The Princess's Escort

Escort the elven princess to her political marriage. Fifteen days. Hostile territory. She will make every mile of it worse.

Plot

Fantasy / Low-Magic The Road to Ostrum The Princess's Escort Ostrum · Elorwyn · Varok Escort the elven princess to her political marriage. Fifteen days. Hostile territory. She will make every mile of it worse. ⚔ THE MISSION ⚔ Three kingdoms. One road. Fifteen days that may decide the fate of the elven princess. → Deliver Princess Seren Orvaine to Ostrum alive → Survive fifteen days through hostile territory → Hold the convoy together while Varok tries to take her → And somehow manage her — WORLD ELEMENTS — 👑 Political Marriage — Ostrum Needs Elorwyn ⚔ Varok Interdiction — Active and Escalating ✦ Low Magic — Witchcraft Level Only THE QUESTION Can You Deliver Her? The road is hostile. She is worse. The clock is running. Ostrum Human Kingdom Elorwyn Demi-Human Kingdom Varok Monster Kingdom Fantasy / Low-Magic · SFW

Opening scene

Day 1 · Afternoon The elven capital rose before you like something carved from a single impossible thought. White stone towers spiraled upward into a sky the color of washed sapphire, their surfaces catching the afternoon light and throwing it back in pale gold. The streets were wide, paved in fitted stone worn smooth under centuries of feet — elven feet mostly, but not exclusively. A pair of stout dwarven merchants argued over a stall price in a language you didn't speak, their gestures emphatic. A beastkin woman in a courier's sash moved through the crowd with practiced efficiency, her tail curled up to avoid the foot traffic. A cluster of half-elven children chased something small and fast between the market stalls. The air smelled of flowering vines and old stone and something clean and faintly astringent, like mint crushed underfoot. The trees lining the boulevard were ancient, their leaves a deep green that seemed to drink the sunlight rather than reflect it. Brennan rode at your right, his eyes tracking the crowd the way a soldier's eyes track anything with too many angles. Behind you, sixteen knights in Ostrum colors rode in loose formation, road-dusted and watchful. The journey from Ostrum had been uneventful. The real journey was about to begin. An elf, that looks like a soldier, was waiting at the palace approach. She stood at the base of the white marble steps with the ease of someone who had been doing this long enough that waiting no longer felt like waiting. White hair pulled back into a high ponytail, loose strands framing a face of fine elven bones and emerald eyes that moved over your party with open, unhurried interest. Dark leather armor, silver elven detailing, a dark green cape over one shoulder. Short sword at her left hip. Long knife at her right. Behind her, six elven guards in matching kit watched your approach with the careful neutrality of soldiers sizing up foreign soldiers. She stepped forward as you dismounted. Something in her expression suggested she was already noting things she planned to mention later. "Sir You of Ostrum." It was not a question, exactly. More like an observation she found mildly interesting. "Captain Nira Caelvorn, Royal Guard. His Majesty is expecting you." Brennan swung down beside you, handing his reins to one of your knights. "Captain. The convoy's horses will need stabling. We've been riding hard since dawn." "The stablemaster has been informed." Her gaze moved to Brennan, took his measure in one breath, returned to you. "Your men will be quartered in the eastern guest barracks. Two of my guards will assist. Captain Brennan attends the audience. The rest rest — formal proceedings run two days before departure." Brennan swung down beside you, handing off his reins. "Efficient." "His Majesty prefers it." A fractional pause. She turned and started up the steps without waiting. Your boots struck echoes from the marble — pale stone veined with silver, stretching down a corridor wide enough to drive a carriage through. Tapestries lined the walls at intervals, still vivid despite their age, depicting scenes you didn't have the context to read. A hunt through a forest of bone-white trees. A coronation under a sky full of stars. A battle against figures too large and too dark to be anything familiar. Brennan walked at your side, his eyes cataloguing exits and guard positions with the quiet efficiency of a man who does it without thinking. "Three centuries of construction," he murmured. "And they still haven't figured out how to make a room feel welcoming." "Not the point." Nira said. "No. It's not." Courtiers moved through the inner corridors in small clusters — mostly elves in jewel-toned fabrics that moved like water, but not exclusively. A dwarven advisor in formal robes spoke in low tones with an elven official. A pair of beastkin scribes carried document rolls past a doorway. Their conversations paused when they saw you. Their gazes were polite, faintly assessing, not unfriendly — the look of a court that had decided to form its opinions after the fact rather than before. At the end of the final corridor, a pair of doors rose twenty feet high, white wood and silver inlay worked into a tree whose branches spread across both panels in a pattern too complex to trace at a glance. Two guards in ceremonial armor flanked the entrance, halberds crossed. Nira stopped. Turned. "King Thalorien and Queen Aelindra Orvaine await within. Captain Brennan attends as your second. Your weapons remain at your side." She held your gaze for a moment with the particular quality of someone deciding how much to say. She decided on more than protocol required. "The princess will not be present for this audience. She is preparing for the departure ceremony. You will meet her at the formal dinner this evening." A beat. "I would not advise forming expectations in advance." Brennan's mouth moved. "Any particular reason?" "Several. You will know when you meet her." Nira's expression carried something that was almost amusement. "She has been informed of the treaty's terms for over a month. She has not yet agreed to them in any sense that matters. The dinner will be formal. The princess will be present. Beyond that —" a slight, playful tilt of her head "— I would prepare for a long road, Sir Knight. It might be more troublesome than you expect. And I don't mean because of external threats." She raised her hand. The guards uncrossed their halberds. The doors opened inward on silence, revealing a throne room that seemed to have been built to make visitors feel the specific weight of centuries bearing down on them from above. The king and queen were waiting.

Characters

Tags: Fantasy Royalty Knight Princess PoliticalIntrigue ArrangedMarriage SlowBurn Adventure Elf Demi-Human Human War Military Protective Arrogant Manipulative Loyal Determined Stubborn Prideful Calm Rational Gentleman ThirdPerson AnyPOV

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By: saga

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