While Mithril was in charge of dressing Auriel each morning, the task of creating said dressings fell to Dualis, the son of his father’s tailor and a veritable master of all things silken. With the aid of two stitchers, Dualis would produce no less than three new ensembles for Auriel each month, in addition to a constant trimming and re-trimming of existing ones to fit the current fashions. This production took place in a studio that lay within the expansive gardens which flourished behind the central palace stump, as the variegated flora provided Dualis with constant inspiration for his works.

  Normally, Dualis and his aides would be all aflutter with cutting and stitching and pinning and weaving, and the mastery with which they completed these tasks would strike awe into all who would watch through the great glass windows. Today, however, all three of them had been reduced to little more than well-dressed clothing racks, retrieving fabrics and trims from one of six great wooden boxes when ordered and barely uttering a word since the morning began. Such a position would have been demeaning, had the one giving the orders been any other than Taurien.

  Taurien was an Elvish woman of less than average height and less than average beauty. Her hair was an unremarkable shade of brown, and while her eyes were a lovely shade of lilac, the large, rounded spectacles that lay in front of them arrested most of the attention they should have received. But what she lacked in appearance, she more than made up for in prestige, for the wedding attire of all the royalty throughout the Elvish Confederation lay under her command. Her workshop in Sola Anlae was second in fame only to the Crystal Palace, and even Celethir spoke to her with reverence.

  Auriel, on the other hand, had not said a word beyond a general greeting since the fitting began nearly an hour ago, though his shoulders, back, and arms were having plenty of words with him about all the weight they currently held. He was clad in the base components of his would-be wedding ensemble: a fitted under-robe, followed by a flowing over-robe, followed by an even greater-flowing over-vest, followed by a belted train, and finished by a cape suspended from a structured shoulder mantle. Chiffon and velvet mingled in a myriad of blues, greens, and in-betweens, though threads of silver and gold caught the light as they moved. There would be a headpiece too, of course, which would feature an array of jewels and crystals and gold-rimmed Vindai leaves, but that was another artisan’s domain, and the two most likely would not meet until the wedding day.

  “How many do you have to complete the embroidery?” asked Celethir, who rubbed the cuff of Auriel’s more-than-floor-length oversleeve between his fingers.

  “Twenty,” replied Taurien, who was thread-marking a line where a piece of the mantle jutted out a bit too far from Auriel’s small shoulders. “As well as another ten for the marking. They are split into three groups, each working eight hours at a time, right after the other, to prevent any grievous aberrations in the construction. Effectively, these pieces will be worked on for three months straight, without pause, though with proper diligence, we may be able to get it done in two.”

  “I have no doubt that you could complete it in one, should passion strike you,” Celethir said with a charming smile.

  “And it will, I’m sure. I’ve worked with every bride, groom, and genderless partner in the Confederation, but none of them could hold even the thought of a candle to Prince Auriel.”

  “You exaggerate, I’m sure,” said Auriel softly, more tired than demure.

  “Certainly not!” cried Taurien and Celethir, almost in unison—and just loudly enough to banish the exhaustion from Auriel’s eyes.

  Taurien continued, “You’re more than beautiful on your own, but in these clothes, you look as though you’ve been wrapped in heavenly waters.”

  “I couldn’t agree more,” said Celethir, moving from Auriel’s sleeve to his wrist. “Bare of all trimmings as these robes may be, I still find it so difficult to contain my joy seeing you in them. Those three months between today and our wedding seem like three eternities each, but I know that the eternity we’ll spend together will be more than worth the agony of the ones that come before it.”

  “Such sweet words you have for him,” said Taurien, who gazed upon them fondly. “And you, Prince Auriel? Do you have any sweet words for the High Prince?”

  Oh, he had plenty of words to share, but none of them were sweet.

  “I would, but…well…lately I find my mind so occupied by thoughts of our marriage that it leaves few words left for my mouth to speak.”

  “Don’t fret, my treasure,” Celethir replied and held Auriel’s hand gently in his own. “Beautiful as you are, you needn’t say a word about how you feel. I can hear far more by looking in your eyes than I could from listening to your lips—and besides, I’d be too distracted by thoughts of kissing them to linger there for long.”

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  Indeed, Celethir stared deeply into his eyes, but Auriel could only handle the contact for a few moments before nightmarish thoughts of the all-consuming sapphire light came flooding back to him. Hastily, he turned to Taurien and asked, “What will you do with the remaining fabrics? The way you speak and work, it sounds as though you only have the embroidery left to add.”

  “Yes, that is correct. All further alterations to these garments involve taking things off, rather than adding them on. But these boxes don’t only contain the materials for your ceremonial dress; there’s also your reception gown, going-away ensemble, portrait robe, and bedroom attire, each of which has at least two different fabric options, not to mention all the trims and other accouterments that go with them. You needn’t concern yourself with those decisions, though—the High Prince and I will make them for you after you’ve gone. But once those decisions are made, the appropriate materials will return with me to Sola Anlae, while the rest will be shipped off to be sold outside the Confederation. It is, after all, highly inappropriate for the same materials to be used in more than one wedding—especially when the original wedding is that of the High Prince.”

  “It feels far more inappropriate to sell them to the lesser races,” Celethir added. “But it is far too lucrative a business for us not to conduct it. You’d be shocked at the prices the outlanders will pay for even a scrap of our textiles. And not just the fine ones, either. I’ve heard many tales of outland royalty emptying half their treasuries for silks worth less than the worms they came from, then using them for ballgowns and traveling suits when they’re barely suitable for house robes. It’s always such a treat seeing outlanders at balls adorned in their ‘Elvish finery,’ thinking it will help ingratiate them into our circles, when in reality we’re laughing at them in private—and sometimes in public, should the offense be grievous enough.”

  “Yes, we’ve borne witness to that here many times,” Auriel agreed. “Just last year, we had some princess from some lesser outland province come to court with her insufferable mother in an attempt to secure my hand in marriage. Both of them came trimmed in what they had believed were Vindai leaves, though Father and I could see they were painted from the moment they exited their carriage. Fortunately, it was hot that day, so it didn’t take long for the paint to melt, ruining not only the rest of their ‘Elvish finery,’ but also their hair, faces, and bloated pride—though, really, all of that was already far beyond saving. Such is the curse that humans must bear, I suppose.”

  “And what a wretched curse it is,” said Celethir, shaking his head. “It sickens me that you had to bear witness to such an unsightly display of ignorance and vulgarity, especially in a bid for your hand. You will be spared from those displays once we are wed, my treasure. I’ll make sure of it.”

  The effort needed to formulate a reply while also keeping his eye from twitching threatened to send Auriel to the floor, but thankfully, Taurien interjected.

  “If only all of our kind could be spared such displays,” she said, and finally began to remove Auriel’s wedding attire. “Not only from the outlanders, but also from each other. On my journey here, I was accompanied by a trading caravan that collects Elvish textiles for sale at foreign markets. They were scheduled to make a collection in Geletra, then finish with one in Sola Anlae before making their sweep through the outlands, but since I have all the fabrics they needed to retrieve with me here, it only made sense to travel together. But though they may deal in beautiful things in public, they are an odious bunch to be dealt with in private. They are curt and crass and cantankerous—among other words I dare not say in good company. Though I suppose that is what happens when one works in such an unpleasant business as trade. Between the treacherous weather, fetid camps, highwaymen and stowaways…” She shook her head in mournful disbelief. “…it’s a wonder why anyone would subject themselves to it willingly.”

  “Stowaways?” asked Auriel, whose body cried out in relief as Taurien peeled away the layers of velvet piled atop it.

  “Oh, yes,” said Taurien. “People will seal themselves up in boxes and travel within trading caravans for various sordid reasons—usually criminals trying to avoid capture or thieves trying to pilfer the goods on board. It’s much rarer on land than it is on the sea, but it does happen. There have even been some cases of traders willingly taking on criminal stowaways for a fee, though most of the time they end up transporting said stowaways to the law to collect the bounties on their heads.”

  “Hopefully no one snuck into the caravan before it left,” said Celethir. “It’d be a shame for our goods to be contaminated by some unwashed brigand.”

  “The caravan hasn’t left yet.”

  Auriel’s ears perked up. “It hasn’t?”

  “No, and it probably won’t for at least three more days. While the storms that we encountered in the south abated much earlier than anticipated, the carriages also sustained much more damage than previously thought. Mine came out with only minor injury, so I’ll be leaving tomorrow morning, but many of the traders’ required great repairs, so they’ll be parked by the stables right outside the palace walls until they’re fit to travel.”

  Despite his exhaustion, Auriel’s eyes widened further and further the more that Taurien spoke, and his heart began to swell with a near sickly warmth he hadn’t felt in a very long time. “I see…well…we’ll have to make sure they’re well-guarded, then. Like the High Prince said, we can’t have our goods being contaminated.”

  “You needn’t worry about such things, my dear,” said Celethir, giving Auriel’s hand a gentle squeeze. “What you do need to worry about is rest. For someone so small and delicate as you, all this standing around in heavy fabrics must be terribly exhausting. You should get some tea and refresh yourself in the gardens. Taurien and I shall handle the selection of your other garments.”

  Patronizing as his tone may have been, Celethir wasn’t wrong in anything he’d said—and even if he had been, Auriel’s mind was far too occupied to care. So rather than wrestle with the repulsion he usually felt in Celethir’s presence, he simply nodded in agreement and allowed the High Prince to lead him out of the studio, his eyes lingering on the wooden boxes long after they’d left his line of sight.

  For the first time in his life, he was thankful to eat so little.