haebin

Please enjoy the newest chapter of the Mistress of the Shadowland. I hope you'll enjoy it.
And like always, thank you so, so much for reading. It means the world to me. ♥

Trálír, the elder, strode into the Great Hall with his guests, their entourage, his sons next to his soldiers and gestured generously to the tables, which were already laid and laden with so much food and wine that Trálír would not be surprised if they collapsed under the immense weight. He heard Ysilia's excited voice reaching out to him while everything felt dull and distant to him. It was as if he were standing in such a thick fog that he couldn't see his own hand in front of his eyes. Without understanding her words, Trálír nevertheless responded to her by nodding politely or saying a few friendly words.
After all, he was the firstborn, and expectations had been high since his birth, perhaps even unattainable. From a young age, he had had to learn to be perfect, to function flawlessly. This upbringing and his father's rigorous expectations of him had become second nature to Trálír, even if his mind was in indescribable chaos.
He also went to the large table set up horizontally in front of the throne and sat down. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his father turn away from the count to sit down. The high elf decided to take advantage of this moment to penetrate his father's thoughts.

Are you serious? Trálír, the elder, heard his son's voice in his mind and, as he calmly took his seat, which, although not quite like his throne, was larger and more imposing than the other chairs at the long table, clearly demonstrating his status. Then he raised an eyebrow, questioning. But his son waited in vain for an answer, for his father chose to remain silent. The next moment, however, the ruler felt a wave of anger emanating from Trálír.
You want to force me into marriage?
Don't be ridiculous, Trálír, was his father's reply as he reached for a glass of wine that the servant behind him had poured a moment earlier. He looked at his son angrily over the heads of the guests.
What other reason could there be for this drama being staged here if not a marriage?
Trálír saw his father's eyes darken with anger, although the obvious hospitality towards his visitor was still evident on his face. No one would notice that his thoughts were with his son.

The firstborn knew that strangers would not recognize anything in the threatening twitch of Trálír the Elder's mouth or the ominous darkening of his gaze. His father was extremely skilled at manipulating others, which led him to be regarded as a benevolent and wise ruler.
However, Trálír and his brother had known another side of him since childhood, a dark side fueled by hatred.

I don't think you're in a position to expect me to discuss my plans with you, but since guests are now filling this hall, I'll make it brief. Moonhaven is rich, very rich, and its harbor is the heart of trade in three directions. I would be foolish not to take advantage of this, Trálír heard in his head. And your idea that I would force you into marriage is foolishness on your part, son. You are not even considered an adult man in the elven community, and you are butting heads with a human woman. The way you are behaving only confirms to me that you are still very much a child.

The firstborn gritted his teeth and looked past Ysilia and her mother, who were sitting next to him, to his father, who had now turned his gaze back to Earl Silverleaf. The latter was recounting his journey to the Blackwater Lands in a lively voice.
Then explain to me...

SILENCE! it roared in Trálír's head, and he flinched at the force of that single word. With his heart pounding violently in his throat, which felt tight and dry, he clenched his teeth in frustration. Such rage filled the high elf that he pressed his palms against the tabletop and tried to stand up to leave this obvious farce behind him when he suddenly noticed someone grabbing his wrist forcefully. Trálír turned his gaze to the right and saw Tearlách looking at him warningly.
“Don't,” he whispered, slowly shaking his head. “Don't give him any reason.”
“I'm not staying at this damn table a moment longer,” Trálír replied in a strained voice, finding it difficult to control his anger.

“Oh yes, dearest brother, you will remain seated,” replied Tearlách, tightening his grip on his brother's wrist.
“Don't ask me why I'm doing this. Perhaps out of some old sense of obligation, because I couldn't care less what you do, think, or feel. But you will not embarrass Father in front of all these guests.”
Trálír looked at his brother in confusion.

"We would regret this bitterly, Trálír. Remember our childhood and youth. If one of us behaved badly in Father's eyes, we both had to suffer. And I have no desire to end up in the dungeon if Father loses control of his emotions. Especially not because you couldn't pull yourself together. So you will play along with this ridiculous game, you will smile kindly and nod obediently. That shouldn't be too difficult for you, so let's get on with it." Tearlách's voice was cold and his words were so indifferent that it sent a chill down Trálír's spine, but his brother had made a perfectly valid point. His father's anger would be terrible, and he sensed that it would not only affect him and Teárlach, but that Anwyn and her father would also suffer from his behavior. Whenever Trálír had spoken out against his father's opinion in recent months, it had given him the opportunity to make veiled threats against those closest to his son.
He knew that disregarding and rejecting his father's orders and wishes would put Anwyn in grave danger.
So Trálír nodded with clenched teeth and gave in, frustrated and annoyed. He grabbed a glass of wine and downed it in one gulp while the laughter and cheerful voices of the guests filled the hall.

For what felt like an eternity, Trálír sat at the long table, engaging in conversation, offering compliments, answering questions, listening to the bard's songs, eating, drinking, and answering the same questions again, though this time to different people than before. He sighed quietly, repeatedly reaching for his glass, which one of the servants had filled with Mulhorandan Lion Wine, a heavy, strongly fruity drink.
He knew that the wine had a high alcohol content, but thanks to its sweetness and fruity taste, it felt like drinking apple or berry tea. He shrugged off the thought that it would quickly make him drunk.
He glanced to the side, over the heads of the guests, to the windows and realized that evening had already fallen.

Thank the gods, he thought with a sigh, rubbing his eyes with his left hand. As soon as he had the chance, he would head straight for his chambers. He had spent the entire evening listening to the plans of his father, the count, and the high guild masters, and now he wondered if he had really overreacted. Thinking was not easy for him, because the alcohol was already taking effect, everything felt warm and heavy, but it still gave him a feeling of comfort and security.
It was similar to the feeling he had as a small child when he was allowed to snuggle up on his mother's lap as she sat in front of the fireplace in her chamber in the evening, embroidering.
Trálír shook his head, because he didn't want to think about his mother now that his father was so close to him. These were memories he didn't want to share with anyone. Except maybe Anwyn.
Anwyn... For a brief moment, Trálír closed his eyes and conjured her face before his inner eye. When he saw her smiling at him, her gaze warm and inviting, he sighed again.
“Does the day feel so long for you too?”

Trálír opened his eyes and turned to Ysilia, who was looking at him with big eyes. Her voice was soft, and it seemed to him that it was filled with sadness.
He nodded and tried to smile. “I'm... tired... of listening to all this,” he said slowly, struggling to get the words out. Trálír tilted his head slightly to one side and looked at Ysilia, exhaustion in his eyes. Her long, white hair flowed in gentle waves down her back, her white robe had several layers, and its sleeves reached to the floor. He vaguely noticed the dark green underbust corset, which was embroidered with silver vines and emphasized the green of her eyes. She also wore delicate silver and emerald jewelry on her head.
“You are beautiful, you know that?” Trálír whispered, leaning toward her slightly unsteadily. Tearlách, who was sitting next to him, frowned.

“Like a lamb, unaware of all the wolves lurking in the dark.” The words that came from his lips were indistinct, and the young elf looked at him uncertainly. “You... you... must save yourselves...”
“It seems to me that my brother is more fond of the fine wine from the house of Mulhorandan than he would like to admit,” said Tearlách, grabbing Trálír's upper arm, who was slumped against the back of the chair, his eyes still open a crack. With his other hand, the second-born beckoned to the First Hand, Neererin, who had been watching Trálír with a frown throughout the evening. The older elf nodded to Tearlách, rose from his seat, and strode past Trálír, the elder, who was deep in conversation with a guild master.
“See that you escort this fool to his chamber as inconspicuously as possible,” hissed Tearlách, and Neererin nodded.

By the gods, how grateful he was that the music of the bard and the musicians had been so loud and the alcohol had flowed so freely that hardly anyone had paid any attention to the ruler's son. The only person who had noticed Trálír's drunkenness was the count's daughter from Moonhaven, and he would have to make sure that she did not tell her parents or, worse still, his father. So Tearlách put on his most charming smile as Neererin helped Trálír to his feet, put his arm around his waist, and slowly led him out of the great hall.
“Forgive my older brother's behavior,” Tearlách apologized, moving into Trálír's chair. He gently took Ysilia's hand and pretended to kiss it. “I am not proud that he was so fond of wine, but this finally gives me the opportunity to get to know you better. Tell me about yourself, if you feel like it. Your name is Ysilia, isn't it?”
The young elf nodded shyly and, still irritated by Trálír's behavior, began to recount her journey in a quiet voice.