“That arrogant bastard!” said Commander Chints, hot venom peppering her words.

“Aye. ‘Is ‘eds so far up ‘is own arse, he can smell beer,” said Brogan.

There was a brief silence as everyone attempted to digest the dwarf’s words.

“At least they didn’t lock us in a cell,” said Victor’s wife, Marie, dispelling the puzzled looks.

“They said house arrest. It’s practically the same thing,” said Garen.

Thomas eyed the stout elvish rangers standing guard at the exit to their own personal wing of guest suites.

The lavishly decorated wing of guest rooms could hardly be called imprisonment, boasting four bedrooms, a shared living area, and a fully stocked kitchen. Another shining example of the astronomical wealth that the elven nation boasted.

To Thomas’s limited experience, these rooms might have housed foreign ambassadors and visiting luminaries. The fact that they had magically heated running water and a cooling device stocked to the brim with frosted beverages blew his mind. He never imagined such things were possible.

Nell took full advantage of the facilities by trying out the exotic drinks displayed in tall flasks in the cooling closet. Most of them were alcoholic with fruity aromas. Brogan called it “elvish trash,” but Victor seemed right at home, putting his feet up on an oversized cushion and sipping away at a glass of frothing blue liquid.

Thomas meandered over to the tall stained glass windows. They looked down upon a bustling square between two conjoining bridges that arched over a glistening river of bright blue water. The square was edged by merchants in small wooden booths, selling everything from garments to meat on a stick. Besides the industrious feel of the place, it seemed very peaceful and civilized. There was certainly no fear of demon invasion in the air.

As he pondered, that thought seemed the one question he couldn’t escape: How had these people not heard of the demon raiders on their borders? The painful questioning they had endured in the council chamber had rammed that home. These elves were utterly oblivious. The demons were a real threat to their way of life, but the Speaker at the council seemed more interested in political theater. Perhaps they were so supremely confident in their military prowess against the demons that they couldn’t fathom otherwise.

Hubris. That’s what Father would call it.

An unexpected knock rapped against the suite’s fine walnut entry doors before a bright, magical seal glowed over the door. The arcane symbol hovered in the air, then visibly faded into mist, unlocking the room.

The guards swung the double doors wide to reveal a short and portly elf dressed in a fine robe and striding confidently forward.

Thomas recognized him immediately from his mother’s dreams. It was the reigning sovereign of the elvish people, King Lamyll of Forranwen.

Thomas’s body fell to one knee before his mind understood what he was doing. The others in the group stood stunned for a brief moment before following his lead, their eyes bending to the floor as one. Victor lapsed behind the group as he leaped to his feet from his comfy roost in the overstuffed chair. He hastily flung a knee to the floor, still clutching his fruity cocktail in one hand.

“Please, please, rise and sit with me, dear guests!” said the rotund elf in perfect Adarian, chuckling with genuine mirth in his eyes. He settled deep into one of the oversized armchairs, like a glowing bread roll nestled within a baker’s basket. “You must pardon my rude interruption. I simply had to congratulate the strangers that caused such a momentous event in the council chamber earlier!” He paused to wipe a brimming tear from one eye, his smile bright and contagious. “Why, I have not seen Moranon so effectively put in his place since he was dumped by Countess Resha as a young boy!”

There was a moment of dumbed silence as Thomas’s group reeled from their larger-than-life visitor. It seemed only Thomas was aware of the king’s identity. He had planned to keep his elven ancestry and mastery of the language a secret. If he said too much now, he’d surely slip up somewhere. Much better to stay quiet in the background. Yet with the nation's king sitting before them, he felt compelled to speak. He couldn’t allow his friends to gape cluelessly at the monarch and risk offense.

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So with great reluctance, Thomas cleared his throat.

“It was never our intention to embarrass Speaker Moranon like that, Your Majesty.”

At the sudden mention of “Your Majesty,” everyone in the room tensed. The short elf was so welcoming and ready to put them at ease that they never would have guessed his importance otherwise.

As Thomas continued, their bows subconsciously drew lower to the floor. “We have only the most honorable of intentions toward your great nation. Is there a way we could apologize to the Speaker to smooth things over?”

“Oh, pish posh. The lad had it coming to him. Only next time you see him, be sure to use his formal title when addressing him and I’m sure all will be forgiven.”

There was an uneasy silence that lingered several moments before Victor spoke up. “Your Majesty, if you would be so kind: Please forgive the ignorance of your servants. What is the formal title of Speaker Moranon?”

The portly king burst into laughter at the question. “Why of course, you don’t know! Why ever would you? Oh, this makes it that much sweeter!”

He laughed so heartily that he clasped his hands across his bulging waist to temper the barrel of a belly that jostled up and down.

“My dear, dear guests. Moranon is none other than the Crown Prince!” he said with a mischievous look.

As one, the humans and dwarf dropped their jaws and bulged their eyes in horror. Their unsightly awe only made the king laugh harder.

Finally, as the jovial monarch gathered control of his faculties, it was Brogan that broke the terrified silence. “I do believe I may’ve shat my pants a little just then.”

Thomas winced as the king split into a fresh uproar of laughter, slapping the side of his armchair as he guffawed. Offending the crown prince with their very first interaction was the exact opposite of what they had intended.

The king finally calmed down and Victor stepped forward with a perfectly executed bow to lead a short round of introductions. Each member of their group executed a short bow or curtsy, with Nell’s effort appearing almost outlandishly clumsy. However, the king dismissed their attempts as unnecessary and waved them aside with sincere geniality.

“... and that strange woman’s purse asleep in the corner?” he said.

Victor turned and grimaced at Gina’s loud snoring. “That would be Gina, Your Grace. Thomas’s pet.”

“—and best friend,” Thomas added.

A sudden stomp from the guards at the door drew everyone’s eyes to a new arrival.

“Forgive my intrusion. Is my husband creating mischief in here?”

The enthralling Queen Lystrith of Forranwen stood before them, her eyes twinkling merrily. She was dressed in a sweeping gown of shimmering fabric the color of aged oak, and her long chestnut hair draped down behind her lithe frame all the way to her waist, finely braided into an array of looping crescents. She was the very picture of elegance, sweeping into the room with a gentle, soothing power that immediately reminded Thomas of his mother. Before he realized what was happening, his eyes were brimming with tears as he gazed helplessly at her serene beauty.

“My dear boy, whatever is the matter?” she said, full of sincerity as she caught his look.

The king’s laughter abruptly stopped and he clambered to his feet, eyeing Thomas closely with genuine compassion.

Thomas’s words failed him, his head pounding with such thick emotion that his throat bobbed precariously. He didn’t know what else to do except hold out one solitary hand to the gracious couple, yielding his most precious possession on his palm.

His mother’s soul crystal.

The king’s eyes drew wide and the queen clasped a hand over her mouth.

“This was my mother’s. She would … want you to have it,” said Thomas, desperately trying to keep a lid on the pain that threatened to overwhelm him.

Victor, Marie, and the others exchanged a look of complete bafflement. No one had the foggiest idea what was going on. Even the guards at the door looked intrigued, bending their necks to see the narrow soul crystal in Thomas’s palm.

King Lamyll held out his trembling hand, hesitating to touch the object as if it was a spell that would disperse upon his touch. He could see the etchings on the side, clear as day. His head already knew what Thomas held, but his heart was taking a moment to catch up.

The queen gasped as her mind clicked in realization and the king suddenly threw his arms around Thomas, sobbing uncontrollably.

They had another grandson. And he had just come home.