Three hours. That was all the time the emperor had to mourn. In the solitude of his study, the tears flowed freely for his friend. His sorrow was mixed with anger; the pain of the betrayal was bound so tightly to the image of his childhood friend that he had neither the time nor the leisure to unravel the two.

But the burdens of a ruler never end. His servants had allotted him a brief respite after his weary travels, but soon enough the dreaded knock echoed on his door. “My lord? It will soon be time for supper.”

Pulling himself together, he replied in a voice entirely free of tremors. “Are there any guests tonight?”

“Yes, my lord. The lord of Gis̆-Izum and his wife came to thank you for the rebuilding efforts. There is also an elf from Onkodos Laos here to see you.”

Damn it. Suffocating his groan, Eligon staggered to his feet. “Very well. Send for the maids, but do not let them in until a captain from the guard arrives.”

The voice on the other side of the door hesitated. “A captain of the guard? Is everything alright, my lord?”

“Just do it. And make sure it’s done quietly.” He commanded.

Eligon paced the room as he waited. His eyes trailed to the waiting cabinet of liquor, from the many rows of exquisite brandies that weren’t poisoned, but he refrained from pouring himself a drink. His guests tonight deserved his full attention. The lord of Gis̆-Izum was a relatively minor noble, one who normally wouldn’t have merited a dinner alone with the emperor, but the attack his lands had endured at the hands of the returned queen had nearly brought the city to its knees. It was a miracle they had survived - and that miracle was no thanks to the empire’s troops. Eligon had promptly diverted funds to help the city rebuild, but he knew it wasn’t enough. It’s never enough, not since the day the accursed stoneflesh appeared.

When the captain from the guard arrived, accompanied by two of his men, the body was removed. At first, he’d intended to keep the true nature of Vayyābī’s death a secret - to let the man die an honorable death in a hunting accident or a skirmish with the Zalancthains.

But as Eligon had paced back and forth across the room, he’d slowly come to realize he couldn’t hide the news of his friend’s betrayal, not unless he was willing to betray his own final promise to the man. The Zalancthians will not be willing to trade for the girl unless they know he is dead and why. Only once they realize I’m more than willing to let her die will they consider a reasonable offer. Thus, by the time the guards arrived, he’d concluded that it couldn’t be kept a secret.

The rest of the night passed in a haze. News of Vayābī’s treachery spread quickly through the castle, so quickly that by the time he entered the banquet hall, a mere two hours later, he could tell his guests, the lord and lady of Gis̆-Izum, had heard. They were too polite to bring it up - even minor nobles were well-trained in etiquette - but their awkward body language and the sympathetic glances they shot him were hard to bear.

Once dinner had concluded, and he’d said his last farewells to the lord and his wife, Eligon had reached his end. When the servants came with the elf in tow, all he could do was shake his head. “Tomorrow,” he promised.

To his surprise, the elf acquiesced with grace. “Of course, Lord Eligon. The death of a friend, no matter the circumstance, is always a tragedy. Do not feel that you must meet with me tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” he promised again, but the elf bowed his head with a smile.

“Whenever you're ready, my lord.”

Eligon did not meet with the elf the next day.

Instead, he had barely managed to steal a few hours of sleep before the family of Vayābī, who had been summoned by the guard, arrived at the castle. Their eyes were wide with terror as they were dragged before him - afraid, no doubt, that they would suffer the repercussions of their father’s treachery.

They weren’t entirely wrong. With a heavy heart, Eligon stripped them of all their lands and titles. It wasn’t what he wanted to do; despite Vayābī’s betrayal, he had no desire to punish his heirs. He understood why his friend had done what he’d done - hell, he might have done the same in his place.

But no man is greater than the crown. No matter how much Eligon wanted to look the other way, with the news of the assassination attempt already spreading far and wide, he knew could not afford to respond lightly. Not unless he wished to embolden every mercenary-minded noble or adventurer into trying their hand at the deed in the hopes of currying favor with the Zalancthians. Punishment must be doled out.

The halls of his castle rang with weeping and wailing that night. It was the children’s cries that hurt the worst. While they may not have been quite as close as family, Eligon had known most of the younglings since the moment they were born, and the hurt and betrayal that flooded their faces when he cast them out of their lands was something he would not easily forget.

But he had truly done his best for them. Vayābī’s family left Dūr-Ṣadê that morning impoverished but alive - something his father would never have allowed. He could do no more to aid them, not right now; still, Eligon promised himself that after a few months, once the worst of the scrutiny had died down, he would make sure that a few small fiefs would be quietly assigned to them. Somewhere up north, where no one supports me anyways, he mused. I’m sure the king of Hadīn can arrange something.

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

Thus it wasn’t until the third day that he finally sent for the elven ambassador. Normally, he would have welcomed the man into his study - the intimacy of the meeting location intended as an apology for the abnormal wait - but Eligon could not bring himself to step foot in the room. Instead, he had two horses prepared and waited for the man in the courtyard.

The wait was shorter than expected. The guest quarters were on the northern third of the castle, situated near Dūr-Ṣadê’s market district and far from the courtyard near the city’s gates. It would have taken him a half-hour's light jog to make the trip, so Eligon was surprised when the elf strolled into the courtyard a mere five minutes later. Though the man must have run nearly the entire distance, he had not a hair out of place nor even the faintest sheen of sweat on his brow.

The emperor had been too tired on the night he’d first met the ambassador, but he paid closer attention to the elf now, realizing the man was more skilled than expected.

The man moved with almost ethereal grace, though his figure was as robust as only those elves who fully committed themselves to their shapeshifting abilities could usually achieve. Yet his broad shoulders and rippling muscles were marred by no patches of fur and his legs showed no signs of hooves. A stately pair of horns stretched wide on either side, but that was the only concession to his deer-like nature.

He wore a bleached leather jerkin, reinforced with row upon row of tightly woven silver scales, coupled with one of the stiff, armored skirts that the northern tribes preferred. It was crafted from a pale, blue carapace whose source Eligon could only guess at, but the high quality of the material and craftsmanship was evident.

No, this is no ordinary emissary, the emperor concluded. The elf was undoubtedly someone quite high in the realm of Onkodos Laos and, judging from the armor he wore, he was probably hoping for a spar.

Eligon hesitated only a moment before he abandoned his own plans for hunting and lowered himself from the saddle. His mind quickly raced through the names of the elven princes as he approached the man with a friendly grin.

“I’m sorry about the other day. I’m afraid the hospitality of my house is not quite up to its usual standards.”

The elf laughed. “Compared to the wretched cold of my homeland, I assure you, it’s practically paradise.”

“Not a fan of the cold?” Eligon replied easily. “I would have guessed you were an ice mage.”

“A safe guess,” the man replied with a twinkle in his eyes, “but you’d be wrong. But forgive me, my lord,” he bowed his head to the left in respect, “I haven’t introduced myself. I’m Lord Kanēnas.”

The emperor frowned. “Kanēnas? As in, ‘no one’? I’m no expert with the language of your people ,but why give me an obviously fake name?”

The elf’s smile didn’t waver. “Unfortunately, that is indeed my name. My father had a rather twisted sense of humor when he was presented with a son he'd rather not have and my mother, Selene bless her, was not around to object. You may have heard of me by a different name, though; some call me the Bastard Prince.”

“The Bastard Prince?” Eligon parroted the man's words in surprise. Though the elven tribes had not marched to war against an external foe since the last days of the Fey Wars, that hadn’t stopped the occasional skirmish from breaking out between their cities.

A particularly bitter rivalry had emerged between Yammoqom and its northern neighbor, Onkodos Laos over trading rights, a rivalry that had quickly spiraled into a nearly full-blown war until a general named the Bastard Prince had destroyed the bulk of the Yammoqan army in a single sneak attack. “You’re the one who defeated Yammaqom’s guard?”

“That’s what they say,” the elf replied casually.

That’s not actually a confirmation, Eligon noted, but he kept the observation to himself. “Well, then, before we get down to business, perhaps you’d care for a spar - warrior to warrior.”

Kanēnas grinned. “It’s like you read my mind.”

An hour later, rivulets of sweat streamed down his back like the rising waters of the spring melt. Eligon ignored it all; every fiber of his concentration was focused on the elf as he swung his axe straight for his adversary’s head.

A resounding clang echoed in the courtyard as the elf deflected the blow with crossed sabers. The two struggled against each other, their strength evenly matched, until the weapons slipped free.

Eligon’s lungs were screaming for air as he disengaged from his foe, but he forced his breathing to hold steady. He’d hoped to win the clash outright, but as he examined the elf he knew the elf had beat him. A faint sheen of sweat glittered on the man’s brow, and a few hairs were out of place, but his attacks had lost none of their earlier vigor. For a brief moment, he contemplated activating Burden of the People and crushing the elf’s resistance in a whirlwind of power, but Kanēnas had scrupulously from using whatever magic he’d possessed and the emperor knew he could not stoop so low. Twould be a hollow victory.

But before he could concede, the elf bowed. “A grand spar, my lord, but I fear my arms are shaking like jelly after that last block. Shall we call it a tie?”

Eligon was under no illusion that the man was actually too tired to continue, but he was more than happy to accept the gesture. “Aye, we can call it that if you like.” The two lined up and bowed to each other, officially ending the spar.

Then with a sigh of exhaustion, Eligon flopped down on the grass, the elf following his lead. The emperor leaned over and lowered his voice. “Just between you and me, if both of us were going all out, who do you think would win?”

Kanēnas pursed his lips. “It’s hard to say, my lord. You have the edge on me in strength, but I can endure longer. Obviously, my magic would have helped even the odds, but the power of the emperor’s Burden is legendary with good reason. If you activated that skill, I’d like to believe I could drag the battle out long enough to steal a win, but perhaps you’d simply overpower me immediately.”

The emperor chuckled. “A tactful answer indeed. But as much as I enjoyed our spar, I’m sure you didn’t travel all the way from your frozen wastes just for that. Tell me, Kanēnas, why are you here?”

The elf’s carefree demeanor melted away, and he leaned forward with a savage grin. “Tell me, my lord, have you heard what happened amongst the Strythani?”