The rest of the evening was thankfully not as eventful. Servants drifted from guest to guest, giving out drinks for the upcoming toast to the young prince’s birth. We all shuffled into the main hall, where the royal family had already gathered in a gallery overlooking those who had gathered. All were there: the King, the First Queen with her four daughters clustered close, the tiny prince nestled in her arms, the second and third queens with their own daughters, and then a long line of princesses all in different sizes but unmistakably looking like their royal father. The same brown hair, the same deep laugh lines. It was quite obvious which of the daughters mattered to the king and who did not. Those who did not manage to cultivate their father’s interest wore bland and simple attire, not like a royal princess that should be valued like a crown jewel, more like a maid or lady in waiting. Janus once told me that many of the royal daughters were serving in other noble houses as maids, so seeing them all together was rare and only possible with months of planning.
The King sat heavy on his velvet throne, his ceremonial robes and crown doing little to hide the way his head gleamed, round and pale, like an egg nestled in too much finery. The crown and scepter he clutched reminded me of the ones the gods wore in my dreams—regal and dignified then, but now they looked almost like toys in his hands, out of place and a little sad. His eyes sparkled with a kind of mean delight, as if daring the world to slander the potency of his seed again. The birth of the young prince had sent ripples through the court; everyone had expected Princess Emily, the firstborn, to be the next to rule. Now, with a single birth, so many hopes and plans had been dashed. I half-expected Emily to look devastated, but she stood behind her mother, a gentle smile on her lips, her sisters close by. Maybe she was just good at hiding the ache. If so, she might have made a better ruler than the tiny, drooling prince who had stolen her future with his first breath.
The King’s speech dragged on, a never-ending river of words about loyalty and honor and the miracle of life. My mind wandered, slipping away from his voice as I let my eyes drift over the crowd, searching for something—anything—to hold my attention.
The most eye-catching person was without a doubt the Ivory King. He was alone. He was the leader of a nation, and here he was with no entourage. His very being seemed to exude confidence; apart from that, his attire was the most unique of all the guests. His clothing, or rather armor, was made of bronze that shimmered like gold, but most of it, except for the trim, was covered in ivory carved into a story. On the bottom left, it showed a little boy strangling a snake and ended with a giant man wrestling a polar bear. But the most shocking thing about him was that he too was a titan, or at least had titan blood. The same ice-blue eyes and blond hair. So tall was he that he didn’t lose to Rika’s father at all, whom he was constantly stealing glances at. Titus stood with his family a bit further back near a wall, trying his best to ignore the youth’s persistent stares, but that was all I could make out in the crowd.
The only other royal guest was Queen Salmaris of the Mermen, surrounded by her Swordfish guards. She was breathtaking—a dangerous sort of beauty, like a blade hidden in silk. Every movement promised both grace and peril, her presence commanding the space with a raw magnetism that made it difficult to look away. Blue coral jewelry traced the delicate lines of her neck and wrists, gleaming like forbidden treasures; it was carved and polished, reminiscent of the piece Janus once gave me, though on her, it seemed almost scandalous. Her dress clung to her pale greyish skin as if it were liquid, sliding over every curve, the fabric damp and suggestive, hips left bare save for a single long, narrow flap that barely concealed her sex. A thick meaty tail, that ended in a sharp fin covered in blue scales, stuck out on her lower back. Scales shimmered across half her body, a living mosaic catching the light. Only her chest, hips, torso, palms, and soles were left exposed, covered in greyish pale skin that gleamed like it was oiled. Under the chandelier’s glow, she looked as if she’d just emerged from the sea, wild and untamed. She wore no shoes, toes splayed with a sensual defiance, always poised as if ready to slip away into the sea’s wet embrace. Her cropped hair, a deep blue tipped with white, curled like waves breaking on the shore, and her ears—delicate fins—were studded with bright blue scales like the rest of her body that glimmered like stars. Only her eyes resisted the spell: flat grey, unreadable, promising nothing. Behind her, the Swordfish guards held their posts in silent devotion, and beyond them, other merman tribes gathered, each a different shade of the ocean.
Each tribe shimmered with its own colors—hair and scales in every shade, some with delicate antennae like tiny crustaceans, and most with no ears at all, just smooth skin and glimmering scales. They didn’t look like animals, not really, except for those hints around their faces. This was as close to human as a merman could get, or so Janus told me. Their bodies could shift and change, sliding along a spectrum from sea creature to human, sometimes just altering a single part. Some could shrink down to the size of a shrimp, others could swell into the shape of a whale shark. I ached to know how it all worked, to unravel the secrets of their transformations, but this wasn’t the moment. I promised myself I’d find out someday.
Beside the mermen stood the envoys from the Grand Duchy of Eichenherz, their clothes a quiet forest of greens and browns. Their jewelry was carved from polished wood—no gems, just smooth pieces in every earthy shade, shaped into tiny animals: roe bucks, foxes, bears, snakes, frogs and so on. The material was humble, yet the craftsmanship was masterful.
The dwarven expeditions kept to themselves, a little island of gold and silence. The humans with them glittered with rings and precious metals, every finger weighed down, while the dwarves from the banking clans wore thick sunglasses and clothes that were plain but so well-made you could almost feel the weight of their wealth. Their beards were braided, long enough to trip over if they weren’t careful. I noticed all the dwarves wore high-heeled shoes, while the humans stuck to flats. It almost looked like the dwarves were the ones truly in charge, the humans just there for show, dressed up like pampered pets.
Aquendrias’ envoys were spread around the entire hall already in the midst of making deals. To me, they looked like slimy salarymen, but then again, securing deals for their country was their job. Let’s also get in touch with them. The Yuwens don’t have many relations to other nations, if any, and mostly relied on the crown, but it couldn’t hurt to make a few deals and broaden our connections. So I made a mental note to talk with Janus about it later and went on.
The Brotherhood Militia of Bragg drew my eye for a different reason. They all looked the same—same faces, same eyes, all men, not a single woman among them. But each one wore his own story in scars, tattoos, wrinkles, or a shock of colored hair. Janus once told me they were made, not born, through old blood rituals in some ruined temple on their island, using prisoners and enslaved people to create new men. It sounded like something out of a nightmare, or maybe a forgotten laboratory from the ancient civilization?
Lost in my thoughts, my gaze drifted past the guests from Zahir’s homeland, only to catch on a pair of tall, fluffy ears rising above the crowd.
Standing with the Ibasans was a man who must have been at least two meters tall, with grey, fluffy wolf ears perched on his head and a grey-black-tipped tail hanging low behind him. He had to be a Wolf beastman, probably hired as a bodyguard. The Beastmen mostly lived beyond the mountains and kept to themselves, rarely crossing into human lands. They didn’t think much of humans, either, especially since the Ibasans slave traders were some of their biggest suppliers.
Seeing a beastman here was rare, almost unheard of. In some ways, they weren’t so different from the mermen, both able to shift their forms, and some scholars even grouped them. This Wolfman looked miserable, though, and when our eyes met, he closed his yellow eyes in annoyance and turned away, his tail flicking sharply. Maybe it was just the suit—Otto once told me beastmen hated wearing clothes because it irritated their fur. Sure enough, wherever the suit ended, tufts of fur peeked out. The Ibasans barely noticed him, too busy whispering behind their painted paper fans. Both men and women wore tall black hats, some with wide brims and stiff flaps, and their long, colorful overcoats had sleeves so long the tips nearly brushed the floor.
I had looked around and seen all these different people and cultures, but now even I started to be bored. Just how much longer is the King gonna take?
A strange discomfort crept over me, prickling at the edges of my thoughts. I didn’t know why until my eyes locked with someone else’s. His ears were sharper than a wolf’s, but smooth and bare—an elf. He lingered at the very back, leaning against the wall, a woman at his side holding the hand of a younger boy with shorter ears. His clothes were blindingly white, every seam hung with tiny golden bells. The way he looked at me sent a shiver down my spine, like a child about to tear the wings off a butterfly.
I tried to ignore the stare and leaned in closer to Janus, who looked at me with warm surprise.
After another ten minutes, the speech finally concluded, and we all raised our glasses when the last guest of the party arrived.
