Southward we drove, crossing Peeke's main road towards the great city of Himel. The scars of the recent war lingered. To our surprise, villagers from Sarne, Loft, and Peeke greeted us, showering us with a magnificent display of purple flowers, a tribute to our victory. With utmost respect, I requested them not to waste such a bountiful harvest of sunflowers upon the ground.
They surprised us further by offering our men the last of their lamb, which we originally intended for the famed tables of Himel's noble kin. Their skill with meat surpassed even the city's finest chefs. This unexpected challenge filled them with excitement, and I yearned to see their craft unfold, a delightful battle of meat-cooking skill. Hunger gnawed at me as I awaited their creations, eager to savour their gifts and quench our weary appetites. But after a series of underwhelming dishes, my hunger only grew, the promise of a truly delicious meal fading ever further.
They assembled a grand procession of long tables right in the centre of the road, laden with a tempting display of lamb dishes and foaming mugs of beer. The sight and smell feasted our eyes and stirred the grumbling beasts in our bellies. The streets thronged with the joy of music and laughter, a lively and merry din filling the air. Never had I seen such a magnificent feast, a stark contrast to the refined soirees we indulged in, dancing amidst the glittering court. There, we displayed our finest gowns, impeccable wit, and artful words before the noble lords of the Silerreich.
Yet, under the sacred shelter of the Church, three loyal sword maidens—my sworn sisters in truth—led me to a deep, secluded chamber within the town cathedral. They bore the weighty and solemn duty of safeguarding my life. Bound by the Church's decree of kinship, this hidden haven shielded me from the looming threat that lurked beyond the mortal realm. My father met his demise in a similar fashion, slain while drinking in plain sight. Though it pained my beloved people to be deprived of my radiant smile and joyous laughter, my faithful attendants assured me their resolve remained firm, unwavering in their duty to ensure my safety.
I sat at the table with my esteemed sworn sisters, all feasting on a dish of savoury lamb and a cup of strong red wine. A cold breeze whispered against my skin, stealing my warmth after crossing a sea of wintry plains. To combat the chill, we fed the hearth with a stack of logs, coaxing the flames back to life. How pleasant it was to watch the fire lift my spirits, granting me a moment of peace to admire the women tending to my son, Ulrich.
My heart aches for my son, my Lady, after eight long months apart. Shall we allow time for the feast and express our gratitude to our people? Their fear-driven anger has finally subsided. As the coming Coasern, I vow to fulfil the promises sworn to me when I ascend the throne.
"Ma'am Julie," I afrained one of my loyal maidens, "When shall the dightings for the crowning ceremony be made?"
"That shall be determined upon our arrival in the kinborough, Thy Highness," she anqueathed.
In anqueath, I clenched my fist upon the table, unable to contain my frustration, groaning, "When?...,” then my voice raised. “When?!”
“Pardon me, but the dighting can only be made by Her Holiness alone.”
"I see... I see," I heaved an exasperated sigh and shook my head, regretting over my overwhelming worry. "I… uhh…. Pardon me for my unwarranted anger as well."
She offered a gentle bow of her head, unwavering despite my outburst against her companions. These were loyal women, shields ready to stand between me and any harm, their faces etched with unwavering resolve. Though their smiles were thin, smiles they kept.
“Fret not, Lady Emilia,” cheered Ma’am Julie. “For he’d be safer in thy beloved’s hands.”
“I agree,” Ma’am Drea nodded. “For now, we shall feast ourselves to our very heart’s content after our greatest and heaviest efforts in dealing with those Norsian fiends.”
Ma’am Nadette, too, shared a nod and a faint smile, the gesture veiled in the expected silence befitting one of few words.
Hearing their soom, I grasped my stoup and raised it, “Here is to our loavesome work and our earnest sib!”
“Cheers!” Ma’am Julie cried, raising hers.
“Cheers to all,” followed Ma’am Drea, raising hers.
Ma’am Nadette, again, silently nodded, raising hers.
Thus, we shared a sup of wine, then a warm laughter after our silly gasp over their wone.
“How have you been crossing the river below the valley, Ma’am Julie?” I asked.
“Quite a shiver, I frankly couldn't take it,” said Ma’am Julie. “Even Sir Jegard yielded his fur coat to me. I’d’ve rejected his unfair hospitality, but alas he’s absolutely quite a stickler for a humble geezer.”
“He does not really change, aye?” I sighed.
“For a warrior of his old age with a full-fledged mind and faithful heart, I am not surprised over his act of humility, if I must say,” chuckled Ma’am Drea.
“Yet,” said Ma’am Julie. “We got all the remaining yisels out of their cages… with no untoward stumbles and show,” then she looked at Ma’am Drea and smirked. “Unlike thy Futuliev who almost fell upon a little rock whilst climbing on the mountain.”
Ma’am Drea flushed and glared at her, “Who told thee that?”
“My lips art sealed,” giggled Ma’am Julie. “Only that I canst say, these art tales—told and favoured by thine own men and Her Highness’.”
“Then I shall see their heads flying out sooner,” replied Ma’am Drea.
“Thou cannot, unless approved by Her Highness alone,” she looked at me. “Wouldst thou thwear it?”
Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
“Nay, I must not allow any needless wone of swingel, for they art mere jests of no aftercoming.”
“See?” Ma’am Julie then looked back at Ma'am Drea and shrugged. “Told thee that it is no mightly. Shall thy head fly towards the great heavens, pray will we bid it farewell.”
“.... Oh,” Ma’am Drea rolled her eyes and heaved an exasperated sigh. “Coming from the words of the woman of the streets.”
“A street-smart woman. Aye, I couldst thwear,” Ma’am Julie nodded whilst supping up her wine.
Her sharp words silenced our brief argument. Laughter erupted after we gasped from a sip of wine, a predictable reaction to Ma'am Drea's flimsy defense. Yet, Ma'am Drea remained stoic, her silence a powerful shield against further debate.
“Should only—”
"Thy Highness... Thy Highness," a voice of the priestess suddenly interrupted, echoing from behind the chamber door. Then thrice a knock reached our wreaty ears.
"Admit her," I bid my maidens, and they swiftly bid, their eyes widening as they beheld the dishevelled anlikeness of the cathedral's priestess, gasping for breath and drenched in sweat. "Pray, enlighten me as to the end of this urgent summons," I afrained.
The priestess replied, "I humbly implore Thy pardon for this hampering time of thy feast, but a man inebriated hath taken to shouting Thy name afore the cathedral's great port. Despite the wight efforts of Thy knights to quell his frenzied fervour, he cannot be persisted by any means."
I pleaded with my loyal attendants to hold back their anger and show restraint towards our people. I desired no further violence to worsen their hostility. However, I also urged them to stay strong and unwavering in the face of hardship, their resolve as firm as the biting cold of iron.
So I stood up from the chair and said, “Then I shall go and see—”
“Wait, Thy Highness!” one of my maidens named Ma’am Drea exclaimed at me. “I reckon that Thou shalt not pursue his callings, for he might carry an arrow from behind his back.”
“I thwear, Thy Highness,” Ma’am Julie said.
Ma’am Nadette silently nodded.
A question gnawed at me: what unholy purpose did he have? Did he truly wish to drag me from the sacred haven of the cathedral, to witness the townsfolk drowning in their revelry? Or perhaps, did he crave a mere glimpse of my otherworldly beauty? Despite these muddled musings and my sisters' gravest concern, I stepped out of the chamber. His insistent voice, a faint murmur, echoed through the hallowed halls as my feet touched the holy ground.
"Open the doors, I beseech thee!" I called upon the knights from outside.
“Thy Highness!”
The massive doors creaked open, revealing a figure clad in the garb of a wandering knight. He held himself with both courtesy and a hint of something else, his gaze burning into me with waxing fervour. A mug of beer sloshed in his hand, each gulp seemingly bringing him closer to a state of blissful contentment. Despite the beard concealing most of his face, a familiar scar etched across his left cheek sparked a flicker of recognition within me. Memories of two valiant warriors from the village of Sarne flooded my mind, their deeds and bravery forever woven into the fabric of my recollection.
“Ahhh, Thy Highness,” he scoffed while bowing his head as fast as he wanted to glare at me. “How long has it been since our paths last crossed? Braids when thou and I wielded our swords and shields side by side, joined in end to defend our home at our youthful times. Me… thou… and my dearest fellow named Garen?”
Garen?
No, how dare he bring his name upon me?
“Oh… then thou must be… Schlik?”
"Ah, finally thou dost recall," he chuckled, his head swaying gently like a billowing garment caught in the breeze. "It must be daven for thee to revel in thy triumph within this town, all the while neglecting to pay homage to his grave just west of here… all the while saving thy damsel arse… all the while neglecting his cradle after fear and rest… all the while forsaking everything we had been through?!"
“Oh… h-he hath passed?”
He narrowed his glaring eyes and cackled, “Indeed, he hadst! Passed as surely as thou didst tear his heart asunder upon receiving tidings of thy betrothal, even after he pried his eyes and effort in aiding thy doughty deeds against those wretched fiends, all while harbouring his deepest dearness for thee, aye?!"
Forsooth, how dare he bring me ill tidings before me in such a braid? Have I brought forth harm to others unbeknownst to me, with naught but innocent gazes and jests? How can I seek saught when I know not the sins I have unwittingly committed from the very outset?
Was it “tearing his heart”?
What didst it truly mean?
“Pray, sire,” Ma’am Julie approached Schlik and asked. “May thou draw back from Her being? For thou’st distressed Her Highness.”
"Thou left me forsaken," Schlik wept, disregarding her inquiries. "Forsaken, even as thou faced the fiends in battle. And now thou bearest a child, a fruit of some flirtatious nobleman. S-such infidelity… th-that is… Infidelity!”
A veil of sorrow descended over him. With a hard thud, he collapsed to the ground, crushed by the weight of his own thoughts. The mug of beer slipped from his hands, dumping its contents on the floor in a wasteful torrent. He lay there, utterly bewildered, his snores ringing through the hall—a baffling song that twisted my belly with a horrible mix of mirth and sadness. But it was his words, those elusive murmurs, that chilled me to the core. They hinted at our shared past, one that formed in the crucible of our youth, when we were both heroes, free of the darkness that now clung to me.
“Bring him to the nearest tavern,” I bid one of my knights. “And pray, treat him gently.”
“Thy will be done,” he bowed and then gestured to other knights for assistance.
A jolt of searing pain lanced through my skull, ripping open the floodgates of memory. Images of Schlik and Garen surged to the forefront of my mind, each face a mirror reflecting the harsh truth of my own recklessness. Shame washed over me, a tidal wave threatening to drown me in the bitter aftertaste of choices poorly made. The weight of their sacrifice, a silent accusation hanging heavy in the air, weighed down upon me, leaving me gasping for breath beneath the crushing load of guilt .
“O Gidden! Where… where art they?!” Schlick’s final words echoed after he disappeared from the knights dragging him gently.
How could he dare to catch my heart and give it all to me?
The tale of a kinborn and a churl entwining their fates was a forbidden song to my ears. The Church, ever vigilant, bound me to their verdict. Marriage beyond the kinhelm was deemed an insult to the Lady's grace, a tainting of my lineage, and a chance of sullying the very air that the common folk breathed.
“Let us go back, Thy Highness,” said Ma’am Julie. “Leaving Thyself like this for a long time might imperil thee.”
We sought refuge within the cathedral's imposing walls, hoping to partake in the feast. Yet, the unrelenting flow of recollections washed on my beaches, leaving my mouth dry despite the townsfolk’s exquisite lamb. I battled to clear my thoughts, but these haunting visions clung to me like grabbing claws, refusing to let go.
How could I extract a sliver of pleasure from this spread when shame stole the flavour from my mouth?
How could slumber offer peace while the echoes of their sacrifice rang through the sacred halls?