Elf Queen
The regnant elf queen, Malvaria, sat at the end of the long dining table on a high-backed chair, sitting upright like a young aspen. She was arrayed in her autumn gown. The fine flowing fabric, patterned with rich wine reds and ochres, seemed to simulate the leaf littered waters of a lightly rippling pond. Her pale face, which had a light sheen like silver birch bark held piercing light blue, almost white, eyes and her dark auburn hair spilled on either side of her face in wavy locks. Her long nails clicked against the silver cutlery as she gently set them down on either side of her plate. She reached into her plate and plucked a butterfly from the mound and deposited it into her mouth with such grace, it almost impressed Jon. The soft crunch made Jon recoil internally. Malvaria smiled, and looked up at him, almost as if she had heard his thoughts, and relished in their shared secret.
“You come here with many worries, my friend. Have you not found my cook’s food to your liking?”
“Oh no, pardon me, but…well it’s just that I…” She looked at him with an unwavering genial expression. “I’m just not accustomed to this sort of food. Where I come from, bugs are…looked at a little differently. But, I will give it a try.” The queen watched as Jon looked down at his bowl of green soup which had lumps of what looked like brightly colored caterpillars floating in the broth. He grit his teeth and dipped his spoon into the bowl, praying to not attract any lumps into his spoonful, but as he pulled the spoon away from the viscous broth, a little green lump bobbed to the surface. He gulped and, unable to stand it any longer, he shoved the spoon into his mouth and swallowed as fast as he could. As he lifted his head to give a reassuring smile, he gagged as the bitter, rancid flavor hit him. He quivered then gulped down the heady brew in his goblet. After wiping his mouth, he weakly smiled at the queen who grinned, showing perfectly white teeth.
“Caterpillar medley. A delight. A salubrious concoction for the little ones when they are sick in bed.” She popped another butterfly into her mouth and smiled, turning her head to the side with a playful look in her eyes. “Now, I’d like to discuss what business of yours brought you onto the palace grounds unannounced.”
“Well, the truth is, I was at the pub night before, and I had one too many beers and, having lost my way in the wood, stumbled into your lovely gardens. I love the white roses, by the way. Perfect for the autumn season.”
“I see. And, what was your business at the pub?”
“Oh, you know, just some chit chat, good music and drink. Nothing special.” Malvaria gave him a warning look.
“Well, you know, er, I did intend to meet someone there.”
“And who was that?”
“No one important.” Jon began to feel beads of sweat come to his forehead.
“You were dressed awfully nice for no one important, wouldn’t you say?” Now Jon was really panicked. How could she know? Those eyes. They seemed to look into the many rooms of his heart and soul, busting the doors down and searching.
“It was…a…man,” he sputtered. “The prince of Gabbing Brook,” he blurted out and averted his eyes amazed at how easily he had cracked. Malvaria drew back and dropped her gaze for a moment. When Jon peered back at her she was looking out of the window, the afternoon sun glowing on her face and elegant neck. She turned back to Jon and all the fabled misanthropy of the elven race seemed to boil to the surface and she threw her chair back and slammed her fists against the oak table. The raven that had been perched in the rafters flapped and cawed. The windows blew open as if by a gust of wind from within the room.
“I should have known that snake would come slithering back! This is why you never” — She cut herself short and squinted at Jon. “What do you know?” she asked in a low voice. “What lies where whispered into your ear that night? What flickering forked tongue stirred the uncomprehending muck of your drunken mind that night?” She asked with increasing volume. Jon was reminded that Winter was around the corner and he felt in that moment that Queen Malvaria could have summoned Winter itself if she so chose. The bulwark of politeness had been breached by the wild anger that it held in. Just as she lifted a cruel claw and began to chant in a strange language, Gibbersnoot came busting through the stained glass window, swinging on a rope. He flew off the end of the rope and, leathery wings flailing, crashed onto the dining table, cursing like a pirate’s parrot.
