haebin

Hey hey, there is a new chapter waiting for you. I hope you'll enjoy it. And like always, thank you so, so much for reading. It means the world to me!!

Little notice: I changed the family name of Ysilia (oopsie, that was a little spoiler, right?) to Silverleaf instead of Hammond.

When there was a knock at the door of his chamber, Trálír looked up from his book and frowned.
I've waited long enough, he thought, closing the book and placing it on the table next to his armchair. To his surprise, shortly after Andrick and the maid had left, another servant had appeared and brought him his breakfast on a tray, placing it on his table. Trálír had looked at him in surprise, and before he could even ask a question, the servant had explained that the family members would be having their morning meal in their chambers today, as the servants were still busy preparing the Great Hall for the visit.
Everything had probably been done yesterday, but father probably changed his mind and wanted every single thing be done different today, Trálír thought with a shrug and dismissed the servant with a nod. He reached for a book from the shelf behind him, then sat down at his desk and devoted himself to it and his breakfast.
He had already read several chapters of “A Pleasurable Deal” when there was a knock at the door. Trálír rose, left his chamber, nodded to the servant who stood outside the room and stepped out into the long corridor.
No one crossed his path on the way to the Grand Staircase, and it was only when he reached it and glanced into the Great Hall that he noticed that all the servants in the castle seemed to be busy completing their final tasks before the visitors arrived.
The hustle and bustle of them was impossible to overlook, and he noticed the tense faces of the half-elves and few humans who were going about their business.
Frowning, Trálír watched some maids sweeping the floor as he descended the stairs, but he couldn't see a single crumb or even a speck of dust on it.
With a suppressed sigh, he suspected that the servants had cleaned the floors, windows, tables, and benches over and over again out of fear that his father would not be satisfied. And everyone in this castle was afraid of the ruler’s impulsive anger.

Trálír strode through the great hall, stepped through the already open gate, and saw his father standing a few steps ahead of him, his hands clasped behind his back, his body straight, which made him appear all the more impressive, for he was quite tall and muscular for an elf.
Neererin, his First Hand, and a few soldiers stood to his left and right.

Just a few steps away stood Tearlách, looking bored, his arms crossed in front of his chest. Trálír recognized from his clothing that he too had benefited from their father's generosity. He caught up with the men and stood in the gap between his younger brother and one of his father's soldiers. Tearlách looked to the side, saw his older brother, and nodded coolly. Unlike Trálír, his younger brother had left his hair unbound, just brushed behind his ears so it wouldn't fall wildly into his face.
He was dressed in a finely decorated beige silk tunic. Golden ornaments adorned the stand-up collar and had been embroidered by hand with the finest craftsmanship. Underneath, Tearlách wore a dark green cape that reached to the floor and a sleeveless, open tunic in the same color that ended at his thighs.
This was also richly embroidered with gold thread. Held in place by a heavy buckle made of imperial gold, a dark brown sash hung around his waist. The ends of the sash reached to the edge of his knee-high boots, which were the same color.

Tearlách looked morosely into the courtyard, half a step into the shadows cast by his father and his men, hidden so that his father could not see his son's expression.
Trálír turned his gaze to his father, whose dark gray hair was tied back at the nape of his neck, a golden ornament adorning his head. It was not a crown, but it made everyone in his presence aware that he was of high rank. His tunic almost reminded Trálír of a uniform, for it looked like a mixture of chain mail and dragon scales. His shoulder plates, intertwined and made of the purest gold, were reminiscent of the constant waves of the ocean breaking on the shore.
The buckle on his belt and even the buttons on his robe were also made of the precious metal. The hem of his tunic, which reached down to his knees, and the floor-length dark brown vest his father wore over the tunic were also richly embroidered.
Trálír frowned, for pomp was something his father rarely displayed.

Suddenly, he heard the distant sound of horses' hooves and carts on their way to Blackwater Castle. Like Tearlách, he would have liked to cross his arms over his chest, as he was still angry about this visit, which had come without warning, at least for him, but he knew that his father's gaze would be upon him. And he also knew what was expected of him.

Trálír watched with a blank expression on his face as the first soldiers rode through the castle gate into the courtyard in rows of two on their horses. Each horse wore a dark brown saddlecloth decorated with the visitors' coat of arms.
The emblem was diamond-shaped with a red background, several gold coins on the left side, and a hammer, thread, needle, and sword embroidered on the right side. The horses' bridles were gilded, as Trálír noted with a raised eyebrow. The coat of arms looked familiar to him, but he couldn't say which city, country, or nation he could associate it with. A slight smile played on his lips as he thought that his teachers would not be pleased with his ignorance, for heraldry was one of the most important subjects. One had to be able to recognize from the coat of arms who was friend or foe, or whether one was on neutral ground.

When about a dozen soldiers had ridden into the courtyard, they were followed by a magnificent carriage made of dark ebony, drawn by four black horses. Behind it followed three more carriages and then several smaller carts, each drawn by a single horse, carrying the servants.
I'm not surprised that our horses have to stay at the training ground with all the people who have obviously been invited, thought Trálír, watching his father walk towards the carriage. Before he reached it, he gave his sons a stern look, a wordless invitation to follow him and greet the guests. Trálír heard Tearlách's annoyed sigh as they obeyed their father's command. The coachman climbed down from his seat, bowed to Trálír, the elder, and his sons, and then opened the door of the carriage.

Trálír raised an eyebrow in surprise when he recognized his father's guest as he stepped out of the carriage.
Count Bergond Silverleaf, mayor and highest noble of Moonhaven. He approached his father beaming with joy, took his hand in his and shook it enthusiastically. Then he looked at Trálír and Tearlách, who bowed politely and greeted him with friendly, if not sincere, smiles.
While it was to be expected that Tearlách would not utter a friendly word and would keep his enthusiasm in check, Trálír was well aware that his reserved behavior was due to the count's visit. And the fact that because of it, he would not be able to go on the planned trip with Anwyn. To his surprise, several guild masters and members of Moonhaven's nobility alighted from the following carriages. Trálír frowned.
As he had already mentioned to Anwyn, the Blackwater Lands were rich in various mineral resources and similar commodities, but there was hardly any trade with the neighboring towns and countries on the border, as it had not been possible to establish trade routes in the past.

It was simply too dangerous for those who needed to use these routes: the only way to do so would be with a large entourage of soldiers and bodyguards at their side to ensure that the raids and attacks did not result in fatalities among the merchants. But soldiers, knights, and guards were a costly investment that had not yet paid off in terms of the effort and return on the merchandise.

When the count's wife left with the help of the coachman, dressed in the finest robes and jewelry, Trálír also bowed.
But inside, a dark premonition spread through him, something that made his heart beat faster, something he couldn't put into words but that nevertheless made his throat tighten. And when he saw Ysilia, the count's daughter, dressed in a robe of purest white, ethereally beautiful like an elven goddess, stepping out of the carriage, Trálír suddenly realized what he had seen but not understood in all the time since leaving Anwyn.
The decorations on the windows and doors, the adornment of the Great Hall, the opening of the forbidden west wing...
He stared open-mouthed at his father, who at that moment was putting his arm around the count's shoulders in a friendly gesture. And Trálír knew with absolute certainty that his father could sense the bewilderment he felt. After greeting Trálír the Elder, Ysilia immediately turned to his son and looked at him excitedly with a beaming smile. Only when Tearlách nudged him lightly with his elbow did Trálír turn to the young elf and bowed politely, trying not to show the chaos that reigned in his mind on his face.

Ysilia curtsied, her eyes shining with joy, and then looked at him expectantly. When Trálír did nothing, not even move and just stared at her in confusion, Tearlách cleared his throat behind him: “Offer her your arm, damn it.”
The firstborn looked to the side and stared at his younger brother bewildered.
“Now do it before Father sees you,” Tearlách growled quietly through clenched teeth, and Trálír unconsciously raised his right arm so that Ysilia could hook her arm through it.
He walked silently behind his father, feeling as if he were walking to his own execution.