Oh, by all the grace of the Gods Above, how long is this supposed to take? I'm half afraid my heart is going to beat out of my chest, and half anticipating for that to happen. If Father is going to marry me off so ceremoniously, the least he could do is make it quick!

I look over to my left, towards the ornate throne where Father is sitting, his strong body showing hints of age but losing none of the luster that gained him the crown. Broad shoulders only slightly stooped from his ceremonial armour's weight, the silver crown of Morhaine shining brightly across his brow, his stormy-grey eyes flickering across the Grand Hall's many guests from beneath a matted mess of greying hair. Like most things, Father notices my glance, and his weather-lined face turns towards me, a gentle smile cracking open the stony exterior a king must show his subjects. "Dear Lilyraine, are you having second thoughts about this matter?" he asks, voice still somehow managing to boom even in a whisper.

I fidget a bit in my chair, nervousness catching up to me at last. "Not so much second thoughts as, hm, I guess I still haven't processed the whole matter yet? I mean, I know I set the condition, but to hear someone has met it in less than a month is shocking."

Father laughs at that, along with the two guards stationed behind us. "I would say you'd be surprised at the lengths men will go for a beautiful bride, but I suppose that's already happened. I suppose now I should make a joke about why it didn't happen sooner!"

Father and his two guards, old friends and trusted aides of the family, laugh again, but I hold my silence. True, I made an outrageous demand that whoever wanted my hand in marriage should slay a dragon, but that's not what I meant at all. Why couldn't Father understand that I'm just not ready for this yet, and that was my attempt to get out of this mess!?

That's when Father rests a large, callused hand on my thigh. "I told you before, my dear, that you could put this off. We could arrange a courting period for you to get to know this strange hero, see if the two of you are compatible. You may be a royal princess, but I'll be damned if I treat you like some prize to be given away," he whispers.

I close my hand around his. "I know, I know, but I made a promise. If things don't work out, then, we'll just deal with that when it comes. Besides, I don't think I'll get another chance at this rate."

The two guards look away, tactfully acting deaf for the moment, as Father leans in. "Lilyraine, don't say that about yourself. It's true that you have your... quirks, but they make you all the more important to this kingdom. A tactical mind like yours doesn't come around every generation, and most of your sisters have married already. If you truly don't care to marry-"

"Hush, Father. We both know that this is my duty, however much I tried to run away from it when I was younger. I owe it to you, and our kingdom, to at least give this marriage thing a try," I cut him off before giving him an awkward smile.

Father hesitates, just for a moment, before patting my thigh again. We've said what we both needed to say.

As the minutes tick by, the Grand Hall filling up with assorted nobles, knights, and visitors from abroad, I strain to tighten my dress. Gods Above only know why they've blessed me alone in our family, but these damn breasts of mine are the worst kind of curse I can think of. I don't even want to know how much Father spent on this imported silk, but even it is starting to come loose under the immense weight of my damnable chest, on this day of all others at that! Brushing my golden hair aside, and pointedly ignoring the looks I receive from many of the male guests in the hall, I take up the usual fight of settling my dress in a way that doesn't threaten to expose myself in front of hundreds of people.

Soon enough, trumpets ring out across the Grand Hall to announce the arrival of my soon-to-be husband. With a final reassuring wink my way, Father stands up to boom out, "In recognition of the hero who now graces this kingdom with their presence, I am proud to extend the royal welcome to Sir Aelyn Investra, slayer of Ankilar the Black Wind!" Cheers and applause drown out any further words from Father, even though I'm sitting right next to him, but the important part is already out of the way. My eyes are already riveted to the next part of this ceremony.

Sir Aelyn, like most elves from the Aeros Conclave, is a very tall and slender individual. His face is currently covered by a conical helm, but his strong limbs and resolute step already speak well of him, at least in terms of confidence. The way he casually carries a sheathed longsword in one hand while waving to the crowd may hint at vanity, but I've never met an elf whose pride wasn't inflated in some way or another; a dragonslayer has some right to pride. More importantly, in my eyes, the elf doesn't seem like a forceful individual - he's keeping pace with the escort, gently shaking hands with those nobles who step out to greet him, and like Father had stated earlier, he had seemed quite content with the idea of a courting period. A hero brave enough to face down a deadly threat like a dragon, but understanding enough to not "claim his prize" without thinking of me like a person. A decent enough start, Sir Aelyn.

The cheers and trumpets quiet down when Sir Aelyn reaches the foot of the throne, and without any prompting, he kneels down. A voice, surprisingly high-pitched, echoes from the helm, "My deepest thanks for your welcome, King Gavin Delaine. I cannot repay your kindness enough, and the wine your provided on my way here puts me even deeper into your debt."

Oh, a joker, as well. Another plus, something Father seems to agree with as he replies, "If your services are cheap enough to win through throngs and bottles, by all means Sir Aelyn, I consider it small sacrifice for a man of your talents!" The court gives a round of polite laughter before silencing again, eager to hear the next part.

Sir Aelyn, though, doesn't laugh. "I appreciate your words, great King, but I must offer up an apology to you and this court. It appears that you have been somewhat misinformed as to my identity."

Father stands up even straighter, his grey eyes narrowed slightly. Speaking over the whispers now popping up all over the crowd, he asks, "Do you mean to say that you are not Sir Aelyn Investra? Or am I perhaps mispronouncing your name?"

A chuckle answers his question, the elf standing up and lifting his hands towards the helm. "Oh, by no means. I am Aelyn Investra, slayer of the foul wyrm Ankilar, but I am no Sir!"

The whole room erupts into gasps and whistles as the elf casts aside their helm, revealing the face of a beautiful woman. Her long platinum hair streams out behind her and reflecting the torch-light in the hall. A confident smirk pulls up thin lips, an expression that manages to be both condescending and bewitching at the same time. Her eyes, one a pale green and the other a vivid pink, roam around the Grand Hall, boldly staring out at the sea of faces with the haughtiness of elvenkind present in every line of her youthful face. Her voice, rich like chimes, speaks out again, "I can see why you might be confused, however, King Delaine. I must confess, my battle attire is far from flattering, and my body retains the slenderness of my line. Allow me to more properly introduce myself, to both you and my future bride." Those mismatched eyes glide over to me, her smirk deepening even more as she proclaims, "I am Aelyn Investra, Princess of the Aeros Conclave, daughter of Sage-Lord Entikon Ymiras, self-proclaimed Knightess of the Forest."

Father quickly regains his composure, turning to the guards around the Grand Hall. "In light of this news, Sir... I mean, Princess Aelyn will accompany me to my private quarters in order to settle this matter. Until then, please make sure my guests are entertained and provisioned for their rides home at evening. Lilyraine, after you," he gestures for me to rise and lead the way back.

Personally, I'm thankful beyond words for the opportunity to scuttle out from the room. I can still feel the weight of Aelyn's gaze boring into my back, and the memory of her smirk is burned into my vision, likely forevermore. She certainly can't be accused of not knowing how to make an entrance, but this is one shock I would very much like to have avoided.

Father leads us both to his private quarters, taking a seat behind his expansive desk, which is still covered with several stacks of papers; a quick glance reveals they are the receipt forms for food and entertainment tonight. A waste, given that no one is going to be talking about anything other than my apparent betrothal to an elven woman. An elven woman! I settle into a chair in front of the desk, turning it about so I can look at Aelyn.

Gods Above only know how, but in the short walk between the Grand Hall to here, she's managed to change from her "knightess" armour to a flowing dress of silver and red. Its short skirt rides up as she, too, takes a seat, flashing me a glimpse of her pale thighs. She leans her longsword against the chair, then drags a hand through her platinum hair, sighing as she fights through the tangles. She closes her eyes, then snaps open her left one, the vividly pink one, to glance between me and Father. "Well, you wanted to talk, Pops, and I've had a long ride. So I request that you keep it brief, if at all possible."

Father leans back, quietly muttering "Pops" under his breath, visibly struggling to collect his thoughts. Oh, dear, does this mean I'm going to have to be the first one to address this indescribable mess-up?