Beyond the Known: The Outcasts

Evelenda

Her sister's stitches were straighter than hers. Evelenda contemplated her clumsy patchwork and decided that it was probably the result of having spent too much time watching her sister than she had paying attention to her own work. She sighed. Endara; clever, pretty, bold Endara, everyone's favourite, had always overshadowed her. She was a lovely person, too— always doing things for others, sharing the abundance of wealth they had in their kingdom, being exactly what a perfect princess and future queen would do. Evelenda would never be like that. She was shy, reserved, awkward, and cowardly. It seemed hard to believe that she and Endara were even related. The only thing the two share in common was their unwavering love for each other.

"Time is up," Master Mione announced. He was a plump, white haired old man, and he scarcely looked up from his pocketbook except to grade the princess' patchwork. In Evelenda's case, he was usually degrading it.

"Excellent, as always," Moine praised Endara. She smiled sweetly and nodded to him. Milne turned to Evelenda and clamped both hands on the sides of his face, smothering his bushy sideburns and folding down his massive ears. All elves had large ears, but his were by far the largest. 

"Good Graech, Evelenda," he gasped, seemingly appalled, "whatever have you done?" He shook his head as he gestured helplessly to her uneven, clumsy stitching job. "You've never been good at this, but this reaches a new level of incapability."

Evelenda bowed her head and said nothing, but Endara did. She always did. "Please, sir," she interjected, "Evelenda is good at other things. Just not this."

"Like What?" Mione scoffed. "Buffoonery?"

"She's an exceptional singer," Endara supplied, casting her sister an apologetic glance as the master sneered. "Singing will do you no good as queen," he said. He turned to Evelenda. "I hope you have improved on this by the weeks end, my dear, or things may take a disappointing turn for you."

Evelenda's cheeks burned. She shook her head at Endara as she opened her mouth to defend her sister further. Endara sent back a look of irritation. She had always wondered how Evelenda found the patience to deal with the insults and jeers she received from their tutors, but Evelenda never knew just how to explain to her headstrong sister that it wasn't a matter of patience, but cowardice. Evelenda was a coward. She had known this for her whole life— years of sitting quietly through lectures and rants directed at her, agreeing automatically with whatever anyone told her regardless of if she really felt the same, and bending to her parents wills, letting them mould her into the kind of daughter they wanted, not the kind she was. Evelenda has always wanted to please them, but they were difficult to please. King Laeran and Queen Aliana were tough, authoritative people.

Evelenda rose from her seat, curtsied respectfully to Mione, and hurried out of the room. She heard Endara scuffling behind her, but she ducked away and rushed down the hall to try and avoid her sister. It didn't work.

"You shouldn't have to put up with that wretched man," Endara said fiercely, "I can ask Father to rid us of him."

Evelenda shook her head. "I don't want to hurt anybody," she said. "He's right, anyways. I'm horrible at everything."

"You aren't!" Endara places both hands on her sisters shoulders, her eyes wide and filled with earnest. "Please, Evelenda, please stop allowing people like him to ruin your life!"

"My life is fine," Evelenda lied, "I'm the Elven Princess of Tiyrathia. What more could I want?"

"I know what you want," Endara replied, "you want to find love. You crave companionship."

"I do not." Evelenda stared down at her feet. "And besides, you knew perfectly well that father and mother will decide who I marry."

"They didn't pick my true love," Endara countered. She riddled with the diamond engagement ring on her finger. "Tirtus and I are going to marry in three months because we love each other, not because we were told to."