Elyon had never liked the city. It was full of far too many people that he didn't know, who he couldn't ever know, even in all his long life span. But they all knew him. He could feel their eyes on him as he strode down the bright mosaic streets. He could see the way they lowered their eyes and stepped away to give him room. Hear the way they whispered to each other as he passed.

"The second prince-"

"Prince Elyon-"

"The prince-"

The weight of all their thoughts, feelings, expectations, and opinions bore down on his shoulders, dragging him down in a way that felt almost physical.

Elyon didn't understand how his father and brothers seemed to carry that weight so easily, as if they didn't even notice it...

"Elyon!"

This voice, bright and clear despite its slight note of panic, cut above the rest, stopping Elyon in his tracks.

Idiot, he thought to himself. The city of Gronderwen was so full of distractions that he had forgotten basic courtesy. Sebastian was shorter than him, and so had shorter strides, and he did not know the city as Elyon knew it; of course he was struggling to keep up. Elyon should have anticipated this and walked more slowly on purpose. Sebastian would be in grave danger if he was lost in the elven city on his own, but Elyon had gotten lost in his own head and forgotten all about that. Even if the forgetting had been brief, it was unforgivable. And he had already made so many mistakes with Sebastian, he was starting to worry that the situation was becoming unsalvageable.

But Prince Sebastian somehow didn't seem like the type to hold grudges, at least not over something like this. As soon as he was certain he wasn't being left behind, the brief fear in Sebastian's eyes was immediately overtaken by a shining sort of wonder at the scene around them.

"This place is beautiful..." Sebastian said, slightly breathless.

"I suppose you're right," said Elyon.

From an objective standpoint, it was beautiful. In times of peace, all elves lived long and easy lives, with most of their necessities provided by the Forest itself—and so they spent their many years on slow and meticulous artistic pursuits.

Every street was a mosaic, depicting scenes of nature or of elven tales and histories. Every building was of delicate marble, carved or painted with intricate patterns. And every passerby wore finely woven silks covered in hand-embroidered excess.

And this was only the lowest tier of the city, its poorest district, where each of these wonders represented a personal passion project. As they climbed higher they would reach neighborhoods where elves could afford to hire whole teams of other elves, each a master of their craft, to pursue their passions for them, creating art and architecture both more opulent and more tasteful.

And high above it all rose the palace, like a crown atop the city, rising higher even than the sacred trees themselves—the pinnacle of all elven culture and society, its visual splendor so great it dazzled the senses and was oddly difficult to perceive all at once, like your mind needed time to take in all those spires, buttresses, and crenelations and sort them all into a shape that made sense in the world.

"It's like... a tray of sweets," said Sebastian.

Elyon looked back at him, surprised, and Sebastian blushed.

"I mean..." he continued. "The palace chef back home will sometimes bring out these tiered trays of sweets for tea—little cakes and pastries and things, all decorated with brightly colored icing in pretty patterns. This city kind of reminds me of that. Is that silly? I don't mean it as a bad thing."

Elyon shook his head. "No, I agree with you, actually. I hadn't thought of it that way before, but it's an apt metaphor..."

Compared to the sharp reality of the forest, Gronderwen had always felt oddly... insubstantial to Elyon. Like a tray of sweets, indeed. Or spun sugar. Something saccharine, in any case. It was odd to hear a feeling he had always had but never had the words to describe articulated so clearly by an outsider seeing the city for the first time.

Elyon stared at Sebastian, studying his face closely. Sebastian blushed again and looked away, examining a nearby mural which depicted the planting of the First Great Oak.

Perhaps it wasn't so surprising, after all, for fresh eyes to bring a fresh perspective to a place, but beyond that Elyon was beginning to get the impression that the human prince was a more perceptive person than he liked to let on.

A small group of elves had stopped a few feet behind them, trying and failing to be subtle about the way they kept looking at the two princes and whispering amongst themselves.

"We shouldn't linger," said Elyon, and without thinking he took Sebastian's hand in his own so they wouldn't become separated again.

And many people tried to separate them, too. As soon as they'd entered the palace, a succession of guards and attendants repeatedly offered to show Prince Sebastian into some drawing room or side chamber to wait while Prince Elyon spoke with his father. Elyon had anticipated this and strongly rejected each offer as it came, squeezing Sebastian's hand a little tighter as he did so.

Every time he did, Sebastian would blush a little, and Elyon could feel a bit of that redness threatening to color his own cheeks as well.

It's only practical, Elyon told himself. The Court of the Elves was a dangerous place for a human in any circumstance, but vastly more so for the Crown Prince of an enemy empire. Elyon had to stick close to him, to keep him safe.

Although Elyon couldn't fully deny that the solid feeling of Sebastian's hand in his own was making him feel much more grounded in circumstances that often left him feeling rather unmoored...

This was one of the reasons Elyon had allowed Sebastian to come along, despite the many dangers. He had wanted to continue their conversation from the day before, it was true, but he also, in his heart of hearts, simply hadn't wanted to go to the city and the palace to talk to his father alone.

Finally they had dodged enough "helpers" to make it into the throne room, a massive chamber lined on either side with tall stained-glass windows. The room was in the middle of the palace complex and should have been shrouded in shadow and darkness, but an ingenious series of light wells in the ceiling and walls flooded the room with natural light so that it felt almost as bright as a forest clearing.

As bright as a forest clearing, yes, but with none of the forest's openness or clarity. The air, which had traveled so far from the presence of trees to reach this place, was undeniably stale and oppressive. As oppressive, almost, as the gaze of Elyon's father, King Theodas Clearshot, supreme sovereign of the Sacred Forest.

He sat alone in his vast hall, slouching casually on his golden throne, his chin resting on a slender hand. His features seemed chiseled from stone, his face still unlined despite his long years of life. His long brown hair lay perfectly straight, not a strand out of place, and his fine robes lay draped across him as if carefully placed there by the practiced hands of a master artist.

Only his dull blue eyes truly showed his age. These days they rarely bothered to perceive the world around him, preferring instead to gaze into times long-past or towards the hazy world of dreams.

Those eyes turned towards Elyon, and he quickly let go of Sebastian's hand.

"Father," said Elyon, trying not to let his voice betray his discomfort. He often found it hard to breathe in the presence of his father, let alone speak.

Dry, so dry, he thought to himself, trying not to choke on the air. Dry and dusty. Like a tomb.

"Elyon," said King Clearshot, his voice clear and full, not at all the voice of one who should by all rights be a ghost. "It's been too long, my son."

Elyon glanced at the empty throne next to the king. "Where's mother?" he asked.

"Asleep still," answered the King. "She is tired after our long night of revelries. You know how it can be. What brings you home?"

Home. Surrounded by such stale air, the word made Elyon feel sick.

"And who is your human companion?" asked the King, looking at Sebastian with an appraising look Elyon didn't like at all.

Elyon stepped slightly in front of Sebastian, defensively. "He is... a political prisoner, in the war against the Wyernwolf Empire."

"Against who?" the King's eyebrows knit together ever so slightly, to show an artistic sort of light confusion.

"The humans," said Elyon.

"Ah, right." The King lazily waved a dismissive hand, as if war and humans were both problems for other people to think about. "Is he why you've come, then? Would you like me to look after him for you, for a while? I'm always happy to accept interesting new companions to our Court."

"Absolutely not," said Elyon, firmly. "I will eventually need to send him home. It's important. He cannot stay here forever."

"Not forever," said the King. "Just a few hundred years, perhaps."

"Father!" said Elyon. "You know humans don't live that long."

The King rolled his eyes. "We can keep him and let the Forest send out an approximation of him then, when you need to 'send him home.' The humans won't even notice the difference."

"The magic of the Forest has grown weaker since the times of your youth," said Elyon. "It no longer has the power to create changelings so easily, and for no good reason."

"Fine!" snapped the King. "Never mind, then. You've never been any fun. What is it that I can do for you, then?"

"I'm looking for another human, one who may have come here in the company of your half-daughter, the one who humans call the Saintess. Her name is Lady Corvina, and she has long violet hair and sharp rose eyes. As for the Saintess, I believe even you would recognize her as your daughter—the family resemblance is strong."

The King's brows knit together in genteel confusion again. "Didn't the child come through here already looking for them? Elincia's youngest, what did she name him again?"

"Agis," said Elyon.

"Yes, that's the one." The King shrugged. Just a careful slight rising and lowering of the shoulders. Every gesture he made was oddly isolated, like he felt no need to move the rest of his body to support his point. "I'll tell you the same thing I told him. I haven't seen them."

"Yes, I know what you told him," said Elyon, exasperated. "But—"

"I'm growing dreadfully bored with this conversation." The King stood up suddenly. "It's high time I started preparing for tonight's revelries. And if you're going to accuse me of lying as you always do, then you may as well wait until I've had a few glasses of wine."

"No, wait—" said Elyon.

"If you attend the revelries, you may speak to me again there," said the King. "Otherwise, I will bid you farewell."

"But—"

"Farewell."

Truthfully, Elyon had been the worst possible person to send on this job, and he knew it. He was terrible at talking to his father, especially about anything serious. He was terrible even at existing inside the palace. He hated it here. The whole place made his skin feel dry and itchy, and he was having a harder and harder time breathing.

But Agis had needed to rest, and this needed to be done, so Elyon had to be the one to do it. Elyon was a responsible person. He did the things that needed to be done, no matter how difficult or unpleasant. But this wasn't just difficult or unpleasant, it was nearly impossible. No matter how hard he tried his father would never just listen to him. He didn't know what to do.

Then Elyon felt a steadying hand on his arm. It was Sebastian.

Sebastian cleared his throat politely and said. "Excuse me, your majesty?"

King Clearshot looked down at Sebastian with disdain, but not with disinterest. "Yes, young human?"

"If you don't mind me saying before you go, I just wanted to tell you that your city and palace are absolutely gorgeous. You have an incredible eye for architecture and decor. I've never seen anything more beautiful in my life."

Elyon could feel Sebastian's hand trembling slightly on his arm. He was scared, then, and how could he not be, speaking with such familiarity to King Theodas? But Sebastian didn't let that fear be seen on his face or heard in his voice. His smile was casual and friendly, and his tone was bright and genuine.

"Well, of course you haven't," said the King. His tone was dismissive, but there was a glitter of pride in his eyes. "You're human."

"Quite right," said Sebastian. "And if this is how incredible your buildings are, I can't even begin to imagine how amazing your parties must be. Would you mind if I attended tonight? After all, this might be my only chance to take part in true elven revelries."

"I would be delighted to have you entertain me," said the King, smiling in an unsettling way. "But would your chaperone allow such a thing?"

The King looked pointedly at Elyon, who opened his mouth intending to say a firm absolutely not. But then Sebastian tugged at his arm and gave him a pointed look of his own, and when Elyon finally spoke he was surprised to find himself saying "Alright."

"Excellent" said the King, smiling even wider. "Then I will see you both later this evening." And he swept out of the room in a swirl of fine robes.

Elyon stared blankly after him, wondering with despair what he had just gotten them into.

But Sebastian didn't seem to feel any of that same despair, and even the trembling of his hand had steadied. Meeting his eye, Sebastian gave Elyon a winning grin and said, reassuringly, "Don't worry, I'm great at parties."