ANTONIO
I expected to complete the invasion of Led. The Cainern had long prepared to take back their ancient, holy borders back from the grips of the heathens that had claimed them centuries ago. They’d laid in wait for generations: parents telling children about the homeland that teemed with fathomless energy, usurped by those that would defile its magic with foul practices like raising the dead. Well, that and its seemingly endless supply of lumber and commercial wellbeing, but the public didn’t seem to take well to that explanation. I hadn’t, really, either, given the emissary trips over the years; of peace talks, of repeated and ceaseless attempts of congeniality. I had to say that I didn’t quite… buy all of the false airs that the rulers of Led put on.
That coupled with my stalwart religious bias toward druidism, and it was a concoction bubbling over–ready to burst. Now that I sat upon the gilded throne in the bloody throne room, courtiers bound and held prisoner by my military against the walls, staring down at the bald spot peering out from the bowed head of the Led King, and it feels so underwhelming. I almost want to scream and shout. Sure, when the wretched necromancers joined the war – I was surprised to find they hadn’t joined until near the end – there were plenty of casualties in my ranks, but there were so few of them, that… well… my holy rage was starting to falter. I even expected that the king would guard himself with scores of them; I’d always envisioned this last battle to be shattered bone dust and blood spilled, of lightning called from the sky onto burnt and useless ground.
On the contrary: the gardens outside the castle walls were well-groomed, and brilliantly colored. They hadn’t even fully evacuated the city by the time my contingent took the stronghold. It was… surprisingly peaceful. And… very little dead. Most everyone we encountered on our way were terrified, of course. That would have to be remedied with widespread public relations. After I hunted down every last necromancer.
Maybe that would give me the satisfaction of having taken back my forefathers’ land, the satisfaction of conquering the evil that plagued this long for too long. All the people needed to realize was that they were no longer under the tyranny of the influence of necromancers and their blasphemy; to undo the centuries of brainwashing the dead-drivers had obviously committed their people to.
“My prince,” Luis, my advisor, whispers into my ear. “The castle’s been secured.”
This is it? I want to yell. No necromancers hiding behind corners, ready to crush us when we let our guards down? Instead, I wave at my body guards to take the king bowing at my feet away. I gesture Luis closer and he bends his ear to my lips. “Write the king, let him know that we’ve completed our crusade. I will quash the rest of the threat.”
“Highness.” He bows away and I hear his feet clatter on the stone floors.
I had to tread carefully now. These people had clung to their beliefs so strongly for so long, I was going to be their enemy for a long time. It would take some time to come to terms with my rule. Every word I said would need to be careful, every smile calculated. That wasn’t so bad, though, I’d lived my entire life that way. So the last year of war had allowed me the freedom of not worrying about whether people saw me being polite or kingly, I needed to break that habit–immediately.
I stand and walk down the steps of the dais. “Unbind them,” I tell my guards. They look at me warily, and I give them my best grin; all teeth and dimple, like my mother used to tell me. “These are our friends, not our prisoners.”
They do as they’re told, cutting through the leather bonds wrapped around wrists and ankles. The courtiers eye me with suspicion, and I project my voice to the wider room. “I’m so sorry you’ve been subjected to this treatment, I hope you understand it was just a means to an end: a performance,” I tell them, and it’s mostly true. “Now that we are established here, you and your families are in no danger.”
I don’t think they believe me, and they won’t. “Go home to your families. Today is a day of celebration, not of tears. Today, I have liberated you.”
I hear someone murmur something akin to Mad King, but I ignore them. The guards watch their charges flee from the room, watching me. They are waiting for me to give any sort of signal for them to capture their prey–still jumpy from the skirmishes and battle. I can’t blame them. In any case, the people run.
“You’re going to be assassinated,” one of my men mutters.
“Not while you’re with me,” I give him a smile. “Let’s go celebrate.”
After three weeks of a celebratory tour from the center of Led to the eastern border, Luis brings me a long list of suspected necromancers and where they were located within the kingdom. I am nursing a headache in one of the manors a nobleman has offered my traveling party when he enters with a bow. I eye the list as a sense of deep displeasure sets into my gut. “There’s only seven?”
“Yes, excluding the ones that have been brought under your command as spies and subsequently executed as traitors.”
“There were only two of those,” I rub the bridge of my nose. Where were the powerful necromancers that I had been told about my entire life? Was necromancy a dying magic after all?
Had time done my lifelong duty for me? Was there nothing left to conquer?
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“How many of these have been captured?” I ask.
“Four. They’re awaiting sentencing,” Luis tells me.
I nod, absorbing the information.
“Will you oversee that, Your Highness?” he asks when I don’t respond at first.
I tent my fingers over the book I was reading. “No,” I decide. “Go ahead and take care of it for me. Make sure that they’re sentenced appropriately, make sure the locals know who it was that caused them so much generational trauma.”
“Yes, Your Highness, I’ll see to it. I will leave in the morning.”
“Thank you, Luis. Oh. And one more thing: space them out? Once a month is fine, but all at once…”
He nods with understanding and bows. “My Prince.”
I pick up the list when he leaves and scan the names and their suspected locations.
Reiland Winters, Cavetown; Hans Schreiber, Cape Whistledon; Sybil Whitman, Whereabouts Unknown.
That last one catches my eye. Everyone else on the list has some suspected location except for this last one. How had she avoided my intelligence networks, deeply rooted into the sprawling countryside? How had all of the other necromancers we’d gotten to talk known about her but not where she could be?
With such an uncommon name like that, too. The thought unnerved me, like an itch somewhere deep in my brain or my chest that I couldn’t reach. I wondered if she was an old witch that lived in the deepest of the forest to the north. Maybe she only came into town once every five years to gather supplies she and her abominations couldn’t build or make on their own. Maybe she was raising her own coven of little necromancer helions. Maybe she kidnapped them from the nearby cities, with her gnarled nose and warts, raising them to send me packing back to my country.
She wasn’t going to get very far, I decided with an annoyed huff. My body guards looked up from their positions nearby. I wave their curious glances away and they return to attention. I would need to send out decrees, reminding my new people that necromancy was no longer legal. From what I heard from my new entourage of courtiers, it didn’t affect their daily life too much. It gave me some hope that the work I had put in wasn’t in vain in Led. Soon enough, this would be my home, also–and be welcome as the king I’d eventually become, with my father’s blessing.
He’d sent a few letters since my relative coronation in Led, congratulating me on the successful conquest. I’d never felt his pride in me so clearly as I did that day. He was always a proud father, and I was never spared any of the greatest pleasures, even if I was the third son of five. He still spent as much time with me as he did my brothers; hunted with us, brought us all into court to hear the going ons of the kingdom, taught politics and tactical warfare. We were all groomed to be the best rulers we could be; so that even while not all of us would inherit Cainern, we might all someday rule. And so it was when I asked for permission to head up the acquisition of Led. The oldest of my brothers was preparing to take over the throne when my father passed, my second brother was heading up the treasury and he was not interested in conquering back what was ours most sacred. No one could fault him for it; he’d built a comfortable life.
Our father was proud of each of us in our own unique ways. Even my sisters. Considering the royals I’d met from around the world while I was growing up, the fact that my father was a family man was a rarity among the gentry. Many of the other lords and regency would whisper behind closed doors that it made him weak – but I had always understood it to be the opposite. It made us stronger as a family. There was very little interfamily bickering; and while we argued some, fought some, we were never so at odds with one another that we would ever betray the other. Little of the same could be said for our counterparts in other countries.
“Prince Antonio?” A voice comes at the door. It’s Lord Banohr, the man who has lent us his home.
“Please, come in.” I say, standing from the desk. He bows as he enters. He’s a slant man with a perpetually sweaty brow and red face. “Thank you again for allowing us solace in your beautiful home.” I incline my head to him.
“Of course, Your Highness, it’s my family’s pleasure. We are so pleased you are gracing us with your presence.”
“Please rise,” I ask, and he does, meeting my eyes brazenly. Even still, I like the man, so I make no note of his indecency.
“My lord, as tomorrow is your last night in our midst, I would politely request your attendance in the party I am throwing in your honor.”
“A third of such,” I raise my eyebrow at him. Banohr has been keeping alcohol and music close at hand since we arrived. My guards are working in overdrive, each investigating each night to ensure my safety. We are all tired. “Lord Banohr, I so appreciate your unparalleled hospitality, but we must rest before we start our journey back to the capitol tomorrow.”
He looks crestfallen. “Of course, Your Highness. It is only that, well, if you beg my pardon, my daughter is quite infatuated by you, and she has been seeking her courage to ask you to…”
I feel my face fall into a steely expression, and his voice trails off, as if he swallows his words. I give him a smile so false I know he can see it. “I am flattered your daughter thinks so highly of me, sir, but I insist we must really be on our way bright and early.”
He is not an idiot and takes my meaning clearly. I am not searching for a wife, please do not broach the subject again.
He bows politely. “Right, sire. I’ll take my leave. It would be an honor to be graced with your presence once more before you leave tomorrow morning.”
“It’d be my pleasure,” I say, though I hardly mean it anymore. “I will certainly see you at supper.”
“Yes, right. Well. If you’ll excuse me.” He bows and I nod, dismissing him.
The door closes firmly behind him and I take a seat behind the desk, gathering up another leaf of paper and a quill. It would behoove me to find a fiancee quickly so that nobles aren’t actively trying to set me up with their children. Someone who understood their place as a figurehead and nothing more–at least until I could properly settle. A contract agreement, I imagined, until I found the person I could be the family man my father demonstrated to me as a child. A clean break would be quiet, simple; they would be handsomely compensated for their time and commitment, and a new reigning sovereign would suddenly arise in their place.
By the time I draw up my qualifications for the position of my fiancee, I realize it sounds ridiculous. I won’t be able to start seeking a spouse until my enemies are totally quashed; whether for love or for my image alone. Which meant I needed to find Sybil Whitman.