Just once in his life, he’d like to sleep until he woke up naturally.

  “The sun is beautiful today, Prince Auriel. Come, rise, and see.”

  Auriel didn’t have to see Mithril’s face to know her eyes were a-twinkle with wonder. They always were, no matter the time, nor place, nor circumstance, and the longer she’d been in his service, the less he was able to comprehend it. To be able to awaken at the same time and see the same sun through the same drapes nearly every morning and still find it just as wondrous as the first time…it was unthinkably odd, and unimaginably saccharine.

  He envied her for it.

  Granted, the sun did shine more vibrantly above Geletra than the other elvish kingdoms—save for Sola Anlae, of course, where it burned warmest and brightest and most beautifully in all of Ealla. But the gold-rimmed leaves of the Vindai trees that covered Geletra reflected the rays in a way that bathed the entire kingdom in an aurelian glow, hence its title “the golden woods” in the common Eallan tongue.

  Yes, it was grand, but it could hardly compare to the warmth in which Auriel’s bedsheets currently had him swathed, nor the pleasant calm of a sleep-closed eye. But alas, his eyes could not remain shadowed in slumber’s darkness forever, as much as he may have wished for it some days—especially ones like this, when a visitor of the grandest import was set to arrive in a few hours’ time.

  So he unraveled himself from his jade-colored sheets, lifted himself upright in bed, and turned his bleary eyes toward the wall-high window beside him to greet the Geletran sun properly. Sure enough, Mithril’s seemingly painted-on smile was in full pleasantry, and had her hazel eyes not been so dully colored, the wonder shining in them would have surely been blinding. Nearly all who’d seen them had likened Auriel’s eyes to a vibrant emerald geode, yet not once could he recall seeing them shine even half as brightly as Mithril’s.

  He remained posed in his bed for a few moments, as if an artist sat painting him at the foot of it, waiting for his body and mind to cope with their parting from the dream world. The sheets had pulled down one sleeve of his robe as he’d risen, as if they intended to kiss their way down his shoulder to lure him back into their silken embrace. But Mithril came to his side and righted the sleeve while wronging the sheets, pulling them away from Auriel’s lap and legs to allow him to stand. With a sigh, he did, and exited his bedroom with Mithril following closely behind.

  The bed was Auriel’s favorite place in the palace, for his unconscious state within it offered him a type of peace and repose he simply could not find elsewhere. The bath, however, was a very close second; the warm, steamy water and the healing oils dripped into it worked wonders on the skin and mind. The porcelain tub would have been the perfect place for solitary contemplation, had an attendant not been required while Auriel lay within it. Truthfully, though, it was for the best that Mithril be there—warm and calming as the water was, Auriel was liable to slip under it if left alone. Not to mention the annoyance of having to wash his own hair and bathe his own body.

  And truly, there was none better suited for the role than Mithril. Her touch was exceedingly gentle, so much that one barely noticed just how efficient she truly was. All Auriel had to do was tilt his head and lift the proper appendage when instructed—otherwise he was free to just close his eyes and let the herbal-treated water work its magic on his pallid skin.

  Just how much time passed in the bath, he did not know, but when Mithril instructed him to rise, he felt as if his entire body had regenerated into a new, slightly more energized version of the one he’d awoken with. Mithril used the same gentle efficiency to dry him off that she’d used to wash him, and she wrapped his hair in a special towel to keep it protected while he dressed.

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Most of Auriel’s clothing followed the same general silhouette: floor-length robes in silk or linen with a small train, long sleeves, and a high neck, with anything from pleats, trim, smocking, and embroidery acting as decoration. All of them were beautiful, of course, as one would expect such an ornamental figure as Auriel to wear, but the pale lavender ensemble Mithril produced from a special standing wardrobe made everything else look like rags by comparison. Dozens of yards of silk had gone into its construction, yet it draped and flowed as though it were made of ribbons cut from a twilight sky. The bodice fit close to Auriel’s slender body, with tight pleats and golden trim creating a complex ribbed effect all across his torso, yet the sleeves, composed of at least ten individual layers with scalloped dagging at the edges, hung down to the floor in a massive bell shape. The skirt was similarly layered and dagged, then topped with a wide embroidered belt with a train that trailed nearly ten feet behind him. It was absolutely breathtaking to behold, but so very delicate and fragile in composition, rendering Auriel practically untouchable when it was worn—just how Celethir desired him to be.

  Mithril dressed him in the bodice and skirt but left the belted train in the wardrobe. Auriel then seated himself before the vanity with exceeding care, lest he create even the smallest tear in the silk. He kept his back straight as Mithril draped a soft linen capelet over his shoulders, protecting the delicate bodice as she loosed Auriel’s thick copper-colored hair from its towel wrapping. In its most natural form, it would stretch down to the small of his back in gentle curls, but said natural form was never worn outside the powder room. Instead, his hair was woven and bound into complex braids, with strands of gold or flower chains threaded through for added complexity. Normally, he would only have a few braids holding back his front- and topmost pieces while the rest was allowed to hang long, but today was no normal day, and so no orange strand would be allowed to stray from its neat and purposeful place.

  “It never ceases to amaze me how soft your hair is, Prince Auriel,” Mithril said as she sectioned it off. “I could run my fingers through it all day and never tire of the touch.”

  “It’s your care that keeps it so soft,” Auriel replied. “I’d be ragged without you.”

  “The pleasure of tending to you is all mine, my prince, believe me. Especially on a day so important as this. It’s been nearly six months since High Prince Celethir has been to Geletra. Though with your wedding a mere three months away, I suspect he’ll be around much more often after today. What an honor it is to have our prince engaged to be wed to the future king of the elves.”

  “That is what Father tells me,” said Auriel flatly. “The rest of my life as Prince Celethir’s consort—it’s so hard to imagine.”

  “Well, you won’t have to imagine it much longer. In just three short months, you’ll be wed in Sola Anlae, and you’ll never want for anything for the rest of your life.”

  Oh, there would still be plenty of wanting—just in a larger palace with finer jewels. “Still, the thought of leaving Geletra for the Crystal Palace is…upsetting, to say the least.”

  “That is understandable,” Mithril said. “Geletra is your home, after all. It’s not surprising that you would feel sad to leave it.”

  Mithril was right, though not for the reason that she believed. Not a single night had passed in years where Auriel hadn’t prayed for a way to leave Geletra behind and start anew somewhere else. Even so, he never dreamed it would be on the arm of the High Prince Celethir—nor was there anything he wouldn’t trade to wrest himself free of it.

  “Still, there are far worse places to be than Sola Anlae,” Mithril continued. “You could be a mop boy in a sanitarium, or the bed slave of some ghastly orcish chieftain. Leaving one’s home is always sorrowful, but melancholy is such an unsightly state, one that you are far too beautiful to be dwelling in. Try to focus on beautiful thoughts, like your future with the High Prince and all the finery he’ll have you wrapped in.”

  Auriel sighed, as if that would expel the melancholy from his body. “I’ll try. But the nearer the wedding draws, the more I find myself looking downward out my bedroom window.”

  Mithril furrowed her brow. “Downward? But there’s nothing beneath that window besides the stone of the courtyard. Surely you meant looking outward, at the treetops, or the gardens?”

  There was no foliage alive that could hold a candle to the beauty of that cold, hard, bone-shattering stone. Auriel was confident he could draw that surface with his eyes closed and hands bound, as well as how he’d look laid atop it in that same state.

  “Yes. Outward. That’s what I meant.”