haebin | The Mistress of the Shadowland, Second Book, The next Chapter

It is the time for a new chapter, right? Please enjoy it and thank you so, so much for reading and commenting. ♥

And before Trálír could say another word to Ysilia, he heard his father's booming voice, announcing that supper will be served immediately. The firstborn watched with a queasy feeling in his stomach as all the food was placed in front of him. He reached for a goblet of water, which he emptied in one gulp, while the guests happily filled their plates with all the food amid loud chatter and laughter.
Out of the corner of her eye, Ysilia watched as the ruler's son slowly reached for a loaf of bread, cut himself a slice, and spread a little butter on it. When Trálír noticed her gaze, he shrugged his shoulders sheepishly. “My stomach doesn't seem to have recovered from yesterday's feast yet,” he confessed to her in a low voice.
“Then you would do well to eat only a little,” she replied gently, reaching for her knife and fork to cut the piece of roast venison on her plate. Trálír and she did not speak much during the meal, but as they waited for dessert and he saw that many were turning to alcohol again, he asked her curiously how her journey to Blackwater Castle had been.

With enthusiasm and eyes shining with joy, Ysilia told him about the days-long, mostly uncomfortable journey, as the country's roads were uneven and sometimes difficult to access, yet she was impressed by the wild nature and its beauty. Having been born in the city and spent her entire life there, the dark, vast forests were extremely impressive to her. Her father had rolled his eyes every time she excitedly encountered a group of deer or the occasional fox. On the second day of their journey, a wild boar had attacked the rear row of soldiers, leaving two injured with wounds that were painful but not life-threatening. Ysilia told him with a grin that this was the first time she had tried wild boar at the evening camp, because the soldiers accompanying the convoy had quickly killed the animal. Trálír smiled as he listened to her stories, because he knew this land where he had grown up better than anyone else. Seeing and discovering the Blackwater Lands through someone else's eyes was a new experience for him. He rested his chin on his hand and looked at Ysilia, who was still enthusiastically recounting her journey there.

She is charming, thought Trálír, looking into her eyes, which shone with joy at the experiences she had had in the few days.
In another life, she might have become my Thiramin. She is intelligent and friendly, treating her subordinates with gentleness and appreciation.
A wife any man would want. And yet not Trálír, whose heart was already given to Anwyn.

Anwyn, his Thiramin, the love of his life, whom he had fallen head over heels for. The woman he wanted to take as his own. The mother of his future children.
Melancholy filled the ruler's son, for he knew that the path he wanted to take would not be an easy one.
Ysilia's bell-like laughter snapped Trálír out of his thoughts, and so he turned his attention back to her and answered her questions about his life in such an environment.
After the numerous sweet dishes had been served for dessert, the ball began and the guests were invited by the bard, Beýon Seidenberg, from the Sword Coast, to come to the open space, listen to the music and his songs, and indulge unrestrainedly in the dance and the joy it brought. Ysilia noticed Trálír's reserved gaze and giggled.

“You don’t like dancing very much, do you?” she asked amusedly, and Trálír replied with a nod, a grin spreading across his face. “I am skilled in every dance, but that doesn't mean it's my favorite pastime. I'd rather drink a glass of wine in my chamber and read a good book,” he said, and Ysilia raised an eyebrow playfully. “In moderation, of course,” the Firstborn replied, sensing that she was teasing him a little about his alcohol consumption the previous day.
“I like to dance, but I wouldn't want to force it on my partner if he didn't enjoy it,” she said quietly with a smile on her lips, which Trálír returned.
“Well then, I'm sure you have some more questions you'd like answered, don't you?”
Ysilia nodded, and they began a conversation about the best and perhaps safest way to avoid a wild boar.
The evening passed, the guests indulged in wine, dancing, and singing, and Trálír realized that he had greatly enjoyed his conversation with her.

At the same time, however, he was consumed by longing for Anwyn, and he thought that only one more day and one more night separated him from her. He was just reaching for his goblet when his father's voice thundered through the hall.
“Esteemed guests, night is falling and the evening is drawing to a close. But before we leave these halls and seek the tranquility of the night in our chambers, let us perform one last dance!” Trálír the Elder stood up, bowed politely to Duke Silverleaf's wife, and offered her his hand. They made their way to the dance floor, through the guests, and took their positions. Before the ruler addressed the group, he turned toward Trálír and raised his hand.

“My firstborn son, future ruler of these lands, will have the honor of performing this dance with the beautiful maiden Ysilia, who is like an elven goddess!”
A smarmy smile appeared on his face, and Trálír flinched unconsciously, forcing himself to smile politely. He rose from his chair and offered his hand to the young elf, who whispered to him as she stood up: “You don't have to dance if you don't want to.”
“Yes, I have to,” Trálír pressed through his clenched lips, yet gently reached for her hand.

He stepped onto the dance floor with Ysilia, her hand in his, and took his position, feeling the eyes of the guests on the dance floor and those still seated at the long, richly laid table staring at him. He forced himself to smile and, his heart beating fast with nervousness, hoped that no one could see how uncomfortable he felt.
How much he despised his father at that moment for putting him in this unspeakable situation. Of course, it was his duty to dance, to look after the guests, to answer questions, and to fulfill his obligations. But to his own surprise, he had enjoyed his conversations with Ysilia so much that this dance seemed like a disturbance to him. He knew that he could never offer the young elf more than a deep friendship, and he had the feeling that she would not hold it against him, because during his visit to Moonhaven he had already confessed to her that he had lost his heart to another woman. And he did not think that Ysilia would do everything in her power to seduce him and win his heart at any cost.
Trálír and she now stood facing each other, with his father standing to his right and her mother at her side.
The men and women on the dance floor stood facing each other in a line as the bard began to play his song “Dance of the Bard”.
First, the men bowed politely, which the ladies returned with a graceful curtsy.

Men and women joined hands and began to perform various step formations, which were interrupted at each chorus by three claps of the hands. After this, the men jumped one step forward, two to the side, and bowed again. The women repeated this and bowed once more.
While Trálír felt the hand of a guest he did not know in his left hand and did not really pay attention to it, he felt his father's broad, hard hand all the more.

He had wrapped his fingers around his son's hand, and every time the men raised their hands together, he squeezed tightly. The first time, Trálír thought it was a mistake, but when he felt it the second time, he looked away from Ysilia and toward his father and saw the sardonic smile that appeared on his thin lips. Anger filled the firstborn, along with a feeling of despondency that it came as no surprise to him that the ruler, his own father, would behave in this way. It was with small, pointed cruelties like this that he tormented Trálír and also Tearlach when he was within his father's reach. And none of those present had the slightest idea.
So Trálír turned his gaze back to Ysilia, who was now performing her steps opposite him, but whose eyes were fixed on his face. And he recognized concern and uncertainty in them, for she seemed to have perceived more than he had thought and hoped. He gave her an apologetic smile and counted every heartbeat inwardly until the end of the song faded away.
The hall filled with words and laughter, and Trálír still stood in his position, unable to move, because suddenly a dark, threatening feeling crept over him.

An inexplicable premonition, a thought without words, a feeling that something was about to happen. He felt a small, delicate hand slip into his and looked at Ysilia, who was now standing in front of him, looking up with her green eyes full of compassion. It felt comforting for Trálír to feel her hand in his when suddenly, without seeing him, he sensed his father's presence right next to him. When his father slapped his hand on his shoulder, the high elf gritted his teeth.
“Wasn't that a wonderful evening, esteemed guests? The ‘Dance of the Bard’ is a fitting conclusion to this eventful evening!” Trálír the Elder called out into the hall with a loud laugh. “But that should not be the only event we are allowed to enjoy, my gracious guests! And above all, I address these words to you, Count Bergond Silverleaf of Moonhaven!”
The man named rose from his chair, raised his glass, toasted the ruler, and returned the laughter warmly.

„Count Silverleaf and I have decided to enter into a fruitful and undoubtedly successful business relationship for the future. Moonhaven, one of the most important cities here on the eastern coast of the Black Sea, with its port and numerous trades and commercial relations, and we, as suppliers of furs, meat, pearls, wood, and many other goods, will increase our wealth and power together."
“Hear, hear!”
The guests cheered the ruler's words, some clinked glasses with their neighbors, laughter and cheers could be heard. Trálír, standing next to his father, grew paler with every word he spoke.
“And there is more to cheer and celebrate, for to bind and strengthen our common future, my son, Trálír, and Count Silverleaf's daughter, Ysilia, will enter into the bond of marriage!”
A loud cheer swept through the ranks of guests, there was applause and cheering, while for Trálír the world stood still.

He had heard his father's words, understood them, and knew their meaning, but everything around him seemed to blur. The light grew dimmer, the sounds receded, breathing became difficult, his throat tightened, and he felt his heart beating so hard that it seemed as if it would leap out of his chest at any moment, in the blink of an eye.
Something inside him wanted to flee, wanted to scream, just get away from here... away... from all of this...
But his father's words, the decision to marry another woman, paralyzed Trálír.
Anwyn... my dearest...

He felt a sob catch in his throat and try to escape through his tightly pressed lips, but he closed his eyelids, squeezed his eyes shut, and suppressed it with all the strength he could muster. There would be nothing, not the slightest sign, to let his father know what his decision was doing to him.
Because he, too, had made a decision right now, at this very moment, and nothing would stop him. Nothing.
No elf, no human, no words, no pleas, no threats, nothing would dissuade him.
This knowledge of what he was going to do strengthened Trálír, and he felt himself returning to reality. He heard the noises, the laughter, the different voices around him again. The Firstborn felt Ysilia's hand in his, comforting him, and also his father's hand still resting on his shoulder. Then he suddenly heard a soft but clear voice in his ear.

“Play along, Trálír. Play his game and rein in your anger.”
Trálír gritted his teeth and turned his head slightly to the left, seeing the large figure of the First Hand, Neererin, beside him. His gaze met that of the Firstborn, who nodded slightly to indicate that he had heard his words.
He straightened his back, stood up straight, chin raised, his blue-green eyes now even more reminiscent of the turbulent sea during a strong storm, proud. A smile played on his lips as he took a step, positioning himself next to Ysilia and putting his left arm around her waist.
“Hear, hear! To my fiancée, the most lovely of all the ladies who have found their way into this hall today!” he heard himself say, while a merciless coldness enveloped his heart and seemed to squeeze it agonizingly slowly.