No one spoke during the walk. The only sound was of cloaks brushing against the marble floor and the clatter of jewellery.
I smelled the destination before I saw it, and from the flaring noses of the group I knew I was not alone. The scent of rich meats, steamed vegetables, and fresh bread filled every inch of the corridor ahead. Beneath grand doors, a sea of elves stood waiting. They spoke amongst one another, some turning to look at us, others ignoring our existence.
I scanned the many faces, each different from the next. It was hard to tell which elves were Niraen, Morthi or Alorian. The Niraen wood elves like myself bled red, and the points of our ears were usually rounder at the tip. Unlike the Alorian high elves who bled gold and ears were sharper at the point, or the Morthi whose blood ran black and had two points on each ear; there were no other visible differences between the three races.
The two guards who had guided us sauntered over to the line of others who stood on either side of the door, watching over the crowd.
It was the most life I’d seen in the palace since arriving. I’d started to believe we were the only ones here. But it was certain, as chatter burst around me, that the King had sent his mysterious invite to more than I could’ve imagined.
Petrer remained behind me. He dipped his face to my ear, his breath warm against my skin, and spoke, “And here I was thinking we were the special ones.”
I laughed, a short quiet bark. “All I can think about is the food. I swear my stomach is about to start eating itself if I don’t get any meat in it.” On cue my stomach growled.
We stood around waiting for what felt like a decade until there was a sound behind the door and the entire crowd silenced in response. Petrer’s hand clasped mine and squeezed like he had so many times before, but I didn’t respond. He dropped my hand quickly, but I tried to act as if it hadn’t happened. Ignoring it was easier for me.
Footsteps echoed across the black-veined marble floor as we walked into the room, fighting against the crowd of elves who pushed in from either side of us.
It was a long room, the towering walls on either side finishing into arched panels that cut across the ceiling above. Everything dripped in wealth. The marble floor reflected the many dancing flames from the hundreds of candles within the room. I followed the crowd ahead, admiring the gold leaf paintings and deep maroon materials embroidered with the King’s emblem.
In the middle of the room were four, long oak tables. On top of their dark oak surface lay a deep red cloth that ran down the length and flowed off onto the floor. I was pushed to a table and stood behind an empty seat. Aware of the sudden lack of Petrer’s presence, I turned to look for him, but he was lost in the sea of heads. The room was a mass of moving bodies as the crowds of elves found seats somewhere amongst the other three tables.
I gripped the carved wooden antlers on the back of my seat, my hands clammy with anticipation. I caught Petrer’s face; he was at a table two over from me. I was thankful for the space, but being left around strangers was not something I enjoyed.
The guards flooded the room and moved from the sides of the hall. They started to stomp their feet, first a slow beat that soon built up into a frantic crescendo. My heart matched their tempo. Then silenced reigned, they stopped, and the doors to the room slammed closed. All heads turned towards them to see a tall figure draped in silver move from its shadows and walk directly for the throne at the head of the room.
King Dalior.
He walked past the tables, his face burning with a smile. His cloak swept against the floor, a gentle lush song as he stepped up the raised dais where a throne of wood and thorns sat.
I half expected him to sit down, but he didn’t, instead he turned and faced us all.
He was the definition of elegance and strength. His onyx hair fell down his back like a waterfall, stopping at his waistline. Like a statue, carved out of the richest stone, King Dalior scanned the room with a shining smile. His ears pointed through wisps of hair, standing out further than most. But it was his eyes that drew me in. Two orbs of icy grey nestled in his long, sharp face.
A circlet of jewels sat on his crown, cutting across his forehead. They glinted, winking at the crowd in welcome, the largest ruby almost seemed too heavy to wear. Yet he showed no sign of discomfort as he opened his arms wide and spoke.
“Do not stand for me, my children… please, sit.” His deep voice boomed across the room.
The screech of chairs brought me back to focus. I copied those beside me and sat down, my eyes not leaving King Dalior for a single moment.
Once the room was seated, King Dalior nodded, his smile still wide.
“My children, welcome to Olderim. I am certain you all have many questions as to why you have been invited here, but I must thank you first for accepting my invitation. It warms my heart to see so many of you here in my home.”
He took the three steps down from the dais and began to prowl along the front of the room, his arms clasped behind his back. I strained my neck to keep a gaze on him as he walked, heads blocking my view.
“This is the first celebration I have held in Thessolina for years, and hopefully the first of many more to come. As my son, Prince Hadrian, turned eighteen moons this year; we have decided to hold a feast in celebration. I felt it right to invite all others across our glorious land who also share the same moon as he, to join in with a feast like no other.”
The room was held in silent captivity as King Dalior spoke.
A figure cloaked in shadow began moving forward from behind the throne, stepping into a single stream of light beside it. I could hear King Dalior still talking, but everything stilled as the prince came into focus.
Like his father, Hadrian shared the same long black hair, only the prince’s hair ended at his broad shoulders. With thick dark brows and a strong face, he smiled at the crowd, bowing his head in greeting.
I noticed his different choice of clothing that held many similarities to the guards that flanked them. Purple and bronze hung off his muscular frame, hugging his arms and shoulders. He moved closer to his father, placing a hand on his shoulder. I was surprised to see the lack of jewels covering his hand, not like King Dalior whose hand seemed heavy under the weight of many rings and stones.