Chapter 4: Chapter four

Gazing up at the silvery moon from my window seat, I relished in the chance to be under its light. It was rare that Maitane allowed me to pull back the curtains at night, and even rarer that I be permitted to go outside. If anyone were to see me, there would be no doubts as to what I was. No glamor could hide my body's response to the touch of moonlight upon my skin.

As the silvery light of the moon broke through the clouds, my pale skin became luminous beneath its gaze. I pressed a hand against the cold glass, relishing in the faint wisps of power seeping into me until the moon disappeared once more behind the clouds.

“My moon, are you awake?”

The sound of Mai’s voice, accompanied by a soft knock at the door broke me from my stupor. She didn’t need to ask, as a Húsvættir Maitane was intrinsically connected to any residential building she claimed as her own. Nothing occurred within this house that she did not know about.

“I am.”

“Lady Isabel has returned.” Mai said as she pushed open the door, and entered my room.

My brows creased as I glanced over at the alarm clock on my bedside table, which showed it was a quarter to one in the morning. She had not even been gone for twelve hours. “Surely she could not have reached Svartálfaheimr, and returned in such a short amount of time.”

“One of the three Dökkálfar was carrying a fragment of Prince Consort Helvern’s shadow within his own. When I revealed myself to restrain them, he immediately dispatched a regiment of Skutilsveinr from the royal Hirð. They crossed paths with Lady Isabel, and she returned with them.”

My eyes widened. Since when was the royal consort able to control and commune with a shadow fragment even through the veil which divided the realms? I didn't even know such a thing was even possible.

“How many Skutilsveinr are in a regiment?” I asked, trying to recall my lessons about the royal household, and its knights.

“Thirty Skutilsveinr, and one Stallari to command them.” Mai answered.

I hummed, tilting my head as I eyed the frail looking woman. “Would it have been enough?”

“Perhaps.” She said simply, flicking on the light switch before moving to my wardrobe and flinging open the doors with a flourish.

Scrunching my eyes closed against the invading light, I listened as she rustled through my closet muttering softly to herself as she searched for something for me to wear.

“These human clothes are ill suited for meeting your guests.” Mai sighed, tutting her tongue as she flicked through the hangers.

“Is it of such import? They are no doubt aware of my circumstances,” I said, moving to sit on the edge of the bed as she pulled out a knee length dress, and examined it before shoving it back into the closet with a huff.

Mai shook her head with a look of annoyance. “The guards also brought with them a scrying mirror. I am sure you can discern the purpose behind their bringing such an item.”

“Ah,” I murmured, gaze shifting to the door as the sound of a gentle knock interrupted our conversation.

Maitane looked up from where she was standing in front of the closet and moved to the door with a scowl. Opening the door just wide enough to slip through, she left the room. The low murmur of voices filtered into the room, muffled by the door as Mai spoke with whoever was on the other side.

It did not take long for Mai to return, this time she opened the door fully to reveal what at first glance appeared to be a small child.

“I greet thee, Smártungl Elayna. I am Sorcha, daughter of Maple. May the moon shine upon our meeting.” The girl’s voice was soft, with a gentle lilt as she spoke. Her shoulder length hair, with its shades of red and copper, reminded me of fall leaves, and as she dropped into a curtsy, I glimpsed transparent wings folded delicately behind her back.

Hands folded in my lap, I gazed down at the Pixie as she remained lowered in her curtsy. After several long moments, her folded wings fluttered, and her head tilted ever so slightly. Mai stood beside the door, her face expressionless as she watched the Pixie. More time went by, and the Pixie remained in her curtsy, head still lowered as she waited for permission to rise.

“You may rise.” The moment the words left my lips, the Pixie let out an audible breath, rising out of the curtsy with a wobble.

“My moon, I have been sent by Ástugrtungl Helvern to serve at your side.” As she spoke, Sorcha craned her head back to stare up at me with large round eyes the color of a copper penny.

I pondered that for a moment, wondering why the beloved moon of Svartálfaheimr would feel the need to send a Pixie to my side.

“At present, I am not prepared to greet those who have been sent.” I said, and gestured to the nightdress I wore.

Sorcha clasped her hands in front of her stomach, copper eyes gleaming brightly as she looked at me. “That’s why I am here, my moon. I have been training under Lady Delma, who has selected me to serve as your Klæða.”

A Klæða? I remained silent, not entirely sure what a Klæða was tasked with. I knew she was not a personal maid or serving woman, as that was the role of a Groðkona, which was one of the few positions in a nobles hirð that permitted one to enter a noblewoman’s private quarters.

“If I recall correctly, Lady Delma is the current royal seamstress.” Maitane commented after several moments passed without me speaking.

Ah, that’s it. A Klæða was the servant in charge of a noble's wardrobe. Mai’s words prodded forth the knowledge from the depths of my mind, and I examined the Pixie again, this time paying more attention to the clothing she wore.

The dress worn by Sorcha was decorated with a pattern of intricate beads, forming a honeycomb of sparkling amber that overlaid a yellow silk skirt below. Delicate fabric swished around her legs, the bottom of the skirt brushing over the top of her knees, and yellow ribbons wrapped around slender legs, trailing down to a pair of beaded shoes that encased a pair of tiny feet.

“Did you make the dress you are wearing?” I questioned, getting a nod in response. “It is beautiful, the beading reminds me of honeycomb.”

“You honor me with your praise,” Sorcha replied, lowering her head with flushed cheeks.

“Show me what you have brought.” I suggested.

Sorcha hesitated, her wings fluttering out behind her before snapping closed to lay along her back. “Smártungl, I’ve only brought with me a few dresses. Our departure was unexpected, and I was only able to bring my work chest. It was quite a shock when Prince Consort Helvern entered our work space, and requested the services of Lady Delma’s best apprentice. I never expected she would choose me! The next thing I knew, I was being bundled into a carriage. They didn’t tell me a thing until we arrived here. ”

Sorcha 's eyes were downcast as she clapped her hands together, her pink lips pursing together into a pout. “If only they had given me time to pack!”

“I am sure what you have with you will be far superior to the garments in the closet.” I said to the Pixie who resembled a pouting child.

Lifting her head, Sorcha eyed me up and down. “Would you stand so I can examine your figure?”

Obediently, I rose from the bed. Once I was standing, the Pixie appeared even smaller, with the top of her head only reaching my upper thigh.

I smiled as I watched Sorcha walk around me, murmuring to herself as she did so. “I’m going to have to make a few adjustments to what I have made. You’re shorter than most Dökkálfar.”

The smile fell from my lips at the Pixie’s words. “I’m five foot nine.”

“Don’t worry Smártungl, we can have heels made for you.” Sorcha said, looking up at me with a reassuring smile.

Was she jesting with me? I glanced over at Mai, who appeared to be busying herself sorting through the cosmetics on my vanity.

“How tall are female Dökkálfar usually?” I questioned as the Pixie pinched the hem of my nightgown between her fingers, and scrunched up her nose.

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“I’ve never dressed one who is under six feet,” She said, releasing the gown. “What material is this? It feels horrid.”

Well, that would explain why Mai spent so much time teaching me to walk, run, and fight in high heels. It seemed my height would be yet another thing I would need to compensate for.

“Polyester.” I replied.

Muttering under her breath Sorcha rushed out the door, returning a few moments later with a wooden trunk floating through the air behind her. The trunk was made of a red hued wood, and unlike most trunks which opened at the top with a single compartment, this one opened at the front to reveal a set of drawers.

Pulling open one of the drawers, Sorcha began pulling out different items of clothing, holding up each for a brief moment before tossing it aside. While she worked, her soft lilting voice babbled almost non stop about colors and styles that were currently being worn in court.

At first, I wasn’t paying much attention to the Pixies words until I realized that Sorcha was not simply sharing fashion advice, but court gossip.

Whilst I did not care about how Lady Astra wore a gown in the style currently favored by the Vanir to the harvest feast. It did interest me that the garment had been damaged after she got into a dispute with Lady Lorelei whilst trying to gain the attention of the other woman's lover, and that the lady's lover happened to be Lord Jerrik, nephew to the king.

When the Pixie went on to babble about Jarlkona Norell’s recent trend setting gowns which were designed by a seamstress from Álfheimr, I found it difficult to keep my expression from showing my anger.

I did not know this Pixie, nor did I trust her. It was entirely possible she was a spy sent to my side by Jarlkona, and showing any response to her words would be unwise in my current situation.

As the king's sister, Norell held a lot of power in the court. Even after marrying Jarl Ívarr of Markaðshöfn, which was one of the smaller provinces in the kingdom, the woman was still able to cling onto a great deal of influence. So much so, that until my conception, it was expected her son would be named as Smártungl- the small moon of Svartálfaheimr.

To say that Jarl Ívarr, and Jarlkona Norell were displeased that their son was displaced in the line of succession by me would be an understatement. That my mother was an Aos sí, and not a Dökkálfar only made matters worse, allowing them to gain further support from the nobles who did not wish to see a mixed blood moon on the throne.

“My Moon, what do you think of this gown? The color at the skirt’s hem is almost the same shade of blue as your eyes.” Sorcha’s voice corralled my wandering thoughts back to the present, and I looked over to see the Pixie hovering in midair, a beautiful dress held out in front of her.

The dress was strapless, with a cinched waist and a skirt made of a light, airy material. It reminded me of a cascading waterfall, with its rich blue bodice that faded into lighter shades as it reached the bottom. The bodice was detailed with strands of silver, shaped like leafy vines that were adorned with flowers made of blue jewels.

“It is beautiful Sorcha,” I praised.

Sorcha’s face lit up with a smile, her copper eyes shining with happiness. “May I be permitted to touch you, my moon?”

“I shall permit your touch as required for assisting me to dress.” I said, ensuring I clearly defined my consent.

While the Dökkálfar were known for their promiscuous nature, second only to that of the Unseelie Fae, consent was of the utmost importance. When it came to sex among the Dökkálfar the rules were simple; you are free to have sex with whoever, or whatever you wish in as many numbers, genders, and fetishes you desired so long as all parties consented.

Removing my nightgown, I tossed it onto the nearby dresser before turning my attention back to the Pixie.

Sorcha’s eyes roamed over my body, showing the proper courtesy in admiring the flesh I displayed. Once she was finished with her perusal, the Pixie rose higher in the air, gathering up the material in her hands.

Whisper soft material flowed over me in a gentle caress as the dress slid over my head. Lowering my arms, I was about to adjust the bodice when Sorcha flitted around behind me, her hands brushing over the bare skin of my back.

Sorcha’s mægen seeped through my skin, warm and floral. My own darker, winter kissed mægen stirred at the foreign touch, and surged through the Pixie, drawing a pained moan from her lips as her warmth was overwhelmed by the cold darkness.

Copper eyes going wide, Sorcha yanked her trembling hands away from my skin, bringing them to her chest. My mægen faded from her body, and she rubbed her hands together with a pained expression on her face.

“My sincere apologies, I did not-” Sorcha’s voice wavered, her tongue darting out over her lips. “Your mægen.”

“You think to cast blame upon the Smártungl for your own neglect?” Mai accused.

Sorcha’s body dipped into a curtsy, her eyes lowering to stare at the floor. “The fault was my own. I should have worn gloves when dressing the Smártungl, as I do with all others.”

“Yet you did not.” Mai retorted, her expression stern.

“No, I did not.” Sorcha admitted, hands grasping at the skirt of her dress. “I wished to feel her mægen, and was wrong to do so. My moon, I beg your forgiveness.”

“Do not make such a mistake again, ” I warned, knowing she was not entirely at fault. I could have contained my mægen, but had chosen not too when she initiated things by brushing hers over my skin.

The Pixie bobbed in the air, retrieving a pair of white gloves from her trunk. After pulling on the gloves, Sorcha moved behind me, tightening the ribbons at the back of the dress to cinch at the waist. When she finished tying the bodice, Sorcha floated to the ground, examining the hem where it pooled on the ground.

“This simply won’t do,” she sighed, hands on hips. “This needs to come up at least two inches, which will change the flow of the colors. The last segment of blue will be smaller.”

“And if she wore a four inch heel?” Mai asked, as she approached carrying a pair of silver heels from my closet.

Sorcha examined the shoes, her nose wrinkling with clear distaste. “Such poor workmanship. I can see every stitch!”

“Unless you brought shoes with you that are in my size, those are what I have.” I informed her as I walked across the room to sit on the stool in front of my vanity.

Maitane appeared behind me, and immediately set to running a comb through my inky black tresses, parting them into sections. Deft fingers wove my hair into a series of small braids that encircled the crown of my head before forming into a larger braid that ended between my shoulder blades.

As the Húsvættir worked on my hair, I examined the cosmetics she had laid out on the table. There was no foundation, or toner to be found, which was out of the norm for my daily makeup routine. Then again, my pale skin no longer needed to be hidden beneath glamours, and layers of makeup, so there was no need for such heavy cosmetics.

With practiced ease, I blended together shades of light and dark blue across the top of my eyelids, mimicking the color of the dress I wore. The vibrant splash of color, a stark contrast to my pale skin, and dark hair. However, despite possessing the inky black hair of the high born Svartálfar, I would never be recognized as such. The blue of my eyes, and the short Aos si ears reflected in the mirror were those of a Myrkálfar. An Álfar of mixed blood- murky blood.

“My moon, are you not intending to wear any jewelry?” Sorcha asked, coming over to smooth her hands over the skirt of my gown as I stood.

“I have none with me, for it is only from their kin Dökkálfar can receive such things before coming of age.” I reminded the Pixie whose body stiffened her eyes going wide.

Holding up a hand to silence her babbling apologies, I turned around to face the vanity, moving a few steps backwards so I could get a full view of myself.

Twisting around, I watched as the skirts of the dress flared around me in a swirl of blue. The cinching at the waist of the dress gave me the appearance of a fuller figure, while the strapless bodice accentuated my shoulders, and neck.

The wispy dress might have made me seem delicate, if not for my expression, which gave a touch of strength to my appearance. My winter blue eyes were impassive, my lips were slightly parted as I stared into the mirror. The expression gave me a regal, yet condescending air, that was just enough to shatter the illusion of fragility the dress conveyed.

The same expression once adorned the face of my mother. It had been her courtier's mask, and now it was mine. This would be the expression my enemies saw, it would serve as a constant reminder of the woman they murdered to usurp my place as an heir.

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