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."
"Yes, well," Evelenda turned and started down the hallway. "We don't always get what we want, now, do we?"
Endara's argument was interrupted by a page suddenly approaching the sisters. Evelenda bowed to him while Endara nodded and asked, "what is it?"
"King Laeran has requested the presence of Princess Evelenda in his royal court immediately," the elf replied, nodding towards the girl in question. Evelenda swallowed.
"I'll explain to Master Ollis where you are," Endara promised as Evelenda followed to page down the hall. She came upon the heavy oak doors to the court room and forced herself to remember that it was her own father she was about to see. It felt no less intimidating as she walked through the doors, held open by servants, and saw the king sitting on his mighty throne. His hair was as light as gold and his eyes were piercing blue. His skin, pale as ivory, stood out somehow against the brilliant white marble walls. Oak pillars decorated the room and an array of multicoloured beams of light lit up the massive room as the sunlight streamed through stained glass windows, depicting scenes of victories in battle, banquets of celebration, and gatherings of the entire Towerfeln clan. The Towerfeln were the people that the elves belonged to. They were aligned with the humans, the centaurs, the fairies, and the sparnen, who were about to become affiliated with their royal family, as the man who Endara was about to marry was one of them. The Sparnen lived in and around Sparne Sea, and they were gifted with the ability to breathe underwater as well as on land.
"My child," the king said, his voice rich and deep. Evelenda curtsied low, unsure of what this could be about. "I wish to speak with you about a recent... development." He extended his hand to Evelenda, revealing the glass ring he wore. She bent down to kiss it lightly.
"As you know, we have always had a strong alliance with the humans," the king went on as she straightened up. "They provide us with gold and silver, diamonds from the deep mines of Garthbrall, and fireproof materials that they manage to create. In return, we use the magic we know to protect them from storms, famine, and drought, and provide them with the precious jewels of the mountains of Arbar." He toyed with the light blue silk of his flowing robes. "However, recently, the human king and queen have expressed an interest in having their youngest son, Marcus, marry."
Inexplicably, Evelenda's throat tightened.
"He is twenty, your age, and completely untouched by love." He smiled, as if this were a good thing. "I feel that you two will be very happy together."
Evelenda felt her heart plummeting. This wasn't fair. Endara has been able to choose her own destiny, choose who she loved. But now she was being told that she had to marry this man, who she didn't know? She'd only ever seen the human royals on two occasions, and both times she had been very young. She couldn't think of what Marcus looked like, if he was decent, or if he would even love her at all. Evelenda wished for the same courage Endara had. She found none of it and stayed silent.
"We shall meet with them tomorrow," her father was saying cheerfully, "in Garthbrall. You two will have a week to get to know each other before your wedding, and then you can unite our kingdoms with a bond so powerful, nothing will ever break it!"
Evelenda forced a smile to her lips. "Thank you, father," she said, fighting to hold back tears. I'm going to marry a stranger, was all she could think about.
She somehow left the courtroom and walked up the winding staircase that led to her tower. There, she locked herself in her room and collapsed onto her end, sobbing her heart out. How could she have let herself be forced into this? How was she expected to spend the rest of her life— married to some man she didn't love, bearing his children and minding his house? She'd heard horror stories of the contraptions the humans forced on their women— torture devices that were designed to crush your ribs and make you look slimmer, metal bars that curved outwards, stuffed under your skirt, making you look like your bottom was three times it's actual size. She shuddered as he imagined forcing those things on herself every morning. Waking up beside a man she barely knew, allowing him to touch her and talk to her in ways that she wanted only the man she loved to. She had never been in love, not yet, but now it looked as though she was never going to get the chance.
§§§
The ride to Garthbrall was only two hours, but to Evelenda, it felt like an eternity. She spent the entire journey staring pointedly out the window, refusing to meet Endara's eye. She knew what her sister must be thinking. What kind of a person allows their own life to be controlled by someone else? Allows their love to be meddled with, their destiny torn to bits?
A coward, that's what.
Evelenda was half relived, have dismayed when they arrived at the castle of Garthbrall. It was massive, made of hideous red stone with flags the colour of blood billowing from every turret. She forced herself to smile as she followed the servants inside. She was led to the throne room, where the king and queen sat waiting, their son standing in front of them facing the door. Evelenda met his eyes and tried desperately not to cry. He was staring at her with the expression that carried the most pain and horror she had ever seen. He looked as though at any moment, he might start sobbing.
He doesn't love me, she thought, surprised at what a relief this was. He doesn't want to marry me either.
Evelenda stepped forwards, extending a hand, as she had been instructed to. The humans had another odd custom of women having men kiss their hands upon greeting. It felt wrong when he kissed her hand— like there was some emptiness, some cold barrier between them. Marcus looked up at Evelenda and saw his own pain reflected in her face. He offered her a small, weak smile. To their parents, who were watching with pure joy as the two stood together, the smile might have looked charming, sweet, or even seductive. But Evelenda knew that wasn't the case. Marcus' heart belonged to another.
And she was never going to be able to love him. Not in this way.
"Why don't you two run along into the garden?" Queen Ariana, Marcus' mother, said. "Talk to each other while we plan your big day."
Evelenda felt queasy thinking about the wedding. She allowed Marcus to lead her into the garden. It was beautiful, with every kind of flower and tree growing in a unique and seemingly orderless pattern. Bright colours and sweet smells were everywhere. But Evelenda found it difficult to appreciate the beauty while she was being forced to marry a stranger.
"I'm sorry if this pains you to hear," Marcus said, "but I don't love you."
"I don't either," Evelenda replied, "but there seems to be nothing that can be done."
Marcus hook his head. "One of us can run," he said. "Get as far away from here as we can. The other can stay behind to marry whom they please."
Evelenda sighed. "There is no one I love," she admitted, "and I would be afraid to run away." She glanced up at Marcus. "You can go. Take whoever it is you love and run from here."
But Marcus shook his head. "If I go," he said, "my kingdom will have no ruler once my parents die. My older brother, George, has already left his position as a prince to pursue the calling of a knight. Were I to run, I would bring shame and ruin on my people and my family." He fixed Evelenda with a solemn stare. "That is something that I could never do."
Evelenda shuffled uncomfortably. How could she run from her family? Her sister? Surely there was some other way— but no, the wedding was in a week and they couldn't stop it. The only way to escape this marriage was to literally flee. She felt so small at that moment. She suddenly knew how animals felt when they were cornered by a hunter, the tip of an arrow aimed right at their heart. No where to run, no where to hide, no one to come and save you... she swallowed thickly, trying to think of a way this could end where she and Marcus could remain unmarried but not have to run away.
"What's her name?" She asked him. "The woman you love."
Marcus eyes took on a distant, dreamy look. "Grace," he replied, "she's the most beautiful, wonderful woman I've ever met." His face darkened. "But she is a peasant. I cannot marry her, not with this arranged marriage— but if you were to run, and I were to be heartbroken and need someone to wed me desperately..."
Evelenda shook her head. Tears were beginning to form in the corners of her eyes. How could she do this? It hurt her to imagine living anywhere without Endara. Besides, where would she go? An elvish Princess was difficult to miss, and she wouldn't know the first thing about surviving alone out there. And yet she saw in Marcus' eyes the look a man who had found true love. A man willing to do anything for the woman he loved so much. And her own heart ached for someone, one day, to look at her like that.
"I," she said, her voice shaking, "will do it." She looked up to Marcus, her heart warming when she saw the look of pure joy on his face. "I will run. And I will let you have true love."
It was only after he had gone, presumably to rejoice at this news in private, that Evelenda stepped to the side, hid behind a bush, and sobbed.
She couldn't do this.
But she had to.
So she would.
§§§
That night, a cloaked figure slipped through the streets of Garthbrall. They were carrying a bow and a full quiver of arrows, several small knives, and enough food and water to last them a week. They paused only once, when they stood beneath the balcony of Endara's room. They stared up at their sister's room, silently apologizing for running from them, but they'd found their courage in a surprising place. And there was no going back now.
The figure stole through the night, slipping easily by the human guards, and was gone in nothing more than the darting of a shadow.
Dawn rose on a castle that did not contain Evelenda.