A Perfect Elven Princess

A Perfect Elven Princess

Part one.

"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.

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 springtimes 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 reluctance 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.