The king was as devious as he was focused, plans that were so intricate and far sighted that the generals of his armies would say that the monarch himself was of supernatural longevity for not even the elven lifespan could contain all the plots, threads, schemes and strategies that he set in motion. Those same generals, some of them veterans of carnage riddled wars, whispered in discrete fear that even the composition of the royal family was planned in advance. Human minds alone could not understand the intricacy, so the stories of the masses were filled with mentions of magic and pacts with the devils of the void itself.<br/><br/>In ironical truth, the devils chose to not negotiate with the king. The risk was not worth.<br/><br/>Helyna's childhood was obviously one of many riches, her desires being met briefly after she even conjured the thoughts on her heart. But it came with a price that no blood soaked coin could pay for: The crushing weight of discipline was set upon not only her shoulders, but on her brother's as well. She could tell countless stories of her past, one more horrifying then the last one, as she adjusted to her father's standards of both grace and beauty. But those stories will never be told. In her mind, the pains of being the living incarnation of the king's grace was the uprising of any elven woman. Her brother was raised to be a general, fearless when the life of other's were at stake, but an strategist when the reign of the king was menaced. But both progeny were raised under one strict rule, and any disobedience to that rule would be punished with severity: Show no weakness what so ever. Such was the perfect foundation for a kingdom that would last millennia: An indisputable god-king , carrying his son as a sword in his right hand, and a rose as a daughter on his left.<br/><br/>Helyna had constant meals and meetings with her brother when he was not busy learning under the wings of the kingdoms most accomplished thinkers. She cherished those moments, even if they sounded even more formal then a family reunion should. Her words would ask for his wisdom, wanting to know about the lessons that he was taking, even if in truth she did not care for the answer. It was always a variation of him telling stories about dealing with the lower classes anarchists who undermined the structure of the kingdom. Rabble who cared for nothing but feeding themselves with anything that did not belong to them, embodiment of gluttony and greed, willing to live for nothing and die for even less, just for the spite of giving the kingdom's guard the chore of removing another corpse from the way.<br/><br/>It felt alien to her, but those words lost meaning quickly. But she listened anyway, praising her brother with titles of bravery and service to the kingdom, for even if they were both born under the eye of the king, his ego was allowed to be stroked, her's was not.<br/><br/>She was approached by an elf, who greeted her with politeness, yet in a lively manner. Even before she could barely understand where her hand was placed, she was greeted with a poem written by a long lost druid that praised the morning as the ultimate beauty. Recognition came not long afterwards, for the male elf was the son of a lord from one of her father's lands. The words flowed out of his lips in perfect rhythm, her hand being held between his, surprised from receiving such sudden affection.<br/><br/>The poem indeed was a work of art, and the elven noble was known for being adventurous and kind hearted. Such qualities were things that her father hated, her head turning towards the throne, to watch the king's eyes not upon the young lord, but upon herself. The weight of discrete disapproval from an act that was not even her fault. The king was not angry, not externally. Displaying displease like that would be a weakness.<br/><br/>She looked back at the flirting noble, a smile upon her lips. She did not bow, but instead exchanged a few words, as polite and formally as possible, thanking for such kind words and the Lord's loyalty to her father. The tone of her voice was different though. Truly pleased and in a good mood. To receive such compliments in such manner was a blessing that did not come everyday, and it was a shame that she needed to politely neglect such acts. She walked away from him, pulling her hand lastly after the rest of her body had already chosen another path. Her skin felt warm, as did her cheeks. Yet, no weakness was shown, no ground was given. Another flirtatious young noble was left wanting. She needed to appear untouchable, as the king's command.<br/><br/>Her steps took her closer to the side hall that connected to the balcony, as she quickly and gracefully got out of reach from her father`s disproving eyes. She knew that no punishment would come from being the receiving end of a flirt, yet such occurrence would get her farther from the king`s favor. She wanted to, but could not look back, to have one last look at the pretentious young noble that approached her. No. She was being watched still. She was told that she was always being watched. For now, she walked further into the side hall, far smaller but far less crowded then the main hall.<br/><br/>Her eyes found a Lord which she knew her father favored greatly, and her steps found a way through the other guests towards what seemed a elegant conversation. She was taught to never walk straight to someone to greet, as such would demonstrate both familiarity and an exaggerated desire to mingle. In a broad circle, she was getting closer to the Lord, but caught a glimpse of something strange that happened. A voice, not many feet away from her, thanking a servant. A human none the less. Moving her head slightly to the side, she could see with the corner of her eye who did it.<br/><br/>Far from being one capital mistake, such was a strange situation. One would not thank a servant for being a servant the same way one would not thank a couch for being comfortable. Her focus was now not on the initial target, but on the elf that walked away towards the balcony. Interestingly, it was not someone she ever recognized, even though she was positive that she knew close to all the lord's sons that had a similar age. She turned to the servant, closing in and speaking softly in her ear, as if she would when orders were needed to be passed along.<br/><br/><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#ff4d4d">"Do you know the name of the Elf you have just served? The one with black hair tied with green silk."</span>