Property of the Dark Elf (Dark Fae Masters of Protheka #1) Read Online Celeste King

Categories Genre: Fantasy/Sci-fi, Paranormal, Romance Tags Authors: Series: Dark Fae Masters of Protheka Series by Celeste King

Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 63650 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 318(@200wpm)___ 255(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)

My life is to be a toy for a Dark Elf. The only escape from the shame is death.
They are monsters.
Hypnotically beautiful, yet so evil.
I let Ryn lead me to his bed.
I gave him every part of me. He took it.
Then…dumped me on the cold stone floor like a piece of trash.
Used. Despoiled. Spent.
There is nothing left of me but a husk of a body.
The Dark Elf has taken it all.
Some human women would never recover.
Others would flee.
But not me.
Because as much as I try to deny him, every time I see him I become his.
I’ve given this monster everything.
Even my heart.
Now it’s time to hope that he claims it.


The World of Protheka



I never knew exile could be achieved in such style.

Our ship has to be one of the grandest in all of Oshta, with a spiraling banister, carefully carved out of a rare dark wood from the south. It has a towering mast of the same design, with a wooden dragon crawling up the base, its golden claws digging into the grain.

When the wind billows through its sail, it reveals a stitched black dragon on a red backdrop with its mouth open, rearing to bite or breathe fire, it’s hard to tell. But there’s much to wonder at on the Flying Drakis.

Prince Valerin admires none of it, limping hard down the grand staircase to the lower level and slamming the door to the royal suite shut behind himself, leaving the rest of us to linger in the hall.

I glance at Graxis, who offers an ineffectual shrug.

Knocking won’t do much good right now. When my friend gets this way, I’ve learned to give him space, but not too much space or he begins to brood. I press my hand to the door and lean in. “The captain said dinner will be served at five.”

Silence greets me.

There’s no point in trying to convince him to do something he doesn’t want. I learned that lesson when we were children, playing in the royal gardens of Orthani, and I’m not going to let his sour mood dampen the adventure ahead of us.

The journey from Vhoig to Ter is a perilous one.

And I can’t wait for it to begin.

“Let’s go above deck so we can watch her set sail,” I tell the others, leading the way. We’ve all given up our lives in Oshta for Valerin, whether or not he cares. But he’s suffered a great personal loss, and I can’t fault him for being vacant.

He’ll return to his old ways soon. I have to know that.

Zagfer ushers us to the upper decks with promises of hors d’oeuvres and refreshments. “It’s this way, milords.”

I catch Arro’s fleeting smirk.

We may be well dressed—for washed up exiles from Orthani—but not all of us are of noble descent. No one corrects him, not even the imposing Rhekar, who grips his spear in a thick fist and follows along.

“Give him time,” Graxis murmurs, keeping pace beside me. “He’ll come around eventually, and when he does, he’ll be drinking and laughing with us again.”

Kidri’s strong jaw works as he takes in Graxis’ words, but says nothing.

The zagfer present a table overflowing with abundance. Fresh fruit, cheeses and meats, an assortment of breads that I can hardly name. Vhoig in origin, their scent is bright and warm. Rhekar doesn’t hesitate, dropping hard into his seat and filling a plate.

My friends follow suit.

I’m still lingering when they settle, ale being poured gratuitously to satisfy their thirst. Arro notices that I haven’t moved and beckons me forward. “You must try some, Rhyn. Our friend has spared no expense.”

Our friend.

“Shouldn’t we wait for the P- for him?” I say, catching myself. There are Princes abound in Oshta, but this particular one prefers to maintain his anonymity. We all do, after Valerin’s failure in the ring.

“I doubt he’ll be out anytime soon,” Graxis responds, taking a long draught. “And anyway, we shouldn’t suffer ourselves. I didn’t agree to a fast.”

Rhekar lifts his own glass, mouth full as he speaks. “Nor I.”

I scoff and take the offered seat, glad when the zagfer make themselves scarce. I know better than to assume that they won’t be listening, so we have to keep our chatter—especially about Orthani—to a minimum. The crew and their captain have been paid handsomely, but that doesn’t mean we have their unwavering loyalty.

A stray rogue with enough coin might buy it out from under us, and we could find ourselves at the short end of a plank if the captain realizes who Valerin is. Let him remain scarce, then, and we’ll be glad to enjoy ourselves.

Ale is poured for me by Kidri’s sloppy hand.

Normally, he’s so collected, but I think the sudden change has unnerved him. He’s used to moving with other soldiers, not a motley crew of castaways.

“Careful,” I say, taking my mug back before he overfills it. “These are silks from Tlouz, you heathen.”