The Kindreds, Volume 1

Thirteenth, Pt. 3

.  .  .

Caprius

The King over the Elves of the Wood paced at the head of the throne room, stalking back and forth beneath the empty throne that hung suspended from the ceiling by the roots it grew from. He flicked his long, golden cape dramatically as he spun on his heel; occasions like these were the only times he would cover his body with so much heavy fabric. Though the spun butterfly silk could hardly be called that, it still felt restricting. As did the auburn silk shirt he wore beneath it. He preferred feeling the air on his skin, Elt's breath. Being separated from it made him feel disconnected. He rolled his shoulders and plucked at his collar, trying to make the fabric fall more naturally. It was no good, it still felt just as disgusting on his skin. He needed a distraction.

"Servant!" he called, snapping. "Bring me a scrysi."

One of the women waiting along the wall immediately went to retrieve the scrysi. She returned with a rather small one, only as large as his torso, but it would have to do. He bid her to hold it up so that he could look into it. A scrysi was a frame of wood or stone or some other material—this one was of gold, of course—with a sheet of water suspended within it using magick. When one looked into it, they could see their own reflection, like bending over a puddle. It was quite a marvelous invention. One of the only human ideas (of course they had invented it, the vain creatures) that the Spiritkin had chosen to retain.

As Caprius waited for his prisoners to arrive for their trial, he looked into the scrysi, admiring his reflection. It was wonderful, of course. None would deny it. He adjusted his crown so that it sat just behind his frontmost braids. Typically he wore them loose, but for the occasion he'd had one of the servants tie back the top half. They'd insisted he leave a couple of braids out to frame his face, and he supposed they had been right on that front. It looked very elegant; very kingly. And it displayed the length of his hair, and therefore his power.

It was very good indeed. He couldn't wait to see the faces of the mortal brothers when they beheld him, their judge, captor, and potential executioner. He almost wished his council would be here to witness their trial. The old men had certainly vied to be included, but Caprius knew that they only wished to meddle, not observe. They were too used to his father's rule, to set in their ways, the old ways. He really ought to replace them.

They were ancient and therefore wise, and yet they also viewed him as too youthful to rule. He knew that half of them would have voted to rule in his stead if the choice were theirs. He was just lucky that they held to rules so strictly, and that the rules of the monarchy clearly stated that Caprius, as the late King Dikaelios's only eligible heir, inherit the throne immediately upon his father's death. And so he had, and so the council members could go on whining and mumbling about his age. Though if they kept at it, he might order them removed from his council. Or their heads from their bodies.

That was a funny thought, but he knew he could never do such. He thought he could fight in battle if the need arose, and certainly he was skilled with his bow—it was what he was known for across Elt—but killing someone in cold blood was different. And as much as he desired to do it when he grew angry, he knew he would never release the arrow he held at the ready in his mind. He didn't agree with his father that a good king was temperate—passion was necessary for all things, most of all rule—but he did hold to the belief that a king should not murder unnecessarily. He would be no better than the Orcs or the Blood Elves then.

Dirty creatures.

"They have arrived, my king," his herald announced from the entrance to the throne room.

Speaking of dirty creatures, Caprius thought, grinning.

"Send them in," he called, dismissing the servant as he strode purposefully toward his throne. It was large and crafted of the Tree's roots, brought up through the trunk to be woven into a throne for the first King over the Elves of the Wood. Over the years, it had been gilded, and sigils had been carved into the gold, as had been done throughout the throne room. And when Caprius had taken it up as his seat, he had ordered antlers to be formed from the wall behind the throne. Now when subjects or visitors or prisoners like the ones he now received looked upon his throne, they looked upon antlers as tall as the room itself crowning him, twin to the crown upon his head.