Vanessa sat across from Thomas at an ornate garden table on the castle grounds. Carved from the base of a large oak tree, heroes and legendary figures from Vistha’s history were embossed supporting the large flat tabletop as a single piece of wood. Upon the table was a blackwood tea set. A half eaten scone sat in front of Vanessa.

  “Your highness, if I didn’t know you any better, I’d say you were nervous.” Thomas leaned back into his chair with a soft creak.

  Vanessa glanced to the horizon as she brought the teacup to her lips, took a sip, and set it down. “Then it is good that you do know me so well, Chief Minister.”

  Thomas reached for a biscuit at the center of the table, the blue skin of his arm nearly completely obscured by elaborate tattoos gathered over the course of a microquad. He took a bite, brushed the crumbs from his beard, and continued. “Highness, you remind me much of your mother. She had the same look when she was about to execute some plan of hers.”

  “And what, old man, do you suppose I am up to?” Vanessa looked back to the old man. The white glow of her eyes obscured her gaze, but Thomas knew very well she was looking directly at him.

  “I would suppose no such thing. His majesty, the king, has made the arrangements thus far. And I trust that whatever the faithful crown princess does will be in service to the crown.”

  Vanessa’s hair, already a faint glow of purple, brightened as she responded. “Don’t patronize me. It won’t be long until you answer directly to me, you should start acting as such.”

  Thomas exhaled briefly and put his hands on his lap. “I shall serve as faithfully as I do his majesty, the king. Just as I did for your mother, spirits rest her soul.”

  Vanessa calmed down. “You speak of Queen Vix very often. I would like to know. Is she missed? Not just in the court, among the people.”

  Thomas stroked his beard and reminisced. “My dear princess, my heart breaks for you every day thinking of how you never knew her majesty. She was strong, exacting, and so very wise. Not unlike yourself, your highness. Despite all the troubles of the past, the people remember the prosperity she brought.”

  He continued, deducing the unasked question. “The people will welcome your reign. You will have their loyalty. For some, even their love.”

  “I suppose that’s comforting.” She idly tapped on the table. “And the dog?”

  “Your highness, you may wish to get in the habit of being more…cordial…to your fiancé.”

  “There hasn’t been a proposal yet.” Vanessa interrupted.

  Thomas sighed. “Prince Rimush arrives today. Despite his reservations, your father intends for you to court the prince in the traditional fashion.”

  “You haven’t answered my question.”

  “Quite so. Nothing gets past you, does it, princess?”

  Vanessa clasped her hands together on the table. “Well?”

  “I’m afraid the Raleighan prince may have some trouble with the court. You will need to serve as his cover politically. At least until he proves himself to the nobility.”

  “Or to me.”

  “These Raleighans are short lived, highness. You cannot take several nanoquads to make a decision with the prince.” He straightened up in his seat. “Please, for his majesty's sake, make an effort to get along.”

  “I’ll be alone with the thing in a small shuttle for half a nanoquad. I can’t even imagine the smell. He certainly won’t be allowed near the bed.” Vanessa grumbled, then took a less than regal drink of her tea.

  “Your highness, I’m afraid the uh…bedding ceremony…will also be expected of you.” The Chief Minister looked embarrassed to even bring the subject up. “You will need a female heir.”

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  “What a mortifying thought.”

  Both of them turned to the sky, feeling some disturbance, then seeing a glimmer of light.

  “It seems our guests have arrived.” Thomas stood. “May I escort her highness to the throne room?”

  “Actually, I think I’d rather watch from the balcony. Let my father handle the reception.”

  Thomas hid his hands in the opposite sleeves of his robes. “As you wish, princess. This way, please.”

  The two returned to the castle from the garden.

  -

  Rimush braced for the re-entry bump, but felt nothing. The Visthan ship seemed to be motivated by entirely different design choices. The inertial dampeners had been tuned to erase any external vibrations or movements. Every surface was smooth and pastel colored, with the glossy finish of varnished wood. No sharp edges are hard corners. Even the externals of the ship appeared aerodynamic, a strange but deliberate choice for a vessel with a deflection shield and gravitational propulsion.

  Looking out the window started to make Rimush a bit motion sick, as his ears could not agree with the visuals of the planet shaking beneath him. He turned back to the elf sitting across from Rimush and Dren. A polite, but performative, smile on the elf’s face. Rimush’s eyes drifted down to the elf’s arms.

  “You are curious about my markings.” A welcoming statement, but not a question.

  “It is common among the administrative class. A personal historical record. They commemorate various aspects of our identity and experiences.” The elf rolled up his sleeves and began pointing at various locations on his arms. “Family crest. Education. My wife. My first child. Royal service. My next three children.” He pointed at different designs for each child. “Military service.”

  “Military service?” Rimush interrupted.

  “Yes, it was very common roughly fifty nanoquads ago.” The elf maintained polite eye contact with Rimush as Dren glared at him. “The rest describe my capacity as a royal servant of the court.” His finger traced down several small designs along his shoulder and upper arm. “Or are too personal to discuss in polite company.”

  Dren observed. “Not a lot of room taken up by military service. I take it you only served a short time?”

  “I was a Visthan officer for one hundred twenty nanoquads, separating roughly fifty nanoquads ago. This marking,” he pointed back at the spot on his arm, “is the publicly accepted version of the military service seal.” He rolled his sleeves back down. “As I said, the other tattoos each have a specific meaning, and are personal in nature.”

  “I see.” Dren turned back to the window.

  Rimush had a hard time reading the elf. He was so used to Raleighan company, and the occasional Rachnian, that he had never developed the instinct to read a room beyond spotting the movement of a Raleighan tail or the twitch of a Rachnian’s legs. However, Dren’s demeanor seemed to indicate even more tension on the shuttle than when the trip started. Rimush tried to diffuse the situation.

  “We never got your name.”

  “I am but a servant of the court, Prince Rimush. It is unlikely you will see me again after today. I would not trouble you with my name.” The performative smile never left the elf’s face.

  “I see…” Rimush fidgeted in his seat.

  “We have landed.” The elf stood.

  Rimush, again disoriented by the lack of movement inside the ship, looked out the window. They were in the castle garden in the center of Prassur. The castle towered over them as a composite of living wood, vines, flowers, and polished white stone.

  “If you would please follow me, your eminence, prince.” The elf waved his hand over a wall panel. A door unsealed from the wall and opened into a ramp.

  Once Rimush stepped out of the shuttle, he began to take in the surroundings. Tall walls encircled the garden. A fountain somehow made out of a flowering tree sat between the shuttle and the castle doors. Extravagant, he thought, but pretty impractical.

  At first, it appeared that they were alone, but Rimush could smell several elves hidden about the grounds. Looking closely, they appeared to blend into the plentiful foliage.

  They made their way to the castle doors. The elf paused. “Please allow me to announce your arrivals.” He bowed to the doors, and they creaked open with the sound of wood straining under a bending force. The elf entered. The interior of the castle was difficult to see from the outside. The halls were dimly lit with glowing orbs floating in water bowl sconces. This, combined with the bright Palid sun, obscured any distance beyond a few feet of the entrance hall.

  Dren spoke to his son while staring straight ahead. “Rimush, you must be on your absolute best behavior.”

  “Yes, your eminence.”

  “And do as I say, not as I do. Don’t take anything anyone says personally.”

  “I don’t understand.” Rimush turned toward his father.

  “You will in a toq. Eyes on the prize.”

  Rimush turned back toward the castle entrance.