The Saintess and the Villainess

A Tale of Two Princes - Chapter 8

Elyon had felt increasingly overwhelmed and disoriented every moment since they'd entered the palace. That was nothing new. That was just what the palace did to him. He could keep it under control, for the most part. At least well enough to function. To do what he needed to do. He was confident of that.

But then he and Sebastian had been separated and Elyon had dissolved into outright panic.

"Stop that!" Elyon barked, wriggling away from the pawing hands of the servants attempting to help him dress. The part of him that would have been horrified by his own rudeness was small and quiet compared to his sudden desperate need to not be touched. "Go away!"

It was inarticulate, but effective. The servants left him, alone and half-naked in a small dressing room. He sat down heavily on a cushioned bench, his head in his hands, and tried his best to breathe, but it felt like there was no air in the room.

I never should have brought him.

It was one of the few clear threads in the tangled web of his frantic thoughts. This was a fool's errand, pointless and stupid, and he never should have brought Sebastian with him. All the reasons he'd had for bringing him—wanting to continue their conversation from the previous night, not wanting to go to the palace alone, not wanting Sebastian to get himself into trouble back at camp—seemed entirely inadequate now that Sebastian had been taken off somewhere alone, in a palace full of bored and powerful snakes who could never be bothered to care about the consequences of their actions.

Elyon was supposed to be different. He was supposed to hold himself to a higher standard. He was supposed to think about things like consequences. He was supposed to be better.

I never should have brought him.

Elyon wasn't sure how long he spent sitting alone in that tiny room, pulling himself together, but he was sure it was too long. He wasn't doing anyone, least of all Sebastian, any good by hiding away like this. He had to get dressed and go out to the party. It was his only choice. And Elyon hoped to the goddess that Sebastian would be there, and not... added to some courtier's collection of interesting exotic animals or something.

The servants had left a set of formal elven robes, neatly folded on top of the dressing table next to his official princely circlet—which was kept here in the palace and only brought out for special occasions.

Elyon had no deficit of skill or physical ability that would make it difficult for him to dress himself. But it was difficult, anyway, for reasons more mental or emotional than anything else. He hated elven silk. The overly smooth, overly light, disgusting softness of it made him want to gag when he touched it. It was even worse wearing it, feeling the awful tingling brushes of it moving against his skin, constantly unexpected and constantly overwhelming. It was awful. Elyon vastly preferred the reassuring weight of his well-fitted and practical forest leathers.

But Elyon forced himself into the robes anyway, carefully cinching them around his waist in the fashionable way. He had dealt with this sort of discomfort before. He could manage, for now.

By the time he arrived in the moon wing of the palace, the party was already in full swing and there was plenty to distract him from his uncomfortable clothes. The familiar sights, sounds, and smells of the revelries assaulted him from every side, driving him immediately into a corner where he could try to shield his senses from the worst of it.

Unsurprisingly, no one tried to talk to him. He had been gone too long to have any friends left in court. And the kinds of people still willing to attend his father's nightly parties were not the kinds of people who would have any interest in becoming acquainted with the famously, boringly practical Prince Elyon.