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world—elf or human. This was where his heart returned in those lonely, silent moments when he wished that his assignment to the Eastern Realm were not necessary, that he could assume his rightful role amongst his own people. And this was where he, as the crown prince of the Southern Realm—known to the humans these past two hundred years as New Zealand—could stand in the shadow of his father, King Orleon, the greatest of the Elven kings and the man he respected more than any other he knew.
    As Gregor stood silently gazing out upon his homeland, he reflected on how his life had come to this point in time. How his father’s command had taken him away from the Southern Realm—away from his duties, away from his friends, away from his brother, and away from Camille.
    Even the thought of her—and their arranged betrothal—brought a smile to his lips. They had known one another since childhood, romped in these hills, explored the caverns, even crossed the portal into the human world against the command of their parents.
    They were not sweethearts. They had not been lovers. They were not even attracted to each other in a physical way, but they were as close as a man and woman could be without sexual intimacy. Camille was … he smiled to himself yet again, breathing deeply of the crisp mountain air ... she was … Camille, his closest friend and youthful companion. Others, including their parents, assumed their close relationship to be acceptance of the pending marriage. Gregor and Camille knew differently and that had been their private secret for many years. They knew it would never happen. But no matter—at his father’s gentle, whispered command across the portal of time, he was home.
     
    To the north, safely hidden—hopefully—in their Virginia cabin, Aegir, Mallorie, Eimile, and Alisha, even Sean—or Ian, as he was now known in Washington—knew nothing of the Southern Realm. Reagan and Heather, the part Elven humans, knew even less. After thousands of years of separation, each royal family thought that the Elven world consisted solely of the Eastern and Western Realm. It was a three thousand-year-old deception his father had commanded to continue … until now.
    The role of deceiver was foreign to Gregor, and it had not set well with him when his father proposed this mission. The original—and continuing—deception of elves outside the Southern Realm was intentional. The stories, told and retold over the centuries, fostered the belief that only two realms existed. There were, and had been since The Long Wars three thousand years ago, four realms. They had been formed from the original Cryptic Realm which had existed since … since before written history. Gregor knew the truth. King Orleon knew the truth. But only the Book of Kings contained the full story of the race of people known as Elven.
    Every Southern Realm schoolboy knew the public version of the story. Nearly sixty thousand years of recorded history was taught in the classroom, culminating in The Long Wars—a series of fierce and deadly battles between two brothers, Pandelante and Ovring, vying, upon the death of their father, for the legendary Cryptic Crown. Ovring’s followers scattered around the globe, returning to battle for the throne each time they thought they saw a weakness. Of course, the modern-day deception assured everyone that no such crown had ever existed. That was what was taught, even in the Southern Realm.
    The Cryptic Crown, so the legend went, contained mystical powers that bestowed upon he who wore the crown total control over the universe. When King Pandelante had worn the crown, the glory of his kingdom grew almost immediately. The collective power had overwhelmed all who opposed his rule. In the final battle, Ovring was killed and his people banished to the far north, leaving Pandelante the sole ruler in the Southern Realm. The resultant Pandelante dynasty had ruled the Elven kingdom, often with an iron hand, for more than