“I will,” Warna said. “I promise.”
The women, human and faelle, all curtsied as she turned to leave. Warna flushed and made for the door.
She walked quickly across the courtyard where she could see Ricard standing. He greeted her and gave a nod over her shoulder. “He’s just coming now.”
She looked behind, and her eyes went wide.
Verice had taken the time to bathe, and his fine white hair was long and flowing outside its normal braid. He was wearing black leathers with a silver chain shirt, belted at the waist with his sword and dagger at his side. He looked like the very picture of an elven prince, down to the black boots and black leather gloves. He wore a black cape, but the chain ran across his chest, and its hem touched the back of his boot.
“I take it I have ‘looked to my own self’,” he said with a quirk of his lips.
“You’ll do,” Warna said.
Ricard looked up. “Almost time, m’lord.”
“But first there’s one thing I must take care of.” Verice stripped off one glove. “Warna,” he said softly, lifting his hand to her face. “If you would allow?”
Warna tilted her head slightly, feeling Verice ease his fingers under the veil and brush the delicate skin behind her ear. She shivered at his touch.
He whispered something she couldn’t quite make out, and a tingle went through her, down to the tips of her toes.
“Lady, can you understand me?” His breath touched her cheek as he whispered strange words.
“Lord, I understand what you are saying,” she whispered back, but the sounds were odd on her tongue.
He withdrew his hand, brushing her ear again, looking satisfied as he put his glove back on. “It will not last much more than a day, but it should suffice.”
A chime sounded in the air, ringing a perfect tone.
“It’s time,” Verice said, and a portal opened before them. “Constable, you have the watch, but defer to Narthing in all things.”
“Aye, m’lord,” Ricard said. “Travel well, and return safe.”
“M’lady.” Verice extended his arm.
“M’lord.” Warna placed her fingers on the back of his wrist and allowed him to lead her through the glowing white curtains of the portal.
Verice grimaced mentallyas he and Warna emerged into the sunlight dappled grove in the palace gardens of Valltera.
“Oh my,” Warna breathed, and he knew she was taking in the tall spires that rose above the gardens.
How long had it been since he walked these halls? Hundreds of years was his best guess. Yet it looked the same, even down to the vines and flowers. The more the world may change, the more elves remained the same, that was certain.
Verice had no idea how they endured it. It was one of the reasons he’d left these lands.
One of many.
“Verice, Bearer of the Blood of Tethnar, I offer you greetings.” A royal herald stood before them in stately robes, holding his staff of office, looking as welcoming as an offended cat. “I am Mathonalar, and I am to escort you to the royal presence.”
“Mathonalar, I accept your greetings, and extend my own in return.” Verice gave a formal bow. “But I must correct you in your choice of title. I am of Palins now, Lord High Baron of Tassinic.”
Mathonalar bowed formally in return, as slow and stately as one could wish. “I offered greetings as I was commanded.”
“I see,” Verice would have spat the words, if that were permitted. “May I introduce my ward, Lady Warna of Farentell.”
Warna curtsied, and Mathonalar bowed, offering his formal greetings yet again. Verice had forgotten the elaborate slowness of ritual welcomes. It made him grit his teeth.
“Once the guard has peace-bonded your weapons, I am instructed to bring you to Their Majesties’ presence,” Mathonalar continued.
