The Prince's Mark

The Road to Dezmer - Twelve

"It's for the best. The less time he spends with you, the better."

"Why?"

"Because we have to return to the Elven Kingdom."

"But he's coming with us."

"That's what you say now, but will he be willing to leave home again?"

Mirthal paused, straining to hear footsteps in the distance. "I think so..."

"I wouldn't be so sure, your highness. Think about it: he's done enough adventuring for ten of those dezmek, so why would he want to travel again? Not only that..." Pendaer's expression, unseen by Mirthal, turned sly. "He spends a lot of time with his maid, doesn't he?"

Even Pendaer saw it.

"...So?" he said through gritted teeth.

"So, he's past the age to be married. His parents, seemingly, have passed, leaving only him. He has to get married and he enjoys her company, if nothing else."

"He said he didn't want to get married. He... He was pretty adamant about it."

"Oh, perhaps he didn't, but he's home now. There are so many reasons why marriage might appeal to him—even leaving his wife here while he travels with us. Though if he does get married, I suppose you'll have to sleep in a tiny bed like I do."

Mirthal glared at the ground. He shared the lord's bed with Tracou now, but someone could come along and kick him out of it.

"He says she's like a sister to him."

"Did you know, your highness, that in old Elvish husbands and wives used to refer to each other as brother and sister? Maybe dezmek use the words similarly."

He had, in fact, heard that before. It had produced a mild reaction in him then, but disturbed him now.

"...You think he'll get married?"

"I do."

This shouldn't have bothered him. It was a natural course of events, wasn't it? Getting married and moving on to a new stage of life, one where a person didn't frivolously allow friends into their bed? Eventually he, too, would have to marry and have children. His father had married late, late in life and had only produced one heir. His mother had told him time and time again not to repeat his father's mistake—after all, look at how much pressure he had to deal with being the sole heir to the crown! Having only one child had never made sense to him. Why would his father wait so long? Dezmek had less time and had to live their lives quickly, hitting milestones at a pace that would make any elf's head spin. Even death came to them earlier.

Taking what he hoped was a calming breath, Mirthal turned to look at the sky. A couple of fluffy clouds drifted above them without a care in the world and, for a moment, his envy turned towards them.

He had felt so free in Aodehn and even in Terel. Why not here?

Why did the idea of Tracou getting married upset him so much?

It didn't make sense. Tracou was his friend.

His only friend.

Realization smacked into him like an unfortunately horizontal tree branch at night. That was it! If Tracou married, then he wouldn't have time to be Mirthal's friend anymore. They had already gone from a few weeks of all day every day to a few hours a day every day. Other people might have been content with that, but for most of his life Mirthal had had someone constantly at his side, even if who it was changed.

This answer mostly satisfied him. Something lurked underneath its surface, something unknown and potentially dangerous, but he pretended it wasn't there. Surely wanting to carry someone or hold hands with them could be something people who were merely friends did. He had never had someone he could consider a friend before Tracou, so his experience in this field left much to be desired.

Friends could be close... or they could grow bored of each other.

Pendaer cleared his throat. "Your highness, perhaps you should start thinking about a wife as well."

"A wife..."

After he had gone through puberty, his mother brought up marriage every time they saw each other. Rather than asking about his studies or discussing court politics, she had decided that Mirthal's most important duty was to continue the dynasty. A ruler who left no heir left chaos. The throne would be stained with the blood of his subjects and it would be his fault. That had been drilled into his head over and over and over.

But as long as he wasn't in the Elven Kingdom, he could push the idea away. He would deal with it later.

"What about you, Pendaer?" he asked, still not looking at him.

"...Me?"

"You're eighty-three and most of your sisters are married. Why not you?"

"W-Well, I could be married right now if I wanted. There are simply... too many options... to choose from."

Unsurprising. Pendaer would be an attractive match for any upwardly mobile family until he opened his mouth.

"Better too many than none at all," Mirthal said with a grin. "Right?"

"Right..."

Hurried footsteps approached the hill and, alert like a dog, Mirthal turned toward the sound. Tracou's white head soon appeared, a large smile on his face.

"Are you hungry?" he asked.

"Yes." Mirthal paused, looking Tracou up and down. There had to be some way to solve his problem or at least mitigate it. "Tracou, could I come with you next time?"

"Come with me? Where, just into the village?"

"Mm-hm."

"But you don't speak Dezmerian and I'm just... I don't know, making sure things are okay after being gone for so long. You'll get bored."

"No, I'll be okay."

"Your highness, he's r—" Pendaer cut himself off, face twisting. Whatever he had been about to say turned out to be too unpalatable to force past his lips, so he switched tactics. "Those dezmek might be scared of you. They're village people, after all. It would be best to avoid them."

Tracou bristled. "You might scare them, but Mirthal won't. If you want to come, Mirthal, you can. But you'll have to get up early."

"What about after lunch?"

"No, no, that would be even more boring. It's a lot of planning."

"Oh..."

Tracou didn't want him there when he was with Serpouhi. Maybe if he proved that he could handle the morning stuff, Tracou would let him come and sit with him while he did the evening stuff. If not, maybe he could learn what he could do to ensure that Tracou liked him.

A feminine voice called out to them in Dezmerian. Serpouhi leaned out of the front door and waved at them. Tracou waved back.

"Lunch is ready," he said, already walking.

Mirthal followed him, determined. He had some kind of plan now, even if small.