signature frown in place as he looks at me. Seeing that frustration makes him seem more…human.
Right now, he’s staring at me like I’ve left part of my brain back in my room, his silver brow raising as he gestures around us. “The celebration.”
“Oh,” I respond dimly, pulling my gaze from his perfect face and looking at the party going on around us. “It’s not all that different from the human balls I attended back in Arhaven,” I reply with a shrug. After all, the hall in Arhaven was just as beautiful in its own way, and the people were all dressed up and mingling just as they are here with a watchful ruler at the head of the room. There is one difference though, other than the race of the attendees. “Just less death.”
“Ha!” Naril exclaims. “It’s early yet, still plenty of time for that.” The way he says this so calmly has me spinning around to gape at him, only to see his smirk. He’s joking. At least, I hope he is. Shooting him an unamused glare, I turn back to my examination of the hall.
“I don’t see Eldrin, is he not attending?” I query lightly, looking around the room to see if I missed him, making sure to check the darker corners where he could be lingering.
“You won’t see him,” a voice says quietly in my ear, making me jump and press my hand to my chest as if it could slow my pounding heart. Spinning on my heel, I glare at Naril, who’s now only inches from me. His grin is wide as it stretches across his face, and he has mischief in his eyes. When I don’t respond, he pouts at my lack of a reaction. “My brother is out of favour with the queen,” he explains, his face tightening ever so slightly. If I hadn’t been standing right next to him, I probably wouldn’t have seen it. “Even before his little stunt in the hallway.” He shakes his head, looking over at the queen as he speaks, his voice low. “The only reason he’s still alive is because he’s a twin and the queen is scared to bring down the gods’ wrath on her.”
My eyebrows rise in interest. I’ve heard a couple of references to the elvish gods now, but I hadn’t thought that the elves followed any form of religion as they always seem so despairing of the humans’ religion. Something is nagging in the back of my brain, telling me that this is important, so I make a note to ask Vaeril about their religion at a later time.
“He’s never liked these things anyway. People stare at him,” Naril continues, his voice lighter now as he turns to look at me.
I can understand that, and I get the impression that it’s not just because of the scar that mars his face. Not all scars are visible, and I understand exactly what it’s like to carry that sort of burden around with you.
The evening seems to drag, and I’m just waiting until people start to leave so I can make my excuses, but everyone appears to be enjoying themselves. A couple more elves have come over to talk to me, but my companions manage to keep them away, which I’m grateful for. I know I should be trying to make friends here, but my feet are killing me and all I want to do is curl up in the marshmallow of a bed that’s waiting for me upstairs.
The queen hasn’t left her throne, and Tor has been by her side the entire evening. A hateful feeling twists in my chest every time I look over in that direction, one I’m not used to feeling.
You know what this is. Jealousy. You hate that he’s spending so much time with the queen. Could my thoughts be right? Am I jealous of the time he’s spending with the queen? Glancing over, the feeling twists inside me again, growing as the queen leans across the arm of the throne and touches his shoulder. Instead of stepping away or removing her hand, he smiles at her, saying something that makes her laugh. The feeling increases.
It is jealousy, I muse with grim amusement. So this is what it feels like. Rubbing at the spot in my chest again, I turn away from the throne, not wanting to see any more and hoping that this hateful feeling will disappear if I’m not watching them. A movement by the door catches my