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Man after man bends the knee before my father, reciting vows and oaths that have been voiced by thousands before them in this very hall. A ghoul with stone-like skin is next, easily five times my size, with dark wings tucked close at his back. His long talons curl around his sword as his haunting red eyes lower.
Behind him waits a dryad, a creature whose part tree, but instead of his bark-ish skin being brown, it’s charred as if he’s been struck by lightning. His eyes lay within hollows of his oblong-shaped head, and his limbs are long and thin, but I know better than to underestimate his strength. They’re some of my father’s most lethal soldiers, and the vines they can wield and create are stronger than any rope we can forge.
According to my father’s tapestries, his kind has taken out legions of men in past wars, but that’s not what scares me. Dryads are also known for being cannibals. They’ll kill and consume any creature that crosses into their lands, and when they run low on trespassers, they sacrifice their own. If he wins, I don’t doubt that I’ll become dinner...
At the least the ghouls would kill me first before doing heinous things. The dryads prefer their food live.
Behind them is a line of beasts of various species. Some are dire wolf shifters, harpies—a weird mix of bird and man—and mermen. Others are of a demonic nature, but I’m unfamiliar with which clans they hail from.
Something moves in the corner of my vision. At first, I shrug it off as being someone in the crowd, but when I catch it again, it’s close enough to the thrones that I could reach out and touch it. Whoever it is, isn’t aware of our customs—or doesn’t care about them. Regardless, it’s an unspoken rule to not approach the throne platform unless invited.
Yet, I don’t move to see it. Whoever it is, should they continue, the guards will escort them away as they have before. Keeping my gaze trained on a ceramic pot along the back wall, I suck in a breath as someone clears their throat.
“Pardon me, princess...”
I discreetly pivot my gaze, finding an elven man unlike any I’ve encountered before. He’s... peculiar, with short dark hair instead of long, fair locks. The elves believe cutting their hair breaks their connection to the moon and the magic it grants them. It’s why the fairest tend to be of noble bloodlines. To them, it’s a sign they were blessed by the goddess. Even though the dark elves in our realm were exiled from their kingdom, they typically still keep to their religious traditions.
According to my father, the elves believe in keeping their bloodlines pure. They don’t sanction inter-species relationships, since doing so would cause the magic within their familial lines to diminish over time. For an elf, cutting your hair is akin to soiling the bloodline. Maybe cutting it changes the color the same way their skin grays when they sin.
Beyond his hair being short along the sides and long on top, it’s messy as if he’s driven his fingers through loose waves. Messy hair doesn’t set him apart as an elf, but it does from the rest of the people in this room. Everyone has dressed up for the occasion, even those most would call monsters. They’ve put their best foot forward to appear as royalty for the night, where this man looks like he’s just rolled out of bed.
His clothes are nice, though. They fit in if you look past the wrinkles in his shirt and the scuffs on his boots. Rubies sparkle from the buttons of his jacket, and those aren’t cheap in Solaria. Any sort of gemstone would cost a small fortune since the mines don’t exist in our realm and we’re forbidden from crossing into the next. All we have was here before the boundaries were erected and since then, the price of stones like that has only been driven higher as time passes.
The man bows, making a show of it by holding one hand out to the side and tucking the other against the hinge of his body.
“I’m sorry to startle you, but if you’re willing to give me a moment of your time, I promise to make it worth your while.” He stands, a crooked smirk flashing across his full lips.
My gaze darts to the guards, but they haven’t moved an inch. “I’m not allowed to talk to you.”
“Well... From where I stand, your father seems quite busy.” He leans in a bit closer, dropping his voice to a whisper. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”
His green eyes darken as he loops his hands to lace together behind his back. They’re a stark contrast against his greyish-blue skin, but that doesn’t make me pause nearly as much as the rogue dimples that form when he smiles. It goes against every hard line of his face, from the strong, sharp edge of his jaw to his straight nose. Even the thick curve of his eyebrows is masculine, yet his long eyelashes and those dimples could get him away with murder. It makes the virile man before me look cute, and I’m not sure how to process that information.
Suddenly, his eyes dart past me and widen as he takes a quick step back.
“Scarlet.” My father’s voice is unmistakable, and much closer than I would’ve anticipated.
I meet the king’s gaze and offer a sweet smile, hoping it’ll spare the fool from being carried away by the guards. Considering the reason we’re here, I shouldn’t care what happens to the man, but my mind is still trying to wrap around his... everything. The contrasts. The mystery. It’s caught my curiosity in a way I can’t describe.
“I told him to approach,” I lie, watching the realization wash over the elf. He looks as stunned as I feel. “I believe he wanted a dance.”
“I see,” my father says, glancing at the dark elf. “Are you pledging?”
“Possibly.” He doesn’t give away a shred of emotion, having locked down his features.
My father cocks his head to the side. “You’re unsure? I’d advise you to figure it out. Most men come into my castle knowing whether they plan to risk it all for what they want. How do you plan to win if you’re not even sure whether you want what you’re fighting for?”
The elf doesn’t waver for a moment, tearing his gaze away from my father to send a razor-sharp smile at me. “I know what I’m fighting for, my king. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t. The only thing I’m wavering on is whether the princess could learn to love me when I win.”
My father’s laugh echoes off the walls of the great hall, cutting through the silence of the now-hushed crowd. “Scarlet, my dear, give the boy a dance.”
The king resumes his place at the front of the line, accepting pledges. For a moment, it’s like I’ve forgotten how to move. The elven man arches a brow, giving me a closed-lip smile and flashing his dimples. He slowly closes the distance between us, and when he reaches my throne, his chin lifts and he extends a hand out to me.
My cheeks heat as I set my hand in his glove and he squeezes it. It takes everything I have to fight the strain of my cheeks as I try to hide the smile and maintain the facade of stoic beauty.
I’ve never understood why we’re taught to look numb and react to nothing... It’s like happiness is a weakness. Yet, for the first time since this gauntlet was announced, I have hope. Maybe there’s a chance of surviving this after all.
“I never got your name,” I say, letting him lead me to the empty area in front of the musicians.
