Blood of the Elf Queen

one | routine

Monotony is safe. Monotony is the basis of my survival.

I live my days repeating what's familiar. It prevents any unnecessary risks to me and my life. Having and maintaining a routine keeps me in control, and anything or anybody that tries to change my routine won't be let in.

I tried that once. I accepted a change in my routine. It proved to be the worst mistake of my life.

So here I sit, humming to my plants as I water them from a jug I filled in the nearby spring. They seem to perk and preen with the attention, stretching their leaves and petals as they begin to feel refreshed. So simple. Reaching for the sky, swaying in the breeze, digging their roots deeper. Protected.

Shaking my head, I sit back on my knees and observe the peaceful scene around me. My cottage is hidden by a grove of trees near the springs and streams that provide water for the village. Like most in this part of the forest, my home is lifted up and balanced on roots and branches that have been persuaded to become the base for the cottage. Long ago, another elf cared for the trees and gently bent the pieces they needed, humming and talking and connecting with them in the way that only elves can. And now, two hundred years later, my home is elevated to protect it from the floods the area is known for.

I walk over and pause, placing my hand on one of the supporting branches and press my forehead to it in thanks. My home is solid because of them. I feel the energy, the life flowing through the sap of the branches, humming and vibrating with contentment. Satisfied, I swing myself up the ladder and walk into my home.

Onto the next part of my routine.

I slip into the bathing chamber attached to my bedroom and pull a series of levers. In a few moments, water rains from the ceiling above and I wash the grime off my dark skin. The water pools around the drain in the floor, swirling down to be collected in a large tub. Some of that water flows into storage to be used in emergencies while the rest is directed back toward the springs.

As I am plying my braids with oils and creams after my cleansing, a firm knock disturbs me. My heart races. Nobody visits at this time of day. Nobody told me they were coming. Nobody asked to come. Elves in the village know they can only visit me unexpectedly after dinner and before the sun sets.

My heart thumps in my chest and I swallow. I smooth my loose dress, cinched by a simple belt, and tug on simple dark leggings underneath before I make my way to the front door. The knocks keep coming, and I flick my eyes to my staff next to the door. It's well within my reach and defending myself will be easy.

With a deep breath, I open the door a crack.

"Johari Adaeh Firyali?" a man's voice asks my name as a question. I scan the tall elf, taking in his lean muscles and serious face. He is accompanied by several others like him, spread across my porch. A smart, simple uniform covers his toned body. A uniform that I recognize all too well. He is a guard. They are guards of the High Court. What are royal warriors doing on my porch?

I tap my fingers on the wood of the door, allowing the soothing energy flowing through the wood to calm my voice before I speak.

"Yes, I am she," I open the door wide to reveal my person, feet planted firmly and shoulders back. The soldier blinks as I come into view, only one or two inches taller than me. His narrow jaw clenches briefly as he swallows and nods. "Why have you come to my home?"

"Mademoiselle," the guard addresses me. "I apologize for any discomfort this visit causes you. Could you turn around and lift your braids for us?"

"Why?" I take a step back and grab the door.

"If you are truly who we were sent to locate, you will bear the Mark on the back of your neck," he explains succinctly.