Of all the people to encounter at the late queen's grave, December had not expected to come across the king at this hour.
"Asie, I miss you," cascading droplets of his tears land in the soil at the foot of the the cairn. "The children miss you," his head is bowed low and his voice is husky with grief.
December itches with an inexplicable urge to comfort the king in this vulnerable state. Her eyebrows knit together when he continues.
"I keep Aelfgift around because she reminds me of..." the king lets his voice trail off. "She's called December amongst the servants but I can't help but think you might affectionately call her Elfie, if she were ours..." he sighs heavily. "Asie? Why did--" December steps on a broken twig.
She gasps in horror when the king suddenly pauses to look around himself. The young servant freezes in fear when they lock eyes. The king's confused gaze hardens when he sees it is December flinching before him. The servant girl swallows hard when he stands. She shakily falls to her knees and bows low.
"Forgive me, your majesty," December trembles. "I--"
"Rise, little one," the king interjects, his expression unreadable. "What chores at this hour should you attend?"
"Laundry, milord."
"Is it finished?" he asks, eyebrow arching inquisitively.
"Yes, milord."
"Why are you here?" he kneels down to her eye level. "Should you not turn to Farrah for tasks in your down time?"
"I--" December swallows hard. "I was afraid, milord, of going to her. I... uh..." the servant looks down, "I fought with her son about Asenka, your majesty."
The king stands straighter and looks down on her, seemingly unimpressed.
"Oh?"
"I-- yes... your majesty."
December's cheeks burn with shame. She desperately looks upward.
"Was Queen Aseneth actually my mother?" December bursts. "I thought Farrah was coming up with stories to make me feel better about my adoption."
The king stiffens. He turns his gaze down and away from the trembling servant. Hollow envy rests on his lips at the mention of her adoption. December is such a strong-willed, naturally powerful little girl-- she would have made a good princess if only.... Her body shape, her voice, her justice-oriented temperament are all her mother's-- it is only her face and her coloring that demarcate her from her half-siblings.
If only December looked like him, the king might have been proud to call her his daughter. Resentment begins to thicken on his tongue. The servant girl watches in fear as his fists clench and unclench. December whimpers anxiously.
"Do you know your true name, December?" the king ignores her questions, ready to answer them in his own way.
"N-no."
"I did not name you December Fifth Aseneth, as Farrah calls you. I named you Aelfgift Rainleslao FitzAseneth. Illegitimate daughter of Archduke Rainleslao of Gearthan and Queen Aseneth of Ethergaard-- a false gift."
The king sees her face falling and wonders if he ought to take her into the palace and have a long talk with her. Indecision slackens his, otherwise, regal posture. After nine years of watching her develop, a seed of sympathy has grown-- despite the torrential storm of anger and confusion within his heart.
"Do you prefer December?" the king offers, at last.
December looks up, and rubs at her eyes to keep them from spilling over with tears. A steady stream of tears however breaks from her crumbling face. The king stoops and reluctantly dries her tears with the cuff of his sleeve. The servant girl stiffens at the touch for several heartbeats, the stream of tears coming to a temporary halt. Before he can pull away she suddenly erupts with an outrageous display of courage. She throws her arms around the king, effectively enveloping in a hug-- despite everything between them-- despite everything they dislike about each other.
"I do prefer December," she splutters, "But you can call me Aelfie, if you want to."
The king sighs heavily, not offering any other form of response. He does, however, stiffly return the hug, granting the servant girl the most fatherly hug she has ever received in her life. She admittedly has never received any form of affection that could even resemble the love of a father before now. Even though it is awkward and somewhat cold, December imagines how comforting and warm the real thing must feel.
"Come with me, little one," the king sighs heavily, after a moment. "I would like to have words with Farrah about your upbringing."
*****
A watchful Mountain Elf observes Peter curiously from her perch in a nearby elm. Peter is enviously tending to the knights' horses, looking around longingly. The elf tilts her head as she watches. This boy, she realizes, is not a warrior-- like he longs to be-- like the other boys in the field.
The elf studies him carefully. Ashy blond hair and glassy blue eyes gleam in the afternoon sunlight-- a sure indication of Fae blood. Not all Faeborns are blond and blue-eyed but all with white-blond hair and translucent blue eyes are Faeborn. His ears also come to a graceful elven-point but not nearly as much as a purebred elf's would. So far, he matches the Regent's description almost exactly; this child could be the one.
The elf elegantly releases her grip of the branch and lights to the ground. She approaches Peter very cautiously. The servant boy doesn't see her coming at first. He starts in shock when she nudges his shoulder from behind.
Peter has never seen an elf before, of any variety. The Mountain Elves are especially eccentric in appearance, however, with naturally clay-red skin and squash-yellow eyes and charcoal-black hair. She looks something like a human corn snake to the young servant boy. Most off-setting of all, however, she doesn't look to be any older than Peter.
"Excuse me," the Mountain Elf tilts her head. "Might you be just under 125 moons old?"
"Uhm..."
"About ten years old?" the elf clarifies.
"...Who wants to know?" Peter steps back nervously.
"My name is Glefena," the elf bows her head. "I'm a scout, sent from Rosengrella."
"The Mountain Elves?" Peter questions. "What business do you have talking to me? I'm just a servant."
"You are a servant!? To whom?" the elf's yellow eyes brighten like sunshine.
"The king, of course," Peter shrugs.
"The rumors are true!" the elf cries. "You did survive! Aelfgift, you must come back with me at once. We desperately need your presence in Rosengrella. The Regent needs you to reclaim the throne you were born for."
"...Born for? But I was born under a valiant war hero and a--"
"Yes, I know!" Glefena interrupts and tugs at his arm. "Follow me, Aelfgift. I'll take you home!"
