Chapter 2 Rhianelle
The pale-blue silken dress Lady Deirdre has chosen for the evening ball is perfect.
I grin at how the silver embroidery matches my hair.
But my smile falters, disappearing as quickly as it comes.
It always feels wrong to have any bit of joy after Aerin’s death.
Lady Deirdre may have woven her magic to turn me into a nightingale, but I will always feel like a broken bird.
Perhaps Clayborne is right. I am not fit to be a queen.
My ears twitch at a sound from the entrance. “Is that you, Aelfric?”
“It’s me, Your Grace.”
I open the door at the hard male voice. “What are you doing here, Darstan? I thought I gave you the night off.”
The knight is quiet for a moment, his tall, massive form occupying the entire doorway. I crane my neck to look at him. “Shouldn’t you be at home with Siofra?”
Delight fills his rough features at the mere mention of that name.
By the Aeonians’ rule, the royal guards may not keep land, wife, family or inherit any possession.
They are forced to take a vow of celibacy and silence, sacrificing their life completely for the crown.
I’m glad I fought hard to remove some of those harsh decrees.
“With the Archon invoked, you might need me tonight,” he rasps hoarsely. Talking still feels awkward and unpleasant for him.
“Lord Clayborne is honorable. If he said the Archon starts at noon tomorrow, then tomorrow it is,” Aelfric interrupts, appearing from the shadows. “I can take it from here. As long as the queen promises she won’t sneak away from my watch, we’ll be fine.”
My friend narrows his eyes at me.
It’s not my fault you can’t catch me, Aelfric, I almost tease. But it feels awfully childish to say that in front of the honorable Darstan.
“I offer myself as your champion for tomorrow’s Duel,” the behemoth of a knight says. That’s the most words he has ever spoken to me. His bottomless, dark eyes clash with mine. I shrink a little beneath that stare.
“You don’t have to.” I shake my head.
“It’s my duty and it will be the highest honor,” he says meaningfully. “I owe you more than just my life—”
“I haven’t decided yet if I’m going to choose Duel or Damnation,” I tell him quickly.
The reply surprises both knights. Silence falls between us for several beats. They know I would never have the heart to choose Damnation.
Darstan finally leaves reluctantly when Aelfric threatens to call his wife to fetch him.
I fall into step beside my friend, looping my hand around his elbow. “I guess it’s you and me again.”
“Don’t sound so disappointed. I’m going to give you five minutes today,” Aelfric says slowly.
“Really?” I can’t hide my smile at the chance. “Five whole minutes?”
His crushing blue eye softens as he looks at me. “Yes, Rhianelle.”
He releases my hand in front of the gilded door. A light symphony filters from the atrium and my heart leaps with excitement. The knight leans on the wall to stand watch, keeping himself alert.
I shoot him a grateful look. This gift from him is precious.
Once I enter the hall, I won’t be able to enjoy the music any longer.
My body begins to sway to the soft tunes of the string quartet.
I feel like a graceful swan, swimming freely in an open lake.
Aelfric drags a hand through his pale blonde hair, stifling a laugh.
I must look like a flightless chicken instead.
“What kind of a move is that?” His keen eye gazes down the hall in case someone sees the queen in this embarrassing state.
“It’s something I learned from my friends in Astefar,” I reply with a smile.
Blood drains from his face instantly. The time I spent in the forbidden woods as a child always drains the wits from the bravest of people.
The knight clears his throat after a while. “Ready?”
My heart sinks a little, but I think Aelfric allowed me to dance a bit longer this time. Almost eight minutes.
The gigantic double doors swing open and I straighten my spine.
The hall goes silent at my arrival. Some kneel to pray the moment they glimpse the holy Mark of the Blessed on my face, visible only to the most pious of elves.
Even I can’t see what it looks like. Of the hundreds of Kings and Queens who have reigned over Aelfheim only five others had been bestowed with the mark.
They all have led the Kingdom into the golden era of glory and prosperity.
I can feel their mounting expectation because my marking apparently happens to be similar to the ancient elf whose statue sits at the centre of Aelfheim.
King Casimir the Brave, the very founder of Aelfheim.
Multiple chandeliers made of solid gold hang from the roof of the ballroom. They illuminate the stories on the ceiling of how my ancestors saved the realm of mortals from the threat of dark creatures of the night.
Emerald tapestries with the Wiolant house crest bedecks the walls around us.
Despite the opulence of the hall and the lavish decorations, everything is practical and pragmatic.
Nothing like the fae revelry in the south.
Aelfric will usually escort me to my royal throne at the far end of the hall but tonight is the magical Merafall.
I circle the room to talk to the Aldarelfs and High Elves under my knight’s watchful eyes from the shadows.
“I heard.”
I whirl to the smooth, silken voice behind me.
Dark-haired, brown-skinned with eyes as blue as the ocean; there is a regal air by which he carries himself in his fine silver clothing. I bow my head to the apparent heir of the Kashran Sovereign, the only neighboring elven kingdom recognized by the Aeonians.
“I miss you, cousin,” Kahedin says by way of greeting, enveloping me in a warm embrace.
He still calls me that even though our family ties are distant enough for Rainer to place him in my line of suitors.
I would have jumped into his arms and kissed his cheek, but I keep my High Elf mask glued to my face.
He holds me for a long time, uncaring of the spectators around us. I bask in his fresh citrus scent. It reminds me of my mother’s garden in Volundr.
Kahedin parts from me reluctantly. “Far be it from me to criticize the rule of succession in Aelfheim, but whoever invented the Archon must be nuts.”
I stop breathing entirely. “You can’t say that out loud.” I panic, looking around left and right. I pray no one heard his direct insult to the Aeonians.
“Volundr should separate itself from the motherland the way we did,” he says carelessly.
Fear hits me with full force.
Kahedin narrows his eyes to the Aldarelfs around the room. “I could never understand why you flock together like little birds.”
For safety in numbers against the fae. But it also means submitting to the Elders’ brutal rules. I swallow nervously at my cousin’s constant jabs at the Aeonians.
“I haven’t seen Rainer around,” he muses, his eyes scanning the room.
“He won’t be joining us tonight,” I say softly. “I’ll send him your regards and tell him you’re looking forward to a jousting rematch.”
Kahedin smiles, broad and unburdened. “Please do.”
We both notice Aldarelf Hawthorne on our periphery, vying for Kahedin’s attention. The lord has been trying to pair him with his daughter for ages.
“I don’t think you can avoid Leland for much longer,” I mutter with a light laugh. A muscle twitches on my cousin’s chiseled cheekbone.
“This has been nice,” he says with a long heave. “If you need refuge, security, anything. Just name it, and I will provide it for you.”
I smile at the generous offer.
“Although with Rainer around, I doubt you have to worry about the Archon,” he says with conviction.
Kahedin kisses my forehead before leaving.
He doesn’t know that my uncle has never been the same since my sister died.
The glorious Silver Stag of the East who saved Kashran from the Diarmal rebellion is long gone.
All that is left now is a husk of a warrior who craves for one thing and one thing only.
Revenge.
I shift my eyes from my cousin’s retreating back to the abundance of food on the long table.
Almost the entirety of it will be discarded at the end of the night.
It’s such a waste. None of the people in this hall know what it’s like to be so hungry you start chewing on your fingers.
I pray they never will. Blaire and I would have fought tooth and nail for a scrap of what’s on that table.
I push away the old memories and listen politely to the members of the court as they volunteer their warriors to be my champion.
“That’s him,” Aelfric suddenly whispers in my ear, emerging from the shadows.
I have seen Gerailt Clayborne in passing before; tall, lean built with bright golden hair loosely tied back and clear emerald eyes.
Tonight, the Commander of the Valorian is glorious and charming in his dark wine-red blazer.
His beauty is the kind possessed by all dangerous beings like him—panthers, wolves.
“The Prime God he serves is Kvatosh, the God of Chaos and War,” I whisper back, tracking his movements.
“Arawynn too,” Aelfric adds.
“The Goddess of Love?”
“I believe he slept with half of the lords and ladies in court.”
Oh.
“You will make an enemy of them all if you harm a single hair on his head,” Aelfric says, shifting his gaze to me. “Name me as your champion, Rhianelle.”
Of course, both of my noble knights would offer their life to me.
“Gerailt has won the Tavas tournament seventeen years in a row. Unbeaten and undisputed,” I say, taking in a deep breath. I don’t want Aelfric to fight to the death with the best swordsman in all of Aelfheim.
“I won that title too as you recall—”
“That was years ago.”
“Had I bothered competing in Tavas these recent years, I would have won. I swear I can defeat all the contenders with one eye closed.”
I can hardly smile at his jest.
“Rainer will want you to choose Damnation. But just look at that…”