I CAN COUNT ON ONE HAND the number of times I have been in my father’s meeting chambers behind the throne room.
Once, when I was five, I refused to present myself like a lady in front of visiting nobles. My mother had brought me back here to reprimand me. When I was thirteen, Garren and I began to bicker so fiercely at the summer gathering that my father had no choice but to sequester us here until we either came to an understanding or killed each other.
If Garren had had his way it would’ve been the latter.
It would seem the only time I find myself back here is when I am in trouble. The grim looks my parents and eldest brother are sharing makes this scene feel familiar. I am sat in one of my father’s study chairs, bouncing my knee absently. I glance at Briar leaning against the wall, a picture of disinterest.
I feel as though they sense my excitement. How can this not be a marvelous thing? Our two peoples have been separated my entire life. Garren is the only one of us old enough to remember when passage was open between Lysan and Myrkorvin. For that to be the case again…
“I refuse to participate in this,” Garren’s voice cuts through my thoughts. He levels a golden stare at me. “And you can stop acting like your name day came early. Do you not think people noticed when you perked up at the mention of the ball? How does that make us look to the nobles? That our own princess is intrigued by the prospect of going to those beastly lands. It’s abhorrent.”
“Oh, now that’s a five gold mark word Garren. Abhorrent?” I question. “And here Madame Oakren said that out of all of us you showed the least passion for language.” I rise from the chair, the skirt of my gossamer, gold gown swishing about my ankles, and begin examining the books my father keeps in this study.
My finger coasts over the old leather spines, unsettling the dust accumulated on them. The History of Lysan: From the Free Magic to King Oxian the First, A Formidable Water: A Comprehensive Guide to Sea Battle, A Perfect Marriage or a Watery Death? Lord Cummings Guide to Selkies…
My hand finds what I’m looking for and plucks it off the shelf. The leather is soft, the spine folded as though it had been opened and read a hundred times. Judging by my mother’s accounts of their courtship, I would not doubt that my father knows this book cover to cover. Walking over to Garren, I slap the book to his chest.
“If being a prince does not work out, brother, I believe you will have quite the career as a poet.” He grips my father’s copy of The Lover’s Night: A Collection of Love Poems from the Realm, his fingers turning white. I only smirk as I turn, continuing my glide around the room.
I am restless.
The last time I felt this way was when I took up with the Elves of east meadow and we ran all night through Merrywood forest. Drinking and dancing under the Sun’s Moon as it shone full and bright in the sky. Garren had been furious when I was found by the royal guards the next morning. Naked and still high from all the mushrooms we had ingested.
My mother and father had only sent me to my room, where I slept off that evening for half a week.
“This is no laughing matter, and while some weaker-minded males may find your irreverence charming, I find it abhorrent.” I smile sweetly at my brother, showing all of my teeth. Garren slams the poetry book on the table and my father cuts him a glare.
“Who is this king to make demands of us? We were there during the Orc Wars. This king acts as if we did not also pay a price for those battles.”
“King Arkain paid the ultimate price, son. We shall never forget that.” My father’s voice is calm, sadness tinging some of his words. My mother crosses the room to wrap an arm around his waist. He tucks her head beneath his chin as if the mere closeness of her eradicates all of these thoughts that trouble him.
King Orvian and Queen Mirella of Lysan. The longest ruling monarchs since King Oxian the First. They make a fearsome pair. When I was a child I wished for a love like theirs one day. Not the folklore tales of locked away princesses whose princes saved them from the wicked beasts that lurk in the Merrywood. But of a king who would take one look at me and fall hopelessly in love. Like my father had with my mother.
“We are forbidden from killing, lest we become beasts like them. The king was well aware of that and yet he chose to revoke our people’s access to the ancestral lands. This separation has weakened us, Father, you must know what is being said–”
“Enough!” shouts my father. Garren’s face goes pale. “What a pack of disgruntled lords think of me is not my concern and it should not be yours either.”
“But father—”
“I will hear no more of this. That is not what we are here to discuss.” Kissing my mother’s head, my father moves to stand next to me. Questions linger in his honeyed eyes as he looks down at me. “Do you wish to attend this ball, my darling?”
I feel myself smiling as Garren rolls his eyes. All good fathers love their daughters the most and mine is no exception. Perhaps it is because I am the youngest. Perhaps it is because he will never have to be strict with me to ensure that I am a good ruler for our people. That he will always just be my father and that’s why he treats me this way. Perhaps it is because out of all of us I look the most like my mother but with his rebellious spirit he had to let go of in order to rule.
Whatever it is, there is no denying I am his favorite.
“More than anything.”
“Why?” There is no taunt, just curiosity that laces this question.
I take a deep breath. How do I explain myself without sending Garren into a frenzy?
“I’m bored,” I hedge. My father raises a golden brow.
“You want to go to Myrkorvin, a land filled with demons and death, to participate in a night of debauchery and falsehoods because you are…bored,” Garren spits out.
“Why else would someone go to Myrkorvin if not for debauchery? Surely not the stunning views,” Briar mumbles, now flipping through the pages of the poetry book Garren discarded.
“I quite like debauchery,” I volunteer.
“As do I, but I refrain from saying so in front of Garren as I do not wish to offend the sensibilities of the gentle lady.” Briar’s head looks up and regards us thoughtfully, mouth twisting into a thoughtful expression. “This poet just rhymed ‘look-see’ with a female’s most intimate parts. Truly, they’ll just publish anything these days.”
I snort and my father rubs his temples. Though I doubt his headache is solely from the unforgiving metal of his crown. Even in the soft lights of the candles the jewels sparkle like a million stars.
“Very well then, we shall go. As two unmarried and unmated elves you must both participate in the act together. You understand that, don’t you? To not do so would be seen as a major slight to the king.”
“The act?” Briar puts a hand to his chest, shock widening his eyes. “With my own sister? In this day and age, I thought the elves ended that practice centuries ago.”
“The act of The Night of a Hundred Faces, you idiot,” Garren snaps. “You do realize you are sending your precious Elveena to the wolves, Father. That if she is chosen by the king or, gods forbid a mate to one of those creatures there is nothing we can do to stop it.”
“Elvie won’t be anyone’s mate and she certainly won’t be chosen,” my father says.
“Oh, and why is that?”
“Because in all my centuries I have never once heard of a dark and light elf being mates. Light elves mate for companionship, a bond that forms over time together. A way to endure eternity together as your desire for each other grows with each passing year. Dark elves…” My father pauses.
“Dark elves know in an instant. Due to their kind being the result of a light elf taking a life, corrupting themselves by going against our most sacred laws, each generation that was bred loses more and more of themselves to their animalistic side. Dark elves mate for reproductive purposes.”
This has turned into a decidedly uncomfortable discussion for all of us.
“A mate to a dark elf is whoever can produce the most powerful offspring. Mating with a light elf would set their children back a generational step. As for being picked as a bride. That, presently, is the least of my concerns about this evening.”
“But how can you—”
“So what exactly is The Night of a Hundred Faces? I don’t remember reading about it.” I cut Garren off before he could speak again.
“They used to be quite common,” my mother says. She has been quiet most of this discussion, and I know it is not because she fears speaking her mind in front of my father. No, she has mastered the quiet contemplation and whatever she is not saying now is something that she will impart on us when the time is right.
“When I was a girl my own mother would tell me stories about how Blackfire Castle would host one for its people almost, but as I said before, the tradition ended with the old king. It was thought that he wanted to distance himself from the dark elves being known for the tricks and deceit associated with this act.”
“How so?” I ask.
“The act itself is built on deception. From what I can remember of the last one I heard whispers about, it operates much like a masquerade ball. However, when you put on your mask it transforms you completely, magic shuffles you around to disorient you and then you are sent forth. Certain spells and wards are put up to encourage attraction and ensure that your path and your mate’s will cross.” There is a beat of silence. “With King Arkain using this as a way to find his own chosen bride, the process is the same but at the end of the night the king will bestow his favor to the patron of his choice. Should they accept it then their bargain states they must marry.”
“According to their histories, when the first dark elf king was called to select a bride his nobles were killing each other over the prospect of their daughters being selected. Knowing that their kind was fond of tricks, he devised this act to make his decision without any bias and to placate his lords.” Nothing says a healthy foundation for a relationship than one built out of deception, right?
“And Arkain’s father wanted to get away from all of that. He wanted to stop their people’s overreliance on deceit and free magic. For his son to bring this back while also letting us back into Myrkorvin, it is sending a very mixed message.”
My mother is right, it does not make a lot of sense. What is his goal with all of this? Surely there is no shortage of dark elf females lining up to be queen. Why bring back this tradition that your own father was so against?
I hear the danger and the warning in my parents’ voice and in truth I am a bit wary. The eagerness inside me has not dimmed. While not as fond of tricks, us light elves are cunning. I spoke true to my father. I am bored. Bored of the routine and royal obligations.
One night filled with debauchery sounds like just the thing to lift my spirits.
“It’s rumored that the glamor they use makes you the antithesis of what you are. The greater your beauty, the plainer you become.” My father’s gaze warms my face. “So I fear, my sweet Elvie, that if you manage to keep a low profile, the king’s notice will pass right over you.”
“What about me?” Briar asks.
“Chin up, Briar. This’ll be your chance to see what it’s like to be Garren. Maybe it’ll help you have some compassion for our brother,” I reply primly. Garren rolls his eyes and Briar smirks. My father tries and fails to hide his smile as well. Reaching out a hand he cups my cheek.
“We’ll have time to prepare you for this but it’s important that you’re smart. I know how you like to explore, how trouble always seems to find you, but this isn’t going to be like your usual games.” He squeezes my face. “They don’t play by the same rules.”
For the first time since the visitor, came my excitement snuffs out a bit.
“Orvian, she’ll be fine.” My mother comes up behind me and places a hand on my shoulder. My father nods and takes a step back. They’re always like this. Able to convey their thoughts and feelings without uttering a single word. I do not have to turn to know that my mother is responding to the question in my father’s eyes. Nodding he turns and sits down at his desk. Opening up a fresh pot of ink and pulling pieces of parchment towards himself, my father begins writing in his elegant script.
“I need to inform the nobles about this development. I have no doubt many of them will be eager to attend.”
“And you are going to be late for astronomy lessons. Your tutors keep telling me you’re falling asleep in your lessons,” my mother’s voice grows stern.
“Maybe if Madame Oakren didn’t have the disposition of a floundering fish, I wouldn’t find myself wishing for a swift death over hearing about the solar system again.”
“Regardless, you need to know these things.”
“I’m twenty-three, mother, I feel like I am past these lessons. If anything, shouldn’t I be learning more about the dark elves? I would hate to offend one without knowing any of their customs.” My mother rolls her eyes but my father cuts in.
“She’s right. There’s lots of things we’ve never taught them about the dark elves. Never thought they would ever let us pass through the bridge again. They need to be prepared for all of their tricks.”
“See?” I can’t help but feel a little smug.
“And what, dear husband, is such an important tradition that it should take precedence over your daughter knowing astronomy? Over language and the arts?” My mother places her hands on her hips.
“Here’s one that all of you will be wise to remember.” My father sets his quill down and levels his gaze at me, the gold burning brighter than before. “No matter what you see. No matter what you hear. Nothing in Myrkorvin is as it appears.”
