Kings or Pawns (Steps of Power 1)

by Sherwood, J. J.

  How much like his father he looked now. A young king, but how fast the struggle with the council had put creases across his face! He felt a rush of relief that there was a limit to how much, in appearance, an elf could age. His golden hair had been pulled back loosely, much as the True Bloodline had done for wedding ceremonies for centuries, and as his father had undoubtedly adopted in the following of their tradition.

  Hairem ran a hand dutifully down his chest, smoothing out the invisible wrinkles caused by his anxiety. He let his hand remain on his stomach as he paused briefly to inspect the gold-laced, silken shirt that shimmered with embroidery and carved buttons bearing the royal crest.

  Marriage to Ilsevel! In a few hours’ time, she would be his queen. He inhaled sharply, anxiety causing his heart to beat even faster.

  “Alvena, no. Absolutely not,” he heard Lardol bark, pulling him back to the present.

  Hairem looked over his head in the mirror to the girl behind him. She had rolled her eyes at Lardol’s rebuke. “What is it, Lardol?”

  Lardol sighed, picking up an end of his hair. “This, My Lord. Look at this braid. The public will think you slept in it. Alvena, this is a wedding. Do better.”

  Hairem brushed Lardol’s hand away lightly. He smiled back at Alvena, whose bottom lip jutted out in frustration. She was ever defiant to the male—what a wife she would make an elf one day.

  He chuckled in amusement. “Alvena, it is perfect.” He smiled as she blushed and turned her flushed face away. “Lardol, go easy on her. Trust me, all eyes will be on Ilsevel this day.” He stood, fastening the last golden button at his neck, and picked up his sword from the chest of drawers before Lardol could gather to offer it to him. “Please, both of you. Cease fussing over me. I am certain this wedding shall progress despite my appearance. Now, I want both of you to enjoy it! Simply make certain that this room is prepared for us this evening and what else you do with your time today is your own.” He turned to focus his attention on Alvena. “And you, my dear. I had Madorana leave a dress for you in your bedroom. You don’t have to wear it today, but seeing as how this is such a special occasion and you have done such a fine job of taking care of me today, it is a gesture of my thanks that I hope, at least, you are fond of. Lardol, you will find something similar in your room.”

  Alvena giggled.

  “It is not a dress,” he heard Lardol snap to her under his breath.

  “I’m heading out early. I want to speak with Erallus before the ceremony.” He walked toward the door, pausing once to look back at them. “Remember, this room.”

  “I had better not catch you eavesdropping on the king this night,” Hairem heard Lardol bark as he closed the door behind him.

  He chuckled to himself. The two of them never changed—and he certainly hoped they never would.

  “My Lord,” Erallus greeted, bowing his head as Hairem turned toward the stairs.

  “Come. I want to take one final ride through the city before the wedding. In private. We will take the servants’ carriage.” Hairem found himself walking with almost a bounce to his step, beckoning his old friend after him. And he wondered briefly why he had never directly thought to think of the male as such before. Erallus was always at his side, loyally and unshakably. Perhaps the mere frequency of the male’s presence had somehow delayed the clarity of their relationship, or, more likely, his elation at the world around him: everything was so simple. So likeable. Why, the persistent and over-protective qualities of the male at his back seemed, for that short time, to be his best qualities.

  Erallus raised his brows in curiosity. “As you wish, My Lord.” He paused and chuckled faintly. “Why, I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you happier, My Lord.”

  “Erallus, you can’t possibly imagine,” Hairem beamed. He was quite certain there wasn’t another feeling in the world like it!

  They made quick work of the walk to the stables. Once in the carriage, Hairem sat back, eyeing the head of his personal guard thoughtfully. He sat so stiffly. So attentively. Yet it was just them and the bouncing servant carriage and no one the wiser to who sat inside. “What are you thinking?” he queried after a moment as the carriage made another bump onto the cobbled streets outside the palace grounds.

  Erallus cocked his head, as though surprised for the question. “I am overjoyed for you, My Lord. I was thinking about the splendor of the ceremony. And also how your mother and father looked on their day. I was the personal guard to your father then, as well. I remember the nobility in awe of your mother as she entered the hall, but the look on your father’s face was as though he was taking on a duty-bound burden. No matter how radiant she looked, your father could not hide his disappointment. I look at you now and it is quite plain to me that this will be nothing like that day.”

  Hairem smiled, knowing Erallus felt proud to have seen Hairem take a wife of his own choosing. “He grew to love her. After she passed, he had nothing but good things to say about her.” He lifted the curtain of the carriage and peered out onto the wide streets bustling with excited civilians dressed in bright silks and adorned in elegant jewelry. The businesses were closed all across the city—there was not an elf who had not gathered at the temple to celebrate the occasion. White banners waved from all the balconies and every column in the city was wrapped in gold. “Erallus, may I ask you a personal question?”

  He saw the soldier hesitate in his surprise. Hairem had, after all, never asked him one. Though the soldier before him was as present as his own shadow, Hairem knew so little of him. “…You may ask me anything, My Lord.”

  The king regarded the male thoughtfully for a moment. “Anything” was a very long list when he knew nothing. But one question in particular had crept forward in his mind, spurred on by the encroaching wedding. “We haven’t spoken often, personally, you and I. And yet, you’re practically my shadow. Strange, how that has run its course.” He paused, trying to peel back the attentive face before him for some feeling on the matter. “Do you… like your job?—a vow of celibacy seems rather…”

  “Impossible?” Erallus finished. He chuckled slightly. “I think of that vow as more of… a vow to not wed.”

  Hairem gave a little gasp at the implication, hardly daring to interpret the meaning. “You…?” He immediately wished he hadn’t asked—had feigned dumb to the meaning. Now he would find himself culpable to the crime as well.

  Erallus swiftly shook his head, as though he had taken Hairem’s tone as misunderstanding. “Since we are being honest, My Lord. And not elves, if that quells your nerves. A human or two.” Erallus’ attempt at clarification was nonchalant, but Hairem was fully aware that the number was far higher than Erallus was ready to divulge. Though it hardly mattered. One. One hundred. The punishment was the same.

  And Hairem did not attempt to mask his surprise. Or his horror. Erallus had dabbled in prostitution? There was no doubt the male was fully aware of the dangers of such a crime; he had been present at his father’s side for more than one such sinner’s execution!

  Hairem opened and closed his mouth. The expression on the male had hardly changed. Where only open and unabashed honesty had been present before, now the faintest trace of concern was knit across the brow, as though the male was suddenly contemplating if he had said too much. And to any other elf in Elvorium, he certainly would have.

  But… Hairem pulled his features into a controlled and apathetic mask, hoping to quell the soldier’s concerns. Despite his disagreement on the matter, he could hardly see the male before him in poor light. Rather, he found himself seeking a solution to his friend’s weakness, internally reassuring himself that Erallus was merely misled or greatly troubled and needed only an intervening hand to gently push him to a safer path. “If… I lifted the ban on marriage, do you think…?” Hairem finally spoke.

  But Erallus replied swiftly, as though he had fully reflected on such a matter before. “No, My Lord. I believe that vow is there for good reason. A wife would most certainly force me to give conc
erns and time where you should be instead. No. Rather, this is a personal trial of my own.”

  Hairem raised his brows at the frank honesty with which the male responded to him and he felt a sudden desire to protect him from the council and its unhesitating punishment. And Erallus’ response had only made this desire fiercer. “While I can in no way pretend to condone such behavior… You are my friend. I’m certain I do not need to order you to keep this quiet. I shall do so as well.”

  Even as he said the words, he felt a little flame of fear flicker inside of him. He was now aware of an individual committing a crime that was punishable by death—and by elven law, this made him complicit. Should Erallus’ crime ever be discovered and Hairem’s knowledge made known, even his position as king would not save him from the council’s retribution.

  And yet… he smiled faintly as Erallus gave a brief smile of thanks. He would never let the council lay a hand on Erallus. He owed him his life. And now they were—

  “Even, my lord,” Erallus suddenly spoke, as though he had followed Hairem’s train of thought down to the moment. Indeed, the male knew him far better than he could ever hope to know the soldier. “So you can put that whole matter behind you about the assassin—fleeting glances. Politeness. Favors.”

  Hairem chuckled his amusement, shaking his head. “I see your game,” he accused.

  “Hardly,” Erallus replied firmly, rebuffing Hairem’s casual reply to what was clearly intended to be a serious leveling of the matter. “You asked a question and I merely answered it. You just happened to ask the right one.”

  Hairem closed his mouth, briefly wondering how many others he saw on a regular basis were dancing with death. “And since we are on this topic, have you heard the rumors of the general and his… similar habit? Is it a rumor or…?”

  Here Erallus hesitated, perhaps torn now between honesty and the life of someone not his own. “True, I suspect,” Erallus finally gave a dark reply, shifting his gaze slightly away as though this eased his guilt. “I’m quite certain the council is fully aware of these rumors as well and merely ignores them for their own sake. If they garnered true evidence, they would have to sentence him the same as anyone else—and that would undoubtedly reflect quite poorly on Mikanum. Unlike myself, the general has not been as tempered in his sins. I imagine he’s playing quite the dangerous game.”

  Hairem gave a slow, thoughtful nod. Jikun’s life too was now safely tucked beneath his secrecy. “Am I the only one who doesn’t…?”

  “Hardly, My Lord. Our discrepancies are not a reflection on your kingdom… They are more of a reflection of our… weaknesses…”

  “And what other weaknesses would you say you have?”

  Erallus rattled off without pause, “I can be rather bland… careless, clumsy, childish, apathetic… certainly a bit too progressive—if we’re comparing to the council. Unceremonious for certain. A bit too bold. And I have a terrible affection for personal style that simply does not fit the job.”

  Hairem gave a laugh. “How have we not spoken more?”

  Erallus offered a crooked grin.

  “As much as I enjoy this conversation, I do, in fact, have a reason for bringing you out here like this.” Hairem let the curtain on the carriage fall and leaned back against the seat, regarding the male contemplatively. “You said we were ‘even’ before, and if that is how you wish to see it, so be it. But still, I never did thank you properly for saving my life and—”

  “My Lord, please.”

  Hairem leaned back. “No, Erallus. Listen to me. This is my turn to be frank with you. I have no heir. No male blood of my own. Neither on my father’s nor on my mother’s side.” He could see Erallus’ eyes widen as his thoughts rushed past his own, daring to finish his train of thought before him. Still, Hairem had the male’s obedient silence and he continued, “I have already handed Lardol my will this morning. Marriage makes you realize how much you have to lose. My trust for you runs deeper than to any other—and whatever your personal flaws, you still recognize justice—you’re an honorable individual. If anything should happen to me before Ilsevel bears an heir, you shall be instated as king.”

  He raised his hand to silence Erallus’ immediate attempt to vocalize his surprise. “Listen,” he commanded once more. “I know this is not a great gift. It’s a burden. It has always been a burden. But you are with me every day and so you know this better than anyone. And I know you could rule. Everyone has their sins—granted, not all of them end in the rope—but as king, you could marry and so—I digress. I know you would be a good king—fair, just, and honorable is all one can expect.

  “I do have one condition—that the palace would remain a home to Ilsevel if she so chose. And the request that you keep her safe,” he finished as Erallus’ lips parted.

  “Your Majesty…” Erallus trailed off, slower to respond as though he had come to realize that Hairem had given the matter true thought. He pressed a hand to his chest, eyes wide, words spoken almost breathlessly. “I am honored… humbled by your trust. I… if you would wish this of me, then I shall do it. There are no words to express the mixed emotions I feel, but above them all is humility for your trust. But, Hairem,” he paused, composing his features, then continued in a steady and firm voice. “So long as I live, you shall as well.”

  Hairem smiled. Erallus had served his family well even before his birth, and other than the countless servants roaming his palace, the soldier was his only friend not bound by any form of politics. “I thought you would say something like that.” He raised the curtain once more as the carriage turned back toward the palace. Actually, there was one other. “What about Sellemar? Have you heard from him since?”

  Erallus shook his head, taking Hairem’s change of topic in stride. Hairem briefly wondered if he so frequently flitted topics without any verbal coalescence. “I heard he donated all of his reward to the repairs on the temple from the incident with Captain Navon, and is remaining at the Whistling Glade. However, he still possesses the deed to the estate you gave him.”

  Hairem frowned, rubbing his chin. “I cannot make sense of this Sellemar…” It had been hard to keep the male off his mind. After Ilsevel’s return, he had boasted of his deed in all and well-deserved arrogance—and Hairem could hardly fault him for his pride after stealing Saebellus’ most valuable bargaining tool from under his very eyes—but had then refused the reward he and Nilanis had offered. And apparently even after finally accepting their gold, he had given it all to the temple anyway. Perhaps it too was a matter of pride? “After the chaos of the wedding has passed, I shall have to speak with him again,” Hairem spoke thoughtfully.

  The two were quiet for a moment.

  “This may be… out of line, but if I may, My Lord…” Erallus began.

  Hairem chuckled. “Erallus, please. You may ask me anything as well.”

  “Do you have any immediate plans for an heir?”

  Hairem nearly choked as he swallowed and felt his cheeks grow warm. He had no doubt that he was blushing. “Now you sound like Lardol.”

  Erallus smiled. “Someone has to play his part while he’s away. I look forward to seeing your son grow after having seen the male you have become.”

  *

  Hairem stood at the top steps of the temple of Sel’ari, feeling small beneath her towering marble form: a reminder of how all things compared to the glory of the goddess. The towering jade columns had been wrapped in golden ribbon and the white marble floor was showered in an assortment of vivid petals. Only the smaller goddess and elven child statue were amiss: the only signs that any damage had been done to the temple at all. Light poured in from the dozens of narrow windows high above them, the pale rays appearing almost tangible. And yet for once, even in all her splendor, as he turned his back on her to anxiously face the mass of nobility, he found her easy to slide from his mind. The halls were shining around the evenly split isles, and there was a female behind him, strumming a lyre and singing softly in the ancient tongue.r />
  He smiled to himself, thinking of how dreadful Ilsevel sounded in comparison.

  The new doors to the temple stood wide and, outside of them, Hairem could see a mass of elves standing quietly and stoically for the procession of the bride through the city to be completed. The walk was ever another way for the elves to demonstrate the peace of their city and the grandeur of their royalty, and yet, when Ilsevel was the bride, Hairem could find no fault in the ceremony.

  It felt like ages before he could see the approach of her caravan, the royal guard led by Erallus escorting her up the final steps and into the entryway of the temple itself. They parted, vanishing into the colorful crowd and leaving behind the radiant figure of his bride.

  The elves were too refined to gasp in awe, but their expressions could not conceal their admiration.

  Hairem’s anxiety vanished as swiftly as the wind, his eyes locking onto her face with such focus that the elegant gown of greens and golds went almost unnoticed. He stepped down from his stand and walked to her. He could see her fighting back the smile on her pale, pink lips he had ceased struggling against since he had awoken that morning. Let the elves think him unrefined! This was his day.

  “Lady Ilsevel,” he spoke, bending to a knee before her and taking her hand. He stood, moving to her side and turning back toward the front of the temple at a slow and steady pace.

  “My Lord,” she whispered.

  Hairem led her slowly up the line of nobility, the demonstration of her political ascension from lady to queen. He could see several of the council members stiffen as he passed, but Nilanis’ expression was only that of triumph. Hairem’s smile broadened.

  To think how far things had come!—From that awkward, stately dinner so many months before to this!

  He stopped with her on the last step, facing her and taking her hands into his own. They turned as one toward the statue of Sel’ari and went down to their knees before her. Ilsevel’s radiance seemed breathtaking as the light from a high window cast its rays across her, causing the flaxen threads of silk to gleam as brightly as her hair.