[ The elf's thin mouth twisted a little, and he sipped soundlessly at the drink he held, pale eyes flitting to watch the rest of the feast. ]

You may find you have little choice. The Seelie will kill you, if offered a chance. For your shard, if not for pleasure.

[ There's a dull, memory-laden tone to the words. The tone old soldiers get, when despite themselves they remember the too-close-calls and slogging through the mire made by mud and the blood of their comrades. Slowly, he shakes his head. ]

But the Queen is gracious, and does not begrudge those among her chosen who elect instead of serving to carve their own path through the world, despite the peril.