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"I did not realize you needed to permit me back into the family I never left on my own accord," I throw back at him with more sass than I typically would wield against a king.
"If you do not obey, you will not be welcome here." His grey eyes sharpen and stare down at me. He's done with my games and certainly over my combativeness. "If your mother had known her place, she wouldn't have tainted our bloodline by choosing a man beneath her to breed."
"My father is a Celestial," I snarl back.
"Celestial blood is not Frost Elf blood, pelcruor!" Collecting himself, he smooths the front of his lapel and throws his long, white hair over his shoulder. "The choice is entirely yours. If you fail to pledge your allegiance and your hand by tomorrow night, consider yourself banned from returning to Elowen."
He strides past me without saying a word, shuts my door, and leaves me to my own thoughts.
Pelcruor.
Inferior blood.
My heartbeat quickens and I feel rage bubbling within me. How dare he? He didn't just insult me, he insulted my parents. He insulted a Celestial. His prejudice truly knows no bounds.
I've worked my ass off at Fendruil to learn to ride my dragon and use my magic alongside my kin. Now, he wants me to marry a Frost Elf to prove my loyalty to this family – my family!? Why should I be expected to fulfill a list of requirements to be welcomed home, when I never left of my own volition?
A light knock on my bedroom door startles me, and immediately sets me on edge. I open the door slowly and I'm relieved to see my mother on the other side. Her bright smile vanishes the second she drinks me in.
"What's the matter?" She furrows her brow and attempts to look over my shoulder to see if someone is inside.
I should tell her what just happened between me and the Frost King, but it's not her burden to bear. It's a fight between me and my grandfather. I can't expect other people to fight my battles for me.
"Are you nervous about tonight?" Her tone softens, drawing my gaze. "If you would prefer to skip the ball altogether, that's fine with me, Aurelia. I know a discreet restaurant in the city where we can have a private dinner out of the public eye."
"Y – y –," I stutter. "You would really do that for me?"
"I'm your mother," she shrugs, as if it's nothing to make a fuss about. "I would do anything for you."
My eyes water and I take a deep breath. I wrap my arms around her neck and relish the feeling of her hugging me tightly in return. "Thank you, Amma," I whisper.
"You don't have to thank me for putting you first," she says, before pulling back from me. She slips her hand over my cheek and smiles. "So, what is your decision? Are we going to the ball or dinner?"
Everything within me screams for us to escape the party while we can, but I know if I don't show up, the Frost King will have something to say about it.
Suddenly, movement to my left draws my attention. I turn to see Atlas waiting a few paces down the hall. He's dressed in a black suit with a green Tronovian sash across his chest. His hair is slicked back, and his tattoos are hidden beneath his clothing. He cleans up nicely, but I think I prefer the kind-hearted rogue beneath the finery. The second our eyes meet, an ache in my lower belly has me wanting to crash my lips against his.
"He insisted on escorting you to the ball," Sylvane says, ripping me from my lustful thoughts. "He said you needed protection." The teasing in her tone isn't missed, but I'm grateful he's here.
"Princess." He lifts my hand up to his lips and plants a gentle kiss on my knuckles when he reaches us. "You look beautiful."
"You don't look so bad yourself," I smile, and struggle to keep my thoughts from lighting up my hands.
"Aurelia?" My mother asks. "Are we going to the ball?"
I nod my head. "I think it's about time our people got to know me."
Pride beams in her eyes and she nods in approval. "Well, there's something I want you to wear."
I hadn't noticed the blue velvet case Atlas has in his hand until he extends it to my mother. She opens it carefully and nestled inside is the most stunning tiara I've ever seen. It's gold with two Celestial suns flanking the Basilius star at the center. Small diamonds and pearls are scattered along the crown.
She holds it in both hands carefully and says, "I had this fashioned the day you were born with the intention you would wear it for your eighteenth birthday. I would be honored if you would wear it tonight when you are introduced to our allies."
Since we're the same height, I dip into a curtsey, so she can easily rest it on my head. Once it's firmly in place, I straighten and smile proudly. My confidence is once again restored and despite the monstrous things Armas Basilius said to me, I know without a doubt that he's an ignorant bigot who couldn't be more wrong about me. And I'll show him, if it's the last thing I do.
The ballroom is beyond words. Navy ceilings with glass chandeliers, marble floors, gold chairs; floor to ceiling windows line three out of four walls and there's a balcony that runs the length of the room. The views of the mountains, lake, and city below are incomparable. I thought the library boasted the best views, but I was wrong.
Frost Elves, Hydrans, Bavans, Tronovians and even a handful of Dwarves from Durne are littered around the ballroom, engaging in light-hearted conversation, downing glasses of wine and dancing with stunningly dressed partners. I thought Midorian balls were glamorous, but they pale in comparison to Levanora.
