Elves, according to the second prince of Eldrida, were fools, blinded by pride, greed, and, most of all, stupidity. What he was witnessing only fueled his belief that his theory was correct. The large council hall was packed with a myriad of elves who sat in theatrical seats around the six patriarchs of the Great Houses.
The hall was huge and bright, featuring a series of vaulted ceilings accompanied by cloisters of gateways. These led to circular balconies that overlooked the Isenstar River.
The royal family was seated at the first column, with King Roran in the seat that stood above all the other patriarchs.
His Vizier, Hirador, was addressing the court in a loud and clear voice.
"Elves of Eldrida! It is with the utmost regret and sadness that I announce the death of Naudra Calanthir, the first princess of Eldrida."
A loud gasp washed over the gathering. As custom demanded, the death of a relative of the King was only announced after the burial.
Arinthal could feel his mother's sadness as she looked at the vizier with blank eyes.
"The filthy inhabitants of Nadindel took the life of our most precious gemstone, and as such, they must pay," Hirador continued, a bit heatedly. "The Great Houses have joined forces and put old disputes behind them. Now, war has been declared on Nadindel!"
Arinthal stood up immediately in shock, and a wave of excited murmurs broke out. The gathered elves looked at each other and, in heated debate, expressed their surprise.
"Sit, brother. It has already been decided," Althaeon warned, his gaze fixed on the six thrones.
"You knew about this? You little piece of..." Arinthal snapped in anger.
"Say it, and it's going to get ugly," Althaeon said quietly, yet his aura was enough to kill an ordinary elf.
Arinthal gritted his teeth and turned back toward the stage.
"The Patriarchs will now sign the will of war in blood!" Hirador exclaimed, drunk with excitement.
There was a wooden tree stump in the center of the throne formation. On it lay a piece of parchment with ancient elven runes drawn on it.
The head of the Fiannarel House was the first to sign with the blood of his right thumb, followed by the Elyndor House, then Aethon, and then Mythren.
When King Roran stood up to make his signature, an annoyed voice made him stop in his tracks.
"Do you fools never learn?!" Arinthal screamed at the five heads.
The elves gasped at the audacity of the young prince. Raising one's voice against the head of a House was punishable by death, let alone against all five.
The young elf floated from his seat on the raised platform and landed on the stone floor of the sunken stage.
"Whatever your thoughts may be, hold them, my prince," Hirador warned politely.
"Shut up, Hirador. I speak not with you," Arinthal said in annoyance.
Hirador, a proud man, could say nothing to defend against his disgrace but looked at the king, who barely acknowledged him.
"You fools think war against humanity is ideal? As of now, we sit at the mercy of the Pantheon Voldus, and here you are, planning a war against their beloved humans," Arinthal sneered in contempt.
King Roran remained silent, but House Fiannarel's patriarch stood up angrily and rebutted the young prince.
"They killed your sister! Do you not want vengeance?" he asked.
"Lord Gretiem Fiannarel, the Fox—you are as cunning as they say. You couldn't care less if the royal family were torn apart by dogs. You're only chasing personal and selfish interests. I see through your deception," Arinthal sneered.
Lord Gretiem's eyes turned dark, and his orange hair seemed to stand on edge with annoyance. He was about to retort when he felt King Roran clear his throat.
"I understand your concerns, my son, but war with the humans is imminent, as you will come to learn," King Roran's deep voice boomed, firm yet gentle. He rose from his sea throne and walked toward the tree stump. He drew a dagger from his regal robes and pricked the tip of his thumb. He quietly signed the name of the Calanthir house on the parchment with his blood.
Arinthal fell silent and began to approach his father.
"I know how hard it is for you, losing Naudra, but can't you see that her honor must be protected?"
King Roran whispered to his son persuasively.
"You sent her to the Tamerlein Continent, and now you're telling me about her honor? Save me the sermon, father," Arinthal seethed with rage and turned to leave. Before he left, he passed his hand over the will of war.
Almost immediately, he began to convulse violently, and in a matter of seconds, he went unconscious.