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The Mistress of the Shadowland, Second Book, The next Chapter
It is the time for a new chapter, right? Sorry, that my upload took a little bit longer than usual. I hope you will enjoy it. And thank you so, so much for reading and commenting. ♥
A friendly smile on his lips, his gaze fixed on his future father-in-law.
If it were up to his own father, Trálír the Elder, the Firstborn would accompany him, his wife, and Ysilia to the west wing after the numerous guests had celebrated the announcement of the engagement with loud cheers.
As Neererin had demanded of him, he played along with the ruler's game. The moment he heard the words of the First Hand, Trálír knew that every further word, every movement, every slightest facial expression and gesture would be a lie, a mask that he had mastered well over the years. While the smile on his lips was friendly and the guests toasted him, his innermost feelings seemed far away. He knew that he had to protect his heart and soul in order not to completely lose his composure over the merciless decision his father had made. Trálír had avoided looking at him, letting his gaze wander only over the guests, numerous blurred faces that meant nothing to him. To his own surprise, he had not seen his younger brother anywhere. He wanted to see if he was also surprised by their father's decision or if he knew about it. Even though Teárlach usually had his facial expressions under control, there were moments when a thin sliver of surprise or wonder gave a glimpse into his innermost feelings.
When the Ruler announced in a loud voice that the ball had come to an end, he asked his son to accompany his fiancée to her chambers under the supervision of her parents. Trálír listened to her father's enthusiastic words as he walked silently beside Ysilia down the long corridor, lost in his own thoughts. Out of the corner of his eye, he observed the young elf and was surprised to see that she seemed depressed and downcast. And she avoided his gaze. When they reached the chambers, he bowed politely to Ysilia and wished her good night under the watchful eyes of her parents, then turned to them as well to say goodbye.
Trálír turned around when he saw his future in-laws and his fiancée retreating to their chambers and the doors closing behind them.
Now, at last, he was able to take a deep breath and let his feelings run free.
He was so angry that he could hardly think straight. His footsteps echoed loudly through the long corridor as he walked eastward, because before he could put his plan into action, he had to go to his own room first.
Trálír had always known that there was nothing good in his father, that he was manipulative, malicious, hypocritical, and deceitful, but his son would never have believed him capable of taking this step.
Why am I such a fool? the ruler's son asked himself angrily. He believed his father capable of almost anything, but forcing him into marriage would never have occurred to him. Trálír knew that in the eyes of the elves he was still not considered an adult, and his father was far from ready to hand over his throne to him, so why should he get married and possibly bring an heir into the world when it would be centuries before he could ascend the throne? He knew of similar noble families who had gone down this path, and in every case it had led to disputes that sometimes culminated in war or ended in centuries-old blood feuds. Why would his father want to go down this path? Trálír had been trained for decades to become the perfect next ruler.
There had been several moments when Trálír had suggested Teárlach as his successor, especially at the beginning of his relationship with Anwyn, still hoping that something good would prevail in his younger brother. But in recent years, in the last few moments when he and Tearlach had met, Trálír had realized that his brother would not abandon the dark path he had chosen and was now walking, even in the future.
Whatever Trálír the Elder's motives were, his son knew that a large part of this forced engagement was for the pleasure of tormenting him, to show him that as ruler he could decide as he wished and that, above all, he did not have to consider anyone or anything. Certainly not his sons.
As the high elf approached his chambers, he thought of Anwyn and his love for her. He had always known that their future was uncertain, that their path together would be difficult, but he had never assumed that he would be forced into marriage with another. The thought of having to tell her what had happened that evening was unbearable for him. Trálír would never, ever consider separating from Anwyn and marrying another woman.
After walking for an eternity he finally reached his chambers and slammed the door shut behind him.
Impatiently, he tore the jewelry from his head, which was pinned in place with needles, so that it got caught in Trálír's hair. He cursed loudly as he fumbled with his fingers to remove the annoying thing. When he finally succeeded, just before his patience was about to run out, he threw the jewelry impatiently onto his bed and unbuttoned the neck of his floor-length robe. Aware that it was made of the finest fabric and that many people would never have the means to have such a garment made, he let it fall to the floor and wanted to get rid of the second one.
But a button had caught on the fine fabric, and Trálír's hands were shaking so much that he grabbed his collar and pulled impatiently, causing the buttons to come loose under the tension and one or two of them to fall to the floor. The seam on his shoulder tore open with a loud noise and stretched all the way to his elbow, but he didn't care. He walked over to his closet, opened it, pulled out a pair of simple black linen pants, and put them on. He reached for a white, equally simple tunic when there was a sudden soft knock at the door.
“Go away,” Trálír snorted and pulled the tunic out of the compartment when there was another tentative knock and he then heard the door being opened. His gaze darkened, anger and rage welled up inside him, and he was ready to throw the uninvited guest out of his chamber without a word when he realized who it was.
“May I come in?” Her voice was quiet and sounded uncertain. With large green eyes, she looked at Trálír, who nodded immediately and raised his hand invitingly to show her that she could enter.
“Forgive my harsh words,” he began, taking the tunic from the compartment, closing the cabinet door, and then turning to Ysilia, who was still standing at the door, waiting for a clear answer from him. “Of course you may enter.”
The young elf nodded, closed the door, and then stood facing the Firstborn, who took two steps back and gestured toward the armchair. “Please, take a seat. Would you like something to drink?" Ysilia slowly shook her head, but nevertheless went to the armchair and sat down. As she walked past him, Trálír took the moment to look at her. She was wearing a narrow, white robe, probably for sleeping, with a circular collar and sleeves that reached her wrists. Her long hair was braided into a plait, and he was sure that a maid had taken care of her hair. Ladies of noble birth were accustomed to going to bed with their hair in a tight braid so that it would not become tangled during the night.
Anwyn slept with her hair loose, and Trálír remembered with a painful twinge in his stomach how much he had loved waking up that one morning and seeing that tangle of wild curls. While she was still asleep, he ran his fingertips through the tips of her hair. Anwyn was so different from all the elf ladies Trálír had met, and closer to him than any other woman before. Wild, impetuous, distrustful, not hiding the bad experiences she had had with his own race, she had nevertheless managed to instantly arouse his interest. Only to fall completely in love with her shortly afterwards. A soft clearing of the throat snapped him out of his thoughts and he turned his gaze back to Ysilia, who was now sitting in the massive armchair, looking even slimmer and more fragile than usual.
Trálír stood in the middle of the room, barefoot, wearing only tight pants, his hair loose, and for a moment he didn't know how to behave. After all, his fiancée was now sitting in his chamber, and if anyone had seen this, it would be all the more difficult for him to find a way out of this situation. And yet he didn't want to simply throw Ysilia out of his chamber. So he remained where he was and looked at her silently.
“I... I didn't know anything about it,” she began quietly, staring at her intertwined fingers, avoiding Trálír's gaze. “When my father suggested a trip to the Blackwater Lands, I was full of enthusiasm, but had no idea where this would lead.”
She looked up, a sad expression in her green eyes. “Of course I remembered your last visit and I was looking forward to seeing you again, but that wasn't the only reason. I haven't left Moonhaven since the day I was born, and finally there was a chance to leave this town, to finally see something new, to set foot on new shores,” she continued slowly. “I also thought that the only reason for this visit was the cooperation between our countries.”
She sighed heavily as she exhaled tremulously, having unconsciously held her breath under the tension she felt, and looked down at her fingers again. Silence filled the room.
“Then your father didn't mention an engagement and upcoming wedding between us?”
“No!” replied Ysilia, the shock of this decision, which would change both their lives so much, clearly audible in her voice. “No, he didn't. He only mentioned that we would be visiting the Blackwater Lands to discuss the plans to be put into action with your father.”
Trálír nodded.
“And yet he asked me if I...” She broke off and bit her lower lip in embarrassment. Raising a dark eyebrow, he looked at her expectantly.
“...if I liked you.”
“So that he could be sure you would agree to take me as your husband when you were informed of our fathers' decision, I presume?”
Ysilia nodded guiltily. “I had no idea,” she whispered, her words sounding choppy, as if she were having great difficulty getting them out. “I could never have imagined in a million years that my father would make this decision. I'm nowhere near the age where I'm considered an adult. Some people see me as nothing more than a dependent, unsuspecting girl.”
Trálír nodded slowly, walked over to his bed, and sat down on the edge, facing Ysilia, although there was now a certain distance between them. And this distance seemed to intensify the silence between them. Everything in him urged him to tell Ysilia that under no circumstances would he take her as his wife, and as sure as he was of this, he found it difficult to express it in words.
She is just a child, Trálír thought dejectedly. And I don't want to hurt her.
“I... I know about your love for the other woman,” Ysilia began timidly, her words like a whisper. “Your Thiramin. And I know that I can never win your heart.”
Trálír looked up in surprise at her words. "But... but I would be willing to accept this so that our lands can grow together."
“Accept?” repeated the high elf questioningly, frowning.
“Yes,” confirmed Ysilia with a nod, but her voice sounded uncertain and hesitant. “Your love for your... companion.”
“How do you imagine that?” Trálír's dark, soft voice was steeped in bewilderment.
“We... we'll get married... and you can... continue to be with her.” Her quiet voice trembled.
“You're suggesting that we get married and that she be given the status of a mistress?”
The young elf nodded slowly, looked up at him hesitantly, and seemed to sink into herself when she saw him shake his head vehemently.
Trálír pulled himself together as his fiancée's suggestion brought back the anger and rage he had felt since hearing his father's words. And so he took a deep breath, trying to ignore his feelings, because Ysilia, like him, was just a pawn in their fathers' plans.
“I know that this idea sounds logical and feasible,” he said, looking at her, who recognized his blue-green gentleness. “But I am no fool, Ysilia. Even though you may think otherwise, I know how you feel about me.”
Ysilia stared at Trálír in alarm, who looked at her indulgently. "Even if you now believe that this could be the solution to our dilemma, I must disappoint you. I cannot expose you to this misfortune, for what would it be other than torture if your heart knew that mine was already taken? Every moment I am not by your side would cause you pain. And being in my presence, knowing that I cannot return your love, would also be agonizing for you. Do you really want to sacrifice hundreds of years for a love that will never be reciprocated?”
The elf's green eyes moistened and she lowered her head, avoiding Trálír's gaze to prevent thick tears from welling up behind her closed eyelids.
"We are expected to produce an heir, Ysilia. You may think at this moment that I am close to you or that I feel something, but it would be nothing more than my duty to do so. And my sympathy for you would turn into indifference and, in the worst case, disgust."
Trálír stood up, laid his tunic on his bed, and slowly walked over to the softly sobbing elf. He knelt down and placed his hands comfortingly around her intertwined fingers.
“I don't want to do that to you, Ysilia. And I don't want to do that to the woman who is so close to me. You both deserve better.”
Ysilia slowly loosened her fingers from his grip and wiped the tears from her face. She nodded sadly as their eyes met.
“I understand,” she whispered in a broken voice.
“I know that my words hurt you deeply, and I wish I didn't have to say them, but... but my path is different, Ysilia.”
The young elf sniffed unhappily but managed a weak smile.
“What will you do now?” she asked as Trálír straightened up again.
“I will find a solution,” he replied simply.
A friendly smile on his lips, his gaze fixed on his future father-in-law.
If it were up to his own father, Trálír the Elder, the Firstborn would accompany him, his wife, and Ysilia to the west wing after the numerous guests had celebrated the announcement of the engagement with loud cheers.
As Neererin had demanded of him, he played along with the ruler's game. The moment he heard the words of the First Hand, Trálír knew that every further word, every movement, every slightest facial expression and gesture would be a lie, a mask that he had mastered well over the years. While the smile on his lips was friendly and the guests toasted him, his innermost feelings seemed far away. He knew that he had to protect his heart and soul in order not to completely lose his composure over the merciless decision his father had made. Trálír had avoided looking at him, letting his gaze wander only over the guests, numerous blurred faces that meant nothing to him. To his own surprise, he had not seen his younger brother anywhere. He wanted to see if he was also surprised by their father's decision or if he knew about it. Even though Teárlach usually had his facial expressions under control, there were moments when a thin sliver of surprise or wonder gave a glimpse into his innermost feelings.
When the Ruler announced in a loud voice that the ball had come to an end, he asked his son to accompany his fiancée to her chambers under the supervision of her parents. Trálír listened to her father's enthusiastic words as he walked silently beside Ysilia down the long corridor, lost in his own thoughts. Out of the corner of his eye, he observed the young elf and was surprised to see that she seemed depressed and downcast. And she avoided his gaze. When they reached the chambers, he bowed politely to Ysilia and wished her good night under the watchful eyes of her parents, then turned to them as well to say goodbye.
Trálír turned around when he saw his future in-laws and his fiancée retreating to their chambers and the doors closing behind them.
Now, at last, he was able to take a deep breath and let his feelings run free.
He was so angry that he could hardly think straight. His footsteps echoed loudly through the long corridor as he walked eastward, because before he could put his plan into action, he had to go to his own room first.
Trálír had always known that there was nothing good in his father, that he was manipulative, malicious, hypocritical, and deceitful, but his son would never have believed him capable of taking this step.
Why am I such a fool? the ruler's son asked himself angrily. He believed his father capable of almost anything, but forcing him into marriage would never have occurred to him. Trálír knew that in the eyes of the elves he was still not considered an adult, and his father was far from ready to hand over his throne to him, so why should he get married and possibly bring an heir into the world when it would be centuries before he could ascend the throne? He knew of similar noble families who had gone down this path, and in every case it had led to disputes that sometimes culminated in war or ended in centuries-old blood feuds. Why would his father want to go down this path? Trálír had been trained for decades to become the perfect next ruler.
There had been several moments when Trálír had suggested Teárlach as his successor, especially at the beginning of his relationship with Anwyn, still hoping that something good would prevail in his younger brother. But in recent years, in the last few moments when he and Tearlach had met, Trálír had realized that his brother would not abandon the dark path he had chosen and was now walking, even in the future.
Whatever Trálír the Elder's motives were, his son knew that a large part of this forced engagement was for the pleasure of tormenting him, to show him that as ruler he could decide as he wished and that, above all, he did not have to consider anyone or anything. Certainly not his sons.
As the high elf approached his chambers, he thought of Anwyn and his love for her. He had always known that their future was uncertain, that their path together would be difficult, but he had never assumed that he would be forced into marriage with another. The thought of having to tell her what had happened that evening was unbearable for him. Trálír would never, ever consider separating from Anwyn and marrying another woman.
After walking for an eternity he finally reached his chambers and slammed the door shut behind him.
Impatiently, he tore the jewelry from his head, which was pinned in place with needles, so that it got caught in Trálír's hair. He cursed loudly as he fumbled with his fingers to remove the annoying thing. When he finally succeeded, just before his patience was about to run out, he threw the jewelry impatiently onto his bed and unbuttoned the neck of his floor-length robe. Aware that it was made of the finest fabric and that many people would never have the means to have such a garment made, he let it fall to the floor and wanted to get rid of the second one.
But a button had caught on the fine fabric, and Trálír's hands were shaking so much that he grabbed his collar and pulled impatiently, causing the buttons to come loose under the tension and one or two of them to fall to the floor. The seam on his shoulder tore open with a loud noise and stretched all the way to his elbow, but he didn't care. He walked over to his closet, opened it, pulled out a pair of simple black linen pants, and put them on. He reached for a white, equally simple tunic when there was a sudden soft knock at the door.
“Go away,” Trálír snorted and pulled the tunic out of the compartment when there was another tentative knock and he then heard the door being opened. His gaze darkened, anger and rage welled up inside him, and he was ready to throw the uninvited guest out of his chamber without a word when he realized who it was.
“May I come in?” Her voice was quiet and sounded uncertain. With large green eyes, she looked at Trálír, who nodded immediately and raised his hand invitingly to show her that she could enter.
“Forgive my harsh words,” he began, taking the tunic from the compartment, closing the cabinet door, and then turning to Ysilia, who was still standing at the door, waiting for a clear answer from him. “Of course you may enter.”
The young elf nodded, closed the door, and then stood facing the Firstborn, who took two steps back and gestured toward the armchair. “Please, take a seat. Would you like something to drink?" Ysilia slowly shook her head, but nevertheless went to the armchair and sat down. As she walked past him, Trálír took the moment to look at her. She was wearing a narrow, white robe, probably for sleeping, with a circular collar and sleeves that reached her wrists. Her long hair was braided into a plait, and he was sure that a maid had taken care of her hair. Ladies of noble birth were accustomed to going to bed with their hair in a tight braid so that it would not become tangled during the night.
Anwyn slept with her hair loose, and Trálír remembered with a painful twinge in his stomach how much he had loved waking up that one morning and seeing that tangle of wild curls. While she was still asleep, he ran his fingertips through the tips of her hair. Anwyn was so different from all the elf ladies Trálír had met, and closer to him than any other woman before. Wild, impetuous, distrustful, not hiding the bad experiences she had had with his own race, she had nevertheless managed to instantly arouse his interest. Only to fall completely in love with her shortly afterwards. A soft clearing of the throat snapped him out of his thoughts and he turned his gaze back to Ysilia, who was now sitting in the massive armchair, looking even slimmer and more fragile than usual.
Trálír stood in the middle of the room, barefoot, wearing only tight pants, his hair loose, and for a moment he didn't know how to behave. After all, his fiancée was now sitting in his chamber, and if anyone had seen this, it would be all the more difficult for him to find a way out of this situation. And yet he didn't want to simply throw Ysilia out of his chamber. So he remained where he was and looked at her silently.
“I... I didn't know anything about it,” she began quietly, staring at her intertwined fingers, avoiding Trálír's gaze. “When my father suggested a trip to the Blackwater Lands, I was full of enthusiasm, but had no idea where this would lead.”
She looked up, a sad expression in her green eyes. “Of course I remembered your last visit and I was looking forward to seeing you again, but that wasn't the only reason. I haven't left Moonhaven since the day I was born, and finally there was a chance to leave this town, to finally see something new, to set foot on new shores,” she continued slowly. “I also thought that the only reason for this visit was the cooperation between our countries.”
She sighed heavily as she exhaled tremulously, having unconsciously held her breath under the tension she felt, and looked down at her fingers again. Silence filled the room.
“Then your father didn't mention an engagement and upcoming wedding between us?”
“No!” replied Ysilia, the shock of this decision, which would change both their lives so much, clearly audible in her voice. “No, he didn't. He only mentioned that we would be visiting the Blackwater Lands to discuss the plans to be put into action with your father.”
Trálír nodded.
“And yet he asked me if I...” She broke off and bit her lower lip in embarrassment. Raising a dark eyebrow, he looked at her expectantly.
“...if I liked you.”
“So that he could be sure you would agree to take me as your husband when you were informed of our fathers' decision, I presume?”
Ysilia nodded guiltily. “I had no idea,” she whispered, her words sounding choppy, as if she were having great difficulty getting them out. “I could never have imagined in a million years that my father would make this decision. I'm nowhere near the age where I'm considered an adult. Some people see me as nothing more than a dependent, unsuspecting girl.”
Trálír nodded slowly, walked over to his bed, and sat down on the edge, facing Ysilia, although there was now a certain distance between them. And this distance seemed to intensify the silence between them. Everything in him urged him to tell Ysilia that under no circumstances would he take her as his wife, and as sure as he was of this, he found it difficult to express it in words.
She is just a child, Trálír thought dejectedly. And I don't want to hurt her.
“I... I know about your love for the other woman,” Ysilia began timidly, her words like a whisper. “Your Thiramin. And I know that I can never win your heart.”
Trálír looked up in surprise at her words. "But... but I would be willing to accept this so that our lands can grow together."
“Accept?” repeated the high elf questioningly, frowning.
“Yes,” confirmed Ysilia with a nod, but her voice sounded uncertain and hesitant. “Your love for your... companion.”
“How do you imagine that?” Trálír's dark, soft voice was steeped in bewilderment.
“We... we'll get married... and you can... continue to be with her.” Her quiet voice trembled.
“You're suggesting that we get married and that she be given the status of a mistress?”
The young elf nodded slowly, looked up at him hesitantly, and seemed to sink into herself when she saw him shake his head vehemently.
Trálír pulled himself together as his fiancée's suggestion brought back the anger and rage he had felt since hearing his father's words. And so he took a deep breath, trying to ignore his feelings, because Ysilia, like him, was just a pawn in their fathers' plans.
“I know that this idea sounds logical and feasible,” he said, looking at her, who recognized his blue-green gentleness. “But I am no fool, Ysilia. Even though you may think otherwise, I know how you feel about me.”
Ysilia stared at Trálír in alarm, who looked at her indulgently. "Even if you now believe that this could be the solution to our dilemma, I must disappoint you. I cannot expose you to this misfortune, for what would it be other than torture if your heart knew that mine was already taken? Every moment I am not by your side would cause you pain. And being in my presence, knowing that I cannot return your love, would also be agonizing for you. Do you really want to sacrifice hundreds of years for a love that will never be reciprocated?”
The elf's green eyes moistened and she lowered her head, avoiding Trálír's gaze to prevent thick tears from welling up behind her closed eyelids.
"We are expected to produce an heir, Ysilia. You may think at this moment that I am close to you or that I feel something, but it would be nothing more than my duty to do so. And my sympathy for you would turn into indifference and, in the worst case, disgust."
Trálír stood up, laid his tunic on his bed, and slowly walked over to the softly sobbing elf. He knelt down and placed his hands comfortingly around her intertwined fingers.
“I don't want to do that to you, Ysilia. And I don't want to do that to the woman who is so close to me. You both deserve better.”
Ysilia slowly loosened her fingers from his grip and wiped the tears from her face. She nodded sadly as their eyes met.
“I understand,” she whispered in a broken voice.
“I know that my words hurt you deeply, and I wish I didn't have to say them, but... but my path is different, Ysilia.”
The young elf sniffed unhappily but managed a weak smile.
“What will you do now?” she asked as Trálír straightened up again.
“I will find a solution,” he replied simply.
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Zwei so liebe Menschen bzw. Elfen, die quasi als "Schachfiguren" für ein Machtspiel benutzt werden...
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Ich habe viele Bücher im historischen Bereich gelesen und weiß von den ganzen politischen Hochzeiten die vollzogen wurden, teilweise unter nahestandenen Familienmitgliedern.
Wobei bei Trálír immer noch mitspielt, dass sein Vater ihn zu gerne quält. :|
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And yes, he will find a solution!
🧡
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