Patch 17 (Realm of Arkon) by G. Akella, Mark Berelekhis Page A

ever since.
    Altus took a sip from his glass. He was feeling dizzy from all the flickering faces—diplomats, soldiers, socialites, humans, elves, dwarves! He would be glad to ditch the party—hell, he wouldn't be here in the first place if not for the king's personal invitation... And no wonder, with him being a decorated Knight of the Order of the Maple Branch and commander of Blue Salamanders—the legendary squad that had cleansed the Norleyd Ruins of undead and slain Hartalyon in Kraet Peaks. He was recognized everywhere he went, but given a wide berth upon meeting his dispassionate gaze, with only scraps of phrases reaching his ears: "Yep, that's him all right..."
    "Say, aren't you the celebrated Count Altus, grandmaster of fire, who had defended Vallidu from an undead invasion?" a young woman's voice rang out to his left.
    The mage turned, then bowed his head in deference.
    "How may I be of service, Your Highness?" he spoke with a smile.
    The young woman let out a disappointed sigh.
    "How did you know who I was? We've never met!" she puckered her brow, which made her even lovelier than before. He looked her up and down, noting her shapely girlish figure, the turquoise mantle, the white lily in her hair...
    "With my tattoo expertise, I'd be disgraced if I mistook the House of the Singing Dew for anything else. So, I ask again, princess, how may I be of service?"
    "I want to join your squad!"
    He was taken aback. The second daughter of the head of one of the most powerful Houses—this was truly unheard of...
    "I've just finished my apprenticeship, and I am ready to be tested," her voice broke, "or are you afraid of the complications that might arise with my father?"
    Complications were indeed a concern, and major ones at that, but even a Prince had to obey the Law. Besides, the archmage really didn't give a damn about all the rulers of the Great Forest put together.
    "Princess..."
    "Elsaniel," the girl smiled. "But call me Elsa. I've studied at the Academy; I know how you humans like to shorten your names."
    "Why would you want this? We live by strict rules, and don't do grand receptions," he looked around the hall. "And we've none of this..." he hesitated, "lobbying and intrigue, there."
    The princess burst out in infectious laughter.
    "But you do have adventure. Your squad is all anyone's been talking about the past five years, and life in the princedom is so dull," she made a wry face. "Nothing but..." she twirled her wrist, as if remembering something, "lobbying and intrigue. There!" This time they laughed together.
    "Why aren't you dancing? Or do you expect a lady to beg?" she creased her eyebrows.
    "Princess, it's not that I can't dance well, I can't dance at all ..." he felt his face flush.
    "It's easy. Come, I'll show you," she offered her hand.
    His knees weak and lungs gasping for oxygen, Kyam took the young woman's hand and led her into the hall, toward the dancing couples.
    There was a reason he hated these balls. The dance just wouldn't end, and no matter how desperately the mage tried matching his partner's quick and fluid movements, he ended up stepping on her foot and messing up a movement's direction numerous times. By the time the torture ended, he was on the brink of burning a hole in the floor from sheer shame.
    To his shock, Elsa had decided to dedicate the entire evening to him exclusively. They chatted of trifles, drank wine and laughed, and when the ball ended, they left together. And they hadn't parted since.
    And when, forty six years ago in Borderlands, with their squad hemmed in the castle of a backwater barony by a thousand ear-hunters and young drow wolves backed by mages from the House of Twilit Shadows, they were rescued in the last moment by a sudden blow in the enemy's rear courtesy of Lars' knights and Count d'Arysak's heavy cavalry, he carried her lifeless body—sprouting a poisoned arrow—out of the burning castle. And then he personally cut the throats of twenty six higborn