Chapter Two

Erulia followed the Queen as she glided to a stop before another grand painting.

It was a portrait of a beautiful dark-haired girl kneeling as she was presented before a crowned man, richly garbed and seated upon a raised golden throne. The girl was clearly the same royal personage standing beside Erulia but lacking the lush curves, mature charms and unshakable air of confidence that the current incarnation possessed. The King, presumably Gustavos De La Sol, looked like a thuggish sort gone to fat from years of easy living as he leered down at the bowing young sorceress from the dais.

“Fitting that we should begin here with my own day of betrothal. I remember it well. King Gustavos wanted to bind the magic of the Beauchêne bloodline to empower his royal line for generations to come.” The Blood Rose of Bathard said in a voice heavily laden with distant memories. “So he killed my father, then held my mother and sisters hostage until I–the youngest and fairest of my family–agreed to marry him and birth his heirs.”

That sounded awful to the Elvish Princess but the statuesque woman standing beside her didn’t seem the slightest bit upset at the remembrance. Simply a little… wistful?

“That must have been an emotional day for you.” She replied neutrally.

“Not at all, child. Power must always be tempered with pragmatism, I understood that from an early age. All I had to do was give that cruel man my virgin womb and in return he gave me the second highest position in the nation, shielding my sisters and I from deadly persecution as witches.” The Queen said, waving airily as though the dreadful exchange was of little import. “You too are young and fair, as I was. Have you experienced your first moon blood yet?”

Idril let out a barely audible grunt from behind them at the bluntness of the uncouth question. But Erulia was already clued into the other woman’s interrogational shock tactics and had schooled her expression to implacable elvish serenity.

“I entered the bloom of womanhood two springtime's past and before you ask, my virtue remains as pure as winter's first snowfall.”

“Good, I would not see my sweet Seberin promised to some pointy-eared tart who cannot keep her legs closed but, at the same time, whoever he takes as his bride and future Queen must be physically able to produce many healthy progeny to continue the royal lineage immediately.”

Immediately?

Talking about children so soon sounded like putting the carriage before the steed to Erulia, who hadn’t even met the human princeling yet.

Her calm facade must have shown a crack because the Queen Mother was beckoning one of the under-dressed maids over. She was carrying another delicate china tea cup balanced atop an equally fine saucer.

“The well documented fertility and birth rates of elves troubles me in this instance. Your people may have centuries to grow and nurture the smaller families they favor but we humans do not.” Annarosa stated matter-of-factly as she took the steaming cup from the brunette servant and inhaled its steaming contents with a sigh of satisfaction. “Consequently, you will imbibe this herbal tonic at least three times a day until you are either chosen as my darling son’s consort or have been excused from the selection process. You are waifish in build and troublingly thin, this tonic will heighten your body's readiness to receive his perfect seed, if and when that time comes.”

By the spirits, there was a lot to unpack in those presumptive remarks.

Even by Elvish standards, Erulia knew she was a rare beauty with her shiny platinum hair, exquisite crystalline eyes, fine featured face and petite wind dancers body. She might not have been as tall as the other noblewoman or as… richly endowed as the fat-chested maids flanking the room but she was a lithe, graceful diamond of elvish youth.

…and she was sure as Titania’s tits not going to drink anything this clearly deranged sorceress was offering her.

“I fear I must decline–” She began as politely as possible but trailed off at the stormy expression twisting the gorgeous ruler's visage.

“Would you shame the Mithril Spires by breaching the binding terms of the betrothal contract?!” The Blood Rose of Bathard shrieked, her mystical aura flaring and exuding a dark, malevolent pressure that buffeted Erulia’s magical senses. “You would throw all my kindness and generosity back in my face? After I allowed you entry into our innermost sanctum, permitted you to bring a starblade assassin into my home and graciously considered you as being somewhat worthy of my perfect boy’s blessing? Faithless fairy trickery!”

Princess Erulia reeled backwards under the explosive tirade blasted at her from point blank range.

Around them the previously ridiculously dressed maid servants were suddenly armed with viciously curved daggers and loaded hand crossbows that they had apparently pulled from nowhere, dropping into practiced martial stances with angry snarls on their pretty human faces.

How could the Queen possibly know that Idril was a trained starblade? That was a closely guarded family secret.

“Stay your temper a moment please, your Majesty!” Her wood elf guardian cried, raising her empty hands in peaceful supplication. “This is a simple miscommunication!”

“Hold!” The sorceress Queen ordered, raising a delicate forefinger sharply into the air. It crackled with sparks of elemental lightning. “Explain yourself and be quick about it.”

“My Lady Gadarel only meant to say she must decline the drink until I, her loyal protector, has sampled it first. Surely your Majesty, a person of lofty station, understands the need for this traditional practice?”

The world seemed to pause for a short eternity as Annarosa chewed this over before finally relaxing into a radiant smile that utterly belied the murderous tension saturating every inch of the royal gallery.

“While I dislike the implication, I cannot deny the wisdom such precautions represent.” She mused, gesturing for the ostensibly armed serving girls to make their weapons vanish as mystifyingly as they first appeared into their outrageously revealing maid uniforms. “You may taste the herbal tonic, starblade. Then apologize once you comprehend the level of your foolish paranoia.”

The teacup was still held steady in the Queen's hand, not a drop spilled, despite the flurry of furious action of the last few seconds. She offered it to Idril with a contemptuous smirk. The autumn-haired elf accepted it without a visible ounce of **** and took a long sip.

Erulia watched in fascination as her life-long friend swallowed, paused and then handed her the steaming cup with a sight nod.

Still feeling shaken from the all-too-recent events, she drank it down in a single long pull. It tasted of fresh spearmint, spring honey and earthy dwarven licorice. A delightful shudder tickled up her spine at the warmth of the aromatic beverage.

“Our apologies–” Idril began dutifully but the raven-haired monarch waved it away dismissively.

“Let us put all that… unpleasantness behind us as though it never occurred and continue with our match-making interview.” She interrupted imperiously, moving down the line of paintings to stare intently up at the next portrait with wide, adoring eyes. “Ah, yes. This one was commissioned after the celebrated birth of my precious baby boy. I knew from the first moment I held him in my loving arms he was destined for greatness the likes of which the world has never seen.”

"May his glorious Majesty rule for a thousand years!”

Erulia was ready for the chorus of worshipful voices this time and maintained a brittle smile as she appraised the piece.

It was another master-work oil painting featuring the royal couple posed upon the dais with the Queen proudly holding a swaddled infant in her arms, standing beside King Gustavos who was slumped bonelessly in the gleaming throne looking pale and flabby with exhaustion written large upon his sagging, jowly face.

“Why haven’t I seen any menfolk within the castle interior?”

The question burst out of the elven princess unbidden, surprising even her as it spilled forth from her rosy lips. It was something she had noticed in passing but not given thought of giving voice to until now.

Fortunately the Queen Mother did not seem overly bothered by the abrupt inquiry.

“No man besides Prince Seberin is tolerated to reside within these hallowed halls. They may come to pay him due homage and dwell a short while in his unrivaled magnificence but ultimately the men of the court stay in the noble quarter outside the castle walls.” The Sorceress replied casually, still staring up at the painting. “Many find his masculine presence… overwhelming if they witness it too long.”

At least that explained the entirely female staff and all-woman amazonian royal guard but the answer only raised more questions…

“You will remain here in the palace for two days as I assess your suitability as a potential bride for my sweet Seberin.“ Annarosa continued and it didn’t sound like a request. “You will receive treatment and accommodations as befits your station but will not wander the palace without an escort. You will make yourself available to me at any time, anywhere, over that period within reason as was agreed upon in the betrothal contract.”

Just what in all the nine hells was detailed in the agreement her father accepted on her behalf? Erulia could almost hear Idril grinding her teeth behind her and silently vowed to herself that she would find and comb over a copy of the infernal contract.

“We have brought gifts, Highness. Along with our personal effects and accouterments…” She began again but the Sorceress had already moved onto the next painting further down the hall.

“My late lord and husband was something of a toad, but he honored his nuptial vows and rewarded my loyalty with our beloved son before succumbing to the wasting sickness.” The mature beauty mused dreamily, ignoring the elven princess and looking up at the framed canvas with a dreamy expression. “I realized instantly that we would never be parted from one another. Every day of his young life, I charted my perfect boy’s path to glory, guided his growth and cultivated his many strengths as a true, loving mother should.”

Erulia stepped cautiously up to her side again and glanced at the painting. It featured the Queen, not looking a day older than she did now, dressed in a sumptuous gown of midnight satin that hugged her full fertile curves and barely contained her thick breasts as she looked adoringly down at a gangly preteen with unruly brown hair and grin full of crooked teeth standing at her side.

That was the Rock of Bathard? The champion of countless tournaments and terror of the battlefield? Hopefully he had grown into something more admirable in the intervening years…

Erulia hardly noticed as one of the ever-attentive maids refilled her teacup before taking a thoughtful sip of the calming brew.

“Surely not every day.” Idril piped up, from behind her. “It is no secret that the Crown Prince has spent months away from home on campaign, engaged with the orcish hordes to the south and combating the pirates fleets of the Opal Isles.”

The autumn-haired elf was cradling a cup and saucer of her own now.

“Would you accuse me of lying, little sprite?” Annarosa spun on her with a haughty sneer on her enchanting face. “I was at my precious Seberin’s side for every blood-soaked skirmish and battle. Shoring up his victories with my magical talents and supporting him in any way I could.”

“There were numberless nights I wept motherly tears over my brilliant son’s wounded body even as he demanded that I heal him so he could return to the fight at dawn. Do not question my devotion to an avatar of pure perfection such as him!”

"May his glorious Majesty rule for a thousand years!”

Betrothal arrangement or no, Erulia was just about done with this gorgeous mad woman and her insane cult of skimpily clad followers. The Mithril Spires could endure, as they always had, without an alliance to a human kingdom which was clearly under the thumb of a power-crazed lunatic and her mollycoddled princeling.

But the infamous Blood Rose of Bathard must have read some hint of the Princess’s flighty intentions in her horrified expression, because the older woman seized her slender wrist in an iron grip and dragged her up the length of the gallery to the final, largest painting of them all.

“Wa-Wait, unhand me!”

“Look, look!” She cried, gesticulating wildly up at the grandiose portrait. “Gaze upon my darling boy and comprehend his flawless magnificence!”

Despite her alarmed instincts Erulia did glance at it and her fine angular jaw dropped open like a trapdoor. The steaming tea cup fell forgotten to the crimson carpet and rolled at her feet.

A life-sized armored conqueror was displayed before the platinum-haired Princess in classic profile. All shining bronzed muscles, impossibly broad shoulders, wavy chocolate hair and lantern-jawed chin holding a bloody great sword over his handsome head. He was standing atop a dusty hilltop with a broken war camp burning in the distance behind him.

“Is he not the most amazing male specimen you have ever looked upon?” The Queen gushed, dark eyes taking on a fanatically gleam and clutching her hands together beneath her heavy bosom. “My pride and joy! My sweet Seberin!”

"May his glorious Majesty rule for a thousand years.” The warrior maids moaned in breathy unison.

Erulia could feel a **** pushing at her innate magic resistance but couldn’t tear her eyes away from the lifelike image of the Crown Prince. His intense amber glare had that trick some master artists could employ where the painting seemed to be staring right back at the viewer and he was skewering her to the spot like a frightened rabbit.

“Y-yes… very handsome…” The elven Princess stammered out. “A masterpiece.”

Her lips and throat felt awfully parched and she wetted them with another sip of the herbal tea as a fresh cup was pressed into her trembling hands. It shook in her delicate grasp and Erulia spilled a little down her dainty chin.

“You are very kind to notice that, dear girl.” Queen Annarosa crooned in a pleased voice as she reached out and swiped the dribble of liquid off her face with a long finger. “He is my finest achievement. I think that we may get along after-all.”

Erulia had been talking about the portrait, hadn’t she?

But the subject of the artwork was also very imposing. Manly in that human way that spoke of boundless energy and the unstoppable drive to leave their mark on the world in the brief time they existed. It was very much at odds with the male elves she had grown up with who tended to be contemplative, slow to take action and might be described as pretty rather than whatever this magnetically attractive Prince was.

By the heavens, it was just a painting and where was Idril? Surely her guardian protector should be doing something about these decidedly odd circumstances they had been thrown into like lost lambs…

With a heroic effort of will, Erulia dragged her eyes from the entrancing image and looked around for her friend.

The beautiful wood elf was still a step behind her but with a wide unblinking hazel stare fastened onto the picture and her soft lips sagging dumbly apart in astonishment.

The golden-haired Princess felt a mild pang of jealousy. Idril was here to defend her, not ogle her prospective husband like a damsel at her first solstice ball.

“Come girls, I will show you to your apartments. They are in the royal wing next to my own.” The Queen Mother purred, her mood clearly raised by the visceral reaction both elves had to her obviously pre-arranged display. “You have the afternoon to settle in after your journey and bathe. Take the evening to rest before we continue the interview tomorrow. You will need to be at your best in the morning if you wish to impress me.”

“Yes, your Majesty.”

“Yes, your Majesty.”

They both answered at the same time and Erulia shot her friend a puzzled frown.

Surely Idril didn’t presume the Queen’s instructions were directed at her?

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