Brightest Stars | Love of Royals: Book I

XXII: The Star Prize

Reluctantly, Thranduil and I release each other's lips and let air flood back into our lungs.  I'm too exhilarated to think about anything other than him, only him, the one who makes me feel the most alive.  However, my mind is suddenly shaken by the sound of footsteps in the meeting room on the other side of the wall, which sends me spiralling back to the present. 

'We must stop, meleth nín.'  Thranduil's words are barely audible over the voices conversing loudly nearby.

'We're wasting time, aren't we?' I say breathlessly, my face only inches away from Thranduil's neck.

He chuckles softly, while his hand continues to fondle the elaborate braid adorned in my mass of hair.  'I usually have all the time in the world, and as soon as I have a four hour deadline, I start doing this!' he smirks, 'as much as I want to continue, we do in fact have a meeting to attend.  If Tauriel's as efficient as usual, everyone should be here by now.'

It takes so much to tear my body away from his. In fact, I take care to stand extremely close to him as we walk—not just for my own pleasure, but for protection. In the next room will be an assortment of ellons and elleths alike, the majority of whom will be wealthy Sindar, who most likely resent my presence and relationship with Thranduil. I won't even start on Avalor and his family, whom I can completely guarantee will be in there too.

Thranduil squeezes my hand with one of his, and with the other he pushes open the vine patterned door to the meeting room. The moment we pass over the threshold, an abrupt silence falls.

The room is relatively plain besides the large oval table in the centre, which is surrounded by about thirty chairs, all but two of which are occupied. Avadhil is slumped against the back of his chair, practically radiating boredom across the room.  Until upon seeing me, that is, when he tenses slightly, and glances to his older brother sat on his right.  Avalor, also obviously tense, is busy pretending to find his own fingernails extremely interesting.  Every other elf—including a scowling Tavalon—just stops and stares at us, and for a moment I feel almost majestic, stood by the side of a great king; then I remember what we're here for.

'Before you all rush to accuse Elena,' Thranduil begins, his rich voice blossoming in the silent air, 'I advise you take a moment to assess what you plan to say, for as of yet, none of you know the full story.'

Forcing myself not to gaze at him appreciatively, I follow Thranduil to the two vacant chairs at one head of the table, and seat myself on his right. On his left is Legolas, whose blue eyes, though darker than Thranduil's, are piercing spirals of emotion. I'm probably fighting a losing battle to keep myself looking composed, but I'm still unable to banish the sickly thoughts infecting my mind: what if some of the elves here end up dead because of me? What if something happens to Thranduil because of me?

No one responds verbally to Thranduil's statement, but I do see a few elves exchanging glances, Avalor and Avadhil included. The two brothers seem to be making it their priority to avoid eye contact with anyone other than each other. As I scan the room to distract myself from the agonising silence, I notice that Thranduil, Legolas, Tavalon and his sons are the only elves here whom I know by name. Tauriel is, of course, out leading the guards. The remaining chairs are occupied by unfamiliar faces—some I've seen from a distance but not spoken to, and the rest are simply strangers to my eye.

My thoughts are interrupted by Legolas clearing his throat. The handsome ellon has somewhat reduced his beauty by wearing a look of utter resentment towards me. I hold my gaze; the Prince can try, but he'll never intimidate me this way.