Wait.
With that whole explosive revelation that my father was a king… I had completely forgotten one small detail.
The engagement.
Engagement.
The word echoed inside my childish mind like a bell of destiny.
Who was the groom?
Or rather…
Who was the bride?
My first suspicion was immediate.
My father.
Was it polygamy?
I mean, human kings in the Middle Ages had several wives. Concubines, political alliances, strategic marriages…
But then I remembered.
Elves were different.
Very different.
More… shy.
Reserved.
How did I know that?
Simple.
I liked to spy.
Not out of malice.
For scientific research, of course.
And based on my extensive, totally ethical and absolutely non-invasive observations… elves were extremely well-behaved when it came to those things.
No scandals.
No secret lovers.
No drama.
A tragedy for any potential gossip enthusiast.
But still… the engagement existed.
And I only started thinking about it again when my father said something suspicious.
Not exactly in these words, but this was how my brain translated it:
"Eliria, add more water to the beans. We're having guests today."
His voice was calm. Controlled.
But I already knew him well enough to notice.
He was nervous.
"I understand," my mother replied.
And that was it.
No panic.
No surprise.
Suspicious.
Very suspicious.
Then it happened.
Knock. Knock.
Someone was at the door.
My mother went to answer it.
"Adele! It's been so long!"
Her voice filled with genuine joy.
"Eliria… every day you become more radiant."
Another voice.
Female.
Elegant.
Friendly.
Not a threat.
My alert level dropped from diplomatic crisis to moderate curiosity.
Then I heard a third voice.
Male.
Deeper.
Firm.
"Eliria, where is your husband?"
Straight to the point.
I liked him already.
"Hello, Elarion. Come in. I'll call him."
Then I saw them.
Two unfamiliar elves.
And immediately began my professional analysis.
First: the clothes.
Light brown.
Made of treated leather.
Different from the light, natural clothes the elves in our village wore.
That meant one thing.
Mountain Elves.
Second: the body.
You know when a skinny person starts training?
They don't become overly muscular.
But everything becomes defined.
Every movement looks efficient.
Controlled.
No wasted motion.
They were like that.
Strong.
Elegant.
Dangerous.
Third: the face.
Beautiful.
Very beautiful.
Actually…
Maybe even more beautiful than the elves here.
Which, honestly, was unfair.
There should be a limit to how much a species can abuse good genetics.
Then the woman noticed me.
Her eyes softened immediately.
She approached slowly.
Kneeled in front of me.
And smiled.
"So… you are little Erond."
She already knew my name.
My brain immediately went into maximum alert.
This wasn't a normal visit.
This was important.
Very important.
Behind her, the elf named Elarion watched me silently.
Not with coldness.
But with evaluation.
As if he were trying to measure something invisible.
Then I heard footsteps behind me.
My father had arrived.
And for the first time since I discovered he was a king…
He looked tense.
My father extended his hand in a firm greeting.
"Elarion."
"Aragorn… my old friend."
I clearly saw the tension disappear from my father's shoulders, as if he had been carrying that weight for a long time.
"Elarion, I thought you were still angry with me," my father said carefully.
"But I am."
Silence.
Even the wind seemed to pause to listen.
"Come on… that was over a hundred years ago," my father replied, trying to sound relaxed.
But I knew that voice.
That was the voice of someone walking on thin ice.
Before the atmosphere could get worse, my mother intervened with her gentle smile—the same smile that had already convinced me to take a bath even when I didn't want to.
"Elarion, I hope you can forgive my husband. He didn't do it out of malice."
She paused slightly.
Then added casually:
"Or we can settle it with a duel, like in the old days… but you fight me."
It was instant.
I literally saw the blood drain from Elarion's face.
His eyes widened.
Cold sweat started running down his temple.
Wait.
He's afraid?
Of my mother?
Could someone please explain this to a confused prodigy baby?
"Fine!" he said much too quickly. "Let's forget about it."
Way too quickly.
My mother tilted her head, disappointed.
"That's a shame… it's been a long time since I've had a duel."
The sadness in her voice was genuine.
Genuine.
My mother… was sad… because she couldn't beat someone up.
Noted.
Very noted.
Never annoy mom.
Never.
My father, realizing the situation was dangerously close to turning into a funeral, immediately changed the subject.
"Let's sit down and talk."
Everyone agreed.