Realms of Infamy - James Lowder [11]
Yet something about her often struck Elaith as too… human. That was the only word for it. Despite her merry nature, the princess displayed the intensity of purpose and singular focus usually associated with that vigorous, shortlived race. Battlecraft was her passion, and she divided her spare time between her swordmaster and the war wizard who tutored her in battle magic.
Remembering the source of his ire, Elaith set Amnestria down and prepared to castigate her swordmaster. The older elf, however, had discreetly slipped out of the clearing and was heading down the forest path, sympathy and nostalgia etched on his angular face.
Amnestria noted his departure and wrinkled her nose. "My teacher is deserting me before I'm ready to stop," she said. "Let's have a match!"
"A princess does not fence with the captain of the king's guard," Elaith said in the patient, gentle tone he used rather frequently with the girl.
She dimpled, and her eyes mocked him. "You're just afraid that I'll best you, and then Father will turn your job over to me!"
"The guard exists to protect you, my dear princess, not employ you. No member of the royal house has ever served in the ranks, and you're not likely to change things," he reminded her. "The king has too much regard for tradition."
Amnestria responded with an inelegant snort. "Tell me something I don't know!"
"You misread me, damia," Elaith said earnestly, using an elven endearment directed to sweethearts or children. "I meant no disrespect to the king."
"Of course not." Amnestria sighed heavily, but her dancing eyes still teased him. "That would be hoping for too much."
"What do you mean?" His tone was sharper now.
"You're a dear, Elaith, but sometimes I worry for you." She paused, reflecting. "It's the hardest thing to explain," she mused.
"Make an attempt," he requested coolly.
"You're always so proper, and you follow the rules as if they were graven in alabaster. You're-" Amnestria broke off, clearly at loss for an explanation. Her slender hands milled in small circles as if she could create an air current strong enough to draw out the right words. "You're… you're such an elf."
"Of course, damia," he agreed, a little amusement creeping back into his voice. "What else would I be?"
"But don't you ever think about all this?" she persisted with the earnestness of the very young. Her slender hand traced an arc in the direction of the nearby palace, the wondrous moonstone castle that was the very heart of Evermeet. "I've never heard you wonder why, or question, or challenge anything. You just do whatever's expected, and you do it better than anyone else. You're the consummate elf," she repeated. Her natural effervescence asserted itself, and the golden lights in her eyes danced like giddy fireflies. "An elf's elf. The very epitome of elfdom," she elaborated, then bubbled over into giggles.
With another lightening change of mood, the girl snatched up her sword and whirled on her betrothed. "Fight with me!" The words were half request, half demand.
Elaith made her a formal bow. "But Your Highness, is that not what we are doing?" The glint of humor in his amber eyes belied his words, and Amnestria let out another peal of laughter.
"I suppose we are." She struck a pose straight out of an ancient, illustrated tome: sword tip resting on the ground before her, one elegant hand extended. "My lord, let us make peace. You are my silver knight, and I your only love," she said, mimicking the courtly language of an elven legend.
Responding in kind, Elaith bent low over her hand and pressed it to his lips. With a sudden flash of insight, he realized that despite her lighthearted game Amnestria spoke simple truth. He loved this child-woman with all his heart. He averted his eyes from her frank gaze, lest