“She thinks you are a Hungarian count.”
He waved his hand. “We all have our flaws.”
“You can play your games with me,” I said. “But leave Käthe alone. She is not equipped to deal with you.”
“Oh, and you are?” The Goblin King leaned forward. I willed myself to stillness. “Do tell; I am intrigued.”
“The game is between you and me,” I repeated. “Leave my sister out of this. She’s innocent.”
His eyes darkened. “Is your sister truly innocent?”
“Yes.”
“A girl well acquainted with temptation, a girl with an inviting laugh, a fickle heart, and an adventurous soul,” he said in a low voice. “A girl given to self-indulgence, who reaches for the low-hanging, forbidden fruit and eats of it against the wisdom of her older sister—can such a girl truly be called innocent?”
I went rigid with rage. “It is not for you to judge.”
“But it is for you?” he returned. “Are you responsible for your sister’s virtue?”
“No,” I said. “But I will safeguard her good name.”
“Oh, Elisabeth.” The Goblin King shook his head. “When will you be selfish? When will you ever do anything for yourself?”
I was silent.
“You cannot leash yourself to your sister’s quim and whims.” All pretense of charm or chicanery were gone from the Goblin King. “Someday she must make her own choices. Without you. What will you do when there is no one left to take care of, no one left to look after? Is that when you will finally look after you?”
He had a way of attacking me with compassion. His unexpected kindness, more than his charm or beauty, was seductive. I disliked the truth in his words. And his pity. I did not want his pity.
The Goblin King sighed. “Käthe is part of the game. The pieces have been set in motion, and she is one of them.”
“You gave me the days of winter to escape the Underground.” I crossed my arms. “And you’ve gone and married my sister behind my back.”
That smug grin returned to his face. “You are jealous. Well, well, well; that bodes well for me.”
When I did not rise to his bait, he shook his head.
“No, Elisabeth, I have not married Käthe. The old laws are binding, and when I take a bride, it is forever. She may never set foot in the world above again. This pretty vision is a spell of her own making, a beautiful fantasy to bring her comfort. I have very little power, you know.”
I scoffed. “You are Der Erlkönig. You have all the power.”
The Goblin King lifted a brow. “If you think that, then you know less than I gave you credit for,” he said. “I am but a prisoner to my own crown.”
Does the crown serve the king or the king serve the crown?
“Why a bride?” I asked after a moment. “Why—why Käthe?”
Why not me? Why hadn’t he come for me?
It was a while before he answered. He ran his fingers over one of the figurines on one of the side tables in the corridor. It was a wood nymph, wide-hipped, buxom, earthy. He traced the curve of her waist, down the hillocks of her thighs, and back up the shape of her leg before resting on the nymph’s collarbones, where the line of her neck met her bosom.
“Shall I tell you a story?” he said at last. He released the nymph figurine and stared into one of the landscapes that hung in the corridor. “A story such as Constanze might have told you and your siblings when you were children.”
I held my breath.
“Once upon a time, there was a great king who lived underground.”
My grandmother’s fairy tales often began this way. I had always thought her stories were her own invention, but hearing the rhythm of the Goblin King’s words, I wondered where Constanze first had learned them.
“This king was the ruler of the dead and the living,” he continued. “He brought the world above to life every spring, and brought it back to death every autumn.”
The Goblin King stared at the landscape as the trees and living things blossomed and bloomed, growing green and bright before withering away.
“The seasons turned, one after another, and with time, the king grew old. Weary. Spring came later and later and autumn earlier and earlier, until one day, there was no spring at all. The world above had gone quiet, dead, and still, and the people suffered.”
The enchanted portrait returned to winter and snow. The seasons had stopped changing.
“One day, a brave maiden ventured into the Underground.” His eyes turned from the portrait back to me. “To beg the king to return the world above to life.”
“Brave?” I laughed, a thin, defiant bark of a laugh. “Not beautiful?”