Solanzir would not allow neutrality. He demanded the allegiance of the elves, something no mortal had ever received.

As they approached the king, he was waiting patiently, an ability he had mastered after walking the earth for two millenia. Whatever he would say or not say could be of importance. Raen liked to think he could get to the heart of the matter based on the king’s response.

King Tarkin’s crown, made of an alloy of silver and a precious metal unique to their lands, served as proof of the capabilities of elven metallurgy. Metal representations of willow branches were woven into a crown. Though delicate looking, the crown was stronger than it looked.

For the elves, there were only diamonds, though they used them sparingly. King Tarkin had the largest diamond in Cintarzia set into a ring resting on his finger. It was his one vanity.

King Tarkin’s long, ebony hair was straight and uneven on the ends. He paid no attention to keeping it in place. His hawkish nose and heavy eyebrows gave him an intimidating look.

His pale gray eyes were slender and slanted downwards at the edges. He maintained an expression of superiority on his face. In the second millenia of his life, he’d seen too many changes and much suffering at the hands of King Solanzir and his pets.

Standing before their king, they bowed and awaited his request.

“Tell me of King Solanzir’s response,” he asked.

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“According to their emissary, Ever Rose, King Solanzir refuses to recognize our sovereign nation. He will attack if we do not respect his authority,” Raen said.

It was no secret that King Tarkin didn’t care for dragons, he found them too unpredictable.

“This is exactly what I expected from the mouthy lizard king,” King Tarkin replied. The queen let out a small laugh. Princess Rhiane expected a foolish response from her stepmother, and she got one.

King Solanzir’s dragons will destroy our home, and all the queen can do is giggle at my father’s words, she thought.

Queen Consort Mataria sat next to the king, her platinum hair pushed into an elaborate bun woven with silver cord. Her gossamer hair caught the light, casting it in a rainbow of colors.

She was the king’s new queen, having outlasted Rhiane’s mother. Though Mataria was beautiful, Rhiane’s mother surpassed her in every way. Mataria knew she was a poor substitute, and she enjoyed slighting Rhiane at every opportunity. She was never open about her animosity. Thus far, Rhiane was too smart to allow Mataria the upper hand.

“What is our next move, Father?” Rhiane asked, knowing that Raen and Elyra would not pose the same question to the king twice.

“I will consider my options. Never has Cintarzia faced such a tyrant,” King Tarkin replied. Rhiane had a suggestion.

“Perhaps an alliance with the druids or with Blackstone —”

The king made a sound of disapproval.

“Hold your tongue when it comes to Blackstone, they can’t help us. The two factions of witches are constantly fighting each other. And the druids? What could they offer us that we don’t already have?” The King demanded, growing cross with his daughter.

Mataria smirked, enjoying every reprimand given to the princess. Catching her stepmother’s look Rhiane glared in her direction, but said nothing.

This is not over, Rhiane thought. King Tarkin stood.

“I am done talking about this matter for now. I need time to myself,” the king announced. Rhiane imagined her father was making his way to the library. He would consult the Cintarzian histories.

Rhiane doubted he would find an answer by delving into the past.