Page 4 of The Ivory King (Crowns of Melowynn #2)

“HAVE YOU EVER SEEN SOMEONE MISS all the targets with such amazing accuracy?!”

I cut into my seasoned fowl as the howls of my friends, and that is a term that I was considering revising, continued to float to the rafters of the main hall.

“It seemed as if his eyes were shut,” Lariam said so loudly surely those in the back of the hall heard him. The urge to stab him with my meat dagger was strong. “But then I looked, and no, they were wide open. Tell me, Aelir, did you think that today was a game bird hunt, and that was why your arrows flew into the air?”

Luchas slapped me on the back. I glared down at the food on my round silver platter before spearing a sliver of roasted duck and meeting their gleeful gazes. Twenty sat at the head table as honored guests: me, as a representative of the Stillcloud family, and Bonnalure’s fiancé as the face of the Dewfall clan. Among us were various dignitaries of the local lands as well as the king’s secretary, Le’ral Fylson, an esteemed elf and retired warrior who was seated on the right hand of the lady of the manor. Rumors abounded about Le’ral and the king. I paid those titterings no mind for who anyone took to their bed was no concern of mine. Granted, the lack of a royal heir did worry the older nobles, for if the monarch should die without offspring, then chaos would ensue. But King Raloven was still in his prime. He had centuries to find a queen who would gift him a child to wear the crown. Le’ral and I had spoken briefly before the staff had begun serving the meal. He’d asked about my grandfather. I’d told him he was as well as could be expected in his advanced years. The secretary smiled—a handsome smile from a handsome man—and assured me that Umeris was still possessed of many years. I nodded politely. I was sure of that. My grandfather was too cantankerous to expire.

“Indeed, I was aiming at the flocks of ducks flying over, for I have seen you eat before and knew that the kitchens would need more fowl so the king’s envoy would not go hungry,” I replied as I waved my bite of perfectly seasoned duck in the air.

All at our end of the table laughed aloud, the seemingly endless supply of wine and ale already showing in their actions and volume. As the young men and women around me ate and made merry, I looked back over my shoulder. V’alor stood several feet behind me, along with a handful of the Mossbell guards. Silently watching, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword, he would meet my look and lower his head as was the norm.

We’d not had the chance to speak since my debacle at the archery contest. Even Atriel had been upset with me and had nipped my ass when I handed her to a stable hand. The bite was justified. Perhaps she should have bitten me harder. Gods, I was a fool. V’alor must think me a total ass.

“So, Lord Aelir, rumor has it that your correspondence with the Frostleaf maid has been going on for many seasons,” a young Mossbell cousin, P’athel her name was, leaned around Lariam to ask. She looked a great deal like the rest of the Mossbells in her bright lilac party gown. For some reason, they all dressed in the same tones for gala events. I found it rather silly, but then again, I found much of the ways of my fellow nobles frivolous. P’athel was still a child in my eyes, no older than twelve or so seasons, but had finally been freed of the nursery to attend fine dinners.

“Yes, that is true,” I was happy to reply. Raewyn and I had become friends over the years, and what had at one time been forced upon me was now an enjoyable endeavor. Raewyn was a clever young woman, sharp-witted, well-educated, and possessed a love of all peoples. Which was why, I assumed, she was happy far away in a temple high in the Lavender Steppes of the Witherhorn Mountains to serve among the sisters of Ihdos. “We have been writing to each other since we were children.”

“Is it true that her skin is marred by the widow’s touch sickness that eradicated the Frostleaf clan save for her?” P’athel’s large blue eyes were locked on me.

Everyone at our end of the long table fell quiet, the ribbing about my terrible performance ending suddenly. Each and every pointed ear was turned to me and my reply.

“I cannot say. I have only seen a small oil of her that we exchanged last year, and in that, she was quite lovely. If she is marred by the fungus that wiped out her clan before the cure was discovered, it matters not for she is a woman of great refinement and would never ask such an indelicate question at a dinner party,” I replied with just enough bite that P’athel shrunk back into her seat like a night lily come morn.

“I, too, have wondered about your relationship with the Frostleaf heiress,” Lariam interjected after taking a sloppy swig of wine. “My mother insists that your grandfather is working to secure her hand for you in marriage. Her estates are rumored to be vast and encompass a third of the rich forests of Knight’s Way.”

“Mm, I, too, have heard that,” Luchas chimed in before I could comment. “I heard that the lands are held in trust for her by the sisters of Celinthe, and once she is betrothed, the sisters will turn her and her massive vills over to her chosen husband. Imagine inheriting such a windfall. Aelir, when you marry her, your vills will triple in size! Perhaps I should take up writing to her! If her face is scarred, I will simply blow out the candle before planting my seed!”

“You would first have to know how to write like a gentle elf and not scribble like a brat of four seasons,” Lariam teased his twin.

“My cock shall write all the mushroom-faced wench need to read,” Luchas drunkenly replied.

I shot to my feet, dagger in hand, about to unleash on the idiot twins, when a hand fell onto my shoulder.

“Do you need to excuse yourself, my lord? Is it your dyspepsia again?” V’alor asked in a steady voice.

I drew in a long breath as all those at the head table now studied me curiously.

“I…yes, I find that I have suddenly grown a sour stomach. Lady Mossbell, Bonnalure, Secretary Fylson, please excuse me.” I nodded politely and took my leave, shoving my small dagger back into the sheath on my belt as I stalked from the packed hall. V’alor followed behind, waving off the looks of the other Stillcloud guards who were scattered along the halls.

“They are shitwits,” I seethed as we climbed the grand staircase, the smells of rich beeswax candles thick in the air. Torches spat and danced, casting the stone stairs in undulating light. “I should have slapped them both across their idiotic faces for speaking of a well-bred lady-elf like Raewyn in such a derogatory manner.”

“Yes, my lord,” V’alor said in that dull monotone way that irked me to no end. “Perhaps you would wish me to return to the great hall and run them through for the insults to your intended?”

I stalled halfway up the stairs to throw a dark look at the man in the polished copper armor.

“She is not my intended. No mention of such has been made. Why do you seek to nettle me so?”

“I am merely offering viable solutions to the slight made against Lady Frostleaf.”

We were of similar heights at the moment, with him two steps lower. Servants scuttled by many with fresh linens piled in their arms, some with buckets of hot water for baths that had been arranged but would not be used for many hours, resulting in the castle staff having to haul more buckets later.

“You are speaking out of your ass,” I snapped, spun on my boot heel, and continued stalking up to the second floor. “If I wished to hear such inanities, I would have stayed at the table with the twins. Drunken nobles. Ihdos give me strength. Why do we grow more crass the deeper we get into our cups?”

The clank of his armor, sword in the scabbard, and his shield tapping his leg as he carried it seemingly effortlessly on his left arm filled the stairwell. The staff nodded and bowed silently, hurrying out of our way as if they feared a backhand for simply being seen. We reached the riser, and I headed south.

“I am sure that growing crass the more wine a man has is not limited solely to the nobility. I have seen many a fine soldier make an utter ass out of him or herself after a night spent at a pub. Our pixie princess flitters to mind. Your room is to the left, my lord.”

“I am aware,” I said as I turned. I refused to look up at him. He was far too smug. Also, too handsome. Also, he was using “my lord” entirely too much. I loathed hearing him use that term when my name sounded much more pleasing falling from his tongue. We moved down the long, dimly lit corridor in silence. Several doors were closed, with laughter or the sounds of sex leaking out into the hall. I pondered if that was how V’alor and I had sounded then grew warm recalling our night of passion.

My room awaited me with fresh linen, a low fire in the hearth, and an empty tub in front of the fireplace. The window was closed against the damp air that clung to skin, cloth, and stone. No wonder the castle itself was moss-covered. The braziers were burning, clouding the room with a light woodsy smell that reminded me of Kenton’s home village in the Verboten. I’d never smelled fresher or sweeter air.

V’alor did a quick check of the room as I began to work on the small gold buttons on the front of my red velvet tunic.

“Perhaps we should ring for that friendly valet to aid you in removing your party attire?” V’alor asked after securing the wooden shutters and heavy drapes at the window opening.

I glanced up. He was looking directly at me before peering behind a changing screen. Next, he would look under the bed. V’alor was nothing if not thorough. If the armoire were larger, he would peer inside to ensure no one lurked amongst my clothing.

His brown eyes darted back to me as he stood by the ornate screen.

“I would rather you aid me in undressing,” I replied earnestly, my fingers stalling at the fourth button down from my chin.

“I am not a valet,” he reminded me, and I smiled.

“Then I shall ring for one.”

I took four steps toward the bell pull before his hand closed around my wrist, his fingers spanning my lower forearm.

“I do not trust that one.” That was all he said, but it was enough to set my blood to heating.

“Then it falls to you, my most trusted and beloved guardian, to aid me with these tiny buttons.”

He stared at me for the longest time, his hold on my wrist firm yet tender. “Aelir, you should not say such things. You and I are…” He faltered. “Things should be discussed such as your seeming distrust of my vows to the Stillcloud house.”

Well fuck. I had not wished to revive my stupidity from earlier. “I may have acted less attractively than I should have. Trust me when I say that I know you would not leave our employ to work for the Mossbells.”

“The twins are shitwits,” he said, his voice as smoky as the room now, his thumb moving in a small circle on my wrist that sent twisting flashes of heat to my groin.

“Tezen will be pleased to hear that you, too, are casting around her words with such impunity.”

“She shall never know. Now, go on, my lord Aelir. You were saying…”

Curse the man. I blew a strand of hair from my face. The currant berry stems that I’d tucked behind my ears to match my tunic and trousers were annoying and did little to keep my hair from my face.

“I was saying that I acted immaturely. I awoke to find you gone, and it stung. I had hoped that we could continue to pleasure each other in the dawn’s light.”

I stepped closer. He held my wrist still, tucking it between us as I pressed in tighter. Now I needed to tip my head back to see him. His dark eyes held me. I could see the fight taking place inside of him.

“Aelir, we should not pleasure each other again.”

“I disagree. We should pleasure each other as often as we can, for I love you. I have loved you for years, and I shall always love you. When I am as old and wrinkled as Umeris, my heart will still belong to you.” His eyes closed. His breath danced over his parted lips. “Look at me and tell me that you do not care for me, V’alor. Tell me that you do not wish to lie with me. Tell me that you do not wish to awaken in my bed. Tell me that my love is not reciprocated and you are free to return to your barracks and never know the sweetness of holding me in the night ever again.”

“Your tongue is far too honeyed, Aelir. You know I cannot say those things, for they would be lies and I shall not, will not , lie to you.”

“Then kiss me, protect me from the shitwits.” One corner of his mouth twitched. “Love me well, and on the morrow, we shall return home. I long to ride you in my own bed.”

His nostrils flared as mischief danced in his brown gaze. “For a future statesman and Ruler of the vills of Renedith, your apology was lacking.”

“As a future statesman, I think I did an adept job of skirting the issue entirely. Now please , will you kiss me, then peel me out of this finery?”

His lips fell to mine, tentative at first, and then with raw passion that saw two dozen buttons of hammered gold fly across the room in short fashion. The tailor back in Renedith would not be pleased when he was called up to repair the tunic.

His loving that night was anything but short, though. It was mad passion that carried me to our lovely sister moons.

When I awoke, I slept alone, but beside me on his cold pillow lay a short note in his brusque script.

We stand at the ready to depart at your word, my lord Aelir. I too long a lengthy ride when we return to Renedith—V’alor

Wearing a smile all morn, I soon lost it when I straddled my mare for the long ride home. Perhaps I should have rung for the valet after all…

Returning home was always welcome. Being the heir to the vills of Renedith called for me to travel over much of Melowynn, and while I enjoyed seeing the people of our lands, I enjoyed falling into my own bed at night just as much. And now that V’alor was lying beside me as the nights grew shorter and the air crisper, home was where I wished to linger forever. I entertained the idea of tending to my duties in bed, but V’alor turned a frightening shade of puce when I playfully suggested it one morning. I hated rolling over to find him gone or even worse, waking up to watch him dressing while the stars still shone.

Yet, I understood his departure. The men who served under him and the rest of the staff did not need to witness my guard captain sneaking through the halls as the castle readied to break its fast. Protocol must be adhered to. While I was sure that everyone in Castle Willowspirit, from the lad who cleaned the chamber pots to Umeris, knew that V’alor and I were lovers, we had to behave decorously in front of others.

A naked personal guard captain tiptoeing out of my room would bring down the wrath of my grandfather. He, like most elves be they noble or not, cared nothing about the fact that I slept with another man. Such intolerance was more of a human religious facet. Elves had elevated themselves above such stupidity centuries ago. What did matter to Umeris was that whoever I bedded, we were discreet and no bastards would come forth. There was no chance of a misbegotten babe when one lay with one of the same sex, so Umeris was silent on the matter. Truth be told, he had other things to occupy his mind. The king’s coronation anniversary celebration for one as well as some troubles with roaming bandits that were plaguing the deliveries of goods from one vills to the other.

This was where Kenton, who had returned from Knight’s Way with his husband, four students, and hundreds of small wooden boxes filled with insects, seeds, and animal droppings for study at a later date, was most handy. While the city elves and the wood elves were worlds apart in many ways, we could pull together when need called for it. In truth, I wished we were closer, but change took time. Eradicating hundreds of years of mistrust and bigotry did not disappear like the fog at the touch of the sun’s rays.

But progress was being made. The wood elves now had a small school with a chapel for the worship of their goddess for city elves that wished to take up the druidic ways. The chapel, small as it was, had taken months of bickering with our church elders to assure them that elven hearts were big enough to allow more than one deity within the confines of a vills. Permission had been grudgingly granted, but I still got unpleasant looks when I attended morning prayers.

The bird cages in our gardens were now empty of feathered souls. And there was a decree being drafted by Beirich, which would close the menagerie in the center of Renedith. I did not expect it to please my grandfather, who still took great pleasure in viewing the caged beasts when his health allowed him to walk through the meticulously tended park. I was prepared to argue for its passing as not only a way to keep relations good with the wood elves but also to save money. Feeding and tending to the animals was incredibly costly. We would see if my grandfather preferred seeing spotted Sandrayan wild cats or saving gold. I hoped it would be the latter. I suspected it might be, for there was little Umeris disliked more than fiscal waste. Unless it was my radical ideals.

This led us to this day as I sat in a meeting with Kenton, his father the wilder warden Dyffros Amergin, Umeris, and Jassin Runewind. The great chamber was a large, airy room roughly half the size of the great hall. It was where Grandfather, and now I as well, met with visiting dignitaries, invites the local government in for an emergency meeting, and where my grandfather and I ate our evening meals. The windows were open, with the sun shining in on the twin long tables of dark wood. Wind ruffled through the chamber to make the tapestries on the cold stone walls shift in the strong breeze. Rain was in the air, or so said our druid friends. Cold meats, cheese, and wine sat atop embroidered table runners of scarlet, needlepoint swans decorating the thin tablecloths.

With two days left to settle this bandit situation, before the castle nobles and envoys were to leave for the coronation anniversary gala, this issue of who would pay for food and horses for the men necessary to track these brigands needed to be settled today.

Jassin was not making it a simple task.

“Surely you can at least see that Renedith paying stipends to the wood elves that sign on to aid the city is fair,” Wilder Warden Dyffros stated calmly. “For it is not our food and goods that are being stolen. We do offer our people out of the goodness of our hearts to help further diplomatic ties with Renedith.”

“Surely you can see that your clans harboring these ladrones in the Glotte wood lends your kind to be responsible for this dilemma. If you drove them out instead of turning blind eyes to their actions, we would not be facing this dilemma,” Jassin blustered, his temper frayed after several hours of being locked in a room with two elven cousins with skin tones he disliked.

“Again, they do not disrupt our food chain. Perhaps if you were not so dependent on the wood and stone from other parts of Melowynn for your ever-expanding borders and learned to utilize the gifts that Danubia bestows on us with gentle care of the lands and trees, then we would not need to jeopardize our sentries to ensure that your people can continue to erect more and more unneeded towers to your god,” Dyffros replied with slight ire.

Umeris sat at the head of the table in discreet green and white day robes, his brow furrowed, his sharp gaze coming to land on me.

“What say you, Aelir?” Grandfather broke into the tense discussion like an assassin’s dagger. “Surely you have thoughts?”

“I do yes. I think that the sentries that the wood elves are generously offering to track down these bandits and bring them to justice should be compensated by the Renedith coffers,” I said as I sat forward in my chair to place my forearms on the table. I looked at Kenton, who nodded for me to continue. We’d discussed this issue, and others, in long hours spent in the gardens or on lengthy walks with his eager students. I’d found little to give me as much joy as sharing the wonders of the natural world with my closest friend. Lying with my cheek on V’alor’s strong chest perhaps came first now, obviously, but walks with Kenton were a close second. “Again, if we closed the menagerie, we would have ample funds to cover such contingencies.”

Umeris stroked a long clump of white hair as he studied me intently. Kenton and his father bobbed their heads in agreement. And then there was Jassin, sitting there in a rich tunic of soft green with tailored trousers and boots crafted by the dwarven leatherworkers of the Witherhorn.

“My lord Aelir, this meeting is not about your plans to dismantle the menagerie and turn all the bloodthirsty beasts that reside within it loose on the good people of Renedith,” Jassin began, then was cut off, most shockingly, by Kenton.

“That is a falsehood that is being fed to the city elves to keep them fearful and unwilling to close the gates of that vile place of cages and broken spirits. The beasts that live within the menagerie are dying slow deaths at being behind bars. I speak with them! They lament their imprisonment! I would sooner die myself than simply throw open pens and leave them to die in the heart of the city. Why must you continue to spread lies and disinformation to the people of Renedith?!”

Jassin shot to his feet, his jowly face red with rage. Dyffros stood as well, his hand reaching for his bow, only to recall it was resting in the corner, a sign of goodwill, and not slung over his shoulder.

“I bid you both sit,” Umeris barked, then slapped a hand to the table. The goblets of chilled ice wine jumped at the impact. “The beasts in cages are not of import.”

“They are!” Kenton shouted. His father gave his arm a tug and then sat as his son seethed but also returned to his seat.

I stood up. All eyes shifted to me aside from Jassin, who was still mottled with rage. His sight was locked on a goblet in front of him, but his wide ass was in his chair once more. Few bickered with Umeris Stillcloud. That joy was reserved for me.

“Let us state once and for all that no creatures that are caged will be freed like alley cats to wander the streets. Kenton and I will personally take on the task that each beast to be released be returned to its natural environs. I shall see a notice printed and handed out to every soul in Renedith, so whoever is spreading these falsehoods will be quieted. Now, may we return to the discussion of bandits?”

“But who will pay for these notices and the hauling of over a hundred beasts to the furthest reaches of Melowynn?” Jassin demanded.

“I will,” I barked at my wit’s end with the man. “I shall pay for the printer. I shall pay the cost of taking each poor beast home. Does that ease your mind?”

It was not that I did not understand Jassin and his monetary concerns. I did. I’d been taught well by my tutor and grandfather. I knew how a large vills worked. He was the vills overseer. It was his job to fret over gold and where it would come from. What I did not understand was his venom for the wood elves who were graciously offering to help us for a mere pittance. How one elf could so despise another simply made no sense to me. It was like hating a part of yourself, for we were all kin.

“Yes, it does,” Jassin huffed as he sat back in his seat.

“That pleases me to hear. Now let us discuss bandits…”

At midday we left the great chamber, Jassin thundering off in a huff of muttered curses aimed at young men and foolish elders with radical ideals.

My grandfather had chosen to pay the wood elves a small stipend to cover their costs for arrows, bows, and supplement days lost to preparing for the upcoming winter months. To say that I was shocked would be a severe understatement. Jassin had asked, with much less verbosity than before, where the gold would come from.

“It will come from the closure of the damn menagerie,” Grandfather had spat, his tangled silver brows telling me that he was not feeling well. “We shall place that job on the shoulders of the two who fought for it for so long. Let the complaints from the peoples of Renedith when they find the menagerie closed fall on your shoulders.”

“But Grand Advisor, Lord Aelir just stated that he himself would pay for—” Jassin had begun to argue timidly but arguing just the same. Grandfather was not in the mood at all.

“And I have decreed otherwise. Now, we shall dispatch several squads of our city guard to accompany Dyffros back into the Verboten woods. There they shall gather the wood elves and then strike out to track down the bandits hiding in the Glotte. This meeting is now dismissed. Aelir, I will see you later today before the evening meal. We have much to discuss before we leave for the capital.”

“Yes, Grandfather,” I replied, my sight locked on Kenton, who was so happy he vibrated.

“Thank you, Grand Advisor, for taking the humane course for those beasts in the menagerie. Danubia shall look kindly on you for your compassion,” Kenton had said as he rose. Dyffros agreed.

“What your goddess thinks of my actions is of little import. Ihdos, the god of wisdom, led me to the most intelligent decision. Gold saved on feeding wild beasts shall go toward securing the vills’ imports.” Grandfather slowly got to his feet, casting a look around for his personal guard Jaska. With his guard’s aid, he limped off, his grip tight on his guard’s arm. I worried about the old bastard and his now constant battle with swollen feet.

“You two have made no friends in the vills overseer,” Dyffros commented as we watched Jassin storming down the hall. “I would advise you both watch your backs, for he harbors a hatred for those who differ from him in any way or best him in any way.”

“He is a petty, toxic man who is best ignored,” Kenton said and began rambling about how grand it was that the animals would soon be freed. Grand yes, but a massive overtaking that would require input from all the races of Melowynn. Thankfully, in four days I will be mingling with dwarves, pixies, yeti, human, and Sandrayan delegates at the king’s celebration.

“I am not sure a wise man ignores the asp slithering about his feet, my son,” Dyffros commented sagely.

“I am making a list of staff who are to be let go when my grandfather steps aside. Jassin resides at the top of the list.” My stomach growled. “My apologies. I awoke late and had no time to break my fast. Shall we visit Widow Poppy and see what she is baking?”

“I am sated from the bread and cheeses in the meeting, so I will retire to my room to pen a missive to send to your mother so she can begin recruiting volunteers,” Dyffros announced, giving his son a hug and me a polite bow, and then walked off.

“Your father is a regal man. A true credit to his people,” I said after Warden Wilder had disappeared around a corner.

“He is what I aspire to be,” Kenton proudly replied. Then his stomach rumbled. “I should have availed myself of the generous offerings during the meeting, but I was too angered to eat. I know that hatred is a dark emotion that both of our gods state we should avoid, but by Danubia’s grace, Jassin is a hard man to not dislike.”

“Yes, he is, and I long for the day when he is sent packing. Sadly, his skills at overseeing the vills are vast so finding another to replace him will be difficult.”

“His son is a viable choice to replace him, and he is wed to a dwarven man who serves on the natural preservation society of Melowynn as well as the counsel of mining interests. Corrigan has led the fight to find less disruptive ways of flushing mining extracts from the Witherhorn mines into Lake Tolso.”

We talked as we walked, Kenton’s ideals and mine aligned well, passing busy castle staff and pages until we were at the door to the kitchen. The rich smell of seasoned beef floated under our noses as inside the massive food preparation area Widow Poppy could be heard shouting at her helpers.

I glanced at Kenton with wide eyes as Widow Poppy tore into someone about using dill on the lamb for dill upset the grand advisor’s palate and bowels. A slim, young elven man rushed out of the kitchen, saw me, bowed, saw Kenton, bowed again, and then darted off to dry his eyes in private. Widow Poppy brooked no fools.

“Run faster, you dullard, and do not return without the mint this time!” Widow Poppy shouted after the upset lad.

“Let me lead. She is less inclined to use her wooden spoon on me,” I whispered as the head cook continued to rail and toss pots about. “Good day, Widow Poppy,” I exclaimed as I entered the kitchen. The heat inside this room was always stifling. The staff all stalled, bowing in respect, aside from the short, stout elf with flecks of flour on her cheeks. Widow Poppy stood by the massive spit-roasting hearth, her hands on her substantial hips, red curls tucked under a white cap, and her lips pressed into a thin line as she supervised two spit boys slowly turning two lambs over the fire. The hearth was huge, easily large enough for four grown men to stand in. It was one of two, the other slightly smaller, with a low fire under a hefty black cauldron.

“Get back to work, you gawkers. There is bread in the ovens that need to be taken out and pheasants that yet need to be plucked,” she said to the workers. They sprang into action. Kenton and I smiled sweetly at the head cook as rich lamb juice dripped from the evening meal to the flames under it, sending delicious plumes of smoke into the air. A wild boar hung over in the corner, waiting to be cleaned, as well as several hares, and a dozen or so game birds. Barrels lined the walls as did thickets of drying herbs hung from the hand-hewn wooden rafters. Thick oaken tables dotted the room, most covered with flour and bowls, berries from the castle garden, and differing kinds of pottery. One girl was in the far corner churning butter, another worked on rolling out thin pastries, and a pair of young men were coming in and out of the rear door toting firewood for the ovens and hearths.

“Widow Poppy, what a joy it is to see you again,” I opened with as I strode to the tiny woman with the huge spoon in her hand—she was never seen without it and everyone in Castle Willowspirit had felt it on their ass or hands at least once including myself, Kenton, and even Umeris but his slap came not from stealing honey cakes but from fondling the widow’s generous backside many years ago—and gave her a courtly bow. “The lamb smells delicious.”

“It would smell better if the halfwits that work here knew one herb from another. Now I shall have to feed the grand advisor quail again this eve,” she said, then sighed wearily. “And pray what brings you two into my kitchen? Can you not simply ring for something as all the other nobles do?”

“And miss looking upon your beauty?” Kenton chimed in and got a scathing look from the head cook. Several of the helpers tittered. Widow Poppy threw glares around the steamy room and all giggles stopped instantly.

“You two have grown in stature but not in maturity,” Widow Poppy scolded us as she had for years. “There are some gingerbread loaves cooling on the sill and some pottage and pig stew in the cauldron. Help yourselves then vacate lest my helpers trip over their tongues and plunge into the fire.”

After helping ourselves to bowls of pottage and pig stew and warm slices of gingerbread, we were chased out the back door like common helpers. Something that always made Kenton and me chuckle. Carrying our bowls in one hand and a cloth with fat slabs of gingerbread in the other, we made our way to the shade of a mighty red oak that overlooked the training grounds.

“Oh well, imagine us finding our way to this side of the keep. What a shock. Truly, I am beyond surprised,” Kenton teased as we took a seat at the base of the tree to watch the guards drilling. V’alor was leading the training exercises, clad only in tight-fitting breeches and his undershirt. A sight that I had yet to tire of and doubted I ever would. His dress was much different from mine. His station called for such and so, while he was commonly outfitted, I wore a pomegranate tunic, fine leggings, and boots with silver buckles that matched the eating dagger sheath on my hip.

The men were also in linen shirts and coarse trousers, all with hair cut short as was dictated by doctrine. Only nobles wore their hair long in Melowynn. One of many differences betwixt us and our woodland cousins who all had long white hair, no matter if they were a stonemason or wilder warden. Of course they braided theirs and we did not, but it was just another way of ensuring that those with regal blood were never mistaken for working class. It was beyond ridiculous, but hair was far down on the list of things that needed to be changed in our lands. With Ihdos’ blessing, I hoped to live long enough to see sweeping changes in our vills, and hopefully throughout Melowynn. For such advanced people, we clung to wildly backward thinking at times.

“Perhaps I may have been told that the guards were practicing wrestling moves this afternoon before they moved into throwing stones,” I offered nonchalantly as we sat in the shade to eat and enjoy the scenery.

“Ah, would that same knowledge of the guards’ schedule be the reason that you had little time to break your fast this morn?” Kenton asked as he balanced his bread on his knee so he could begin pushing the chunks of meat in his stew aside, intended for the staff and not us, into his mouth.

“I have no idea what you mean,” I replied as I chased a large turnip around in the thick brown gravy. I had always enjoyed the simpler fare that the workers in the castle were fed, sometimes much more than the grander fare we were served. Although the Widow Poppy’s salmon pie was a favorite meal of mine and made only for the heir and grand advisor. So yes, I did enjoy being noble born at times. I suppose that made me a rather lackluster fighter for the common people.

“You may play at being innocent, but I know you better than most, my lord. Also, I took note of the markings on your neck and ribs when we took the students to the pond to find willow skippers for research and you decided to take a swim.”

Oh. Well hells. I might need to speak to V’alor about his love marks. “He forgets that my flesh is delicate as a water blossom’s petal.”

Kenton snickered into his stew. “I am glad to see that you have not lost the ability to jest about yourself. And, my lord, I am happy for you and him. V’alor is a good man, just and virtuous, and deeply enamored of you. Beirich and I see his feelings for you whenever he glances your way.”

I felt my cheeks warm. “He is truly a valorous and selfless man.” I poked at a fat carrot resting beside a chunk of pork. “If only he did not think of himself as being lesser simply because of his birth.”

A shout went up from the men. One lay on the ground on his back as a flitting purple pixie flew in circles above the downed guard, celebrating with hoots and dirty words. How a mite the size of Tezen could drop a full-grown elven man was nothing short of miraculous.

“He will someday come to realize that it matters not what blood a person has in their veins. What is of the most import is what resides in our hearts.”

I nodded at his wisdom. “You are, as always, a fine man to converse with. My secrets are safe with you.”

“Well, to be honest, my lord, the fact that you and V’alor are lovers is not much of a secret to anyone with eyes in their head.” He nudged my elbow with his. That was when a passing page spied us sitting in the dirt. Within seconds of his wide eyes falling on us and him haring off a plethora of staff appeared with small brooms to sweep our backsides, a table, two chairs, a pitcher of chilled apple juice, and a small lad with a large feather fan to cool us.

The guards watched in silence as all of this unfolded, then, as one, clapped a fist on their chests and went into the barracks so as not to foul our luncheon with their sweaty, dirty, hard bodies. I was greatly disgruntled but thanked the staff just the same. All the guards disappeared aside from Tezen, who flew over, coated in sweat, dust, and a few droplets of blood, to join us. Being of royal pixie blood, she was always welcomed at any meal, but she generally preferred to stay with the soldiers she served with. Tezen Plumwax was not the standard pixie princess that one normally met at court.

“Lady Plumwax,” Kenton and I said in unison, both of us rising as the pixie darted around the large fan to sit on the edge of one of our wooden bowls. She was, as my grandfather liked to say, a horrific mess. Black hair tangled, round face smeared with dirt and sweat, her tunic and tiny breeches coated with dust mixed with blood.

“Ugh, stop that shit. I’m no lady.” With that, she reached into the dregs of our stew to pluck a carrot out of the now chilly fare. “I am starved, though.” I nodded at her to avail herself of the food that remained. “Please, sit down. Oh shit.” She dropped the carrot, rose into the air, and then greeted me as one of my elite guards normally would. “My lord Aelir.” Fist to chest, head bowed in respect.

“Please, Tezen, that is not necessary. In actuality, you are above me in station as you have royal bloodlines, whereas I am merely a nobleman. My first name is acceptable, given our status.”

She glanced up with a frown. “Gah, bloodlines. What griffon shit. Our blood is no better nor worse than Kenton’s or this lad fanning us. But that aside, if your lover were to see me not greet you as is proper for a guard, or hear me calling you Aelir, I’d be back on latrine duty faster than you can spit.”

My lover. There were no secrets in this castle. Not that I wished for secrecy, but V’alor was surely exasperated to know that even the swineherd knew we shared a bed.

“I have to say those were some impressive combat skills,” Kenton said as he waved a hand at a bee who had just discovered the gingerbread crumbs. “How does a person of your stature drop a full-grown elf to the dirt?”

“Ha! It’s easy if you know where to hit. A fast shot to the tickle berries, then a rushing attack to fold a knee to assist the attacker downward,” she boasted. “I’ve not met a man yet who remained standing when you double punched his balls.”

No, I had not either.

“Let’s sit.” I waved at the table. Kenton and I returned to our seats. Tezen flitted back to the side of my bowl and recaptured her carrot. “I’m glad your duty scrubbing the privies is over. I missed your company at the Mossbell fete.”

“Your guard captain has no qualms about making a princess scour the shitters,” she said before taking a large bite of her carrot with teeth as sharp as a silver barracuda. “Mm, pork fat is the bee’s stinger! Although V’alor is strict, he is fair, and he treats me as one of the men, which is all that I ask. I, too, missed that gathering, but I did not miss having those dung-brained twins asking me about pixie mating rituals. Do they honestly think we fuck differently than elves? Such lackwits.”

I sat back to watch her eat. Her family would be suffering fits of apoplexy if they saw her sitting at the table of a noble elf with her pointed chin coated with gravy.

“I was wondering if you would be traveling with the Stillcloud entourage as a guard or one of the invited elite to the capital. Your father and mother will be in attendance, I am sure.”

She wiped her mouth with the back of her gritty hand. “I will travel with you, my lord, as is my position. I do not plan to sit in the grand ballroom flapping my lashes at the king and his secretary or being cinched into corseted gowns and stupid slippers that pinch my toes. My eighteen sisters can act the simpering fools.”

“I thought there were only six Plumwax sisters,” Kenton questioned.

“Six, yes, but they feel like eighteen. Twenty on eyebrow waxing days,” Tezen tossed out, burped, smiled, and then returned to consuming her pilfered carrot. “Are you excited to attend court again, my lord?”

“I would much rather be here. The machinations of the royal court perplex me.” Tezen bobbed her dirty head as she fished a cube of smoked pig haunch from the bowl with gleaming eyes. “I have no time for the lies and backstabbing that takes place, which is why I plan to hide away as much as possible.”

Tezen peeked at me through ragged black bangs. “Your grandfather won’t like that, my lord.”

No, he would not, and that would be the first of many difficulties this trip to Celear would bring about. Ten days spent kissing rings and frittering away time and money. If Jassin wanted something to rail about, the expenditures of this trip should be at the top of his economic list and not the caging and transport of mountain voles.