Sylvester didn't care much about the Elder Council of the Elves. As long as King Rathagun was with him, he knew he could move on with the plan slowly and bring peace between their species.
He wanted to showcase his majesty before them and earn their awe and curiosity. That was the only way to earn respect from beings who were likely millennia-old, if not older. At just twenty-six, he knew his strength was the only thing that would earn him respect—but he chose not to use it due to the risks.
He sensed the scent of admiration and surprise from the crowd of elves around him. It was precisely what he wanted. He shook King Rathagun's hand without reservation.
But as always, someone had to ruin the mood. An elf came, looking slightly older and more mature than Rathagun. However, when he spoke, that maturity seemed superficial. He had blond hair and was handsome, yet his mouth was equally repulsive.
