The Elven Healer's Apprentice (Elves of Eldarlan Book 4) Medieval Fantasy Romance by Elisa Rae ➱ Book Tour with Rafflecopter
The Elven Healer's Apprentice
Elves of Eldarlan Book 4
by Elisa Rae
Genre: Medieval Fantasy Romance
Merlon,
the king of Eldarlan’s healer, hides his soft heart beneath a
prickly exterior. Despite a traumatic childhood, he strives to excel
as a healer and an elf. But he gets more than he bargained for when
he rescues a human woman from certain death right before being snared
in the curse put on the king of Eldarlan.
Left to fend for
herself in an absent elf healer’s compound, Adela tries to be
useful. The patients call her the healer’s apprentice. Something
the healer rejects when he finally returns. Despite his grumpy
manner, the healer displays a strange mixture of kindness and care.
Intrigued, Adela suspects the healer hides more than he reveals.
The
Elven Healer’s Apprentice is
a light, fantasy romance novella about a romance between an elven
healer and a human woman. It features a grumpy sunshine romance where
opposites attract when they encounter forced proximity and jeopardy.
**Don't miss the other books in the series!**
The Elven Spymaster's Thief
Elves of Eldarlan Book 1
The Shadow Elf's Rescuer
Elves of Eldarlan Book 2
The Elf King's Sacrifice
Elves of Eldarlan Book 3
The Elven Healer’s Apprentice – Excerpts
#1
Adela
“Where am I to go?” I asked Sage as I brushed her velvety side.
Blinding white, sixteen hands high, and powerful, Sage’s heritage as a unicorn was only evident by the nub in the center of her forehead that had once been a long, elegantly lethal horn. I had never seen her in all her glory.
According to Lippin, a unicorn hunter had driven her to the ground, bound her, and sawed off her horn when she was only a colt. Only the master healer’s intervention had saved her from being harvested for her other parts. Since then, she had lived in the compound, cared for and fed.
When I came, one of my first duties was to deal with the unicorn because she didn’t like males. Not a surprise, considering her past. Not all males were an issue. I had been told she tolerated the master healer.
I rested my forehead against her warm hide, breathing in the scent of warm, clean horse. “If he throws me out, I have nowhere to live. Father still wishes me violence. I don’t want to go back there. Henri is dead.” A fresh wave of grief pressed in on me. I hadn’t been able to save him. Never to hold him again, ruffle his hair, laugh at his teasing, or chase him around the bailey. Tears filled my eyes. I missed my brother so much.
Sage’s nose bumped my shoulder. She snuffled at my kirtle sleeve.
“Just give me a moment,” I told her.
She snorted and side-stepped away from me.
“What?” I lifted my head and blinked at her. Unicorns differed from horses in more than appearance. Intelligent and intuitive, they understood far more than their less magical cousins. Sage wheeled around so her whole body blocked my view of the stable doorway.
“I can still see her, Sage,” a male voice said. The healer entered the stable and came around the side so he could address me, but he remained with his back to the outside wall and his face and torso in the shadows. “I see Sage has imprinted on you.”
Sage huffed and tossed her head at him before nuzzling my hair as I came around to better see the healer.
“She seems to like me,” I agreed.
He chuckled, low and deep. “She is protecting you from me. See how she is trying to position herself between us?”
Sage bumped my shoulder with her nose, trying to nudge me to step back out of sight. I stood firm. She huffed and stamped her foot, which I ignored.
“I won’t hurt her,” the healer told Sage, who swung her head toward him and showed her teeth. “Honest.” He offered her his hand. Sage only eyed him and shifted closer to me. “I owe her an apology.”
I stiffened in surprise. Men didn’t apologize. At least in my experience, they didn’t. “Apology for what?”
Sage grew still beside me, as though listening.
“For my words back at the clinic. I spoke without properly assessing the situation and accused you of things that clearly weren’t true. I am sorry.”
I blinked and peered into the shadows where his features hid. Did he jest? Was this a ploy to make me appear foolish? “Step into the light, please.”
“A distrusting creature, aren’t you?” he asked. The healer stepped forward, so the sunlight fell over his features.
“With good reason,” I replied.
He was tall, but all elves were. Lean-featured with the changeable silver-blue eyes of his species, he made a striking impression even before one accounted for his pure white hair. Wild and gleaming silver in the light, his hair stood out from his head in a disarray of curls as though he had run his fingers through it a few times. He arched a silvery-gray brow at me when my gaze fell to his face. “So, you can tell if I am honest if you see my face when I am speaking? That must be a useful skill. You realize I am an elf. Lying makes us ill.”
“But you are capable of it,” I pointed out.
He met my assessment openly, eyes flashing silver. “True. By omission or half-truths, but never outright lies.” He tilted his head slightly. “And you? Are you honest?”
“I told you the truth.”
“You did,” he admitted.
We stood there, studying each other in silence for a few moments. His stance remained relaxed, as though we were friends chatting about the weather. I wondered what he saw in me.
“Are you going to throw me out?” I asked suddenly.
“Depends.”
“On what?”
“Whether or not you want to go.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “This compound is a haven, a place of healing. If you wish to remain, you are welcome. If you wish to go, you are free to do so.”
“I wish to stay.” I loved tending the animals, helping Sina with the housework, nursing patients. “Will you allow me to help with the patients?”
“That depends.”
I opened my mouth to ask for clarification, but I found him watching me expectantly, as though he knew exactly what I was going to say. I pressed my lips together and lifted my eyebrows instead.
#2
Merlon
With a few words of Elvish, the magic in the room focused, swirling in gentle eddies. As the manufactured breeze urged the ground herb to consolidate, I turned my attention to the glass, which took more care.
“Why not use a broom?” she asked, distracting me. “A matter of moments, and I could scoop it from the floor and carry it out to the burn pile.”
“Not with those hands. They are going to require care for at least a day.”
“A day? Surely more.”
I glanced over at her to find her sadly regarding her torn-up palms. Even from where I stood, I noted the raw flesh, angry from the abuse it had received. The glass needed to be plucked out before I healed her.
A shard of glass fell to the floor, recalling me to my current task.
“No, be still. I need to concentrate,” I admonished more gruffly than I intended.
I couldn’t afford this delay. My clinic was in shambles, Lippin nowhere to be found, and my stores of herbs were sorely lacking. So much work lay ahead before I could even consider the effort of setting up my experiments again. She was a dangerous distraction.
Still, my hand tingled where it had touched her. I never had that kind of reaction to physical contact before. It was as if my senses had intensified. Yaron’s bitter taste had completely overwhelmed my mouth and nose. The experience had startled me. Instead of being repulsed, I was curious. So many questions came to mind. Ignoring her would take far more discipline than I wished, but I had to focus on the pressing matters of my supplies first.
I made quick work of the mess while she remained blessedly quiet. Then I took the yaron powder outside before incinerating it and dispelling the resulting smoke. Considering the strength of her reaction, the smoke would most likely set her off again.
After a few deep lungfuls of fresh air, I closed my eyes and soaked in the sun for a moment.
A soft cry of pain interrupted my moment of quiet. I turned my head to listen. A tiny feminine sob confirmed my initial assessment. She was digging the glass out herself.
“What do you think you are doing?” Bursting through the still room door, I angrily stormed across the room and plucked the tweezers from her shaking fingers. She regarded me with wide-eyed apprehension. Despite a twinge of regret, I glared at her. “I told you to wait.”
“But…” She sucked in a shaky breath before meeting my fury with a façade of bravery. Fear and pain mingled in her jade eyes, shaming me for my anger. Tears glistened behind her lashes. “I am capable of—”
I grabbed her left hand, the one she had been working on, and turned it palm up. Ignoring the acute sense of belonging that came over me when I touched her, I assessed the damage with clinical objectivity. About thirty shards of glass were embedded in the soft skin of her palm, and the tighter skin over her fingers was covered in tiny cuts. Thankfully, none of them appeared deep.
“Other hand,” I demanded.
She extended it, fingers trembling. “It isn’t as bad.”
“It wasn’t until you tried to use it,” I snapped as I pressed on the skin around the deepest and largest shard, pulling the flesh back from the glass. Her breath hitched with pain, but she made no other sound.
“Sorry, but this is going to hurt,” I muttered. Part of me wanted to shake her. The potential for her to do serious damage to her hands was so high. Irritation flared, compromising my professional objectivity. It was impossible to ignore her pain. Slapping a strong numbing spell on her hands, I picked up the tweezers and set to work, ignoring the distracting desire to comfort her.
A reader of fairytales and folklore, Elisa Rae loves a happy ending. Noblebright characters, dastardly villains, and chemistry between characters delight her. When she isn’t writing, she loves to watch superhero movies and literary dramas.
Elisa Rae is the pen name of Rachel Rossano.
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