Page 7 of Crown of Ellova: Vol 1

When my great-great-grandmother forged the crown it glowed, alive with magic, delicate leaves overlapping each other to form the golden circlet, the ancient fae language carved into it.

A crown that cannot be removed until death.

Even if there were a painting of Queen Inara, it would have been a lie. King Drystan made his beautiful wife wear a glamour ring to hide her fae appearance. Much like every full moon, the urge to set Drystan’s painting on fire persists in me as we walk to my vendor table.

Music plays softly around us, the ballroom warmer with the massive fireplaces on each side. On one side of the ballroom are the dais and stage, where the royal family will sit and the evening performances are held. Plenty of room for dancing and merriment in the middle, and on the other side the merchants and vendors are setting up.

Twenty other artisans and royal merchants from the King’s Trove stand next to their luxury items, setting up for the rush of sales the beginning of the night brings. My small table standsnearest the main doors, the farthest corner from the dais. I am the last of the artisans to arrive and quickly lay out everything I have to sell. The most important piece I have with me is the delicate sapphire tiara I made for Princess Lyrora. She and I have rarely spoken for an extended period of time but I know she will look divine in it.

A clock on the wall strikes, signaling the start of the King’s Bazaar, just as the last of the jewelry is laid out on silk tablecloths. The doors burst open, bringing in the harsh winds and a steady stream of courtiers as they rush to the tables, eager to spend the copious coins they did not earn.

I take a deep breath and wait for Leon.

Excited women approach my table, loudly selecting their favorites. The wealthiest among them arrive wearing no jewelry but stop at my booth first to purchase the best pieces before continuing deeper into the ballroom to show off their new treasures. Well-kept hands grab for ruby rings with tiny diamonds swirling around a stone from the deepest mines in Ellova. Sapphire or emerald earrings atop golden star hooks are snatched up, and delicate necklaces strung with obsidian, garnet, topaz, or blue pearls fished from the Elbasan Sea are fought over before the buyers thanklessly toss me their coin bags. The more advantageous shoppers purchase multiple items.

After an hour or so, my table holds a diminishing supply, all the best pieces sold. I assist the last few women shopping, but my eyes move around the crowd, hoping Leon will appear.

Bells chime, the nobility abruptly halting their dancing to turn towards the dais at the back of the room to await their king, silence settling over the crowd.

Trumpets blast a moment later, signaling the arrival of the Fasaile royal family and with them the only man I’ve ever cared about. First to appear is Princess Lyrora, youngest of the royal siblings, both living and dead. She sits on her iron-wheeled throne, her head held high. Her handsome guard pushes her up a small ramp and brings her next to her father’s empty and extravagant throne.

“The prince has returned!” A delighted voice carries around the room with it an echo of cheers.

I was unaware Prince Grayden had gone anywhere.

The quiet ballroom is once again filled with shouts and well wishes. A woman near me yells, “Welcome home!” as Grayden ascends the dais with his wife, walking slightly in front of her, never offering the Crown Princess Erenia assistance up the stairs or acknowledging her presence.

Princess Erenia wears the same bored expression she always does. Her long, midnight-black hair is twisted in intricate braids around the crown of her head. Her dark lipstick stands out against her pale skin, only highlighting her frozen frown.

In the ten years I’ve sold jewelry in this room, I’ve never seen her smile. Given she’s married to Prince Grayden, I imagine she has little here to bring her happiness.

He’s lanky with thinning blond hair and a blond beard kept short. Cold gray eyes scanning the crowd do little to disguise his disdain for the evening. He takes his seat on a smaller throne next to his father’s on the opposite side of his sister.

He ignores her too.

Flowers rarely grow here but the ones that do are being wasted as they are thrown onto the edge of the dais in preparation for their king.

King Jedrick hobbles in with Leon and my heart speeds up, overwhelmed with his strikingly beautiful features. Leon has an essence about him, something I could never quite put words to, this pull towards him. One night a month has never been enough; I leave here aching for a few more moments from him.

What started as a silly little crush two years ago has bloomed into a connection so intense it leaves me breathless.

My desire for a future with him taunts me, teases me. Pathetic hope and bitter yearning have become a constant shadow while I walk these castle halls.

Just seeing him soothes something deep within me.

Everything I want is trapped in a place I cannot stay, with a mortal I cannot keep.

Leon’s attire is basic for his role here, black leather boots over black breeches. Going down his spine is a tightly laced vest showing off his broad shoulders. Half of his hair is tied at the back of his head. The rest brushes his lower neck, a few gray streaks throughout his black hair.

At King Jedrick Fasaile’s arrival, the crowd bows immediately while he slowly moves towards his seat, clutching a golden cane with a large gemstone for a handle as he stumbles towards his throne, leaning most of his weight on Leon.

Leon gently helps King Jedrick to sit on the pile of cushions laid on the throne as he takes gasping breaths after such a short walk. The frail Adreanian king coughs loudly, covering his mouth with a white handkerchief, before he leans back into the chair to close his eyes. He was once blond like his children but now his hair is gray like his sallow skin.

My handsome healer glances towards the back of the ballroom where I am and we make brief eye contact before he returns to King Jedrick, the stolen fae crown stuck on his head.

Jedrick wearing it disgusts me and I cannot stop the curl of my lip at the sight of the dark circlet on his unworthy head. His ancestor, Drystan Fasaile, was the reason for the war between the fae and the mortals, each side fighting for the crown Jedrick now wears. The crown my great-great-grandmother, Alvina, forged for a fae queen whom the mortals betrayed so long ago.

The mortal King Drystan murdered his fae wife, Queen Inara, the dearest friend of my great-great-grandmother, Alvina the Forger, and Nueena’s ancestor Zarella, the first Realm Keeper of Ellova.

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