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"Serve the Lord with gladness; come before his presence singing."
Psalm 100:2

18yo Christian Fantasy writer.

Profile pic is my own artwork

Message to Readers

Yes. This is the long-awaited sequel to Elfboy, the first chapter of which I published for this same competition last year.
I caution you, there are many, many spoilers here. Read at your own risk.

Goblinprince | Chapter 1

November 9, 2019

The grand hall was silent. It often was here in the mountain castle of the elves. The white stone walls and floor reflected the early morning sunshine that streamed in through the twelve floor-to-ceiling windows and gleamed lightly on the marble throne that had been carved into the shape of a small tree growing over a rock, the leaves of which would have formed a canopy over the king’s head. 

    If there had been a king. 

    Technically, I had been considered the king since I was five, twelve years ago when my father died. But I’d never been officially crowned because I hadn’t fully come into my powers—still—and couldn’t wake the Veldstone Crown, which sat on a marble pedestal beside the throne and was considered a symbol of unity between the elf kingdoms of forest and mountain. 

    I considered it my nemesis. At least, that’s how I’d felt about it for the past eight or ten years since I hadn’t been able to wake it—the Veldstone, for which the crown had been named, had remained dull black in dormancy ever since my father had died. I hardly remembered when it was awake, but had heard that the stone had been nearly covered in scarlet flames and the stone gave off unlimited power to the one strong enough to wield it. My father had been the first—and last—one to wake it in thousands of years. 

    But then his mother, the witch Gildreth, had come when I was only five and killed him. 

    Now, I was almost seventeen, and nowhere near being as strong as my father as far as I could tell. It didn’t seem fair that Elrond Higgins, supposedly the most powerful elf alive at the time, had been taken away from Mother and I like that, a sword through his chest. And it was even less fair that he had given his powers to my uncle Chris when he died instead of to me. Chris, being a human from a “magical” world called Kentucky, couldn’t even use elf powers. 

    I could. And I needed to be more powerful than I was now. My third storm moon, the time when an elf’s powers peaked, was only three months away, and I couldn’t even get a single red flame to spark in the Veldstone. 

    Everyone told me not to worry, that I would be fine, but the closer I got to my birthday and the storm moon that followed, the less I believed them. 

    That’s why I tried to often to wake the crown, especially since my last birthday. I needed to be at least as strong as my father—stronger if possible. Even a little flame would’ve made me happy at this point. 

    I couldn’t help but sigh as I walked towards the throne, even my soft footsteps echoing strangely in the quietness. I couldn’t count the times I’d dreamed of sitting on the throne, feeling the cool marble around me, looking down on the rest of the hall. But I’d never dared actually climb the steps to sit in it. I considered it a sacred spot, something that shouldn’t be sat on until everything was official—and I woke the Veldstone. 

    I stopped a few steps away from the crown, hating the way it seemed to glare at me in a mocking, taunting way. If I didn’t have to wake it to keep the two kingdoms together, I’d’ve probably thrown it out the window into the gorge by now. 

    Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath, willing my powers to focus on the crown, forcing the air around me to grow chill and icy. I hardly dared look a few seconds later when the cold abated. 

    But I did… and nothing had happened. Nothing at all. The Veldstone was still just a black stone in a silver crown. Just like it always had been. 

    I sighed again, wishing I could make the flames dance in it the way my father had when he was king. 

    At the time, I couldn’t think of anything worse than if the storm moon came and I couldn’t wake the crown. If the kingdoms were divided again. How could I be satisfied with only being the mountain king while living in the shadow of my father’s legacy? As I said before, he was Elrond Higgins—the most powerful elf anyone knew of since our ancestor, King Narya, had come over the mountains over thirteen thousand years ago during a civil war and united the people. 

    My father had even overcome goblin bites. Something that never happened before, or since, as long as the oldest elves could remember. 

    And I was just Alastair. 

    I hadn’t even been allowed to rule the past twelve years I’d been called king. It was all done for me by Mother and an elf named Brudak, whom I’d always been impartial to since he’d survived on the day my father had not.

    I let a third sigh loose. This one of frustration—with Brudak, my mother, my father, the crown. Everything. 

    The crown seemed to be laughing at me again, mocking, daring me to try, and fail, again. I hated the way it stared, silently taunting. 

    My eyes, generally silver like Mother’s, flared orange—something I’d inherited from my father being bit by goblins. No one understood why, but I’d found that it only happened when I was feeling frustrated or angry. Sometimes just when I had a sword in my hand. 

    Having no real reason to be angry, except maybe with myself, I reached out a hand to knock the crown over. I’d had more than enough of its tormenting over the years. In fact, I couldn’t understand at all why the thing was kept around here. I’d never want to wear the ridiculous thing. 

    An electric jolt raced up my arm as I brushed the ice cold metal, and I forgot to keep moving.

    The image of an elf with red eyes and overgrown teeth flashed through my mind. Blackened patches of what looked like mildew covered his skin. 

    The worst part was that I instantly recognized him. It was me. Turned goblin.


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  • November 9, 2019 - 11:30am (Now Viewing)

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