From afar, the central building of the Geletran palace resembled a stump, sprouting out from which were long but short structures that resembled roots, like remnants of a great tree from a primordial age long since forgotten. But while the surfaces of these buildings did have the rough, raised texture one would expect from tree bark, it was constructed almost entirely from stone. Even the grand promenade leading out from the palace doors looked like a carpet of interwoven branches, but stepping upon the latticed surface would yield no crunch nor crack nor hint of instability. Still, the palace grounds were by no means void of vegetation. While the main gardens lay to the back of the palace, the front featured well-manicured rows of topiary interspersed with carefully selected flowers and canopied by the gold-leafed Vindai trees for which Geletra was so well-known.
Also standing in neatly maintained rows on either side of the promenade were swaths of elvish nobility, dressed in their absolute finest. Standing behind them were nearly all the palace servants, dressed, of course, in their uniforms but with not a single crease or wrinkle of work upon them. Centered at the head of this finely poised crowd were Seyfrus, Auriel, and Vanduil, standing before the steps leading up to the palace doors. Normally, royalty would stand upon the steps, above their court, but such a position would place them above the High Prince, and that was simply not acceptable. Even the train of Auriel’s skirt had been carefully swept into a pool around his feet, lest even a single silk petal rest above Celethir’s head.
Mere moments after the royal Geletrans’ arrival on the steps, the royal carriage pulled its way through the grand branch gates surrounding the frontal courtyard. Nearly every surface of the ultramarine carriage, from the wheels to the door handles, were encrusted with pure silver, and situated atop the roof was a cluster of crystals arranged in a way that resembled a crown. The horses drawing the carriage had been traveling for miles, yet not a single speck of dirt marred their pure white coats.
Trailing behind was another, smaller carriage, colored in the same silver-and-ultramarine, but not nearly as ornate in its decoration. As soon as the first one stopped, the second did as well, and out from the latter came two guards clad in silver plate armor—totally void of marks, just like the horses. Without delay, one went to either door of the grander carriage and opened it with a fluid flourish.
The High Prince’s clothes were the exact same color as the carriage exterior, so it looked as though he was emerging from the carriage surface itself as he set foot on the promenade. A structured mantle embroidered in silver pronounced his shoulders in stateliness, and the rich velvet cape falling from said mantle cocooned him in resplendence. Beneath the cape was an over-robe in the same material, with long, fitted sleeves and a cutaway front that exposed his matching velvet pants and silver shoes. Every edge was trimmed in embroidered silver, giving him an ethereal glow as the threads threw the golden Geletran sun from their surface. A thick braid contained the hair at either side of Celethir’s head, while the rest of it hung like a sheet of freshly fallen snow to just past his shoulder blades. Atop his head was an intricate crystal diadem decorated with sapphires the same color as his eyes.
Those eyes widened as they landed upon Auriel, and his lips even parted for a moment in awe. He brought his face back to a neutral but pleasant composure as two other finely dressed elves emerged from the carriage after him, though in his piercing eyes there still radiated some of the enamored warmth one would hold for a painting, or other fine work of art.
Auriel’s expression did not change as Celethir drew closer, followed by the two guards and flanked on either side by Emara and Rindair, his most trusted advisors. As far as Auriel knew, it was not a requirement that an advisor’s face be so hard and unmoving, yet theirs were just like Vanduil’s. In fact, one would have sworn them siblings had Vanduil’s hair been the color of flax instead of ink.
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When the small procession stopped, they stood a few feet away from the group on the stairs, but Auriel felt like eyes were right in front of him—if not inside of him, in Celethir’s case. The High Prince’s eyes were exceedingly vibrant, far brighter than the sapphires in his diadem, yet even in this enamored state, Auriel could not feel any warmth from them—and he certainly had no warmth to give them.
“It is an honor, High Prince Celethir, to receive you today,” said Seyfrus, lowering his head in a shallow bow. Auriel and Vanduil did the same, though Vanduil’s head hung lower than the others’.
“The honor is mine, King Seyfrus,” replied Celethir. “Geletra is so radiant this time of year. Though, naturally, it is a dull and barren wasteland when compared to the radiance of your son. Lift your head, my darling, so I may look upon that radiance properly.”
Auriel did as instructed and greeted Celethir with a demure smile. Celethir returned the look with a prideful one of his own, and with exceeding gentleness placed his hands upon Auriel’s face, as if handling a delicate porcelain doll.
“Oh, my dearest Auriel,” Celethir whispered, his hold on Auriel’s head growing just a hair firmer. “I have been dreaming of this face every night for a week, yet none of those dreams could hold even the faintest candle to reality.”
“I have been dreaming of yours, as well, dear prince,” Auriel replied—albeit with the “bashed in with a club” part omitted. “In fact, seeing you here before me now, it is difficult to believe that I am not still dreaming.”
“I’m sure it must be,” Celethir chuckled. His hands trailed slowly from Auriel’s cheeks to his shoulders, and then down his arms to take his hands in his own. Celethir’s thumb brushed Auriel’s mother’s ring, and for a moment, there was a small flash of disturbance in his eyes, caused, no doubt, from the aberration in color. But upon seeing the word engraved upon its surface, he gave a small nod, and upon returning his gaze to Auriel’s, his expression warmed once more.
“Rest assured, my dear, that my presence is real, and that my love for you is boundless. From the moment I laid eyes upon you at the solstice ball, I knew I had to have you. And the closer our wedding date draws, the harder it is to keep away from you. I yearn for the day when I can finally bring you home to Sola Anlae, where I shall keep you safe and treasure you like the most precious jewel in my future crown. You shall never want for anything, and none shall ever want you in the way I do—I won’t let them.”
Had such sweet words come from any other mouth, a blush may have dusted Auriel’s cheeks in a soft pink. But they didn’t, and so when Celethir lifted his hands and pressed a gentle kiss to both of them, Auriel had to remind himself how to smile. Seyfrus did not, however, nor did most of the onlookers in the crowd, who gazed upon the picturesque love scene with pride and admiration. But not every expression was a warm one. In fact, just over Celethir’s shoulder, Auriel could see the faintest hint of a tightened lip from Emara and the tiniest twitch of an eye from Rindair. The others were watching, admiring, but they were analyzing, scrutinizing, searching desperately for a flaw to be pointed out in secret. Auriel had spotted three of theirs from afar and nine up close, but all they needed was one—just one loose thread to unravel him completely before Celethir’s eyes. Divines knew he’d love nothing more than to come undone, to have Celethir cast him aside and capture the heart of someone more willing. But he was a prideful one, as most elves were, and said elvish pride would not allow him to be ruined by such odious figures as Emara and Rindair.
So he stood there, smiling, and gave Celethir’s hands the gentlest squeeze as he colored his cheeks in lover’s pink—all while dreaming of that beautiful stone slab at the foot of his bedroom window.
