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She managed not choke on her wine, but did surreptitiously clear her throat after swallowing.
"That would still leave you with an abundance of options."
Isael frowned. "Do not disparage yourself. You're young and coming into significant power. With a few centuries of training, even the seas will part to make way for you."
Would that she could see herself through his eyes. He spoke with such assurance that Cera nearly believed him.
"How long will I live?"
"I can't say," he said with a shrug. "I've lived more than ten centuries, but I haven't aged since my first. Elves are not immortal, not even those of Ishvalier, but Avalrashael claims to have lived since before men, elves, even the fae. He's immortal in the truest sense of the word, though how much of that was passed to me, and now to you, remains to be seen. I doubt it will be time that cuts the thread of your life or mine. Unless we're vigilant, it'll most likely be poison."
"Has anyone tried to poison you before?" Cera asked. It seemed the most pressing question, although she had at least a dozen more. The high lord could scarcely open his mouth without drawing Cera deeper into a world of mystery and intrigue, plucking at all the strings of her curiosity.
"Of course. They usually try slipping it into my drink or food, but in recent times they've gotten more creative. My last concubine was particularly crafty. She hid it in the tips of her nails."
Cera's mouth went dry. "Your concubine tried to assassinate you?"
He gave a slight nod. "She might have succeeded, were I wholly an elf."
Sounding somewhat bored, he briefly recounted how he'd managed to subdue his concubine and summon his guards before succumbing to the poison. His body had managed to work the poison out in just over a day, but during that time he was largely debilitated.
"It caused a massive uproar on the council. It was rather illuminating, to see how they'd react if I were to die. In any case, when it became apparent to them that I was going to survive, they took advantage of my absence and voted to bring you to Esryia."
"It wasn't your choice to bring me here?" Cera asked, her brows knitting together.
"It was not," he said lightly. "It was a decision made by the thin majority of councillors, each with their own motives. In any case, once I found out what they'd decided, I was irritated, but I didn't consider it to be a waste. They could negotiate to bring you here, but they couldn't make me take you to my bed. I'd intended for you to be Esodir’s concubine.”
"Your nephew?"
She must have made a face, because Isael chuckled.
"He's almost thrice your age, nearly a man by elven standards. He's also next in the line of succession for both Ishvalier and Medindir."
"A fine match, then," she muttered.
"Not for you. He's much too immature for your tastes."
Cera tilted her head. "You presume to know what sort of man is to my tastes?"
Oh dear. Perhaps the wine really was going to her head.
With a look of challenge, Isael asked, "Have you ever allowed yourself to contemplate the sort of man you'd desire?"
Of course she had, but she wasn't going to tell him that.
It had always been him.
Her earliest memories were of him, mostly decorating the insides of illustrated books. Her awareness of him was not solely due to her father's determination to have her secure an alliance with the high lord.
Her older sister Rimera had also been quite fond of reading about Isael. Apart from his duel with Avalrashael, few tales of the high lord's exploits reached beyond the Esryian borders, but there was no shortage of Ateran poetry expounding on Isael's might and beauty.
Isael was invariably depicted as a radiant, otherworldly figure, and Cera had looked upon illustrations of him at first with wonderment and later with longing. He was the prince who held court in her dreams, the hero in all of her fantasies, the man who would one day breech the walls of her father's castle and whisk her away to another world. A world full of adventures, excitement, and love.
For a short moment, she allowed herself to think back to the day she first saw him. Even now, her gut tightened at the memory of entering the great hall where Isael stood beside her father. He'd been so much more than what she'd imagined, and the sight of him in all his magnificence had been a shock to her system. She'd stumbled, barely catching herself before the queen mother had hissed her disapproval.
'Graceless wretch.'
The condemnation had still echoed in her skull as Isael tilted his head to regard her. As his eyes had narrowed, hers had widened, and she remembered growing rapidly numb as she made herself go empty. Detaching was the only defense she'd ever had, and she'd never needed to be more thoroughly outside of her body than on that day. When he'd walked away from her, he'd not only stripped her of her value in the eyes of her father, but he'd robbed her of her one comfort in life. The belief that one day, he'd save her.
