Shadows Over Arcadia

I am Willow of the Fae, and I have lived for 5,095 years. At this fleeting moment in my vast existence, I find myself the guardian of Ren Drakemore, the second prince of Arcadia.

One of humanity's many peculiar traditions is the annual celebration of their birth. Perhaps they mark each year because they have so few, a stark reminder of their sprint toward oblivion. To me, it feels excessive, an incessant acknowledgment of their fragility. Still, I have observed that birthdays hold great importance to humans. These celebrations seem to shield their delicate minds, especially those of children, who require constant nurturing from parents and peers to grow mentally stable. Though their customs often appear nonsensical to me, I have made efforts to emulate them for Ren's sake.

Today marks Ren's eighth birthday, and I have crafted a detailed plan based on seven years of trial and error. The first step involves preparing an overabundance of his favorite foods. After sampling 130 distinct dishes, prepared in 1,432 different ways, I have identified Ren's top five favorites. This tradition, as I understand it, also demands an excess, far more than he or his guests could reasonably consume. For the first time, I have even arranged for guests to join the feast.

The second hallmark of a human birthday is the gift: a thoughtful offering tailored to their often-fickle preferences. Ren, thus far, has struggled to appreciate the value of my past offerings.

On his first birthday, I gave him a Soul Stone imbued with the essence of 100 fallen warriors. A rare and powerful artifact. To Ren, it was "just another rock."

For his third birthday, I presented him with a Magnus Spider, a magnificent magical creature that, if tamed, could grow into a formidable ally and protector. Unfortunately, I discovered that Ren harbors a fear of spiders, even those as small as two feet wide.

On his fifth birthday, I gifted him a Mithrilroot sapling. The wood of this tree, once fully grown, is prized for crafting the most powerful wands. However, I failed to account for the fact that it would take over two human lifetimes to mature and require constant mana infusion. Ren, regrettably, did not share my appreciation for its potential.

Despite these setbacks, I am confident that this year I have found a gift he cannot help but value.

There is a knock at the tower door. I open it to find Captain Gavin and the elf slave Silfy, the head servant from Lord Griswald's estate. Gavin has forgone his usual heavy armor, appearing instead in a simple blouse and trousers—an uncommon sight. Silfy wears a modest yet elegant dress, more fitting a noblewoman than a servant, though the thin, ornate fabric collar around her neck marks her as one of Griswald's. Gavin carries two large, cloth-wrapped items, his broad grin as unrelenting as ever.

"Welcome, and thank you for coming," I say, stepping aside. "Please join us upstairs."

"Thank you for the invite!" booms Gavin in his typical jovial tone, his eyes scanning the room. "Where's the birthday boy?"

"Up... stairs," I repeat, slower this time.
Even for a human, he is an idiot.

Without hesitation, Gavin bounds up the spiral staircase two steps at a time. Silfy, meanwhile, bows deeply, her demeanor stiff and formal. "Thank you, Lady Willow, for allowing me into your home. Lord Griswald regrets that he was unable to attend and has sent me in his stead."

"Yes, he informed me. You are very welcome," I reply.

Still bowed, Silfy continues with what sounds like a rehearsed speech. "While I am here, I will serve you as I would him, and beg your patience if I cause any trouble, M'lady."

Her fear is palpable. She must worry we are like other nobles, the kind who beat their slaves for the slightest perceived mistake. It is a reasonable fear, but not in this home.

"You poor child, raise your head," I say, unable to hide my frustration. "You seem confused about where you are."

Silfy stiffens, mistaking my tone for displeasure. Her eyes squeeze shut as she blurts, "Very sorry, M'lady!"

"Miss Silfy, was it?" I ask, a note of impatience creeping into my voice. "Stand up straight and look at me."

Slowly, she straightens, though she still avoids my gaze. Her whispered apology barely reaches my ears: "I'm sorry."

"Silfy," I say, firm but gentle, "you will not be serving us. You are a guest in our home and at the prince's birthday party. I need you to look me in the eyes, stop trembling, and relax."

She hesitates, then finally shifts her gaze to mine. Her shoulders lower slightly as she takes a deep, calming breath. "Yes, ma'am," she says, her voice steadier.

I hold elves in higher regard than other mortal races. With their long lifespans, they see the world from a perspective closer to that of the fae. Their natural attunement to magic and the earth makes them almost kin to my kind. For this reason, I find the enslavement of elves a gross violation of the natural order.

"Miss Silfy," I continue, softening my tone, "you can expect the same care and patience from the prince and me as you would your master. All I need you to do is smile, eat food, and... GO. UP. STAIRS. Please." I add the last part with a shard of annoyance.

"Right away, M'Lady," Silfy replies, forcing a wide, awkward smile before hurrying toward the staircase.

I watch her ascend, shaking my head. I hadn't realized how deeply her anxiety about leaving Griswald's estate ran.

Worst-case scenario: if she ruins the celebration with her awkwardness, I can always erase the memory of it from everyone.

I follow Silfy upstairs to the second-floor dining room. When I arrive, Captain Gavin and Miss Silfy have already taken their seats at one end of the table, leaving the head seat reserved for Ren. Gavin looks completely at ease, glancing around the room as if expecting Ren to appear at any moment. His gifts now rest on the table beside the one I prepared earlier.

Ren's chair sits vacant at the head of the table. I pull it out with one hand, and wave the other to summon a winged spirit, a bat-like form of swirling black smoke. The creature flutters gracefully toward Ren's room and slips inside.

The messenger spell's voice echoes faintly as it delivers my message: "Young Master, please join us in the dining hall."

Moments later, I hear footsteps descending the spiral staircase. Ren appears at the base, dressed in the formal attire I prepared for him. The suit is adorned with frills and ribbons. According to my research, such garments are popular among noble youths and mark them as the guest of honor. Yet despite my meticulous planning, Ren looks utterly crestfallen as he approaches the table and takes his seat.

"What… are you wearing?" Gavin asks, brow furrowed in confusion.

"Lady Willow said I had to wear this for my birthday party," Ren replies, his tone flat and utterly devoid of enthusiasm.

"Your surprise birthday party," I correct, offering a smile.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

"What's the surprise?" Ren asks, frowning. "We always do the same thing."

"I gave you only a week's notice," I counter. "And for the first time, we have guests!" I add, gesturing proudly to Gavin and Silfy.

Ren looks at me with an odd expression I cannot decipher, but it is clearly not the joy I anticipated.

Perhaps Ren doesn't realize he should feel happy about these traditions. Have I failed to teach him how to be happy?

"And how does that explain the jester's get-up?" Gavin presses, still visibly confused.

"This is no jester's get-up!" I rebuke. "These clothes are very popular among noble children."

"I do recall this style being quite fashionable," Silfy offers hesitantly.

"See?" I say triumphantly, looking to Ren for validation. Surely now he will realize he ought to be happy.

"They were quite common… two centuries ago," Silfy adds softly. "But they haven't been in style for some time."

"Come now," I scoff. "How much could styles possibly change in a mere two centuries? Now, let us move on to the food!"

Perhaps the new clothes didn't yield the result I expected, but my plan is multi-faceted. Surely one tactic will elicit a joyful response from the young master. In the past seven years, I have failed to make Ren smile on his birthday. At this point, I see it as a personal challenge. In all my existence, no task has ever proven too difficult. I will not be bested by this.

With a wave of my hand, bowls and serving plates brimming with Ren's favorite dishes appear, transported directly from the kitchen. The table is instantly laden with far more food than anyone present could possibly consume. Gavin and Silfy both look suitably impressed.

"Let's eat!" Gavin bellows, enthusiastically piling an assortment of meats onto his plate.

Silfy, on the other hand, glances politely at Ren and me. Though she has been allowed to dine with her master at Griswald's estate, she still follows the etiquette of waiting for the host to begin. Despite her composure, I can sense her excitement in the way her gaze flicks toward the food.

Ren, however, remains unenthusiastic, his expression subdued even as the meal begins.
How strange. This food typically elicits a positive response.

Gavin, apparently noticing Ren's mood, speaks between hearty bites, his voice slightly muffled. "What's the matter, kid? Eat up!"

I tilt my head thoughtfully and reply before Ren can. "The young master is just a bit upset because his birthday also marks the day his mother died."

Gavin freezes mid-bite, eyes widening as he looks at me, clearly horrified. "Oh... I, uh..." he stammers, searching for words.

Ren shoots me a sharp look, his face carefully neutral, before finally taking his first bite of food. Silfy, perhaps taking this as permission, begins eating as well, though she looks incredibly uncomfortable, her gaze fixed firmly on her plate.

"How is the food, young master?" I ask inquisitively, leaning slightly forward. "Does it perhaps make you feel any better?"

Ren pauses, his fork mid-air, and stares at me with thinly veiled irritation. "You mean about my dead mother?" he says flatly before resuming his lazy bites, his gaze never breaking from mine.

Well, yes, I was hoping it would. I suppose food isn't that powerful.

The dinner progresses a bit awkwardly after that, for reasons I still cannot quite discern. While they eat, the brilliant magical display from the capital's festival illuminates the window. Vibrant explosions of light paint the night sky, perfectly visible from the tower's vantage point. Gavin and Silfy seem captivated by the display, their faces alight with awe and appreciation. Ren, however, remains disinterested, barely glancing at the show.

But the party is far from over, and I still have my trump card.

Once everyone finishes eating, they offer their thanks for the meal. With a wave of my hand, the table clears itself, the dishes vanishing into the kitchen. Gavin assists by placing the three carefully wrapped gifts in front of Ren. I watch his face closely, noting how his expression softens as he looks at the gifts. A spark of anticipation flickers in his eyes, and even the mystery of the wrappings seems to brighten his mood.

Surely, once he opens them, I will finally achieve my elusive goal: Ren's birthday smile.

Ren reaches for the first gift, Gavin's. As he unwraps it, his eyes widen in awe. Inside is a brilliantly polished short sword, its surface gleaming under the light. Gavin leans forward, explaining with excitement, "It's enchanted with a paralyzing curse. Even a small scratch will immobilize an opponent, as long as they don't have magical defenses."

Ren's face lights up as he admires the sword. "This is perfect! Thank you, Captain Gavin," he says, his voice bubbling with genuine excitement. He even smiles, a brief but undeniable smile.

That idiot Gavin. He manages to make Ren smile on his first try...

Next is the gift Silfy brought on Lord Griswald's behalf. Ren unwraps it to reveal a neat stack of ten instructional magic books.

"These are from the Arcadian Academy of Magic's library," Silfy explains. "Lord Griswald arranged for Lord Lucian Kael, the Headmaster of the Academy, to lend them to you. If you need more, Lord Griswald will ensure they are exchanged regularly."

"The Academy's library," she adds, "is much larger than the collection here in the tower and contains knowledge from across Gaia."

Ren's eyes sparkle with wonder. "This is incredible. Thank you, Silfy," he says, grinning widely.

That doesn't count. She's lived among humans for generations. Of course she understands them better than I do.

Finally, it is time for my gift. Confidently, I place it before Ren and gesture for him to unwrap it. With careful hands, he removes the cloth to reveal a beautiful marble game board for King's Game. The board unfolds to display the detailed black-and-white pieces: pawns, knights, mages, castles, and, of course, a queen and king.

I explain the rules with excitement, describing how each piece moves differently across the board and how strategy shapes victory. As I speak, Ren's curious expression shifts, and finally, his face breaks into a joyous smile.

I did it. I finally made Ren smile on his birthday.

I should feel triumphant. I have been striving for this moment for years, so why don't I feel victorious? Instead, I feel... warmth. Unfamiliar, overwhelming warmth. I can't look away from his glowing smile, the excitement dancing in his eyes as he examines the pieces.

I feel a strange, senseless urge to hug the boy.
I don't know what this feeling is, but I don't want it to end.

When Ren looks up at me and asks, "Will you play with me?" I answer without hesitation. "Yes."

Of course, this isn't for fun. This game is a tool for teaching strategy, a critical skill for Ren's future. Yes, that is why I agreed. It's all part of my plan.

Not long after, Gavin and Silfy thank us once again for the invitation and wish Ren a happy birthday before taking their leave. With the dining room quiet once more, I set up the game board for Ren and me to play.

The soft clink of wooden pieces against the marble board marks the beginning of our game. Ren leans forward, his fingers hovering over the pieces as he studies the board intently. I watch him closely, noting the furrow in his brow and the way his lips press into a thin line. His mind is working hard, dissecting the possibilities, but I see the hesitation in his movements.

"Your move, young master."

He hesitates before selecting his knight, moving it forward in a bold play to challenge my castle. A daring choice, but one that leaves him vulnerable. Without pause, I move my mage to capture the knight, shattering his opening strategy.

"You aren't thinking enough moves ahead, Ren," I warn. "Bold, decisive action alone does not win wars."

His frown deepens as he studies the board, frustration clear in the way he taps a finger against his remaining pieces. His king is protected for now, but he is only a few moves from checkmate. He doesn't seem to realize the trap he has walked into yet.

"You see," I continue, nudging a pawn forward, "in the game of kings, a ruler must rarely act directly. To expose oneself is to court disaster."

Ren's eyes flick toward me briefly, then back to the board.

I move my queen, gliding it across the board to solidify my control. "A king's strength lies in those who act on his behalf. Even the weakest pawn can shift the balance of power."

Ren pauses, his hand hovering uncertainly over his castle. I watch as frustration gives way to focus, his youthful face settling into an expression of calculation. He doesn't look at me now. His attention is fixed on the board. Good.

"Consider this," I say, moving my knight to threaten his king. "It is nearly impossible to corner a king with a king alone. You cannot win without allies to rely on. And if you use your king to corner your adversary, you only expose yourself to being cornered by theirs."

Ren's fingers tremble slightly as they hover over his pieces. After a long pause, he selects a pawn and moves it forward, blocking my knight's path. It is a cautious move, but a smart one. He prioritizes defense over retaliation.

I feel a flicker of satisfaction. "Good," I say softly. "Even the smallest piece can shield the king."

Ren nods, though his focus stays on the board. He is beginning to see the larger picture, to understand the importance of positioning and patience. He is not ready to face his father directly. Not yet. But he can learn to maneuver others, to pull the strings from the shadows until his enemies have no moves left to make.

Sliding my queen into position, I calmly declare, "Checkmate."

Ren's gaze lingers on the board, studying the trap he fell into three moves ago. His king is surrounded, defenseless. For a moment, he seems frozen, gears turning in his mind. Then he looks up at me, frustration giving way to resolve.

"The game of kings is not about fighting every battle yourself," I say, voice steady and deliberate. "It's about using your allies to outmaneuver your adversary while protecting your king."

Ren exhales slowly. "Next time," he says with a determined smile, "I won't fall for the same trap."

A small smile tugs at my lips. "I look forward to it, young master."