The royal library was quiet besides the soft rustle of pages turning and the distant sound of servants sweeping. The towering shelves, intricately carved with the symmetrical, angular knots well known to the human kingdom of Ardenholm, were lined with tomes that chronicled the more well-known histories of said kingdom with its militaristic exploits and its close ties to the Solaran Faith that seems to be the guiding hand of this country. The library had become one of Atheril Thaloris’s safe havens in the months she’d come to live in Ardenholm. She had decided a while ago to study magic and history under her father as he serves as King Magnus’s magical advisor and dignitary of House Thaloris.

She was beginning to hate it.

Atheril sat cross-legged on the polished wooden floor, her brows furrowed in concentration as she conjured a shimmering bubble of pale blue light around herself. The bubble wavered, the edges flickering erratically before the entire bubble collapsed on her with a faint pop. She suppressed a groan, not wanting to get into trouble with the librarian again, and pressed her palms together before her, forcing herself to focus.

“Come on,” she muttered to herself. “Just ten seconds. That’s all I ask…”

In the kingdom of Ardenholm, Atheril and her father stood out for a number of reasons, the primary being that her father was an Elf, and she was a half-elf. As such, her father’s connection to the Otherworld gifted him with the ability to bend the energy around them and conjure forth Magic. Being half-blooded, however, meant that Athi’s connection to magic was tenuous at best, and her control over what she could conjure was severely limited. She envied her father and her full-blooded kin, for where Magic flowed through their veins, thrumming like a second heartbeat, for her, it was more akin to a petulant child that she had to babysit and coax into behaving. For Atheril, every spell was a battle against her own limitations, a war between her human and elven heritage, but with each shield she conjured, it felt like a small triumph, even if it lasted mere seconds.

She tried again, carefully clearing the area around her of the stacks of books as her hands glowed once more, and the bubble flickered back to life. Its surface rippled like an agitated pond, but as she held her concentration, it began to stabilize, and hope sparked in her chest. However, just as quickly as it stilled into being, it dissolved, leaving her staring at empty air once more.

Irritated and unbothered at how unladylike it was, Atheril flopped backward on the floor, giving up for the day as her head conked against the solid wooden ground beneath her. She blew a strand of her white-blonde hair out of her face and tucked it behind her short, pointed ears as she glared up at the pitched ceiling and the beams that supported it over her head. She had been practicing the basic shield since she arrived, and while she had gotten much further than her father had expected her to, she considered herself severely behind in terms of skill. If she had stayed in Eryndor and studied at the College of Magi there like she had planned originally, she would be the laughingstock of her class. She knew that magic was about patience and precision, but she didn’t share the long lifespan that a full-blooded elf did.

Atheril did not have the luxury of several centuries to learn to master her craft, unlike her kin. At best, she had a single century to get it right, and she had already seen her twentieth birth-day.

“I certainly wouldn’t lay on the ground like that, Lady Atheril,” a playful voice drawled somewhere above her.

Atheril craned her neck to see the familiar thin face of Finnian, her only friend in this podunk country and one of the few humans who hadn’t shied away from her magic. She grinned as he leaned against his broom, a mischievous smirk playing on his lips.

She rolled over and sat up as she tossed her waves of hair back over her shoulder, sputtering out the strands of white that caught in her mouth. “Divine’s above, don’t call me that,” she groans lightly. “You know I hate the stiff formalities of this place.”

Finn’s smirk grew to a full-lopsided grin as he ran his fingers through his fluffy dark hair. “Oh, but it suits you so well, My Lady. It’s very noble. Very proper.”

Atheril groaned exaggeratedly, rolling her eyes. “I’m going to gag!”

A symphony of ‘shhh!’ and ‘hush it!’ meets their ears, and the pair share a quiet giggle.

“Surely you didn’t come all this way to poke fun at my subpar magic,” Atheril mused quietly.

Finn rolled his eyes, but there was no bite in the action. “Oh, please, Athi. I am many things, but a bully isn’t one of them.” Athi raised a sharp brow at the remark, and Finn grinned, holding one hand to his chest and one to swear. “Honest; on my servant honor!”

Athi chuckled as she began to clean up her mess, still not believing her friend. “Alright then, oh, honorable one. What is it you need from me that’s so important that it would take you from your duties?”

“I assure you, I am a fantastic multi-tasker,” Finn quipped. “But, to answer your question, your dearest father was looking for you. I figured I’d be a good friend and deliver the message before he sees fit to send the guard after you.”

Athi’s shoulders slumped at the news, and the mirth between died in an instant. “Of course, he’d need me for something,” she sighed. “Alright, I’ll go see what he wants this time. Thank you, Finn.”

As she finished cleaning up her books, Finn leaned against one of the library tables, his gaze drifting to one of the scattered magical diagrams. “You’re rather dedicated to the whole ‘shield’ thing, aren’t you? Why not focus on something a little flashier?”

Athi raised a brow with a playful smirk. “I believe you are the flashier of us, Finn.”

He smirked, giving her a dismissive wave. “You could absolutely dazzle us puny little magic-less humans with explodey balls of fire, streaks of lighting, summoning tsunamis. You know, assert dominance instead of blowing bubbles all day.”

She shook her head, pretending not to be offended by his dismissive tone. “It isn’t about showing off; it’s about protecting the weak,” she said, glaring at him. “Besides, it’s something Father is good at. Though we may not get along most days, there is one thing he’s told me that I can agree wholeheartedly on.”

“Never look down the chamber of a loaded man?”

Athi scoffed. “What? No. A strong defense is the foundation of any battle.” She blinked at him, having finally processed his words. “What does that even mean?”

Finn shrugged, his smile clouded as he gave a half answer. “It’s an Ardenholmin turn of phrase,” he said absently.

“That sounds entirely made up.”

To her surprise, he doesn’t respond with another quip right away. Instead, his brows furrowed in thought.

She stood, brushing off her long tunic. “Are you alright, Finn?”

He blinked, his eyes finding Athi’s once more, and he offered a small smile. “Of course I am. And anyway, it might be best not to push yourself too hard. You are half-human, after all; you don’t have to be perfect.”

Athi studied him for a long moment before slinging her satchel over her shoulder. “I’m not trying to be perfect,” she replied, deciding to let his odd pause go. “I’m just trying to be good enough.”

He gave her a sympathetic smile as he gestured for her to walk with him, handing a servant his broom before they walked through the castle’s sprawling halls. Many servants bustled past them, giving Athi polite bows and curtsies, and Athi greeted them politely, doing her best to hide the distaste it gave her that they would bow to her.

Finn had paused when they reached the doors to Athi’s father’s study, his usual playful smile returning. “Good luck,” he said with a wink. “And try not to bite his head off.”

Athi gave him a playful smile in return. “I’ll do my best not to, but I will make no such promises.”

She knocked on the heavy oak as Finn hurried down the hall before she entered, stepping inside to see her father sitting behind his desk with a quill in hand and a mountain of paperwork sprawled around him.

Vaelir Thaloris, ever the picture of authority, hardly looked up as she stepped inside and closed the door. His long white hair was tied back with a simple ribbon, his golden eyes narrow, and he scrutinized the parchments before him as his quill scratched along the rough surface.

“Atheril,” he greeted, his voice calm and measured in the way she often heard when he addressed a subordinate. “I was expecting you.”

Athi put on her best formal smile for her father. “Finn said you were looking for me,” she replied, her tone polite despite the sinking feeling in her stomach.

“I wanted to inform you that you will be attending the Knighting Ceremony with me at the end of the month,” he said, leaving no room for an argument.

Athi’s stomach dropped further. “What? Why?”

“You will be meeting with other nobles there,” Vaelir said, glancing up at last from his work and fixing Athi with a sharp gaze. “It will be an opportunity to strengthen ties with the elite of Ardenholm and a chance to form a partnership with one of the powers that be.”

Athi’s jaw tightened, her fists clenched in her hands. “And by strengthening ties,” she said, her voice even, “you mean throwing me at some traditionalists for a political game.”

Vaelir’s expression did not waver, though his eyes softened if only a little. “We all have our parts to play, Thalai. Where mine is to be a guiding hand for the King, you-”

“-are meant to be breeding stock for a human noble?” Athi supplied with a cutting smile.

Vaelir’s cordial expression slid to one of exasperation as he placed his quill in the inkwell and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Astraen renivae ael…” he muttered, and Athi bristled.

“Apologies, father,” Athi spat, “if my refusal to play in these political games is causing you distress. I was under the impression that I was here to train under your tutelage in the ways of magic, not parade around like some sniveling noblewoman begging for a prince to come marry me.”

“Thalai, you are my daughter,” Vaelir replied firmly, “and a representative of Eryndor and, by extension, of House Thaloris. I may not be the head of house, but my word here to you is final, and our work important. I have granted you plenty more leniency than your cousins back home have been given-”

“Leniency?” Athi interrupted, appalled. “I am to be dressed as the Tharil women of this country, wear their clothes, style my hair with their braids, speak as they do, all for their comfort!” Athi was pacing now, her hands moving erratically. “When I agreed to come here, you promised me, promised me, that it would just be for my studies, but now you wish to parade me about like some little puppet?”

“And what, pray tell, have you learned from your studies?” Vaelir replied, his voice cold. “Have you mastered your basic shield? Are you certain that it could withstand the strike of a blade or of an arrow?”

She recoiled from his words as though struck, her brows knitting. “I-”

“We have a duty to our people, Atheril,” Vaelir continued. “I agreed to tutor you because I saw merit in you learning about our allies, yet you’ve befriended a single servant and have made little progress on your studies.” He sighed, straightening in his seat and fixing his daughter with a tired, watchful eye. “I am not asking you to be wed at the end of the month. I want you to broaden your horizons and attempt to make friends with some of the nobles here.”

Athi glared down at the marble floor below her, her fists clenched as she knew better than to continue arguing. “Fine,” she relented. “May I be dismissed now?”

Vaelir watched her carefully, a weary expression on his face before he nodded. “You may go.”

Vaelir nodded. “You may go.”

She turned on her heel and marched out, careful not to slam the door behind her as she let out a frustrated huff. Not far down the hall was Finn, pretending to look busy as he polished a singular spot next to a column. Catching sight of her, he raised a brow as she approached.

“That sounded like a fun conversation,” he noted.

Athi did not hold back. “He’s wanting me to vet a husband at the Knighting Ceremony,” she snapped. “As if forcing me into a political marriage is the only way to keep the tenuous peace between our nations and keep them from ripping each other to shreds.”

Finn let out a low whistle as he walked with her, his polish rag over his shoulder. “Welcome to the world of Ardenholmian politics,” he sighed. “Want me to help you fake your death? Oh, I know; I can kidnap you, and we can run off to Eryndor and live our lives as subpar magicians!”

Despite her frustration, Athi chuckled, swatting Finn’s arm. “However tempting that may be, I’m afraid I’ll have to decline. As much as I hate this, I’m afraid Father isn’t without his reasons.”

Finn raised a brow at her, confused. She paused, wondering how much of her thought process she should let him in on. “I fear that if I try to run away from this without understanding what exactly is going on, it will result in rather poor results,” Athi said carefully.

He watched her carefully, his brows furrowed in thought, before he sighed, nodding. “I understand,” he relented with a sigh. “It sounds to me like you need a break from politics and something sweet to chew on.” He waggled his brows at her as he added, “Or someone sweet to chew on.”

Athi laughed, swatting him on the arm again as they made their way through the halls. “Oh please, if I could find a woman here half as sweet as you, I may die happy.”

Finn pretends to swoon. “Woe is me that I am not a woman, nor are you a man!”

Athi giggled, “How cruel of the stars to only bless us as platonic soulmates! Come, my dearest friend, let us make for the markets and drown our woes with useless trinkets and baubles!”