A sealed scroll, bound with a glistening golden ribbon, rested upon the central worktable in my room. A royal wedding invitation.
Various emotions vied for precedence within my chest, each jostling to be the first to manifest. Eager anticipation wasn't one of them. Instead, it was a concoction of anxiety, resentment, and a creeping sense of panic that took center stage.
I suppose it's commonplace for an elf like me to feel diminished, relegated to the role of a mere pawn in the game orchestrated by superior beings. However, my body harbored objections.
How much longer would this persist? When might we witness a transformation in the system? How swiftly could this triangular dynamic shift? How rapidly could the apex of this triangle alter its position?
Regrettably, I was powerless!
Merely three days.
It took them a mere three days to finalize all the wedding arrangements, setting the date for tomorrow. Their haste was conspicuous, betraying their clandestine motives.
I knew what they were after. While I might have feigned ignorance and naivety before the royal court, my mind refused to conform to the façade I projected. My father had thoroughly trained us in the art of hunting, imparting lessons not just about survival, but about life's intricate workings and how to navigate them with astute reasoning.
True, I may be a low-ranked elf, but that in no way implied that my aspirations were confined to the echelons of the crowned elite.
I discerned their intentions. The king sought to lay claim to whatever remnants the queen might have bequeathed to me—an arcane artifact, an intangible enigma held within my grasp.
But what was the purpose?
What lay within my grasp?
A trifecta of gentle knocks on my door disrupted my musings about the expansive room that would serve as my abode before the wedding. Returning for my second day in the kingdom, the trio of maidens who had attended to me upon my arrival made a reappearance, clad in their customary reserved demeanor.
They hadn't sought to pry into the affairs of my friends or neighbors, adhering to their well-practiced habit. Before encountering the king and Prince Killan, I had learned about this particular quirk.
My gaze lingered upon the vast expanse of forest beyond the window as the young woman with cropped hair drew nearer. In her presence, my corset's laces were deftly undone. Relief surged within me, akin to the sensation of an onerous weight being lifted off my chest and lungs in one fell swoop. My lungs expanded more fully, granting me the gift of deeper breaths.
"The chamber is ready, Miss Rendin," another maiden chimed in, indicating that she had also prepared the dressing room on my behalf upon my initial arrival.
"W-why do I need to change attire?" I inquired, taken aback as the metallic clinks of my corset's fastenings gradually surrendered to the maiden's touch. A feeling akin to vulnerability washed over me, even though my audience was comprised of fellow women. I felt exposed, my cheeks flushing despite their shared gender. Rarely had I felt so exposed before three fellow elves.
"You are to partake in an audience with the royal families—the ruling as well as the minority. Tonight marks the celebration of the royal engagement. The king of this realm has summoned a night of royal betrothal, a longstanding tradition."
"This tradition is rather unsavory," I murmured, my discontent simmering beneath my breath. It was fueled by the embers of anger still smoldering within me, threatening to flare anew.
"Bear with it. Our purpose here isn't to have our wishes met. Our role is to heed the commands of those higher in rank."
"To comply and remain subservient," I interjected with a trace of sarcasm. It was, after all, the expected trajectory for individuals like us—those who occupy the next rung on the ladder, those who grapple with fear, submission, and prayer. Damn it all!
"I find your sharp wit quite entertaining, Miss Rendin, although I am not at liberty to endorse it," remarked the maiden whose diet encompassed both sustenance and desire.
An exasperated sigh escaped me as I seated myself in the dressing room. This tradition was torment, a contrivance devised to subject me to torment. The mold they were casting me in was one that would inexorably corrode my spirit. I loathed it—a sentiment I struggled to conceal.
I exhaled deeply as I ambled toward the chamber where I could freshen up. This tradition was an affront to my sensibilities, a methodical march toward my own ruin. I despised it vehemently. My frustration simmered and churned within me like an inferno.
The click of the door brought my lamentations to a halt. Now wasn't the time to be lost in my thoughts. It was a precarious time, and I needed my wits about me.
***
Killan donned his customary violet modern suit, a sleek ensemble that managed to merge comfort and style seamlessly. His polished appearance harmonized with his piercing gaze, a stare that perpetually seemed to simmer with latent ire. To while away the time, he stationed himself just beyond the entrance to the ballroom.
As for my own attire, I was dressed in an open-back, v-neck, sleeveless, white A-line dress embellished with horizontal stripes. The hem cascaded gracefully to the floor, moving fluidly with the breeze and never catching or snagging. While such attire was foreign to me, I found myself surprisingly content with how I appeared. Ultimately, my ensemble didn't betray the image of a humble elf.
Killan's posture stiffened slightly as I drew nearer. His hands idled within his pockets, while his arched eyebrows conveyed a quizzical disposition directed at me. "Quite the dramatic entrance. The guests await. We wouldn't want to keep the ruling house waiting," he spoke impatiently.
I refrained from responding, mustering my patience and casting my gaze downward.
"Well, are you waiting for something?" Impatience laced his words.
After a brief moment, I turned toward him, wondering what he was anticipating. I hesitated, allowing him to take a few steps ahead before following suit. "What? Go ahead."
He extended his left arm, his brows knitting together in mild irritation. "What are you waiting for? For the sake of the stars, Idrish, we're on the verge of being married! Show a touch of affection. Take my hand and pretend that we're deeply in love."
His apparent annoyance aside, his words managed to distract me entirely. I knew it was all a façade, but something about his words left me feeling a bit flustered. He proffered his left arm for me to hold, and I did so, albeit somewhat awkwardly.
His attention seemed to be elsewhere, and his left arm remained unyielding. As I reached out to grasp the prince's arm, my fingers trembled. Eventually, my grip steadied, but I found myself sighing softly.
"Shall we?" he inquired, his voice dripping with a measure of charm. His ebony eyes fixated on me as though they were fixated on my very essence.
"Yes, I suppose," I replied, my conviction wavering. In the end, I acquiesced. When I first began to challenge their protocols, it hadn't stirred any strong emotions within me. After all, who was I to stand against them? It was a question that often lingered in my thoughts whenever I considered defiance.
With princely poise, he started to tread towards the main entrance of the ballroom, flanked by three sentinels who accompanied us on our journey.
He stiffened briefly, then cleared his throat before addressing me. "Remember, this is all a charade. A whirlwind romance, an encounter that recently transpired. Should they inquire about any emblem you possess, remain silent. Leave the explanations to me."
The mere mention of that emblem sent a shiver down my spine. I squeezed Killan's arm tighter, my grip almost vice-like. The prince certainly noticed.
An unexpected interruption by the door-opening mechanism prompted Killan to release my hand. Suddenly, the back of my hand felt oddly exposed.
The crowd offered a collective nod of approval, followed by a cacophony as a glass inadvertently crashed to the floor. Temporarily, the tension between Prince Killan and myself was put on hold. Many of the individuals present were evidently of royal lineage. They exuded an air of grandeur, an aura of sanctity mixed with trepidation.
Among the throng, some were genuinely happy, extending their warm greetings and congratulations. Each time I passed a stranger, a peculiar sensation coursed through my hand, like an invisible touch. The object I clasped seemed to either identify a potential threat within the assembly or a potential ally. My knowledge, however, was scant.
One fact was crystal clear at that moment: trust was a scarce commodity.
Prince Killan took the lead, adopting a regal posture as he guided me towards the high altar, where King Argus Calore awaited, flanked by another monarch bedecked with a black metallic crown adorned by the emblem of the fifth—four mighty swords wielded by a dragon.
King Ivorn Felun. The name reverberated through my mind, recalling the most potent elf within Springgan.
"Act natural," Killan whispered to me. His lips came perilously close to my ear canal as he spoke, an action that triggered an involuntary shiver down my spine. A shiver, incidentally, is not something I typically associate with hair-standing-on-end sensations.
As we approached the altar, I suppressed a gulp of nervousness. Ivorn Felun, ruler of the fifth, trained his gaze on me as if I were a sumptuous feast awaiting his consumption.
The ruler of the fifth. His snowy-white hair cascaded past his shoulders, the silver strands a stark contrast to his blue irises. Groomed facial hair framed his visage, concealing much of his pale lips. It was a visage befitting a ruler of his stature.
Killan leaned slightly to the side, and I followed his lead. The prince lightly squeezed my hand as we stood before King Calore and Felun. Evidently, my grip conveyed a message to him.
"Your Grace," King Argus Calore began, addressing King Felun, "allow me to introduce my son, Prince Killan, and his betrothed, Idrish Aeric."
"Your Grace," Killan acknowledged respectfully.
"Your Grace," I murmured, my grip on Killan's arm tightening. He undoubtedly felt it.
A smile played upon King Felun's lips as he extended his hand, an unspoken invitation for me to grasp it. The moment hung in the air as my gaze met his, and my hand neared his outstretched palm. It was as if my fingers were responding to the presence of a powerful monarch.
King Ivorn deepened his scrutiny, his perceptiveness keen to my unease. My fingers inched closer to his gauntlet-covered hand, the components within it rattling ever so slightly in response to my proximity.
King Felun's gaze bore into me, and I sensed his awareness of my apprehension. My hand was nearly upon his when a woman's voice resonated from behind him.
"King Ivorn, Your Grace," the woman's voice called.
The king shifted his attention toward her, his piercing gaze now resting on the woman before him. She was garbed in a dark, serpentine gown with a plunging neckline, a crown bearing the emblem of the fourth—three intertwined serpent heads—adorning her head.
"Queen Alondra!" King Ivorn greeted her mirthfully, acknowledging her presence. Queen Alondra Anguis—a name that had garnered its fair share of negative associations and an unfavorable reputation. Instinctively, I put up an invisible guard. From all I'd heard, she was a formidable entity.
Prince Killan and I exchanged the customary bows upon her arrival. Yet, in the presence of Queen Alondra, I hesitated. Her attire bore the emblem of the fourth, a realm shrouded in rumors of sinister events. I began mentally erecting barriers between us. For reasons unbeknownst to me, King Argus had strictly prohibited any interaction between me and the monarch of the fifth or the queen of the fourth.
The atmosphere grew denser with each passing moment. The occasion revolved around introductions, obeisance to figures of authority, and adherence to the established norms of the ceremony. My freedom was stifled, curtailed by the metal restraint encircling my neck—its grip feeling akin to a wild beast's clasp.
The event was an unfamiliar, uneasy gathering, a gathering that felt like navigating a jungle fraught with predators lying in wait to tear me apart. It was an environment I could never acclimate to. If given a choice, I would have preferred the arena and the perils it entailed.
As opportunities arose, I sought refuge from the suffocating crowd, retreating to a terrace adjacent to the palace's main hall. Gazing out upon the woods that lay before me, I relished the solace this vantage point afforded.
A serene stillness blanketed the night, the wind murmuring a melody as it carried the songs of butterflies. The moon's presence was veiled by cloud cover, casting the surroundings into dim shadows.
This tranquility, this inner calm, was a precious haven for me. It was exactly what I needed. Perhaps the turmoil I found myself embroiled in had drained me. Fatigue weighed heavily on me, and in this moment, I craved nothing more than a respite of peace and quiet.
"Peace, my lady, can only be found within oneself." A soft voice drifted from behind me.
I cast a brief, lightning-quick glance toward the source of the voice, a testament to my instinctual hunter's reflexes—always vigilant. When the princess appeared, my bow was hesitant, borne of uncertainty. She was adorned with the emblem of the second, a vine ring with a morning glory centerpiece.