I held Starlight Grace aloft as my boots waded through puddles of water.

Not stepped. Waded.

Absolutely grim. I could feel the mucus with every step, like stepping on a road cobbled with fruit slimes. As I lifted my sword, its light shone into the dark recesses of a corridor boasting more liquid than the lake beside the Royal Villa. 

The sound of a dripping ceiling threatening to rival the structural instability of every common inn echoed like a ceaseless warning around me. Even so, I was a princess famed for lifting the hearts of others. And I was no exception to my own amazing charms.

Thus, I bravely lifted my boots and continued onwards, judging the remnants of a once proud kingdom.

Specifically, their reading tastes.

I paused slightly, the splash of my footsteps echoing upon unseen marble as I sent my gaze around me.

Alcoves of bookshelves made up the walls here, untouched except for the slimy water darkening the lowest spines. Everywhere else, cobwebs dutifully shielded my eyes from the worst of the dust, even as the light from my sword swept aside the shadows and revealed works lost to time.

Secrets Of The Arcane. Sorcerer’s Scriptures. The Magic Manifesto. Shades Of Imp: A Warlock’s Workbook.

A dense collection of tomes, their contents as thick as the musk. 

None of which had ever once been read.

A trick as old as reputations existed to be raised. I knew the embossed titles to be little more than decoration. Nobody would put such works of high learning in a clearly obvious location other than to desperately present an image of intelligence and acumen which didn’t exist.

Which was why …

I stopped to poke a spine with the tip of my sword, dipping it down to reveal the true treasure tucked discreetly behind.

Beneath The Elven Boughs: Realm Of Roses And Rapture, Vol. 1.

I smiled in triumph. 

Ohohoho … truly, it mattered little how many centuries the layers of dust had been allowed to settle! I could smell the scandal like the pollen from my wisteria! So long as works of wanton impropriety existed, then so did well-meaning maidens who wished to hide them!

Indeed, it was the same everywhere. 

Whether it be beneath a bed, behind the mathematics textbooks, tossed upon rooftops or within the hands of the couriers I’d solicited … I could always find such unacceptable works of literature scattered in all the most unlikely of places. 

Highly inappropriate. Yet no matter where I looked, I’d always find the pages magically open before me as if gifted by fate. And so I knew my divine task. 

To read enough contraband that I’d know exactly what to ban for impropriety!

In that regard, it was important I learned as much as I could about the writings of the unprincipled in order to avoid an embarrassing blunder. It’d hardly do if I banned a known work of critically acclaimed literature by accident, now would it?

Luckily, any of these unread titles could certainly serve as an excellent reference as I …

“Huh, I don’t recognise this one,” said Coppelia, gazing at the spine of a thick grimoire to her side as I discreetly shoved the book I’d tugged back into place. “Modern Malediction: A Necromancer’s Journey. Hey, there’s a whole bunch of books I don’t recognise here! These are really well preserved!”  

I nodded as I made no mention of what else remained here.

The owner may have long passed. But they still deserved their dignity.

“Quite so. The collection here is truly worthy of a note. I can feel the yearnings of whoever placed these books in this place, in these exact positions. They were a true connoisseur of the arts.”

“I mean, I wouldn’t go that far. Some of these books are pretty elementary. In fact, we have one right here. Basic Flame Control II. You can always tell when someone’s borrowed that one. The moths in the library go crazy.”

“I’m in disbelief that anything as dangerous as moths can be found in your library. Their ability to chew through books is as famed as caterpillars desecrating a willow.”

“Oh, our ones are special. They don’t eat books. They help clean them.”

Of course they did.

I chose not to comment. It was the most benign thing I’d ever heard her say about her place of origin. A moment I opted to instead cherish. 

“You’ll be collecting some of these, I take it?”

“Nah, not my job.”

“Excuse me?”

“Others do that. I only collect what’s gone missing.”

“Is that so? … Well, I won’t decry not disturbing the dust, but surely, it wouldn’t be difficult to toss everything into your highly unexplained clockwork repository?”

“Oh, you mean my thingy?”

“Yes. A bizarre and alarming window to the abyss, clearly a powerful portal of some description, mobile, able to be summoned at will and yet also not requiring any incantation.”

Coppelia waved away my unsaid queries with a modest smile.

“Ahaha~ it’s nothing special. The only thing it’s good for is reminding the big guy I’m still here. I try not to do that. It always feels like my head’s being squeezed when we catch up.”

“I see little reason to do such a thing. You’re quite busy ensuring my well being. A task you perform admirably. If necessary, I can provide a reference.”

“Ehhhh … I don’t think he cares about that.”

“Excellent. Because I’ve little care for him as well. Even so, I’m keen to relay my gratitude for sending you to my side. Perhaps I’ll offer one of my poetry compendiums as a gift to be added to some of your most important cultural works?”

Suddenly, Coppelia paused. 

A strange way to demonstrate overwhelming delight. 

“Has your poetry ever won any peer recognition?”

I nodded at once, placing my hand atop my chest as I did so.

“Ohohohoho … why, it’s been recognised by my father.”

“Your father.”

“Yes, and as a result, my writings now take up half the books in the Royal Villa’s library. Quite the achievement, no? The king of a nation sees the worth in my poetry so much that he refuses to permit a single page to be discarded!”

I beamed, proud of my accomplishments. 

Why, even now, he was continually expanding shelf space by building additional sections of the library over the crops belonging to whichever peasant resided closest to our walls! Not even that Princess of Weinstadt could point to such ardent fans!

“Soooo, has your poetry ever been recognised by someone not your own father?”

“Of course.”

“Who?”

“Me … ohhohohoho!”

Coppelia’s smile became markedly fixed, doubtless stunned by the joyful thought of reviewing all 5,297 poetry compendiums written by myself, many when I was scarcely the age of 7. 

I looked forward to hearing her thoughts. 

Sadly, it was a joyful future requiring navigating ample puddles first. And so I pushed the rows of forgotten tales from my thoughts as I led the way further into the passage. 

Eventually, a cracked wall conspicuously empty of features was revealed between the alcoves, so barren that not even the cobwebs sought refuge over it.

I nodded at once, satisfied at my find.

“By the way,” said Coppelia, as my palm reached out to push against the false wall. “Do you know where this ominously untouched corridor is taking us?”

“Of course. The designs may differ, but the purposes don’t. All secret entrances and exits are ultimately designed to allow easy access to those who wish to avoid being seen. This means if we’re lucky, this wall will lead us past some concealed fireplace and directly into the chambers of our royal squatter.”

“Okie~ and if we’re unlucky?”

“We’ll be deposited into the lair of some eldritch horror as both the postern door and this adjoining corridor is actually a trap designed to murder those seeking an alternative entry.”

“Great! What odds are we talking?”

“80%.”

“80% to … ?”

I pushed against the wall.

A moment later, I found myself wincing as light and foliage promptly assailed my eyes.

Sheathing Starlight Grace, I plucked away a spindly leaf resting upon my brow, then stepped out into a little courtyard. Quaint was an apt description. Barely large enough to hold a banquet for twenty guests, it featured a comely little fountain as its centrepiece, defying both time and the ruins around it with a stream of pale, clear water.

It simply made the surrounding wreckage more bare. 

Fallen pillars, crumbling walls and decapitated statues marred the sweeping grass. Fine stone heads featuring the faces of elven nobility, whose past deeds of bribery and kowtowing had earned them a spot amidst the heart of an elven refuge. 

But despite the unkemptness, it was by no means unsalvageable. 

To my surprise, a tidy ring of aged orange trees peered over the courtyard.

Their roots had grown so wide over the centuries that they’d defeated the tiles hoping to tie them down, and now their branches fought over a window amidst the broken rooftops. Green leaves and ripe oranges danced amidst a private canopy under the evening sky.

An untidy sight. But one which could be redeemed. 

Particularly if those still here placed less effort into sharpening their swords.

Indeed–beneath the dying embers of the dusk, a lone elven knight sat upon the fountain’s edge. 

Shiiiing. Shiiiing. Shiiiing.

A sword of glimmering silver, burning beneath the snatches of light. 

Whatever imperfections it had, they’d long been swept away by that obsidian whetstone. Even so, the elven knight delicately, meticulously tended to his sword with the movement of a cellist playing at the strings. A sword to match his armour of golden leaves and emerald glass.

Ancient regalia long unseen in any kingdom’s court. Forged with techniques long forgotten, each ornate plate was as much jewellery as it was protection. 

The smoothest emerald glass without fault, its darkened hue absorbing the light to ignite tiny pinpricks of flame within each plate. A cloak of golden leaves was wrapped around the knight’s neck, falling past pauldrons shaped like twisting branches and falling seamlessly upon the surface of the fountain water like a lily grazing atop a pond.

And within a helmet shaped to the guise of a fierce songbird, eyes brighter than even the burning dusk looked up towards us. 

“Soooooooooooo … are we lucky or unlucky?”

“I’m a princess, Coppelia. My very presence is that of good luck.”

“Sure! … But does it apply to you as well?”

“It has no choice in the matter. Lady Luck, after all, is merely a lady.”

I stepped forwards.

A weight stopped me at once. I peered down as the tip of my boot came to a halt against a heavy object lost amidst the kindness of the sweeping grass.

A helmet, cloven in two, both halves telling a tale as sombre as the marble busts.

Sending my gaze across the flourishing courtyard, I witnessed hints of what lay within. The end of a hilt, singing softly alongside the waving green. A shield, whole and unbroken, as though fallen without once being tested. A great bow laid to rest beside its quiver of arrows. 

An armoury of treasures. Of mementos. Of spoils of war.

A moment later, the elven knight rose.

Placing his whetstone to one side, he lifted his sword and sheathed it. A gesture without ceremony, but enough to tease the notes of a song only the oranges upon the branches were still alive to see.

He took a handful of measured paces towards me, hand notably away from the hilt of his sword and wrapped around the scabbard instead. 

Then, he stopped and removed his helmet.

An unremarkable face, as far as elves were concerned. Neither young nor old, with a short ponytail of golden hair. But the vividness of the grey eyes couldn’t be denied. They were wells of recollection, fluctuating with the memories of scenes uncounting where he had once greeted another princess, another guest, another intruder upon this courtyard of grass.

He offered a cordial nod, helmet held beneath his arm.

“My greetings to you,” he said, his tone measured and polite. “I am Sir Carrius of the Hollow Vow, Knight of the Emerald Order. May I inquire as to your purpose of visit?”

I offered a smile, acknowledging his status. But moreover his adherence to formality.

“Salutations. I’ve come to engage in friendly diplomacy with the one described as the Elven King.”

“My apologies, but that will not be possible.”

“Oh? And why ever not?”

“The Elven King has forbidden any visitors, save those he has explicitly permitted.”

“I’m afraid the Elven King has no right to forbid a kitchen mouse from visiting him. These are not his lands. All that you see, from the deepening sky to the ruined stone, is the property of the Kingdom of Tirea.”

“This may be true. Yet those who linger in these halls must obey laws forged long before the first stone of your kingdom was laid. So long as my memories remain undiminished, I am compelled to obey them as they were.”

“You are compelled to do nothing. The laws which bind you were made for the Elven Kingdom. It has long since perished, lost amidst dreams and seasons’ fury.”

The elven knight’s shoulders fell, as though a deep weight driven by my words hung upon him.

Even so, he offered an apologetic smile.

“And yet I still walk amidst those dreams, where within flames of summer branded upon my eyes, I see ever the reflection of a knight whose vows remain unfulfilled.”

The light within his eyes flickered and twisted like a candle in the wind. But his gaze remained as hard and sombre as the silence from the corpses littered around his fountain. 

He peered not at me, but at the shadows cast by the leaves, the hazy surface upon the horizon, and the twinkling stars hidden above the evening curtain.

Bereft of any talent for urgency, he had time to see it all.

Because even as the elven knight stood before me, his presence as sharp as his sword, the weight of his greaves did not so much as disturb a single blade of the grass beneath him.  

After all–

Sir Carrius of the Hollow Vow, just like his order of Emerald Knights, had long ceased to be.