"The tree which moves some to tears of joy is in the eyes of others only a green thing that stands in the way. Some see nature all ridicule and deformity... and some scarce see nature at all. But to the eyes of the man of imagination, nature is imagination itself." - William Blake

I steal glances at Aebbé, her previous frown disbanded by someone bringing her food. She is young, but her eyes seem to be wise and compassionate; and it is the compassion that bothers me the most. It is such an unusual thing to see in the world, and the world assuredly needs more thereof, but I do not.

I continue to steer the conversation to keep Caith No-Name from being the topic of discussion. "Lord Korr, how have you been since I last saw you?" I am certain that he would like nothing more than the opportunity to talk about himself. As a bonus, with him being a master storyteller, his stories are always worth a listen.

"Little humanling, I have been good." Lord Korr clears his throat and launches into an animated tale of his uncle Razvan. When he is consumed by a hearty laugh and starts choking, I hand him a glass of wine.

"But how did your uncle lose his hand and leg?" Aebbé asks after a bout of forced laughter from the rest of the company. Elated at the attention, he continues recounting the clearly exaggerated tale.

Some words and uncomfortable silences after his tale, I ask the queen if she is familiar with Elvish lace. I know, not very manly, but I don't think she'd be able to engage in a conversation about weaponry.

Ardam's daughter is exhausted, her eyelids gently fluttering. Knowing I have yet to involve her in the conversation, but unable to resist a chance at roguishness, I ask: "Princess Aebbé, did you hear anything I said?"

The whole table silences and stares at her. She turns her head to me and our eyes connect again. As I stare I notice that one of her curls have slipped from the braid and I fight the urge to reach out and tuck it behind her ear.

"Princess Aebbé?"

"Yes, lord Caith?"

She unravels my comfort and I say the first thing I can think of: "Have you ever seen a green tree?"

"A green tree? Most trees have green leaves. But I do not see -," she starts defiantly.

Interrupted by my laughing, she frowns, but that doesn't make me stop. It is the first real laugh I have had in a long time - even though the reason for my hysterics eludes me.

"Princess Aebbé, the matter of trees having green leaves has no importance at the discussion of the subject at hand at this table. I asked you whether or not you do not desire some elvish lace as well? It can be made into a dress worthy of a queen," I say as I recover my grace. Then I realise that she is not as superficial as the other ladies. She would require a gift of more substance.

Her answer confirms my suspicions: "I believe that I have more dresses than the rest of the ladies in Raven's Peak put together. I also think that I have more than I can ever wear in one lifetime."

I thought all women want beautiful dresses. Aydiss only ever wanted pretty things: jewels and gowns, flowers and even the stars themselves.

I give her half a smile when I realise what would be a good gift for her and an untruth slips from my mouth: "I thought you might have enough dresses. I brought you a book of poems and legends of elvish origin instead."

I have had the book for the longest of times and have read it front-to-back, and back-to-front countless times. Perhaps it is time to part with it. With a curiosity as insatiable as hers, she is sure to be an avid reader.

"That is an appreciated gift then," she says with a genuine smile.

As soon as politically acceptable, I excuse myself and our party. Forced to obtain the book so I can give it to her myself, and after making sure that there is no-one in my vicinity, I travel through water to retrieve it in a matter of seconds. Eoghan would immediately guess my identity if he sees the book, and I cannot risk that: the outrage and ramifications are unthinkable. The elf who gave it to me was his ancestor, and the book itself well-known among elves. He wrote it, the only copy in existence, by hand and all sources stat that he gifted it to me at the end of his life.

I return with ample time to muse on the past as I wait for her outside the hall.

"Princess Aebbé," I say when I see her emerging minutes later.

She glares at me, clearly not trusting my intentions: "Lord Caith, I thought you and your men left."

"My men did, but clearly I am still here."

A silence follows as I close the distance between us to scrutinize her. She slightly bites her lower lip, and, fuck, some dastardly inappropriate thoughts cross my mind.

"Is there anything I can do for you?" she says dismissively. It is immediately obvious that she wishes to retract her words as she almost slams her lips shut with her hand.

"You need not be in disguise."

Her eyes widen, allowing me to see tiny flecks of lighter brown in the dark pools of her eyes.

Shit. I just told the princess she is a whore - not explicitly, but the reference to the false pretense that she used to sneak back into the castle hangs between us.

"I did not plan to give this to you personally, but I thought the joy on your face when you see it would be priceless." I take a step back and bring the book out from behind my back. I hold it out to her.

Her face lights up as she realises that the book is very valuable and very old. "It is beautiful!" She eagerly takes it when I hand it to her - opening it at a random page. A crease forms on her large forehead as she mouthes the words. "It is written in the old language," she states simply.

Oh! It completely slipped my mind that the book was written in the old language.

"You are right. Do you understand it?"

As far as I know, very few humans can understand the language. It is difficult to master.

"Yes, my father was one of the few able to read it - of the humans, I mean. He taught it to us."

That explains a lot about the man! It's shocking that this crucial fact never came to my attention. Crap. The sons know it too. Vayog (may he remain in that cursed Darke and never see another green tree) would be able to tempt them with false promises, as the language Elne-Sihtai, is magic itself, captured in words. Luckily the craft waned before my lifetime, and fell out of use prior to my birth, as the races started to rely in an even purer form of magic: that of nature.

"I had bargained that you would be able to read it. I am glad I was not mistaken," I fabricate yet again, pleased that she would be able to read it, but my mind already drawing conclusions that I'd rather not arrive at.

"Lord Caith, this is the most precious gift I have ever received."

Haunted by the possibility that my musings might hold truth, I cut the conversation short. "Good night, princess. May the stars and the moon shine brightly on you."

"May the sun rise brightly for you," she says confused at my abrupt greeting.

I feel her gaze on my back as I exit the castle - my shoulders stiffening at the unwanted and unnecessary attention.