Ciri did not need to be told was the king.
He was tall, even among his own kind, silver hair falling loose past his shoulders, his robes a deep, unadorned blue that somehow commanded more presence than any crown could have. When he turned toward them, his eyes settled on Ciri with an intensity that made her skin crawl beneath the illusion she wore.
"Avallac'h," King Auberon said, "I was wondering when you would arrive. I have been looking forward to this meeting for some time." His eyes shifted to Ciri, and a warm smile spread across his face.
He plucked a single blossom from the vine beside him, and crossed the distance between them.
"You need not introduce yourself," he said, extending the flower toward her, his voice smooth and low. "I know you quite well already. Princess Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon this is gift for you. It is a rare bloom, found only in the gardens of Tir Na Lia. It is said to bring good fortune to those who receive it."
Auberon's smile widened, his eyes gleaming with a predatory warmth. "And please. Call me Auberon. There is no need for formality here. You are among family, after all."
Ciri took the flower, her fingers brushing against his. She smiled, a thin fake expression that did not reach her eyes. "I appreciate the gift." Behind her back, her fingers tightened, and she crushed the delicate petals, the sap staining her palm.
Auberon's eyes flickered to her hand, but he said nothing. Instead, He turned toward Avallac'h. "Old friend, if you would permit me, I must speak with the princess. Privately."
"Of course, Your Majesty." Avallac'h bowed his head and stepped back without hesitation, though Ciri caught the flicker of his eyes toward her before he withdrew a look she answered with one of her own, sharp and furious. What are you doing? Don't you dare leave me alone with him. He did anyway, melting back into the shadow of the garden's arch, and Ciri was left standing alone with a king six hundred years older than her.
"Walk with me, princess," he said, already turning down the path, entirely certain she would follow.
"Stop calling me that," Ciri said, falling into step beside him regardless, spine straight, every muscle coiled tight. "Cirilla is good enough."
The king laughed, soft and genuinely delighted, as though she had said something charmingly novel rather than sharply defensive. "Of course, Cirilla. I apologize. Old habits are hard to break."
They walked beneath the glowing trees together, Ciri remained guarded, her eyes sweeping the garden, every shadow, every potential threat. She was uncomfortable in his presence, her body tense, her hand never straying far from the dagger hidden beneath her robes. The king, for his part, seemed entirely unbothered by the silence, as though he had all the time in the world to fill it.. which, she supposed, he very nearly did.
"I have heard a great deal about you," he said at last, "from Avallac'h, even while you still walked your own world, blind to what you were. I confess I have long wished to see the child of Lara Dorren with my own eyes." He glanced sidelong at her, something almost hungry beneath the courtly warmth of his expression. "You already know, I think, that you and I are kin, Cirilla."
"You could say that," Ciri said, jaw tight. "But I'm far more attached to my human side. As you can plainly see" she gestured faintly to the illusion draped over her, to the ears that were not, beneath it, truly pointed at all. "I don't exactly qualify as an elf."
The king smiled, unbothered. "Of course. And yet the Elder Blood runs in you all the same. That is what makes you Aen Elle, whatever shape your ears take."
Ciri said nothing to that. She understood, with perfect clarity, exactly what game he was playing, and she had no intention of handing him a single card more than he already held.
Undeterred by her silence, he continued, his voice taking on something quieter with fake grief. "We long wished to bring your ancestor, Lara Dorren, home to us. But we lost her... to humans, who kept her against her will, who let her die at their hands after she gave birth to a child we could never retrieve, never bring back to her rightful world, here, in Tir na Lia." His gaze grew distant, fixed on something centuries gone. "It has been hundreds of years since. That failure remains, to this day, the greatest of my long life."
"And how old are you, exactly," Ciri asked, flat, unimpressed by the theater of it.
Auberon Muircetach considered her for a long moment before answering. "Over six hundred and fifty years," he said, and something like a smile touched his mouth. "I know that must seem an entire lifetime removed from your own understanding of time. Several, perhaps."
"So you're saying," Ciri said slowly, "that you've spent all those centuries wanting to get your hands on my ancestor's blood."
"You say that as though I were some manner of monstrous hunter." The king's brow furrowed, wounded pride flickering briefly across his ageless features. "No, Cirilla. I simply wished to return a lost child to her home. But Lara Dorren died, and with her, we believed, the Elder Blood was lost to us forever.. until her descendants proved themselves princesses, queens, an entire dynasty of remarkable women. And you, Cirilla, stand as the most extraordinary among them all." His eyes traced her face with an intensity that made her want to step back, though she held her ground. "You are the very image of her. Of Lara Dorren. Did you know that Avallac'h once loved her? No that was wrong.. He still loves her.. to this very day."
Ciri's eyes widened despite herself. "He did?" A short, disbelieving breath escaped her. "Well. That explains quite a lot, actually." She shook her head faintly. "No matter how much I insult him, blame him for dragging me here against my will.. he just takes it. Every time."
"Oh, he loved her a great deal," the king said. "Too much, if such a thing can be said to exist. I blamed him once, for her loss, and he accepted that blame fully... And he vowed, of his own will, to watch over her descendants in the world of men, generation after generation."
"So he stalked my entire bloodline," Ciri said, something cold settling into her voice. "Including me."
"That was his charge, and he accepted it gladly," the king said. "But understand this.. never once did I command him to bring harm to a human in pursuit of it. Your people, Cirilla, are primitive, compared to what we are. Were we to wish your world ill, it would lie entirely under our dominion within a century. Less, perhaps, if we were thorough."
Ciri's expression hardened, the words landing exactly as she suspected they were meant to.. as both boast and warning. "Then why haven't you," she said, voice tight, "considering your magnificent world is on the verge of ruin from the White Frost?"
Something flickered behind the king's eyes, surprise that was quickly masked. "How do you.." He caught himself, and something almost fond crossed his face. "Ah. Avallac'h told you.. Yes. The White Frost threatens our world, as it has for longer than even I can say with certainty. We cannot determine when it will strike in full, or whether it ever fully will, it remains a mystery even to us, for all our long study of it. We can harness its power in small measure. We can never master it. And so, yes, our world will not survive it. Nor, I fear, will yours." He turned to face her fully, and for the first time, something raw and desperate showed beneath the composed, courtly mask. "Unless."
Ciri went very still.
"We join forces, Cirilla," he said, and his voice had lost all its earlier theater, stripped down now to something almost fervent. "With you at my side, we could save both our worlds from the ruin that awaits them. Be my queen, and.."
"I cannot." The words came out sharp, barely restrained, Ciri's hands curling into fists at her sides.
The king fell silent.
"I can't," she said again, quieter now. "This is absurd. I don't pretend to know all your customs, Your Majesty, but where I come from, this.. all of this... is simply ridiculous. I want to save my world. Yours too, if it were within my power. But this.." she gestured between them, "...is the one thing I will never give you."
Something shifted behind the king's ancient eyes, the warmth draining out of his expression like color from a dying leaf, leaving something colder and far less patient in its place. "I see," he said simply.
"I have to go," Ciri said, and turned on her heel without waiting for permission, walking back the way they'd come with her spine straight and her pulse hammering beneath her calm.
She turned and walked away, her footsteps echoing against the stone. She did not look back.
The king said nothing to stop her. He only watched her go, silver hair stirring faintly in the garden's strange, breathless wind, a look settling over his face that was neither anger nor grief, he had waited six centuries and did not intend to be refused twice.
'What a troublesome bloodline,' he thought, watching until she vanished beyond the archway. 'No matter. That suits me well enough. You are under my watch now, princess.. whether you welcome it or not.'
/-\
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