Ifanthien and Orian were heading towards the ballroom where all the guests were waiting for the royal family to make their entrance. As they walked, Orian was now leading the way, Ifan contemplated the frescoes on the walls of the castles. He always liked to glance at them, studying every story they might tell. One in particular always drew his attention more than the others and, as they passed it, Orian suddenly stopped and turned toward Ifan.

“What is it?” Ifan asked, puzzled.

“Sorry, I know I said we should hurry before your mother would want to kill both of us for being late, but I just have to go talk to those guards here. Your uncle asked me to make sure everyone was at their post and alert for tonight.” Orian explained.

Ifan’s uncle just got back from a mission in the Harsh today. He didn’t have the chance to welcome him properly yet, but he was already making sure everyone would be safe for tonight’s festivities. The Elf Prince always admired him for that. He was always conscientious in everything that he did, making sure no details would be left behind.

“Why? Is he suspecting people to try something during the party?” the Elf Prince asked with knitted brows.

“No, not at all,” Orian reassured with a gentle smile. “But, you know, you can never be too sure.” He winked at him. “Don’t worry, it’s just guards stuff.”

“I see. Well, in that case, go on. I’ll wait here.” Ifan simply said.

“It won’t be long!” Orian added before shifting his feet and heading towards two guards standing in front of a large door that led to yet another immense hallway.

Ifan turned towards the fresco he so loved to contemplate while he would wait for his best friend. He held his hands behind his back, pacing slowly in front of it, admiring all the brush strokes of paint. The fresco was large and took up a good part of the wall. It was a beautiful artwork painted by a renowned artist from the Sun Elf kingdom representing the war of the three Gods that, it was said, happened thousands of years ago.

Ifan took a few steps back to have a better view of the big painting. He observed the painted God of Life, Maryam, standing beside the God of Love, Daviin, and not far from them was standing the God of Chaos, Ravok. All three were beautifully painted as they looked like perfect beings devoid of flaws. Maryam had a slender feminine figure, her long wavy golden locks were almost glowing as her long white dress was flowing around her. She held her palm up, casting her golden magic towards Ravok. Her face was soft and composed as she glared at the God she was facing. Daviin was rounder but still looked sturdy. They had long red hair tied in a ponytail as they were using a sword and shield in a defensive position. Ifan then panned his sunset gaze towards the third deity, Ravok, the God of Chaos and destruction. Compared to the two other deities, Ravok had eerie energy emanating from him. His hair was as dark as a moonless night and seemed to absorb light itself. He had a strong figure and the white of his eyes was completely black, his irises a fiery color. He held his ebony halberd menacingly towards them. What intrigued Ifan the most about that particular painting was the expressions on the Gods’ faces. Maryam looked severe, determined, and almost angry despite her soft features. Daviin had a saddened yet fierce look. And the God of Chaos, Ravok, had a peculiar expression. He looked stern and yet, he was crying as if he was in a profound pain that couldn’t be explained. All around the three Gods were only chaos and death as the only lights in the painting were Maryam and Daviin.

Ifan stared intently at the painting for long minutes. That fresco was intriguing to him. He wondered what was the story behind it. Although he knew about the story in itself as it was about the war between the Gods. However, what he really wanted to know was what had really happened, what made them fight each other in the first place?

Without realizing it, Ifan seemed lost in his thoughts for some time now until Orian snapped him out of it.

“Ifan?!” Orian called out to him with raised eyebrows.

“… What?” the Elf Prince replied as he got back to reality, turning his head towards Orian.

“It’s about time you answer me! I’ve been calling out to you for a whole minute now.” He said, exasperated. Then he frowned. “Are you alright?”

“What? Of course, I am fine. I’m sorry, I was looking at the painting.” Ifan replied, worried by his best friend’s reaction.

Orian sighed deeply. “You did that too when we were kids. I never understood why you kept looking at it.” Orian pointed out.

Ifan cocked his head. “Well, it’s a beautiful fresco. Of course, I will look at it.” He sulked, slightly embarrassed that he seemed to have spaced out for a moment while staring at it.

Orian once again exhaled. “Once you saw it, what more is there to look at?” he asked, leaning on the fresco, his arms crossed as he looked at his nails on his hand.

“I don’t know, really. I just find it interesting, I suppose.” Ifan simply replied as Orian lifted up his gaze from his hand to glance at him, a brow arching up. “What? Is there something on my face?” the Elf Prince asked, puzzled.

“No. You’re just weird.” Orian said, smirking. “Now, let’s go. You’ll have plenty of time tomorrow to contemplate it.” he added as he started walking towards the ballroom again.

“W-weird?” Ifan pouted. “Says the one who doesn’t know how to differentiate his left from his right.” Ifan retorted, chuckling.

Orian let out a humph. “You always have something back to say, don't you?” He cackled, grinning back at him.

The two friends finally arrived at the massive silver-carved doors that led to the ballroom. Ifanthien’s family was already there, waiting for him. As they strode towards them, Ifan took a quick glance at them.

Ilithya was wearing an adorable light violet puffy dress as her hair was tied in a bun on her head. Kolthen was wearing a simple white silk shirt with silver embroideries as well as royal blue pants. His mother looked ravishing as always, and his older brother was good-looking, as usual. Beside Athelan stood his father and uncle. The King was wearing his official outfit. Silken white shirt, dark blue coat with silver adornments, a black pair of pants, and knee-high boots as his hair were kept in a long slicked French braid. Finally, on his head laid the royal crown; beautiful steel working with twirls and an oval-shaped deep orange gemstone orned the center of the elegant craftsmanship of the crown. His father was tall and strong. He always wore a stern look on his face, but the King was a kind-hearted man and he cared about the well-being of his people. His uncle, Eloden, was standing proudly next to his father, wearing the official armor of the Commander of the royal guard. His armor looked almost the same as Orian as it had more silver and gold engravings with a navy-blue cape on his back.

As King Ulthien was talking with his brother, he noticed Ifan approaching and glared at him. The Elf Prince could read on his face that he wasn’t happy. Ifan gulped as he knew his father way too well. The King will certainly lecture him later, reminding him that he was the heir and how important his behavior was as he should always be on time, be prepared for anything, that he shouldn’t be so carefree and he should take his role seriously, et cetera, et cetera. But the Elf Prince kept a composed smile on his face as he finally got to his father and uncle.

“Ifan! Good to see you, my nephew!” Eloden cheerfully welcomed him. “It’s been a while!”

“Uncle! You are back from your mission! How have you be-“

“You are late, Ifanthien.” The King cut his son calmly. Ifan could hear the scolding in his tone.

“Please, accept my apologies, father.” The Elf Prince calmly replied, bowing his head down in respect to his father. “I was playing with Kolthen and Ilithya. I did not realize time passed so fast.” He added, staying collected. His father was about to retort, but his mother interrupted them.

“My love, we will talk about this later. Let’s not make the guests wait any longer.” the Queen said with a soft yet strict voice. She then turned her head towards her son. “Oh, Ifanthien! You look so beautiful!” she said with a warm smile as she put her hands on his cheeks, squeezing them with a mother’s love grip. “It is your chance to find a nice suiting noble Lady for you tonight!” she added almost with an insisting tone, giving him a soft smile. But that smile stung as Ifan knew it was the kind of smile that said ‘’you better find someone soon, I want a daughter-in-law and grandchildren”.

“Mother!” Ifan retorted, slightly embarrassed.

“Sush now, my son. I am tired of seeing you always alone. It is time you find a nice future Queen.” She gently patted his cheeks, still giving him the smile.

“Why are you nagging me about this while Athelan is the eldest? And he’ll certainly give you grandchildren before I do!” Ifan complained.

“Because Athelan is not always alone and he had experiences. How can you find your Soulmate if you never go out and talk to the ladies?” the Queen protested calmly.

“But I do talk-“

“I mean properly talk. Not just saying a quick “hi” and then fleeing the Lady like she has a contagious illness, Ifanthien.” His mother added, narrowing her eyes at him as she had a terrifying gentle smile on her face.

Ifan pouted. His mother was right on that point, but for the “never going out” part, this wasn’t really his fault. His father would not allow him to go outside the citadel. The farthest he went was within the city walls. And even then, he was only allowed in the marketplace, surrounded by a flock of royal guards to protect him.

“Mother is right, you know,” Athelan said. “You’re like what? A hundred and seven years old now? You’re getting old, little brother. And your beautiful face won’t last forever.” he added, grinning teasingly.

“Athelan!” Ifan’s cheeks flushed. “Stop with that already! Both of you!” he exclaimed, flustered. “Besides, this party is not for me, it is for you, Athelan!” Ifan pointed out.

“Oh, I don’t mind you stealing the show if it means you finally found your Soulmate,” Athelan replied, chuckling.

Ifan pouted, visibly irritated by his mother and brother’s insisting desire for him to find a suitable noble Lady, his Soulmate, to marry. “By the way, Athelan, you’re much older than me and you just got engaged. So your argument is invalid.” Ifan added, haughtily.

“… You have a point.” Athelan admitted. “But at least I had partners before! You had no one. None that I know of anyway!” he retorted back as Ifan heard the King sighing behind them.

“It is enough, both of you. The guests are waiting. And Lady Laeria is already here. Let’s not make her wait any longer.” the Queen ordered calmy yet severely.

She pushed Ifan towards the doors. He had to be announced right after the King and Queen as he was the Crown Prince. Orian gave him a thumbs up to support him as a wide grin was on his face before joining Eloden. His best friend knew he hated being announced in front of all the nobles like this. They would always stare at him with judgment, glaring and whispering behind his back about how outrageous that he was the Crown Prince.

Ifanthien watched as they both disappeared into the second entrance, a smaller door, less impressive than the main entrance he was about to go through, on the side that would bring them in the backstage of the ballroom. They looked like they were talking about serious matters. His uncle’s face looked sterner than his usual happy one and Orian was gesturing and frowning almost angrily.

Ifan felt something nudging on his pants. He glanced down at his feet to see Ilithya, her tiny arms up in the air as she wanted him to pick her up. He kneeled so he could be at her height, smiling tenderly at his adorable sister. “I’m sorry, Lili, but I can’t pick you up right now.” He brushed his hand on her rosy round cheeks. She let out a small whimper, pouting, but she understood. He gave her another tender smile.

His mother then came beside them and held Ilithya’s hand to bring her to his older brother. Ifan would have preferred to be with her when he would cross those huge doors, but according to tradition, the heir shall always be announced alone. He sighed. His adorable little sister would have brought him emotional support. Ilithya was still scowling as she took Kolthen’s hand. Ifan gave her a soft smile and promised himself he would dance with her tonight. It will definitely make her happy.

The two guards that stood in front of the large silver doors casted a small Arcane spell, drawing white magic runes in front of them with their hands. The doors opened slowly as white magic enveloped them. Welcoming lights coming from the ballroom made the hallway look cold in comparison. The King and Queen stood proudly in front; their arms interlaced in one another. Ifan stood not far behind them. As much as he liked parties and events, the Elf Prince hated being presented alone. It brought him more attention than he wanted to.

If there was one thing he despised the most, it would be the whispering of the Nobles, chatting about how powerless he was. He could hear them talking about how unsuited he was to be the crown prince as he was second born and magicless. And the magicless part was the most shocking to them. How insulting it was for the people of the Soveryn kingdom to have a future King that can’t even use Arcane magic? It was an affront to them. And yet, here he was, chosen as the heir by his father…

On the other hand, there were those who coveted his title and what his position could bring them. Those ones were trying to act kind and understanding of his situation, but he knew what they truly wanted as he saw through their games of manipulation. His unusual beauty was what made him stand out the most. Ifan knew his appearance was different from other Soveryn Elves. He was seen as particularly attractive as they would say.  No other Elf was as pleasing as he was. Ifanthien had flawless silky pale skin as he had no beauty marks or imperfections on it. His eyes were an unusual tint of gold as they were a bright orange like the color of a sunset sky. His hair was soft and white as snow and glints of silver could be seen sparkling from it at every of his movements. To top it all, he had a very pleasing silhouette and he stood proudly. Most of the women of the kingdom were desiring him and they would always try and come seduce him. Some might say he wasn’t even a real Soveryn so much that his astonishing appearance was abnormal.

But Ifan thought that his unusual attractiveness was really the only thing that made the whole “he has no magic and is a second-born” scandal less hard on him.

Ifan heard the herald announcing his parents, making him come back from his thinking. “King Ulthien and Queen Arinuien Lurandin, rulers and protectors of the Soveryn’s Kingdom.”