Chapter One

"Gwenot! Prince Gwenot, stop!”

He didn’t listen, but simply ignored them, focusing his attention on weaving through the flora that reached out to grab him as he tore through the forest and away from the guards chasing him.

Branches ripped at his thick woven garments, impeding his path and becoming such an unbearable nuisance that he finally threw them off and left them in a heap.

“Prince Gwenot! Please stop running; you have to come back for the coronation!” the guards called again through the trees.

Gwenot pretended not to hear and dodged between the dense foliage, now only clothed in his dark velvet pants. When he had accrued enough of a distance between him and his pursuers that they could no longer see him, he dove into the undergrowth and laid low, his front pressed flat against the moist soil and his ears alert for the approach of the guards.

The thudding of footfalls grew nearer and nearer until Gwenot could clearly see their legs from between the leaves of his hiding place.

“Where’d he go?”

“I don’t know, but you’d think that after years of doing this we’d at least be a little closer to catching him.”

“Why do we even bother giving chase anyway? We know he’s just going to give us the slip.”

“Because Seth would kill us if we didn’t, that’s why.”

“Well, let’s get back.”

“But what about the prince?”

“He’ll come back in his own time. He always does.”

After a few more scans of the surrounding landscape, the men turned on their heels and ambled back in the direction they had come.

Gwenot breathed a relieved sigh and sat up, stretching languidly. At least for the moment, he was free.

The doors of the throne room creaked open as a guard entered, making his way up the long red carpet toward the large, elaborately carved wooden throne around which stood the captain of the guard, the Manaj (a royal soothsayer), and the village head, Mott – a very plump man who somehow always managed to look hungry. Thousands of empty seats fanned out from the red carpet and ornate decorations hung from the rafters and throughout the vast hall. All three of the men standing expectantly by the throne turned toward the guard, who seemed reluctant to deliver his message.

“Well? Did you find him?” the captain of the guard asked irritably.

“No, my lord, we did not.”

The captain sighed heavily and waved the guard away, resting his forehead in one hand. As soon as the doors latched shut, signaling that the man had left, he raised his head to look at the soothsayer in an almost accusing way.

“He’s got to stop doing this! He can’t keep running away, especially now when Leewynd needs him! We need a king.”

“I do not doubt your anger is not unfounded, Seth, but do not direct it toward those who have not provoked it,” replied the old priest calmly.

“He’s been doing this since we were children; I thought maybe today he’d at least show up,” he glanced around at the noticeably empty chamber. “I spent so much time making this perfect for him, something I thought he’d like. You’re the only one he listens to anymore – why can’t you talk some sense into him?”

“You know as well as I that free spirits do not take unsolicited guidance well. I offer what I may; he must mature in his own time,” Rho quietly put a warm, weather-beaten hand on Seth’s burdened shoulder. “Give him time.”

“It’s been eight years! Somewhere in those eight years he should have realized that this day would come and that he would have to be ready. The day is here and where is he? Hiding somewhere in the village with the woman he thinks none of us knows about.” Seth stood up angrily, grabbing the crown and thrusting it into Rho’s hands. “This is his. When he decides to finally grace us with his presence, thrust it upon his head as quickly as you can. He is king whether he likes it or not. Send for me when he returns.”

He could see her perfectly through the branches of the surrounding trees. Her back was turned and she kneeled at the side of the brook, hair messily tied into itself as she scrubbed the rough materials on the smooth rocks that lined the banks. Quietly humming some mystic tune to herself, she seemed oblivious of anything surrounding her, making her the perfect target. He silently stalked his prey, cautiously avoiding any twigs or leaves that would make undue noise and arouse her to his presence. Within mere feet of her, some small creature sensed his approach and screeched loudly, but before she had time to turn her head to investigate, Gwenot catapulted himself upon her, tossing them both headlong into the river.

“Gwenot! You really are horrid!” she screamed, attempting to push his heavy, soaked body away from her.

“Oh you love it, Rose, admit it!” Gwenot laughed jovially, pulling her up as he regained his footing. “Besides, I just helped you wash this one as well,” he tugged on her soaked garments.

She reached down and grabbed a skirt that floated around their ankles and without warning slopped it into her attacker’s face. Huffing in mock anger, she hiked up her skirts and sloshed back to shore.

“Well that was hardly a warm welcome.” He peeled the dripping article from his face and chased after her.

“What are you doing here, anyway?” She decided to forgo kneeling by the water, considering she was already drenched, and crouched down in the water near the shore to finish her laundry. “Isn’t today supposed to be an important day in the history of our humble little kingdom?” she hinted, implying his coronation.

“Eh, I had better things to do,” he smiled impishly.

“You’re impossible!” she laughed, then grew somber. “You’re not going to be in trouble, are you?”

“Hey, I’m the prince, aren’t I? If they want to yell at me I’ll just have them sent to the dungeons to live out eternity with the leviathans.”

“Oh, you wouldn’t, would you?” Her brow furrowed with worry.

“You’re right, Rose, the leviathans deserve better cell mates.” He grinned at her and squatted beside her to plant a gentle kiss on her lips. “So how long have you been having an affair with the laundry? You know, no matter how hard you scrub, it’ll never return your affections.”

Her ringing laughter floated across the breeze and she pushed him off balance before taking off into the forest.

“Catch me if you can, ‘your highness’!” she called over her shoulder tauntingly.

It was nearly pitch out save for the few dim candles that were dispersed throughout the kingdom as the prince finally made his way through Leewynd toward the castle with the greatest stealth. He reached the large side door that only the servants used and unlatched it silently, smiling inwardly at how cunning he had been to have escaped his crowning and to have eluded the guards yet again.

Slinking through the door and quickly turning to lock it behind him, Gwenot could not help but chuckle under his breath. When were they going to learn that they weren’t going to make him do anything he didn’t want to do? He was far too shrewd for them, giving them the slip when he was supposed to be at some royal function, dodging important meetings, and passing off important decisions to his countless yes-men.

Whistling, Gwenot turned around to head to his bedroom but didn’t even manage a single step before inhaling sharply and leaping backward.

“Hello, Gwen,” Seth said evenly, folding his arms. Beside him stood Rho and Mott.

Gwenot’s eyes fell on the golden circlet in Rho’s withered hands and they immediately widened in panic.

“Well, nice of you all to come welcome me home, however I believe I’ve forgotten something outside, if you’ll excuse me,” he spun around, his hand on the door, but they latched onto his upper arms and pulled him away.

“I believe this,” Seth replied hurriedly, snatching the crown from Rho and thrusting it upon Gwenot’s head, “belongs to you! Rho, if you please.”

“In the name of Aramon-Rah, most glorious and most high Creator, I bestow upon thee, Gwenot Nicholae, son of Tiberion, the honor to rule with justice, compassion, and dignity that your people may flourish and prosper under your protection. Do you accept this task laid before you?”

“No, I do-"

Seth clapped a hand over Gwenot’s mouth before he could finish his objection and replied firmly, “Yes, he does.”

“Then it is with great pride that I bestow upon thee the title of king. Arise, King Gwenot of Leewynd Forest.”

They let go of his upper arms and rather than stand tall with this new power given him, Gwenot sank to the floor and sulked, looking rather like a five year old who had been denied a new toy.

“This is hardly fair, you know,” Gwenot growled from his position on the floor.

“I’d be much more inclined to talk to you like a man if you’d start acting like one,” Seth glared down his nose at the monarch brooding on the floor. “The rest of you are free to go. I need to speak with our king.”

Rho looked at Gwenot with the slightest hint of a smile as if to wish him good luck in surviving the berating he was unquestionably about to receive. Mott looked more than pleased as he waddled out of the room, not even bothering to say a word to his newly crowned leader.

“Oh, get up, will you?” Seth rolled his eyes and leaned back against a large wooden table behind him as the men exited the room wordlessly.

Gwenot reluctantly rose only to plop himself into a chair and pull the crown from his head. Turning it in his hands, he avoided the stare of his livid friend. “I never wanted this, you know. It was meant for you.”

“Gwen, you know I understand,” Seth sighed, appearing to finally be relieved that he had successfully crowned their king. “I’ve known you my entire life and you have always had a problem facing real responsibility, but like it or not, you were born to privilege and you must accept that. I know that this isn’t exactly the most opportune time to be shoved into this position, but none of us have any choice in the matter. We all have to deal with this, and it would make it much easier if you would act like the king you were born to be.”

“No, I don’t think you understand. You don’t and Rho doesn’t and my father certainly didn’t. This is not my life – this is not what I was meant for.” He got up and strode to the door, opening it and motioning outside. “That – that is what I was meant for. I belong with them. In my heart, I will always be common, and nothing you or anyone else can say or do will ever expel that from my being.”

“What do you want me to do, Gwenot? Take the crown? You know what the people would do to you if you gave up this position. They love you and they will follow you to the ends of the earth if you require it of them. They have been awaiting your father’s passing for decades; can’t you see that?”

“I know they have. And if I were able to fix that thing inside me that refuses to accept what they would give me, I would, but I would give up a thousand crowns just to be one of them.”

The two men sat in silence for what seemed like hours, each with his eyes fixed on the floor. It seemed so long ago that they had been in this very room, sneaking pies and pastries from the cabinets to share secretly in one of the gardens of the castle grounds. In truth, it had been only a few short years, but somewhere in there Gwenot noticed that Seth had become a man while he, a prince, had been determined to remain a boy.

“Look, Gwen,” Seth finally spoke up, sounding tired, “royal blood runs through your veins, no one else’s. If it is the people you love so much, stop running from your duty and at least try to live up to what they want you to be. A good king.” Slowly Seth rose from his seat and left the room, his steps labored and heavy.

Gwenot did not move, nor did his gaze divert from the golden circlet he held loosely in his fingers. He sneered at it hatefully, seeing it as a handcuff or leash that would chain him forever within the walls of the castle, a place he would give anything to escape were it not for the people inside. Seth was his best friend and he wanted to make him happy, but he didn’t want to forgo his own happiness in the process.

“This is all your fault,” Gwenot sneered. Muttering hateful phrases, he kicked the crown along the grassy courtyard, not paying attention to much else.

“Yeah, you…With all your jewels and shininess and such. You know, if you were just some dull, brown wooden trinket, no one would think anything of a seat on some stupid throne. But now…You have to be all inviting and powerful. Why’d you drag me into all this, huh? Stupid hunk of metal,” he said. He gave the poor object one final kick and sent it rolling down a gentle slope where it met a pair of tender hands.

“You do realize that this ‘hunk of metal’ costs more than the entire village that you love so dearly, don’t you?”

Gwenot looked up to see the crown being lightly cradled by Nijeana, a striking woman with a heap of strawberry-blonde hair loosely tied at the nape of her neck. Had it been any other moment, he might have taken time to notice how delicately beautiful she was, but due to his current mood, he barely realized she was a woman at all.

“Most of your friends could not even fathom the amount of money that a ‘trinket’ like this would fetch,” she scolded him sweetly. Her tone was stern, but something about her face seemed to soften the reprimands she gave.

“Yeah, well, if they want it they can have it,” he grumbled, roughly taking the crown back from her and stalking across the remainder of the courtyard. He disappeared into a large hall, slamming the door noisily behind him.

Nijeana returned to tending the small herb garden in front of her. She knew there were servants available to do this task for her, but she found it relaxing to smell the mix of herbal aromas as she carefully removed the weeds and bugs from the tiny habitat. It was something her parents had taught her well, and something she had taken very much to heart.

“Find little things that make you happy and don’t let anything stop you from doing those little things,” her mother had always told her. “Just because you’re noble doesn’t mean you can’t clean your own dishes if that’s what you enjoy.”

She smiled quietly to herself as she planted a few new seeds. They had discovered a new aromatic plant growing just outside the castle walls. The smell was so inviting that Nijeana pleaded with her favorite cook, Basilindrick, to include it in his tomato soup for her lunch that day. Only after batting her eyes a few times and promising to name the herb (at least partially) after him, he conceded and the soup had been better than she’d ever imagined. And now she planted her “basil” seeds carefully, hoping to see them flourish. His soup definitely needed improvement, and this herb seemed to do the trick.

Rho heard him coming before he had even begun to cross the courtyard. He quietly prepared himself as he heard angry footfalls approaching the door to his chamber.

“Why did you let this happen to me?” Rho heard the yell from outside as Gwenot threw open the heavy wooden door. He slammed it forcefully, knocking a few relics from their precise places on the shelves to the hard floor. They clattered loudly, drowning out a few un-kingly words that Gwenot muttered aloud.

“I did not let anything happen. It was not my place to prevent these events,” Rho said, quietly taking a seat in a worn wooden chair.

“But you know how I feel about ruling this place. You know how little I wanted this and exactly why!”

“You’re right,” said Rho, “but I am equally aware of how much this kingdom needs you and your fresh, un-corrupted view on reality. I cannot be the one that gets in the way of so important a task.”

“Important…yeah, right.”

“Gwenot, this is not only important – is it imperative. I know that you will struggle with this for much of your life, as you already have, but as the son of Tiberion, you must accept it. There is very little choice in this matter and as the Gods have said specifically that your line is to remain in power, there is very little room for interpretation.”

“Not one loophole, huh?” Gwenot slumped into a thickly padded chaise and laid down, looking over at Rho who sat diagonally from him. Rho put his fingertips together and balanced his chin on them silently.

“And how does that make you feel?”

“What? I don’t know! I’m here for your advice, not for you to ask me silly questions! No what am I supposed to do?”

Gwenot sat up quickly and stared at the peaceful old man. He seemed to be unaffected by anything that went on around him, as if he lived alone in his own calm reality. Gwenot often wished he could find whatever it was Rho had that could make him feel so at peace all of the time – so in control all of the time, but he knew that on some level it must come with age and he wasn’t in any hurry to grow old.

“Your father ruled this kingdom very rigidly and the people have become embittered with their lack of personal freedoms. The tax laws, the curfews, the festival regulations – all of these restricted a way of life that the people had established long before he came to power. They feel like prisoners, Gwenot. But whenever you are around, see how their faces light up with joy. It is like you are their redeemer.”

“I don’t want to be their redeemer, Rho!” the reluctant king shouted a little louder than he’d intended.

Rho merely drew in a long, deep breath. “Then what is it that you do want?”

“I want to be free, I want to be happy! Without laws, without responsibilities or duties, without burdens! It is not my obligation to repair the mistakes of my father! I want the people to be happy, yes, but I don’t want that happiness to be dependent on every decision I make!” Gwenot threw his arms up into the air and slumped backward on the silken cushions. “I don’t want to be king…” he reiterated sullenly.

“But you must. You must.” Rho looked down his straight, long nose at him, but Gwenot refused to meet his eyes. Instead, the young king flung his legs over the edge of the chaise and stood up.

“If even you will not understand me, then what sort of a future is there for me here?” He lifted the golden circlet from beside him and clenched it tightly in one fist, glowering at it. “I rid myself of these chains that bind me. Goodbye, old friend.” He almost snarled his farewell, his teeth bared and his nostrils curled and flaring. Ferociously, he pitched the crown as hard as he could into the air and stormed out of the room, never once looking back or glancing at his mentor.

In the blink of an eye Rho’s hand shot up and snatched the crown as it passed over his head, but the old man was not angry nor was he distressed at the king’s sudden departure. He merely sat, watching the door, and smiled. “Go with the Gods.”

Dust swirled wildly in Gwenot’s wake as he stumbled down the dirt pathway that led into the village. Anger blurred his vision until shapes ran together and became indistinguishable. Many of the townspeople stopped and smiled broadly, congratulating him on becoming king, but the desperate elf barely noticed. Their shining faces only succeeded in igniting further pain within him. He felt that their happiness was only fueled by his lack of it - as if with their greedy fingers they had snatched it away from him - but he did not blame them. He only thought them selfish.

He had to find the one person he knew would understand. He had to find Rose.

He knocked forcefully on the wooden doorway until Rose’s mother answered. It was all he could do to contain himself.

“Why, Prince Gwenot,” she said breathlessly. “Oh, but it’s King now, isn’t it?” She smiled warmly at him and opened the door wider. “Would you like to come in?”

“Er, no, that’s all right,” he replied slowly, fighting to make himself stop shaking. “Is Rose home?”

“Why, she went into the woods to gather some things I need for supper. Would you like to stay and eat with us, Your Majesty?”

Gwenot frowned. “Since when are we so formal, Penola? Please, it’s just Gwen, like always.”

“Oh, but you’re a king now, my boy. It’s just not done to call the ruler of the land by his first name or even a nickname.”

The king sighed and had to stop himself from rolling his eyes. “I really need to find Rose right now.”

“Okay, then, you kids have fun,” Penola smiled knowingly before closing the door.

A few minutes later, Gwenot was racing through the trees, pushing branches out of his way and leaping over fallen logs and overzealous roots. He didn’t know why there was such urgency in him to find Rose right away, but when he could hear her clear, ringing laugh in the distance his legs pumped harder toward the sound. In her he could find solace from the rest of the world. Somehow, being with her made everything right.

Finally he neared the clearing by the river that they had claimed as their own safe haven, only to skid to a stop and duck down behind some dense brush. There was someone else with her - someone tall and muscular with dark hair and brooding eyes to match. Gwenot recognized the other man as Jenner, a wealthy farmer’s son from the neighboring village.

Immediately a blaze of jealous rage and frustration surged through the king as he watched the two of them gallivant through the shallow water, laughing and flirting with one another. The last straw was seeing Jenner plant his bulbous lips against Rose’s. Gwenot gave a strained cry and tore wildly out of the thicket. Thoughts of beating Jenner to a bloody pulp raced through his mind’s eye, but instead he found himself merely pushing the bigger man away. He grabbed Rose’s arm and forced her to face him.

“What are you doing?!” he demanded, his voice high with indignation.

“What do you mean, ‘what am I doing?’” Rose repeated. Her slender eyebrows knitted together in annoyance and she tried to pull away.

Her sharp response caught Gwenot off guard, and suddenly he wasn’t so sure of himself.

“What are you doing with him? I thought we were…” He swallowed, finding that his throat had gone dry.

“You thought we were what?” Rose retorted again. “We never said we were exclusive.”

The world seemed to stop. The only sound Gwenot was aware of outside of his labored breathing and intense heartbeat was the undercurrent of disdain in her voice. Everything seemed to be crashing down around him. All that he had been sure of in his life was a lie. It was too much for the young king to handle, and with a hideous roar of agony he pressed his palms flat against his temples as if to shut it all out – as if denying it would make it less real.

Rose’s expression abruptly changed to one of pity. It was obvious she hadn’t expected him to react like this at all, and she reached out a hand in a gesture of comfort.

Gwenot stared at her hand momentarily before shoving it away and racing clumsily through the water to the other side of the river and into the forest gloom.

“Gwenot, wait!” Rose’s voice called after him. But he was already out of hearing range.

First my parents, then Seth and Rho…now Rose, Gwenot thought to himself bitterly as he lay alone in a vast meadow looking up at the navy velvet sky bejeweled with stars. Everyone was against him. Everyone close to him had betrayed him in one way, shape, or form.

Didn’t anyone care what he thought or felt?

I can make them care, he added to himself, growing more angry and resolute by the minute. They want a king, I’ll be a king. But they’re not going to like it.

Suddenly he grinned to himself and sat up. That was it! If he couldn’t beat the system, if he truly was alone and all he had was the system, why not manipulate it to his advantage? He could be king without actually being king. And the best part of it was, no one could say anything to him about it because he was the king. Ultimately his word was law.

Losing Rose had been his biggest blow…but if he remained in the palace then he wouldn’t have to see her, and for the first time in his life he could focus on what he wanted. He had the power now, and he was going to use it.

The next morning found Gwenot lounging on his throne, crown perched jauntily on his unkempt head, legs thrown over one arm of the gilded seat, book in hand. At the end of the large, immaculate hall, a door opened and Seth strode in, not looking up from the parchment in his hands. It wasn’t until he began to ascend the steps to the throne that his eyes wandered to discover the newly crowned king enjoying a morning perusal of his favorite book. Obviously startled, the parchment fell from his hands and he gave a startled, “Oh!”

“Hello, Seth,” Gwenot smiled, turning another page in his book.

“Gwenot! I did not expect you to be up so….early.”

“Yes, well. Just thought I would catch up on my reading, you know. I never realized how comfortable this chair actually is. No wonder my father found it so pleasing to do everything from this very spot.”

“Reading? Anything good?”

“Dancing Damsels. Quite good actually… Very informative.”

Seth blushed a bit as Gwenot smiled mischievously. “Can I help you with something, Seth?”

“Well, yes, in fact,” Seth, visibly surprised at the question, retrieved the parchment from the steps and held it out to Gwenot. “We have some guests coming this afternoon to discuss the border issues with Paelia. Apparently there have been several soldiers that have scuffled about the boundary line between our province and theirs. There’s a sentry arriving later this afternoon with a small regiment to discuss the issue if you….”

Gwenot yawned audibly. “You know, Seth. That sounds like an awful bore. I don’t think I’ll be troubled by it today. Tell them to return tomorrow.”

“But, your highness, they-"

“That is my decision,” Gwenot interrupted. “Now. I need a bit of exercise after all this reading. I will take a short trip into the town and make a few surprise visits to some of my old friends. If you would be so kind-"

Gwenot removed his crown and placed it in Seth’s hand.

“Please put this somewhere safe. I wouldn’t want it to be tarnished in my absence. I shall return later this afternoon to do some more… ruling.”

With that, Gwenot walked out of the throne room, leaving Seth gaping after him.

Not the king he wants? Too bad. Beggars can’t be choosers, thought Gwenot as he sauntered out of the enormous hall.

Atop his favorite horse, Gwenot felt comfortable for the first time that morning. Though he had done his best to pretend his morning show for Seth was played with the greatest of ease, the weight of the crown on his head and the way the jewels in the arm of the throne had dug into his calves had served as annoying reminders that nothing about being royalty was comfortable. As his horse clomped through the streets, many stopped and bowed to him before waving frantically and greeting him quite informally.

As he proceeded to find his favorite tavern, however, murmuring around him grew steadily louder until just down the road he spotted the point of interest. A slow procession was following the road to the castle through the middle of the town. Several flags flew flamboyantly over the dozen people marching somberly down the lane and everyone around Gwenot chattered loudly.

“What’s going on, Rand?” Gwenot asked an older man to his left as he dismounted.

“Not sure. They’ve just come. No one seems to know what for, though,” the old man shrugged.

Gwenot held the reigns to his horse loosely in his hand and made his way toward the procession. As the individuals came into view, his mouth dropped to see the one leading the disturbance. A beautiful woman sat tall on a great white horse. Her dark hair fell in wavy tendrils around her shoulders and cascaded down her back in a graceful curve. Her eyes were fierce, but her body was the picture of elegance in a flowing emerald gown, trailing behind her and across the horse. Gwenot hastily mounted his horse and galloped to her, settling into a slow pace right next to her proud figure.

“Well, hello,” Gwenot smiled. There was no answer from the icy woman.

“Ahem,” Gwenot cleared his voice loudly. “I said, hello.”

Again, there was no response from the woman. Never before had Gwenot been denied attention from anyone. Beginning to become perturbed, he addressed the woman directly.

“What business have you in Leewynd, m’lady?”

Finally, the woman turned her gaze on Gwenot. “You are not the prince. I will tell you nothing.”

Gwenot laughed. “And how do you know I’m not the prince?”

“No member of royalty with any self respect would stoop to converse with the people as I noticed you doing. And no prince would receive a procession in the middle of the peasantry.” The woman gave a quick glance to Gwenot’s dusty clothes and horse. “And you’re filthy.”

With a final sneer, the woman returned her gaze forward and urged her horse on, leaving Gwenot behind. Never before had he been so offended by a stranger; never before had anyone not recognized him before he had even spoken a word. He stewed for a moment, his horse wandering momentarily to an apple vendor and helping himself to a bushel. After a few moments of complete confusion, Gwenot came back to reality to see the procession continuing down the road to the castle. Without wasting another moment, Gwenot spurred his horse sharply and took off for the castle through the woods.