I leapt out of the bed with a vigour that would’ve made Sephor proud. The first thing I came to notice was that I was alone in this room. It was oddly lonely even though I spent a lot of time in this room by myself previously. It’s as if something, or someone, was missing from this picture.
Slightly dejected by waking up alone in the room, I fumbled back onto the bed, trying my best to eke out an additional shred of sleep. It seemed too early to be doing anything important, anyway, and the only possible thing I could think of was getting breakfast and getting prepared for the upcoming wedding. Both of those things could wait a bit more.
The wedding was always a late afternoon event, at least the ones that I had the pleasure of attending. Mine was similar, although at the time I considered it was the first thing that happened to me.
Tiana’s familiar visage appeared in the doorway, stopping any previous thoughts of getting more sleep. ‘Just what happened now?’
“Lord Cerolus is waiting for you in the dining room, Mistress,” her tone carried a certain sense of urgency while also being quite lax, causing nothing but utter confusion to appear in my mind.
“Fine then, let’s go. But I’m going to need some help first.” I chuckled and pointed to my dishevelled mess of a hair, something only I seemed to have problems with. Tiana already had a hairbrush at the ready as usual, and so the daily ritual would proceed once again.
-------------------
After completely preparing myself for breakfast, but not the wedding, I headed down to meet with my husband. Wedding preparations always commenced mere hours before the ceremony, to allow last moment changes should the need occur, so they would have to be postponed for now.
I expected Cerolus to somehow say the wrong thing and manage to cause a ruckus. Or for one of my brothers to get angry at the prospect of sharing a table with him. Or even possibly, although highly unlikely, for people to already start duelling. Those were the options off the top of my head, ones that I carefully considered last night and had to convince myself that were not going to happen.
So it was hard to hold my surprise when I found none of those things had happened. Instead, I was greeted, in the lack of a better term, by Cerolus gorging on the foodstuff on the table. Magdalene and her husband were sitting on the other side of the table, whispering energetically to each other, my sister trying to shush Gabriel down while pointing in Cerolus’ general direction. It would seem whatever their conversation was, Cerolus was at least a minor contributor if not the object of it. I looked at Cerolus again and some pieces of the puzzle were starting to get into place, while the others eluded me even more.
“Why are your horns on fire?” He was gracefully eating from his plate and was completely silent while his horns were engulfed in cerulean flames. That alone should definitely be the highlight of this day.
“Oh, your brother seems to enjoy the show,” Cerolus simply said and pointed next to him, where I found John staring at the spectacle with his mouth fully open in absolute, unblemished awe.
“Amazing,” was all that came out of John’s mouth during the entire meal.
I looked around the noticeably empty table, stopping the squabble of my sister and her husband. “Where are Renald and Gavin? It’s unusual for them to skip breakfast.”
“Renald is waiting for the bride’s carriage, while Gavin is welcoming our other special guest.” Magdalene simply shrugged, then resumed whatever she was doing before.
“You mean the Elf is here already?” I was wholly interested in the prospect of meeting an Elf again. Last time I did so, I was so young I can’t even remember how one looks like anymore. Only tales of them are left in my head. Wonderful tales, but there’s only so much a story can do.
Cerolus turned his head around towards me, his horns extinguished in a blink of an eye, slight warmth being all that remained out of his little show. “An Elf? Wait, I heard that word before… Elf, elf, elf… Oh right, Elf, your word for the Dwarves.”
That last word was translated in its entire essence by the necklace since I hadn’t even heard of it before now. “Dwarves?”
‘Why would they call them like that?’ I considered briefly of the meaning of the word behind it, lacking any means to decipher why Demons would give such a rude remark for a race.
If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.
Cerolus had gotten excited by now, his lines of thought seemingly going everywhere at once. “I haven’t seen one so far! Most of what we have on them are based on guesses. Is one here right now!? I can’t wait to meet him, or her. It?”
‘He hasn’t met an Elf? How? He’s almost two hundred years old!’ Any of my questions would have to wait because the person we were talking about seemed to approach the room as a loud clamour could be heard behind the door.
The doors opened with a loud thud.
----------------------------------------
Meanwhile, somewhere in the Palace of Frital
I had almost completely forgotten that these people cannot speak Darnasyn or Kriosian. I now remember why I had to be the one coming to this country, since I was one of the rare few that learned the common language of the Humans.
I was told beforehand that Prince Gavin Leonia was an energetic person, but he looks more mad and erratic instead as if something had possessed him. He almost shuffled to his feet and fell over when we met.
“If you would pardon my behaviour, Lady Ophelia, the Palace has received a person I could not possibly stand as a guest, and it’s driving me insane that my brother would allow such scum to lounge over our estates.” His manners didn’t seem fitting for a Prince just then, but I was never a person to judge. I read that my kind spoke much harsher words of Humans themselves a few generations ago. Something about ‘low-magic brutes’ was a phrase that would not exit my mind no matter how much I tried.
Indeed, most Humans’ talent for magic was low at best, but some have managed to make a name for themselves even in my country. Of course, their feats were nothing but child’s play to a true spellcaster like myself.
‘Now, who could possibly cause such ire for a Prince? It would have to be someone out of his range of influence, thus a stranger, or a noble of higher status.’ I always enjoyed small political games, but never bothered to actually focus my mind on them. Possessing a talent for magic always meant more to me than to my stupid sisters, who got married as soon as they were able to, going off to some rich guy to give children to and control.
“Oh, I do wonder who you are talking about, Lord Gavin.” My tries to play myself off as a kind gentle lady would only be more successful if I looked more the part. My sisters always called me a ‘bit too rough around the edges’.
“You’ll meet him soon enough. I bet he’s devouring every ounce of food we have just as we are talking.” A thought of a gluttonous fat-ass crossed my mind for a brief moment, bringing a slight chuckle out of my throat.
“But where are my manners! You must be tired of your travels, and here I am complaining about things when we only met a mere minutes before. I must apologise, my Lady.”
“Nonsense, we all have something we dislike, and sometimes strangers are best befriended through a common plight.” I had met some of my best of friends that way. To be said though, an academy for spellcasters is quite a world away from a political theatre inside a palace.
“I can only hope that you see things the way I see them, then.” Gavin nodded and smiled at me, while his figure looked like a tower from my view.
Finally, we approach the dining room of the Palace. I’d quite enjoyed the brief tour thus far, not being able to visit any other Royal Palaces. I’ve heard much about our Royal Family’s, but my status as nobility could not get me so far as to actually take a step in it.
Gavin stepped in front and shoved the door in front of me, the light of the dining room bursting into the small corridor.
----------------------------------------
I can now somewhat realise why Cerolus referred to them as Dwarves. It fits somewhat.
The Elf is… well, short would be the appropriate word. Although none of us would actually say out loud.
She entered behind Gavin, allowing everyone in the room to see her clearly. If she was maybe next to someone of smaller stature, like me for example, she wouldn’t look so tiny. This way, she was almost completely overshadowed.
Her light blue skin, or what was revealed of it, had several different markings, all of which seemed to be made in black or white ink, glowing faintly in sunlight. The markings went around her face and followed the outlines of the features. From time to time, they would shimmer and disappear then return shortly afterwards. Her face could be best described as ‘pretty enough’, although that could be because of her stature and overall height as well.
She wore a thick white dress that seemed a tad wider for her size, managed by gold-engraved belt and rings around her ankles. The white of the dress fit seamlessly with the pure white colour of her hair, tied in a large braid behind her back.
One of the focal points about the Elf, though, was her accessory. She held large wooden staff that was as long as the Elf was high, with the top curving into a spiral that was unlikely to be natural. The staff had marking similar to those that were on her skin, the main difference being the sheer number and density of them. For every mark on her face, three smaller ones could be discerned on the staff.
The Elf watched around the room, observing every one of us. Then she made her appearance proper by curtsying lightly. “Greetings, my name is Ophelia Berthunal. I hail from western Darnas. It is a pleasure to be here.”
The room was then silent for a while, everyone seemingly afraid or enchanted by her presence. That is until Cerolus spoke up. “Greetings, Lady Ophelia. I am Cerolus Kreshorok of Dralarag. It’s a true pleasure to meet one of your kind, at last.”
He stood up from the table, then walked to the Elf and then bowed to kiss her hand. What actually happened was quite different. The difference in their size was great enough so that she had to put her hand higher simply because Cerolus couldn’t bow low enough without kneeling or genuflecting.
“What is a Demon doing in the Palace of Frital? I thought you rarely left your homes.” Ophelia’s emphasis on the word Demon was not unlike my own when I first heard of my marriage. The seeping disgust layered in a sugary coat of kindness would surely be unmistakable. It seems that she didn’t hold Demons to a much higher regard than I used to.
‘I might consider getting these two separated.’