react even to your defensive magic," Estes murmured, eyes forward.

Caspian frowned. "You noticed."

"Of course," Estes replied. "The mist listens. The ground speaks. The forest has not forgotten your presence—not after what happened last time."

Seravine, still gripping the edge of Caspian’s cloak like a child on a school trip, whispered, "Last time? What did you do last time? It’s not your first time here?"

"First time," Caspian muttered. "But something happened in the past."

"That clears it up, thanks."

As they walked, the surroundings subtly shifted. Trees twisted into impossible shapes—some with leaves that shimmered in hues not seen in mortal lands, others bearing glowing fruit that pulsed in rhythm with their footsteps. Strange stone markers lined the path, each engraved with ancient elvish runes that flickered briefly as Caspian passed, recognizing his blood.

"You’ve crossed into the Veiled Tangle," Estes said, pausing by one such marker. "This part of the forest exists between moments. A fragment suspended beyond time."

Caspian narrowed his eyes. "I thought that was just a myth."

Estes touched the rune stone gently, and it responded with a hum. "Like you, myths often return when least expected."

Seravine tilted her head. "So... if this place is beyond time, can I go back to before I gave up my cloak?"

"No," Caspian and Estes said at once.

They pressed on, until they came upon a clearing—still, silent, untouched by wind or sound. At its center stood an ancient tree, black as obsidian, its bark webbed with glowing crimson veins that pulsed like a heartbeat.

Seravine froze. "What in all hells is that?"

Estes looked back at Caspian. "That... is the Grave Tree of Yll’ithen. The scar left behind when a rift between realms tore open. It’s where Yami was last seen. And if you are here for the Scarlet Gem..."

Caspian stepped forward, eyes narrowing. "It’s here?"

"No." Estes’ voice softened. "It’s beneath."

Beneath.

A sudden rumble echoed beneath their feet—deep, ancient, angry. The sigils on the bark began to glow brighter, resonating with the faint symbols that still shimmered on Caspian’s arm from his shield.

Estes lifted his hand, drawing a sigil midair with graceful, slender fingers, making Seravine gasp and swoon mid-delusion. It floated for a moment, then descended like a feather and melted into the tree’s roots. Slowly, the ground began to split, revealing a dark spiral staircase descending into red-lit fog.

Estes turned to Caspian, expression blank. "I didn’t really have to ask why you wanted to step down there and get yourself into trouble because I did hear what happened..."

Caspian sighed dramatically, shoulders sagging like a man burdened by both responsibility and sheer nonsense. "Of course you knew. And yet you still look up to me with such reverence—"

"And that’ll be $5,000," Estes cut in cheerfully, holding out one elegant hand like a waiter offering a bill. "Payable via gold, diamonds, enchanted Venmo, one working kidney, or good ol’ fashioned cash. Elven currency only, please—no human coins, they smell like regret."

Caspian blinked. "You don’t accept female succubi?"

Estes winced. "Meh. I’ve heard of this particular demoness." He waved vaguely toward Seravine. "She’s gorgeous, sure, but built like a decorative breadstick. In Elven culture, we only consort with women who can physically destroy us in battle. As she looks now, one punch from my grandmother and she’d be on a one-way trip to Hell’s recycling bin."

Seravine raised a finger, brow twitching in offense—but then she smiled sweetly. "Okay, but... is Satan at least hot?"

Estes didn’t miss a beat. "He’s a literal goat-beast, madam."

She nodded sagely. "Kinky—but I’ll stay with my Caspian, thank you very much."

"You don’t get to choose, woman," Caspian hissed through clenched teeth, glaring daggers without turning his head.

"Oh, come on," Seravine groaned, flinging one hand skyward like she was appealing to the heavens. "Your belt is made of gold. Your sword has diamonds. I cost nothing. I’m a clearance-rack concubine with a good heart and great hair. All I can offer is heavenly se—"

CLAAAANG!

Her poetic pitch was cut short when Caspian, red in the ears and in the temper, slammed his sword—glittering, gaudy, unnecessarily fabulous—down onto Estes’ outstretched hand with a divine fury. The impact reverberated through the air with the intensity of a divine gong, and Estes’ entire arm vibrated like a tuning fork during an earthquake.

"GHHHH—BY THE ELDER BLOOM!" Estes shrieked, flailing his limb and hopping in place. "You barbaric, over-accessorized jackal! This robe is handwoven!"

Caspian didn’t blink. "Your hand was being disrespectful."

"You nearly chopped off my elven manicure!" Estes wailed, waving his trembling hand for emphasis. "This polish is named ’Blood of My Ex.’ It’s imported!"

"And yet, your sense of survival is local and dying," Caspian muttered coldly.

Seravine, unfazed, popped a berry she found somewhere into her mouth. "Wow. The tension. The testosterone. I feel like I’m in a love triangle and I’m the prize pig."

"You’re not the prize," both men barked at once, only to immediately glance at each other with mutual loathing.

She grinned like the chaotic goddess she was. "That’s exactly what a prize would say."