Leonie was sitting on her bed, trying to bandage her broken wrist after taking a bath and more or less calming down from her little adventure. At least an hour had passed since then, the sun was already setting, and no matter how much she racked her brain, she had to admit she was in serious trouble. A broken wrist on its own wasn't that hard to explain away, but if the two strangers who had almost caught her were indeed the baron's guests and recognized her during dinner… good heavens, she had even punched one of them in the face. If the baron found out, she could count on a punishment that would leave her unable to get out of bed for weeks. Or worse, if he left her fate to his guests, she wouldn't survive it at all, seeing how massive they were. She recalled the image of the blond man towering over her and shivered, swallowing hard. She had never seen such terrifying figures before, even though she had lived in the castle since childhood and had already had the "pleasure" of meeting all the baron's wretched friends. But those two were somehow different from the rest of those vile men. When they had been chasing her through the forest, it had felt as though she were running from lions hunting their prey. It was a miracle she had managed to slip away at all. She couldn't even understand what exactly had happened to them.
"Maybe it would be better if I just ended it myself now," she sighed as she fixed the bandage and carefully flexed her hand. It wasn't great, but she would visit Nathan, the town's only doctor, the next day and let him patch her up again. Without him, she probably wouldn't even be alive anymore. And she was running low on the healing potion she had been drinking for as long as she could remember. Once she had tried not taking it to see what would happen. Within a few days, she had developed a horrible headache that then turned into convulsions that shook her entire body. She had been sure she wouldn't survive, but fortunately Esthelle had found her in time and run for Nathan, who had saved her yet again. According to the baron, this was all because she was a freak of nature, a mistake that had come into the world against the natural order, and nature was simply trying to correct what had gone wrong. It was also true that she had never seen anyone like herself. She had never seen another elf.
She stood in front of the mirror, staring at her own face and the pointed ears that betrayed her origin. For a thousand years, ever since the humans' liberation, no living human had seen an elf. Or so people claimed, at least; they had long since forgotten them, and elves lived only in their histories and legends. According to popular belief, they had been wicked creatures who kept humans in fear and subjugation until one day a rebellion broke out, and after years of war, humans had prevailed, while the elves disappeared without a trace.
Until twenty-one years ago. According to the baron, back then a dying pregnant woman had knocked on the castle gates and begged for shelter. She claimed that an elf had kept her captive and that the child in her belly was proof of her words. By the time Nathan appeared, only the child could be saved—and to their greatest shock, the woman's story turned out to be true. The child, Leonie, had indeed been born an elf. They had kept the whole incident secret from the people, and to this day only the baron's closest circle knew about it. Leonie herself wasn't entirely sure, but according to the baron, the people would lynch her out of fear if they ever learned the truth.
A loud pounding on the door tore her from her heavy thoughts. She quickly pulled her hair forward over her ears, smoothed down her simple white dress, and stepped to the door. It was time to face the inevitable.
"Move," the guard on the corridor barked at her. It was common practice that before larger receptions the baron reinforced his watch so she wouldn't try to escape. But there was usually someone following her anyway. The man liked to know her every move. And the guards weren't kind to her either; rumors had spread that anyone who befriended the girl on duty always ended up stationed at the worst possible post afterward.
"Get in," the man growled when they reached the great hall, and practically shoved her through the door.
"At last you honor us with your presence," rang out a syrupy deep voice that made fear and nausea wash over her at once. Leonie bowed her head submissively, her face immediately hidden by the curtain of red hair falling forward.
"I'm sorry if I'm late, my lord," she said, lifting her head—only to see the baron seated at the end of the decorated dining table. She had to swallow hard when she realized he had invited several of his friends for the evening as well, and they were already eyeing her with broad grins, like vultures studying their prey.
"We'll see, we'll see…" the baron went on thoughtfully. "Now, bring wine, and after that, stay out of the way until dinner is over."
Leonie knew exactly what that meant. The baron liked to show her off. It filled him with smug satisfaction that such a rare beauty belonged to him, and he never missed a chance to make sure his men knew it. He also delighted in watching his sycophants trample one another in their eagerness to please him, hoping that after a night of revelry he might invite them to share in his "further entertainments". During dinner, however, Leonie never had any other task than to keep the wine flowing and try not to draw attention to herself.
So that was what she did now as well. She took the jug in her good hand, filled the cups at the table, and was just about to step back when the man seated on the baron's right began to clap mockingly.
"What a talent. You were right," he laughed.
The baron grinned as he answered. "If you knew what else those hands can do…"
The others around the table burst out in neighing laughter while Leonie wished she could crawl under the table from shame. Face flaming, she took a step back and pressed her lips together, but said nothing. She was used to such humiliations; every event like this ended the same way.
Before the situation could escalate further, the hall doors opened again, and a sudden silence fell over the room. One of the baron's lackeys entered, followed by two large men—one dressed head to toe in leather, the other in simple brown linen trousers and a white linen shirt. Where the first carried himself stiffly, radiating strength and hardness, the second moved in an easy, carefree manner, as if they had just arrived at a garden party.
Dorian and Marcus let their gazes wander over those present. Five men sat around the table, with their stocky guide taking the sixth seat, and one more man at the head of the table. The baron looked to be somewhere in his fifties, surprisingly well preserved for his age, clearly a battle-hardened soldier. His short hair and beard were already beginning to turn grey, his features sharp. At a glance, Dorian decided he would have to be careful with this man—cunning burned in his eyes. Keeping his eyes on him, Dorian walked to the table and, although he disliked it, extended his hand in greeting.
"Thank you for your gracious hospitality. My name is Dorian, prince of the elven kingdom, eldest son of the elven king and heir to the crown, appointed envoy of the elven people and the king. And this is Marcus, my advisor."
Marcus only gave a curt nod without offering his hand. His eyes roamed over the faces at the table as the baron introduced them one by one.
"The honor is ours that you will spend the next few days with us and share your reasons for breaking the centuries-long silence between our peoples. Our king is eagerly awaiting my report on the developments," the baron said, his gaze fixed on Dorian as he gestured for his guests to sit. A false smile curled his lips as he continued. "Fortunately, we'll have time to discuss everything. For now, however, let us celebrate that our peoples once again sit at the same table. Tonight, let us not speak of politics or intentions. Let us eat, drink, and become acquainted with each other."
He raised his cup and motioned for Leonie to pour for the guests. But Leonie stood frozen, the jug in her hands, staring in horror at the two men she had met in the forest.
Elves. They were elves. They were like her.
An insane whirlwind of emotions swept through her. She was supposed to hate them for what they had done to her mother, but until now she had believed there might not be a single one of them left. And now… now it turned out she wasn't alone after all. How was this possible? Had they lied to her for all these years? Was this some sick joke on the baron's part? How could she ever have believed she was the only living elf? How could she have been so naïve?
Reeling, she stepped up to the table and, forgetting her broken wrist, lifted the jug with her right hand, bringing it toward Dorian's cup to fill it. A sharp, stabbing pain shot through her arm. Instinctively she jerked back, splashing wine all over the table—and over the blond elf.
"What do you think you're doing?" the lord of the castle roared and grabbed her bandaged wrist, squeezing it hard enough that Leonie saw stars from the pain. She groaned and tried to pull her hand free, which only made him clamp down even harder on her broken bones.
"You will apologize at once and clean up this mess you've made," he ordered in an icy voice that made even the men at the table feel the hair rise on their necks. The girl could only whimper in agony, which merely prompted the baron to tighten his grip. Leonie, exhausted, lifted her eyes to Dorian's completely indifferent, almost cold gaze. Terror surged through her when she realized he was about to recognize her and land her in even worse trouble. Her breathing turned into panicked, shallow gasps, her gaze flicking wildly between the two elves.
For the briefest moment, surprise flashed across Marcus's face as well, but once he saw that his friend had decided not to mention their little forest incident, he slipped his mask of indifference back on. His attention shifted instead to the baron's hand crushing the girl's wrist, and he opened his mouth to speak—only for Dorian to beat him to it.
"Nothing happened. The young lady may leave; I will take care of it," he said, and with a flick of his hand made the spilled wine vanish while still watching the girl. The baron stared at the empty tabletop for a few heartbeats, then shook his head.
"I told you to apologize and—" he began tensely, but Dorian's calm voice cut him off again.
"It was an accident. Please, let the servant go." His "request" sounded far more like a command as he finally tore his gaze away from the half-fainting Leonie and looked at the baron, his eyes filled with a hint of disgust.
They stared at each other in strained silence, until at last the baron released the girl and leaned back in his chair with a smile.
"They can be so clumsy…" he said, shaking his head. "Please, tell us about your journey. I imagine you came from far away."
He changed the subject as if nothing had happened, while Leonie staggered back, retreating all the way to a darker corner where she leaned against the wall, clutching her throbbing wrist and trying to collect her thoughts. The man hadn't exposed her secret, even though she had punched him and given him every reason to seek satisfaction from the baron. Yet he hadn't. Why?
And not only that, he had just spared her a second time.
From her hiding place she observed Dorian more closely as he engaged in seemingly casual conversation with the others about the circumstances of their journey. Leonie had the strange feeling that despite this, he was watching her—which was absurd, of course, since his eyes stayed on the men at the table. This frightening man had helped her twice now, without even knowing her, and she hadn't exactly behaved in a way to earn his kindness.
Maybe he wasn't as terrifying as she had thought at first.
Could it be that the elven people were not as bloodthirsty as the surviving stories claimed? All her life she had been taught that elves had been a cruel, oppressive race ruling over humans. Elves. So that was why there had been such a commotion about their arrival. The baron clearly hadn't wanted anyone to know that living elves were walking human lands, just as he had never told anyone the truth about her apart from his confidants.
Maybe later… tomorrow she could try to find them in secret and ask the thousand questions that had haunted her all her life. Maybe tomorrow she would be brave enough. The one called Marcus seemed somewhat more friendly. Perhaps he… he would answer her questions.