A Perfect Elven Princess

“My Lady, please come away from there. It is below your station to snoop.”

Princess Erulia Gadarel, third scion of the noble house Gadarel of the Mithril Spires waved a placating hand at her handmaiden Idril as she leaned in to better inspect the small figurine of a mounted knight captured mid-canter in bronze.

“Do you suppose this is him?” She asked her oldest friend and faithful protector as she marveled at the fine detail worked into the polished metal. “The soon-to-be King, I mean.”

A long suffering sigh rose from behind her. “I have been at your side this entire time, Princess. I know as much as you do.”

Erulia straightened and looked about the antechamber. It wasn't a large but luxuriously appointed space that she suspected was meant to convey an intimidating sense of wealth and power to those waiting to be announced to the royal court of Bathard. The furnishings of rare lacquered wood inset with leaf of gold and silver had to be the life's work of master craftsmen while the hangings and upholstery were of the most exotic fabrics and furs.

It would have reeked of typical human ostentation and vanity, offending her delicate elvish aesthetic, if she hadn’t known exactly who this elaborate display represented.

His royal highness, Crown Prince Seberin De La Sol, heir to the throne of Bathard.

The knife-eared Princess had tried to learn all she could of the human male who could soon be her betrothed on the three week ocean journey from the enchanted Spires. Her esteemed father had seen fit to requisition a sleek naval corvette to fly her on Gaia’s blessed winds to the neighboring Kingdom of Bathard but not give her overly much insight into the royal personage with whom she might entertain a courtship.

“It’s like everybody knows who he is and has heard some mention of his accomplishments but there are no details about the Prince himself.” Erulia mused, straightening up and smoothing out her elegant moonsilk gown with a brush of her soft hands. “How can someone be so famous, yet entirely mysterious at the same time?”

“Do not concern yourself with rumors, my Lady.” Idril chided, patting the embroidered cushion beside her in an invitation to sit. “There is little sense in asking questions that patience will soon answer.”

The Elvish Princess groaned inwardly at the truism. It was one of her father’s favorites but accepted the wisdom behind the words nonetheless. Still she couldn’t comprehend how her ever-present companion could maintain her air of aloof calmness right now.

The carriage ride from the busy port to the castle had been an exciting and eye-opening experience.

Erulia had never traveled outside of her Sylvian homeland with its serene ways and slow natural flows in tune with the seasons and ancient verdant forests that had nurtured her people millennia. Then suddenly she was plunged into the frantic, frenetic world of human life. The port had been teeming with people bustling to and fro, shouting and pushing each other as they sought their fortunes under the warm summer sun, generally smelling like sweat and dry fish.

A royal escort had been provided; thirty bold women of amazonian proportions outfitted in form-fitting studded leather armor, mounted upon fleet steeds with bucklers and swords belted at their muscular hips. These warriors had parted the toiling crowds with expert ease to guide the carriage up to the soaring marble and granite edifice that loomed over the expansive capitol like a guardian sentinel looking down on its charges.

The castle was set high on the crest of a hill, encircled by high walls of dark stone with jagged crenelations jutting out over the wide moat and overlooking all possible approaches. The structure itself was bulky and brooding when compared to the twisting minarets and spidery arches of the Mithril Spires Erulia was so familiar with but also spoke of the indefatigable power and indomitable strength that the Kingdom of Bathard had grown synonymous with within the blink of two short decades.

It defied all of Erulia’s wildest imaginations.

“These humans, they are like squirrels rushing about before the winter snows set in.” She enthused, clapping in excitement. “As though they are constantly aware of their brief mortality and are attempting to cram every moment as full of life as possible.”

“Take care with what you speak, Princess.” Idril warned in a low tone. “This fortress is heavily warded with powerful magic, can you not sense it?”

Erulia paused, caution tempering her youthful exuberance. Now that her childhood companion mentioned it, she did feel the background thrumming of foreign magic. It saturated the stonework surrounding them and was rooted in the very foundations of the castle itself.

As a high elf, she was both sensitive and resistant to the arcane ebbs and tides but these human workings of enchantment were alien to the pointy-eared noble. But if a wood elf like Idril could feel them too…

A cunningly concealed door opened in the polished wood paneling, immediately attracting the attention of both of them. A buxom human maid with curly red hair dressed in a frilly black and white uniform that showed off entirely too much skin bowed politely to the room in general. Her full, freckled chest almost spilling out of the low scooped neckline of her lacy servants dress.

“Her Majesty; Annarosa Beauchêne, the Queen Mother and Regant is ready to receive you now, Highness.” She said in a dull formal tone with a sweep of her white-gloved hand towards the hidden passage. “Please follow me to the royal gallery where she is awaiting your presence.”

Erulia blinked in confusion at the odd request, unsure what to say. Idril was quicker to respond as she shot indignantly to her feet.

“The gallery… through there?” Autumn-haired handmaiden asked, aggrieved. “Proper protocol would demand that my Lady is presented to the Crown Prince and the court soon upon arrival–”

“Her Majesty has informed me that the terms of your pending betrothal to his Highness are contingent on two days of interviews with her royal self before being presented to the court on the much-anticipated day of King Seberin De La Sol’s coronation.” The provocatively dressed maid servant stated coolly before adding in a notably warmer voice, “May his glorious Majesty rule for a thousand years!”

Interviews for what?

Erulia had been assured that this match was one of political convenience rather than anything remotely romantic. News of the crushing Bathardian victories against the warmongering orcish hordes from the Burning Wastes to the south had spread to far off lands. The tales of the Prince’s martial prowess on the battlelines reached even further.

An alliance sealed by holy matrimony between the Mithril Spires and the human kingdom would be unquestionably advantageous to both nations, joining the military might of the human kingdom with the ageless wisdom and high magicks of the elvish homeland. So what purpose would the proposed interviews serve?

…And with the infamous Sorceress Queen Annarosa, The Blood Rose of Bathard, no less? Erulia suppressed a nervous fluttering in her stomach.

This was her duty, she would not shame her noble family line by faltering in performing it. Besides, if even a quarter of the rumors about the Prince were true…

“Peace, Idril. We will meet with her Majesty and pay our respects.”

Erulia squinted against the bright sunlight as she was led out of the dingy servants passage into the royal gallery.

The room was long but not wide, lined with tall marble columns that held up a domed glass ceiling. The noonday sun was filtered and refracted through the panes of stained glass in a kaleidoscope of colors, dazzling her crystal blue eyes as the elvish princess took in the carefully crafted splendor.

It was undeniably beautiful. A rich burgundy carpet edged in gold thread ran down the viewing hall with aromatic floral arrangements set upon gleaming silver stands at precisely measured intervals along its length.

Huge, life-sized portraits in golden frames were hung upon the immaculately white walls. Fantastically detailed works of celebrated artists that would have drawn her attention if not for the stately feminine figure seated at a quaint covered table. She was being served tea by one of the identically attired and buxom maids standing at parade attention scattered strategically throughout the room.

“You have arrived at last,” The woman sniffed, shooing the overly-curvy blonde servant away with a lazy flick of her fingers. “I have heard it said that a wizard is never late–self-aggrandising old windbags that they are–but apparently the same platitude does not extend to the high elves of the vaunted Mithril Spires.”

The tall, olive-skinned and devastatingly gorgeous woman could only Queen Annarosa; The Blood Rose of Bathard and a sorceress of no small, if dubious, renown.

She was as sinfully alluring as the ballads of the traveling bards suggested, a forbidden fruit–past ripe for the plucking–oozing sexuality in a clingy nearly see-through black dress that conformed like a second skin to her thick heavy tits, as her full heart-shaped ass pressed against the sheer dark fabric.

Her presence was potently powerful and Erulia could detect a dense aura of magic washing out of the stunningly beautiful ruler as the noble woman tucked a glossy lock of raven hair behind her rounded human ear and slipped at the fine china teacup. All while shooting a disinterested grimace in her direction. The room had fallen silent except for the sound of a fountain tinkling in the expansive gardens outside.

“My humble apologies, your Majesty.” The elven Princess took her cue to speak and curtsied demurely, hearing more than seeing Idril do the same behind her. “We came as soon as we were bidden. No expense or inconvenience was spared to see our expedient arrival to your fair capitol and exalted presence.”

“At least elvish courtesies are still as florid and polite as ever.” The Queen Mother harrumphed, setting her cup down upon a saucer and rising gracefully to her feet. “Come girl, let me measure your worth as we begin the discussions concerning your… suitability as a future wife for my precious Seberin.”

Girl?!

Erulia could practically hear her wood elf companion’s grinding teeth at the bald-faced insult so casually given. But she was no stranger to the eternal game of the spires, the sniping gossip at high society gatherings and political posturing of those who believed themselves in an advantageous position at any given time. She had grown up with it, was weaned on her esteemed fathers brilliant insights and cunning machinations within the high council’s cloistered chambers.

She was a daughter of the house Gadarel after-all and no mere mortal human, for all their sorcerous power and mature allure, would crack her resolve or poise with such ham-fisted attempts at offense.

“Certainly, your Majesty.” Erulia answered calmly with another calculated curtsy, not quite as low this time. “I place my noble self in your royal care.”

There. Not quite a slight but a gentle reminder of their respective positions. She was still a Princess of the Mithril Spires and the Queen was beholden to the laws of hospitality to treat her as such or face the damning ramifications of breaching the time-honored custom.

She didn’t miss the disgruntled side-eye that earned her and hid a pleased smile with a subservient bow of her pretty head that caused her long starlight hair to fall, covering her grinning face.

“Very well, child.” Annarosa conceded with a huff. “Walk with me and we will discuss the finer terms of your potential betrothal to my beloved son.”

"May his glorious Majesty rule for a thousand years!” The many scantily clad maids intoned in vehement voices, echoing throughout the cavernous hall.

The unexpected refrain almost made Erulia jerk in surprise and she caught the slight quirk in the sorceress Queen’s lips as they glided together towards the first of the oil paintings to begin the interview.

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