The softest velvet I've ever encountered flows over my body and trails behind me; a dark blood red colour. Morpheus sent me the dress to wear for dinner and I have to begrudgingly admit that he does have excellent taste.

My heart flutters like a caged bird and each step towards the high table feels like a step closer to a date with the devil. When I reach the dais, Morpheus is there waiting. I accept his outstretched hand and drop a deferential curtsy. "My king."

He steers me towards Nero, who is stood with his back to us, engaged in conversation with my cousin. Good. They can have each other.

Luck is not on my side for Nero turns to face us. His gaze slides appreciatively over my body leaving me feeling sullied.

Morpheus gestures to Nero. "I believe you are already acquainted with Lord Nero."

I have to bite back a sharp retort and glance up at the king; a smile is playing upon his lips as if he is amused by my rancour. My mood is not improved when I'm placed between the two of them at dinner.

Almost as soon as they we seated, Nero places a hand over mine. "You are wearing my favourite colour."

What I'd like to do is stab the offending hand with a fork, instead I have to compromise by glaring at it. When he does not get the hint, I pull my hand free and ignore him.

"My princess, I would be most honoured if you would visit me at Castle Corinth."

Hell would have to freeze over before I could be induced to return to that place. I turn my head stiffly towards him and my voice is devoid of any warmth. "I'm afraid I find your hospitality somewhat lacking."

"Next time I will offer up my bed to you." His expression leaves no doubt as to his intent.

I almost gag. The thought is certainly enough to ruin my already poor appetite. To make matters worse, tendrils of Nero's power reach out, moving insidiously against me. It causes my own power to shift, unsettled like a caged beast.

When a hand lands on my knee, I glare at Nero only to find that both of his hands are cradled around his glass. I look to Morpheus for an explanation and there is something unreadable in his silver gaze. Is this some twisted attempt to psych me out?

He begins to converse with Nero without removing his hand; the weight of it is heavy and hard to ignore. I'm in a quandary because I don't want to make a scene. I reach for my glass and take a cautious sip because elven wine is heady stuff. I recall the time I visited Darish's home and apparently ending up in the canopy of a tree. Tonight however, my nerves need bolstering.

Decisively I slip my hand under the table, lift Morpheus's hand and deposit it on his own leg. His response is too quick and somehow I find my hand upon his thigh, trapped under his hand.

He continues his conversation with Nero as if nothing is amiss, and if that wasn't uncomfortable enough adds his own power to the mix. The combined pressure from both of them grows palpable, constricting even, to the point of being unbearable. Is this some bloody test? I do not care for elven mind games.

My power responds, rising up and lashing out in an angry wave. The glassware on the table shatters, the candles flare with foot-high flames and several elves audibly wince in pain. The pressure on me reduces and I can breathe easier again, however my hand is still stuck. Conceding, I lean toward Morpheus and whisper, "Please release me."

Bringing my captive hand to his lips, he kisses it. "As you wish, my princess."

From his smile, I'm not sure that whatever game is afoot has not just moved into more dangerous territory.

......

My heart races and adrenaline flows when I awaken, standing in a dark room. This is followed by a rush of relief when the lights reveal that this is Aren's bedchamber. Suppressing the urge to run, I walk slowly so as not to disturb the boundary of the dreamscape.

Jumping onto his bed, I throw my arms around Aren, burying my head against his neck and revel in the scent and feel of him.

"I miss you too," he jokes, his laughter vibrating through me. When I don't move, he lifts me so that he can see my face. "What is the matter, my love?"

"I've had a very trying day and need to see you."

"I thought you said it was quiet there, almost boring."

"Well I spoke too soon. Nero is here."

Aren stiffens. "Did he hurt you?"

"No, but he tried to kiss me. Then I had to endure sitting next to him at dinner."

Aren growls and hazel starts creeping into his eyes. I bet this is a sign of his anger not desire.

"I should come to you."

"No, Aren!" I protest unable to think of anything bad happening to him.

"I feel so helpless." Aren frowns almost as if in pain and rakes a hand through his hair.

"Aren, don't you realise how much you are already supporting me? Being with you like this is helping me to endure." I cup his face with my hands and gently kiss him. "I love you."

His responding kiss is hot and consuming, washing away the bitter taste of dark elves.

The following morning I'm not feeling quite so bright because father and I have been summoned to see the queen. My stomach is tied in knots and my palms are sweaty as I sit before her.

"I'm really sorry about last night. I didn't mean to cause a scene."

Celestia bestows me with a beautiful smile and leans forward to caress my cheek. "No blame lies with you, child. I do not comprehend why Morpheus sat you next to that odious Nero." Her expression changes, as if she detects a vaguely unpleasant odour.

The queen addresses Aldebaran, "I asked you here to discuss something more pleasant. As you know, we are to celebrate the coming of spring tomorrow night. Morpheus and I are in agreement that we would like your daughter to represent spring in the ceremony."

Father accepts on my behalf. Although he gives no outward sign of emotion, I can sense that he is proud.

A servant ushers two light elven males into the room. They are dressed in fine suits of silver and white, and both have similar, effeminate faces with high cheekbones and white hair tied back in braids threaded with silver. One appears about my age while the other looks maybe late twenties, although I know this means nothing.

"Elissa, I would like to introduce you to Lord Deneb and his son Lord Altair. My lords, I am pleased to introduce my granddaughter, Princess Elissa."

The father greets me first. Then my eyes meet those of Altair; they are startling sky blue, as blue as a perfect summer's day and for a moment I get lost in them. Realising that I've probably been staring a little too long, I blush. Altair steps closer, a hint of a smile on his face and kisses my hand in greeting.

"Altair, I wish to speak with your father. Would you do me a boon and show the princess around the library?"

He bows graciously. "It would be an honour, your Majesty."

There is a slightly awkward silence as we walk through the palace. At least he seems to know his way around this maze. My embarrassment dissipates upon the sight of the library. It is a large circular room, set in what I presume is one of the larger towers. Bookshelves stretch up as far as the eye can see. Almost cricking my neck, I count five galleried walkways.

"Wow!" I whisper, weighed with that sense of awe that thousands of books inspire.

He chuckles. "Certainly it is enough to quench even the most ardent scholar's thirst for knowledge."

The sparkle in those sky-blue eyes causes my heart to clench and I suck in a sharp breath.

"Is something amiss?" His words are laced with concern.

"No." I look away, blushing slightly. "It's just that your eyes remind me of my beloved."

Altair hesitates, then takes my hand and pulls me up a ladder to the first gallery. Ducking into an alcove, he places a hand against the wall and whispers low in elvish. A transparent barrier seals us in; it shimmers like the surface of a bubble.

It is an odd move, yet I don't get the sense that he is a threat. I cock my head, curious as to his intent.

Responding to my unasked question, he says, "I wish to council you in confidence. You should not be so free with your words. There are those who would use knowledge of your lover to their advantage."

"What about you?"

"I am young enough not to be so corrupted by the court as to use it to ingratiate myself with you."

The light from the stained-glass window casts an amber glow against his pale hair and perfectly poised features. My gut tells me that he is honest and that he has the makings of a friend. I'm going to need allies to survive in this place. I squeeze his hand in gratitude.

His responding smile holds a nervous edge. "My father is more ambitious than I, so please do not inform him of this conversation."

.........