Descendants of the Kings (Book 2)

Mister wolf and the little warrior 3

It had taken Callan far longer than he would have liked to finally return to Codshire. It had been a hellish burst of days, filled with unexpected work, and he'd anxiously counted down the days until he was free enough to escape to Codshire.

During that time, he'd not once stopped thinking of Elowen and Minna . It had been simultaneously maddening, yet dizzying. It had given him renewed strength to finish his duties, eager to return.

When he finally arrived at Codshire, he found the manor in a festive state. From his spot in the thickets surrounding the estate, he could observe the scene. The manor, lit up like a yule tree, with its windows lit up in cheery yellow. Cheerful titters resounded from every corner of the manor, inside and out. Party goers playing billiards, women chattering under pastel parasols, men smoking cigars under the shade of silks and cushions.

An explosion of gold and silver encompassed the scene. Servers dressed in gaudy and frilly neckpieces carried heavy trays laden with all sorts of exotic drinks and treats. Performers in flashy pieces twisted and danced for the fawning nobles. Tables laid with bright silks and perfectly manicured flowers in gold veined vases covered every inch, so much, that Callan wasn't sure how the guests even managed to converse with the wall of flowers between them.

The onslaught of noise, bright colours, smells and flashiness threatened to overwhelm him, and for a moment, he felt a small pang begin to throb in his temple.

Parties in faerie were known for being over the top and whimsical, but he hadn't realised how understated they were compared to this pomp. He could finally understand Minna's delight with Faerie parties, it was a far cry from whatever this circus was. It wasn't a place he could see anyone mingling or enjoying themselves. It was a barrage of overstimulation and thinly veiled competition.

It was Callan's handcrafted nightmare. A place where hermits like him went to die.

Grimacing, he worked past the noise and brightness grating against his senses and focused on finding Elowen. She had to be there somewhere, among the crowd coming and going around the manor. He reasoned she would be outside, playing with the children, though he couldn't see her by the show ponies, the older children playing billiards, or the girls playing dolls.

With a small frown, he waited patiently until finally, he caught sight of a head of bright blonde hair, working her way past the tumult of guests. A smile worked its way over his lips as he watched her unceremoniously push her way past the crowd and finally emerge into the expansive lawns.

Gone were the mud stains and the twigs in knotted hair. This time, her soft, bouncy curls had been worked into corkscrew sausage curls, pinned back into tight severity by a giant pink bow. It matched the ruffly dress she kept scowling and tugging at.

He held in a small laugh, as she finished tugging on the offending garment and ran towards the thicket with a determined expression, like a spy on a mission. Before she could make much headway, she was stopped by a girl at the table set up for children, calling her over.

Elowen stood by with a poorly concealed grimace and her arms crossed across her chest. "Yes, Cordelia?"

"Are you going to come to play with us, Elowen?" A blonde girl called, as she petted her doll's hair. Her little face scrunched up in a smile that was eerily vicious for such a young child. "Or are you too busy playing with bugs and imaginary ghosts?"

On cue, all the other little girls tittered loudly. Clearly, it was anything but an invitation to play.

Elowen bristled and balled up her fists. "I told you, they're not ghosts, they're real!"

"No, they aren't!" Another girl piped up. "Faeries aren't real, they don't come here! My sister says you're making it up because you haven't got any friends." This earned another round of titters and voiced agreement from the girls.