Episode 2
A Tale of Two Princes
Rominy waits at the barrier with a squadron of soldiers behind him—weapons stowed to appear less threatening. Their presence is as much for the elven royal family’s protection as his own. It’s been decades since the war between their peoples ended, but Father thought it best not to take any risks.
That’s assuming King Lorial returns as his son swore at Arisanna’s cradle twenty years ago.
Once again, guilt plagues Rominy. His very existence is due to the sacrifice expected of his sister. It hardly seems fair. She faces everything with calm acceptance, though. As she always does.
Arisanna waits with their parents in the nearby city of Feressa, where Rominy will escort the elven royal family upon their arrival. From there, they’ll take the train farther south to the capital city, Levina, and if everything goes according to plan, Arisanna will marry the elf prince tomorrow.
Then the next day, she’ll leave with them.
He eyes the glittering barrier that’s stood for more than twenty years now. Hopefully, it will be passable again soon—for everyone and not just the elf king and his son.
That’s what this marriage alliance is all about. Lasting peace between the human and elf realms.
Rominy’s stallion shifts beneath him, and Rominy watches with a tightness in his chest as a gap forms in the barrier.
It’s really happening. The elves remembered the bargain struck so many years ago. And they’ve come to collect.
Rominy exhales slowly to slow his racing heart and puts on the most welcoming expression he can muster as a line of six horses emerges from the gap in the barrier.
The elven royal family? That must be King Lorial leading the way from the center.
He sits tall in the saddle, his silver hair long over his shoulders.
His face holds a quiet calm as their eyes meet across the open meadow.
It only makes sense that the elf woman at his side is Queen Nestraya. She looks ill. Is she unwell? Her dark hair lies limp along her too-pale face, and Rominy tries not to stare.
To the king’s left are two more dark-haired elves—one must be Crown Prince Tharios. Hopefully, the one with a cheerful expression and not the one eyeing the soldiers with aloof disdain.
Does King Lorial have another son they weren’t aware of?
Beside the queen, a young woman with silver hair like the king’s smiles widely as her eyes dart around the meadow before landing on him. A daughter? Clearly, the royal family of Nunia is not the only one that’s increased in size since the treaty was wrought.
Another woman rides at the elf princess’s side, but she looks nothing like the king or the queen with her blonde locks and bright blue eyes. And rounded ears. A human? Or, more likely, one of the flaxen-haired mountain fae? What’s the story there? Perhaps they’ll find out soon.
“Your Majesty,” Rominy says in the carefully practiced tongue of the elves. “Welcome to Nunia. I am Prince Rominy, and I am to escort you and your kin to Feressa, where my parents and sister wait to greet you.”
The blonde fae glances at the princess and grins, and the princess bites her lip as she meets Rominy’s eyes. Then the fae woman whispers something to the princess, and the princess nods as her whole face lights up in a stunning smile.
“It might be easier if we speak in the human tongue, young prince,” King Lorial says in clear Nunian. “Your accent is very thick, though we appreciate the effort.”
“Forgive me, Your Majesty,” Rominy says in Nunian as his face heats. “It is not for lack of effort, I assure you.”
“Elvish is a difficult language to master, and your progress is admirable. Perhaps conversing with a native speaker will help in time, should you desire to continue learning, which I hope you do.”
A native speaker? Is one of the elves planning to stay in Nunia after the wedding? Rominy’s brow furrows at the king’s words, but he doesn’t ask for clarification. “Of course, Your Majesty. I’m always eager to learn new things. Please, follow me.”
“One moment.” King Lorial turns and lifts a hand to close the barrier again after a small group of guards and, from the looks of it, high-ranking elves follow their king from the woodland.
Then he gestures Rominy forward, and Rominy nudges his horse south toward Feressa.
Cerian watches the human prince with veiled curiosity. Should they be offended that the human king sent his son alone to welcome them? Of course, King Gerault is aged by human standards. Perhaps such a journey would have been too much for the elderly man.
The human prince’s Elvish was abhorrent.
Cerian barely understood what he was trying to convey, but at least the prince made an effort.
Hopefully, Princess Arisanna will have a better grasp of Elvish than her brother.
If not, most of Cerian’s family can speak the human language passably until she learns.
“The princess didn’t come to the barrier,” Cerian whispers to Tharios beside him. “What do you think that signifies?”
“Perhaps she’s busy preparing for her binding ceremony tomorrow.”
A stoniness spreads across Cerian’s face, and Tharios laughs.
“Perhaps.” Cerian nudges Lightshorn ahead to escape his brother’s teasing that’s soon to follow.
It’s a short ride to the nearby human city, and a faint scent of something heavy with silt fills Cerian’s lungs. That must be from the human locomotive that Tharios goes on and on about. Hopefully, they won’t be expected to ride such a thing.
Elowyn would be thrilled.
Unlit lamps line the cobblestone streets of the small city, and Cerian eyes them with disdain. Tharios has regaled them with stories of the human gas lamps as well.
Advances in technology like these and the firearms adorning the backs of the prince’s soldiers were what made Nunia a threat to Lostariel in the first place.
For centuries, elven magic was enough to ensure peace between their peoples.
Lostariel didn’t attack them because what threat were humans to the elves?
And the humans didn’t attack the elves because. ..well, that would have been mad.
Now, though, their technological advancements rival elven magic in ways that leave the two kingdoms at an uneasy stalemate.
But this binding of the heartbound is supposed to create a lasting peace between Nunia and Lostariel. Cerian can only hope it succeeds, or this sacrifice will be for nothing.
As they approach the city square, Prince Rominy slows. At least the human prince seems to be a decent person so far. Hopefully, his sister is as well since all too soon Cerian will be living with her.
Soon, the human prince dismounts beside a graying, wrinkled couple, and next to them stands a young woman with glossy brown hair and rosy cheeks. The gleam of the sun on her tresses brings out a reddish tint unlike anything Cerian’s ever seen. She’s actually...quite lovely.
Though Cerian will never confess that thought to Tharios.
Her smile is warm, if hesitant, and as Father dismounts, she glances between Cerian and his brother, probably trying to decide which of them is her intended.
Tharios lifts Mother from her horse before Cerian can tear his gaze from the princess. Tharios was supposed to let him do that.
Cerian catches his brother’s eye, and Tharios winks. Did he see Cerian staring at the princess? That’s the last thing Cerian needs right now.
With a huff, Cerian swings from his horse and moves closer to his parents.
“Welcome back to Nunia,” King Gerault says in a broken version of Elvish before switching to his own language. “I trust your journey has been a pleasant one?”
“Indeed,” Father says. “Your son was quite welcoming.”
Cerian glances at the princess again, and she hesitantly meets his gaze.
“Your family has grown, Lorial,” King Gerault says.
Cerian’s brows knit as he looks at Elowyn. What is that supposed to mean? The king sounded surprised. She shrugs before turning her gaze back to the human prince. She seems to find him fascinating, which is just as well for her sake.
“Yes,” Father says slowly in response. “My daughter, Elowyn, and my younger son, Cerian.”
“It is a pleasure to meet you both,” the human queen says, though whether she truly means it or is simply being polite is unclear.
Princess Arisanna relaxes as her smile grows. She turns her eyes to Tharios. Is she ignoring Cerian?
“I’d also like to introduce Viala, my son Tharios’s binding partner.
His wife, as you say.” Father gestures to Cerian’s sister-in-law as Tharios reaches for her hand with that cloyingly obnoxious smile he often wears around his future queen.
“She is the youngest daughter of the King of the Lothlesi. I believe you call them the mountain fae.”
The humans conversing nearby go silent as the faces of the royal family swing toward Cerian’s father. Princess Arisanna’s skin blanches, and she looks in danger of fainting. The human prince frowns and glances toward the human king.
“What is the meaning of this?” King Gerault asks. “Prince Tharios was to wed my own daughter. Was that not the bargain we struck?”
Every muscle in Cerian’s body tenses at the king’s words as Cerian looks from him to the princess and then to Father.
For once, Father is speechless, and Mother sways. Cerian rushes toward her to steady her as she clings to his arm.
What in the Wildthorne Woods is going on? Princess Arisanna can’t bind with Tharios.
She’s heartbound...to Cerian.