by Tara Grayce
Her fingers itched to touch his pointed ears and slide through his hair. Not in a romantic way. But out of curiosity. Did elven ears feel like human ears? Or did they have a waxy texture? Was his hair really as silken as it looked? What sort of shampoo did they have over there in the forests that kept their hair so soft and shiny? Was it magic? Would she be able to use it on her own hair?
Not that it would do anything about the color. For those in the audience, her red hair must be shocking against her white dress and her groom’s silver clothing and blonde hair.
Did his mouth just twitch? The change in his expression was so fast she would’ve missed it if she hadn’t been staring at him.
Then again, she was unabashedly staring at him. That twitch could’ve been a sign of his discomfort.
They were in the middle of one of their weddings. She was supposed to stare, right?
It was hard not to stare when his hair was so perfect, his sharp cheekbones so perfect, his eyes so sharply blue-silver.
Ugh. She gave herself another mental shake, harder this time. She was not going to turn into one of those princesses. The ones in books where they went on and on describing the absolute perfection of their handsome lover’s face, chest, muscles, and so on.
Yes, this Prince Farrendel Laesornysh was almost too flawlessly handsome. But all elves were, at least to human eyes. To an elf, he probably had numerous flaws. That scar running deeply across the hollow of his right cheek, for example. It wasn’t like he was unusually handsome for his people. Rather ordinary and plain to them, probably. That might even explain why he was willing—and maybe desperate enough—to marry a human. None of the elf women would have him.
In that case, it was just as well he was marrying a human who would appreciate his looks for what they were and not make him feel bad for not being as handsome as the other elves.
Um, yes. That’s exactly what she was doing by swooning over him.
But she was in the process of marrying him. Being attracted to his looks wasn’t a bad thing, as long as it didn’t become the only thing their relationship was based on. Admittedly, right now it was all their relationship had since they knew absolutely nothing about each other besides their names.
Finally the officiant reached the vows. She vowed to stick by him in sickness and health and all that, then it was her groom’s turn.
He spoke in her language in a nice, rich baritone. She hadn’t paid that much attention to it, back in the diplomatic meeting. But it was a nice voice. Not too high, but not intimidatingly low either. The kind of voice Essie would enjoy listening to for the rest of her life.
That was a good sign, right? It would be truly terrible if she hadn’t liked the sound of his voice, considering she was going to be stuck with him for a rather long time.
When the elf prince was prompted, he slid a silver ring onto her finger. It was simple, without the diamonds or other gems she might have expected to receive from a human groom. But it was etched with a pattern of maple and oak leaves, much like the circlet he wore. Where had he gotten this ring? There surely hadn’t been time to have it custom made for her. Did he just happen to have a ring that matched his crown lying around?
Then they were declared man and wife, and that was that. No kiss. That was one part of the ceremony the elves had nixed. Something about it violated some propriety for them. Essie wasn’t sure if she was glad or disappointed at that.
As they turned to face the gathered crowd of a few Escarlish dignitaries, outpost soldiers, the three other elves including King Weylind, and the members of her family who could make it in time, her new almost-husband dropped her hands, leaving her fingers feeling even colder than when they’d been clasped in his.
He was just so hard to read and there was so much about elven culture she didn’t know. Maybe he didn’t mean anything by letting go of her hand. Elves might not consider handholding a romantic gesture that couples did even at their wedding.
Of the elves, he had pushed for their marriage the most. Surely that meant he wasn’t entirely indifferent to her, right?
As she stepped from the platform to head for the light supper laid out at the other end of the military barracks that had been cleared for the occasion, her mother rushed up and gathered Essie in yet another warm, tight hug.
Essie wrapped her arms around her mother and hugged her back. How many more chances would she have for her mother’s hugs? With how long elves lived, they might not understand her need to see her family frequently, if possible. Would it be five years before she saw her mother again? Ten years? Never?
She wouldn’t let herself think about it. She would write letters that could be shared across the border. It would be slow. The elves would probably censor them to make sure she wasn’t telling information they would rather keep to themselves. But she wasn’t going to be cut off completely. At least, that’s what she hoped. Avie had specifically made sure there was a clause for sending messages and letters across the border included in the treaty.
“I’m so proud of you, Elspeth.” Mother stepped back, though she kept a grip on Essie’s arms. “Your father would’ve been proud.”
That soothed something deep inside her. She’d barely had a chance to know her father. But from what she’d heard about him from Averett, Julien, and Edmund, he valued courage. And surely marrying an elf, a former enemy, took courage.
“I’m going to be all right, Mother. I’ll write and tell you all about my new home.” Essie patted her mother’s hands. “No crying. This is my wedding, and I want it to be a happy occasion. Now let’s go enjoy the feast the army cook managed to put together on such short notice.”
Essie should also probably track down her groom and at least put on a show of a happy, adoring couple. That was the purpose of this marriage, to convince her people to stop raiding into Tarenhiel. They would only do that if they thought she had some power in Tarenhiel to look after their interests.
Where was her almost husband? He wasn’t by King Weylind. The elf king stood off to one side with his bodyguard and diplomat talking with Master Wendee. Being distracted?
Yep, that’s exactly what Master Wendee was doing. Averett and Julien had cornered Farrendel at the far side of the room. Edmund would’ve been there, cornering her elf husband as well, but Edmund had been on some mysterious mission for the Intelligence Office and couldn’t be spared.
Both Avie and Julien had their arms crossed. Based on their stances, they were giving Farrendel the if-you-hurt-our-sister-we-will-hurt-you lecture. Not that the lecture would do any good for an elf who could probably toss both of them aside as easily as brushing away a pair of feathers, but it was the thought that counted, right? At least her brothers were taking the time to make sure she would be cared for.
The elves seemed to be in a hurry to leave. Maybe they didn’t like to be surrounded by so many humans. Or maybe they didn’t like crowds. Or they were wary of being alone and barely protected over on the Escarlish side of the border while surrounded by soldiers at the outpost.
While Essie would’ve liked more time with her family, in some ways it wasn’t all bad cutting the goodbyes short. Long goodbyes just turned maudlin.
She hugged her mother one last time. Julien gripped her in a bear hug. Averett embraced her last and whispered in her ear, “If he hurts you, you send me word, all right? Don’t try to hide it or push through on your own.”
“I love you too, big brother.” She patted his shoulder and pulled away. “I’m going to be fine.”
At least, that’s what she had to hope.
She reached for her one, large sack of belongings, but Julien snatched it from the floor before she could. He marched over and shoved the sack at Farrendel. “You’re her husband now. Be a gentleman and carry Essie’s things.”
Farrendel didn’t take the sack right away, but his face was too blank for Essie to tell if he thought carrying her things was beneath him or he was offended by Julien’s tone or if he was simply confused because the whol
e concept of being a gentleman was part of human culture.
After a long moment, Farrendel took the sack from Julien, spun on his heels, and strode to Essie. He held out his arm to her.
Apparently, elves did have some idea about gentlemanly behavior. That was something. Essie tucked her hand around the crook of his arm.
He stared at her hand as if she’d done something wrong. Though, he had been the one to offer his arm, so she wasn’t sure what else he could’ve expected.
Then, with a lift to his shoulders that might have been a shrug, he headed for the door with her keeping pace. She had to trot to keep up with his long strides, not an easy thing to do with the volumes of skirt puffing around her. She tried not to focus too much on the feel of his biceps through the silken fabric of his tunic, but it was hard not to notice when his muscles were so firm and strong beneath her hand.
King Weylind preceded them out of the building while one of Averett’s guards held the door open. Essie had to let go of Farrendel’s arm long enough to yank her skirts through the doorway before they continued out the outpost’s front gate, down the slope, and to the elven ship docked next to her brother’s steamship.
Even as they all climbed the gangway and boarded the elven boat, none of the elves said a word. Did elves not talk among themselves? Ever? Or was it simply that her presence was just as awkward for them as it was for her?
She would just have to make herself at home and start the conversations. It was the only way they were going to get anywhere. After all, her somewhat, half-way legal husband had yet to say one word directed solely to her. The marriage vows hadn’t really counted.
“Unless you’re fine with me stumbling around in this fancy dress all night, is there any place I can change aboard this vessel? There should be time enough before we reach the other side.” Essie took the sack of her belongings from Farrendel.
Farrendel glanced back at the other elves. The diplomat and the bodyguard elf scurried past, heads down, as if they really didn’t want to be consulted. As far as Essie could tell, they were the only crew members on this boat, so they probably had things to do before they could shove off.
King Weylind stared back at Farrendel, then flicked his hand in her direction, as if to tell his brother, Well, go on then. She’s your human. You take care of her.
Farrendel turned to her, his expression blank. But there was something in his eyes. Almost like he was wishing someone would show up with a book on How to Care for Your Human.
She suppressed a sigh. That made her sound more like a new puppy than a new wife. But, for all she knew, that’s how these elves saw her. A pet Farrendel was going to have to keep happy and fed for a couple of decades.
She would make the best of it. If she had to, she would be an affectionate, loveable puppy.
Forcing on a wide smile, she turned toward the hatch that looked like it led below decks. She’d been on enough boats that she should be able to navigate her way around long enough to find an unused room to change clothes in. “Never mind. I’ll just explore and find something.”
Next thing she knew, Farrendel was beside her, then striding ahead of her. “This way.”
He’d said something to her. Finally. A curt command, but it could’ve been worse.
She trailed behind him as he led the way across the deck to the far end of the boat and down a different hatch than the one she would’ve entered.
It took some maneuvering to squish the fabric of her skirt and petticoats and crinoline enough to fit through the hatch. Farrendel probably got a whole eyeful of ankles and petticoats and bloomers underneath, but at this point, Essie didn’t care. He probably didn’t even know what all the layers of fabric were or that it was considered scandalous that he saw them.
Well, not all that scandalous. They were married according to Escarland, after all.
Once she had her feet firmly on the floor in the passageway, he led her past the first door and opened the second one on the right. By his hand motion, he wanted her to enter.
She worked her voluminous dress through the doorway and popped out on the other side. The room inside was surprisingly spacious, considering this was on a steamboat.
Not a steamboat. Essie swayed in time with the boat’s movements as it pulled into the current, yet she couldn’t hear the sounds of churning paddlewheels or the whistle of pressure being released from the boilers.
“What is powering the ship? Is it magic?” She turned back to Farrendel.
He hadn’t moved from the doorway. “Yes.”
She waited, but he didn’t provide more information. Guess that was too much to expect. She took a good, long look at the room. A bed in an odd, curved shape was woven into the wall with long branches, as if it had been grown that way. A shelf across the room from the bed held a few folded items of clothing. All of the woodwork was etched with leaves and branches. Green wisps of fabric formed gauzy curtains at the edges of the windows.
“This is a beautiful cabin. It looks like someone is staying here.” Essie glanced back to Farrendel.
There was the barest shift to his stance, his gaze swerving away from her. “It is mine.”
His? She glanced around again, trying to figure out something about his personality from it. It was too empty for that, but it was only a cabin to stay in for a few days. Not his home.
“Thank—” She turned back to the doorway, but Farrendel was gone, the door shut behind him.
At least he was giving her privacy.
She opened her sack and fished out the simplest dress she’d brought. It was the same one she’d worn to Linder Island for that first diplomatic meeting with the elves.
It was wrinkled. Rather sad-looking.
And, for some reason, she didn’t want to dress in one of her human dresses. She was married to an elf—well, halfway married to him. It was time to embrace her new life. If only she had elven clothes to wear.
She didn’t have any but...she walked over to the shelves. Would it be too presumptive to wear his clothes? How shocking would the elves find that?
A slow smile crept along her face. She was going to do it. He might get mad she touched his things, but better to find out now than later. And maybe she could get some reaction out of those pointy-eared elves besides flickers and twitches.
As carefully as she could, she took the tunics, shirts, and flowing pants from the shelf. One of the tunics was the somewhat fancier, dark blue one he’d worn to the diplomatic meetings. The other was a simple green color with some fancy stitching around the collar and sleeves in a darker green. It was shorter than the other one, perhaps for ease of movement for an everyday tunic.
Would he be annoyed since this was most likely the tunic he wanted to change into when she was done using his room? He probably didn’t want to remain in his wedding finery any more than she did, even if his looked silky and comfortable compared to her dress.
He’d have to put up with it. If he was annoyed, he would have to talk to tell her.
She worked her way out of her wedding dress. The ties were placed so she could reach them—one request she’d made of the seamstress. She dumped her petticoats in a pile on top of her dress, forming a white, poufy mound on the floor, with the crinoline perched like a massive birdcage on top. What was she supposed do to with the dress? It wouldn’t fit in her sack.
She’d let Farrendel figure it out. Surely he’d tell her where he wanted it or he’d quietly have servants take care of it.
Her undergarments would have to remain. As far as she knew, there wasn’t any other option available here. But she did loosen her corset ties as much as possible to make it more comfortable.
The pants and shirt were far too big, but the silk was soft and smooth against her skin. She could get used to wearing fabric like this all the time. After adjusting the pants and shirt as much as she could, she pulled the tunic over top and tied it all in place with a dark green sash she’d had for one of her dresses.
The tunic fell past her kn
ees and the pants sagged onto the floor. She rolled up the ends of the sleeves and the pants. She had a pair of low boots in her bag that worked well enough. Better than the fancy, heeled shoes she’d worn for the wedding.
She glanced over her shoulder one last time at the pile of her wedding dress and petticoats with her sack of belongings next to it. No reason to haul all of that around this boat.
Strolling to the door, she yanked it open and stepped into the passageway.
Voices died. She glanced to the left, then the right.
King Weylind and Farrendel stood near the hatchway to outside. Both turned toward her.
Farrendel started. Full on started. And did his eyes widen? “Those are mine.”
His tone wasn’t accusatory. It was more...bewildered. At least, that’s how she was going to interpret it. There wasn’t a whole lot of inflection to work with.
“I hope you don’t mind if I borrow them. I don’t have any elven clothes yet, and these are much more practical for scrambling around boats and whatever else we are going to do for the next part of the journey to Estyra.” Essie ran her palms down the front of the tunic. “You don’t mind if I borrow it, do you?”
King Weylind was giving his brother that she’s your human, you deal with her look again.
Farrendel shook his head, making his silver hair slide across his shoulders.
Essie clenched her hands. It was becoming increasingly hard to resist running her fingers through his hair. But she kept the smile on her face. “I will take that as a no, you don’t have a problem with me borrowing your clothes. I’m sorry I left your room in a mess. I didn’t know what to do with my wedding dress. I like it. It made me feel like the princess I am. But it will hardly be in style in Estyra.”
Both elves were staring at her. Probably inwardly gaping. She’d just spouted more words than they ever heard in one paragraph. Avie had been right about her bringing chaos.
Neither of them said anything. What had they been talking about? Her, probably.
“Anyway, your room is available. If you want to change into your other tunic. I’m sorry I took this one.” Essie shifted from foot to foot. Where was she supposed to go? Up on deck? Stay right here? “What am I supposed to call you? Farrendel? Or do you prefer Laesornysh? Do elves have nicknames? Can I call you Farren?”